#also like a basket of spices you got from a spice market

[fir3ylolol]

lighting in a bottle pt. 2

pairing: Raiden x Reader

tw: vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, fingering, first time, romantic, praise, making out, afab reader, gn reader, smut, sweet smut

a/n: raiden is actually so fun 2 write i love himmmm. also, i still need 200 follower special ideas, hand them overrr. 2nd part to @redsrioters request

word count: 2.41 k

pt. 1

Ao3

Raiden was nothing if not persistent, showing up after every shift to walk you home. Sometimes he even brought Kung Lao along, who would bug you for Madam Bo’s leftovers while you were trying to clean. But it was sweet, how much he cared. So you had no trouble in continuing to go out on dates with him. First was stargazing on the way home from work. Then it was grabbing a dessert to share. Then going to the night market, going to the theater, and even being brought to a training session. Seeing lightning course through your almost-boyfriend was…interesting to say the least. Something you wanted to see again though. It isn’t until two weeks after your first date that you have a fully free day. And Raiden isn’t going to waste it, showing up at your door at 11 a.m. with a light knock.

You see him through the front window, a large basket in one hand and an equally big bag in the other. You can’t help but giggle a little, rushing to finish getting ready. You swing open the door, leaning forward to peck him on the lips. He barely has time to process it before you pull away, shutting the door. He’s got a wide smile on his face, eyes locked on you as he steps back slightly. “You ready?” He asks as you two start walking away from the village. “I wouldn’t be walking with you if I wasn’t ready,” you joke, face scrunching up slightly with sarcasm. He laughs, shoulders shaking slightly, as he manages to say, “You got me there! But I mean ‘Are you ready to spend a good day with yours truly?’ I got up early to get the food ready.” You look at him, eyebrow raised but a wide smile on your face. “How much did you pack?” He looks down at the basket, before looking up sheepishly. “Probably way too much. But I didn’t want to make something you didn’t want to eat.” You lace your arm around his, pulling him close, “How very kind of you.” He smiles widely, eyes crinkling up in the corners. He turns slightly, leading you down a beaten path that slowly angles downward. You watch as the path slowly becomes more overgrown, trees starting to grow thick above your head. You can hear a gentle trickle growing louder until you reach a rocky stream. 

There’s a large rock right at the bank, smooth and warm, soothing to the touch. Raiden spreads the blanket in his arm out on the rock, smoothing the corners down before sitting down, and starting to pull the food out to rearrange it. He pulls out container after container, warm condensation visible inside. Fragrant spices overwhelm your senses and you sit down beside him, eyes darting across everything. “Wow…this may rival Madam Bo’s cooking.” He looks up, nervously waving his hands, “Oh, don’t say that. She’s going to find out you said it and lose your job.” You scoff slightly, shuffling closer, “She can’t fire me. I’m one of the only people in the village she can stand to be around for a while.” He laughs quietly, before grabbing a bite of sauteed vegetables and holding them up to your lips. You take a bite, chewing slowly, muffled moan you savour the flavor. “Wow, you’re a really good chef. This is so good!” His smile grows again, moving to grab more for you. You put a hand up slightly, confused at his actions, “You know you don’t have to feed me, right?” He pauses slightly but continues moving again. “I know. But I made it, and I like feeding you. The way you react is cute.” Well, now you can’t resist, gladly accepting the delicious food. You look around while eating, observing how pretty it is here, and peaceful. “How did you find this place?” You break the silence once again. His eyes light up slightly as he recounts his story, “Well when we were little, Kung Lao and I were always trying to escape work and training. So we would try to find secret places, places we could play without being bothered. This was my favorite one. I was very sad when we were finally caught. But I still come here from time to time, just to clear my mind.” You smile gently at him, the thoughtful side of him is always your favorite. Suddenly, he stands, rolling his pants up to his knees and taking off his shoes. “What are you doing?” you question, leaning forward to see him better. He rushes towards the edge of the water, pausing to look over his shoulder and shouting, “Enjoying the water! You should join me!” He walks in, splashing slightly as he goes further in. You stand up, pulling your clothes out of the way to climb in, now bare feet slipping against the wet rocks below. You can’t help but giggle, the cool water and large stones slightly ticklish against your sun-warmed skin. Raiden is by your side again, arm around your waist to support you as he laughs as well. You smack his arm lightly, “Laughing at my struggles, are you?” He pulls you closer, eyes crinkling in happiness, “No, I’m laughing with you. A distinct difference.” You stare at him a few more seconds, before leaning in closer, capturing his lips in a kiss. You feel his fingers dig into your skin more, as his soft lips press against yours with passion. You’re so lost in him that you forget where you’re standing, your foot slipping against the ground. You end up pulling him in after you, a loud splash echoing through the quiet area. You sit up, gasping and soaking wet. Raiden is pushing himself up, looking towards you through his eyebrows. But it only lasts a second before he’s hysterically laughing, nearly falling back in. You lean forward to shove him slightly, which only makes him laugh more. It’s infectious, both of you laughing like madmen, sopping wet.

You both manage to walk back, clothes heavy but laughter light. It’s almost too short, as you reach your door quickly. Turning to look at him, rosy cheeks and hair still dripping, you feel something come over you, an urge, a desire begging to be given in to. You lean against the door, pausing to think before speaking again, “You know, it’s getting late. And I don’t want you getting sick because you had to go all the way home sopping wet. So…want to come in? It can just be for a bit, to dry off.” You try to cover your tracks, not wanting to push him. But his smile falters slightly as if he’s struggling to decide. You move to open the door, rambling on to cover your tracks, “You don’t have to, you know. I’m good with anything, I just figured I should offer.” You feel his hand on your shoulder, as his voice comes as almost a whisper, “I’d love to, thank you.” You feel all the nervous energy in your body dissipate, unlocking the door and ushering him in. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll start a fire to dry us.” As you move to fill the fireplace, he puts his basket down, observing your house in awe. “I like your decorations. It’s very…you.” He says, smiling over at you from the other side of the room. You light the fire, tending to it to make sure the wood catches. He sits next to you, watching you with the same awe as before. Finally, the fire’s blazing, and you sit back next to him. He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You can feel his body heat, warm still under the damp clothes.

He takes his free hand and cups your face, turning you to look at him. As the firelight bounces off his eyes, you melt into his touch, meeting his gaze with the same intensity. He whispers, barely audible, “You look so lovely like this, so beautiful.” He leans in, pressing his lips against you in a slow but passionate embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, your body turning to face him more. His hand stays on your face, his other hand traveling to your waist, and he leans back to pull you into him more. It’s like he can’t handle any space between you two, lips dancing against yours slowly. He breaks away, taking a deep breath, eyes darting across your body needily. You manage to whisper out, “You know, you could probably get warmer without those wet clothes on.” His fingers tense against you, as he breathes out, “Yeah, care to help?” You move quickly, trying to peel his clothes off as he helps, only stopping when his top is off. You’re distracted by the sight in front of you, gorgeous tanned skin, with well-defined muscles and a shine from the water still on him. He chuckles lightly, lifting your chin so your eyes meet his, “Distracted much?” You turn your head away, laughing lightly, but they’re cut off, as you feel his calloused fingers through your wet clothes. He’s tugging it off, and you’re finally free from the increasingly uncomfortable clothes. It’s his turn to stare, cheeks flushing more at the sight. You lean in, meeting his eyes. “Hey…you don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of stuff, do you?” He rubs the back of his neck, looking down slightly, “That obvious, huh? I’ve just always been too busy with training and work to date.” You kiss his lips quickly, before resting your forehead against his. “Don’t worry, love. We can take it slow.” He’s tugging your pants off now, as he smiles up at you, “I’m not worried. I just can’t wait to see more of you.”

You’re kneeling in front of him, his eyes traveling across you, almost overwhelmed. You move forward, straddling his lap as he’s sat, slightly leaning back. One hand braces against the ground as the other gently traces down your hip. He looks up, breathing shaky, as he speaks out, “Can I…” hand traveling lower, in between your thighs. You nod, peppering his cheek with kisses. His shaking fingers drift over you, fingers brushing against your clit. You gasp slightly, as he stares down, pupils already blown out. Cautiously, his middle finger dips inside you, and you see his eyebrows knit as he sighs out shakily. He curls it upward, and his eyes dart up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He moans lightly into the kiss, finger speeding up slightly as your lips do. As you deepen the kiss, you can feel him growing more restless beneath you, trying to hold himself back. But you’re getting tired of waiting too, and you break the kiss again, panting as you try to catch your breath. His heavy breathing is moving you too, eyes half-lidded as he looks at you. You whisper out, voice barely audible, "I’m ready.”

His eyes grow wide again, and before you realize it, you’re on your back below him. He shuffles out of his pants, and you can practically see his heart pounding out of his chest. He pushes your legs apart with his knees, hands resting next to your head. He pauses, looking down into your eyes as he asks, “Are you sure? It’s not like I don’t believe you, I just…I want you to be sure.” Nodding, you wrap your arms around his neck and smile, whispering gently, “I’m sure, love.” Carefully, he lines himself up with you, and you feel him slowly push inside you with a hiss. He’s gentle, allowing you time to adjust. You feel his arms trembling as his face is scrunched up in concentration, trying his hardest to remain in control of himself. He rests his hips against yours as he’s fully inside, head hung down as he lets out light whines. You lift your head, kissing his lips softly as you tangle your fingers in his long hair, no longer tied up. He eagerly leans into your lips, hips starting to roll into yours. His movements are unsteady, unsure of himself, but as he watches you writhe beneath him, he grows more confident. Each sound, each moan and whine from your lips egg him on further. He can’t help but whine himself, eyes locked onto yours as he fucks into you. But it’s not a look of pure lust, it’s a look of care and tenderness, of heartfelt feelings. And he can’t hold it back anymore, shifting lower so his whole body presses into you to speak into your ear shakily, “You’re like a painting, everything about you is perfect. You’re so kind and funny, and I can’t believe I could have missed out on all of this.” He swallows hard, thrusts becoming more erratic again, as he continues to rasp to you, “You are so stunning, I’ve always thought so. I saw you and it all just clicked, everything I wanted and needed in my life. I saw it in one second.” His head is resting against the floor now, next to your head as you cling to him, gentle moans as you bounce under him. All he can get out is “I adore you,” before he cums. He tenses, body curling over yours as he whimpers out quietly, only loud enough for you to hear. He stays there on top of you, arms shaking slightly as he comes down. 

Finally, he’s able to climb off you, laying to your right. You take a minute to look at the fire, the flame is much smaller now. But it’s still warm and cozy, especially when you feel two strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him. As you settle into his hold, you can’t help but think about everything he said, even if it was very hard to understand at parts. Hesitating, you finally ask, “Did you mean it? Everything you said? Or were you not thinking clearly?” He chuckles in your ear as whispers back, “Of course I meant it. I’m no liar. But it was good enough to not think clearly.” You scoff jokingly, but cuddle back into his grasp again, before speaking again, “Want to lay in my bed instead of the floor?” All you get in response is an even quieter, “Please.”

#raiden mk1 #raiden x reader #raiden #mortal kombat #mk1 #mk x reader #x reader #raiden x reader smut #raiden smut #afab reader

[kooktrash]

hi :D ty for doing spooky requests.

can i request something like: witch!reader x jungkook.

reader is very obsesses with jungkook.

but jungkook is s1 else’s boyfriend. and that s1 is s1 reader wouldn’t want to mess with. (you can ignore this btw)

but still reader couldn’t let go of her little crush on jk. (she would if she could). so reader decided to just admire/watching him from afar silently instead.

and everyday reader would sitting on the tallest branch of tree and watching jungkook doing his works silently. example: shirtless!jungkook chopping off woods. 😏 (they’re living in the wood)

you can decide the ending for them.

i hope u have a good day! 🫶

I’m gonna do it as a list cuzzzz why not. also I wasn’t sure which route to take so I just did a little fluff???? it COULDVE been more yandere but listen 😭 it just ended up being fluff

little witch | jeon jungkook drabble

okay but think about small village in the woods au where Jungkook is like the town’s golden child. he’s nice, good looking, helpful… the list literally goes on

it’s no surprise that you fell for him early on, since you were a child. he was just so sweet and his smile was gorgeous and his voice so melodic. everyone had a crush on him but you definitely took it too far. it wasn’t your fault that he was so unapproachable that you had to admire from afar.

sure, he was always nice when he’d see you somewhere in the small farmer’s market filling your woven baskets with goods. he always said hello when the two of you would find yourselves walking in the same direction

he’s only unapproachable because of her. Her who has been Jungkook’s closest friend for a long time, always trailing after him, always latching on his arm. probably the one started the rumors that they would wed.

still, you couldn’t stop your little crush on him. you just had to keep your distance considering she had no problem confronting anybody who got too close to him. like today; you’ve managed to keep good distance from him. you haven’t seen her but maybe that’s bc you’ve been hiding in a tree

your spying tactics have def escalated lately, more bizarre since you’ve been avoiding seeing him in the market. and the look today was amazing. a shirtless Jungkook cutting lumber in what he could call his backyard. in reality it was just a neck in the woods only a few yards away from his cabin and yours too

you had only been watching him for thirty minutes but you swear you’re not a creep. you were doing a little sketch and it just so happened to be about him. you had just finished adding shade to his backside when you heard her voice.

“Jungkookie! Why don’t you take a break? I’ve just picked some fresh strawberries.”

well that just ruined your day. if she catches you up here she’ll just tease you about something and embarras you

crazy enough, this was not the first time you’ve hidden somewhere to watch him. sometimes you’d be around a corner in the market watching him take lumber to some of the elders who couldn’t cut any. sometimes he’d offer bread to a stray child or show them magic tricks like a coin behind the ear

unlike you he was praised for everything he did. you were merely called a witch even tho you didn’t think you were. nobody trusted you or wanted to be around you so you didn’t have friends. the only nice one had been Jungkook

handsome and kind and unavailable jungkook who knocked on your cabin one stormy night much to your dismay. he was drenched in rain clutching something under his wool

“Y/n, sorry to disturb you I know it’s late but I need your help”

you hadn’t even known what to say, he had never come to you door, you had no clue he knew you lived next to him

you didn’t say anything caught completely off guard. even in rain he looked good, still kind and pretty smile. you moved to the side letting him in and suddenly all the hanging herbs and spices in jars seemed ridiculous. the black cat sleeping on a book and the cauldron tucked away in the fireplace seemed bizarre.

he was nervous too mostly bc you were so quiet. “so… i heard you can help with injuries? i accidentally hurt myself earlier and—“ he lifted his shirt, a gash down his torso not deep but long

you bit your lip, well this was an excuse to stare. but still. you had a feeling any second she would barge in here and tell him you’re a freak. you left him for a second going to the kitchen opening up a jar. his nose scrunched at the smell but he tried not to say anything

“w-whats that?” he couldn’t help but ask when you crushed some dried berries and mixed it with what was in the jar. it was a dark green color, “swamp mud, helps with scratches”

“s-swamp mud?” he asked before wincing arrival the first cold touch of the paste. his muscles tensed like the skin around the cut was burning but you told him to leave it on for a few more minutes

he’s always known you. a sweet and shy person who kept to themselves and often times he found himself wanting to greet you. just let you know that you could always talk to him but you never do.

of course she always tries to tell him you’re a witch and a freak but he doesn’t believe it to bad. if she knew he came tonight she’d be missed but it was his decision. he knew if anyone could do something about the gash it was you, a healer

he watched you back away from him, tucking yourself into the window seat as the rain hit the windows harshly. the black cat coming by to curl around his foot while he felt embarrassing bare in front of you. you just seemed so innocent and gentle, he felt bad for the way the town treated you.

“what’s her name?” he asked about the cat. “salem and they go by he”

he smiled a little, the cat goes by he. before he could ask another question you were leaving to the kitchen again. a bucket of water and a rag in your hands as you pulled a stool in front of him

at this proximity he was able to get a good look at you. he hadn’t known minutes passed instead of seconds. he sees you sometimes in the market but you always keep your distance. usually he’s the one who has to stop with a hello and even then you don’t always talk. whenever he’s with her you don’t even look his way but in truth nobody does. why? he’s not sure but every now and then when he catches you in the woods smiling down at a bunny or bird it makes him smile. she always tries to tell him you’re a freak and stalker but he doesn’t believe that.

“does it hurt?” “huh?” “the cut” “oh, uh a little?”

actually not at all but he didn’t think when he responded. “alright, we’ll give it another minute or two.” he nodded wondering why he said it still hurt but he pushed the thought aside. instead he thought about your soft scent of rosemary and elderberry. up close he can tell you’re very pretty. well, he always thought you were pretty but right now it was different. he used to think you were cute with the shy smiles and soft voice but up close he can tell you’re just naturally pretty

she always tell him you’re obsessed with him. that you’re a freak who watches him in the woods. you’re just a loser with no friends. but he never listens, he has seen you in the woods before sketching in some book but he thinks it’s sweet. anytime he’d be cutting lumber and he’d catch you up on some tree branch sketching away he wouldn’t say anything. he didn’t want to scare you away but he always wondered what it is you sketched

after some time you didn’t ask him again if it hurt but if you would have he would’ve lied again. instead you dipped the rag into the warm water and began to wash away the dried paste. he prepared himself for the pain but there was none so instead he watched you

“there.” “what?” “it’s healed.” “oh” why was he disappointed? you left him to go back to the kitchen and as he looked down the gash had turned into scarred tissue but healed. you came back out with a little jar of the paste, “put this on before bed and soon the scar will fade.”

you sent him on his way before he could even say thank you and he was back in the rain with a jar in hand

the next time you saw him it was in the woods again. you were down by the swamp collecting more mud, unaware of Jungkook passing by with her. he stopped the second he found you crouched down on the floor, the end of your dressed costed in dirt and grass. she pulled in his arm, “let’s go to the market for some bread. hurry before y/n sees u—“

“y/n!” he left her there cutting through the meadow to the thicker marsh side. you looked up seeing him there before looking behind him where she stood glaring. immediately you got up turning to leave before she confronted you about Jungkook talking to you

he visibly frowned watching you walk away. “Jungkook just leave the witch alone. she’s a fre—Jungkook!” and he’s running after you calling your name but he couldn’t find you anymore. hw turned to her, “don’t talk about y/n like that anymore. she is sweet and kind”

you stayed in your cabin for a couple days. just enough time for Jungkook and her to stop looking for you. the other day by the swamp he probably told her how you helped him and was ready to chew you out for it. so you avoided them both. you haven’t even gone to watch him cut lumber but it was for the better. your obsession with him would turn into something more and you can’t dream about something you can’t have.

Jungkook knew your shy nature though and even if he didn’t see you out of the cabin in a couple days he had a feeling it had something to do with his friend. you must’ve heard her call you mean names and it scared you of. he didn’t want to scare you off. he wanted the opposite actually. so what did he do? he went out into the meadow where he could pick some herbs out for you. he had a feeling you weren’t into flowers or sweets so maybe he could try and coax you with things he knows you’ll like

so what happened? little jars of spices, rosemary, thyme, lavender, even that healing swamp mud, all packed nicely for you. set in front of your door everyday with the little notes here and there

it was ironic actually. you used to watch and obsess over him and now he’s the one watching and obsessing over you. making sure to be as loud and obvious as possible when he passed by your cabin or in the market he’d follow after you. he’d cut more lumber than necessary as an excuse to drop it off at people’s doorsteps, making sure to knock when he got to yours. the kind little witch who used to obsess over him was now his own growing obsession.

#kpop #jeon jungkook #kooktrash requests #soooky season #bts #jungkook request #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Yussif | Planting A Seed Of Faith | Romantic

Requested: Yes

A mysterious stranger asks you about Jesus and you’re keen on sharing more, only to find out that he is very kind.

In spite of the itchiness of the woollen cloak, Yussif carries on in his disguise. The words he had heard from the Rabbi his peer Shmuel had been investigating still echo inside his mind, followed by a sleepless night and countless questions that keep him puzzled.

He understands the interest of Rabbi Nicodemus and has in turn started to seek out information himself, which is what brings him here, in the streets of Jerusalem. Yussif has tailed Jesus and His followers all the way from Capernaum, which makes him feel kind of bad, but his determination to get to know more drives him to this pursuit and somehow condones it, at least in his own opinion.

A few of Jesus’ followers are currently standing at a market stall, bickering over which kind of meat to choose to go with the stew tonight. Yussif recognises one of them to be Andrew, but the other two do not ring a bell. Slowly, he walks towards them, listening in on their conversation whilst pretending to browse through the wares of the adjacent stall. 

“–No, Thomas, how could you possibly think that venison goes well with the spices Little James has just picked?” Andrew brings up, obviously irritated with his friend, who lets out a sound of offence. 

“You’re a connoisseur, aren’t you, Andrew?” he sarcastically counters, “It’s not like I’ve been a vintner for years whilst you were out fishing!”

Yussif lets his eyes go over the goods but shows no real interest, instead focused on the three men beside him.

“Hey, that’s low! Plus, that means you know stuff about wine, not that you know stuff about food!”

Thomas scoffs. “It means that I know what goes well with certain types of wine. If you’ve got the young kind of wine, freshly pressed, you’d do well to pair it with—”

Andrew makes a movement with his hand in the air. “Blah-blah-blah. I don’t care, Thomas! Let’s just choose some meat and get out of here!”

“Come on guys,” Little James sighs, finally able to talk over the two arguing men, “All of us are hungry, especially Jesus, so I think we’d do best to just choose something and hit the road.”

Thomas sighs. “Well, we have to wait for (Y/n) anyways.”

It earns an acknowledging hum from the other two.

“What do you think Jesus wanted to tell us?” Yussif’s breath hitches as he tries to listen closely, pretending to be interested in a few selections of condiments the vendor sells, who is looking at him strangely, for he doubts that the Rabbi will buy something from him.

Little James leans on his walking stick and lets out a thoughtful sound. “After that miracle, He just—”

“Are you eavesdropping on my friends?” 

An unfamiliar female voice startles Yussif so much that he nearly yelps, and in shock, he turns sharply to the sound. The three Disciples also let their attention go to the owner of that voice – you – as you stand with a hand on your hip and a basket on your arm filled with eggs. 

Yussif stutters. “A-Ah, I’m sorry? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The past few minutes, I’ve been observing your behaviour and noticed you’re moving closer towards them, but you’re showing no interest in buying anything from the market stall. The way you’re skimming through the wares is not that believable.”

The Rabbi’s gaze goes from you to the three followers, back to you. He pulls his hood a little tighter over his head to shield himself as he observes you a little closer. (H/c) hair peeks out from underneath the light drape you wear over it, and your face is quite wonderful to look at. He immediately wonders if you had been with the group for a long time, but he knows that you haven’t. After all, he would have remembered those (e/c) eyes of yours. 

“I…” he stutters, all words failing him. “You’re followers of Jesus, right? You, too?” He nods towards you, and you raise your eyebrows in question. 

“Are you from the Sanhedrin or something?”

Yussif lets out a shivering breath. “N-No, I’m just… Trying to find out more. Can I… Can I talk to you in a more quiet area?”

“Please step away from the lady, sir.” Andrew pipes up, “She’s with us.”

Your eyes narrow at the man and you raise your hand at Thomas as he attempts to intersect himself between you and the stranger. “Thank you, Thomas, it’s alright. I can talk to this man for a few minutes. I’ll… I’ll be fine, you three go back to camp already.”

“And leave you behind with some random stranger? I don’t think so, (Y/n),” Andrew counters. Yussif clears his throat, averting his gaze lest he be recognised by any of the three followers. 

You sigh and then nod. “Fine.” you state, handing the basket of eggs to Thomas, who takes them with a slight huff. “You boys finally decide on what kind of meat to buy. Go for either venison or goose, it really doesn’t matter for this dish. In the meantime, I’ll try and find a spot to talk to you, sir.”

Yussif gratefully curtsies and the three Disciples are briefly in conflict on what to do, but you give them a warning glare. “Come find me in ten minutes. No sooner.”

Andrew huffs, shrugging in some sort of acknowledgement. He isn’t necessarily pleased, but knows that he cannot say no to you. “Fine,” he agrees.

“I’ll see you boys soon. Come on, sir.”

With Yussif right behind you, you walk through the streets until you come across a secluded alleyway, where only a few rats scurry about. You gesture towards it and the pair of you head into it, finding some privacy. 

“So, what’s your name?” you want to know, “You’ve heard mine already, so I’m curious to hear what yours is.”

His eyes search your questioning face, wondering if he should reveal his name, but he’s almost certain that none of the Disciples have mentioned him to you, for why would they? “It’s Yussif,” you say, “I’m from… From Capernaum.”

You slowly nod and smile softly. “Well, good to meet you, Yussif. Forgive me for the boys back there, they tend to be a bit paranoid when it comes to matters like this. I am indeed a follower of Jesus. And judging by your face, I think you’re… How to put it… Trustworthy to hear more about it? I mean to say that you don’t strike me as a threatening person, is all.”

A soft sound of amusement leaves your lips and Yussif cannot help but mirror it. The sound makes his gut pleasantly tingle with how light it sounds. He is almost inclined to ask how he has never seen you before, but he knows that he can’t reveal how he knows the other followers already, and that he has observed the group from afar in the wake of the events of the past weeks. 

“So, this Jesus. How did you meet Him?” Yussif inquires. The kindness behind his eyes is visible from under his hood and you are drawn to them as well as to the sweet smile that accompanies it. 

“Ah, He healed me,” you say, “I had this strange, painful bump in my…” You flush in embarrassment and put a hand on your chest, “This area, and He took it away from me. The least I can do to pay Him back is to join His ministry.”

Yussif catches himself thinking that your abashed character is endearing. Despite the severity of your story, your gentle nature is refreshing.

“I-I’m glad to hear that you’ve been healed.” he states, “I’ve heard of the miracles, hence my curiosity.” You give a small bow of your head and hum. “Do you… Have you been with Him for long?”

“A few weeks now,” you confide, “I’m from Betsaïda.” It explains why Yussif has never seen you before, for he had been a day trip behind constantly, and he gives you a kind grin. 

Then, he tilts his head and queries: “You… Happen to know where He is now, right?”

A tad apologetic, you rub your neck. “As a matter-of-fact, I do, but all of us are very exhausted from our trip here, so I don’t think the Rabbi is keen on receiving visitors tonight.”

Yussif slightly shakes his head. “Ah, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries, but I just… I want to know something.” He looks over his shoulder to see if anyone is listening in on you before stepping closer, lowering the volume of his voice. His proximity makes you feel inexplicably bubbly on the inside and you momentarily imagine this stranger joining the group as a follower, which you wouldn’t mind.

“Do you think He is the Messiah we’ve been waiting for?” Yussif whispers. 

You stare at him for a long moment, eyes locking with his, and something like a spark seems to ignite whilst you contemplate your response. 

“Yes.” you breathe at last, shy at his closeness. “I am certain that He is. The things He does… The miracles, the prophecies… There is no doubt about it.” It is dangerous to say these words out loud, but for some reason, you trust him with it.

Yussif gawks at you for a few seconds, no sound coming out of his mouth. “Right…” he then mutters, “Right. I… I want to speak to Him. Please.”

You bite your bottom lip as he pleadingly looks at you. “Please…” he once again whispers. 

For a moment, you look out into the busy street to see if Andrew has shown up yet, but the former fisherman is nowhere to be found. Leaning closer, you whisper: “As long as you promise to not show up before the sun is up tomorrow.”

“You have my word.”

“Okay.” You tell him the place where the camp has been set up, just on the outskirts of town, and Yussif gives you a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much, (Y/n).” he breathes, grinning widely. “I can’t… Can’t wait to see Him and ask the questions that I have. I owe you.”

You give him a sheepish smile and fold your hands in front of you timidly. “Of course.” you say with a small shrug, “It’s nothing, really.”

“Nonsense,” Yussif counters. “You are a very kind woman. Your husband must be very happy with you.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’m not married.”

His heart skips a beat. “You’re not?”

Shaking your head, you open your mouth to speak up that you aren’t betrothed when a certain curly-haired Disciple suddenly pops up around the corner, calling your name. 

“There you are! I was already worried sick, and—” His gaze falls upon the Rabbi who is standing with you, his face not covered enough to hide his identity anymore, and Andrew’s jaw falls agape. 

“Rabbi Yussif?”

You blink in puzzlement, your gut feeling strange. “You–You know each other?”

Yussif lowers his gaze and steps back. “F-Forgive me, I meant no subterfuge. I’ve… I’ve followed your group and your Rabbi all the way from Capernaum, because I want to know more… Nicodemus’ accounts are… Well, I just need to know more, that’s all.”

Andrew exhales and seems to relax. “Right.” he sighs. “You can see the Rabbi, but not before tomorrow—”

“I know,” Yussif interrupts, “I’ve just spoken to (Y/n) about it. Again, I’m sorry for concealing my true identity from you, (Y/n), I just… Wasn’t familiar with you yet and wasn’t sure if you knew me.”

You can’t fight the small smile playing over your lips. “Andrew seems to trust you, so I think we’re alright, Yussif.”

His face lights up. “Thank you. I, uh… I will no longer outstay my welcome and leave you to your business, you must be starving. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, alright? Shalom shalom. Have a good evening.”

“Shalom shalom, Yussif. Erev tov.”

Pulling his cloak a little tighter around his head again, Yussif hurries away. Both you and Andrew look after him as he goes, and once he turns the corner, Andrew chuckles.

In surprise, you look at the former fisherman. “Hm? What is it?”

Andrew gives you an amused look and raises his shoulders. “I don’t know, you tell me! You seem to be very charmed by him, that's all.”

With crimson cheeks, you let a scoff escape you. “That was before I knew he was a Rabbi.”

“Well, that doesn’t have to mean anything when it comes to love. A lot of Rabbi’s are married, you know?”

“Love? M-Married? What– Andrew! I’ve only just met the man!”

He laughs heartily, throwing back his head. “Look at you, (Y/n)! I wouldn’t believe your claim to being indifferent for just a second! Come on, let’s go back to camp. I’m sure you’ll need plenty of time to prepare for tomorrow!”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “You’re lucky I gave my basket of eggs to Thomas earlier, otherwise I would have broken one right against that thick skull of yours!”

Andrew is unfazed by this threat. “Oh, I would have loved you doing that, for it makes my hair so shiny! But don’t worry, (Y/n). Yussif is one of the… Kinder Rabbi’s, and, if you ask me, he might be very close to becoming a believer…!” 

Wiggling his eyebrows, he gives you a wide grin, and you slap him against the arm. 

“Stop it.” you hiss, “I can still put eggs into your bedroll!”

Your words do not cease Andrew’s teasing on the way back to camp. Hopefully, he will not reveal anything about this encounter to the others, even though there is truth to his suspicions.

#the chosen x reader #the chosen #the chosen yussif #yussif x reader #reader insert #the chosen fanfiction #chosen fanfiction #angel studios #rabbi yussif x reader

[qu1etwolf]

Click Me for Comfort

A friend (@ripperdoc-is-daddy) asked me for a comfort fic because she was feeling out of place. So for anyone else who feels a little different because of their background, this js for yall.

Characters - Okoye, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers

Warnings - Honestly there aren't any. Maybe a little bit of identity crisis

Summary - Bipoc!reader training with the Dora Milaje feels out of place because she wasn't born in Wakanda.

Words - 798

Masterlist

The bright colors and unique architecture of the markets in Wakanda are beautiful as you pass through them, but you feel detached and out of place. Your brain repeats over and over that you don't belong here. These are not your people. This is not your home. You know better, but you can't help from feeling it.

You walk past booths of various goods like fabrics, spices, even a cute little basket shop but also vendors selling advanced tech and impressive armor and weapons. It was an interesting mix of people and items. You run your hand across a beautiful piece of handwoven cotton before turning around and walking back toward the palace. There was some big to-do about the Avengers showing up today and regardless of how you were feeling you didn't want to miss it.

You were sitting on the balcony of your room when the Quinjet landed. They were the reason you were here so it will be nice to see them again. You watch them offload from the jet and make their way into the palace after meeting with Ramonda in all her glory on the terrace. Little did you know, they were asking about you before they even got past the doors.

You hear voices in the hall a few minutes later "Y/N? Last I saw she was in her room. Down at the end of this hall. She has training later so don't hold her up too long."

There's a gentle knock on your door. "Y/N?"

You get up to answer your door, even though you don't particularly feel like company at the moment.

On the other side of the door is Steve, Sam, and Okoye. Okoye grimaced, "I'm sorry, y/n, but they insisted. I still expect you to be in training on time. Don't let these two cause a problem."

"Yes, ma'am," you nod at her, knowing she'd go harder on you if you were late. She turned on her heels and returned down the hallway without another word. The boys grinned at you.

Steve wraps you up in a tight hug. "We haven't seen you in almost six months, how's your training with the Dora going? Settling in well?"

From behind him you hear Sam interject, "Kicking ass and taking names, right?"

You sigh heavily, wishing you could tell them that everything was great and perfect, but it wasn't. You gesture for them to find places to sit and close the door behind them. Both men sit their shields down by the door, clearly having not even stopped by their rooms before coming to see you. 

"I don't know. I just….feel out of place. I know this should feel like home but it doesn't. They treat me differently. Like I'm…not enough because I wasn't born Wakandan. I'm an outsider. It's…rough. It's nice to see you guys again though. I see there was an exchange of shields while I was gone. Nice job, Cap." You smile and nod at Sam.

"Eh, that old fossil over there didn't want it anymore and dropped it on me. I couldn't really say no," he smirked, "Now what's this about you feeling out of place? We brought you here to train with the Dora because you are badass. You can out-fight half the people in this building."

"I know…I know. I just feel like it's not enough for them."

They walked over to sit on either side of you and wrapped an arm around you tightly. "You will always be enough. It's not your fault if they can't see that yet. The people here are very private and very proud. They just take some time to warm up. You are one of the strongest people we know. Keep your chin high, be just as proud, and they will recognize it. Even if it takes them a minute. I promise." Sam massaged your shoulder a bit before they both wrapped you in the biggest bear hug you have ever felt. "Seriously. Never feel like you're not good enough. We brought you here. If you weren't good enough, we wouldn't have done that, right? So chin up, back straight, March into that training room and show them that even though you weren't born on Wakandan soil…even American black women can kick ass. Knock Ayo on her ass a couple times for me, would ya?" Sam grinned before finally letting you go. Steve holds the hug for a minute longer before doing the same.

"You've got this. You belong here. You belong anywhere. And if anyone says a damn word, they can talk to us or Ramonda about it. Got it?" Steve said firmly.

Somewhere between your laughter and your tears you grin. "Language."

"Ugh…I told them that wasn't going away any time soon…"

#bipoc!reader #black!reader #fluff #comfort #steve rogers fanfiction #sam wilson fanfiction #captian america #captian america x bipoc!reader #captain america sam wilson #nomad steve #black panther #wakanda forever

[glowwormsmith]

OC Aesthetics: FC5 Edition

Tagged by @deputyash, thank you hon! 😊💖 Also sorry I haven’t done these if you tagged me, I have been super-busy with a full-time, long-commute job these days and I got burned out, asdfjgjk. I will try to do as many as I was tagged if I can remember. If you’ve tagged me, thank you and I appreciate it~!

Tagging (sorry for any doubles!): @teamhawkeye @thefathersbride @thomrainer @meatcrimes​ and anyone who sees this and wants to do it

Guidelines: Copy & Paste the following then bold what always applies to your OC, italicize what sometimes/somewhat applies, strikethrough what never applies.

~Deputy Layla Rook~

Holland Valley:

Red, gold, and orange leaves against a clear blue sky // rows of apple trees in an orchard // pick your own pumpkin patches // baskets of puppies // a sleeping fawn hidden away from predators // pumpkin spice // the bite of apple cider // a harvest festival // the faint smell of a bonfire on the wind // the slight unease of getting lost in a corn maze // a hint of fall in the air when it’s still warm // golden sunsets // leaves just beginning to turn from green to orange // the rumble of a tractor // the buzz of an airplane flying low overhead // golden wheat swaying in the wind // the smell of gasoline // sprawling river deltas // crystal clear water // an old wooden dresser // family heirlooms // jingling keys // crimson blood // dark ink on parchment // the sting of a bruise // the warmth of a grand fireplace // gunmetal // work boots in the mud // cattails // the harsh cry of crows // the faint musty smell of taxidermy animals // farm animals making a racket // open air farmers markets // catching your clothes on a barbed wire fence // a fresh breeze through an open window // white rocking chairs // old farmhouses // scarecrows // wild westerly winds // the barely contained excitement for the approach of autumn

Whitetail Mountains:

Fishing at dawn // the smell of woodsmoke clinging to your clothes and hair // wolfsong // locking eyes with another predator // a night that falls faster than expected // the crisp hint of snow in the air // log cabins // the scent of evergreen trees // stone fireplaces // a well worn camouflage jacket // old field guide books // the smell of a cigarette still lingering on your hands // lager // the roar of whitewater rapids // cool dark caves // the rough wood of an antique gun // the scent of iron // woodland paths crisscrossed by gnarled tree roots // a haze of dust from a recent rockslide // losing your breath as you wade into an icy river // winding mountain roads // an eagle’s cry // the bright red flash of a foxes tail at the corner of your eye // the patter of rain on dead leaves // petrichor // seeing your breath in the cold morning air // the click of a projector // the jangling of a chain link fence // gunpowder // the sizzling of a grill // burnt hair // the grand lobby of a lodge // gravel crunching underfoot // the cry of blue jays // information boards // brochures piled on a table // cold metal bars // the sour smell of a lumber mill // the rough texture of scouting achievement badges // muffled oldies music from another room // sharpening a hunting knife // blood red leaves blooming from bone white birch trees // red bleeding into the edges of your vision

Henbane River:

Cloying floral scents // the thick mist that gathers near the ground at dawn // dewdrops sparkling on spiderwebs // the almost too intense morning sun // unseasonable warmth // birdsong // honeyed wine // walking barefoot in the cool grass // the clanging of a jail cell door // spying hazy figures of animals in the fog // lemon balm and lavender // the low growl of a wildcat that you can’t see (but it sees you) // choking clouds of pollen settling on cars like snow // vineyards // faint humming and singing from an unidentifiable source // juniper berries // feeling uncomfortably hot in overly formal clothes // lace // burning incense // frogs in the reeds // soft brunette tresses // long winding rivers // mesmerizing music // glistening trout // the sweet nectar of honeysuckle flowers // rumbling of truck motors // glass beakers // bundles of dried flowers // wind chimes tinkling // rough concrete bricks // tumbling barrels // the ringing of a vintage phone // sweet words // broken promises // moonflower and datura // the smell of freshly cut grass // the faint sound of children laughing

Joseph’s Compound:

Babbling brooks // humming // whistling // dogs barking // grand oak trees // the faint sound of hymns // a crate of ripe peaches // melted wax candles // the smell of fresh newspaper clippings // caged birds singing // a warm embrace // wrought iron arches // flames reaching for the sky // gentle voices murmuring // your feet sliding in thick mud // pouring rain // vape smoke // the slight scent of sweat // ink on skin // the smell of wooden church pews // the rustle of hymnals // old book smell // slight hint of ozone from old electronics // Bradford Pear petals floating on the breeze

Dutch’s Island:

Creaking metal hinges // the crackle of a radio // the scratch of an old record player // the smell of antiseptic // the flickering light of a projector // the feel of pushing pins into cork board // echoing footsteps // shelves stacked with canned food and mason jars // dark shadowy figures on the edge of your vision // gleaming metal badges // a table of bullet shell casings // vertigo from standing on swaying radio towers // the sound of shattering glass // whistling pipes // suffocating heat // the chatter of squirrels // faint scent of mothballs // the sputter of a boat engine // the high electronic whine of an old television turning on // the sound of distant gunfire

~Iris~

Holland Valley:

Red, gold, and orange leaves against a clear blue sky // rows of apple trees in an orchard // pick your own pumpkin patches // baskets of puppies // a sleeping fawn hidden away from predators // pumpkin spice // the bite of apple cider // a harvest festival // the faint smell of a bonfire on the wind // the slight unease of getting lost in a corn maze // a hint of fall in the air when it’s still warm // golden sunsets // leaves just beginning to turn from green to orange // the rumble of a tractor // the buzz of an airplane flying low overhead // golden wheat swaying in the wind // the smell of gasoline // sprawling river deltas // crystal clear water // an old wooden dresser // family heirlooms // jingling keys // crimson blood // dark ink on parchment // the sting of a bruise // the warmth of a grand fireplace // gunmetal // work boots in the mud // cattails // the harsh cry of crows // the faint musty smell of taxidermy animals // farm animals making a racket // open air farmers markets // catching your clothes on a barbed wire fence // a fresh breeze through an open window // white rocking chairs // old farmhouses // scarecrows // wild westerly winds // the barely contained excitement for the approach of autumn

Whitetail Mountains:

Fishing at dawn // the smell of woodsmoke clinging to your clothes and hair // wolfsong // locking eyes with another predator // a night that falls faster than expected // the crisp hint of snow in the air // log cabins // the scent of evergreen trees // stone fireplaces // a well worn camouflage jacket // old field guide books // the smell of a cigarette still lingering on your hands // lager // the roar of whitewater rapids // cool dark caves // the rough wood of an antique gun // the scent of iron // woodland paths crisscrossed by gnarled tree roots // a haze of dust from a recent rockslide // losing your breath as you wade into an icy river // winding mountain roads // an eagle’s cry // the bright red flash of a foxes tail at the corner of your eye // the patter of rain on dead leaves // petrichor // seeing your breath in the cold morning air // the click of a projector // the jangling of a chain link fence // gunpowder // the sizzling of a grill // burnt hair // the grand lobby of a lodge // gravel crunching underfoot // the cry of blue jays // information boards // brochures piled on a table // cold metal bars // the sour smell of a lumber mill // the rough texture of scouting achievement badges // muffled oldies music from another room // sharpening a hunting knife // blood red leaves blooming from bone white birch trees // red bleeding into the edges of your vision

Henbane River:

Cloying floral scents // the thick mist that gathers near the ground at dawn // dewdrops sparkling on spiderwebs // the almost too intense morning sun // unseasonable warmth // birdsong // honeyed wine // walking barefoot in the cool grass // the clanging of a jail cell door // spying hazy figures of animals in the fog // lemon balm and lavender // the low growl of a wildcat that you can’t see (but it sees you) // choking clouds of pollen settling on cars like snow // vineyards // faint humming and singing from an unidentifiable source // juniper berries // feeling uncomfortably hot in overly formal clothes // lace // burning incense // frogs in the reeds // soft brunette tresses // long winding rivers // mesmerizing music // glistening trout // the sweet nectar of honeysuckle flowers // rumbling of truck motors // glass beakers // bundles of dried flowers // wind chimes tinkling // rough concrete bricks // tumbling barrels // the ringing of a vintage phone // sweet words // broken promises // moonflower and datura // the smell of freshly cut grass // the faint sound of children laughing

Joseph’s Compound:

Babbling brooks // humming // whistling // dogs barking // grand oak trees // the faint sound of hymns // a crate of ripe peaches // melted wax candles // the smell of fresh newspaper clippings // caged birds singing // a warm embrace // wrought iron arches // flames reaching for the sky // gentle voices murmuring // your feet sliding in thick mud // pouring rain // vape smoke // the slight scent of sweat // ink on skin // the smell of wooden church pews // the rustle of hymnals // old book smell // slight hint of ozone from old electronics // Bradford Pear petals floating on the breeze

Dutch’s Island:

Creaking metal hinges // the crackle of a radio // the scratch of an old record player // the smell of antiseptic // the flickering light of a projector // the feel of pushing pins into cork board // echoing footsteps // shelves stacked with canned food and mason jars // dark shadowy figures on the edge of your vision // gleaming metal badges // a table of bullet shell casings // vertigo from standing on swaying radio towers // the sound of shattering glass // whistling pipes // suffocating heat // the chatter of squirrels // faint scent of mothballs // the sputter of a boat engine // the high electronic whine of an old television turning on // the sound of distant gunfire

#oc tag game #fc5 ocs #layla rook #iris of eden's gate #my ocs #iris to layla: we have so much in common friend how nice🙃 #layla: bite me

[supersabbatical2024]

4/20/24: Pastries tasted to date… Un Brioche de sucre, deux cookies au chocolat 🍪 🍪, trois Palmiers, trois crèpes et beaucoup des croissants 🥐 🥐 🥐 🥐 🥐 🥐 🥐 🥐 Très bien pour cinq jours? Ok, that basically means that eating pastry has been one of our top priorities since we got here 5 days ago. Bien sur, some of my middle and high school French is coming back to me, dans mon 🧠, mais je ne parle Francais avec ma bouche… I can read and get the gist of the words, I can listen and understand the gist of the words, but speaking aloud is just a mental block for me. I just freeze and go blank. Meanwhile, Claude learned some French from his Japanese mom some 40+ years ago, and he is better than I am at ordering lunch! Maybe when I come back and live here for 6 months, I will have a break-through… 👀

We heard good news about Oreo yesterday, and my son is taking great care of mom, so all is holding steady on the home front, knock wood…😬

Today, we walked through several street markets of fresh flowers, spices, as well as fruit and produce. We have passed through a different street market pretty much every day, in one spot or another here in Aix. We have enjoyed buying boxes of gorgeous shiny fraises 🍓and framboises to eat while we walk around and around this town… At my request, we are trying another Thing on this sabbatical…I always liked the idea of traveling and staying put in one place rather than moving every few days or so—the idea is to feel like I am getting to know “my neighborhood.” I thought it could make us feel more like we’re living here than if we popped around hotel to hotel. We are only 3 weeks, so it’s LIKE we are living here, but without having to actually figure out too many real life things except Where and What to Eat. But also Where to Go for Groceries, and whether I can actually buy French Onion Dip here (not that I can see!). BUT part of “kind of like” living here is also cooking at home, so I was on a mission at the street market today.

Here’s how it went: We were people-watching this morning as we ate our croissant and cinnamon roll at a tiny cafe table outside at Weibel Patisserie (a pretty famous place I’m told). We each sipped a “cafe luong” (deux, actually—I guess I drink strong black coffee now. Bzzzzz), while we sat practically in the street (trucks and older ladie’s roller grocery bags were millimeters apart and nobody but us gasped!). It’s Saturday (Samedi), and everyone was holding their big shopping baskets or trailing their rollie bags behind them. Older couples seemed to be out shopping together, sharing the load, and EVERYONE had giant LEEKS sticking out of their bags!! Perhaps there was a sale at the street market, or perhaps Leeks are very French, which I did not really know. But now I wanted to achèter les poireaux…I wanted to buy the leeks! Claude unwittingly threw down a challenge, noting that he has always LOVED Potato/Leek soup…I’m not sure he believed I could/would actually follow through, but I grabbed the leeks, potato, et bien sur, l’herbes de Provence!!! We stopped at the Casino supermarchè for chicken broth (another item Not to Be Found in two grocery stores we checked, only vegetale ou bouillon…what is that about??). We got home and Claude went off to read on the back patio in the sun ☀️ while I cooked up Le Soup De Jour: Potato et Poireaux…Voila, Je suis une chef Francaise!!! (Yeah No). I even made a cooking video (not my first if you must know! Just NOT widely distributed due to their silliness). You can find it posted…NOWHERE 😝

We will see how this whole “hanging out in one place” works out…It’s only been 5 days, and I feel like I have already found my favorite Palmier. I’ve also been to the snazzy automated Nespresso store several times (I get it, Europe! I really doo!) So much more to master, though, and tomorrow is a travel day. We are actually getting up early to drive to an antique market about an hour away, in Isle Sur La Sourgue. Et maintenant, and now, Claude is cooking at home! Reheating my soup de jour and making his famous salad dressing for a salade avec our last few slices of délicieux jambon 🥗 🍖 Bon soir!! ❤️ 🌙

[nabesthetics]

MC getting the guys + Asra flowers 💐

A HC request from @sociallyacceptable that has been sitting in my inbox for over a month because I am like that :’B Muri’s is a bit different, but I got the idea and couldn’t just let it go, alright Also yes I did go overboard a bit by adding plot, what about it

FLUFF TIME. It’s just a tiny bit suggestive in a couple of places, but it’s all PG, I promise.

💙 Asra 💙

The Apprentice gets the bouquet on a whim.

They spot a flower stall at the market while shopping for spices and some ingredients for the shop; one of the arrangements, a mix of deep purple and pastel violet remind them of Asra and Faust at the same time.

On the way back, the MC adds a couple of enchantments to the flowers, to both make them last longer and leave a little personal touch: some of the blooms end up sparkling as if the live petals were made out of delicate amethyst crystals.

Asra is conjuring something in the kitchen when they return home; hearing the front door closing, he starts his regular playful banter without turning from the stove.

Faust sees the MC enter the kitchen first, popping her head up from Asra’s shoulder and blepping in greeting.

“Pretty!”

“Mmhm, they sure are Fa- oh.”

His surprise quickly gives place to delight, and moments later he’s pulling MC into a kiss.

They just can’t help but make him fall in love all over again every day, huh?

But if they say a cheesy line about the color of his eyes, he will tease them a bit for that, even if he is blushing at the same time and already tucking one of the sparkling flowers into their hair.

Everything else is forgotten for the rest of the day, he just wants to turn all of his attention to them, grateful to the universe for being able to hold them as much as they wish.

(He probably ended up burning whatever he was cooking, though)

The bouquet will stay in the bedroom, just for the three of them to see.

They have to go and get Faust her own flower basket the next day, because she wants to sleep in the flowers.

Asra puts his own spell on one of MC’s enchanted flowers, to complete its transformation into ice-like lavender crystal, preserved in time and kept as another memory that he would like to remember.

❤️ Julian ❤️

Unfortunately, Love Festival tends to be a very busy day at both the shop and the clinic.

While MC handles the expected influx of demand for pretty magical trinkets, Julian has to deal with the over-enthusiastic lovebirds who end up at the clinic after trying to “spice things up”; it is entertaining most of the time, but also means that the two have to be apart all day, to Julian’s great dismay.

He swears that he’ll try to make it home before dinner.

They both know that he likely won’t.

So around midday, MC closes the shop for a while and heads to the numerous festival stalls.

And in the first minutes of Julian’s lunch break, they dramatically show up in his office with a no less dramatic crimson bouquet, nearly making the poor doctor spill his (third cup of) coffee all over himself and the papers he’s been working on.

He’s having troubles processing it.

“H-hello, darling, did you- ah, I mean- are those... foooor me?”

He almost adds an “are you sure” in there before his brain catches up.

Once it does, he grins and hurries to get up from his desk and sweep the MC off their feet, sending them laughing.

He’s deeply touched and somewhat sheepish: for all his theatrics and love of cheesy romantic gestures, this man will never get used to being on the receiving end.

Oh how he loathes the fact that he doesn’t have the time to thank them properly right there and then; stealing their breath with a kiss will have to do for now.

The flowers are definitely enchanted - Julian can barely take care of cacti - and will stay in his office once MC fetches a vase from their shop next door; he may or may not tear up just a bit while looking at them at some point.

He does make it to dinner, by the way - other workers at the clinic practically kick their boss out because he’s overworking as it is - and takes the MC to a lovely evening in the city.

💚 Muriel 💚

It’s been a long project, with the hardest part being keeping Muriel in the dark about it; MC managed to talk Inanna into helping.

Finally, when everything’s ready, they “go for a walk” in the forest together, with MC leading them to their secret spot.

A small clearing in the forest has been transformed into a colorful island of flowers. Carnations and wild primroses from the depths of the palace garden; a few plants from the Heart’s clearing, their soft glow visible even during the day; and of course, forget-me-nots and MC’s own favorite flowers.

There’s enough space to walk freely between the flower patches, and few charms decorate the surrounding trees, keeping the plants flourishing and covering the area with a blanket of calm, peaceful aura.

Muriel freezes on the edge of the clearing, stunned, looking over the carefully selected plants and then turning to MC with a silent question in his eyes.

It’s been a year since the two of them confessed their love to each other, they explain. So they wanted to create something special, to remind of that moment.

There’s a blush on his cheeks as his expression softens into a smile.

“...you never stop surprising me. Thank you.”

He leans down for a kiss, softly at first, then picks them up to kiss them like he did a year ago.

Really, the only reason he doesn’t take it further is that Inanna is right there, somehow looking very pleased with herself before she trots into the clearing to lay down next to a wild lavender patch.

They stay there for the entire evening, enjoying each other’s company.

Muriel teaches MC how to make flower crowns, and doesn’t try to take his off this time; Inanna ends up with a flower necklace as well.

They head back home when the stars above match the shining flowers scattered throughout the clearing.

That place becomes one of their favorite spots for years to come, with them maintaining and modifying it together.

🤍 Lucio 🤍

Lucio “I should be showering YOU with gifts!” Morgasson isn’t as used to receiving gifts as one might expect.

Oh, there were many people trying to get in his good graces through expensive gifts back in his Count years, but those were basically expected grandiose bribes, really; never a simple genuine gesture of affection.

Lucio himself goes strongly overboard with gifts at any given opportunity, and that does sometimes include flowers - or at the very least petals on the bed, he’s that kind of guy.

MC figures that “revenge” is long overdue.

It takes a little while to turn that idea into reality, but finally, after completing a few rather intense contracts in a row, the two go back to Vesuvia for a week to catch up with others and take a break from adventuring, with Nadia letting them stay in MC’s guest bedroom.

After sleeping in, Lucio wakes up to an empty bed and the intense smell of vanilla and chocolate in the room.

There’s a plate of freshly baked cookies on the desk, clearly not the “typical palace type”; it’s a pleasant surprise, if slightly confusing - but he is alright with being slightly confused with a cookie in his mouth.

That’s when MC quietly opens the door, beams upon seeing that he’s up, and enters with a bouquet of white, yellow and orange flowers in their hands.

The absolutely dumbfounded mid-chew expression on his face is fascinating to watch, as his eyes dart from the flowers to MC and then to the walls: there are a few seconds of badly concealed panic as Lucio frantically tries to recall what date it is, did he forget something, are they expecting something in return and he’s not ready-

Then, that one slightly wavering grin, “Gooood morning. What’s the occasion, dove?”

“The occasion is that I love you.”

How dare.

Well, good thing that the bed is right here, because he really doesn’t know how else to deal with this situation.

The flowers stay on the desk for the rest of the week, and Lucio turns pink every time he spots them.

He soon figures out how to deal with the situation, though; little does MC know that they just started a gift war.

#''ok brain let's do some headcanons'' ''aight but what if we add PLOT'' ''wait no-'' #I did enjoy these ngl they're SOFT #the Arcana #the Arcana headcanons #Nabs writes #the Arcana fluff #Asra Alnazar #Julian Devorak #Muriel of the Kokhuri #Lucio Morgasson

[solomonish]

How To Keep Your Demon Entertained At A Walmart

Congratulations! You've earned yourself a few demon date days up in the human world! But what's this? You have errands to run? Well, we all know these demons can't function without you for more than five minutes....but an entity that's thousands of years old gets a little bored and restless in the hyper-market wasteland of a Walmart...

Nowdateables: coming soon!

Lucifer

if you don't want him getting passive-aggressive about how you should've done this before he got here (yeesh Lucifer some of us have jobs or responsibilities that we can't shove onto our siblings for a day to see our precious mc) then you better be ready to make conversation

definitely not the type to allow you to even think about sending him off so you can get stuff done. he's not even that bothersome, so he'll get offended if you even think about it, but also wouldn't you rather keep him around to reach the top shelves?

basically if you don’t want to keep Lucifer entertained, you have to be the one he needs to keep entertained

do that thing where you roll around on the cart like a skateboard and he’ll be trying to put a stop to it immediately

put random things in your cart that he knows you don’t need and let him take it out and put it back where it belongs

stare him in the eyes as you put that party size brownie mix in your cart then speed walk away. he will come up from an aisle in front of you and silently pluck the box out and take it back. he will come back to see seven boxes of corn dogs and momentarily considers breaking up with you

does not need a treat as a bribe, but will definitely forgive your antics if you bought something from the bakery to snack on as you go home (especially if you did it without him noticing, considering the eagle eye he’s had to have on your cart the whole time)

just don’t have the nerve to complain about the crumbs in your car after that

Mammon

I would say to ask him to scan the area looking for dropped coins on the floor but he'd probably knock down shelves trying to look beneath them so....maybe don't?

also please keep an eye on him or he WILL be shoplifting. human jail is (probably?) a step up from demon jail but like. let's aim for no jail, ok mammon?

instead, give him a pre-portioned off list and tell him it's like a scavenger hunt. he'll scamper off to explore the walmart and his duty to keeping you happy has like a 70% chance of preventing him from stealing anything too important

make sure the stuff you put on the list is kind of hard to find but not too hard. you wanna keep him occupied without risking him freaking out because he can't find this super specific spice you want

either that or only make a really vague list like. tell him you need bread and he'll stand in the bread aisle trying to remember if you like white bread or whole wheat bread until you come to retrieve him

bring money for a treat. if it's near st patrick's day go in the seasonal aisle and hope they have chocolate gold coins

he's not too hard to deal with, but figuring out what's sneaky enough to put on the list is a chore of its own so going by yourself is less work anyway

Leviathan

taking him to walmart was your final fatal mistake

seriously? he has to go in? you could have just left him in the car!!

you take him intending to have him pick out some normie snacks (since you don't have any limited edition whatever-the-fucks in your house right now) but he looks so uncomfortable you make a detour towards the games

just leave him to play on the trial device and go pick out a few things for him to choose from when you circle back to him

arguable the least stressful trip for you until you have to wade through the pool of kids surrounding him and watching him play when it's time to pay and leave

you won't have to buy him anything but you will have to wait for him to finish the level he's on before he lets you drag him away. and he'll probably complain a little bit in the car about how terrible it was to go in in the first place, which a treat would help minimize.

so i guess just pick your battles with this one?

Satan

satan is a refined individual with startling amounts of self control. he does not need pointed in the direction of the books. he can entertain himself on a grocery run.

point him in the direction of the books anyway

their selection is always small (because it’s a walmart not a bookstore) and half of it is children’s anyway so he’ll probably wander off real quick

satan doesn’t need to be entertained, no, he’s past that. he needs to be kept on a leash

you have no way of knowing where he’ll end up. sometimes he’ll be somewhere that makes sense like in the stationary but sometimes you’ll find him staring at the paint samples like it’s a masterpiece in a museum or over by the fishing hooks reading up about local fish populations and how to get a fishing license and you’re just like “???? i’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes???? don’t give me facts about salmon???”

will ask you why you need to buy tires in the same place you get your food. isn’t that suspicious? what do they specialize in?

answer him only with the word “bargains” and he’ll stop asking once he understands or gets annoyed

you don’t need to buy him a treat unless he finds a book he wants. then come on mc, you dragged him out here and you’re NOT gonna let him get this one thing??

Asmodeus

he's fine with making an errand run with you actually!

he's up on the human world for you baby, just make sure to hold his hand so he feels appreciated

asmo is far too entertained with the concept of a walmart for his own good. don't go with him if you want it to be a quick trip because he'll want to go around the whole store

thinks at first that it's kind of nifty that humans just dump all the things they need in one store but is quickly turned off from the novelty when he realizes how short the distance is between the clothes and the nearest package of raw chicken

even if the selection is small, he will want to spend time in the makeup department. probably goes on rants about how he can’t imagine this quality of product is good for your skin

will still buy nail polish though if you let him

overall? not terrible to have around, but make sure you don’t have anywhere to be in the next hour when you take him

Beelzebub

pack a gallon bag of cheerios like he's a toddler and get ready to fucking book it in and out of there

you know how you should never go grocery shopping when you’re hungry? what were you thinking bringing Beel around??

another brother who’s good for reaching tall shelves if you need it

Beel also has this talent where he can just list off the ingredients you need if you happen to forget your list

if you want, you can distract him momentarily by just throwing out random dishes and he’ll get the ingredients right every time (even though they’re human dishes!!) but you’ll end up giving him like five different cravings by the time you leave

only take him if you want to speedrun grocery shopping, because he will start eating food you haven’t paid for if you take too long

bring extra money for that too, just in case he gets caught :(

Belphegor

bringing belphie to walmart isn't a matter of keeping him entertained moreso than keeping him awake

which you will inevitably fail to do

so even if you only need like three things, get him a cart and let him fall into the basket

he’ll try to stay awake (and he’ll give very self-satisfied grins to the people who stare at him ((and especially the ones who say “wow i wanna do that”))) but he can only fight off his sin for so long

stop by the blankets so he can stuff a few soft things in (bc he’s gotta be uncomfortable cramped in the little basket) and he’ll make himself a tiny nest

the good news is you can put anything on top of him and he won’t complain. just don’t drop any gallons of milk on him or anything that’ll wake him up

go to a self check-out so the employees don’t yell at you

after you put your groceries in your car, just dump his ass on the pavement. he’ll forgive you if you bought him the blankets.

#this came to me in a dream and i thought it was funny #walmart is just such a weird place.... #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me swd #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #long post #lucifer hcs #mammon hcs #leviathan hcs #satan hcs #asmodeus hcs #beelzebub hcs #belphegor hcs #my fics #lucifer writing

[katsukisbimbo]

bun bun

✯ pairing: usagiyama rumi x reader

✯ synopsis: everything changed for you when your favourite hero, usagiyama gets thrown inside your shop.

✯wordcount: 12.4k+

✯warning: fem! reader, she/her pronouns, wlw, swearing :))

✯ note: this is dedicated for lovely andrea <3 aka ms @kagsbuns !! I think I got carried away tho. this was only supposed to be 10k max, but at 9k I still didn’t get to the conflict so here we are LOL. I hope u guys enjoy!! this is my first time writing something so long!

You sighed as you used you picked up the heavy basket of apples. Your day usually consisted of tending to your growing vegetables in the early morning, before picking and washing the ripened vegetables and fruit. Using some fresh peppers from your garden to spice up your usual omelette for breakfast, then getting ready for work. 

You currently owned a cute little produce market in the middle of the city, which was only a twenty-minute walk from your home. Your small shop was mostly frequented by old folks and young moms buying fruits and veggies for their children.

 You loved your work and your life, tending to vegetables and fruits and selling them. Your work helped you produce a schedule, a schedule that kept you sane. 

You smiled as Ms. Takeshi walked in, smiling at you before browsing through her favourite strawberries that you had just picked and washed this morning. “Good morning lovely! Your fruits and vegetables look wonderful today! Did you also make some of my favourite banana bread?” She queried as she made her way to the display case where you kept your freshly made pastries. 

“Of course Ms. Takeshi! I already wrapped it up for you!” you handed the bag over to her. “You’re going to be a great wife one day lovely” She smiles as she leaves the door, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth. Your smile dropped as you activated your quirk. You had a plant quirk, pretty convenient for your work. You were able to manipulate plants and grow them to your will.

Large vines soon began to rise from your potted plants as you started to organize some of your products, not liking how they looked. You rolled your eyes as you recalled what Ms. Takeshi had said to you. Every morning was the same thing with her. Some days she would even try to set you up with her grandson. Yes, you were only 19, turning 20, but you already had everything you wanted. Plus, you didn’t play for the other team. 

You were more of a “We fell in love in October” kinda gal. 

Your thoughts were swiftly interrupted at the sound of a body getting thrown inside your shop, soon landing right in front of you. It took you two seconds to register that a body just flew into your shop and ruined your blueberries, and another two seconds to figure out that this body belonged to the Rabbit Hero: Mirko herself. You gasped softly as you pried her body out of the rubble with your vines. 

You propped her up onto your counter before wrapping your vines around her once more, with the purpose to heal her bruised body. You concentrated your power as you continued to heal her, your vines sprouting flowers and glowing with a light yellow hue. 

You had to restrain yourself from cooing when you saw her nose twitch. It wasn’t known that you were fond of heroes. Everyone had assumed that you had no interest in it, when in fact, you’ve been a huge fan of Mirko’s for some time. You did have other heroes you liked, but Mirko had your attention and heart. 

You struggled to breathe as you felt your energy being sapped out of your body. You didn’t know how much longer you would be able to take, especially when you had only used your quirk for meagre housework, up until now that is. You suddenly jolted in surprise when Mirko’s arm shot up and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, bringing your face barely ten centimetres away from hers. 

As her mouth opened to speak, another crash occurred nearby, making both of your heads snap up in the direction of the noise. You gaped as you saw the wrongdoer slowly walk towards your shop. “Mirko-san, please get up” you shakily whispered to her. 

She laughed at your cute shivering figure before jumping up on top of the counter. “Come at me bitch!” she provoked before they hastily jumped her. You quickly threw yourself out of the way and hid behind your apples. “Hey! Baby carrot!” she hollered as she pinned down the villain. “Get out of here!” Rumi growled. You immediately shook your head, small tears sliding doing your cheeks. 

“I-I can’t! I’m not gonna let either of you mess up my shop!” you weakly yelled as you somehow mustered up enough strength to summon your largest vines, speedily sending them towards the villain and entrapping them, leaving Mirko to gape at your work. She whistled as she observed the vines twining around the body of the unfortunate villain. ‘T-That’s kinda hot, not gonna lie’ she thought in her head before successfully knocking the villain out with one kick. 

“Hey, you okay there?” she questioned as she looked at your trembling figure. You felt unable to respond to her query, your throat suddenly closed up. You let out a squeak in response before feeling your knees buckle, your body quickly tumbling to the ground. Before you could even graze the wooden floor, Miruko already had her arms wrapped around you, carrying your unconscious body princess style, your face nuzzled onto the top of her breast. 

“My poor bunny” she cooed before wiping the sweat off your brow, taking you to the closest ambulance to get the both of you checked out. 

___

You groaned as the exhaustion started to seep into your body. Your head was killing you. You peeled your eyes open, expecting to see your room, only to see a blindingly white hospital room. A few machines monitoring your blood pressure and heart rate had been situated by your side, along with your IV drip which was currently connected to your left arm. 

“I see you’re up” voice booms, making their presence known. 

You turned to see Mirko, sitting on the couch, clad in civilian clothing. You blushed as her outfit consisted of a black leather jacket, accompanied by tight black jeans, a white v-neck shirt, and chunky leather shoes. To sum it all up, she looked delectable. You felt your cheeks warm at the sight of your hero crush. What was she doing here in the first place? Wasn't she supposed to be on patrol or something? What was she doing, wasting her time on a girl like yourself?

You cleared your throat before piping up. “W-why’re you here?” you questioned before quickly averting your gaze. 

“You saved my life, my little carrot” She started, standing up and making her way towards your bed. You felt yourself slightly flinch back, intimidated by both her figure and her aura. Mirko had an intense vibe that made you want to crawl into a hole and die. The way she carried herself was both overwhelming and admirable. She was just so captivating, it was like-

“Hey. Hey!” she snapped her fingers in your face. “What’s wrong carrot? Are you nervous? Last time I saw you, you were brimming with complete and utter confidence. Well, kinda, but you were still badass. Are you a badass or was that just a facade to impress lil ol’ me? Hm?” she teases, her face nearing yours. 

“I-I no! I mean y-yes! Um!” you felt yourself about to tear up from embarrassment. You were humiliating yourself in front of your favourite hero. You sputtered once more before deciding to just shut your mouth, staring at your lap where your hands were neatly folded. 

“What’s wrong carrot? Do I make you nervous?” she taunted. 

God, now you wanted to cry. 

 You felt your tears starting to arise, your throat closing up. Your lips were quivering. You tense your jaw to prevent any whimpers from slipping out, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself any further. Mirko's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. She made her poor carrot cry! 

She immediately took your hands off of your lap, bringing one of your hands to rest against her soft cheek. She then gave your palm a soft kiss. “Don’t cry! I didn’t mean to tease ya that much!”. You just nodded as you felt yourself become light-headed at her actions. The Pro-Hero Mirko just kissed your palm. She just kissed your palm. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

You were unaware of how to act in front of her as you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself any further than today. You would always remember the time you embarrassed yourself in front of your hero crush. 

“What happened by the way? Why am I here?” you piped up, taking the time to admire her bright and shining face. 

“Well, I accidentally got thrown into your shop and got knocked out. You used your little vines to help me out! I passed out a little, but the villain came, and I tried to fight him, but before I could do some real damage, you stepped in and told us that you weren’t about to let us ruin your shop and apprehended the villain by yourself! I didn’t know you had it in ya! I was so surprised but I managed to knock out the fella! You also ended up passing out dear! I had to catch ya and carry you to the ambulance myself!” She grinned, playing with your fingertips. 

“I’m so sorry“ you cried, gripping tightly onto her fingers. “I didn’t mean to make your job harder for you! I‘m only nineteen and I don’t have enough money to repair any of the damages! Are there even damages? For sure there are!” you were about to cry again. Everything was just so overwhelming that your first reaction was to cry. 

You’ve only met Mirko and you’ve managed to embarrass yourself three times. 

“Don’t worry about it, carrot. I already took care of the damages, because I was the one who got thrown into your shop. Don’t worry about being a crybaby either. It’s cute” she gave you her signature toothy grin. 

“I-Thank you! Thank you so much Mirko-san!” You cried, bowing as low as you could in your state. 

“Don’t worry about it” she brushed off. 

“Please! I have to repay you somehow! I can give you a free produce? I can make your bread? I can't offer much” your brows furrowing. You wanted to repay her. 

“Yeah? I’ll think of something, cutie. Anyways, I gotta run, I’ll see you around yeah?” She quipped before making her way out of her room, giving you one last smile before exiting. 

You had it bad for her. For sure. 

___

It’s been a week since you were discharged from the hospital, you didn’t have any fatal wounds but was only admitted for overusing your quirk, you didn’t use your quirk for anything as exhausting as apprehending a criminal. 

You sighed as you continued to tend to your vegetables, already missing a certain someone’s presence. Meeting with her, even for such a short time was an experience. 

You clicked your tongue as you checked the time, you only had half an hour to make your way to work and set up your produce. 

You wondered if you would be able to see her again. 

You continued to bustle around, seeing Ms. Takeshi rushing inside. “Oh my goodness! Are you all right lovely? I heard about the attack! Thank goodness you’re okay!” she continued to check your body for any bruises or wounds, sighing in relief when she found none. 

“I’m fine Ms. Takeshi! I wasn’t attacked, a Pro got thrown into my shop.. and she saved me” your mind drifted to the memory of Mirko lunging at the criminal, putting her body in front of yours to shield you from any attacks. 

“She saved me” quipped up a voice. 

Both you and Ms. Takeshi had whipped your head around, seeing Mirko, clad in her hero costume with her hand on her hip. She smirked at your bewildered reaction before moving further into the store. 

“M-Mirko-san! What’re you doing here?”

“I don’t know, to be honest, I was in the area and I just missed your face” she walked around, admiring the large carrots you had grown in your garden. 

“Y-you missed me? I-I missed you too, M-Mirko-san..” you blushed, averting her piercing gaze. “You’re such a precious carrot, call me Rumi” she offered, stretching her hand out to yours in a handshake, you hesitantly took it, noting how her hand dwarfs yours. 

“I couldn’t possibly!” releasing her hand. “Why not? We’re friends aren't we?” your eyes widened at her implication that you two had something more than just a fan and idol relationship.  

“I-I YES! Of course, we are!” you rushed, not wanting to upset her. If she was willing to call you her friend then who were you to disagree? Not everyone has the chance to be friends with their favourite idol. 

Ms. Takeshi smirked as she watched the exchange between the two, noting how each of them had quite a fond look in their eyes. She shook her head as she signalled you that she was about to leave, you gave her a hasty goodbye before going back to Mirko-- or Rumi, as she preferred. 

‘Those two are getting together’ Ms. Takeshi absently thought, smiling at the thought of you finally having the companion you deserved.

“This is a cute place ya got here, it's almost as cute as you” she flirted, smirking at your abashed expression. Normally you would have cringed at such a cheesy line, but to be honest, it hit a little different when it was Rumi who was saying it. “I’m not cute!” you huffed. You were a strong independent woman! You were not cute. 

As you continued to stew in your thoughts, Rumi proceeded with exploring your cute little shop, sampling some fruits as she passed by. “D’ya have any family here?” she queried, popping a plump, red strawberry in her mouth, almost gasping at the sweetness and freshness of the berry. “I don’t actually! I moved here just a year ago to start the shop I've been dreaming about ever since I was a kid!” you smiled, recalling the obstacles you had gone through to reach your goal. 

“That's good! It’s good to have goals you want to work towards, it keeps people motivated” 

“How about you Rumi-san? Do you have any family here?” you piped up, curious of her families’ whereabouts. Did she live here alone? There was only so much information that could be disclosed to the public about heroes and their personal lives. 

“They don’t live here. They’re back in my hometown. It’s nice living out here, I get to do what I want, save all the people I can, and kick as much as... Though, there are times where I miss my family... They’re a rambunctious and chaotic bunch I tell ya!” she chortled. 

You felt yourself melt at the very thought of Rumi with her family, playing and spending time with her small cousins/siblings. If someone were to describe the look on your face, they would have immediately said that you looked either lovesick or had heart eyes. You blushed at the thought of spending time with Rumi and just being gay <3 with each other. You honestly needed to get a love life, it isn’t normal to fantasize about your idol, especially when they’re right in front of you. 

Rumi noticed that you were mentally elsewhere, smiling at your dumbstruck expression. What were you thinking about that was more interesting than her? Was it perhaps Rumi herself? She shook her head, trying to disperse her somewhat indecent thoughts. It wasn’t proper to ogle or fantasize about your friend. 

“Hey, can I get your number?” she piped up, causing you to snap out of the internal conflict you were previously having about yourself. “W-what?” you stuttered, unbelieving of the fact that she, Usagiyama Rumi, had just asked for your number. Plain, old, little you! This was an absolute dream. 

You quickly nodded, having no words as you haven’t fully processed her question or the meaning of it. You struggled to extract your phone from the pocket of your overalls. Curse women's clothing and their tiny pockets! Rumi laughed at your struggles, loving at how you scrunch your cute little nose when you feel feelings of frustration. 

 “Aha! I got it!” you cheered, fist-pumping with your phone in your hand, before sheepishly handing your phone to her. Rumi raised a brow. “Is this me as your lock screen?” she smirked. 

At this point, you were begging the Gods, any God, to take your soul. You did not understand how you could have forgotten such a crucial thing! You were an idiot! A dumbass! 

“And, did you edit yourself in the picture so it looked like we took a picture together?” 

 You felt your brain short circuit. You froze up, unblinking and unbreathing. Rumi didn’t mean to tease you so much. You were just adorable! The fact that you had been too shy to ask her for a picture and kept the edited one as your lock screen amused her to no end. She just wanted to eat you up!

As she continued to gush about your cute habits and you in general, you were tearing yourself up inside. You thought you had changed your lock screen a few days ago! It was a picture of Rumi as well, but you weren’t included. She must think you’re desperate! Or a stalker. Or worse! A desperate stalker! 

“Lord, please take me” you whispered, hoping that someone would grant your wish this time. “What was that baby carrot? You want me to take you? I don’t mind, but I wanna get to know you better first”

Your jaw dropped at Rumi’s insinuation. “I’m kidding! You're adorable. C’mere” she beckoned, not wanting to keep her waiting you immediately made your way towards her side, her muscular arm scooping you up and pressing you against her warm body. 

“R-Rumi-san..! What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture ya dummy! Make this your lock screen okay? I want everyone to know” she winked. She pressed her face against yours before capturing a picture. You felt as if your face was on fire. She was smashed against you! “Hey, you okay with fanservice?” she asked, you nodded your head, curious of what she had under her sleeve. 

Rumi soon grabbed a hold of your chin before pressing her soft lips against the chub of your cheeks. She quickly snapped the picture, capturing your embarrassed face. She let go of you, opting to check the pictures to see if they had come outright. “You want one more baby carrot?” she mused, peering at your warmed face. 

You slowly nodded your head, she threw her head back and laughed, coming over once more and wrapping you in her arms. This time, she walked, well, more like waddled, as you were in her arms, to put your phone on the counter, setting the timer for three seconds. She hugged you tightly, resting her head on top of yours. 

Since she was already taking pictures, might as well request some poses right?

“Can we do peace signs? I… I like peace signs” you mumbled, twiddling with your thumbs. “Oh gosh, you're adorable!” she gushed. “Peace!” the both of you posed as the flash went off. 

You ran back to your phone, eager to see how the pictures had turned out while Rumi had stayed behind, watching your excited figure. Your eyes lit up as you examined the photos you both had taken. They were adorable! “Rumi-san looks very pretty” you mumbled, unaware that she was now peering over your shoulder and heard what you had said. 

“You gotta stop tempting me, baby carrot. As I said, I wanna get to know you better” she smiled. You blushed. This was the second time she had mentioned that. Does she like you as well? You felt a little bold so you decided to take your opportunity to fluster her as well. 

“If you wanna get to know me better, why not go to lunch with me?” you offered, slyly smiling at how her jaw was left ajar. “Y-You cheeky little brat! If you're free right now we can go but it’ll be my treat okay?” she insisted, raising her brow as if to say ‘are you going to say no to free food’. 

You nodded and agreed, who were you to say no to free food? Especially free food with your favourite hero/crush. She extended her hand towards you and you gladly took it, lacing your fingers with hers, loving how both of your hands fit perfectly within each other. 

“Let’s go baby carrot. I’ll make sure to feed you lots” 

___

“Nooo-- Rumi no more!”

“It’s okay carrot, I know you want more” she smirked

“I can’t! I-It’s too much” you moaned, rubbing your bloated stomach with both of your hands. Both of you had eaten too much chicken! Rumi decided to challenge you to an eating challenge, ordering a whole 10 piece box for each of you. That, plus the drinks and fries she had ordered on the side. 

“Awh you’re so cute, for sure you’ll be sleepy” she cooed, propping her chin upon her fist. “I’m thankful for you Rumi-san, but if I eat more, I’ll surely explode” you cried, wanting to just go home and nap. You closed your eyes and leaned back. You couldn’t even breathe properly anymore! She was going to stuff you full! [;)]

“Hye, carrot. I gotta ask since I want both of us to be on the same page. Was this a date? I mean, would you consider this a date?” she sheepishly asked, bringing warmth to your cheeks. You didn't perceive this as a date, since you two never really outright stated it was a date, but it did seem date-ish. 

Rumi watched as you struggled to come up with an answer. “Ah! I didn’t mean to pressure you carrot! I’m sorry! I-I just really like you, and if you didn’t consider this as a date, I would like to take you out--that's only if you agree! As I said, no pressure cutie”

What was she talking about? This was so much pressure! On the bright side, your crush likes you back. This was a miracle! She was famous on top of that1 not that you liked her for her popularity, but she could have anyone, and she chose you! You had to thank which God was looking out for you, or if it was just your luck. Either way, you’ve been manifesting this for some time. Not exactly this situation, but you had actively been looking for a partner, a female partner at that. You didn’t want anything serious, shoutout to Ms. Takeshi though, she was trying at least. 

“I like you Rumi-san and I considered this as a date! And.. and I want to go on more dates with you!” you nearly yelled, causing some heads to turn. This had caused Rumi to gasp, scrambling out of her chair to sit beside you and engulf you in her arms, nuzzling her soft cheek against yours. 

“You’re so cute! I swear! Let me take you home! I just wanna eat you!” she gushed, uncaring of the peering eyes in the restaurant who had been watching the whole exchange. “R-Rumi-san! How lewd!” you grimaced. sure was a handful. 

“I’m sorry, cutie! I just can’t help it! You make me wanna go feral” she growled the last bit, feeling a coil in your lower tummy tighten. What was she doing to you? Did someone hit you with a quirk? This was crazy! 

“Hey, don’t think too much about it. You and I are going to get to know each other better okay? Okay, carrot?” She grinned, peeking down at your flustered expression. This was going to be something else. 

___

Lately, you and Rumi have gotten closer. You both had started to frequently text and call each other, though you have been a little timid during phone calls. They were mostly carried by Rumi and her extroverted personality. You hope she knew that you were just shy and that you weren’t losing interest in her. 

Your relationship with Rumi had no label, at least for now. You both decided that it would be wise to learn about each other before making rash decisions. Especially you. You had a habit of running off in tandem and making yourself worry about scenarios that have zero percent of happening. Good thing Rumi was there to calm your nerves.

You were so immersed in your thoughts that you had failed to notice the stop sign in front of you, promptly running into it and talking on your butt. Luckily, nobody except a small child had seen you embarrass yourself. That’s what you thought at least, until—

“Baby carrot! Are you alright?! My poor little carrot didn’t see the stop sign! Are you okay? Do you need to be taken to the hospital? I can take you!” She rambled as she checked your body for any extensive injuries, sliding her hands down the curve of your ass in the process. You didn’t wanna go to the hospital as you would be an unnecessary burden to all the medical staff. It was still better to be safe than sorry. 

She was a different breed. 

“I can’t help it, I just.. I care about you” she murmured, facing off to the side to hide her warming cheeks from your view. She was adorable! Is this what she felt when she saw you blush? It was a nice feeling. Like eating really good food. Rumi blushing was good food. 

“Well, um, if you don't wanna go to the hospital, do you just want to come over for dinner or something?” she offered. “Aren’t you patrolling right now Rumi-san? I would hate to impose and possibly get you in trouble with your work” you sheepishly looked away from her gaze, unable to compete with the intensity her eyes hold, as if she wasn't a quivering little mess two seconds ago as well. 

“Nah. I can get someone to cover for me. Let me call them right now so that I can put your mind at ease yeah?” she detached herself from you and went to grab her phone strapped on the side of her somewhat revealing hero costume. You never really noticed it but Rumi’s costume was, how do you say this, very sexy. At least to you. 

You shook your head as dirty thoughts soon started to fill your head. This was wrong! Rumi-san is a strong beautiful woman who shouldn’t be objectified! She does not deserve that! Though she looked very beautiful in it, that was for sure. 

As you continued to have another internal battle with yourself, Rumi had already dialled Hawks’ number. 

“Yo Hawks! It's Mirko! I need a favour!”

“What is it?”

“Please cover for me. I’m on patrol and I just asked my crush out for dinner at my place but she’s iffy because she doesn’t want me to get in trouble for ditching my patrol--”

“You are ditching your patrol though” he replied. Rumi can already see Hawks using this against her. 

“PLEASE! She’s so beautiful and I like her so much” Rumi practically begged.

“Fine, but I’m doing this because you’ve never seemed so serious for anyone before and I’m happy for you. You don’t have to owe me” he sighed, but Rumi knew that he didn’t mind at all. 

“Thank you so much! Bye! Muah!” she yelled, before facing you. “Hey little carrot, you can come over! I told you my friend was gonna cover me” she smiled, her shiny teeth showing. “I-I..let’s go!” you blushed, wanting to be able to hide your cheeks from her. 

“H-Hey, slow down! Plus I haven’t got any ingredients! We gotta go shopping first!” 

“S-shopping? Together? That’s quite domestic” 

“Better get used to it”

___

“Are you allergic to anything my little carrot?” she questioned, wanting to know which ingredients she should take. “Ah! I’m allergic to shellfish” you mentioned. “I get hives and sometimes my throat closes up”. You stressed that your allergy wasn’t a big deal, but Rumi thought otherwise. “Hm, no seafood then” she pondered on what to get next. “How about pasta?” 

“Oh-I still eat shellfish, but just not often” you spoke, hoping she would overlook this small thing. “That’s not good carrot! You can die like that!” she yelled, catching the attention of most of the customers within the vicinity. “R-Rum-san! Not so loud!” you mumbled, tugging onto the fabric of her hero costume. “I’m okay Rumi-san! I promise!” 

Her concern for you was adorable. Nobody had ever really cared for you like this. You knew your limits and everything, and everyone knew as well, but it was a nice change. The way Rumi cared for you gave your tummy butterflies. Her smile, the way she spoke. You might be in love. For sure, it’s too soon to tell. You’ve also never felt love other than familial love or love for your friends, but you were sure this was love. 

You haven't known Rumi for a long time, but love isn’t about the time you spend, it’s the experiences you both share. If you could describe the way you felt in a word, it would be love. The way Rumi plagued your mind 24/7, the way you felt your heartbeat a little harder than it usually does. This felt like love. Of course, you weren’t about to tell her, but you already had a love for her from the beginning. It had just grown into something more than idolization for her the more you got to know her. Loving Rumi gave you absolute euphoria. Even if her feelings for you were platonic. 

“Hey, baby carrot? Let’s go?” she asked, already pulling you towards the exit of the store, waving at some fans who had called out her name. 

You were still lost in thought. You never understood why she was attracted to you, it wasn’t love, but even her attraction was questionable. To you, it seemed like a whole joke. The fact that your idol even offered to cook for you was baffling, not even that, the fact that she even spoke to you was a miracle itself. You felt tears well up in your eyes. There was just no way that Rumi would actually like you. 

Too lost in your head, you bumped into Rumi who had suddenly stopped, though she wasn’t facing you. She tightened her grip on your hand “I can smell your tears, why are you crying Y/n?” she whispered before whipping around to face you. Her face was riddled with sadness, her ears flopping down at the sides of her face. “D-Did I do something?” she stuttered. She loosened her grip on your hand, letting go completely. 

You felt your heartthrob in your chest. That was the exact opposite! You were crying because you were happy with her, too happy almost. You never wanted it to end. You sobbed a little harder before running to her, burying your face into her chest. Her arms wrapped around you, rubbing your back and pressing soft kisses on the crown of your head.

“I’m sorry! I’m a crybaby! I was crying because spending time with you made me happy! Very happy! I don’t want it to stop! I wanna stay with you forever Rumi-san!” you cried, hugging her tighter as if she was about to evaporate into thin air and never come back. “Baby... I...Can I kiss you?” she whispered, bringing her warm hand to rest upon your tear-stained cheek.  

Your eyes widened. Did she want to kiss you? Well, who were you to deny her? You nodded your head and shut your eyes, feeling the press of her lips against yours. She pressed multiple kisses against your lip before swiping her tongue against your bottom lip, causing you to let out a soft whimper at the contact. 

She grinned and did it once more, this time letting go of the groceries in her hand before pressing you into the bricked walls of the alleyway. Rumi had her hand on your hip and the other against your cheek, your arms wrapped around her and tangled in her soft, silky hair. You moaned as she pried her way into your mouth, exploring it with her tongue before you let out a whine that caught her attention. 

She pulled away to see the work she had done, she had left you flustered and fucked out, just from a kiss. She leaned over to press another soft kiss onto your lips before slowly pulling away again. “I like you, so please believe me when I say so. I want to have more good memories with you. Don’t cry okay? You have me, and I’ll never let go” she whispered before rubbing her nose against yours.  

You giggled as she pulled away, almost surprising her. It was stupid of you to think so negatively. You knew that Rumi would never do anything to hurt you, well, not on purpose at least. You nodded before picking up the groceries on the floor. You smiled. “Let’s go home, Rumi-san”

Her eyes sparkled at the fact that you had called her apartment “home”. She quickly nodded before helping you with the bags, opting to hold all with her one hand so that she could use the other to hold yours. 

___

“We’re finally here!” yelled, making her way to the kitchen to drop off the groceries, you took off your shoes before entering and following her. Her apartment was pretty luxurious. It was one of those gated places that needed I.D and permission to enter, in other words, it was high end. It was to be expected honestly, she was a very famous hero who had some very..determined fans.

Her apartment was mostly white, it didn’t have that many decorations, mostly since Rumi was quite a simple person who had no desire for such things. She did have matching furniture though. You walked through the living room, taking a moment to gaze at her white and grey furniture. It all matched! She had a knack for interior design. If she wasn’t a pro, she would have made some money off being an interior designer.

You finally made your way into the kitchen. Seeing Rumi already putting the groceries away, setting out the ingredients. You gaped at the various ingredients laid out on the counter, why hadn’t you noticed the number of ingredients she had picked up?! There were quite a few.

“Rumi-san? Why’d you get so many ingredients?” you queried, tilting your head to the side in confusion. “Cuz! We’re gonna make a lot of food!” she cheered, raising her fist that was currently holding a pork bun, slightly squishing it and slightly deforming it. 

“R-Rumi-san the pork bun!”

“Oh, haha! Sorry about that baby carrot” she apologized before splitting it in half and pressing it against your lips. Did she want to share? A-And feed you as well? You couldn’t refuse so you shyly took a bite, taking a small piece of the pork bun in your mouth and chewing. You moaned at the wonderful flavours dancing on your tastebuds, this tasted so good! It was still quite warm as well. 

As the both of you continued to stand in eat in the kitchen, neither of you noticed a familiar flying birdman hovering above the balcony, peering at the both of you with a happy smile on his face before flying away. 

“She’s lucky she has me as her friend” Hawks laughed as he continued his patrol. Hopping off of the balcony and flying away like a little weird fairy man. 

___

You both had finished cooking, there was a surprising amount of dishes you two had made. Your meal consisted of a wide but healthy assortment of dishes. It was no surprise that Rumi cared about what she was putting inside her body. 

“Come on baby carrot, let's go eat yeah?” 

You nodded and brought as many plates as you could to the counter, pulling up a chair while Rumi took a chair to sit beside you, promptly digging into her food. “This is so yummy! Where did you learn how to cook like this? I’m not a bad cook myself--” that much was obvious, “-but you cook well carrot!” she gushed, quickly swallowing the food in her mouth. 

“Ah-you're giving me too much credit Rumi-san!” you cried. Your cooking was mediocre at best and she was likely just gassing you to make you feel better. You were unsure of why she was hyping you up, though, you weren’t going to question it. Your mind suddenly drifted back to the kiss you both shared, heat rising onto your cheeks. 

You slapped your cheeks, trying to get any indecent thoughts to exit your head. This caused Rumi to laugh and take another bite of her food, used to your unusual behaviour already. You blushed, though this time, you were less embarrassed than usual. If she had already liked you after knowing you were weird, then why hold back?

“Hey baby carrot, why do you call me Rumi-san? It just seems a little too formal.. and I wanted us to be a little closer than that? I mean, I have a nickname for you” 

This wasn’t the first time that you had thought of giving her a nickname. You were nervous as to what she would say about it. Would she think it was stupid? Would she hate it? Would she make fun of you for it? Of course not, but your thoughts were going a mile a minute and you didn’t have any time to filter them out. 

“I’ll think of one for you, but please give me some time to do so!” 

“Of course baby carrot” she replied before quickly getting back to eating as she motioned for you to do the same. 

The both of you had just finished eating, already washing the remaining dirty dishes, including the pots and pad you had both used to cook. It was quite a domestic and intimate sight. Both of you, side by side. Both washing the dishes. and the other drying. 

As of right now. You were in complete and utter bliss. You’ve had a taste of euphoria and that was Rumi. It was amazing how one person could affect another so much. 

“Hey, it’s getting late. Do you wanna sleep here?” She piled up. Drying a plate before placing it on the dish rack. Meanwhile. Your mind was once again in distress. Why was she so casual about these types of things? Of course, you wanted to sleep beside her, and cuddle close to her, and gee her soft skin brush against yours, and—you get the idea. 

You were a bit hesitant as you didn’t want to overstay your welcome or burden her even further. No matter what she said, you knew that a hero wouldn’t be able to drop their patrol just on the dot. She broke the rules and you knew it. You didn’t want her to be making reckless decisions just because of you! 

“I-I... Am I already overstaying my welcome,” you asked, trying to make sure she wanted this and that she didn’t feel obligated to let you stay for whatever reason? You just wanted a good reason for you to be here. 

“It’s late. I would walk you home to ensure your safety, but right now, there’s a lot of villains lurking and to be honest, I’m not sure if I can take them all while protecting you at the same time” 

She wasn’t lying. If it was just her. For sure she’d be able to go all out and defeat as many villains as she could. She was in the top fen for heaven’s sake! She was just afraid that you’d get caught in the crossfire and end up injured, kidnapped, or worse, dead. 

“Oh.. okay” you mumbled, finishing up washing the dishes. Right now. You were unsure of what to do, she was still unfinished with drying the dishes and had suggested you slept over. Sure you trusted her, but, were you ready to sleep beside her? Were you ready to let her head you snore? Were you ready to let her see your horrible bedhead in the morning? Quite frankly, you were unsure if you were ready at all. 

“But if you want to, I can take you home, it’s your choice. I’ll gladly defend you and protect you carrot” she had quite the facial expression. You could tell that she was determined. Her sheer determination was held in her eyes, her lips pulled up in a smirk and her eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t want to be more of an inconvenience, so I’ll just choose the less inconvenient option. I’ll sleep here tonight but I’m taking the couch” you announced. She was going to take it or leave it! You were not going to go into her private space and make her share her rooms and bed. 

“Fine. But. Please feel free to move inside if you’re uncomfortable. I know that couch seems like a good couch to sleep one, but it’s only good for sitting really. More like decoration if you were going, to be honest. 

“Fine, but I promise that I won’t!” you stubbornly added. Wanting to make sure that she understood that you weren’t going to sleep beside her. You were fine sleeping on the couch and she had to understand that! She smiled before giving you a change of clothes, some pillows and blankets, including a spare toothbrush. 

“I’ll be in my room okay? Goodnight carrot” she bid you goodnight before entering her room, not fully shutting it. You fixed up the couch before making your way into the bathroom, passing by Rumi’s bedroom and seeing her shadow move around as her door was left ajar. You changed your clothes and cleaned up, getting ready to take your place on the couch. 

You charged your phone and closed your eyes, waiting to drift off into sleep. 

___

You screamed as you were being chased by a villain, it was in the early hours of the morning, you could tell as the sun was coming up and it just had that morning vibe. You were used to getting up this early and were familiar with it. What you failed to comprehend was why a villain was chasing you? 

It seemed as if it was only about five a.m or six a.m at the latest, but surely by now, there would have been cars driving around. You peeked behind you and saw that the villain had caught up, as he was about to grab you, you suddenly fell off a cliff, your stomach-dropping, your voice stuck in your throat before letting out a shriek and waking up in a cold sweat. What type of dream was that?

“Baby carrot! Are you alright?” said a worried Rumi who already had a glass of water at your side. You tried to take the cup from her but she noticed how shaky your hands were and decided that it would be best to help you drink herself. You slowly gulped down the water, not wanting to choke. You were heaving for air after drinking, maybe you didn’t slow down as much as you had needed to. 

“I-I had a bad dream! I was being chased by a villain and I was all alone! Then when he was about to catch me, I fell off of a cliff!” you explained, recalling the haunting images of the unknown man who had almost caught you. Rumi wrapped her arms around you and had placed you onto her lap, patting your head and rubbing your hands to comfort you. 

“How about you sleep in my room and I sleep here? Are you comfortable with that?” she whispered, not wanting to startle you while in such a vulnerable state. 

“No.. please stay beside me bun. I wanna sleep beside you if that’s all right” you blushed, averting her gaze as you were embarrassed to have mentioned the nickname you had been thinking about for her. It was something you had been thinking about and whilst being cliche, it still suited her quite well. 

“B-Bun? That's such a cute nickname! A little cliche, but still cute! I love it so much and I’m so happy that my cute little carrot thought of it for me!” she gushed, holding you even tighter against your body, almost squeezing the life out of you. 

“I’m glad you like it bun”

“I do carrot. Let’s go to bed now yeah?” she offered, placing your figure down on the couch before straightening herself out and standing up, stretching her arm your in your direction, asking you to take it. You gladly placed your hand in hers, pushing yourself up and sticking beside her as you both made your way to the bed. 

Rumi let go of your hand and made herself comfortable on the bed, making space for you as she moved the large and fluffy comforter and patted the spot, beckoning you to come to take your place beside her. You reluctantly sat on the bed before fully laying flat on your back, awkward and unmoving as you felt Rumi’s eyes on your still figure. 

“You can turn on your side and face me y’ know” she piped up. 

“I’m nervous” you admitted, not wanting to gaze into her eyes. 

Rumi laughed before placing her hand on your cheek, coercing you into facing her direction. You hesitantly obliged and turned your whole body to face her, still avoiding her piercing eyes. She laughed once more before inching her face closer to yours, both of your lips just an inch away from each other. 

“Don’t be a nervous baby carrot, it’s only me” she reassured, stroking the chub of your cheek while you relished in the feeling of the soft pads of her fingers stroking your face. You placed your hand on top of Rumi’s, pressing your face even harder against her palm. Rubbing your cheek against her warm hand. 

“Can I kiss you bun? I wanna kiss you so badly” you softly whined, feeling yourself in the hands of Rumi. Instead of replying she decided to just press her lips against yours, moaning at the feeling of your soft plush lips. 

“Baby carrot” she whimpered, pulling you impossible closer to her, your chests and thighs pressed against each other. You felt arousal consume your whole body, a tight coil forming in your stomach. You whimpered needlessly as Rumi sucked your tongue while wrapping your leg around her hip, placing her hand on the curve of your ass. 

You continued to whine and moan as Rumi caressed your body, her tongue pulling you in and leaving you in a trance. You pulled away, feeling yourself get lost in Rumi herself. 

“If we continued any longer, I would’ve passed out for sure” you sighed, pressing soft kisses on her lips and moving to scatter kisses on her cheeks. She closed her eyes, relishing in the pleasure of you peppering her face with soft kisses. “That’s okay baby carrot, we’ll take it to slow okay?” she took her turn at peppering your cheeks with kisses, making sure to kiss each untouched spot. 

“I like you” you confessed, this time using the courage that had magically shown up to your advantage. You swiped the hair out of her face, wanting to see her. “I like you more,” she replied, kissing the tip of your nose. 

 ___

“Ah~ This is the life! Getting your hair braided by a cute girl while she feeds you!: she chortled, leaning back into your lap as you continued to braid small pieces of her hair while taking small breaks to grab the chopsticks and feed her. You enjoyed watching Rumi relax and eat. It was somewhat satisfying. 

“Don’t you have work today bun?” you asked, feeling much more comfortable than you were from before. After you had spent the night at her place, your relationship with her had only gotten stronger. You felt closer than ever and felt as if nothing could break the pair of you up.

“Nah baby carrot, this is a once in a lifetime thing us heroes call a ‘day off’” she joked, looking behind to face you. “But I’ll be busy this week okay? I don’t want you to worry so I’m just letting you know that I’ll be on the down-low”

It was quite upsetting to see your crush? Girlfriend? Partner? You didn’t even know what to call her. The both of you still hadn’t put a label on your relationship, not that it was a problem, but you wanted to know if she was in it for the long ride or if this was something casual. If it was something casual you would prefer to break it off. You didn’t appreciate sharing your significant other with anyone. 

“Okay bun, I’ll wait for you” you had just settled on something simple, though Rumi saw through your facade and saw that you were somewhat upset by her incoming absence. She just turned around and hugged you, hoping it would give you some type of comfort for your oncoming lonely days without her. 

___

It had been a week since you had seen or heard from Rumi. While she was away, you had busied yourself with tending to your garden, your customers, and practicing baking pastries. You had quite a lot to do. At the moment, you were currently picking some ripe strawberries as you were planning to make some strawberry shortcake, seeing as you had never properly tried it before. 

As you picked the last strawberry, you had noticed it was a mutated one. It was huge! It seemed like it was about three to four normal strawberries combined into one! It fits in the palm of your hand! While you were distracted, you failed to feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your overalls. 

You made your way inside of your small home and placed the freshly picked basket of fruits on the counter and washed your hands in the sink. After drying your hands, you took your phone out to see a text from Rumi. 

From: bun<3

I’ll be coming home today. I miss you

7:24

Her text made your heart flutter. Even if it was simple, it still filled you with love and affection. Anything Rumi did was amazing in your eyes. It was quite pathetic really, but that’s what love did to people sometimes.  

You decided that this would be a good time to drop by and give her some love and affection with some food included. You smiled as you imagined the happy face that would be present on Rumi’s face when she saw you. She was for sure going to be happy!

You felt yourself starting to feel giddy. This was going to be a good day!

___

You were wrong, dead wrong. Going to Rumi’s house had been a horrible decision. 

You had decided that after closing up the shop, you would make your way to Rumi’s and bring her food. You wanted to show her how much you had missed her, but you mostly wanted to spend time with her. She was always around and made sure to check up on you and your shoot during her patrols. If she wasn’t in the area, she’d send one of her sidekicks in her place.

When you had gotten to Rumi’s place, she still wasn’t home, giving you time to set up a nice dinner for her before she had gotten home. You had prepared some fried rice along with stir-fried vegetables, knowing that she enjoyed a healthy balanced meal, especially after a hard mission. You smiled once again, you were excited to see her again. You just wanted to take her in your arms and love her the way you wanted to. She wasn’t aware, but you were completely and utterly in love with her.

As time went by, it became easier and easier to admit your feelings for Rumi to yourself. Before, you would blush and stutter at the thought of it, but now, you were able to say it to yourself, but sadly not to Rumi. Not yet, at least. 

You heard the front door slam open before hearing a familiar pair of feet stomp inside before hearing the door slam shut. You heard Rumi stomp her way to the kitchen, her brows furrowed and her eyes filled with anger. She didn’t even spare you a glance before placing her keys on the counter and making her way into the bedroom and slamming it shut. 

You sat down on the counter, hoping that she just needed time to relax before spending quality time with you. You waited, and you waited. It had already been an hour and the food had gone cold. The vegetables were cold and hard, as well as the rice. You decided to place everything in a counter before cleaning up. You knew that she was just upset and needed time for herself.

You made your way to the front door, making sure to shut all the necessary lights as it was already nearing midnight. You didn’t wanna upset her any further by overstaying your welcome. Usually, you would have asked to spend the night, but it didn’t seem like Rumi was in the mood for head pats and cuddles. 

You smacked your head with your palm, already putting on your shoes but you had stupidly forgotten about your phone which you had tossed on the couch when you had first arrived. You took off your shoes once more before stepping back into the living room, knowing how disrespectful it was to walk into someone's home with shoes on, especially dirty shoes. 

You made your way to the couch before picking up your phone, seeing two different texts from Rumi before she had gotten home. 

From: bun <3

I’m really upset, usually, I’d love for you to visit but I just want to be alone. I hope you understand. 

10:23

From: bun<3

We can go out tomorrow if you’d like? I miss you carrot

10:26

You were an idiot. An actual idiot. At that time, you were already setting the table as you had closed the shop at eight, having only two hours to cook Rumi a proper meal before her arrival. You should have just left her alone. Now she thinks that you ignored her texts and invited yourself into her home anyways.

You sighed before plopping your phone down on the cushion beside you, placing your arm over your eyes, wanting to just go home and sleep. You should probably make your way home now. It was already getting late. You sat up, making a move to get up off of the couch when Rumi’s bedroom door slammed shut. A pair of feet dragging down the hallway as she made herself known in the living room, standing barely two feet away from you. 

Your jaw was left hanging. You were unsure of what to say? Would she be upset? Would she kick you out? Before you could come up with any more anxiety-inducing thoughts, Rumi had chosen to interrupt you before you had gone any further. 

“Why’re you still here? I thought I made it clear that I wanted to be alone. Do you not know how to use your head?” she sassed, moving around the coffee table to walk towards the kitchen. While she was in the kitchen, you remained glued to the couch. Appalled at the words that had just exited her mouth. 

“I-I” you stuttered, unable to formulate a proper response under her piercing gaze from where she stood in the kitchen. 

“What? Are you just going to stutter and babble like a dumbass? I asked you if you could use your head or not. I’m not sure how clear I could have made this, but I did not want to see you today. I had a shitty mission and all I wanted to do was come home and relax. Instead, I come home to you, doing God knows what in the kitchen! Have you no boundaries? Can your pea-sized brain even comprehend boundaries?” she mocked, harsh words spouting from her mouth as if her mouth was a fountain of curses. “Fucking idiot” she mumbled under her breath. 

You wanted to cry. This time, you had a good reason. You hadn’t expected Rumi to be this upset with you. You had good intentions but you didn’t mean to overstep. You had only wanted to let her know that you had missed her. 

You nodded, opting to stare at your hands that were neatly folded in your lap instead of defending yourself. You probably deserved this anyways. It would be over soon, you just had to suck it up and tough it out. You did put yourself in this situation in the first place. 

“Nothing to say? You’re dumber than I thought” she hissed. 

“You’re going too far Rumi-san. I never intended to step over any boundaries. I was already here before you texted me because I wanted to make sure that you could easily relax when you got home. I wanted to cook for you and take care of you—“ you cried, your tears finally sliding down your cheeks “—I didn’t mean to overstep. But you insulting my intelligence and my mannerisms is too far. You’re being disrespectful and I don’t like that. Don’t take your anger out on me” you scolded, staring at her with such an intense and almost hateful gaze.

You could never hate Rumi, but the words she had spoken to you were something that you were going to remember for the rest of your life, you knew that this would haunt you forever and probably give you nightmares. 

Her face faltered. Your words had finally been processed in her head. Sometimes Rumi acted before thinking. It was one of her lesser traits but you grew to love it anyway. 

It was quite surprising how you were able to defend yourself without bursting into tears, probably because this was the one person whom you had never expected to blow upon you--to take their anger out on you. 

“If you never liked me, then why did you lead me on? What was the whole point of this? You wasted my time, and yours as well” You spat, finally allowing your tears to cascade down your cheeks. “You are a horrible person Usagiyama Rumi.” you spat with venom before taking the rest of your things and walking past her, stopping at the door to say “Delete my number”

You understood that you had done something wrong, but the fact that she had degraded you and insulted you was just immature. You wiped the tears off of your face, upset at the fact that she thought that was okay. Had she always thought this way? Was she just playing you? Your mind was just running amok and you didn’t have anyone to calm you down. 

Luckily, you had safely made it home, encountering no villains or criminals during your journey home. When you had gotten home, you had thrown yourself in bed, not even bothering to change your clothes or clean up. You cried yourself to sleep that night, your anxiety and insecurities weighing down on your shoulders. 

___

It had been a few days after your encounter with Rumi. You had muted her texts and calls, not having the heart to block her and fully eliminate her from your life just yet. You sighed once more, picking the rest of the carrots and taking them back inside to wash. It was almost time to open up the store. 

It had been quite a rough week, you spent most of your week crying, thus resulting in red puffy eyes. It still hurt to touch or rub them. You probably looked stupid, and it was probably noticed that you had been crying. 

You chose to wear glasses today, hoping that it would hide your tired and puffy eyes, not wanting your customers to worry about your wellbeing, especially Ms. Takeshi. She was quite old and you did not need her to worry about you as if you were one of her children, of course, you thought of her as a mom but you didn’t wanna burden her with your problems. 

Hopefully, today will be a better day for you and your fruits and vegetables. 

___

“She’s not answering me Keigo! I’m getting nervous!” Rumi whined, feeling slightly queasy.     

“She probably blocked you” he laughed, finding some amusement in his friend's pain. It was quite sadistic but this was Keigo we’re talking about. It wasn’t rare to see him finding amusement in fucked up things. It was just how he worked. 

“But my texts are still going in! I keep trying to apologize but she keeps ignoring me” she whined, flopping on her back and tossing her phone away from her. They were both currently on patrol, sitting atop of a building somewhere in the city. Both of them were currently situated on top of the building a few buildings away from your shop, your little building of establishment visible. 

“If you did that to me, ridiculed and degraded me, you would never hear from me again. I’m not surprised by her actions Rumi. She was a great girl and sorry to say it, but you fucked up. Real bad.” he continued, wanting his companion to realize how badly she had fucked up. 

“You don’t have to tell me okay?” she grumbled, starting to feel irritation seep into her veins while her supposed friend continued to bring up her mistakes. 

“Yeah, but you still gotta apologize anyways” he blew a piece of flyaway hair out of his face before continuing. “Why’d you do that anyway? Were you just leading her on or something? Cuz that’s mean” Keigo teased, adding more salt to her open wound. 

“I-I was frustrated. One of the younger heroes got killed. A bunch of civilians too. I felt so fucking useless. I was useless. I didn’t save anyone. I may have kicked ass, but that’s not what being a hero is all about. Being a hero is about saving as many lives as you can. I saved nobodies. I just wanted to be alone and I told her that, but I guess she didn’t see. When I saw her at my place, I just left her for a while. I didn’t talk to her--” she sighed. 

“Then I came out and she was just sitting on the couch. I don’t know what overcame me. I just lost it. What I did wasn’t right and I have to earn her forgiveness, but I’m not even sure she’ll let me. I hurt her so fucking bad Keigo” she sighed, placing her arm on her face, shielding herself from Keigo’s pitying gaze. 

Keigo tsked before getting up, shaking his head in disapproval. “I got a plan for you bunny girl, don’t worry about it. Just make sure that you have something nice planned for tomorrow, and dress nice too. Just leave it to me. I’ll help ya. Believe it.”

“Naruto?”

“Shut up”

___

As you were exiting the shop, you encountered a familiar winged hero, stopping at the magnificent sight of his wings. “Hawks?” you squinted, almost thinking you were dreaming, fast asleep on top of the counter in your shop. 

“Hey birdy, how are ya?” he greeted, stepping a little closer to you. 

“I’m okay. I’m sorry, I’m closing the shop right now but if you want anything, I can open it back up? They won’t be as fresh as it’s already late, but I can fix them up with my quirk!” you explained, already digging for the key in your pocket. 

“Nah baby I’m okay, don’t worry about me. I was just wondering if I could take you out? Maybe for coffee?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck. You blushed. What did he want with you? Was he playing with you? Was this a ploy to get you back with Rumi when you hadn’t even established a proper relationship with her?

“O-Okay, I don’t mind” you stuttered, blushing at the fact that he wanted to take you out. This still must have been a play, but this was still the Pro-Hero Hawks! This was an opportunity you couldn’t miss due to your stubborn and prideful personality!

“Come here baby bird, we’re flying” he smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist before taking off, launching the both of you into the air. You screamed as you both flew up, not used to flying. 

“Um… Hawks-san... Why did you want to talk? I’ve never spoken to me before” you started, clutching his arm a little harder as he weaved the both of you through the city. “I’ll talk at the coffee shop okay? I promise.” he smiled.

You nodded, not wanting to pry any further as you didn’t want to overstep your boundaries once more. 

___

“Look, Rumi misses you kid.” he started, scratching the back of his head, mussing up his already wind-swept hair. “I KNEW IT!” you cried, slamming your frappuccino that he oh so kindly bought for you on the table, startling Hawks and the few customers in the joint. 

“I know she’s sorry. I’ve seen her. She’s messed up right now. I know what she did was shitty but you gotta give her another chance kid.” he nearly begged, grasping at your hands. You scowled. How dare he? What did he know? 

”Is that supposed to make me pity her? She knows what she did. And, with all due respect, you shouldn't even be trying to apologize for her in the first place, Hawks-san” you seethed, letting go of his hands and balling yours into fists. You were irritated. 

”Look, I know how badly she fucked up. If it was me, I wouldn't even waste my time with her. But that's me, and this is you. I know you’re in love with her baby bird. Please don't give up on her just because of one fight. All couples fight and all couples are toxic in their own ways. You just have to communicate.” he smiled. 

”F-Fine! But… Please don't mention my feelings for her! That's just embarrassing!” you yelled, hiding your heating face into the palms of your hand. Hawks smiled again before getting up, beckoning for you to follow him. 

Hawks was quite surprised at your willingness to accompany him to meet Rumi. he expected you to be either hesitant or just reject his proposal and leave Rumi in the dust. He smiled once more, you had strong feelings for her, that was a guarantee. 

But, it was now or never. 

Hawks had flown the both of you on top of this building a few ways away from your shop. Your shop was actually visible from here! As Hawks set you down, he motioned for you to turn around, you obeyed, only to see Rumi standing there, holding a bouquet of white orchids. You recognized them as the ‘I’m sorry flowers’. You scoffed. Did she think you were going to be bought by flowers? 

Maybe. 

You felt your cheeks heating up at the sight of Rumi. She still wore her normal clothes, but for some reason, she looks even more attractive than she did before. Of course, she was attractive but it felt as if her attractiveness doubled. Or was that just because you haven’t seen her for some time? People did say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. 

Rumi approached you before trying to nudge the flowers in your hands. You reluctantly took them, not wanting to rub any more salt onto her wounds. You knew that what she had done was wrong and disrespectful, but you understood that sometimes people snapped. Anger was a human emotion, though she just didn't deal with it very well.  

“I’m sorry carrot. I disrespected you and called you names. I made fun of your intelligence even though you’re one of the smartest, prettiest, and most creative people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I know that I can’t make excuses, but I know what I can do is try my best to get you to forgive me and regain your trust” she softly spoke, staring lovingly into your eyes. 

You felt tears well up in your eyes. You knew she was sorry, but you still felt hurt by her words. She may have just said it out of anger and to hurt you, but it still hurt. There was the intention with her words. You knew and felt it. You knew that you would be able to forgive her but when things like this happened, it turned you off. 

Though, this case is special. You should’ve checked your phone and asked for permission to go inside her home in the first place. Your fault may not have been as serious or as severe as hers, but you weren’t going to let her shoulder all of the blame. 

You placed the flowers down on the floor, resulting in you worrying Rumi in the process. Were you going to leave? Did you not accept her apology? Did you hate her? Did you never want to see her again? Were you ever going to forgive her? Rumi could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, anxiety bubbling up inside her. She was suddenly overcome with an urge to hurl. Before she could even gag, you had already thrown yourself in her arms, wrapping your arms around your neck whilst your legs did the same to her waist. 

“I accept your apology! I’m sorry too! I didn’t mean to ignore my texts! Please take me back! I love you so much bun bun!” you sobbed, grasping her even tighter, unaware of what you had just spoken. You heard Rumi let out a laugh of disbelief. 

She pulled away to gaze at your crying face, feeling herself fall even harder for the crybaby right in front of her. She smiled before slamming her lips against yours, quickly dipping her tongue inside of your mouth. Your eyes widened at the surprise kiss before you slowly melted into it, using your tongue to caress hers, pulling her in even further into you. 

As you and Rumi made out, Hawks stood there. He literally just stood there. “H-Hey Rumi! I thought you said I would be eating dinner with you guys” he tried to gain their attention, even sending some of his feathers to them, trying to separate them from each other. 

But, Rumi just shooed him away, leaving Hawks to sadly walk away. As Hawks flew off of the building, his one thought was ‘when will I meet my someone?’. He sighed and continued his flight home. He would meet his soulmate one day. That was for sure. 

“Rumi, do you love me back?” you asked, wanting to hear it come from her mouth. She smiled, caressing the soft skin of your cheeks. “I do carrot. I really do” she smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “Why did you choose to bring me up here though? We could have just gone to your apartment” you tilted your head, resulting in Rumi’s heart skipping a beat. 

“Well, I’ve actually known you for a while. There was a time where I was patrolling here and I saw you walking home, it was already late so I wanted to keep an eye out for you and make sure you were safe. I saw you reviving all the dead plants you passed by, even growing some berries on the shrubbery. I just thought you were so interesting, but I didn't want to be a stalker so I let you go. Then a few days later, I get thrown inside your shop. What a coincidence huh?” she laughed. 

“You’re such a simp bun” you teased, pinching her soft chubby cheeks. 

“Oh! That reminds me, I got you something!” she revealed a small box before handing it to you. It was quite heavy. You opened it, only to find out that it was a bunny! Rumi had gotten you a bunny! How ironic. You scooped it out of the box before placing the bunny in your arms, feeling your bottom lip tremble at the adorable site of the bunny. 

“Do you like it?” she queried, anxious to find out. 

“I love it! I’m gonna name them Hawks!”

“E-Eh? Why!? Why not after me? Hey! Wait! Don’t use your vines to escape! Answer me!” 

___

“Rumi! Where do I smash this in?” you asked, wondering where the hammer was. “Baby carrot, that’s a screw, you can’t use a hammer, we need a drill,” she informed you, carefully taking the hammer out of your dangerous hands. 

“Why’d I have to get such a big closet anyways” you grumbled, sitting on the ground with a pout, hating how useless you were right now. “Because you ran out of snack space. It’s okay. My dad taught me how to build stuff, also this is from IKEA so it’s easy to follow” she bragged, smirking at your sulking figure. 

“Can you hand me the door? We can attach it now. Don’t worry, we’re almost done baby, I promise” she smiled, ruffling the top of your hair. You grumbled about not liking her messing your hair up before reluctantly getting up to fetch the door for your lovely girlfriend. Has this door always been so big and heavy?

You squatted and wrapped your arms around the door, grunting as you tried to pick it up. You succeeded but lost your balance, your legs locking into place as you fell backwards, the door landing on top of you and smashing into your forehead. “HELP!” you cried as you were pinned under the door.

Rumi came running in, thinking you had hammered a nail through your own foot, only to find you on the floor, under a cabinet door. She snickered as your limbs wiggled. 

“I guess you can say you look… a-door-able HAHAHA!”

“Haha. Please help, my lungs are being crushed”

“OH SHIT”

© katsukisbimbo 2020 — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated. please be kind and enjoy!

#rumi fuckers need some juice #rumi x reader #rumi usagiyama #mirko x reader #miruko x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bnha angst #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha x reader #mha fluff #mha angst #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #miruko #mirko #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #x reader

[bouncingkadachi]

Blessed Rain

Summary: A Hunter’s weapon of choice says a lot about them. OR: Kyle upgrades his weaponry and gets caught red-handed in the act. Luckily (?) for him, only Tsukino seems to know exactly why he's having an emotional crisis over this.

Word count: 3,260

Note(s): set post-game

Also available on AO3!

Kyle’s had his new bow for a good couple of weeks before the feel of the limbs and the weight of the draw became comfortable enough for him to consider upgrading it. If he’s going to be injured, he reasons, he’d rather it be purely by way of monster and not because he pulls a muscle wrestling with a bow that hasn’t been properly broken in. His wallet despairs as he forks over the zenny, but this’ll hopefully let him take on some of the bigger hunts like the ones that Reverto goes on. It’ll all be worth the investment up front once he has his completely finished bow and restocked his coatings and finally drops the last of his coin on a couple new talismans.

He refuses to think about the implications of his reasoning with a literal coin, rolling it around and around his fingers as he pushes through the market throngs towards the smithy’s. Perhaps he ought to have a change of scenery—the fog-shrouded summits of Terga were said to be particularly beautiful at this time of year, and the heat in Lamure was becoming just shy of unbearable.

The final product that the blacksmith puts into his hands when he finally makes it to collect is nothing short of gorgeous. Blessed Rain is sleek where his old Rex bow was bulky, far lighter and certainly not as clunky. The upgrades on the riser gives the entire weapon a pleasant solidness in his hand, yet the delicately reinforced plating on the limbs doesn’t retract at all from its flexibility. The decorative grip protector gleams. Just looking at it makes Kyle excited to shoot.

“Bring her back if you’re finding that you need anything adjusted,” the smith tells him after Kyle’s diligently inspected every inch of the bow. “Kept the poundage the same for you, but added another inch to the draw length like you asked.”

“Thanks,” Kyle says. Eventually, he’d like to work up to the point where he can up the poundage again. Even just another five pounds would be good. He can do most of the hunts in his skill range alone now, but extra firepower would make him just that much more efficient, or that much of a better support for team hunts. 

The smith laughs when Kyle sheepishly admits this. “Well, I always like to help a Hunter improve, and you know where to find me,” he says cheerily, clapping Kyle enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Come by again anytime if you need a tune up or want to test out something new.” 

And with that, he waves Kyle away so that another Hunter can step up, holding a tired-looking sword and shield and looking equally exhausted. “Aye, rookie Hunter?” Kyle hears as he wanders off to find a more relaxed corner of the market in which to admire his new bow some more. “If you’ve got the materials I can repair and upgrade that for you.” The conversation peters out and melts into the general din of the marketplace as Kyle slips into the crowd, taking care to step out of the way of a Felyne carrying an absolutely massive basket groaning with produce. He watches the precarious load totter away, trying and failing to locate Tsukino in the brief respite the parted crowd affords him. They’d split earlier that morning and he hasn’t seen her since.

He still hasn’t managed to find even a whisker of Tsukino’s whereabouts by the time he settles into a decently quiet nook next to a stall selling all manner of spices. Pity, because the dappled light spilling through the colorful drapes of the marketplace catches so beautifully on the milky-white sheen of the bow, and he’d been looking forward to showing it to her. As a Hunter, Kyle will always care more about weapon practicality than aesthetics, but as a normal human being he certainly won’t turn down the opportunity to have both an aesthetically pleasing and perfectly functional weapon. He’s still grinning a little when he goes to strap the bow to his back, and it’s in the process of looking up that his gaze catches onto wide eyes staring plainly at him from across the street. 

He freezes, arm suspended awkwardly halfway to sheathing. His beautiful bow glints damningly in the bright Lamure sunlight as his unexpected friend wades through the throngs of people towards him, gesturing for him to stay put with a wave of her hand that really can’t be mistaken for anything other than a greeting.

“Hey,” he says cautiously and lamely when she finally reaches him. Belatedly, he remembers to lower his arm. He is momentarily thankful that she doesn’t try to reach up for his face in the Mahanan greeting, although his goodwill evaporates when she leans in to inspect his bow, body thrumming with unexplainable anticipation.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says finally. Kyle can’t help himself from preening just a little, shifting his grip so that she can get a better look. After all, what was the point of spending all that money and materials if there was no one to excitedly show the end product off to? Besides, it’s been a while since they last saw each other. Last he heard, she had been traveling, keen to finally see the world on her own terms and at her own pace.

“It’s fresh off an upgrade,” he answers smugly. “Easier to handle than the Rex.”

“Slightly less intimidating though,” she chimes in, and Kyle bristles, not liking where this conversation is going. And true to form, she goes in for the kill: “Mizutsune? I recognize the plating.”

Kyle can feel the flush crawling up to his ears. Logically, he knows that there’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about. It’s a mark of good smithing that one can tell at a glance which monster a weapon was inspired by, and a Mizutsune was both powerful and extremely iconic. This bow in particular had good stats and the ability to fire rapidly, which admittedly took him some time to get used to after focusing mostly on piercing shots. The paralysis coating that works so well on this bow has also already saved his skin on more than one occasion. There is little more a career Hunter can ask for out of his weapon. It’s not like he’d been heading out to Pomore Garden at any given opportunity and holding onto an increasing multitude of Mizutsune materials just because he wanted some physical reminder of what was probably the most pivotal moment of his life, something that never failed to put a very complicated and jumbled mess of emotions deep within his chest whenever he thought back to it.

He’s starting to feel very, very hot under his collar. The sun is terrible. He resolves that his next big hunt really needs to be somewhere outside of Lamure.

His friend, however, just looks more and more baffled as he launches into an unprompted defense of his newest purchase. Every time she opens her mouth, Kyle talks a little faster. Eventually, she doesn’t even bother trying to interject, which is arguably worse, because instead she just looks progressively more and more thoughtful. Kyle wished desperately for Tsukino to peel away from whatever hidey hole she was tucked in. Then, his train of thought screeches into a rude and abrupt halt.

“What,” he croaks. “What are you doing.”

One of her brows quirks up. “I sure hope your eyes are still working because that’d be a detriment to your job,” she says plainly. “What does it look like I’m doing? I promise it’s not a trick question.”

What she’s doing is holding Kyle’s hand—the one not clutching his new bow—the one that had apparently been waving about with increasing agitation as he jabbered on and on. What Kyle doesn’t understand is why. It’s not like he just did some impressive shot to give them the edge in a battle or anything else that was cool and hand-holding worthy. He’d just been yammering about bow mechanics, and maybe embarrassingly dipping into his talisman hopes and dreams. He stares a little helplessly at his trapped hand. Her kinship stone winks up at him.

“Look,” she says patiently, when it becomes very clear that Kyle is going to need a moment before he can get his brain back online. “There’s nothing wrong with a bow made from Mizutsune parts and I am the last person who will ever turn down pretty things. What I was going to say was that this is an interesting departure from your whole—” She pauses, as though looking for a specific word. “Well, your whole image as a very grown-up and serious and intimidating Hunter or whatever it was you were trying to convey with that scowl you used to like so much. And you weren’t letting me get a single word in.”

“You’re getting plenty of words in now,” Kyle scowls, just to be contrary. “And I’ve grown since then.”

“Someone’s in a mood today.” She smiles, crinkle-eyed, up at him. Kyle very seriously debates wrenching his hand out of her hold like he did the last time this happened and then pointedly doesn’t act on the impulse.

“Why’re you in Lulucion?” he asks instead with a truly remarkable level of self-restraint. “Thought you’d never want to come back again after what happened.”

She shrugs, the greatsword on her back heaving with the movement. “Guess I’ve grown too,” she says loftily, though she sobers quickly. “I was actually visiting my grandfather. He used to go back to Mahana around this time of year… he can’t do it anymore of course but I’ve got Ratha now, so I figured I could do it instead. And then I figured I’d stop by Rutoh before going home, to see Ena and Alwin and wheedle a few more stories out of them.”

She lets go of Kyle’s hand. He tries not to miss it. “Even Ratha can’t make the trip in one go, and Lulucion was closest, so we’re stopping to rest. I dropped by the Scrivener’s Lodge earlier because I was hoping Reverto could give me a few weapon pointers as I’ve saved up just about enough for an upgrade, but they told me that he was out on an urgent mission and wouldn’t be back for a while.”

“Oh,” Kyle says, a little stung that she hadn’t come specifically to see him first, out of all the Hunters in the city. He’s slightly mollified when she grins at him, though.

“And then I met Tsukino by the cannons. She said I could find you here, so here I am.”

“I don’t know anything about greatswords,” Kyle blurts out, and immediately wants to kick himself. She blinks at him, and then bursts into laughter.

“I was just going to ask the smith,” she wheezes when she’s got herself somewhat back under control. “Can’t I see a friend just to say hi to him anymore?” Kyle stares very intently down at some of the finer detailing on his bow.

“Where is my Palico anyway?” he finally settles on, falling into a tried and true grumble. “I haven’t seen her all day.”

She waves her hand vaguely in the air. “Navirou said something about getting donuts. I wasn’t really listening.”

But there was a donut stand right here in the marketplace, Kyle wanted to cry out. He should have seen Tsukino by now if they’d really been going to buy snacks! And how was it possible that he had missed Navirou in his entirety, between the Felyne’s penchant for wearing ridiculous little outfits and his inability to shut up?

“Why? You have a hunt you need to run off to?” 

“Yes,” Kyle says hotly. It’s a lie. He’d accepted a subquest that wouldn’t depart until later that evening for the sole purpose of testing out his new weapon in a relatively stress-free environment. Before that, he’d just planned on hitting up the shooting range in the training arena to break in the new string. His schedule was very, very free. Tsukino was perfectly aware of that.

His eyes widened. Tsukino had been with him on every excursion into the Gardens. She went where he did (usually), and it’s not like Kyle would ever begrudge her a visit home. But she’d been with him every step of every single Mizutsune job he’d ever taken—had watched him craft traps when he needed to capture and had kept watch for opportunists hoping to sneak up as he’d carved. She’d been the one who’d recommended the spinner for all the excess purplefur he was ending up with. At first, he’d simply thought that she’d wanted the thread to mend some of her own items, or to send back home to her brethren, but instead she’d tucked each skein of vibrant, silk-soft thread into the bottom of his pouch with gentle paws, cryptically talking about how strong a material it was, and how nice it looked when woven. Kyle has never touched a loom in his life, but now he’s looking at someone who he definitely knows has.

His stomach drops. Hadn’t Tsukino looked particularly smug ever since he’d lingered on the blueprints for Blessed Rain after getting a look at its stats and required materials?

“She got me,” he groans. His friend just looks at him bemusedly, though perhaps with a touch of wariness at his ferocious frown. Hastily, he tacks on: “It’s nothing. I, uh—I just remembered that I needed to tell Tsukino something. Important. Later, when I find her again.”

“Alright,” she says, though she doesn’t quite look like she believes him. “A quest’s a quest, though, so I won’t keep you here. The bow really is pretty though. I know I just said it doesn’t match your image and all but I really don’t think you can go wrong with something you like. You’ve got the skills for it, anyway.”

“Thanks,” he croaks, feeling a little overwhelmed. He manages two whole steps out of the nook before he pauses, worrying at his lower lip. “Actually,” he says sharply, spinning around on his heel and nearly causing his friend to startle right into a spice display. “How long are you staying for?”

“However long it’ll take to upgrade my sword, I guess,” she says after she collects herself, the words lilting into a question. “Three days or so, I guess?” She skirts nervously away from the glaring vendor, careful not to overbalance on her greatsword.

“Cool,” Kyle says with a nod, steeling himself. “Great, even. Look, how about this. Your last visit to Lulucion was terrible—” an understatement, “—so when I get back from my hunt I’ll show you some of the better sights Lulucion has to offer. There’s a hole in the wall that I think you’ll like. Dad used to take me after hunts—they grill really nice queen shrimp. And the parapets—you can climb them, and they’ve got all these little carvings in the stone that you can search for like a scavenger hunt.” He’s keenly aware that he’s rambling again, but she looks interested, so he barrels on. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow just as soon as I can get a nap in. We can stay in the city or take Ratha out to the Barrens, down by the water. Just make a day of it.” He’s pretty certain that he looks at her with something akin to hope as she considers. It feels like a lifetime before she finally comes to a decision. 

“I want to take Ratha out in the evening,” she says finally. “I don’t want him to be cooped up too long here ever again.”

“Yeah,” Kyle breathes out, the word rushing out of him in a flood of relief. “Yeah, I can work around that.” She beams at him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she says, sincere and looking more than a little surprised despite herself at the prospect of looking forward to doing anything in Lulucion. “I’m staying at the inn closest to the stables. Pretty sure I’m the only Rider there currently so they’ll know who I am.” Kyle nods, and lets himself get his hand squeezed again, though not without her hands first hovering in an instinctual bid for his cheeks before she remembers herself.

“Good luck on your hunt. If I see Tsukino I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“She’ll show up in due time,” he mutters darkly. “I’ll let you know if Reverto gets back early or if he’s just been loafing around this entire time. For your next upgrade or whatever.” She laughs, bright, and then slips off into the crowd to wrestle her way into the smithy’s queue. Kyle is left staring in her wake before his gaze is drawn back down to his bow.

“This is all your fault,” he tells it. Predictably, it doesn’t answer. Also predictably, Tsukino takes that exact moment to drop down from seemingly nowhere. 

“I didn’t know we had another job lined up,” the Felyne says delicately, carefully brushing crumbs off of her coat. Kyle groans, sheathing his weapon.

“Don’t tease me,” he huffs. “I’m going to the shooting range. Are you coming?”

“Hmm,” says Tsukino. “I suppose I can spare the time.”

“Of course you can spare the time!” Kyle hisses, indignant. “You just spent the day eating donuts and eavesdropping!” He pointedly doesn’t look towards the smithy, where his friend was patiently browsing the display while another Hunter was getting their hammer looked at.

“One must always be prepared with the latest intel,” Tsukino says mildly. “I’m glad the upgrade went well.” 

“It’s got good stats,” Kyle protests weakly in what is quickly becoming a tired argument. “The rapid shots have been going very well. And I had a surplus of Mizutsune parts.”

 “Yes,” his hunting partner agrees readily enough. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do with the thread?”

“This conversation is finished,” Kyle says abruptly, making a very determined push towards the market’s exit. “Either come or don’t, so long as we meet at the gate for tonight’s hunt.”

Tsukino looks at him with exasperated fondness, which is frankly a little insulting, but readily falls into step next to him. Kyle wonders how many rounds he’s going to have to shoot in order to clear his head again and rid it of thoughts of Hazepetal Garden or Mizutsune or high-grade thread that he’ll never use himself. He’ll examine them again someday—because he’s not a coward—but that day is most certainly not today.

He does his rounds in the training arena and marvels at the way the string slides off his fingers with a satisfying twang, even though it’ll still be a good few days before it’s fully broken in to his liking. Tsukino’s saved him a donut, the cakey sweet sticky with honey and practically melting in his mouth. He’s got some free time even after stocking up for the evening hunt, so he takes a few minutes to browse the quest board, taking careful note of the jobs that were situated near the Harzgai Rocky Hill, or the ones from further afield in Alcala that’ll take him closer to Rutoh. And when he leaves the city, he pointedly doesn’t look up at the familiar shape circling in the dusky sky, even as he knows that they’ll surely see the last rays of the setting sun winking off of the plates of his bow like a beacon.

#was anyone going to tell me that HR Kyle gets a MIZU BOW #You were just going to withhold this vital piece of information from me? #anyway here's 3k words about the significance of Mizutsune to one (1) boy that I love #I wrote this specifically with my idiot in mind #but asides from the gender and a few other lines I guess you can generalize to any other Rider #monster hunter kyle #monster hunter stories 2 #Annie writes

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

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

[beenovel]

Picnics and Surprises

Pairing: Sigrid x fem!reader

Word count: 1,647

Warnings: fluff I guess?

Summary: Four years after the quest you prepare a surprise for Sigrid.

A/N: I was very sad that there were so few wlw fics for Sigrid (or any Tolkien females, really) so I decided to take matters into my own hands. This is my first fic so please be kind. Thank you to @elvish-sky for beta reading!

Character ages: Sigrid is 19 with you being around the same age, Tilda is 13, and I couldn’t find and age range for Bain so I just went with around 15-16 for him.

You walked through the markets of Dale looking for the florist. You wanted this to be perfect. Sigrid had done so much for you, and you wanted to do this for her.

You had been a part of the company during the quest to reclaim Erebor (at Gandalf’s insistence of course). That’s when you had met Sigrid. You knew there was something there but you didn't have the time to deal with it.

Then the quest was over and the dragon slain and the mountain claimed by Thorin. You had decided to stay in Dale instead of in the mountain. You felt more at home under the open sky and Bard offered to let you stay with him.

You knew you had fallen in love with Sigrid and after that, it was only a matter of time before you got together and started courting.

Four years later and you were ready to take the next step. Tonight you were going to propose. If the weather cooperated with you that is.

You had been planning this picnic for weeks, plotting with your found family to make the perfect proposal.

You were going to propose under the starlight and you had almost everything ready. Food, candles, blankets, books, and the most important part. The ring.

It had a silver setting and a moonstone surrounded by small leaves and flowers. You were sure she was going to love it.

Finding the flowers you wanted, you bought them and looked to the sky with trepidation. It had been bitingly cold and windy all morning. Those clouds were far too dark for your liking.

This morning’s errands had taken a lot longer than planned and you began to worry. Tilda could only keep Sigrid out of the house and away from Bard and Bain’s preparations for so long after all.

It turned out your worry was well-founded because as you turned to go back to Bard’s home it started to drizzle. By the time you got back, the drizzle was a downpour and your cloak was soaked through.

Bain was waiting for you at the door and relieved you of your basket while you shed your cloak.

“Quite the storm out there” he commented.

“I know,” you said with a frown “so much for proposing.”

“We’ve taken care of it,” Bard said as he joined you in the entryway.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, confused.

“Come with me!” Bain said excitedly as he dragged you to the study.

You gasped.

“Do you like it?” Bain asked, clearly nervous.

“Like it? It’s wonderful!”

They had removed all the furniture from the room and replaced it with what appeared to be every blanket and pillow in the house. Lanterns from the ceiling gave off a soft glow as Bain added the wine, fruit, and flowers to the small pile of food on the floor.

With that you and Bard headed upstairs, you to change and him to get some of his, Bain, and Tilda’s belongings. He explained that when Sigrid and Tilda returned he, Bain, and Tilda would all go to a friend’s for the night.

“How did you get all this done so fast? The rain only started an hour ago.”

“When I saw the clouds on the horizon this morning I knew it was going to rain. We started pretty much as soon as you left.”

You stopped on the landing and turned to Bard.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for making my daughter so happy, and for being a part of my life.”

You let out a shaky exhale at that and Bard chuckled and pulled you into a quick hug.

“Come now, we don’t want you getting all puffy-eyed. There’s work to do.”

You nodded and laughed and went to your room. You changed into a simple dress that would be comfortable for sitting on the floor.

Grabbing the ring from its hiding place and putting it in your pocket, you went and laid out one of Sigrid’s favorite dresses for her.

You went back downstairs to find Bain in the kitchen heating the wine with spices.

“I figured with it being so cold and wet-” he cut off with a vague gesture to the pot.

“A splendid idea!”

Bain rewarded you with a warm smile.

“I can’t wait for you to be my sister.”

Your heart swelled.

“I can’t wait either.”

“Neither can I,” Bard said from the doorway, “but let’s get moving before they get back.”

“No need to get pushy, Da, we have time.”

The front door opened with a slam as the frozen girls rushed in. Bard turned to Bain with an expression that had “I told you” written all over it. Bain raised his hands in surrender as his father turned to waylay the girls before Sigrid could see the study.

You and Bain looked at each other and suddenly you were both stifling excited yet hysterical giggles.

You breathlessly listened to Bard as he explained that Sigrid had to go upstairs and get changed because there was a surprise for her but she had to be in dry clothes for it.

“I have no complaints with dry clothes Da, just the secrecy” you heard Sigrid say as Bain poured the wine into mugs.

Once you were sure Sigrid was upstairs you took the mugs from Bain and went to the study. You set the mugs down on the table and went to the entryway to see the others off. You got quick smiles, hugs, and words of encouragement from everyone, then you bolted the door behind them.

You could hear Sigrid approaching the stairs and you went to stand at the bottom. When she saw you she gave you a wide, but nervous smile.

You laughed lightly as she descended the stairs.

“Calm down, my love, I just wanted to spend some time alone with you.”

She visibly relaxed and reached out to hug you.

“Mmmm, I missed you” she murmured into your shoulder.

“You saw me this morning.”

“Doesn’t matter, I still missed you.”

You pulled away from each other.

“Now what’s all this about a surprise?”

You smiled and led her to the study.

“I was planning on a picnic at sunset but with the rain-”

You opened the door to the study and Sigrid gasped.

“Y/n, this is beautiful!”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid most of the credit goes to your father and brother. They set everything up.”

Sigrid leaned in for a quick kiss before walking over to where the basket was set up. You grabbed the wine and joined her.

You gave her the flowers and she smiled before bringing them up to her nose to smell them.

“Mmm, my favorites!”

You chuckled lightly.

“I know, that’s why I got them.”

You pulled out the books and the food with a smile.

“Dig in!”

Two hours later and you were both very relaxed, any and all stress melting away in each other’s company. Even just reading together was enough to relax you both completely, but the talking was better.

There was a gentle lull in the conversation as you leaned back on the pillows and Sigrid leaned back on you. Looking up at the lanterns above you decided it was time.

Taking a deep breath you gently helped Sigrid sit up.

“My love?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.” Well, looks like you were getting right into it.

Sigrid turned to face you completely.

“I actually had a question for you too.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“It’s probably better if I ask my question first.” You turned to your pocket to get the ring for a moment and when you looked back to Sigrid your jaw dropped. She was looking down at her lap nervously.

In her hand was a ring.

“I wanted to ask if you would-” she cut off when she looked up and saw what you were holding.

You locked eyes for a moment, staring at each other with disbelief before you both burst into laughter. Sigrid bent over double and you were wheezing violently.

“Looks like we had similar plans my dear!” you gasped out when you could finally breathe again.

“I guess so!” Sigrid said as she continued to laugh, which set you off again.

When you had both finally calmed down you looked back up at Sigrid. She had tears in her eyes.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” You chuckled.

“Yes!” Sigrid yelled as she tackled you backward with a kiss. It was long and sweet. When you finally resurfaced for air you both sat up and you held out your ring for Sigrid to see.

“Y/n...” she breathed out “it’s stunning.”

“I’m glad you like it,” You said as you took her hand in yours.

You gently slid the ring on her finger and you smiled at each other.

“Now where’s mine?”

-

-

-

-

Extra:

“YOU WERE GOING TO PROPOSE?!?!?!?”

“Bain, calm down,” Bard said with a poorly concealed smile and you and Tilda stifled giggles as the conversation went on.

“SHE WAS GOING TO PROPOSE!!! AND SHE DIDN’T TELL US!!”

“As I already told you, I wasn’t planning on it yet but I figured if I was getting some alone time with-”

“YOU HAD A RING AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME! Y/N TOLD ME AND SHE’S NOT EVEN MY SISTER YET! BETRAYAL! YOU BETRAYED ME! MY OWN SISTER!”

You and Tilda began to openly laugh at this and Bard was also struggling to hold back laughter.

“I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE MARRYING Y/N! AT LEAST THEN I’LL HAVE A DECENT SISTER! WHO TELLS ME THINGS!”

“Hey! What am I, an orc?” Tilda cried, indignant.

Bard came to stand beside you as you watched a new round of bickering unfold.

“Are you sure you want to join this family?” He asked with a laugh.

“Positive.” you cackled in reply.

#Sigrid x reader #sigrid x you #sigrid x fem!reader #sigrid x y/n #sigrid #sigrid the hobbit #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #tilda the hobbit #bard #bard the bowman #tilda #bain #bain of dale

[lady-literature]

no point wishing on stars

aka the jasonette aladdin au literally no one asked for

This is a great big amalgamation of semi-canon miraculous, batman and a heavy dose of bastardized Aladdin but here we go-

The story goes like this:

Jason is our beloved street rat turned prince Boy Wonder and billionaire’s son (not that he’s gotten that far yet).

Marinette is Ladybug, is the Guardian, is our modern-day Jasmine. She’s next in line after Fu to lead the Order, which, I suppose, is like High Royalty for superheroes/magic users.

But before she can take her rightful place, she needs a partner by her side. It’s so stupid rule that says she, as a Ladybug, needs a Black Cat by her side in order to be properly balanced.

The only problem is, she doesn’t want one. Or, well. More accurately, it’s that she doesn’t like the ones offered to her, and she doesn’t quite like the idea of being tied to someone she barely knows, especially not at fourteen.

There have been many Black Cat candidates to cross her path but there has been only one she did not immediately veto. Adrien Agreste may be a Black Cat, but he cannot be hers. He will never be anything more than her dearest brother, and that is not what Creation needs.

Creation and Destruction—life and death—have a certain type of relationship. They are lovers, mated and married in every meaning of the word.

And, for as much as she loves and adores Adrien as her brother in her soul, they will never be like that. She will never want him the way she must should he take up Destruction.

So yeah. Marinette has a problem. And yeah, she has some time to figure it out, but the Order is looking to have her figure it out sooner rather than later. Adrien is a good place holder for now, but if Marinette doesn’t choose a Black Cat by the time she’s twenty-one, Adrien will either have to do, or she forfeits her crown and the Ladybug miraculous (which she would never do, she loves her people and Tikki too much to ever do that).

(wait? Does this mean I made Adrien the human equivalent of Raja?… yes. Yes it does.)

And, to spice this up just a bit more, let’s say Hawkmoth is Jafar, yeah? This little shit is really trying to push his son to be the next Black Cat because he wants power what’s best for his son. So he be out here sabotaging potential Black Cats because he’s an asshole his son is the best candidate at the moment. He could give less than two shits about if Mari and Adrien actually like each other that way, he will shove his son at her until she has no choice but to choose him.

Anyway, so Mari leaves the temple one day. Which is fine, she’s not trapped there or anything, she can come and go as she pleases! (she may have to normally take someone with her and is currently ignoring that rule perhaps, but that’s besides the point!)

So she’s at a market in Gotham, strolling down the street, having a good time enjoying being around normal people, when she notices a boy getting into some trouble.

(I’ll give you three guesses as to who it is and the first two don’t count.)

Jason was stealing from market vendors because the hubbub of the street is distracting and nicking a few scraps here and there is practically child’s play. Only, he miscalculates.

One vendor was paying more attention than he thought.

Mari’s across the street and sees the whole thing. Sees the vendor grab Jason’s hand in a bruising grip and snarl in his face.

She’s in between the pair before she even realizes it, mouth already opening around some made-up story about ill-advised dares and how ‘it won’t happen again, sir’ and ‘here, I’ll pay for that right now, no harm done!’

Jason stares at her utterly baffled and, thankfully, silent until after she’d already grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

Only, she pulls him away down the wrong alley. (Look. Mari’s a real sweet-talker and knows how to smooth ruffled feathers, but she is hardly street smart.)

Jason swears, and it’s the first words she’s heard him speak, and then it’s him tugging her along. Up a fire escape and over the rooftops because Jason likes to think he’s tough, but there’s no way he’s picking a fight with five guys bigger than him and wearing masks.

He likes to keep his heart beating more than he wants to keep his pride unharmed thank you very much.

They end up on a rooftop, panting and like, seven blocks away. Marinette is now very lost and with a strange boy who she doesn’t know. He seems… nice, and she’s a good judge of character, but that doesn’t mean much when they’re still very much strangers.

But then the two just look at each other and suddenly they’re both laughing.

And that, my friends, is the start of a beautiful friendship.

***

During those first few months, she and Jason just seem to click.

Mari starts leaving the temple more and more to meet up with Jason, and on more than one occasion dragging behind her a picnic basket bigger than her. (it’s stupid to let one of her friends starve just because he’s too prideful to take her food. So she plans lots of picnics for them both, and pointedly ignores the way he eats and hoards most of the food she brings.)

He is her friend—though she would be lying if she said she didn’t like him a bit more than what one would consider friendly.

And Jason, who is funny and kind and made sharp by the life he’s been forced into, likes her right back. She is one of the few great parts of his life, a bright spot in the darkness he has called his world for so long, and there are few things he wouldn’t do for her.

It’s… scary—just a bit—how important she is to him.

He tries not to think about it too much.

And it doesn't really matter anyway, because she is good and bright and amazing and he is… there’s nothing he can give her in return. Nothing good, anyway.

She deserves someone better. Someone who could buy her things as pretty as her and take her nice places.

Someone who isn’t a street rat.

And then he learns she’s Ladybug, right up there with Wonder Woman and Robin and all the other amazing people set on saving the world, and he feels he got that much farther from her. How can he ever compare?

Jason doesn’t wish, because wishing is childish and he learned too young that shooting stars don’t exist and he’s come to terms with the fact that this is his life years ago, all right? He doesn't need the burden of hope to weigh him down now.

(but perhaps, deep down, tucked away in the corner of his heart, there might be a thought. Small and scared and aching, he might think, ‘if only I could be there with her, if only i could fly with her, maybe then I’d be enough’)

Six months after he meets Marinette, Jason comes across the Batmobile.

His first thought is, this can’t be real.

His second is, I could buy Mari a real birthday gift with this.

His third thought is less of a thought because he’s already got two tires off by that point and then suddenly Batman is there and Jason is swinging his tire iron.

This then leads—somehow—to him winding up at Wayne Manor with Bruce Wayne and then he learns about Batman and Robin and he gets to be Robin and-

(and what else is a Robin meant to do but fly?)

It’s too good to be true. Wishes don’t come true and good things don’t happen to him unless their name be Marinette but… but Jason’s here and it’s not a dream. He’s no prince but, well… he thinks this might just be as close as you can get.

And, okay. He really does try with the whole secrecy thing, because he can understand why that’s important but, I mean… it’s Marinette, who is Ladybug. There really was never any chance of Jason keeping that particular secret, Batman or no Batman.

And about,,, two years pass like this ig. Mari is almost seventeen now, and Jason turned seventeen recently and the pair are getting closer and closer every day. They’re toeing the line of ‘more than friends’ but neither have really taken that next step. 

The pressure is on Mari from the Order because she’s getting older and as much as she likes Jason, knows him but he isn’t a good candidate for Destruction and Mari must think of her people first.

Jason doesn’t get to be hers to keep and that aches but what else is she meant to do? She cannot—does not—want to change him in any way. So they stay, in their strange little limbo, with neither making a move.

And then, the unthinkable happens.

Hawkmoth hears of the boy finally, and is, obviously, furious.

He doesn't care if this boy can be a Cat or not, he’s going to ruin all his plans. So, there’s only one solution. He needs to get rid of him.

(i’ll give you three guesses as to how and the first two don’t count!)

Robin—Jason—dies, and Marinette feels when he does. She doesn’t know why or what happened, but the moment he leaves the world her blood turns cold and she feels sick.

Jason hasn’t even looked at the ring and already Marinette could feel the thread that had begun to tie them together. When she hears of his death—when she learns that he’s gone—Marinette shatters.

She shatters and cries and the world tips just a little, with the force of her sorrow, with the agony of her screams.

(justice is blind, yes, but is she deaf? Can she deny the sobbing of such a being as Creation herself? Can she stand, unfeeling, before the agony she has wrought?)

Marinette does not bring Jason back to life… but she has done something close. Has opened the possibility. Is, perhaps, the reason that six months later he screams and claws and drags himself from his own grave.

He is wrong wrong wrong, but he is also alive.

The league finds him, as they must. And Talia throws him into the pits, as she must. And Jason is reborn, screaming and angry and violent, as he must.

Marinette had known, Before, that Jason would not be a good match for the ring. He was tough and wild and willing to get his hands dirty if that’s what it took, but that was not what his core was. He was familiar with the rust and decay of back alley streets, but that wasn’t where he belonged. He would throw a punch but he didn’t relish the blood on his knuckles after a fight.

Jason was surrounded by destruction, but that’s not what he was.

Now… now the destruction he spent so long dancing with has slipped through the cracks in his mind left behind by the explosion. It ripped through his skin and slithered through into his veins until it settled in his heart like an overly smug cat.

Death and Destruction are inside him, woven in his ribcage and fusing with his blood, pumping pumping pumping its deadly rhythm and Jason is helpless to deny it’s tune.

Jason is a being of Destruction through circumstance rather than design, but make no mistake, that does not make him less.

(in fact, it may even make him more. To be remade from one’s own destruction is a powerful thing, and to be remade into Destruction? Well. There are few things more… miraculous.)

And we all know the next part of the story right?

Marinette mourns and grows and lives.

Jason rages and learns and plans. He’s come far from that street rat of a boy, and farther still from Marinette's petite oiseau.

But, two years after he comes back, when he ventures back to Gotham for revenge, Marinette takes one look at this angry, violent man calling himself Red Hood and she knows. He’s too familiar, even as he stands before her, more changed than she ever thought possible.

She meets the Red Hood when he comes for the new Robin, sweet little Tim who Marinette had grown to like despite herself. (He is not Jason, and never will be, but the boy was too shy and clever and earnest for her to have remained cold to him just because he wore the same colors once worn by the man she loved.)

She loves Tim in the same way she loves Adrien, simply and wholly and uncomplicated.

And then she is there when Jason comes for him.

Their reunion is not the stuff of fairy tales. It is not the beginning of happily ever after or true love.

Their reunion is a punch in the gut because it doesn't matter that he’s alive—except it does, because Mari has never known she could be so happy and so shattered at the same time—she is farther from him than she’d ever imagined she could be.

She reaches out for him, voice cracking around his name—because who else could this familiar stranger be?—and something in her shatters all over again when he flinches back from her touch.

“No,” he says, and it is a million things at once. He sends one last glare to Tim, who is still behind her, and then he’s gone.

***

Jason tries to avoid her.

Marinette allows this for a whole month before the whispers in the streets and the stories Tim comes back to her with, become too much.

She knows he is angry and out for revenge and building an empire out of the criminals that infest their city, but she doesn’t care. He was gone for two whole years and Marinette is tired of not seeing him-hearing him-touching him.

She has missed him like an ache in her chest and she doesn't care if he hates her or is furious with her, she just wants to see him. She needs to reassure herself that he’s alive, that he’s real.

And, it seems, the universe is on her side in this. In her chest, nestled there in the space next to her heart, there is what she can only describe as a compass, pointing to wherever Jason is like he’s her own personal north star.

The first few times, she’s yelled at or ran off. Or he runs off. Either way, for a while, the only moments she’s close to him are short and aching.

But she doesn’t let him run for long, and she doesn’t let him scare her off as she knows he’s trying to do.

Marinette had always been the more stubborn of the two.

Eventually, like a feral cat learning safety (like a hurt, scared animal relearning love), Jason lets her get close. He lets her in, lets her get close again.

The first time she sees him, without helmet or mask, she flings herself at him. Arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, clutching him like her life depends on it. He takes her weight automatically, hand beneath her thighs while the other wraps around her back just as tightly. (he longs for touch, she has relearned, but he is also so frightened of it. She will have to be brave for them both)

The second time she sees his face bare once more, he is still thrumming with energy from a fight, is still high on the feeling of broken bones and blood on his knuckles. The force in his chest, the clawing and raging thing settled just off-center of the very core of him, pulls him toward her and Marinette meets him halfway, her own bright, ruthless force like a magnet in her chest.

They meet in a clash of hands on skin and lips anywhere they’ll land.

It is the first time they fall into bed together.

It will not be the last.

Now, you may be thinking, ‘Lady! This isn’t very Aladdin at all!’ and to that I tell you: I fucking warned you. What part of bastardized-Aladdin didn’t you get?

Also, shh. This is my favorite part!

So Mari is in her own personal little honeymoon stage, right? She practically could not be happier because Jason is alive and he’s hers and, even if he’s more violent and a crime boss, he’s stopped attacking his family at least. Which is good, because Mari really didn’t like the sad look Tim wore every time he brought up Jason.

And, oh yeah. Through a combination of her own detective work and Tikki, little Mari realizes that Jason is her Black Cat. Is the only person her Black Cat could be, not because of destiny—though that had helped—but because of coincidence and the bond the pair forged themselves.  

So Mari is, obviously, on cloud nine at the moment and she tells Adrien and Fu who are ecstatic for her, and announcements are going to be made the second Mari tells Jason and what could possibly go wrong?

Well, a lot of things really but the first thing is that, basically, Mari is asking Jason to marry her. Just a bit. And while they both know, in that nebulous way they always have, that they love each other, neither of them have ever actually said it.

And also, they aren’t really dating right now either. Mari’s been too busy trying to just get near Jason again that she hasn’t much been paying attention to normal relationship things like dates or labels.

So when she brings it up Jason is… well, caught off guard is likely an understatement. Which then makes Mari realize what exactly she’s just done and- shit. She’s ruined everything and Jason is going to run away again and the compass in her chest is just going to be a reminder of what she can’t have and-

Jason, who only moments before was terrified and in danger of bolting—because this is a lot and magic-marrying Mari comes with responsibilities and rules and a thousand strings he doesn't know what to do with—now stops and stares at her, babbling and so obviously panicked and something in him abruptly settles.

She starts pacing and he grabs her hand when she passes by close enough, reeling her into his body. She comes easily even in her frazzled state and the vicious clawing thing in his chest sighs contentedly.

“Why?” he asks, and it is a million things at once. Why him, why now, why, why, why?

There are a million ways she could answer, but the easiest? The most important answer is simply this: “Because I love you.”

His breath shudders in his chest at her words and her hands raise to settle on his cheek and the back of his neck, a protection of one of the most vulnerable parts of him, and he leans into her touch like a man starved.

Gods, Jason has loved her for years.

He loved her Before and he loved her in the pits, when all he had was the hate they kept stuffing in his chest, and he loves her now. She is his sun and he will spin around her for the rest of his life. But when it all comes down to it, one simple fact doesn’t change:

“I don’t deserve your love.”

Her hands press harder into his skin, like she can force him to understand through touch alone. “If everyone only got the love they deserved no one would be truly loved,” she counters.

“You would,” he says, quick and quiet and honest. Her breath hitches and he watches her eyes go wide. The hands he has on her hips tighten at the emotions he finds there.

“Oh,” she whispers, already pulling him down to meet her. “Oh you stupid, beautiful man.”

And then they’re kissing and- and it is not the first time they’ve done this, but there is something very different about this one.

They’re kissing, and this time, it feels very much like coming home.

***

And, perhaps, that is not the end.

Because there is still one wish left. 

Because Jafar-Hawkmoth is still there, and he’s still murderous, and there a very real chance he’s going to ruin the wedding somehow.

Because there is never truly an end to a story, it just simply stops being told.

But none of that really matters. Our princess and her dearest street rat are together at last, and together they’ll get through whatever happens after the story stops being told.

They’ve always had a thing for impossible odds after all.

#maribat #jasonette #my typewriter #aladdin au

[archonanqi]

fragile as dust / 9 - the moments of peace

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a/n - hi! I've gotten some requests to start a tag list for this series. If you’d like to be tagged with updates, please send me an ask / message / reply! Thank you. :)

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ch 9 | the moments of peace

“To the left, to the left!” 

With an embarrassing screech, you lunged forward, desperately searching for any movement in the dry grass. You came up empty. Adrenaline still hot in your veins, you jumped violently when Xiangling pat you on the shoulder.

“ Your left,” Xiangling corrected, pointing in the opposite direction of which you threw yourself. 

You both stared wordlessly for a moment as the squirrel scurried away and out of sight. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, cheeks hot against the morning air. This was the third expedition you’d embarked on so far, and you’d still yet to catch anything that could move faster than a sweet flower.

“That’s okay! Just means that I’ll need to come up with some dishes to make with the ingredients we have so far!” You could almost hear the gears grinding in her brain as she rummaged through the basket of plants that you had gathered, murmuring to herself. “Is this everything we gathered today?”

You hesitated before rifling through your pockets and producing the brown, lumpy object you’d found at the start of your expedition. You weren’t sure it was even edible (it certainly didn’t smell like it), but you wondered if it might suffice to salvage the botched trip, even a little. 

“OH!” Xiangling’s eyes lit up soon as she saw what was in your hand. “Where did you find this?”

You peered at her cautiously, not sure if this was a good reaction or not. Also, her voice seemed to have hit a new high and you were worried it would begin to attract monsters. 

“Uh, back there, in those ruins. There was a bunch,” you offered, pointing in the direction. “Is it usable?”

Xiangling seemed to have begun visibly vibrating. “Usable? This is Matsutake! It’s a rare mushroom, and it’s so versatile that it can be used in place of any— Oh, I’ll explain later, let’s go get them all before a boar finds them first!” 

The sun was well above the horizon by the time you gathered enough Matsutake to fill the two baskets you’d brought. Xiangling had already started a fire with some Dendro slime concentrate — the way she’d taught you to do — when you returned from washing the mushrooms in a nearby stream. 

“Could you chop the Jueyun Chilis for me, please?” Xiangling said, barely looking up from the wok. No matter how bubbly she had been, the moment she stood in front of a blazing fire and a vast array of ingredients, Xiangling always adopted a demeanor of complete calm. It was almost unnerving to watch, sometimes, how focused she could get. You hurried to obey.

“How many?”

She peered up then, the licking flames painting her grin a bright orange. “Hansi, have I taught you nothing over the past week?” She thumped her chest twice with a flour-covered hand, “in Mondstadt, they might use measurements like cups and tablespoons— but that’s not how I do things! In Liyue, we listen to our hearts. Just let Rex Lapis guide your hand!”

You stared at the chilis. If you’re just giving out guidance nowadays , you directed your silent thoughts towards the earth beneath your feet, I’d love to know what your deal with the Vision is.

In the end, you emptied just half a chili into the wok, because even just chopping it was beginning to make your eyes water. It instantly stained the hot oil a bright red. For the rest of the morning, you watched as Xiangling bustled around your little campsite, tasting this and that, asking you for various small and bewildering favors — you certainly hope that she didn’t really use the lizard tail that she had you go hunt down. 

While at first you paid careful attention to Xiangling, the sight of a piece of Cor Lapis gleaming under the morning light dragged your thoughts elsewhere — towards what ( who ) was waiting for you when you returned home. 

“Okay!” Xiangling finally said, making you jump. “Sorry that took so long! I’ve never had so much Matsutake to experiment with at once.” She held out two neatly packaged lunch boxes. “Take these, one for you, one for Mr Zhongli! It’s Matsutake Stirfry with Potatoes and Carrots! … I’ll come up with a better name later.”

You accepted the boxes with gracious thanks, just the smell wafting from them making your mouth water. 

“I really want to see the look on your face when you taste it, but we’ve been out here for a little over five hours now,” Xiangling mused. Had it really already been five? Time seemed to fly when you were with Xiangling. “You should probably hurry home or Mr. Zhongli will get worried.”

You absently thanked her again, all the while wondering at the truth of that. Zhongli had certainly seemed a little worried after the incident with Tartaglia, briefly, though he quickly returned to his usual, unreadable demeanor. The idea that someone was waiting for you, would get worried if you never came home — it was bafflingly foreign, but also… so very warm. 

As you turned to go, you could hear the grin in Xiangling’s voice when she called after you, “and here you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to help. This dish was only possible because of you, Hansi!”

Briefly and painfully, you yearned to understand how Xiangling managed to make a good thing of any situation. It seemed that there was far more than just cooking that Xiangling could teach you.

—-------------------

“Wonderfully seasoned,” Zhongli praised that afternoon, and you prayed that he didn’t notice your cheeks blushing as red as the chili oil. “A perfect balance of spice. Did you help make this?”

You bit back a smile as you nodded, and sent Rex Lapis your silent thanks for his... guidance. 

—-------------------

Easing into Zhongli’s life was easier than you would ever have imagined. 

After your disastrous breakfast incident, you had made a habit of waking early and accompanying him on his walks in the morning — at first to make up for setting his house on fire, then later, out of enjoyment. You found yourself looking forward to your long walks, breathing in the fresh air and seeing Liyue Harbor bathed in the dawnlight. 

Before you knew it, you had memorized a few things about the mornings of Liyue: which routes to Yujing Terrace let you catch the early sunrise; what time Wanmin restaurant’s fresh shao’bing buns come out of the oven; and when little old Madame Ping, whom Zhongli always greeted respectfully, hobbled up the hill to water the glaze lilies. 

 It was only when Zhongli mentioned black perch stew and you lamented that Mr. Sun from the fish market wouldn’t get new stock until Monday, that you realized just how deeply entrenched in domestic life you had become.

There were other things you noticed too; the street corner where you used to play, sleep and beg. The sink behind the souvenir shop that you snuck to at night just to get a drink of clean water. Children who’d had the misfortune of being born like you, into families who couldn’t imagine feeding another mouth. 

These things struck you with increasing guilt — of every child of Liyue who grew up without a home, what made you deserving of salvation? — but mostly, with fear. If Zhongli got tired of you, if you once again found yourself in that life... 

Well. 

You swept those thoughts deep deep deeper into your head, and forged on.

—-------------------

“Another umbrella, Mr. Zhongli?” You raised a brow. When had you begun to point out his eccentric purchases? You weren’t sure. “We’ve bought four today.” 

“Ah,” Zhongli smiled, already reaching for the fifth. “Yes, so we have. Do you like white rabbit candy? Let’s get two bags.”

Resigned, you followed along, your exasperation quickly fizzling out as soon as you turned a corner and came face to face with the wide-eyed, dirt-smeared faces of a group of orphans. Dressed in lovely clean clothes and with so much color in your cheeks — you couldn’t imagine how you looked to them. You saw so much of yourself in their hungry gazes that you had to look away. 

You watched as Zhongli bent down so that he met them at eye level. “Please, accept these,” he held out the umbrellas, and suddenly you began finding it hard to breathe, “it looks like there’s a storm coming. And also, won’t you all also take some sweets—?”

—-------------------

You, of course, kept your contract with Zhongli, as religiously as you would one with an Adeptus, or Rex Lapis himself. Each book that you enjoyed, you meticulously brought to him as though an offering, and each time, he seemed to have something to offer of his own. A book about the Five Yaksha, tales of the Dragon King, the legend of how Guyun Stone Forest was formed, memoirs from Guili Assembly — Zhongli always had some twist of his own to add to the stories. 

“Did you know that before they came to serve Rex Lapis, the Yaksha were bound to a cruel, tyrannical God? Yet when they were freed, they chose to honor a contract to protect the humans of Liyue. How admirable.”

“Precious few stories speak of it, but the Dragon King was not sealed by Rex Lapis due to a disagreement, but rather, because he broke a contract. What contract exactly? Well, I can’t be ruining too many books for you now, can I, Hansi?”

“These illustrations of the spears that originally comprise Guyun Stone Forest are… certainly interesting. Why did they deem that stone spears formed from the essence of Geo themselves would possess tassels and a ribbon? I doubt that during the Archon War, Rex Lapis had time to consider the appearance of his weapons.” 

“My my, these books certainly are taking their liberties with their descriptions of the Goddess of Dust. Kind, yes, gentle, perhaps, but weak? Why, is the Guizhong Ballista not one of the most powerful mechanisms in all of Liyue, even thousands of years after it was built? I would truly like to see what these authors consider strength.” 

Each time you marveled at his vast pools of knowledge, Zhongli would, without fail, exhale deeply and smile his small smile. “I have a good memory,” was always his explanation. You couldn’t help but wonder just how many books the man had read in his lifetime — and where he found the time to do anything else. 

While you were frequently more than impressed by his reserve of stories, the sentiment did not seem to extend to others in Liyue. More than one time had you and Zhongli been escorted, forcibly, from the Third-Round Knockout after your companion stood up to correct the storyteller on the stage. 

The first time, you were mortified, though by the sixth you had learned to laugh it off as breezily as Zhongli did.

—-------------------

Sometimes, you recalled your earliest days at Zhongli’s house; how he had told you that your first order of business was to recover your health. 

You had recovered, and so, what was next to come? 

The house was always spotless despite the increasing number of items that Zhongli seemed to bring home each day from his walks. More than once, you reflected on his claims that he needed household help, and realized that he may not have been entirely truthful.

On particularly bad days, when the haze of doubt threatened to overtake every logical thought in your mind, you waited for his gaze to turn cruel, for his fingers to grip you painfully and for him to take whatever he wanted. 

Yet — never did he so much as touch you. 

—-------------------

The Vision sat as heavily in your conscience as it did in your bedside table.

You opened the drawer frequently to stare at the thing, more of a plague on you than a blessing, at this point. If you could not use it, then it was just an ornament — an ornament that put your  amicable acquaintanceship with Zhongli at risk. 

If he were to find out on his own, it would be so much worse than if you’d told him. The very notion of hurt, betrayal and fury in those amber eyes was almost too much for you to hear.

And so, one day, you decided that it would simply be best if you told him.

—-------------------

You rehearsed a script for hours on end, trying to guess each and every one of Zhongli’s potential reactions. Certainly, he would be upset, perhaps disappointed. You were almost sure that he would not hurt you over the discovery. And even if he did, perhaps it wouldn’t be anything you didn’t deserve, for lying for so long.

When you were finally ready, your knock on his door was answered by a deep, rich, “yes?” 

You had never seen the inside of Zhongli’s room before, and so as you pushed the door open, you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt at the idea of seeing more of the man, learning more about him.

Your gaze first laid upon his face, edged silver in the moonlight. Then, immediately, it trailed downwards, to his shoulders, then—

Zhongli wasn’t wearing even a scrap of clothing. 

“Oh,” he said, slightly raised brows betraying nothing but mild surprise, “I was changing.” 

Wordlessly, you slammed the door shut and returned to your room.

—-------------------

When Zhongli came knocking ten minutes later, you were still a little dazed. 

“Come in,” you called, and as he entered you were somewhat relieved to see that he was clad in his usual four layers of clothing. “Do you see how I said come in, Mr Zhongli? Because I wasn’t changing?”

“I believe what I said was ‘yes’.” It was never easy to tell what Zhongli was thinking, with his carefully neutral expression, but was there a small smile in his voice there?

“You can’t—“ you realized with a certain degree of shock at how casually you had begun to address Zhongli. (You searched yourself for fear, and found none.) “—You can’t just say ‘yes’ when what you mean is ‘hang on, I’m completely nude!’” 

“I do apologize. I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Zhongli said, and there was absolutely, definitely a small smile in his voice there. “What is it you wanted to tell me, Hansi?”

You opened your mouth, but paused. 

In the darkness of his room, you had barely been able to make out what seemed to be odd lines down his arms and chest — tattoos? You hadn’t expected a nobleman like him to be so covered in them. But more importantly, in the few seconds you had beheld Zhongli’s well-toned form, you had seen what you knew all too well — scars, raked across his torso, stomach, legs, the raised tissue gleaming under the moonlight. 

He had mentioned he had been fighting all his life, that he had been a soldier— but it was difficult to imagine even the Millelith facing foes so formidable that it could have left such injuries, and so many. What could have hurt him so badly? 

What was he hiding from you?

The way he was looking at you expectantly suddenly felt strangely alien; the same Zhongli you had come to know and trust, but— not quite.

And so, you swallowed your question about the Vision. “Xiangling wanted me to get a backpack,” you said instead, “for when we gather herbs. Do you think it would be okay if we got one next time, Mr. Zhongli? I promise to pay you back for it when I earn enough Mora.”

“Hansi,” he said, after his usual few seconds of careful studying, and he sounded so concerned that it was almost comical. “Whatever gave you the impression that you would be forced to pay for anything of the sort while living under my roof?” 

—-------------------

Perhaps in a valiant attempt to dissuade you of your sudden preoccupation with paying for things, Zhongli began to shower you with them. The first of the gifts was a beautiful bookmark, a thin piece of metal shaped to look like the Xiao lanterns of the Lantern Rite. It seemed to glow iridescent under lamplight, and you loved it so much that you carried it everywhere you went, the same way you never took off your glaze lily necklace.

Once Zhongli had ascertained that you did not mind gifts, and in fact enjoyed them, the floodgates swung open. Over the next few weeks, he would bring you various small items each time he returned from work or a walk: a Noctilucuous Jade hairpin, a painting of Luhua Pool, a golden gemstone that he called “Prithiva Topaz”, a small and surprisingly heavy pillar-shaped charm which he claimed came from a formidable monster from Guyun Stone Forest—

And on the most barren days, when the bustling markets of Liyue offered nothing that could meet Zhongli’s most particular standards, he would bring home various steamed buns, fresh fruit, and beverages, noting with keen amber eyes which ones were your favorites. Today, he had brought back a pitcher of “the finest gui’hua tea Liyue has to offer”. 

Sitting in a room full of memorabilia that Zhongli had picked out for you, and sipping hot tea that warmed you to your core, you began to understand the feeling of home.

—-

The men were furious. You could feel their blunt rage in the air, tense enough to cut with a blade. If your wrists weren’t tied up, you might have been able to make a run for it. 

“Welcome back. Do you know how much you cost us?” They snarled, one, two, three, four pairs of eyes staring you down. In the back, you could see the man with the scar on his eyebrow, the one who had escorted you to Zhongli. “Are you ready to pay us back?”

“Where is Mr. Zhongli?” You managed to whisper. 

“Don’t you remember? He got tired of you,” they sneered in unison. “Surely you didn’t think someone like you would be enough to satisfy his appetite?” 

Desperately, you shook your head. “He wouldn’t have. What did you do to him?”

One of them stepped forward and slapped you so hard that you briefly see white. “How stupid can you get?” His jaw cracked open into an unnatural, teeth grin, and the others followed suit all at once. “To start to trust, to start to dream ?” 

You tried to back away, but your knees would not move. They were close enough to touch now, and together, like one grotesque entity, they reached out. “You should know better by now. You should know your place .”

Before their melting, festering fingers could touch your skin, you opened your mouth and screamed for Zhongli.

—-------------------

Across the house, Zhongli’s eyes snapped open, casting the room in a golden glow.

It wouldn’t be the last, but that had been the first time you had called him simply by his name.

—-------------------

You woke up to Zhongli calling yours, and couldn’t help the violent flinch that shook your shoulders when you saw him looming over you. The relief you felt at recognizing Zhongli’s silhouette was unimaginable. 

“I heard you calling my name,” Zhongli said, raising both palms in a placating gesture. “Are you alright? Were you having a nightmare?”

Was that all it was; a dream? Your throat was hoarse — the screaming certainly wasn’t dreamed — and your chest raw from the fear and desperation. It felt like your skull was stuffed with cotton. Blindly, you reached out, relief washing away the last vestiges of the social norms instilled within you.

“You didn’t send me back?” You whispered, clutching at any patch of silk and skin you could find. “You didn’t leave?”

“No,” Zhongli met your fingers with his, holding your hand in a firm, gentle grip. He wasn’t wearing gloves, you realized absently. “Never.”

You stayed there for a few long seconds— or was it minutes? “Don’t go,” you begged when he began to pull away. Your eyelids were growing heavy, but the lingering haze of fear had you terrified of going to sleep again. “Please, don’t go.”

You heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor. “I’m here, Hansi,” Zhongli said, as you watched him sit down next to your bed. He was still holding your hand. “Get some rest. I will be with you.”

Zhongli’s rich, clear voice resonated through every inch of your body. You trusted him, you realized, letting your eyes shut. You would trust him with every breath of your being.

—-------------------

When you dreamed again, you found yourself in an endless land of clouds. 

Zhongli sat in the midst of it all, eyes closed, unmoving. The soft glow of stars formed a nimbus of gold and dust around his temples. His chest rose and fell gently, and you were certain that you would see no better embodiment of peace for the rest of your life, not even if you lived for a thousand years. 

You wanted to call out to him, but to break the tranquility of the moment seemed unforgivable. 

And so for the rest of the night, you watched him breathe; and you were content.

#zhongli #zhongli fanfiction #genshin #zhongli x reader #zhongli fanfic #fragile as dust #my writing #anqi writes

[vancilocs]

16-34 for angie and ellen and mal and gilly?

GIRLS yes i heard of them

16. Do they like the same food?

I think? Angie enjoys well-prepped and good food with spices, though a pizza doesn't hurt either

Both are familiar with spices and I think Gilly is open to Indian food while her cuisine suits Mallory too. If anything I think Gilly has some getting used to with Irish food

17. What do they have in common?

They're both smart and resourceful, loving life, genuine and hard-working, humble and dedicated

Both are kind, honest and hard-working people from large families, responsible and open, loving

18. What is their sex life like?

They do be putting hands on each other fairly often after Ellen manages to make Angie comfortable. They have fun

Mallory is a bit more shy (it's the Catholicism) but they do get it on every now and then

19. Would they ever lie to each other? Why or why not?

Angie never lied, she just avoided certain topics and said she wasn't comfortable talking about them. She doesn't think lying is a good base for a relationship so she didn't. Similarly she never pried into Alia or anything like that

Mallory doesn't lie, that's wrong. She's always honest but also gentle with the truth too if need be

20. Are they interested in marriage? Why or why not?

Why not! But no hurry. Angie wouldn't mind wifing Ellen up

Yes but not in the near future. They have all the time in the world to enjoy dating before putting rings on anyone.

21. Are they interested in having children? Why or why not?

Big maybe. Angie isn't pursuing it but isn't completely against it either.

Mallory would love to have a big family, but not before they're married and have talked it through thoroughly

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

Angie can get handsy and Ellen likes being a pillow princess

Mallory is a little shy but I don't think Gilly has huge dom energy lol

25. Are they sentimental about gifts they’ve received from each other?

Angie is hesitant to receive gifts from Ellen but will give her things like jewelry and hair ties etc., pretty things and it makes her very happy to see Ellen wear them

Yeah, I think since both have big families they're so used to sharing that having something given to you specifically feels nice

26. What holidays do they like?

Angie doesn't really celebrate any holidays, but she does enjoy spending Christmas

Mallory is big into Easter and Diwali

27. How do they feel about Valentine’s day?

Angie thinks it's capitalism getting its grubby hands on love but she still gets Ellen chocolates and something nice if she can, take her on a picnic and bring the guitar

Mallory has no problem with it, bring flowers and chocolates, go on a date, have fun

28. Are they jealous/possessive of each other?

Angie knows Ellen is gorgeous and gets attention but she's not jealous nor possessive about it. I don't think Ellen got in any way jealous about Mallory bustin in to yell at Angie either lmao

Mallory doesn't, Gilly might sometimes but it's not warranted

29. Do they like public display of affection?

A bit yeah, holding hands/linking arms is always welcome, little kisses, hands around shoulders, hell yeah

As long as it's appropriate, workplace PDA is different from farmer's market PDA

30. Do they enjoy dancing?

Angie loves it, she can lead any day

It's fun, Mallory can dance somewhat

31. What’s a perfect date for them?

Pack a picnic basket, go to the park to watch the ducks and play the guitar, share wine and cheeses, chat and laugh

Go to the farmer's market, buy some fresh fruits and berries, walk through the park and sit down for a second to enjoy, go back home

32. How do they comfort each other?

Angie gives gentle touch when allowed and is present and listens, not as good with words but can and will hum/sing too

Mallory asks what's up, pets cheek and hair, gets blanket if needed, hugs if allowed, listens and offers some advice if she has any

33. Who is the big spoon and why?

Usually Angie is big spoon, feels nice to protecc

Mallory is big spoon as the taller one

34. What’s their favorite nonsexual activity together?

Just hanging out at home, maybe cooking or snacking, playing a tune, giving company while Ellen works

Hanging out at home or going on a walk together, cooking, setting the table and having dinner

#and then they go on a double date and angie and mallory tell embarrassing stories about each other #long oc thing

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.”

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #referenced homophobia cw #internalized aphobia cw #panic attacks cw #please click that link and listen to the song #it'll make that bit so much better