#poor obi wan needs a break and a human pillow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imagineyourworld · 3 years

Note

Hi! Would you do e. “Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.” With the pronouns she/her for obi wan? Thank you so much (sorry for having to resend, I misread it the first time) 💓

Hi,

No problem at all! Thanks for the request, it seems perfect for Obi-Wan (the poor man just needs a break, doesn't he?)

Hope you'll enjoy.

Love, Charlie

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Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

e. "Please don't tell me that's what I think it is."

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The thought that this might be a bad idea never even crossed your mind. All you could think of were three pairs of eyes staring up at you, asking you not to tell anyone and to keep the secret. But the logical part of your brain somewhat won over. "Guys, you can't keep a tooka in a supply closet." Those were the first words that left your mouth, and the ones that lead you down this road. Waxer and Boil let out a sigh of relief. They then hurried to make you promise not to tell anyone and reassured you that they would tell Cody when the timing was right. "You know what, I don't really think the timing will be right any time soon. Cody's busy and stressed at the moment, if we make him take care of one more living thing I'm quite sure he'll explode or faint and the med bay is quite full as it is. I'll take it to my room instead and keep it safe." The two clones looked at each other, then down at the tooka in Boil's lap before turning back to you. "You're not gonna tell the General?" Now that was a tough question. You and Obi-Wan were... close. He often came by your quarters in the evening to talk, had done so ever since you joined the 212nd as a civilian medic, though recently you had done a bit more kissing and a bit less talking. Maybe you could manage to keep the talking to a minimum and the kissing to a maximum. You nodded while asking a follow up question at the same time. "What are you gonna do with it once we land on Coruscant?" Waxer shrugged, the expression on his face telling you that they hadn't thought that far ahead yet. "We might give her to Senator Organa. When we escorted him a couple of weeks ago he mentioned wanting a daughter and-" You interrupted him before he could even finish his sentence. "I don't think he was referring to tooka, but rather a human." The tooka in Boil’s lap made a sound that almost sounded offended. You sighed as you bent down to pet the small animal, while the two clones glanced at each other with matching grins on their faces. Maybe you were right about Senator Organa, but the way you treated the tooka with such affection and the feline in return jumped from Boil’s lap to sit down on top of your feet gave them a new idea. “You know, a supply closet might really not be the best place for a tooka”, Waxer started, referring back to your earlier statement. “Maybe she’d be more comfortable in your room, it’s bigger at least.” He didn’t even need to ask directly, the thought of taking her back to your room, at least until you could find a permanent home, had crossed your mind as well. “Alright”, you sighed, trying to keep up a reluctant act.

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At first having the little tooka in your room wasn’t so bad. She slept in the little nest of pillows and blankets you had made for her while you finished your reports, but after she woke up the chaos began. “No, no, no. Get away from there, that’s”, you started, trying to chase her away from her spot on your nightstand where her paw was just centimeters away from the glass of water you kept there. “- breakable...” In tone with your last word she pushed the full glass down, making it break upon contact with the floor and water flooding the room. “You really are a lot of trouble, aren’t you? And you never listen, kinda reminds me of someone...”, you mumbled more to yourself than to the tooka as you began mopping the floor with the nearest available item, which happened to be a sock from your laundry basket. “Don’t we have cleaning droids for that?”, a voice interrupted you. You sat up immediately, barely avoiding your forehead hitting the night stand. Obi-Wan had shown up in your room, as he did most nights. His robes were casually thrown across his arm while he looked at you with amusement in his eyes. The instant you heard his voice you remembered your promise to Waxer and Boil, but that had been before you had agreed to take the tooka back to your room, and way before you had found out how much of a trouble maker she actually was. Just a second later it turned out that you didn’t have to say anything, about why you were drying water off your floor and how it had gotten there, because the feline jumped out of her nest and headed straight for Obi-Wan. “Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is”, the Jedi sighed. He tried his best to put on a stern expression, but as soon as he looked at the small tooka you could see affection in his eyes. “You weren’t supposed to see her”, you mumbled in reply, because even though you knew Obi-Wan didn’t have the heart to throw the tooka out you also knew that he would insist that a spaceship was no place to keep a pet. As he picked up the small animal and she got settled in his arms he raised an eyebrow at you. “I wasn’t supposed to see her? How long did you think you could keep this a secret?” You shrugged. Realistically you should have known it would come out sooner rather than later, but if Waxer and Boil had managed to keep her in a small supply closet anyone could walk into at any given moment for who knew how long, you should have been able to hide the tooka in your room until you reached Coruscant. “A couple more days, maybe a week.” Obi-Wan sighed as he sat down on your bed, the tooka still in his arms, He looked at her with the same expression he often had when looking at Anakin or Ahsoka, something you knew was love and the desire to protect those he loved. “Or maybe she could stay here”, you said, more to yourself than to Obi-Wan. His attention shifted from the tooka to you as you sat down next to him and began to pet the feline that was beginning to fall asleep again. “You’ve mentioned that you might want to take on another Padawan, how different could a tooka really be?” Obi-Wan looked from the tooka to you and back again. He had began to talk about getting another Padawan recently and he had to admit that he longer he held the feline in his arms the fonder he grew of her. “But a tooka is nothing like a Padawan”, he argued. You raised your eyebrow at him, a gesture Obi-Wan loved when it was directed at someone else, because it usually meant you would destroy them in an argument, but hated in that moment. “A tooka, especially this tooka, is no different than your former Padawan, or his Padawan for that matter. She probably listens to you as good as Anakin, gets into as much trouble as him as well, and she’s just as understanding and snippy as Ahsoka. We could even name her Padawan!” It was the last sentence that caught Obi-Wan’s attention. We. You had never used that word before, at least not when referring to the two of you. Did that mean you wanted there to be a we? “We could take shifts in caring for her, and I’m sure most of the clones would help as well. She’d have a good life with us.” You could see that Obi-Wan was still a bit unsure, so you decided to use your charm to your advantage. “Please, think about it”, you whispered as you leaned closer. So close that your lips were touching his, just a soft and gentle touch, but it made Obi-Wan want more. “Visiting Padawan would even give you a reason to continue to come to my room late at night”, you said, now pressing a soft kiss against his lips before you continued down to his jaw and then his neck, peppering kisses on every inch of skin you could reach. “Fine”, he sighed just as your lips met the sweet spot beneath his ear. He could feel your bright smile against his skin, which instantly made him realize that he had made the right decision. “But we’re not naming her Padawan”, he tried to reason with you. But you just shrugged, that was an argument for another day.

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“We’re keeping the tooka”, Boil, a few rooms over, told Waxer. His brother looked at him, confusion written clearly on his face. “What makes you say that?” Boil, with a shit eating grin, sat down next to him on his bed before confessing that he had been listening to the conversation between you and Obi-Wan. “How did you even know the General would visit her room tonight?”, Waxer asked. Boil just shrugged. “He’s in there every night. But what’s more important, we’re keeping the tooka. (Y/N) even gave her a name, she’s called Padawan.” Before Waxer could voice his excitement another voice interrupted their conversation. “What tooka?”, Cody asked, arms crossed across his chest. Waxer and Boil looked at each other. Now that General Kenobi knew, surely they could tell Cody as well, right? “What tooka?”, he repeated, suddenly less sure he even wanted to know the answer to his question. But before he got an answer Padawan ran into the room and stopped right in front of Cody with a small “meow”. Apparently you and Obi-Wan had been a bit too busy with each other to notice her escaping your room.

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I don’t know why, but this request just screams for a small animal to be included. And can you imagine Obi-Wan with a cat??

#Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #obi wan imagine #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi x y/n

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sosthemortalcoil · 6 years

Text

Movie Night with Sabriel (Ko-Fi Request, silent15)

silent15 requested m!Gabriel and RO Sabriel fluff. Movie night in, Gabriel’s first time seeing the original Star Wars trilogy. Hope you enjoy it!

You can hear the microwave in the other room, and it takes a concerted effort not to get up and stand anxiously in front of it. The violent pops the microwave belches out aren’t helping. One too many melted, overcooked, and on-fire disasters with the small machine had ruined any trust the two of you might have had.

“You can stop looking like you’re waiting for the house to burn down,” Sabriel comments, sitting cross-legged on a stool and monitoring the situation. She had taken off her glasses, leaving them to rest on the counter.

Per her normal dress, she was wearing a knit sweater, this one a forest-green with stripes of mahogany worked into the pattern. A pair of jeans, worn often enough to begin to appear white around the knees, hugs her legs.

“You’re staring,” she says, never taking her eyes off the microwave. Even from your position in the living room, you can see the slight smile.

“Of course I am,” you retort. “My girlfriend let her hair down; I have to enjoy the sight when I can.”

Sabriel scoffs, but she reaches up and wraps one of the wavy strands that falls over her shoulders around a finger, slowly letting it uncoil. “Girlfriend. Sounds so… juvenile. We’re probably the oldest inhabitants of this city.”

“Oh? What should I call you then? My mate? My bonnie lass? My lover? My—”

Sabriel interrupts with a laugh. “Enough! Girlfriend is good enough. Boyfriend.” She tacks on the label at the end, ducking her chin and turning her head away.

“See, I like the sound of that. Sabriel’s boyfriend. I think it’s rather romantic.”

Sabriel jumps off her perch, yanking open the microwave door. “Cheeseball,” she tosses back, hissing as she tugs open the flaps of the popcorn. The smell of butter wafts through the room as Sabriel tosses the bag on the counter and puts in a second, flat package.

As she slams the microwave shut, she sticks the fingers of her other hand into her mouth, sucking on the tips.

Seizing the opportunity, and bored of waiting on the couch, you get up and move behind her. “Here, why don’t you let me kiss them and make it better?” you ask. It was a concept Daniel had introduced to you, in a very different context, but you didn’t see why it couldn’t be used here.

Sabriel shakes her hand, looking at you sideways. “Human saliva isn’t really going to make it better,” she states.

It’s hard not to roll your eyes at that. Grabbing her hand, you draw it to your mouth, kissing the pad of each of her fingers. She goes from being unaffected to scowling in an effort to keep the blush staining her cheeks from being noticed by the time you reach her pinkie.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask cheekily.

“No, but I didn’t really burn them. And I’m a little more resilient than the average human,” she retorts, extracting her hand and turning back to the microwave.

“Are you sure we need two bags? Daniel’s already asleep,” you comment. Tonight was the culmination of a great deal of planning—anything where you got Sabriel to yourself seemed to take more time and effort than any of the battle-plans you’ve ever had to draw up.

“Love, I’m fond of you, but if you eat my share of the popcorn, there will be a war. We have three movies to get through tonight, and we need to stick to the schedule because I am going to make you watch the prequels. Anakin is a little git, but Padme has to be one of the best additions to the franchise. Plus, I admit I’m a bit of a sucker for Liam Neeson, and his role as Qui-Gon will make me cry. Everytime. And we can’t forget Obi-Wan, especially when he has to put up with the bloody knob of an actor that they used for Anakin in two and three. Plus, the origin of Boba Fett—ah, there I go again.”

Sabriel starts to raise a hand to her mouth, but you catch it. “You don’t need to censor yourself or be nervous around me,” you tell her, gently twining your fingers with hers. “And you should give your poor nails a break.”

She elbows you, and you let out a dramatic oof than has her biting her lip to stifle a chuckle. “Don’t be nervous, the archangel says. Nutter.”

“You’ve seen me almost set the house on fire cooking,” you retort. “You can’t honestly try to tell me that my station is still some barrier to overcome. You certainly weren’t bothered by it when we first met.”

Sabriel pulls a face. “I’ve apologized for my behavior for that night,” she states.

“Actually, I don’t think you ever did,” you muse, tilting your head to one side.

Sabriel leans back against you, digging in her bony elbow. “I’m sure I did,” she says, the perfectly polite veneer disguising her physical jab.

“No, no, I’m sure I would remember—” Sabriel turns in your arms, exasperated.

“Just can it,” she states, and kisses you. It’s quick, a fleeting touch of lips before she’s pulling away.

“Hmm, maybe I remember something,” you say thoughtfully, concealing your grin as Sabriel’s eyes narrow. Goading her never fails to remove the stiff formality that sometimes overtakes her, a yoke around her neck that she can’t always shake on her own.

“Oh really? Let me guess, another kiss might be just what you need to recall better,” she tosses out.

You shrug your shoulders. “If that is your recommendation, my lady. I am a firm believer in a kiss making everything better, after all.”

“I shouldn’t reward you for this kind of behavior,” Sabriel says, her lips hovering over yours. “Might lead to repeat performances, and you are insufferable enough as is,” she adds, poking your side.

“You wound me,” you breathe back, waiting for her. The corners of her eyes wrinkle in a genuine smile as she closes the distance between your lips, kissing you softly, gently, a teasing taste before she pulls away.

“Don’t seem to be incapacitated to me,” she states. Then she sniffs, and her eyes go wide.

“Fu—” She cuts herself off and shoves you away. Whirling, she yanks open the microwave. Smoke curls out, accompanied by the acrid scent of burnt popcorn.

“Nothing worse than the smell of burnt popcorn,” she wails, taking in the singed package. Hanging her head in defeat, she lets out a heavy sigh.

“Turn on the fans, open the windows. I’ll get another bag out after I take this outside. You do not want to throw away popcorn in the inside bin. That smell never leaves.”

Rubbing her back, you decide the best course of action is to remain silent and do as she asks. A few minutes later most of the air is cleared, helped along by a lemon-scented breeze that has you arching an eyebrow at the other angel.

“I thought Grace was for emergency use only.”

Sabriel glares at you as she stuffs another bag in the microwave and punches in some random time. “The smell of burnt popcorn counts. Besides, I’m not about to let anything ruin my movie night with my boyfriend,” she states, before viciously opening the already cooked bag and upending it in a bowl.

You wisely decide not to comment. She had already been in a bad enough mood when she arrive, three hours later than was planned. Not to mention she had forgotten her copies of the original Star Wars trilogy.

Luckily, you had made sure to pick up the movies, with Daniel’s assistance. Seeing as they were some of Sabriel’s favorite media to talk about, you had thought it would be a nice surprise. She had almost cried when she saw that you were prepared, tired and wrung out by work. The popcorn had been her way of reasserting control and calming down while you set up the film.

“Go into the living room. I’ll be done shortly, and it’ll be better without a certain someone distracting me,” she states, turning her attention back to the microwave and leaning against the counter.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, a subtle reminder that she’s slipped into her authoritative role. Not that you always mind, but she doesn’t often intend to.

“Please, luv,” she adds, tossing you a weak smile in thanks.

You settle onto the couch, stretching out your legs. Sabriel likes to curl against you, tangling legs and using you as a pillow. It might not be the most comfortable position, but you don’t complain. Not when she relaxes against you, drawing lazy circles across your chest, her toes flexing against your legs.

Getting Sabriel relaxed is an art form, one that you are starting to get the hang-of, but you still have a long way to go before mastering it. Which is fine by you. You can see yourself happily spending centuries becoming an expert in what your guardian angel likes and dislikes. It’s strange, the idea that without this assignment you might have never met her. Not face-to-face, anyways.

She’s become such a bright spot in your life that imagining it without her is—unpleasant.

The air leaves your body in a forceful exhalation as Sabriel plops down, half on the couch and half on you. You hadn’t even noticed the microwave go off.

“Okay, popcorn, movie, blanket—” she reaches up and tugs the last item off the back of the couch, throwing it over your legs.

“And boyfriend about to be exposed to the wonder that is Star Wars for the first time. Let’s go.

“Why are we starting with Episode Four?” you ask after the opening crawl, trying to digest all the information the scrolling yellow text had imparted.

“Because that’s the first one made. Not that it originally had the episode number when it was first released. That was a later edition. Anyways, it goes four, five, six, then one through three. Probably do Rogue One after we finish episode, then the last trilogy. Solo isn’t bad, but it isn’t great either. It can certainly wait. Plus the—you know what, focus on one movie at a time.”

“It seems like there’s a lot of them. When do you find the time to watch all them? I hardly get to see you as it is.”

“When I’m not being distracted by kissing my annoying boyfriend, I am an excellent multitasker,” she retorts. “Plus, being aware of popular culture is one of the best ways to fit it. I went to one of the original screenings for this, which was years go. Now shush!”

A fanfare plays, and the words a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... appear on screen.

“Wait a second, this is set in the past? I thought science-fiction was futuristic?”

“Five seconds, and a question. Just go with it! It’s not like it’s absurd, given some of the places you’ve been, I’m sure.”

A yellow block of text begins scrolling across the screen. “Evil Galactic Empire? Not biasing the audience at all.”

Sabriel throws popcorn over her shoulder at your face. You catch it as it falls, and pop it into your mouth. At least the movie begins with action. The imposing figure dressed in black quickly distinguishes himself as the primary villain by choking a man to death.

“That golden droid is rather insulting, isn’t he?” you murmur, holding a piece of popcorn up to Sabriel’s lips.

“I don’t know, I think ‘mindless philosopher’ is an excellent retort. Perhaps one I should start applying to you?” she asks. She shifts, trying to find the best spot to rest her head. “Now just watch.”

The little Jawas remind you of some of the goblins you’ve met at the fae court, constantly tinkering and not to be trusted. You watch quietly as the droids are picked up by a moisture farmer, and the plot thickens as the hologram plays.

“So Old Ben Kenobi is—is that the Obi-Wan you were talking about?”

You play with Sabriel’s hair, your attention split between the movie and your girlfriend, who had made a good dent on demolishing the popcorn.

“Yes, but not this version. Not to say that old Obi-Wan isn’t still great, but he’s not Ewan McGregor.”

“Should I be jealous?” you tease, snagging some pieces of popcorn before her questing fingers snare them.

“What?” Sabriel looks confused.

“Well, you keep talking about these guys—”

Sabriel snorts. “Fictional characters,” she interjects.

“Fictional characters played by flesh-and-blood humans,” you continue.

“Fictional character played by powerless humans in a universe where some of them have an ability to tap into the Force, a power which can control the minds of the weak, be used to wreak havoc—the darkside of the Force—or heal, lift rocks, deflect bullets…”

“In other words, it’s Grace.”

Sabriel opens her mouth to dispute the point, and the shuts it. “You might have a point,” she says begrudgingly. “But we can discuss it later. Talk too much and you’re going to miss the best lines.”

“You’ve probably said them all.”

“Shh!”

It takes effort not to burst into laughter when Obi-Wan, or Old Ben, or whatever name he goes by waves his hand and the Stormtrooper ignores the droid. “Are you sure that the creator of this film never met an angel?” you ask, wrapping an arm around Sabriel’s waist.

“Are you asking me if I had anything to do with this?” she asks softly back, turning her head to speak against your jaw.

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“I can’t take credit for anything to do with Star Wars, though I may be able to confirm that Lucas might have had a guard on him for a while. My job means that I oversee; I don’t get to take cases anymore.”

“Except for Daniel,” you murmur.

“Yes, you are an exception. In a lot of ways,” she adds, kissing your cheek before turning her attention back to the movie.

The main crew grows, adding a roguish smuggler and a tall, furry alien that reminds you of a brownie—if brownies stood well over two meters in height. You can’t understand a word of the creature’s language, a rare experience given your Babylon matrix, but the party banter clarifies when needed.

“So, this is where you got flyboy from. Has nothing to do with me being an angel.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t have anything to do with you being an angel. It’s accurate, either way,” Sabriel says sweetly, rattling the kernels in the bowl as she scrounges for any intact pieces of popcorn.

“I suppose Han is considered charming, in his own way.”

“Fishing for a compliment there, flyboy?”

“Depends.”

“Maybe I should switch to calling you a walking carpet.”

“Hey, no need to bring Chewbacca into it.”

“You’re right. That’s not fair to him.” Sabriel gives you a look that would work if she had her glasses on to look over. As it is, it’s adorable, but not the no-nonsense appearance she’s going for. You drop a kiss on her forehead.

“If I’m flyboy, I’m pretty sure that makes you princess.”

Sabriel lifts a shoulder. “Just remember, this princess doesn’t miss.”

You’re a little surprised when they make plans to take down the Death Star. Since it was a trilogy, you had half-assumed that the Death Star would be the ultimate challenge, especially since it had taken out an entire planet.

You suppose there are the rest of the Imperials to overthrow. Plus, if there’s another trilogy following this one, clearly the evil Galactic Empire doesn’t stay down for good.

“He’s not really going to leave, is he?” You can’t help the incredulity in your voice, watching Han plan to leave the rebels to their attack. “He’s supposed to be one of the best pilots there is, and he’s just going to walk away? And I thought he liked Leia.”

“It’s not over yet,” Sabriel says, squeezing your arm.

You don’t know how you got so invested in the movie, but you’re almost on the edge of the couch, watching raptly as Luke shuts off his sensors, trusting in the Force as he goes after the Death Star’s vulnerability.

It’s a relief as the planet-killer explodes, your favorite characters making it out unscathed. Not that you had doubted they would. A silly grin crosses your face as Leia places medals around Han and Luke’s neck.

“I’m going to have to remember that wink,” you say to Sabriel, nibbling on her ear. She smacks your thigh.

“You think you can pull it off? I’m not sure you’ve got quite the roguish charm required,” she teases, sitting up.

“There’s two more of them to go tonight?”

Sabriel turns to you, eyes gleaming. “Yes.” She hesitates, and sighs.

“If you want to. Given that I was later than planned, it’s understandable if you would rather not.” She says the words, ostensibly giving you an out, but you can see how eager she is to continue.

Neither of you technically require sleep, though since you occupy a shell, and Sabriel runs herself ragged, rest should be taken when the opportunity arises.

“Maybe one more. Have to have some reason to keep you coming back,” you say, capturing her wrist as she gets up to put the next movie in.

Sabriel’s expression softens as she sits back down on your lap. “I’ve got all the reason I need right here,” she states.

You lean forward, kissing her. She tastes of butter and salt, warm and familiar. Too soon she pulls away, chuckling.

“It’s a shame, though. I was really hoping we’d get through Return of the Jedi.” She leans into your ear. “I have my guilty pleasures, and among them include these conventions humans hold. Going in costume is a lot of fun. I’ve done a few of them over the years, but I can’t show you my collection until you’ve seen them all in the movies.”

Your eyebrows shoot up as Sabriel gets up, setting up the next movie. “You run around dressed as Leia? I wouldn’t have thought it was your style.”

“A rebel leader, who you will see, is perfectly capable of taking care of herself? Nothing in common at all.”

“Not sure you count as a rebel leader,” you tease as she walks back, repositioning yourself and moving the popcorn bowl to the coffee table.

“There’s no evil Galactic Empire, either.” She counters. “But my cosplay would be even better if I had a Han to my Leia.”

“Oh really?”

“We haven’t gotten to the part where she says I love you, so don’t be getting so full of yourself yet.” She wags a finger in your face, her grin belittling the scolding.

“Well, we could practice.” You throw in a waggle of your eyebrows for good measure, enjoying the way Sabriel struggles to keep a neutral expression.

“Only if you’re dressed as Han will I let you slide with responding ‘I know’ to I love you,” Sabriel warns.

“He is a little bit of a cocky bastard, isn’t he? Kill her or like her, I think Han put it before the garbage chute?” You pull her down on top of you. “Besides, I think I’d prefer to respond with I love you too.”

“Aren’t you the romantic,” she huffs, leaning forward to bump foreheads with you. It’s not as intimate in the shell, much of your Grace locked away behind barriers and therefore not escaping your mouth to mingle with Sabriel’s citrus scented Grace, but it’s still a tender moment.

“But I do think there are some strong parallels. For instance, I’m pretty sure you would have happily strangled me when we first met.”

“Not worth the paperwork,” Sabriel responds, curling herself around you and hitting the play button. “And Leia never tried to strangle Han.”

“Yet. You said there’s two more movies to go. Anything could happen,” you add, securing your arms around her and resting your chin on her shoulder.

“Well, she strangles someone. But you’ll just have to wait and see who. And if you make it through the movies, I might just let you pick one of my Leia outfits out for a private showing.”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure the princess has much on you,” you murmur as another opening crawl works its way across the screen.

“You are sweet. But you be surprised by how fun it can be to throw in a little, um, roleplay.” The dim light from the TV isn’t enough to show her face, but you can feel how tense she’s gotten. Interesting. She does have some fantasies of her own.

“I might be able to make that work. Play the dashing scoundrel rescuing the princess.”

Sabriel shifts position, digging into your stomach in the process. “Watch who saves who, flyboy. And the deal only counts if you stay awake. If I catch you sleeping, the offer is null and void.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint. Maybe we can make it through one more after this tonight.” You kiss her cheek, and settle in for another round, feeling content and at peace.

#ko-fi request #Sabriel RO #star wars #movie night #m!Gabriel #fluff #extra #thanks for the coffee!

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