#but i'm really digging this soft brown look so far!

[cmncisspnandmore]

Coming home to you; Part 4

Parinings: Captain John Price X Wife! Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.1k

New to the series? Catch up here: Part 3

You sigh as you slide off Captain's back, your boots hitting the ground with a loud thud. It was a far drop off Captain, with how large he was. You pat the side of his neck as you grab the reins guiding him over to the fence. 

This was the second section of fence that had been broken in a month. You let go ofC  Captain's reins, and he goes to graze in the grass next to you. A soft breeze blows your hair into your face as you crouch down next to the broken wire fence. You carefully pick up one of the thick wires and inspect it. 

It was cut, not broken by some animal, the break was too clean for it to have snapped under the pressure. Someone had cut your fence, but who? You lived in the middle of nowhere, there was nothing but acres of empty land around you. Most of which was owned by you and the neighbor down the road. You were the only two houses on this side of the road. Your neighbors across the street, the Rosens, owned most of the land over on their side.

There have been a few instances over the last few years that people have wandered onto your property thinking it was hunting ground. There was a lot of wildlife that lived in the woods behind your fenced pastures. But in the past year or so you hadn't had much of an issue thanks to the signage you had put up with your neighbor. You carefully put the cut wire down, your eyes trailing along the fence. 

One of the posts was uprooted, it is now laying on the ground. That was going to be a pain to fix. If there was one thing you hated about fixing fences was digging in the fence posts. The posts themselves were almost as big as you, and they weighed a lot. You sigh, turning back towards the large Shire horse as he grazes. His large brown eyes look towards you as he lifts his head. Grass stuck out of his mouth as he took a few steps towards you. His black and white muzzle coming to bump into your arm. 

“Someone’s messing with our fences… Do you know anything about that?” You ask him, as you pet his neck. Captain finishes chewing his grass before he tosses his head up and down, his top lip pulled up in a smile.

“Oh really? Do you?” You smile at his antics, a soft huff coming from him as your fingers stroke his nose. “Silly old thing, if only you could talk.” 

You spend a few more moments petting Captain, before you glance over your shoulder at the fence post again. With a heavy sigh you pull your phone from your back pocket and dial John. 

“Hello?” His gruff voice answers on the second ring.

“Hi,” you smile into the phone.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, you can hear shuffling in the background.

“Yeah, I mean, no. I don't know,” you sigh, “the fence in the back pasture was cut. And one of the posts is down.”

“Cut?” he asks, “are you sure it was cut?” 

Running a hand through your hair you sigh, “Yeah I'm sure, can you come out and help me fix it?” 

“Yeah, give me a few moments to get the gates open, and everything we need to fix it in the truck.” 

“Okay, i’ll see you when you get here,” you hang up the phone, sliding it into your back pocket. “Looks like we’ll be out here for a while, let's get that tack off you.” Captain seems to understand, as he lowers his head so you can easily remove his bridle. You carefully lay his saddle and the rest of his tack over a portion of the fence and take a seat in the tall grass. It only takes Captain a few moments to notice you're sitting in the grass before he comes over. His large hooves stopped a few feet from you. Glancing up you smile at the huge animal, as he leans his head down and nudges you hard with his head. 

“Oh I'm sorry, did I not invite you to sit with me?” You smile as the large animal maneuvers himself to kay in the grass next to you. He lays on his side,his large head resting on your thigh as you stroke your fingers through his slightly tangled mane. The Captain's mane was long and black, the strands thick and coarse in between your fingers. As the sun warms your skin you, take some time to plait his mane into intricate 4 and 5 strand braids. Weaving in small yellow flowers that were around you. Captain although hard headed at times, wanted nothing more than to please you. He enjoyed laying the fields with you, letting you pet him and do as you pleased. He was tolerant of you grooming him, and he often fell asleep as you braided his mane, or brushed him.

As you tie off the end of your last plait, the rumbling of a truck coming from behind you. The noise causes Captain to stand, getting to his feet as his large ears turn in the direction of the sound. He steps in front of you, putting his large body between you and the truck. As the truck comes closer you move to stand next to Captain as he lets out a whinny. 

“Easy boy, it’s just John,” you soothe him, as he stamps his hooves into the ground.

The dark gray truck pulls to a stop next to the broken fence line. The door  slamming shut as your husband walks around the front. As soon as Captain sees him, he visibly relaxes.

“See i told you, silly horse,” You pat his neck as you walk away from him. Captain returns to grazing as you walk up to your husband. His boonie hat pulled down to shield his eyes from the sun. “Hi love,” you smile as you stand in front of your husband.

“Hello Beautiful,” he smiles, his large hands coming to rest on your waist as he gently tugs you towards him. Your hands lay softly on his chest, the warmth of his chest seeping through his shirt. Through the thin material of his shirt you could feel his muscles flexing, as he leant down to press a kiss to your hair. “Care to show me the broken wire?” He smiles down at you.

“It's over here,” you step away, walking over to the cut fencing. John takes a moment. Bending down to inspect the wire, after a moment he stands, brushing his hands on his pants.

“You’re right, it was definitely cut, and that post was pulled from the ground,” he points over to the fallen post. “I don't know why someone would cut the fence… It’s clearly posted that this is private land not hunting grounds. And even the last time we found someone hunting on the land they left the fences very well alone.”

“I'm not sure, but we need to get that fixed before we let the animals back here. The last thing we need is to find that the sheep have wandered off, or that Captain and Rookie have taken themselves for a hack by themselves,” you sigh, walking over the bed of the truck and grabbing the thick work gloves from the back. You also grab the post hole digger from the back of the truck, as John cuts the broken wire from the other post. 

After he throws the cut wire into the back of the truck he grabs the post hole digger from you. “I can dig the hole if you want to attach new wire to the fence post that's still in the ground over there.” He smiles at you as he hauls the heavy piece of equipment over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. 

“Oh, how cute, you thought I was going to dig the hole?’ You smile cheekily at your husband. John doesn't reply, he just shakes his head as he walks over to redig the fence post hole. 

You pull on a pair of thick work gloves and carefully go about fastening the wire to the standing fence post. The sun beats down on both you and John as you work in comfortable silence. It only takes him 20 minutes to dig the new hole and place the post, where it would've taken you almost an hour. As you twist the wire around itself to fasten it to the post John comes over. His shadow falls over you as he watches you finish twisting it together. 

“You’re better at fastening the wire than I am. The damn stuff just makes me mad, I don't have the patience for such tasks anymore,” he grumbles. You look up over your shoulder, the sun glaring from being John makes him more shadow than actual features.

“Did you lose all your patience in your old age?” You tease. 

“I lost it when they assigned Soap to my task force,” he smiles as he shakes his head. 

“Well, there had to be someone other than me adding to your grey hairs,” you smirk.

“Darling no one gives me more grey hair than you,” John laughs, as he crouches down next to you. You finish tying off the wire and reach over, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“It just adds to your charm, you should really be thanking me, if i'm being honest.”

“Oh? I should be thanking you for aging me?” He raises a brow.

“One hundred percent, gives you that whole sexy older man vibe. You know this younger generation are all about going for older men. The more mature males, the sophisticated ones, the ones who probably know their way around a woman.” 

“And do i?” He asks, standing to his full height, his hand catching yours as he pulls you up with him.

“Do you what?” You look up at him.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “know my way around a woman.” 

A shiver runs through your body, the hair on your arms standing up as his hands circle your waist, pulling you flush against his front. A blush creeping up your neck and painting your cheeks. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, seeping into your skin like, settling into your bones. “You definitely know your way around a woman,” you breathe.

“Good answer,” he smiles down at you, his hand coming up to brush along your cheek. “Look at you, all flustered over a simple conversation.” 

You roll your eyes at him, stepping out of his arms, “what can I say? It’s all the grey hair.”

John smiles, shaking his head as he wipes his hands on his jeans. He walks over to the rest of the supplies and piles them into the truck, making sure to secure the bed.

Captain walks over, his nose bumping into your shoulder, a soft nicker for your attention. You turn towards the horse, petting the sides of his face, brushing some stray grass from his muzzle. He tosses his head up, his lip curling upward in a smile as John walks towards you. 

“Nice smile, Captain,” John laughs at the large animal, pulling a peppermint from his pocket. He holds it out on his flat palm, as Captain eats it from his hand. The loud crunching of the mint between his teeth filled the quiet. 

“The fence is all fixed so there shouldn't be any wandering animals, I have to head back to the house, i need to do some work in my office today,” John's hands rest on your shoulders as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

Turning your head you look up at him, a small smile on his lips, “Okay, i’ll follow. Could you take Captain's tack?” 

John gives a subtle nod, “Need a boost up?”

“Yes please,” you smile, grabbing a handful of Captain's mane. John moves his hands to your waist and hoists you up onto Captain's back. As you settle onto his back, John's hand moves to your thigh, patting it gently. 

“Hey Love?” You call as he starts walking back to the truck. He looks back at you over his shoulder, boonie hat blocking his eyes. 

“Yes?”

“RACE YOU HOME!” You yell, giving Captain a kick in the side and the old Shire horse takes off. Your hands gripping chunks of his mane as his hooves pound into the ground. You look over your shoulder, John getting smaller in the distance as he throws Captains tack into the back of the truck and hurries to climb in. You laugh as Captain picks up speed, the sound of the truck turning over in the distance.

Taglist: @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #john price #captain john price #price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #x reader #x female reader #cod #cod x reader #farmer!price x reader #farmer!price #series

[saltwaterburns]

Hi, hello. Could I request an Anthony Lockwood x reader fic, maybe with the reader comforting Lockwood after a near death experience during a case/when stress becomes too much/after a nightmare (your choice, truly)

Thank you so much in advance! I love your writing and I look forward to reading what you make of this request (no pressure though!!)

je sais pas m'oublier

summary: you comfort lockwood after a mission almost gone wrong and somehow end up tangled together with him in the library

warnings: lockwood gets injured and they don't kiss 😕

pairing: anthony lockwood x gn!reader

a/n: AAAAAA MY FIRST EVER FIC THATS A REQUEST. This is very nerve wrecking btw I don't want to disappoint anyone. If it's bad it's cause of nerves. I love you guys sm, all of your notifications make my day. And!!! When requesting I'd loveloveLOVE if you'd specify the readers gender! I tried to make this gn but it might tilt towards fem reader ;(

And to this lovely anon, i adore you endlessly!!! 🩷

It was supposed to be a simple case. Get there, find the source, capture it, get out. It really didn't seem like something to make a big deal out of. Yet here you were, desperately digging the ground for multiple sources alongside George while Lucy and Lockwood are trying to fight off the wailing type twos surrounding your lot.

"I've never wanted Kipps and his crew to show up more than right now." You laugh, a hint of worry sprinkled upon it. George snorts and you grin at the sound, your hands steadily guiding the shovel that's digging the ground, not a spot on your body left that appears clean. You feel small droplets of rain start to drop down and the waters of panic lap at your feet, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The possibility of you not making it out in one piece tonight just became very real. If the rain continues, you won't be able to see the ghosts well enough to fight them off.

As if on cue, your shovel hits something wet, hard and slippery. Bones. You shout for George and leave him to deal with the sources, hauling yourself up the muddy hole to go and help your friends.

Your gaze settles on Lockwood. He seems to be doing fine at first glaze, but as you look closer, you see that he's limping. Why on Earth would he be limping? You dont have enough time to wallow on that because he falls, his rapier flying just a few inches too far for him to grasp.

You shout for him and without thinking, grab a magnesium flare off your belt, throwing it somewhere in the direction of the ghost. The explosion would've knocked you off your feet but your mind is locked on him, his lanky frame, that now on the ground looks small, fragile even.

"Lockwood, Locky are you alright?" You ask, dropping down on to your knees next to him, gently cradling his face in your hands. He groggily opens his eyes and you practically sob, pulling him close to you. His brown curls tickle your face but you only hold him tighter, smiling to yourself as you feel his arms slowly making their way around you.

"Fucks sake, you scared me. Scared me so bad. Why were you limping? You could have been ghost touched." You murmur, pressing a kiss to his head after every word. You don't give him time to answer before pulling away, cupping his cheeks and resting your forehead against his. His eyes flutter shut, dark lashes brushing against pale cheeks. How does he always manage to look so breathtaking?

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I messed up a manoeuvre and slipped on the grass, it was rather stupid of me." He apologises, but you only hold him tighter.

George finishes up securing the sources with Lucy and all five of you start the journey back to Portland Row, soaking wet and covered in mud, awaiting the box of Arif's donuts that are sitting on the kitchen table.

You exit the steaming bathroom, a pink towel wrapped around your upper body, soaking wet hair leaving a path of tiny droplets all the way to your and Lucy's room. The ginger girl is fast asleep under the mountain of covers, soft snores emitting from her. You turn off her bedside lamp, darkness swallowing the room. You're used to the darkness, the way it disables all your senses at first. You pay it no mind and slip into a grey 'The Rolling Stones' t-shirt, rough drying your hair with the towel before disregarding it somewhere.

You don't go straight to bed. Something is crippling inside you, chewing on your heart. You leave your room and walk downstairs, stopping in front of the library door. Light is bleeding through the cracks all around the door, and you instantly know who's awake in there at this hour. It's him, always him.

You knock on the door a few times and twist the door knob, stepping into the dimly lit room. Lockwood is sitting there; his hair damp, his sleep shirt a little soaked as well. He has a book in his lap and it looks like he's trying to read but something is bothering him.

"Hey, you. I wanted to check up on you. Are you okay?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He sighs softly and closes the book, putting it away before patting on the spot next to him, signalling for you to come and sit. You do exactly that and sit down next to him, looking a little worried.

He's warm. You can feel the heat emitting from him, his body. Its heating up your cheeks, tinting them pink.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm alright. Just shaken I suppose. Felt like I was looking death himself right in the eye for a second there." He chuckles, but there isn't any amusement laced in it. You don't reply to him, you just take his hand in yours and lace your fingers together.

Nothing else is said throughout the night. When George finds you two in the morning, he's laying on top of you, his head on your chest and his arms around your waist. You're holding him close to you, your grip unrelenting.

Part two, yes no maybe?!?! I hope you guys enjoyed 😁Feedback is always more than appreciated !!

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #lucy carlyle #gn reader

[wishluc]

I’d love to see more of your Solomon work! Your characterization of him is just 🤌🏼 I love the idea of him seemingly trying to protect MC from the brothers awful influences but is just corrupting them for himself. What would happen if MC started to pic up on his true intentions?

Thank you so much! I really really like Solomon and writing for him ♡

Observation

CW: Yandere character, manipulation

No matter how hard you look, you can't find anything wrong with Solomon—nothing apart from his usual eccentricities, that is.

You look closely, at the questioning quirk of his eyebrows and the blue-brown of his eyes. You follow the line of his lips and focus on the tip of his nose, but there's nothing to be found.

Honestly, you're not sure exactly what you're looking for. Asmo had confided in you, his eyes sincere and voice meek, that he thought something was off with how Solomon acted around you, like he was merely donning a mask. He claimed that there was underlying malice behind his smiles at the others, that there was anger simmering within his eyes despite his warm exterior. But there was none of that here, only a normal expression. You were looking, trying to find out if, perhaps, that anger and that malice extended to you, too, and...he was looking right back.

You blink, forcing an awkward smile at the sudden realization, "Hi?"

His responding smile is far more natural, a soft quirk of his mouth that almost has you relaxing in your seat, questioning why you'd ever suspect something was wrong with Solomon. Despite some of his dubious practises, he was a kind mentor and friend to you—and honestly the best ‘human’ companion you could have asked for here. Aside from his shrewd eye, Solomon has a way of easing your anxious mind; maybe it's his warm touch, the comfortable sensation of his hand in yours, his soothing voice and composed words that ground you, or maybe it's the effortless way that you connect with him, the familiarity of his presence in such an unaccustomed place that eases you in.

Solomon's only ever had your best interest at heart, you know this, but the memory of Asmo's solemn seriousness pleads with you to just consider his words. It wouldn't hurt to make sure, right?

"Something wrong?" He smirks, after a moment's deliberation—playful, charismatic, but not wicked—"or should I be flattered?"

"I was just lost in thought."

He chuckles, the sound causing your heart to falter.

“I was thinking we should go out for dinner—“

"I won't be over tonight. I have plans," you didn't plan to blurt it all out like that, but being in his presence with Asmo's warning lingering in the back of your mind makes you more nervous.

Solomon takes a sip from his cup, "Oh? Will you be back late?"

And that's a good sign, isn't it?—A breezy, nonchalant reply. You're hopeful, perhaps to a desperate degree, that this was proof enough of Solomon's good nature, of his selfless care when it concerned you.

You shrug, shifting your gaze down to the dark wooden surface of the table, "I'm not sure. Satan and I were planning to—"

"Satan?" Solomon shoots you an incredulous look, uncharacteristically expressive, "I didn't know the two of you were...close."

It was, as far as you can tell from his tone and startled state, sincere shock; Satan didn't come off as the friendliest of demons. A part of you, desperately clinging onto your version of Solomon, wants to dig more, and find out if anything would make him slip. Mostly, you just wanted to prove to yourself that there was nothing to be worried about.

You only smile enigmatically, hoping the crypticness of your expression does the prodding for you, pestering him enough that he needs answers.

It's a strange revelation. For someone so clever, Solomon was incapable of staying rational in the face of growing envy. It's such a human weakness that you end up finding some comfort in its presence, despite what else it should incite in you. "I thought you didn't trust them."

I trusted you more than anyone else, you want to say, and you insisted i should keep my guard up,

You're not sure if he meant it that way, but the underlying sharpness of his tone stabs you accusingly, even though it was never your wish to be distant from your housemates.

You swallow the apologies rising up in your throat, and ignore the swelling guilt. "Satan's nice," you say instead, "and he doesn't like his brothers much."

It's a terrible lie, the worst kind, both cruel and weak. But Solomon, as you've come to realize, cares not for how untrue your words are when he starts feeling a jealous itch. All that matters is what you say, and how it picks at the itch and makes it sting.

"I...find that hard to believe," he says your name in that deceivingly lovely voice of his, all too fond and too gentle. Your heart hiccups in response, fluttering at the sound, "I don't think it's a good idea for you to befriend any of them."

Your heart stops twisting, and instead goes still. It feels as though it has been caught in an odd web of lies and veins, unable to move. Solomon, with all his knowledge and expertise, seems none the wiser to your internal conflict. He only smiles tenatively in the face of your distress.

"You like Asmo, don't you? Why are the rest any different?"

"Like?" Although his laugh sounds lighthearted, when you listen close enough it feels awkwardly out of place and strained, "You've misunderstood me. I don't mind Asmodeus because we have a pact. If anything were to happen, he is ultimately bound to my orders."

You knew Solomon could be cruel. It was necessary to thrive in a place like the Devildom, but you thought his cruelty was limited to half-truths and clever, small tricks. It was difficult to believe that the same man that looked at you so tenderly could be the same one in front of you now. Thinking back of Asmo and his uncertain request, you wonder if he already had been on the receiving end of Solomon's cruelty; the worst end. Suddenly, every moment spent beside the demon is rushing back into your mind, and you find yourself analysing every frame. Was it inevitable that you would upset him?

You blink back to focus as Solomon continues, "—Like I said, we need to watch out for each other. It's just us two here, and—" His lopsided smile, the same one that normally makes your heart swell and your face mirror his, brings you nothing but apprehension now. Suddenly, it's clearer how plastered on his expressions are.

"I think you're wrong," the words feel like sand in your mouth, "they wouldn't—" and it comes then, a short burst of something malicious marring his face in the form of a scowl, so quick and so sudden that you can barely process the scene before he's back to his composed, thoughtful expression in a blink of an eye. The twisting of his mouth lasted for barely a moment, but in that time, your heart felt as though it were thudding against your ribs, ready to explode from the palpations, and your hands felt uncomfortably cold at the tense iciness that shrouded him. There was nothing else you could call it—only a horrible vexation.

With a quick nod that concealed any tension or stiffness, Solomon immediately slips back into his usual mannerisms

"They're defined by their sins," Solomon says at last, a tinge of sympathy in his voice that makes you want to scream at how insincere it was, and how you almost believed it regardless, "and you're powerless here. Trust me, you're better off being cautious. I don't want you to get hurt again."

It's unkind, and this time, it truly feels like he's holding the knife of his words and twisting it in you slowly. Guilt had never felt so agonizing, especially when it should be unwarranted.

"I won't," you say, and a part of you, a part so enthralled by his twisted nature and eager to see how far it reaches out, wants desperately to vex him more. But you know better than to give into that.

"You have me to ensure that." In his eyes, you think you can see just how pleased he is with your quick assent.

Asmo wasn't entirely right. Solomon was a cruel being to the core, but anger wasn't all he harbored—only what he spared to anyone apart from you. He did not look at you with hatred, but a sick kind of affection. And truly, you're not sure which is worse.

(Later that day, when Satan informs you that he’s suddenly feeling unwell, you don’t miss the sly look Solomon shoots you.)

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

#yandere x reader #yandere solomon #yandere x you #yandere drabble #yandere obey me shall we date #yandere obey me x reader #yandere obey me solomon #yandere obey me swd #yandere solomon x reader #anon mail. 🌀 #asa.writes 🌀 #obey me. 🌀 #drabble. 🌀 #drabble request v02. 🌀 #requested work. 🌀 #cw yandere #cw manipulation

[127luvr]

SOOO i just reqd the jaemin smau AND i have thoughts (as a jaemin and sungchan ULT STAN GAY EUEUEUEUE)

so uhm everyone knows jaemin and yn will be tgt lile thats the fic BUT i have big inclination that shotaro will yes might be the reason chanyn will break up but i feel like shotaro wont go back to sungchan cause duh career hello SOOOO

can i request a sungchan x male reader story 🫶🫶 which could or could not be continuing this like later on after jaemyn is a thing so imagine regular new yn and he actually really liked sungchan ever since sungchan served him one time so he goes to the cafe hoping he sees him everytime so the one week he constantly see him gone yn asks jaemin's yn where he is and jaemin's yn basically become the bridge for sungchan's yn to be with sungchan

(so just imagine sungchan's yn that has a tissue paper ready with his socials and saying you're cute cause sungchan had given him too much change prior and he waited for the whole week and got impatient so he just gave it to jaemin's yn forgetting the tissue paper with the change so jaemin's yn give it to sungchan)

(you dont have to write this in the story im just brain farting but sungchan's yn being hopeful romantic that is also no boyfriend since birth and sungchan even though moving on and befriending his exes still is adamant in finding love is just UGHHH like i need sungchan to have a happy ending I NEED MY MAN TO HAVE A HAPPY ENDING IN EVERY AU </3)

love 119 ✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ

jung sungchan x male reader

in which y/n finds himself in the My Love Mine all Mine alternate universe, but he doesn't mind it.

it's been a month since you stepped into the luna cafe. a month since you sat at the first table you saw--closest to the service counter. a month since you held your head in your hands, elbows digging into hard surface below you--trying to dig into the wood and fall through it. a month since sungchan sat across from you with your favorite drink in his hands.

you ignore the way the liquid spills out from the bottom of the lid and onto the table. laser-focused on the man in front of you. you've never seen a face like his back home--with a deer-like charm. tall nose paired with full lips and brown hair that falls over his eyes like he's the boy-next-door. he sits across from you with a certain familiarity in his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips when the two of you make eye contact.

"i thought you were off today, y/n?" he throws his arms on the table casually, like he knows you. like he's comfortable with you but you pull yourself back, pressing your body as far as you could to your cushioned chair. sungchan gives you a puzzled look, his lips thinning into somewhat of a frown. "what's wrong?"

"do i know you?"

sungchan freezes, his hands placed flat against the table that separates you from him. and he finally notices your clothes. clothes that he knows his y/n doesn't own. he takes a second to get a good look, noticing the way your hair is parted differently. your lips a little asymmetrical--the mole that was on his y/n now on the opposite side of your face.

"i'm so sorry! i thought you were my friend for a minute. you guys look eerily similar." he takes one last look before he pulls himself off of the chair, dusting his apron off awkwardly before bowing his head in an apologetic manner. he leaves the drink with you, even pushing it towards your timid fingers as another apology. "what's your favorite dessert? it's on the house for any inconvenience."

it has been four mondays since your initial meeting with sungchan. four mondays in a row where you've stepped foot in the same cafe--at the same time on-the-dot as the first monday. so far, it's to no avail. it seems that the closer you try and get to sungchan, the further away he was.

your second visit to the cafe, you encountered this world's you. it wasn't like looking in the mirror. it was uncanny--uncomfortable--as you stared at your own face. heard your own voice. reacted to your own mannerisms. this y/n brushed it off, choosing to chalk it up to pure coincidence even with playful nudging that came from his coworkers.

although the two of you were the same, this y/n was far more extroverted. he was always surrounded by friendly coworkers at the cafe--always stealing glances at the white-haired man that sat at the booth with a clear view of the counter. he took his breaks with him, sitting with his head on his shoulder, (h/c) locks sprawled all over his shirt. the white haired man never looked away from him, always attentive even with his work sitting in front of him.

you learned his name on your third visit--jaemin. you never knew you could be so jealous of yourself. bitter at the way this (y/n)'s mouth couldn't help but form a smile every time he uttered jaemin's name. it was a foreign feeling. watching yourself be affectionate with another man.

you've lived your whole life without a significant other. you could continue living without one but experiencing unrequited love your whole life was grueling. all you wanted to do was hold hands with someone who liked you just as much as you liked him.

by your fourth visit, you grew tired of waiting for sungchan. tired of watching this (y/n) and his jaemin touch all over each other. you were determined to get into contact with sungchan again, preparing a piece of paper with your social media handles and phone number just in case he was more comfortable with either one of them.

"can you give this to sungchan, please?" you wipe your clammy hands on your blue jeans, handing this (y/n) your cash and your torn piece of paper. he gives you a crooked grin, paying more attention to the writing on the paper instead of your change. "i haven't seen him since that first meeting, but i can't get him out of my mind. i know it's stupid--"

"no! no! it's about time. you won't shut up about him and he won't shut up about you. it's just unlucky you always come in when he's not here." (y/n) folds the paper in front of you neatly, placing in his wallet carefully. "i'll protect this with my life."

"thanks, (y/n)."

sungchan doesn't wait long to text you, eager when he receives a picture of your number from (y/n).

you can't help but smile at the unknown number on your phone. you can hear his voice through the letters on the screen, his messages sounding just like his speech in real life.

hey, y/n!

(it's sungchan btw......)

do you have a nickname? i might confuse you and the other y/n.

so weird! you both look the same and have the same name, are you the evil doppelgänger?

no, maybe he is 🤔. haha!

#HI MY LOVE I AM SO SORRY #IM NOT SURE HOW LONG THIS HAS SAT IN MY DRAFTS COLLECTING DUST BUT IT IS FINALLY HERE #I TWEAKED IT JUST A LITTLE BIT #BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #UM #A PART TWO IS NEEDED... i'm just not sure WHEN 😭 #i love you #jung sungchan #riize #sungchan x male reader #x male reader #riize x male reader #<3

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Angst, description of night terror, descriptions of person and animal injury :/, violence, fluff, canon character death, and description of near-death experience.

Summary: Soon after losing yourself within your own mind, you are deployed to the distant planet Lanos to aid Obi-Wan Kenobi in his secondary mission of delivering supplies to a Republic supply port amidst his coordination of the primary fleet rendevous. But as you begin to dip your toes into the responsibilities that accompany becoming a General in The Clone Wars, you are quick to discover that lightyears of travel will do nothing to shield you from the consequences of being The Guardian.

Song Inspo: Widow's Peak — Neil Finn

Words: 8.2K

A/n: I'M ALIVEEEE. Haha, sorry for the long hiatus, but I'm back with Chapter 1 of Part II (of many). We begin with events running tangentially to Rising Malevolence. Also, I have to thank each and every one of you for your continued support. I can't put into words how much it means to me to receive your Kudoses and read your comments. It's what has really driven me to make this story as entertaining for y'all as possible. So thank you ❤️ So excited to be back! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one in the comments below :)

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Series Masterlist

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead — Benjamin Franklin

Squinting against the icy gale as loose flakes snagged your eyelashes, you steadied into a stiff crouch atop the snowy plain. One that stretched out for endless miles across the hostile planet’s pallid surface, but still allowed for enough idle traction with the dig of your determined heels into its niveous layers.

It wasn’t the easiest feat, considering your small body of just five years felt like loose parchment against the billowing gusts that howled past your ears and ruffled the furs of your Wampan cloak. But, no matter, you still did well for your age, relying on the Force’s converging stability to focus your body and mind on the far more interesting sight that lay ahead.

Sharp claws scurrying and scraping into the chipping frost below, the long, floppy-eared Ice Scrabbler continued its desperate search for the day’s meal. Your eyes graced its soft, brown coat, taking note of the progressive ruggedness that characterized the ends of its tail, and tight curls which twisted its cheeks into a perpetual frown.

What tugged at the muscles cornering your lips, however, was neither of those benign features. It was, instead, that pointed beak— a quite bulbous thing that greatly contrasted against the equally confused set of tiny button eyes dotting either oblivious side of the animal’s head as it remained affixed toward the ground.

You giggled.

Floppy ears spun like propellers, slapping against the small creature’s pointed mouth while those same, searching eyes locked cautiously onto your figure.

Sucking in the winter’s teeth-rotting chill, you held your breath, hoping not to upset the being any more than you obviously already had. Instead, you took comfort, simply by watching the miniature thing while your shoulders relaxed into the imperceptible numbing sensation the weather cast onto your grinning lips.

But the Galaxy had other plans, as the Scrabbler seemed to derive permission from your stilled expression to commence a slow approach. In which, placing one carefully lowered paw in front of the other, it rigidly prowled toward your figure crouched only a few feet away.

Still, you watched on quite happily, permitting the critter to carry out its nature during one of those rare trips you and your friend took across the planet’s surface.

Until the Scrabbler’s suddenly coiled spine launched like a flash of light toward your arm, levying a hefty scratch with sharp claws that plunged your knees into the sleet.

You cried out, thrusting a reactive fist toward the defensive, four-legged animal as the Force carried out your whim, sending its surprised limbs tumbling into the unfeeling embrace of a nearby, blackened rock that jutted ruggedly from the ice.

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon asked calmly while swiftly approaching your squatting figure, having left behind his light scavenging efforts some meters away in favor of the sudden commotion.

You wiped a loose, crystal tear from your cheek as the wise-eyed man kneeled before you, gently grasping your small arm to assess the damage prior to loosening a travel pack off his back and down his shoulder so to leisurely rummage through its varied contents.

“That dumb thing attacked me!” You spit, eyes narrowed on the Scrabbler’s semi-distant form that softly limped beyond its disturbed landing spot, silent whimpers trailing paw prints which denting the snow.

That’s when the old Jedi’s gaze locked with yours. And without sharing a hint of anything but lifted features of neutrality and acceptance, your Master blindly grasped onto whatever he was looking for from his pack.

Soon, he revealed the mystery by raising a white bandage roll from its rear compartment before, once more, motioning for your arm, all of which began the gradual process of wrapping its red-streaked, mangled body that stung from the dissolving mess of descending flakes.

“Do you think they were unwise in attacking you?” The man questioned, circling the itchy white ribbon firmly around the inking, crimson wound.

You stared at him straight. “Yeah!”

“Even if they saw you as a threat?”

“But I wasn’t doing anything!” You complained, scrunching your nose in annoyance. “I was just… watching it.”

After tightly sealing your arm from any risk of leakage, the Master Jedi tied off the bandage. Embracing the seconds following that last, knotted loop to face you with his whole self, completely, before he settled to speak.

“Sometimes, we can do nothing at all, and everything right, yet still face the consequences.”

He rose to his feet, offering you a warm hand to firmly grab as you lugged yourself upwards, catching your sprightly feet to stand beside his articulate incarnation.

“But it is our responsibility as Jedi to face such circumstances without fear.”

Your eyes raised toward the warm, hue-scattered horizon, scanning the icy expanse for the animal before that same, conflicted stare grounded on a small brown ball of fur, quivering a few meters beyond the rock like a fleck upon a pearly white blanket.

“I wasn’t scared,” you defended meekly, a subtle pull tugging at your chest. “I was just… upset.”

But no matter how much you tried to hide it, Qui-Gon seemed to take clear notice of your gaze as his own subtly curious expression traced it to the nearby cramped creature struggling through a noticeable limp.

“It is fear that leads us to become upset. Fear that guides us to take it out on others.”

With deliberate leisure, the Master Jedi approached the trembling, small Scrabbler, leading you to follow in step as you steadily trailed along through suffocating snow banks. Their spilling bodies gliding like hands with tightening fingers as if ready to clasp your ankles before yanking you down into their underground world.

He hummed lowly, taking careful measure not to panic the tiny animal with intimidating noises. “But we must act compassionately to all. Even those who frighten us.”

Before long, the two of you reached the whining Scrabbler. And, with each successive movement that Qui-Gon made, from kneeling down to even extending a sedated, innocuous arm toward its wet snout, the being could only shrink in place at what they perceived as coming doom. With its left, front leg dreadfully abraded and slowly bleeding into reddening fur at the bend, that was all it could feasibly do.

Until the back of Qui-Gon’s hand graced those drooping ears, the gentle, kneading strokes progressively plucking out the Scrabbler’s surreptitiously affectionate nature. Most evident when the smoothly tranquilizing critter leaned into the Master Jedi’s palm with pleasurably squinting eyes, as if his rough skin held the only warmth found for miles.

Which was probably true.

Still, as was his timeless essence, Qui-Gon sourced the infinite prowess to calm the creature a significant degree. Enough, apparently, for your dear friend to feel comfortable gradually transferring that same roll of bandaging tape into your pocket-size palms. Tiny fingers which impulsively clutched onto the ruggedly thin material as your confounded gaze communicated every baffling, skeptical thought that flitted through your mind.

But all that only compelled the Master Jedi to respond with was a subtle, lighthearted beckon of the brows toward the faintly preoccupied, wild animal.

So, with equal prudence, and a healthy bout of watchful nerves, you gently wrapped your tiny fingers around the creature's leg.

Yet as those chilled digits graced bloodied fur bordering the Scrabbler’s wound, you were quick to earn a flick of its bulbous skull toward your now stiffened form, followed by a quiet, meaningful growl that seemed to sting your freshly wrapped wound the most.

This time, however, you didn’t react so rashly.

With Qui-Gon’s silent encouragement acting in tandem with his subsisted, distracting ear scratches, you carefully began wrapping the abrasion.

“To be their friend?” You questioned, eyes locked into the twirling, pearly fabric.

Qui-Gon lifted his hand from the Scrabbler while he considered your words, allowing the latter to curiously observe your actions with a regularly tilting head and clicking beak as the Jedi Master’s eyes graced the blue sky’s boundless existence.

“A Jedi is a friend to all who are imbued with the living Force.”

Your brows furrowed at the old man whose gaze had traveled elsewhere, though your hands remained steady. “But that’s… everything.”

His serene stare skipped back toward your patient expression.

“You are correct,” he smiled softly.

With a securing knot at the upper leg, you finished bandaging the creature, leaving enough room for them to bend their knee during the next few weeks of healing until the fabric dissolved.

The Scrabbler, too, seemed to approve of your quick handiwork, as they swiftly leaned over to swipe their beak past your cheek, offering a sloppy, wet lick of appreciation. All the while their sandpaper-like tongue roped a feeble giggle to fall past your lips.

And it was enough, too, to reel you back into the reality of your actions, like an air bubble shooting to the surface of any deep ocean.

“I feel bad,” you faintly admitted, averting your gaze from the only honorable man you’d ever known.

Instead, you focused your guilt by repaying the presently comfortable creature with a few scratches on their unfairly soft, browned back.

“There is no need,” he declared nonchalantly. “You have made your amends and were forgiven.”

A gentle, thrumming purr oozed from the Scrabbler’s belly— a sound so foreign yet entirely relaxing that it drowned out the echoing howls of swelling gusts that whipped your hair and numbed your cheekbones.

Still, nothing could ever stifle the way Qui-Gon’s subtle wisdoms stimulated your inner thoughts. Whether it was hours or days prior, once the gravity of his words set in, it was like rushing water to the crops of your mind.

You couldn’t help but drink it in.

“So… when I’m The Guardian, I’ll have to protect everyone else too? Why can’t I just help The Chosen One to keep balance in the Force?”

A sudden warmth enveloping your shoulder drew your gaze, along with your once stooped body, upwards. Empowering you to wonder up at the soft-eyed Jedi whose comforting grasp always reminded you that as long as he was around, you’d always be safe.

“Because all life is sacred, Young One. It is as meaningful as it is fleeting. It is when we accept this truth that we may find peace in the Galaxy.”

You grinned.

Until the wisp of glazed disorientation consuming Qui-Gon’s once bright, blue eyes drew it to falter.

“Qui-Gon?” You questioned nervously with wrinkled brows.

His jaw plunged open, orbs swirling gray as a sharp, red glow reflecting off their gloss caught your attention against the world’s white sheen.

You snapped your heed down toward a new heat, settled in the form of a blaring, red saber that burned your watering eyes. Sucking the life from your breath once your gaze traced its body from the hilt lying neatly in your palm all the way into Qui-Gon’s marred gut.

“Qui-Gon!” You cried. “I didn’t mean to!”

A maniacal hiss from just behind fluttered past your tingling ear, catching your heart in your throat as two fierce hands with sharpened nails dug ruthlessly into your arms to wheel you around.

A blood face lined by black streaks, craggy horns threatening to scratch out your skin, and eyes as yellow as the darkest side of the most rotten star.

“General.”

He grabbed your throa—

“General, sir.”

Shimmering silver eyes shot open, subdued shock heaving your once-lying chest upwards like a pebble stuck to the end of a string as you disjointedly adjusted to the warped, muggy cavern’s dimmed surroundings. That very instant in which your shoulders graced a higher altitude, you unconsciously scooted, palms scrambling your back to touch the rear, cold rock face while your mind caught up to the blood rushing in from your tingling extremities.

It was a brief existence of disorientation as disorderly thoughts gradually adjusted for the contrasting present. Allowing your senses to hone in on the fact that you were still within that happenstance cave on Lanos. One that you, Obi-Wan, and his Ghost Company of the 212nd decided to take short respite in, you quickly recalled.

Through that brisk remembrance, you found the blurriness of odd shapes soon cleared like melting ice into the curved lines and sharper cuts of clone troopers’ white and black uniforms, which graciously dotted your surroundings.

Some, like you, were resting against the cavern’s walls in various states of lying, sitting, and leaning, across or beside scattered Republic-marked cargo containers. A couple for shut-eye, and one group for, what looked like, a quick game of Card Commander, which you’d heard a bit about these last few days.

Others moved through the makeshift corridor manufactured by sporadically lounging bodies. Either in straight dialogues with one another or to strictly coordinate the transport of supply-riddled repulsersleds back out into the valley that formed this cave at least a millennia ago.

Most noticeable, however, was the clone trooper stood just in front of your once dormant figure. Presenting a silent disposition which dedicated his helmed stare to an existence of patient observation. All while you attempted to conceal somewhat erratic breaths emerging from that strange dream’s persisting sensation of bottomless emptiness as it settled within your chest like a voracious parasite.

Because it all just felt a little too real.

Nevertheless, you rammed that feeling down.

“Apologies for waking you, sir, but General Kenobi requested I inform you that we will begin moving again in the next ten minutes.”

You nodded, adjusting your spine against the rather uncomfortable, bumpy crag before glancing up at the bulkily masked trooper. One of the many soldiers in this Company tasked with acting as a defensive escort to a ground supply convo headed for the Republic’s Lanos supply port that still stood a few clicks out.

You recalled how the atmospheric electrical storm dancing beyond the skies forced the three cargo shuttles to land at least five clicks out from the compound in order to ensure a safe landing. Which, of course, left a quick trek as the only guarantee of a punctual supply delivery. All in hopes that this secondary mission would be completed in time for Kenobi to return the Negotiator.

He did have to coordinate an entire fleet rendezvous to protect the main supply convoys, after all. So, haste prevailed as the most important factor; no matter if Obi-Wan’s primary mission remained in the same system.

Speed, yes. A constant rush. That would explain why you felt so jostled when awoken. Particularly if you’d only been out for a few minutes.

Well, that among other factors.

“Thank you,” you croaked, throat dry from sleeplessness until you cleared it with a gruff cough. “And your name?”

“Designation CT-7212, General,” he straightened. “But the boys call me Boil.”

“Boil,” you hummed, tasting the vowels. “I like that. But call me Silvey.”

You climbed to your feet, reaching for your knees to pat off the dirt that had accumulated in your unconscious state.

“Sir?” He asked perplexed.

You glanced up at the man, and, were it not for the helmet, you would’ve seen a sharp, bundle of nerves stitch together his brows right about now.

“Close, but you’re missing a couple letters,” you teased, throwing a light smile toward the speechless soldier undoubtedly drenched in discomfort, until you adopted a more practical, commanding tone.

“No General, no sir. Just Silvey.”

Boil offered a curt nod. “Understood sir—uh—Silvey.”

You opened your mouth, loosened tongue primed to inquire about the approximate arrival time to the Republic port, when a vivid, repeating flash erupted from your wrist. Followed by a high-pitched beep and vibrating buzz that, in equal intervals, tingled like tiny Endorian ants up and down your non-dominant arm.

Your new wrist comm seemed to be aptly functioning, you thought while glancing down at the device. It was one of the few upgrades the Republic Army supplied for your wears. Much like the other handful of Jedi you’d seen dressed for battle, you bore forearm-length granite gray gauntlets and shin guards that blended well with your long-sleeved charcoal tunic and trousers. Even the sage shoulder guard did an excellent job extending into your similarly tinted robe’s design.

Though, in hindsight, it wasn’t the most appropriate clothing for such a humid cavern, considering how the cloth stuck to your skin and pulled droplets from your forehead like a desert heat.

All in all, you couldn’t wait to step outside into unfettered air.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” you informed Boil, who simply nodded before retreating down the passageway while you comfortably folded your legs to answer the comm.

Only to hear a familiar groan of annoyance as Anakin seemed to, once again, request that Ahsoka leave from whichever room he was currently occupying on a ship lightyears away. From what you could make out, he was suggesting to his Padawan that she inform the Admiral of their split approach tactic. Still, you couldn’t gather much else from the exchange as it was swiftly followed by the clear whoosh of a sealing door that prompted you to speak.

“Glad to hear that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Sorry,” he huffed into the comm, a tin film separating the essence of his voice from you. “My Padawan has yet to learn how to talk with the Council.”

“Struggling with tact? Sounds like someone else I know.”

And the brief silence that followed suggested all you needed to adequately imagine the thin, unimpressed line characterizing the Chosen One’s frustrated lips.

Which was certainly enough to yank a healthy chuckle out of you.

Until a concerned edge cut you off.

“Obi-Wan dodged my question when I asked how you were a few minutes ago.”

Your jaw subconsciously tightened.

This is exactly what you were hoping to avoid.

Anakin worrying about you when he had much more on his mind to deal with.

You knew particularly well what it was like to lose someone you were close to. Including the dangers of tying another string to one more rattling tree so soon after a mother’s death. Which is why you didn’t want to complicate his potential endeavors of relying on the Force to forge ahead with your own, peeling branches.

Nevertheless, while you were sure Obi-Wan did his best in redirecting Anakin’s questioning, you were now close enough with The Chosen One to know that he was quite capable of catching someone, especially his former Master, in a subtle act of deception.

Although there was perhaps still a way to salvage this, you considered.

So, you feigned ignorance.

“Oh?”

“Are you okay?” He questioned without a lick of hesitation.

“I’m fine, Ana—“

“I know something is going on. That it has been for a while. But no one is tellin—“

“Anakin, drop it,” you stated tersely.

A perpetual silence seemed to cloud the comm line, interrupted by only the occasional pop of static that merely acted as proof of life.

Still, it supplied enough of a buffer for you to hopefully steer the conversation to something more… productive? Harmonious?

No matter the uncomfortable sheen that draped across your figure, that needed to happen.

He couldn’t have any distractions.

“Um,” you breathed deeply before releasing a noisy exhale. “If you heard from Obi-Wan, I assume it was during the Council meeting on that new Separatist weapon I’ve been hearing so much about,” you inquired somewhat smoothly. “Any news on your end?”

Another beat of complicated stillness crossed the communique before Anakin’s firm, business-oriented tone echoed through the line.

“Master Plo Koon’s fleet was in the Abregado System when we lost contact. Sensors say that this weapon may be why. But the Council ordered we redirect to protect the supply convoys.”

“Sounds like I’ll be seeing you soon,” you commented while your chest distended at the loss of life. “Who’s been tasked with rescuing the survivors?”

“Technically, no one,” he straightly remarked. “But… you also probably won’t be seeing me as soon as you thought.”

Well, that certainly tugged at the corner of your mouth.

“Bring support,” you advised.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin relayed, a slight unsettlement underlying his tone. “The Master Insubordinate herself is tagging along. Ahsoka was the one who wanted to go in the first place.”

“Like Master, like Padawan,” you remarked lightheartedly, hoping to relieve the Jedi’s mood.

“At least she’s learning something, I guess.”

Though, despite the levity of his words, you could still hear the steady unease buffering his voice like a decaying foundation, fracturing all the way up to its highest spires.

A nervous trill swirled in your gut.

He seemed to be in better spirits before. So then…

Was this your doing?

Did your earlier deflection infect him with this gradual rot of apprehension?

“I won’t tell Obi-Wan,” you revealed, hoping to seize some sense that perhaps his tense articulations were primarily rooted in that particular worry. “But please update him when he starts coordinating the rendezvous. Otherwise, he’s gonna turn gray because of us. Well, if he doesn’t figure it out by then.”

Silence spoke for your groundless optimism instead.

And, against every warring cell of your being that despairingly endeavored to justify the past month’s clandestine behavior, it suddenly forced you to consider:

Were you making things worse?

No. No.

The alternative of sharing these strange afflictions was sure to confuse your role as his protector. His Guardian.

Not the other way around.

… but

Hiding it? When he already knew something was going on?

And it was that very justification that seemed to lift some invisible veil from your radiantly, silver eyes.

You’d driven this secret to its farthest bounds, when scooping at its crumbling remains proved to just pour sand into unwanted places.

And the result?

Keeping such a lid sealed only allowed for the pressure to rise.

And if there was any hope of ensuring that Anakin would be able to focus on his mission, on himself, without undeniable questions regarding your being bouncing about his brain, it meant that it was time to crack it a sliver.

Lest it explode into a million, tiny shards.

You exhaled, quite desultorily.

He believed in you. At least, somewhat.

And you him.

Though you still couldn’t help but shake your head at yourself as this decision haphazardly knitted its way across your synapses.

It was time to rely on that trusting notion.

And although, given the tightly wrapped string already knotted around your branches, there was little other choice, you could only hope that this was, in fact, the right one.

No matter how compromising it felt to share.

“I don’t know what it was,” you lowly breathed with mindless abandon.

Another beat.

“Huh?” His tired voice crackled through.

“What happened to me,” you angled your head to watch a handful of clones secure the last two, red and white cargo containers lining the cavern’s walls on a large, gray repulsorsled for travel. “I don’t know what it was.”

Anakin could’ve yelled until his throat turned raw and it still would’ve sounded like a distant squeak in comparison to the rumble of his quickening heart. A beat you could sense from his uncontrollably stilled breath thousands of planets away.

“What happened, Silvey?”

“I’m not sure how much Obi-Wan has told you—“

“Nothing,” he tightly reminded.

“He’s not to blame, Anakin,” you assured, eyes lifting to the cave’s rugged ceiling. “I asked him to keep this private.”

You sighed, closing your eyes momentarily as you gathered your thoughts surrounding the peculiarity of recent events while the Jedi on the other side of the Galaxy lingered in quiet anticipation.

“Pretty soon after arriving on Coruscant, I started having these strange headaches. They weren’t great, but manageable. Until it got worse. One of those times being in the fighter cockpit, if you recall. Eventually, I found some kind of solution. Well, a few. It’s hard to put into words. But, that’s not important. I—“

You swallowed thickly.

“There was an… incident. I was meditating and then, I don’t know, the headaches came back and my mind went… somewhere else? A different land, I suppose. A deadly one.”

You exhaled through your nostrils, taking Anakin’s perpetual silence as permission to continue.

“Obi-Wan was nearby so he helped bring me back before… before it was too late. But whatever happened in there… it changed something. I don’t know. I just don’t feel like myself, I suppose.”

You shrugged, forgetting temporarily that this was, in fact, not a holocomm call.

“From what I was told by Master Windu, I passed out. Spent the rest of the day in the Infirmary before being declared fit for duty and shipping out the next morning. Nothing has happened since then so hopefully it’s all in the past.”

“What do you mean another land?” Anakin questioned, crossed brows and tensed teeth traveling as clearly as his voice through the gravely comm.

“Just that,” you admitted honestly. “Another land. Lots of black rocks, rough waters...”

You bit your lip.

“Well, Obi-Wan did say he sensed a darkness there.”

“Not in you?” Anakin nearly pleaded.

“No, no,” you confirmed quickly, shaking your head for no one in particular. “Just in this ‘place.’” Uneasily, you rubbed your moist forehead with the back of your chilled hand. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“No kidding,” Anakin huffed, before his voice softened into a realm that nearly made you question whether he believed someone was eavesdropping from the other end of that far-off door.

“But, you’re okay?”

You smiled gently to yourself, chin dipping into your chest as you sensed a waxing alleviation flood his side of the comm before you even had the chance to respond.

“I’m alright,” you verbalized, releasing that last bit of trouble pervading your mind.

Well, other than that strange imagery your brain concocted earlier.

That was no dream, you soon surmised once you allowed such thoughts to finally coalesce into a more, credulous form since awakening.

It was something else.

A corrupted memory, perhaps.

You recalled that particular scouting day on Hoth. How the Scrabbler mistook you for a credible threat. And how Qui-Gon, as always, used the experience for a teaching moment.

But that red lightsaber... laid in your hands…

Piercing your Master’s life force.

A trickle of guilt crawled down your spine.

That devil face…

You shuddered.

No.

This was something entirely new.

And, still, nothing with enough substance to be quite concerned about just yet.

Nothing worth sharing.

“You better get going,” you counseled, focusing your mind on the present. “People need you, Anakin.”

“That they do,” he chuckled, leading you to subconsciously shake your head at his oddly charming ego.

Until he abated to relay one last item.

“Thanks, Silvey.”

You cocked your head curiously at his sudden warmth. “For what?”

Another crackle of the comm.

“For trusting me.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“I’ve always trusted you Anakin,” you breathed. “Just needed a little reminder.”

“Then keep a calendar, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Shut it, Smarty.”

And, somehow, you knew that even hundreds of parsecs away, The Chosen One and his Guardian were, in equal measure, smiling at their respective comms with an expression only either would recognize.

“Bring as many of those boys home as you can, Anakin. You hear me? I’ve heard countless stories about Master Plo over the years. And no Separatist ploy can cut him down.”

“I’ll be sure to share your praises when I find him.”

You could taste his grin as your teeth parted.

“You better.”

—

If Master Kenobi appreciated anything during this secondary mission, it was Lanos’s proclivity for far-reaching, grassy plains and vivaciously deep gales. An environment that, in some ways, reflected Naboo’s natural monuments, which the bearded Jedi had opportune time to take note of during its battle ten years ago. Though, while Lanos carried less staggering plateaus, its rolling hills had the power to eclipse the sight of any mortal being, effortlessly putting Theed to shame.

Still, his enjoyment of these notable planetary characteristics stretched far beyond aesthetic pleasures. They acted as a strategic advantage for the task at hand: delivering necessary cargo while remaining hidden from the visual sensors of Separatist ships dedicated to broad-band sector scans only parsecs away.

It was why the General chose this pathway in particular. A profound valley whose towering, dense rock walls and thick vegetation would do wonders in concealing about 36 armed clones, 27 repulsorsleds of cargo, and two Jedi from periodic sweeps. Especially during an electrical storm.

Maybe it was that self-assured sense of security, that peace of mind imbued by the presence of a large Republic fleet in the sector above, that beckoned Kenobi’s mind to wander beyond those scattered, nine clusters of steadily marching clones and hovering supplies.

He was instead drawn toward the far more compelling presence trekking about ten meters ahead. Locked in friendly conversation with a convo-guarding solider who carried a green, circular mark on his helm’s rear.

You.

You. You. You. That’s all that consumed the General’s mind.

And, for quite a logical reason, of course.

It had only been a few days prior when the two of you narrowly escaped the brink of death at the hands of your own mind. An experience that flooded the Jedi’s thoughts with seemingly unanswerable questions and unsettling speculations. All rooted in one, unmistakable conclusion.

Obi-Wan sensed a great darkness there.

Never before the incident, not since after, and, frankly, never within you.

Never a part of you.

Just, there.

It was such a nebulous, unfamiliar sensation that no Basic words existed to support its nature— a conception which bloomed childlike echoes of uncertainty within Obi-Wan’s very being.

But even that wasn’t a fair assessment. Kenobi felt immeasurably more well-versed while a young Padawan in the intricacies of the Force and their purport than he had in the previous days.

Much like your headaches, those murky energies were there for as long as your mind was trapped. Until freeing you compelled them to disappear, preferably for good.

But what occurred in order for you to rediscover your connection to the light, so to escape that nightmarish realm, he did not know. All he knew was that in some peculiar way, he felt it affect him as well.

In a process that compelled him to momentarily misplace his being within the Force while he rushed to find it again.

Though it was nothing compared to what Obi-Wan experienced when he nearly lost you too.

Your spirit-paled face. Those cold fingers that rivaled even the temperatures of your home planet.

Your once vibrantly silver eyes faded into a distant, stiff gray.

Thank the Maker he hadn’t waited for the Healer.

Against the stony judgment of Windu’s agitated brows and thinned lips, Obi-Wan decided that he couldn’t just kneel there. He couldn’t simply linger. Doing nothing to aid you besides propping up your slacked spine before it slammed against the rigid balcony amidst that sudden fall.

The Galaxy, the Order, and Anakin needed The Guardian. And the Master Jedi was going to carry out his Council-given duty to ensure that exigency was fulfilled.

So, with a firm verbal commitment to his fellow Master that Kenobi would be getting help, he scooped up your nearly lifeless body into contrastingly scorching arms before taking off sprinting.

He zigzagged around corners, down winding staircases, and through twisting hallways. Dashing all the way, and ignoring every inquisitive glance and curiously dragging foot until he reached the Temple Infirmary.

“Just in time too, Master Kenobi. I believe we would have lost them had you arrived a moment later.”

Master Nema’s words reverberated against his inner skull like the ticking of a bomb. One he’d only nearly prevented from shattering everything in its path. It rang the loudest amidst those timeless seconds in which the uneasy Jedi, powerlessly staring from a distant corner, followed the platoon of medical droids swirling around your body that drifted in and out of critical condition.

It was not until the Master Healer deemed you well on the way to recovery that Obi-Wan found greater ease in dulling those eery tolls. Chiming bells signaling a now distant reaper of peace and light that trailed him all the way to Master Yoda and Windu’s emergency meeting called to be held on one of the high spire’s windy private balconies after the fact.

“Darkness in them or not. There is no gray."

A concept every Jedi was taught from a very young age, the bearded man knew. So he certainly didn’t need a reminder from the Grand Master himself. Especially when the fact of Obi-Wan’s analysis still held true:

“Yet, I sense it no longer.”

“Still, that argument remains immaterial, Master Kenobi. As you may recall, I have engaged with Silvey in deep meditation to access her mind for the past month and have had little success. Perhaps, in their momentary weakness, you were able to sense what was present all along.”

“Coincidence, it is not, their headaches and loss of mind. More, there is to this story. But in the light, Young Silvey resides.”

And Obi-Wan wholeheartedly agreed.

Not just because he was now beginning to understand the Jedi you were, but also due to another salient development that sprouted with a subtlety akin to the budding petals of a Jade rose.

That, while uncomfortably idling in the doorway of your infirmary cubicle for news, only a few hours after the droids recorded a steadily strengthening heartbeat, did Kenobi discover with boggled irises the faintest sensation of your mind’s presence for the very first time.

A distinct vicissitude that only he himself seemed to perceive.

The auburn-haired man thought he’d have a moment to explore this development too. He needed time to understand, to discover, what it was that could’ve possibly initiated this change. Maybe meditation during the temporary separation from your being, which was bound to occur with your recovery taking place amidst Kenobi’s next-day deployment, would provide some answers.

Yet, come the following morning, as the General ambled down the Temple’s outer hall, he instead sensed a familiarizing presence. It wasn’t until he turned into the hangar bay to greet one of his platoons did he come to realize why the impression felt so novel, as he clocked a fully mended Silvey chatting amongst the clones.

Undeniably, he had an obligation to pull you aside.

“You should be recovering.”

“I’m as healthy as I’m gonna be, Obi-Wan. I’m cleared for duty, and Master Windu said that I’ve been assigned to your deployment. So you’re stuck with me.”

And he certainly was.

He was stuck with you, and he was stuck with these new perceptions that, even just a few hours ago, drove his mind into backflips after summersaults as he endeavored to decipher them.

It was a strange sensation. He barely felt it. A blip from your presence during the Company’s brief recess at one of the valley’s cave entrances a click back.

A weight. A brief pressure leaning on his chest.

But, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

And what all that meant was that Obi-Wan Kenobi was also stuck with himself. Throughout this supply port journey, while he paced those same ten meters behind your conversational figure, the bearded man felt trapped within that gnawing, clawing realization that he was simply following in the footsteps of that same dreadful mistake he’d committed during the prior month.

Leaving you to your own when he knew that something was wrong. Observing from afar when he had the power to say something. All ignored in favor of his omnipresent trepidation that was primarily fueled by your history of swift withdrawals whenever faced with internal inklings of distress.

Well, no longer.

Master Kenobi nodded to the black-and-white helmeted clone sergeant leading the gradually hovering group of repulsorsleds beside him, signaling that there was no need to follow before picking up his stride through the caravan’s strict formation.

A Jedi learned from the past.

And this particular Jedi was quickly inferring that if he wished to certify that you were, in fact, ‘as healthy as you were gonna be,’ he had to personally confirm it:

At least, that’s what he told himself while he promptly neared your ambling figure still enraptured by deep conversation with a Corporal.

There was no more polite waiting until the last minute.

The Master Jedi recalled the impression of holding your icy, limp body. How it felt like a shutter from a sudden coil of wind chill.

And he didn’t like it at all.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan projected, causing you to pause mid-discussion in favor of angling your neck back toward him with expectant brows.

The bearded Jedi continued. “A moment?”

Offering a faint smile toward his resolved gaze, Kenobi observed as you briefly turned back to the clone.

“Nice talking with you, Getter. Let’s catch up later.”

And with that, you eased your heels back to walk beside the older Jedi. An action additionally facilitated by a sudden gust that tugged equally at both your fluttering robes like a raised sail.

“Getter?” Kenobi questioned light-heartedly as a faint smile graced his lips. “I believe he’s a new addition to the Company, so I’ve yet to learn the root of that moniker.”

Obi-Wan watched your knowing eyes pass onto him an aura of sweet appreciation that sprawled out to every inch of your body before leaving glowing remnants atop the receding grass.

“Your new recruit was labeled as quite the ‘go-getter’ during his Kamino days,” you expressed, nodding your chin toward the named clone marching ahead as your gaze focused in the same direction. “Which equals having an olive painted on your helmet. Green means go,” you chuckled.

Kenobi hummed appreciatively, allowing another whistle of wind to whip by your bodies as it challenged both strides with equal resistance.

Until it calmed enough, dissipating into a gentle blow, for his facial muscles to relax into the real reason he called you back.

“How are you feeling?”

“You know,” you began with a teasing lilt. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head with interest, brows slightly furrowing with hands trailing to meet each other behind his back while he hung for you to resume.

“A friendly warning,” you smirked. “Anakin can read you better than you think.”

And then it clicked.

“Anakin had inquired following this morning’s holocomm meeting,” Obi-Wan soberly relayed, eyes glued to the verdant blades of grass traveling past his strolling brown boots. “But I assure you, Silvey, I hadn’t revealed anything about your condition.”

“It’s okay, Obi-Wan,” you calmed, moderately bobbing your head side to side in thought as you considered your words. “I’m choosing to look at it as a blessing in disguise. I think I made a mistake it not telling him earlier.”

Kenobi silently nodded before peering up at you inquisitively. “So, he knows?”

You offered him a distinct look.

“He knows,” you acknowledged, the General noticing as your silver eyes snagged onto some pointed sight beyond his other flank that brightened their gleam. “And he seems to be taking it well.”

Collarbone following your gaze, Obi-Wan glanced to his right when a whipping movement among the bordering foliage centered his own vision.

Streaks of fiery orange lined the back of some fox-like creature that darted from one bush to another. Its fur blending into a pale yellow, soft underbelly and hind legs that flared brightly below Lanos’s equally glaring sun.

It continued its frantic trek of sprightly bounds while skittering into thickets of obscurity. Though soon, the animal’s narrowed skull and gold-ringed irises found rationale to peak out from the opposite end of a latent bush, snout drawing a pure line of curiosity toward both your figures five meters away.

“And regarding my inquiry?” Kenobi gently pressed with a nonchalant regard centered on the timid creature as you and the bearded Jedi naturally reigned your steps into a brief pause.

Though, instead of distantly observing, the General felt through the Force’s most sensitive intricacies the subtle brush of your arm floating past his as you carefully approached the furry onlooker.

With one airy foot after another, all while ignoring the rear battalion’s continual trudge onwards, you reached a free hand to your robe’s pocket. Meticulous fingers searching for some loose item as you quietly spoke,

“Master Kenobi,” you hummed factitiously, digits grasping onto some cylindrical, crackling object that you swiftly tugged from its enclosure to reveal as a pearly white ration bar. “I admit, the preceding, mind-altering incident was not ideal.”

Smoothly, you snapped off a piece of the food item, the resulting crack catching the doe-eyed fox’s twitching nose. Drawing its creeping figure a step or two out from the concealing foliage as your voice evenly lowered in response.

“But I’ve had my fair share of fainting spells from exhaustive circumstances before. And I’ve recovered all the same.”

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed perplexedly.

“Fainting spells?” He questioned under his breath, looking onwards with now crossed arms as your final paces and kneeling figure landed you before the creature's nervously narrowing eyes and prying spine.

Is that why you were acting so careless about this incident? Did you not know how close to death you nearly came? The Healer on duty or your Master would’ve fully explained what truly occurred, Kenobi assured himself. Yet, you appeared unaware. Oblivious to Obi-Wan’s efforts to save your life that oh so nearly fell short.

If so, he had a responsibility to inform you.

Perhaps it was this sudden conviction which dragged his once stilled feet to stroll toward your bowed figure. To approach the same generous being that fed each broken ration bar piece to a greedily licking fox whose snout relaxed into your warm, outstretched palm.

“We only have a finite count of those,” Kenobi expressed as he reached your side, eyeing the raised, gingered fur of a creature equal parts absorbed and oblivious. “It was intended to last you the day.”

You angled your outspoken head and raised brows back toward him. “I think we can both agree that he’s enjoying it way more than I ever could’ve,” you grinned glowingly, nose crinkling with each lick that clearly tickled your fingertips as the animal lapped up every last crumb of ‘flavor.’

A sight that caused a soreness to shoot by Obi-Wan’s sternum, disappearing just as quickly as it arrived.

The loss of innocence in this new world, he surmised. From this war, and the years preceding it. Seeing an act as simple and kind as this certainly did numbers to remind him of the peace that marked most of his Padawan days.

And he disfavored that he’d have to slice into it like a saber through bark.

“Silvey, do you know what happened after we exited your mind?”

Again, you twisted toward Obi-Wan, sharing an equally amused yet questioning expression that lifted you from your squat to shake off foreign slobber with a sliding clap or two.

“Um, yeah,” you shrugged your shoulders, pivoting to face the battalion’s forward movement before leaning into another hiking pace that led Obi-Wan’s white shin-guarded legs to traipse in tandem. “Master Windu said I passed out. Nothing a day’s rest in the infirmary couldn’t heal.”

Kenobi paused.

In fact, your words stopped him in his tracks altogether, the weight of which yanked down his leading foot like Coruscant’s gravitational pull on an incoming shuttle.

Obi-Wan’s probing eyes raked over your expression in search of any inkling of understatement. A fixed scan that would prod every image you reflected onto him until it satiated his urge with absolute satisfaction. A burning desire to learn of what truly happened when you left his carrying arms that day in the infirmary. And an aspiration that radiated from his orbs so fiercely, it snatched your noticing figure to halt alongside his as a concerned glow etched across your countenance.

“You were nearly killed, Silvey,” Obi-Wan hushed, hoping to keep his promise of discretion by ensuring that any nearby clone was out of earshot. “I felt your Life Force weaken in my arms. Master Nema said as much.”

Obi-Wan watched while your parted teeth tensed to chew the inside of your lip. Uneasy cheeks shifting as you raked a backhand across your lowered head in thought, wiping away a few, loose strands of sticking hair.

“I had no idea…” you uttered mindlessly.

Until your flitting eyes shot up to meet his. All while antsy feet, budged by rote, drew you both to lean into another march forward, toward the faraway Republic supply port.

“Why wouldn’t Master Windu tell me this?” You expressed, lips parted in thought as your eyes raked the traveling blades of grass for answers. “He’s known of my concerns for weeks.“

Another swiping ripple unfurled through the Force, driving Kenobi’s focus to tilt toward a familiar, fury blob dashing from verdant cover-to-cover as those recognizable golden eyes kept watch in its perpetual, ensuing creep. One whose curiosity apparently devolved into desire for another tasty treat.

Although not by any other Jedi’s standards.

“It appears you’ve acquired a new friend,” Kenobi commented, casually motioning toward the unceasing orange fox with a few fingers.

His words drew your lifted brows toward the endearing sight, with the critter’s smart golden eyes and sharp, conniving ears appearing to play a titular role in poking a restrained smile through once-drained features.

“During a time in which friends are most sought after,” you breathed before offering him a thin lip tug.

Another beat sprinkled by the resounding crunch of grass.

You roughly exhaled through your nose, eyes sheepishly drifting toward the carefully observing man before you stiffly articulated churning thoughts.

“I’m really starting to realize I owe Anakin a big apology.”

“Coincidence, it is not.”

Yoda’s eerily judicious words echoed against Obi-Wan’s skull like the instant that follows a visceral nightmare as his feet continued their steady tread across lusciously viridescent turf.

He couldn’t deny the Grand Master’s infallible logic. So much so, that his eyes pierced through your frame, passing by any deeper meaning of your long-forgotten words as his thoughts tumbled through logic spells.

This incident’s severity proved it to be no fluke.

It was something to do with your mind. And while Kenobi couldn’t grasp an ounce of clarity from the Force on the matter, he knew from recent history that any indications of what this was or where it was headed could be discerned from those peculiar, cerebral manifestations.

A thought that grew all the more concerning when a Jedi like Mace Windu failed to address it seriously.

A Jedi like him, as he blindly assumed that stress was the rationale behind your initial symptoms, despite your vehement dissent.

But, this time, Obi-Wan refused to let you keep it all inside. He wouldn’t disregard your perceptions again.

Luckily, on the former, it appeared that you were starting to agree.

“Silvey, in the nature of commensurate openness, I must ask, have you experienced any more symptoms since the incident? Specifically, in relation to your mind?”

Another gust of winding valley breeze swiped Kenobi’s robe against his legs, tugging his senses to canvas the vale. The perpetual brigade and whirring repulsorsleds’s even procession and the sunned fox agilely and stealthily weaving through shrubs not far behind streamed prominently around his perception. Even the gentle sway of a distant leaf tied to its maker, or the churning hiss of waterways that streamed through the surrounding mountains flowed with even impressions throughout the Force.

All before his mind circled back to the being at the forefront of his mind.

One whose uncertain, downcast gaze and gently parted lips had yet to answer.

And that was always an unfortunate sign.

“Silv—“

“General.”

Kenobi stalled his gate almost instantly, swiveling neck facing Lieutenant Waxer as his spine lengthened into the military-grade armor encapsulating his limbs while you correspondingly braked beside him.

“Apologies for the interruption, Sir,” Waxer elucidated toward the bearded Jedi. “The electrical storm has mostly cleared for communications. The Council is requesting your presence on The Negotiator for final rendezvous preparations.”

Kenobi nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Though he spoke with a hint of indecision.

“Go,” you clearly adjured, swirling Obi-Wan’s attention back toward your brilliantly silver eyes that easily caught onto his hesitant tone. “I can finish this delivery on my own. I’ll have Boil work with me on leading the rest of the clones temporarily in Waxer’s place while you two are off-world.”

Your first mission alone. Or partial mission, he supposed.

But you would be leading. And with limited training in the area of wartime feats. Something which certainly pulsated his unease.

“Go,” you assured, adorning a knowing smile that relaxed Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

But only after a few more seconds of analytical consideration did the Jedi Master finally raise a plain brow, tilting his beard as he left you with one final reminder:

“I’m a comm ring away.”

Taglist

@js-favnanadoongi

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#obi wan fanfiction #anakin x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan my beloved #obi wan x oc #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #angst #obi wan and anakin #fluff #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars anakin #star wars prequels #star wars the clone wars #star wars tcw #tcw #sw tcw #the clone wars #clone wars #commander cody #clone trooper boil #clone trooper waxer #qui gon jinn #anakin and ahsoka #anakin skywalker #anakin and obi wan #star wars ahsoka #ahsoka tano #reader fic

[fairyofjaeyun]

k j w ➳ chicken nuggets ☾

[10:36] now playing: only in my dreams - the marías

[warning] mommy kink, cg/l undertones, mentions of abuse, handjob, blowjob, mention of a panic attack, slightly little!jungwoo

2nd person // 2k words

[a/n] here’s an old jungwoo fic cause he’s been wrecking me so bad

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you huffed as you set down the heavy bag of dog food after feeding the last pet. you smiled at the little dachshund chowing down on his food, making a mess. you run your hand down his thin coat. "goodnight, scrappy. I'll see you tomorrow." he paid no attention to you because licking every last crumb was far more important. hence why you named him scrappy.

"hey, jennie!" you called out to your coworker. she peeked her head out the door. "yeah?" she answered, holding one of the baby kittens. "you think you could close up shop tonight? I'm exhausted." you groaned dramatically. "sure. I still have a couple of litter boxes to clean." she scrunched up her nose and you chuckled.

you gave her a farewell before grabbing your bag and heading out the shelters front entrance. you've been working there for about a year now. you may not get paid much but helping out animals always made you feel good about yourself. and the fact that it was only a 15 minute walk from your house made it extra convenient.

it was damp and chilly from the rain earlier. a slight, calm breeze flowed through your hair. however, the humidity still lingered in the air, making you feel gross and sticky.

after walking a couple of blocks, you heard a faint noise. at first, you thought you were just imagining things because it was so hushed and soft. as if the evening wind whispered in your ear. but as you kept walking, it progressively got louder, sending chills throughout your spine and your hand digging in your unorganized bag for your phone.

you still couldn't make out what it was, and being alone on the empty street made it even more eerie. you looked around until you noticed a small silhouette sitting against the wall of the antique store with their head buried in their knees. it looked like a boy.

you stared, a bit petrified, until you heard an identical noise come from the vulnerable figure. his upper body shaking. you slowly walked up to him, now recognizing the soft noise as sobs. "hey." you said gently. he picked his head up. the dull street lights were bright enough to show some of the feminine features of his face. his cheeks were red and his eyes were puffy from crying, his light brown hair covering his forehead.

then it clicked, he was one of the cashiers at the ice cream shop just a few doors down from the shelter. what was his name, again? johnny? jeno? "are you okay? what's wrong?" you kneeled down to his level, you saw nothing but despair reflecting from his bloodshot eyes.

you've only seen him a couple of times at the shop but he always looked so smiley, like nothing in the world could ever bring him down. it hurt to see him like this even though you never had a proper conversation with him.

he sniffled and rubbed his bare arms after feeling the cool wind. "t-they yelled a-t me." he hiccups. "who? who yelled at you?" you asked. he stared down at his aching legs, his jeans were drenched and sticking to his skin. "my mommy and h-her boyfriend, they h-hit me. I- c-can't go home, I-I'm s-so scared." more tears streamed down his face as his breath became short and unsteady.

you immediately put your hand on his shoulder to calm him. "hey, it's okay. deep breaths." you helped him gain control of his breathing before moving his hair away from his face. "if you want you could stay with me for the night." he looked at you with big, twinkling eyes. "really?" he asked with enthusiasm, like a kid who's just been told that he was going to disneyland.

even you were surprised by your offer. why the hell would you take home a grown man you don't even know? maybe it's because he wasn't his age mentally, he had the personality of a little kid. his voice was gentle and pure, he wore pastel colored clothing, and was extremely sensitive and easily trusted others. shit, he held your hand the whole way home.

you took out your house key, the boy’s fingers still intertwining with yours, then unlocked your front door, revealing your dark living room. after turning on the lights, you offered the young boy some food. "are you hungry? I don't have much since I haven't gone grocery shopping but you can help yourself to whatever you want."

"thank you, y/n/n." he gave you a quick hug, which caught you off guard. on the way home, you had introduced yourself and he called you by your nickname because he thought it was cute. and he had introduced himself as well; jungwoo. you knew it was with a j.

he looked through your cabinets and refrigerator before he gasped loudly, making you turn your head because you thought he was having another panic attack. "chicken nuggets!" he pulls out the big bag of frozen chicken nuggets from the freezer with a bright, toothy smile.

you put a hand on your chest in relief. "don't scare me like that." you said rather harshly. you immediately regret it when you saw his lip quiver into a pout. "I'm sorry." he whispered, focusing on his feet.

"nononono, its okay!" you shouted before he could start crying again and grabbed his hand. "I'm not mad at you." jungwoo studied your panicked expression, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. "are you sure? you're not gonna hit me, are you?"

that sentence instantly tugged at your heartstrings. "no, sweetie. I would never hurt you." jungwoo slowly raised his pinky, looking at you with big puppy eyes. "promise?"

you had to hold back some tears of your own. not just from sadness, but from anger as well. who the hell would lay a hand on him? sick fucking parents.

you flashed him a genuine smile, hooking your pinky with his. "I promise." he giggled and wrapped his arms around you, snuggling his head into the crook of your neck. "thank you!"

you awkwardly pat his head. "you're welcome, kid." there was short moment of silence as he continued to nuzzle against you. "uhhhh, do you want me to make the chicken nuggets?" you said, feeling uncomfortable yet content at the same time. emotions are weird.

he nodded instantly before clapping his hands together. "yes, please!" he shouted but because his voice was so soft it wasn't much different from his normal tone. "ight. you want them in the microwave or oven?"

"Oven, please. I like em crispy." he then scurried off to your living room to go explore the new environment. you shook your head as you opened the bag of frozen nuggets that were less than halfway gone. all it took was a quick growl of your stomach for you to dump the rest of the bag onto a pan and put them into the oven.

after putting them in the oven and wiping the nugget crumbs off your hands, you went to go search for some dry clothes for jungwoo. you went into your closet and got your oversized sweatpants and a plain tee shirt before finding him sitting on the couch with a pout.

"jungwoo, what's wrong?" he made a small whimper before hesitantly glancing at you. "umm... I have a situation..." he mumbled softly before spreading his legs, showing off his erected member. you couldn't help but stare at it as it twitched underneath his soaked jeans. "are you mad at me?"

"uhhhh..." you cleared you throat. "n-no. you can—uhm— take care of it in your room, I guess?" it was more of a suggestion than an offer. because what the fuck are you supposed to do in this situation? "can you do it?" he whined, palming his bulge.  shit! now what? if it was any other guy, even a close friend, you would've said “fuck no.” but the way he stared at you—practically begging with his eyes—it did something to you.

you mentally took a deep breathe and walked over to him, kneeling between his legs. "it hurts." he winced at the slightest touch. his tight jeans didn't make it any better. "how long have you been hard?" you asked out of curiosity because you don't recall him having boner when you met him a good one hour ago.

"ummm— I don't know. an hour?" you rubbed your temple and grumbled a low "of course" under your breath. jungwoo watched you contemplate your life choices, oblivious. "fuck it." you cursed out loud, and before you could change your mind, you palmed him roughly and he whimpered.

you started massaging his erection with you palm, going in small, circular motions as he arched his back. "y-yes! that feels so good~" he rotated his hips to gain more friction, letting out a painful moan. your core was on fire from the wonderful noises he was making. you slipped your hand down to your clothed clit and started rubbing it through your jeans.

"can you take my pants off, please?" he asked, cutely. you swiped your tongue across your lips as you swiftly unzipped his damp jeans and tossed them onto the floor. the pink heart decorated cotton he wore urged you to smile before locking your eyes on his cock that leaked through his boxers.

jungwoo winced when you tightly gripped his shaft and proceeded to pump him. "oh~ yes!" he moaned. his hand searched for yours and he intertwined your fingers together.

to ease his pain, you decided to take off his boxers and he practically screamed when his naked dick met your warm hand. "yes, mommy!" those words made you pause mentally. it made your stomach engulf in flames because of how angelic yet lewd he said it. it also made everything click into place—he was a submissive and his no good dom fucked him over.

something exploded inside of you: a whole mix of unexplainable emotions. "does mommy make you feel good?" you purred seductively, making jungwoo whimper and nod his head. "yes! you're so much better than my old mommy." you grabbed his chin and exposed his neck so you could sink your teeth into him. you left pretty purple marks all over him before hovering your lips over his ear and saying, "good."

your hot breath made him shiver. goosebumps trailed all over his body as you sucked on his earlobe and continued to jack him off. his member twitched in your hands as he balled his fists. "mommy, can I touch you? p-please?" he asked. his big, mesmerizing eyes pleading at you. you unattached your lips from his ear. "of course, baby." he grinned and placed his hands on your waist, slowly inching up towards your boobs.

he exhaled harshly when he cupped your breasts, loving how they fit perfectly in his hands. "you're so pretty, mommy." he beamed, continuing to play with your boobs. you couldn't resist a light chuckle, a faint blush surfacing on your face. "thank you, baby." you both locked eyes for a moment, admiring each other, before jungwoo lightly pushes down your head to collide with his lips.

it took you by surprise, but you eventually follow his rhythm in a sweet, passionate kiss. he moaned into your mouth a few times from the combination of you jerking him and your tongue exploring his mouth. although, he was the first one pull away. a short string of saliva still connected the two of you. "mommy, I'm gonna cum." you started moving your hand faster, making his hips buck. "cum for mommy, baby." He moaned lewdly before aching his back and cumming all over his stomach and your hands.

he was out of breath, his chest rose up and down in a rapid manner. "good boy." you praised, smearing his juices all over his stomach. "thank you, mommy." he showed off his toothy grin, innocent as ever. then suddenly a short ding came from the oven, letting you know that the nuggets will be done in less than a minute. "perfect timing." you chuckled.

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#sub!jungwoo #sub!nct #sub!nct127 #sub!nctu #sub!idol #sub!kpop #dom!reader #dom!fem!reader #jungwoo smut #jungwoo hard hours #jungwon oneshots #nct smut #nct hard hours

[tired-reader-writer]

G-witch AU Infodump

Enabled by @werewolfcoochie @marchdancer @sharpdistances @germanpillow @kallista-dragonsoul and @iwantthatdickgrayson here is me infodumping about random shit in my G-witch AU:

After being rescued by Ellyus, El4n takes on a new name and identity— one he would choose for himself— though Shin Sei doesn't quite have the means necessary to turn his face into something else, nor does he remember what his original face is supposed to look like anyways.

Anyways, his new name is Nary, bc “nary” means “nothing, none” and he's basically someone who has nothing, starting from scratch with a clean slate and even before that he had nothing. Also it's a reference to @stil-lindigo 's fantastic poem-comic here and @telamont 's fic may the little garden where you smile, last forever since I read both of them at roughly within the same timeframe and they double-teamed up on me in terms of brainrot. I am not sorry for this.

I'm still struggling over his new surname however, though Frey is a temporary placeholder— as a reference to the goddess Frigg whose divine domains included clairvoyance and prophecy, and though Nary himself is no prophet his love interest is so hmmm. Does Ellyus count as an Odin figure? I'm not well-versed with Norse mythology. (what El definitely is is a trickster/prophet/fey type character)

Shin Sei in this AU is comprised of the friends and families of the slaughtered Vanadis researchers who want justice/vengeance for their fallen loved ones— and so support Prospera in her schemes. There's also mercurian folk in there but yeah.

Ellyus gets his mother and Shin Sei to fake/develop a new identity and backstory for Nary/El4n. It's up to him whether he comes back to Asticassia but I like to think he does.

He dyes his hair the same colour as the woman who's presumably his mother, the lady with the birthday cake? Yeah? The same brown.

He still wears soft earrings bc this analysis of El4n's gender thing lives in my head rent-free. He also wears a lot more feminine clothing because he can. (EDIT: added the link that I forgot to add bc fucking hell I knew I was forgetting smth)

He has a new hairstyle. I actually have a design in mind but since I can't draw right now... lemme dig up my gallery in hopes that there's something that looks like it—

(I'm not sure if I could share these, as far as I could track these were drawn by the original artist of the comic this character is from, I eventually seek to replace these w my own drawings when I can.)

He probably ends up taking the surname of some Shin Sei employee, though argh, it fucking pains me that we know practically nothing about Shin Sei!! Who's Godoy and what does he even do?!

The Plant Quetta attack does not happen. There will be another attack to replace it, alright, but it's been moved down the timeline. I don't know when it'll be or by whom, but it happens on Earth, while Ellyus is there. Why is he there? Dunno, probably some GUND-ARM related reason. He's one of the main mechanics of Aerial after all, and someone who's heavily involved in the production of GUND-prosthetics.

Speaking of Ellyus' engineering work, Shin Sei did develop the drone technology Prospera mentions in the witch trial— it's just that Ellyus is the one who created it. Maybe he could also be present in the trial room? His presence wouldn't really help against Delling but hey, it's the thought that counts. Besides, he (and we the audience) already knows Miorine will come to save the day.

Delling is fucking dead. No mercy for the fucker, he probably dies in the same attack that lethally wounded Ellyus? Or perhaps after that, in another incident. Vim Jeturk is accused of the murder, and subsequently silenced by Prospera and/or Shaddiq.

Shaddiq takes the presidency. Ellyus left behind pre-recorded video messages tailored to each recipient, he sat down and recorded them before he died, set to automatically be sent to the ppl he wants in the Know after his funeral, and Shaddiq and El4n's messages include the entire backstory, basically, and so Shaddiq knows about Quiet Zero and who it's for. He seeks out Prospera and basically proposes an alliance— much of their goals align, he can use QZ's might to strong-arm favorable negotiations for Earth, he knows who QZ's for and realizes that Ellyus can be “alive/free” again like Ericht since he's deduced that the night Ellyus went missing from his hospital room and came back dead was actually him being uploaded into a GUND-bit.

(It's part of Ellyus' machinations, to protect Miorine from Prospera, to bridge Shaddiq to a strong ally who shares a lot of his goals, and... yeah. Fuck Spacians, this alliance is gon be a bulldozer.)

Shaddiq does not ally with Peil.

Peil will meet a karmic end. I don't know how yet, but El4n and El5n are involved. Anyways, that'll probably happen during or after the struggle for the Benerit Group presidency.

Guel actually learns something beyond “daddy good”, dammit.

Miorine and Prospera have a... complex, shall we say, relationship. Prospera holds back from roping her into revenge unlike in canon— mostly because of Ellyus' pleas to not let GUND-ARM be ruined/soaked in blood, partly because Miorine is the one who resurrected and kept true to GUND's ideals of medical research and stuff. Prospera hates her bc well, Delling's daughter, but on the other hand... a successor of sorts to carrying the GUND research torch. Miorine doesn't trust her, no, buuuut she still can't deny that together w Shaddiq they're... actually doing decent work. (Again, unlike in canon LOL)

Suletta's off to the side having her own Identity Journey. The video message to her also explains her origins and everything, so she now knows she's a repli-child. I don't know what I'll do with the journey proper but I want the eventual outcome to be: “I am not Ericht, I was never a Samaya and that's just fine. I'm Suletta, and the name Mercury is mine in a way it isn't for mom. I still love you, mom, Aerial/Eri too, but I am a Mercury and I'm proud of that. I still love you but I'm me and you're not my entire world.” kinda deal. Basically, independence, loving her family on her own terms.

No Plant Quetta means no tomato paste and no divorce! Huzzah! (I mean, another attack still happens but due to Ellyus' and Miorine + Earth House's influence Suletta focuses more on disaster relief and evacuation and stuff.)

Adding a new layer to Ellyus' non-linear time thing (I've posted about it, I've linked to it before in another post, it can be found in his character tag), he's allowed to make phone calls to One (1) person in the past. That person happens to be Jeru Ogul, aka Shaddiq's child self, way before he's learnt to put up barriers around his heart.

(Ellyus was never meant to be human. If the G-witch cast proper is comprised of 3D beings and us the audience 4D, he'd be like, 3.5D. That's why he's allowed time shenanigans by me. Only as far as I allow it, though. He's a plot device, a robot w its guts exposed. I have also posted about this before. I won't link to it here bc well, I already have before and ppl didn't seem all too interested in the makings and structure of his character. Meta-narrative fuckery ftw.)

The calls are sporadic, but kid Jeru comes to hold this mysterious friend person in the phone very dear to his heart. Their non-judegmental and gentle encouragement was one of the things that kept him going in those days.

He's buried the memory now, in the deepest layers of his heart, under twenty vaults, along with the tender hurt and angry child self that was Jeru Ogul and everything that it represents. It fuels him, it's his impetus, but it's hidden, carefully so.

It's a surprise to the both of them when they find out.

(basically, Doylist reason was that I needed a narrative tool strong enough to break through his walls and allow him to be changed for the better, to stop having tunnel-vision, and Ellyus became the narrative device responsible for that task)

This development allowed for Shaddiq to be more proactive and open. To the point he might actually ask for Miorine's support/help during the competition for the presidency. I'm still contemplating it.

I don't know what I'll do with Dawn of Fold yet.

Not the Space Assembly League, really.

Somebody help.

Well, that's it for this episode of info-dumping! Thank you for enabling me, I was afraid to do it bc it's disheartening to scream your heart out into the void and have no response.

#like the strings on a rope (darling i fray like a firework) #ellyus mercury (oc) #prospera mercury #elnora samaya #shaddiq zenelli #jeru ogul #elan ceres #elan 4 #el4n #miorine rembran #suletta mercury #mobile suit gundam the witch from mercury #gundam witch #gundam the witch from mercury #gundam witch from mercury #mobile suit gundam: the witch from mercury #the witch from mercury #witch from mercury #g-witch #g witch #wfm #long post

[eldritch-flower]

Excerpt from my urban fantasy epic, "Zenith", because I'm writing this one 'reveal' scene and it's so difficult I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON IT FOR A WEEK AND I'M TIRED OF IT. Anyway, Zenith act 2 spoilers below the cut <3

Christ, the world was going insane.

It has always been insane, sir. You just never saw the truth.

Maybe Cuán was the one going insane. Hearing the voice of a dead man in his head, seeing all those- those mirrors that Danny said he wasn’t supposed to.

It was obvious something was going on. Something he didn’t understand, something he wasn’t privy to like the rest of his so-called ‘friends’ were. But he’d been drawn into whatever fantasies they claimed by murdering Jedidiah Shaffer in that casino. Cuán had thrown himself into the shit without a shovel to dig himself back out. And he had to live with that, consequences be damned.

So what? He was surrounded by alleged beings of… inhuman nature, most likely powerful. He didn’t doubt that any of the three in the room with him could kill him if they really wanted. Did they want to? No. They would have done it by now.

None of them were the kind to procrastinate.

“Cuán?” That was Afshani; dear, sweet Sammy. Cuán raised his gaze from the bohemian patterned rug thrown across the floor. “Are you alright?”

“Not really.”

Tommy huffed out a stiff laugh, strong arms folded over his chest. Tommy… should Cuán even still call him that? Or was he supposed to address the God as such?

“You said you’d already had experience with True World folk, Cuán. We didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” Sam said gently. The softness of their voice was like a cleansing lotion to the turmoil in his heart.

Susie frowned, studying Cuán indiscreetly: “You’ve seen others?”

The man nodded, slowly, and her mouth fell open.

“Other than me?”

“He said he’d seen a grindylow,” Sam said quietly, and Tommy raised an eyebrow. “And – Cuán, forgive me if I’m wrong in saying so… but you mentioned a banshee.”

“Aye.”

“You’re kidding,” Susie breathed out, sitting forward on the sofa. Her nails clawed at the plush fabric of the arm like, well… like claws. “Cuán, please tell me you’re joking.”

“Ain’t the type of thing I’d deem funny, Shiori,” he said stiffly.

“You’re done for, Dunleavy,” Tommy supplied unhelpfully. His words were contrite and filled with the same mirth he always spoke with, but the god’s face was a display of uncertainty that Cuán had never seen embedded in the strong lines of his jaw, in the set of his brow. He looked nervous.

“Don’t say that, Vulturnus,” Sam snapped, losing their collective mind for a moment as they examined Cuán with honey-flecked eyes.

“We can figure this out,” Susie said quietly. “People have outrun their fates before.”

“He knows nothing of the true world, Su. And he’s gonna have Reapers after him – “

Shiori bristled, leaping to her feet. “Who said anything about Reapers being involved?”

Tommy sneered: “The hospital think he’s an illegal. He didn’t have a licence.”

“He doesn’t need one! He’s a human!” The woman’s loud voice rang out, and Cuán pressed a hand to his temple as Shaffer sat in the forefront of his mind, content to watch and not say anything. His black amusement crept like a plague into Cuán’s own sensibilities.

“They don’t know that.”

Susie inhaled sharply, her jaw clenching, and she rounded on Cuán with fiery eyes. “You can’t just make anything easy for us, can you?”

“Hey, lady. You tell me first what a ‘reaper’ is and maybe I’ll get to workin’ on my teamwork skills,” Cuán growled back, green eyes narrowed in frustration. “You all sit here, playing human and pretending to care. But you’re so far removed from what it’s like to know nothing. So stop talking like I’m supposed to have a clue what’s goin’ on, and explain.”

Shiori stared at him, her dark eyes heated, knuckles white and clenched at her sides. Sam just watched him with a forlorn expression. Out of all of them, remarkably, it was Brown who looked the least concerned… and that, in and of itself, concerned Cuán.

Do not concern yourself with their fear. You are more than that. You are better.

#I love writing dialogue #specifically between susie and cuán #wip : zenith #urban fantasy #original writing #writeblr #writing community #creative writing #writers of tumblr #wip #excerpt #writing excerpt #writing snippet #dialogue ideas #writing prompt #fantasy #fantasy writing #supernatural horror

[bewilderedbuck]

ficlet for Benvi- deeply intimate, unexpected new york city kiss senior year edition

this was supposed to be like. 500 words and then i got possessed by the spirit of pining ben gross

let's tie our breath in knots again (nothing's complicated if we pretend)

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Devi says, gently placing a hand towel filled with ice on Ben's swollen cheekbone. "I'm perfectly capable of defending my own honor."

Ben winces at the touch, replacing her hand around the makeshift ice pack with his own. It stings, and soothes - just like the girl sitting across from him in this hotel bathroom.

"I wasn't trying to defend your honor," he insists, because he wasn't. He knows she's not some damsel in distress, that she doesn't need to be saved - especially not by him. He's no knight in shining armor - no, that would be Paxton, carrying her to safety after the coyote attack, or pulling her out of the pool and driving her home, waterlogged dress replaced by varsity sweats and hoodie.

Ben's no hero. Never has been, never will be.

But - despite the chasm that grew between them after that ill-advised night last May - he's still her friend, and he still loves her, and so he stepped in.

And now he has a black eye and a raging headache as a result, so maybe he'll leave the punches to be thrown by someone else next time.

"Well, good, because you're really bad at it," she jokes, leaning back against the bathtub and stretching her legs out in front of her. She knocks a socked foot against his thigh, and he tries not to lean into the touch.

"You looked scared," he murmurs, gaze dragging down to his crossed ankles, then back up at her. "When he- he had his arms around you. You looked scared."

She pulls her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. Defensive, he thinks.

"I was," she admits quietly. "So, you know, thank you. For showing up when you did."

"I wish I had gotten there sooner," he says. "Not that you can't handle yourself or anything, but guys like that-"

"I know," she interrupts, a small smile appearing on her face. He wants to kiss it.

A silence lapses over them, in reality just a few moments long, but to Ben it lasts an eternity, her soft brown eyes looking at him in a way he would describe as fond, if he so dared.

"You wanna get off the floor?" she finally asks, head cocked to the side. He nods, and she stands, reaching a hand down to him and pulling him up. "Come on."

She leads him out of the bathroom and into the main area of her hotel room. He half expects Eleanor to have come back by now, but the room is just as empty as it was when they came back from the bar.

"Eleanor's crashing with Fab and Aneesa tonight," Devi explains, nodding to the empty bed on the far side of the room. "So you can stay here if you want. Or not, if you don't want."

He should leave, go back to his own room, let himself fall asleep to the droning sound of Trent's snores. He shouldn't tempt himself with this, this peek back into normalcy, or at least as normal as he and Devi ever were, a year ago, when, if asked who his best friend was, he could confidently say, "Devi Vishwakumar," and pretend that he didn't still hold a flame in his heart for her.

Now, neither of those things are true. The most they've spoken in months has been reduced to debate club strategies and the rare request to borrow a pencil, and each time, he knows what's blatantly written across his face: I miss you. I miss us. I miss what we never were. I love you, still, and I don't know how to stop. I'm sorry.

He hopes he's harder to read with a swollen eye and a bundle of ice covering half of his face.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks," he stumbles, perching himself at the edge of one bed while Devi digs in the suitcase laid at the foot of hers.

"Can you turn around for a second?" she asks, holding up a set of pajamas.

He nods, then faces away from her. The silence that fell while they were in the bathroom had been comfortable, breathable, but now it feels awkward and tense, the only sounds being the rustle of clothes and the hum of the air conditioner.

As she changes, he tries not to think about how he knows what she looks like undressed.

"Okay, you're good," she says. He twists back around, finding her closer than she was before. "Here." Her voice is gentle, and so is her hand as she reaches toward his face. He lets her remove the ice pack, his hands now clasped in his lap.

She's- she's so close, practically standing between his legs. She's got his chin tucked between her index and thumb, directing his face so she can better survey the damage, and he hisses as she gently presses at his cheekbone with her other hand.

"Sorry," she apologizes, stepping away. He itches to pull her back. A past version of himself would have.

But he's not that Ben anymore, and she's not that Devi, and so he keeps his hands folded in his lap. He watches as she grabs the hand towel, now soaked through with melted ice, from where she had placed it on the nightstand separating the two beds and disappears into the bathroom.

"Do you need more ice?" she calls.

"No, I'm good," he says. In truth, he probably could use more, just to keep some of the swelling down, but he can only handle Devi doting on him so much in one night. "Thanks, though," he adds.

"Mm-hmm," she hums, and a few moments later, she marches back into the room with a small white tube in her hand. "It's arnica cream. Close your eyes."

"You take that with you everywhere you go?"

"Eleanor bruises like a peach. Now close your eyes." She sits down next to him, then uncaps the tube and squeezes a dollop onto her fingertips. He complies, eyes fluttering shut just as she reaches her hand towards his cheek again. Her touch is firmer than before, and he clenches his jaw as she rubs the cream into his tender skin. “Sorry, sorry. Almost done.” He feels her fingers drift higher, towards his brow bone, too gentle to be filed under the pretense of caring for his wound. “There you go,” she whispers, the warmth of her hand now replaced by cold, empty air.

He blinks his eyes open. Devi is still next to him, still just as close, still just as out of reach. She looks- soft, he thinks, bathed in the dim light of the lamp. 

He still wants to kiss her.

Instead, he busies his mouth with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she promises, and he knows she means it.

He wants to kiss her.

He wants to kiss her.

He wants to ki-

She kisses him.

At first, she presses her lips to his delicately, like he’s something fragile. He is, he supposes, at least right now, with a fresh bruise blooming across the right side of his face. She's kissing him with a softness that borders on hesitancy, and it brings him back to salt-scented air and the choking call of seagulls - to a lifetime ago, it feels like, back when he first thought there was something beautiful blossoming between them.

She's already pulling away by the time he cups a hand around the back of her neck, nudging his nose against her cheek. He tugs her back, gentle, gentle, and slides his lips against hers again, and again, and again. The ache in his cheek grows, but he ignores it, dampens it with the feel of her hair in his hands and the taste of her tongue against his.

It's good, it's so good, better than what his memory replays on the nights he spends thinking of her, remembering the warmth of her skin on his.

His mind flits back to that night, to the look on her face when he opened his door, to the way his hand fit at the curve of her waist like a puzzle piece. To the way they moved together, clumsy at first, and the moans that fell from her mouth as she fell apart on his fingers.

Then his memory fast-forwards, to her running away, right when he had a confession perched on the tip of his tongue.

He's the first to pull away this time, a question forming in the back of his throat, because he has to know, needs to know.

"Is this-" he starts, before she cuts him off. 

“We’ll talk in the morning,” she tells him. “Just- keep kissing me.”

And he does.

#benvi #ben gross #devi vishwakumar #never have i ever #nhie #myfic #asks #grace tag #mutuals #im sorry this is like four days late lmfao

[fetish-fiction]

You are still naked in bed and have barely stopped panting from your orgasm by the time I place a huge tray of Pancakes, bacon, hashbrowns, eggs, toast, juice and a thickshake down next to you. 'I know you must be hungry after that baby. Here, I've made you a snack.'

As you dig in ravenously I start kissing your soft and squishy empty morning belly, knowing it won't be that way for long. I caress your warm soft skin all over, running my hands over your thighs, your calves, feeling your skin fold beneath my fingers as I massage your shoulders. All the while you continue devouring the tray of food, now slowing down as your belly has become visibly larger and rounder.

You recline, sticking out your stomach and sighing. I take that as my cue to pick up one of the remaining hash browns, putting it to your lips. They open instinctively, a moan escaping you as the greasy food is tenderly placed into your mouth and you begin chewing again. I move one free hand to the tight skin over your belly and start gently moving in circles, trying to ease the pressure in your swelling stomach.

You swallow, immediately opening your mouth again, longing for another bite. Whenever you finish one mouthful the next morsel of food is waiting there. The last of the bacon and toast soon disappear inside you with my eager help, and in between, I supply you with sips of your creamy chocolate thickshake to wash down the food.

You spread your legs to accommodate your growing girth, groaning as you rub your taut gut. The sight of your glistening pussy, partially hidden by your hanging belly draws my attention and I become even more erect. As you take over rubbing your stomach and moaning in fullness, I trace my finger around the outside of your hairy mound I pick up the final pancake, and hold it up to you, dripping maple syrup and melted butter all over your huge tits. 'Come on baby… you've just got this one left, then I can really reward you. I know you can do it sweetie. Open up.'

You sigh, working up the courage to add even more to your hugely stuffed stomach and hold your jaw open wide, taking the whole of the pancake into your mouth and moaning at how sweet and delicious it tastes. You involuntarily start to rock your hips back and forth. The bed creaks as you squirm. 'Good girl,' I praise you. 'Gotta keep this amazing sexy belly growing don't we.'

I lean over and lick the sticky sweet buttery sauce from your boobs, lapping at your nipples when my tongue passes over them. You murmur and squirm in horny desperation, your body practically begging for release. 'You're so sexy when you eat,' I purr, climbing on top of your bulk and positioning my rock hard cock at the entrance of your pussy. I press my dick as far into you as I can, feeling your belly prevent me going all the way in. I reach down with one hand and lift your lower belly hang, resting it on my own as I press in that final inch.

You become even more aroused, rocking with excitement at the fact that your belly has to be moved out of the way just to penetrate you fully. 'You're getting so big' I praise, panting while I pound you, watching your full bloated belly jiggle sexily. The sight of your huge boobs swaying rhythmically almost sends me over the edge. 'Cum for me sweetie, then I'm gonna cum all over this amazing belly.'

The combination of the hard fucking and the motion of your fat in your sensitive areas sends you over the edge and you finish all over my cock. Your climax sends me into my own. I pull out and shoot a massive stream of cum all over your belly. Some goes across your tits but most runs off that giant mound of a gut to drip over the bed or pool in your deep belly button.

A cockdrunk smile spreads lazily across your face. I look over you proudly, cum and grease and crumbs splattered all over your large body and smile myself. 'Rest up and let me go start making your morning tea…'

#soft feedism #feeder feedee #feederism writing

[2frosty4you]

Scorched | Chapter 5

| Ao3 | Wattpad | Masterlist | Fic-Masterlist |

Chapter 4 |

Pairing: Tf2 x Female Reader Words: 1628

Warnings/notes: I'm writing accents 0-0

Chapter 5 | Bots

She was wrong, another man could ruin her day.

Now she was looking at the door, she didn't want to walk over and open it. (Y/n) wanted to sleep off the surgery.

“Are you sleepin’ darl, if so i can come back tomorrow” A southern accent spoke from outside the door. Something about his words made her smile, which she quickly wiped off to open the door wide. “Hello?” She asked. There stood one of the mercenaries. He had a yellow helmet in his hands, a glove on one of those hands. A red undershirt and brown overalls. Looking through the goggles which were over his eyes he smiled and stuck out the non-gloved hand for a handshake.

“Welcome to the team, I didn't have time to greet yah before” His accent still made her smile inwardly as whatever words he spoke sounded so much nicer. Like they were covered in honey and sugar. “Oh, uh thank you” She shook his hand and then he handed her a rectangular tupperware container. “Since ya weren't at dinner I saved some for ya” He smiled and (Y/n) took the tupperware in one hand. “Thank you, uhh?” “Oh my apologies, name’s Dell Conagher, but you’ll be callin’ me Engineer” He did a small bow in her direction, and (Y/n) gave a soft smile. “(Y/n), it's nice to meet you Engineer” She looked at the food in the container.

“What’d you make?” They questioned, moving the container to her eye level to try and make out what he put inside the container, he chuckled at her actions. “Well, it was a slice of lasagna, now it looks like a container of pasta” Dell joked, smiling at the woman, (Y/n) lowed the container but gave him a smile. “Thank you, Dell.” She was the softest she has been in a while, and even if this man was nice and she felt calm near him her energy was running out. “Oh, not to forget this quickly.” He placed a fork and knife wrapped in a few napkins on the container in her hands. “Anyway Darl, you get some rest after you eat. I’ll see you out on the field tomorrow” He waved to her as he turned around, humming a tune as (Y/n) face became confused. Battlefield? Tomorrow? Miss Pauling didn’t tell her anything or even send her a letter or message or anything about it.

(Y/n) shut the door. Looking into the wood as her brain sent her back into rambling thoughts. If this was a battlefield who were they fighting? Would it be some other organization or gang that was out for this team of various strange men? (Apart from Dell). (Y/n) placed the food onto the table, moving away the various blueprints she had laid out beforehand. Turning on the lamp she sat down. The chair was comfortable enough to deal with, and the lamp gave off a nice strong beam of light onto the workspace. Cracking open the container she smelt the lasagna and her mouth watered, oh how she missed the classic family dinners.

Digging into the meal her comfort only increased, she was happily eating a family dinner, even if alone in her room, while looking at her firework blueprints. One included a large double barrel firework launcher which would have the ability to shoot carefully selected fireworks from the barrels and use them like explosives instead of simple decorations or celebratory memorabilia. Maybe Dell could aid her? If he really was an engineer in this team he could maybe take these and acutally tell her if theyre possible to be made. She then heard the sound of metal hitting plastic. Looking down she found an empty container.

“Oh, how’d I finish it all without noticing..” She mumbled to herself. Closing the lid with the used napkins and cutlery inside. Placing it on her desk far from the edge. She then yawned, stretching her arms up while arching her back. Now smacking her lips together as she stood up, pushing in the chair and turning off the light. (Y/n) walked over to the closet and looked around it, inside was her clothes but a fireproof suit hung up at the left end of it, she paused staring into it as she grapped some of her old clothes.

Changing into the more loose clothing she folded her removed clothing and placed it on the desk. Now moving into her bed she laid back in it and stared at the room, glow in the dark stars littered the ceiling, it was …. comforting to have something that childish in a strange place. She rolled to have her back against the wall and closed her eyes to be lifted into a dreamless sleep.

..

…

..

“MAGGOTS!” A loud voice boomed through the hall behind her door, large footsteps now echoing along side the voice as the man who belonged to this loud, annoying exclamation stopped at her door. (Y/n) cracked her eyes open, squinting them as the man now knocked on her door. She groaned, moving the blankets off her and shuffling to the door. The knocking was getting louder and she was getting annoyed.

“What-“ Was what she could only get out before she came face to chest with a tall man, a helmet resting on his head with a red uniform, two straps with grenades on them as he held his hand up, about to knock again. “Miss.” He began, now stepping back slightly to give her an electronic device, it looked like a thick brick, metallic gray with an even darker reflective screen. It reflected her tired face on it. “Miss Pauling ordered me to deliver this to you” He explained, nudging her to take it. A little aggressive as she took the device. “Wha,, what even is this?” She asked, the device weighed a good amount as she turned it over to check it out. Large words marked the back of it.

‘MANN.CO’

She hummed, and almost dropped it as it turned on. “Hello, Pauling here” Miss Pauling’s voice wasn’t clear, but understandable as she looked at the screen. Miss Pauling’s face stared at the woman. “Hey?” (Y/n) answered, now looked back to the man who stood there stiff, as if waiting for an order. “Miss (L/n), good to know Soldier actually delivered this in one piece” She spoke in a bland tone, (Y/n) could hear the tiredness in her voice as the woman nodded now knowing his name. “Okay Soldier you can leave now” She added, the man saluted and marched off, banging on the door a few metres from hers, which was met with the yells of a younger sounding man. “Okay (L/n), you won't be put into real battle today, you’ll be against some bots so we know you’re not a lost cause” The purple woman addressed, looking down at a clipboard, then moving some papers around.

“Okay, that seems simple” (Y/n) softly muttered out, now closing her door. “What do I need?” “There should be a fireproof suit in your closet tailored to your measurements, a pair of black boots and a gas mask. Put them on and wait till Heavy gets you.” She ordered, (Y/n) slowly nodded along with the words and heard a noise of the ‘call’ ending. She placed the device onto her bed, now looking down at her clothes she wondered for a second. ‘What do people wear under fireproof suits?’ She thought, opening the closet door and taking out the suit, and the boots. She then spied a beige tank top and black bicycle shorts. ‘That should work’ She hummed, taking out all this clothing and moving it onto her bed. First taking off her sleeping clothes to replace it with the tank top, bicycle shorts and a pair of socks.

She put on the fireproof suit, zipped it up and put on the boots. They felt strong, steel capped even. She looked at her hands, something was missing, she walked back to the closet and rummaged through it until she found a pair of large rubber gloves, they were black with yellow fingers and a yellow band around the end of them. She also saw the gas mask Miss Pauling was talking about. Then she heard a heavy knock at her door, she walked to the door and opened it to see heavy standing there, a gruff look on his face. “Litle (Y/n) almost ready?” He asked, and she nodded quickly, now putting on the gloves, and taking the Device from her desk. She held the mask in her hands, not putting it on yet. “Okay I’m ready, where are we going?” “Practice room” He stated as they walked. Now going past many men, Soldier; who gave her the device that Heavy has told her is called a ‘ConTracker’. Medic, who looked extremely sleep deprived as he chewed on his blue pen. Engineer, who hummed to himself while cooking breakfast, a delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafting into her nose made her drool slightly.

She didn’t see scout, but saw Sniper who was drinking from a mug with the words “#1 Sniper’ written on it with large red letters. Another man was face down on the table, she thinks this was the one who saw her yesterday sneaking to the medic's clinic. Spy was nowhere to be seen, thank god.

Then Heavy opened two large metal doors, bright light beaming into her face, she covered her eyes with a gloved hand. She looked around, large metallic bots which looked like the Russian man before her laid motionless, more littered around, all looking like the various men around her. But they were… blue.

#↪⋆GhostyFrost #↪⋆Scorched #��⋆GhostyWrites #↪⋆GhostySFW #↪⋆GhostyFics #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #tf2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 heavy #team fortress 2 x reader #team fortress two #team fortress 2 #team fortress heavy #teamfortress fanfic #x reader #tf2 engineer #engineer tf2 #soldier tf2 #tf2 soldier #↪⋆2frosty4you

[brightlybound]

13!

#13 complimenting their appearance

(summer of '96, when Harry doesn't yet have a clue...)

Read below or HERE on AO3.

It’s sticky hot outside, sweat instantly beading wherever the sun deigns to touch, but this doesn’t stop him from fetching his broom to have a fly. The house is too stifling, air too thick, cooling charms struggling to keep up. At least out here there’s wind to wick away the moisture, to lift the hair off the nape of his neck. 

He finds Hermione and Ginny in the shade by the paddock’s border of giant oak trees, giggling to themselves, surrounded by books and familiar, colorful pens, scissors and stickers and scrolls upon scrolls of parchment and Spellotape. They don’t even look up until his shadow is blocking out their light, and he’s squinting down at blue-lined, Muggle paper without really meaning to.

“Oi! That’s private!” cries Ginny, flipping the papers so they’re face down. 

The artistic scrawl is easy to place, and so are her pink cheeks. But Harry doesn’t tease her. They’re still getting used to this budding friendship they’ve struck over the summer, and he reckons she doesn’t need another brother.

“Sorry.” He flops down next to Hermione, on the very edge of the rumpled white blanket they’ve laid out, and places his broom in the grass beside him. 

“Where’s Ron? Does he not want to play today?” Hermione sounds far too eager at the prospect of a day not forced into two-aside Quidditch.

Before Harry can answer, Ginny snorts and says, “He’s probably in the loo. Remember, he can’t control himself around ice cream cake.”

It had been Ginny’s birthday yesterday, and she was completely right. Ron couldn’t control himself around the ice cream cake.

“She knows Ron well,” Harry concedes, cocking his brow at Hermione.

“He’ll be in there for a bit,” Ginny finishes mercilessly.

There’s a sound of disgust erupting out of Hermione, and both Harry and Ginny exchange a look before dissolving into laughter, the sounds carrying through dappled light and soft breeze.

This used to be difficult for him, relaxing, laughing, being easy with good company, especially at the beginning of summer. Losing Sirius still hurt, still hit him like a punch straight to the gut, but deep breaths of fresh air, and focusing on the now, soothed the ache.

“What are you two doing, anyway?” says Harry, nodding towards the explosion of stationary.

Ginny shuts a pink notebook with a snap. “Nothing.”

“Ginny's starting a… oh! Er," says Hermione at the same time, then winces apologetically at Ginny’s glare. “Scrapbook? Or something to that effect?”

Harry dispels any tension with a shrug, and he can’t really understand why he continues on. It’s clear Ginny wants to keep things with her new boyfriend at least semi-private. 

“For Dean?”

Ginny throws him an odd, calculating look, and says, “Maybe.

"How did you two get together, anyway?"

He doesn’t quite know why he’s asking, but at least he’s rewarded by the color in Ginny's cheeks sweeping sweet, apple red. He grins.

"He drew a picture of me," she mumbles, pushing stray bits of shining hair behind her pink-tipped ears as she looks down at her lap, "gave me the drawing after, told me I looked pretty."

Hermione reaches over and squeezes Ginny's wrist, all the while sending a sharp look over at Harry. “It’s all very romantic."

"That's it?" says Harry, throwing the girls a confused look each. "Just told you that you're pretty?"

Ginny blinks over at him, and the brown of her eyes is lighter out here, glinting like wildflower honey. 

"That's it. Well," she pauses, thinking for a moment. "I was by the fireplace at the time. I told him the fire must have blinded him. Then he told me I was funny."

"Well, that's true," Harry admits.

"That I'm funny?" she asks.

Harry nods.

"But it's not true that I'm pretty?" Ginny digs in, a haughty tip to her chin, a raise of an eyebrow.

Harry freezes, and from the corner of his eye, Hermione is clapping a hand against her mouth in an effort not to burst into laughter, no help at all.

"No," he finally manages after a second of stunned silence, "I didn't say that."

"You didn't not say that."

"You are pretty," says Harry, low and slow and surprising himself. 

It’s a new and strange realization, anyway, and it leaves his head foggy and bemused. Harry blames it on the heat of the day.

Hermione is shaking her head at him in exasperation as Ginny laughs and laughs.

"It's all right," says Ginny, when she's caught her breath and wiped tears of mirth from her eyes, "don't hurt yourself on my account."

"You don't need me to tell you that you're pretty," Harry says defensively.

"No, I don't," she agrees, smiling at him, nose crinkled and kind of dazzling.

"I, on the other hand," says Harry, laying back onto the bit of blanket he's afforded, and he's done it so fast, that must be why there's a swoop in his belly, "would love a compliment every now and again, instead of you two ganging up on me."

"I gave you too many compliments already, when you were twelve.” The wind carries Ginny's voice to him, hard and steady and sure of herself. “You don't need anymore from me, your head's fat enough as it is."

Harry decides he likes the way Ginny teases, ruthless and unyielding, like a girl ready for battle, and he smiles to himself, squinting up through the branches and leaves, thinking of pickled toads and dark blackboards.

"It's all true," comes Ron's voice from afar, before they even hear the leaves crunching under his feet. "He does have a fat head."

"Betrayed by my best mate,” sighs Harry, throwing Ron a lazy, two-fingered salute. “Wow.”

“Hey!” cries Hermione, and the feigning hurt in her voice is overly thick. “I thought I was your best mate!”

Harry grins at her, all teeth. “It depends on whether you grab that old broom from the shed and get up in the air within the next five minutes.”

Hermione is lightly swearing beneath her breath as she begrudgingly gets up, and Ginny is laughing again as she puts the stationary away into a little wicker basket at her side, and Ron is already swinging his broomstick off his shoulder and between his legs, and Harry smiles to himself, another happy summer memory to relive another day.

#hp #hinny #harry/ginny #fanfiction #prompts #anon #asks #my writing #brightlybound

[gaytothemaximum]

we all fall down- a fierrochase fan fiction (high school au) part one

As the last rays of the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow over the landscape, a lone figure could be seen hurling themselves off the highest branch of the old oak tree that stood proudly in the middle of the school's abandoned baseball field. Arms and legs flailing wildly in the air, the figure let out a primal scream that echoed through the silence, the sound of their anguish carrying on the gentle breeze. It was a sight that would have made even the most hardened of observers stop in their tracks, their curiosity piqued. But for Alex Fierro, the new kid at this godforsaken high school, this was just another day in the life.

Alex was born a boy, but these days she mostly went by she, though some days she identified more as a male. Genderfluid, sarcastic, and with a mouth that could make a sailor blush, Alex was used to standing out from the crowd. Her dyed green hair, which she wore in a messy topknot, and her mismatched amber and brown eyes only served to accentuate her already unique appearance. The only thing she hated more than being stared at was being ignored, which, given the fact that she was the only child of an abusive family, happened far more often than she'd care to admit.

Her half-sister, Sam, was a different story entirely. A Muslim girl with long, dark hair and a kind face, she was the only person in Alex's life who had ever truly cared for her. But even Sam had her own problems to deal with, like her new boyfriend Amir and her growing desire to fit in with the "popular" crowd. And then there was Magnus Chase, the awkward boy with the grey eyes and chin-length blonde hair that looked like Kurt Cobain's.

Alex didn't know what it was about Magnus that drew her attention, but there was something intriguing about him. Maybe it was the way he'd often sit by himself in the back of the classroom, lost in thought, or maybe it was the fact that he seemed to enjoy reading and theater, two things that Alex could really get into. Whatever it was, she found herself wanting to get to know him better, even if it meant risking further isolation from the rest of the students.

She hadn't expected him to approach her at the school dance, of all places. But there he was, standing in front of her, his shoulders slumped and his eyes darting around the room like a frightened animal. It was almost endearing. "Hey," he mumbled, fidgeting with the sleeve of his green hoodie. "I'm Magnus."

Alex forced a smile. "I know." She glanced around, hoping someone else would notice them and come over to rescue her from this incredibly awkward situation. But no such luck. "So, what do you want, Chase?" she asked, using his last name as a dig.

Magnus's eyes widened, and for a moment, Alex thought she'd gone too far. But then he let out a small laugh and said, "Just thought we could, you know, talk or something." His voice was soft and hesitant, but there was an underlying current of determination there as well. Alex couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of curiosity ignite inside her chest.

She glanced at him warily. "Okay... what do you want to talk about?"

Magnus shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "Well... I just wanted to say that I've seen you around, and I think you're kind of cool. And I know we don't really hang out with the same crowd or anything, but I thought maybe we could be friends, or something."

Alex blinked, surprised by his candidness. "Friends?" she repeated, her voice tinged with skepticism. "With you?"

Magnus winced, obviously hurt by her words. "Look, I know I'm not the most popular kid in school, but I thought maybe... maybe you'd want someone to talk to." He gestured vaguely toward the dance floor, where the other students were laughing and dancing, oblivious to their conversation. "It's not like I have a lot of options, you know?"

Alex paused, considering his words. There was something genuine about Magnus, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. And the truth was, she didn't have many friends either. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to give him a chance. With a sigh, she nodded. "Okay," she said. "I guess we can be friends."

Magnus's face lit up, and he grinned tentatively. "Really?"

"Yeah," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "Really. Now what do you want to talk about?"

#alex fierro mcga #magnus chase #mcga #fierrochase #alex fierro

[kiseiakhun]

You have plants! Do you have a favorite kind of houseplant? (Multiple kinds of plants are acceptable) (I have a small jungle in my house)

Okay SO I'm still a succulent person at heart. I love Echeveria, they're so pretty. They're like little flowers except the flowers are leaves so the flowers never die. I didn't really branch out into other plants until last year because... turns out I'm actually really bad at keeping non succulent plants alive LMAO. Or at least I thought that was the case until I moved to a place that's not bone dry and I'm like o: wait you actually CAN water your plants every two weeks and not have them die, they weren't lying omg

I also think haworthias look funky. Yes the ones with white bumps, I love them too, also I read a good omens fic where crowley got fucked by one of those haworthia and it was a lot, but the one with little windows that look like glass pebbles are SO cute. I can never seem to get the light levels right for them though, they always end up etoliated or they turn brown ):

Also orchids. They're easy to take care of if you care for them correctly etc etc you know the rant.

I'm contractually obligated to say jade plants because we share a name. Don't tell them but I actually prefer the way they look when they're a little etoliated

Oh! Also I have a soft spot for amaryllis. I think the flowers look sooooo pretty, also I remembered I brought the seeds once to a show and tell in grade school and gave them to everyone in my class and the principle lmao. Good times.

Dragonfruit is an unusual houseplant that I keep that I don't think most people keep but... I don't actually like them that much as plants LMAO they're so prickly and they shed hairs and the hairs dig into your skin and it hurts ): no one expects dragonfruit to be a cactus though and it's always a fun surprise when I tell people what they are. I love seeing the look on their faces

Also not to be basic but I'm like. Lusting over monsteras right now. I need one so bad. I should keep an eye out on Kijiji for more free house plants. So far I only have three golden pothos as plants. They're very pretty! But I'm like oh god. I'm going to have to start giving away cuttings. These things are pretty much unkillable. Good for people who like easy house plants! Bad for people with an addiction to propagation, like me,

OH ALSO ALSO I want to get... a carnivorous plant... Idk what though. I'm a little nervous because they seem like they have such specific care requirements but I sort of think it might be like orchids, where if you figure out how to mimic their natural environment then they should be easy? Hrm. Most of them are bog plants and Toronto was actually originally a wetland so theoretically if I get the substrate right then the environment should be perfect for them...

OH ALSO. One day I'll try growing lithops again. I'll probably kill it again LOL but they're like. Notoriously impossible to grow so I'm not too torn up about it. Like if you water them outside of the 3 months they can be watered they'll just die. Honestly the air here might have enough ambient water I won't need to water them at all. But like. I want the butt plants. I want to have a plant that's a butt that splits open to reveal another butt. Please. It's all I want. I need them.

#asks #i fucking love plants

[missmitchieg]

"I was hoping if I died, then maybe there'd be some kind of loophole where I could somehow be with you and..." Tyler slowly let out a breath. "Without the never-ending guilt for the dumb thing I did."

"'Dumb'." Penelope swallowed the lump in her throat, an angry smile stretching over her face. "Let's try 'dangerous' and 'boundary-breaking' and..." She looked down, tongue between her teeth. "You... Tore my trust asunder, sir."

Tyler stared at her, a frown on his face as he averted his gaze. "I'm sorry." He whispered, almost sounding genuine. Almost. "I really am."

Penelope stared at the man, a hurt look on her face as she laughed humorlessly. "You're sorry." She repeated, disbelief in her eyes. "Tyler, a guy like you says 'sorry', you mean... 'Leave me alone'." She quoted Luke's words, her shoulders slumping forward.

"Penelope." Tyler whispered, grabbing her hand as her too-soft-for-this heart hammered in her chest. He frowned, batting his big brown eyes at her.

"When you gave me that baby kitten as a peace offering," Penelope pulled her hand away gently, "you didn't say "sorry" for being a little turd." She pointed out. "You handed me the kitten and expected that adorable little bribe to be the end of it. You're not the guy that apologizes with words. You apologize with gifts."

"Let me explain." He begged, his breathing picking up.

"You told me that after you found the man that killed your sister, you were going to-" She cut herself off and bit her lip, a sob escaping her lips.

Tyler winced, knowing there was no way to dig himself out of that hole.

"You lied to me." Penelope bit her lip, starting to pace around his bed. "You lied to everyone. You knew Lee's photo was right there and you lied."

"Pen-"

"Luke and Emily were so mad at me. Because of what you and I did." She snapped, fingers fidgeting with her jewelry. "And I- Oh, God. I acted like a little brat to everyone." She fussed. "None of them deserved that. Everyone was so apologetic about asking me back because they all promised they wouldn't and I was such a monster about having to go back there."

Oh, shit. Tyler didn't know about that promise. "Sweetheart-"

She turned toward him and scowled, shaking her head. "Please don't call me that. Let's not forget this whole thing started because..." With her fists clenched, Penelope took a shaky breath. "Because you forced me back to the FBI."

"Pen, look. I know, I was a major asshole, but-" He stopped himself, knowing he went way too far beyond Penelope's limits.

"Tyler, I like you." She rushed to get out, her eyes screwed shut. "I like you, but-" she shook her head slightly, tears streaming down her face. "I like me too much to be with someone willing to hurt me like that."

Tyler watched her stand up from the side of his hospital bed, straightening out her skirt. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

Penelope sniffled and wiped the tears from her face. "Look, I know that there is a parallel reality somewhere where this is just a bump and…" She laughed softly. "And we live deliciously ever after. But, um… Then there's this world."

"Where I keep hurting you." Tyler added, resigned to his fate of watching Penelope walk away from him.

"Yeah. And I can't let that happen. I hope you have just..." She watched him, a tight smile on her lips, "the most wonderful rest of your life. I really, really mean that. But I won't be by your side to witness it. You want me to leave you alone?" She shook her head and turned her back to him. "Fine. I'll leave you alone." She promised, walking out slowly. She was surprised to find Luke leaning against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "Hi."

"Hi." Luke said softly, a neutral look on his face. His honey brown eyes watched her, soft and caring as ever as he straightened up and stepped toward her.

"You heard all of that." Penelope said simply, new tears falling from her eyes. She sniffled, finding that she wasn't sad about losing Tyler. She was more sad that Luke was upset because of her.

Luke nodded, reaching a hand up to caress Penelope's tear stained cheek. "Garcia, I wasn't mad at you." He said, surprising her.

"What?" She hiccuped, her heart suddenly speeding up. Oh, thank God. Their friendship, if she was still allowed to call it that, wasn't ruined. He didn't hate her now. Granted, there was always a part of Penelope that was certain Luke just wasn't capable of real hatred, but she was still relieved to know.

"I wasn't mad at you." Luke repeated, emphasizing the last word. "I was mad at him," he explained, "because of the way he talked to you before. I was pissed at the audacity of that man, thinking he could condescend you like that even when you tried to be nice to him- Yes, Rossi told me what he's like when I'm not around." He chuckled fondly at the questioning look Penelope gave him. "But from what I just heard, it sounds like you two are done?"

"Oh, so done!" Penelope nodded. "Look, I may have had a huge lapse in judgement for a minute there, but let's be real. I could never be with a guy that doesn't like cats."

Luke scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Good riddance to him." He smirked triumphantly, his eyes sparkling. "So I'll be pet sitting for two cats and taking prescription allergy meds from now on?"

Penelope laughed, taking Luke's hand in hers. "Indeed." She was about to say something else when Dave appeared behind Luke, cheeks flushing as her father figure gave her a knowing smile.

"I'm all good to go. Ready to head back?" Dave announced, trying not to look smug.

Luke took a deep breath and nodded, giving Penelope's hand a quick squeeze. He felt his heart pound in his chest as she grinned and leaned into his warmth, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek.

Penelope squeezed back on instinct, silent as the group left the hospital. She felt as if she was in a haze as she went through the motions of following her boys out of the hospital and into the FBI building, stepping inside the elevator. She glanced at Luke when she felt his eyes on her, her shoulders relaxing as Luke placed a hand on her back and her arm reaching up to wrap around him.

She had to admit it felt pretty damn good to lean on him and have him lean on her. As much as she put on her act of not liking him, she hoped they would have each other to lean on forever. She really liked the sound of forever.

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds fanfiction #penelope garcia #tyler green #luke alvez

[kitchenlittle]

My Writober Story

I thought I'd share a story of something that happened to me a few years ago, that gave birth to my mask kink. I debated posting this but whats a better time than now?

Warnings: Mentions of (hot) scare actors, underage teens (don't worry nothing bad), flirting, general depictions of haunted house attractions and hay rides, mentions of weapons/fake blood/alcohol/bullying/cursing, revealing costumes, sexual fantasy, sex in general, and mentions of arousal.

Every year I go to a Halloween attraction, so far over the last few I've only gone to 2 haunted houses. (I have a habit of visiting the history museum or pumpkin patches instead since I'm a big scaredy cat) 'Safe to say I don’t think I’ll ever forget the second time ..3 years ago…an event that opened up Pandora's box for my poor mind…a day that changed my brain's chemistry forever. Many thoughts about that evening dig their heels into my nerves every time I see the pumpkin decor take over at my favorite stores. One specifically has plagued me for ages since..…I should’ve asked that employee to fuck my brains out. 

I remember it being chilly outside, likely because I decided to go on Hallows' Eve. The leaves were crunchy, hued with reddish-browns and mustard-yellows. I could hear the shrills of nearby people being driven hellishly down a sketchy dirt road. The lines were long but luckily the faint smells of fair food and an excited group of chatty teenagers complimenting my costume kept me sane. Slowly I watched as  each large group of people were packed into the school bus and taken to some unknown destination. Soon the familiar wafts of gasoline washed over me and not much later I shuffled my way down the isles of the vehicle, sitting in the back where I thought I was safe from any scares. That was my first rookie mistake, my second was trying to take in the scenery of the bus rather than keeping tabs on the Micheal Myers clad employee that was about to scare me shitless in a few minutes. When the bus started rev up I expected a mediocre experience, maybe some light scares here and there, rock music, maybe some funny lights. I was wrong... I realized that after the announcer asked that we all screamed as loud as we could. I don’t remember if he was dressed up like the rest of us guests but I remember his monotone voice as the lights flickered. 

“Alright everyone give us a nice scream before we make our journey!”

You would have thought he hated he hated living with the way he spoke, his energy energy even carried into our screams as they were low and uncaring, mine were muffled due to my rubber mask's unforgiving room for me to breathe. I saw him visibly roll his eyes and got a bit depressed at the thought of at least not getting a good jump that night. Well... I got one while I looked into the window to my right to distract myself. Suddenly my body jerked as the loudest blood curdling volume of Rob Zombie's “Living dead girl” blasted my ear drums, the door slammed shut, the once jittering lights above turned red, and the bus took off at a breakneck speed down the unfortunately UNEVEN, CURVE FILLED, DIRT ROAD. Memories of my favorite Child's Play movie flooded every crevice of my mind and a forgotten childish  terror bubbled up in my chest. We all really screamed then, which only added to my fright..As the lights turned turn on and off, blood started to pound in my eardrums. I remembered a crucial detail that would make my night just that much worse. It rained the day before, meaning the ground we were driving on was still soft and probably muddy. I panicked though, no one gave a fuck about my little panic attack since they were abou to have one of their own, a famous slasher decided he was going to be the first thing I saw as my eyes tried to escape the visual of the fleeing dirt paths infront of the bus. I ducked my head down like the scaredy cat I am, looking out to the side when I realized that there were more actors tugging at the windows, reaching in at guests, even walking and riding the top on the roof, banging at the metal and yelling every insult imaginable. My shock and feelings of wanted to piss myself finally subsided when I closed my teary eyes...and then the bus stopped. Surprisingly, the slashers were gone, everyone stopped screaming, and the scene was replaced with the sight of an impressively decorated haunted house. One that of course had another long line. In my boot heels, WW1 era nurse’s uniform, and a plague doctors mask I waddled out onto the sweet stationary grass under my trembling body. I swore that the bus driver's attitude was a ruse to get our guard down,especially after I saw his lazy smirk behind the glass. I'd never judge a book by it's cover again. Crazily enough after all that that wasn’t the life changing event....

I stomped through broken small twigs and branches to get close to the entrance of the haunted house.. With the groups of people waiting in front of me it was safe to assume I atleast had about an hour before I could enjoy its horrors. Another group of teenagers started to chat me up. Unfortunately they were drunk. They taunted me, while putting their beer stained hands on my mask, trying to get me to scare them…I was assumed to be a scare actor. Unfortunately knowing the climate of the people in this area of the South they'd likely to have a reason to be violent with me if I obliged. My nurse's uniform was figure hugging so at least if they did there was no way they couldn’t claim they didn’t know I was a girl. Luckily I wasn't dumb enough to provoke them or have sudden moves. A masked employee patrolling around came to my aid, hiding his effort to make sure they didn’t escalate as a way to have a close up stare down with me.  Like two slashers betting each other to make the first move I held eyes contact with him. Hw was fairly tall, clad in all black except for a halloween mask and machete thrown over his shoulder. Despite his stare down I had to be silly and tilt my head to the side at him.

“What's going on?”

I giggled out to him through my words. I saw him roll his eyes playfully before giving me another look and walking away. The drunk teens had turned their attention to something else. Silently I thanked him l Despite him having a nice voice and towering over me that wasn’t the mind bending event either. I went through the line with no issues, walked up creaky wooden steps already showing wear and tear after being trampled on for weeks. It was a typical haunted house in the way that it did its job well enough. You know, doing it's job well enough scare the living hell out of me! Especially since their main gimmick was actors acting as decorations instead of being hidden behind walls and behind doors like I expected. The scares I got that night had me clutching my nonexistent pearls as I stumbled about. I unfortunately had to get into another line afterwards. The line was situated under a wooden pavilion, a lot of people were packed in like sardines but there were televisions tucked into corners playing, ‘Friday the 13th’. That pacified me enough to endure the snail paced walking for the next hour. Though I couldn’t help but listen in on the conversation of those behind me. Once again another group of teenagers but nicer and way more excited than I was expecting for a  simple hayride. Bored and heels digging into my ankles I decided to ask them about the hayride and what was so good about it. Eagerly they word vomited out a story of an infamous employee that worked on the ride.

“NO, NO, YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HE’s SO...FUCKiNG ...HOT!”

“Listen girl you will get  it when you get on, I’m asking for his number. He’s so fine that we had to get on twice!”

I stared at them. I thought, ‘how hot could he really be for them to think it’s worth waiting almost 2 -4 hours in the cold to see him again?’ No shade but as a southerner I've noticed that what some people consider hot is a lot of time mediocre  as there aren’t a lot of choices in the small town I’m from. I’ll admit I was skeptical. At most I was expecting some muscly guy dressed as Michael Myers or something , maybe even some Ghostface  dude with a cool voice. The group behind me practically squealed as we were seated on the wooden carriage to the woods. I sat on the hay and stared out onto the scenic path ahead. It was honestly inevitable for the first 3 minutes to not look around and just enjoy the gorgeous view. It was so pretty. One thing I can say about living in the country is that you can’t beat a full moon and a lush forest. Coupled with nice folks and delicious smells of the distant food court the weight seemed worth it. The blasts of cool air on my hot face was short lived as he came up to the first attraction, or theme? Zombie Hillbillies with what looked like oddly realistic guns? Yeah that scared all us when a zombie ran at a full sleep and a actor let off an actual shot near our heads as our carriage hightailed it out the premises. The track of the walking dead playing was unmistakable. Next? A Succubus den. A bunch of pretty girls wearing leather skin tight suits, beckoning my fellow riders and I to stay long enough to have our souls taken. Screaming, sighs, and even the cracking of a few whips overwhelmed us. We moved away, the red and purple lights we were basking in started to fade away and their siren song with it. They killed their roll, too bad I wasn't feeling it as much as some of the other guys and some girls on the wagon. I was feeling good, today had been fun but not too scary, something I preferred to just plain unfiltered fear on my favorite holiday.

We trudged through some more scenic forest until I heard the unmistakable melody of a circus music. I quickly reversed the direction of my gaze only to see what looked like a box with red light bleeding through its cracks. Two men with clown costumes opened its doors. I braced myself as I was sure this would be the last attraction of the night. I really couldn't miss the squealing of the teenagers I was seated next to. They were practically falling over themselves, grabbing at each others clothes and hyperventilating while giggling manically, though incoherent ramblings I heard words like ‘hot’, ‘fine’, and ‘he’s almost here!’. I had to tilt my head at them out of slight second-hand embarrassment and pure confusion. No one was inside, which was a uncharacteristic for this ride so far. It was until I heard the rattling of a chainsaw that I realized how close they really were. Most of the actors had been chilling behind the ride staring at us, it gave me the jumpscare of my life let's say. We were then bum rushed by a bunch of clowns, laughing and pulling at the ride to rock it back and forth. A contortionist showing off her skills on a nearby side stage. Some got uncomfortably close but then walked away quickly as I could tell they were trying to decipher if I was a fellow actor or not. For whatever reason they kept flirting with the woman sitting adjacent to me, despite her being enclosed in the arms of her husband. I quickly realized I was being a complete hater because she loved it and her husband was being a good sport about it. Regardless I still didn’t see anything extraordinary like they had promised. I simply shrugged my shoulders. Maybe the clowns were the main attraction of the night? Yeah some of them were fairly hot, as hot as a few guys in Halloween masks while cursing us all out could be. It seemed like the hay ride's shenanigans were wrapping up since the clowns were leaving. That was until the wagon we all were sitting on threw itself into overdrive. Gunning it, moving faster than it ever cared to before. I saw trees ride past me the same way it did on the bus, but the manic laughter continued . 'WAS IT NOT OVER?! TRACTORS CAN’T MOVE THIS FAST!…or at least it shouldn’t be…?Right?' Suddenly we came to screeching halt, but not really a stop more like a moderate slow down. My panic wasn't given any time to settle in before I felt a particularly sudden shift of weight on our wooden vehicle. I could barley see through my now foggy plague mask's goggles but it was an unmistakable figure. The squeals of my counterparts turned into full blown shrieks as the statuesque shadow entered our ride with a particularly large rifle, a clown mask on its face, and a particular malice in its stance. He didn’t need bullets since all of us were already floored. A sight to behold, curly dirty blonde locks peeked from behind the face covering, miles of freckled, pale, skin peaked from underneath his ripped overalls, and his attempts to subtly catch his breath sent chills down my spine. He was mouth watering, but honestly if the modest muscle exposed at his biceps and underneath his dungarees were a climax then his voice was the final act. One of the perks of living in the South to me has always been southern accents that some men have…but lord the sweet honey dripping from this man lips made me want to set my black ass to my factory settings. For some brief seconds I thought being barefoot and pregnant were the only way to live happily the minute he spoke. There wasn’t an instrument in existence that competed with the octave his baritone vocals were set on. I was slack jawed and flabbergasted. If my fellow southern black women in my area were to describe a man like this we’d say he said he had that ‘cowboy walk’. Meaning he was the perfect representation of why America was so smitten with the farm-hands throughout the decades. I couldn't say a word if I tried. I watched a particularly bold and familiar girl muster up the courage to speak to him as he was getting ready to point his gun at one at one of the riders.

“H-hi, do you remember me?”

Completely breaks character and acknowledges her presence. 

“Oh? Oh yeah, it’s you…*comes to a realization as he turns* *chuckles*  don’t tell me you came back to see me?”

“I-I did, um…so um.. -you have a girlfriend?”

Now everyone got quiet, even if the wagon was still high, telling down the moist dirt road. Now I knew the girl was young but she shouldn't be too much younger than us considering we were the same height. A dumb assumption I know but I assumed that she and her friends wouldn’t get this far only to be a kid….right? He seemed to have the same idea. 

“Depends…how old are you?”

Sheepishly I saw the surprise and disappointment spread like a virus from her face to theirs. Her porcelain fingers tremble around her phone as the prospect of getting his number become a a fleeting wish…surely she didn’t go this far and was-

“I’m…14…*nervous laugh*”

“Oh hell no”

He didn’t even give it a second thought before sighing and moving his rifle to his shoulder. He gave us all a reassuring nod and proceeded to backflip off the moving cart. She pouted while her friends comforted. I just stared back  into the abyss only to make eye contact with  the mysterious stranger. This is going to sound terrible, but I feel like that was a needed experience for her. (First all, she just ruined the  chance of anyone legal to get a taste of this guy, like me! Jk Jk) Even when I was her age, mind you I’m 21 now, no matter how many crushes I ha on my older peers , I still knew better not to ask them out. You had to be 18 or older to even work at this place. Though, I still felt terrible for her and my maternal urges wanted to go over there and comfort her since I knew that kinda stuff took a huge blow to one’s ego, and I knew she didn’t know any better. I had the chance to ask her if she was older before the little caravan came to a halt. They didn’t drop us off  exactly at the drop off spot though, we’d have to walk a quarter of a mile back to the lit up crowns in  the distance. Never in my life have I needed to walk more, being hot and bothered with a bunch of people around isn’t ideal ( for me at least). That cold air was doing more than its share at cooling me down, too bad the nearby lights were only coaxing me further into a daze as it neared.   I walked on the path  and stumbled through the bush. A recognizable voice poured itself a molasses-like tone right into my ears. 

“I’ll see you later right?”

I knew what he was referring to, he thought I was a fellow employee too, the workers would congregate after the attraction closed down, eat, intermangle, and then go home. I wish I could be there and see what he looked like and maybe a little more since he was single as long as whoever he was talking to was legal. I couldn't be happier that the rubber mask covered my lovestruck expression. 

“Of course”

He did his famous nod and retreated back into the leaves, to unintentionally seduce another group. Of course I didn’t go, I didn’t work there it was already 1 am, I needed to get home unfortunately. I still wondered though ‘what if I did go?’ and ‘why did he care if I was there or not?’. It wasn’t until I turned around in the mirror later on that I realized the culprit for his curiosity. Lets just as historically bum pads were made to take some weight off the back side  and  rear end look more ample and rounded, maybe even stand out a bit under heavy garments. Let's just say I’ve never needed one. 

Happy Halloween Everyone. Remember that despite this story, they do not harass scare actors, they are just doing their job and don;t deserve to be sexually harassed.

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