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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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a nurses job

— Bakugou breaks his arms and as a nurse, you have the responsibility to make sure that he is comfortable, even when he needs to use the bathroom.

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pairing: pro hero!bakugou katsuki x nurse fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, prohero!bakugou, golden showers/water sports/piss kink, degradation (giving), dirty talk, lusting/pining, handjobs

word count: 5,050

a/n: so, I was going to make this a piss in ur mouth and pussy type of fic, but I kept seeing all those beautiful bakugou piss arts where he’s with a nurse.... so this is inspired and brought upon by all the water sports bakugou x nurse art ive seen for three months.

kinktober day 21 main kink: piss | kinktober masterlist

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You’re not quite sure what persuaded you into wanting to become a nurse as a child.

Maybe it was because your quirk (when you hum at an A flat, everyone within 5 meters experiences accelerated healing properties) was useless for Pro Hero work, so you realized early on that being a Pro Hero was a distant dream. Maybe it was because medical staff were still hailed as everyday heroes despite being in a world with people who could perform extraordinary achievements. It started as a small obsession to prove to the soon to be jobless, dream broken, and graduated failures of the hero course high schools that you had done more than them. That you, unlike them, were recognized as a hero.

You were decent with math and science, so you strove for medical school. But with the horrendous costs of schooling, your then living situation, and your dislike of unneeded and unwanted competitive stress, you deterred toward the nursing pathway. It was a pathway where you really found yourself, or at least, you thought so.

Empathy, emotion, and the need to see people come out of a hospital better than when they entered was something that grew on you quickly and obviously. Your earliest clinical rounds often left you with swollen, tired feet from walking around for restless hours, but with a smile on your face that was irreplicable. With every semester in school, you got better, connected better with your patients. Your feet still ache after long shifts, and sometimes your smile is hollow and broken, and if you look closely, you could see dried tears and puffy eyelids, but you wouldn’t ever regret this decision to become a nurse.

At twenty-five, newly graduated from nursing school, already working full time at the best hospital in Japan, while studying for your degree to eventually become a nurse practitioner. You loved your job quite a lot. They had placed you immediately within their Post-OP, ICU, and recovery wings, and even though you were somewhat new, you were celebrating a year of working in a few weeks, you already had some… more than familiar faces.

“Well, Ground Zero-san, I guess you owe me a drink because unless my eyes are deceiving me, it looks like both your arms are broken, no?” you hum, your grin bright and wide, not even attempting to hide it’s glee as your high profile patient sat seething on the hospital bed. “It’s been, what? Two weeks since you last showed up here? You getting old?”

“Oh, would you shut the fuck up, you shitty ass nurse?!” Bakugou snarled, his arms obviously trying to tense and move against the large casts that envelope him. “The fuck would you expect to happen when facing off with a quirk that’s specifically meant to break people’s arms?!”

“Deku didn’t break any arms,” you point out with a soft laugh, eyes still scanning and reading through his charts to check his medical needs and medicine prescribed by the attending and when he should be taking them. “A bit weird that only half of the Wonder Duo was indescribably injured, no?”

A loud snarl ripped from Bakugou’s throat, and you stifled your own laughter as you raised your eyesight to look him straight in his raging eyes.

“I took that damn nerds hits because he’s broken his arms so many fucking times he’ll be forced to amputate them if he breaks them again!” Bakugou’s eyes were near white in his anger, but the intensity of his emotions was heavily diminished by the fact that his arms were strapped to his chest in thick, round bandages.

“You can admit you care for him,” you chide, ignoring his ‘like hell I do!’ Placing the chart down and walking to his IV drip, you checked to see if anything he was hooked to required any changes or whatnot. “Besides, this is not the first time I’ve seen you in here! It was quite surprising to see Ground Zero on bedrest on my first ever shift here.”

That much was true.

You had been working at Tokyo Hospital for nearly nine months now. Within the nine months, you saw a lot of heroes; that much was true. Your quirk was versatile as a nurse, and you were bright, young, very good at your job, and definitely a beautiful individual. So, when you were assigned to be working most of your days healing heroes because they were the backbone of the country, it didn’t quite catch you by surprise. It was a common assignment you had as a nursing student too.

You just didn’t expect the head nurse of the floor to assign one of your five rooms to be holding none other than Ground Zero, a.k.a Bakugou Katsuki.

Of course, you weren’t an idiot. You had known about the explosion hero since high school! You had sat in front of your TV in high school, attempting to do your homework while watching the rather intensive first-year battles. He had done well in every stage, placing within the top three each time and even winning the game! You had cringed at the awards ceremony but had been horrified at the news of his kidnapping.

But after that, with the rising tensions of the villain world upon the dying world left behind by All Might, you had forgotten him for a moment. As time went on, and finally, a new support system was brought forth, Ground Zero, much like his quirk entailed, exploded onto the scene alongside Deku and a few other young heroes.

So, sure, you expected to maybe one day run into the ash-blond hero, but you didn’t expect it to happen on day one.

All things considered, the two of you got along rather well.

His... strong personality did make you wary of him at first, taking his near verbal barrage until you, very flusteredly he will argue, told him to ‘shut up, you butthole!’

You were horrified at your lack of professionalism, and Bakugou had gone silent as he stared at you in silence.

“Did you just call me a butthole?” he echoed, his face full of emotions you could not read. You felt on the verge of panicking, unsure if he was going to potentially tell on you! The sounds of a barking laughter rang in your ear, and you looked up to see his grinning, much more relaxed form. “Are you some shitty preschooler?!”

Thus began a working relationship of sorts between you and Bakugou.

He was an asshole, and you tried your best to not let him talk you off a cliff. It didn’t take very long for you to find out what made him tick surprisingly enough, and you used that to your advantage. The best way to tease him right now was by reminding him that he had been hospitalized more times than Deku, who apparently had held the record for the number of hospitalizations between him and his friends.

“Are you going to mention that shit first meeting every time we talk?!” Bakugou barked, his eyes narrowed as he turned his head away from you.

“After you admit you care deeply for all your friends!” you chirp back, stepping away from his IV drip, satisfied by what you saw. “Well, you look good for now. I’ll be checking up on you every ten to fifteen minutes since you can’t press the button until we can get those casts off! Did ya need anything before I go check on my other patients?”

“Open the damn window; it’s stuffy in here,” Bakugou grumbled, his face finally facing you again.

“Of course,” you smile cheekily, your eyes squinting with your broad grin. “It’s a nurse's job to make their patients comfortable and happy!”

Standing at the side of the bed, you stretched over Bakugou to grab the edge of the window and slide it open. Through your stance, you were entirely aware of how this looked, how this felt. Your breasts centimeters from Bakugou’s face, your eyes never once breaking from the window to feign your innocence as you finally pull away. Even with scrubs on, you could feel his hot, sharp breathes expelling through your clothes, his ears tinging just the smallest bit red as you smile.

“Anything else?” you asked sweetly, failing to hide your impish grin.

“Put the water cup close by,” he grunted, eyes staring at the liter of water at his side table. Well, he wouldn’t be able to use his arms until just before he was set to be discharged, so moving the water closer was a good idea.

Nodding, you grabbed a nearby cup, filling it three-quarters of a way full before placing it onto the feeding table and dragging it near his mouth, a bendy straw already secured into the cup. You watched as he shot forward, putting the plastic straw into his mouth and beginning to drink the cold water. His eyes were back on yours, deceivingly cold had you already not been an expert on his personality.

With one final soft chuckle, you waved at Bakugou as you headed out, a cheerful smile on your face as he continued to drink his water.

“See ya in a few!”

Well, you guess there was one more important detail about your relationship with Bakugou Katsuki. For the past five months, you have been doing everything in your power to seduce him — to get him to admit that he wanted you too.

You knew the ethics and the morals behind falling for a patient of yours, much less a high profile patient at that. You knew that if your little crush was ever found out, you would most definitely be moved from his room. You were also damningly aware that you should have brought up your initial feelings for the explosion hero to your admin the moment it arose. But the thought and the way you were always so happy to be around him eventually overruled your logic. Five months ago, you had stayed at the hospital until nearly three am, talking with a severely concussed Bakugou. You were stationed for an overnight round with the task of making sure that he didn’t fall asleep. And for the first time in your time knowing Bakugou, the two of you somehow clicked into place, and when he was discharged the next morning — the nurse who had a quirk to rid of concussions finally arriving — he had thanked you.

It was so benign, so incredibly simple, yet the way the golden sunshine illuminated his blond hair and made his red eyes shine like a ruby, you found your own tired body feeling heated and warm. He wasn’t such a lousy conversationalist, and you had already enjoyed all your interactions together, yet it still caught you off guard to feel your heart pounding in your throat as he pulled on his jacket and left.

So after coming to terms with your sudden infatuation for the stubborn hero, you began to express your desires and feelings for him without having to say it. For all that he was worth and all that he expressed himself to be extremely observant, Bakugou Katsuki still had no idea that you liked him.

Unfortunately, your scrub nurse uniform wasn’t precisely seductive. The light blue of the breathable, sterile uniform was about as unsexy as uniforms got. But that never stopped you from leaning in too close when doing what Bakugou demanded of you. It didn’t prevent you from accidentally dropping papers in front of him and bending over to show off the curves of your ass.

There had never been a time such as this one where you hated that the old, ‘sexy’ nurse outfits were no longer up to standard and banned from use. How you would have loved to be wearing gartered held stockings just to accidentally flash to Bakugou. But, you suppose that it’s alright. Even though your feelings and ambitions to get the Pro Hero to like you as much as you did him, you never tried to push it.

For now, you were just an asshole tease.

You carried out the rest of your rounds in peace, your pager sitting comfortably in your pocket, unused, unneeded for now. The rest of your four patients were doing well for now.

One was asleep, most likely due to the medicine coursing through his veins, but his vitals remained unchanged.

Another was in the process of getting ready to be discharged, her family there to help her in leaving.

The third was eating his dinner, eyes concentrated on a poker game on the TV as he asked you to help fluff his pillow.

The last was busy with a physical therapist, her forehead slick with sweat as she attempted to sit up from her chair.

All in all, they were all doing fine, and you were back to the beginning, back to Bakugou’s room.

You entered his closed room door to be greeted by an empty bed. Your eyes widened immediately, the initial wave of pure horror flashing through you that by some freak accident, some murderous villain had kidnapped the injured hero straight from the hospital bed.

“Ground Zero-san?!” you called out, a pitched voice of concern frilling your voice as you stumbled through the room. Your eyes were frantically searching the room, fingers feeling the lingering warmth of his body on the bed and your eyes noticing the empty water cup on his table still. The sheets of his bed haphazardly thrown off as if in a struggle.

Your fingers wound around the panic button, your ears straining to hear any sort of sign of Bakugou still being here.

A gritted teeth snarl was muffled from the attached bathroom, and you froze, unable to move as you felt the untouched button in your hands turn as light as a feather. You approached the bathroom door with soft footsteps, the smile on your face, unable to be stopped as you pulled the door open.

The sight you happened upon was something that made your lips curl into a wider smirk as the hospital clothed-clad hero absolutely struggled with his lack of functioning hands and arms to pull down his pants. Something he couldn’t do himself because the socks and slippers on his feet kept him from even attempting to tug his pants off with his toes.

In his struggle, undoubtedly miserable attempt to get his pants and underwear off his waist, Bakugou seemed ignorant to your arrival. His back still towards you, his head tilted down in his struggle as he twisted and pulled at practically nothing.

And as you watched him struggle, you couldn’t help but let your eyes drink in his form that stood tall before you. Most occurrences where you found yourself face to face with Bakugou, he was always tucked in a bed (except that time you realized your feeling for him), whether it was because he needed to be or because he was forced to be. So seeing him in his full height, seeing how despite your size, you were still only at his shoulder, made your eyelashes flutter.

He was tall, so deliciously tall, you wanted to climb onto a chair to see if he would be taller even with that added height. And oh how the flimsy material of his hospital outfit was stretched then against the taut muscles of his back. They flexed and shifted with his aggravation, and the only thought on your mind was to rake your fingers against the tempting muscle and skin.

“Shitty. fucking. villain!” he hissed angrily, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as he still struggled to do what nature called him for.

But you couldn’t help it; the flexing muscles of his back, the lower tenor of his voice, and the way he seemed ridiculously larger than life at the moment tipped your restraint over. Your ability to hold back crashing through you like a tsunami wave, drowning you until you found your hand tethered to the tight spot at the center of his spine, your hushed words drifting to his ear like sweet, warm honey.

“You need any help here, Ground Zero-san?” you asked, your voice just loud enough to have your hot breath fanning against his sweaty exposed neck. You could feel him twitch in your hold, his body stiffening as he whipped his head around to look at you, red eyes wild, wide, and dark.

“Don’t ya know how to fucking knock?!” he snapped, his body flushed at being caught in the bathroom, unable to shed his clothes. He doesn’t move from your touch, and that small detail makes you warm, knowing that he wasn’t entirely repulsed by your touch.

“You were missing from your bed, and I called your name,” you smile despite his angry glare. “I know you are susceptible to hear loss, but I thought you were still in the clear.”

“I ain’t fucking deaf,” Bakugou growled, his face twisted with a frown. “And that still doesn’t explain why the hell you’re here!”

“Oh, were you not just completely struggling earlier?” you feign shock, the grin on your face unstoppable at the embarrassed scowl that sets on his face. You step even closer to him so that your torso is perpendicular to his side. Your hand still gently touching his muscled back, and your free hand gently pressing to his own abdomen, the feeling of his flexed muscles, making you dizzy as you peer down at the white toilet. “Is there a villain in the toilet? I didn’t think that was possible!”

“Of fucking course not, there’s not a shitty villain in the toilet.” Bakugou flushed, his body entirely trapped by you, but he made no play to escape.

“Oh, so did you need help?”

Bakugou stares at you, his mind whirling a kilometer a second as he contemplates his next course of action. The both of you know he needs help, and still, the both of you are aware that his ability to ask of that from you is slim to none given he couldn’t even wait for you to return to his room.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue angrily, annoyed, completely fed up. His eyes rolling to the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge you as his head nods once. “Help me, shitass nurse.”

“Of course!” you chirp, your eyes finding his hooded ones.

You give him one last warm, sweet smile before the hand on his torso lightly drags down his stomach, soft in its unashamed way of feeling him up. Your head tilted as your fingers hooked into the tight waistband of his pants and pulled it down, the heat of your palm accidentally dragging itself over the imprint of his cock behind his boxers.

The slight, flustered choking noise at the back of his throat didn’t go ignored by you, but rather but aside for later. Your eyes flashing up to see his red eyes wide, his cheeks so lightly dusted with pink as you managed to pull down his boxers too.

“There!” you exclaim, your eyes closing in your grin before you turn your attention back down to his exposed dick.

Immediately, you had to hold back a noise of pure want and lust at the sight of him. He was long, undoubtedly eight inches, definitely more. Although you couldn’t tell how thick, you knew his dick would fill your palm without a struggle. The trimmed, dark blond pubes and the protruding veins are what did it for you, your tongue poking out for a millisecond to wet your lips as you stared at his dark pink head.

“Stop staring at it!” Bakugou hissed, clearly embarrassed if the slight voice crack said anything about it.

You looked back up at him, fake confusion swimming in your eyes as you tilted your head. “It’s only a penis. I see millions of these all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s fucking weird!”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, your eyes rolling softly as you sighed in retreat, “Fine, fine, let's pee big boy and get you in bed.”

With your dominant hand, you grabbed his dick with a soft grip, pleasure simmering through you at the confirmation of the thick dick in your palm. But it seemed you weren’t the only one who thought that for the moment you tried to steer his dick toward the toilet to assist in aim, Bakugou hissed loudly. His flesh twitching to life in your warm, soft hand as it began to grow upward.

You didn’t say anything; your jaw remained as tight and closed as your vocal box despite the egging need to tease him and celebrate his apparent approval of your touch. So, eventually, in a voice that defied the nervous energy coursing through your veins, you asked: “Didn’t you need to pee?”

Bakugou let out a throaty, guttural groan, his anger hissing between his teeth as his dick twitched again in your hold, growing longer and harder still.

“I can’t take a damn piss with a hard-on, you idiot!” he roared despite the strawberry red blush on his cheeks. You admired the way he was still fighting for control of an upper hand here despite — clearly — not having any.

“Oh, haha! Silly me!” you laugh, your hand shifting against his length, your warm palm getting closer to the base of his cock.

“W-What are you doing?!” Bakugou spluttered, your soft butterfly touches sending him through a loop he clearly wasn’t expecting. “You could just wait for it to die!”

“It’s a nurse's job to make their patients comfortable and happy,” you repeat your words, your hold on his dick growing firmer and harder just as his cock continued to do. “You clearly need to pee, and there’s no telling when your cock will go down.”

“I’LL MAKE IT GO DOWN!” Bakugou yells, but the usual sharpness to his tone has deflated, diminished to nothing but whining embarrassed yell. You look up at his clenched jaw and how a pretty pink glows on his cheeks, and you’re mesmerized.

Looking back down at his growing cock that warms your hand immensely, you hum, slightly twisting your hand around his length. Bakugou shudders, a whine hidden in his throat as you open your own mouth.

“Do you want me to stop?” you question, your eyes fluttering up to look at his clouded red ones. “Do you not need or want me?”

That was a double-headed question if Bakugou ever heard one. He looked at your glossy lips, the way they were pouted, so ready to be kissed, to be claimed, and that delirious look of want and need in your eyes. And he knows better; he knows that this is not the place, not the time to act on emotions like this. The need to pee sits heavily on his lower belly, just like the need to cum makes him twitch and pace uncomfortably. God fucking damn his broken to smithereens arms.

But you already know this, of course, you do. But you also know how stubborn he can be, how anal he can be about the littlest thing. So with no answer, you weaken your grip, making him think that you’re ready to leave, and he falls right into the trap.

“Make it fucking q-quick,” his voice cracks, the embarrassment nearly tangible as you nod your head firmly, your fist tightening around his cock.

Your warm fingers pressed onto his length, beginning at a slow leisurely pace, your eyes glued onto his face, detailing how he reacts to every small flick of your wrist, every little difference of grip in his hands. Your strokes began to grow larger, your fingertips tracing the bulging veins on his cock, your eyes hypnotized by the way his face pinches in his pleasure, the blush on his cheeks, the way the hot pants expelling from his mouth curl warmly in your lower belly.

“Y-You do this with all your shitty patients?” Bakugou growls, but it sounds weak, too blurred and slurred with his increasing pleasure.

Your fingernails drag against the underneath of his cock, tracing the incredibly sensitive skin until he’s slowly thrusting his hips into your fist. “Only the hot ones,” you tease, your thumb pressing against the tip of his beading tip, the warm pre-cum slick and spreading quickly against his flushed tip.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Bakugou continues, his head tipping backward, exposing the slenderness of his neck that begs for your teeth to sink into. “Just needed to take a fucking piss.”

“Nervous, you’ll pee all over me, and I won’t want to suck your dick?” you ask, your fingers brushing near his scrotum, eyes blazing dangerously at the sight of his gasping, jaw-dropping face. His hips rut forward, leaking cock dripping with his pre-cum, and you giggle softly, fisting him faster, spreading the pre-cum against his heated sex.

Your fingers run against his throbbing length, your palm tight and hot against his cock, the veins you drag across searing against your flesh, ingraining itself onto your skin and memory forever. Despite it all, the obvious near tangible horror Bakugou has on the thought of pissing on you, he continues to fuck into your fist.

“Damn bitch like you would probably l-like it if I pissed on you,” Bakugou pants, his casted arms twitching at his chest. His head tilted away from you, but his eyes burning into you, the red eyes hot as fire against your skin. “You want me to piss on you? Make you my bitch.”

The words burn against your skin, your teeth biting onto your lower lip as you meet his gaze. You’ve never considered it before, never thought you’d be into it. As a nurse, you’ve been around piss, shit, and vomit, and while you had grown unfazed by it, you never considered the prospect of a man pissing on you. But you thought of it, of Bakugou standing above you, free from his casts, hands on his cock as he smirks down at you with golden liquid spraying from his cock, soaking you where you lay.

You shudder, pleasant chills running down your spine as you stare into his eyes yet again.

“And if I do?” you ask, fingers rolling the head of his cock between your forefinger and thumb, relishing in the way that he snarls low in his throat. “What’re you gonna do about that, Ground Zero-san? You gonna piss all over your bitch after you get out of here.”

“You want me to piss on you here?” he asks, his voice snappish, strained, his hips drilling harder into your hand that was quickly speeding up. A battle of power and speed between the both of you as he looms over you, face flushed, pink, and lips demanding to be kissed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you do.”

“Why’s that?” you breathe, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a breath away as your hand grips and tightens even more around the base of his cock, causing a pained-pleasured hiss to rip from behind his teeth as he looks at you.

“Don’t act like your shitty ass hasn’t been trying to seduce me every time I show up,” Bakugou gruffs, his hips continuing a drilling rhythm into your fist, his body no longer shy or embarrassed.

“So you noticed but never said anything?” you counter, your fingers shifting over to his swollen, hot balls. You fondle them, tugging at their weight gently, taking in the way his eyes roll to the back of his head and the way his teeth tear into his lip. “Coward.”

“Hah?! Who the fuck—”

You can’t help yourself anymore, your mouth coming to slam against his in a piercing, searing kiss. He moans into the kiss, and you gasp back, tongues clashing together, teeth knocking into each other as awkward, nearing uncomfortable kisses are exchanged. His sweet scent of caramel wafts into your nose, and his grunts and groans are addicting, entirely enthusiastic noises that send your own thighs clenching shut to quiet the heated need in between your thighs.

Your hand increases in its speed, his whines and groans so pretty and piercing into you.

“How fucking gross,” you laugh into his mouth, the slicked heat of his precum lathering your palm until soft noises of your fisting hand begin to fill the sterile bathroom. “You’re a child, wanting to piss on things that you shouldn’t. You came to the bathroom and got a hard-on instead of pissing, Bakugou, aren’t you embarrassed.”

“Y-Y/l/n,” he hissed, his jaw falling slack against your mouth. His hips are drilling into you faster and faster, the throbbing of his cock, the growing, thick scent of his caramel sweat filling the room and your senses. “F-Fuck!”

“Such a dirty, childish pro hero,” you smile your tongue curling into his mouth and dragging against the roof of his mouth as he shudders helplessly against you. “Cum already, Bakugou, cum and piss over yourself like some small brat.”

He shudders, and you find your mouth leaving his own as you stare down, spurting white ropes of cum pour from his tip, completely covering the toilet seat with his sticky white cum. And you watch as soon as his body collapses onto you, entirely spent from the orgasm, yellow piss streaming from his tip.

The toilet fills with his cum and piss, and you grin once his balls and bladder are completely drained. His cock limp and weak in your hand as you hum, your quirk activating and causing the exhausted Pro Hero to recompose himself so that he wasn’t entirely weak against you.

“Such a good patient,” you coo, pulling up Bakugou’s boxers and hospital pants without a second's thought. Patting his butt gently, you watched as his still exhausted red eyes stared at you. You walked over to the sink, washing your hands so that you could continue to finish the rest of your shift.

“Don’t think this is over, shitty nurse.”

You look at him over your shoulder, your fingers curling under the warm water as you grin.

“I expect to be fucked and pissed on next time,” you counter, your smirk devastating and sending a fire right back to Bakugou’s groin. “No freebies anymore.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bbs kinktober 2020 #tw: water sports

2K notes · View notes

blxetsi · 3 years

Note

I was curious if you’d be up for headcanon of adopting Gabi Braun, or what it’s like being her older sibling?

If not maybe just Pieck relationship headcanons

Please and thank you

im so sorry im getting to this so late 😭🤚 ty for requesting ‼️

‼️CONTENT WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 AND CHAPTER 139‼️

adopting gabi braun headcanons (canonverse)

characters: gf!sasha braus x gn!reader, platonic!gabi braun x gn!reader, fatherly!levi ackerman x gn!reader, platonic!falco grice x gn!reader

warnings: death, angst, hatred for kids (fuck them kids‼️), peepaw levi 😁👍

- uhhhhhh,, your relationship w gabi had a very rocky start. Lol !

- it all started when your friend eren jaeger decided to run away to infiltrate marley causing the survey corps to go get him just as a war was declared between your countries, and then two kids snuck onto the airship you were using to escape and shot your girlfriend. and she died. Lol !

- you had a lot of hatred for gabi in the beginning, and it was understandable

- you blamed her for shooting sasha, but you also blamed yourself for not being able to save her.

- you were a trained medic, you were supposed to save people, and yet you couldnt even save the woman you loved. it was like a slap in the face, like god was playing some cruel joke on you

- you remember sitting against the wall with sasha's blood staining your hands. you could barely process what happened at the time, and then levi came

- he sat next to you, taking a handkerchief out of nowhere seemingly, and just wordlessly wiped your hands down.

- your relationship with the older man was never defined, even today, but you both cared for each other

- the next time you saw gabi, was in that restaurant, niccolo had attacked gabi and falco, injuring them both, and said she killed sasha

- your blood went cold, you felt so many things, the grief you had pushed down in favour of your job, anger, fear, among other things

- niccolo had said there needed to be justice, he said that gabi should die for what she did, he tried to get sasha's father to kill her, and all you did was stand there.

- your body went on autopilot, barely listening to mr. braus' speech, you watched as kaya pointed a knife at gabi, and you listened to her wails of agony as you blindly led mikasa, armin, and gabi to a different room

- you were scared of yourself, for what you were thinking. did you really want a kid to die ? she did kill your girlfriend, the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, the woman that shared her food with you, the woman that held you when you got scared at night, the woman that promised you that after the war you two would live on a farm together, and have a family of your own.

- but she was still a child. she didnt know any better. you were conflicted in your feelings, especially after hearing what niccolo had said, but it all just emphasized what was already known to you. she was a child

- your blood was pounding in your ears, and you could faintly hear gabi asking your comrades if they wanted to kill her. when armin reassured her they didnt, she looked to you and asked "what about them ?"

- you didnt answer her, and continued to lead them down where eren would be meeting you all. you were supposed to drop them off, but eren made you stay, and then a fight broke out

- you dont remember when you did it, but you held gabi in your arms, shielding her from the fight. you think you needed to be held more than she did

- things got more complicated after that, and slowly the hatred you had for sasha's killer went away, until all you had left was a hole in your chest from guilt and sadness.

- at fort salta, you thought you were going to die there, next to your friends. you thought you'd become a mindless titan, like connie's family

- but you didnt, well you did, but only for a short time, and when you turned back, you reunited with your friends

- looking around for gabi, you saw her tackle falco into a hug, which made you smile

- "y/n !" jean called, you remember looking behind you in confusion, he sounded distressed, but you understood why when you saw sasha saluting the three of you

- you felt your legs move on your own, and you ran closer to her, before stopping about a meter away. she was dead, you knew she was dead, but she was there, wearing that goofy smile on her face and looking at you as if you'd hung the stars in the sky

- she looked at you. "you did good." hearing her voice felt like a dream. your mouth felt dry, and your jaw opened and closed like a fish before you felt tears sting your eyes. "i love you."

- she nodded, before looking at the sky. "i know." she replied. sasha looked back at you before giving you a soft smile. "you know what to do now." before she disappeared in the debris

- you knew what to do, so you did it

- you found levi sitting against a rock, and when you leaned down next to him he muttered something. "i saw erwin again. and hange. all of them." you nodded. "i saw sasha." he looked at you, and gave you the closest thing to a smile. "i guess we're both at peace now."

*****

- three years later, you've become a school teacher in paradis, teaching young children how to read, to write, and basic math. you teach them about art and music, and nature. its nice being surrounded by children all day, kids are lovely.

- you live with gabi, falco and levi, in a small house inside wall sina. levi's legs have gotten weaker with time, causing him to use a wheelchair and crutches. he's given up on his dream of a tea shop, but is content with the life he has now.

- gabi and falco have gotten more rowdy with age, but they've both matured quite a bit. they make you proud

- you send letters to sasha's family. kaya is growing up, and has taken over archery just like her sister. niccolo is living with them now.

- you'll never be able to let go of sasha, or what happened to her, but the pain in your chest has dulled immensely. you think about her sometimes, when youre in bed alone, wanting to feel the warmth of her body in your arms, you know you should move on, you get teased about not having a new girlfriend, even levi has made comments about there being "plenty of fish in the sea"

it was a late night, on a friday. you were grading spelling tests at the dining room table, one lone candle being your source of light. your pen moves swiftly across the different pieces of paper, adding check marks or x marks when needed, adding a note at the bottom of each test, before adding a smiley face on all of your students' hard work. it was tedious, but it needed to be done, and you had to remember to bring them in on monday, you couldn't forget like last time.

you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. they were soft, and slow, and at first you thought it was levi but realized it couldn't be since you couldn't hear the soft tapping of his crutches on the stairs. they came down to the bottom and stood there, it was gabi, dressed in a light pink nightgown that came down to her knees, and her disheveled hair in the braid you did for her before bed.

you pushed your reading glasses to the top of your head. "what are you doing up ? it's late."

she shrugged, and walked over to sit across from you at the table. gabi grabbed the stack of papers that you already graded and shuffled through them, giggling when she found a misspelling.

you rolled her eyes. "don't laugh, they're six."

she shook her head. "i was spelling ten times better than this when i was their age."

"uh huh."

"are you calling my bluff ?"

you chuckled. "maybe. you should be in bed though."

"why ? it's not like we have school tomorrow."

you shrugged. "i was thinking we could go on a picnic outside the walls. it gets stuffy in here."

she nodded. "that would be fun."

the silence came back for a while, until you finished grading and set your papers aside.

"you know, i hear you sometimes." she whispered.

you looked at the brunette in confusion. "how do you mean ?"

"when your in bed, sometimes you cry."

you scoffed, and leaned back in your chair. "yeah well, i try to muffle it."

"i don't think ive ever apologized to you," she started. her eyes welled up with tears and her hands shook on the table. her cheeks and nose became pink as she held herself back from crying. "i know i feel bad, and i regret killing her but, i've never actually apologized to you for-"

"don't." you said. you kept your eyes on your lap, you felt your throat growing tight. "please gabi, don't say anything."

"i need to apologize-"

"you don't. you killed her. she's dead, the war is over. it's done. just let it go." you said, your voice wavering.

"have you let it go ?"

your head shot up to her. "i lost the woman i was going to spend the rest of my life with. she promised me a safe home, a farm, and a family. and she promised we'd grow old together. and that didn't happen. i grew up with her, i've known her since i was twelve, we started dating when i was sixteen. of course i haven't let it go, gabi."

gabi looked shocked by your outburst, but nodded. she understood how you felt, and she felt so guilty. "you don't forgive me do you ? i get it, i really do. i'm sorry."

you shook your head. "gabi no, i do. i do forgive you. i just, i can't forget it." you whimpered, tears started streaming down your face and you choked back a sob. "i loved her with all of my heart, i still do, but i don't hate you-"

gabi rolled her eyes, tears coming out uncontrollably now. "you should. i killed her, i ruined your chance of a happy life ! she was your family and i-"

"gabi no !" you exclaimed, cutting her off. at this point you both looked like a mess, and you were worried you woke up the boys. you grabbed her shaking hands in your own and held them to you. "you are my family. you are. so is falco, and so is levi. i forgive you, and i love you with all of my heart." you said, a sad smile on your face. her eyes widened at your words, before she started sobbing.

you got up from the table to come to her side, and held her in your arms as she cried. her arms wrapped around your shoulders while she dug her head into your neck, tickling you with her hair.

you rubbed her back and cradled her head while shushing her. she sobbed out a muffled "i love you so much y/n." that you chuckled at.

"i love you too so much." you whispered back.

it took a long time for gabi to calm down, but when she did you still held her, rocking her and yourself back and forth slightly. you two moved from the chairs down to the floor, funny enough.

you kissed the top of her head before talking, the only noise in the room being your whispers, her sniffles and the living room clock. "you know reiner's coming home soon. are you excited ?" she nodded against your skin and sniffled again, clearing her throat too.

"i hope he brings me a gift or something." she whispered back, her voice hoarse. it made you laugh, and you had to cover your mouth to keep quiet.

"they're going to shiganshina district for a couple of days, to visit mikasa and eren, and then mikasa will come with them to the capital."

"do you miss her ?" she asked.

"so much. i miss all of them, but mikasa is a close friend of mine, she holds a special place in my heart."

"do you think you and levi will go to the meetings between the marley ambassadors and the jaegerists ?" she asked.

"maybe, if they feel as though they really need us."

you sighed through your nose, which was a bit stuffy from crying. "after we turned back into humans, i saw sasha again."

gabi lifted her head up from where it was resting on your shoulder. "what ?"

"yeah, i saw her ghost i think." you looked down on her with a smile on your face. "she told me i knew what i needed to do, and then i went and got levi and you and falco." you paused for a moment, thinking about how you would word what you were thinking. "i did what i needed to do, i got my family together." gabi's eyes widened. "sasha promised me a family, and although this wasn't the family i had envisioned, it's still a family nonetheless. i believe her last gift to me was you, falco, and levi. and i am so grateful to have you all in my life."

gabi smiled before hugging you. she opened her mouth to say something-

"oi !" a deep voice came from the top of the stairs. "you two woke me up with all of your crying. go to bed." before your heard the creaking of the floorboards and the closing of a door.

you chuckled before standing up, pulling gabi with you. you walked her to her room, and even tucked her in, you both exchanged 'i love yous' and 'goodnights' before you retreated from her bedroom, closing the door behind you.

across the hall, levi stood leaned on his doorway with his arms crossed together. "that family speech, that was cute." he commented. you rolled your eyes at the older man. "were you listening in on a private conversation ?" you teased.

the ex-captain scoffed and looked away. "go to bed y/n. we have a picnic to go on tomorrow." before closing his door.

you chuckled to yourself, remembering how you brought up the idea to him that morning, and he only replied with a curt "we'll see" before sipping on his morning tea.

you went back to your own room, and got into your bed. you turned on your side, and looked at the space you always left open for sasha, and brushed your hand against the pillow.

"goodnight love."

uhhhhh doesnt feel like my best work but whatevs 😁👍 enjoy my comeback to tumblr 🤩🙏

requests open mfs ‼️

#attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #erwin smith #hange zoe #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x gn!reader #sasha braus #sasha blouse #sasha braus x reader #sasha blouse x reader #niccolo aot #falco grice #gabi braun #gabi x falco #chapter 139

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 12 - A Little Death

Masterlist; Chapter 11

Summary: You have to help Neil get back onto his feet after the tragic news. The lack of control and overwhelming grief lead to a few revelations...

Warnings: This is quite angsty still despite mentions of comfort; excessive drinking; self-harm (only implied); swearing

Author’s Notes: Okay so the length of this is beyond me and I’m sorry. This takes place just before Neil’s departure to Mumbai, film-wise. I really hope you’ll enjoy and please let me know what you think!

P.S. The referenced song is ‘A Little Death’ by The Neighbourhood

You did not check how long you were sat like that on the floor, cradling Neil and letting him cry and shake as though those were the only things he was capable of. Later you realised it was probably close to two hours as by the time you got up, it was nearly evening. But for those two hours, you just let him take his time. He did not speak, and you only occasionally whispered words of reassurance into his ear. You kept on drawing soothing circles into the skin of his back. After the first half-hour, you found a much-needed package of tissues and placed them in his lap. Despite his silence, you knew that your presence meant everything. And so you stayed, ignoring the rumbling in your stomach and tiredness. For the most part, you also ignored your own tears, fully aware that this was not about you, nor it should be.

Neil’s heart-wrenching sobs stopped after those two hours and were replaced with small gasps as though he was struggling for air. That is when you knew that the breakdown was past its culmination point. Slowly, you shifted so that you could look at him and gently tipped his chin. His eyes were puffy and red. The heart-breaking look he gave you was enough to nearly tip you off the edge. But you had to be strong. So you just took a deep breath and broke the silence:

“Don’t say you’re sorry for this because that’s the least I could have done for you” he nodded hesitantly upon seeing your determined gaze “I’m here for you, and I won’t make you talk about anything but sometimes it helps” you kissed him on the forehead.

When you met his gaze afterwards, you were struck by the admiration you saw there. He smiled at you slightly as though trying to convey something difficult to be expressed otherwise. You smiled back and took his hand in yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. After another beat, you got up and filled a glass of water for him. You knew well enough how something so simple is needed after crying for so long. You watched as he emptied the whole glass, placed it on the side, and took a deep breath. Then he spoke for the first time in two hours.

“I… I know that this isn’t what you’re used to from me” he shrugged helplessly.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still someone I care about deeply” for a second you wondered why you felt like you wanted to say more.

But now was definitely not the time. So, instead, you added:

“Tell me what happened? If you’re ready, of course” you took his hand back and smiled when he entwined your fingers on reflex.

“When we arrived, he…” Neil swallowed hard “TP called us to his office and started explaining the next steps in the operation. He mentioned the bloody Mumbai and how I’m needed there tomorrow” he clenched his jaw, and you felt the tension rise.

You placed your free hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Then you let your hand linger on the side of his neck. He sighed at your touch before resuming the story:

“Then he asked Ives to leave, and we talked a bit about everything… It was like the old days, you know” his brow furrowed “He mentioned how I’m probably his greatest friend in the whole world… How I helped him make Tenet into what it is now and how that wouldn’t be possible without my contribution” he exhaled shakily “We even talked about you” he glanced up and met your surprised look “Just about how it was seemingly fate that brought us together and how you fit in so well here, just taking everything in your stride” you smiled at the words shyly.

Even though it hurt you to know that he was not allowed the truth about your hiring. But maybe that was for the better, you mused.

“We talked like that for over an hour before he started acting strange… The things he said…” he seemed to gather words “It didn’t make much sense, but now I think I should’ve realised that he was…” he shuddered slightly “That it was supposed to be a goodbye” you saw the tears in his eyes again and shifted so that he could rest his forehead on your shoulder.

“Don’t blame yourself for not predicting what will happen. There’s no point in that” you leaned against the foot of the bed behind to be more comfortable.

“Maybe… But I felt something was wrong, so an hour after I left his quarters, I went back in” you tightened the hold on his hand, feeling the moment approach “The door was unlocked and he… he was just sat there” Neil brought his head up to look at you with teary eyes “I thought that he was fine but then… there was no pulse, and he wasn’t breathing” you felt him become breathless and gently urged him to slow down.

When he stopped hyperventilating, you let him lean on your shoulder again.

“He died alone… and I couldn’t do anything about it” you were not sure if you preferred the dejected tone or the former sobs “I was supposed to be his best friend, his partner”

“I think that he didn’t want to hurt you even more by making you watch it happen” you suggested, trying to make sense of the situation.

After the earlier text and what Neil told you begun to understand that TP intended to do it. To end his life. You just had to find a reason why.

“But I don’t understand why he did it” Neil’s voice broke through your contemplation “There was no reason to… He said himself that the plan is going well” you could hear anger creeping into his voice.

“I know… But maybe there was a reason…” you trailed off.

Neil watched you sharply, and you felt like if you said something wrong, you could risk losing him again. You had to tread softly.

“You once said that he never did things without reasons” you stumbled over the tense and frowned “And that’s the same feeling I got when I talked with him… Maybe he had to do that to avoid clashing with his former self in any way” you glanced at Neil to gauge his expression.

He was staring ahead into space with a serious look in his eyes, considering what you said.

“Is like… they mentioned during training that it would be bad if we ever came in contact with our other selves, inverted and so on” you kept on rambling, hoping it was helping somehow “So maybe he was afraid that his existence now would coincide with his younger self out there”

“There must have been better ways of dealing with that” you could tell that he was angry.

At himself. At TP. At the universe. And there was nothing you could do.

“Maybe that was all that he could think of”

You watched helplessly as he turned away from you, suddenly overcome with the emotions. You urged yourself to calm down. Maybe now was a good moment to mention the text…?

“I… I got a text message from him actually… as I was getting here in the cab” you took out your phone and gingerly offered it to him.

Neil took it without question and read over the recent message. Then you saw his eyes dart to other text conversations. But you did not mind. There was nothing to hide. He handed you back the phone without a further word. Then he got up and wandered over to one of the side cabinets.

Now that was concerning.

“Neil?” you scrambled after him and watched in horror as he hastily threw the cabinet contents onto the floor.

Finally, he found a whisky bottle hidden in the back and took a triumphant swing out of it. That sight made you shake off any paralysis you fell into. You crossed the room and snatched the bottle from him. The dark look he gave you was somewhat terrifying. He took a step closer as you took one back. Then he met your gaze challengingly as though doubting your ability to deny him anything. But this time, you were not going to give in. You shook your head and extended the gap.

“It helps with the pain” Neil shrugged helplessly.

“I know, but I think you’ve had enough for today” you gestured towards the empty bottles on the floor.

Thinking fast, you decided to act. You took out your phone and summoned Ives, asking him to come by Neil’s room in a moment. He responded instantly, evidently waiting on the news. Once that was dealt with, you went on to pick up the reminders of Neil’s state. When he saw you do that, you heard him speak:

“If you’re going to take away all the alcohol, then at least leave me the empty bottles” you turned to see an unfamiliar cynical smile “The glass might come handy” the emptiness in his eyes made the delivery worse.

You could only stare, processing the words. Suddenly everything felt too overwhelming.

“Neil…”

You stared at him pleadingly, hoping that maybe the look of panic in your eyes will help him realise what he said. You did not dare breathe until he somehow denied your worst anxieties about the situation. You watched as his face fell, then he covered it with his hands and breathed out a long exhale.

“Fuck. I’m sorry…” he stared at the floor “I didn’t mean it” he looked up at you remorsefully “I don’t know why I said that…”

“It’s okay. Just don’t ever scare me like that again” you gave him a weary smile.

Before you could say anything more, a knock on the door interrupted you. At Neil’s quizzical stare, you answered:

“Ives. I’ve asked him to come” you moved to the door, clutching all the bottles in your arms “Give me a second. And please don’t do anything stupid” you gave him a final warning look before you exited into the corridor.

Ives waited there with a worried expression on his face that seemed fixed at this point.

“Is he alright?” he asked, glancing at the door you closed.

You shuddered, thinking about the situation you just dealt with. But he need not know all that.

“He will be. For now, though…” you placed all the bottles of alcohol in his arms “Take these please and maybe get us a little something to eat from the kitchen… and tea” you tried to gather your thoughts.

“Okay” he nodded “If you need anything else, let me know”

“Thanks” you sighed, feeling the tiredness slowly descent upon your whole body.

But there was no time for that. Not yet.

“I’ll stay with him tonight” for once, Ives did not tease you about it, and you were grateful.

“His plane is at 3 pm tomorrow. Do you think that’s manageable?” he looked sceptical.

“It has to be” you smiled as Ives squeezed your shoulder reassuringly “I better go back to him. Just leave the food outside and knock on the door, please. Think it’s best if he doesn’t see anyone else tonight”

“Of course”

Without further word, you entered the room again and locked the door behind you. Neil was sat on the bed, anxiously picking at the skin around his fingernails. His hair was falling in his eyes, and he was staring at his lap, looking incredibly lost. It hurt you to see him like this. Ignoring the growing ache in your chest, you approached him slowly.

“I asked Ives to get us some food and tea because I think we both could do with that” you attempted a smile when he looked up “But before it arrives, you could shower and get changed… that could help a little”

You stood near enough to reach out and brush your fingers over his cheek tenderly. He seemed to consider your words for a moment before he leaned into your palm.

“Okay, I’ll try” you saw him hesitate before adding, “Thank you for putting up with this”

“Of course, that’s what friends are for” for some reason, the word felt wrong. And he noticed that too as you saw a small frown appear before he smiled at you and left for the bathroom.

When you heard him put the shower on, you started cleaning the room. You put away the pages that landed on the floor and made the bed. While you were smoothing the covers, your brain came up with a rather intrusive thought about how there you were, alone with Neil in his room. Again. And how that really did not fit in with the friendship story you desperately clung to. Because it was rather obvious that you would end up sharing the bed again. That was not something friends did this frequently. You did your best to shut that voice, but you could not deny the facts. So you just sighed and waited patiently for Neil to remerge.

Food arrived before he showed up, so you just set the coffee table. Once you were done, you heard the bathroom door creak. You turned to look at him and were taken aback by the casualness of his get-up. For the first time since you have met, he was not wearing suit trousers and a shirt, and instead had loose joggers and a t-shirt on. Despite the reality of the situation you found yourself in, you could not help but stare. He caught your look with a rather sheepish expression that you did not expect.

Interesting… But there was no time to dwell on it, so you just invited him to the table and encouraged him to have something from the selection Ives got you. Sometimes you would anxiously glance at him to see whether his mood has not changed for worse again. But he seemed fine; quiet and sombre but there with you, physically and mentally. And that was what mattered for the moment. So after you ate, you suggested settling in bed to rest. Neil agreed to that without any objections, giving you hope that maybe he was past his worst point.

After the initial awkwardness of the situation wore off, and you both relaxed onto the pillows, you asked:

“Should we put the tv on? Just have some music on or something…” you searched his eyes, trying not to get too conscious of the moment.

While this was certainly not the first time for you to casually share a bed, this time it somehow felt different. But you blamed that on the rollercoaster of emotions you both went through in the recent days.

“Yeah sure” Neil nodded and sent you a small smile.

This silent version of him was strange to get used to. It felt like he was holding back from you, and you were not sure whether you liked that. But there was nothing you could do apart from giving him unlimited space and time for expression should he need it. So, to provide a distraction, you put on the tv and quickly found a suitable music channel that was not blasting annoying pop songs. Silence fell on you again, as you let the music help you relax. You were not even paying attention to the exact songs played.

‘Make me feel like I am breathing Feel like I am human’

That is until you felt Neil shift, and you glanced in his direction only to meet his intense stare. The blue eyes were fixed on you with a hazy tint on the pupils. Before you could ask him anything, he moved closer. You were struck by the look of intoxication on his face. Somehow you knew that it was not due to alcohol. You felt slightly paralysed by the multitude of feelings that came then. Neil ended his scrutiny of your face to ask:

“Can I kiss you?” his voice was huskier than usual.

‘Touch me, yeah I want you to touch me there’

“Neil...” his name usually came quite handy in those speechless moments.

There were millions of reasons why you should not let him, but the look on his face and what he said next started breaking down the resolve.

“I know” he was looking at you with something close to pleading “I know this won’t fix anything, but if for at least a few seconds I can forget about this mess... then please give me that”

‘She sought death on a queen-sized bed And he had said, "Darling, your looks can kill, So now you're dead.’

He was close now. So close that all you had to do was lean in and kiss him softly. He sighed at the contact, and you brushed away the damp hair from his eyes. Then he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer with his hands on your waist. You were too lost in the moment to stop him when he urged you to lie down on the covers. Feeling your heart pound in your chest, you continued the kiss as he hovered over your body. His hands wandered until you felt him slide them underneath the fabric of your shirt. The warm, sudden touch on your bare skin acted as a warning. You gasped and broke the kiss, but not before he managed to bite on your lower lip, drawing blood. The desperate whine he let out made you open your eyes in a flash. The darkness of his eyes made you realise how close it got to the point of no return. That was enough to help you shake off the daze.

“Please, not like this” you pushed him away gently.

Your cheeks were burning as you came to realise what nearly happened. But once you met Neil’s gaze again, you could tell that he was still not quite aware of the reality. The passionate look in his eyes was replaced with something akin to begging.

“I just want to get lost in you” he murmured, still keeping his hands on the bare skin of your waist.

He ran his fingers along your sides, and you shivered. Inhaling slowly, you tried to calm down. Normally his words would have made you throw caution to the wind. But something like that could be disastrous right now.

“I don’t want it to happen like that” you pushed him off you completely and sat up, suddenly unable to look him in the eye.

“But you want it?” the hopeful tone made your insides flutter with thousands of anxious butterflies.

Fuck… Of course, he wouldn’t let it go easily.

“Ask me again when we’re both better” you hoped that you sounded surer than you felt.

You touched the split lip and wiped away the blood droplet with your thumb. That moment must have awakened something in Neil, as suddenly you heard him inhale sharply before he blurted:

“God, I’m so sorry” you looked up to see him staring at you in terror “I don’t know what overcame me… It’s not that I didn’t want to…” he was clearly struggling with whatever he wanted to say.

“It’s okay. I won’t hold you accountable for whatever happened… or almost happened” you gave him your most convincing smile despite feeling more confused than ever.

“But I… I want you to know I didn’t do that only because I’ve lost control” that was enough for you.

“Neil, it’s fine” you interrupted him “You don’t have to explain. It doesn’t matter” you forced another smile onto your face, praying he will drop the topic.

You could not even explain why it hurt so much. Maybe because you worried it was just him losing control? And that if there was someone else with him in your place, it would have happened anyway? But it felt selfish to have those thoughts after everything that happened, so you just tried to rake your brain for some other distraction. Somehow, this moment felt right to breach a topic that has been on your mind for the past few hours. Slowly, you turned to face Neil, who was evidently still pondering the situation while staring at the tv screen unseeingly.

“Neil…” he turned to you the instant you said his name “Before I came here, Ives told me about Alex…”

The moment you mentioned the name, you could see a plethora of emotions flash in Neil’s eyes. There was shock, sadness, and worry, among others. He visibly tensed and tried to school his features before responding.

“I- I would’ve told you” he was desperately searching for the right words “There just wasn’t a good moment, and I didn’t know if you…”

“No, no. Stop right there” you interrupted him, worried by the rambling “I didn’t mention that because I want an explanation or because it hurt me in any way” you met his gaze steadily “I only wanted you to know that I’ve been told. And that if you ever wanted to talk about it, I’m here” you tried your best to convey the support and love (?) into the long look you gave him.

“But… is-is this okay? Are you okay with that?” the doubt and genuine worry in his eyes made your heart clench painfully.

You wanted to hurt whoever made him question things like that.

“Of course it’s okay. You loved and lost him, and that’s the only thing I care about” tentatively, you reached out to take his hand again “It’s a vital part of your story, and I want to know you better” you smiled, seeing him relax slightly.

“Thank you… I’ll tell you one day, I promise” he brushed his thumb along your knuckles “But I think he’d like you”

You were not expecting that.

“Yeah?” you blushed slightly, suddenly flustered.

“He used to call me out on my bullshit too… and never fell for my charm too easily” he smiled fondly.

You liked the way pleasant memories seemed to light up his whole face.

“I can see some similarities then” you grinned shyly “To be fair, you need someone to keep you from getting too cocky” experimentally, you reached out to ruffle his hair.

If his blissful smile and the way he leaned into your touch were anything to go by, he did enjoy the gesture.

“I’m not sure I deserve you” he opened his eyes and looked at you with some kind of new emotion.

But before you could find any ways of answering that, he yawned. Once, then twice. The tiredness was finally catching up with him.

“Think you should try to get some sleep” upon his silent question, you added, “I’ll stay in case you need me”

For a second you wanted to offer that you will take the sofa, but somehow you knew that was not what he would have wanted. And neither did you if you were to be honest with yourself. So you just watched as he hesitantly started shifting on the bed, trying to find the most comfortable position. You switched off the forgotten tv and the lights and slowly laid down on the pillow. In the quiet, you could hear his shallow breaths. One look in his direction was enough to help you decide. You moved closer, closing the safety gap, and carefully placed your arm on his waist. After a beat, you curled up around him, with your head resting on his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” you asked, following the tense silence.

“Yeah… It’s just that I really don’t think I deserve any of this” you could hear the apprehension creeping back into his voice.

“You deserve much more” you pressed a small kiss to his neck “But let’s start with this. Good night, Neil”

“Good night…” he hesitated but then just exhaled, letting you hug him closer to your body.

*** The peace lasted only for the first two hours. After that, you were awoken by Neil tossing nervously. Before you could properly come to your senses, he let out a few soft whimpers. Shit. You shifted so that you were hovering over him and took a long look. His brow was furrowed, jaw clenched, and he was incredibly tense. Whatever nightmare he was having, it was escalating quickly. The next thing you knew, tears were falling down his cheeks, and he was mumbling something, sounding distressed. That was enough. You cupped his cheek, as softly as you could, and leaned in close:

“It’s just a dream” you kissed him on the forehead “Wake up love” you were not sure where the endearment came from.

You leaned back to see his eyes open in a blink. His gaze was unfocused, evidently still lost in the nightmarish world. Using the hand that was cupping his face, you brushed the stray hair away from his eyes. His breaths were fast yet shallow. Knowing the experience well, you immediately kicked into action.

“Neil, listen to me” you waited until his eyes locked with yours “It was just a dream. It’s all okay now” you placed your hand on his chest over the heart “You need to calm down”

“I can’t breathe” he choked out and sat up suddenly, nearly knocking you in the head.

“You’re panicking” you shifted so you could be sat in front of him.

The fact that you nearly climbed into his lap in the process had to be ignored for the time being. You took his hand in yours and placed it in the middle of your chest so he could feel the rising and falling with every breath you took. With your other hand, you tilted his chin so that he was forced to meet your gaze. His pupils were darkened by panic and adrenaline.

“Follow my breath” you made him match your breathing for a few cycles.

Once you heard his inhales and exhales elongate and level off, you let go of the hand you kept pressed to your chest. He kept it there for a moment longer, as though making sure you were really in front of him.

“I’m sorry” the heartbroken and tired look he gave you was enough to make your heart ache “You really shouldn’t have to deal with this mess”

“It was my conscious choice, and I would never leave you alone after something like this” you leaned in closer and pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth “Now, let’s try going back to sleep, shall we?”

This time he was holding on to you as though you were the only constant thing. With his arms around you and the warmth of his body, you could almost forget about the mess you both had to face in the morning. Before drifting off to sleep, you pondered his words again. More and more, you were sure that he got it the wrong way around. It was you who did not deserve someone like him. And you were afraid he would soon realise as much once the initial crush (or whatever it was) passed. But for now, you allowed yourself peace as you relaxed into his embrace and buried your face in his chest. If by some accident, the universe decided to be on your side, you would not complain.

*** In the morning, you were both awakened by Ives calling to make sure both of you were alive and awake. You had to blame the awkwardness that followed it on that very phone call. You only managed to shake it off when you sat down to the breakfast you brought from the canteen. You passed Neil coffee in silence, cursing your inability to hold a conversation after everything. But this time, he had some solutions. As your fingers brushed, he set down the coffee cup on the table and turned to you:

“I’m sorry about everything that I did and said yesterday” he glanced at your split lip “I wasn’t in control... and I don’t want you to be scared. I’d never do anything like that normally” he shifted nervously.

You knew an apology was coming, especially after seeing the way he looked at you ever since waking up. And while, admittedly, his behaviour worried you, you did not dare to think about how your ‘almost’ made you feel.

“I know, and I won’t judge you on how you acted last night” you put on your best smile, hoping to end the topic as quickly as possible.

But it was not meant to be as he clearly thought hard on what to say next. All you could do was wait and listen.

“I know that I crossed some lines” finally, he found the right words “And while I can’t deny that I was acting on my genuine desires…” he searched your eyes to make sure you understood “I won’t do that again because I respect your wishes to keep this strictly friendly”

Was this your imagination, or did he sound like he did not want to say that? If you were honest with yourself, that was not something you wanted to hear either. But now was most definitely not the time, so you just reached out to squeeze his knee reassuringly.

“Thank you, and don’t worry about it. We’re all good” he covered your hand with his and mirrored your smile.

Maybe all this confusion was worth it? After a short beat, you took your hand away and went back to breakfast. The silence was still there, but at least it was less awkward now. When you noticed him frown at the headache that was undoubtedly bothering him, you passed a painkiller. He smiled gratefully.

“So… when is my plane?” he asked after you both cleared the plates.

You could tell that he was dreading the trip. And it hurt to know that there was no way for you to help him.

“3 o’clock” you glanced at the watch “Which gives us about five hours to get you ready” you took in his sombre expression.

“I really don’t want to go” he met your gaze with emotionless eyes “It’s so fucking cruel to have me assist whoever the fuck that guy is when my best friend just killed himself. And I don’t even know why” the anger and hurt in his voice were somehow worse today.

Maybe it was because you could not blame it on his intoxication anymore.

“I know… And wish I had any answers, but I don’t know more than you do” you could only give him an apologetic half-smile “But I know that you have to be there to help… him”

Calling the younger version TP seemed somehow wrong. And you could only imagine how it must feel for Neil, on the eve of meeting that different version of his partner.

“He won’t even know who I am” there was a broken edge to his voice “How am I supposed to meet him and act as though he’s a stranger?”

“Alright, walk me through what you’ve been told, and I’ll try to help as best as I can”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather go back to sleep?” he eyed you sceptically “You must be tired, and it’s all my fault”

“Neil, stop” you have had enough of the self-depreciation “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m here for you” you took his hand in yours “And I wouldn’t rest anyway without knowing you’re well. So let’s go through the plan and then I’ll help you pack”

He only gaped at you with a dazed expression on his face. You wondered how someone so incredible could ever doubt their importance so much.

*** Surprisingly you managed to get Neil ready in time for the taxi departure. Together you planned the mission, made sure he had all the necessary information and contacts and was as mentally well as he could be after everything. When the time was near, Ives knocked on his door. This time, Neil let him in. You watched as the two men embraced tightly, sharing the trauma and sadness. Ives then took a step back and eyed Neil coolly.

“You did a good job” he flashed you a smile “He looks much better than I expected”

“Would you mind?” Neil looked at you nervously, and you laughed at the brief moment of lightness.

“Must say it wasn’t easy, but I did my best” to prove a point, you wandered over to Neil and smoothed his suit jacket.

After disagreeing over the wardrobe choices you managed to convince him to take a few linen suits and shirts for the warm weather in India. Now you were proud you succeeded. To be fair he looked good in anything, but there was something more intimate in the fact that you chose his outfits. But once again, you were brought to the present moment by Ives clearing his throat:

“The taxi is leaving in half-hour. I’ll leave you two now” he gave you a knowing smile and exited the room before you could roll your eyes at him.

Realising you still had your hand on Neil’s shoulder, you took a step back. He was watching you attentively with a small smile on his face. That probably explained Ives’ allusions…

“I won’t ask if you’re ready but… are you okay?” you met his gaze.

“As much as I can be, I suppose” he shrugged dejectedly “I really wish I could stay with you instead”

You saw his hand twitch at his side and decided to choose for him by taking it into yours, naturally entwining your fingers.

“Unfortunately, this time we can’t decide for ourselves. But remember that you can call me if you need help or just to talk. Don’t worry about the time zones, I’ll always pick up” you tried your best to show how you felt through the expression in your eyes.

But that was a dangerous game as soon enough you got lost in the blue of his eyes. As always.

“Thank you” he breathed out, looking at you with such tenderness that almost made you feel faint “Still don’t think I deserve you though” he grinned shyly.

“Oh you do, and I’ll keep on saying that till you believe it” you raised your joined hands to your lips and kissed his knuckles “While I enjoy this slightly subdued version of you…”

“What?” his affronted face made you laugh.

“You know very well what I meant” you smirked and let go of his hand, only to pull him in for an embrace.

It took him only a second to hug you back, with his arms wound tightly around your waist.

“You said we should hug more often so” you whispered into his ear and enjoyed the laugh it prompted “Hope this is good enough for you” you ran a hand down his back.

Then, upon a sudden thought, you pushed your hands underneath his suit jacket and splayed them on his back, relishing the feel of his skin through the shirt fabric. The only indication that he felt the difference was a sharp gasp he let out as he drew you even closer.

“More than that” he kissed the top of your head.

After at least two minutes more, you took a step back but still kept your hands on his waist.

“Please be safe out there. Don’t do anything stupid. And…” you shut his mouth with a hand upon seeing him protest “And don’t get too drunk before the meeting. I know that it will be hard, but that could only make you more likely to fuck up”

Before you could take your palm away, he placed a peck on your wrist, near the pulse point. The voice in the back of your head kept screaming about how this definitely was not something friends do. But you told it to kindly fuck off. At least for now.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try” he flashed you a signature smile as though you could ever forget it “After all, I’m not the one to behave” proving the point, he brushed the pad of his thumb along your lower lip.

You inhaled sharply at the sensation. Looking questioningly into his eyes, you wondered whether he remembered about the earlier promise. But there was no time to find that out as sharp knocks interrupted you. It was time.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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beatlebachelor · 3 years

Text

May I? : Cedric diggory x reader

summary: your Cedrics best friend and you begin to realise your genuine feelings for him after he enters the Tri-wizard tournament only to find out he feels the same. hufflepuff reader!

Warnings: possibly fluffy?

Word count: 2,257

Y/N - your name

Y/E/C - your eye colour

This is my first time writing one of these so if there is any way you think i could improve please feel free to give suggestions!

Its Monday morning, 9:10 to be precise, me and my friends Cedric, Hermione, Harry and Ron were all sat down having breakfast in the great hall. Despite the fact me and Cedric were in Hufflepuff and the other three were Gryffindor we always sat together. Cedric was two years older than us and did get teased about hanging out with third years but it didn’t bother him, he enjoyed our company. I often hoped he favoured mine especially.

After everyone had finished their food Dumbledore stood up to do his weekly Monday morning speech, but it felt different this morning. “Is that Bartemius Crouch?” Hermione inquired. “Who?” Harry said cautiously. As Hermione went to answer she was quickly interrupted by Dumbledore as his voice bellowed through to the other side of the hall.

“Today, I get to announce something very special and to help me we have Sir Bartemius Crouch from The Ministry of Magic. Hogwarts has been selected to host a famous wizarding event. The Tri-Wizard Tournament!” suddenly there were many whistles, cheers and whispers coming from all four tables, me and Cedric looked at each other in immense delight but everything suddenly stopped when Dumbledore spoke again. “There have been some new rules put in place this year to ensure more safety for our students, after all this is a very dangerous competition. Sir Bartemius Crouch, if you will” a few small whispers formed from different areas of the hall. Ron whispered to us all “if any of you enter this competition ill be praying for you, this tournament is the real thing, so many people that have entered this died just from the first round” What Ron said shook me up a little, part of me knew that Cedric would give into whatever temptation he had to enter.

After all the whispers had finished Bartemius walked up to stand beside Dumbledore. He pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket where he had obviously written a speech. The room began to feel slightly tense. “From this year onward those who enter and compete in the Tri-wizard tournament must be at least 17 years old-” He was suddenly cut off by the majority of the hall shouting and screaming at him. Me, Harry, Hermione and Ron weren't phased by the new rule. None of us were of age anyway and if we were we wouldn’t have entered. Cedric however appeared to be very pleased with himself, he was 17, he could compete, he wasn’t my boyfriend or anything but id known him for ages. What if he entered and got hurt, I don’t want to stop him from doing something he is interested in though because that wouldn’t be fair.

When we all left the hall I went straight to dark arts, I didn’t speak a word to Cedric in fear that if I did I would just break down and cry. I didn’t want to ruin anything for him because I could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to win that cup, and if he wanted it then I would want it for him. After all I was his closest friend, friend... that never felt nice to say.

In dark arts I could barely focus, all I could think about was if I liked Cedric, I had known him for so long and never thought about whether how I felt about him was more than just friendship. I mean would it be so bad if I liked him? I couldn’t get him out of my head. UGGGGHHH this is so frustrating. The thought always did cross my mind about how perfect his face was, everything about him in fact, I couldn’t think of a single flaw no matter how hard I tried.

By the time lunch came I still hadn't made up my mind on if I actually fancied Cedric, I mean come on, am I really going to be like every other girl in this school and fall for his charm. And as if he’d ever like me back, by the looks of it he’s probably into one of the Beaxbatons Academy girls just like the rest of the boys in this place. In all fairness it is rather enjoyable to watch them walk, how do they always look like they are floating? Besides the point! Hopefully I'm just unwell, surely that’s the only explanation.

I went straight back to the common room, anything to avoid Cedric, even if it was missing lunch. However, it appeared my plan to avoid Cedric had failed when I walked in to see him sat on the sofa next to the fire. Just him, no one else. “Are you ok?” I asked with a shake in my voice. “Y/N I wanted to talk to you. We have been friends for ages which is why I want your opinion, I trust you” I felt a small flutter of butterflies in my stomach and proceeded to say “you trust me? I mean emm what is it?” that made me feel rather embarrassed. “Well, I was thinking of entering the Tri-wizard tournament but i know how dangerous it is and idk if I'm capable of the magic I will need to protect myself. I also don’t want to hurt anyone if something bad were to happen to me” A horrible feeling formed in my stomach and slowly moved to my throat. The thought of Cedric getting hurt made me feel sick. “Cedric don’t be silly. Your one of the most talented wizards in this whole school and you seriously think you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself. If its what you want then we all want it for you and I will help in whatever way I can to ensure you win” I said that full of confidence, I really did mean it, every word. “Youve always been there for me Y/N, I genuinely don't know what I would do without you” He pulled me in for a hug, I always loved our hugs, my head would always fall in the right place on his chest. He smells so good, almost a musky bark smell with a hint of vanilla. I wondered if he thought the same.

A week passed and it was time for the champions on the Tri-wizard tournament to be announced. First the champion of Beaxbatons, Fleur Delacour. Next the Durmstrang champion, Victor Krum. As the paper for the Hogwarts champion floated down into Dumbledores hand my stomach sunk but then I felt a slight warmth on my hand, I looked down and it was Cedric. He had interlocked his fingers into mine and was gently squeezing them with excitement, I turned to him and smiled he looked directly into my eyes with a slight smirk as his cheeks flushed pink.

Dumbledore read out the name on the paper “And finally the Hogwarts champion is, Cedric Diggory” Cedrics face lit up with pure joy, so did mine, his iridescent blue eyes glistening. He hugged me so tightly for only about 2 seconds, but there it was again, that smell, his scent makes me feel so warm inside. He let go and stood up to go shake Dumbledores hand. Everyone was cheering, mainly the girls, of course it was the girls.

Another week went by and we had been preparing for his first task, dragons, I don’t know what would've happened to Cedric if Harry didn't tip him off. We practised basic spells on how to defend himself against them for hours and hours. Now we would have to see if he remembered them. Whilst in the tent I stayed with Cedric, he asked me to, his words were “your the only one who can keep me calm” After he had picked out his dragon the canon went off, Cedrics eyes glazed over slightly as he turned and gently kissed me on the forehead. He had never done that before, maybe it was just out of nerves. So many thoughts rushed through my head, surely Cedric didn’t like me? By the time I had gathered my thoughts he had already gone. I ran to my place in the audience, right next to Hermione. She asked what took me so long. I didn’t want to tell her but at the same time I did, I gave her a brisk hug and began to watch Cedric in hope that he would succeed and taking the egg.

Cedric managed to complete the first task unharmed within what seemed about 15 minutes. I was so proud of him. When we were all back at the common room I realised I needed to talk to Cedric, about all the hugs and the forehead kiss and most importantly, how I felt, I waited for everyone to head to their rooms and asked Cedric to stay behind. We sat on the sofa with the fire crackling beside us. “I'm so happy you passed the first challenge, I'm really impressed” I paused for a second thinking of how I was meant to say what I needed to say, but then he cut me off. “Y/N, about earlier, when I kissed you on your forehead, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Recently Ive realised how much you mean to me and I don’t want to do anything that your not ok with. I'm sorry if this is forward but I really do like you, its everything about you. Your hair, your smell, your Y/E/C eyes. I'm sorry I sound so stupid right now” A rush of emotions came over me, was I hearing this correctly, did I fall asleep and I'm actually just dreaming. “Cedric, I feel exactly the same, I didn’t want to tell you in case you didn’t feel the same way and then it was too awkward to continue being friends. That’s why I asked you to stay down here with me for a bit” Cedrics cheeks were bright red and he had a happy/embarrassed expression on his face, I could tell mine was doing the exact same. He held onto my hand again, it felt so natural, I usually wasn’t all for the idea of being touched often but when Cedric did it everything felt ok.

A couple hours passed whilst we were just chatting and even played a game of wizards chess. After I began to get tired he walked me to my room holding my hand all the way. When I got to the door he stopped. ”Y/N would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me” I didn’t even have to think “Yes Cedric, I would” He hugged me and let me go into my room.

We practised for the dance for the next two weeks, it was so fun, we rarely took it seriously but that was what made it even better.

Finally, I hope our practise for the dance was worth while considering I have two left feet. I had just finished getting ready, I wore a flowy light blue dress with a few pale pink and beige tones. As I walked down the stairs I bumped into Hermione. She looked so beautiful, her hair was so perfectly done and she was wearing the prettiest pink dress. Had I not made a big enough effort? We continued to walk down the stairs and I noticed Krum was waiting for Hermione, I couldn’t see Cedric so I stood and waited with them both for a bit. And then, there he was, he looked as handsome as ever in his dress robes, a wide smile formed on his face when he looked at me. He slowly walked over “you look absolutely stunning Y/N” he said whilst gently holding onto both of my hands. “Don't look too shabby yourself” I said with a little giggle, he laughed too, he always did tell me that my laugh was contagious.

Once everyone was gathered in the great hall the champions and their partners were ordered to enter as we were the first to dance. We took position. Staring into Cedrics eyes as he held onto my waist made me feel as if we were the only two people in the room, I wasn’t worried, in fact I didn’t feel anything but joy. The music began and we set off. The more I continued to look into his eyes the more natural the dancing felt. Every time he lifted me into the air butterflies formed in my stomach, my dream was always to be able to dance in a ball with a gorgeous boy and now, my dream was coming true.

As the night grew longer me and Cedric remained in the hall dancing for hours upon hours. Eventually we sat down “Tonight has been really fun Y/N” he started “i actually have something to ask you, well Ive been meaning to ask it for a while now actually.” There was only one thing on my mind “sure go ahead” Cedric slowly stood up holding my hand causing me to stand up too. He gently moved the hair from out of my face and put it behind my ear and the proceeded to place his hand on my cheek. His hands were so soft, I could feel the warmth on my skin. My heart was beating so fast. I saw him open his mouth as if he was too scared to say what he wanted to. “May I kiss you” he said silently in a slightly shaky voice. I leaned in closer to him, my lips very nearly touching his. “...yes”

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blissfulparker · 4 years

Text

A little more permanent—Tattooartist!Tom

pairings:tattooartist!tom x innocent!reader Summary: one night you decide to tattoo tom instead of him tattooing you. Warnings: some sexual themes A/n: this is not a direct part 2 of tattooed heart but it is a spin off of it. I was never going to make this into a series but just little parts that tie together here and there. I hope you enjoy!! also I know I haven't been doing taglists and im sorry! if you want to be tagged in my works send me an ask! and thank you so much to the anon that suggested this title!

You lay on the dark leather couch of the shop that smells like bleach. The sound of buzzing a rock music fills the place and you wait for tom to be done.

It was what your Sunday’s started to look like, at around 6:30 you would make your way down to the shop to pick up tom. He would often times close up so you were stuck here finishing up some homework, reading up on a book, or even just laying there scrolling through your phone.

It was interesting to see the people come in and out anyways, watch what each person is getting and seeing their reactions, you could see why Tom adores his job so much.

“Alright baby, I’m almost done you wanna head to my room?” He’s taking off his gloves and throwing them into the nearest bin.

You nod closing up your bag as you follow him into his office. You sit down in the tattoo chair and wait for him to clean up. You look over and see a framed picture of the two of you at the beach last month. His arms are wrapped around you and he’s planting a kiss on your cheek, Tessa is in the background and you’ve got the biggest smile.

“Someone asked me if that was my wife today.” He pointed to the picture you were staring at. He’s got his signature cheeky grin as he wipes down the counter.

“Oh yeah? What’d you say?” You already know his answer but want to hear his cheeky response.

“I told him, ‘yeah and that was our honeymoon’.” He says and you let out a soft laugh. You notice how the gun was still not put away and you almost let your fingers run over it. “You want one real quick?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No, I just—what if I did one on you?” You ask him and he’s thought about it, he’s thought about it a lot. The thought of you holding the gun and the thought of you looking so focused as you marked up his skin. He’s lying if he says he’s not turned on by the thought.

“On me?” He asked and you nodded. You sit up and the way you sit causes your skirt to rise up a little more showing some more of your thigh.

“I-I mean ive never done it and-actually it’s stupid pretend I didn’t say anything.” You set the gun back down and go back to how you were sitting before.

“No, no,” he comes over to you throwing the Clorox wipe in the trash. “What were you thinking about?” He moves your legs up to rest them on his thigh as he sits down.

You sit up and grab onto his shoulder for balance. He looks at you with soft eyes, his mouth slightly agape because he wants you to lean in for a kiss but instead he moves his head to kiss the fingers rested on his shoulder.

“C’mon, tell me.” He holds your face and you look down at his fingers.

“I dunno, thought maybe we could do something cute together? I know how much you hate matching tattoos when couples come in to get them and you think they’re stupid but like it wouldn’t be matching it would be more like...more like tattoos that remind us of one another you know?” You spill all your thoughts and he looks at you in shock that you thought all this.

“Like I said! It’s stupid! I know I know!” You flop back onto the chair and he shakes his head as he crawls on top of you. He grabs your hands holding them gently as he presses a soft kiss to your chin.

“I think it’s a beautiful idea.” He kisses again this time on your neck. “Should I get a heart like you?” He let’s go of your right hand and moves it to where your first tattoo is, his work of art is.

“Up to you.” You move your head back to give him more acess and he kisses once again but chuckling on your collarbone making you shiver.

“Up to me? Darling this is your idea, where do you want it?” He argues and you look over at his hand, his left hand, his ring finger naked as could be. If he ever wanted to cover the tattoo up with a ring he could, he didn’t have any tattoos on his hand anyways and you loved his hands.

“Your finger.” You spoke and he looked up. His lips red from kissing you and his hair stopped tickling your chin. “Your left ring finger.” You tell him and he looks over at his finger. The reason he didn’t do his hands because he knew it’d fade faster and he didn’t really have any ideas for a hand tattoo.

“My finger?” He looks up at you nervous as could be. “My marriage finger?” He smirks and you nod. He knew your little plan, your innocent, loving, but slightly dirty plan.

“Mmh,” you nod and sit up. He sits up as well and is face with you. “You don’t have any tattoos there.” You tap your fingers against his hand as they’re being held.

“I guess I don’t.” He kisses your neck one more time before letting go of your hand and moving to the gun. Pulling out a fresh new needle to be used.

“R-Right now?” You sit up and he looks at the clock.

“It’s my shop, it’s closed, yeah.” He assembles the gun and opens up a new set of ink. He goes over to make the sketch and applies it to his finger.

“Tom, if you don’t wanna go through with this it’s okay. Honestly I won’t be offended if you don’t wanna-“ you start and he comes over and takes your spot on the chair.

“I do want to though. I only hate couple tattoos because most of the couples that come in I know they won’t be together in a year. Most of them are yes like us, young, in love, blinded by each other, but I also can just tell they won’t be together by the end of this year. Most of the tattoos they want are ugly anyways.” He shrugs and you laugh a little.

“Hey, I saw a couple leave once with a lock and key tattoo. I thought that was cute.” You told him and he lets out a ‘pff’ noise.

“Yeah, if they didn’t get so much shading it would be cute.” Tom flicks on the gun to test it and it makes you jump. “Are you sure you wanna go though with this?” He asks seeing how scared you are.

“Yeah, it was my idea.” You carefully take the gun from him and he now instructs you on what to do next.

“Okay, okay, wipe down the skin.” Tom instructs you as you carefully grab a cleaning wipe. Wiping down the dry skin with a cold wipe already made tom sink into the chair.

“When was your last tat?” You asked him realizing he hadn’t gotten one since you two been together.

“Before we started dating? Like November before we started dating. It’s of the rose.” He reminded you of the rose on his chest that looks angelic. The rose that you loved kissing over and leaving scratch marks just below.

“I love the rose.” You remind him and he laughs.

“I know you do.” He smirks and moves your hand to rest the gun gently over his skin. “Now, you wanna be careful. Don’t press too hard okay? It can go right through the skin and cause and infection and we don’t want that.” His eyes are serious and you are too.

“Promise to tell me if it hurts you?” You say with all seriousness and he knows that. You’re so sweet to him and it’s almost like you forgot that there’s almost twenty other tattoos on him that hurt way more than his finger.

“I promise.” He leans down and kisses your forehead before you start. “Alright, turn it on.” He tells you and you do so casuing him to flinch a little just at his nerves.

“Now just follow the outline sweetheart.” He instructed you and you do as told. You look up and see him with his eyes closed. That was one thing, Tom could never watch the needle on his own skin, he could only watch the needle on others.

“I’m hurting you!” You announce to him and he shakes his head ‘no’.

“No, you’re not. Keep on going sweets.” He tells you and you cringe as you finish up the tattoo. Seeing his skin redden and how his eyes are closed makes you cringe the hardest you’ve ever had.

You finish up the tattoo, it’s a little bit wider than your heart and definitely a little longer but it’s still adorable and you’re actually proud of yourself.

“I-I’m done.” You look at it with pride. He opens his eyes and looks down and sees the most beautiful tattoo yet. He loves it, he wasn’t going to tell you it was a big messy because he loved it. He loved that you did it, he loved that you thought of it and the only way he would be covering it was with a wedding band.

“It’s beautiful.” He stares at it for a moment and for that first time you got that the feeling tom did after he’s done with with a patient. The feeling of accomplishment and the feeling of pride. “Baby, it’s beautiful.” He leans in for a kiss and you proudly kiss him back.

“You like it?” You smile and he gets up to go patch it up himself.

“It’s the best tattoo I’ve got.” He tells you and then looks over at the clock again. “Let’s get going yeah?” He picks up your bag for you and follows you out of the room shutting off the lights and locking the door behind him. His hand is softly resting on your lower back as you both make your ways out of the the shop.

You grab your keys getting in the car and getting yourself situated. He’s looking at the tattoo still admiring it. Even if you knew it wasn’t the best it was still something that meant a lot to tom.

He reaches over and rests he free and good hand on your thigh. Almost causing you to slam on the breaks feeling his hand on your bare thigh.

“You should tattoo on me more often, darling.” He rubs soft circles with his thumb.

“Oh no, that was just that time. I hurt you.” You pouted and he shook his head.

“No, no,” he kissed your cheek. “I just don’t like watching it done to me. I would’ve told you sweetheart.” He watched you calm down as he told you that.

You reach over when you’re at a stop light for his hand. You take the finger and bring it up to your lips giving it a soft kiss, you make eye contact with tom the whole time when you kiss it causing shivers down his spin. You watch him tremble under your touch until you are interrupted by the sound of the car behind you slamming its horn.

“All better?” You tease like the first time he did your tattoo. You will never forget that night, that cold london night when you were all alone getting your first tattoo. Nervous as hell walking in with the only intent being to impress your friends proving you could be good too. That though, was a year ago. Now you have been with tom for a year and loved every second of it. Moving him with him, starting a life with a boy you never thought you’d meet.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He breathes out pushing his hair back as he watches you just drive.

Nighttime drives were the best, on the way home especially. Knowing exactly what would be waiting for you when you got home was sometimes what kept tom through his day. Knowing he’d share the large California king with you. And if you didn’t pick him up because you were at home studying away for an exam he would just about always find you half asleep at your desk and would kiss your forehead before picking you up and taking you to bed.

Pulling up to the complex and making your way up to the flat to be greeted by Tessa jumping on the two of you. You reach down to pet the girl before setting your stuff down and tom pushing you into the counter. Heavy with his kisses as he appreciated your lips and body.

“Mmh, easy there.” You remind him and he breaks off and looks at you.

“You can’t just tease me in the car and expect nothing. I’ve missed you all day.” He kissed some more. You were gone longer than you thought, waking up and leaving him to go to church with your mother and then coming back to do some school work. By the time you came home he was already gone at the shop and you’d missed him by only an hour.

“I’ve missed you more but your eyes are tired and you were practically falling asleep before I did your tattoo bubs.” You hold his face and see his red eyes, the curls coming in and hanging down on his face as you held him. He did look tired and he was. He was extremely tired.

He kisses one more time before moving back. You take his hand and take him to be where you knew the two of you would make out more before falling asleep on top of each other.

And so that’s exactly what the two of you did, you stripped down and always just wore an oversized shirt and underwear to sleep and that’s exactly what you did tonight. Tom doing the same as he came out from the bathroom after brushing his teeth.

“Mmh,” he comes into bed and starts attacking your neck with kisses. “I love you.” He reminds you and you shift to face him. Grabbing his hand with the tattoo again and moving to place it on your face, making him hold your face for a moment before moving the hand slowly down to where your heart was, just right below the Breast he touches the tattoo.

Moving your leg to wrap around his you cuddle in closer and he lets his hand drop to rest on your lower back. Pecking a kiss to his cheek as you lay your head against his shoulder mumbling an ‘I love you’ into his chest. He loved when you mumbled into his chest to feel the smal vibrations of your voice.

Your hand going to touch some tattoos one more time before you fall asleep. Touching the dove that flew on his bicep, to depiction of the family crest just below his shoulder. You let your eyes wander to the butterflies and the rose on his chest, the Roman numerals that are for his grandmother and there were empty spaces but he always tells you he’s leaving those spaces for more important things.

“What if we got married?” He spoke into the emptiness of the room. You perked up from his chest just as you were about to sleep you feel your heart pounding.

“What?” You looked at him as if he was just running off the pure tiredness in his voice.

“Married, like a wedding and then maybe some kids? What if we did all of that when you graduate?” He offers and you can’t help but to smile a little have been thinking about this thought before. You go to grab his hand with the fresh heart tattoo and imagine a ring right over it, just as you thought in the first place.

“A wedding? And some kids?” You say in shock but also happiness. He nods taking your hand to kiss.

“Yeah.” He tells you and you nod but fall into his shoulder.

“Let’s talk about this in the morning, keep our excitement for then.” You go back to staring at his tattoos.

Your parents would be furious if this was the man you were marrying, but your brother did almost the same exact thing—that is marrying someone your parents hated. You knew they’d never be truly happy with tom but you were your happiest with tom and you knew he was his happiest with you and you couldn’t wait to share those moments with him.

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tattoo!tom #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fan fiction #imagine tom holland #tom holland smut #tom Holland blurb #tom holland fanfiction

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missmonsters2 · 4 years

Text

About You || Part VIII

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Okay two more chapters and you finna be shook.

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII

PART VIII of X

Count: 1520

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"So, you're dating now?"

Wanda smiles as Steve asks the question again, but this time, she won't lie.

"Yes," she tells him and watches him smile widely.

"Exclusivity is beautiful, isn't it?" Steve laughs while Wanda tries to not roll her eyes at his veiled words of 'I told you so.'

"She is beautiful, and she's mine," Wanda softly smiles.

"Are you scared?" He asked.

"Absolutely petrified," she admits, "but I want her more."

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"How was your day?"

The days have been coming to a quiet end, and the evenings after dinner are becoming Wanda's favorite.

There's something about being full of a warm homecooked meal, and settling on the couch with a fuzzy blanket that excites Wanda.

There's cuddling, hands sneaking under their shirts, and quiet kisses.

"I've got a commission for a painting," Wanda shares the good news which has you smiling.

"That's amazing considering you've been inactive for a year," you rub her back.

"I am amazing," she nods.

"And so humble," you laugh, pressing a kiss to her brow.

Wanda hums, sighing against the gesture of affections.

It's quiet, nothing but the TV playing mindlessly in the background as you enjoy each other's company.

"Do you ever miss your brother? Or the other guy?" Wanda asks, playing with the ends of your shirt.

"I think about them often, but I don't always miss them," you explain to her.

It was something Wanda feared. All she had left of Pietro were memories, and if she didn't miss him all the time, then what becomes of the memories?

You trace a line down Wanda's back, eliciting a shiver.

"We are not always grieving, and we are not forgetting. Growing means we can appreciate the past in the new light."

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"Where is she?" Natasha asks, digging into her salad while Wanda is painting.

"She's back at work," Wanda replies as she dips her brush into more water.

"And you're painting again," Natasha notes.

"Inspiration hits at the oddest times," Wanda smiles.

Natasha had seen Wanda shift many times. The hardest was seeing the girl grieve. There was nothing that could describe how she felt watching the life fade from her friend's eyes, the weight she has lost, and the trashed canvases.

But she had seen Wanda shift again when you came. It was slow, and Natasha is sure Wanda was barely tolerating your presence at first. But it was small and steady. The eating, the curiosity, and the waiting Natasha saw were wonderous.

"Do you still think about Pietro?" Natasha asks softly.

"Yes," Wanda admits, "All the time."

"Does it still hurt?"

"No," Wanda slowly answers.

She doesn't say much else, but Wanda can tell that Natasha wants to ask her why.

It was only something that Wanda had discovered over the last few days.

Wanda dips her brush in more water.

"Have you ever read the Children's Book, 'The Invisible String'?" Wanda asks, hearing Natasha hum in return.

"Pietro read to me all the time as a kid, especially after our parents died," Wanda dipped her brush in some blue paint. "I thought my string with Pietro was cut because I kept tugging on it, and I didn't know if Pietro could feel it."

"And?" Natasha asked.

"I think the string got so tangled with me constantly pulling on it that I forgot that the string still exists because I still feel the tug of it," Wanda stares at her painting. "You know what I think?"

"What?" Natasha asks with a smile.

"I think the string exists as long as I exist."

Natasha is happy with Wanda's answer. She finishes her salad before she watches her friend finish painting.

"You like watercolor?"

Wanda dipped her brush in water, looking at the lines that she drew underneath the paint.

"Yeah, it's truly a work of art."

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The sheets shuffled around as you felt Wanda get out of bed.

It turns out, Wanda gets the best hit of motivation and inspiration just as the sun comes up. She leaves to go to her studio to start painting but always makes sure to come back to wake you up with a kiss and tea.

You feel a tug on your left hand, and something cool being pressed across, before a rush of cool air being blow. But for the sake of Wanda, you keep your eyes closed.

When you wake up, you see a thin, red, squabbly circle painted around your wrist.

Then across your forearm, there was a scribbled message.

Your string leads to mine, should I show you?

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"How do you know mine leads to yours?"

You're sitting together at the counter with Wanda, tea, and coffee in hand before going to work.

"Because when you miss me, I feel it tugging on my heart," Wanda smiles sleepily.

"And when you miss me?" You ask with a tilt of your head and a grin.

"Then, I'm vigorously sending my love through the string until it tugs on your heart."

You can't help but smile wider because Wanda has such a way with words, and she's so honest and endearing.

Wanda sets her cup down, opening her arms until you come to settle into her arms, leaning on her.

You kiss the crown of her head, running your fingers through her unruly hair, laughing when it doesn't quite make a difference.

"I love the mornings with you," Wanda mumbles.

"You didn't before?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about how it was all temporary before, that eventually, you would leave and I would be alone."

"We're not always together, though," you remind her, brushing her hair slightly to the side.

"Even when we're apart, I think about how you'll come home to me," Wanda licks her lip.

You swallow, your heart feeling a little too full, and the only way to manage it is to press your lips to Wanda's.

They're in the privacy of their own home, but it felt scandalous to feel your hand underneath Wanda's shirt, your warm palm pressing between her bare shoulder blades.

You watch as Wanda's eyes flutter.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask against Wanda's lips.

"I'm thinking about how I'm in love with you."

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Days off were rare, but Wanda loved every time she got to laze around with you at 2PM on a Thursday.

You were currently on the couch, hoarding her right hand, grinning as you saw the same painted thin, red, squabbly circle.

There have been talks about tattooing it, but for now, Wanda diligently draws them on every day.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't move," you whine.

Wanda watches you with a slow smile as she feels scribbling on her arm.

When you finish, you give her a kiss right smack on her lips before going to grab late lunch. Or early dinner.

Wanda looks to see what you've written.

наша любовь это произведение искусства.

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Steve watched with happiness as Wanda chopped the vegetables.

"How's the painting going?"

"It's going," Wanda shrugs. Inspiration comes and goes, but she's close to finishing it.

"You should open your own gallery," Steve says. "I'll threaten people to come to opening night."

Wanda lets out a laugh knowing Steve would actually be politely handing out flyers. Steve closes his eyes, a joy from being about to hear such a sound from his friend again.

"How are things with her?" Steve asks, watching the way Wanda's eyes light up ever so subtly.

"She wants to find a new place with me," Wanda smiles.

"Why doesn't she move here?" Steve asks.

Wanda tilts her head, looking down at her vegetables.

"It takes her forever to get work. I want to be able to give her something too for all that she's done."

Steve settles into a soft smile, his eye catching something on Wanda's forearm.

"Is that Russian?" He asks.

Wanda catches him staring at her arm and flushes slightly.

"Yes," she tells him.

"What's it mean?"

"It means our love is a work of art."

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"Wanda...Wanda..."

Wanda wakes up groggily to see you hovering over her with a frown.

"What's wrong?" She asks as you lie your head back down on the pillow facing her.

"What if...what if our string gets tangled or breaks?"

Wanda can tell you've had a bad dream.

And for once, she's the courageous one, ready to offer you reassurances.

She rolls over, pushing you on your back, hovering over you with her body pressed to yours as her fingers slide against your jaw.

"Our string can get tangled, it can be pulled on, it can even get lost," Wanda says, her breath on your lips. "But it will never break because as long as we exist, we will always find a way to each other."

Tears spill over your eyes as Wanda kisses you deep and slow.

That morning when you wake up, surprised to have slept through Wanda waking up.

You see the diligently painted red thin circle around your wrist, and the words this morning makes you cry.

If anyone could show me life is worth living, it is you.

PART IX

#mm: my fics #series: about you #wanda maximoff x OFC #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlett witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #Wanda Maximoff Imagine #avengers au #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel au #modern avengers au

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dontshouta · 5 years

Text

elegant obscenities

summery: Your tattoo session which you’ve had scheduled for months has finally arrived and you finally get to meet the man everyone’s speaking so highly of. pairing: tattoo artist!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader word count: 3,799 note: modern au! also,, this is ns*fw so please… if ur not into that... just look away alsoalso, my tattoo knowledge is very limited.. im goin based on what ive seen on t.v or what ive read.. soo sorry if anythings wrong lol i dont have the heart to do extensive research on it atm but i hope you enjoy nonetheless

To say you were excited was a massive understatement. You felt like your heart was gonna burst from how quickly it was beating, your stomach felt like the den of a thousand butterflies, and yet you couldn’t wipe the huge smile plastered on your face. Today, you were going to see what all the fuss was about. Today, you were getting your first tattoo from the King of Tattoos himself-- Bakugou Katsuki. Just the mere thought of it shot a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You’ve heard so many reviews on this guy, you’ve seen his beautiful works on yelp, you’ve seen the clean and cut format of the parlor’s website- he was no joke. Though, his reputation seemed flawless, people did seem to not like his attitude. But of course, that would be ultimately overlooked, his work was just that good.

As excited you were, you were equally nervous. You didn’t know if you could sit through an hour session of what could possibly be him yelling and screaming at the top of his lungs. Or at least, that’s what some people have claimed to have happened. You wanted to remain optimistic though, and decided not showing up would be a waste of everyone’s time.

So, with determination and excitement fueling your resolve, you entered the tattoo parlor. You were greeted by an eager redhead, who smiled when you told him of your appointment.

“Oh yeah! Well, Y/N, if you could read over these papers and sign ‘em, Bakugou’ll be ready for you when your done!”

You took the clipboard with a smile and sat down. For a moment, you just stared at the words, not really reading them and letting the paper blur. You only hesitated for a moment, before grabbing the pen and firmly filling out the forms. You couldn’t possibly back out now, you’ve waited months for this opportunity! Just because some reviews said he could be a scary guy, psh, from what you’ve seen from the redhead, he couldn’t possibly be that bad, right? Just as you signed your last signature, someone cursed at the end of the hall.

“Shitty-hair! Is that client here yet?! I’m not gonna fuckin’ wait all damn day!”

You froze in your seat, your eyes watching the redhead as he rolled his eyes.

“She’s here, dude, chill.”

You gulped, pen shaking in your hand as you stared at the papers again. Was this guy serious? He sounds like he could up and kill me with his tattoo gun! The redhead laughed, taking in your pale figure and offering a calming smile. You relaxed the slightest bit.

“Ah, don’t mind him. He’s all bark and no bite, you’ll be fine. It’s just a tattoo after all!” He laughed again, trying to get you to ease out of your frightened position. “Are you done filling those out? If you could hand me your I.D you’ll be all set!”

You nodded mutely, handing him your I.D and clipboard. His reassurances should’ve placated you but why were you so damn tense? Was the reality of getting a tattoo settling into your bones and immobilizing you? You let out a deep sigh, deciding it’s now or never, hostile artist or not, he still was the best of the best.

The redhead, Kirishima he said was his name, handed you back your I.D and beckoned you to follow him down the hall. The closer you got to the room, the quicker your heart beat. You were so nervous, so excited, you didn’t know what to do with the plethora of emotions surrounding you. With a deep breath, you entered the room behind Kirishima.

The room was covered in art and designs of the past on the walls, fat binders lining bookshelves and a desk spilling over with sketches and unfinished line work. You could tell just from the room alone the experience Bakugou’s had. The tattoo table sat in the corner, laughing at your hesitance, which almost had you running for the hills at the mere sight of it. The air smelt sterile, and you took a deep breath again to try and calm your jolting nerves. Just as you did, the air caught in your throat when you finally laid eyes on your tattoo artist. His eyes were an angry red, brows set in a frown as he appraised your form. You were frozen at the door, not quite able to tear your eyes away. No one mentioned anything about how hot he was! Feeling very deceived by the reviews online, you shimmied yourself fully into the room, all the while staring at the famed Bakugou Katsuki.

“Took you long enough.” He grumbled with a click of his tongue, strong, impossibly tattooed arms crossed over a built torso. He wore a black tank top, not leaving much to the imagination and wore watching black jeans, which hung delectably low on his hips. Now you weren’t sure if you could sit in the same room as him for a completely different reason.

Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Dude, she’s early. Impatience is so not manly.” He huffed, walking out of the room, giving you a thumbs up and smile on the way out.

Now you were left alone. With an insanely attractive man whose hands and eyes were going to be all over you for the next hour. Your earlier hesitance in the matter all but withered away and was replaced with a newfound excitement.

You waved awkwardly, smiling slightly. “Um, hi, I’m Y/N! I’ve heard so many great things about you!” You greeted, hoping you didn’t seem overly eager. Now with your resolve restored tenfold, you wanted to get off on the right foot. His temper still looming over your head dangerously.

He clicked his tongue again, eyes roaming over your figure. “You better have, I don’t run this fuckin’ business for nothin’.” He mumbled, motioning for you to sit at that tattoo table while he prepared.

You watched him eagerly, eyes following where he slapped on his latex gloves. You drank in the way his nimble fingers worked with his equipment, sending you head reeling from thoughts of what else they could do. Goodness, this is embarrassing. Get yourself together, Y/N! You can’t be getting yourself all hot and bothered, this is a professional environment! And with that, you averted your eyes and focused them on your twiddling thumbs.

“So’re you gonna take your pants off or what?” He finally asked, eyes slanting in passive anger at you.

“Wh- huh?!” You exclaimed, almost falling off the table in pure shock. Take off my pants?? Has he noticed my staring? Wait- can he read my thoughts?!

“I can’t tattoo your thigh over you pants, you know. Idiot, you should’ve worn shorts or somethin’.” His voice was laced with superiority as he chastised you, making your thighs clench unconsciously. You were not going to survive this session.

With flaming cheeks, you stood from the table, hands poised over the button of your jeans.

“R-Right.. Well um, would.. Would you mind turning around or something?” You asked quietly, the blush on your cheeks traveling to the rest of your face as you stared into his red eyes. Which he rolled.

“I’m gonna see you half naked anyway, just take your pants off so we can get this shit over with.” He commanded, a brow raised haughtily as he sat on the stool next to the table.

Now, you really didn’t think this through. You’d hoped he’d find you half naked in different circumstances, but here you were, jeans pooling around your ankles in contempt while the flush seemed to travel throughout the rest of your body. How could you forget that you wanted this stupid tattoo on your thigh? At first, you didn’t think anything of it, believing you wouldn’t be attracted to your artist. Fate had other plans though, and made your artist the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You stepped out of your jeans, mumbling begrudgingly as you scooped the mass of fabric from the ground. Once you straightened up, you made eye contact with Bakugou. For a split second, it looked like he was staring at you ass. If you were bolder you might’ve said something like “Like what you see?” but instead, you shook your head, finding the notion preposterous as you sat back onto the table with curses being muttered under your breath.

“It ain’t my fault you wanted the damn tattoo on your thigh, no need to get all bitchy with me.” That comment might’ve brought down his attractiveness to you by about one percent, so any response that you had died in your throat once he started cleaning the exposed area on your thigh. Your lips were zipped tight, trying your absolute best and then some to keep any peep from coming out of your mouth.

The breath that had been stuck in your chest finally escaped from your body once Bakugou pulled away, reaching for the readied transfer paper. You eyes softened at the sight of the design of your tattoo, heart fluttering at the way Bakugou had rendered it.

“It looks beautiful.” You whispered, smile blossoming on your face as he applied the transfer to your thigh, momentarily forgetting your qualms about the damn artist’s proximity.

He hummed in response, clearly denoting an I know in his wake as he removed the transfer paper. “Look in the mirror and tell me it looks good.” He commanded, his tone clearly indicating he already knows it looks good. Probably just wants me to stroke his ego some more.

You got up anyway, not wanting to disobey him, and checked out the art that was going to be permanently etched into you skin in an hour’s time. “It’s perfect.” You breathed, checking yourself out in the mirror with renewed excitement. When you turned back, Bakugou’s eyes flickered up from your thigh to your eyes. He cleared his throat, motioning you to sit back on the table with a flick of his wrist.

“Duh, I strive for nothin’ but perfection.” He said, gloved hands patting the table impatiently.

Was that… a blush on his cheeks? Your heart rate accelerated, smile growing as you skipped back onto the table. “I don’t doubt it, Bakugou! Alright, now tat me up!” You were giggling happily, legs spread onto the table before the young artist, which, unbeknownst to you, had his heart rate going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, yeah.”

With that, he leaned into you inner thigh, one hand gripping onto the soft flesh while the other poised the tattoo gun over it.

“Brace yourself, it ain’t the most comfortable feeling in the world.” He warned, barely giving you any time to actually do so before getting to work.

A gasp escaped from your lips once you felt the tattoo gun connect with your skin, not necessarily in pain but to your horror, in pleasure. You bit your lip, trying to seem nonchalant but in all reality, heat was rushing to your core and you started to feel your body temperature rise considerably. You couldn’t really blame yourself, an attractive man’s face was inches from your barely concealed vagina while he gripped your thigh. How could you not get turned on? What was really going through your head though, was how you were going to distract yourself. You couldn’t possibly think about him and only him this entire time, right? He’d probably catch on and kick you out or something. You wouldn’t be able to stand the embarrassment that would come with that.

While you did try to keep your mind occupied, you couldn’t help but watch the artist at work. His tongue slightly poked out his lips every now and then. Sometimes he’d blow out a breath which would hit your thigh deliciously and send you head spinning. He’d squeeze your thigh and maneuver it this way and that to get a better angle. Every little thing had your heart racing, your thighs needing to clench, your core needing some damn friction. You were, to put it lightly, going fucking insane.

Bakugou suddenly pulled back, his face screwed up in an expression you couldn’t place. An agitated groan escaped his lips while he made aggressive eye contact with you.

“Wh- ar-are you done-?!” Your eyes flickered to the unfinished tattoo, your expression turning confused when you met his eyes again. “What-?”

He shoved himself onto you, pupils blown wide with arousal. “You know what you’re doin’, huh? Don’t play dumb with me you’ve been acting like this since you walked in here.. You know how hard it is to fucking concentrate when I can just smell how wet you are? Huh?” He all but growled, eyes glued to yours while his large hands gripped your waist possessively.

You took in a shaky breath, breaking eye contact to watch his body hover impossibly close to yours. A sweat had built around Bakugou’s temples, body slightly shaking with restraint as he gathered your next reaction.

“Fuck.. you can’t blame me, can you?!” You yelled, hands gripping onto his strong biceps. “You’re over here gripping on my thigh and breathing on my coochie, how the fuck am I supposed to react?”

Your response shocked him, but was enough to confirm any suspicions he had and he immediately clashed his lips with yours. You melted instantly, hands roaming up to grip at his sandy hair roughly. Teeth clashed, tongues melded and fought for dominance, breath coming in hot and heavy as your bodies melted into each other. Bakugou was already hard against your thigh, member pulsing through his jeans and prodding closer and closer to your dripping core.

You moved to wrap your exposed legs around his waist but was shoved roughly back onto the table, Bakugou breaking the heated kiss and roaming down. His hands left a trail of fire on your exposed skin, causing small, broken mewls to slip to your lips while he pushed your top over your breasts, his eyes drinking in your heated form greedily.

“Fuck baby you look so good like this. I’ve barely even touched you and you already look fucked out, all for me huh?” He purred obscenities into your ear, a shiver wracking through your body at his words. His hands barely skimmed over your bra, your breath held in anticipation as he slowed his rough mannerisms to admire your breathless body. A low growl emitted from the back of his throat, his hands pushing your bra down to expose your chest, your nipples hardening immediately in the crisp air. Deft, tattooed fingers toyed with your breasts, red eyes burning into your own as he watched you writhe underneath him, your legs rubbing together incessantly to try and gauge at least the tiniest amount of friction you could get.

You whined needily, fingers fisting into his hair as you tried to connect your barely concealed pelvis with his.

“Nuh, uh, baby girl I’m gonna need you to be patient, yeah? Can you be patient for me?” His tone was laced with such dominance you were rendered speechless, a nod of your head indicating you understood what he was implying.

“No, that ain’t gonna cut it sweetheart, use your fucking words or else I’m stoppin’ right here, when we’ve barely even gotten started.” His fingers gripped your chin, forcing your gaze onto his.

“Y-Yes, sir..?” You were hesitant with the addition of the title but a hum of approval resonated from the tattooed man that had you relaxing back into the table again. Your eyes watched his every move while he lowered himself closer to you, a feeling of desperation slowly gnawing at you. His hands roamed every inch of exposed skin, from the apples of your cheeks down to your pelvis, his fingers toying dangerously with the waistband of your delicate panties.

Just as you thought he was gonna grant you at least some relief, his fingers skimmed past the waistband completely, ignoring the removal of the tiny article of clothing and instead moving to push a tattooed finger against your core teasingly. A gasp escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his bicep for dear life, the tiny amount of contact overwhelming you.

He chuckled dangerously, his face moving to hover over your clothed heat, his hot breath tickling your thighs.

“Oh, please, just fucking touch me, Bakugou.” You seethed, your patience growing incredibly thin. You wanted to reach for his wrist and just make him touch you yourself but you didn’t want to push your luck, having already yelled at the man already.

He laughed at your command, his hands moving to grip your hips while his tongue poked out of his mouth to gently prod at your panties. An eloquent oh fuck rolled out of your mouth, his hands gripping harder as his tongue lightly grazed over your clothed cunt.

“Is this what you wanted, princess?” He murmured against your wet panties, his eyes lazily gazing up at you. The sight of his face buried in between your legs had you shaking, the hands in his hair impossibly tightening while you tugged him closer to you.

“Bakugou, please, please, please, eat me out I can’t take it anymore, I want you to fuck me so-!” You cut yourself off with a hearty moan, his fingers snatching your underwear to the side and delving his tongue into dripping core. One of his hands massaged your hip, while the other snaked to toy with your entrance. You were already gasping for breath, legs spasming against his head while he dug himself deeper into you. His tongue laved other your clit, alternating between drawing lazy circles and sucking it hard. The juxtaposition of movements drove you mad, your head falling back against the table with your back arching, you hips bucking into his mouth greedily. His finger finally pushed into you, the combination of his thrusting finger and suckling lips pushing you further and further towards the edge.

All too soon, the friction was gone just as you felt your climax rush over you, causing a shriek of disapproval to sound from you. Your head was up in a flash to shoot a look of desperation to the teasing man. His gaze shook you to your very core, almost undoing you just then, with eyes completely clouded over with unadulterated lust. He smirked, bringing his soiled fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. A whine emitted from your throat, the display downright lewd and having you begging for more.

“Baku-”

“Call me Katsuki, darling.”

“Katsuki, please.”

And with that statement, his tank top was off. His pretty fingers worked to smoothly take off his belt and pants, the mere sounds of the rustling clothes bringing more excitement in between your legs. You crawled toward him, moving to help but he quickly pinned you back down onto the table.

“Now, now, let’s not get too hasty. I plan on fuckin’ that pretty pussy of yours real good, yeah? Don’t you worry that pretty little fuckin’ head of yours.”

Bakugou picked you up with ease, flipping you around and bending you over so your ass was up in the air for him to lay a resounding smack onto it. He hummed while you whined desperately, his abusing hand rubbing the skin immediately to soothe the reddening cheek. You legs felt wobbly, barely able to keep yourself up for him. He was rubbed languid strokes against his angry cock, angling it towards your entrance and prodding at it coyly. He tapped the appendage against your folds, chuckling as your hips bucked up against him. A smirk played on his lips, his eyes dark and dangerous as he started to shift his hips forwards to meet yours. You watched the muscles in his beautifully inked stomach flex as he moved, the feeling of slowly being filled just too good.

Once he was fully inside you, you gasped hotly, trying to accustom yourself to the sensation of being so thoroughly stretched out. His eyes watched attentively, flickering from your stretched hole and to your face. He moved his hips back tortuously slow, setting a pace so agonizingly good that you could barely open you mouth without moaning desperately.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You half-sobbed, clinging to the table for dear life as he rocked into you. He moved to hide his face against the back of your neck, latching onto the juncture of her shoulder and throat in a way that made you sure he would leave a mark. The feeling was almost too much– the slow drag of his cock inside you, the ministrations of his lips, teeth and tongue on your shoulder, the quiet and low growls leaving his perfect lips– you were done for.

His large hands gripped your ass, alternating from hard gropes to rough slaps that resounded about the room and arousing you tenfold. Broken moans fled your lips, your fingernails scratching at the table hopelessly. His cock pulsed within you as he quickened his pace abruptly, his hand fisting into your hair and forcing your back to arch up into him. You cried out in pure glee, your breasts bouncing while he pounded mercilessly into you.

His hands held your hips in a bruising grip, the pain mixing deliciously with the absolute pleasure that was Bakugou’s pace. His lips were muttering obscenities into your ear, alternating from suckling your earlobe in between his teeth and littering your neck with pretty purple bruises. You have ascended, your mind gone due to this tattoo artist’s godly dick.

You were sputtering, moans never ceasing to escape from your lips as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, your body becoming hotter and hotter with every deep thrust. You felt your climax building, your walls clenching around his thick cock, causing him to curse into your ear.

His unoccupied hand snaking around your waist to rub quick circles into your clit, sending your body into overdrive and making you see stars.

“I’m go-gonna- oh my goodness- I’m gonna f-fucking come-!” Your body was on fire, your mind short-circuiting with the amount of pleasure wracking your body as you finally came. Your moans came louder with it, your body spasming against his still pistoning cock.

He came soon after, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he rode out his high within your overstimulated walls. Bakugou released your hair, your body falling limply onto the tattoo table. You were gasping for breath, his seed pooling out of your pussy and onto the table. His fingers circled your folds and gathered the come from it, holding them out in front of your lips.

“Now, be a good girl and swallow my cum, huh, princess?”

#i hope this is like... GOOD #i spent like two days on this #mainly bc im a pro procrastinator #ANYWAY #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha x reader #mha smut #ns*fw

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meow-bebe · 4 years

Text

stellatus

Pairing: Lee Felix x artist!reader

Genre: fluffffff

Warnings: literally nothing. this is so sweet asghk we’re channeling the cute here. like honestly not even my usual cussing

Word count: 3614 (!!!)

A/n: remember that idea I posted a while ago? well heres the fic! Im suuuper proud of this one because its the longest thing ive written for this blog (3k! more than 3k! that makes me so happy ahhhh!) and also I just really love it! usually I don't particularly like my own writing but this one I feel like is my best work. also about half way through writing this I found this amazing drawing by @panini-byanyothername which gave me the encouragement to finish this and also deserves all of the love because its an amazing piece of art! it was drawn based on another fanfic but its super pretty and is very close to what my story is about so I thought it would be appropriate to include a link

~~~

stēllātus; first/second-declension adjective starry, stellate, starred

“I have an idea,” you announced, bouncing with excitement as you ran into the room where Felix was currently sat at your desk on his computer. Latching your arms around Felix’s neck from behind, you rested your chin gently on his shoulder.

“And what would that be?”he asked, spinning the office chair he sat in and successfully rotating within your arms.

“I want to paint on you!” you said brightly as Felix’s hands came to rest on your waist as you snuggled closer, plopping down into his lap.

“What?” Felix asked, slightly startled by your bold proposition.

“I want to paint on you,” you repeated, “like, kind of use you as a human canvas?” It came out more as a question than a statement, and you grinned awkwardly, the incredulous tone of his voice making you shy.

“I’m not opposed,” Felix mused, and you immediately brightened back up again. “Why though?”

“Well,” you said, fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, “first of all you’re the only person I have on hand at the moment.” You giggled, and Felix raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. “But I’ve always loved painting on skin. There’s some strange appeal that comes with turning another human being into art. Unfortunately, I’ve only ever done it on myself before, but I had this really amazing idea a while ago and have held onto it forever and you are absolutely perfect for it.” You finished by pressing a sweet kiss to his nose. “So?” you asked eagerly, “what do you say? Let me paint on you?”

Felix chuckled lightly, and you could feel the deep vibrations where your hands were set on his chest. “Aren’t you going to tell me what your amazing idea is?”

“Nope!” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ as you smiled happily, “You’ll just have to say yes and see what I do. It will be beautiful, I promise.”

Felix playfully narrowed his eyes at you. “You won’t do something stupid or make me look weird?”

“I would never,” you said, sticking out your littlest finger, “pinky swear. And anyway, nothing could ever make you look weird, pretty boy.” Felix’s eyes widened at your compliment, a light shade of red creeping across his cheeks as he wrapped his pinky around yours. No matter how often you complimented him he always had the sweetest flustered reactions.

“What are we waiting for then?” you practically vaulted out of his lap, tangling your fingers together and tugging on his hand to try and get him to follow you.

“What, now?” he asked, a bewildered look on his face.

“Yes, now,” you said, pulling on his hand again, “I can’t wait any longer, I’m dying to finally do this.”

“Alright,” Felix said, laughing as he stood up from the desk, whatever he was working on earlier abandoned as you enthusiastically pulled him along to the spare bedroom turned art studio.

“Here,” you said, tossing one of the already paint-stained cushions you often put to use out of the closet, “sit down while I find what I need.”

Felix grabbed the cushion and set it on the large, clear plastic mat you always kept set out over the hardwood floors. There were several places you had set up for painting, laying on the floor and the easel by the window being two of your favorites, and you rotated between them depending on how you were feeling that day. It seemed like today was a sprawled across the floor day, although that made sense, Felix reasoned, if you were going to be painting on him. He sat down and watched as you zipped back and forth across the room, picking through your jars of brushes and bins of paints to find the supplies you would be using.

Thrusting one of the mason jar mugs you used to wash out your brushes at Felix, you asked, “Could you go fill this up with water for me?” He nodded compliantly, pulling himself up off the floor and traipsing across the hall to the bathroom to fill the glass mug with water. When he came back into the room, you had set up a jar of brushes to pick through, tossed a few tubes of paint to the floor next to the two cushions, and were currently spread across a decent portion of the floor with one of the large folders you had labeled as “inspiration and references.” These were collections of anything you could possibly want to give you ideas or utilize in your art, ranging from newspaper clippings, old photographs, passages from books and poems scrawled on torn notebook paper (or on the more rare occasion, printed out), and absolutely filled to the brim with doodles and practice drawings. You were a firm believer in the idea that anything could be reused or help inspire you in the future, which ultimately lead to your large collection. Usually you tried to date the bits of paper you tucked away, but it didn’t help with your chronic lack of organization.

“What are you searching for?” Felix questioned, assuming that you wouldn’t answer but asking anyway.

“Can’t tell,” you said, eyes twinkling with a spark of mischief, “it’s supposed to be a surprise, remember?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking. What do you want me to do then?” he asked, looking around the room and wondering what you had planned for him.

“Just sit, I’ll find it in a moment.” Felix settled himself back down on the floor as you continued to rifle through the folder barely containing the papers inside it. He watched as you carefully separated a few glossy photos that had stuck together and shuffled through a stack of what appeared to be old school work. “Aha!” you shouted victoriously, startling Felix and holding a few taped together pieces of paper in the air.

“What’s that?” he asked, his curiosity over both the project itself and the haphazardly folded but carefully assembled papers in your grasp too much to handle.

To his surprise, you gave in this time. “Star chart!” you chirped, obviously too pleased with yourself to continue hiding your intentions. “I’ve always loved space, specifically stars, and I took an astronomy class in high school but never got rid of the papers that weren’t just worksheets. I always hoped that someday I would be able to use them for painting. And here we are!” Felix smiled at the happy grin lighting up your whole face, your excitement too endearing to not acknowledge.

“Cute.” Felix grinned happily as you shuffled over to where you had set up all of your supplies. All of a sudden his smile turned bashful, stammering slightly as he asked, “Should I like, take my shirt off or something then?”

You giggled, setting down the star chart and plucking a thin marker from amongst the plethora of materials. “Not this time. I want to do your face!”

“What?” Felix gasped, eyes widened in surprise.

“I want to paint on your face!” you repeated, excitement fading as you rolled the marker between your hands, suddenly nervous. “Your freckles, specifically. Only if you’ll let me though.” You fidgeted slightly, focused on the marker before looking up at Felix who still wore a slightly startled expression.

“My - my freckles?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Finding patterns that match my constellations-” you patted the papers sitting beside you - “and then turning your face into a little galaxy.”

“Y/n,” he said softly, and you braced yourself to be turned down, “I think that’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever come up with. Why would I ever say no?”

Your eyes shot up to find Felix’s, and you could see all of the adoration that he held for you in their depths. “Really?” you asked, pulling yourself into his lap and tucking your arms around his waist.

“Really,” he confirmed, sealing a gentle kiss against your mouth. “Now, how do you want to go about this?”

You clamored off of Felix, grabbing the marker from where you had dropped it at his side and snatching the star chart into your hands before thrusting it at Felix. “Pick a few that you like, and I’ll see if what I can do to weave them out of your freckles,” you said, placing the folded chart into his hands and backing off to begin rifling through the paint tubes you had chosen. “Try not to do anything too difficult, I think the simpler ones would look better for this.”

Leaving him to pour over the constellations, you realized that you had overlooked finding a palette earlier in your scramble to find paints, so you pulled yourself up off the floor to move to the closet once again. Shoving a few bins of paints and stacks of assorted canvases to the side, you finally found the collection of palettes stored near the back of the shelf. Just barely managing to get your finger under the one on the bottom (the shelf was slightly too high, not enough to really bother you, but it could be a minor inconvenience sometimes), you dragged the precariously balanced stack towards yourself.

“What about Lyra?” Felix called from behind you.

“That would work,” you mused, shuffling through the pile in search of one not too caked in dried paint.

“Or Aquila?”

“Also fine,” you responded, selecting a mostly clean palette. “I really want to try Draco, so we’ll do that one first and then fit the others on after that. Sound good?”

"Anything you want to do is good with me," he replied, and you turned to see the pretty blush staining his cheeks.

"But you're the one making this project come to life," you said, crossing the room in a few steps and settling down in front of him. "You should have some input."

"I'm merely the final product in this situation. You, y/n, are the one bringing it to life." Now it was your turn to grow flustered by his compliments.

"Oh hush," you said, searching on the floor for the marker you had set down.

Finding your marker, you uncapped it and scooted closer to Felix. "Ready?" you asked.

He looked at the marker warily. "I thought you were painting."

"I am painting, but I have to sketch it out first," you laughed. "I always do."

"Oh," he said, looking down shyly. He always loved to watch you paint, however paying attention to the process was something else entirely. "Well go on then."

Studying his face carefully, you placed a small dot on top of a freckle close to the top of his cheek. Glancing back at the star chart, you drew another right under it, and awkwardly angled your pen to try and reach better. Pulling the papers mapping out your reference closer, you shuffled to the side and drew another dot.

"This isn't working very well," you said, taking Felix's chin in your hand and tilting his head to the side to try and reach better. "I might move you again, so try not to move and tell me if it's too uncomfortable."

Felix nodded in response just as you set the tip of the marker against his cheek, leaving a small inky streak down his face. You sighed. "Next time just say you heard me. I'm going to get the rubbing alcohol.” You stood up and headed to the bathroom, opening the cabinet and rummaging around to find the necessary bottle. Finding what you needed, you stood up and crossed the hallway once again to rejoin Felix.

"Here." Felix held out a cotton ball that he had no doubt found in the depths of one of your many bins of random art supplies.

"Thanks," you said quietly, already flipping the top of the rubbing alcohol open and soaking the cotton in liquid before scrubbing it gently across Felix's cheek. He held still for the moment, letting you remove the ink from his face and watching your movements carefully.

"Done?" he asked as you tossed the now somewhat grey cotton ball to the floor.

"Yep." you picked up your marker again. "Good to go?" He nodded again, this time making sure that the marker was nowhere near his skin.

You set back to work, switching between analyzing the star chart and making small dots where you could connect the freckles strewn across Felix's face to resemble the constellation you had picked.

After readjusting Felix's face for the nth time, you sighed. “This isn’t working,” you complained, capping your marker and letting your hand fall into your lap.

“I can tell,” Felix mused. “Any ideas?”

You tilted your head, scanning over his face, and Felix could see the imaginary lightbulb pop up above your head as a grin spread across your face. “Maybe,” you said cheekily, crawling into his lap and once again uncapping your marker. Placing the non inky end into your mouth, you cupped your hands around Felix’s cheeks, gently moving his head around until you think you’ve found the perfect angle. “Don’t move.”

Finding that your new vantage point gave you perfect access to the soft skin of your boyfriend’s cheeks, you steadily set back to work, sketching light lines between the makeshift “stars” that quickly began to fill the freckles dotted across Felix’s face.

“Alright! I’m all done.” You leaned back a bit to admire your work, already extremely happy with the way that everything was turning out. “And now -” you clambered off Felix’s lap to let him stretch while you gathered the scattered supplies necessary for the next step of your project - “we paint!”

Felix giggled at the enthusiasm spreading a happy brightness across your face, bringing you closer for a chaste kiss as soon as you had settled yourself back across him. Clasping the brush you had picked up between your teeth as you seemed prone to do, you grabbed two of the few tubes of paint selected from a small box of metallics Felix wasn’t aware you had and unscrewed the one containing silver paint. Squeezing a small amount onto the palette in your other hand, you replaced the cap and set it to the side.

You pulled the paintbrush from your mouth, and said, “This is it. No going back after I start painting,” you warned, absolutely failing to hide the playful tone in your voice.

“I have sharpie all over my face,” Felix laughed, “I’m pretty sure we reached that point a while ago.”

“Right,” you said, ducking your face a little, trying to hide your embarrassed expression. “Well then, let the painting begin!” Placing a sweet kiss to the tip of Felix’s nose, you swirled your brush through the silver paint and hesitantly hovered over the inked lines connecting his freckles.

“You’re not going to mess this up,” Felix reassured, almost as if he could immediately pick up on your thoughts, “anything you paint is always beautiful and I have complete confidence in you.”

The compliments flustered you even more, and muttering a soft, “Oh, be quiet,” you set your brush down, dragging the bristles across the lines you had laid down earlier.

Felix shuddered under the cool touch of paint stroked across his face, and you backed off for a moment, letting him adjust to the foreign feeling. “Try not to move,” you said, setting down your palette and cupping his jaw sweetly.

You painted thin, careful lines over all of the drawn out constellations, painstakingly smoothing the edges and adding a second layer to those where the black ink was still visible. While you kept all of your focus on the paintbrush in your hand, Felix lost himself in the way that you concentrated on the task you had set yourself to. He loved to watch you paint, and the experience was ten times better when you were right up close. Felix watched your expressions as you immersed yourself in your work, noticing every little forehead scrunch, loving the cute way that you would chew on your lip or poke your tongue out when you got to a particularly tricky spot. There wasn’t enough focus left to be self conscious when you truly absorbed yourself in your art, and it was times like these that Felix thought you were most true to yourself, which lead to it also being when he found you most beautiful. Not that you weren’t other times, certainly, but there was something enchanting about your little expressions and the way your hair would stick up from running your fingers through it. You would always have paint all over your hands, no matter how careful you had been, and when it was still wet the pigment often transferred to your face or hair. Of course you never noticed, and so Felix would let you know you should probably look in a mirror, but only after silently appreciating the way that the smudged paint on your forehead somehow only enhanced the glow of beauty that truly being in your element brought out.

“There we go!” you suddenly exclaimed, startling Felix out of his reverie. “I’m finished with the lines,” you told him, dropping your paintbrush into the cup of water and swishing it around a little. “Now I just have to do the stars.”

You leaned to the side and reached around Felix to grab the other tube of paint you had taken out and added some of the gold to the palette before screwing the cap back on and tossing it next to you. Balancing the palette on your knee, you grabbed the cup containing your brush and dragged it toward you. Quickly and thoroughly rinsing the paint from the bristles, you wiped off the excess water and took Felix’s face into your hand once again, gently maneuvering him back into a position where you could easily paint.

Now used to the feeling, Felix didn’t startle when you began painting again, the cool touch of the paint to his cheek calming. You worked steadily, crossing tiny strokes to form the stars connecting the constellations created by his freckles. Every now and then you would shift in his lap, or make sure that the angle his head was at wasn’t making his neck ache, but for the most part you worked silent and still.

You smoothed tiny lines into shapes, keeping them tidy and occasionally layering more paint on where it had smudged or the first coat had been too thin. After finishing one of the stars higher on his cheek, you leaned back to admire your work.

“I think I’m done,” you said softly, wiping a bit of golden paint off Felix’s forehead.

“Can I see?” he asked, plucking the paint brush out of your fingers and placing it in the paint water.

You nodded, climbing out of his lap and gesturing towards the messy desk in the corner of the room. “There should be a mirror up there. I’m going to go get my Polaroid camera.” You loved that camera, it had been a gift from a friend years ago, and you only pulled it out for special occasions. Felix knew how much it meant to you, and the fact that you wanted to capture this moment with it warmed his heart.

When you returned to the room, Felix was sitting back on the cushions you had pulled out, the small hand mirror next to him on the floor. “It’s beautiful, y/n,” he said, and you smiled at the compliment, whispering a quiet “Thanks.”

“Where do you want me?” Felix asked, nodding towards the camera in your hands.

“By the window, probably,” you said, “I think backlighting would look good for this.” It was reaching late afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to sink to the horizon quickly. The golden light would shine through his hair beautifully, and Felix always glowed in the sunlight.

The two of you moved to the other side of the room, and Felix quickly set himself up in front of the window.

“Should I pose or something?” Felix asked, and you shook your head in response.

“Just do what feels natural,” you said, squinting at him through the viewfinder on your Polaroid before lowering it to watch him adjust for the photo. He seemed to relax under your gaze, and turned his head to the side so he was looking straight into the lens as the light washed over the paint trailed across his face, illuminating the shine of the metallics you used. He stilled after a moment, and after you were sure he wasn’t going to move, you pressed the shutter. The camera began printing your photo, and after a moment you plucked it from the slot, pressing it between your lips and bringing the camera back up to your eye.

“I want to take one more,” you mumbled around the developing photo in your mouth, “close your eyes for me?” Felix complied, letting his lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks as a small smile settled across his face. You snapped your second photo, bringing the camera down and tucking the earlier in between your fingers as you waited for the second to print. Felix came to stand next to you, taking the second photo and looking over your shoulder to see how the first one turned out.

As you watched the color seep onto the glossy paper you knew that the stars across his cheeks, no matter how pretty they were, could never compare to the stars that shone in his eyes. He was truly beautiful, and standing there with your camera in hand, his hair brushing against your cheek, you were never more aware.

#lee felix #felix #felix stray kids #stray kids #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #stray kids x reader #felix fluff #lee felix fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #felix imagines #stray kids fanfiction #felix fanfiction #maybe ill have to start a masterlist soon this is exciting

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