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myboiparkerimagines · 2 years

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My Peter Pt. 1 - Peter Parker x Reader

Spoilers!: Spider-Man No Way Home

Prompt: You’re Peter Parker’s wife, and you find yourself in a strange place, with a Peter Parker who isn’t yours.

“Peter?” He was your first thought as your eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the city. How you got there and when you got there were both unknown to you as you scanned your surroundings. You knew you were in Queens, but some things were just off. There were new holes in the pavement and your favorite restaurant had a new different name now.

“Peter?” you ask again, your voice no louder than a whisper in the midst of the city traffic. “Are you lost?” a man asks you with furrowed eyebrows. He’s quite a bit taller than you, with his fluffy hair adding at least another inch of height. His eyes are kind and you immediately feel drawn to trust him. “Kind of? I know where I am, but some things are just different,” you wince slightly. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.” The man laughs. “No, it does. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel.” “Good. For a moment there I thought I was going crazy.” You gave the man a handshake as you told him your name. “And you?” “I’m Peter Parker.” “That’s funny, that’s my husband’s name, too.”

“Peter Parker!” a voice rang on televisions over the city. Each space that should hold an advertisement was filled with a face of a boy who was, again, not your Peter. “Will Spiderman ever be brought to justice?” the voice asked as the screen changed to show half the boy’s face covered in a spider mask.

You gasped. “That can’t be right.” “We need to get out of here,” Peter said, resting a hand on your back to escort you out of sight. “That can’t be Spiderman! I know Spiderman and that is not him,” you said, trying not to give too much away to the man who was still practically a stranger. “That makes three then, at least,” he said as he led you into a building. “Three what?” you asked, to no answer. “Peter, three what?” you insisted, still following him up a long staircase. “Three what?” you finally yelled as you made it onto the roof. “Three Peter Parkers, three Spidermans.” You crossed your arms. “You’re Spiderman, too?” Without a word, he shot a string of webs into the air, that dropped a few feet away from you. “Until yesterday I was the Spiderman. Now I’m one Spiderman. Something happened and brought me, and you, here. I’m sure your Peter is here, too.” He sighed. “Somewhere.”

“What do we do?” you ask. “We need to find Peter - both Peters. I’ve been able to locate a few of his friends, but I’ve not seen him.” Peter looked you in the eyes, a look filled with sadness and fear. “There’s something else, too.” “What is it?” “Some enemies crossed over, too. I only recognize a few of them. I imagine the rest belong to your Peter.” “Who don’t you recognize?” “There’s a man made of sand, one with metal claws coming from his back, and one with a green mask that can fly.” You inhale sharply. “All ours.” “All beaten once?” You nod. “All dead, except one.” “Same with mine. I don’t think their deaths carry over here. It’s all very confusing.” You laugh. “Understatement of the century.”

Two days passed with no progress. With all the cash in your pockets, you were able to hole up in a cheap motel at night, spending every ounce of daylight searching for the other Peters. The nights brought only hopelessness. Your mind wandered every possibility, including the bleakest - Peter never crossed and you were stuck here. Your heart ached for him as you lay alone at night for the first time in years.

On the third night as you lie alone, Peter sits up in his separate bed, staring intently at the wall in front of him. “We need to leave,” he insisted. “What’s wrong?” you ask as he takes off his outer layer of clothing, revealing his spider suit. “I don’t know yet, but I know we need to get out of here.” Before his hand could reach the doorknob, a shot of electricity burst through the window, hitting both you and Peter. All the air in your lungs left your body as you hit the wall in the back of the room. Static filled your veins, causing each muscle in your body to sting. Everything was blurry, but the shots of electricity were as clear as day. Peter dodged each one, finally managing to entangle the man in his webs. “Let’s go!” he urged, pulling you to your feet. You couldn’t stand on your own, relying fully on Peter, who finally opted to just carry you. “I’m gonna swing you now, okay?” You nodded, holding the man as tight as you could. He used one hand to swing, the other clutching you tightly to him. It must have been miles before he landed, setting you both down in a quiet alleyway.

This time, Peter was quick. As soon as he saw the sparks, he pushed you behind him, dropping immediately into a fighting position. These sparks, however, were different. They were circular and opened up to a different location, with two kids staring intently at you. “What is that?” you ask. “I have no clue, but I think we should go into it.” “Are you sure?” you asked, trusting that the intuition of the man matched that of your own Peter. “Yes,” he answered before leading both of you through the portal, which closes immediately upon you entrance.

“Peter?” the boy asked, a puzzled look on his face. This Peter took of his mask, to disappointed expressions from the rest of the room. “You’re not Peter.” “Why are you in the Spider-Man costume?” the girl asked. “I am Spider-Man, just not from this universe,” he explained. “Prove it,” the girl pushed with crossed arms. This time, Peter chose to walk up the walls, landing gently just inches from you. “Does that prove it to you?” he asks. She nodded. “And you are?” You smile. “Not from around here.” She smiled softly. “Figured. I’m MJ.” Your smile falters. “I knew an MJ once. She was one of the best women I ever met.” After only a moment, you give the girl your name, too. “I’m Ned,” the boy with her smiles.

Peter finally speaks up. “How did we get here?” “Oh!” Ned exclaims. “We were looking for Peter. Our Peter. I cast a spell and it opened up to you.” Your heart fluttered. “Could you do it again?” Ned nodded before raising both hands and circling one around the other. “I wish Peter Parker were here right now.”

In a flash of golden light, another portal opened. On the other side stood the man you’d been missing ever since waking up here. His eyes softened as they met yours, immediately crossing through the portal. “Peter!” you yell. Before the portal behind him closed, you were in his arms. “I thought you were gone.” “Hey, calm down,” he said, gently wiping the tears streaming down your face. “Everything’s going to be okay.” As he wiped your face, he noticed the gash on your forehead. “What happened to you?” “Electric man,” you murmured, already feeling sleep starting to overcome you. “Electro,” the other Peter spoke. “He’s one of mine.” “He got to you already?” your Peter asked. “Not even an hour ago,” Peter answered.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” your Peter asked Ned, who nodded before grabbing it from under the sink. MJ pushed a chair over to you, which Peter helped you sit on. “There you go,” Peter said as he dropped on one knee before you. He pulled out a gauze pad and poured a generous amount of alcohol onto it. “This is going to sting,” he warned. “I can take it.” Peter laughed before gently pressing the gauze to your own, pulling a hiss through your clenched teeth. “It’s almost over,” he whispered before removing the cloth. He finally covered it in a bandage. “Good as new.”

“I know where we need to go,” MJ says after talking with the other Peter. “That’s perfect,” your Peter said. “Does your grandmother mind if she rests here while we go?” Ned shook his head. “She can stay in my room. It’s just down the hall.”

Peter helped you stand and led you to the bed. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.” “I know, Peter. Be careful.” He kissed you softly as your heart ached for him to stay. “I always am.”

#spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Just in Your Heart {Taylor Swift x ChubbyMale!Reader}

Requested by: @lunchawx Wordcount: 2114 Summary: After five years of dating, you’re finally thinking of making it social-media official. Warnings: Fat shaming.

You weren’t the sort of person that most people would picture Miss Americana herself to date. Taylor Swift had gone out with some of the best looking, or at least according to the media’s standards best looking - men in the world. You didn’t need to go over them. The tabloids did that enough for you on a daily basis. But the point was that you were the opposite of a lot of these men. You weren’t in the entertainment industry. You weren’t rich. You weren’t famous. You didn’t have a six pack or a chiseled chest or that rugged jaw line or any of those things. You had worked your way up to being a curator at a Museum in New York - not one of the biggest ones, mind you, but big enough to where you always had a lot on your plate. You were overweight according to your doctor though you ate healthy and tried to get lots of exercise. And you had next to no social media presence, only followed by your friends and family - not even Taylor as for the most part, you both agreed on keeping you out of the spotlight, much as that sometimes hurt. But then again - you both had been together for five years now, and you weren’t being picked apart by the media. That was nice.

“Do you think that this is folded in enough? I always think of that scene in Sleeping Beauty where they actually fold them in,” Taylor laughed, snapping you out of your thoughts. When you had stopped at the grocery store to get the ingredients for baking night, you of course had seen Taylor on the magazines. Stepping out with new ‘mystery man’ it had reported. It was only her new bodyguard and would be forgotten in a week or so but it was still a bit annoying to be surrounded by rumors of your own girlfriend.

“Yeah, that looks good babe,” You’d say, looking into her bowl. It was cake night in your shared apartment. The whole quarantine thing had the both of you at home a lot more, though you did still have to go to work, so you were trying new hobbies. Baking had been Taylor’s idea, and it was something you had shot down at first considering your weight, but she was so insistant. She had given you those puppy dog eyes you couldn’t resist. Those baby blues had you saying yes every time. “No shells this time?”

“Oh my god, it was one time, let it go,” Taylor laughed, going for the next couple of ingredients. “I don’t think that you put enough chocolate in yours.”

“It’s a light chocolate cake, not a Devil’s Food Cake. I’m still watching my weight, remember?” You kept on whipping the eggs until they were light and fluffy, and then finally folded your own into the rest of the mixture. “This will probably be my lunch tomorrow,” You joked.

“I’ll make you something, don’t worry,” She said, putting a kiss on your cheek, transferring a bit of flour that she had on her nose onto your skin. You laughed and wiped it off. “What were you thinking about?”

“Saw you on the cover of another magazine today,” You said, slipping behind her, taking the chance to run your hands across her waist as you went to grab one of the cake pans you already prepped. “They’re thinking that Greg is your new boyfriend. It’s really throwing them off that you’re not out there dating openly anymore.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious. I’m sure his wife is going to love that,” Taylor laughed, not taking it seriously. Being in the industry since she was a teenager meant that she had to develop that tough skin. You loved that about her. You only wished that you had been able to do that yourself. “Oh, let’s take a picture before we pop these into the oven.”

Always the change of subject. But you gave in, as you always did, giving her a little nod. She pulled out her phone, turned the front camera on, and snapped a picture of her kissing your cheek while the full cake pans were waiting on the counter. You were grinning, you couldn’t help it. Every time that this wonderful, beautiful woman gave you attention, you were fawning for it. You couldn’t wait to make her your wife. Just a little longer. Just getting the ring sized.

And then the pans went into the oven, and you settled back down on the couch, looking for something to watch while waiting for the timers. Taylor went straight to Law and Order. Of course. You even bobbed your head to the theme tune. Her favorite show in the whole world. She cuddled up to you, hand and head resting on your barrel-like chest. When she touched you like this, it was hard to feel insecure. And the way that she looked up at you whenever the screen went dark between scenes - still made you feel like blushing to this day.

Once the timer went off, cake out of the oven, it was the only part of this whole baking thing that you really enjoyed. Decorating. Tongue in cheek, going over the layers with the icing that you had managed to make look tie-dye with different colors. “What do you think, fruit maybe? Some whipped cream?” You looked over to see what she was doing, only to see that she was literally throwing sprinkles on top of the icing. Making a huge mess, but it was cute to see her looking so joyous.

“Whatever you want,” She’d say, bending low, turning the plate to see the other side of the cake, and then threw even more sprinkles. One thing could be said for her method - she was thorough. There was hardly an inch on it that was untouched. You looked back at your own which was looking plain in comparison, and started chopping up some fruit to put on the top. At least give some semblance of it being healthy. That way you wouldn’t feel as guilty when you went to the doctor next and explained what you’ve been eating. “I can’t wait to try yours,” Taylor said, sticking a finger in your spare icing and dabbed some of it on the tip of your nose with a giggle. Her eyes were lit up from the inside out. She looked happy. Truly happy. “Can we take another photo?”

“Can I at least get this off of my nose first?” You laughed. She shook her head no, and this time in the photo, she was licking it right off of you, the cakes on full display in front of you. Your face was scrunched up from the attention on your nose, which made her laugh when she saw it.

“This is really cute. I might even post it,” She teased, tongue in cheek.

“Doubtful,” You chuckled, and grabbed a knife to make the first cuts.

“No, really,” She said, leaning against the counter, looking at the picture on her phone. “We’ve been together five years now and I haven’t really been able to tell anyone but our close friends and family.”

“Does anyone else matter?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Everyone that I care about knows about you. Why does the whole world?”

“I just - I don’t want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you when I’m not. I’d love to start posting pictures of us, like normal couples do.”

“We’re not a normal couple,” You pointed out. She was pouting again, but this time it didn’t look like she was trying to get what she wanted. She looked genuinely upset. You watched her for a minute as she dropped a couple more sprinkles on spots that she missed, trying to keep her hands busy. “Okay. Fine. You can post one tomorrow if you really want. But can we just relax tonight?”

“Okay,” She said, tucking a long blonde piece of hair behind her ear and smiled. She looked happy again. And that’s the way that you wanted to keep her forever.

Your phone was left in your office for most of the day while you were working on the usual day-to-day activities of the museum. You had forgotten your little agreement with Taylor the night before, having settled back in for a night of watching Olivia Benson on the television solving cases.

So when you finally had a chance to sit down and look at your phone, you were surprised to see that it was dead. You plugged it into your spare charger only for it to turn on and have hundreds - maybe even more notifications. You had to quickly go into your settings and try to turn them off so that you could have a breath. That was when you remembered, and immediately opened up instagram. 2.6 million follow requests. Jesus. At least your account was on private, who knows what they would have done if they had been able to go thorugh your photos and comment on them.

You’d leave those for another time to deal with. The next time that you were taking the subway and had nothing else better to do. But for now, you went to Taylor’s profile, where you were one of her millions of followers, never anything special until now. The two pictures from the night before, kissing and silly icing on your nose. ‘#bakingwithboyfriend.’

Over three million likes. Comments galore. And most of them were not of the nice and supportive kind.

‘Oh my god, is this some body positivity stunt?’ 'This is literally like three of her exes put together, weightwise. ‘ 'Must be really rich or have great dick’

There were other ones that were much more rude, but you weren’t going to go through them. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t do that to yourself. You put the phone back down, face down so that you wouldn’t have to look at it, or at the very least be a lot less tempted.

“Mr y/l/n,” Your assistant said, poking his head into the office. His face was looking flushed, so that already gave you an idea of what was going on. He already knew about your relationship, but that didn’t stop him from having fan-boy moments whenever Taylor came in. “She’s here to see you.”

“She can come in,” You said with a nod. He popped his head back out and the tall, lithe figure of Taylor, as dressed down as she could be, walked into the stuffy room. She smiled nervously and sat down across from you in the spot where donors or assistants usually would sit.

“You saw those comments, didn’t you?” Taylor said. You simply nodded. “I already talked to my publicist and we’re going to be taking comments off all of my posts. It isn’t right. Any of it.”

“Can’t say that it wasn’t expected though,” You admitted, leaning back in your chair. “I’m not Styles or Hiddleston.”

“That’s why I love you,” Taylor insisted. “You’re not any of those men, you’re you. They’ve got nothing, nothing at all, on you.”

“But I’m apparently three of them,” You laughed humorlessly. “Look, I knew what I was getting into by falling in love with you. I can accept it. Just sucks that the day had come after all.”

Taylor was quiet for a moment, but then she leaned forward over the desk, and took hold of your hands, giving them a squeeze with her well manicured fingers. “You’re everything to me, y/n. And I just want to show you that. I want to show the whole world that.”

“I know. I know,” You breathed out with a sigh. “Were any of the comments good?”

“Selena is going apeshit in the comments. Or at least she was while I was on the way here. Threatening to fight some of the people saying the worst things but I already deleted most of the really bad ones. I have my publicist on it. Some of them were really positive though. You’re really handsome. Some of them are threatening to come after you when we break up.”

“Ha, like that’s ever going to happen,” You said, shaking your head. “You’re it for me, baby.”

“You’re it for me too,” Taylor said, raising your hands up to kiss the tops of them. Your unmusical hands. “So - are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll get over it. I guess. More incentive to go to the gym maybe. Gotta show your millions of fans that you can still get a buff guy after all.”

“Don’t change yourself too much,” She’d say, smiling. “You’re perfect. Completely and utterly ... perfect.”

#Taylor Swift #Taylor Swift x reader #Taylor Swift oneshot #celebrity #celebrity oneshot #onreshot #one shot #request #x reader #taylors

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ktheist · 3 years

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01 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you.”

“not tonight,”

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 5k

➙ warnings. explicit content, reader coming onto seokjin who’s still hung up about how he watched over her and his little brother, taehyung, all these years, they’re six years apart, fingering, rimming.

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis. you’re a horny bunny yet kim seokjin always seems to manage to slide out of your grasps like a fox every time.

follow these two as they embark on a sexual adventure whilst keeping their relationship on the low from kim taehyung who may or may not just pull out the (your) best friend and (seokjin’s) brother card to call a time-off on them for good.

➙ note. if you’re used to reading my fics, this one is a little different. it focuses less on healing and more on getting it on w your best friend’s brother ykwim.

also, if you’re not okay with the age gap or the nature of their dynamic, keep it to yourself. block and don’t engage. much love x

“i watched you grow up!” seokjin shouts right in your face as he leans so far back against the counter, you thought his back would break.

“exactly,” a suggestive smirk curls on your lips as you lean your breasts against him, making sure the angle allows him to have an eyeful of your voluptuous slopes, “i’m grown now.”

but your words seem to have snapped him out of your wonderful spell, eyes going round with realization, “you’re nineteen!”

“and,” your finger teasingly travel up from his chest and a few inches above dip of his collarbone where the protrusion of his adam’s apple dips and stops at, “legal.”

“taehyung will kill me,” he reasons, large, secure hand wrapping around your wrist before he holds it away from his throat.

“only if he knows,” your free hand caresses the noticeable protrusion in his pants that’s pressing deliciously against your stomach.

seokjin’s mouth opens and closes twice but no words come out. and he’s not exactly making any moves to hold your teasing hand away from his boner.

“please, seokjin?” with a voice as sweet as angel’s and a tilt of head just in the right angle, you give him your best puppy eye, “i can’t take it anymore, after i saw how hung you were last month when i accidentally walked in on you in the bathroom... you’re all i think about - and you weren’t even hard back then!” you giggle when his hand finally captures yours when you try to pull down the zipper of his pants.

seokjin’s lush lips glisten from his tongue swiping out to wet them - you may not have spent as much time with him than with his brother but you know that whenever he does that little tongue thing and seem to stare off into nothing in particular - it’s because he’s heavily considering the possibility of delving into whatever that had his head occupied.

but before he can even say a word, the sound of keys jiggling from the other side of the door echoes into the space where you’d trapped him, in the middle of twirling around with a newly filled glass of water. you’d easily took the glass out of his hand, noting the way he arched a brow but silently watched as you placed it on the counter next to him before you boxed him between you and the counter.

“...that’s why i’m telling you! we need more cheese!” taehyung walks in with two bags of groceries, head craned towards his elder brother and middle child of the kims - namjoon who only shakes his head at the younger boy’s antics.

“we already bought three packets of cheese,” by the time namjoon’s pointing out the unbelievable bought, you’re already helping taehyung get the backs off his hands and placing them on the counter across where seokjin stands, front facing the counter, boner hidden underneath and hand gripping the poor glass until his knuckles turn white.

“oh my god, spicy carbonara ramen!” you squeal, finding out the signature light pink packet before setting that aside - you don’t trust anyone in this house to not steal your food unless you keep it safe in your room.

“you’re too obsessed with that thing,” taehyung asserts from next to you, sitting on one of the stools, eating out of the bag of cheese-flavored chips.

“uh-huh, maybe if seokjin or namjoon says that, i’d take it more seriously,” you don’t miss the way the eldest brother’s eyes sweeps up to you in an automatic response to his name.

to anyone else, your smile would look as if you’re sharing the same humor for teasing taehyung.

“uh, i’m like the boss of moderation,” taehyung waves a dismissive hand.

“the three packets of cheese in the fridge disagrees,” you twirl around, stealing the bag out of his grasp and leaning against the counter as you place one chip into your mouth.

you notice seokjin padding towards the hallway where the rooms are and somewhere at the end, lies the infamous bathroom you speak of that changed your life forever.

the kims and your family have known each other for years. having been next door neighbors, it’s almost inevitable that you’d be best friends with the same-age, truck toy-wielding boy. your parents didn’t need to worry when they didn’t find you in your room - they could just ring up the kims’ and ask if their daughter were over without telling them which, most of the time, was the case.

you didn’t get to hang out at school because you went to an all-girls school and taehyung and his brothers went to a co-ed school. seokjin was the kinder but still fun to hang out with brother but wasn’t around most times. he was already in high school when you were in elementary - had his own set of friends, joined robotics for the entirety of his high school career which made him immesurably busy. namjoon’s alright but he’s more quiet and also somehow managed to get you and taehyung to do your homeworks even though you initially came over to get away from your parents nagging you to do said homework.

you should’ve seen that diplomatic but persuasive nature of his would have landed him a job in one of the biggest firms in seoul. seokjin took on a much different route, choosing to work for samsung’s sister company that specialized in r&d-ing micro-everything that goes into the phone - which is also in seoul.

you and taehyung got into the same university but the different in majors yet again obstruct you from hanging out whenever you wanted to which was why you were almost always around in the weekend at the kim brothers’ shared apartment. that meant sacrificing your back, sleeping on the thinly layered futon taehyung bought for you on sale because he finally took pity on your sleeping on the couch and suffering from back pains every morning (they were exaggerated and taehyung knew but you guessed his guilty conscience got the best of him).

“what? so your girlfriend found out i’ve been crashing at your place and she wants you to choose between me and her?” you’re in front of the laptop (they don’t have a tv) in the living room, eating a bowl of ramen while taehyung has his cheesy burrito, the movie freezing in the screen before you turn to him with the most, you’d say, nasty frown.

“i mean - she just said a girl and a guy shouldn’t be sleeping together in a room regardless if one’s on the bed and the other’s on the floor,” taehyung’s avoiding your eyes and that’s how you know he’s actually debating following that snobbish little bitch’s instructions.

now, you don’t call just anyone a bitch but when you do, she’s on your ‘don’t fuck with’ list.

“do you see my girlfriend complaining about us sharing a room when me and her were dating?” you point out in a matter of factly.

“th-this and that are two different things!” taehyung slams the burrito onto the plate in his lap and slams said plate onto the coffee table.

you say slam but it’s really possibly just a tad bit aggressive than what taehyung’s like usually.

“how is it different?” the bowl of ramen clicks sharply when you place it on the coffee table too.

“i-it just is,” taehyung shrugs.

“i can’t believe you’re choosing some bimbo over me!” hand over your chest, you look at him dramatically, jaw hanging loose and eyes accusing.

“you’ve been sleeping in the living room before i got the futon. it’ll just be like one of those days, you know what i mean?” he shrugs - or at least attempts to look casual about it.

“look at this place! it’s not even big enough to fit the futon,” hands flailing, you gesture towards the minimal space on the floor.

“it’s fine, we can move the coffee table somewhere-” taehyung still tries but you’re already vexed-marching towards the hallway with your bowl of ramen without another word.

to just about anyone, it would’ve been obvious that you’ve had it with your best friend. but taehyung being taehyung is probably desensitized to your anger fits because this time, he does sound casual when he shouts, “what about the movie? can i continue watching without you?”

“do whatever you want!” you shout back before slamming the door behind you.

it takes you a moment to gather yourself before you notice the heat of a pair of eyes on you from all the way across the room. seokjin lies in bed with his laptop on his lap, pillows elevating his upper body. he’s staring at you with arched brows and cute naturally puckered lips.

“oh, don’t mind me. i just had a fight with taehyung and i can’t stand to see him right now,” you say, walking over to the vacant table and chair, “do you mind if i finish my ramen here?”

“be my guest,” before he even lifts his hand from the laptop to gesture towards said desk, you’re already plopping down with a “thanks!”

soon enough, the tapping sound of his keyboard fills the otherwise silent room. you don’t know how long time’s passed but you’ve already finished your ramen and scrolling through instagram on your phone when you see seokjin’s latest post.

he’s sitting in a cafe, dressed in a denim jacket over a white turtle neck with a cap casting shadow over his eyes. the angle he has head head lowered makes it all the more difficult to see his expression. only his soft kissable lips are visible.

so you double tap on the picture before going into gallery and scrolling through your own pic. there’s one with you standing in front of a brick wall, clad in all black, bringing out your colorful eye makeup in conjunction with pride month. the way you’re standing accentuates your curve, bringing attention to your hips after the beholder would be done with admiring the emotions in your eyes.

you have taehyung to thank for that picture but you’re not about to tag him for credit because you haven’t really forgave him. he’s on his phone since it dinged with a notification, probably from you liking his picture. but he hasn’t even looked at you once throughout the course of that and you posting a new picture.

relentless, open up snapchat, posing for a picture and making sure the frame captures the sight of your perked breasts as you stick the tip of your tongue out, smirking and biting on it ever so gently.

with a caption of ‘don’t have a bedroom to sleep in tonight, can i sleep in urs, ggukie-yah?’

it takes a second and a half for him to set his phone down... and go back to his laptop. the tapping sound continues without even the slightest hiccup to it - and he’s already opened your snap.

so with that, you stand up, pick up your bowl, making sure to stand in a way that makes your hips more curved and breasts more defined, “well, i guess i need to get out of here since taehyung’s jealous ass girlfriend doesn’t want me sleeping in his room.”

“hm?” his brows raises at that, “you’re leaving? but it’s night time.”

your dorm is at least half an hour away and it’s too expensive by grab - you usually go back on monday with taehyung since he has a car. but since you’re not on speaking terms, both you and seokjin know that even if the youngest brother offers to drive you back - you’d straight out refuse him. would probably even say something along the lines of your friendship being over and that he has no obligations to ensure you return safely. all of it’s gotta be dramatic though. maybe add in crocodile tears.

“i’d probably stay over at a friend’s at least he’ll lend me his bed to sleep in, unlike your woman-choosing brother.” when your hand is on the handle, seokjin stops you.

“this friend... is it ‘gukkie-yah’?” and there goes the fish biting the bait.

“how did you know?” you’d like to think your tilted head and confused, drawn together eyebrows are convincing enough.

“you mistook me for him... i got your snap which was probably meant for him,” he waves his darkened phone screen in the air.

“oh my god, you did?” hand over your mouth, you gasp, “i’m so sorry, that was embarrassing.”

“it’s chill,” he shrugs.

“anyways, i’ll text him on my way there. he usually has no qualms lending a helping hand to a friend in need,” and with that, you twist the doorknob.

“are you guys... close?” the question hits the air with a different kind of tone.

“kinda,” you say, face struggling to stay neutral when you see the way his eyes glint with a dangerous gleam, “we were fwb’s in freshman year before i started dating yoona... might continue where we left off.”

“cool,” is all he says before he goes back to his laptop, the incessant tapping sound echoing throughout the room. not even a glance is spared at you the whole time you slip out of the door and close it behind you.

taehyung’s eyes catch yours for the briefest second and before he can even say anything (he looks like he would’ve said hi like he didn’t just choose his girlfriend over you), you’re holding up a hand, “don’t talk to me. i’m still mad at you for choosing a girl over me.”

as soon as you’re done washing the dishes, you pad back towards the hallway, not even caring that taehyung’s not bothering to get up from his spot or pausing the movie to talk to you - guess you’re both in that stage where you know no matter how mad the other is, they’ll never be mad enough to break the friendship for forever.

either way, if your best friend already exiled you from his room and your crush doesn’t even care about you going over to another boy’s place, you might as well actually go over to said boy’s place.

at least jeongguk’s dick game is good.

“you’re really going?” seokjin’s sillhoutte leans against the door frame whilst you’re stuffing your clothes into a h&m’s paper bag.

“yeah, like, i’m done. i’m not gonna let that bimbo think she won,” you huff while in the middle of shoving your headphones on top of the neatly folded pile.

“you can sleep with me,” as soon as he said those words, you can see panic spread through his face as he quickly adds, “in my room- on the bed- i can sleep on the floor.”

“why can’t we sleep in the same bed?”

his eyes follow the sweater that you were in the middle of folding and discard, tossing it onto taehyung’s bed.

“you and taehyung don’t-” he starts but you’re convulsing in disgust.

“ew,” you manage to hold back your rising bile. so he stays quiet. clad in a creme colored sweater that makes him look cozy and warm, “why’d you think i never complained about sleeping on the couch or on the floor? it’s cause i don’t wanna catch his cooties!”

okay, so maybe that was a lie. taehyung may be cootie-less but you’ve never been the huggy-cuddly kind of best friends. for one, it’s because you both did believe that touching the opposite gender will actually render your whole body spotted with incurable diseases and before you know it, you both were allergic to physical contact with each other at least.

seokjin doesn’t seem to believe so, otherwise he wouldn’t be shaking his head and smiling to himself.

“does that mean we can sleep in the same bed?” you cross the short distance between the bed where you’re standing over and to the door, putting on your best puppy eye.

“sure, why not?” seokjin caves like he always does back then.

you squeal in delight, arms wrapping around his waist as you give him a big hug whilst he freezes under your touch but doesn’t tell you to go away, “eeep, thanks!”

it’s almost as if the incident at the kitchen this afternoon was just a dream.

taehyung has tried talking to you - you say talk because no word of apology slipped through his mouth - but you’re having none of it, hiding behind seokjin’s big bro influence, or so you’d like to call it, when he burst through his eldest brother’s door, demanding for his best friend, “i know she’s in here!”

“she is,” seokjin says simply and you’re about to shoot him accusatory looks before he chuckles, “but she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“____, come on, the squad’s all ready to play,” so that’s what he’s after.

over the years, you and taehyung have gathered your own like-minded people when it comes to video games. you don’t own a personal computer so your laptop suffers for it but the upside is that you get to bring it everywhere and it’s a pretty sturdy, gamer laptop.

“i’m playing here,” you say, laptop already set up on seokjin’s desk, headphones on.

“okay, whatever,” with a roll of his eyes, taehyung closes the door, leaving you and seokjin alone again.

and so it goes, you giving rapt attention to the game and the occasional comments spilling out of your lips when one of you make a dumb mistake or when one of you manage to kill off the enemy team’s avatar until you end up being killed yourself.

“what?” jeongguk - oh, he’s part of the squad - drags out as if he couldn’t belive his eyes.

“that’s cheating, bro,” taehyung’s voice rings in your earphone, “they literally ganged up on ___!”

“shit, shit, shit, shit, we’re gonna lose,” hoseok chants like a mantra.

“no, we’re not gonna lose,” you can just hear jimin rolling his eyes.

“bro, stop capping! we lost our fighter!” hoseok is at a point where he’s shrieking now.

“well, take however-long-it-takes-for-me-to-respawn, i guess,” you say in the middle of them arguing that they still have a hybrid fighter who is jeongguk.

either way, you’re already standing up, stretching your stayed-in-one-position-for-too-long limbs just in time for seokjin to walk in with a towelette draped over his head - you remember him using those cute little printed ones back then to dry his face after he brushed his teeth and cleansed his face. sure enough, he looks as fresh as the air that you’re about to take.

“you’re going to bed?” you ask the obvious.

“yeah, don’t worry, you don’t have to turn off the lights.”

“oh, don’t worry, i’m used to playing in the dark - my eyes are immune,” you wave a dismissive hand.

then he steals a glance at your laptop where your headphone lies next to it, emitting the lowest mumblings from your squad.

“you died?” he asserts - it’s obvious because otherwise, why would you even be talking to him.

“yeah, i think i’m gonna go wash my face now too.”

and with that, you’re out of the door, bursting in taehyung’s and shaking his shoulders to distract him as he reports the act of disturbance you’re comitting to the squad before you leave for the bathroom where your toiletries have made home in the cabinet along with taehyung’s belongings whilst namjoon and seokjin opts for placing theirs on either corners of the sink.

when you’re back, the room is already dark with your laptop being the only thing guiding your steps. there’s a lump underneath the blanket on the left side of the bed and another bright light casting sight on seokjin’s face as he scrolls through his phone.

he doesn’t bat an eye when you climb over, only looking up when it’s too late. thanks to his phone light, you can see how his eyes widen as he gazes at you with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

you just pecked him on his cheek.

“good night,” and with that, you bound over to your laptop, noting that you’ve already respawned and getting shit talked by your squad for your tardiness and almost being the cause that the whole team was going to lose.

but fifteen minutes in, you make a blunder that causes the whole team to lose, “alright, alright, i don’t think i’m in my zone right now. maybe i’ll hit the sack.”

a chorus of protests erupts through your headphone as jeongguk starts calling you out on uncanny ability to stay up all night playing.

“i’m hitting twenty!” you dramatically moan, “my body doesn’t work like it used to!”

the protests floods in one more time but by then, you’re already saying your goodbyes, making sure to give taehyung a warning not to come bursting into seokjin’s room because he’s already asleep and you don’t want to get kicked out for being the cause his little brother disrupted his sleep to find the best friend he’s housing after she got exiled.

“seokjin?” you whisper into the dark, climbing onto the bed for the second time of the night but this time, you’re on top of the human-sized lump.

when no answer comes from the man, you giggle, “please, i heard your phone shutting off when i was telling the boys i was going to bed- had one headphone over my ear and the other off.”

only then does the man underneath you move, his tone bearing a warning, “taehyung is right across the hallway.”

“shh,” you’re groping blindly, but lady luck deems that you find seokjin’s neck and then his plump lips with ease, “then we better be real quiet.”

unlike this morning, he isn’t as deflective. doesn’t tell you to stop even when you’re grinding directly over him. and boy, is he hung.

“you know,” he lets you pry the sheets off him, kicking it off his feet completely as you take a seat on his hardening self, breasts pressed against his chest as you slowly lay yourself on him, “i was hoping you’d fuck me when i was playing,” his heartbeat is deliciously erratic, “bend me over the desk and fuck me while i talk to my friends like nothing’s happening.”

seokjin’s teeth grazing over your thumb that you use to shush him comes off as a pleasant surprise. your only regret is not letting the laptop stay on so you’d at least be able to see what kind of expression he’d make.

“you might not be able to keep your moans in on your first time with me,” the unadulterated confidence reeking off him is enticing. so ever different from the kim seokjin who’d throw around dad jokes in the house whenever the four of you sit down to have dinner, “none of the ladies i slept with could.”

“is that a challenge?” you don’t pretend to hide your excited tone as you shoot up, eyes searching for a face but all you see is darkness.

but you feel him underneath. you smell his fresh minty breath. you hear his deep breaths. you feel him.

“touch me,” it doesn’t take long for you to find both of his hands after you took off your tanktop and bra, mainly because they’re caressing your ass. all you do is cup them over your exposed breasts.

his hands are larger than jeongguk’s. they swallow your voluptous breasts like they were quarter sized cups. but by god, does he know how to fondle a woman. he teases you, grazing his thumb over your erect nipples ever so gently that you crave for more. it’s no surprise that when his hand snakes behind you and pulls you down, you easily submit.

you’ve always wondered how his lips would feel on you - but you never thought the first thing they’d be on is your nipple. suckling and biting tenderly whilst his hand makes sure your other nipple is kept accompanied.

“ah!” a mixture of a moan and a shout escapes your lips when he bites a tad too hard. teasing. testing the waters.

“for a little minx, you’re quite sensitive,” his chuckle is as warm and endearing. too warm and endearing for someone who’s doing things he shouldn’t do to his precious little brother’s best friend.

“the boys dig it,” you remark, not knowing that it would spark a fire that burns so bright, it can only be put out by your silent suffering as he flips you two over.

“that’s right, you’ve only ever had boys,” it’s not a question and even if it is, you wouldn’t have the time to answer because you’re yelping in surprise at the coolness that licks your entrance, legs forced open by seokjin’s knee.

“and girls- ah!”

a lone, single fingerpad rims around your opening. and that’s all it takes for you to swallow thickly. breath coming out bated with anticipation. heartbeat racing.

“let’s see, if you don’t make a sound, i’ll fuck you while you play next time,” he slips the tip of his finger in as if testing you, hoping you’d moan right when he sets down his offer on the table. your bottom lip hurts from suddenly forcing your teeth on it but that’s a small price to pay especially when you haven’t heard of the second half of the deal, “if you do make a sound, we stop this whole thing - no more teasing, no more seemingly innocent little gestures.”

“alright, bet,” that might’ve come off a little prickly, but it’s all seokjin’s fault! if he wasn’t hung like a horse, you would’ve taken one speculative glance and left him to his own devices!

the sweet chuckle echoing off the walls is disarming. so much so, when he slips one digit into you, your back arches and you’re biting into the pillow to stop a moan from escaping.

“is that a moan i hear? since we just started, i’ll let you off the hook,” there it is again, that disarming trickle of hymn as he slips in and out of you, loosening you up for something much, much bigger.

“it was a cough, god damn it,” you barely manage to get that out before you’re shoving your curled index finger into your mouth when he starts inserting two fingers inside without so much as a warning.

“that’s cheating!” you whine but your legs spread wider anyway.

“all is fair in war and sex,” he comments, free hand pinning your hips down on the bed before he starts thrusting his digits faster, the squelching sound of your juices reverberating against the walls - you fear that even without your moans, the two other brothers that are walls apart would’ve heard and come knocking on seokjin’s door.

along with the fear comes the electrifying euphoric sensation that courses from the tip of your toes to your core and all over your body. you remember clawing at seokjin’s hand that’s pinning you down because of how unbearably rapturous he’s making you feel. you remember his hand not budging a single inch from your meek attempts. you remember trying to bring your legs together but something’s wedged in between them. you remember tears pricking your eyes as the background slowly fades - taehyung’s presence in the room across from where you are, the possibility of namjoon coming back and walking down the hallway right as your back arches upwards and toes curling inwards as sparks course through your veins.

when your senses come back, seokjin’s in the middle of complimenting your hardwork, if “not bad” is even plausibly a praise. his fingers are still inside you, unmoving, possibly waiting for you to come down from your pleasured state.

“did i pass?” you might have been a little too elated.

“surprisingly,” he affirms, that beautiful sound of chuckles spilling out of his mouth.

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you,” the last part, you say with a tinge of spoiled-ness.

“not tonight,” he says, before instructing you to lift up your head and slipping his shirt over it. you know it’s his because his heat still lingers when you slip your arms through the arm holes, cheeks hot as you forearm brushes against a nude chest as he pulls the sheets up over you.

but you being you, manage to ruin the moment with your, “why not?”

seokjin hums, that sound alone enough to make your heart shake with a sort of emotion that you can’t pinpoint, “like taehyung says - things are better in moderation.”

“he never said that,” you plainly dispute.

“well,” a kiss lands on the side of your head and an arm drapes over your stomach, just above the area where he used the same hand attached to that arm to pin you down as he fingered you, “let’s just say it’s my way of keeping you from going back to that ggukie-guy.”

you gasp into the dark, “are you jealous?!”

“i sure am,” he admits, a bit too willingly - as if it’s a known fact.

“oh,” you say, lost for words becase - “no one really admits that they are, not the people i’ve been with at least.”

“that’s cause you never been with a man... or woman. but i’d say being with a man - me - is better. i’ll show you what you’re missing out on,” he shushes you up with a “shhh” and a hand on your jaw to turn you towards him.

a pair of the softest lips meets yours and whatever retort you’re thinking up of is already out of the window.

note. this is different than what i’m used to writing so i’ll probably need some help!! i’m planning to update this from time to time with scenarios like ‘where he picks you up from your uni’ or ‘wherein he takes you shopping’ - idk djashdsakj send in suggestions that you think will fit oc and seokjin’s dynamic and i’ll incorporate them for the upcoming parts in their (nsfw) adventures to realizing their feelings for each other while also sneaking around behind taehyung’s back! it’s cool if you don’t though! but heads up, my smut writing skills aren’t as good so you’ll probably see more sexy times / implied smut most of the time lol

either way, hope yall enjoyed this!

#seokjin x reader #bts x reader #seokjin scenarios #bts smut #seokjin smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #seokjin fanfic #seokjin fic #seokjin x you #bts x you #bts scenario #seokjin scenario

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wonderlustlucas · 3 years

Text

home - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.” ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 2.7k ⇢ genre fluff, kind of angsty? ⇢ warnings insinuated that this takes place during covid & that reader has some case of depression/anxiety i literally wrote her as me so like ⇢ summary In which Hyunjin shows you just how special you are.—college!au ⇢ a/n happy birthday to my love, my comfort, my home

What am I doing here?

Unfortunately, there is no one else to blame but herself for being left without plans on this Friday night. Regretfully so, she instead finds herself alone on the upper level of the business building. Scratch that, the whole building, probably – she’s been here since four, and the few students that were once alongside her left hours ago. Initially here to work on an essay, she now occupies her time bouncing between YouTube, Twitch, and Crunchyroll, watching whatever she is feeling at the moment despite Monday’s deadline looming over her.

Sighing, she looks away from a boring page of YouTube recommendations, stretches her neck, and reaches for her hot chocolate. Well, not hot anymore, she realizes with a wince after taking a sip, struggling to swallow the now cold drink. Gaze flicking to the time on the corner of her laptop, she frowns. 9:43. She considers walking home once it hits ten, the unstirred silence of the building starting to prick up her spine like needles. Home, she thinks with an amused exhale from her nose. A too small, overheated double dorm room that technically is a single now that her roommate has gone online for the rest of the semester. Home.

She wonders, briefly, if anyone were to miss her if she were to go home home. If anyone would even notice, anyway.

She wouldn’t expect them to, honestly. It’s not as if she goes out of her way to hang out with anyone, usually opting to cozy up in her room and pretend she does not see the groupchat blowing up with plans to meet at the dining hall, a study session at the library, a trip to the mall. She loves her friends, really, but can rarely find it in herself to actually participate in said friend activities. Sure, there are some nights she actually leaves the confines of her room to join them, but to be quite frank, she’s glad they have learned to simply stop inviting her. Makes the whole looking for an excuse problem a lot easier.

Besides, who would want to go out on a night like this, anyway?

Just as she has flipped to page fifty-three of The Old Man and the Sea, she looks away in boredom, instead opting to gaze out the window. Focusing past her reflection on the tall glass pane, a warm feeling she can only describe as peace seems to settle over her, watching the snow fall like moonlit glitter across campus. The snowstorm had started light when she first arrived, soft enough she could manage with her hood down, dotting her with only miniature droplets of water. Now, though, the flakes are so large she can focus on one at a time as they fly past, covering the ground with a solid two or three inches at this point. In the distance, she can spot snowplows making their rounds to clear the pathways, the route to the business building already turned slushy blue as salt melts the continuous snow.

She sighs, eyes wide like a child as she represses the urge to go outside and grab a handful of it, maybe fall onto one of the lawns and make a snow angel, stick her tongue out and try to catch one of the large flakes. Tomorrow, maybe, she thinks, looking at her grey sweatpants and deciding walking back with soaked pants in this weather would not be the best idea.

So late into March, she cannot help but chuckle at the number of students complaining about the snow and cold temperature on SnapChat, even her friends having to change their plans. She, on the other hand, finds such last chance snowstorm beautiful; sure, she was ready for spring and eventually a break from school, but watching the snow dancing under the streetlights, choreographed by the gentle wind, she thinks it’s something to hold on to, keep her grounded to reality that albeit the stress and monotony of college, such moments like these still exist.

She jumps at the sound of the front entrance slamming closed.

Who the hell? She frowns, annoyed at whoever decided now was a good time to come inside, subsequently ruining her little moment of serenity. Turning red at the thought of some raunchy couple thinking to spice things up in the presumably empty building, she considers packing her bag and heading out. But no matter which exit, they would still see her, and that would be painstakingly awkward. Maybe she could escape into one of the smaller reservation rooms, or at least make some exaggerated noise so they at least know they’re not alone.

Could just be a janitor, or maybe someone else deciding to shelter somewhere other than their dorm to buckle down and do some work, she thinks. No matter who it is and what their intentions are, her leg is already bouncing a mile a minute having gotten used to having the space to herself.

So caught up on how or when she should take her leave, she does not hear the footsteps coming up the stairs until they’re right behind her. Tensing up, she watches in the window’s reflection as the business building’s second occupant steps up onto the platform and… heads towards her. Panic setting in, she tries to decipher who it is through the blurry reflection but to no avail, heart racing at the thought of a stranger approaching her, one of her friends finding her here on a Friday night, a janitor going to ask her to leave.

She turns her head as soon as they stop beside her.

“Hyunjin?” She blurts, taken aback. This was the last person she expected to be here. Somewhat relieved but heart still beating in her throat, she blinks up at the tall boy to make sure it’s really him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he returns, pulling his mask down below his chin and smiling cheekily at her. “I went to go pick up my food and saw you in the window,” Hyunjin explains, tugging the beanie off his head and shaking his hair out, showering her in the tiny droplets. Wrinkling her nose, she takes notice of the Chipotle bag in his hand and how soaked his coat is.

“Here,” she offers, reaching for the bag. Passing it to her with a grateful smile, Hyunjin unzips his coat and sets it over a chair beside her alongside his beanie, wipes the melted snow and sweat from his eyes, and tries to fix his now mused bangs. “So, what are you doing here?” He asks while doing this, regarding her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Work,” she sighs. Then, glancing to the screen of her laptop and realizing it’s still the home page of YouTube, she grimaces. “Trying to do work. Not really. Just watching the snow.”

“It’s a lot prettier when you’re inside,” Hyunjin comments, following her gaze to watch the frenzy of snow before taking the bag from her and offering a quiet thanks. “But I meant more why are you here?”

She isn’t quite sure what her relationship with Hyunjin is. Having been one of the many acquaintances she barely made at freshman orientation, he did not seem like the kind of person she expected to still be in her life. She wouldn’t exactly say they were close, but she considers Hyunjin a friend, she thinks. After a good month or two forgetting he existed, she randomly bumped into him at the dining hall, recognizing that unfairly attractive face of his in line for chicken nuggets and immediately falling into conversation. Turns out, he was mutual friends with her lab partner, Kim Seungmin.

She does not see Hyunjin as much as she wishes she did. She had not shared any classes with him in the past three years, and even if her friend group and his overlapped in the slightest, it was not always a given that they both would be able to hang out as much as their closer friends do. Still, there always seems to be a random occasion, such as now, where they bump into one another. Each time is a pleasant surprise, of course, and not just because of his pretty face and wide shoulders, but because he has always seemed to care for her in a way no one else does, and that in itself is enough to have her heart racing every time he comes close.

Not that she has a crush on him or anything, but it definitely is hard trying not to fall in love every time he even so much as smiles at her.

Face heating up in embarrassment at his question, she avoids looking him in the eyes and randomly minimizes the Chrome tab on her laptop. “You know,” she drones on, “just taking it easy for the night.”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, opening the lid of his burrito bowl and stabbing a fork into the layers. Even her mouth waters. “I feel like I never see you,” he contemplates, finally taking a bite. His words surprise her. “Uh, yeah,” she coughs, forcing herself to look away before she gets too enraptured over how beautiful he looks even after trekking through a snowstorm, long hair messy but falling over his face in a way that has her fingers twitching to tuck away. “I usually don’t go out with everyone. Not my scene.”

“Aw,” he coos, “I get that. Sometimes I’m the same way, I just want to relax on the weekends after working so much all week.”

Thank you!, she almost shouts, but bites her tongue. She agrees, but even she does not know why she can’t find it in herself to go out and party with everyone else. She’s just lazy, to put it simply. Nevertheless, his words put her at ease, no longer worried that he might think she’s a loser for staying in every weekend.

“Exactly,” she agrees, “parties are fun, sometimes. But I just prefer laying low. I don’t think my friends like that, though.”

Gaze finding his, her heart does somersaults at the smile he offers. “Nah,” Hyunjin says, confident, “no one thinks that. Everyone has their way of having fun. Honestly, all I’ve ever heard is your friends complaining how they miss you and that you would make going out more fun since you’re so funny.”

“Which is true, by the way,” he adds.

She feels as if she is going to combust. “Oh,” she croaks, throat dry, “um, thank you. That’s sweet of them. And you. I guess I didn’t consider that they miss me when they go out.”

Hyunjin scoffs, raising a brow but finishes chewing before speaking again. “Are you nuts? You’re so fun to be around, of course they’re going to miss you.”

“Okay, stop that,” she laughs, burning from the inside out at his compliments. “Just being honest,” he laughs, opening the bag of his tortilla chips. “Want any?”

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” she huffs out an airy laugh, rolling her chair closer to his. Miscalculating that he was going to move, too, she quite literally feels her blood pressure skyrocket as her knees bump into his. And he doesn’t move. “Here,” moving the bag closer to the edge of the table, Hyunjin glances at her for only a split second before focusing on his bowl again.

Reaching into the bag, she feels emboldened not only by his previous flattery, but his proximity as well, and scrambles to continue the conversation. “Why are you eating Chipotle so late?”

“Pre-birthday celebration. Also, DoorDash took forever,” Hyunjin laughs.

“When’s your birthday?” She asks, munching on a chip.

“In,” he pauses, tapping his phone, “two hours.”

Oh. “What?” She gasps, blinking at him. “What? Why aren’t you out? It’s your birthday weekend and you’re here eating Chipotle?”

“Woah, okay Miss I-Prefer-Laying-Low. Maybe I wanted to chill tonight, since tomorrow I’m going out? Hm?” Hyunjin chuckles at her scowl, pursing his lips. “Okay, yeah, I guess but—”

“No but’s,” he interrupts, the amused glint in his eyes disappearing, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters, right? I’m lucky I saw you in the window.”

“I guess,” she mutters, realizing her heart has not stopped its staccato frenzy since moving closer, “you scared me, by the way. I’ve been here alone for hours and suddenly someone is walking up to me, I think I shit my pants.”

Hyunjin bellows out a laugh, and such an airy sound momentarily leaves her awestruck. Oh, god, she’s in deep. It’s over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggles, battling her hand to reach for a chip. Even the touch of his long fingers against hers has the entire butterfly population roaring to life in her gut. “Look, I made up for it by gifting you chips.”

“True,” she hums, licking residue salt off her fingers before leaning back in her chair to catch a breather. Too much physical contact and emotion for one night.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Hyunjin asks, taking her by surprise. Again. She thinks she is going to faint if she isn’t able to wrap herself around him within the next fifteen seconds.

“Um,” she starts, then remembers her previous idea of going home after this week was over. “I was probably going to go home next Friday.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin says, seemingly disappointed. “Why?”

She grits her teeth. Why? Really? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, not even convinced herself, “I’m bored and lonely here. I love everyone here but I miss my friends at home. I might as well be slightly less bored at home.” Hyunjin frowns.

“Okay, what about this,” he starts, leaning close enough she can count his individual eyelashes and nearly smell the flavor of his lip balm, “you go out with us tomorrow night and if you have fun, you hang out with us next weekend, too. Oh, and whenever you want some company, you text me and we’ll come here or somewhere else and do homework together or just chill. How does that sound?”

All she can do is blink at him. Her initial thought is how dare he try negotiating whether I go home or not? But, there it is, again, she realizes. That extra step he takes, the genuine care he shows her, acting like her well-being is his responsibility. “You don’t have to do that, Hyunjin. I don’t want to bother you every time I feel lonely. I’ll be fine.”

“Christ, you’re dense,” rolling his eyes, Hyunjin sets his fork down, wipes his hands on his thighs, and suddenly leans in to hold her face with both hands, “I wouldn’t offer to sit around and do homework with you when you’re in need of a friend if I didn’t want to.”

Her heart is racing so fast she fears he may be able to hear the thud of it against her chest. What he’s saying is starting to sound a lot more than some friend-to-friend comfort, and it’s making her head hurt, especially with his thumbs ever so slightly swiping against her cheeks. At her silence, he starts again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice dropping an octave, “don’t go home. This is your home, too, you just don’t want it to be.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she thinks she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. There is nothing to say. Hyunjin is right, he has read her like an open book, and he’s here to offer his shoulder to lean on. “Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go out with everyone tomorrow. And I’ll try and stay here for the rest of the semester.”

“That’s my girl,” Hyunjin smiles, leaning closer and pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips. At first, it takes her by surprise. But then it all starts to make sense. The snow makes sense. Her essay makes sense. Being here makes sense. Hyunjin makes sense. His birthday makes sense. She makes sense.

Outside the glass windows, the wind starts to howl, blowing the composed ballet of snow to its final act, covering the pathways and the streetlights and the roof of the business building in perfect white glitter. Inside these windows, she realizes they would notice if she were to go home.

Why would she ever do that when her second home is right here in front of her?

297 notes · View notes

junicai · 3 years

Text

Aria at Award Shows

Iconic Outfits

2020 AAAs NCT Daesang Award

Peoples’ jaws dropped when they saw Aria sidle up alongside the other 23 boys, strolling out like she owned the building. The heels gave her enough height to be nearly level with Renjun - something she wouldn’t let the boy forget - her hair dyed back to a natural black like it had been during NCT2020 promotions. It was rare that Aria didn’t look slightly apprehensive about stepping out onto a red carpet, but the confidence was rolling off her in waves. As she walked, the slit in the dress seemed to keep on going, trailing up her leg and changing the otherwise classy dress into something that left the innocent bystanders in the first row suffering from a high chance of a heart attack.

tldr; Aria’s hot and people are Noticing.

2019 Show Champion NCT 127 ‘Superhuman’

NCT’s second win with Superhuman left a huge divide in nctzens; a rift between those who were ot21 stans and ot22 stans (sans and plus Aria). Up until then, there had been rumors around whether Aria was to leave NCT now that there was a new girl group supposedly debuting under SM. Their management team had refrained from publishing a response - but that only lead fans to create their own speculations and theories. This outfit played perfectly into the growing rumor; with the large circular pendant on Aria’s bracelet having two chrysanthemums etched into the gold. The flower symbolized happy endings and goodbyes, with nctzens taking this as the proof that Aria was truly set to leave NCT in the coming months.

tldr; nctzens need to learn how to Chill.

2017 M! Countdown NCT 127 ‘Cherry Bomb’

Unfortunately, this era was the cause of a lot of strife for Arizens; the stylists either hit it out of the park and Aria was drop dead stunning - or she ended up looking a little like a bratz doll a toddler had gotten their hands on. Unfortunately for Aria, their first win with ‘Cherry Bomb’ left pictures of her in a plastic, obviously dyed blue skirt and cherry pink hair to match immortalized on the internet forever.

tldr; arizens hoped that her stylist got fired after this era. the plastic skirt wasn't the worst thing they'd done.

Other Iconic Outfits

Seating Arrangements

Depending on the venue, idols are normally sat on straight rows of chairs and benches, or at round tables. Given the choice, Aria would always prefer to sit at one of the tables, as not only does it give her a chance to not have to worry about her legs being seen while being covered by the tablecloth - if there is one - but it lets her keep everyone sitting near her in her direct line of vision.

However, should she have to sit in one of the main rows, she’ll normally end up squished beside one of three boys - Donghyuck, Yuta and/or Renjun. Should one of those three be unaviliable, Doyoung and Jeno are usually quick enough to fill in the empty space.

Donghyuck would always be her first choice, was it not for the boy’s incessant energy that sometimes left her nerves fried before their performance. Most days she adored the company - adored him and his efforts to get her mind off their impending songs with various games and ways to pass the time (they're not allowed play footsie anymore though, because Aria stomped on his foot with her heel once) - but other days she just needed someone to hold her hand and say nothing. That’s where Yuta and Renjun come in.

As Aria’s found out over the years, for all the man’s tactile affection and loud displays of love, Yuta’s highly perceptive to when she needs some silent comfort. Now, she’s not sure if he’s that perceptive to everyone or just her - but either way she’s not complaining.

With Dream, Renjun is the one she’ll sit with and doodle on the white napkins that are laid out on the table for lord knows what reason. After being bored out of their minds for their first few award shows, Renjun had snuck two black ballpoint pens into the venue in the inside of his red suit jacket. The drawings had become somewhat a tradition, and the best doodle normally is uploaded to bubble shortly after the show has ended.

All in all, Aria’s normally quite content to sit in the centre of the large group of boys - split over several rows or tables, boisterous and bubbly with energy. The only real downside to it all is the lack of blankets available to protect her modesty once she is seated.

Most venues split the idols fairly evenly between the boy and girl groups - with blankets being allocated especially for the seating of girl groups. This meant, unfortunately, that when NCT files into their seats and sits down, there is rarely something in the close vicinity that Aria can borrow quickly without causing a fuss.

Sometimes she gets lucky - other female idols might spot her and are normally kind enough to hand over one of their cushions or blankets, content to share with their neighboring member. Occasionally though, Aria has no such luck and is left to either pull down her dress multiple times per minute to cover the prickly feeling over the tops of her legs when she felt like eyes were boring into her, or wait for some kind of break so she could go find a spare covering.

Aria supposed after the third time something like that had happened, her members were getting fed up with it all.

At first it was their plan B: should some type of cover-up not be available in their immediate vicinity, Johnny or Lucas or Jaehyun - once, even Dejun - or another member who ran hot near-constantly would shrug off their jacket and fold it over Aria’s legs, pulling it up and then lifting her hands to place them in her lap to hold their jacket there.

Eventually it became their plan A however, now commonplace for Aria to go looking for the member who was wearing multiple layers and who wouldn’t suffer from the loss of their outermost one.

Iconic Moments

Twitter: [180821] and people rly say nct doesn’t care abt aria :/

Red carpets were always something to dread, in Aria’s eyes.

The cameras flashing bright enough to blind you, and the knowledge that if she stumbled or - god forbid - fell it would be immortalized forever on Koreaboo’s newest blog post.

However the worst bit, was always the footwear. High, stiletto heels that left her teetering around on nothing more than her tippy-toes, precariously balanced as she made her way up and down stairs, over carpet and tiled flooring alike.

Aria was used to wearing heels, but the one’s she performed in were usually fitted with various types of ankle support and a thick heel to give her balance. Wobbling around on a heel the same width of a piece of uncooked spaghetti was not something she’d willingly choose.

Not to mention the blisters.

Designer shoes were gifted to the company on a regular basis - shipped over just in time for Aria to slip into the pair before stepping out of the van into the sea of bright flashes and reporters. It always seemed like designers were too pre-occupied with making a shoe look good rather than making them actually wearable.

The first time Aria had been gifted a set of heels - early 2018 - she made the mistake of assuming that they would be in similar comfort as her performance heels.

Two hours later and with a wad of bloody tissue stuffed into the back of them, Aria had learnt her lesson.

From then on, it was commonplace for Aria to bandage her heels before she went out to shows - not quite as heavily as she normally would for a performance, but just enough to stop the skin splitting under the constant abrasion.

She’d only been caught out badly once - but it was all caught on camera by a fan sitting close by, and spread over twitter like wildfire.

Aria had limped her way back over to where NCT 127 was sitting, lips pressed together in a tight line and hands clenched in the tight material of the leather trousers she had been given to wear. The trousers stopped a few inches above her ankles, so the red mess of her heels was clearly visible as she hobbled over and sat down with a thud onto the seat.

Donghyuck placed a hand on Aria’s shoulder, leaning in so that he could see her face behind the curtain of hair that she had let fall to hide her tear-filled eyes from him.

“Riri?” Donghyuck whispered to her, thumb beginning to rub soothing circles into her arm. “Hey, Riri? What’s going on?”

Aria only shook her head, gesturing to the pair of torturous heels on her feet.

Donghyuck inhaled sharply when he saw the blood trailing up her leg and soaking into the back of the heel. He turned to his side to elbow Doyoung, grabbing his attention.

“Hyung. Hyung.” He hissed, Doyoung turning around with an over-exaggerated sigh.

“No, Hyuck, I told you I’m not going to-” Doyoung cut himself off upon seeing Aria’s pain-filled face. “Aria? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Donghyuck slid off his seat onto the ground despite Aria’s protests that the floor wasn’t clean, get up, and explained what had happened to his hyung. Sliding her heel off as slowly as he could to not pull at the skin more, he muttered apologizes to Aria as she inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling it on a small, wet cry.

“Hyung, did you bring anything for Taeyong-hyung’s shoulder that we could use?”

“Yeah, yeah I did give me two seconds.” Doyoung bent into the small bag that he had tucked underneath the seat, pulling out a length of bandage that was stowed away in the outermost pocket.

Donghyuck took it from Doyoung’s hands with a small ‘thank you’, moving to kneel back down in front of Aria and taking her ankle back into his lap.

“Hyuck, no I got it, c’mon the ground isn’t clean-”

He silenced her with a look. Aria settled back into her chair - defeated - and Donghyuck wrapped the bandage around her heel as quickly but as painlessly as he could manage.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [190323] HSHS ARIA IS A CARAT WE’VE WON LADIES N GENTS

Maybe Aria should have been paying more attention to the camera that was slowly panning around the idols, projecting their faces up onto a large screen beside the stage, but she was too engrossed in the current group’s performance.

“그렇다고 네 맘이 작다는 게 아냐,” Swaying gently side to side and mouthing along to the lyrics, Aria was happy enough to smile along to the song and move her hands in a small mimickery of the choreography she’d taught herself off the group’s dance practice video she’d watched only a few dozen times.

It wasn’t until Mark poked her in the side that Aria broke out from her own little bubble, twisting her head to look back at him and then up at the screen when he pointed.

There, her face, staring back at her from the big screen was enough to make her mouth drop open a little bit and her eyes widen. She clapped a hand to her mouth before turning to hide her face in Jaehyun’s shoulder, shaking with embarassed laughter.

Aria could hear Taeyong’s teasing laugh in return, before a hand came and ruffled the hair on top of her head, that she swatted away.

--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Twitter: [170911] lmao same aria

Aria knew she was there.

She knew that she was sitting right there and that she was in one of those really skimpy dresses stylists loved to put girls in because apparently female idols don’t deserve modesty and Aria knew that she had a blanket for once and she should share it but oh my god.

It was Chungha.

Aria was going to pass out.

Taking side glances every few seconds only confirmed the fact that Chungha was pulling down her dress to cover as much of her legs as possible, tucking her ankles together and underneath the seat.

Ok.

Ok, she could do this.

Aria took a steeling breath, before shifting on her seat to face Chungha on more of a diagonal. She lifted her hand before lowering it slighly, looking away.

Should she- no ok she’s doing this.

Without giving herself time to talk herself out of it, Aria moved to rest her hand on Chungha’s arm. The older woman jerked slightly - startled - and Aria was quick to apologize.

There was no audio in the video uploaded - the original poster having been too far away to capture much - but the two women talked for a moment before Chungha pointed to the blanket and then herself.

Aria nodded emphatically, and Chungha’s face crumpled into something fond, bowing her head in thanks before they unfolded the blanket another time and Chungha scooted an inch closer to Aria so they’d both fit.

Chungha sent Aria another grateful smile before refocusing on the performances - apparently not noticing, or perhaps choosing not to comment on the rather obvious red tinge that the younger idol’s cheeks had taken on.

193 notes · View notes

flirtyhyuck · 3 years

Text

Floor 1 - Incubus Haechan

; haechan x gender neutral reader

; incubus haechan, slight religious talk, suggestive, dubcon, demonic aphrodisiac

; 2.4k wc

; The entire room is painted black. The only thing you can see is your friend’s phone screen and the flickering orange light illuminating the elevator itself. It’s old fashion; dark-stain wood plank walls with a vintage scissor gate. The metal looks rusty and you’re afraid to touch it. You step into the small box alone, waving off your friend and nervously reading the attraction brochure for the fifteenth time. It’s creepily vague with way too bold of a font and too many colours.

Welcome to Elevator 127!

Come make an appearance at a spooky Halloween attraction unlike any haunted house you’ve ever seen. Pick a floor for an eerie hour with any of our paranormal members. Free of charge too! Pass the elevator doors and enter their realm far from any experience you’ve ever had.

Select your floor...

The very first listing in the brochure is for an incubus named Haechan; 606 years old, male (in human form), and Korean. There’s nothing but his information printed with what looks like a stamp of a sigil; two circles, one big and small, with three crosses meeting at their ends in the middle , laid 90 degrees separate from one another, with a flicked tail coming from the center. Lilith spells itself out between the edges of the circles in all capitals.

You scan the rest of the options but end up back at Haechan’s section. It’s best to go in order, he’s only a floor up and all the rest are placed in a drastic range from one another. You fold up the brochure and shove it into your back pocket, crumpling up the paper slightly, and scan the button selection for his floor. The pad is a painted rectangle with ten black, circular buttons, arranged in five rows with his placed alone at the very top. It’s damp when you press and you go to check your hands in the case it was your own sweat, grimacing when you find that there’s now a clear sheen on your right pointer.

With a final close of the door, you wipe your finger onto the thin brochure paper that peeks out and stand patiently as the elevator leisurely makes its way up. The floors were either built far apart or this old lift was taking its time on the way there. You check your phone for the time, feeling as if five minutes had already passed just for a single floor, and raise a brow when the device doesn’t turn on. How cliche, you think.

The elevator gently comes to a stop, so naturally that you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the slight squeak that sounds when it halts. You press the door button and watch it squeak open, revealing a dim, red room with candles placed all over its wooden black furniture.

A second later, the view is obstructed by a large puff of smoke, a black cloud appearing out of nowhere to drift away in skinny tendrils from the body standing in the middle of it. You guess that this is Haechan. He’s a younger-looking man, an innocent face with a teasing smile and soft but prominent jawline. He’s got caramel skin with the reddest of lips, colour resembling the dark shade of horns that peek through his curled, light brown hair. He’s dressed in all black, head to toe varying from sheer mesh to worn leather in the dark shade.

“Hi,” he giggles as an introduction, a glittering in his black eyes and pearly whites. The man tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes opening even wider with wonder, and he eyes you up and down before carrying on, “I’m Haechan, demon name is Donghyuck.”

You stand in shock, still taking in the sudden appearance of the incubus and his simple introduction. The first thing you do is give him your own name in a small mumble, biting your lip nervously. His eyes focus on the action with fervor, gaze so strong you swear you can feel a slight burn begin to bubble your skin on the exact spot.

He chuckles when you turn away, blinking in a lethargic manner before taking a step back and directing you into his room with a wave of two fingers. You walk in with a deep breath and the moment your body enters the room, the gate slams shut with a crash and plunges down so fast you can hear gusts of air follow behind it. How lucky that you didn’t have to experience that speed.

The first thing you notice is how warm it is here compared to the elevator, air stuffy, and dense. Your cheeks take in the warmth as you steady for proper breathing, adjusting to the thicker air as you take in the room properly. There’s a king-sized bed against the center of the left wall, covered in red satin and black lace lined sheets. With a proper inspection, the room is actually furnished like any other, only standing out due to its intimate and monotone colour palette. Besides the giant sigil that’s painted onto the center of the floor, identical to the brochure.

“Thanks for choosing my floor, doll. I was getting bored,” he smiles, still not moving an inch. His posture is like that of a statue, the only sense of life is the smile on his lips. With his hands crossed in front of his hips, he continues speaking with a charming lilt in a honey-coated voice, “the only rule on my floor is absolutely no religious or silver jewellery. Go put them in the box behind you.”

You spin around and make your way to the small glass box, open and waiting, before discarding any accessories that seem to be against his rule. The moment your necklace is off your skin and onto the box, you feel Haechan’s body stood a centimetre from your own. Leaning over your shoulder, he watches you drop the last of your rings into the box before whispering, “can I touch you?”

You barely get halfway through a nod before Haechan eagerly wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you against his own body. His skin is searing hot, only slightly hidden by the heat absorption of his clothing. The part that stands out the most is his bare fingers, ungloved, and laid on your sides. There’s a gradual sweltering feeling that forms like a branding print and your body begins to panic at the feeling, needing to run from the danger of burns this very moment. Except you lean into it, the slight numbing feeling worryingly satisfying the more you hold out. Sustaining the touch makes it more intense, more terrifying, yet when his hand drifts up to clutch at a different spot, the fresh searing feel has shivers flying down your spine.

“Close your eyes, doll,” he mutters into your nape. Your eyelids shut without any added thought of his order, lips parting in a slight gasp at the touch of his breath against your exposed skin. It’s overwhelming and you feel your brain go fuzzy, zeroing in on that singular spot and the throb that comes with every exhale .

His hand finds your jaw next, the touch burning just as much as the last, and with a firm hold, Haechan physically gets you to look over your shoulder. With a drowsy blink, you open your eyes to the dizzying sight of his face leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss. Your mind blanks immediately; senses working in overdrive so that all you can make out is static, you’ve forgotten how to breathe and there’s no way to feel if you’re kissing Haechan back properly.

The demon pulls back with a lewd pop, licking away the spit all over his lips with a swipe of his forked tongue before murmuring for you to open your eyes again. “You can relax now, baby.”

The action of blinking open is painfully difficult, eyelids insanely sluggish and head so heavy that even the low luminescence of candle-light is enough to have you wince. You open your mouth to speak but can only manage a smile, tongue lazy after the haze. He doesn’t look nearly as worn out as you, the exact opposite actually. His breathing is slow and controlled, expression alert and attuned to each and every one of your actions.

“I’ll let you relax,” he huffs with a simper, “I’ll have to calm down on how much I take, you’re more sensitive than I thought.” As if to check that truth, Haechan runs his pointer down your neck and follows the movement to the middle of your chest with a light scratch, digging into the midway point of your pelvis before letting go with an amused hum. You visibly shudder.

He pulls away and wanders to the other side of the room. The distance clears your head instantly, muscles gaining their strength back from the jello state they were in just a moment ago. Regaining the ability to breathe feels like a blocked nose finally clearing up after a week long fever and you take deep, desperate inhales, savouring the sensation of your lungs filling properly. Sitting up, you watch Haechan walk over to the glass box and examine the contents through the clear material curiously.

You startle realising you were no longer near the glass box, suddenly you were on a completely different side of the room watching it from a distance away. “What the fuck,” you whisper, gulping down the confusion and panting in fear. Your hands fly up and you look between them and the box so quickly your neck might snap if you do another two. The sleeves of your shirt fall down your forearm to reveal your skin, allowing access to cooling. You relish in the feeling of crisp air on your skin, exceptionally torrid, so much so you swear that you can feel the layer sizzling against one another.

“Don’t worry,” Haechan smirks, licking across his perfectly straight teeth with a calm gaze that only serves to panic you more. “I moved you to the bed while we were kissing.” There’s no shame in his voice, only a hint of pride when recalling the actions, but he’s so infuriatingly indifferent that you feel a whine crawl up your throat, feeling ignored.

Right, you think, inhaling once and twice to ground yourself after that blanking bliss. The satin is damp under your hands and it holds onto your legs surprisingly well, latching onto the sweat that has formed between before and now. “What happened to me?” you ask, breathless.

He stands up from where he was leaning over the box, strolling over the small distance with a slight smirk and watchful eyes. “You get weak when we touch,” he explains with a drag of his words, “having your essence isn’t the most powerful feeling after all.”

“My essence?” The saliva in your mouth is grossly thick, vicious, and somewhat salty. You’re dehydrated. There’s a bottle of water on the bedside table and you gulp half of it down in one go, forgoing the need to breathe in exchange for the cool liquid. The preparation is oddly excessive but you appreciate it nonetheless, necking the second half after less than ten seconds of being out of breath.

He watches you drink with a clouded gaze. The glaze in his eyes have disappeared, black irises dulling in emotion before expanding beyond their circumference, colouring part of his whites. You stare as they change and take a deep breath to control the fearful confusion of the sight. The night was strange enough, anymore questioning and your head would explode. Your lips, swollen and wet with more than just his spit is a delightful sight and Haechan feels himself grow impatient. “Are you ready to continue?” he hurries, trying his best to hide the hunger in his chest.

Continue with what, you don’t know, but there was absolutely no way you could take sitting around and doing nothing under his intense stare for any longer. You nod and he’s in front of you in half a second, on his knees and leaning forward with his hands on your thighs for support. “Okay,” he drawls, setting fire to your skin as he examines every line of your features, “I’m going to touch you. Are you okay with that?”

With the pressure of his hands on your body yet again, you feel your chest constrict once more before panting out a yes. He notices the effect and removes his hands, asking a second time to receive the same response, this time from a clear head. With your cue to go, Haechan’s pushing himself against you with haste and dives in to press your lips together. You chase after him when he pulls away, desperate and empty without his kiss.

“I could smell you the moment you got into the elevator,” he lulls, licking his tongue over the warm expanse of your neck. His saliva was cold, shockingly so, and you chase the chilling moisture desperately. The sharp gasp you let out is embarrassingly loud but Haechan, feverish, soaks the sound up, fingers tightening their grip on your shoulders as he noses at your neck.

“Smell what?” you shiver, afraid of moving even an inch away from his touch. It was dangerously enchanting and you find yourself losing your sense again, giving your all to the greedy demon. Haechan wasn’t taking nearly as much as before, you feel yourself becoming impatient, needing the overwhelming sensation for as long as you can take it. He pulls away with the widest grin on his face, the entirety of his eyes completely painted over in deep black. A misty cloud of smoke, like the one he introduced himself in, begins to surround you.

“Your arousal, of course,” he chuckles. He stuffs his nose into your clavicle, tracing up the line of your shoulder to inhale deeply. “It’s astoundingly suffocating.” The action would be weird if not for the warmth that gathers in your belly, one that dissipates into sparks that race down your limbs in a pleasant buzz.

“Do you like it?” you shudder, throwing your head back as he sucks at a pressure point in the junction of your neck and shoulders.

“Oh, my babydoll,” he growls, gripping your chin with his thumb to stare into your eyes, forcing you to gaze into his black. The rest of the room turns black in your peripheral, partially masking the wings that have grown from his back, but you can’t take notice with how potently demanding his stare is, not allowing you to look away for even a second.

His fingers, with nails that have become tough and black, wander up and push against your lips, fighting for entry before you feel his skin, now leathery and hot enough to bubble, lays flat against your tongue. It feels like your mouth is about to melt away yet you couldn’t want anything other than to be in this exact moment. Haechan’s grin stretches from ear to ear, wider than the length between his horns, and still, the harrowing image does nothing to deter your want. He leans forward and mumbles with the same honey, sweet voice as before, “I more than like it. Your arousal is a gift from God himself.”

#haechan #haechan x reader #haechan smut #haechan fanfic #nct x reader #nct #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream fanfic #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fanfic

97 notes · View notes

batarella · 3 years

Text

3 birds 1 stone - YELLOW

To reach such a high, if it were in any way something he could touch, it was her many kisses, her soft touches, her smiles and her laughs and the little details he’d never miss.

WORDS: 7539 WARNINGS: Sexual Content, Mentions of blood

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | BLUE

-----

You:

First love never dies.

For so many, it simply remains this fantastical dream. Of monsters and ghouls, fairies and witches. And perhaps, those people are right. In ways not everyone can imagine, most of the time, the realists and those grounded with what cruelties are out to get you, it isn’t always so healthy constantly hoping that the first one you give your heart to will ultimately be the last. Always, one’s immediate thought when they hold a hand or kiss another’s lips was that frivolous hoping and imaginative discourse that somehow, this is what it’ll be for the rest of your life. With that very person you chose to give your heart to and this illusion that you’ve given it enough thought, whether you actually had or hadn’t.

And those realists, those who are constantly out to get other’s hopes and irrational dreams, you never thought they’d speak to you that way until that first crack in your beating heart, the first gap made by the quakes of reality. Your first heartbreak.

And perhaps maybe the worst one, out of all the many heartbreaks you’ve gone through in your eventful young life. The ghosts of your past, the ones that never leave you alone and go on to haunt you for so long as you held onto some kind of hope, torturously holding onto that love and hurt all the same, you just let them exist. You tried to fight them, tried to move on. And for many years, you hadn’t. You failed and it brought you even more of this turmoil.

But had you really come to doubt that theory, the one that disproved that famous claim that first love, in fact, does not diminish, no matter the years and the people and the places you’ve gone through and met? Even with it so obvious that your first love came to such a disastrous, albeit expected end out of two teenagers hopelessly in love, did that love actually die?

Not when after all those years, everything you did and didn’t do out of love always ended up boiling down to him.

The time you shared, that fairytale of a story, one you were fortunate enough to live through and live by for all the years that came after, it wasn’t even because he was the safest bet, which he wasn’t. And it was unfair to call him that at all. It had its own risks, its own trials of hurt, but the triumphs you reaped, the light you’d inevitably saw at the end of that seemingly endless darkness, you never could doubt that it was there at all.

Perhaps that delusion of a fairytale was what brought you down in the first place. Perhaps all this was because you thought he, of all people, could never hurt you at the least, and he ended up hurting you the most. It was this illusion of some fantasy, one you wanted so badly to believe, that this wonderful story of how you came to be will continue for the rest of your life. That this contentment, this fruitful, carefree relationship will last and that troubles aren’t ones to worry about at all. This lie you told yourself that he could never hurt you, it was that very thought that did instead.

So perhaps it were true. Maybe first love never does die. What dies instead was that very mirage, this belief that it’ll continue to be a fantasy just as how it started. Because love never was a fantasy to begin with. It wasn’t how you came to be, or how magical it seems to someone who hears your story. It was how you hold on, how you never take your hands off theirs no matter how much the winds pull you apart. For so long as it continues to bring out the most beautiful version of yourself, love was holding on.

And for those years after your relationship, you did hold on. Both of you. With strengths unmatched by another. You held on.

You realized all that, this decision you ultimately made, a few months ago one night when you got a call from Steph when it should have been a call from Tim. But it wasn’t like you expected that latter at all. This happened one too many times than you would have hoped. But they said he was okay, just a little beaten up. He wouldn’t let the others touch him, however. That was when they called you.

You took a cab from your apartment, even when it costed a small fortune. You were worried, of course, but your hands weren’t shaking, your mind wasn’t a mess you no longer understood, your thoughts were coherent and still you could trail behind them with a red string attached to the back of your mind. All else was calm, as was the falling snow out the car window. You let that calmness get to you. You had to. Panicking wouldn’t do anyone any good. Especially not him.

You got to the manor with no one around to welcome you in save for the butler, which forced you to go straight up to Tim’s room, leave your coat by the rack. It was too early for the sun to be up, too late for it to stay that way for long. You hurried, stayed quiet, then you reached his room. You knocked no more than three times and opened the door without waiting for him to let you in.

They said he had been this way since the first incident, the one almost a year ago when he collapsed and ended up at the hospital. That at rough nights, times when his sharp eye wasn’t as sharp and movements not as quick, he refused to let anyone in for help. Maybe it was this denial that he was in need of any, denial that his lack of sleep and caffeine dependency was still a problem, or maybe he just didn’t want to trouble anyone. Though the same could be said for literally everyone else in the team. A lot of them get shot three times and brush it off just to save theatrics.

And maybe Tim was alright, better than the others let on, and it was because of that incident why they worry about him a lot more. Maybe this was just annoyance of that matter, his locking himself in his room even when a bullet wound over his shoulder so large was making his lips awfully pale and his skin an unnatural shade of white. Even when he didn’t need help, and in this case, he probably did, it didn’t mean you were going to leave him alone.

He was at the foot of his bed, back against the bed frame with a laptop in front of him, legs spread out relaxed and unbothered. Too relaxed, however, almost weak. And his eyes were droopy and low. He looked at you like he’d expected you to come, maybe even wanted to ask why it took you so long. But he didn’t say much. Nothing more than a faint hi spurred out his mouth.

You shut the door behind you and took off your shoes and your last layer of your sweater. When you stood close enough to see that the red stain on the bandage he put on himself wasn’t going to do him any good, you went straight to his bathroom, took out whatever kit he had lying around and settled on the floor right by his side.

“I’m fine, you know.”

“Shut up.”

You tried reaching for his bandage but he ended up grabbing your wrist to stop you.

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“It’ll stop.”

“It won't if you don’t let me take care of it.”

Still, he held onto your hand, didn’t let it go even when it loosened, and you didn’t pull away either. Instead, you inched closer, tangled your fingers together so yours would rub calmingly against the back of his palm the way he often liked.

You didn’t know what movie he had on his laptop right then, and frankly you didn’t care much. When he’d loosened his hold on you just enough to let go and reach for a clean rag in his kit, his eye trailed back to the screen. His hand, however, stayed on your lap, lightly resting on your thigh.

His way of giving in. It was one of those days, as obvious as it was. Didn’t mean you weren’t there to annoy the hell out of him until it inevitably changes, or not. You just liked being around to make sure he’ll be okay. Often, he is.

You pulled on the hem of his shirt, and reluctantly, slowly, he sat up, didn’t take his eyes off his laptop and grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it off. You ignored that itch in your neck when he sat back down, lean abs rippling with his back crouched over.

You worked painfully slow, painful for you just as it was for him. His blood was everywhere, spilling out the bandage that had absorbed more of it than it should. You took it off, praising yourself for not taking another five minutes back at home doing whatever when it was apparent you should have gotten here two hours ago.

Like he expected some nagging remark out of you, he still couldn’t look you in the eye. And you, as frustrated as you were with him, opted not to say anything at all. You just took the rag and went to work, brushing it on the skin surrounding the wound red with the stains.

Nothing too lethal, though nothing you should ignore. You cleaned the rag and carefully, with the gentleness on your fingers you found to be present when you touched the most sensitive spots on him, you dabbed the cloth onto the wound, and with that, you found yourself sitting so close to his body, enough to smell the remnants of smoke from an exhaust pipe, probably from his bike, stained onto his bare neck.

No longer could you hear the movie that went on behind you, No matter how much noise there could have been, there was only silence, and with that silence there was that pull on your throat, one not too easily ignored unlike everything else you pushed to neglect.

Tim’s eyes were no longer on the screen, as it seemed when you glanced up to his face. There were on your hands, mesmerized by how soft you were touching him. Even with it just being a graze of your finger against his skin outside the wound, still it was this feathery touch, enough to have drowned him within a cloud’s misty bed.

It was, against your wishes, the kind of silence you wished wasn’t so deadly. Deathly silence, as you’ve come to learn, draws out the loudest voices in your head, thoughts in volumes you never would have otherwise comprehended. And there would be no ignoring them, not at that moment. And those thoughts lingered on the taste of his breath against your lips, his fingers that had went up from your clothed thigh to your cheek, brushing strands of your hair away even when they weren’t much a bother. They were on his hair, damp from sweat falling to his eyes. The smell of him, that mentioned smoke, the cologne he put on earlier that day, the natural musk of his scalp you once loved to revel in. It was the feel of his skin that seemingly grew warmer each second that passed.

You went on to clean the wound, even when your mind had long left that issue, though you convinced yourself it was reason enough for you to draw your head even closer. To have a better look at the wound. And at that, his face was close enough for you to hear the counts of his breaths.

Tim didn’t back away. He let you work, do whatever you wished with his chest without an ounce of protest.

Your other hand, the one without a rag to hide behind, finally found its way on his bare shoulder to hold onto when that hitch of your breath almost knocked you out cold, when at the faintest hover of his warm lips against your neck, the little trails of him cold on your skin.

You tried not to stop with the rag, but even that was hard to do. With your eyes closed shut, hands clenching to a fist just to have some kind of composure. Tim wasn’t pressing his lips against your skin enough to kiss it, to feel his tongue around it and send you to some heavenly descent. It was just there, barely even touching it, hovering so close enough to feel the chap of his dried lips but just not enough.

You almost clenched hard onto his shoulder when he breathed, hot against your skin, and continued to for so many more seconds.

Leaning into him would have been the easiest thing to do, to let his lips press hard onto your neck to leave marks, hand on your head tight enough to hold you in place.

But it was that knock on the door that pulled you both into the realities of what it was, or rather, what you weren’t. You didn’t kiss him that night, and since then, you never failed to ponder constantly on how you should have

That night was months ago.

Tonight, you hoped, that with every well-wishing angels and spirits there were, that with your hand on the doorknob, heart in your pocket, and breath held back for as long as it needed to be, that all this would only go as well as you’d hoped.

Tim:

He could smell the trouble he was in the moment she walked into his room unannounced. And only with her would it not bother him in the slightest, when if it were anyone else, he’d have sent them out his room three seconds after they’d barge in like that. She only knocked twice, just before she opened the door and walked in, thereby catching him in the middle of the untimely act of staying up past two in the morning, crouched over his desk so unhealthily bad for his spine that instinct screamed at him to sit up just to mellow down the eventual nagging.

But there wasn’t any of that, at least. “Hey,” she said, and she settled down with her jacket hung up on his door.

“You’re here late.”

“Figured you’d be up.”

“How’d you know?”

“I just did.”

Then he turned to his laptop, realized she knew because she saw his status was online, and that it didn’t have to take a detective or a best friend to figure that out. Tim stretched out his neck went back to focus on the screen. Thankfully, he wasn’t as bad as he used to, having a cup of freshly brewed coffee waiting for him at the side of his desk. Then, he’d never hear the end of it.

It was that kind of comfort, the same as having a hand to hold as you stared right into the eyes of an apocalypse or a face so beautiful to look at when all else around the world just seemed so wretchedly ugly, having her company even when it wasn’t to some necessary resort. She was just there, and her presence meant so much more than it should.

But he stayed calm, went on with his work, while she went over to his side looking over at the screen like it were any interesting. It wasn’t. Not for anyone who looked at excel files and felt the need to throw up.

A hand on top of his shoulder, however, loosened some tight knots on his arm, tensions he didn’t even know was there. He didn’t flinch nor move, though his fingers at the keys stopped for a moment, especially when she rubbed her palm over his clothes to ease even more of the tensions within him until he felt nothing less than jelly.

“What are you doing here?”

A snicker out of her proved she didn’t take that as much offence.

“Is it so hard to believe I just wanted to visit?”

“At this time of night?”

“Not like it’s any trouble, or the first time.”

“Last time, it was an emergency. I told you not to take cabs this late.”

“Tim, I’m fine. I just wanted to stay over.”

“And you’re welcome to, but you should have called. I’d have picked you up.”

Even if she called at five am asking him to take her out of town to pick up some paint or whatever just five minutes after his head would have hit a pillow, he’d do just that. She knew that right?

“You want me to come here less often?”

“No.” He leaned back on his chair, tipped his head up so he was seeing her face so gracefully smiling down at him. Immediately the sting on his eyelids that have long pained him since midnight have gone out the window. And with a smile, all else was as soft as the cloud at the end of some metaphorical window. “Stay. But come over when it’s still early.”

“Fine,” Y/N said. “I will.”

As if she heard his wishes for her to never take her hand off his shoulder, she listened. And she just stood there, silently at his side watching him go on about things she didn’t even understand. Or perhaps he wasn’t giving her enough credit. Either way, it was boring as hell.

Her finger tightened.

“What are you doing?”

“Just…” he shrugged. “You know. Work. You wouldn’t be wanna hear about any of this.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

Just as he began to internally whine when she finally let go of her hold, to say he was soothed enough to close his eyes and just feel how wonderful her fingers felt, tangling themselves into the mess of his hair and drawing it to the back of his head, he didn’t want to be so obvious with his shivers, which were definitely there.

“But whatever that is,” she continued. “I promise you it’s nothing worth losing hours of sleep over.”

“I know I should listen to you more often, but trust me, I really have to get this done.”

“Really” she sneered. “Tonight, tonight?”

“Three hours ago, in fact.”

Telling her all this would be as useless as outrightly pleading that she leave him alone, which he definitely won't do, and she definitely won't listen to.

“Are you just gonna stand there and watch me work?”

“If it puts any pressure on you to just leave it and come to bed, then yes. I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want me to get a chair?”

“Don’t. Stand there. I dare you.”

“Watch me.”

Another run of her fingers through his hair and already he lost his streak of thought.

And it would have been all too painful if he went on to fight back that sneer, which he hadn’t realized had been there at all until he had to. Leaning towards his screen, fingers on the keys, he tried, with all his might, to just get this all done. Then he can stop dragging her along this nocturnal hell she’d come to adapt from him.

He kept working, and for a few minutes, he actually did get lost in it, even when he felt the back of his head being toyed around with her tying little braids over his neck, his bangs, the strands of hair that had grown too long. Hand over his mouth, he just glanced up through his side eye, and with her too engrossed on the braids she didn’t see him stop tapping altogether and watch her move.

Something he hadn’t expected, his whole body didn’t expect, or at all foresee even with the kind of intimacy he was used to, was when her hands that touched his neck, first with her measly tips of her fingers and eventually with her hands, had trailed down his broad shoulders, squeezing at the muscle and bone.

And her gentleness, the same that catered to wounds and held him like a faint, thin blanket would fall onto his skin, every hair on him raised, every part of him stiffened.

Every part of him stiffened. Not one left out.

She just went on. And on and on and on. Fingers down the sides of his neck, leaving faint white trails and nail marks down his shoulders and all the way back up his ears. His breath caught so short, every muscle in him so tense at the same time so awfully relaxed he might as well have fallen to the ground.

The thought of work didn’t dare cross his mind for a second after that. So what if he loses half a million tomorrow?

Those same hands, now squeezing the sides of his arms, were reeling him in like a caught salmon. Nothing else would have drawn him in so much, not even the devil himself. His fingers left the keyboard.

And just as he leaned back enough to startle her, Tim grabbed her wrists, pulled them across his neck so she was embracing him. Her stomach against the back of his head, and her face, like a bright yellow star smiling down at him from miles above, was looking directly below. Her smile was incomparable, even more so when she drew her hair back and the light allowed him more of her he never would have forgotten about anyway.

And he smiled back, made sure she couldn’t draw her arms away, then when she dipped down, his mouth met her cheek. She wasn’t bothered at the slightest. It only made the stretch on her cheeks from her smile more apparent.

Her hair, the sweet strands of daisies and lemon, pressed up against his skin as she leaned down, her face almost all the way down his shoulder. He held onto her arm as if to urge her to stay, to go further against him, to stand even closer so he could have even more of her than he already has, than he possibly can.

Tim stuck his nose against her scalp, just beside her ear, and breathed in. It tickled her enough to flinch, but not enough to let go of his tight hold.

It was mistake enough for him to open his eyes and repress all the other senses he had, the senses that mattered if he wanted to have her even more, he had to look onto the screen that had gone black, where it was no more than a dark mirror, one that stared back at him so painfully haunting.

He stared at her, holding him so intimately close, face stuck to his cheek and her lips leaving trails of her gentleness against his flushed skin. He stared at himself, and how he could just allow her to do all that and more, and not move so much as a finger, how he’d let her do anything to him, hurt him even, so long as she wanted him to.

How cruel she was, and how cruel he was to himself, to let her kiss and hold him like this, when they were supposed to be just friends, best friends, knowing how he felt, knowing how she affects him. How cruel of this world, and how he let those cruelties allow to consume him too much, rid him of any rational thought that when he wakes up that very morning and have to face the world again, she might end up choosing one of his brothers. How cruel it all was, for the world to let his hopes up, and for him to just let it. Allowing himself, and all others, to haul him straight to an inevitable world of hurt, and how for a few minutes of consuming bliss, having her so close to him that he could smell her hair and taste her skin, he was heading straight for that hurt himself.

Best friends don’t have boundaries, or lack of there is, like theirs. Which made all this even more painful. Best friends don’t hug and kiss and squeeze each other’s shoulders the way she just did. He should push her away, go back to work, let her sleep on his bed while he works away the night, and all this would be gone.

But all he did, regretfully, was close his eyes, eased into her like she were a bed of daisies and tulips and lilies, flowers without thorns to possibly stab him. Her lips, so gentle and soft, pressed themselves against the tip of his forehead and he felt her smile.

He kissed her wrist. Maybe it was a step too close, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He’d get lost in her and tomorrow he’ll never find a way out of it, out of all this mess, but he’d have brought it to himself. For these slow-moving minutes, it might not even be worth it. But he could convince himself that it was.

“Go to bed,” he whispered, far too intimately against her ear. He felt her stiffen. Did he have to whisper? No. Was it intentional? Perhaps.

He got a giggle out of her, a tug on his hair, and even more squeezes on the spaces between his shoulder and neck. This was getting way too touchy. Even for them. She hasn’t touched him like this in years.

And still, he allowed her to.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won't.”

The way her arms slid off him, even that felt so wonderful, against the clothes on his chest and the skin that seeped out his collar. His hands were reluctant to let her go, even to his own subconscious, and he only knew because the air never felt colder than when she’d fully withdrawn and no longer could he feel the heat of her chest pressed against his back.

He didn’t look up from his screen, but the work had long passed his head. He stared at it, everything this blank that couldn’t even be drawn, and let the silence overtake all thought.

You:

It was greatly inappropriate in just about every way imaginable.

Was it wrong to hold him like that, when not even you could talk yourself out of your own tempting voice and letting your nails dig into his shoulder, and lean in so your lips would reach his skin? Was it so over the line, a line you drew yourself that had long been vulnerable to a few slip ups?

Perhaps it was. Perhaps you were wrong that he might still want you the way you wanted him right then. Perhaps he did just want to stay friends, forever, and what you did might have been the end of all that. Start another fight, ignore each other for another few weeks.

You won't allow that. Not after your last fight, when you finally had it in you to tell him about Jason and it turns out, he already knew, the days and weeks of silence that followed after might have been the hardest to climb out of. For both of you.

But as it always has, it all fell right back into place. This place. This comfort not even the fuzz of a carpet laid in front of a nipping fireplace could give you. This place in his bed, and how you could just lay on it without a single shift in the air. How easily you just took off your prosthetic and showed him the worst parts of you, the worst parts you thought of yourself, and how he didn’t see them as the worst at all.

You truly did not deserve this kind of forgiveness, this kind of place with him, when you’ve had your share of mistakes just as much as he did. That silence that followed after reassured you that you cannot, even if you desperately tried to, live without Tim.

You laid on his bed, stripped to the thinnest clothing you had on and settled under the sheets. It wasn’t long before you heard him shut off his laptop, push back his seat. And with you facing away to the other side of the bed, you saw the lights turn off, then he got into bed beside you.

Then your eyes were on the ceiling, for you just couldn’t have the strength to face him, not when he was that close, and not when you, of all times, had doubts to go through with what you truly wanted. And what you wanted was him. After all that chaos, all that betrayal and hurt, was it right to give this one last try?

Tim was looking up at the ceiling as well, hands over his stomach. He was just as stiff as you.

But as easy as it was to forgive each other, it all molded back into this state of rightness, like this was exactly how things were supposed to be. Nothing to change. Nothing was supposed to change.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

His voice, even as a whisper, sounded a lot clearer with the lights off somehow. All you could see was the ceiling. You couldn’t even see his face.

“I’m sorry about everything…”

Some kind of click, but not even that could be heard. You just felt it. Somewhere. There was something about the air that was this sudden gust against your skin, up your face to let you know, much like a slap would remind you, of where you were.

“I’m sorry about… everything else...” he said.

Why wasn’t he turning over his stomach, falling asleep just as soon as his head hit the pillow just like he always does? Why was he still talking? Why was he still wide awake?

“You should sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

That was, in all honesty, the first time you’ve ever heard him say that and sound like he genuinely meant it.

“I’m not, either,” you said. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Maybe we should at least try to sleep.”

“That’s big of you to tell me that.”

“You’re the one who came all the way here,” he scowled.

“Fine, then if you don’t want me around-“

“Dude, come on

The snort that came out of your nose was not pretty at all, but neither was his own laugh that followed, one made even more resonant and mesmerizing to listen to with the darkness and the silence and how the only thing you could feel was how your toes were touching under the sheets.

That pulled you on your side, facing away from the boring ceiling and at the beauty that was Tim, how at the same time, he turned to face you as well. Hands tucked under your head, and his grabbing hold of the sheets, you were looking at him too obviously engrossed with that mistiness of how undeniably in love you were with him, even without so much as a touch out of your finger. You let your eyes do the touching. And with the way he looked back at you, you’d never seen a sight as perfect as his eyes. Even without much light, even with the details barely seen. You just knew he looked beautiful.

“So now you want me to come over at night and bug you at the expense of the company.”

“The company can afford the expenses,” he shrugged.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Kind of unfair how I’m the only one to visit.”

“Your studio doesn’t exactly scream office workplace environment.”

You shoved his shoulder, right where the healing bullet wound was, and you heard him hiss. “Ass.”

“You're an ass.”

His laughter again. It was so easy to fall into and keep your silence just so you’d hear more of it each time.

He was closer to you. Somehow. Between his exchanges and the distraction of his own voice, he’d inched himself even closer. Near enough now that you could see his lips and how his breath tasted.

You just kept smiling, like it just couldn’t wear off even if you tried, and slowly you reached for the collar of his shirt, thin against his hot skin. And with that you found him staring down at your hand, watching you do just that.

“I’ll go to your place,” he sighed. “Take the work home. I’m sure they won't miss me.”

“Tim, I was kidding.”

“I’m not.”

You laughed and pushed your face against the pillow, which grazed his nose against your ear.

“Would you like that?”

“Hmm?”

A strand of your hair had fallen over your cheek. He brushed it back before you even had time to notice it was there.

“Me? Coming over to your place a lot to work?”

Your lips were dry. Your fists were not. You shouldn’t be nearly as relaxed as you are right then.

“Of course…”

“No, I mean…”

He moved, so much closer to you, then his hand was on your arm. The one right above your waist.

“I mean everyday… or at least, a lot of the time.”

His thumb, brushing over your skin. You never knew a sensation could be so addicting.

And your voice, snatched out of your throat. You never knew such a thing could happen after just a sentence.

“All those nights at the office, when I should have spent all that time with you, or even just answer your calls…”

Your own hand was against his chest now. It wasn’t pushing him away. It was just there, touching him. And you wouldn’t let it slip.

“None of it was worth it…” Again, his fingers brushed back your hair, but even after he did, he went on to hover them over your cheek. “And I was stupid enough to choose something else. But I should have chosen you. Always. Just like you’ve always chosen me.”

You swallowed and hoped it worked for the tears as well. “Tim, that was a long time ago-“

“I’ve never regretted anything more…”

Everything had stopped, even your own breath. You never thought so much could be caught at your through, especially all coherent thought. This cycle of a life, how it had all boiled down to one mistake. Finally, it came to a full circle.

“Are you okay with that?”

To have you all day? The way it was supposed to years ago? So I never would have had to lose you in the first place?

With the whole of my heart, definitely.

“I’d like that…” you said. “Very much.”

You didn’t even care if he felt you cry, with his hand over your face. This sense of security that wasn’t false in the least, this curtain you can always hide behind and fall back to when the world constantly would pull you down. It was his touch, like that very moment, that held you so gently not even a kiss from the kindest butterfly, trusting you with its fragility as it lands onto your skin could possibly compare.

You love him.

You cupped his face, just as his other arm snaked below your head so he was pulling you so deathly close. His strong arms now around you, encasing you in him, the way you always sought out to be held. Only with him did it feel so right. To move closer, to have your limbs tangled, to exchange breaths and look into each other’s eyes and see everything there was about him.

It took too long, possibly because all this had come too much to process, even with it so long overdue.

The harps that played beyond the sky and resonated only to you and your ears alone, it was all the more apparent, all the more did the songs of angels sing to every sense they could possibly pick up. It took too long, just staring into each other’s eyes in such darkness when you weren’t supposed to see anything at all, when your lips met.

The softness. The crashing waves. The sweet, serenity of silk. And the blow of the strongest gust of wind. It was all that at once.

Tim:

This was everything his dreams have come to remember and continue to remind him every time he allows himself to sleep. Her lips, her soft, perfect lips. None of what he said was a lie. None of it was worth losing this. Losing her.

Everything, the whole room, the ceiling, the sky outside his window, the floor under the bedframe, the winds even with the still air. Everything. Everything moved. Everything was spinning. Everything was revolving around them. Everything moved but time, the only one that wasn’t frantic enough to keep moving, perhaps even move faster. He could hear the seconds tick away but none of that even made it past his ear drums.

Finally. Finally.

One hand on her face, the other on her waist, Tim pulled her even closer so he’d feel her heart beat, the only thing he wanted to listen to from then on. Everything was spinning but he couldn’t care less if it was a quake in the fault lines. He was there. She was there.

Their lips moved like two petals of a single flower, moving to the wind’s blow and so delicately touching, not enough to hurt but enough to show the sheer amount of want that had long been held off.

Like everything, the whole world, no matter how much his mistakes had sought out to destroy it, to destroy everything he’s ever wanted, it was all kind enough to forgive him, to forgive both of them. Even with a world so seemingly irreparable, they were back in each other’s arms, in a hold tighter than ever before. And he wasn’t about to let go for as long he was strong enough to keep holding on.

He gently pulled away, just to look at her in the eye.

Because maybe, this was all just for the moment. Maybe this was just the world’s way of letting him know what he’ll ultimately lose and miss out on. Maybe, all this was just to last for the night, and nothing more.

But that look in her eye was unmistakable. So was the way she tugged on his hair. I love you. I want you. I’m yours. That’s what she was telling him. And it was everything he ever wanted to hear.

He kissed her again and rolled her to her back, lips pressing harder, fingers digging deeper.

This. He had her. She’d chosen him. Always and always and always. She chose him.

That spinning went on, everything around them, until the world was a blur not one of them could care less about. Everything his eyes set out to see that wasn’t her body, he ignored. The sound of her breathing and whispering against his ear, the feel of her hands roaming all over his chest. Nothing else but her and her alone. He pulled his shirt off, just as her teeth dug deep into his collarbone. Her. Her. Her.

All her clothes were on the floor. Her breathing turned to moans, which turned to screams when his hand reached down between her legs and drew the sounds out of her. Then it was his own sounds, sounds he never even heard out of himself until right then, at the sharp pain just as he was inside her. It was all too slow, rolling his hips in this pace he wanted to go faster and faster but even then, he took his time.

You:

In every way was it the most beautiful thing to have. To be one with him. You were one. You were beautiful. You were this infinite, untouchable being.

His teeth on your neck, biting down just to hold himself up from his own thrusts. Euphoric. Lights that flickered like strings and series. Then you tried to repress all that by kissing him. It only did so much.

You were lost, so deep into corners of rooms and halls not even the sharpest eye could find you in. This galaxy you could swim into, without a tie to confine you or a cage to hold you back. Your deepest, most carnal desires all bundled into this moment of want and eventual, satisfying end, which could only be such an end if you wanted it to be. And you didn’t want it to end. Even as you screamed his name like nothing could ever hear you. Everything in you tightened. Everything letting go of what so long was held back. All the while, your arms were around him, lips against his. He let go as well. Inside you.

Until the sun came to greet you, that night went on like it was otherwise endless. That night didn’t end the moment it was day. It ended when you say it ended.

A beginning and an ending, and only good things, as you hoped, would come after it.

And in between those wonderful sessions of love, you asked him to be yours. Forever. And a promise to no longer let go.

Lucky for you, he said yes.

Epilogue

Tim:

“Yeah. We can get rid of the couch. No one sits there anyway. Yes, everything goes on that side of the room.”

There were three men handling the couch. The other two were busy cleaning what used to be a cement wall and was now a glass sliding door that parted two rooms. The new tiles had just been set up, and all that was needed was furniture. Which wasn’t even much.

It was hard enough trying to ward her off with the dumbest excuses he could think of, but it wouldn’t have lasted longer than a week. Today, she comes over, with it being barely presentable. But he was too excited to hold it off even longer.

Y/N stepped into his office and almost broke the knob off after seeing the unfinished construction site of what used to be just his office.

‘What’s going on?’ She mouthed at him. He waved her to come over, and after carefully making her way across the dusty tiles, she kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You’re looking good,” he smiled.

“What’s all this?”

“Something that was supposed to be all done by today, but with the wiring problem, this is all the surprise will have to suffice.”

“Surprise?”

“Come on.”

Hand on her back, he led her to the glass door and stepped into the newly renovated room, one so bare and so empty, without a desk or a love seat in sight, she marveled all the way up to the ceiling.

“This,” he said. “Is your new studio.”

He should have pulled out his phone at the way her jaw dropped.

“My what?”

“I know what I said about working over at your place.” He held her waist, pulled her close enough so she wouldn’t shake. “But I wanted to do something for you. We can go both ways. Some days we work here and some, we go over to your house.”

“Tim, this is twice the size of my apartment.”

She probably hadn’t listened to a word he said, with her still stuck up on how high the ceiling was.

“Check out the best part.”

From his pocket, he pulled out a small remote.

What was just a wall, which led to the outside, parted into two, separate doors, and it opened into a window looking down from so immensely high up the city, with the cars below the size of matchboxes and people of ants.

“I think I just pissed myself.”

Tim laughed, again, then pulled her waist once more so she could only look at his eyes.

“I just want to be around you. Every day. I’m not letting you out of my sight anymore.”

“You’re sexy when you show off how rich you are.”

“If you said that any sooner, I’d have bought you a whole island.”

Arms encasing him close, she kissed him so perfectly like those very same petals that would have wilted without their eternal companion.

“Now come on,” she pulled away too soon and he mewled. “You promised me a ride.”

All the way to the elevator, and even within, she never loosened her hold on his hand. And she led him up the rooftop like it was her who owned the place. And that smile was palpable, the one that beamed when he watched her pull him to wherever she wanted to take him. As they opened the doors up the rooftop, already the helicopter’s propellers were whirring. She’d call them before she arrived, of course. She was too excited to waste any more time.

To reach such a high, if it were in any way something he could touch, it was her many kisses, her soft touches, her smiles and her laughs and the little details he’d never miss.

Then they soared, to such heights unexplainable.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | BLUE

-----

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fairlyspnfanfic · 3 years

Text

The Ties that Bind Us

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old. The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do. But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests. I’m not going to post the actual requests because...well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2826

Tags: Angst, Fluff, nightmares, all the fun stuff.

I wrang my hands together nervously. They were all sweat; clammy and cold while simultaneously uncomfortably hot. My breathing was deceptively calm, though every other part of me shook as my anxiety climbed. I closed my eyes, pushing my hands down on the mattress on either side of me and took a deep steadying breath. Talking myself into pushing my body into a standing position, I opened my eyes and left my room, consciously putting one foot in front of the other.

“Guys?” My voice rang out in the echoey halls, shaking and hoarse. I cleared my throat and ran my hands through my hair as I continued making my way into the main room. There they were. Dean, his feet kicked up on the table, a large, brown dusty book sprawled on his lap and a beer firmly clasped in his hand as he focused on the words on the page. Sam, pacing back and forth silently behind him.

It had been weeks since we had found a job. The last actual gig we had been on was pretty small-fry. A pair of ghouls wreaking havoc in a college town that we had taken care of in less than a weekend. The local fraternity parties didn’t even notice, and the drunken sorority girls went on with their lives none the wiser.

But this? This job was going to be huge. If not in scale, then in emotion alone. Not for the boys. They wouldn’t have any clue; I’d make sure of that. The pack had been on the prowl for decades, maybe longer. Long enough to have destroyed my life, killed my family, and upend everything I knew to be true when I was only four years old. And now they were back. I rubbed the sweat from my palms that would have given me away on the back of my jeans, before grabbing the chair opposite from Dean. The wheels moved faster than I expected as it began to roll behind me. I lowered myself quickly into the seat, as if the mishap was entirely intentional, but the smirk at the corner of Dean’s smile let me know my attempt had failed.

I hated the chairs in the map room. The side armrests dug into my hips and I was never quite comfortable in them. But who was I to question generations of decorum? I crossed my legs as eloquently as I could, adjusting so that I was practically sitting on one hip in order to keep the bars from digging into them.

The laptop Sam had out on the table was still booted up. I reached out, grabbing it and quickly pulled up the article that I had found this morning. “Woman’s Body Found Mangled in Historic District.” I spun the screen around, allowing Dean to see. He skimmed through it quickly before sneering. “Doesn’t really scream monster there, Y/N.” I rolled my eyes, returning control of the computer to myself and pulled up three more articles, all within the last two months. “Teen Killed in Apparent Pit Bull Attack,” followed by “Couple Maimed in Forrest Preserve” and “Missing Child Found Had Been Attacked by Unidentified Animal.” I pushed the screen over to Dean again.

“Well, maybe that does merit a look-see.” His tune changed. Whenever there was a lapse between jobs, Dean would get antsy. His temperament changed, he was jumpy, and nothing could make him happier than a new destination and a big bad to gank.

“What’s that?” Sam said as he practically skipped up to the table like an excited puppy.

“Get this,” I began before Dean cut me off.

“Y/N,” he chastised. “That’s Sam’s line.” He winked at me as a smile spread widely across his face. That smile. The one that could bring world peace as far as I was concerned. At the very least, it made my knees weak, breath hitch, and I lost all train of thought.

I quickly pulled myself back together and pushed my daydreaming mind back to the task at hand. Dean pushed the laptop over to Sam, allowing him to read through them quickly. “So, what are we thinking, Werewolves? Hellhounds?”

“Werewolves,” I said definitively. My face was deadpan, and it didn’t seem to go unnoticed. “Look at the descriptions. There’s something they aren’t saying. The bodies were all attacked at night, and each one was during the full moon. Plus, the missing kid? He was 8. That’s not enough time for any demon deal to go down and a Hellhound to get involved. No, it’s a werewolf. No doubt in my mind.” I was all seriousness and they knew it. Sam simply nodded, his eyebrows creased suspiciously, but he didn’t question me.

“Well then,” Dean said, clapping his hands together as he all but jumped to his feet. “Let’s get on the road. It’s a little over seven hours to Missouri. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready.” He was like a kid at Christmas as he bounced down the hallway to his room.

“Only guy in the world to get the warm and fuzzies from a bunch of dead bodies,” I laughed, shaking my head, closing the laptop, and uncrossing my legs. I stood up slowly and stretched my arms above my head.

Sam didn’t take his probing eyes off me as he crossed his arms. “Y/N?”

“Yes, Samuel?” I mocked him in response.

“What aren’t you telling us?”

I did my best version of shock and outrage, looking around as if I wasn’t quite sure what he was alluding to. “What?”

“You’ve never been so adamant about a job before. Hell, you’re usually the one trying to talk us out of taking jobs. What gives?” I rolled my eyes as dramatically as I could.

“Nothing. It just seems like a pretty clear gig to me. And if bodies are dropping every month, and more bodies each time?” I shook my head. “Then the next ones are on us.” I locked eyes with the younger Winchester, attempting to convey my point with a look.

His expression still seemed doubtful, but he nodded his head and walked towards his room, patting my shoulder as he passed by me. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Half an hour later, we were all piled into the Impala. Dean driving, Sam riding shotgun, and I lounged across the backseat, scouring the news for any updates. The next full moon wouldn’t be for another week, but I wasn’t willing to allow anything to be missed. Not when I could stop it.

A couple of hours later, my eyes began to droop, and my cell phone slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor between my feet. But my exhaustion won out over my need to secure the phone.

I looked down at my hands. They were sticky and coated with a thick layer of blood. I had no idea if it was mine or someone else’s, but the terror that rose in my chest didn’t care. All around me, the only sounds I could hear were the violent gnashing of teeth, the moist squelching of flesh being torn from bone, and the small, muted whimpers from someone that I had yet to lay my eyes on. I looked around but everything around me was coated in darkness. Only my hands were visible in a dim red light that seemed to come from nowhere. I took a step forward, feeling my foot slip as the wet floor beneath me was coated in that same tacky liquid that was all over my hands. Looking in front of me, I came eye to eye with a single pair of vibrant yellow orbs that seemed to stop me in my tracks. Paralyzed with fear, I froze, unwilling and wholly unable to continue forward. A low grumble began emanating from those same eyes as they moved closer to me. The grumble turned quickly to a growl; vicious and hungry with a deep, bone chilling timbre. Suddenly, the eyes were directly in front of me, inches from my face. So close that I could feel the hot, rank breath on my cheek before a loud, piercing snarl rang in my ear.

My eyes snapped open and the sweat running down my neck sent a chill down my spine. My sharp inhale was the only sound made and I did my best to calm down before making any further noise. My nightmares had always been the same and had always been my own. Nobody had ever found out about them, especially the boys, and I fully intended to keep it that way.

Stretching my arms to my sides as best as I could, I made a dramatic show of waking. “Where are we?” I asked.

Glancing to the front seat I could see Sam slumped against the window, his head tilted back, mouth open, and very much asleep. Dean was still in the driver’s seat, bobbing his head and mouthing along with Steven Tyler as he belted out the lyrics to “Dream On.” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, giving me that same world-peace smile that only he seemed to know how.

“About 100 miles outside St. Charles. I’ve gotta stop for gas though. You hungry?” I nodded back to him as I rubbed my eyes, clearing out the sandy bit of sleep that had formed in the corners.

“Do you need to change out? I can drive the last of the way.” I offered, knowing he’d never go for it. He never had before.

“I’m good. Got a solid three hours of shut eye last night.” He winked at me in the mirror. Pushing down the butterflies in my stomach and doing my best to suppress the blush that I was sure was creeping to my cheeks, I looked out the window. The sun had just come down, creating an orange sky with just a hint of pink. I took a deep breath and turned back to facing the driver.

Dean pulled off onto an exit ramp and turned into a QT Gas Station. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked me. I shrugged.

“Surprise me.” The glint in his eye and the devilish smile that he gave me in return elicited an exaggerated eye roll from me. “Just go get some road food.” I waved him away. “I’ll pump.” I opened my door as quietly as I could and stepped around to the gas pump. I twisted the gas cap, put my card in the machine, or rather Stacey Abrams’ card, and began filling the tank.

I watched Dean walk up and into the convenience store, his bowed legs taking long strides as he did so. He grabbed the door and held it open, making a big show as he gestured for the woman coming out the door to pass before him. The leggy blonde walked by, tucking her perfectly silky hair behind her perfect ears as her perfectly perky tits bounced their way out of the shop. I watched as Dean’s eyes followed her out, obviously and lustily eyeing her up and down, appreciating the view.

The sharp stab to my chest wasn’t new. The jealousy mixed with disappointment happened pretty frequently after all. But each time felt like ripping off a band aid before the wound had begun to heal.

The gas pump stopped, the telling “clunk” of the machinery drawing my attention back to my task. I tapped the spout on the edge of the tank before fully withdrawing it and hanging it back up on the pump. I ripped the receipt off quickly, shoving it into my back pocket as I walked back around the car and settled into my seat again.

“You know, you could always just tell him.” Sam’s voice rang out, surprising me, from the front seat.

“Shit, Sam.” I said. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I’m serious, Y/N. Tell him.” He had turned around now, staring me dead in the face as if we were locked in a staring contest that I hadn’t agreed to participate in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said a bit too defensively.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes at me. “You do realize I know every tell you have, right?”

I shook my head at him, chuckling. “Samuel, I think you must still be dreaming.”

“Like that.” He pointed at me. “You’re biting your cheek. You only do that when you’re lying. Next, you’ll be pulling on your ear lobe, just like that.” He accused me as I did just as he said.

“No, I’m not.” He glared at me in response. “Shut up.” I bit at him, jokingly, sticking my tongue out at him as I crossed my arms.

Dean opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Dude,” he said excitedly, holding up a white paper bag. “Taquitos!”

A little over 100 miles later, we were pulling into the local motel. Sam had gone to check us in while Dean and I grabbed the bags from the trunk.

“Peartree Inn?” I said, dejectedly. Dean looked at me, a curious expression on his face. “Just once, it would be so nice to stay at a 5-star hotel. Hell, I’d settle for 4 stars if it meant a comfy bed that didn’t have my back aching in the morning and a hot tub to soak in at night.” I closed my eyes and sighed, dreaming.

“I’ll be sure to get you a hot tub at the next place we stay in. Long as I can join you,” he said, cocking his head towards me with a smile. I rolled my eyes and playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam said, running up to us both. “So, they only have rooms with two beds max. No roll-away’s or cots. But I got us two rooms. Best I could do.” He handed a card key to each of us. A small sticky note was attached to each. “Dean, we’re in 213. Y/N, you’re in 436.” I nodded my head, handed Sam his bag and headed inside.

The front desk clerk waved at me as I went in and pointed towards the elevators. Thanking her, I walked over and pushed the call button. The doors opened instantly, and I stepped in without waiting for Sam and Dean to catch up. Once I dropped off my bags and went to the bathroom, I planned on heading to their room anyway to go over our plan.

But just after I’d used the restroom and rinsed my face, there was a solid knock at the door. “Gimme a second,” I shouted as I grabbed a hand towel and dried my face off. The peephole on the door was small with a silver dongle covering it up until you swung it to the side. I checked to see who it was before unlatching the deadbolt and opening the door.

“Bad news, Y/N.” Dean said as he walked in, making himself comfortable on my King size bed. He was lounging back, his head resting on a combination of my pillows and his own hand as his legs sprawled out in front of him. “No hot tubs in the whole joint.” I laughed at him, throwing my hand towel into the bathroom.

“So, where’s Sam? I figured we needed to get our plan of attack sorted.”

“Oh,” Dean said, straightening up a bit. “He’s down in our room. We didn’t get the fancy penthouse view you did.” My eyes wandered over to the balcony and the sliding doors that lead out to it. I pointed to it and tilted my head, silently asking if he’d like to join me outside. He all but leapt out of bed and over to the door, yanking it open. The track was rusted and in desperate need of some WD-40, but he was able to grant us egress.

We walked onto the balcony and looked down. The penthouse view as Dean called it wasn’t the greatest. A moderately busy highway for as late at night on a weeknight as it was, and some unkempt trees just barely allowed us to see the airport beyond it. But the fresh air and the sounds of the cars rushing by was a tonic to the anxiety that had been eating at me all day.

I leaned on the railing, my hands clasped together, as I inhaled the fresh air and felt my hair blowing ever so slightly in the wind. I could feel Dean walk up and join me. “Feels pretty nice out here,” he said softly.

I smiled. “Yeah, it does.” I opened my eyes and looked down again, remembering the reason we were here. As peaceful as it felt right now, there were monsters just down the road. The very monsters from my nightmares. And no matter how terrified it left me, I wouldn’t be leaving before I drove a silver bullet through each of their hearts.

To Be Continued......Part Two

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jangmi-latte · 4 years

Note

Hello my I order a Jamil and Leona Nsfw where their s/o is being shared between the two and the Nsfw has mostly the two dominating her thank you❤️

❞ 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 ❝

࿐. . . JAMIL VIPER & LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

➻ content: cookies and..oh dear..my apologies..i have spilled your coffee..

➻ warnings: threesome!

➻ comments: ah this turned out quite long..

You were deprived of attention.

The days would pass by quick. Neither Leona nor Jamil could pay much attention to you due to classes and dorm duties. The lion would be sleeping somewhere or being dragged by Ruggie while you’re drowning from the amount of school work you have. Jamil has Kalim, Scarabia, and his school work to handle as well. There was barely any time for you.

All you were getting were their kisses, despite having an intense glaring session in between, while you each separated towards your classes. Maybe even sneaking in a bit of a surprise hug or a pat on the head in the hallway as you pass by each other. It may sound selfish, but you wanted them for your own. No school, no dorm duties, just you and both your boyfriends just hanging out. Though, you know you can't attain what you want that easily, especially when all three of you are from different dorms.

5:00 PM

The bell rang and classes have finally ended. You sighed, turning on your phone and saw your message was not responded to again by both males. Not even seen. Biting your lower lip, your thumbs danced on the screen as you headed out of the classroom.

Classes are over.

Do you guys want something to eat?

Even though you knew your message won't be noticed or responded to, at least they knew you still cared. You continued to walk, towards the cafeteria to at least grab a drink for the evening. While you stood in line, the vibration of your phone along with a small beep caught your attention. You pulled out your phone again and smiled. Leona has responded.

Come to Savanaclaw kitten.

He didn't answer your question, but at least you were given a bit of the attention you wanted. Though you're slightly disappointed that Jamil hasn't seen your message, and worried that he may not be taking care of himself properly. You left your line and headed to Savanaclaw.

Upon arriving, you saw Ruggie grumbling by the entrance as he sat on the rock, "Hi Ruggie," you greeted, "y/n!" he greeted back and sighed, "I know what you're going to ask. Leona told me to stay here until you arrived. Not like I'm going to just let you enter on your own where these rascals can attack you any minute."

You chuckled, "Thank you Ruggie."

The hyena shrugged and led you to Leona's room. He opened the door, "Leona, she's here." He nudged to inside before closing the door. You exhaled from your nose and placed your bag on Leona's desk. His room was dark. Leona was leaning over the balcony, you walked over and hugged him from behind. He was topless and his sweatpants were hanging on his hips. Quite a delicious sight, "I missed you," you said, "Both you and Jamil," you trailed off. You subconsciously traced your fingers across his toned stomach, your head laying on his back.

Snickering, Leona looked over his shoulder as one of his hands held yours, halting them from moving across his body, "That bastard isn't here," he commented, "I prefer some time just between you and me." Turning around to face you, Leona smirked down at your form. You rolled your eyes before smacking him on his shoulder, "Will you two never get along?" you commented as Leona nudged you over to his bed.

The lion simply mimicked your action by rolling his eyes himself, laying on his bed as he pulled you with him. "We didn't agree to anything so, yes." He lazily tugged on your bra. You sighed and removed the irritating underwear before tossing it somewhere in the room, "At least let me change."

"Ugh, hurry up."

You didn't bring any clothes with you, so you ended up using one of Leona's shirts and staying in your underwear. He spooned you. Your back pressed on his chest, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and his face snuggled close to your nape.

Meanwhile, you stayed focused on your phone. Jamil wasn't replying at all, you were pretty much worried. Was he that busy? Sighing, you began to think. You could visit him tomorrow, right? Shifting yourself, your ass scooted closer to Leona's crotch. Your fingers moved across the screen as you scrolled through MagiCam.

Your phone suddenly dinged.

Y/N

Instantly clicking Jamil's chathead, your eyes scanned and read his message. Three dots bounced along the screen, indicating he was still typing.

I'm sorry for not replying much

Kalim made me too busy and Scarabia wasn't doing well

Are you back at your dom?

How relieved you are. The worry you felt disappeared just like that. The contentment of knowing Jamil was safe was enough to make your day peaceful.

Unheedingly of you, Leona's eyes had opened and glared at your phone. Just when he finally had you all to himself, Jamil just had to ruin the moment and snatch your attenton that easily.

You shifted again, absentmindedly rubbing more into his crotch and yet you still gave most of your attention to your other boyfriend.

I'm glad you're doing fine. I'm with Leona right now.

Have you ate?

You texted Jamil back.

Ah, Leona was pissed. Why are you paying attention to someone else when you have him just beside you? He's jealous. The way his chest would unpleasantly clench irritated him the more he read the conversation go between the both of you. Let alone the relaxed smile you have on your face while you libidinously rubbed your ass on his cock.

It was making him sexually frustrated.

He has had enough.

Growling, Leona grabbed your phone while you're in the midst of typing. "Hey!" you yapped and looked at him, surprised. "What was that–"

The look he gave you was enough for you to silence yourself. There was a glint in his eyes that made you gulp down your saliva and look away.

"Leona, my phone–"

"Didn't I tell you I would prefer some time between you and me only?"

He growled. You didn't know what to say. He was definitely pissed. After all, him and Jamil never got along. "I was just asking how he was doing."

"And you're doing that so innocently while you rub yourself on my cock. Am I at fault here, princess?"

Your eyes trailed down to his hips. You didn't even notice you were pressed so, sinfully against him. You felt him. His erection was so evident against his sweatpants. You weren't going to lie.

You were heavily turned on.

"Why are you quiet, princess?"

He used that nickname.

There was no escaping this Leona.

You opened your mouth, only to close it again for your mind went blank. What is there to argue back on? Too embarrassed, you looked away.

Bad idea.

Leona's lips pressed against your neck. His other hand held your jaw while the other rubbed you against your panties. All you could do was gasp and shiver with his heated touches. He knows your weak points too well. His tongue licked up your neck and to your jaw. "Naughty kitten," he purred.

"Leona..." you whined and pushed the pillow against your face. You were wet. Damped.

Your phone suddenly rang.

Leona grabbed it and checked the caller. It was none other than Jamil. Sure he would like some alone time with you, but it won't hurt to have a little fun. Smirking, he gave the phone to you before demanding, "Answer it."

"But–"

"Answer it, y/n. Put it on speaker."

You let out a shaky breath and answered. Leona continued his sultry actions. He continued to suck on your neck while deliciously rubbing on your clit. Your mind was hazy and you couldn't speak. You were surpressing your own noises as your hips bucked against Leona's fingers.

"Hello?" Jamil spoke.

"J..Jamil..." you stuttered and whined against the pillow.

"y/n? y/n, are you alright?"

"I suppose you're not dumb enough to know what's going on, Jamil." Leona intervened and swiftly slipped his hands down your panties and thrusted a finger up your wet core.

A loud moan left your lips as you kept your face covered by the pillow. "Ah! L-Leona!" you gasped and shifted your legs as your toes curled.

"Ah. I see," Jamil spoke. He was quiet for a few seconds, shifting and walking could be heard on the other line before he chuckled. "Just keep going. I'll be on my way."

"You better hurry up then."

You whined and bit your lower lip, "W..Wait– ngh! Leona–!" you gasped. Two of his fingers were now pushed deep in your walls. He thrusted fastly, your pussy loudly squelched around his fingers. You were getting more wet as Leona repeatedly moved his fingers up your g-spot, "Ah– t-there..right there Leona!"

"How dirty of you, y/n," Jamil snickered through the phone. He could hear the noises your pussy was making. Oh, how it affected him greatly. He held his phone closely to his ear as he looked over his shoulder. His dorm leader was deeply asleep already, such perfect timing. Jamil inhaled through gritted teeth at the sounds of your moans. Loud and pleasing to the ear indeed.

"Damn, tight..."

Leona hissed. He nudged your leg upward as he thrusted up your walls. He was still spooning you, angled in a way he could fuck you deeper. To let you feel every inch of his cock as your pussy greedily swallowed him. Leona's shirt— the one you're wearing —was now discarded on the ground as his left hand gripped your tits and his other continued to rub circles on your hardened clit.

You, you were a mess.

You couldn't hold back your moans and whines as much as you wanted to. They sinfully flew out your lips, emptily pleading for something as you gripped the sheets. Your face pushed against the pillow as your body rocked along with his thrust.

"T..Too deep!" you gasped and arched your back, clawing on Leona's hand that was squeezing your boobs.

You were both in ecstacy.

"Mm..fuck that's it princess– ah shit." Leona bit on your shoulder, his fang digging on your skin— not enough to break the layers.

His thrusts began to grew pace, skin slapping against yours. The hand that was on your clit now held your hips to steady your rocking body, "Cumming, princess?" he smirked while panting.

"L..Leona...p-please! Please, p-please– more– ngh..ah!" you whined out. Loud gasps left your throat, you tilted your head back against Leona's shoulder as your hands stayed on gripping on the sheets and clawing on his hand. Too blinded by pleasure.

You didn't even know Jamil already ended the call.

Nor notice that he was by the balcony, on a magic carpet, intently watching you being fucked by Leona.

Your pussy clenched around the prince's cock, squeezing his erection as he swiftly pushed inside you. Leona was already growling loudly, his hips ecstatically slapped against yours before groaning, "Ah– fuck princess, you're squeezing too tight..." he panted.

As if striked by lighting, your whole body quivered, your toes tightly curled and digging through the mattress. Your back arched and your mouth left open, your eyebrows furrowed.

You squirted.

Your orgasm spilling out of you in a strong force and staining both the bed and floor. You hoarsely panted before squealing once you felt Leona's warm cum fill your insides.

Ah, good thing he was wearing a condom.

Both of you in a panting mess, you let out a small noise once Leona pulled out, "Good girl," he huffed and sloppily kissed your lips.

He took off the condom and tossed it into the bin before pulling up his sweatpants again. He turned on his back before leaning on his elbows.

You were still regaining your breath from the intense sex you just went through. Curled up on the bed and relaxing in silence.

"I'm sure you would like to have a taste."

What.

Turning your head over to the balcony, your eyes widening upon doing so, "You exhausted her." Jamil hopped off his magic carpet and inside Leona's room. He walked over to your side before sitting down, "You didn't forget about me, now did you?" he chuckled and racked a hand through your messy hair.

"Jamil.."

"Ah, Jamil it's your turn."

The younger male's hand wandered over to your hips, caressing it softly, "Tired?" he teased. You whined and moved over to your back, "He was rough," you playfully protested.

"But you liked it." Leona commented who was now on his side and most probably going to go back to sleep.

Jamil rolled his eyes before standing up, "I guess I'll just clean you up then." He smirked while you confusedly tilted your head, "Wait you don't need to."

"Open your legs, sweetheart."

So that's what he meant.

How can these two easily turn you on? You are highly sensitive from your intense orgasm a few minutes ago yet your clit is still erect.

Biting your lower lip, you obeyed. Slowly opening up your legs and letting Jamil get a full view of your cunt, "This is embrrassing," you whispered and covered your face.

"You weren't complaining a few minutes ago."

"Wow, kitten. Says the one that's been moaning out not too long ago," Leona chuckled, "Keep on moaning, princess. I love it."

Damn these two.

While you tried to think of a remark, Jamil has already knelt in front of you and leaned towards your pussy. He pushed your thighs up as he gave your clit a slow and long lick. Dragging his warm tongue up your walls, sending shivers down your spine as you let you a shaky breath, "Jamil..." you softly moaned out.

He groaned, "Worth the wait..." he whispered. His lips latching on your clit, giving it a slow yet strong suck that sent you jolting and gasping. Your clit was red and sensitive as is hardened once more. Jamil slithered the tip of his tongue up and down your slit. His lips wrapping around your clit again before sucking in a quick and small pace.

"Jamil...Oh– f-fuck...J-Jamil.." you squealed, gripping his loose locks as the other lazily laid on your lips. Your hips bucking on his mouth while Jamil held them down. He chuckled and moved his wet muscle lower. Slipping inside your entrance as his thumb pressed on your clit. He thrusted his muscle in and out your walls while his thumb circled on your clit, adding pressure that left you whining.

Pulling away, he looked up at you while licking his lips, "You liked that?" he smirked and slipped in his middle and ring fingers inside you. They were in deep. You felt like cumming again.

Your hazy eyes stared up at your other boyfriend, feeling rather desperate to cum again, "Please..." you pleaded and moved your hips, "Impatient, now are we," he said.

He moved his fingers up, deliciously hitting your sensitive spot then pulled his fingers back, only to jam them in again. Giving you a strong wave of pleasure, leaving you breathless and whining loudly. "Ah!"

Jamil held down his other hand on your pelvis and swiftly thrusted his fingers in and out your core. Just like that, leaving you yet again in another moaning mess. Your hands gripped the pillow tightly and your hips quivered and jolted to every thrust.

You could feel a strong wave of pleasure hit you fast the more he pushed his fingers inside you. Not only is he hitting a sensitive spot, he was easily bring you into another strong orgasm.

Another strong squirt spilled from your pussy before you even knew it.

It left you gasping loudly, your hips arched and dropped back down once it was over. Jamil's arm and the bed were both a drenched mess.

"I'll have Ruggie clean the sheets tomorrow," grumbled Leona.

"Have you no shame?" Jamil sighed as he pulled his fingers out of your core, "Come, I'll give you some water," he lifted you up into a sitting position and pecked your forehead. Your eyes already grew heavy. You were tired and weak.

Let's just hope you could walk tomorrow.

For now, you're satisfied. You have both their attentions now.

Ah, you can never get used to them at all.

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Summary: Obi-Wan is up late studying and his new Padawan sleeps next to him on their sofa. AN: @thenegoteator enables all my wishes for smol Padawan Anakin and Obi-Wan bonding so I hope you like this! Read on AO3!

Despite common misconceptions, the Jedi temple at night was still as busy as it was during the daytime. The many nocturnal members of the Order went about their daily life, training, teaching, learning, preparing for missions, and tracking down wayward Padawans deep in the temple building. Not as seldomly as they’d like to, they also sent one of their diurnal Jedi, awake despite their rhythm, to bed.

Sleep eluded them all often enough, visions and twisted dreams keeping them awake and as such, they all took care to ensure they did get a healthy dosage of sleep.

This was the precise reason Obi-Wan Kenobi was not in the archives but in his quarters.

He yawned for what felt like the twentieth time in the past ten minutes, staring at the light screen of his datapad.

It was the only source of light illuminating the dark room and consequently hurting his eyes. Obi-Wan could have turned on the main lights, but he hadn’t really expected to still be sitting here at this hour.

He should have gone to bed about four hours ago or so, he wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed and hesitated at checking the chronometer, but Obi-Wan also still was about two hours of work away from where he wanted to be with his thesis paper.

He didn’t have the time to sleep. Staying awake was an entirely reasonable course of action.

He reached for his cup of tea, black as the deepest voids of space. It wasn’t his favorite by any kind, but it did its job at keeping him awake better than any of his favorite teas or kaf did. When he raised his cup to his lips, he noticed that not only it was cold, but also almost empty. He could have sworn he had made it just ten minutes ago.

Displeased he set it on the living room table and sighed. Right, only about ten pages and a conclusion to go. Obi-Wan was able to work through those pages without any tea keeping him alert. He could, of course, get up and make himself another cup, but that also meant moving his small companion out of the way and possibly startling him awake.

Obi-Wan looked down at his lap where his Padawan was dead to the world, the rise and fall of the bundle being the only sign that Anakin was asleep. Obi-Wan could hardly see Anakin, wrapped up in three blankets as he was. Obi-Wan doubted that Anakin would learn to sleep with less than three layers any time soon.

His only visible feature was his crown of messy golden locks. Anakin had been up until just two hours ago, working on his own homework first, then had continued working on his sheer endless numbers of mouse droids and, when even that hadn’t kept him busy anymore, he had started drawing. Only after he had gotten too tired to hold onto his pencil had he started pestering Obi-Wan with questions about his paper until he had fallen asleep. At first, Anakin had been leaning against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but the longer the night had gotten, the more did he slip off until he had ended up dropping into Obi-Wan’s lap where he was now snoring lightly.

Obi-Wan smiled at his Padawan, then gently so he wouldn’t wake him, ran his fingers through his hair. Anakin’s hair was surprisingly soft and, when the boy remembered to shower, smelled of spring flowers instead of motor oil.

He had a Padawan.

A small, cute, kind, and good-hearted Padawan who deserved a world that would treat him gently and the best of teachers who could guide him well.

And Obi-Wan had no idea how to handle him. He was doing his best and he was quite sure that he was at least on the right track, but he definitely could improve still.

But first, he had a paper to finish.

It was ridiculous.

He had been supposed to be done with it months ago. When his Master and he had been called to Naboo, Obi-Wan had just started writing it, a vague thesis in mind and some literature assembled. Most of the work had been in his head and constituted of the endless discussions Qui-Gon and he had had about the true nature of the Force. They had spent years discussing what it felt like what its purpose was – It was a heavy topic, and Obi-Wan could have gone with an easier one such as the traffic laws in Coruscant’s lower levels, but instead he had chosen to go with such a research-heavy field.

It was a chore and a half to work on this paper. Not so much writing the paper in and of itself, Obi-Wan happened to be one of those bastards who enjoyed writing up reports and forcing people to go through his elaborations on the banalest of topics. Handing his papers in had always been his utmost delight. There were very few sights that could compare to someone seeing that they’d have to proofread his paper.

No, the problem with his theses was the agonizing pain that came with every revisit to all the memories he had made with his Master. Getting even half a sentence transferred to the datapad was an ordeal Obi-Wan had never experienced before. Whenever he had to look up literature, he felt as if Qui-Gon was standing right beside him, commenting on the material, or quizzing him on it.

Qui-Gon would have a lot to say about his paper: Obi-Wan could just picture him making one remark after another, grilling him about every sentence and pointing out every flaw in his argumentation. Obi-Wan would hate every second of it, disagree with Qui-Gon on at least 215 accounts, but in the end, he’d hold his paper in his hands and could say that it had been a job well done indeed.

His Master would be proud.

His Master wasn’t here to see it.

Anakin whimpered.

Obi-Wan looked down at his Padawan again and soothingly ran his fingers through his hair again, sending him reassurance over their bond, hoping his emotions would reach his young charge even when he was asleep. Anakin, for all that he enjoyed talking a lot, was a very quiet child when he wanted to be. He didn’t make a lot of noise when he moved through their quarters, he hardly made any noise when he was sleeping. He didn’t let out a single cry despite the nightmares that must be haunting him now.

Obi-Wan began to hum a melody that had been sung to him in the creche. It was meant to calm children down during or after nightmares. Obi-Wan had always been prone to such, visions of darkness, death, and decay haunting him. Soon after he began singing, his Padawan calmed down and returned to an easy sleep.

Obi-Wan smiled down at Anakin’s form. It was nice that at least one of them could catch a couple of hours of sweet rest.

Sighing, Obi-Wan focused on the text on his datapad and began re-reading his last paragraphs.

He hadn’t typed anything that made any sense for the couple last hours. It was ridiculous.

“I should stop,” Obi-Wan muttered. “This is useless when I’m tired.”

Frustrated, he saved the document and then turned out the datapad, leaving himself in total darkness with only the weight of Anakin as a gentle reminder that he wasn’t truly lonely.

For a moment Obi-Wan contemplated just staying like this and sleeping here. He didn’t want to move, he was semi-comfortable, and Anakin by his side was more than enough comfort.

But he did have a bed with a good mattress, and so did Anakin. As his Master, Obi-Wan should set a good precedent for Anakin and follow healthy habits, avoid falling asleep on the sofa where his neck would make him pay for it in the morning.

Slowly, Obi-Wan pushed Anakin of his lap. The boy grumbled and Obi-Wan froze, not daring to move an inch. He breathed in and out, once twice, but Anakin kept on sleeping, still knocked out. Obi-Wan suppressed a laugh and then stood up in one swift move. Once standing, he cracked his bones and neck so that the stiffness would disappear from his body. If he didn’t take care of his body now, it would come back to haunt him when he attempted any of his usual Ataru sequences.

Not that Obi-Wan had been doing many of those lately. Form IV had become uncomfortable since Naboo, but he had yet to find something easier. A few of the Soresu practitioners had pointed out that he seemed to be well suited to it, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure.

Sighing yet once more and putting the thought aside for another day, he then turned around to his Padawan and scooped him up in his arms. It was good that Anakin was so small still and didn’t weigh too much. With the boy settled in his arms, drooling on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, he walked past the many datapads spread across the ground and carried Anakin to his room. He opened up the room and danced past the various droid parts carelessly thrown everywhere until he reached Anakin’s bed. With careless use of the Force, he threw back Anakin’s other two blankets before setting the boy down. He considered moving Anakin out of the cocoon to spread out the blankets properly but figured it wasn’t worth the effort. He’d just roll himself up in them again. Instead, he grabbed the two remaining blankets and tugged him in, his covers secured so that no air would get in.

“Good night, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said and turned around to leave.

He had not stepped two feet away from the door when he heard a soft, “Obi?”

Anakin had woken up.

“Yes, Anakin?” Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan again who was now staring at him with his bright blue eyes and the kind of look that Obi-Wan knew he wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

“Can you sleep here tonight?”

“I-“ Obi-Wan hesitated for a split-second. He had his own bed to return to, one that was made for an adult and not a child, with his own blanket and pillows.

“Sure,” Obi-Wan agreed and kicked off his slippers so he could crawl into bed with Anakin. His Padawan made space for him, but the moment Obi-Wan was also under the covers, Anakin pressed himself against him, somehow already having untangled his limbs from his blankets so he could stick his cold feet and hands beneath Obi-Wan’s war robes. Obi-Wan hissed at the cold contact and shot Anakin a look.

“You are a menace,” he told the boy seriously, but Anakin only giggled, seeing through his ruse.

“Nuhu, I’m cold,” he replied and promptly moved his hands just below Obi-Wan’s ribs where Anakin knew he was ticklish.

Obi-Wan jumped up, all signs of exhaustion were forgotten. Oh, it was on.

“You will regret this!” He declared dramatically and began tickling Anakin, who let out high-pitched shrieks in between his joyful laughs.

“Mercy! Obi-Wan I can’t-” Anakin begged as the rest of his sentence was swallowed by his giggles.

Obi-Wan stopped for a moment and thoughtfully crossed his arms, giving Anakin a minute to recuperate. “Oh? On what grounds!”

“Uuh,” Anakin pouted. “It’s late?” He suggested “And we should sleep. And I won’t make you cold again.”

“That’s a lie,” Obi-Wan pointed out, already knowing that Anakin would stick his freezing hands beneath his shirt.

Anakin shrugged easily and grinned at Obi-Wan. “Yeah.”

Well, at least his Padawan was honest enough to admit to it.

“Alright, let’s sleep then,” Obi-Wan said and laid down again next to Anakin. He pulled the many blankets over them both and wiggled underneath them until he was comfortable. The bed really was a little small for them both, but there was no helping it. Perhaps they should just sleep in Obi-Wan’s the next time.

“Night, Obi-Wan,” Anakin muttered and yawned.

“Good night, Anakin.”

He tugged Anakin’s head under his chin and sooner than he could count, they were asleep.

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #fanfic #everything is SOFT #and WHOLESOME #flufftober

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hobiiwan · 3 years

Text

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand.

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable.

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments.

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off.

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.”

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds.

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it.

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy.

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen.

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss, “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead.

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate.

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation.

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground.

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it.

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas.

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest, “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.”

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?”

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response.

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.”

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air.

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld.

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings. The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one.

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship.

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone.

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits.

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice.

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.”

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while.

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers.

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once.

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm.

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days.

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes.

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar.

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?”

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it.

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.”

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld.

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.”

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest.

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol.

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight.

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass.

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him.

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead.

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first.

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand.

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely.

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people.

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too.

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second.

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer.

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration.

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place.

You want to do that too.

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs.

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks.

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks.

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront.

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths.

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow.

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance.

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve.

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both.

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen.

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before.

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room.

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign.

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic.

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again.

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours.

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair.

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever.

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin.

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork.

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual.

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin.

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers.

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow.

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started.

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal.

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil.

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag.

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army.

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you.

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all.

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door.

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze. His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest.

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.”

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence.

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels.

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you.

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever.

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say.

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise.

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh.

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#editing this was a nightmaRe but i think it turned out okay!!#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #star wars headcanons

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miyalove · 4 years

Text

mornings | bokuto koutarou

—pairing: bokuto x gn!reader

—warnings: manga spoilers, swearing, fluffy fluff (literally that’s it), unedited*

—synopsis: 1.9k | waking up at 5 am is not humanly moral in your book, but maybe you can make an exception for when your boyfriend texts in need of some help

—dedication: @kei-kui, & @tobiosmilktea thank you for helping me figure out what bokuto/gym 3 would smell like! you’re answers were heavily appreciated! 🤧✨

[4] UNREAD MESSAGES FROM KOU 🦉💞

[5:01 AM] Hey hey you busy right now? 🤔🤠

[5:01 AM] (Y/n)!! Wake uuuup 😡

[5:01 AM] It pains me to say this but i need your help! It’s important!!!!

[5:02 AM] HELLO? ☹️ Come to my dorm asap!! pretty please 🥺

waking up at 5 am is never an ideal concept. never in your life would you have thought that waking up at the ass crack of dawn was a good idea. whether it be for you, your family, or even your sweet boyfriend…

it just isn’t worth it!

at least that’s what your thinking when you sit up, blinking at the unseen messages on your bright— bright phone screen. you’re grumbling for a while, a whole five minutes to be exact. pouting and muttering curses at your bimbo boyfriend that you love so much because how dare he deprive you of something as sacred as sleep!

he’s so lucky you live less than 10 minutes away from the black jackal dorms because if that wasn’t the case, you would have turned down his request instantly. getting out of your car, you enter the building wanting to get out of the chilly morning air as quick as humanly possible.

you’re wandering the halls in a big sweater (which, more than likely, is bokuto’s) glaring at the carpeted floors as they get lost under your slippers. you’re not dressed in anything special. there’s no fancy underwear, neatly combed hair, or even an ounce of makeup on your face— nope.

if your boyfriend wanted to rip away at your sleep than he must handle you at your most natural state. it’s a punishment, you say to yourself but he’s bokuto, you remind. he’ll probably love you even more…

you roll your eyes at the wholesome thought.

finally, you’ve arrived at your destination. the ugly creme colored door stares back at you almost challengingly, mockingly.

on the other side of this stupid door is your even stupider boyfriend. seriously, i have time to turn back, you think, i could say “oh sorry i was asleep— like every normal human at the time— so i couldn’t come to your room, kou.”

your glaring intensifies at the thought of bailing.

i’m already here… fuck it, i guess.

with a sigh of defeat, you knock on the door once, twice, three times before you’re greeted with the familiar face of your lovely boyfriend.

he’s smiling down at you, pearly whites on full display and his enchanting eyes smile at you too. his mop of hair isn’t slicked up like usual. you can’t but smile at how good the man before you looks with his long hair covering his forehead. it’s a rare sight, when his hair is down, so you take every chance you get to reveal in the moment whenever he’s like this.

but you can’t stray away from your thoughts, just yet. don’t get it twisted, you’re still angry at him, but god, does he look good. his cheeks are flushed a rosy pink and his tan skin glistens with a sheer layer of what you think is sweat.

“i knew you’d make it,” he loudly greets, pumping his chest out in confidence like an owl successfully hunting it’s prey. you can hear the excitement in his tone and it makes you curious as to what is so truly important that he woke you up at this hour.

if only your curiosity beat out your grumpiness, “ugh!” you groan.

“why am i here and what exactly is so important, kou?” you push past him, making a turn straight for his bed. plopping down face first into his thick, comfy sheets.

the scent reminds you of him— musky, smelling of an adventure deep in a mossy forest and the faint scent of air salonpas (essential oils, white flowers, and vapor rub). so many contrasting scents but as cliche as it sounds; it’s comforting. a spicy, woody scent that can only be described as; bokuto koutarou.

with blankets, pillows, sheets and a whole comforter wrapped around you it feels like you’re enveloped in his arms, pressed against his chest. a small smile tugs at your lips, eyes fluttering shut ready to welcome slumber.

you’re so close to sleep.

so close to slipping back into the dark euphoria…

“(y/n)? no! get up! i didn’t call you here to sleep, silly!” you vaguely hear him whine. and your heart skips a little, imagining his pout.

but you were so close!

you sigh a mixture of sleepy disappointment and crabbiness but that doesn’t stop you from sitting up, rubbing your eyes, and turning your attention back to your stupidly adorable lover.

you’re in the middle of a yawn when you grumble out a response, “then why am i here?”

rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, there’s no response. maybe he went to the bathroom? you shift on the bed, fluttering your eyes back open only to be met with two piercing golden eyes meeting your gaze. your heart sputters in your chest.

there’s a soft smile on his face. his eyes blink with an unclear emotion as they stare. if only you could read his mind then you’d have your answers.

bokuto doesn’t move, you’re so adorable! and sometimes he genuinely thinks you think the opposite. how? that’s beyond him.

he can’t help but stare. he’s so stupidly in love with you that you could tell him to jump out of his dorm window right now and he’d do it without hesitation, probably even do a backflip too because anything to impress you, right? so blindly whipped and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not… either way, he’d rather not find out.

snapping out of his trance, his expression changes instantly, “you’re doing this on purpose!” he points an accusing finger in your direction. his eyes are narrowed, brows furrowed, lips tucked into a pout.

you remain in his bed, head tilted to the side clearly confused.

“doing... what on purpose?”

he snaps his head away from you, “you’re just so cute, how can i not get distracted, silly.” he’s talking in pout at this point, words getting mumbled aloud. you can’t see if he’s blushing or not, but knowing him, that’s probably why he turned away from you in the first place.

there’s a silence, now. he can’t help but think he said or did something wrong. panic slowly settles in his chest, weighing him down but then you speak, “koutarou, i love you. i really do, but if you don’t tell me why the hell i came here at 5 am then i’m going to—”

“exercise!” and suddenly, your boyfriend is high in the air, arms out stretched in a cheer. you freeze, visibly stiffening and he just knows that he’s fucked up somehow. you aren’t saying anything. the two of you are just making awkward eye contact, bokuto debates on explaining his thoughts...

you can see the gears turning in his head, mentally you chuckle at your boyfriend’s thinking face. his brows are scrunched and lips are pursed. if this was a children’s cartoon, smoke would probably be coming out of his ears at how hard he’s working his brain.

you decide to give him a break, “exercise for what? like jogging?”

he sighs and across the room you see the tension leave his shoulders.

“no! i’ve forgotten how to jog anyways so that’s out of the picture,” you cant help but giggle because that was a habit he developed in high school. “forgetting” how to do basic things. it’s nice to know that somethings remain the same despite years passing by. he waves off your giggle though and instantly looks over to gage your reaction. seeing your expression the same as before: confused and tired, he continues, “i just needed motivation to do some dorm exercises!”

golden eyes once again meet yours. his million watt smile rivals the bright aura hinata radiates. you love seeing him so happy, but that doesn’t stop you from probing more, “motivation like how?”

a beat of silence, he walks to the side of his bed standing across from you. his large hand reaches out towards you and he nods reassuringly at your figure. it’s times like these when you silently thank any god that’s out there because this beautiful, beautiful man is yours.

grabbing at his callous hands, he guides you to the floor gently laying you down. your gazes connect for a split second and his eyes glow with admiration, there isn’t a foggy veil that indicates a double meaning with his actions so with that you lie down comfortably still.

you trust him.

but sometimes trust can only go so far without explanation.

it’s when he situates himself on top of you, his hands are on both sides of your head and he hovers a top of your figure for a few seconds. your eyes widen, a pink blush creeping up on your cheeks. your hands swiftly fly up to cover them from embarrassment.

“kou? what— what are you doing?” but the words die on your tongue as quickly as he bends down to come face-to-face with you. his lips merely a few inches away from yours.

“that’s one…” his voice is velvet against your skin, pleasant and soft. he’s so close to you. if he drops down any lower, you’re sure he could hear the rapid beating within your chest.

he doesn’t move for a while, holding his stance quite literally hovering right above your figure. his intense stare doesn’t leave yours and you wish you could hold it but with such a handsome boy staring at you like that it’s kind of really difficult.

you let out a shaky breath, “what are you doing?”

“that’s one, (y/n),” he’s speaking slowly, “that means… one kiss!”

did you just hear that correctly!? your face felt like it was on fire. a blush spreading to your ears that could make a certain middle blocker’s hair jealous. god, did he really just say that? and so confidently too? who was this man? you want to say something but the words choke at your throat, and you’re gapping like a clueless fish.

noticing your shock, bokuto’s fast to speak up. with on brow raised, he’s smirking down at you, “huh? you’re acting like we’ve never kissed before!”

he does have a point. why all of a sudden you’re so flustered about this is beyond you. you’ve both been in a happy relationship for the past nine months and to get flustered over merely kissing was sort of ridiculous on your end.

but you can’t help it, bokuto koutarou is by far the most handsome, genuine, and absolutely adorable man all wrapped up into one big, beefy package. how can you not get flustered whenever this man ask for a kiss?

sighing aloud, you finally get those fleeting thoughts past you. bokuto’s figure is still hovering over you, his arms shake a bit at the plank position he’s stuck in but his smile doesn’t fade. you lean close placing a fleeting kiss on his lips.

giggles are exchanged (but bokuto’s “giggles” usually end up shaking up the whole room. he has a very large flare for the dramatics), small brief glances, and smiles. you’re both having a good time. helping your boyfriend with something as simple as working out never felt so great.

it is at the 78th push-up, at the 78th kiss that you realize… maybe early mornings aren’t all that bad after all.

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