#otp: then hear only the silence between them

[wistfulwatcher]

Goncharov (1973), dir. Matteo JWHJ0715

#goncharov #goncharovedit #sofia x katya #katya x sofia #sotya #had to gif my otp ship tag scene!! #maybe with this resurgence we'll finally get a blu ray release #otp: then hear only the silence between them #unreality #mine #edit #* #otp #scene* #giffic #wordles #~~ #1k #2k #3k

[giggly-squiggily]

I binge read all of hell's paradise yesterday and it is now a new favorite. You think you could write something for Yuzugiri? Only if and when you feel like it of course. Headcanons are okay too.

*sobs* MY OTP!!! I adore these girlies so, so much! Thank you for giving me the chance to write for them, anon! I've gotcha covered!

Sagiri was a picture of calm as she meditated.

Her breathing slow and easily paced, her face smoothed free of emotion. She was still as a statue, so much so Yuzuriha was sure not even a typhoon could shake her. Dressed comfortably in a flowery yukata  with her hair in a loose but neat bun, she was the perfect balance of relaxed yet composed.

Yuzuriha could stare at her for hours like this, alas, she rather liked seeing her girlfriend smiling more.

Creeping up slowly, she put her years of training to use as she silenced her footsteps, falling to her hands and knees when she was close enough. Forcing her lips into a flat smile, she leaned in so she was inches away from her girlfriend, eyes on the exposed skin of her neck.

Once there, she let out one long puff.

“EEK!” Sagiri let out a loud squeak, shoulders shooting up to guard her neck. Twisting around, her eyes widened upon seeing the playful kunoichi behind her. “Yuzu-AH!”

Another squeak when she was suddenly pulled backwards, Yuzuriha’s arms around her waist and face against her neck, kissing and nuzzling with all her might. “Yhuuhuhuhuhzurihiihihiha!”

“Yeees~” The other cooed against her neck, fingers pressing into the fabric of Sagiri’s yukata, wiggling into her sides. With her Asaemon outfit, it was difficult to reach there with how thick the belt was. This casual outfit proved much easier to push through. “What is it, Sagirin?”

“Sthahahahhaap! Aheahhahahaha! Ihihihihim trihhihihihying to meheheehheheditahahahaha-EhEHEHHEEHEH!” Sagiri let out a squeal when Yuzuriha blew a raspberry against her pulse point, pressing her fingers into the spaces between her ribs at the same time. “DOOHOOHOHN’T!”

“Don’t what? I can’t understand what you're saying, honey. You’re gonna have to speak clearer.” Yuzuriha leaned up to kiss her cheek before going back to her neck, giggling against her skin. “Do you want me to keep kissing you here?” She pressed one against the side of her neck. “Or here?” She went up against her jawline. “Or how about here?” He nuzzled the back of her ear, all actions producing a series of squeals and giggles from the usually stoic swordswoman. “All of them? Oh, Sagirin, you are so cuddly today!”

“Ahehehehahhahha! Y-Yuhuhuhuhuzuuhuhuhu!” Sagiri tried to break free, pulling at her girlfriend’s hands in vain. Whether the tickling zapped her strength or she really didn’t mind, she had no idea. She tried doubling over to block the attack on her belly, but that only sealed her fate for the upcoming attack.

“Oh ho- I know where you’d want kisses!” Yuzuriha cooed, something dangerous in her voice as she leaned back. “Right….about…here!” She then began nuzzling her shoulder blades, dead center.

Sagiri was an Asaemon- a swordswoman skilled in execution. She faced many sights in her training- horrid criminals to less than pleasing executions. She was trained to never scream, to never show fear in the face of such horrors.

All that training went out the window as an honest to god screech escaped her lips, muffled only as she crashed into her mat. “YUHUUHUHUZRIIHIHIHIHAHHAHAHAHA!”

“Ooo, what a pretty scream! Let’s hear it again!” Yuzuhira cackled, delighted by the reaction. Replacing her face with her hands, she laid against her girlfriend’s back, tracing and scribbling into her shoulder blades easily shifting to match the squirms and writhes Sagiri made beneath her. Sweet bubbly laughter escaped her lips, her face half hidden by her hair as it fell loose from its bun. Yuzuriha reached out and pulled it away, swooning at the breathtaking smile on her girlfriend’s face.

“So pretty. I could look at you for hours.” She sighed. It was like she was admiring a well constructed oil painting instead of tickling her girlfriend to pieces. “How did I get so lucky to have someone so amazing in my life.”

“AHEHEHHEHEHEEHEHE!” Sagiri couldn’t even respond, too caught up in her laughter to do so. With some effort, she managed to twist around, grabbing Yuzuriha and pulling her beside her. With even more effort, she was on top, pinning her shoulders as she caught her breath. “Thehehere! There!” She huffed, satisfied.

Yuzuriha blinked up at her, momentarily dazed. Then she smiled, stretching out like a cat and playing with a loose strand of silky brown hair. “There indeed. I rather like this view- you on top of me, flushed and pretty.”

Sagiri blinked, then she went bright red and staggered off, falling to her side against the mats. “Oh, you are terrible!” She huffed, earning a cackle from the other. Yuzuriha opened an arm invitingly, waggling her brows. “No tricks?”

“Not this time, honey.” Yuzuriha smiled, gesturing her over. Sagiri rolled her eyes before scooting over, resting her head against her chest as Yuzuriha stroked her hair. “That was rather unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“What, me tickling you? Nah, that’s very necessary.” Yuzuriha leaned down to kiss her crown, smoothing her hand down her back in an easy gesture. “You work too hard, even when you’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“I was relaxing.”

“Babe, you're a swordswoman. Practicing your breathing is not relaxing.” Yuzuriha snuggled her closer, closing her eyes. “This. This is relaxing. Nice, huh?”

When she didn’t get an answer, she peeked, finding Sagiri sleeping against her. 

“Told ya.” She smiled, kissing her forehead again.

Thanks for reading!

#hell's paradise #yuzuriha #yamada asaemon sagiri #yuzugiri #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #I just- #they are precious to me your honor #my OTP

[watchyourdigits]

4 9 10 and 23 for the otp asks? Hier sind kekse.

These are all going to be Evelyn/MacCready-centric because I'm LOCKED IN on those two rn

Long post because brevity is not my strong suit & I got carried away again, as I do with most things.

OTP ask game

4. What do physical trait do they love the most about each other?

MacCready wouldn't openly choose a favorite, but it's definitely her hair. He loves playing with it, and getting to do so means they're in a situation where they can relax and just be. It does as much for him as it does for her. Touch-starved couple things. Also on a monkey-brain bonding type of beat.

As for Evelyn, she loves Mac's eyes and his hands. I think choosing between the two would kill her. He always looks at her so softly, and it makes her feel like she's drowning in him. Disgusting! With his hands, she likes watching them, specifically watching him work with them, but generally as well. It's something of a fascination/fixation for her. Whether he's cleaning his rifle, running his fingers through her hair, or writing something, he's always very gentle about it. To her, his hands are like a breath of fresh air. Like aloe to her burns. Like learning that cotton and thread counts exist after only knowing sand paper and its varying grits. This metaphor is getting weird now sorry, I've been looking at getting new sheets recently lol

9. Do their friends and family like their significant other(s)?

MacCready doesn't have too many friends in the Commonwealth. They're all mostly mutual friends that know/love Evelyn already. Duncan LOVES her, though - he's a very social kid. They have a lot of fun together. Eve will often use a stealth boy while giving him a piggy-back ride so they can scare MacCready. He hates this because he startles easy when his guard is down. He learns to keep an ear out for them when he notices it's gotten a little too quiet, but he hams it up when they do the reveal just to hear them fall into giggle fits. Nothing sounds more like pure bliss to him than that.

As for Shaun, he was very hesitant at first about Mac, but he came around when MacCready introduced him to the world of comic books. They'll sit in a room with a huge spread in front of them and just read together in silence, handing off comics to each other as they finish them. They could discuss them for HOURS on end, too. MacCready is very impressed with Shaun and his interpretations of things and often consults him for his viewpoints on different lore aspects. Shaun is also helping Mac with his grammar/spelling. This leads them to collaborate on various writing projects, with the ultimate goal being to write a comic of their own. Evelyn is in fucking shambles over them both being such huge nerds.

10. Have they had romantic partners before?

Yes and no. MacCready had Lucy, but Evelyn's past partners were all sexual. Except that one time she was married (we all know how that ended *ominous cryogenic crackling sounds, gunshots* smh), but it wasn't really a true relationship despite the legal paperwork. Points for both of them trying though ig.

Side note: Evelyn isn't jealous of Lucy. Sometimes MacCready talks about her and I feel like Evelyn has the potential to be the jealous type, but she's really not. Idk why I feel the need to clarify that because the distinction is important to me: she's more the type to mark her territory tbh

23. Is there top/dom and bottom/sub energy?

Evelyn has the dom energy without a doubt. Day to day, she definitely LOVES having MacCready on a leash and he is more than happy to be dragged around by the scruff of his neck. She gives him head pats as needed for reassurance of course. No one is shocked by this.

(*cracks knuckles* buckle up, we're about to get nsft with it)

The surprise is entirely behind closed doors because they lose a lot of that energy in the bedroom. That, for these two, is a safe space where they escape to the quiet intimacy of one another. THAT'S where their soft sides can freely come out and they can give/receive the comfort they both desperately crave. Not to say they don't get down and freaky with it from time to time (see: below), but their sex life is more like a Hozier song as in it's deeply passionate & there's lots of worship and affirmation/TLC given. Total opposite to their public life, but they deserve to be treated with gentleness.

When they do get freaky with it (drop everything and fuck after clearing out a building of enemies kind of deal), it's usually quick and dirty. The idea that they don't carry those dynamics into the bedroom continues during their more public, fuck nasty stints. They're both pulling each other's hair and biting and scratching, both equally as desperate and domineering. It's mostly fueled by adrenaline, partly by the need to affirm that they're each okay, to basically be like "that was close, don't you dare fucking do that to me again". Plus, they're both oddballs and something about the way they work so seamlessly together and hardly need to communicate really gets the blood pumping/makes them feel really close. Work is very intimate for these two, especially when a job is done right. Fucking after a job is the same as a cigarette after sex to them, with the added bonus of burning off the rest of their adrenaline.

#regg writes #ship: to love is to burn #nsft ish #mostly just some domestic scenarios rattling around in the ole noggin #ask game #regg answers #oc: evelyn

[kashimos-hajime]

darling, dearest, not quite dead | o.k.

summary: twenty years. you have loved obi-wan for twenty years and the minute he comes back from what seems to be the dead, he wants your help to kill the supreme chancellor. then again, it seems almost like him to ask you to do this with him.

WARNINGS: swearing, brief death, mentions of injuries, sexual tension, angst, fluff, obi-wan is being annoying and y/n is being annoying right back, matching energies for our otp ❤️, questioning morality, crying men, happy ending!!! pairing: sith!obi-wan x fem!jedi!reader word count: 15.5k

a/n: i have no excuses ndklnsf i love him :) crossposted on ao3!

contritus | latin: broken, crumbled, worn down, crushed

Master Windu always said that a single moment defines a battle.

The moment Obi-Wan sinks his lightsaber through you, you realize that this is that moment.  

It’d been a mistake—the marauder had thrown Obi-Wan forward and you’d been in his way. The Masters were too far, they were caught between giving up a Jedi holocron or their lives.

You had begged him not to give up the holocron. Your life was nothing—nothing—

It’d been a fatal mistake. You know it the moment he spears right through you.

“Obi—Obi-wan?” Your voice, soft as a whisper as you grab onto his wrist and his eyes, so very blue even in the light of his saber, widen as your fingers dig into his skin.

It’s a peculiar sensation, glowing, blinding, yet curiously numb as he chokes out your name and retracts the lightsaber. The hunter lets go of your shoulder and you fall forward, gasping at the shrivelled fabric melded to your skin as arms take you and you realize it is Obi-Wan who holds you tight just as the whomsh of another lightsaber swings overhead. Craning up, you see a decapitated hunter, Master Windu, and Master Qui-Gon.

The body falls and so do you. Your friend falls to his knees, cradling you close and you shiver as he keens over you.

The Masters look down upon their Padawans and Obi-Wan’s tear-stained face raises wretchedly to glower at them.

“Master, I—Do something—“

Oh, sweet Obi-Wan. Pleading as he holds onto you and you simply turn your head into his robes. You don’t feel any pain but you are shivering as he grabs onto your hand, holds it against the burns on your stomach. 

“Bring her to the ship, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” He looks down at you, at his young face, and you smile. Maker, you love him. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, hush, Obi,” you breathe, reaching weakly for his face. Your fingers barely brush his smooth chin before the strength leaves your arm and it falls back again. He catches your hand, gently lowering it to the ground before twisting and scooping you up with an arm underneath your knees. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“If it takes my dramatics to keep you awake, I will do what I must,” he says as he follows their Masters back to the ship. Master Windu speaks into his comlink and Obi-Wan’s grip on you only intensifies when the Padawans catch him calling for medics to be waiting when they land back on Coruscant. 

They catch ‘critical condition’ and ‘uncertain odds.’

“You’re going to be alright, dearest” Obi-Wan whispers and you look up at him. Then, you smile again—he’ll be the last thing you see, won’t he?

His arms are so warm and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the gentle sway of his steps begins to lull you to sleep.

You can hear him calling your name. 

You do not wake up until both Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon have both disappeared.

.

You wake up and everything changes.

They tell you that Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order and Master Qui-Gon had offered his life to save you. It’s an ancient Force skill with the ultimate price.

The guilt is what eats you alive, and without your other half—Obi-Wan was more than a friend and just shy of a lover—you want to leave the Order yourself and find him.

But you don’t.

You persevere. You had forgiven him. It is, you believe, what Obi-Wan would’ve done. 

What Obi-Wan would’ve wanted for you.

It is… the Jedi way.

You become a Jedi Knight in his and Master Qui-Gon’s memory. The Council trusts you, believes in your strength to return after what should have been your death. You become their top agent, true above all else. 

You escort the Queen of Naboo, you land on Tatooine, you find yourself a Padawan. You do everything you can to keep his memory alive in your heart.

You do not speak of the dreams.

In your sleep, you feel the lingering presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his terrified screams, the untamed rage in his swings. Instead of blue, everything flashes red, and when you reach for him, he pulls away.

He’s out there… somewhere. You wonder if he knows you’re alive or if he left before he could know.

You are on Coruscant in your rooms when you get your answer. The Clone Wars are beginning to wear on them all, you are a Jedi General with an old Padawan who’s found himself an apprentice of his own, and life seems… not easy, but not complicated. There is no time to think of much besides the war and although you barely sleep these days, it’s better being so exhausted you can barely even dream.

“So he was right.”

Every inch of you stiffens as you whip around, pulling out your saberstaff from your belt with a practiced flourish and activating it. The yellow plasma hums and you narrow your eyes at the intruder.

“Jedi Sentinel, one of the youngest-made Jedi Knights in the Order, yet, held in such high esteem,” he continues. His eyes, glowing yellow in the shadows, pin you down and your grip on your saberstaff only tightens as the Sith steps out into the light and your breath catches when you stare into the face of a man you thought you’d lost. “Master Windu must love you, dearest.”

Obi-Wan, older, with his strong jaw covered in a beard and long hair raked back, stands in front of you with a smirk. A scar fractures his face, crossing his nose and digging into his cheek, but it only serves to amplify his looks. He’s handsome, still. Handsomer, even. 

Mature, civil, cold.

You remember Master Windu once said he could’ve been the greatest negotiator the Jedi Council had ever seen and you, the greatest fighter.

He, the calming hand. You, the fist.

Now, it seems, that they each are both.

In black armour and a hood tugged over his head, he regards you as he descends down the small flight of steps into your sitting area and you swallow, twirling your staff so it points down along the length of your arm—a show of peace, for now.

He hasn’t pulled out his own lightsaber you see hanging at his hip. It makes you uneasy.

Is it still blue? Red, now? 

All you know is that he is everything you swore to fight against.

“Sit.” You don’t even recognize your own voice when you speak, quiet and rasping as you deactivate your saberstaff and join him at the couches. Sitting across from him, you watch as he smoothes his hand over his robes and does so, pulling the hood off his head. “Is there any name by which you be called, or are you still Obi-Wan?”

His eyes snap to yours at the name and you meet him head on, your chest swelling in pain. How desperately you want to touch him, make sure this is all real, you cannot even begin to describe. 

Obi-Wan, a man you had loved since they were mere children in the Jedi Temple—childish love that had matured in something wretched, something forlorn—lives in his eyes. You see it then, for a split-second, when you had said his name.

But then, it had been swallowed up by whatever sits before you now.

“Darth Contritus.”

“Catchy.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t use it.”

Silence. You look out at the balcony and note that the door is cracked open before glancing at Obi-Wan before you again. He looks at you intently, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and you sense something stirring with him—it’s powerful, negative—and you clench your jaw, hands folded in your lap.

“What’s true, then?” you prompt after a while of his glaring. You feel bare before him after all this time and your stomach flips as he blinks, looking up from where he’d been trailing his gaze down your body, to your scarred hands, you know. 

You can feel him everywhere.

“That you live,” says Obi-Wan—Darth Contritus, you should say, but you refuse. 

“I do,” you agree. “And you would’ve known that had you stayed on Coruscant.” With me, you want to add but he hears it anyway. You know he does. “It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan. What is it, twenty years? More?”

“Obi-Wan,” he echoes wryly. “It’s been just as long since I heard that name. You should watch yourself lest you say that in front of the wrong people.”

“Well, you’ll always be Obi-Wan to people who loved you, hm?” Your chest tightens and you find his eyes again. His eyebrows furrow inquisitively as his hand brushes over his chin. You want to scream.

You want Anakin to barge in here, ask for advice from his former Master. Or, maybe, have the Senator of Naboo herself summon you. Have anyone demand your presence as they have for what feels like the past year with late night meetings and delegations. 

But there won’t be. You know this.

On this nights of all nights, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds you alone and your heart wilts in your chest.

Love. It weighs like a bantha between your shoulders. You once felt like you could fight a dragon with love, and now, it tears you apart slowly, limb from limb.

Loved.

You cannot linger. “Why are you here? If you were here to kill me, you would’ve tried already.”

“Only tried?” he mocks, leaning back into the sofa. Your arms stiffen and he smirks. “Dearest, I would’ve succeeded.”

“And there’s that signature Kenobi smugness. It’s a relief to see that some things don’t change,” you shoot back. “I’m not the same girl and you…” You laugh weakly. “You are not the same boy.” His hands shift on his knees and your eyes dart to the movement. Long, agile fingers dig into his knees and when you look at him, your gut clenches. “What do you want from me, Obi-Wan?”

“I need your help.”

That surprises you. Your chin jerks up to meet his eyes and he has that arrogant smile, that faint smirk that makes your stomach flutter even now.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this way—

Stop. You can’t think of that, you chastise to yourself. He is everything you are fighting against—everything that a Jedi cannot be. He isn’t the Obi-Wan you love anymore.

Except he is. 

He always will be.

“With what?”

The fact that you do not outright deny him is proof enough.

“If I told you I know who the Sith Lord orchestrating this whole debacle was and wanted to destroy him with your help, what would you say?”

“I would say that you want something in return for my help. I would say it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other and the first time we discover the other is alive”—your voice is dangerously bitter—“all you want to ask is a favour.”

He chuckles. There is a trickling trail of cold dread in your stomach. “Oh, dearest, you haven’t lost your wit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, darling?” He’s playing coy, but the predator in his eyes does not falter as he rests an arm along the back of the couch. 

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Obi-Wan—“

“Darth,” he cuts you off coldly, “Contritus. Obi-Wan is dead and I am finished entertaining the thought that he is anything otherwise.”

“I refuse to believe it.” You stand, smoothing a hand over your overtunic and turning your back to him. It’s foolish, you know, but you want to know if he will attempt to strike you down for refusing him—if there is a list of people he wants to turn, wants to help him achieve more and more power. Walking around the couch, you step up out of the small pit. “Find someone else.”

You take not one more step before you feel the faintest rush and your hand shoots to your saberstaff, activating it. Whipping around, you block his swing, their blades clashing in blinding white. Red meets yellow and you feel the hum of plasma in your bones as you stare up at Obi-Wan. He pushes down on you and you grit your teeth, digging your feet into the ground and shoving him back, your boots sliding along the floor with the force of his own strike. Energy fizzes in your bones and you’re breathless.

Just his presence so close to yourself again makes your nerves burn. Your senses are overloaded, memories flooding your brain and you stiffen when he lets out a soft laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His lightsaber is burning so brightly you feel tears spring to your eyes and there is a swelling in your throat as you snap apart your lightsaber into dual blades, reversing the grip with a twist of your wrists. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly and you raise a blade up in a defensive position. 

You had spent years training in Niman and the Shien variant, convincing Master Windu to train you in Vaapad despite the temptation of the dark side, mastering them to fill the void inside you. 

You’re not about to let the man who caused it to strike you down.

“A lot has changed. My answer is final.”

“You don’t even know what I want.” Curse him for being so relaxed, red saber burning and hissing and crackling yet loose in his experienced hand. “Dearest—“

“Stop it.”

“Darling, is finding the Sith Lord not the Council’s priority?”

“I won’t work with you.”

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and your eyebrows furrow together quizzically. It’s genuinely asked, you realize, and your grip laxes as he deactivates his lightsaber and clips it. “You can clearly match blows with me. I won’t get the jump on you as easily as some of the other fools in the Order.” You wonder if that’s difficult for him to admit. The Obi-Wan you’d known didn’t find it hard to admit, but…

But still. Still, everything’s changed.

“Is it, I wonder, because you care for me?”

Your stomach rolls and you don’t know if you should be ecstatic or terrified that he’s right.

“Obi-Wan—“

“Or because you still think of our time together?”

“There was no time. We were Jedi—“

“Temptation frightens you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Now, now,” he says, walking over to you smoothly and tilting his head. He offers a crooked smile and your lips part as you suck in a sharp breath. You drop your own guard unwillingly, lightsabers shutting off with a whomsh and he gently pushes your arms down. You let him—you do.

You can feel every molecule of his being coming closer, the smell of soap heavy in your nose as he stops before you. Maybe it’s because your heart is racing as he nears and you don’t even know if you’re breathing, or if it is because the love you once felt for him is roaring to life, consuming you until you are nothing more than starfire. Either way, you don’t want to know.

“We both know that the memories we share still… haunt you here…” His fingers brush over your temple and your eyes flutter shut. His touch is so soft, so tender, that you feel a part of you break. His hand trails down your jaw, down your neck, fluttering over your tunic and exposed collarbones and you know he feels you swallow. You know that he can feel every inch of you as intimately as if they were the same being. “And here…” He presses fingers to your sternum, right where your heart is. “Here is where your true desires lie.”

“I have no desires,” you grit out, pulling back but he grabs your arm before you can escape from his reach. Your head snaps up from his firm hand to his burning eyes and you are incinerating from inside out. “The Jedi—“

“—don’t give a damn about what you are or what you want. They only care about what you can do for them—“

“And that’s any different from the Sith?” You rip your arm free and immediately regret it for a flashing moment. “Get out of my sight.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean ‘or what’?” you snap, holstering your lightsabers with twitching snarl at your lips. “You said it yourself, you are no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don’t love you, and I am done with this game.” There is pleasure in the way his facade seems to crack then before attempting to repair itself and there is a surge in your bravery as you shove your face into his. He can’t quite fix the breaks you’ve smashed in his mask. “Go. Or this time, I’ll cut you down.”

“Hm.” His eyebrow quirks as he stares at you intently, curiously. Those eyes are nothing like the blue you had once known. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your eyes burn but you do not blink. 

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“My, my. Such anger from the Council’s prized hound,” he murmurs mockingly into your ear as his fingers brush your jaw again and there is that cocky, sickening smile in the blonde of his beard. Your lips pull into a snarl and you jerk your head away, turning around. You detest this new man before you, yet you can’t even bare to see him go. You feel like everything inside you is peeling. “Anger suggests feeling, dearest. Temper that the next time you wish to convince me that you no longer care for me.”

“It’s a bold claim that I could care for someone who is everything I fight against.”

“One you didn’t deny,” he replies evenly. “Goodnight, Jedi.”

You wait until you’re sure he’s gone—when you can on longer sense his presence and your heart comes down from your throat.

You crawl into the bed and bury your face into the pillow before screaming out against every injustice in the world.

If Anakin notices anything the morning after, he does not say it. Instead, he simply says “Master” in his cordial tone as he always does and you, for the first time in a very long time, since he was a boy even, look at him and your bruised heart is listless in your chest, a puppet with cut strings. You hold his face in your hand and look at the man you’ve trained, raised from the ground up, and truly feel the life that’s passed you by.

“Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine. Just tired,” you murmur quietly. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Your old Padawan regards you and you know what he sees as he nods against your palm and you let him go. He sees a mother, a sister, family.

You can only hope that he knows you feel the same way. Your son, your brother, the one thing left you know you can rely on.

“I know. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“You could never,” you assure with a gentle sigh and when he looks at you with that hope in his eyes, it reminds you torturously of Obi-Wan when they still had hopes for their own future. Together. Together. The word aches everywhere. “You know you could tell me anything, Anakin, and I would never care for you less.” Anakin’s expression flickers and your eyebrows twitch together before he gives you a tiny, boyish grin.

“Of course. And you, as well. I am here for you, Master.”

You give him a plastic facsimile of a smile before squeezing his elbow. “I know. Come on. The Council is waiting.”

.

They send you to a warm moon that reminds you of Naboo. Yavin 4, outer rim. 

At least it isn’t Hoth, or Maker forbid, Alzoc III.

There’s a Separatist chapter lodging in the jungles of the moon, causing enough trouble to warrant the Jedi’s attention.

You think your old Master notices your distracted disposition and sent you somewhere easy to work out whatever’s bothering you with a good droid slicing. Master Windu has always been attuned to your emotions, long before everything with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan happened. It’s why you were his Padawan.

He had sensed the darkness in you the moment he first saw you, or maybe he foresaw it. 

You don’t know.

You land your starfighter in the brush where it’ll stay hidden enough before jumping out and landing in the soft dirt quietly. You’ve shed Jedi robes for a sleeker outfit more fitted for the jungles. With tan sleeveless tunic tucked into darker brown pants, your boots shift in the soil as you skirt into the fronds and head in the direction of the fortress.

There is nothing complicated about this. 

It’s arduous, yes. Dangerous, monumentally. But it isn’t complicated. Training Anakin is more complicated than destroying a Separatist branch. Deciding between sleeping in Obi-Wan’s quarters or your own when they were just mere Padawans was a harder choice than deciding whether or not you swing left first or right. 

It’s all instinct, second-nature and nearly your first. Soon, the fortress stops screaming from blaster fire and droid whining. You slash the head off the last droid, let its head roll at your feet and whirl around when you sense another presence behind you.

And there he stands again, a ghost you can’t shake.

It disrupts you to your very core. There is the smell of smoking metal and something worse as he tilts his head, amused. You clip your saberstaff with a practiced twirl, kicking a droid’s head away with a swift swing of your boot. 

He’s leaning against the wall, all sleek and handsome, you’re sweating with oil smeared across your cheek.

How romantic.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“And I knew you just couldn’t stay away,” he retorts. “I wasn’t aware you’d be here until I heard you destroying those poor droids.” His voice is dripping with scathing sarcasm. “My, my, Jedi, you’re a sight.”

Joining him by the wall, you tentatively lean back against it as he turns onto his shoulder, regards you with a keen interest.

“You’re infuriating,” you admit quietly, refusing to look at him. You instead stare at the black leather of his boots, the way he’s crossed his legs at the ankles as he did when he was still by your side. Just more proof Obi-Wan’s there, torturing you with those tiny glimpses. “Why were you here?”

“There’s a factory here, over in Massassi Valley. I arrived to check in on their progress before I was alerted of a gorgeous Jedi with a yellow saber. Hm.” Your eyes flutter to his face and he smiles faintly. “Three forms.”

“You noticed.”

“How could I not, dearest?” He pushes off the wall with a smirk and, against your own will, a smile begins to pull at your lips insistently. “You’re just oh, so talented.”

Stubbornly ignoring the twitch, you follow him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, I apologize. Sentinel, then. Formalities, and such.”

“And I know you didn’t mean that apology.” They step over a droid body and make their way through the fortress, following the trail of droid bodies. You’ve rigged the place to explode and you know you could leave him to rot if you wanted but…

But he wants something from you, and if you can convince him to give you the Sith Lord without something in exchange—

“And I still wish to talk to you about our negotiation. We never finished before someone lost her temper.”

“Don’t test me, Obi-Wan. I don’t need to remind you the importance of warming up before a battle,” you warn and he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of a laugh, and your smile grows as you lower your head, trying to hide it away from him. “And I think losing my temper is fair when I’m around such atrocious company.”

“Oh, now I know you aim to wound me.”

“Am I hitting my mark?”

“Not even close.”

Jumping over the railing of the building, they traverse in silence up a short hill before you turn around and pull out the detonator. With a simple press of a button, it goes up in flames and debris, caving in from the inside out and destroying any droid not alerted already by your little dance with your saber. 

Job done. And there’ll be a million more like it in differing sizes and magnitudes. Dropping the detonator to your feet, you smash it to bits with a sharp stomp.

How many more factories can they blow up? How many droids can they kill?

All of it means nothing if you don’t kill the mastermind behind it all.

Eyes closing, you curse whatever deity pulls the strings and tell yourself that it’s just what you have to do. There are no clean hands in war. Just dirty ones and dirtier ones.

So be it.

Turning to Obi-Wan, your eyes flutter from his dark robes to his face.

“You wanted my attention, you have it.” His eyes squint a bit at your choice of words and you lift your chin up, refusing to back down in his overwhelming confidence. “Talk.”

“Now you want to listen to me?”

“Don’t waste my time.” Your boots shift in the soft dirt, leaves bending beneath the ball of your feet and you look at Obi-Wan, really get a good look at him for the first time since he’s thrusted himself back into his life. You wonder if you look at him the same way he looks at you. Then, you ponder if he notices that he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost or if he believes that no one can read him anymore.

But you still can.

You can rip the pages out of a book, but it does no good for someone who has memorized every single page and simply flips through for the memories.

“The Sith Lord, his name is Darth Sidious,” he says, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “He rules the Republic secretly, taking senators under his control with a simple word. The apprentice, on the other hand, was Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku? The Jedi who retired.”

He nods. “The same. That is, before I killed him and took his place.”

“Killed him,” you repeat. “You killed a Jedi.”

“A Sith Lord,” he corrects.” It was of no consequence. He would’ve caused you more trouble sooner or later.” It’s the flippant way in which he speaks that sets you back as he turns to head deeper into the forest and you follow him for lack of nowhere else to go. This is the way to your starfighter, something he seems to realize.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t just say that.“

“How many times do I need to remind you that—“

“Well, I refuse to use that name.” You plant yourself right in front of him and his eyes widen, eyebrows rising as he looks up at you. Clenching your jaw, you wish you could somehow reach into him, pull the Obi-Wan you know out so you could just hold him again— “It’s cursed, and wretched, and wrong.”

“This again?” He tries to walk around you but you grab his arm. He freezes, rigid, under your grip and you try to pull him back.

“You know I’m right. You only correct me when I start questioning your morality—something I thought Sith don’t exactly doubt.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought you all believed you were evil and relished in it.”

When he rips his arm out of your grip, he tears a piece of you with him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to come to you.”

“Regret it, then. See if I care.” You start to walk back down to the wreckage of the building and you hear a loud sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere where the air isn’t tainted with your presence. I’m not wasting my time when there is a war going on.”

“Tainted?” His voice rises as he walks down the hill after you. “If I was aware that the Jedi have made you so marvellously childish, I wouldn’t have come at all.” Stopping in your tracks, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead and you whip around, pinning him with a glare.

“What do you mean come? You said you were here already.” Before you know it, his mouth opens to argue but no words come out and you know you’ve caught him.

So you get under his skin as much as he gets under yours.

Good.

“You were following me.”

Dryly: “An astute observation. Now, will you help me kill a Sith Lord or not?” He stops in front of you and you tilt your head. His lips are twisted in an impatient scowl as you look over your shoulder at the ruins of the Separatist chapter.

Then, you cross your arms and sit down on the hill. You glance up at him, cock your head as a silent invitation for him to sit next to you. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous purple-orange. When you look at Obi-Wan, the orange ignites the gold in his eyes and sets his hair aflame. He stares out at the sky, legs crossed and hands on his lap. The perfect meditation posture.

“You haven’t succumbed to the dark side, have you?” you ask quietly, voice cracking, and he blinks, looking at you.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, his eyes are on the sky again.

You search his side profile. He seems so normal. So… like himself. It scares you yet brings you relief.

“Never mind.” You draw your legs up to your chest, rest your arms atop your kneecaps. “The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. He taught you… whatever it is that’s so enticing about the dark side.”

“Oh, if only you knew, dearest,” he sighs. “But yes. I’ve no interest in seeing his reign continue.”

“But… shouldn’t your goals align?” you ask, confused. “It is the goal of the Sith to destroy the Jedi.”

“Not all Jedi,” he corrects. “Perhaps some exceptions can be made.” Again, his eyes flicker to yours and your eyebrows knit together. A delicate frown mars your face. “You. Your old Padawan. You join me and together we can rule the galaxy ourselves. We could keep him because I know how much he means to you. Personally, I find him endearing.”

Shock shoots through you like cold fire. “What? No. No, that’s not how this works. We do this for the Republic. Not to replace one dictator with another.”

“Why not?” he laughs. “We’d have no rules, or, perhaps, it’d be by our own design. We could have the power to shape the galaxy however we wish.” He leans over. “I know you want that as much as I do. I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the Senate for ourselves.”

“Because that’s wrong! Because democracy—“

“—has worked so well?” he asks dryly. “Look at the Trade Federation. The Separatists. Your democracy has failed you twice in the past ten years on a scale tantamount to the largest volcano on Mustafar erupting.”

“Then we amend what goes wrong. That’s how this works. We try and try. We do it until we get it right, even if we never do.”

“That is a fool’s play.”

“I’d rather us be the fools than the king,” you snap. “At least fools know where they stand.” You get up, turn to ascend up the hill again and you dust off your pants, dirt flecking off the fabric. “As for us…” You scoff, shaking your head and you can hear him getting to his feet as well. “I can’t believe I ever humoured the idea that there could ever be an ‘us’ again.”

“That idea could become reality if you would just join me.” His voice is harsher than a serrated vibroblade as he falls into step beside you. You hate how easily he catches up but you refuse to acknowledge him as you stride back to your ship. “Think of it. There wouldn’t be a single thing separating us again. Not death, not the Sith, not the Code. We could finally be together. I’ve thought of nothing else since I learned that you were alive.” You bite your lip, eyes resolutely staying forward despite his words seeping into your conscious. “I know that’s what you want. Without the Code, we could flaunt our love. I could cherish you as you deserve, darling. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be with me, too?”

And something—something about how brutally honest those words are just hits you like a speederbike and you stop in your tracks for the second time that day. Obi-Wan stops a few paces ahead and you pin him with a sorrowful stare. 

“So. That’s what this is about.” You let out a short, incredulous breath. “Not… not power. Not even some delusion that you can rule the galaxy better than the Senate. You just want me.”

His eyes widen before they narrow into a glare and he storms down the hill, shoves his face into your space and you swallow the rock in your throat.

“Yes,” he growls, nose-to-nose. “Is it so wretchedly inhumane of me to desire you?”

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot answer right away. 

Can’t. Won’t.

There doesn’t seem to be a difference. All you know is that you can’t breathe.

And when you remember how, all you can smell is him, feel him so close to you that you can’t imagine ever forgetting him.

“No.” The word, so fragile, so short, flutters past your lips and Obi-Wan reels back like you had punched him. “No, I don’t think it’s inhumane at all to love.”

“It is all I do this for,” he whispers furiously as if you hadn’t spoken, eyes searching your own. You reach to touch his tunic but he grabs your wrist so tightly that you can’t break out of it. “Let me make that very clear that it is because of you that I am like this.” His lips twist into a snarl. “You haunt me and I let you because I take a sadistic pleasure in wanting what I cannot have. Do with that what you wish.”

Your heart drops into your gut as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and their eyes meet in dark, ferocious anger as they linger in the heat of it. 

Then, before you can question what he means, he draws back and all that anger, rage, grief, melts to a mask of diplomacy. No tension in his face, no feeling. He’s a blank slate as he clears his throat, regards you with an impassive gaze that somehow hurts more than his ire.

“If you do intend to help me,” he finally says icily, “join me on Coruscant. You will receive specific details on your terminal.” 

Shaken, you watch him disappear into the jungle. Your legs give in before you can follow and as you fall to your hands and knees, you wonder if you cry for him and the fate you’ve tied him to or cry for yourself and the guilt that begins to eat you alive.

.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely. As for the Council hearing, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you, Padmé, and it wasn’t, but… we made it through. What’s done is done when you’re dealing with the Sith. Now that we found the name of the Sith Lord, maybe we can narrow down our serach.”

“Master Windu must be pleased with your work.”

“Have you met him? Nothing pleases him. Ever.” You sip on your tea politely but it tastes like nothing on your tongue. Padmé frowns faintly at your tone, not besmirching her beauty in the slightest as Anakin walks in. Looking up, you set down your cup. “Anakin.”

“Ahsoka told me I could find you both here. What are you doing on the terrace?” he asks with a glance at you, then a softer one at the Senator. Concern masks his features. “It’s cold at night.”

“You know, sometimes ladies need moments to ourselves,” Padmé teases, standing. You lean back into your chair, watching in amusement at the way Anakin’s expression completely melts when she walks past him. If he couldn’t be any more obvious. “How’d the research go?”

“Fine. Ahsoka asked me something that I couldn’t answer so I just wanted to ask you about it, Master.”

“Me?” You sit up. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Well, she heard of a name and it was before my time, so I thought you could help.”

“Calling her old when you want something, Ani?” Padmé calls from inside as she sets something down on the table. You get up yourself, letting the droids take care of their dishes as you join your friend inside. “Now, that’s classy.”

Stifling a laugh, you enter the apartment and glance over your shoulder at your old Padawan learner. “Ask.”

“Well, she was looking through the libraries and came upon a name. It’s popped up in our database now that we know the name of the Sith Lord. The Rule of Two demands an apprentice, and if we’re right, it could be him.” Your heart drops in your throat as you sit down and Anakin clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes are solemn, his lips set in a frown. Padmé’s eyes rest on you in concern and you know that your silence is just as troubling as anything.

“What name?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure you’re audible. 

“He was a Padawan at the same time as you, Master.” Your throat tightens and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t say what you think he will— “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He simply… disappeared. Not even the Council could trace him.”

“Anakin…”

“Did you know him?” Padmé asks curiously and your eyes dart to her.

“I did. He was… he was my best friend. His disappearance…” Broke me. Killed me. What else is there to say? “It was a great loss to the Order. He was the best of us. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.” The silence that follows nearly chokes you and you sweep your gaze from Anakin to Padmé until you realize you can no longer bare their interrogating stares. Standing, you bow to the Senator and excuse yourself. “Goodnight, Senator. Forgive me but the war means little sleep for me. I must meditate on this.”

“Goodnight,” Padmé calls, the frown evident in her voice as you turn, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can.

You reach the elevator and step on just as Anakin catches up to you and you flash him a false smile, stepping aside to make room for him beside you. He lets out a breath, glancing at you. The doors close and he looks at the buttons, clasping his hands in front of himself before pressing the ground floor just as you did with a decisiveness one can’t fake.

That Skywalker swagger. Must be.

He steps back into line beside you. “Are you alright?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In all my years under your tutelage, I’ve never seen you so affected. You’re steadfast, Master.”

“Did I miss ‘Compliment Your Elders Day’ in the calendar?”

A scowl. “And you deflect with sarcasm.”

“As all the best do.”

“Master.”

“Anakin,” you censure. “I’ll be fine. It is you who can confide in me, not the other way around.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair,” he replies stubbornly. “I hardly know anything about you and I’ve known you far longer than I haven’t.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great about myself.” The sarcasm drips through your words. “We work well together, Anakin. That’s all that’s mattered.”

“Whether we work well together or not isn’t the point. I’ve know you for years and you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“Well, you know I was born on Corellia. I like flying. You know how I fight, which is far more intimate than most people know me,” you list off the top of my head. “You know how I take my caff, that I drink often, even though unofficially, the Jedi don’t condone excess consumption of alcohol.” At Anakin’s skeptical gaze, you sigh. “Look, it’s not just you I refuse to speak of it to. No one except the Council knows about Obi-Wan. He’s… he’s not supposed to exist, in a figurative sense. He was supposed to be wiped from the databases.” Anakin’s expression scrunches up in confusion and you drop your gaze. “There was a situation. It was handled, but there was a whole mess that came along with it. A Jedi died—“

“I saw. Ahsoka showed me the death certificate of a Master Qui-Gon Jinn a few days after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s recorded documentation regarding him leaving the order. The reports speak of a mission with you and Master Windu, as well as Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Hearing the Jedi’s name makes your guts twist and you look up at the elevator lights signifying their level. They still have so far to go. “What happened that day?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Master, trust me. You know me better than anyone. If Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Sith Apprentice we’re searching for—“

“Anakin, I am warning you. Do not mention Obi-Wan’s name again.” Your cold tone knocks him off and you know it’s because you never use that tone against him. You instantly regret your words and you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Chewing your lip, an apology already works its way into your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

The doors open at last and you begin to leave.

“I’m starting to sense he was more than your friend, Master,” Anakin murmurs, grabbing your forearm, stalling you, and you look at him wretchedly. A mirthless smile works its way onto your face and your heart wilts in your chest as you gently pull out of his grip. Anakin’s eyes widen and you can only look at him in apology.

“Anakin… what lies between you and the Senator?” you ask and he jerks back as if you’ve slapped him. 

You might as well have as he stammers, “Nothing more than friends.”

 Your smile only grows unhappily. “Then apply that ‘friendship’ to what was between Obi-Wan and I, Ani, and you have your answer.”

.

You sit on top of the building, knee jiggling as you wait. You could meditate, eat, pass the time any other way besides watching the speeders, but you don’t. You feel nauseous, cold. 

You hadn’t told anyone of your meeting here, as Obi-Wan requested and yet, you fear Master Windu might’ve caught on to your lies.

The Jedi Council actively search for the very man you’re meeting and you can’t help but feel like sniper sights are aimed at your back every time you leave your apartment.

“Hello there.”

You whip around to see a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. Obi-Wan stands there, dressed in black and a dark bloody maroon. His hood off and his hands in open display, he stands there until you face forward again, taking that as an invitation to come closer.

“I trust you’re well?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” you utter quietly, clasping your hands. He climbs over the railing, sits beside you on the balustrade with a quiet sigh. Their feet dangerously close to the edge of the roof, he glances at the traffic and you stare at your boots. “Let me make something very clear: I want to help, no matter your own motives. I swore to keep the peace and that is what I’ll do, but after this, our arrangement is done.” Your eyes find his and you hope the coldness in your tone is mirrored in your gaze. “I never want to see you again. Let me be a ghost and you can be mine.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curved into a handsome frown. You look back out at the skylanes.

Quiet.

He must know you mean it this time. That there is no coyness, no game—you aren’t out to play hard to get. You aren’t acting like you don’t know what you’re saying. No, you’re well, and truly, done. Sick of it. Finished. Whatever synonym that can be concocted, it is what you are. Even if you do love Obi-Wan, you wish you had died that day. It would’ve been much better than this.

An odd twenty years later, and sometimes, your stomach still aches from old scars.

“Am I understood?” you finally inquire softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get to work.” You draw your hands up your thighs, set your spine straight and look at your new partner-in-crime. “What’s our first move?” He stares at you for a moment, pale yellow eyes searching your face, but when you merely arch an eyebrow in prompting, he blinks and pulls something out of his pocket.

“Well, considering my Master hasn’t recognized that I intend to murder him in cold blood yet, we must move quickly. Have you deduced who Darth Sidious is?” You look at him and he sighs. “Who has always rubbed you the wrong way, no matter what everyone else said?”

You roll that question over in your head for a moment. “I’ve never liked how Chancellor Palpatine has attached himself to Anakin,” you confess. “If anyone, he’s painted himself the saviour of the Republic and the Council don’t trust him.”

“For once, the Council is right.” You frown at his bitter tone. “And your intuition never fails.”

“So the Sith Lord is Chancellor Palpatine, the most well-guarded man in the galaxy.”

“Yes.”

“And you do realize that a Jedi killing him portrays a certain… image, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know. I’ll do it. What I need is for you to get me access to his rooms.” Eyebrows shooting up, you rest your chin on your clasped hands, your elbows digging into your knees. “You said it yourself: your old Padawan learner is off mingling with the Supreme Chancellor himself. I assume you’re close with the Skywalker boy.”

“I am.”

“He’s powerful in the Force, that one,” he comments.

Quietly: “I know.” Sighing, your eyes find Obi-Wan’s. “So you want me to manipulate Anakin to let us in.”

“Manipulate is a strong word.”

“Didn’t realize you had such an aversion to using people to your own means.” The light of the city reflects off his eyes, cloaking his face in half light, half shadow. It only amplifies the arrogance of his smirk, the arrogant cock of his eyebrow. Your gut clenches and your thighs press together as he leans over.

“I have a strong, strong inclination for the consensual, darling.”

“So witty, as always,” you breathe. “As if the last time we spoke had no consequence.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. Not for me at least. For you, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “I can feel the guilt inside you, twisting your every thought.” He chuckles. ”It’s funny, really.”

“My torture is your amusement?”

“Ah, no, never,” he corrects. “It’s a bitter delight that you never realized your hand in all of this. This situation, this war, this… conundrum of the heart. It’s… sick,” he acknowledges, “but after years of my own guilt consuming me, it’s almost… comforting to see you suffering like me.”

Your gut convulses at his words. “You think I didn’t suffer in your absence? That I didn’t dream of you every night for years?” His eyes study your face that begins to crumble underneath his stare. 

“I think we are alike in our agony.” He flips the device he pulled out earlier over in his hands, activating it with a simple press of a button. “Do you know why I want to kill the Chancellor?” A soft voice begins to emit for the device and he hands it over to you with a faint smile. “Take it.”

“What will you do? Spin your tragic tale?” you inquire without any bite. You mean it—tales are tragic when it comes to their lives so interwoven with one another and as they sit on the edge of the balcony, overlooking a city still alive despite the war raging, the night edging in on all sides, you hold the device to your ear and swallow when you hear Darth Sidious’ voice, vile and old. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“She hangs in the balance, young one. Join me, and I will ensure that she lives.”

“A tragic tale,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

The recording scratches, skips forward. “She’s dead, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for your loss but you can avenge her. Use that lust for vengeance for more than grieving a girl dead before her time.”

You lower the device from your ear. You don’t want to hear any more of his manipulations. Those brief glimpses had been enough to make your stomach churn. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“He cloaked you from me. For years, I kept seeing your eyes,” he continues distantly. He leans forward on his knees, almost leaning into the wind and you clutch onto the cylindrical device tighter. “I remembered what it felt like, feeling your lifeforce ebb and disappear by my hand.”

“But you found me,” you try and he chuckles darkly, looking out at the skylanes. Two speeders nearly collide and his lips twitch into a mirthless grin.

“Indeed. When I was looking for the boy.”

“Anakin?”

“Hm.” He looks at you again. “The Chancellor wants to replace me with him now that he’s all grown.” Then, his eyes drift, rich in drive, zeal, the spirit of a warrior, the soul of a man who refuses to falter. “I suppose that’s another reason why it’s time to deposit the tyrant. I don’t intend to die so easily.”

In a moment of irrational, or perhaps even lack of, thought, you reach for his clasped hands and hold onto him. He doesn’t rip himself away immediately and in fact, his eyes seem to fixate onto yours deeply as you slip your hand between his.

“I’ll be there,” you promise him, not daring to look away, not wanting to for a second. It isn’t the most romantic thing in the world—you could’ve promised that you’d protect him, that he won’t die because you’re there, that he won’t ever be harmed again, that ‘it’ll be okay’—but you’ve always been practical, just as Obi-Wan was. Is. The only thing you can offer is the truth: “You won’t be alone.”

Then, he lifts one of his hands and rests his palm on your knuckles, and your heart, thudding like thunder in your chest, hitches. You suck in a cold, clear breath and squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you.” His fingers brush over your skin and electricity dances up your arm as he watches you softly, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. The gauzy glow of Coruscant softens his features and a shuddering sigh leaves your lungs as he leans forward.

It’s a moment where you think no, I shouldn’t, I can’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t before your heart, screaming to meet his, shuts up whatever rational voice echoes in your head and you close the distance. The instant their lips meet, a hand lifts from yours and shoots to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You set down the device blindly, holding onto his neck. Their hands spring apart and your other hand rakes through his hair, fingers twisting in auburn locks as he holds your face, burns himself into your mouth. 

You barely remember when your eyes closed. 

All you know is that the smell of him, the taste, it’s all so familiar yet there is the hint of something darker, smokier leading you deeper into his influence. One of his hands spreads across your neck, thumb brushing over the front of your throat and the underside of your jaw as you scoot closer towards him and he chuckles, nose wrinkling at your insistent kisses but submitting all the same.

Your mind is blank, razor-focused on one thing and you don’t even remember your own name before your lungs screech for air and you suck in a deep breath through your nose, tearing yourself away despite their lips nearly refusing to part. Your mouth opens and inhale sharply, hands pulling through his hair. His chin tilts up and you blink, looking at him through the fuzzy dots in your vision and the gleam of his golden eyes, arrogance and tenderness in its very definition, douses you in cold water. 

Jerking back, your hand flies to your lips, fingers brushing where he had claimed you moments before. Your thoughts are a scattered whirlwind and you swallow. Your breaths come rapid, your heart beating everywhere at once as you spin around, climbing over the balcony and back towards solid ground. Obi-Wan twists, confusion marring his face as he gets up and you whirl around. You feel like he’s set you on fire after a long winter left out to the elements and you’re incinerating. 

You’re burning from the inside out. You’re thirsty, yearning for something to feast on. Your fingers itch to rip off clothes, slash apart a droid, do anything to work out the energy that’s beginning to fizzle in your chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, voice cracking, and you look up at him forlornly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because—“ Yet with every second, you find your logic failing as you look at him. His hair is dishevelled—your doing—and he runs a hand through the golden strands as he waits for your answer but you’re starting to think you don’t have one.

After all, no one will ever know besides them.

That’s what you told yourself when they were Padawans. You fail to think of any difference now.

Obi-Wan stands there expectantly and your hands rake over your head, glancing around. There is no one but the sound of late-night traffic and the night.

Eyes sliding shut, you feel something inside you give like a fragile foundation finally slipping in the sand. 

His kiss is like a toxin, still scorching through you, and something inside you tightens as you open your eyes again and see him standing there, expression so much like the old Obi-Wan that your heart aches.

Your hand drops. You look at Obi-Wan in his dark robes, and decide.

You can’t take it anymore. You will love a ghost. You’d rather do that than die lonely.

Walking over to him with a decisiveness you feel like you’ve lost since he’s crashed into your life, you take Obi-Wan’s face in your hands and pull him into your kiss. 

He kisses back immediately, his hands finding your jaw and your eyes squeeze shut as your hands slide down his neck, find his shoulders and their lips meet again and again, drunk off the mere touch of their bodies. You find the buckle of his belt, undoing it with ease and the clank of his lightsaber hitting the ground along with the rest of the leather makes you grin against his persistent mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth before nudging your chin up with his nose. His hands slide down your shoulders, hooking on your robes and sliding them down your arms with a slow, seductive intention that sends shivers up your spine. 

Letting your arms drop, you let him guide the robe to a pool around your feet before breaking the kiss to look down at your belt but he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up and their mouths slot together again. With his free hand, he undoes the buckle with practiced ease and your lightsaber joins his on the ground before they sink to the floor in unison, their knees against cold stone, their lips never parting. A fire scorches between their mouths and you know that you have never felt more at home than the moment Obi-Wan’s hands find your waist.

His hand slides to the small of your back, scooping you up and lying you flat against the pavement as you find the waist of his trousers, tugging down insistently. Their breaths mix in desperation as their foreheads press together. Their lips part just enough for you to look down and he kisses your brow, your cheeks, cranes his head to find your ear as you run your hands over the front of his pants, feel something warm and hard against your palm.

A quivering sigh against your neck makes your stomach flutter as the hand on your back slides to your hip, squeezing the flesh there. Boots sliding along the ground, you let out a tiny whimper when soft lips suck on the flesh of your throat, teasing you with tiny nips. His hand goes under your long tunic, finding the hem of your trousers and a warm index finger traces the rim, tip gently brushing along the sliver of bare skin there.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your hands trail up his sides and wrap around his back. 

Their foreheads are still pressed together when his eyes flicker from your body to your face.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yes. I’m—I’m sure.”

“Stop me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cold skin meets the warm flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” you murmur achingly, eyes beginning to sting. His eyes flash to yours and you smile to yourself, slithering a hand to his face and cupping his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his lips. “Even after all this time, I’ve only loved you until I’ve hated you and… I have never stopped caring about you. I became a Jedi in your honour, you know? I did what I thought you would’ve done, because you are good, Obi. I know it.” You tilt his head against yours. Their noses clash and their lips brush, and you can’t help but close your eyes as your fingers card through his hair. “You’re still in there and I will never be afraid of you, but I am afraid for your future. For ours.”

“Ours?” he echoes and you nod against him.

“Ours.”

“What—what do you mean?”

There it is. That split-second of hopefulness in his voice, the sound of the first sun after the darkest winter. You’d give anything to pull the sun out of the shadows. Even the Jedi Order.

“Ours if we make it through this. Ours when I renounce the Code and join you.” Curling your fingers in his hair, you feel your heart splinter into two, wilt like a flower in the winter rain and when the first droplet lands against your nose, you know he’s struggling to hold his tears in. 

Your eyes open. Pressing a brief, soft kiss against his mouth, you gently brush his tears away. 

“I will leave the Order for you if you leave the Sith for me. When we kill the Chancellor, we will disappear and live the life we deserve. That’s what scares me.” His eyes search yours and you smile, his beard tickling at your palms. He raises his arms until his elbows are by your head and he props himself up, lacing his fingers atop your head and shielding you from the world. His body pressed against yours, you can’t help the tentative smile on your face.

“Why?”

“Because we’re so close to it,” you tell him. “Because, for the first time, it seems so real. We’re just within reach.” You sigh, studying his face, his scar, the shape of his eyebrows. All tiny things, yet they mean the world to you.

“What happened to never seeing me again?” he asks in a faux smug airiness and you wrinkle your nose, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sniff, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes but when you look at Obi-Wan, you swear you can see the first hint of blue in his eyes. The first hint of day breaking through the night.

“A kiss or two changed my mind.” You tilt your head to the night, letting the bracing wind take your tears away. You think nothing of this night has been romantic, from what’s been said to what’s happening now.

Yet, you wouldn’t change a thing from this.

You’d rather have this mess than a fantasy—have this broken man silently letting tears slip down his face than anything else.

Tears smeared all over his cheeks, Obi-Wan sniffs and tries to clear his throat but fails miserably as you draw your hand across his face. He cradles your face in one of his own hands, swiping a thumb beneath your eye and you smile.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly, and you lift your head up to kiss him softly, again, assuredly. “Please. Please don’t wake me up.”

“I’m alive, don’t worry. This isn’t a dream.” You tilt your chin up to kiss between his eyebrows and the delicate scrunch of his brow makes you warm. “And I love you, too.” His hands holding your face begin to tremble as if he’s afraid that one moment, you will disappear like a ghost but you let your hands drop, press palms against his knuckles so that he steadies and smile up at Obi-Wan. “I’m here.”

“So many of my nightmares end like this.” His voice breaks as he ducks his head into your chest, forehead to your heartbeat. “I don’t want to wake up. I never do.” You wonder if he hears the distinct shattering of your heart at his words.

Folding your fingers over the spaces between his, you draw his hands away from your face and press a long kiss to his fingers.

His grip only tightens as he lifts his head again and rests it on your shoulder. Their hands part only for you to wrap your arms around his chest and for his to bend around your head again, sheltering you from the world around them. 

The traffic is quieter now, nothing but your heart and his beating in tandem and the soft breaths that come only after tears are shed. His weight is suffocatingly warm and you bury your face into his neck, let his beard tickle at your eyes. 

“This is real, Obi-Wan.”

You never want to leave him again.

.

“Anakin, let me begin by saying that you cannot interrupt me in the middle of me talking.”

“Do you think I’m six?”

A levelling look. A loud sigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t interrupt you.”

“You better not.” You slip your hands into your sleeves, perching on the balustrade of Padmé’s balcony. It’s the only place you can think of that you trust to be completely absent of eavesdroppers. “First: Obi-Wan’s alive.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns faintly. “I thought we established that.”

“And I know for certain he is the Sith apprentice we’re searching for.” Guiltily, you lower your eyes to the ground as Anakin approaches, the frown ever growing. ”I met with him. Multiple times, actually.”

“Master—“

“He came to me first,” you say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know until he came to me and I met him again on Yavin 4. Again, he followed me there.”

“Sounds like you have a fan.”

Sending him a wry look, you sit upright. “Funny. But I met him two nights ago.” Because all of yesterday was spent in my own apartment, trying to reconcile the possibility of a future with the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen. But that’s neither here nor there. “He told me what he wanted.”

“Which is?”

“Anakin…” You raise your gaze to your old apprentice and sigh, standing up. A thoughtful expression is etched onto his face. At times, you can’t help but think maybe you should’ve exercised or demonstrated more patience with him. It seemed like you only exacerbated his natural proclivity for recklessness. Other times, like now, you think you did a pretty damn good job. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we are searching for.”

Anakin’s countenance drops and his mouth opens, trying to argue but you quickly continue.

“No one can know better than his apprentice,” you tell him. Reaching out for his shoulder, a cold feeling settles in your gut when Anakin jerks out of your reach, brushing past you with a stony expression. “Anakin—“

“How do we know you can trust this Obi-Wan?” he points out. “He could easily be using you, manipulating you to get what he wants.” Turning to watch him go, your eyebrows knit together. “Master, whatever you think he feels for you, he could be lying.”

That stings. It stings more than you thought it would and you saw it coming from miles away.

“Have you not stopped to consider the same thing applies to the Chancellor? Anakin, I know you and the Council have never seen eye-to-eye regarding your relationship with Palpatine, but Obi-Wan isn’t lying.”

“How do you know?” he repeats.

“I just do.”

“That’s not good enough! Have you told anyone else about this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, great. So we’re going off the Sith Lord’s apprentice’s lead. That’s real trustworthy.”

“Anakin, if you don’t trust him, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Master. I’m just afraid that your mind is clouded.” Anakin’s eyes meet yours and a lightning current shoots down your spine at the graveness in his face. He looks much older than his years and you’re more than aware that the longer this war continues, the more exhausted they both will be. 

“Anakin…” Then, you remember the weight of his secret. You wonder if that adds to it—if the burden of carrying the love for a certain senator drags him by the ankles. You understand that. You just wish Anakin knew that you would understand.

“I’m sorry, Master, but what does he want? This can’t be out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He wants to kill the Chancellor. That’s it. The Republic won’t fall beneath the weight of this war.”

“That’s it? That can’t be right. He must want something in return—“

“In return, I leave the Jedi Order,” you cut him off quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off. It doesn’t work because the colour drains from Anakin’s face and your heart wilts in your chest. Regret knots in your chest as he walks up to you and opens his mouth to argue, hands reaching for your shoulders. You raise your hands, stopping him. “It’s a done deal. I’m leaving on my own accord.”

“Master… you can’t. You can’t just—“

“You and I both know it’s more than possible,” you shoot back. Your words come out cold, flat, and you wish he could’ve found out any other way, but life is rarely, if ever, perfect. Anakin’s blue eyes search your face for answers you do not have and it must be something in how you say it but realization soon dawns upon him.

“You love him.”

“He loves me, too,” you reply quietly. “It is, I assume, not dissimilar to how you feel for Padmé.” You smile faintly and reach up, cupping his face. “I’ve never been blind to that, Anakin.” Sputtering, your old friend tries to come up with some excuse but you merely shake your head. “Once this war is over, Obi-Wan and I will leave Coruscant. That was our deal. And we need your help to do it.”

“My help?” The words come out strangled and you nod. “How?”

“The Chancellor trusts you. Get us into his office, and we will do the rest. You can leave the room, deny responsibility, do whatever you need to. The Council must not connect you to this.”

“But—“

“Anakin, you have the potential to be a great Jedi Master, if not the greatest. With my spot on the Council opening up, who knows? Your part in this may push you in the right direction.” Glossy azure eyes fix on yours and you hold Anakin’s face in your hands before resting your palms on his shoulders. “I’m more than willing to do this if it means this war ends and don’t worry. You’ve grown into a great Jedi. Greater than any other I’ve known. There’s no more I can teach you that you won’t learn yourself.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, Master.”

“It’ll always feel like that. We never stop learning, but that’s how life is. Don’t worry.” You squeeze his shoulders. “There won’t ever be a goodbye between us, Ani. Only a temporary parting.”

“But you’re leaving.” And just like that, he is nine again and you are twenty-five, crouching in front of a young blond boy from Tatooine as you tell him you will be his Master, prove your own Master wrong. Newly made Knight and desperate to please, you were determined to give Anakin a life he didn’t have to worry about never seeing his mother again, nor money, nor hunger. Pain, anger, fear.

You know you failed.

Still, you tried. That, you decide, must count for something.

“And you are staying. I have never, never, wanted to leave you Anakin, but I believe in you. I know you are the change the Order needs and if I can’t be here to see it…” You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe one day. One day we will return and I will see you as the Master I know you can be.”

A weak attempt of a smile on Anakin’s part.

“I’d welcome you back with open arms, Master. No matter what.” 

You force a grin onto your own face and pull him into your arms. Immediately, he embraces you and you hold him tight, eyes closing. His face buries into your neck and you cradle the back of his head like you did when he was younger, a boy tainted by nightmares, and you know soon, you won’t be able to do this again. Hug your family… hug someone who has become your son when he’s scared.

“I’ll help you,” he finally whispers into your shoulder and your arms tighten around him. His voice may be muffled but it doesn’t manage to stop the everflowing sadness. “Just tell me when and where and I will be there.”

“Okay.” You draw back and hold his face in your hands, smiling still. Your eyes refuse to shed the tears burning there so instead, you just… stand in his presence for a moment longer until they have to part.

.

“Darling.” Obi-Wan stands when he spots you approaching their meeting spot on the roof again and you stop in front of him, pulling your hood down. “And your old Padawan?”

“He’ll help,” you murmur. “He’ll alert us through the comlink when he’s in position, then this assassination attempt will go through.” Disgust curls at your tongue and you shake your head. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems too easy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “We just go in there, you cut off his head, and what? How do you explain this death? The fallout of this will be torrential.” Looking out over the city, you sigh. “What will we say?”

“Say that I was his assassin,” Obi-Wan says, joining you near the edge of the roof. “The Jedi tried to stop me but were too late.”

“That still paints us as failures.”

“Then what will you have me do? There is no alternative that doesn’t paint the Order as murderers. I know that isn’t what you want.” His eyebrows rise. “Is it?”

You scowl. ”No.” Thinking, you add on, “Couldn’t we say we struck you down? Eliminate the threat all together.” Eyes lighting up, you look at Obi-Wan. His eyes, a strange mixture of gold swirling with blue, squint in confusion. “Obviously, you won’t actually be dead, but I think people won’t think twice looking at you if you’re supposed to be dead. The Jedi Council said so.” 

Realization: “Ah. Faking my death.”

You nod. “Exactly. If we settle on some planet and someone recognizes you, well, that’s impossible. You’re dead. The Jedi are very rarely wrong.”

“You’re quite clever, you know.”

“It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t thought of it yourself,” you reply. He smirks and you roll your eyes as he gently takes your shoulders and places a tender kiss upon your forehead. Something inside you melts at the touch. His nose presses into your scalp and their eyes close before you pull back and take hold of his hand. He’s warm to the touch.

Raising your other hand to flit over the scar crossing his face, you feel the sunken edges carefully. His eyes flutter shut and you run over his nose. It’s caused a small chasm in the structure of his face but you find that you can’t fault him for it. It’s become a part of him—a mark of his history. It may be a mistake in some eyes—not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough—but to you, it’s simply a reminder that Obi-Wan is human. That he’s alive.

He’s alive. You still marvel at that. “You’ll have to tell me the story of this some day.” 

He smiles and the scar stretches with it. It’s somehow endearing. “Some day,” he agrees. “As well as many others.”

“Sounds like a date.” You squeeze his hand just as the comlink beeps and you grab it from your pocket. “Anakin?”

“I’m ready. Ahsoka’s speaking to the Council as we do.”

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan questions. 

“His Padawan,” you explain quickly. “Good. Keep your link on. We’ll mute ourselves from here on out.” Sending a nod to Obi-Wan, the two begin the plan. Clipping the rope to their waist, you wrap the end around a pipe, giving it an experimental tug as Obi-Wan looks over the edge of the building. Soon, they’ll be scaling down to the maintenance room and managing a way into the ventilation system.

“You know, if I thought we were speaking to the Council of this, I would’ve packed my fancy robes,” he calls dryly and you shoot him a glare to be quiet but he merely tips over the edge of the building and you suppress a groan,. The height makes you a bit woozy but you turn your back to the ground, grabbing onto the rope and slowly lowering yourself until they’re scooting down the side of the building together.

“Master Windu trusts my judgement, and better than we tell them when they can’t stop us,” you retort. Swinging out of the way of a window, the two glance at one another. “Sorry I didn’t tell about that. Didn’t think it was quite so imperative, what with the fact that we’re overthrowing a dictatorship tonight.”

“I don’t mind. At least I found out before Master Windu showed up out of the blue and decided to splice me in half for being anywhere near your vicinity.”

You barely contain a retort as they continue down.

Are you really doing this? Are you about to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor with a man you long thought dead?

Yes, a quiet voice replies, you are. And then, you will run.

.

They manage to crawl into the vent, him first, you second, and you’re stuck trying to avoid staring at Obi-Wan’s ass as they inch forward towards the Chancellor’s office. It’s not the most dignified position to find a Jedi and a Sith apprentice in, but alas—one must do what they do to rid the galaxy of tyranny.

Besides, you’re pretty sure the arrogance radiating off of Obi-Wan means about a million jokes will stem from this. 

They stop when they are just above the office, Obi-Wan crawling over the tiny gap and turning around so they can both peer down the vent. You manage to unhook your saberstaff, breaking it into the two separate sabers, clutching each in tight hands as you listen in on the conversation below.

You aren’t even aware that your nails are digging into your thumbs before a gentle hand brushes over yours.

Relax, Obi-Wan’s voice orders gently in your mind. Remember—I do all the dirty work.

That doesn’t omit my part in this, Obi-Wan, you shoot back but your fists relax anyway and his hand withdraws. Everything inside of you is tense when you hear a voice.

“Anakin, what a surprise. What brings you to my office at so late an hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these dreams I’ve been having. I… I trust you and I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

Just a little more.

Obi-Wan, are you sure he’s the Sith Lord?

Why are you having doubts now of all times? Your eyes flash to his and he glares back. I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you.

A sharp nod.

You spot Anakin’s figure approach and then the Chancellor, meeting just below and your fingers tighten around your sabers.

“What dreams?”

“Dreams of the Sith Lord that caused this war.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I believe I know who he is.”

The Supreme Chancellor’s eyes shoot up and he regards the Jedi Knight with a strange mix of confusion and suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor Palpatine.”

Anakin’s eyes flash up to the vent and Obi-Wan sends you a nod. You send your sabers into the grate, melting it off its hinges and letting the metal clamor to the ground before Obi-Wan jumps out, landing behind the Sith Lord who whirls around.

Activating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan stares at his former Master with a cruel snarl to his lips. You jump after him, twirling your yellow sabers as you stand behind him. 

The contrast is near blinding.

“General Y/L/N.” The Chancellor has never sounded more unforgiving as he looks from you to Obi-Wan. “I believe you have a job to do. Kill this assassin.” You stare at the man who’s feigned warmth and kindness to the entire galaxy and you wait for his head to start rolling but when Obi-Wan doesn’t move, frozen, knuckles white as he clutches onto his saber, your eyes dart to his form. 

“Obi-Wan,” you whisper. His gaze snaps to yours and for a moment, you don’t even recognize the man behind it. His golden eyes peer at you curiously and then he twirls his saber with a practiced motion, turning back to the Chancellor.

Palpatine frowns.

The vibrating hum of another lightsaber igniting joins the buzzing symphony and Anakin raises his blue lightsaber with a harsh, cracking expression upon his handsome features. 

“By Jedi law, you must arrest me. Surely you won’t let him murder me in cold blood, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine says, glancing back at your old Padawan and hesitation flickers across his features. “Surely your Master taught you better.”

Anakin’s eyes flicker to yours. You are silent in return.

“This is treason.”

“What you have done to the Republic is treason,” you correct icily. “You do not deserve the luxury of a fair trial.”

It happens so quick. Palpatine reaches into his robes and there is a flash of red before the smell of burning flesh rises. A hand drops to the floor with a sick slap and a lightsaber rolls. Anakin sticks out a hand, letting the hilt fly into his hand and he deactivates it with a quick flourish as Palpatine keens over, clutching at his stump of a wrist.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber from the Chabcellor’s arm to his neck.

“I am finished with your manipulations, Sidious,” he murmurs lowly, and then, with one great, unfaltering swing, he decapitates the Sith Lord and lets the head roll.

There is no blood. The lightsaber burns too hot for there to be any and you can only smell the shit and piss as an old man dies.

Obi-Wan’s harsh pants are the only sound as the body drops and you deactivate your lightsabers. Anakin does the same as you step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and another on the trembling fingers that wrap so tightly around the hilt of his saber.

“Obi-Wan.” His name passes by your lips softly, like a caress, and he drags his gaze from the dead Chancellor to your face. “It’s over.” Eyes fluttering shut, he lets you pull him tight against you, their foreheads knocking together as his lightsaber deactivates with a whomsh.

Your name passes by his lips in a soft breath and he cups your face just as doors open and he springs away from you. You grab his hand, tugging him behind you just as Master Windu and the rest of the Council walk in, and his hand tightens around yours as Anakin pivots around.

Ahsoka steps out, panting, her eyes wide.

“I tried to stop them—“

“Ahsoka, please.” You step forward, letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand but he tugs you back. Glancing at him, you smile. “Let me handle this.” His eyes search yours and you give him a nod of assurance before he finally lets go and you step towards the Council, past Anakin who wants to speak but you grab his arm gently, stopping him. “Master Windu.”

“General Y/L/N. Would you care to explain why the dead Chancellor’s body laid at your feet?”

“He was the Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Doubt there’s any other reason.” You meet your old Master’s eyes. “Master Windu, know that this is all my doing, and mine alone. Anakin had no part in this and neither did Ahsoka. She just found out and told you about our plot. I don’t want them to be punished.”

“That remains to be decided.”

“‘Our’?” Kit Fisto inquires.

You sigh, eyes fluttering to the floor. “Obi-Wan and I. It was our plot, together.”

“With the Sith, you conspired?” Yoda questions and you open your mouth to argue but you catch Ki-Adi’s shaking head and something inside you sinks.

“Look, he was manipulated. He’s not Sith. Not anymore. That man”—you point at Palpatine’s body— “was the Sith Lord we were all searching for and Obi-Wan led us straight to him.” Stone-cold silence. Your shoulders fall and the adrenaline that had burned through you drains away, leaving you oddly exhausted. “I understand if you wish to charge me with any crime against the Republic. Sedition or otherwise.”

“Obi-Wan is the one who killed the Chancellor, Master Windu. Master Y/L/N had nothing—“

“Anakin, don’t,” you cut him off quietly. “It’s not worth it to pretend otherwise.”

Anakin’s frustrated glare meets yours but you only smile at him and shake your head. Facing the Council again, you wait for one of them to speak. Master Windu’s unimpressed glare goes from Palpatine to you, and you only look at your former Master with raised eyebrows. 

“What proof is there?”

“Nothing more than my memories, Master Windu, and a few recordings,” Obi-Wan speaks for the first time and eyes dart to the man as he steps forward into line with you. “I will submit those if you need them. Attempt to arrest me, however, and I will not go willingly. I’ve renounced the Jedi Order, as well as the Sith way. That, I can assure you of.”

“Master Yoda, your thoughts?” Master Windu asks, turning to the Grandmaster. A hand presses against the small of your back and you turn to Obi-Wan who watches with a stony glare. However, when he turns his gaze in towards you, something softens and you step closer to him.

“Upon the former Padawan, the dark side still lingers. Unsure of what to make of it, I am,” he admits and your hand finds Obi-Wan’s back, your other hand hovering by your lightsaber. No matter what, you are not leaving him alone in this.

“However this looks to the Republic is my greatest concern,” Ki-Adi murmurs. “To see a Jedi Master conspiring with the Sith—”

“Then manipulate the truth,” you argue. “That has never stopped the Jedi before. It didn’t stop them from completely erasing what happened twenty years ago and it can happen again.” Your hand drops from your saber and you send Master Windu a pleading look. “Say Obi-Wan was struck down, say he escaped, say anything but what happened. The only truth that needs to come out is that Chancellor Palpatine orchestrated the Clone Wars and with him gone, we might be able to find some semblance of peace again.”

The Council look at one another. Anakin and Ahsoka, standing side by side look to you.

War is rarely that simple.

.

“I forfeit every right, privilege, and rank I have achieved in the Grand Army of the Republic. I renounce my status as a Jedi Master.”

“You understood that you are barred from the Jedi Order henceforth?”

“I understand.”

Master Windu’s expression softens for his old Padawan and you could’ve sworn there was something darker, something breaking, as if he himself felt for you turning to someone else for the help he could not give.

You want to tell him it has never been his fault.

You don’t. Instead, you ask one last time for your own sanity: “And Obi-Wan? What of his records?”

A bitter, coy smile resides on his face: “Who?”

Satisfied yet curiously empty, you walk out of the Jedi Temple, to where Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan await. There are tickets and bare necessities for them to make a fresh start in a bag slung over Obi’s shoulder. There’ll probably be a speeder waiting for them at the base of the steps, waiting to take them to their new transport arranged courtesy of the Senator of Naboo herself and then… then who knows where to next. 

You suppose that’s part of the excitement of it all.

You feel naked, stripped bare. You no longer wear the tan neutrals of the Jedi. Instead, a leather vest covers you, a shirt tucked into brown pants and paired with Obi-Wan, they look nothing more than smugglers. A cloak is draped over your shoulders and clasped at your throat, one you tug closer around yourself as you approach. 

Obi-Wan extends a hand to you and you take it numbly, letting him kiss your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You squeeze his hand and he nods. “Wait for me at the bottom?”

“Always.” He lets go and his eyes turn to the others. “I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” The words sound strangled coming from Anakin’s mouth. The two look at one another and you think, in another life, they could’ve been good friends. “Take care of her. Please.”

But that is not how it is now. Instead, Obi-Wan merely dips his head again, once to Anakin, and then to Padmé and Ahsoka before climbing down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

You watch him go until he is out of sight, your eyes lingering even after, before you turn around to feel Ahsoka launching herself into your arms. Eyebrows shooting up, you embrace the Padawan tightly, eyes closing shut and then two more bodies pile in closely.

Shaggy hair and floral scents—Anakin and Padmé.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” you whisper, raising a hand to cradle the back of Anakin’s head and another to hold onto Padmé’s shoulder. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“If it’s anything close to how much you mean to us, I might have some idea,” Padmé says. She kisses your cheek, a tiny blush on her cheeks. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

“I will. And you, too. Make sure this one over here protects you,” you say with a sharp nudge to Anakin who winces, running a hand through his hair with a brash grin. Ahsoka, with her arms still around you, looks up and you rest a hand on her shoulder. “And you, little one, make sure you take care of your Master. He’s a lot. Make sure he’s not too in over his head.”

Ahsoka laughs much to Anakin’s irritation and even Padmé breaks a smile, poking the Knight teasingly. “I promise, Master.”

“I think,” you correct with a sombering smile, “that you should get used to calling me Y/N. I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.” Ahsoka’s expression falters and you squeeze her closer, cradling her head against you. Anakin’s downcast face catches your eye and you look up at him, finding blue eyes watching.

“You will always be my greatest teacher,” Anakin murmurs. “I just wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t, and I’ll miss you more than you know, Ani,” you reply. “You will never fail to make me proud.” Letting go of Ahsoka, you reach forward, hugging him tightly once again. His arms wrap around you and he seems to sink against your frame, shoulders dropping, head buried into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, knowing the torment that rips him in two. Patting his hair, you let him hold you as long as he needs to. 

It’s not until Padmé touches his arm gently that he remembers to pull away and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Then, looking into his face, a face you’ve seen everyday for the past decade and now a face you don’t know for how long you’ll have to wait until you see again, you can feel two hands take your heart and tear it like paper, into uncountable bits. 

Tilting his head down, you press a kiss to his brow. Then, with one final squeeze to Padmé’s hand and a squish of Ahsoka’s cheeks which she takes only because you don’t know when they will see each other again, you pull away. 

“I’ll be okay, guys.” Trying to joke, you force one last smile upon your face. “You can at least look like you’ll see me again.”

“We’ll see you again,” Ahsoka decides. “The Force wills it so.”

“I hope it does.”

You pull your hood over your head and turn around, descending down the steps and leaving your old life behind.

.

They nestle between two ginormous crates. The captain’s paid to turn a blind eye in exchange that they take up minimal space and don’t cause problems. That’s easy for them—they’re heading to Tatooine and from then, who knows? Maybe somewhere cooler, wetter, snowier. They’ll decide when they want to.

You rip apart a piece of bread and hand it over to Obi-Wan, resting your head on his shoulder. Your arm is looped through his and he takes your offering, swishing it down with spotchka. You chew on your own piece, their fingers interlacing and their boots knock together playfully.

For some reason, it makes you feel like a Padawan again—stealing moments, sharing secret smiles. In the darkness only fractured by a sliver of white light, the two are lost in each other’s eyes. 

Raising your head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you look at his side profile again, the sharp lines of his jaw, the fine ginger-blonde of his beard. His nose and his eyebags and that scar—

“You still need to tell me that story,” you murmur, and he turns his head, swallowing with a quirked eyebrow. “Of your scar. We could trade.”

“You have scars I don’t know about?” he asks mischievously, and you roll your eyes, struggling not to laugh as his lips sneak a kiss. Reciprocating, you can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the taste of spotchka on his mouth. Maker, the stuff is not your cup of tea. Obi-Wan seems to note your reaction because he pulls away, kissing your eyes and between your eyebrows before pulling back. “Not a drinker, are you?”

“Oh, I am.” You try not to pull the face that’s so desperately begging you to come out. “Just… not something I’m used to tasting.”

“Well, we still have time.” He blinks, returning to the rest of the food they have laid out in between them in their tiny tin containers, and you sigh, just watching him. With every passing moment, you just see more and more of the Obi-Wan you think he could’ve grown to be. The fissures are barely covered by dry jokes and thin smiles, but still, you can see where the dark side had shattered him in to pieces.

No matter. You suppose that this is where their life together begins. Building each other up again.

He catches you staring as he pulls a grape off its stem and pops it into his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, amused, and you say nothing, brushing hair out of his eyes and marvelling at the gentle blueness that stares back at you. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all. I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too. This isn’t a dream?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t a dream.”

And he kisses you.

#fic: darling dearest not quite dead #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan fic #obi wan kenobi fic #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan x you #obi-wan x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #star wars x reader #my writing

[celestialsmessy1]

I've found myself in a creative funk after the holidays so decided to give OTP prompt List a try to get my juices going again.

Day 4: Bright Red

"Hey big boy. What are you still doing up?" A sticky sweet voice cooed.

Andy faltered in his reading, glancing up at the woman standing in the doorway. She was leaned against the frame in a red top that crisscrossed across her breast before falling feather like to display a hint of midriff.

Bright red lipstick adorned her mouth, the soft looking petals moving yet making no sound that he could hear. Instantly the temperature of the room elevated, simmering along Andy's skin in shame. He still couldn't look Haley in the eye after he had had that naughty fantasy where they held hands on a ferris wheel at night.

Andy avoided Haley as she sauntered closer to the bed, gulping slightly before bringing his attention back to Joe.

"I'm not tired!" A cheerful innocent squealed.

"Oh, but you have to. I heard Gloria say she'd give your toys away if you didn’t."

"She wouldn't dare." Joe pouted crossing his arms.

"I don't know Joe. I heard Mrs. P say the same thing." Andy agreed playing along with Haley's game. The boy before him humph giving Andy a glare. He looked away from the adorable face of his employeer to see Haley wink from behind Joe's back.

They let the silence fill the room as the little boy between them quickly looked at the pair before snuggling under his covers. "Fine. But I'm only doing this because Andy always tells the truth."

"Yes, he does." Haley chuckled, a mirth dancing in her eyes. "He does." Andy heard her whisper the final words but all he saw was bright red lipstick and the sway of her hips as she left.

He waited a beat before turning out the night and leaving the bedroom as well. This job was getting harder and harder to do.

#imagine your otp #otp #i miss them #i will go down with this ship #Modern family #haley dunphy #Andy Bailey #andy bailey #Andy x Haley #Haley x andy #They should have been endgame #January writing prompt #writing prompt

[kuro-morale-events]

Meet @akuma-hoshi !

@akuma-hoshi is a writer who has been in the fandom since 2010.

Some things we asked!

Q1. What type of content do you create?

A1: I'm a nsfw fanfic writer, mainly for SebaCiel!

Q2. Do you have an ao3, Twitter, or account specifically for your works?

Ao3 - akumahoshi

Twitter - akumahoshi_uwu (though it's only drabbles but when I'm uploading for a fic, I do chapter updates)

Q3. What work are you most proud of, why?

A3: Marry Days. A story about an arranged marriage between Sebastian and Ciel. A toxic, abusive relationship. It was a work that I let myself do whatever I wanted. I've always created darker stories but always felt conscious. Like so many what if's lolol What if this will upset someone? What if a reader doesn't like this? What if this is too much? What if- you guys get it lool But I finally got over it and told myself to just do it ✔️ It was an enjoyment and I absolutely loved it!!

Q4. When did you get into Kuro?

A4: 2010 💕

Q5. What ships do you have, if any?

A5: Of course, my main otp is SebaCiel. I've been really into Diedrich x Vincent! They've been making me feral lately lolol

Q6. What are your favorite tropes?

A6: Childhood friends, teacher x student, bodyguard

Q7. Do you have a routine for your creative process?

I have to listen to music. I can't do anything in silence so I make playlists for whatever mood the story is usually setting into. I guess another thing is I always have a blanket over my legs. It keeps me comfortable and warm!

Q8. What gives you inspiration?

A8: Anytime I get asked this, I go blank. Like what gives me inspiration? What inspires me to write? What makes my mind keep going? You know what it keeps going back too? SebaCiel. I only write for SebaCiel. They're literally my inspiration to write whatever ideas I come up with and whatever au crossover I want to do. It sounds so corny but I love them so much! They have so much possibilities that I can get creative with that it just feels never ending. Trust me, I've tried writing for other otps I love but they don't get me going as much as SebaCiel lolol

Q9. Is there anything you're working on right now?

I'm actually working on a remake of Marry Days! I absolutely adore that fic and I can't get over it still so I decided to rewrite it. Still in the same guidelines but maybe a few changes. This time I'm writing it in third person though. I feel like it'll allow me to show more emotions than what I originally wanted.

Q10. What made you start writing?

A10: I've always written since I was young. My first fanfic I wrote was in a notebook and only 3 pages long 😂—I was only like 10 years old lolol. I guess the reason why I started was because I liked to read fanfic. It's so simple but it's true lool. This was long ago when I did read fanfics but I don't anymore. I continued to keep writing because the enjoyment of creativity!

Q11. Do you have any advice for writing smut?

You guys probably hear it all the time but reading, especially reading smut. Even if it's just short bits. Yes, I'm contradicting myself cause I don't read fanfics but I do enjoy reading drabbles. They're short and get to the point. Also just researching—so, bluntly putting, watching porn. Like I stated before, I don't typically read so I watch porn to see what a human body can do, too. Also Google is your best friend! But at the end of the day, not everything has to be fact corrected so have fun with your writing! If you're too lazy to write them getting lube then just make them fuck lolol. It's all fictional in the end anyways 🙂.

Remember, you can find them at @akuma-hoshi , @akumahoshi_uwu, and on AO3. Go give them some love!

{Full List of April Activities}

{FAQ} {Rules}

#black butler #黒執事 #akuma hoshi #creator feature #sebaciel #minorsdni #creator interview #april 2022

[ssscentral]

serotonin | for ara

Summary: He loves to rile you up - and you let him every time.

Pairing : Jungkook x female reader

Genre : Fluff, Romance, e2l (but not really), Established Relationship

Warnings : Kissing - nothing else

WC : 1.5k

Member : Lillia & Rid || @moccahobi​ & @taegularities​

A/N : HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR MAKNAE @heejinnien!!!!!! I hope your birthday is an amazing one! Some of us (@tae-cup, @hoebii, @jinings, @voiceswithoutlips, @biaswreckme, and @xiaokoo) have created a few collaborative pieces for your birthday! So take some time to celebrate and relax with our fun (and most def not quickly put together) fics! We love you so much and are so glad to be friends with you! May this birthday be an amazing one!!!! 💜💜 - Lillia

Jungkook was the epitome of hard work. If there was anyone you would’ve named as annoyingly competitive at your school, it would’ve been him - sarcastic, fierce, smart, always trying to up you whenever he could.

The science lab that you both shared was always an intense business, and the class knew how the whole lab would be punctuated by the teacher deciding which of you was more correct as soon as you and Jungkook entered the room. The semester had started one month and a half ago, but the whole team of teachers had taken note of the mess that the pair of you were. From trying to out correct each other to vying for the TA’s praise, the competition between the two of you was something that made everyone gawk and laugh at. This lab was no different.

It was a simple class to help you start familiarizing yourself with tardigrades before you did experiments on them later. You were simply tasked with drawing them and documenting the development of their eggs, but you didn’t think even such a thing could turn into a full-on war between Jungkook and you.

“So, if you look closely, some of you might have pregnant tardigrades under their microscope. The person who spots them and manages to document everything correctly, will get some chocolate from me the next time,” your teacher encouraged you, always the nicest sweetheart of your college.

Curse Jungkook’s superior art skills because even though both of you had pregnant tardigrades, it was like comparing a toddler’s hard work to something that belonged in MOMA.

“Teacher…” Jungkook shot you a knowing look after interrupting more of the teacher’s praise of his diagram.

“Yes, Mister Jungkook?”

“Well, you see… I know you expressed a want to hang up the diagram… but I honestly don’t feel like it’s the best I can do. Especially since Y/N knocked my elbow a few times and even scribbled something on my paper. I mean, I tried to make the scribbles look like part of the diagram… but I know I could do better. Could I try to redo it for extra credit?”

“Miss Y/L/N. Did you really try to ruin his work?” 

You floundered some and glared at the lying Jungkook, “N-no! I mean I did bump into him, but when our chairs are so close together, it is bound to happen! It wasn’t to try to sabotage him.” 

The teacher’s eyes narrowed before she nodded at Jungkook and continued on with the lesson, her better nature taking what you said as truth… as it was! That “bumping” was simple brushing him… that you might have intended, but still! Not maliciously! When the teacher’s back was turned to you and Jungkook, you sent him a glare, to which he smirked back before focusing on the teacher again who was pointing out more details about the tardigrades that needed to be added to diagram labels. 

And although the lesson was still not over - technically - she spoke up as soon as you and Jungkook handed in your work. “Perfect! As promised, Mister Jeon and Miss Y/L/N may leave earlier - you worked hard today again!” your professor announced, clapping her hands and spurring on the rest of the class to do the same - you could clearly see how annoyed and unmotivated your classmates were, and it made you chuckle.

Grinning back at Jungkook, you put the strap of your bag around your shoulder, knowing that he’d follow you very soon. He always did. The corridor was empty, the classes still going on as you heard his faint footsteps behind you. You rolled your eyes - no matter how many times you beat him in class (even if today, you only beat him by answering more stuff correctly), he’d always stay right next to you.

You walked in silence for quite some while until you stepped out into the pleasantly warming sun, the fresh wind grazing your skin and playing with your hair softly. There was a park you’d always go to, one that belonged to the campus, but mostly stood empty despite the large number of students at your school. Most of the students spent their days flitting between classes and fulfilling last minute assignments and they barely had time to look or go to the park that was ever so slightly out of the way from the other, less cool, outdoor spaces your college offered. 

Considering the fact that beautiful flowers and plants bloomed on the grounds of the small park, you felt like the students who never cared to visit were stupid and oblivious to the park’s amazingness. It was a perfect place to study, relax or spend time with friends, and now that you were released from your last class of the day, you didn’t yet feel the urge to go back to your dorm room yet. You approached a bench, your bench, directly next to the swing set.

As you almost reached it, still aware of how close your rival was, Jungkook suddenly grabbed your wrist to pull you close to him, his face just inches away. Trapping you in his arms, his eyes wandered to your lips.

“Aren’t you tired of following me around all the time?” you asked with a bratty smile, throwing back your hair as you awaited his answer.

“How could I ever?” And without a warning, he pressed his lips against yours before you could even give him your devilish smirk that he loved so much.

That was bound to happen, you knew it, and you relished in the intense feeling his careful touch gave you. He kissed you gently and with so much unsaid emotion that you tried to match, enjoying the soft touches of his hands against your body and the feel of his firm body under your hands. All of this, you both and your secret relationship, had started not long ago. Always the bantering couple that the school loved so much and you had long been selected as the ultimate OTP - something that meant one true pairing nowadays, many students asking if the class rivalry had ever become more.

As he kissed you, mouth moving against yours tenderly, softly, affectionately, the excitement in your body increased, wanting nothing more than to stay here in the empty park with him forever, pressed against his chest. In his arms with your lips locked together, nothing else seemed to matter. Not his insane art skills or who outperformed the other in class or grades. It was just the tender kisses and touches of him.

When he let go, stroking your cheek with his fingertips gently, he smiled endearingly. “Seeing you all riled up and motivated to beat me is so hot.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you pushed him away slightly, but his hands on your waist stayed stubbornly, firmly holding you in his grip as he laughed at your expression. “Good that you think that. I just can’t believe how much fun you have annoying the hell out of me in front of our teachers.”

“You’re the cutest when riled up,” Jungkook said with a smirk.

“And I can’t believe you said that I scribbled on your diagram today! We are stooping to lies now?”

Jungkook laughed lightly, one of his hands traveling down your arm to hold your hand. “Well… You got all pink when I brought up the bumps. I enjoyed watching you flush. You’re just so cute, Y/N.” He pinched your cheek as he said the last words.

What? You blinked slowly, a robotic laughing coming out of you. “Jungkook. I love you… but don’t do that again.”

“What? Can you repeat? I didn’t hear?” Jungkook’s ears were pink as he looked at you hopefully, his eyes glistening and shining as he spoke.

“Don’t do it again.” 

“Nooo! What was the first part? I wanna hear it again.” He whined and squeezed your hand tightly while bringing it up to his chest. 

Mimicking a deep thought process, you pursed your lips and scrunched your brows together. “No. You’ve not been a good boy.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock as his lips parted wordlessly, his hand going slack in yours. Laughing excitedly, you quickly removed yourself from Jungkook, set your bag down, and started off away from him.

“You might have to catch me to get me to say anything more!” you shouted when you were only a meter or so away, quickly catching Jungkook’s attention once again.

Even from how far away you were, you saw the tell tale competitiveness flow into him as he raced off after you. A squeal left you when he came closer and you quickened your pace, but it was no use. Jungkook was so much faster and stronger than you and before you knew it, he had swooped you up in his arms and spun you around.

“Tell me, you love meeee!” Jungkook whined childly as he set you down, pouting at you as he started to pepper your face and neck with soft kisses.

His kisses tickled you, and he enjoyed that every single time. “I-I lo-love yo-you!” you managed to squeal out before once again, he was kissing your lips.

“Good, because I love you too.” 

#bts x reader #jungkook x reader #ssscentral #sssc #jeon jungkook x reader #e2l #established relationship #bts romance #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jk fluff #bts fanfiction #moccahobi #taegularities #HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR MAKNAE #WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH

[dreamingsnowflake2013]

They are so freaking domestic and married and functional the whole time I can’t!!! They bicker and banter with ease of two people who feel secure and confident around each other and know each other’s boundaries and limits and don’t need to worry about offending the other person or the conversation turning antagonistic which allows them this sort of brutal honesty, at times, and frank criticism.

Issei gets the edamame shell husband treatment and he literally can’t believe it Hayame did that to him right in front of his salad when it already helped to ruin her previous relationship. It seems Hayame didn’t understand his lesson about the difference between the edamame shell and skin, well, she was in the middle of confronting her cheating ex so I suppose she was otherwise engaged.

Though, poor Issei doesn’t know the depth of Hayame’s culinary disability until he discovers her special lemon and cereal gyoza! HA! I admire that he doubles down on his criticism and even if he tries to back pedal, he simply can’t make himself lie to her even to please her when it’s so awful.

Unlike her ex-husband, he doesn’t put on a fake smile and swallows it so he wouldn’t hurt Hayame’s feelings but actually tells her it sucks bigly, showing that not only won’t he ever lie to her or keep secrets from her, he won’t feed her white lies to avoid conflict either. You almost never see portrayed in Asian dramas how these little mundane details can lead to a complete failure of a relationship once they pile up. Quite the opposite, they often depict swallowing food that makes you puke as something romantic and a proof of love without giving any thought to the fact whether the person can manage that for the rest of their life, considering it’s suggested most of the OTPs live happily ever after. The issue shows that Hayame and Issei are already more than one step further regarding the growth and functionality of their relationship than she ever came with Masahiro, illustrating their suitability. It’s not about a relationship being conflict-free, it’s about confronting the problems, argue about them even though it’s exhausting and uncomfortable and solve them through communication and misucommunication, not about hushing the issues up and staying silent about them in order to avoid arguments.

The drama might be called Promise Cinderella but it has been turning the Cinderella stereotypes on their head since episode 1. One of them is Hayame not fitting the bill of a girl who is amazing at cooking, sewing, reading, embroidering, polite conversation, dancing and generally being more princess-like than all the princesses and noblewomen, even though her mother died in her childhood and she couldn’t have taught her all those things, neither could her father, nor the mice or the other animals she spent all her whole time with. Let’s face it, Cinderella has always been the fairytale counterpart of Richardson’s Pamela and Hayame - divorced, almost thirty, penniless and jobless - is the modern real-life version of an orphaned abused virgin fallen on hard times. 

On the other hand, while Hayame might share Cinderella’s origin story of her mother dying at an early age, this sad event tragically affects her whole life in a much more realistic and darker way. Her father falls into a depression and becomes neglectful and she has to grow up overnight, having to learn everything by herself as she is left with no one to teach her, guide her and defend her so she ends up turning into a fiercely independent tomboy who is a self-taught cook and, as such, her cooking, well, sucks. She is literally the farthest thing from a Mary Sue ever. 

Then, Issei may be a modern version of a prince but while young, he has been taught since an early age and has a very unconventional unique upbringing in a modern world - he is the one who excels at cooking (because he had someone who actually taught him), can tie kimonos, knows the proper etiquette, can arrange flowers and knows their language and meaning. 

You would expect all those things from a woman, not a man; however, he is not only educated and good at them, he has a natural talent for them. In this way, the drama re-invents the Cinderella story, gives it a new original meaning and a breath of fresh air. 

Thus, you can see all these details in which Hayame’s relationship with Issei differs from her marriage - they are left to live together alone in what is basically a simulated marriage, but she doesn’t end up in the traditional role of a woman and housewife whose purpose is to provide dinner/food for her husband who comes back from work. She used to work back then, too, even if only part time. Now, it’s her who works full-time while Issei works part-time but despite it they share the cooking and he, fittingly, ends up being the better cook, completely changing up the dynamic of the traditional roles both in the original fairytale and male/female relationships in general.

Except for a brief denial stage caused by his confused feelings, Issei has always been honest with Hayame, sometimes brutally so, be it regarding the major issues or mundane everyday things like her cooking skills. 

He treats her the way she wants her to treat him, and, as a result, he rightfully expects the same honesty and consideration in return from her. He doesn’t want any lies or secrets between them, he wants a conversation not a deafening silence, regardless whether they are lovers or friends. 

He wants honesty and equality and instead, Hayame is trying to dismiss him as a child again in an attempt to avoid the problem because it’s uncomfortable and she doesn’t want to have a messy argument or worry him. She should have known by now that that’s exactly the attitude which led to the failure of her marriage. Not that they are an excuse or justification for cheating, but Masahiro raised some good points about the things he disliked about her and it’s time Hayame learns from her past mistakes.

Marriage/romantic relationship is not a one-person show, the point of it being you are not alone to deal with your problems, some burdens should be shared and if not, the other person feels left out because their partner keeps secrets from them which then leaves many opportunities for misunderstandings and creates a rift that keeps growing between the couple. Hayame’s greatest strengths - her self-reliance and independence - which allowed her to survive on her own so far become her greatest weaknesses and drag her down now. 

Issei immediately realizes Hayame has been putting a mask around him, trying to make herself look cheerful and happy, he can see through it right away as she can never fool him because he knows her so well and, frankly, she couldn’t pretend even if her life depended on it just like him. She fails to notice that this sort of consideration and selflessness are a double-edged sword. 

It’s both apt and ironic she tries to dismiss him as a child because her stubborness, discomfort and avoidance maker HER appear like a child and Issei the one 10 years older with his patience, calm and and persistence on discussing and solving the whole issue. This time it’s him who calls her out on her bullshit and childishness.

Issei notices everything about Hayame, including her mood swings which also refer to the mixed signals she’s been sending him, and how could he not when he always watches her so searchingly as if he were trying to look inside her soul, trying to spot every quiver of her lashes and nervous press of her lips. 

Thus, he can sense and predict what she plans to do because he can read her like an open book after watching her so closely for so long but also because he’s been there where Hayame is right now - he had been running away for the past 10 years before he met her and she saved him by making him realize he had been fucking up his life that way, therfore he gets angry seeing her repeating his mistakes. 

Moreover, he is scared shitless he may one day wake up and end up like Seigo, abandoned by her, not even left with a direction where to look at her, because she thinks she is not good enough and fears she might drag him down and mess up his life.

Despite it all, Issei doesn’t think about himself first, he thinks about Hayame and what it is she truly wants. She feels so lost and conflicted, fretting and completely panicking and he pretty much tells her ‘fuck the world and other people! You are the only person who matters! Think about yourself first and do what you truly wish to do even if it makes them hate you.’ And from the hopeful way she looks at him, it’s exactly what she needs to hear and wants to truly do but lacks the courage to go through with it just yet. 

Finally, THIS SHOT on the sofa! It pretty much says ‘married, in the middle of marital crisis and before a huge life-changing conversation’!

#promise cinderella #maeda gordon #nikaido fumi #gordon maeda #jdrama #fumi nikaido #analysis #sorry for the length #but there is #so much to #unpack here

[summersun4youforever]

✨ Tag 9 people to learn more about their interests!

tagged by my fav @loulovehome thank you pu hope that this quells your curiosity! 

MUSIC

fav genre? not to be that person but i think i have a toe in most genres, i suppose my favorites have got to be anything taylor swift does, pop punk, r&b pop/new age r&b, and bluegrass

fav artist? again, not to be that person but i love so many artists! let’s do this based off of genre: taylor swift, 1D, 5sos, massive focus on ZAYN, the Avett brothers, and counting crows

fav song? fav song of all time (since i was young) is going to be come around by rhett miller but more currently i’d say you are in love by taylor swift and dRuNk by ZAYN

song currently stuck in your head? i have no idea how it got there but i have stressed out by 21 pilots stuck in my head??

5 fav lyrics? ok let’s do this kids. edit: this went in a “fav love song lyrics” way so sorry in advance.

1)  I hope that I don't sound to insane when I say / There is darkness all around us / I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me / And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin' (January Wedding - The Avett Brothers)

2)  Hands around my waist / You're counting up the hills across the sheets / And I'm a falling star / A glimmer lighting up these cotton streets / I admit I'm a bit of a fool for playing by the rules / But I've found my sweet escape when I'm alone with you (Disconnected - 5sos)

3)  This is the worthwhile fight / Love is a ruthless game / Unless you play it good and right / These are the hands of fate / You're my Achilles heel / This is the golden age of something good / And right and real (State of Grace - Taylor Swift) 

4)  What if I changed my mind / What if I said it's over / I been flying so long / Can't remember what it was like to be sober / What if I lost my lives? / What if I said "Game over"? / What if I forget my lies? / And I lose all my composure (Back to Life - ZAYN)

5)   I never said I was perfect / Or you don't deserve a good person to carry your baggage / I know a few girls that can handle it / I ain't that kind of chick, but I can call 'em for you if you want / I never said that you wasn't attractive / Your style and that beard, ooh, don't get me distracted / I'm tryna be patient, and patience takes practice / The fact is I'm leaving, so just let me have this (Jerome - Lizzo)

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS

fav book genre? murder mystery and young love!

fav writer? jane austen, lisa jewell, and rick riordan (nostalgia ok?!)

fav book? the way i used to be my amber smith, rebecca by daphane du maurier, and then she was gone OR watching you (both by Lisa Jewell)

fav book series? i guess the whole percy jackson situations? i have everything RR every wrote, and i liked it all but i havent touched the older ones in ages

comfort book? not one specifically but the nancy drew books

perfect book to read on a rainy day? bird summons by leila aboulela

5 quotes from your fav book that you know by heart? i hope i can name five...

1)  “The point is, life has to be endured, and lived. But how to live it is the problem.” “I am no traveller, you are my world.” (both are My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier)

2)  “And I’m terrified he’ll see through the tough iceberg layer, and he’ll discover not a soft, sweet girl, but an ugly fucking disaster underneath.” (The Way I Used to Be by Amber Smith)

3)  "I cannot make speeches, Emma," he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing. "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” (Emma by Jane Austen) (sorry for the length, the shortened versions were not cutting it for me)

4)  “Read, read, read. That's all I can say.” (The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene)

5)  “...amazing how boring you can get away with being when you’re pretty. No one seems to notice. When you’re pretty everyone just assumes you must have a great life. People are so short-sighted, sometimes. People are so stupid. I have a dark past and I have dark thoughts. I do dark things and I scare myself sometimes.” (Invisible Girl by Lisa Jewell)

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary (im a very judgmental reader) | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? i like dramedies, mockumentaries, and procedurals 

fav movie? ive got a massive list on my phone but ill pick Doob (No Bed of Roses) and 3-Iron as my favs for today

comfort movie? 2000s romcoms, im talking clueless, 13 going on 30, how to loe a guy in ten days, ten things i hate abt you, legally blonde

movie you watch every year? mamma mia and all listed in prev question

fav tv show? too many, currently im rewatching arrested development

comfort tv show? new girl

most rewatched tv show? new girl

ultimate otp? shawn and jules from psych (ultimate bc ive been watching since diapers literally)

5 fav characters? winston bishop, stiles stilinski, bellamy blake, clarke griffin, lydia martin

tv shows or movies | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

super fun even though it took me an hour lmao, I'm tagging @technosoot @hometothecanyonmoon @sassylilnoodle @sushiniall @rosegold-thorns no pressure and sorry if youve already been tagged!

edit: i somehow managed to forget what i consider to be one of the greatest opening verses ever???? so bonus lyrics:

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog / Where no one notices the contrast of white on white / And in between the moon and you / The angels get a better view / Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right (Round Here - Counting Crows)

#lei te night thoughts #personal #tagged

[wistfulwatcher]

I’m so happy that Katya x Sofia is the most popular ship on AO3 for Goncharov. That never happens for f/f ships when there is a main m/m couple! Superior fandom!

Right?! Superior, indeed! When I checked last night there were like, 30 more 😍 So grateful they're getting the love they deserve after so long ❤️❤️❤️

#reply #ask #anonymous #otp: then hear only the silence between them #goncharov #katya x sofia #sotya #unreality

[carryonmywaywardcaptain]

Imagine...finding out there’s fanfic written about you--and even Charlie ships you with Dean

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Warnings: Fluff? Crack? A dramatic fanfic within a fanfic that I got carried away with haha.

A/N: This is kind of ridiculous, but I had fun with it! Also, I’ve never actually seen GoT but it seemed like a reasonable reference from what I’ve heard about it.

“Hey, look who I found!” Sam’s voice echoed through the War Room.

Dean glanced at you from across the table in the library, sharing your surprised expression as you both pushed your chairs away and stood. 

“‘Sup, bitches?” Charlie grinned, making her way up the steps toward you.

“Hey! We were expecting you guys to come in through the main door. We’ve been keeping an ear out.”

Charlie stepped into your outstretched arms and pulled you into a tight hug. “It was a spur of the moment decision, but I decided to stick around a day or two longer than planned! Sam said I could go ahead and park in the garage.”

She let go of you and turned to give Dean a hug too. He smiled softly with a look that was uniquely reserved for her, cradling the back of her head while she pressed her cheek against his.

“Good to see you, Charlie. You know you’re always welcome to stay as long as you want.”

An involuntary smile crept onto your face as you watched them. You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled at the low rumble in his voice when he said her name. There was an undeniable protectiveness in his tone when he spoke to her--the sister he’d never wanted, as he affectionately called her.

When you shifted your attention to her, you noticed she was watching you. Before you could decipher the knowing glint in her eye, she suddenly twisted out of his arms and glanced back and forth between you and Dean. She began swinging her arms awkwardly before opting to cross them over her chest.

“You okay?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah! Of course...Totes chill...cooler than a pack of peppermints.” She bobbed her head and flashed a nervous smile, twisting her hair around her finger as she struggled to act nonchalant. “It’s just that I remembered something. A story I read a while back--completely random. Totally unrelated to anything--I mean, now I’m starting to ramble. Hah! So how’ve you guys been? Still saving the world from evil sons-of-bitches?” 

“Uh, yeah…” Sam answered, scrunching his eyebrows together. “We stay busy.”

“So what’s on the agenda tonight?” you piped up, changing the subject.

You were hoping to avoid swapping monster stories for a night. Charlie typically assumed the role of introducing you to popular and noteworthy fandoms during her visits to the bunker and, even if the boys weren’t as vocal, the three of you appreciated her knowledge of all things geeky and nerdy. 

“I was thinking Marvel. Y/N, you’re obviously well-versed in the MCU because of your obsession with Steve Rogers--and, you know, clearly you’ve got a thing for the strong, righteous, self-sacrificing hero type. Dean, you could stand to branch out from the Batman references and, Sam, you’ve got this whole Thor kind of vibe going on.”

While Sam and Dean began teasing each other and arguing over “Batman versus Thor,” you gaped at Charlie, wondering what she’d meant by her remark about you having a “type.” You couldn’t help feeling like she was trying to insinuate something, but you shrugged it off and decided maybe it was all in your head.

***

After getting Charlie settled into one of the extra bedrooms, the four of you settled into the Dean Cave and agreed to start with the first Captain America movie. 

Last Christmas, you and Sam had teamed up to surprise Dean with a couch for the Dean Cave. He had originally only had two La-Z-boy recliners and you’d found him fast asleep in the stiff old chairs on more than one occasion. Dean had been over the moon about the extra seating and the three of you had rearranged the furniture so the recliners were angled toward the tv on either side of the couch.

“Dibs on this side of the couch!” Charlie said, diving toward the furthest end from the door.

Although it was subtle, you knew there was still something off about the way Charlie studied all of you. There was definitely something on her mind she was trying to keep hidden from all of you.

“You know, we should probably have some snacks,” you said slowly. “Charlie, you want to come help me grab some stuff from the kitchen?”

“But I’m already comfy in my spot.” She frowned, wiggling her hips to make a point of sinking deeper into the spot she’d claimed on the couch. “Why don’t you have Dean help you?”

When you narrowed your eyes suspiciously, Sam cleared his throat. “Dean, why don’t I help you grab some snacks while Y/N and Charlie...catch up, er, whatever…”

You heard the boys leave the room and waited until their footsteps faded down the hall before you started interrogating her.

“Alright, Charlie--what the hell is going on with you?”

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” she muttered, scrolling through her phone.

“Bull. We lie for a living and I know there’s something you’re not telling us. So spill.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Okay, so remember the Supernatural books by Carver Edlund?”

“Yeah…”

“The series obviously kind of had a cult following when it was in print, right? Well ever since the unpublished works got uploaded, the following has really taken off. Every once in a while a new one still pops up and the fans love them. And you’re in them now too!”

“I’m...what?”

“I mean it’s just insane and totally got sucked into it too. It’s brought on this whole new wave of fanfiction--”

“What’s fanfiction?” you cut in, struggling to keep up.

“It’s fiction made by the fans about the series. Sometimes they put themselves in the stories and write about working cases and fighting monsters with you guys--”

“Why would anyone want to pretend to do this crap with their lives?”

She stared at you for a moment and frowned. “Because you guys are heroes. I mean, yeah, there’s the whole depressing side of monsters and death and trauma and world-ending apocalypses--but you guys save people. You go on these exciting adventures of good versus evil and a lot of times you win. You save people. The fans really look up to all of you.”

Your gaze fell to the floor as you let her words sink in, but she didn’t give you long before she was rambling again.

“But that’s not even the best part! Everyone ships different OTPs--” she paused, noticing your puzzled expression “--uh, one true pairing… So everyone has a favorite couple they think are soulmates and belong together. There’s stories about Sam with Eileen or Jess, Dean with different people--you get the gist. Sometimes they even make up characters or do these ‘reader inserts’ and imagine themselves with the boys or you but, hands down, everyone’s favorite couple they want to end up together is you and Dean.”

“...what?” 

Your eyes grew wide. It was hard enough to wrap your mind around the fact that strangers who didn’t know you were a real person were reading about your life, but learning they imagined you in different relationships? You’d never admit it out loud, but had it bad for Dean. And hearing you weren’t the only one that wanted the two of you together...

“I’ve gone deep into the fic and I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner!” Charlie shook you from your thoughts. “You and Dean are perfect for each other. For serious. I usually stick to the fluffy stuff because, you know, your entire life is kind of angsty and I don’t like to read about you guys being in pain or, like, dying...again. Although I definitely have to admit I kind of stumbled into some of the smutty stuff and, wow, that was something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, but she kept rolling.

“Right, you probably don’t know what that means either. Fluff is the cute stuff that gives us all feels, angst is kind of just what it sounds like, and smut is, well...the sexy stuff.”

“You mean people out there in the world write about me and Dean…”

“Going at it like an episode of Game of Thrones? Oh yeah,” she responded, unlocking her phone. “Here. Here’s an example.”

Swallowing audibly, you took a seat next to her on the couch as she extended her phone toward you. Gnawing your bottom lip, you began reading the words on the screen:

Y/N took a deep breath, holding it in briefly before she exhaled and began walking toward Dean’s room. Ever since they returned from the hunt, Dean had hidden himself away in his room--no doubt blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong.

When she arrived at his door, she raised her hand to knock. She hesitated, almost retreating at the thought of him turning her away, but she had to try. She had to get through to him somehow.

She rapped her knuckles on the raw umber barrier and opened the door of Room 11 before he could tell her to go away. 

She spotted him leaning over the sink, staring at his reflection in the medicine cabinet on the wall. His jade eyes flickered to where she stood in the doorway, their reflection somewhat distorted by cracks that spiderwebbed from where he had struck the mirror.

Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach as she imagined him lashing out, knowing he punched the mirror because he hated the reflection staring back at him. Knowing he always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders when he didn’t need to.

Y/N carefully shut the door and locked it behind her--the click of the deadbolt deafening in the silence. Her eyes never left Dean, who refused to turn and face her. She inched toward him, closing the distance until she could reach out and touch him. Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, she guided him to turn away from the mirror. Still, he refused to meet her eyes.

“Dean…” she breathed, voice barely above a whisper as she cupped his face in her hands. “It’s not your fault.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, face contorting with grief and guilt. The ghosts of his past refused to let him go, but she was determined to make him believe that he was worthy, no matter the cost.

Curling a finger beneath his chin, she tilted his head up, waiting patiently for him to meet her gaze. When his dark green orbs finally met hers, she was surprised to see that they were full of longing and desire. They flickered to her lips, making her breath tremble under the intensity of his gaze. Time seemed to slow until it froze altogether.

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as they both struggled against their desire to maintain the friendship they’d always had and the desperate need to finally cross that line. To succumb to the magnetic pull that had always been evident between the two of them.

Dean swallowed thickly before suddenly rushing forward, crashing his lips to Y/N’s as he pulled her into a searing kiss. He wrapped his strong arms around her, trapping her to his chest, afraid it was all a dream and she would soon disappear. But she gladly melted into his embrace, feeling like she was finally returning home, to a place she’d spent her life searching for.

A moan slipped past her lips as he walked her backward, pressing her up against the wall. She gasped, feeling his--

“The snacks have arrived!”

You jumped in surprise, a small gasp of surprise escaping as the boys appeared with armloads of snacks. Confusion and worry painted Dean’s face as he surveyed your flustered expression. Between his scrutinizing gaze and the content you’d practically been caught reading, your cheeks grew warm. 

“Did I miss something?” Dean asked.

“Nope,” you responded much too quickly.

Charlie’s phone had fallen into your lap and, when she began cackling, you whipped your head in her direction and flung the phone at her thigh. You grimaced and the two of you had your own silent conversation as the boys spread the food across the bar Dean had built on the far wall.

“I was just telling Y/N how pumped I am about seeing my favorite OTP tonight,” she giggled.

“Your...what?”

Dean’s arm brushed yours as he plopped down on the other side of you. The accidental contact sent a wave of chills over your skin, making you shudder. You could feel his eyes on you again, but you refused to look at him.

“Oh, I’m so going down with this ship,” Charlie whispered under her breath before continuing in a louder voice. “Nothing--nevermind! Don’t mind me, just thinking out loud...”

“It says here an OTP means...one true pairing?” Your eyes grew wide as you looked to where Sam was reading his phone from where he sat in one of the recliners. “So, uh, ‘in the fandom realm, OTP refers to the coupling of characters--usually from the sci-fi or fantasy genres--by fans who think they make a great romantic duo and envision their lives together and share their imaginings with other fans.’”*

Charlie doubled over, beside herself with laughter. With your lips pressed into a firm line, you glanced at the boys to gauge their reactions. You knew there was no way they could possibly know what you and Charlie had been talking about, but that didn’t stop you from worrying about what Dean might think if he ever found out about the feelings you harbored for him. 

“So...you’re looking forward to Cap and his girl in the movie? I’m so freaking confused,” Dean grumbled.

“Yeah…” Sam agreed, making his way to the tv. “I’m just, uh...I’m gonna start the movie now.” 

“Good idea.” Charlie peered at you out of the corner of her eye. “Plenty of time to read and talk about all those ships later.”

Although you glared at her, trying to hide your amusement, nothing could deter the smug smile etched upon her face. As Sam turned the lights off and you settled in for another relaxing night with your favorite people, one thing was certain:

You were definitely going to have to take another look at that fanfiction.

CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

@abswritesfandoms​  @amanda-teaches​  @cosicas-cuquis​  @crist1216​  @droidyouseek​  @emoryhemsworth​  @ericaprice2008​  @flawless-disaster​  @janeyboo​  @jenn0755​  @ksgeekgirl​  @maresmiley​  @memyselfandmaddox​  @notyourtypicalrose​  @randomparanoid​  @rynabarnesrogers​  @sandlee44​  @scarletsoldierrr​  @shann-the-artist-moon​  @sheerioasteroidpanda​  @shynara51​  @someday-when-you-leave-me​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​  @thisismysecrethappyplace​  @torntaltos​  @waywardbaby​  @waywardrose13​  @weebid​  @whimsicalrobots​  @wintersoldierbaby​  @wintersoldierissucharide  @yesfanficsaremylife​

Cap’s SPN Crew:

@adoptdontshoppets​  @akshi8278​  @alexwinchester23​  @chevyharvelle​  @deangirl7695​  @dean-winchesters-bacon​  @fandomoniumflurry​  @pisces-cutie​  @supernaturalenchanted​  @superromijn​  @waywardnerd67​  @x-waywardaf-x​

#supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean winchester imagine #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fluff #dean x read #dean x y/n

[krastbannert]

Modern au request: Blind date for smellershot! 💛

Hey, look at that, I wrote something for my OTP. Shocker, right? It's been a while since I wrote for these two, but man this was fun to do.

@atla-multishipping-bingo

Modern AU Bingo G3 - Blind Date

He glances around again; the park is busy for this time of year, full of people enjoying a cool autumn night amidst the golden trees and crunching leaves. He supposes he is, too, but right now, he’s...well, he’s starting to get worried, really. Jet had set him up on this date without telling him who it was, and he had really no idea who he was supposed to look for.

She’d just said - through Jet, for some reason? - that she’d meet him at a bench in the park near the river. That’s it. Said she didn’t want to share a picture of herself with someone she didn’t know. Made sense, he supposed, but he’d been here for twenty minutes and she still wasn’t here.

Longshot sighs, sits back down on the bench, scrubs his hands over his face. Why, oh why had he agreed to this?

He never went on blind dates; what had he been thinking, letting Jet set him up?

(Longshot knows, though, what he’d been thinking.

That Jet had been right, that he needed to get over his feelings for Smellerbee. It was clear she’d never like him, not the way he liked her. It had been years since they’d met and he’d never quite worked up the courage to make the first move, and she’d never said a word.)

He’s about ready to get up, head back home - he even pulls out his phone, is about to call Jet to come pick him up - when suddenly he hears her. The person he’d probably been least expecting.

“Hey! I’m so sor- oh. Uh, hey. Shot. What’re...what’re you doin’ here?”

His head snaps up; sure enough, it’s her. Smellerbee scrubs the back of her head, glances down at her feet.

I...I was waiting for someone, he signs. Someone who hadn’t shown, he thinks. She’s here, so he can’t complain too much. Longshot just wishes he had some idea of why she had actually taken the time to choose an outfit - black jeans and Converse, her leather jacket, a band shirt, her frizzy hair brushed out - still frizzy and with a mind of its own, but brushed and neater than normal. Hell, she’s even wearing a bare minimum of makeup, and she hates makeup.

(Shit, she’s gorgeous - he can’t look at her because he’ll just keep staring at her, so he looks at everything but her.

It doesn’t work.)

“Funny, I, uh, I was actually late to meet someone here,” Bee chuckles.” But you probably figured that out already, eh?”

You’re not quiet, he signs, snickering. She slugs him in the shoulder, but there’s a grin on her face. He waves at the open seat on the bench next to him. Want to wait together?

Bee smiles, eyes glittering.” Hell yeah!”

He grins, scoots over to make a little more room for her. A comfortable silence falls over them, and he lets it be. Longshot pulls out his phone and starts to text Jet when a sudden idea hits him.

Had Jet set up this date...between the two of them? Sneaky son of a…

His fingers fly like lightning.

L: You son of a bitch

J: what? i did nothing

L: You know exactly what you did

J: for once

J: i’m innocent of all charges

J: i swear

L: I don’t believe you for a second

J:...look just trust me, Shot

J: please

L: Fuck you

J: worry about your girl

J: seriously man

J: you got this

Longshot sighs and shuts his phone - what was Jet thinking? He peaks over at Smellerbee, glancing down at her phone, scrolling through something he can’t read.

She’s gorgeous. Funny. Honest. Fierce. Everything he could want, but that he’d just never quite been able to get.

(Is Jet right? Is this his chance?

...what does he even do?)

Longshot glances around quickly - they’re alone in their little section of the park, now. Only a few couples near them. Lights sparkle on the water, and there’s a cool breeze in the air; he can feel Smellerbee shiver next to him.

Cold? He sighs, and when she nods, he lets out an exasperated sigh. Fine, come here.

He lifts an arm up, and she doesn’t waste any time. She latches on to him like a leech - almost literally, in this case. His heart starts to race as she tucks her cheek against his shoulder and, after a moment, wraps an arm around his back. He tucks her in closer with his own, holding his breath, waiting for her to move, to jerk away...but she doesn’t.

She lets out a small, content sigh, and snuggles into his shoulder. If she’s meant to be on a blind date, too, and not with him, then her date is going to be rather confused.

After a few moments, he leans down, buries his nose into her hair. He smells the tang of leather and iron - the aroma he knew belonged to his best friend, the one he definitely hadn’t had feelings for for the past six years, and never done anything about.

“...are we on a date right now?” she finally murmurs, her breath steaming up in his face as she picks at an invisible thread on his jacket.

He glances down at her - something’s written there, in her face. He thinks he understands it. He can’t put words to it, exactly, but he understands it.

(Sweet Agni, her eyes are beautiful. She is beautiful.

Always has been, he thinks, since the day they met)

“Do you want to be…?” he rasps.

She ducks her head back down, and her hands clutch harder at Longshot’s jacket. There’s a long, silent moment before Bee peeks back up. Those eyes are suddenly full of hope - a little doubt, but some hope, too.

“I...I’d like that.”

He thinks his heart skips a beat; all he can do, though, is smile down at her, tips his forehead down to meet hers. Their noses brush together, and it tickles, and an electric flare shoots down his spine along with it.

“Me, too.”

#krast answers asks #@kinzjoydragon #atla multishipping bingo #smellerbee #longshot #smellershot #smellerbee x longshot #atla fanfic #atla

[cupcakemolotov]

My Only Love: Part 2

Well, ages later, and I managed this.

When Stefan and Damon find a coffin holding an original, they hope they find an ally. They find Caroline instead. Part 1 on A03

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; original!caroline; hybrid!Klaus;Canon-Typical Violence; Blood Drinking; Blood and Gore; Character Death (Not OTP); Not Salvatore Friendly; Biting; No Smut Yet

                                                       -

Skirts and nails and lips bloody, her left hand curled carefully around the strange device she had plucked from Stefan’s hand the same way she’d taken his secrets, Caroline swept out of the dank and dreary basement to find just how the world had changed. A hundred years surely had more than one fascinating new thing to marvel at, and she wanted it all. 

But mostly she wanted her husband.

It was unfortunate that the house was both astonishing and an utter disappointment. The windows were boarded, and the time-worn furniture and fading curtains were as alien to her as the wide expanse of the rooms. There were no gas lamps or candles here, but strange and delicate things made from blown glass that hung from the ceiling and turned the room nearly noon bright. Some of it was tacky, the colors were atrocious and who picked out those chairs? 

Did this modern work not believe in pretty yet comfortable? She was quite certain Klaus had insisted on owning a set of chairs just like those in the 1800s and she hadn’t liked them then either. And what was that fabric?

What kind of place had she been put away to rot?

Outside, she could feel the burn if the sun and frustration clawed at her. When her father-in-law had left her to rot, he’d taken everything he could. Her daylight ring, the pretty jewelry Klaus had gifted her the morning of her abduction, her favorite hair combs. But right then it was the lack of daylight ring she raged at the most. 

Caroline stared at what looked to be the front door with impotent longing. Somewhere out there was Klaus, free from the machinations of father who had hunted him all her life and she wanted to see what changes that freedom had wrought, to taste the triumph from his tongue. To feel him beneath her hands, to know they were free. 

It'd only been a handful of hours to her memories since she’d seen him last, but she could feel the ache of centuries in her bones. The lack of the man who had stood with his hand curved around hers for all the years of her life. Her nails dug into her palms, gouging little half moons, and she took a slow breath. 

Klaus has broken his curse. Mikael was dead, and she knew her husband was hunting for her with the same need that sat in her bones. He’d come to her as soon as he knew she was awake. She’d woken in a world where they’d won. Her lips curved as she recalled Stefan’s words, the angry, bitter pill of her husband’s triumphs clear in his gaze. Below her, she could hear him grieving, the death of brother the song that would usher her into this new existence.

It was fitting she decided, for this young vampire who wished to destroy Klaus to understand the pain he wished her to suffer. He’d wanted her family destroyed, and instead sacrificed his own. She’d leave him that agony for a while yet, her compulsion ensuring he would stay where he was, keeping the cooling corpse of his brother company. Right then, she had something far more important to do. 

Carefully, she wiped her fingers clean on the skirt of her dress, mourning the ruined fabric of it even though it was already liberally covered in blood. Stefan had carried no handkerchief to offer her and she had no wish to search the house for something more suitable to wipe her hands on. She’d already seen more than enough of this place, and wished nothing to delay her husband finding her. 

Hands mostly clean, she considered the smooth shape of what Stefan had told her was a phone in her hand. A strange, modern device that connected people's voices to voice, sometimes face to face. A wonderful little thing that would bring Klaus to her, when the sun was high in the sky and she had no way to go to him. 

It was fascinating. Stefan’s explanation of how to use it and just how radio signals worked had been quite poor, when she wished to know every facet of the device. What kind of world had it become that such fascinating technology should be so badly understood by those who used it? 

Klaus would help her learn. 

For a moment, her finger hovered over the strange cover, this screen and she let herself wish this reunion would happen when she was a little more composed. A hundred years, and she was dressed in a relic of the past, dust covered and splattered with gore. The gore bothered her less than the dust, the ancient wrinkles she had no way to improve. And what was the point? She planned, hoped to be quite naked very soon. 

Pushing aside that niggling vanity, she carefully copied the motions Stefan had shown her to work the phone. Thankfully, English itself hadn’t seemed to have gone through so many changes it was completely unrecognizable, the shape and form of letters familiar even if utterly strange in this… digital format. First, the odd thing he’d called a passcode. Then she found the green box at the bottom with the strange symbol, followed by recent calls. 

There it was. His name. Klaus. 

Such a simple thing, such a lifetime of need. 

Pressing his name, her brows drew down sharply as nothing happened. Muttering under her breath a number of curses at incompetent things, she carefully prodded the screen until something changed. An unexpected jolt of noise startled her, a loud sound that she supposed was ringing. She was going to have to have so much to catch up on.

“Stefan, rethought my offer?”

The sound of Klaus’ voice, so clear and with that soft mix of charm and menace she knew so well, unexpectedly clogged her throat. Fingers flying to her mouth, Caroline swallowed hard. It was one thing to hear that her husband had triumphed, but it was another to hear his voice. To viscerally know that he was alive and if she could just get her voice to work, he’d be here. 

“Klaus.” The single word came out rough. There was a sudden, fraught silence, and she wondered if the blasted device had stopped working.

“Who is this?” Klaus’ voice was sharp, dangerously bladed, and her eyes narrowed at the threat she could hear beneath his words. 

“I am told,” she said in tones that had cooled considerably. “That you should be able to understand me as easily as I understand you. If you require an introduction to your wife, century between us or not, I am going to be very displeased, Klaus Mikaelson.”

Behind him, there was a crash, a noise that sounded like bone breaking. Her brows furrowed, ears straining to catch any hint of sound. “What was that?”

“Caroline.” Her name was clipped, a thousand things she couldn’t understand in his voice. “Where are you”?

Spine snapping taut in irritation at the blatant order in his voice, the way he ignored her question, her fingers tightened on the screen. “I believe the vampire Stefan called it a boarding house?”

“Stay there.”

Her jaw dropped as there was sudden silence, the screen changing to once again and it occurred to her that he was no longer listening to her. The screen cracked beneath her grip, and she tossed it away. Clearly her husband had forgotten a thing or two in the intervening years such as her dislike of rudeness.

Stay there. 

As if she was a minion. 

As if they hadn’t seen each other in decades and decades. Blowing out a slow breath, she wrangled her temper. He certainly knew where she was but had given her no indication how long it would take him to reach her. Maybe she should head back downstairs and entertain herself with Stefan until he arrived. 

Debating, she blinked when outside, there was a noise, a blur of movement, and then the door opened with a wrench that nearly removed the door from its hinges. Her breath hitched in her throat, and Klaus stared at her from the perimeter of the room, eyes hotly yellow. 

His hair was shorn shorter than she’d ever seen it, the cut and make of his clothing as strange and foreign as the wolf in his eyes. But she knew him down to her bones, and she took half a step towards him without thought. But when he continued to just stare at her, to watch her with a carefully set expression, her remembered annoyance sprang to the surface. 

Hand sliding to her hip, Caroline stopped moving and narrowed her eyes. Temper and the smallest bit of hurt turned her voice hard. “I cannot believe the very first thing you're making me do after being released from that box is remind you that I am not…”

His face lost its passiveness, something vibrant and wild crossing his face before the distance between them disappeared with the curve of his palm on her jaw, and the press of his mouth, firm and plush and wanting, swallowed her complaint. Hands grasping for the feel of his shoulders, his spine, she pressed back with the same gasping need he always elicited in her, teeth sinking into his lip as both a need to taste and a chastisement for his behavior. He groaned against her mouth, tongue chasing hers as she slicked along the blood, and her head spun as he tangled himself in her skirts as they staggered backwards. 

His palm pressed against the back of her skull as he pressed close and her spine hit the wall, so close that hip, thigh and stomach were all one line of burning contact even with her skirts and his clothes between them. There was nothing passive in his touch or kiss as they let mouths and hands roam, and she dug in with her nails, demanding more. 

When he pulled back, lingering so they breathed heavily against each other’s mouths, his hand left her face to cup her hip, pulling her even closer. His gaze flickered down the line of her chest, to the blood splattered material that was both his and the other vampires, and his mouth curved slow and pleased before returning to her face. When he spoke, his voice was low and raspy, a thousand benedictions behind his eyes.

“Caroline.”

#my fic #klaroline fanfic #klaroline drabble #klaroline #here we go again i think

[l-egionaire]

Owl House Fanfic: I Did Not Account For This

Amity had kissed her.

Amity had kissed her!

A cheek kiss sure, but still! Her abuela's cheek kisses definitely hadn't felt like that!

She had to talk to someone else about this.

Luz's mind raced as she ran down the street of Bonesborough. Her eyes darted around until they finally locked onto Gus's house.

She headed over to it and hammered on the front door. "Gus, Gus, Gus, Gus, Gus, Gus, Gus!"

When there was no answer, Luz groaned and dug around in her pockets until she found an Ice glyph. She tapped the paper and it morphed into a key that she then used to unlock the door.

Luz dashed inside and up the house stairs to Gus's room. She kicked open the door.

"Gus, I need to talk you! I-."

But Luz fell silent when she saw what was going on inside: Willow and Gus sitting on Gus's room floor, their eyes closed and their lips pressed together.

Willow's right eye chose that moment to slightly open, only to pop wide when she saw Luz standing there. She pulled away from Gus and leapt up, her face burning red. Gus opened his own eyes in confusion only to panic and become flush faced when Willow tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out Luz in the doorway.

"Luz! I can explain! This is, uh, just an illusion!" Gus said meekly

Willow looked at Gus with a raised brow. "Really?"

"What? It was all I could think of!"

Luz regained her voice and cried out "Wha- when did this happen?!"

"Well, kind of just now." Willow said. shrugging her non injured shoulder.. Though her voice was calm, she was still blushing brightly.

Luz eyes ping ponged back and forth between Gus and Willow for a few minutes until her mouth turned into a face splitting smile.

"Tell me everything!" She yelled with glee.

Gus and Willow looked to each other.

"You want to take this one or should I?" Gus asked.

"Lets just both tell it." Willow said.

"Come on! I want to know" Luz said excitedly.

" Okay. So, those Glandus kids turned out to not be that great. Their "quest" turned out to be robbing an illusionists graveyard. I couldn't go through with it, so Mattholomule and I scared them off. It was actually pretty cool. I put an illusion over the graveyard and-."

"Get to the shipping parts already!" Luz cried.

"Okay, okay. So, after I came home, I found Willow here."

"I was worried Gus was still feeling down after what happened with the pixies, so I thought I'd come by and try to make him feel better." Willow chimed in.

"So, we sat down and started talking. About the Glandus kids, the pixie incident, and kind of just us in general. I-I kind of had a crush on one of those Glandus kids and she was the one who was probably the meanest to me. But Willow told that it was her loss and any girl would be lucky to have me."

"Awwwww" Luz 

"And then I started to realize how much Willow meant to me. We'd been friends a long time and been through a lot together. Next to my parents, she's probably the most important person in my life.  And well, I kind of, sort of, started to realize that she was really pretty." Gus's blush deepened.

"And hearing that that Glandus girl shot him down made me think over some things too. Gus was always there for me.  Even when everyone else saw me as 'Half-a-witch-Willow' I still had Gus. And I started to notice he was kind of handsome.  After that we started talking about how we felt and then, well, you saw what happened next." Willow's cheeks darkened as well.

"Oh dios mio, eso es tan lindo! I can't believe this! So, are you guys a couple now?" Luz asked.

The two of them once again looked at each other.

"Well…" Gus started.

"We're taking things slow." Willow said. "The kiss was nice, but we're not going to rush into anything."

"Right! Of course. Taking things slow…..But if I asked If you'd be interested in getting lunch with me tomorrow?"

"I'd like that." Willow took Gus's hand into her own.

"Eeeeeeeeh! Okay, you two are officially my new OTP! Ugh, I'm so happy for you!"

Gus chuckled. "Thanks. But what are you doing here anyway? Did you find something at the library with Amity?"

Hearing the name "Amity" Suddenly returned Luz's mind to its buzzing post-kiss state. Now it was her turn to blush brightly. "Oh. Right. That."

Willow's eyes narrowed knowingly as if she could read Luz's thoughts. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Well. Funny story actually. Amity kind of, sort of…..kissed me."

The two of them stared at her for two minutes until Willow turned to Gus, held out her hands and said "Pay up."

Gus groaned and dug unto his pocket. He pulled out a handful of snails and dropped it into Willows open palm. "Aw man. I'd been saving up."

"I promise I'll put it all towards our lunch date." Willow said. She looked back to Luz. "So, What happened?"

"Well, I went to the library and Amity and I tried to find out more about the last human who'd lived here. But she said that the book was in a restricted area so we had to be careful while looking for it-."

"Get to the shipping parts already!" Gus teased.

"Urgh, fine. So, I accidentally made Amity lose her job. Than, I went through some trials to get her job back. And when I went to take her her job card she had purple hair and was pretty and she helped me realize I have an Echo Mouse with the information I needed and she said I had a way of digging into people's hearts and then she kissed me on the cheek!"

They both stared at her with wide eyes.

"Wow. Good for Amity. I knew she had it in her." Willow said.

"Wait, what? What's that supposed to mean? And why did you two exchange cash?"

"We kind of had a bet going on which of you would act on your feelings first." Gus admitted sheepishly.

"And I bet Amity would act first." Willow boasted.

"How did you know she would?"

"Because I know Amity. When push comes to shove, she goes for what she wants."

"Wha- wait, you mean Amity does like me?"

"Duh. I'm shocked you didn't know. It was kind of obvious." Willow pointed out.

"But-but-but what about her crush? At Grom, she had someone she wanted to ask out!"

Gus and Willow just stared at her pointedly. It took Luz a second to understand and her eyes widened in realization.

"I'm her crush?" She whispered. 

"Duh." Gus said.

"But-no that's-why? Why would Amity have a crush on me? After all the trouble I've caused her, why would she like me?

"Because you're a good person, Luz," Willow said, coming over and placing a gentle hand on Luz's shoulder. "Sure, you can get in over your head sometimes but you're also brave and you care a lot about people. It’s not hard to see what she saw in you."

"Yeah. You're great. Heck, I’d date you! Er, if I wasn’t dating Willow I mean” Gus chuckled nervously.

“Nice save.”

Luz was completely stunned into silence. Someone liked her like she liked them. And not just anyone, but Amity. It almost didn’t feel real.

Finally, she said. “So, what should I do now? With Amity I mean.”

“Well, maybe you should do what Gus and I did.” Willow suggested.

“You want me to go kiss Amity in her bedroom?!”

“What?! No!” Willow spluttered. “I meant that you should go and talk about how you feel. Make sure that you’re both on the same page with what to do next.”

“You’re right. Thanks Willow.”

“No problem.”

Luz went over to the door, but before she left she turned back to Gus and Willow and teasingly said. “I’m going to leave the door open up here. Wouldn't want you two love birds doing anything inappropriate."

Willow glared at her. "Oh why don't you go make out with Amity already?"

"Going to work on that!"

#The Owl House #Owl House #ToH #luz noceda #toh luz #luz owl house #luz #amity owl house #amity blight #the owl house amity #lumity #willow park #willow toh #willow the owl house #guswillow #gus porter #gus owl house #gus toh #the owl house fanfic

[homeformyheart]

hi, if you’re still taking angst prompts, how about 4. “Get out of here! Just leave!” for whichever of your twc pairings inspires you?

thank you ginger for this one! (and for suggesting adina.) this one definitely got away from me and turned into a full fic because of the scenario I wanted to write xD.

author’s note: thank you for the request, @gingerbreton! writing in present tense was definitely weird, but hopefully the vibe i was going for still works. i was definitely feeling the angst in this one – an AU (to my AU i guess) where my detective turns but their immortal spouse dies protecting them. grab some tissues, turn off that sad music, and enjoy! copyright: all characters, except the oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 16+; major character death, grief, descriptions of physical pain and violence/fighting based on/prompt: OTP angst prompts // 4. “Get out of here! Just leave!” (in bold) and inspired partly by “dancing with your ghost” by sasha sloan word count: ~2.3k summary: an all-or-nothing stand-off between the agency against the rogues and trappers threatens regina’s turning process.

forever is just a word

it burns.

every fiber and tendon in her body overflows with hissing lava.

melting the pathways as it flows through her veins and igniting everything it touches.

veins attempting to fuse her mutated blood with searing venom.

a scream rips from her throat and reverberates against the walls.

at least, regina thinks it’s her pain echoing around her.

she can’t tell over the thundering in her eardrums and the sound of seams ripping inside her body.

everything is a foggy haze except for the tears streaming down her cheeks.

her mind wonders if she realizes she is being torn apart and burned alive.

except her skin is icy to the touch.

not that anyone is around to know that.

the fire continues to roil and spread, inching up and across her body until it molds around her heart.

and pierces it.

her fingers fly to her chest to dig her nails into the center, breaking skin and leaving red-stained crescent moons dotted below her collarbone.

and then the cold creeps in, following the path burned before it and pricking her body with thousands of icy needles.

stitching the seams and tears slowly and painfully back together.

before the pain finally recedes and all that is left is silence.

and regina opens her eyes.

the fluorescent lighting burns white-hot.

the slow beeping of a computer is shrieking in her ears.

she’s alive.

meanwhile, in the thick of the forest near the facility

adam stands at attention, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the situation with a scrutinizing eye.

ever the soldier.

except his eyes are shaking with fear, dark pupils almost edging out the green.

he knows this could be it.

their last stand.

his gaze sweeps to his right and then to his left, shoulders tensing as he counts, assesses, and runs through the odds and tactics in his head.

“just hand the detective over and no one has to get hurt,” a sinister voice rings loudly across the clearing from deep within the mass of humans and rogue supernaturals.

traitors. in every sense, philosophical and physical.

outnumbering every unit, tactical agent, and combat-ready member – supernatural or not – that the agency could pull together at the last minute.

“we know you’ve turned her. this is your last warning. hand her over, now.”

the air hums and prickles with electricity from hundreds of charged prods and batons, as the rogue supernaturals ease into their offensive stances.

a few find their way into the air and into the trees.

adam bristles but feels similar sensations vibrating in the air from his team and unit alpha on either side of him. at least he’s not alone.

he frowns briefly at the thought that regina may wake up alone, when (and he refuses to think otherwise) she survives.

“what’s going on? adam?”

he whirls around so fast he’s sure lesedi and nate heard the air around him crack. he runs over and wraps his arm around her waist to hold her steady, and she briefly closes her eyes to ease the dizziness and sudden sensitivity to everything around her.

“you survived,” he breathes, relief evident in his voice and every line in his face.

she smiles and tiptoes to kiss him softly before pulling back. “i promised i’d come back to you.”

adam brings her into his chest and buries his face in her neck, closing his eyes and trying to fill his heart with memories of her heartbeat, scent, and body against his.

“you must go,” he says hoarsely before pulling away. “this is going to be a fight unlike anything any of us have ever seen. you have to be safe.”

regina steps back and surveys the clearing, eyes widening at the stand-off. she knows everyone can see her. every eye, every weapon, every formation, is trained on and directed at her.

her gaze meets farah’s teary-eyed and relieved one, morgan’s piercing and confident one, and nate’s sympathetic and fearful one to her left before her body tenses at the determined and soft looks from unit alpha to her right.

“this is insane. we’re incredibly outnumbered, let me help,” she says once her voice seems to return to her. “adam, i’m not human anymore.”

he pulls back to meet her gaze and her breath catches at the soft green of his eyes. “you have only just turned. it is too dangerous and i will not risk losing you.”

“i’m not leaving you. i’m not leaving the team,” she argues, the intensity in her voice matching the defiant look in her eyes. “you know i can fight.”

he takes a few steps away and begins to pace, fists clenched. he knows that at any moment the rogues can attack now that regina is exposed. his muscles bulge with tension and she briefly wonders at how his shirt is still intact. adam can feel the fear clawing up his spine, across his chest, and catching in his throat before he whirls around to face her.

“you do not understand how dangerous this is. get out of here! just leave!”

he moves in real-time until he is just a hair’s breadth away, canines protruding and eyes flashing angrily. regina blinks, a little jolted by the fact that his speed is no longer too fast for her to see. he grabs her arms and starts pushing her back toward the facility.

“it will all be for nothing if they get to you!”

regina almost recoils at the volume of his voice and the tormented fear in his eyes. she twists out of his grasp and grabs his wrists, pushing them down and away from her body.

“i can’t lose you,” she yells back.

he breaks – she can see it – his eyes fold and brows scrunch in anguish and fear.

she reaches out to touch his cheek. he leans into the warmth of her touch, eyes fluttering half-closed before he pulls away.

“farah,” he says, pulling away from her touch. regina looks over and sees elidor following close behind.

“don’t do this adam. don’t leave me,” she pleads, voice cracking and tears welling in her eyes.

“i will always fight my way back to you, my love,” he murmurs, leaning down to briefly press his lips to hers. she leans in to deepen the kiss, but he’s already pulling away. “be safe. please.”

gentle hands on her arms hold her back and her eyes widen in fear. elidor wraps his arms tightly around her, holding her firmly against his chest and no amount of thrashing or kicking can loosen his hold.

“no, i can fight. i’m a vampire now, too. let me go! let me help,” her cries are desperate and loud and adam can hear every word echo in his ears.

“i am sorry, detective. it’s too dangerous, even for newly turned vampires. you don’t have control over your physical abilities yet and that makes you an easy target,” elidor says, half-dragging, half-carrying her back toward the facility with farah following closely.

“farah, please, don’t do this. you know that i need to be out there with you all,” regina begs as adam’s retreating back gets smaller.

“this is beyond you, babe. none of us want to lose you. please trust us,” farah murmurs, gently stroking regina’s cheek with her thumb.

the two vampires hold each other’s gaze, an entire conversation silently passing between them, before farah gives her a brief nod and runs back to join the team.

regina’s knees buckle and elidor lets her fall to the ground, arms still wrapped around her shoulders. she can’t shake the feeling in her gut that everything is about to go sideways.

with loud growls and roars from every direction, the rogues attack first in a wave of shimmery magic and blurring movements. grunts and shouts from the agents fill the air, but it’s clear the agency is not nearly as prepared. commanding agents across units are shouting conflicting orders to their teams and the trappers make quick work of separating agents from each other in a second wave.

even in the frenzied mess of bodies, her vampire sight zeroes in on adam, fighting back-to-back with farah against a dozen trappers. nate and morgan are barely holding their own against a horde of demons and their prod-wielding handlers. electricity thrums in the air, snapping erratically at both sides.

with every group that falls, three more seem to step into their place. regina pales as she realizes that the rogues outmatch them in every way. they move in quick, synchronized waves and aren’t holding back. her loved ones are vulnerable and the fight is quickly converting the peaceful clearing in which she spent many moments with unit bravo into a bloody battlefield.

but then she sees unit alpha and agent fuller move with ungodly speed and with a series of quick, coordinated attacks, lay waste to an entire wave of trappers and rogues. they move to aid unit bravo, easily slotting into formation as though the units always fight side-by-side.

but their opponents still outnumber them.

and the world slows to a painful crawl.

supernatural creatures of all sizes begin to corner each agent and cut them off from each other. regina holds her breath as she watches tamiko and maaka get carried away by a winged creature, tane and lesedi chasing and leaping quickly after them while fending off half a dozen trappers.

she’s lost sight of agent fuller. which means unit bravo is alone again.

a pack of werewolves growl and snap at the vampires and her stomach lurches as adam positions himself in front of his team, angling his body so he’s directly in front of farah. the wolves shift and draw themselves to their full height, easily towering over nate and morgan.

and then they attack. she can barely tell apart the team’s growls from the pack’s, the wolves outnumbering the vampires five-to-one. and given that sunlight is still filtering through the trees, she can tell they’re not healing fast enough to keep up with the barrage of teeth biting everywhere. she keeps scanning the mass of bodies while holding her breath, trying to keep tabs on the team – and then she freezes.

a group of wolves advance on farah as she steps backwards towards where nate and morgan are fending off their own group until the three of them are surrounded. and despite the worry clawing in her throat for their safety, her eyes are frantically searching for the person she gave up everything for.

he’s fighting his way through a stream of fallen bodies towards his team. blood and scorch marks mar his pale skin, and his steps are heavy as his boots crunch through flesh and fur and bone.

a scream rips its way out of her throat at the sight of supernaturals advancing towards him, accompanied by a half-dozen trappers with electric prods crackling in his direction.

“adam, behind you!”

and then she’s running – not even registering that she broke out of elidor’s grasp – and the world blurs around her as she speeds along.

fire rips through her body, but this time, the pain spurs her forward and her vision tunnels, centering around adam’s fallen form.

rage and fear intertwine in her chest and expand outward into her limbs and an unfamiliar, feral cry leaves her throat as she shoves her body through the blockade, grabbing anyone attempting to stop her and tossing their bodies aside. she screams at the electric prods digging into her stomach as arms wrap around her limbs, but she bites down with her canines until the blood-curdling screams filling the air are not her own.

she tears the flesh of her assailants apart and they fall back, howling in pain and running in fear, their weapons dropping to the ground. her own body is a blur as she attacks each of the remaining trappers, pulling their arms out of their sockets and shoving them back deep into the forest, the resulting sound of wood splintering already fading in her mind.

the remaining trappers panic and abandon their attack, tripping over strewn bodies as the rest of the units push the rogues back as well. nate and morgan are sitting on the ground, breathing heavily as their bodies begin to heal but farah is limping towards her.

regina doesn’t notice. the adrenaline is already receding, and she collapses to the ground, the smell of blood and sweat filling her nose and leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. she crawls over to adam’s still body, tears streaming down her face as she realizes he’s not breathing.

“no, no, no, no, no!”

she throws herself over his body and lays her ear to his chest and fingers against his wrist, breaking down into hysterical sobs when she can’t hear anything. and she knows she should be able to – she can still hear the damn chirping of birds in the distance and the anxious thrum of the team’s heartbeats.

“no, you gave me your word. please,” regina screams in-between sobs, pulling adam into her lap and cradling his head against her chest. “you said you’d come back to me.”

a pair of arms wrap around her waist and hold her as she cries, murmuring things she can’t register into her hair. she barely registers nate and morgan lifting adam’s lifeless body, forcing her to stand and walk alongside him. her grip around adam’s shoulders only tightens and she pulls away from farah’s attempt to hold her up.

she doesn’t see the three of them exchange sorrowful looks before they move slowly towards the facility. tears continue to stream down regina’s face onto the hand that is clutching adam’s shirt as though it might make him wake up and reprimand her for ruining another one.

“you promised me forever,” she whispers, the rest of her sobs strangling in her throat.

from these OTP angst prompts (always accepting)

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @fhauvilles; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @pearlsandsteel; @writer-ish;

#twc #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven #twc fic #twc fanfic #twc fanfiction #adam du mortain #twc adam #adam x regina #adam du mortain x regina bishop #adam x detective #adam du mortain x detective #adam du mortain x detective regina bishop #my writing #my prompt fill #twc prompt fills #gingerbreton #my detective #not choices

[peakyxtommy]

“Why did you choose me?”

Characters: Tommy, Arthur, Michael

Summary: ​“Why did you choose me?”

Warning: Sad/Hurt/Comfort 

A/N: I love writing this prompt so much. Enjoy! 

Prompt List: @otp-promptly​

All Credit To Gif Owners!

Tommy: “Why did you choose me? (You to him) 

Sometimes your mind ran wild with negative thoughts. Thoughts that were lies, that made you feel weaker and smaller than what you truly were. Thoughts that made your stomach in knots and drove you mad. Sometimes you could stop the thoughts before they festered like a wound oozing puss but times like now, it feels like a knife twisting inside of you. A never ending dull pain, that you wanted to be rid of but couldn’t be. 

On a day like today where everything seemed to boil down to performance and appearance and long conversations with people you were likely never to see again, you couldn’t help but speak the words aloud to him after a long evening of wining and dining. An evening where it felt like everyone else was so much better than you, where women looked better than you felt you ever could. People were eyeing up your husband lustfully or with intentions to do business. You never left those dinners feeling satisfied but felt empty after wanting nothing more than to hide away for the next few days. 

Here you were in your bedroom settling in for the night next to your husband when the dam breaks and you feel those wounds open yet again. Wounds you thought were healed but still needed healing. 

“Why did you choose me?” When the words leave your mouth, you sound so small, so childlike. Your voice was wet already feeling the tears starting to break through. You wish you could just put it in a small box in the back of your mind to deal with another time, but it was an impulsive intrusion of your brain. You needed to hear the answer, to hear whatever words left his mouth, for you mind to be put back at ease. For this small twisting ache to go away even if it was just for the night. 

When the words leave your mouth he almost misses what you said, but the way your voice sounded so sad catches his attention and he feels his heart break a little. He loved you more than anything in the world. You were the light to his darkness. The one thing that helped him stay calm and would release his stress after long times in the office. You made him better in many ways. He was more alert because of you and even had better ideas for the business, because you would always know how to help at a roadblock. You made him a better man. 

So when the words leave your mouth he couldn’t help but ponder over the course of the week or even the evening to wonder what made you say those words to him. He knew he didn’t have all the answers, would ever be able to make you feel whole about yourself, but he had the words to soothe your mind, to make you see the truth instead of the lies. 

He would hold you close to his chest as he let the tears stain his shirt wet. All the while, rubbing soothing circles on your back, while shushing you as you tried to apologize. When you were calm, he would dry your tears, as you sat in his lap facing him. He would make sure your eyes were facing his as he spoke, 

“Why is my pretty wife crying, hm?��� His warm breath hits your face, hand holding the back of your head.

“I chose you (y/n), because you make me a better man. You make breathing a little easier and I always look forward to seeing you first thing when I awake and when I go to bed. Your smile brightens up the whole room. You are smart, beautiful, funny, and so many more things. I chose you because I love you more than your pretty head will ever know. You are my world and bring a fullness I never knew was possible. If I have to remind you every single day, I will. You can always tell me what’s on your mind, I'll always listen to you. You’re stuck with me.” He speaks soft and affectionate, loving blue eyes gazing into yours. 

“Thank you, Tom.” Is all you say in a small whisper as your head rests in the curve of his neck and he hugs you. 

“I love you only, always and forever. Never forget that.” 

Arthur: “Why did you choose me? (him to you) 

It was a little past midnight when you heard hard knocks and shouts coming from your front door. You had no idea who was banging at your door but as soon as you opened the door to your boyfriend of a year, you knew it was serious when you saw his blood shot eyes and bloody knuckles. You also knew you had to get him inside because he was screaming out your name as if you weren’t standing right in front of him. You knew you would hear it in the morning from Mrs. Bradley yet again about the Birmingham gangster waking up the neighborhood with drunken shouts and loud knocks. 

“Arthur, you gotta stop yelling. I’m right here. Come in let’s get you cleaned up yeah.” You usher him inside shutting the door behind him. You lead him to the couch where he takes a half sitting/slumped position. You wanted to be mad at him because this was the third time he’s shown up to your house in a similar occurrence, but your worries overridden the fact. You go get a glass of water and your medical kit, to help sober him a little and clean up his hands as he sits now quiet on the couch.

“You need to drink this. Give me your hand so I can clean you up, yeah.” He nods at your words letting you work in an eerie silence. He’d usually have so much to say due to the adrenaline but tonight he was stone cold quiet caught up in his own thoughts. As you bandage his hands with the last wrap, he speaks the words that make your heart still and break a little. 

“Why’d you choose me? Out of all the men in Birmingham you chose a gangster at that, a criminal.” He says it in a small but frustrated tone. He was frustrated with himself, with his life, and that here you were again cleaning up his mess. He felt like a mess and didn't understand why you continued to open up your home and heart to him. You were a good woman. He loved you deeply and couldn’t imagine life without you, but he still had doubts that plagued the back of his mind just as close to the edge of death he lived. 

“Arthur look at me.” You bring your warm hand to his face, holding the side of his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. 

“I chose you because you were yourself from day one and always have been. You are an open book and wear your heart on yourself. You care for those you love and will do anything to protect them. On our first date you made me laugh and smile so hard, I hadn’t felt happy like that in the longest time until you showed up in my life. 

We’ve had our ups and downs but that only makes my love for you grow stronger. You’re all I think about from the moment I wake up and until I go to bed. I look forward to your surprise visits, at normal hours preferably, and phone calls to check in on me. I still love you after midnight when you’re drunk and hurt on my couch. I love you Arthur and I see the goodness in you even if you don’t. I’ll always be here to remind you of that, for as long as you let me.” 

You say giving him a small kiss to the lips. He goes to wipe his own tears, satisfied with your answer. 

“Let’s get to bed love.” He speaks, as you both get up from your positions. Once changed he joins you in your bed. He lays himself on your chest listening to your heartbeat as you hold him tight to you.

Michael: “Why did you choose me? (you to him) 

Your blood was boiling. You couldn’t understand why you would always let her get you to this point. The point of where all logic and reason seemed to leave your mind to be replaced with doubts and insecurity. It was the same argument over and over again. You don’t know why you keep going in circles but it was like that one truth wouldn’t sink into your mind. The doubt of him leaving her for you even if you really were his. 

You were out at a business dinner Tommy was hosting at his house. Of course she was there. You saw her a mile away and she didn’t wait to make her presence known. She greeted you both, shaking your hand in faux politeness, before going back to her table. You knew then that you would be in for a long evening. You knew the look on Michael’s face meant that he wasn’t in the mood for an argument about his ex so you let it go for now. 

You tried to enjoy the dinner and time as much as possible. You left to go to the bathroom and when you returned Gina was sitting in your seat. Legs crossed, fingers brushing over Michael’s shoulder, and laughter from the two of them. All you saw was red but decide to go to the bar to get a drink to calm your nerves. 

When you go back she’s gone like she was never there to begin with. You sit in your chair like she wasn’t there. You ignore Michael for the rest of the evening and his makings of conversation. You were too agitated to even talk to him with an ounce of kindness. When it’s time to leave the ride home is just as silent, with tension hanging heavy between you both. 

It’s not until you reach the walls of your shared apartment that the words leave your mouth. Wanting to know and hear the truth from him, even though you knew you were overreacting but you couldn’t help it. 

“Why did you choose me?”

When the words leave your mouth he was exhausted. It was a long night and it didn’t help with the tension caused by Gina. He didn’t love her or want to be with her anymore. They broke up for a reason and he couldn’t understand why you couldn’t understand or see through his words. Always fighting him on it no matter what left his lips. He was as exhausted as you in going in circles or repeating himself. He would put up with it because you’re worth it to him. That he was in love with you but had yet to say it. 

“I chose you because I’m in love with you. Only you, you’re all I want and think about all day. Your happiness means the world to me. Gina is in the past and I need you to trust me when I say it. I don’t want her or think about her. We broke up for a reason and I’m with you now. Whatever I have to do to prove it to you, I will because your worth it baby.” He speaks tracing a warm finger down your face, his face and tone serious. 

“Say it again.” You whisper taking his hand in yours.

“I love you and you only.” He goes to press his lips against your as your fingers grip his hair soaking him in. 

“Then show me. I love you too.” You speak as he leads you up the stairs to your shared bedroom to show you how much he loved you and only you.

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