#I saw a post come on my dash for the thousandth time and I needed to complain

[every-eye-evermore]

I am kindly asking everyone that gives a preamble about how they’re so uncomfortable with using it pronouns because it feels so dehumanizing or whatever, but they do it anyway as a message of support(?) to consider how that reads to anyone that uses it pronouns. I don’t think it’s doing what you think it does

[moskaisley]

thin walls

gif cred: @mrpascals​

rating: NC-17 lol

word count: 3.1k 

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT!! 18+ !! graphic depictions of sex, auralism, mentions of alcohol, jealousy, dumb oblivious clownery, a lil pining, a smidge of angst at the end u know me

a/n: 

this is a side story for my ongoing series “migraine” !! 

i NEEDED to write something fun since the last part of migraine was so angsty. i really wanted to just explore them having fun together and being bros!!! just vibin!!! being young and dumb!!! and ofc their obvious sexual tension before migraine girl and mando started their romantic relationship. idk when part 5 will be out since i have finals next week, but i definitely dont want to wait a month to post it LOL 

for now, enjoy this fun and sexy romcom bullshit 

summary:

“You’re the worst wingman ever,” You tease as you kick his calf lightly.

He kicks you back, “Look, the night isn’t over yet. I bet I can get at least one of these people to talk to you.”

You ponder over his challenge for a moment, and then shoot him a mischievous grin. Reaching into a pouch on your belt, you slap some credits onto the table.

“Spoils go to the winner,” you say with a smile, “You have one shot. Blow it and we both go home, casanova.” 

ao3 link

A rough shove from behind nearly had you on your ass in the middle of the firefight. A blaster shot whizzes by your head, nearly clipping you as you struggle to maintain your balance. Another shot goes off, and you hear a body crumple to the ground. You snarl as you bring your elbow around, only for it to be caught by a strong hand. 

“Easy!” Qin’s voice echoes in your ears, “A ‘thanks’ would be nice.”

You scoff, roughly tearing your arm from his grip, “I nearly sliced you in half, crazy bastard.”

“Oi, don’t get all riled up, sweetheart. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead.”

“I’m not your fuckin’ sweetheart, Qin.”

He grunts, waving you off in annoyance. Rolling your eyes, you turn around to proceed forward, ready to berate your beskar clad partner for not watching your back. Yet, to your frustration, The Mandalorian is already far down the hallway, Xi’an bouncing in tow.

--

You’re not jealous.

You say it to yourself when you wordlessly slip away from your coworkers upon returning to one of Ran’s hangars, ignoring their confused looks and the “Oh Mando, you’re so in trouble” from Vidar. You say it to yourself when you lazily bonk your head against the shower wall in frustration, and you nearly scream it when you hear Xi’an’s breathy giggles from his bunk. 

This had been going on for weeks now.

A scrap sheet of durasteel could probably muffle more sound than the current wall you shared with the Mandalorian. And while for the most part, he was a respectful neighbor, it was times like these that you wished you could throw yourself into dead space. The first time you confronted him about the noise, it was almost cute at how awkward he was in apologizing to you. That night, amidst the wanton moans and cries of ecstasy coming from next door, you kept hearing him shush the Twi’lek in that gentle, gravelly voice of his. Even then, every noise still drifted into your bunk, but you decided to be merciful and save him any more embarrassment by keeping quiet. (You made a note in your head, though. He so owes you for this.) Instead, you picked up an old busted radio from the market, fixing it up and tuning in during crises like these. It only connected to one station, but you’d take Val Syko’s Quenk Jazz Jams over the sounds of your partner’s pleasure any day. 

But tonight, drowning in the funky sounds of Val’s extensive music collection wasn’t doing it for you. Mando’s groan echoes dully off the walls of your room, and your thighs instinctually press together in an attempt to quell the warmth pooling at your core. You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. It was unfair, really. Mando was getting action at least once a week, yet your pool kept coming up empty, and you refused to fuck around with any of your current colleagues. Sighing, you check your watch; the night is still young and therefore, incredibly long. Your eyes dart over to your tiny closet, pursing your lips together in apprehension. Another one of Xi’an’s moans rings in your ears.

You know what? Fuck it.

It’s almost comical how the ship falls into abrupt silence when you knock on his door. 

“I’m going out,” you say quickly before he could open the door. Silence follows and you roll your eyes. 

“Don’t wait up. I’ll be late.”

--

You’re not sure why you thought your luck would change tonight. 

You were nursing your second drink, lazily twisting the straw in the glass and scanning around the cantina for anyone who could catch your eye. On your first round, there was a cute redhead who gave you a sweet compliment on your outfit, but your hope died when she slipped into a booth next to her boyfriend on the other side of the room. You let out a long, exasperated sigh, letting your head drop as you squeeze your eyes shut. This was a dumb idea. You’re gonna be listening to those two all night while Val plays that one song from Mooneyes for the thousandth kriffing time–

“Is this seat taken?”

You groan loudly at his stupid fucking modulated voice.

“I’ll take that as a no.” 

Mando slips into the stool next to you, leaning against the bar as he tilts his head.

“I wondered where you ran off to.”

“I can have my fun too, Mando.”

“Clearly,” he quips, gesturing to your lonely exasperated form, huddled over your drink.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” 

You shove him and he laughs, head shaking at how easy you are to tease. Rolling your eyes, you take a sip from your drink. He shuffles a little, subtly leaning to the right, visor skimming over your backside. You smirk, catching him in the act.

“Hey!” You snap your fingers in front of his helmet, “Eyes up here, tin can.”

Pushing your hand to the side, he takes the hem of it in between his fingers and says, “I didn’t know you had clothes like these.”

“What? This old thing?”

Though your lifestyle didn’t allow for a big wardrobe, there were a few times you would indulge yourself in some of the finer things. The dress was oxblood in color, made of soft velvet with a high neck and open back. It hugged your body snugly, ending just above your knees with a leg slit that traveled up your thigh. It took a decent chunk from your paycheck, and you were so compelled to buy it that you didn’t even consider where you’d wear it. But you loved the way it made you feel, and it was a lovely change of pace from the typical bounty hunter getup you often sported.

“It looks nice on you,” he tells you, nonchalantly.

You swallow hard as his gloved fingers brush against your thigh. Dizzying warmth washes over you. What the hell? Drunk already?

“Thanks.”

“What’s the occasion?” He asks you, releasing his hold on your dress.

You shoot him a sardonic smile as you raise your glass, as if you’re toasting.

“I’m taking applications for a new partner. My old one was too busy getting his dick wet and I almost got shot. Had to be saved by Qin, of all people.”

“I dunno, Qin could be a worthy candidate. He seems to be very friendly with you, too.”

“Are you insane? He’s a kriffing psychopath. Almost as crazy as your girlfriend.”

“Hey, she’s not–”

You cock your brows at him and smirk.

He playfully punches your arm as you take another sip. 

“Alright, alright. I get it,” he says as you laugh at him, “Let me make it up to you. Are you trying to go home with someone tonight? I can be your wingman.”

You snort at the thought, “Yeah right. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mando but you’re not exactly the most approachable person. And besides, no one here is really catching my eye. I think I’m just gonna go.”

You’re moving to stand up and pay until he grabs your arm to keep you still.

“No, wait. C’mon, stay. Lets–Let’s just have some fun.”

You smile earnestly at him; Mando’s insistence to spend time with you genuinely warms your heart, so you lean back to your seat and flag down the bartender.

--

Though a second set of eyes helped in checking out people that you may have overlooked, it kind of defeated the purpose when that set of eyes was known for being one of the fiercest warriors throughout the galaxy. You thought you were able to catch the eye of a particularly dashing fighter pilot, exchanging flirty glances and a little wave. But the second he saw you in an exchange with a Mandalorian, he was quick to dash out the cantina without so much as saying a word to you. Mando kept insisting you both stay, denying that his intimidating armor had any effect on your chances of getting laid.

“Mando, I’m telling you this in the nicest way possible, but you’re scaring people off.”

“Maybe they just like what they see.”

“You’re the worst wingman ever,” You tease as you kick his calf lightly.

He kicks you back, “Look, the night isn’t over yet. I bet I can get at least one of these people to talk to you.”

You ponder over his challenge for a moment, and then shoot him a mischievous grin. Reaching into a pouch on your belt, you slap some credits onto the table.

“Spoils go to the winner,” you say with a smile, “You have one shot. Blow it and we both go home, casanova.”

Needless to say, he fails. Miserably. 

The first person he goes up to must’ve been guilty of something. Because as soon as the Mandalorian stalks around the corner to his seat, the poor soul tosses his drink at him and dashes out the door. The metal man stands for a second in shock, and you see his shoulders slack as he lets out a defeated sigh. He rounds the bar back to you, Corellian rum dripping off his helmet and all over his beskar. Your stomach hurts trying to suppress the laughter building inside you, but you couldn’t help it. Your hand flies to your mouth as you snort loudly, laughing so hard that tears almost form in your eyes. You didn’t expect the night to go this way and your endeavors for a hookup had failed terribly, but it still made you happy to spend time with your friend all the same. 

“That wasn’t fair. Let me try again.”

You struggle to form a response between your laughs, “No–no way! I–I can’t watch that again.”

“C’mon, I didn’t even get to try. Gimme another chance.”

You shake your head, taking your credits off the table and slipping them back into your pouch. 

“Nope, rules are rules, Mando. Let’s just get outta here.”

“No way, I refuse to give up so–”

“She asked you to leave, buddy.”

You turn to look at the new voice, confused and a bit irritated for interrupting your exchange with Mando. You’re met with green eyes, strong shoulders, sexy scruff, olive skin, and a very dashing smile. Your retaliation dies in your throat, and your lips curl into a smile. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Mando didn’t pick up on this though, “No, it’s not like that. We were just–”

“He was just going, actually. Right, Mando?” You look back at him and give him a wink, “I think I’ve had enough of you today.”

His helmet tilts upward in surprise, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Okay, then.”

He slides off his stool, gesturing to it for your new friend before walking out of the cantina. You watch Mando walk out the door, and the man takes over his seat.

“Was he bothering you?”

“No, actually,” You give him a sweet smile, “He’s a friend.”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, “Friends with a Mandalorian, eh? What’s that like?”

“Well, they make awful wingmen,” you joke. 

“Is that so?”

“Why? Looking to take his place?”

“No, I’m here to buy you a drink.”

Catching your bottom lip with your teeth, you smile and your heart flutters.

“What’s your name?”

“Deo.”

--

He presses you up against the wall of the cantina outside, hands snaking up your waist and lips pressing hard against yours. Deo grabs and pulls at your flesh, slipping his tongue in your mouth and you moan against him. It’s been so long since you’ve felt someone this way, and it makes your skin sing in pleasure. When he pulls away, he keeps his forehead up against yours, breaths labored and heavy.

“So, mine or yours?”

A devious grin crosses your lips, “Mine.”

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You take his hand into yours, clinging to his arm for balance. The drinks have finally caught up to you and there’s a pleasant buzz warming your body as you try your best not to stumble through the streets. As you make it back to the Razor Crest, you stop in front of the side gate, opening the hatch as Deo’s hand meets the small of your back. You pull him up into the loading dock, and he digs his face into your neck, biting at the skin as you press buttons on the door panel. When it shuts, he pushes you up against the wall of the ship, sucking at the skin beneath your jaw and grinding his pelvis up against your ass. You try to suppress a mewl, as you push off the wall and turn to him. 

“Not here,” you whisper.

“Why not here?”

A muffled whimper comes from further away, and both of your heads abruptly turn to the source of the noise coming from behind Mando’s door.

Deo looks back to you, brows furrowed, “You sure this ship is yours, honey? Looks occupied.”

“Roommate. He won’t bother us, though.”

You shove him off of you and saunter over to your own bunk door. You turn around and beckon him to come with a single finger.

“C’mere.”

--

Your dress, along with Deo’s clothes, was left forgotten on the ground of your tiny room. He was quick to the draw, pulling your legs up so they wrapped around his hips and holding your ass for support. He pressed you up against the wall, pushing his cock inside you. You moan loudly, relishing in the feeling of his length filling up your pussy and the pressure of him crowding you against the metal. 

And that’s when you realize–

Deo is fucking you up against the wall you share with Mando. 

The mere thought of it makes you clench tighter around him and the smile on your face is downright devilish. Your partner can hear every lewd noise you make, just as you’d heard his, and it drove you crazy. Your body flushes with heat, wetness pooling at your core. Your arms pull Deo tighter against you, burying him deeper inside and mewling against his neck.

“Maker, you think he can hear you, honey?”

“Probably,” You let a breathy laugh against him, “Thin walls.”

A distinctly modulated groan echoes from behind you and you can’t suppress the grin that spreads along your lips.

Bastard.

You pull at the base of Deo’s neck, and guide his head to your chest. He nips and sucks at your collar bone, leaving another mark along your skin. Lifting a hand from your ass, he brings it to your breast, kneading it in his hands and running his thumb over your nipple. You whine as he begins to pinch it in between his fingers while he fucks up into you. Coincidentally, Mando’s moans reach your ears again only seconds later. 

So we’re playing this game, are we?

You squeeze Deo’s shoulder, the knot in your lower belly getting tighter and tighter the more you focus on the noises coming from the next room over. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help the image of your partner holding you like this, fucking you relentlessly against the wall you shared. You wonder if he looks anything like Deo; does he have the same green eyes? Or are they brown? What about his lips? How do they feel against yours? Your neck? Your cunt? You imagine that it’s his hands clutching and squeezing your soft flesh, his cock stretching you open, his stupid fucking voice whispering praises in your ear. 

“F–Fuck! I’m gonna cum,” you panted, pressure building up inside you, aching for release.

You swore, you heard Mando’s breath hitch behind you.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.”

You nearly scream as you come undone around Deo, waves of pleasure washing over you. In your haze, a single thought crosses your mind: Mando was chasing his own release as well.

You know it, you feel it.

So you moan again.

--

“I had a good time tonight.” 

“I did too.”

You hug your body tightly, the air of the hangar was cool against your skin, and you were clad in only a thin shirt and shorts. Deo is holding your upper arms, smiling softly at you as you shivered.

Brushing a strand of hair away from your face, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“We should do this again sometime,” he whispers against your skin, “Maybe, somewhere without your little roommate?”

You giggle, warmth heating up your cheeks.

“We’ll see.”

He bids you goodnight, and you walk back into the Crest, shutting the ramp behind you. You’re turning to go to bed when the sound of your partner’s door makes you freeze. The Mandalorian emerges, free of his beskar armor save for his helmet. He stops when he sees you, surprised by your presence at this hour. You stare at each other in silence for a few moments. 

And then you snicker, and he does too.

A pleasant feeling blooms in your chest at the sound of his laugh. You take a few steps closer to him, letting your arms fall to your sides.

“So,” he begins in a low voice, “You didn’t hear any of that, right?”

“Hear what?” You ask him, innocently, “I was a little preoccupied.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

You hold a hand against your mouth and giggle. 

“So,” he murmurs, “Who was he?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Mando cocks his head to the side, and you swear you see a glint of mischief flash along the t-shape of his visor. 

“Well, if I’m not mistaken,” he starts, taking a step closer to you. Your heart picks up in pace.

He gently pushes aside the collar of your shirt to reveal deep red marks blooming along your neck. Your stomach flips at the feeling of his bare fingers along your collarbone. Your throat goes dry.

“You owe me some credits.”

He stays still like this for a moment, and you take a deep breath, his touch feeling electric against your skin. When he goes to remove his hand, it’s instinct when you reach for it, clutching it and holding it in place. You feel him tense beneath you as your fingers wrap his palm. You swallow hard, drinking him in beneath the lowlight of the ship: the shine of his dumb helmet, how he towers over you, the warmth of his presence. 

You squeeze his hand, and to your surprise, he squeezes it back. His thumb traced over your fingers, and in your boldness, you gently pull it towards your cheek. 

“Mando?” you hear Xi’an’s voice call from his room. 

You shut your eyes tight, heart dropping to your stomach. Her call felt like ice water dumping over you, killing the warm, fuzzy feeling that engulfed you only moments earlier. You drop his hand quickly. You hug yourself, fingers buzzing so wildly with nerves, you need to hold it close to keep your hand from shaking. You clear your throat and shoot him a weak smile, avoiding his gaze. Bristling past him, you stop in your doorway and whisper.

“Goodnight, Mando.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

-

i imagine deo as jake gyllenhaal when he played mysterio just less of a crackhead. :)

taglist

@bella-ciaao @tiffdawg @peggers-n-beggers @sinnamon-bunn @adlerorzel-blog​ @theocatkov​ @paryl

thank u for reading, space cowboys <3

[manage-mischief]

Conjunctions

Summary: I wrote this drabble for @blisfvll on tumblr's writing challenge. Thanks for giving me a prompt for inspiration! I've been having a bit of writer's block lately so it was good to get creative. (also the next chapters of Regulus Black and the Darkest Shadows will be up next week, sorry for not posting this week my beta and I have both been insanely busy!) 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Read on AO3 or FF.net

“Lils.”

“Hold on,” Lily said, holding up a finger. She was deeply engrossed in her Transfiguration textbook, doing some last-minute review before her morning exam.

“Lils.”

“Mhm.”

“Lily!”

The sudden shout shocked her. She dropped her book, exasperated. “What?!” she spat—a bit harsher than intended—at her boyfriend who was sitting across the breakfast table. James’s eye widened.

“You’ve got your elbow in your porridge…” 

Lily realized her left elbow did feel a bit wet. She looked down and, sure enough, she had been using her oatmeal as an arm rest. She cursed under her breath before swiftly cleaning herself up with a flick of her wand. Sirius, James’s best mate, snickered.

“Merlin, Evans,” Sirius teased, “Stressed out much?”

Lily rolled her eyes, but stuffed her book in her bag anyways. Sirius did have a point. She’d studied enough. Still, she could feel her leg bouncing wildly with nervous anticipation. This wasn’t just an exam: it was a NEWT. It was one of a series of tests that would determine the rest of her life. Her job, her happiness, her ability to support herself and a family…Lily shook herself out of her spiral of worrying. It wouldn’t do her any good.

“You should eat something, Lil,” said James, kindly. “Erm…maybe not that porridge though…”

Lily smiled in spite of herself and plucked James’s bagel out of his hands. “Thanks,” she muttered with a mouth full of warm bread. James feigned indignation.

“Oi, Prongs, that’s the price of dating Lily. She steals your food,” said Sirius, as he proceeded to swipe a sausage from James’s plate.

“A bargain price to pay for Lily’s affection,” said James. “But not for you, you wanker!” James locked Sirius in a playful wrestling match, attempting to retrieve his stolen food from Sirius’s fork. The two boys caused quite the ruckus, drawing the attention of many of the surrounding students, who had suddenly noticed their cutlery dancing across the table as the two boys fought.

“Stop hurting me, or I’ll write your mum!” Sirius wailed, stretching his arm just out of James’s reach. “You know she loves me best!”

“Hey!” said James, “I know it’s true, but hey!”

Remus, who had been quietly observing the scene, struck out with lightning fast reflexes and grabbed the fork from Sirius’s hand, promptly popping the coveted sausage into his mouth with a satisfied grin. James and Sirius looked properly affronted.

Lily chuckled. “Boys,” she muttered. She smiled gratefully at James. He and his friends never failed to cheer her up.

“I had to fight back!” James earnestly explained. “It was a matter of honor!”

“You don’t have to explain yourselves to me,” said Lily. “I know Remus just can’t resist grabbing Sirius’s sausage.”

Remus choked on his pumpkin juice, red as a tomato. James and Sirius laughed heartily.

“Evans! I knew there was a reason we kept you around.” Sirius nodded at her, approvingly.

“Merlin, Lil! See, this is why I love you!” James froze as soon as the words left his mouth. His eyes widened in shock, as did Lily’s. Her face flushed as red as Remus’s had. She was speechless.

Remus cleared his throat. “C’mon, Sirius, we’ve got to get to that…thing.”

Sirius stayed put. “No, I wanna know…Ow!” The table rattled as Remus obviously kicked the other boy in the shin, flashing a warning look.

“Oh,” Sirius stammered, “oh yeah. Right. The thing. Let’s go, Moons.’”

The two boys departed, leaving James and Lily alone at the breakfast table. Neither would meet the other’s eye. Lily tried to force herself to say something, anything, however, her vocal chords stayed obstinately stiff. She was too shocked. After a few seconds silence, James stood. He looked mortified. “You know what,” he said, hastily, “I’d better go help them with the…thing…Good luck on the exam, you’ll ace it I’m sure…I’ll see ya later, yeah?”

“James—” Lily tried to call after him as he rushed from the hall. She felt awful. She hadn’t said it back. She should have. She’d wanted to. But, she had been so surprised and, in the moment, had panicked. And now, James thought she didn’t love him. Before she could ponder her mistake any further, the bell rang. Dammit. It was exam time. This debacle would have to wait.

---

The exam had been a breeze. Lily was relieved. Now, she had a week before her next NEWT. And, this meant she had time to brainstorm how to make it up to James.

She was laying on her bed, making random objects float around her head. She had no idea what to do. James was always the hopeless, dramatic, romantic type. And, frankly, he was usually the one apologizing to her. If their roles had been reversed, he’d have concocted some elaborate scheme to win back Lily’s affections—likely involving plots, dramatics, and the help of his gang of friends…His friends…that was it! Lily shot up from her laying position, invigorated. She was concocting a plan. Yes, yes, Lily now had a grand plan to declare her love for James Potter. She dashed down the stairs, clear on what she had to do next.  In order to perform her grand, elaborate gesture, Lily would need the help of James’s best friends.

Luckily enough for Lily, the boys were all lounging in the Common Room—sans James. Lily knew he would be at Quidditch practice for the next hour and a half. Hopefully, this would give her enough time to organize her gesture.

“Remus!” Lily called out from across the room. “Sirius! Peter! I need your help!”

“Well, if it isn’t ‘heartless Lily Evans’ herself?” Sirius teased. He leaned back in his chair dangerously, resting his feet on the small wooden table. Peter chuckled until Lily flashed him a death glare. The runty little boy fell silent.

“I’m serious—I swear if you make a joke I’ll hex your balls off, Black!” Lily warned, just as Sirius had opened his mouth to make a pun about his name. He paled and shut it immediately.

“What do you need, Lily?” Remus asked kindly.

“I…well…you clearly know what happened this morning with James…” Lily looked down, embarrassed. The boys nodded. “I messed up. Royally. I need your help to make it right.”

“Our help?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you need our help?”

The three boys leaned forward, curious to hear what she had to say.

Lily grinned cunningly. “Well, I had this idea…”

---

Lily and the boys scrambled around for the next hour, making sure every little detail of their plan was set. Finally, the Gryffindor Common Room was ready for James’s arrival. Lily felt a little guilty abusing her Head Girl authority to throw the rest of the students out, but this was for the greater good.

“Hush, and get into positions!” Lily hissed impatiently at her three companions. They quickly scrambled away, ducking behind the chairs and suits of armor in the Common Room, out of sight.

“Wands at the ready!” She ordered, checking her watch for the thousandth time. James would be arriving soon. He must be close. Her heart began to pound anxiously.

A moment later, Lily heard the Fat Lady’s muffled voice as she conversed with someone else outside the door. It had to be James. But, what if it wasn’t? Lily stupidly hadn’t planned on encountering any of his other Quidditch mates. What if one of them had arrived before James did?

Luckily for Lily, the top of a messy head of hair emerged from the portrait entryway. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was James. This was it.

“Lily?” James asked, raising an eyebrow. She stood alone in the middle of the atrium. Her legs felt like jelly. Perhaps she should have dressed up more. “What are you—”

“James Fleamont Potter,” Lily proclaimed, raising her wand above her head. The signal.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the infinitesimal movements of Remus, Sirius, and Peter, as they began casting their spells. The light in the Common Room turned pale pink. Fireworks began erupting over her head, spreading out around the room as they danced in the air. A flock of songbirds burst from the tip of Remus’s hidden wand flew promptly into a heart formation, chirping merrily. Two cherubs holding harps fluttered near them. Heart shaped bubbled filled the air. The scene was, in Lily’s opinion, utterly sickening with cliché. She hoped James would love it.

“I love you, too.” Lily said, just as the fireworks regrouped in above head, spelling out the same message in flashing lights. Gooey harp sounds echoed through the air. The birds clumped together in a tight formation and flew to James, turning into a bouquet of roses before his eyes.

Lily held her breathe as she watched her boyfriend take in the scene before him. James looked up from the bouquet, grinning madly.

“Well?” Lily asked. “Say something?”

“WOOHOO!” James shouted, rushing to Lily and taking her in his arms. He lifted her off of the ground as he spun her around. Lily laughed as he set her back down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier,” she apologized.

“Lily,” said James seriously, “Don’t ever apologize. This way was much better. I feel like the belle of the ball.” He winked.

“Only the best for you, your majesty,” Lily teased back. She was staring into James’s eyes as he held her hands when a chorus of cheers erupted from behind them.

“What the hell?” James jumped back, startled to find his three best friends who had materialized beside them.

“Nice one, Evans,” Sirius clapped her on the back. “I knew Prongs’d fall for this sappy romantic crap, the big softie.”

“Who’re you calling a softie?” James pouted.

“You, idiot. Look, you haven’t even snogged your girlfriend yet. You’ve just gazed lovingly into her eyes. It’s gross!”

Remus and Lily shared a look. “Come on, Sirius, Peter, let’s give these two some privacy.”

As the three boys walked off towards their dormitories, James grabbed Lily by the waist and pulled her close. “Just for that, I’m gonna snog her extra hard now!” He shouted into the distance. Sirius’s laughing reply echoed down the stairs.

Lily shook her head affectionately. “You’re an idiot.”

James smiled back, running a hand through her hair. “But you love me.”

[corbcob]

“Better Than A Story” (Sylvain x Ashe) FE3H

Okay this is the first fic type thing I’ve ever written and posted for anything, but FE3H has stolen my heart and I had to write some fluff for these two handsome lads. Enjoy!!! 

Fluff, pining, general sweetness, all that jazz ;)

(Post time skip) TW: blood/injury mention

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not that bad! Please, you really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” Ashe insisted for what seemed like the thousandth time as he held a bloodied cloth to his forehead. 

One failed dodge.  Just one step too slow. That was all it took for Sylvain’s lance to graze his temple and abruptly end their training match. Ashe promised it was nothing to fuss over, mostly in an attempt to hide his own embarrassment. But Sylvain, perceptive as ever, saw Ashe suppress a wince when he had raised a hand to his forehead to assess the damage. It took almost all the persuading he had in him just to get Ashe to finally sit down, let alone allow him to take care of him. 

“Come on, it’s the least I can do,” Sylvain said as he rummaged through a first aid box on the ground below, “I really didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

Pulling a small jar of salve from the box, he moved to crouch in front of Ashe. He gently took Ashe’s hand and moved it away to see the angry red wound that lay underneath. The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, but it still risked infection. Light bruises had begun to form around the edges, and Sylvain was taken back a bit as he realized just how hard he’d hit him. 

 “I really overdid it huh?” he said sheepishly, moving in closer to get a better look.

Ashe blinked. “No, it was my fault. I should have been paying better attent-,” he stopped as Sylvain’s warm gaze shifted from his forehead and met his own. His brown eyes were gentle and soft as he patiently waited for Ashe to continue. But Ashe swallowed, lost for words under his gaze, his mouth suddenly dryer than dust. He forced himself to quickly look away before his face could heat up, “...Better attention! I should have been- I um...I got distracted.”

The embarrassment he had felt before in the training ring now came back to bite him a second time. It was his relentless nerves that had gotten him into this intimate little medical session, and it seemed they had no intention of letting up any time soon. Oh yes, Ashe had been distracted. Not by battle strategies or bow techniques, but by his gallant red-headed sparring partner who had moved so skillfully and gracefully throughout the ring. He had trained with Sylvain before, and he’d always been able to keep his wistful emotions in check, but today, Sylvain was nothing short of intoxicating with his tousled hair, flushed cheeks, sunlight glistening off his armor. He’d looked so powerful, so elegant as he expertly twirled his lance. He was dashing, to say the least, reminding Ashe of the brave knights in the stories he had read time and time again when he was in school. 

Ashe couldn’t help himself from indulging in stolen glances as the two of them circled each other, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest when Sylvain had flashed a cocky smirk at him before lunging forward in an attack. That was all it took for Ashe to completely freeze up and allow Sylvain to nick him with his lance. Ashe knew it was out of the question to admit any of that to Sylvain though. 

Sylvain shook his head, and couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped his lips, “Are you serious?” He gently brushed away a stray piece of hair that had fallen into Ashe’s face. “This wasn’t your fault, Ashe. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away just for a training match.” 

He tilted his head so he could meet Ashe’s eyes again. This time Ashe willed himself not to look away, and Goddess, he didn’t want to. This close, he realized how good Sylvain smelled, of warm bergamot and leather mixed with sweat from their sparring match. He could even feel Sylvain’s breath ever so lightly caressing his cheek each time he exhaled. This was almost unbearable. It was one thing to sneak glances from a distance, but here, this close, he couldn’t escape. Sylvain was utterly handsome. And Ashe was thoroughly entranced. He was brought back suddenly by the sound of the salve jar opening. 

 Sylvain dipped two fingers into the jar. “I’m really sorry. This’ll sting a little,” he said as he brought his hand up once again to Ashe’s forehead. 

As gently as he could, he applied the salve, carefully watching Ashe’s face for any sign of discomfort. Not even once did he wince, however, he was suddenly aware that Ashe was...blushing? 

Probably from the fight, Sylvain mused, ...Unless...

A wicked curiosity overtook him and he indulged himself in it. His let his knuckle softly brush against Ashe’s cheekbone, and could hear the archer’s breath hitch ever so quietly. If he had been doubtful a moment ago, there was no mistaking it now. Ashe was blushing up to his ears. 

Interesting, he thought.

Sure enough, much to his horror, Ashe could feel his face growing hotter as Sylvain tended to his injury. The salve was cool on his skin but he could still feel the warmth of Sylvain’s touch. His fingers were calloused from years of training with lances and swords, yet they touched his skin with such incredible tenderness that made Ashe feel like he could melt on the spot. He realized he desperately needed to re kindle the conversation, anything to divert Sylvain’s attention from his reddened face at this point.

“Don’t be sorry!” He blurted, internally screaming when he heard his own voice crack. Clearing his throat he tried again, “I’ve been through worse scrapes than this. You can’t fault yourself for giving it your all. In a real fight you wouldn’t be expected to hold back. You’re very skilled with a lance and-” his desperate rambling screeched to a halt when Sylvain moved his hand to gently trace his knuckle along his jaw. The fluttering he had felt earlier was a hurricane now, beating against his ribcage and pounding in his ears. 

“...And you’re strong too.” He heard himself mumble. 

Sylvain was now sporting the most smug, shit-eating grin Ashe had ever seen. It was a good thing he was already sitting down, or Ashe would have gone weak at the knees at the sight before him. Sylvain kneeling in front of him, smiling at him, touching him, playful and witty, but always gentle. It was something straight out of his most beloved stories. 

Sylvain moved in closer, taking Ashe’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, “So you say you were distracted. Just curious, what was it that got your attention?” He rested his other hand on Ashe’s thigh, and Ashe gasped. He was reduced to a stuttering mess, but was still determined to retain his composure however fast it was slipping away from him.

“Oh! I um...I just-something um...caught my eye. How foolish of me, right?” He matched Sylvain’s smirk with a small smile of his own. Feeling a spark of bravery, he allowed himself to lean forward just a bit more.

Sylvain nodded, “I’ll say.” and he moved in to press his lips to Ashe’s. 

Sylvain was gentle and sweet, letting his lips linger for a moment as Ashe practically melted under his touch. Ever a tease, he began to pull away, and chuckled softly when Ashe hungrily chased after his mouth with another kiss, this time more urgent. Sylvain reached up with both hands to cradle Ashe’s face while Ashe rested his own on Sylvain’s broad shoulders, gripping onto his armor like it was his last anchor to the earth. Ashe sighed into the kiss before Sylvain gently pulled away, watching as Ashe licked his lips and smiled breathlessly back at him. Ashe opened his mouth, searching for the right words to say, but he found none. Luckily, Sylvain beat him to the punch, glancing up at the welt on Ashe’s forehead and shaking his head playfully.

“You know, if you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked me out on a date or something. You didn’t have to get all doe-eyed and end up getting yourself hurt over me.” He chided.

Ashe rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his own laugh, “Thanks for the advice.”

“I didn’t know I was such a distraction.” Sylvain shrugged, flashing another winsome smile, “Then again, can’t say I blame you.” 

“Oh hush.” Ashe silenced him with a chaste kiss, this time brushing his own fingers along Sylvain’s jaw. His heart fluttered yet again when he felt him lean into his touch. “So about that date...”

Sylvain chuckled, “I mean, it’s the least I can do after stabbing you in the head. Tomorrow, meet me in the dining hall courtyard, seven o’ clock sharp. Now hold still while I finish cleaning you up.” 

Ashe nodded eagerly, overflowing with excitement, lost for words again. Sylvain held up a bandage and Ashe happily obliged, closing his eyes contently as Sylvain continued to fuss over him. This was definitely more than fair, he decided.

[fangirlhaley]

Dear Younger Me

Characters: (Young) Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester.

Word Count: 2,954

Summary: All Dean wanted in life was someone to share the road with when his dad was dragging him around the country on hunts but he never knew it would hurt him this much in the end. 

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Alluding to death, Jealous!Dean, Asshole!John 

A/N: I found some books with writing prompts in them so I decided to start posting short little stories on here from there. To be exact it was 4 books with 2,296 prompts so I’m set for a while. I really don’t know how I feel about this yet....The ending is a little abrupt but it’s what I wanted I just didn’t know how to write it. 

Here’s the song where the title comes from if you want to listen.

Enjoy.

Here are my other fics if you’re interested!

Request? My ask is always open! Click this link and send that in!

NO, THIS ISN’T WINCEST. 

Dear younger me, Where do I start? If I could tell you everything that I have learned so far, Then you could be, One step ahead, Of all the painful memories still running thru my head.

Dean was never given a glamorous childhood. At the age of 9, He wasn’t able to go to baseball games or birthday parties. No, instead Dean was sitting in the front seat of his dad’s 1967 Chevy impala, watching the trees pass by as the duo were on the road again to a new town that Dean didn’t know. A new town meant a new school and a new group of kids to fit in with. Dean hated it. He hated every minute of it. Every second of it. While the others always bragged about their parents being doctors and lawyers he stayed quiet in the back of the room. What was he supposed to say? That his dad killed the things that lurk under your bed as his job? 

So Dean decided to just not fit in. To keep quiet in the back of the room. None of this mattered anyway. He would be changing schools again in a few weeks most likely anyway so why have friends that wouldn’t follow when he left? If Dean could have anything that’s what he wanted. Someone to share the lonely time on the road with him. Someone to be able to talk to that wasn’t his dad. 

So Dean created Sam, his imaginary perfect brother, to go on the trips with him. 

Sam was the perfect younger brother. He was everything that Dean had wished for.He was someone to pass the time with, someone to take care of. He was the perfect version of every friend that Dean had ever wanted in life. He taught Sam the way of life that he lived and told him everything he needed to know about hunting. Sam would smile, watching Dean and doing as he said. 

The two were happy. They were happy with each other’s company and Dean onewas happy to finally have someone to share his time with.

That is, until John Winchester caught on. 

Dean’s father was, let’s just say, not the warmest of creatures on the planet. John was serious with his job and, granted, it made him one of the best hunters there was. So when he overheard Dean talking while sitting on the motel room bed, he was more than worried. John stopped at the door, a pizza for the two of them in had, as he listened into the conversation from the other side of the closed door. Dean was mumbling something about vampires and how decapitation was the best way to kill them. The older man was concerned about who is son was talking to so patiently he waited to hear a response from the second party of the conversation, but one never came. 

John drew his pistol, kicking open the door and causing Dean to jump up from the bed but there was no one else in the room. Only his 7 year old, staring at him with wide eyes from across the room. 

"Who the hell are you talking to?" John snapped, putting his gun away and closing the door. 

"Sammy," Dean replied, looking at the boy sitting on the bed. John couldn't see but Dean could. John practically grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him to where he was eye level with his father. 

“Who the hell are you talking to.” He demanded again and Dean tried to look away but John’s hand moving his chin to where he was forced to look at his father didn’t help matters at all. Dean fought back tears, shaking his head a little.

“I told you, it’s Sammy,” Dean snapped, moving away from his father’s touch as tears spilled down his cheeks. He pointed to the empty spot on the bed and John was getting aggravated by the little game. 

“And what is Sammy? A ghost? A demon?” He snapped. 

“He’s my friend. I made him.”

“Grown up, Dean. We have better things to worry about in life than imaginary friends.” 

And Dean did. He grew up and Sam was left as a distant memory, replaced with guns and lore and everything that a 7 year old shouldn’t be thinking of. 

17 was a tough year for Dean. He had given up on school at this point. What was the point of it in the first place? He knew how to read and write. That’s all he needed for his job. He was going to be a hunter just like his father. John used Dean though like a hand me down. He used him for bait, used him for information. Dean saw but what could he do? Tell his father no? He knew better than to do that. 

It was May 23rd. Dean remembered the day like it was yesterday. Him and his father were researching a case in North Carolina involving the Lawson legend and a bridge that was supposedly made from the boards of the home. There had been two victims in at least a month but those would be the least of Dean’s worries. 

They were on hour 3 of the drive and Dean had started to nod off in the passenger seat, the quiet sound of Zeppelin coming from the car radio lulling him into slumber. But suddenly, his father slammed on the brakes of the impala, causing Dean to grab the dashboard to brace himself. On the edge of the road stood a boy, no older than 12 or 13. He was too far away for Dean to make out his features but he looked freezing in the cold Tennessee rain. John drew his pistol, ready to shoot if this was a trap. 

“Stay in the car.” He ordered his son, “I’m going to see what this is about.”  John closed the car door, holding up his postol. His flask of holy water rested in his back pocket. “Hey buddy...” John called out, approaching the shivering boy on the side of the street. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? What’s your name?”

The young boy looked up at the aged hunter, his wet brown hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. John knew the young boy was most likely harmless but he couldn’t be too sure. He couldn’t let Dean get hurt. Hell, Dean was all he had left of his life. Pulling out the flask of holy water, he splashed the boy once in the face and the only flinch he made was from the water hitting him square in the face. That was enough to at least convince John to bring the younger boy back to the car with him.

Dean watched from the passenger seat of the impala, his feet propped up on the dash as he looked down at the fast food wrapper crumpled up in his hand. It wasn’t until Dean looked back up and his gaze went out the windshield that he recognized the younger boy. His tossed hair, his cheeky smile. 

It was Sam.

But how? How could it be him? Dean had left him long ago like a distant memory. A memory that he was forced to forget because his father needed him to grow up.

“What had you out in the middle of nowhere?” John asked the boy as he climbed into the backseat of the impala. Dean avoided looking at him. He didn’t know what to feel really. 

“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled in response. “I don’t really know anything. I just know that I woke up on the side of the road and I didn’t know what happened.” He began to ramble off as John started up the engine and sped off down the road. 

Dean spent most of the road trip to the shitty motel room staring at the reflection of the boy in the rear view mirror. The boy who was his companion when he felt like he had no one. He didn’t dare say anything out loud about it though. John would surely kill him in a heartbeat and the younger boy didn’t deserve that. He didn’t even know why he was here in the first place, let alone that he was once Dean’s imaginary friend. 

Once the trio arrived at the motel for the night, John helped the younger boy inside while Dean unloaded the car. The tattered duffel bags held only half of the Winchester arsenal while the rest resided in the locked trunk of the Impala. While Dean loaded some bags with weapons from the trunk, he thought about the irony of the situation that was playing out in front of him. He thought about his father telling him that he needed to grow up. He thought about how John had been so quick to pull over and help the boy, yet when Dean needed something and called him, he barely answered. Dean watched as John took Sam into the room and he watched through the open curtains of the window as he began lessons on how to use the weapons that the Winchesters used to fight the unknown. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of jealousy at the whole situation and he slammed the trunk shut in anger before making his way back to the room. 

Sam was given the other bed and Dean was given the floor. John said it wouldn’t hurt him and that Sam had been through a lot. The older man insisted that Sam needed the sleep and that Dean should understand. But he didn’t. He didn’t understand how this new person could just waltz in and John accepted him like another son he always wanted but never had. Dean stared up at the ceiling, listening to the two sleep soundly in the motel beds while he tried to get comfortable and, suddenly, he was reminded yet again of his place. All he was to John was a pawn. He was a body that killed monsters. He was a tool in John Winchester’s toolbox and nothing more and Dean fought back the tears that stung his eyes at the thought as he drifted off into a light slumber on the stained carpet. 

The morning sun shined through the sheer curtains of the room and the sound of bullets and magazines being loaded into guns filled Dean’s ears as he opened his eyes. His back hurt from sleeping on the hard floor for probably the thousandth night in a row but he tried to ignore it. It was a hunt day and hunt days were Dean’s favorite. He was able to use his book smarts, even though John reminded him every day that he wasn’t book smart but Dean knew that he was, and he was able to use his street smarts for shooting and fighting. 

Sam was still with the father and son duo and it had been a year since they found the boy on the side of the road in the rain. Dean kept his secret to himself but never found himself looking at Sam the same way he did when he was younger. Sam was someone to occupy his time and now Sam was taking the only thing he had away from him, his father. 

“Dean wake up,” His father’s voice boomed as the older boy opened his eyes. “It’s almost time to leave.” 

Dean was up and dressed in record time, loading his guns on the bed and glancing over as Sam and John bonded over some lore books. Sam was a pro at researching for how young he was and while it did impress Dean, it also pissed him off to no end. The newcomer was taking the one thing away from him that he enjoyed, but Dean kept to himself like he had learned to do for the majority of his life. 

“Dean I’m going to need you to stand as look out while Sam gets some practice hunting.” John commented, not looking up from the rifle that was in his hands. Dean felt his shoulders fall in disappointment. 

“What? Dad no...,” Dean frowned, throwing the weapon down on the bed. “You always let me help on hunts,” the teenager frowned as he looked over at his aging father as well as the boy who had taken his place. Dean had to come to the realization that Sam was taking his father from him. The words stung in Dean’s mind as he thought them. In that moment he wished more than anything that he could take back all those stupid memories of when he was younger and he thought up the younger brother. He wished that he could just make Sam disappear. He wished that things would just go back to normal but Dean knew deep down that his life had never quite been normal so what would change that now? 

“Dean, don’t argue with me.” The man snapped, looking up at his son with a hateful glare. “You’re on look out today.” 

Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance at the thought. A look out? Seriously? Is that what he was seen as now? A God damn look out person? He hastily shoved his clothing in his duffel, throwing in some of his knives as well before storming out to the Impala. He wiped the tears away from his cheeks quickly, afraid that someone would see him crying. Dean rarely cried, let alone let anyone see it happen but he found it happening more frequently lately. He chalked it up to lack on sleep in order to avoid facing the reality that he was upset about becoming a nobody to his father. His father was the one person whom he strives to please and yet here he was, being tossed away in the garbage like a piece of clothing that was torn and tattered. 

But again, Dean climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala, evaluating his options. What if he ran away? That was always an option. But where would he go? He had no money to his name and nowhere to go. This would all be over soon. It’s like the hype of a new dog....except the new dog could read lore with ease, loved to research and outshone Dean. 

Dean gazed out the window when John started the car up, trying to ignore the man as we watched the sidewalks and buildings turn into trees and blue skies as they drove away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. Dean felt his eyes beginning to close as the feeling of exhaustion began to take over his body. His uncomfortable sleeps on motel room floors didn’t help the already tired 18 year old hunter but he forced himself to stay awake. The sound of Zeppelin playing quietly from the radio lulled him into a light sleep with dreams of memories when him and his father would laugh it up on the way to a hunt instead of worrying about a third body to take care of. 

Dean woke to the sound of the doors of the Impala opening and closing and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes before opening up the passenger side door. 

“Dean, we just need you to stay here by the car.” John ordered, tossing his son a shotgun which he caught with ease. Sam gave him a sympathetic smile and Dean felt the rage begin to grow inside of him again as he mumbled curses under his breath and leaned against the car. Sam sighed quietly to himself, deciding to approach Dean. 

“Listen I’m sorry about everything--,” The younger boy began to say but Dean cut him off. 

“Just shut up, okay? Go with Dad.” He mumbled. 

“Dean I know your dad means a lot to you...He always has.” Sam said and it caught Dean off guard. 

“How the hell would you know?” 

“You were the one who made me, weren’t you?” Sam said and Dean felt his stomach turn a little. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied, avoiding the eyes of the younger boy as he gazed over at the trees. 

“Yes you do. Don’t act like you don’t,” Sam frowned. “Listen, Dean, I don’t know what happened...But I know where I came from. It was you who thought me up and I’m thankful for that I don’t want to see you hurt. That’s why you should get out of here before--” He frowned and was cut off before Dean could answer as John approached the duo. 

“Ready to go, Sam?” He asked and Sam bit his lip gently and nodded, Dean looking at him curiously because of his last words. He shrugged it off though, watching as the two of them armed themselves with guns from the Impala. 

Dean yawned, leaning back against the Impala and suddenly the two were out of sight but not out of mind. Dean was lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about how Sam and his father had a bond that Dean and his father used to have, thoughts about running away. He thought about how John didn’t need him anymore and how him and Sam were creating memories where Dean and John should be creating memories.

When Dean heard the snapping of a twig behind him, he was brought out of his thoughts about the two and he turned, looking for the source of the sound only to be face to face with a nest of Vampires. 

And it wasn’t until then, staring back into the eyes of the bloodthirsty monster, that Dean realized something...

To John Winchester, lookout and bait fell under the same category....