#i already spend many a night weeping over them please i just need to know please please plea

[sssoup-sonata]

it’s literally so tragic that we will never know sou’s reaction to shin calling him “like an older brother.” devastating even

[erimeows]

Home

The war is over.

Thousands of ninja from every nation have been left dead, and even more have been left missing their lovers, parents, sons, daughters, siblings, and friends. But the war is over. The Akatsuki and Madara have been defeated and for now, conflict seems so far away. Now, all they’ve had to do over the past week is count the bodies, inform the loved ones, get the survivors into the flooded hospitals, and rebuild their nations.

Kakashi’s mind isn’t able to focus on any of that, though. For the last week, he’s been sleeping in Tenzou’s hospital room, practically living in the hospital to support his recovering boyfriend. The younger man was captured by Tobi and used for the ten tails during the war, which caused him to sustain some injuries that left him bedridden. During the battle, Kakashi damn near said fuck all to everyone else and ran to try and rescue is lover- his best friend- but he decided against it, not out of selflessness, but because he knew Tenzou would want him to keep fighting for the better good. And he did.

Somehow, everything turned out fine. Tenzou is recovering well and should be discharged from the hospital in the next few weeks despite the multiple broken bones and stitched up puncture wounds.

“We should go watch the sunrise on the roof,” Kakashi says to his lover, who’s sitting up, awake and in pain but not wanting to overdo it on the pain medications. “It’ll be good for you.”

He hopes a distraction mixed with getting a healthy amount of outside time will help, even if he knows that Tenzou was technically instructed not to leave his hospital room unless it was for some sort of emergency.

“Senpai, they said I need to rest,” Tenzou objects. As always, he’s committed to following the rules, even if it’s just the ones that the hospital nurses have given him. “I shouldn’t leave.”

“Nah, Tenzou, what you need is some fresh air,” Kakashi insists and stands up so he can lift his lover off the bed bridal style. Tenzou leans into his chest with a light blush dusting the tops of his cheeks. “It won’t do you any harm as long as you don’t strain yourself.”

“Senpai… I’m going to be in here for a while. You don’t have to bother with me, really. Put me down and go spend time with your students, I’m sure they want nothing more than to see you after all this!”

Kakashi can’t begin to describe how he feels right now. He’s already gone and seen all of the kids, and they’re fine. Of course Tenzou insists on him prioritizing their students.

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to get better,” Kakashi says as he exits Tenzou’s hospital room through the window and brings them to the roof. “I already went to see the kids, and believe it or not, they’re all already discharged because somehow, losing literal limbs isn’t as debilitating as what had happened to you. Please, don’t feel like a bother. It’s my pleasure to be here with you… As long as I’m with you, I’ve got a smile on my face. I’ll stay by your side.”

For now, Tenzou accepts his words. Kakashi is careful to be gentle as he sits Tenzou down to sit on the roof. Then, he sits next to the brunette. It’s still dark outside. The streets are almost empty, and many of the buildings are completely ruined.

“I’m scared,” Tenzou confesses. Tears well up in his dark brown eyes and threaten to spill over as the dark night sky turns into morning. The horizon is painted with the beginnings of royal purple, pale blue, and blazing orange. “I’ve been fighting my entire life, and now… It’s over. It’s finally over, Kakashi. I’m going to recover, and then I’ll be discharged, and we’re going to have to face a whole new world together. How are we going to build peace for the next generation after spending our entire lives fighting? The kids can’t do it by themselves, Kakashi, I’m so scared for them…!”

Then, Tenzou cries. He weeps out loud for the first time in a long time and allows the tears to fall without shame. 

“Save your tears,” Kakashi says. Tenzou is low on energy from everything that happened during the war and he knows that, in the upcoming months, there will be plenty of time to cry; funerals and memorial services, stressful work days, agonizing procedures and physical therapy for Tenzou to get all of his strength back following his intensive injuries. “It’ll be okay. I’m struggling with it, too, but… We’ll find a way to make this new world we’ve started into a peaceful one. They won’t have to do it by themselves.”

“Kakashi,” Tenzou breathes shakily as Kakashi reaches down to wipe the tears from his cheeks. It’s not the first time he’s seen Tenzou cry, sure, but it’s not a sight he’s seen very often. He frowns and runs a hand through Tenzou’s hair, listening to the younger man’s earnest plea. “Please, stay by my side like you have been. Don’t let me go now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dearest,” Kakashi reassures his lover and wraps his arms around him before leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead, which is still covered in bandages.

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the sunrise that paints the coast as they’re getting older. Fuck, they’re getting older. It feels like just a few days ago, they were in the Anbu, trying to kill each other- then trying to save each other, then apart again, then teaching their little team of baby ninja. Now, that team of ‘babies’ has taken over… Their prime is over, and Kakashi can’t help how relieved he is at that realization. Maybe they can stop fighting now.

There’s a lot that’s still uncertain, a lot that Kakashi doesn’t know. What he does know is that his Tenzou is still here with him after all these years and that, once Tenzou is out of this hospital, they’re going to go back to their house- not home, because they’re each other’s homes.

A twisted part of Kakashi wishes he could live through every memory all over again. He misses the old days where they would be entangled limbs of anger and passion, misses the highs from all the fighting and the conflict. The other part of him knows better than to live in the past, especially when he and Tenzou are set to make a beautiful new future together. So, he allows those distant memories to float off in the wind that ruffles Tenzou’s silky brown hair. 

And like the many sunrises they’ve watched before this, it’s one of the greatest moments of Kakashi’s life. He smiles and continues to wait for the light to fully take them in as Tenzou rests his head against his shoulder. Kakashi wraps an arm over the younger man to pull him closer.

Eventually, the sun has fully risen, bathing them in its beautiful light. 

“We should go back soon,” Tenzou reminds him.

Kakashi almost complains. Then, he remembers that they’ll probably do this tomorrow- and every other morning after that, too.

“Right… I’ll take you back.”

[treadmilltreats]

Holiday Blues

We all know that during the holidays, a lot of people get blue, and they get sad or downright depressed. It's a hard time for many people.

Maybe you had a horrible childhood and never really enjoyed the holidays because it was a time your parents got drunk and fought with each other. Maybe you got beatings or maybe you were too poor to afford any kind of Christmas.

Maybe you were like me and had an amazing childhood with memories of Italian food cooking in the kitchen. A house full of people, a fire in the fireplace while you laid on the couch watching the snowfall...a picture perfect Norman Rockwell picture.

I know for me, I miss those times and all the people who were in my life then, who now aren't. That part truly hurts my soul, and sometimes it actually takes my breath away. It hurts so bad.

We may have a family who we no longer speak to due to disagreements that tore you apart. Maybe you have hard feelings that you can't get past. Or maybe your family is spread out across the country, and you can't be with them.

Maybe your kids are ungrateful and only want to see you to see what they can get from you.

Or maybe you're missing your true love.

There are many reasons why we get blue in this holiday season, but I can attest that it is really hard to be festive when your heart is aching.

They say that the holiday season had the highest rates for suicide, as people who are already suffering from depression are pushed over the edge by the surrounding jollity that they feel they can’t share in.

Sometimes our feelings are heightened because of loneliness (because “everyone” else has lovers, family or friends to spend the holiday with), and many are affected by seasonal affective disorder, due to the long nights and short days of mid-to-late December.

Whatever causes it, it doesn't matter. What matters is how we deal with it. Some people overeat, some mask their pain with drugs and alcohol (that was a good one for me, for years)

Some people sleep around and do things they normally wouldn't.

I pray.... a lot. I watch inspirational movies or YouTube videos. I think of how things used to be and how I prayed for the things I have today...I pray....did I say that already? Yeah, it's because I do that a lot.

Prayer for me is what I do when I am lost, when I am broken, when life is going crazy and I realize I am not in control.

But to be honest, I pray all the time, not just when the shit is hitting the fan but when things are great. I pray even when I am happy, when my life seems perfect, even then I am praying and giving thanks.

For me this is what gets me through but don't get it twisted I still have my moments, just because I am Christian does not exempt me from pain, in fact sometimes I think it gives us more.

I still have pity parties when I watch sad movies and cry. When I yell and question God while sobbing in the bathtub. Yes, I am real, and this is real life, and damn it, it sucks sometimes! It hurts like hell, and it's not fair, but again... this is life.

So today, my friends, I am here to tell you, I get it. I know how you can have the holiday blues, how it can hurt so bad and how you sometimes think you can't get through this holiday season but I am here to tell you, it will be okay.

If I can get through it, so can you, and if you think it's too hard, just read my life story. Trust me, you will grab back your problems right quickly.

It will be okay. Just remember this anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime.

Weeping may go on for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

**I know this is a tough time of the year, so I will be putting this number out there for all that needs it.

I have been there, and I know how dark it may seem, especially during the Christmas season. There is help, and it will get better... I am living proof of

"This too shall pass"**

Please get help. Call today:

National Suicide Hotline: 24/7

1-800-273-8255

"Be the change you want to see"

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 14

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: T (some chapters E)

Warnings: This chapter deals with heartbreak, please proceed carefully.

Read on AO3

I have always loved rain. There is something magical about the way it soaks the city like paint on a canvas. The grass is greener, the cobblestone streets glossy, and the sandstone buildings darken like biscuits dipped in tea. But today, everything feels gray. 

I have barely slept since Saturday, and the pile of unmarked essays and exams on my desk seems to grow by the second, but I find it impossible to concentrate on anything. I was so looking forward to the end of the term to be able to spend more time with Richard, but now hours and days blend into one endless stretch of gloom. 

I miss him. I miss him so much that even taking a steady breath hurts. It’s only been two days, but they have been the longest and most unbearable two days of my life. Richard turned my whole world around so suddenly and unexpectedly, and I grew to rely on his reassuring presence more than I dare to admit. Without him, my life feels cold and empty. 

I forgot my scarf at my flat this morning, then walked straight into a puddle when I crossed the street, and my socks are still soggy in my loafers. If that wasn’t enough, I was already setting up things for my first lecture when I realized I had forgotten my notes at home. Even my students noticed how disordered I am, and though I tried to laugh it off with them, the unyielding ache in my heart only grew heavier. 

It’s just my terrible luck that we have a meeting this morning—the last one of the term—and when I walk into the room, the only remaining spot is right next to Richard. Of course. For a moment, I stand frozen in the doorway, my throat tightening. I wasn’t prepared to see him so soon. He’s wearing the cream-coloured jumper he wore that night at the pub when we shared our first kiss; I have to blink and bite my lips to stop myself from weeping at the memory. I miss his kisses and the way he would cradle my head in his large hands as his lips caressed mine. I miss the way he would bury one hand into my hair when his tongue slipped inside my mouth and the way his warmth would seep into my skin when he pressed me against him. I miss everything about him. 

When I take my seat next to him, he looks up at me, and despite everything, my heart flutters wildly in my chest. I can tell he hasn’t slept much either; his eyelids are heavy, dark circles cover the skin below his eyes, and his hair is a mess. I’m suddenly filled with a desire to brush away the stray lock hanging over his forehead and caress away all the tangles atop his head, as I have done so many times before, but I can’t. 

No words are spoken between us in the few minutes before the meeting starts, even though there is so much I want to say to him. I want to apologize for hurting him and being so terrible at loving him. Yet I also want to tell him just how much I love him and how we deserve another chance, but even if we were alone and away from the college, I wouldn’t be able to find the words. And worst of all, I know nothing I can say will give him what he wants. What he needs. So instead, I merely steal another glance at him, my guilt and longing clogging my throat.

He is writing something in his notebook in that clean, rounded handwriting of his, and I find myself following the movements of his large, gentle hand with his ink-stained thumb. He is probably writing something inconsequential, like a to-do list or something he wants to bring up during the meeting and fears he might forget. And still, I so desperately want to know what he is writing. Some people say that an image is worth a thousand words, but I disagree. Words are magic, offering us a window into a person’s very soul, and right now, I would do anything to be privy to Richard’s thoughts and feelings once more. 

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed when the meeting ends and I have to leave Richard. I probably won’t see him until next term in January, and the thought of being without him— the man I love—for so long, makes me feel incredibly lonely. When I lock myself in my office, I can’t hold back my tears, which stream down my cheeks and fall upon the leather tome in my hands, staining its ancient, cracked surface. 

The first time I met Richard was in this very room. I remember it as though it were only yesterday. I couldn’t have foreseen how much he would grow to mean to me, but already at that first moment, I knew there was something special about him, and we immediately got along so well. He always made me feel so comfortable, so safe, even when I feared his presence in my life would turn everything upside down. 

“There’s a thousand reasons why this wouldn’t work!” I exclaim, gesturing to the two of us with my free hand. His grip on my other wrist tightens, but I try to ignore it. “I have to focus on my career. I have to focus on my classes and my research—I have 2 conferences to get ready for and my book to finish,” I begin in a breathless and agitated voice. “And, alright, let’s say we give this a try—what happens when it doesn’t work anymore? It’ll make everything so awkward and unpleasant between us. And who’s to say that given the opportunity you wouldn’t speak against me and try to convince others that I’m not a good fit for the college?”

“I would never do that,” he replied immediately, shaking his head. Lines appear on his forehead as he continues to frown, and a sudden urge to trace my fingers over them to try and soothe him washes over me. “And who’s to say this would end?”

“Richard … we don’t even know each other, really,” I shrug, biting my lips against the overflow of affection his words stir in me.

“We have plenty of time to do that,” he says, his eyes softening as he takes another step toward me. I only need to lift my hand an inch or two, and I’d be able to touch him and smooth out the lapel of his tweed jacket.

I want to believe him so much; my whole body aches to throw itself into his arms, but I know, despite the softness and honesty shining in his blue eyes, that my concerns are sensible. “You’re not even trying to fight this!”

“Why would I?” he says, his voice remaining calm and steady even though a battle rages in his eyes. “Maybe I’m a fool for saying this and believing it as strongly as I do—God knows I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager—but I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re just so beautiful, and I don’t mean your outward appearance—although only a fool wouldn’t notice how gorgeous you are. But I'm talking about your curiosity, your intellect, and compassion and generosity . . . every part of you I have been fortunate enough to learn about is beautiful, Lorelei.”

The familiar sound of my ringtone disturbs the memory, and I take a few deep breaths to try to regain control of myself when I see mum’s name on the screen. 

“Hi, mum.” I answer the phone as calmly as I can, hoping I don’t sound as awful as I do.

“Hello, darling, how are you?” she greets me cheerfully, and her voice comforts me. 

“I’m alright—last day of classes today,” I reply. “What about you?” 

“Fantastic! I’ve started preparing for Christmas dinner. That’s why I called you actually—will you make your trifle again this year?” 

“Sure, I’d love to!” I say, even though I have never felt less excited for Christmas. 

“Great!” she exclaims, and I can almost hear her smile. Then there’s a pause, and I feel her hesitating before she says,  “Listen, I know things did not go so well last Saturday but Richard is more than welcome to join us for Christmas.” 

I gulp, trying to dislodge the knot lodged in my throat. “Oh, er … he—he won’t be able to make it. He has his own family dinner on the 25th.”

I should tell her the truth. She’s my mum; she would know how to comfort me. But at the same time, the memory of Saturday dinner is still fresh in my mind, and I fear that she might not understand the depth of my pain, or would try to convince me that the breakup is a good thing.

“Oh, alright,” mum replies after a short moment, sounding disappointed. “Just—just let him know that he is welcome anytime, alright? I’m sorry for how I reacted and for what your father said.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” I shrug, pressing my lips together . 

“No, it’s not “whatever,” Lorelei,” mum hastens to say. “I truly feel awful. And yes, I am worried about the possible consequences of this relationship on your career, but really, I just want you to be happy. And if you say Richard makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.”

More tears spill from my eyes, and I bite my lips to swallow back my sob. “Yeah. He makes me happy.”

He made me happy. 

“I really am glad to hear that,” she replies. “I’ll let you get back to work now. But don’t be a stranger, alright? Call us anytime you want.” 

“I will.”

“And do pass along my apology to Richard.” 

“Sure—I will.” 

Not that my parents’ apology means anything anymore, I think morosely to myself as I sink in my chair after hanging up. I have to focus on the essays and exams I need to correct, but an old paperback resting on the corner of my desk steals my attention. I frown. I recognize the book immediately. Richard’s copy of Marlowe’s Hero and Leander. But I don’t understand how it got here. 

With an unsteady hand, I reach out to hold it, then notice that a note has been inserted between two of its pages, right where the poem that was later titled Who Ever Loved That Loved Not at First Sight? begins. I carefully open the note, then shut my eyes tightly as I read my name in his handwriting. 

Lorelei, 

I’ve been rereading this poem, and I immediately thought of you when reading this part. 

The message is followed by a little doodled heart, and I follow the slightly crooked line with my index finger. That is as close as I can now get to holding his hand. He must have left this here on Friday, when we were still together and still had a few kisses to share. 

Oh, Richard. 

Richard. Richard. Richard. 

I’m so sorry. 

A few hours later, I step out into the corridor, his book in my hands. Thankfully, Richard’s office door is open and he is nowhere to be seen, so I sneak inside and carefully place his book on his desk where he will see it. But the note, I keep for myself, and I hold it tight in my hands, even though I already know it by heart. 

—

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Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters or added to my taglist!💙

[damiano-mylove]

When The World Knows Peace

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x afab!reader

Wc: 1.6k

Cw(s): SMUT, unprotected sex, sex in a forest, sappy love, oral sex (reader receiving), prolly typos (tell me if it sucks ass)

Summary: The world may know a fleeting moment of peace when lovers embrace

Masterlist

Many a moon-many a generation- had passed before the lovers met under the moonlight once more. Their souls had been connected since the dawn of time, always drawn to each other, always in yearning for the other, and never complete lest the souls find each other once more.

It is said that their very souls were once one, until the Gods' tore them from one another; to damn the lovers to an eternal plight to once again be whole.

Their tale had existed in many different tongues, a legend of time, a legend of persistence. Twas for naught, as the children whose ears the tale fell upon laughed - for, how true may true love really be?

Yet, each time the souls rejoin, the onlookers-whom had grown from the children who laughed- were marked as indisputably mistaken. Only fools may look upon the souls intertwined and still beg the question how true may true love really be?

In the expanse of the many eons, the souls had taken many a form; each with a different face, doctrine, and colour. Be that as it may, none were to be more beautiful in the eyes of one half than their counterpart. Each visage had the other swooning at first sight, feeling the everlasting pull of fate to their other half.

There were lifetimes where the clock ticked much too speedily, and the lovers were once more damned to a life of separation and settling.

But not this one.

Now, as the lovers lay in the forest, they loved, they loved, and they loved, as if this may be the last lifetime they may spend together.

~

"Happy three years, Baby," Jake whispered to you. A deep blush spread from your sternum to the upper-most tips of your ears. Somehow, despite having been in love with him for three years now, even the simplest of words from Jake could have the blood rushing through your veins at mach speed. The beautiful boy beside you chuckled, brushing his rough thumb over your cheek. "Awe, you still get all flustered around me."

"I'm going to punch you in the mouth," you laughed, placing you hand over his. Jake smiled contently, gazing at your beguiling face. "Y'know how we went to that really fancy restaurant on our first year?" Jake nodded. "And to Vancouver on our second?"

"If this is about how our third is low budget and-"

"I like this one the best," you finished with a snicker. Jake rolled his eyes with a certain sass.

"So we spent all that money only for you to be happier with a blanket and a forest?" He grinned. You laughed, propping your head up with one hand, resting the other on his chest. Jake smiled up at you, "Well I'm glad my idea is the best one."

Leaning lower, you brushed your nose across his, gaining a low chuckle from your counterpart. "You're an asshole," is all you said before closing the gap between your lips and his.

While your one hand traveled up to cup the lower part of Jake's face, his hand came over and rested upon your side. Still, you shivered at the touch, his fingertips seeming to strike lightning to each cell in your body.

"Baby, I love you - you know that, yeah?" Jake mumbled, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second.

You couldn't suppress the smile. "I know that, Jakey. I've always known - just like you've always know of my love for you."

"I would not wish any companion in the world but you," he spoke lowly.

"The Temptress. Slick."

Jake came back up to rejoin your lips, for he could never satiate the need of your own upon his. The overwhelming feeling of passion engulfed you both, bathed in the light of the Pale Lady Moon above, while shrouded by the dark green of the foliage.

Pushing you back on the blanket, Jake deepened the kiss so that there may be no doubt of his love for you. The feeling of utmost devotion was palpable to even the animals passing by.

Grasping the ever-so soft locks of his hair, your fingers got lost in the maze of his scalp, bringing him infinitely more close. Jake's hands roamed your body as if he were savouring the moment, though this was not the first nor the last he'd ever caress your sweet form. One hand drifted from the curvature of your frame to lift your thigh, effectively wrapping your leg around his waist.

The tight prison of Jake's jeans brushed against your own as you could feel the warmth of arousal dampening your underwear. With a small tug on the roots of his hair, Jake groaned, relishing in the pleasure just your simple touch could bring him.

For a moment, you broke the kiss, as for both you and Jake to strip your shirts. The cool night air nipped at your skin, but you could practically imagine steam rolling off the two of you. Jake began to kiss from your jaw, to your clavicle, leaving the smallest bites and the sloppiest kisses down the territory of your neck. The hands fondled your newly exposed chest, making your nails drag down his back when he began to pinch and twist one of your nipples with his forefinger and thumb.

"Jesus, Jakey," you sighed in pleasure.

Your comment only spurred the guitar player further, becoming more rough with your breasts. He opted to attach his lips to your chest, while beginning to toy with your unoccupied nipple. His teeth grazed your tender skin, making you putty in the palm of his hand.

"You torture me, y'know," you respired as Jake began to make his trail further down your torso. The lowly laughter of Jakey only sent vibrations from your stomach to the spot he was most anxious to meet.

His dark eyes met yours, looking at you in the most sinful way. "It'd be no fun if I didn't." As he spoke, his fingers undid the button and zipper of your jeans, removing them from your legs entirely, to join with your shirts, in a pile long forgotten. The pressure you felt against your core was still clothed by your soaked underwear, making your boyfriend hum, "You're always so wet for me."

"And you're always rock hard for me," you responded, letting your calf graze his raging erection. Jake smiled as he came into connect with your clit, sending a shiver up your spine. You couldn't resist the low moan that came from your lips, "Please, Jakey."

"As you wish."

With a swift snap, your panties were removed from you, leaving you fully exposed to a man you fully trusted. He leaned further down, letting his warm breath fan your weeping heat. Flattening his tongue, he collected your juices on his tongue, reveling in your sweet taste. You let out a groan as Jake began lapping up your arousal with his tongue, having it like ambrosia.

"You taste amazing," he whispered. His tongue came into contact with your clit; abusing the bundle of nerves while his fingers found home inside of you. The sounds you made were pornographic as Jake decided to begin sucking your sensitive spot.

It wasn't far after that you could feel the nerves begin to collect in the pit of your stomach. The fingers that carded in his hair became unorganized, and Jake knew that was his sign to stop.

You gave him a look of betrayal as he began undressing the rest of himself. "Tortuous."

"As wonderful as you taste, Baby," Jake said, coming back on top of you. He tilted your head with his fingers gently, leaning in closer. "You know I love it when you cum on my cock. Who am I to deprive you of that pleasure?"

"God, you're so right."

You attacked his lips feverishly as Jake began to slowly fill you to the brim. The kiss stopped you from making too loud of a sound, but it was unavoidable.

His thrusts were slow and methodical, finding your g-spot. Once the soft tissue was found, Jake began ensuring he hit it every time. With every hitch in your breath and every vibration sent down his throat, Jake came closer and closer to his own undoing.

"Jakey, I'm really - ah - really close," you whimpered.

"Me too. I'm right behind you," he grunted, his thrusts becoming less and less methodical, yet more and more animalistic.

The bundle of nerves in your stomach finally burst, causing your legs to spasm and your walls to clench around the cause that was buried deep inside. Feeling the wave of orgasm wash over you, Jake was quick to follow, shooting his warm seed deep inside of you.

After a few more weak thrusts, Jake slipped out of you, flopping next to you on the blanket. You looked over at him, but Jake was already looking at you.

"Even after three years, you can still fuck me like no one else," you laughed. Jake busted a ragged smile as his chest heaved, trying to absorb every bit of oxygen he could get.

"I'll never get tired of you, Y/n," he told you. You smiled, getting bashful again. "Even when we're old and grey, I'll be right by your side, still taking you to plays and still playing you every song you want to hear."

"I'd want nothing more."

The two of you joined for one more kiss, this one oozing with passion and love. And for a moment, the world was still, and all that mattered was this moment.

~

The Gods let it be so, that when the souls shall be connected once more, enthralled in the other's embrace, the world would know peace, if not just for a fleeting moment.

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 2: Into the Deep // Ch. 9

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 2,000+

⚠️Warning⚠️: Mature Content

Masterlist

————————

Minutes, perhaps hours went by as the scenes continued to shift in front of you. Some scenes were consistent, such as Triton’s bedroom, the main hall or the back garden, while others, not so much.

After seeing Triton’s and Poseidon’s first meeting you haven’t made a peep. Choosing instead to listen carefully to the grand voice that controlled this plane or what was happening in the scene in front of you. You wanted to take in all that was happening.

Soon, perhaps too soon, the final scene appears. Just like where they had met, this final scene took place in Triton’s bedroom.

Triton, now 1 year old, was alone with Scylla as she attempted to teach him how to walk. Hoping to get him to walk a little bit before his father stopped by for the day.

“Come slowly to me, Master Triton.” Scylla coos out at the child. Shaking Triton’s favorite toy in the boy’s direction to get his attention. “Try to lift—“

“Scylla!”

Scylla is startled as suddenly Maria, a laundry maid and her friend, comes barreling through the door.

“Maria? What’s the matter?” Scylla asks the younger woman as she picks up Triton and makes her way over.

“Y-You need to hide! Lady Amphitrite caught wind of you spending time with Poseidon-n when you were taking care of Lord Triton and took it the wrong way. She’s on her way right now.” Maria frantically explains as she wipes the sweat off her brow. Instantaneous getting to work to hide Triton’s toys. Knowing that if Lady Amphitrite found such nice things she would get suspicious of Lord Poseidon’s feelings for Triton.

All of a sudden a long crashing noise rings out from outside, frantically Scylla runs to the window to look outside. It was Amphitrite. She didn’t have much time.

“Maria. Take Lord Triton and hide him under the clothes in your basket as you make your way to the Laundry room.” Scylla frantically explains as she hands Triton off to the younger woman.

“B-But what about you?”

“I can’t worry about myself right now. If she comes here in her current state of mind, even Triton won’t be protected from her wrath.” Scylla mumbles out, fear dripping in her veins as she pushes Maria out of the room. Making sure no one was near, she grabs the basket and, with Maria’s help, carefully covers Triton in the dirty sheets. “Please be safe, my Lord.”

“Be safe yourself, Scylla. Try not to anger Lady Amphitrite more than she already is.”

“I will try.”

And with that, Maria leaves. Running away from the scene as Scylla shuts the door to Triton’s room. Accepting her fate.

“Please, Lord Poseidon. Make it back in time. For Lord Triton’s sake—“

“Where is she?!” A booming screeching voice resounds from out in the hallway. One that even sent shivers up your spine as you watched on.

It only takes a couple of seconds for Amphitrite to find Scylla. Breaking down the door to Triton’s bedroom in the process. Her usual neat fiery red hair was a mess, tangled and astray in every which way. Her eyes were mad and furious, looking crazily at the nymph who kneeled on the ground before her.

“YOU.” Amphitrite booms out, furiously stomping her way over until she stands inches away from the Nymph. She scans the room, seeming to attempt to find something before turning to the guards, “Go find the Child.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“M-My Lady. I beg of you, let me explain.” Scylla sputters out as she shakes in fear in front of her master. “Ah—“

Scylla quickly bites her lip to stop herself from screaming in pain as Amphitrite digs her heel into the back of Scylla’s hand.

“Explain what?” Amphitrite venomously spits out at the nymph.

“I-I was only trying to get Lord Poseidon to become closer with Lord Triton.”

“Trying to get them to become closer?” Amphitrite repeats through gritted teeth, digging her heel once more into Scylla’s hand before pacing away. “As if that asswipe would care about his own son. He doesn’t even look at his own wife. His beautiful gorgeous wi—“

Amphitrite’s rant comes to a screeching halt as Poseidon barges into the room. His eyes are cold and hard as he stares down his wife, his trusty trident clutched tightly in his fist. So tightly, you could even see his knuckles turning an unsightly white.

“Oh, if it isn’t Lord Poseidon. Here to save your whore?” Amphitrite bitterly spits out to her husband before laughing maniacally to herself as she tugs at her hair.

It was official, she had gone even more bad shit crazy than she already was.

“Enough. How many times have I told you to cut it out with that shit—“

“Poseidon!” Scylla shouts out as she makes her way to her feet and runs over to Poseidon. What in the world was she doing? Was she trying to anger Amphitrite?

“Maria. Maria has Triton.” You overhear Scylla murmur into Poseidon’s chest as she leans against the god. Poseidon seems to freeze a little and you understood why.

He either had to fight Amphitrite here, which could take a while, or go try to grab Triton before the guards find and take him.

“Poseidon, I love you. Please protect me.” Scylla shouts out as she pretends to weep. However, from where you and Poseidon were standing, you could see her mouth the words ‘Go’ and ‘leave’.

You feel your stomach drop. Scylla was putting up an act in front of Amphitrite so the attention would be on her. Giving Poseidon an excuse to leave and enough time to save Triton.

Poseidon seemed to know this as well as his grip tightened even more on his trident as he shook his head at the elder servant in front of him, “You fool.”

“We are caught. Do what you must.” Poseidon's voice booms out as he lowers his trident and walks away. Choosing not to even spare a second glance as he turns the corner.

“You…. YOU FUCKING COUG—“

As Amphitrite lungs at Scylla a blinding light over takes the room, officially ending the scene. The spirit of the mirror seemed to have done you a favor by sparing the gory and curse details that would happen only moments later.

Shaken up, you collapsed to the floor as you found yourself face to face with the mirror. You were back where you started.

“Lady (y/n)?” Startled out of your trance-like state, you turn to Scylla. The present day Scylla.

“S-Scylla I—“ You stutter out, scrambling to your feet. “I-I’m…”

“It’s fine.” Scylla states out with a sigh, seeming to already understand what you were trying to say. As she had already heard it many times before, “You don’t have to feel bad for—“

“Could I give you a hug?”

The elder woman pauses for a moment, “A hug?”

“A-Ah sorry. Is that disrespectful in any way? I just felt like you really needed a hug and…” You take a pause as you anxiously rub the back of your neck, “…I really need to give you one after seeing that.”

It’s silent for a moment as Scylla ponders your offer.

“…Fine.” Scylla sighs out as she massages her forehead. The wrinkles on her face smoothing slightly as she does so.

At Scylla's confirmation, you throw yourself into the sea monster’s arms. Being extra careful not to squash the Pomeranians that were attached to the front of her body as you do so.

Scylla lets out a small sigh before eventually wrapping her arms around you as well. What was she going to do with you?

She was old. Having been born around the same time Lord Poseidon and Zeus’ mother was born and she had seen many souls in her lifetime but…never like yours. It seemed normal when she first saw it, like any other human.

But, perhaps that’s what made it so special in the first place. For the simple fact that you were a normal human. Caring, empathy, weakness. Containing so many things higher beings are repulsed by.

Yet, you seemed to wear them with pride.

“What am I going to do with you, Lady (y/n)…” Scylla whispers lowly under her breath as she finally relaxes into your touch.

—.—.—.—.—

“Lord Poseidon. I just got the files from—“

“Put it over there.” Poseidon mutters out to his attendee, not even lifting his gaze from the paperwork he was working.

“Of course, sire.” The attendee, quick and quietly, places the papers down before exiting the room. Knowing not to disturb his lord longer than needed. As soon as a small thud of the door closing resounds, Poseidon’s pen stops and he finally lifts his head up.

He should be getting all this paperwork done in preparation for the upcoming cold season but he just couldn’t seem to focus.

What was it….

Poseidon usually wasn’t one to ponder on trivial things. After all, he was a god. If need be, all he had to do was say something and the problem would be taken care of swiftly. But, he couldn’t do that in this case.

Poseidon rubs his temple with a small grunt as he attempts to shake out the scene from last night out of his mind.

That blasted scene, again.

Shaking his head one last time, Poseidon stands up from his seat and walks over to the couch nearby. He needed to figure out what to do about you and, especially, Triton.

Foolish Brother.

If Zeus hadn’t egged Amphitrite on so much, he wouldn’t even be pondering this right now. He would simply just ignore the boy until those annoying feelings went away once more. But, he couldn’t do that with all those assasination attempts being made from Amphitrite.

Three Maids have already been caught trying to sneak weapons into the premises and Five more have been caught trying to poison your food. And that didn’t even begin to cover all the number of poisonous and deadly sea creatures that were sent into the area.

“What if our only Heir tried to eat her food, you blasted Woman,” Poseidon scoffed as he poured himself a glass of wine. He needed it after all, with the sun already setting and tons of paperwork still needing to get done, it was going to be a long night.

A loud knock suddenly comes at the door.

“Come in.”

“Hello, My Love.” Poseidon feels his eyebrow twitch in annoyance at Amphitrite’s sugary sweet tone. Great. It seemed another distraction had come knocking at his door.

“You should rest. Look at how tired you are.” Amphitrite coos out as she makes her way towards her husband, taking a seat on his lap before he could argue or shove her away. Gently and slowly, Amphitrite takes her fingers and traces Poseidon’s jaw line. “You're so tense. Let me help you relax.”

Poseidon grunts out in distaste as Amphitrite places a kiss on his throat. Slowly, beginning to place more as she goes on.

This woman…

Poseidon sighs out lightly as he shakes his head. Let her do as she pleases for now. If she causes a tantrum now, it will only cause more trouble later.

As Poseidon takes a particularly deep sigh this time, he accidentally catches a wift of Amphitrite’s perfume on her neck.

Jasmine and Sandalwood, He can’t help but note. Two very strong, sexy scents. Ones that even more solidified Amphitrite dominate and Sultry personality. Any other man would probably be drooling on the spot from such a scent but not Poseidon. Never Poseidon. To him, it only overwhelmed his senses so much that it was starting to give him a headache.

What a pain.

As Poseidon tries to slip deep in his thoughts to ignore the oncoming headache, his thoughts accidentally slip back to you. As if summoned, the warm scent of cedar wood and vanilla overtake his senses. The same exact scent he caught on you when you were leaning against his shoulder while he was carrying you yesterday.

Damn it. Poseidon grits his teeth. Why can’t he seem to get her out of his head? He definitely needed to investigate this more. For this wasn’t normal. Just hours prior, he was reimagining her ghost-like touch on his hand.

“Tch.” Poseidon lets out as he is broken from his thoughts. Instantly grabbing onto his wife’s hand that, while he was lost in dreamworld, had travelled down much further than he appreciated. “Enough.”

“Don’t lie, My Lord.” Amphitrite purrs out, as leans more into her husband, “I could feel how hard you were starting to get for—“

“Enough.” Poseidon repeats again, this time pushing Amphitrite off of him so that she falls to the floor in front of him. “You are foolish to think I don’t know what you are up to.”

“Am I not allowed to spend t—“

“I’ve already heard from the servants about how you’ve been drinking and consuming things to boost your fertility recently.” Poseidon reveals as he swirls the wine in his glass, “If you think I’m going to knock you up once again with a child, you are gravely mistaken.”

Taking his gaze away from the wine, he glares down at Amphitrite, whose mood has now greatly soured. Practically foaming at the mouth from anger.

“If you are going to have a pathetic temper tantrum then leave.” Poseidon orders out, closing his eyes as he decides she is not worth looking at.

It is only at the deafening sound of the door being slammed that he opens them again once more. Amphitrite was long gone, her only traces being the cracks left on the wall from the door and a lingering scent of Jasmine.

However, Poseidon couldn’t care less. She could throw all the tantrums she wants but he would never have sex with her. For the one, and only, mistake he ever admits to making was accidentally getting her pregnant.

And, he has no intentions of making that same mistake again.

Author Note: As I warned before, Poseidon scene is a little weird. Like Bro, pull yourself together. But at least now that the reader nows what is going on from Scylla so Plans and events will be in motion. Especially since reader has to decided if should hate or possibly help Poseidon with his relationship with Triton. Onto the next chapter :)).

Also Decided to post this Chapter earlier since the other one got posted late yesterday’s

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea @anime-lover-forever-1127 @fortuna-stella @icy-spicy

[drakenology]

ˢᵗᵃʳ ᴮᵒʸ ⁻ ᴬᵗˢᵘᵐᵘ ᴹⁱʸᵃ

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: smut, drug use (weed), alcohol use, raw sex, spitting, inexperienced!reader, corruption?, atsumu is the weeknd, reader is a fan girl.

ᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳ’ˢ ⁿᵒᵗᵉ: yo yo! so this is for the rolling loud event for my girl @loveatsutani. I love u bitch. I aint gon neva stop lovin you bitch. anyways, hope yall enjoy and make sure to check out the other participants!

w͟o͟r͟d͟ ͟c͟o͟u͟n͟t͟:͟ ͟1͟.͟8͟k͟

Atsumu aka Tsumu was an icon in his own right and the self proclaimed “Star Boy” made sure to show it off. Fame cost him a lot though. Personal space was limited and privacy was a luxury. It was also hard to find a genuine woman who didn’t only like him for his money and fame. Atsumu knew these things would come when he pursued his newest passion in music, but the screaming and adoring fans were all worth the trouble.

Tonight was the night he headlined for Rolling Loud, performing as well as he usually did - and looking good doing it too. Singing was a talent he never knew he had until one day he just sat with some friends, smoked some pot and just belted out some R&B. People compare his music to that of The Weeknd which gained him a plethora of female fans. He watched from the stage as thousands of women flash their breasts, throwing their bras onto the stage. He’s such a tease he lifts his shirt up to flash them his abs, listening to them scream louder as he finishes his song.

“Thanks so much. Yer all amazin’.” Atsumu huffed, out of breath and sweaty from jumping around on stage singing and rapping all night. He waves goodbye to his fans, scooping a few bras off the ground and running back stage to get ready for his after party. One thing Mr. Miya Atsumu was an expert in was throwing an absolute rager of a party. There was always weed to smoke, drinks flowing and gorgeous girls ready to hand him their panties. With his security in tow, He waves goodbye to the fans waiting in line to get inside as he leaves the venue, even signing a few breasts on the way. “Star Boy.” was always his signature.

Atsumu’s house was jumping as the loud music bumped against the walls from the vibrations of the bass. Everybody was having a great time, including him as he downed another shot of vodka.

He stood cooly against the wall when you walked in with a group of friends of yours all dressed to be fucked stupid somewhere in his house. You especially caught his attention with those tits of yours practically jumping out of your dress as you exclaim excitedly about being in the Tsumu’s house.

You and your friends start dancing to the music, grinding on each other and shaking your asses much to Atsumu’s amusement. His eyes wandered across your body as you danced, locking onto your hips as they swayed to the beat of the music.

You’re enchanting to him as your hands travel up and down your body, caressing your hips and grabbing your friends’ asses to hype them up as they twerked. His mind began to imagine your plush thighs wrapped around his waist, imagining the way you’d look under him as your tits jumped with every harsh thrust he delivered. He wanted to hear you moan his stage name as his tongue delved deep into your sweet little cunt, to feel your thighs squish against his face as you cum on his mouth. That’s it, he’s going to approach you.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He slurred, feeling a little saucy from the alcohol he earlier consumed as he leaned into your ear. You immediately turn around to see Tsumu towering over you, smirking as you continue to dance.

“Oh my god! Hi! I’m such a big fan!” You squeal excitedly, only further stroking Atsumu’s ego hearing your sweet voice pitch in excitement over just the sight of him.

“Are ya? Wanna show me just how big of a fan ya are?” He asks, his hands on the small of your back to lead you away from the crowd. Maybe this was why he couldn’t meet genuine women to spend his riches and his time on. But tonight - with the way you look, he could care less about settling down right now.

You of course agreed to go to his room with him, waving to your friends as they raised their glasses in celebration of you bedding Tsumu of all people in this party. His lips meet yours as soon as you reach his bedroom door, moaning into your mouth as he opens it to lead you to the bed without breaking the kiss.

His hands lift up your dress to get a good look at your curves, running them up and down your hips and thighs before spreading them. With his breath hitching in his throat, he groans at the wet spot on your pretty little panties.

“Someone’s excited.” Atsumu teased, running his thumb over your covered clit. Your hips buck a bit from the feeling, gasping as his thumb moves in circles.

“Tsumu, I-I have to tell you somethin’.” You moan, locking your hazy eyes onto his. His eyebrow raised as he peeled your panties off your soaked pussy, licking his lips when he sees your slick pull from it as it sticks to the fabric.

“Hm?” He questioned, collecting your slick with his fingers.

“I um.. I don’t really have much experience. ‘M not a virgin but I’ve only had sex maybe twice in my life.” You admit, feeling your cheeks get hot when he starts to chuckle. God, that only made his cock grow harder. It was hard to believe someone as hot as you didn’t have very much sex but the possibility of becoming the best you’ve ever had was an accomplishment he needed under his belt. He was definitely about to teach you a thing or two.

“Don’t worry, love. ‘M gonna take good fuckin’ care of ya.” He smirked, laying in front of you to rest his head between your nervous thighs. He didn’t want to wait another second to taste you, his tongue parting your sopping wet folds with a soft groan. Your hands find their way into his dyed hair, mewling softly when you feel his tongue gliding against spots that have never been touched.

You gasp sharply when his tongue sinks inside you, your eyes rolling back when he slurps and laps up your juices hungrily. You feel your hips grinding against his face, Atsumu laughing against your skin at your eagerness. He doesn’t keep you still, instead he follows your movements with his tongue. He pulls away to spit on your already sloppy cunt, diving back in without a second to brace.

“T-Tsumu!” You shriek, his ears seeming to perk when he hears his name leave your pretty mouth. He pulls away just to hear you whine, watching as your pussy flutters around nothing.

“Anyone ever tell ya how pretty yer little pussy is, baby?” He asks, licking your slick off his lips before crawling up your body to kiss you. You shake your head no, which wasn’t a lie.

His hands go to take off his jeans, feeling your hands excitedly run up and down those famous abs of his. He takes your wrists and pins you down, pulling your dress down to expose your bare breasts. No bra? God. Immediately he’s leaving hickies all over your skin, nipping and sucking at your nipples before gliding his tongue over your hardened nipples.

“‘M making you feel good, yeah?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it from your mouth being that he already knew the answer. You nod.

“Uh-huh. N-No one’s ever made me feel like this before.” You say as he pulls you closer to his groin by your hips. He takes his hefty cock out, your eyes watching it twitch and leak with pre-cum as you absentmindedly lick your lips.

He prods your weeping hole with the fat tip of him, rubbing the underside of his cock against your pussy. Your hips grind, trying to get him to slide inside you as your plump lips form an impatient pout. This time he doesn’t reward your eagerness, instead holding your hips down and continuing to tease you with his dick.

“I’ll give it to ya if ya ask nicely, sweet heart.” Atsumu says smirking, causing you to whine.

“Please, Tsumu. Fuck me. I wanna feel you. Please, Tsumu, please.” You plead, your eyes going doe-like as your lashes flutter.

With those magic words you feel him split you open, a long drawn out mewl leaving your lips as you feel him bottom out immediately. He waits for you to adjust, sliding in and out of you slowly to get your tight cunt to adjust to the size of him. He knows he’s big, but you’re already taking him so well he can’t help but to speed up to form the shape of his cock into your pussy.

You can’t help but scream and rake your manicured nails into his back, feeling your gelatinous thighs quake as you try and hold them open. His palms press your thighs into your chest, his full balls smacking against your ass as he starts to fuck you into the bed. You can’t even control your sounds, knowing that if it weren’t for the bumping music downstairs the whole party would be able to hear your desperate cries.

“M-More Tsumu. H-Harder!” You beg, trying not to let your moans muddle your sentence as he does what you ask. You were quite possibly the best pussy he’s fucked in a long time. Even though he’s had sex with many beautiful women around the world, none of them felt as warm and inviting as you did.

Your cunt practically swallowed him whole, his eyes glued onto the way your walls tried to pull him back inside when he pulled away. He smacked your outer thigh and told you to bend over for him, groaning when you do so so urgently. You were so eager to please, he even contemplated keeping you around.

“Such a sexy little body, baby. Look at this ass.” He said, his big hands grabbing and smacking the fat of it. His cock twitched at the way it jiggles in ripples, sliding it inside you to see it smack against his lap. You feel him hit new angles, new spots, feeling yourself hanging on by a thin thread.

His heavy balls smack against your throbbing clit with each rut of his hips, yelping when he smacks your ass every so often. Your cries get louder when you feel him hitting the soft spongy spot that’s never been touched by any man. Your cunt squeezes him tight, without warning cumming around him as your eyes well up with pleasurable tears.

“Uuhhh fuck, angel. Yer so fuckin’ tight. Gonna make me cum.” He groaned, spitting down onto hs cock to make his length slicker. You hear him hissing and cussing, his thrusts stuttering until you feel him push deep inside you to cum in thick and sticky ropes. You moan at the warm and wet sensation, humming when he fucks his cum inside you deep. The feeling in your chest was unmistakable when he pulled out of you, unfortunately feeling yourself develop feelings for the super star you just fucked - a curse that came with the female orgasm. But Tsumu was a Star Boy and couldn’t be held down.

Or could he?

[tessiete]

Prompt: "Please don’t regret me." You know what I want.

Oh, I tried! I tried to get them to dance, but I could only fit in so many of your tropes. So have bodyguard, party, fancy dress, declarations of love Obitine, with Satine whump! I hope you enjoy, my love!

(And yes, I'm still filling prompts. I love you all, I'm just REAL SLOW!!!)

DEEPER THAN THE SEA

Despite the best efforts - on both their parts - the evening had passed quite pleasantly.

The food had been good (though too many dishes included hoi for his taste), and the wine had been plentiful (though she’d found it too sweet to tempt her), and the dance floor had been packed all night, though neither of them had condescended to partake.

While the Duchess Satine played the socialite, skirting the edges of the room to flatter this senator and that, doing her best to keep her tongue in check and her temper mild, Obi-Wan Kenobi had been at work securing the venue from any would-be assassins. The threat had been commed in to the Senate nearly a week ago, which, in Kenobi’s eyes, was plenty of time to reschedule or cancel the event. But Satine would not hear of it.

“It is not the Council’s decision whether or not a senator may host her own charity ball, and it is not your duty to censure me for it. If I knew you were so fascinated by the intricacies of my schedule, I might have simply offered you a ticket. As it is, you’re welcome to come stand guard by the door.”

He’d rolled his eyes as she’d turned her back, and sighed. “How long?”

“All night, if you wish.”

“I meant how long is the event?”

She’d stopped, and faced him, the slope of her neck a smooth, unbroken line, the skin there pale and soft, aching for a touch. He’d kept his eyes resolutely on her face, and his hands tucked in his sleeves.

“As I said, my dear Jedi,” she’d said, eyebrow raised. “It shall last as long as you wish.”

She was absolutely infuriating.

And so it was Obi-Wan found himself playing bodyguard while the duchess laughed and teased. The only small consolation was that he was fully justified in spending the evening staring at her - in fact, it was his duty. It shouldn’t have been a hardship. After all, it had been years since he’d had the privilege of being assigned a mission he might complete in perfect comfort. He wasn’t cold, or tired, or injured. He wasn’t being shot at, or pursued by droids or Sith. The only thing he had to worry about was being distracted by the hem of her dress, and the swirl of her skirts, and her bright laugh, and claricrystalline gaze. And every so often, from across the hall, the crowd would shift, and she would turn, and he’d catch her looking back.

Agony.

He should have insisted that Mace accept the assignment, but when he’d questioned him in Council Chambers, his friend had only smirked. “We saved it for you,” he said.

Hours pass, and Obi-Wan stares, and no one comes to kill Satine. At half past one, when the more modest guests begin to retire, he allows himself a brief moment of indulgence and grabs a glass of frizz from a passing server. He throws it back, and grimaces as the alcohol runs over his tongue and cools the back of his throat. Satine was right. It is too sweet.

As if summoned by thought, she appears at his elbow, sidling closer until their shoulders touch, and she can nudge him out of his disappointment.

“Still alive?” she asks.

He sets the glass aside, and shrugs. “As far as I can tell.”

“Well,” she says, taking a sip from her own glass. “You’re welcome to check more thoroughly if it would let you rest easier.”

“Am I?” he asks, and for a second - for the length of time it takes for the words to slide over his lips - he is uncertain whether he is meaning to rebuff her, or if he wants for reassurance.

She must hear that uncertainty, too, because she looks at him full in the face, her brow drawing close and a quizzical look of concern falling over her.

“Do you want to?” she asks.

And in his brief, foolish, selfish moment of consideration, the assassin strikes.

He doesn’t realise it at first, and neither does she. All he sees is her mouth open, her red lips wet with wine, and her breast lifting as she gasps out an exquisite little exclamation of shock. All he hears is her indrawn breath, and the high chime of glass as it shatters against the ground. All he feels is the heat of her body as she stumbles, then reaches for him, then falls into his arms.

“Satine! Satine!” he calls, and as he slips his hand beneath her neck to cradle her head, he feels the hard carapace of some strange creature lodged into the skin there.

She whines as his hand rakes over it, and cries out when, with a sharp tug he rips it out of her flesh. It is no creature at all, but a metal dart fired from the barrel of some airgun, based on the way it is fletched, and the silence of the attack. The body of the dart is empty, it’s poison delivered, and there is not enough of it remaining to determine what it is without a toxicology droid. In his arms, Satine gasps and writhes. Her arms come up to grip at his shoulders, and he throws the dart aside. They don’t have time to wait.

“Obi-Wan,” she gasps, her eyes dark with fear. “Ben, Ben, I can’t breathe.”

“Hush,” he says, doing his best to keep his own terror from rising up, and sweeping him away like the swollen tides of Kamino. “You can. You can.”

He looks around, frantic to find some sign of her attacker as they flee the scene, but instead the room is a whirling mass of horrified bodies, rushing to and fro as the situation becomes clear. Someone screams. A window breaks. Satine’s muscles seize, and she cries out as her spine arches and her limbs go stiff and crooked like kindling. Obi-Wan holds her closer, not restraining her but supporting her body as it balks at the presence of a foreign invader in her veins. He runs a hand through her hair, and whispers to her until the fit passes, leaving her gasping and weeping.

“I need to get help,” he says.

“No,” she protests, gripping his sleeve in desperate fingers. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

He grits his teeth, and nods his head, unable to deny her anything. “Alright,” he says. “I won’t.”

Instead, he hits the emergency signal on his personal comlink, knowing that it will summon whichever Council member is closest. Mace is the one to answer, his voice breaking through the din of chaos with the promise of salvation.

“Obi-Wan, are you alright? Your com activated -”

“It’s Satine,” he says, not bothering with the little civilities of conversational etiquette. He interrupts and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he speaks her name with no title. “She’s been poisoned. I don’t know what, but she needs - she needs -”

She screams again, her agony dissolving into a whimper, pulling Obi-Wan’s attention. He presses his forehead to hers, and begs her to hold on. She quiets in his embrace, and he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or his words which have brought her relief, but in the stillness, an idea comes to him. A dangerous one. Mace can feel the shift, even through the mechanical impulses of the tinny comm.

“Obi-Wan,” barks Mace. “I’m on my way. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m going to do a purge,” he says, and he ends the call. He moves from out beneath her, settling her body gently on the floor.

The movement is enough to stir her from whatever stupor claws at her, and her lashes flutter as she tries to bring him into focus.

“Are you leaving?” she whispers, and the resignation in her voice nearly breaks him.

“No,” he says, choking on the word, choking on his own guilt. “No, I’m not. I won’t.”

He presses his forehead to hers, and holds her face between his palms, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. She sighs, her eyes closing again, her fingers twitching at her side, her hands loose and empty.

“I knew you would,” she says. “I knew you’d have to. I wanted you to.”

“I know.”

“I loved you,” she says, so softly that it is carried to him only on her breath, fluttering against the hair by his ear, turning and glittering like leaves in the wind. “Please just don’t regret me.”

He feels like dying. He feels like a hand has forced itself, elbow deep down his throat, knocking at his teeth to grip his heart in a tight fist, and tear it out of him again.

“I don’t,” he swears. “I don’t. Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare.”

He begs her like she begged him, and the injustice of it lashes against him like a slaver’s whip. He knows how that feels, but this time, he can act. This time, he has the Force. He lays her down - just for a moment - so that he may reach into his boot and withdraw the Vespari blade that Qui-Gon once gave him. The knife is sharp. He has always kept it so, though he has rarely had occasion to use it, and it parts the flesh of his palm as though undoing a seam. There is almost no pain as blood begins to well, spilling over his hand and down his wrist. He has to cut deep.

Then he takes her hand, and does the same.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This will help.”

He wipes the blade on the edge of his tabard, and tucks it back into his heel, using the ritual of care as an opportunity to centre himself for what he is about to do. But he finds he doesn’t need it. He is calm. His heart has stopped its frantic race, settling into a steady pulse. His lungs don’t ache with the need to take in air. He is not lightheaded, or panicked. He is ready. He is resolved.

He takes her bleeding hand in his, and presses the seam of their flesh together so that their blood mingles, and their heartbeats meet. Then, he closes his eyes, and reaches into the Force.

The concept is simple. As a young knight, his master had taught him a technique to purge toxins from his system. It was not perfect, and relied heavily on the user’s ability to manipulate the Living Force into identifying and binding to the poisonous substance to prevent its absorption into the body. It became infinitely more difficult when the poison was already in the bloodstream. It became impossible when it was in the bloodstream of somebody else.

Satine is Force null. She can neither feel its strength, nor guide its flow. But that does not mean she isn’t touched by it. The Force lives in all things. Obi-Wan knows this. Obi-Wan sees this. And he hopes that by exposing his own blood to hers, by bringing them both into such intimate contact he can follow the line of his body directly into hers, and seek out the poison that way. He opens himself completely, unaware of anyone or anything around him. He feels the heat of a cosmic wind through his hair, though he is so far gone that he has no hair to stroke, no skin to touch, no body at all to feel - except blood. He grounds himself in the flow of his veins, and stitches it to the flow of hers. He feels the Force and imagines its infinite currents as his own, until he is gone, and she is gone, and the Force and the Light is all that remains, burning away everything, even the poison.

And everything goes dark.

He wakes a week later, alone in his quarters. There is a cup of hot, but badly brewed tea by his bed that could be from none other than Anakin. He can feel the concerned furling of his presence looped around the handle of the mug, and creeping along the floor, and only he could have anticipated his awakening so precisely, but he is no longer nearby. His saber lies reverently beside it. His cloak hangs over a chair, and his boots sit upright and polished beside it. But he is on his own. There are no dancing senators, no screaming politicians. No assassins, or broken crystal, or tears. There is no Satine, and he throws back the covers, frantic to see her once again. To know that she lives, to know that she is fine, even if she is without him.

The door to his room slides open at his approach, and he races into the front room on bare and clumsy feet. There, resting elegantly at the centre of a low table sits a modest bouquet of Mandalorian Peace Lilies, beside it, a note scrawled on encrypted flimsi. At his touch, the random symbols rearrange themselves to reveal a message coded only to him.

My Knight, it says. And ever mine. Thank you for your sacrifice. Without regret - Your Lily.

[rayshippouuchiha]

naruto moves into the forest of death bc loving that place is in his blood

I see this, I love this, it begins a long time before Naruto is born and it goes a little bit like this:

Hashirama never fully recovers from the fight with Madara.  Not really, not fully, not in the ways that truly matter for a man and a shinobi.

He keeps a strong presence for the village and those who would seek to do Konoha harm but to those closest to him, to those who know the man behind the titles and the legend, the differences are stark and grim.

Hashirama spends more and more time in the forest, spends days and nights out amongst the trees and the flowers and the sprawling roots, pouring more and more of himself into all of it as he goes.

Tobirama argues with him about his distraction, about his distance, about his decision to pass the mantle of Hokage onto Tobirama who never really wanted it but wears it now because he must, because Hashirama asked.  Because Tobirama has always done all he could do to make whatever Hashirama wanted into a reality.

Hurt and hurting Tobirama’s words and accusations are cold and cutting, because that is what a life of too much war and too little peace has made him in moments like this, when fear and love rides him hard, and unlike Hashirama he’s never been able to slip more than a fraction of that mantle.  But, most of all, Tobirama is desperate not to let his beloved elder brother slip through his fingers like so many others have in the past.

They built the village Hashirama and Madara dreamed of to stop the death and the suffering so why is Tobirama’s beautiful and lively brother seemingly so determined to fade away.  To go where Tobirama cannot follow?

He doesn’t understand and if there’s one thing Tobirama truly hates in this life it is not knowing.

But Hashirama just smiles at him, reaches up to pull him down so he can press a kiss to Tobirama’s forehead, and then drifts away back into the trees.

Mito watches her husband just as closely and sees what Tobirama, her brother in all the ways that matter, sees.

Hashirama, once so vibrant and alive, is ... diminished.  Fading bit by bit.

But, unlike Tobirama, Mito keeps her silence.  Words have not been necessary between her and Hashirama for years now.

Instead she follows him into the forest when time and her duties will permit it, sometimes even when they do not.  She watches him breathe new life into a forest that already teems with it.  Watches him eradicate sickness from saplings, watches him push them to grow until they are towering monoliths with bark as hard as iron.  She watches him run calloused, battle worn fingertips over flower petals and leaves with the gentle sort of reverence that he’s always touched her with in their quieter moments, in the times when passion and lust and heat were not necessary. When only love was.

She loves him all the more in those moments, in these moments of fading light, even when she knows that he is leaving her.  Going somewhere she cannot follow, not with her duties, not with what she carries.  Not yet.  Likely not for decades to come.

“Mito,” Hashirama sighs to her one night when the fireflies are thick and the trees sway down to meet the both of them.  “My beloved Mito.”

“Husband,” Mito murmurs back as she always does, one hand smoothing over his hair where his head is resting in her lap.  “My foolish husband.”

“I cannot give you back the sea,” Hashirama whispers once the silence has grown thick and heavy around them.  “I cannot return you to the whirlpools and the eddies.”

“You took neither from me so they are not yours to return,” Mito tells him sternly, lovingly.  “My choices were and are my own, you wood brained idiot.  They have never been yours to carry.  If I wanted the ocean I would simple go to it.  But Konoha is my home now.”

“My fierce fire-pearl,” Hashirama smiles then, soft and small.  “My beloved ocean rose.  I would bring the very sea here to meet you if I could.  Or I’d pester Tobirama into doing it for me.  But instead I give you this, an ocean of trees, a sea of leaves and flowers as wild and untamed as Uzushio’s itself.  Here you will always be safe, here you will always find me.”

“I will never need to find you,” Mito tells him, the hand laid atop his chest clenching just a bit in the battle silk above his heart.  “You will not go where I cannot follow you, you know better by now.”

“Of course, dear,” Hashirama smiles.

They both know it for the lie that it is.

They both know he’s already leaving.

And when he loves her there, pressed down onto a bed of soft clover and surrounded by trees that seem to sing, Mito tangles her hands in his hair, raises her hips to meet his own as steadily as the tide, and weeps.

~~~

Mito is a widow no more than a month later.

~~~

Tobirama does not weep but the skies do it for him, monsoon like rain washing over Konoha the moment he feels Hashirama’s living and present chakra signal fade away into nothing.

For three days and nights there is only rain, water rushing down streets and swelling the rivers and lakes.

The villagers pray for sun.

Tobirama mourns.

The trees of the forest sway and sing.

~~~

Years pass and Mito wanders the forest in her free moments, hands trailing over tree trunks and vines alike, fingertips ghosting over flower petals and slowly unfurling buds.

As she walks she whispers or rants or sometimes sings, telling the forest her days, her nights, her triumphs and her failures.

And always, always, the trees hum and sway and sing back to her in welcome, in safety.

In love.

~~~

Tobirama wanders the forest in his free moments, leaving streams and ponds in his wake as he goes.  He pulls fresh water to the surface, cleanses stagnation where he finds it and ensures that it does not return.

‘Refuge,’ Tobirama thinks as he pulls water from the air and the ground as he breathes his own form of life into the forest his brother had loved and nurtured like a child.  The forest he had tried and failed to hate in his grief.  ‘Let this be a refuge, let this be a place of peace.’

He does not speak to the trees that feel so like his brother and yet not.  Does not talk or argue or scream or rage or beg.  He keeps his silence now as he had not then.

But the trees sing back regardless.

Hashirama had always known all of the things Tobirama could never bring himself to say.  Had always been able to read beneath and between and around whatever Tobirama did.

His forest is no different.

~~~

Far too soon Tobirama is gone as well and Mito is alone in a way that has far too little to do with the number of people around her and everything to do with her heart.

More years pass and her isolation, her loneliness, only grows.

She is one of last of a quickly dying breed, one of the few who truly remembers life before the villages.

She aches for her husband, for her brother, for her family.

Sometimes, in her darker moments, she even aches for the burden she knows she will pass onto another.

And now she aches for the Clan she has lived long enough to see destroyed.

When Uzushio falls Mito takes to the forest as she always does these days.  As she has for years and years now.

She does not rage.

She does not weep.

Instead, kunai in hand, she bleeds.

Uzumaki blood and life force flow out onto rich dark soil, is pressed onto iron bark tree trunks and splattered over flowing vines and unfurled leaves.

Seals flow from her bloody finger tips, are pressed into the ground with every whisper quiet step she takes.

“Shelter,” Mito half begs, half demands to the forest that has been her companion for so long now.  “Uzushio has fallen.  Hashirama, my love, my people are slaughtered and scattered and lost.  You said you would give me the sea if you could, you said this forest was built for me as much as it was for the village.  So let this be a shelter. Let this be a place of safety for those who truly need it.  Let the Uzumaki blood find home and hope beneath these branches as I long have.  Let them know your love as I do.  Should they come, let them stay.”

And all around her the forest hums and sways and sings.

Mito, bloody hands pressed against the trunk of the colossal tree that Hashirama had once made love to her under, laughs.

And then, finally, she weeps.

~~~

Time passes, the village moves forward, and so many, too many, forget things that should never be forgotten.

The forest grows darker, the trees, with their tunneling roots, grow more imposing, the animals more vicious and wild.

The trees stop singing.

Instead they rattle and shake and hum in what some would swear is anger.

~~~

Naruto has always liked plants.

Has always liked the green and growing things that can be found almost everywhere around the village.

Trees and flowers and vines don’t hurt him.  They don’t call him names, or throw things at him, or spit and stare and hit.

Plants are kind. Plants are safe.

And there’s far too few things or places or people in the village that Naruto can truly call safe.  Not for him.

Chest aching, Naruto swipes at the mess of blood and tears smeared across his face as he pushes himself to go faster, to run harder.

He just wants to be away.  Away from the name calling and the hitting.  Away from the hurt.

He barely even pauses when he hits the fence littered with warning signs he can only half read, just scrambles up and over it without even breaking his stride.

Naruto might not be good at or for much of anything but he’s always been good at this.  At running and climbing and finding his own way.  It’s not much but it’s all he has.

The forest is dark and gets darker the deeper he runs.  The trees grow thicker and taller as he goes too, grow bigger than anything Naruto has ever seen besides the Hokage Mountain.

He runs until he can’t anymore, until he collapses at the base of a tree even bigger than the others he’s seen in the forest.

Chest heaving, tears welling up in his eyes again, Naruto presses his bloody hands and face against the thick bark and cries.

Around him to forest goes still, goes quiet.

“Please,” Naruto whispers, unsure of why he feels the need to talk to trees when not even people want to listen to him. “Please help.  It hurts. It hurts so much.  I don’t want to go back.  Please.”

And even as exhaustion rips and claws at him, forcing black in around the edges of his vision, Naruto swears that, for a split second, the tree he’s leaning against almost seems to sing.

[bookishofalder]

Unexpected [Prequel]

Summary: The night everything began.

Warnings: Language, Smut, sweet Spencer Reid (we know we need a warning for this). WC: 2,434

“Goodnight, Tesoro! Kid! Addio!” Rossi sang happily, leaning ever so slightly against the stoic as usual Hotch, who rolled his eyes at the BAU’s patriarch. He did grin though, which Spencer appreciated considering he was the only one at the party not to indulge in the multitude of mixed beverages you and Penelope had concocted. A rare smile from Hotch was certainly a good way to ring in the New Year, especially when it resulted in your sweet laughter before you closed and locked the door.

You sighed and Spencer glanced down at you, a smile pulling at his lips when he took in your tired, soft expression. It was probably the alcohol he’d enjoyed throughout the evening-seriously, why did he have so many margaritas? And what was in those peppermint drinks? They didn’t taste of alcohol! But a wave of affection for you so strong swept through him and Spencer didn’t think before pulling you close, his arms circling your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Your hair smelled like roses.

You hummed happily in response, stepping into the embrace, relaxing against Spencer. “You know, I think it’s customary to kiss someone when you ring in the New Year, (Y/N),” He heard himself say, his eyes on a picture on the wall behind you. It was a favourite of his from when he’d taken you to the Santa Monica Pier after closing up a case in California. Spencer and you, arms around each other's shoulders as you stood on the beach with the Pier in the background. Spencer was stooped because he was so much taller than you, and you were laughing widely when the photo had been taken, golden sun kissing your features.

You leaned your head back to meet his gaze, your eyes glassy and wide. Giggling, you replied, “I always thought that was silly, meant for couples to just show off how happily domestic they are!” You rolled your eyes, but you hadn’t moved out of his arms. And actually, Spencer didn’t want you to, he liked how close you were, how safe and right it felt to hold you.

He cleared his throat, his voice deep despite the cringe-level response he came up with, “It can be...friends, who care deeply, too.” Christ.

Oh, but you didn’t cringe, or laugh, or pull away and affectionately ruffle his hair as he might normally expect. No, your response was anything but expected for Spencer, his words seemingly taking a moment to sink in and, still holding his gaze but with a much more intense one of your own, you wet your lips. He didn’t even hesitate, your subconscious response all it took for it to feel almost painful that he wasn’t already kissing you.

So he tightened his hold on you at the same time he dropped his head and captured your lips with his own. And as much as he must have caught you off guard, you weren’t done surprising Spencer; you moaned and parted your lips for him, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth. He felt your arms secure around his neck, your body arching into him as you pulled him closer, your bodies responding to one another with equal fervour.

With a groan of pleasure from the sensation and bliss that was you pressed against him, Spencer broke the kiss to trail gentle kisses along your jaw, his voice just a breath. “Sweet girl, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He trailed down your neck, delighting in the sound of your whimpers, at the feel of you, his best friend, trembling with need and desire in the familiar front hallway of your apartment. It had been just so easy to cross that line that seemed to always cut between you both.

You tugged him suddenly, backing up and taking Spencer with you to your living room and your cozy couch. When your legs hit the edge, you stumbled slightly and giggled when Spencer clumsily steadied you. Breathless, you started eagerly working to undress him, your hands working to unbutton his shirt as your eyes burned into his with unbridled lust and desire, the longing so intense he was sure he’d burst into flame under your gaze. Spencer didn’t delay when you guided his hands to remove his pants, shoving them and his underwear down quickly and then dropping to sit on your couch.

He tried to pull you with him, but you gave him a coy smile, leaning out of his grasp. “You’re gorgeous, you know that Spencer? Fucking gorgeous.” You breathed, your eyes raking over his bare, lean body, fixing hungrily on his hard, weeping cock. Wordlessly, as Spencer gazed at you in reverence, you reached behind you and unzipped the back of your low-backed dress, which promptly fell to your feet. Your hands were shaking.

The fire within Spencer seemed to take a new hold over him when he realized that you were nervous. His heart swelled and stuttered at the intensity of his desire to care for you, to make you feel as safe as possible.

“Come here, sweet girl,” He reached out for you, helping to settle you into his lap, your matching underwear and bra still on. When your core rubbed over Spencer’s length you both hissed at the sensation; he pressed his large hands into your back, fingers splayed, and captured your lips again. He could feel himself coming undone as you quivered in his arms. He ground his hips into you, groaning, “Fuck, can I touch you?”

“Please Spence,” You whimpered, and he realized your hips were returning his urgency, seeking friction desperately. “N-Need you, please. I need you so much, Spence.”

Fuck, you didn’t have to tell him twice. With surprising ease and prowess considering how intoxicated he knew he was, Spencer dropped one hand to first trail his fingers teasingly across the outside of your cotton underwear, before he pushed the fabric aside and ran two fingers through your folds. Spencer grunted at how wet you were already, “You have me, you’ve always had me, sweet girl. Come on, touch me,” He urged you, groaning sinfully loud when you reached around to grip him, held his cock steady and sunk yourself onto him.

“Oh, shit, Spence,” You cried out, face tightening as you struggled to accommodate him, “Fuck you’re so much bigger than I ever imagined...filling me so well,” You gasped, more broken moans spilling from your lips, mixed with his name. Spencer took hold of your hips, helping you steadily take more and more of him, groaning in pleasure at the feel of your tightness enveloping his cock.

He had never seen anything in his entire life as beautiful as you.

It hurt him, your beauty hurt Spencer it was so raw and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from your face, as much as he wanted to see you taking his length. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away from your blissed-out expression, the way you tried to open your eyes and meet his gaze only for them to snap shut again as you took another inch of him. Spencer was hooked, obsessed, so much further fucking gone than he had been before when he was just a sad soul in love with his best friend.

Now he was a man on fire. And he never wanted to stop burning.

When you were fully seated in his lap, Spencer pressed one hand to your lower back and brushed the other over your face, pushing back some stray locks of your hair, “You’re doing so well, (y/n), take your time. Fuck, you feel so good,” He grunted when you clenched around him in response.

Interesting, he thought. It was almost as if his praise was...

Spencer tested out his theory immediately, “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” Clench. More wetness. A soft sigh spills from your lips. Fuck.

And just like that, Spencer lost it. Realizing that his praise, his assurances, turned you on more? That was a power, a level of mutual trust he never expected in his wildest dreams. With a gasp, his grip on your hips hardened and he started thrusting up, effectively forcing you to bounce over his length. Yet, you took it in stride, your hands instantly seeking his shoulders for support before you were rolling your hips almost lazily each time you landed back in his lap.

Neither of you was moaning any longer, no. Spencer was talking around his pleasured cries, pulling as much bliss from you as possible by keeping up a constant stream of praise and kind words that he meant, right down to his soul he fucking meant every word. And you...you were a goddess, his name on your lips between screams and gasps, nails digging into his shoulders from how hard you gripped him. It was funny-as much as you couldn’t keep your eyes open, Spencer was unable to do more than blink, unable to tear his gaze from your face.

To spend so long painfully in love with you, hiding the depths of his feelings for years, pushing back any hope that might have cropped up that you felt the same, had been torture. Torture he happily bathed in, day after day but now you were actually in his arms, whimpering his name. It was a gift, a treasure he couldn’t believe he deserved, and he wasn’t going to miss a moment of flawless, captivating you coming apart for him.

“Sweet girl, you are so beautiful,” Spencer moaned out, cursing when your velvet heat squeezed him impossibly tighter.

He adjusted his hips, tilting just so to perfect the angle. The most delicious sounds fell from you as he found the right spot, and that was when it happened. You managed to open your eyes, wide and bright, meeting Spencer’s and gasping at the expression on his face. At that moment, you sent one another toppling over the edge and falling into oblivion.

It was a paradise Spencer had never know the likes of. The universe opened up for you both, and he wondered how he could have spent his entire life deprived of such exquisiteness, the pleasure and love swelling and consuming him-fuck, was this Nirvana? Heaven? He didn’t know, couldn’t think straight as he roared, his movement stilling as your hands slipped into his hair and you started to crumble into him. He caught you, steadying you enough that he could keep watching your face as you broke into a million pieces, as you both shattered into millions and millions of pieces.

“Spencer! Oh! Ooooh...”

“(y/n), I love you, I love you.”

His eyes had snapped shut briefly from the overwhelming sensations, his orgasm overtaking him before he could check to see if you’d heard his quiet confession. He couldn’t bring himself to worry over it when he began to spill inside of you, holding you tight against him, his entire body jerking in bliss. It was easily the longest orgasm of his life, dragged out by the way you whimpered and clenched him as you were swept through your own.

It could have been minutes or months, truly Spencer couldn’t have quantified the time it took until he was slumping into the couch cushions and you were boneless in his arms, your face nuzzling into his neck. Still hard inside you, he could feel some of the overflows of your climaxes spill out and drip down his thigh.

You were gasping for air, trembling lightly as his hands came to hold your head and he finally closed his eyes properly. Colours, a never-ending rainbow of colours dancing behind his eyelids, the galaxy within his grasp with you in his arms. Nothing else mattered-it was only you.

Everything was you. You were everything.

Realizations of the depths of his love for you hit Spencer like meteors; he felt as though he’d never stand again from the weight of it all, his heart impossibly heavy in his chest. How could he ever be worthy of the trust and care you had just bestowed upon him? He simply could not be deserving of such a divine, world-shattering experience. Not with you, his funny, bright, deeply caring best friend. Not with the woman who had been with Spencer through the worst, had seen the darkest parts of him, it didn’t seem right. It must be a mistake, a fluke, and yet...

It wasn’t. You told him as much when you finally found the strength to lean back slightly and press your lips to his, cutting off his train of thought by thanking him, telling him it had been better than you ever dreamed, that you had never felt for anyone like you did for Spencer. As if he weren’t already completely obliterated, your admission now rocketed Spencer into orbit and he knew, he just knew there was no way he’d ever forget this moment.

He’d been on your couch many times before this, you cuddled in his arms, and yet it felt like the very first time. Here in the dark, early morning hours of the first day of the year, it was the beginning of something, of an adventure he couldn’t understand and yet wholeheartedly knew he was ready to leap headfirst toward, as long as it was with you.

With renewed energy, Spencer stood, gathering you in his arms and carrying you to your bedroom as he kissed your lips languidly, eager to continue dancing amongst the stars with you, for as long as you would allow. And as he lay you down on your bed, drinking in the expression of love on your face, he knew there could be no way he would ever lose these memories. He stripped you of your underwear and spread you, keenly aware of the level of trust and anticipation you held for him. Spencer knew he could never forget, happily spending the next several hours worshipping your body like a starving man with his lips, his tongue, his gentle teeth.

Some of the memories may slip away, but surely not even alcohol could steal the way you repeated that you loved him as he plumbed your sweetest depth. As he brought you to your peak, over and over. As he brought your bodies together again and you travelled the galaxy in one another’s arms even as the sky outside began to brighten and then, eventually, sleep lulled you both to its warm embrace.

No, there was simply no way he would forget. Spencer could never, ever forget.

Right?

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

✨

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@mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711

[comfortwriting]

Best Friends Boyfriend - G.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

This chapter is inspired by @amourtentiaa ‘s Owlery which you can learn more about and access here.

Please read Part 1 if you haven't already!

George Weasley x Fem Reader slow burn 

Warnings: Fluff.

You couldn’t get last night out of your head, the sound of George whispering to you, asking you out on a date, how his beautiful face looked from the amber tones coming from the flames that radiated against his face, the way he smiled and licked his lips.

Laying in bed wide awake you kept your hand over your mouth, trying to hold in your giggles so you wouldn’t wake up Hermione and your other dorm mates. You couldn’t believe it - you’re going on a date, with George Weasley, the lad you fancy more than anyone else in the world - the only problem, your best friend, George’s younger brother, Ron, wouldn’t approve and would do anything to make sure the two of you keep well away from one another.

Throughout the whole day, you played it cool when passing George in the common room or the great hall, but as the day moved on and afternoon turned into evening, you couldn’t stop the giggles of excitement from bursting out, and the tint of pink to spread across your cheeks.

You had two hours until you were meeting George, for now, you sat in the common room with Ron and Hermione whilst Harry had Occlumency lessons with Snape.

“What d’you keep giggling about?” Ron hissed at you, scowling “you’ve been at it all day and you’re freaking me out.”

You covered your face with your hands, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the bubbling of nerves and excitement.

“N-Nothing” you replied, “I think I inhaled a dodgy potion somebody was brewing in the second-floor toilets this morning” you lied, avoiding eye contact with your best friend and his crush, Hermione.

Ron gave you an odd look and flashed his eyes to Hermione, who glared at him and shrugged her shoulders.

“Shouldn’t you go to Madame Pomfrey?” she suggested, knitting another hat for the house-elves.

Nodding your head, you got out of your chair and pursed your lips, “yeah, I think I will” you lied again “let me go and get freshened up, she might want to keep me in overnight if the giggles get worse” you smirked, chuckling.

Leaving your friends behind, you hurried off to your dorm room, getting your makeup, clothes, and shoes ready to put on after your shower, placing your clothes and makeup bag on the bed, kicking your shoes on the floor beside it.

“I dunno what's up with her” Ron huffed, slouching in his chair beside the fire.

Hermione continued knitting “Well, hopefully, Madame Pomfrey can sort her out, uncontrollable giggling can get you sent to St. Mungo’s.”

Ron focused on the bobble hat coming together in front of his eyes, trying to make sense of your behaviour today and if there was something else going on after his brother played Hero during the end of your horrific date.

Wearing your best black denim front pocket Pinafore dress over your red and yellow striped turtleneck and black tights, you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing slightly at the thought of George seeing you dolled up just for him. You pouted, deep in thought and unsure of what hairstyle to do, checking the time you were cutting it close and decided your go-to natural, no school but not overdoing it hairstyle would be best.

“Tomorrow night, where we first met” you reminded yourself, hearing George’s voice inside your head.

Thinking long and hard about when you first met George and where, you closed your eyes and tried to focus, all of your memories whizzing around in your head - you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter knowing that not only did George remember, but he also perhaps thought of that day often.

Hurrying out of your dorm and back into the common room, Harry now sat down with Hermione and Ron, they all seemed taken aback by your appearance, furrowing their brows at you.

“You’re a bit dressed up for a doctors appointment, aren’t you?” Hermione called out.

Ron looked at you from head to toe “I think you’ve overdone it, mate-”

“See you later!” you giggled, a spring in your step as you left the common room, going through the portrait hole.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged looks, none of them knowing what to think or say was becoming a reoccurring factor today.

“Something isn’t right at all” Ron muttered “she’s up to something”

Reaching the owlery, you felt your excitement and nervousness compete against one another inside of you, being a few minutes early, you had enough time to admire all of the owls around you who were getting ready to go out hunting. Each of them unique and calming to look at, stroke, and hear a hoot. The memories finally coming back to you more clearly.

Your first week at Hogwarts went more awful than you ever imagined, you had got lost on the way to your classes, got into trouble by Percy - your houses Prefect and due to your terrible potion skills Snape put you in a weeks detention, your parents were so angry you received a Howler before anyone else in your class.

Feeling lost, alone, and in need of a friend, you wrote out your worries, concerns and everything else you were feelings into letters, addressed to your friends attending other Wizarding Schools (like Ilvermorny) across the globe.

Writing about your feelings, life, and anything, in general, helped to make you feel better, heard, and less isolated from the impressive and promising classmates that surrounded you.

Walking up the long and steep steps up to the Owlery, your heart melted at the Owls, some sleeping, some bobbing their heads around, and others appearing to be smiling at you. You felt connected to them in some sort of way, and spending time with them, knowing they didn’t care about your house, or how well you could make a feather float in the air made you feel more at ease.

You stared and smiled at your Tawny owl named Penny, you approached her trying to avoid the owl droppings and rat carcasses and stroked her softly, handing her your letters.

“Please deliver these safely,” you told her, tears filling your eyes again “it’s taken a lot for me to write them”

Penny accepted the letters and understood how important this job was, and how much it would mean to you, she pecked at your cheek, little kisses against your tears before she flapped her gorgeous wings and took flight.

Not wanting to go back down to your Herbology class to be a laughing stock, you stayed in the owlery, falling to the floor and weeping.

“If these reports get sent home mum will kill us” once voice spoke out, panting up the stairs.

“Well” replied a similar voice, also panting “we need to change our grades and get one of these owls to send it to her for us, it's why I made a fake replica”

Their voices and footsteps came closer.

“As long as Errol and Hermes aren’t delivering it, we’ll be fine Georgie.”

Two tall twins with ginger hair walked into the Owlery shiftily, both of them stopping in their tracks, noticing you crying on the floor, drowning in your robes.

George’s face and heart softened, he mouthed to his brother ‘leave it with me, I’ll get it sent, let me see why she’s upset’

Freddie nodded and slowly left the Owlery, trying not to make a sound.

You missed Penny with all your heart, after many trips she became so sick and injured no magic, and no amount of Hagrid’s care and love was enough to fix her wings and bring her back to life. When you lost Penny, you lost part of yourself, the Owlery wasn’t the same without her and each time you visited, you would break down into tears.

“You made it, early” George called out, pulling you out of your trip down memory lane, causing you to jump slightly.

You blinked back the forming tears and turned around to face him, the moonlight illuminating his best features through the open arches. “Didn’t want to be late” you replied, smiling nervously, stroking one of the owls.

“You were so little” George chuckled “but even after growing up so much somethings never change”

You cocked up an eyebrow and smirked, slightly confused “what do you mean?”

“The owls” he replied “your love for them, the time you make for them, it’s beautiful”

You could feel your cheeks heating up, your heart rate elevating.

“They’re special to me” you replied, trying not to come across as too shy.

George blushed too, his cheeks mirroring yours as he stepped closer, so close you could count each individual freckle across his face - something you had only done from across the halls or over the table.

“that’s why I asked for us to meet here,” George said softly, stepping closer to you, his breath brushing against you “because you’re special to me”

George took hold of your hand, tracing stars into your palm with his thumb, his eyes taking in your hair, your makeup, your outfit, and shoes. He started to lean in, as did you, your soft lips brushing against his cinnamon scented ones, but pulled away before you could share a kiss, smirking and winking at you.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said nervously “I’ve been trying to give her to you for a while now, but whenever I’ve tried, Ron always got in the way”

You rolled your eyes “he always does” you replied “he doesn’t like the idea of us being together” you frowned, looking away from George and lowering your head, deciding to examine your shoes.

George lifted your chin up with his thumb, smiling at you “he doesn’t have to know” he paused “stay very quiet and follow me” he whispered, still holding your hand.

George walked you over to a very tired looking owl, her wings and body covering something small underneath her. George whispered to the owl “It’s George, she’s ready now”

The tired owl opened her googly eyes, staring at George, slowly and reluctantly moving away from her precious possession underneath her motherly wings. Underneath the wings lay a tiny owlet, its large magnificent eyes opening wide and staring at George, then you.

“I know he’ll never replace Penny” George murmured, wrapping his arm around you “but I want you to have a safe space here, I know how much of that Penny provided for you and I know how much of that changed when she passed away.”

You reached out your hand to stroke the baby, “it’s okay” you reassured his nervous mother “I’m not going to hurt him”

You ran the back of your finger down the Owlets fluffy back, its face showing signs of enjoyment and comfort, something rare amongst owls.

George watched in awe, the memories of you when you were much shorter and quieter flashing before him, now you were a beautiful young woman, with the same heart full of love and nurturing.

Tears of happiness streamed down your cheeks, you leaned into George and cuddled him, your face pressed against his chest, the scent of the burrow engulfing you.

“George - I - thank you, he’s beautiful”

George closed his eyes, taking in your face against his chest, his hand stroking your hair.

“I care for you, Y/N” he spoke out again “I know we were never that close, but you’re not just my little brother's friend to me”

You pulled yourself off his chest, looking up into his gorgeous eyes.

“like these owls, you’re unique, you’re special” he whispered.

“What’s your obsession with these owls anyway?” the tall boy asked, fiddling with his fake report.

“They’re unique” you replied quietly, walking around “they’re special”

George looked down into your eyes, his nose poking yours softly, leaning in, you didn’t pull back and allowed him to pull you gently into him.

His heart and yours racing, as your hand rested upon his chest, and his arm around your waist, your lips grazing against each other, turning into a deep, soft kiss.

Tag list: @amourtentiaa @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @slutforsebstan @alwaysnforeverfangirl @horrorxweasley @xmalfoyweasleyx @freddiemylovelg 

[kantrips]

Alistair & Celia Headcanon Collection

Some Amell x Alistair (largely fluff) headcanons! Includes some from Origins, Warden time at Amaranthine and the Inquisition-era. Some of these I have had since my first playthrough, but others I may have read elsewhere, loved and thusly absorbed so please let me know if I can link anyone!

Origins

The first time they meet at Ostagar, Celia thinks Alistair is the most fascinating person she has ever encountered because no one in the Circle had a particularly boisterous sense of humour. Alistair is oblivious to her heart eyes, and also holds back because he’s worried she won’t survive the Joining.

Even after the Joining, Alistair tries very hard not to ~feel feelings~ despite the clear signals Celia is hurling at him because he assumes she won’t like him once she gets to know him more/she will get bored of him/ she will leave like everyone else i.e. the boy is hecking damaged.

Celia laughs obnoxiously hard at all Alistair’s jokes because a) she finds them unexpected, and b) because, like a dork, she wants to prove she gets the punch line. Alistair is perplexed by her reactions at first, and cautiously wonders if she is mocking him. Once he realises she is genuinely amused, it bolsters his ego significantly. 

Celia has no concept of personal space and sits and walks very close to everyone. There wasn’t a lot of room at the Circle so she forgets she can spread out. Morrigan makes it clear she needs to back off (Celia doesn’t need telling twice) but Alistair is more relaxed and gets used to it quickly after the confusion of the first night when she blithely sets up her bedroll right next to his. Alistair assumes she is a bit scared of sleeping in the forest but really she is just accustomed to the need to cram as many apprentice bunks into a room as possible.

In a way, Alistair is also used to sharing small spaces (Chantry and Wardens) so it doesn’t bother him at all when Celia chooses to sit pressed against his side, walks so their arms bump together, or unconsciously brushes an eyelash from his cheek. He quickly grows to like her overfamiliarity (for some reason…).

Similarly, Alistair eats Celia’s leftover food if she can’t finish it or doesn’t like it, even before they’re a couple. She just offers one day and after that it becomes a given. The others side-eye them but they are happily oblivious.   

Celia gets in trouble from the rest of the party for getting distracted yelling encouragement and cheering Alistair during combat. In turn, Alistair gets in trouble for turning around mid-battle to thank her when she buffs or heals him. Morrigan advises that if they are both so determined to get killed, she is more than happy to assist with hastening the process.

Celia’s mabari, Trevor, is quickly accepting of Alistair and his proximity to Celia because he observes Alistair protecting Celia in battle and thusly deems him to be a ‘good dog’ and considers that they are equals in the pack.

Alistair and Celia vandalise each other’s wanted posters whenever they come across them. It gets competitive.

Celia doesn’t really want to be in charge of saving the world but has three things working in her favour: 1) she absolutely hates letting people down 2) has an intense need to finish what she starts 3) she is in possession of a bossy streak.

That said she spends the entire Blight screaming internally to an extent not even Alistair fully grasps.

They go to the Circle Tower first, because Celia thinks she will have the best chance of getting help from people she knows and is also ‘homesick’ in the sense that she is very glad to be free of the place, but stressed enough with everything going on to crave something familiar even if she resents it. The events there devastate her. Along with the loss of friends and mentors she has known since childhood, being trapped by herself in the fade particularly terrifies her as she has never truly been alone for so long before in her life. It reminds her of the Harowing which totally blindsided her. She is very teary, untalkative and introspective for some time afterwards, but both Trevor and Alistair have the correct instinct to stay close without trying to interact with her which she finds incredibly comforting.

Accustomed to making potions, Celia will not under any circumstances deviate from a recipe while cooking, whereas Alistair just chucks everything in to use up leftovers and see what happens. Alistair gets meals together super quickly whereas Celia takes forever. A little unfairly, Celia is perceived as the better cook because she produces very consistent meals, while Alistair’s experiments sometimes do work, and sometimes don’t, with people tending to focus on the disasters rather than the successes. Meanwhile Celia is rather: “should I add half a sprig of rosemary? No I mustn’t: it would be far too daring!” so everyone learns to tip their own seasonings into their bowl before even tasting her food.

When they’re travelling and walking for days on end, Alistair and Celia make up a lot of games in the vein of ‘I spy’ and ‘would you rather?’ They can occasionally persuade others to participate though no one enjoys them or gets quite as invested as Celia and Alistair (who are actual children).

A game stops abruptly one day when Celia guilelessly asks if Alistair would rather be Emperor of Orlais or King of Fereldan and he gets extremely defensive and answers, “Neither.” Having no context for this reaction (yet), Celia (a stickler for the rules) pushes him, insisting his answer isn’t allowed and that he’s cheating until Alistair gets grouchy, stomps off and refuses to play anything for days. 

Celia figures he must be overtired, but his unhappy reaction does come back to her later at the Landsmeet and contributes to her already firm resolve not to put him on the throne.

When bored, Alistair also periodically asks Celia to, “Do a trick!” with her magic and she usually obliges with something small and silly which Wynne always scolds them for (but they continue to do anyway).

Celia does not like Eamon one bit and makes it clear from their first meeting. Alistair actually gets a bit annoyed at her because she is polite to 99% of the other people they meet and he can’t understand what her problem is. Celia won’t say because she doesn’t want to drive Alistair away so she remains coldly civil towards Eamon and commences a long, looong process of nudging Alistair towards having the realisation himself that a) Eamon is manipulative, selfish and cruel and b) Alistair deserves better.

Celia wants to collect some of the books they find which is not practical given they are constantly travelling, but Alistair carries as many as he can in his pack and suffers in silence for it, ultimately finding it worth it for her enthusiastic gratitude.

Celia cuts Alistair’s hair and does a very respectable job after weeks of him complaining it’s flopping in his eyes (they used to cut each other’s hair in the Circle). Zevran pretends she did an awful job, gasping in horror at Alistair’s appearance, much to Celia’s ire. Alistair (internally weeping) tries to be brave until he can check his reflection in some plate mail and see it is fine.

Celia is very naïve about how the ‘real world’ works having been at the Circle since she was a child. This is especially evident in Denerim and Alistair has to explain how money works and grab her before she wanders down dicey looking alleyways.

Alistair nearly dissolves into a paroxysm of agony when he points out his favourite type of cheese at the Denerim Markets and (accustomed to the very limited range of bland foods provided at the Circle) Celia innocently asks, “There is more than one type of cheese?” Alistair makes it his mission to educate her. She doesn’t like most of what he feeds her but doesn’t say so to protect his feelings given he seems to take the matter so incredibly personally.

Leliana convinces Celia to sing one evening at the campfire. She’s breathy with a very limited range but manages okay, and Leliana plays and harmonises in support. Watching on with a goofy smile plastered over his face, Alistair comments to the surrounding companions about how talented she is and they’re like “…she’s really not mate.”

When they both wake up from a blightmare (or Celia has one and wakes Alistair with her flailing) they sneak about and eat anything they can find then sit up and have massive deep & meaningfuls (i.e. in the spirit of going for a long drive with a friend or being in the garden with someone outside a party and spilling your guts). Eventually they start blaming the depleted food stores on Leliana’s nug, Schmooples, much to Leliana’s displeasure.

Given Celia usually responds so well to his jokes, Alistair gets a bit peeved when Celia starts replying to some of his more severely self-deprecating humour with an unamused, “No you’re not,” or, “That’s not true.” He defensively argues it’s just a joke, but he does stop doing it so much as time goes on.

Celia is SO excited when Alistair gives her the rose. She never in her life thought she would be the recipient of a proper ~romantic gesture~…however she accidentally sits on the rose about five minutes after she gets it. Celia is devastated. There is a lot of panic and tears and she keeps one petal pressed in a book but has to unceremoniously ditch the rest in secret.

Celia doesn’t tell Alistair about this until years later and she’s terrified he’ll be hurt but he just laughs because he was so worried he was going to be the one to squash it and then she destroyed it basically the minute she got it. Alistair acknowledges it was an impractical gift given their situation. Celia gets mad and says it was a PERFECT gift and is annoyed at how funny he finds it given this has been a crushing, guilty secret hanging over her for years.

Following this, every time Alistair gives her any kind of gift, he can’t help but throw in a ‘Don’t sit on it!” and cracks himself up, especially when Celia gets grumpy about it and accuses him of spoiling the moment. It happens so often that when Alistair chooses a horse for her and plans to teach her to ride, Celia manages to cut him off with, “Yes, I know Alistair: I can sit on this one,” and steals his thunder.

Alistair periodically says Celia’s name just to check if she’ll answer, especially after a long period of quiet or to see if she’s awake à la screaming in the chantry because it’s so silent. When she responds he says, “Nothing” or “Never mind” but he finds it vaguely comforting just to hear her reply and it’s a habit he never loses, even when they have been together for years and he is much less isolated generally. Alistair doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it never happens frequently enough for Celia to notice: she just assumes he has lost his train of thought.

They sometimes conspire to purposely fall to the back of the group while on the road so that they can hold hands. Everyone knows full well what they are doing, but Alistair and Celia think they are being incredibly ~sneaky~.

The first time they sleep together they laugh. A lot. Before, during and after.

Alistair snores loudly but only when he’s on his back. Celia is used to the noise of people sleeping around her at the Circle so it doesn’t bother her and she doesn’t want to disturb him because she knows he needs the rest.

When they are known to be sharing a tent however, their companions will slap on the walls of it and demand she kick him until he stops snoring. Celia will relent and gently prod and nudge Alistair until he rolls over with a bit of sleepy grumbling.

I think everyone has this headcanon to the point it is basically actual canon HOWEVER I am legally obligated to include it: Alistair is a professional body heat distributor and Celia drastically cuts down on the number of blankets she uses once they are sleeping together. If she stands in front of him on cold days, he understands the non-verbal signal and will automatically wrap her in his cloak.

Also might as well be canon: Alistair likes to be the little spoon. He doesn’t say, but Celia knows.

Decidedly not a fluff one (you can skip to Amaranthine to avoid) but the ritual with Morrigan fairly significantly messes Alistair up (both the act itself and his consideration of the repercussions i.e. Kieran). He’s jubilant and relieved at their victory over the Archdemon, but in the background struggles to process and there is some fallout once the victory celebrations lull and he has time to fully register what happened. Alistair grapples with a lot of guilt, disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know how to express it or where to direct his emotions so it mainly manifests as self-loathing. He wants to talk to Celia about it but can’t articulate his feelings which makes him feel worse.

Celia tries to comfort him, but he needs space on and off for a long while after and she gives him it. She feels a lot of guilt too, and never stops wondering how much it was actually his choice to do the ritual, worrying that she made him feel like he had to do it. Eventually they discuss it openly and honestly, which eases both of their minds somewhat, but it takes a long time to get to a point where they can talk on the subject. Meeting Kieran at Skyhold also helps Alistair down the line, though it’s obviously painful.

Amaranthine & Inquisition

Alistair keeps an eye out for people struggling, especially new recruits who are having trouble fitting in. He takes them under his wing and is very good at building people up and making sure everyone is included. He’ll just start enthusiastically greeting people like they are his best friend and squeezing himself onto the bench next to them at meals until everyone else follows suit.

For recruits that don’t respond well to his ‘mother hen’ type attention, Celia is good at assigning tasks that specifically highlight their strengths and builds their confidence/sense of purpose which also gains them the respect of their peers.

Alistair has been known to stand behind Celia while she is giving mundane orders/making speeches and pull faces or impersonate her, turning stony and impassive when she spins around accusingly because people are laughing.  

But if anyone else talks smack about her he gets very, “Sorry mate, just to clarify was that comment directed at my wife, your Commander, the hERO OF FERELDAN, VANQUISHER OF AN ARCHDEMON!? That’s lucky, I didn’t THINK IT LIKELY. Because that wouldn’t be WISE, would it now?” etc. with some loud, fake laughter and firm backslapping for the worst offenders.

The plan for them to part ways so that Celia can search for a cure goes very badly, especially because Celia (under a lot of stress and not coping™) eventually devolves into, “I’m in charge and I say so,” which is a big betrayal of their agreements both to stay together, and make decisions together on equal footing. She realises this and takes it back but Alistair is demoralised and gives in with a bit of petty, sarcastic reverence e.g. saluting and, “Whatever you say boss, don’t know why I dared to utter an opinion how foolish of me...” so they still part on slightly strained terms, even after later mutually apologising and trying to make the most of their time together before they go.

Both regret the argument during their separation and write horribly soppy letters to each other, but something still feels uncomfortably unresolved until they are together again. They pine. So much. It’s disgusting and cliched. There is considerable sighing and staring at the moon or deep into tankards, very much to the ire of those around them. Alistair can be particularly annoying: “This roll reminds me of my wife...she eats bread sometimes...”

After Celia sends the letter to the Inquisitor, she writes to Leliana directly along the lines of, “I know it was incredibly subtle but I wanted to check: did they get the message? That I will destroy them if Alistair gets hurt?” and Leliana replies in the vein of, “Hon, it wasn’t even remotely subtle ffs…”

When reunited, though ecstatic and nearly delirious with joy and relief, it takes a while to rebuild the trust they once had, especially for Alistair. There’s an unfamiliar awkwardness that flares up unexpectedly, but it doesn’t last and they’re both fully committed to each other and to staying together permanently this time.

Celia and Alistair have a conversation recapping everything that happened while they were apart in which Celia is all, “Poor Hawke. Honestly I’m shocked you didn’t do something obscenely idiotic like try and sacrifice yourself thank the Maker for that…” and Alistair is there, nervously sweating, looking for an exit, loosening his collar etc.

As they settle back into their old routines Alistair will occasionally blurt out things like, “I really like having breakfast with you,” and then berate himself internally for how trite that sounds but Celia replies on cue, “I love waking up next to you and the way you groan when you stretch your back out and the way you check your hair twice before you leave the room and the way you complain if I don’t eat my crusts and the way you still hold my hand when we’re walking...” and basically they’re just blissfully happy being comfortably domestic and even as they get older they are forever just teenagers in love.

The Wardens at Amaranthine acquire/receive a griffon egg and the hatchling imprints on Alistair and decides he is their mother. It can’t cope with separation, crying constantly if Alistair goes out of sight, and won’t let anyone else feed or handle it so Alistair carries them in a sling 24/7. He gets to give orders and run training sessions with the tiny griffon occasionally poking its head out just to glare at everyone.

Whenever the baby griffon squeaks, Alistair automatically replies, “Well said,” or “Excellent point, Ser Beaksly” with a totally straight face.

For the first few months, Celia gets nipped or scratched if she approaches Alistair unless he wraps the griffon up. It so badly wants to fight her. Celia is permitted to sleep in her own bed, as long as the griffon sleeps curled on Alistair’s chest and Celia doesn't try anything outrageous like touching her husband even fleetingly. It gets a little frustrating as the months drag on, but the image of Alistair with the sling over his armour, or with the griffon snuggling possessively around his neck staring daggers at everyone, is so entertaining that Celia can’t get truly annoyed about it. As the griffon gets older it does learn to tolerate other people and becomes more independent but remains very protective of Alistair and favours him above all others. Insert the ‘Ah yes. Me. My husband. And his thousand pound murder-bird-cat child’ meme here.

Modern AU Bonus Round

They share headphones while commuting.

They occasionally end up wearing sort of matching outfits, mostly unintentionally.

They consistently refer to their dog, Trevor, as their son to the point that people who aren’t familiar with them assume that they actually have a child.

[paper-n-ashes]

Here

Characters: Dan Jones x Reader

Words: 1.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), mentions of sadness/depression, PIV sex, otherwise it’s the fluffiest fluffy fluff

Author’s Note: The last repost. A piece I wrote to work through my own issues at the time. A reminder to anyone, if you feel down, unhappy, or even just a bit flat, feel free to reach out to me. I will always make time for you as an ear to listen or a distraction with Oscar or Adam gifs 🥰

It had been a long and draining day. Not unusual really. Every evening Dan trudged up the stairs to your shared apartment, he felt much the same way.

Tired. More emotionally than physically. The things he read, the truths he was unravelling… It was truly soul-sucking work. Yet just the image of you, patiently waiting for his return home after another late night, provided a stark light in the darkness he found himself momentarily falling into as his muffled footsteps echoed down the hall.

He knew he was lucky. Lucky you were so patient. So understanding. Always waiting on him. Spending more time apart than together. The cancelled dinner dates, the events you’d had to attend alone, the weekends away you never got to plan, believing his work was more important.

There wasn’t a single time you complained. Always giving him the same loving smile, one he wasn’t sure how he deserved.

It wasn’t on your face when he slipped through the door. Curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, you looked… sad.

Noticing his entrance, your expression quickly changed, beaming as your eyes locked with his. “Dan,” you breathed, a relieved edge to the name, releasing yourself from the tense ball and rushing to join him at the entryway.

The room was dim, air filled with silence as you slinked your arms under the jacket of his suit and around his torso, squeezing tight.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You don’t need to say that every night,” you urged, words muffled into his chest.

“I know.” He still would, no matter how much you protested. Stroking a palm over your hair, Dan touched his lips to your forehead. For a moment, he simply breathed you in. Relishing the flowered perfume still lingering on your skin that would forever remind him of you.

It was such an unexplainable phenomenon. How you eased his stress with a single warm embrace. He hoped he could do the same for you.

“Is everything alright?” he asked softly.

“Absolutely,” you lied, nodding against his crisp, collared shirt. “You’re home now. Everything is just fine.”

Dan couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of your response. But he also wasn’t stupid. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You shifted your head to look up at him. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

There was a redness around your eyes that became glaringly clear. Crying. You’d definitely been crying.

A thumb traced the line under your lower lid. “Please don’t lie. I have to deal with enough of those every day.”

Your mouth twisted, feeling your throat tighten. Unknowingly, he’d illustrated exactly why you tried to hide your sadness in the first place. He didn’t need your burden. He already had enough weighing on his shoulders.

But you also knew he wouldn’t let this go. The man was a bloodhound for seeking the truth, and the way he was looking at you now, features filled with heartbreaking concern, your resolve weakened.

Taking a deep breath, you were honest. “I’ve just been feeling a little… sad lately. Not a big deal. It’ll pass.”

Dan’s eyebrows drew together, heart already aching at your admission. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You shrugged, pupils darting to the floor. “A few days. As I said, not a big deal. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Two palms quickly found their way to your cheeks, forcing your stares to lock. He looked almost panicked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ve got other things that need your attention-”

“You think your sadness is not worth my attention?” he cut off, positively stunned at how casually you’d spoken your answer.

It’s what he’s always feared. This. Shielding him from the troubles in your own life while you joined in fighting his. Being his remedy, his source of comfort, while you struggled alone.

“It’s okay,” you attempted to soothe. “I can handle it myself, really.”

He shook his head. “No. No. You shouldn’t have to.”

Your fingers grazed lightly over the clean-shaven line of his jaw. “You’re so busy-”

The sentence couldn’t be finished, pulled into a squeezing embrace, hands cradling around you. “I will never be too busy when you really need me. Ever.” Breaths began to waft over your hair, Dan’s voice riddled with a gentle urgency. “And I’m here right now. Tell me how to make this better. Please.”

His caring hold had your resilience failing, unable to camouflage the misery you’d been feeling any longer. “I don’t even know h-how… What I need…” you quivered, voice starting to break. A sniffle escaped, barely able to suppress the urge to cry.

Dan wasn’t ever particularly good at solving problems. He knew that. Finding them, providing the support others needed to take action, that was his sweet spot. What he was good at. So that’s what he would do now.

The pressure around your body vanished, only for Dan to dip down and pluck you into in his arms, bridal style, carrying your body effortlessly to the bedroom.

His movements were cautious, making sure to place you delicately into the mattress. Without removing a single piece of clothing, shoes still on, he laid down, making your shape curl into his.

“We’re going to lay here for a while, okay? However long you want. You don’t have to talk. You can just… be sad.” Another kiss landed on the top of your head. “If you need me to do something, if you figure out what might help, I’ll be here. I’ll be right here.”

That did it. The wall you had been forcing to remain standing, now a crumbling pile of rocks, leaving you exposed. Vulnerable.

You began to cry.

At first, it was a soft weeping, tears wiped away by your own shaky fingers. Yet restraint withered into nothing, succumbing to the gloom that had haunted you for days.

Your breaths were harsh through heaving sobs, first clutching into Dan’s shirt, salted droplets staining the white fabric.

He couldn’t deny, it was painful to see you like this. To hear the whimpers of your distress. A slight wetness appeared at his corner of his eyes, clutching you closer. It was all he could do. Remind you of his presence, stroking your back as you let your emotions spill over.

As minutes passed into the next, your crying slowed, yet the quietness that followed was never broken. You both remained muted in the darkness, a tangle of limbs, your face nestled into Dan’s neck, his cheek resting over your hair.

Soon, without intention, the two of you fell asleep.

*

It was close to 3am when you woke again. Blinking through the haze of slumber, Dan rustled next to you, still fully dressed in his work attire.

Recent memories came surging through, the way he’d given you everything you needed, by doing nearly nothing at all.

Illuminated only by the light streaming through a set of half open blinds, your eyes wandered over his peaceful, dreaming face.

You didn’t get to see it as often as you liked. But when you did, you were infinitely grateful. Every long absence kept you savouring the time together more deeply. Quality over quantity.

A crackled snore suddenly broke through, having you fighting back a laugh. Dan shifted, still unconscious, turning closer into you, draping an arm over your waist. With a humming sound, you noticed a tiny smile curl his lips.

Oh, how you loved him.

You wanted to show him that, right now.

Carefully, you wriggled upwards, enough that you could press a dainty kiss just above the bridge of his nose. When he didn’t respond, you repeated the action, bringing your fingertips to his hairline, nails skimming over the inky strands.

You watched as his eyes fluttered, a sigh leaking from his throat. Before he could enter back into reality again, your lips landed on his, rolling over the supple pillows of flesh.

His reaction was sluggish, still gripped by a fog of fatigue, although soon his fingers were reaching into your hair, pulling your face even closer to strengthen your adoring kiss.

Words weren’t needed, Dan realised this as you began to unfasten the knot of his tie.

You’d figured out something he could do. Funnily enough, it was what he needed too. To make sure you knew exactly how much he loved you.

You’d done this dance many times, peeling off each other’s clothes. Yet this time felt… different. There was no rushing, no impatience. You both took your time, uncovering each portion of skin without reckless abandon.

With more exposure, Dan had more parts of you to kiss. So he did. Trailing them down your arms, your legs, his touch skating over your skin with such tenderness it made you shiver.

Eventually, the last piece of clothing that remained was your panties. Usually, being so desperate to fuck you after days going without, they’d be ripped off, sometimes even pulled to the side in his hastiness to fill you.

This time their removal was unhurried, restrained, Dan gliding the flimsy material down your legs with a calm poise.

Below, you noticed his touch disappear, looking up to see his stare roaming over your bareness.

So beautiful, he thought. Your body bathed in moonlight. While he wanted to speak it out loud, there was something poignant about the way the silence had continued to linger. He didn’t want to disturb it.

Instead, Dan covered your figure with his, skin to skin, scooping hands under you jaw. Another collision of your lips ensued, the exchange unabashedly passionate and filled an emotion too intricate to name.

Within an unspoken moment of harmony, Dan moved, lining himself to your entrance between your opened legs.

You’d been taken by him many times. In the bathroom stall on your first date. Over tables. On chairs. Floors. Kitchen counters. Countless times in this very bedroom. On this very mattress.

None of those scenes produced the same sense of satisfaction you felt as he sunk into you now. Not from the sensation itself, but the meaning behind it.

Words were fickle. They could be misconstrued. Altered by tone. Changed by moods and attitudes.

The way Dan began to thrust, steady yet severe, bruises being made from his grip at your back, kiss consuming your mouth and every facet of your thoughts…

There was no differing interpretation. No miscommunication. The definition explained merely by the feeling invoked from every action each of you made.

Two people. Expressing love in the most basal way in existence.

For a long time, longer than previous encounters, Dan worked himself in and out, relishing the feeling of your silky wetness, the whimpers he heard with each drag of his length.

Although, the feel of you clenching around him, when your thighs wrapped around his hips to to force his pelvis into yours with increasing intensity, soon had Dan struggling to stave off his release.

He didn’t ask to let it overtake him. Somehow, he knew didn’t need to.

Hurdling into a decadent climax, Dan drove hard into you, painting the deepest parts of your centre, filling you with everything he could give.

Slumping into your form, his nose burrowed into the curve between neck and shoulder. “I know I’m not always here,” he murmured. “But I’ll always be here. For you. Please remember that.”

Fingers swept over his messed hair. “I don’t think you’ll let me forget.”

One final kiss brushed over your throat. “Never again.”

*

@tlcwrites @roanniom @maryforyou @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @mylifeisactuallyamess @hopeamarsu @foxilayde @goddesstonythetiger @caillea @direnightshade @blackberries45

[hoboal87]

In Secret

Title: In Secret

Pairing: Jensen x F!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Jensen have been in a secret relationship for five years, and she wants more.

Warnings: Angst, Affair, Open Relationship, Oral (F receiving), Implied Smut, Jensen Is A Bit Of An Ass

A/N: This is my entry for @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ “Make Me Swoon” writing challenge!  My prompt is “I’m tired of being your secret.” 

A/N 2: Y’all, I never expected such an overwhelming positive response to this one-shot! This will soon be a multi-part series, I’ve already started working on the next part, but I don’t know if I’ll get anything posted before Elastic Heart is complete. 

A/N 3: THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS COMMENTED/REBLOGGED/ASKED TO BE TAGGED!

No Beta all mistakes are mine.

The air is thick around you, the smell of sex filling every inch of your room. You could die just like this, here, with the man you love, holding you tight against him as you both come down from your highs. He rolls you both over, his hand gently rubbing over your stomach, inching down to your sore and swollen pussy. You groan when he dips a finger into wet heat.

“I love cumming in you,” he whispers, gently biting at your ear, and you can feel his smile. “Wish I could do it every day.” He starts pumping his finger, tightening the coil again, and you bite back another moan.

“Mmm,” you hum as he sinks another finger in, his thumb brushes over your clit. You reach behind you, palming his half-hard cock. “You could, y'know.”

The atmosphere between you changes in an instant, he huffs, and pulls away from you, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You should’ve known this is how he would react, every time you breach the subject it always ends the same way. The guilt you both feel, the lying, all of it comes to the surface, rearing its ugly head.

“Just tell her,“ you beg as he leaves your bed. "That’s the whole point of your agreement, isn’t it?” He doesn’t respond, reaching down to grab his once hastily discarded jeans off the floor. “She gets to fuck whoever she wants and so do you.”

“This is different, Y/N. You know that,” he sighs and steps into his jeans.

“Why?” You sit up, using the sheet to keep yourself covered. “Tell me, Jensen. Why is this different? Why is okay for her to think that your out fucking some random girl instead of me?”

“Y/N,” Jensen turns around, his emerald eyes staring you down. “It’s more complicated than that. We-” he gestures between you, “we have a history. You don’t think she knows about our past?”

“Our past?” You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “We were friends. There’s nothing in our past, we didn’t even start any of this until after you two were together. You had years- years Jay, to do something about that. You knew how I felt about you, but instead you jumped from girl to girl and I was the one who had to put you back together, she doesn’t get to take all the credit.”

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this fight with Jensen. Every time they go on hiatus you beg him to stay just a few days longer, knowing that it would be almost two months before he’d be back. You know deep down that it isn’t fair, he spends nine months out of the year in Vancouver, and when he’s here it’s almost like you’re a normal couple. Almost. You and Jensen couldn’t go out in public, not even as “friends,” all it would take was one ill-timed photo to throw both of your worlds into utter chaos.

Being the other woman came with its own set of rules. When it all started you were just happy to be able to be with him, even if that meant it began and ended at the threshold of your home. When you were together you were the only two people in the world, you didn’t discuss her or the fact that she was pregnant. You, in particular, were allowing yourself to live in ignorant bliss cherishing everything he had to give you. You never thought you were the type of person who’d be having an affair with anyone, let alone Jensen, but you can’t help yourself from falling into bed with him every time he comes over.

You’d gone to high school together, and for four years you waited patiently for him to ask you out on a date. Instead, he dated one of your friends, biting your tongue when he told you about their relationship ending; you knew it wouldn’t last.

You went your separate ways after high-school, you’d stayed in Texas to go to college, and he’d gone off to Hollywood, you’d kept in touch through the years. Reconnecting when you’d moved to Vancouver for your job. It started out as harmless flirting, double entendres, and teasing.

The first time you slept together it wasn’t something either of you had planned. She was in L.A. working on her latest movie, and you were still on the rebound from your latest break-up. It was a night of too many drinks and loneliness drove your actions. You kept your distance from each other in the weeks that followed, sorting out your feelings, unsure if it was a one-time drunken mistake or the start of something real.

The second time you were both sober. He’d come over to discuss what happened; how he would never cheat on her, he was in love with her, he wanted to marry her. You tried to understand, Jensen was always a fantasy, someone who you could never have. You didn’t want to ruin your friendship with him over sex. You both agreed to put it behind you, never discuss it again, “pretend it never happened,” he insisted. It nearly killed you, but you nodded hesitantly.

He reached out to squeeze your knee, and you made your way towards the front door. You fidgeted with your hands as you entered the front walkway, not wanting him to leave. There was a hesitation as Jensen reached for the doorknob, and you pulled him in for a hug, melting your body into him. Before you knew what was happening, your lips were on his, wanting, needing more. He had you caged against the wall, hands pawing at you, lifting you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist and he ground himself against you. His mouth never left yours as he carried you to your bedroom, dropping you playfully on the bed.

Jensen rid himself of his shirt while you shed your own, desperate to have his skin against yours. The first time was messy, rushed, this time you wanted to take your time, appreciate every moment that you were having with him. He placed sweet wet kisses over your breasts, making his way down, tugging at your jeans to expose your soaked panties. You lifted your hips as he hooked his fingers around them, pulling them along with your jeans down, tossing them onto the floor.

Jensen placed gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs, you could feel him smiling against your skin as he moved towards your aching pussy. His eyes met yours, giving you a final chance to stop him. “Please, Jay,” you murmured. Each swipe of his tongue was pure ecstasy, you reached down for him, holding his face closer to you.

You try to clench your legs around him, but he keeps them apart, eyes flicking up at you as you fall apart. He continues his assault on your cunt, removing one hand, and teasing you with his finger. You groaned as it slid through your folds up to your clit, pressing down as his tongue fucked into you. Unable to make any intelligible sounds, you heard a low chuckle come from him as two fingers entered your weeping hole.

He pumped them fast, spurring you on as you felt the coil tightening. You felt yourself clenching around him and you breathing grew heavier, his fingers finding your sweet spot, brushing it again and again as his mouth focused on your bundle of nerves. You lost all control of yourself when he added a third finger, cumming hard on his face.

“Fuck,” you moaned as he pulled away. He climbed up your body, placing wet kisses over you until he was hovering above you. His cock was hard and ready, precum leaking from the tip, you gently wrapped your hand around him, and he let out a soft groan as you slowly began to pump him. He kissed you passionately and you could taste the release of your climax on his lips.

“I love you, Jay,” you whimper. It wasn’t something you were ever planning on admitting to him, or to yourself, but you couldn’t stop the words from leaving. “I’ve always loved you.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear as you guided him towards your entrance. Jensen’s eyes bore deep into you, studying your face as you took in his words.

“Please, Jay,” you begged, “fuck me.”

Jensen doesn’t move; you know he doesn’t have an answer.

“I’m tired of being your secret,” you huff. “It’s been five years.”

“Goddammit, Y/N!” He shouts, throwing his hands into his hair. “She’s my wife, the mother of my children. You want me to throw it all away?”

You try to stammer out a response, but he continues, pacing in front your bed.

“You act like this is easy for me, it isn’t. I told you after that second time, I’m never going to leave her. You said you could accept that. That’s the only reason we continued this. She’s paranoid enough about you as it is, and you want me to tell her that we’ve been sleeping together for the past five years, how do you think that will make her feel?”

“How will it make her feel?” you scoff. “What about how I feel? My feelings don’t matter?”

“That’s not what I said, Y/N.”

“I’ve kept my feelings to myself for years, Jay. I’ve tried to be understanding, I haven’t asked you for anything. I don’t push the subject, but I’m tired, Jay.”

He paces in front of you, muttering to himself.

“I want you, Jay, you’re all I’ve ever wanted,” you whisper, it’s something you both know, but you never planned to say it out loud. “I broke up with Steven for you.”

“He never deserved you, sweetheart,” he says, and a smile creeps upon your face. For a moment you think that he’ll admit that he wants more with you.

"You never like anyone I date, Jay,” you chuckle slightly, “I think it because you’re jealous.”

Jensen’s body stiffens, and you know immediately that he doesn’t like your joke. He grabs his shirt off the dresser and pulls it over his head before storming out of the room.

“Jensen, babe, I was just-” you follow him out, quickly pulling on a camisole and yoga pants, not bothering with underwear. “Jay, it was a joke.”

“We both know it wasn’t Y/N,“ he snaps back and your smile quickly fades. "You think I like watching you parade with some douche? You wanna slut around with some fuckin’ prick, I ain’t gonna stop you.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, Jay,” you hiss. “You don’t get to act like some jealous boyfriend. You’ve made it very clear just now, that I am not your girlfriend or whatever you wanna call this.”

“You’re right, babygirl, I’m not,” he huffs, “and I’m never going to be. I’m never going to be yours, Y/N. If I wanted that, I would’ve made my move a long time ago.” Jensen’s words are like stabs to your heart, and you try to conceal the tears forming in your eyes. “I chose her over you, I’ll always choose her over you.”

There’s a flash of regret playing on his face. There they were; the words that you knew were coming sooner or later. You’d hoped he’d never say them, that the two of you could go on the way you had been for years in denial. He remains stoic as you use every ounce of willpower to not break down in front of him.

"We’re never gonna be more than this, Y/N,” he says softly. “You have to know that.”

“Y'know Jay, if you wanted this to stay casual,” you wipe the tears away, “all you had to do was say so. You’re so concerned about her, but she’s in Austin ‘slutting around’ as you delicately put it, sleeping with who knows how many people-”

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N!” Jensen screamed, and your heart fell into your stomach. He’s never yelled at you like this before, you pushed him too far this time, letting your own jealousy take over. “Don’t talk about what goes on in my relationship with my wife. She is nothing like you, she doesn’t spread her legs every time someone gives her the time of day.”

“You fucking asshole!” You yell, picking up everything that you could get your hands on, and throwing it at him. “Get the fuck out!”

“Y/N,” he tries to reason with you, blocking himself from the barrage of items being thrown at him. “Baby, listen.”

“No!” You push him towards the front door and he stumbles backwards into the hallway.

“Y/N,” Jensen reaches out to soothe you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t touch me,” you slap his hand away. “You’re never gonna touch me again,” you push him again, moving him closer to the door. “You can go back to your perfect wife, your perfect family. Congratulations, Jay. You don’t have to choose. We’re done.”

Part 2

[jimlingss]

O SHOOT REQUESTS !!! ill take my chances and ask for a zombie apocalypse or pirate au ft. hoseok 👀 i couldnt choose between the two aus and im hoseok biased but i can honestly see any member so do as who u see fit. i will not let my pairing/au choice limit the authors talent 😤 and i dont doubt anything from you will satisfy. and pshhh,, where are my manners. please and thank u! love u 💛

↳ Crocodile Tears

1.8k || 98% Fluff, 2% Angst || Jung Hoseok || Pirate!AU

“Look what I nabbed, Cap’n.”

Gunner Taehyung’s grinning with all teeth, a golden chain wrapped around his fingers that’s so shiny it’s blinding with the sunlight. Hoseok’s intrigued and flips the locket in his hand. It’s heavy with a wild rose engraved on the front and once he pops it open, there’s a faded painted portrait of a young woman inside.

“It’s a booty, eh? Caught if off milady right over ‘ere.”

Hoseok hums and narrows his eyes on the wrench tied in rope sitting amongst the captives. Your face is dirtied, hair drawn in a bun at your crown but with many strands fallen around your face. Your gown rat’s coloured, dull gray. You are entirely unremarkable. Like any other peasant.

But it’s not often captives have something of value on them.

“Bring her to my cabin.”

“Aye, aye.”

The ship sets sail again. Taehyung keeps the captives quiet with the threat of throwing them overboard while the cabin boy Jungkook swabs the poop deck. Helmsman Seokjin mans the helm with navigator Namjoon by his side. The ship’s heading to dock at Port Galigeo to get a pretty penny for all the loot and treasures they’ve gotten after four months’ voyage.

Once steep waters are reached and everything’s been taken care of, Hoseok resumes to his cabin. There, he finds you, sitting in the corner on the floorboards with tears in your eyes. You gasp as he enters and shuts the door.

“Please! Spare me!” you beg sorrowfully. “Let me go!”

“Why should I?” Hoseok tosses his hat onto his table and his coat to his rickety chair. You look so frightful, even when he’s still in his drawers and shirt, held together by the red sash.

He fiddles with the many golden rings across his fingers, a habit since he began his adventures, and he comes over to you. Hoseok’s boots are heavy against the floorboards, and he crouches down to meet your trembling eyes.

“I-I am just a peasant,” you sob. “I have nothing to give to you! My father is merely a farmer.”

“Oh? Then what be this here?” Hoseok dangles the priceless locket in front of you as the corner of his lip curls. It catches the light from the tiny window of the cabin and the gold gleams against your eyes, practically sparkling like a jewel. 

Your eyes flicker from it to him, hiccuping and frame quivering like a damn leaf. “It’s my grandmother’s. She left it for me before she passed.”

Hoseok hums a low note. “An’ if this be your grandmother’s, how she pay for such a treasure? Unless she been a thief.”

Your downcast head shakes. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

He pops the locket open before taking a good look at it. “This here be a portrait of you, isn’t it? You look different. Lavish. Like a noble’s daughter.”

“T-That isn’t me.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know.” 

There’s something rather pretty in the way tears drip down your cheeks, so soft and gentle like jewels of their own right. But Hoseok has seen many women, children and men cry. It’s nothing astonishing.

Hoseok smirks, a rush of air leaving his nose. “I’ve been cap’n of this ship for nearly a decade, dearest. I’ve held treasures you could only dream of, been in battles that nearly lost my leg, sailed ‘cross the seven seas with me mates. I know when a wrench lies.”

His eyes are narrowed in on yours. And Hoseok comes closer, hand lifting to grab a hold of your chin. But before he can, before he can blink or breathe — suddenly, you brandish a piece of glass against his exposed neck. 

The ropes around you clatter to the ground. Hoseok feels the sharp edge of the glass digging into his skin, a moment away from nicking him and drawing blood. But more notably, your eyes are aflame. Your expression is dark and you’re scowling at him. 

Gone is the fragile little girl weeping for mercy.

“Don’t come closer,” you warn in a low voice without a single tremble.

He leans back, but his gaze stays on yours. “You reckon you could kill me?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Hoseok’s mouth curls, grin stretching into his cheek. His interest is piqued. He knew there was more to you beneath the surface, and he’s happy you haven’t disappointed.

His hand latches onto your wrist to force your hand away. It's a battle of strength. One that he ultimately wins as the piece of glass goes clattering on the ground out of your reach. He sees it’s part of a broken bottle. But Hoseok’s much too put off guard and when your leg kicks out at him, he’s smacked square in the chin.

He grips it as he lands on his ass, sharply exhaling. But then he bursts into chuckles.

“You got some mean spirit in you, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately for you, Hoseok has far too much experience in combat and capture. Even if you try to kick, strike and even bite him, it’s not too difficult to get you tied into ropes again. Except this time, he makes sure to use his special knots and get you so wound up, no sharp edge could free you. 

“Let me go, bastard!”

“Settle down. You’re only gettin’ yourself riled.” Hoseok crouches in front of you again and comes to wipe away the stray tear on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You angrily scowl at him, chest rising and falling. Crying won’t get you far now, not when he knows they’re just crocodile tears. “Don’t get yourself worried about someone hurtin’ you. Everyone on this ship swears by our code, me included.”

You scoff. “As if I’d trust a pirate.”

Hoseok smirks. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so already. It isn’t pleasin’ for me to force a girl like yourself either. Not when I have plenty o’ gold to play with a wrench at the dock. Now I suggest you behave or my Quartermaster’ll throw you overboard.”

“Then do it!” you shout at him with your entire body, only to flop over to the floorboards.

He grips the knob of the door and looks over his shoulder. “No. You’re too much of a treasure, sweetheart.”

The sun is falling over the horizon when Namjoon approaches. “Everything go well with the girl?”

Hoseok hums and turns with a glint in his eye. “Tell all hands to keep her separate.”

Port Galigeo is reached within two days time. The waters are calm without storms and the stars are clear at night. The sailing is smooth and so the docks are reached faster than ever before.

The men aboard are eager to sell the loot, to spend a few days ashore, spend nights at the brothel and replenish the rum. As follows, their steps are quick and they move the crates of jewels and tools to the harbour. Seokjin also takes care of the captives, leading them in a straight line off the gangplank to be sold.

“Cap’n! What ‘bout the beauty ‘ere.” Taehyung points to you.

Hoseok meets your eyes and you’re seething, glaring back at him. The corner of his mouth curls in amusement.

“Leave her. Tell the lad to watch over her till we return.” He points to Jungkook and Taehyung nods with an ‘aye, aye’. 

Most of his crewmen take care of business, getting as much gold for the loot as possible. But Hoseok fiddles with your pendant in hand and heads to a jeweler. Said jeweler is an old man who quivers upon seeing him, Namjoon and Seokjin in his shop. He hides behind his table and cries, “Please! Spare me! Take what you must!”

Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t know why everyone thinks so badly of him. Maybe because he’s a pirate and he and his crew have pillaged countless. That’s fair, he supposes.

“Stop yer quivering,” Seokjin spews out, leaning against his table. “We need you to look at somethin’. Hurry before I steal your silver!”

Hoseok lifts your golden locket, letting it dangle from his hand. 

The old man eventually slinks out when he realizes they won’t do anything, and he takes out his magnifying glass. He motions for him to bring it forward and Hoseok does. The old man hums, studying the locket before flipping it over in his hand. His thumb brushes against the wild rose engraving.

“Where did you get this from?” he asks.

“Don’t matter,” Namjoon says curtly. 

Hoseok studies the man’s face and leans closer. “What is it?”

“It is a very valuable locket. I happen to recognize this symbol as well. It is the emblem of the Crochetta Kingdom.” He pops the locket open to the portrait of the young woman and looks up at Hoseok, clearing his throat. “I believe this locket belongs to the youngest princess of that kingdom. The runaway.”

Hoseok’s brow cocks.

The three of them leave in a hurry. 

Seokjin’s eyes are glazed as his mouth starts to spew how Lady Luck is truly on their side, how they’ll be able to get their hands on a high ransom or sell you for countless riches. Namjoon is perplexed at how a princess like you managed to get here when Crochetta was countries away.

But Hoseok remains quiet. He doesn’t plan to trade you. He doesn’t ask questions.

He is entirely and wholly intrigued. Like never before.

“Blimey, the ship!” There’s a shout at the docks and Hoseok is torn from his thoughts. Taehyung has his hands in the air, cursing aloud. And Hoseok’s eyes trail from him to his ship that’s off the dock and disappearing over the horizon. “It’s sailing away!”

Seokjin is aghast. “How?!”

“Who’s still on?!” Hoseok shouts, looking around the dock to all his shocked men and their mouths drawn open big enough to catch flies.

“That girl,” Namjoon says, looking at the captain.

Hoseok tied you tightly, he made sure of it. Unless you freed yourself again. But it’s not possible that you lifted the anchor. 

No. You must’ve cut the rope.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

At the same time, there’s a high-pitched shriek in the distance. All of the men are held to their spots on the docks as they watch a tiny figure in the horizon get pushed off the ship’s deck and then plopped into the waters. 

There’s a loud splash.

You stole the ship.

Hoseok is quiet when his men turn to him. They don’t dare utter a single word, far too afraid their captain is boiling with anger. But what frightens them far more is when Hoseok suddenly bursts out into chortling laughter.

He laughs and grins as he watches his ship sail into the distance.

You were truly a treasure hard to find. He knew it when he saw you.

And now, he’ll just have to catch you again.

[uhgoodmoni]

Oil Paints | MYG

Summary: t’s Yoongi’s bday!!! His girlfriend has noticed how he’s been blowing off the idea of anything happening for his birthday. Everyone will be busy. You don’t have to get him anything. He just wants to relax. Blah blah blah. Despite all that, she still wants to do something a little special. Nothing crazy because she knows he wouldn’t like that, but just a nicely set dinner, some wine, and a couple of gifts to surprise him when he gets home from work. It’s perfect, mood lighting at all! Surprise, surprise! He’s not answering his calls, worrying her to death.

(This is so late for his bday but thats okay because life happens! Thanks for reading!)

Warnings: - angst, pure angst - fluff -

Ao3 - Wattpad

How’s it going?

This was the tenth message that I had sent to Yoongi. It was also the tenth message he didn’t respond to. He was just busy. I already knew that. He told me. But I was just worried. He had a horrible week. Each day was more draining than the last, and I was sure that he wasn’t giving himself a break either. I can always tell when he’s about to hit his limit. I wish he wouldn’t hold it in so much. Especially since it was his birthday. Big Hit wouldn’t overwork him on his birthday? Would they? 

Well, they probably would, except I knew that Yoongi himself was overworking himself too. He works so hard. Too hard sometimes, and the boys or I would have to remind him to take some free time. But he wanted the projects to be perfect. I was proud of him for working so hard but I just wished he would take a break when given the chance. 

Today was one of those chances. Of course, he went to work early, so did I. But he said he would be working a bit late, he wouldn’t get home until around eight. It was a little disappointing to not be able to spend his birthday with him. Not that he wanted me to plan anything, but just being able to shower him with affections would be enough. Watching movies, listening to him rant about his next mixtape. That’s all I wanted for today. Instead, I had to watch his birthday live from my work desk. He seemed happier than he had been the whole week. Namjoon and Jin came in to visit him. It was refreshing to see him smile so freely. He really was happy doing this job, it just always seemed to nag at him, till he overflowed. Even the things you love can be stressful. Usually, he never got this bad, holding onto the stress and then letting it out on a song for something, but recently he hadn’t found time to work on his solos. Busy with schedules. 

That’s probably the same reason Yoongi’s bday live didn’t last very long. Yoongi didn’t seem too happy to be leaving. But he had said that they had more filmings coming up, and to look forward to new works. How much work did he really have? I just couldn’t wait for him to get home. He could kick up his feet, enjoy some good alcohol and be the little spoon if he wanted. 

Despite his wishes for me to do absolutely nothing for him. I had catered his favorite dinner to the house. A surprise for when he got home, I didn’t mind a late dinner. With his busy schedule he hadn’t found time to do more art. He enjoyed painting so I got him some art supplies for home. Tonight I knew he would just want to stay home and relax so I figured dinner from home and maybe a movie didn’t sound too bad. The boys had already greeted him separately from their busy schedules and now it was my turn. Waiting, waiting. 

The day went by slowly. My worries were rapidly taking over my mind, however, I tried to assure myself that he was just busy. He’ll come home and the rest of the night will be okay. 

Except he didn’t. It was nine and he wasn’t home. No answer to any of my calls or texts. I tried to not spam him too much, but knowing that he normally always answers, I was beginning to stress. 

“I’m sorry for calling, I just am really worried about him.” I bite into the skin of my finger, tapping my foot on the floor. In front of me, the dinner sits. Cold now. 

“No it’s okay, maybe he just fell asleep in the studio.” Namjoon hums through the other side of the phone. I let out a strained chuckle. That would be such a relief. Worked himself so hard he just took a nap. Namjoon is always the right person to call in these situations. He doesn’t sound as worried. He knows Yoongi a bit better than I. Maybe I should be less worried too. “Mhm, he’s not here. I’ll give him a call, but maybe he just left and is on his way home. Maybe his phone died.” Namjoon’s explanations were perfectly rational. But that didn’t change the fact that I was worried. 

“Okay…” I tried to hide my tone, “I’ll let you know when he gets home.”

“Yup, and I’ll let you know if I hear from him before that.”

I sighed, “Thank you.” We said our goodbyes and hung up. Now all that was left to do was wait. But each moment was an itch in the back of my head. Something must have happened. Why else would he not respond? Why would he just disappear like that? What if there had been an accident? What if he got into an accident on the way home. There were so many possibilities. What if he got mugged. Oh god, I was starting to sound ridiculous. But maybe there had been a car accident… no. 

Not allowing myself to continue thinking like that I packed up the food into containers. He can take it tomorrow for lunch. I’m not hungry anymore anyway. After I packed up the food I tidied up around the house, distracting myself with anything. The house was already clean but double-cleaning isn’t bad. He still wasn’t home after everything was cleaned up. I took to the couch, watching the door with a frown. No texts from him, and no texts from Joon. 

Constant fidgeting. What was I supposed to do? Glancing at the phone, I see that it’s now ten pm. Something was not right. With nothing else to do. I called his number again. 

It rang, no answer. It went to voicemail. “Yoongi where are you?” It was only the same exact thing I had been leaving in his messages before. It’s just that I knew he was having a rough time and I didn’t want to guilt-trip him. At this point though… “You’re worrying me and the others. Please just let us know you’re okay.” 

I hung up, wondering if he was even receiving them. Damnit. I threw my phone over on the side, it was only making it worse. Maybe I could just go to sleep? But then if something was really wrong… What if I wasn’t there when he needed me? What if...

With the click of the door opening and closing slowly I flipped my head down the hall. I swallowed, stunned at the sight of Yoongi. Who else would it be?

He was hunched over, hood over his head. A shadowed form in the single yellow light of the hall. My body found itself immediately at his side, scanning over him for any sign of injuries. What had happened? Why was he gone so long? Except I didn’t really know how to start the conversation with him. He just stood there, dropping his bag off by the door, sliding off his shoes. Silent. 

“Yoongi…” There was something. Something keeping him from talking to me. Something keeping me from really talking to him. It just felt wrong to ask. Because I already knew. Knew that he was struggling. I often tried to get him to open up to me. But he always did it in his own time. Over the course of our relationship, I had learned to let him come to me when he was ready. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, and I barely heard him, his face hidden away under a cap. 

I shook my head trying to lift his chin to me, but he didn’t budge. “Yoongi why didn’t you answer my calls?” I bit my lip, obviously, he didn’t want to talk that’s why.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice trembling. “I…” his hands clenched at the zipper of his coat. My mind was spinning. I didn’t know what to say to him. I wanted to be careful. I didn’t know where to start. 

“It’s okay…” I hummed, thinking. “What happened?” 

He swallowed, still not looking up at me, head hanging low. His thumb traced over the corner of the zipper sow. No response. Okay. That’s okay. My hand reached, outstretched, and offered for him to take it. 

His hand trembling, tentatively took hold of it. It was cold. It was cold outside after all. “Are you hurt?” Internally I rolled my eyes. Of course, he was hurt. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a physical injury. He shook his head. “Okay.” I smiled a little, squeezing his hand softly. 

“Kei…” He sighed, unable to say anything more than my name. 

Although he wasn’t giving me much to respond to I wanted to assure him that it would all be okay. That he would be okay. “It’s okay…” I repeated, pulling him by his hand into an embrace. He didn’t put up any fight, his weight falling over my shoulders as I pulled him close. “You can…��� My sentence was immediately cut short by the muffled sound of his sobs into the fabric at my collarbone. My heart instantly broke. His soft sobs heightening to weeping, his arms squeezing me closer and closer. His fingers clung to my back, my shirt soon soaked. 

I too held him closer, rubbing softly at his nape. He didn’t let up, it was likely that he needed it. It had been coming a long time. But I wish he knew that it was okay to have come to me before. I was always here for him, and so were the others. 

Something had released in him, and even after the sobs turned into lone tears he hadn’t moved from my shoulder. And although my feet were beginning to ache from standing there for so long, I didn’t mind staying there for him. 

“Kei I’m so sorry.” He eventually whispered, his breaths still evening out. 

“Yoongi it’s okay.” I pressed against his cheek to lift his face up to where I could see. “What happened?” My eyes stayed softened, hoping that he knew I wasn’t mad. Why would I be? I was just worried. So I told him just that. “I was just worried about you, but you’re safe here.”

He sniffled, rubbing his fingers against his dampened eyes, lashes clinging together. “I just…” His face contorted once more and he shook his head. I remained, holding his hand and soothing the words out. “I had an awful day.” He shrugged, almost giving a halfhearted laugh. “I thought maybe because it was my birthday I could ignore the pent-up shit.” He shook his head clearing his throat. 

I nodded to show I was listening. He continued, “I thought that vlive would help.” He frowned, “and it did, but I was so busy I couldn’t stay on long, and…” he was starting to ramble. “And then after work, I just wanted to think for a little bit I had my phone shut off and it only made it worse. And then I realized that you were waiting for me and I felt like such a dick.” For the first time that night, he made eye contact, tears dripping down his cheeks. “And I really was a dick.” He cried, pulling me back into his arms. 

“Yoongi…” “I love you.” He squeezed tighter. “I’m sorry.” 

“Yoongi babe, seriously I know.” I kissed his neck where I was able to reach. “You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to tell me these things before you disappear. Yeah?” He nodded. “I want you to be safe…” it sounded silly, after all, he wasn’t a child. But bad things can happen to anyone. 

He hummed in response keeping me in his clutches, “Can we stay like this?” He asked quietly, and I nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“You must be tired though Yoons,” I pushed him off softly, “Why don’t we go to bed?” He took a shaky breath and nodded in agreement. He slid his jacket off and set it aside. I wanted to ask him more questions but I didn't want to pry. But had he cried while he was driving? I hoped not, hoped he hadn’t been alone either. 

We walked back together, me picking up my phone on the way back. I texted Joon, knowing that by now he’d probably be worried too. Yoongi looks around, “You didn’t do anything for me right?” He seemed to be more worried that he had missed it rather than him not wanting anything. 

I shrugged, “Dinner, but you can have it tomorrow.” He frowned as we left the living room and into the bedroom. “Do you want to open your gift now?” I whisper, looking at the box wrapped up. There were oil paints and special brushes. I remembered he wanted to experiment with them. 

“Mhm, yeah.” He sits on the edge of the bed, taking off his cap, hair falling over his forehead. His eyes were swollen, maybe I could get him a cold spoon. 

He took the box gently, sliding the silver ribbon away, and picking up the lid. I couldn’t help but smile, as he looked down on the tubes. 

His lip twitched, and he set the box to the side, holding out his hand to mine. He kept his eyes on the ground as he pulled me in by my hand, hugging me close all over again. “Thank you.” 

I pet the top of his head, with a soft smile, “Do you like them?” 

He shook his head into my neck. “Of course I do.” His breath was hot on my skin, and his body shook into another bout of tears. Pursing my lips, I leaned into him. 

Lightly teasing, “Well who would have thought paint could move you to tears.” I kissed the top of his head, and he continued crying. I knew he didn’t let it all out by the door. I was stuck standing again, caressing his back, soothing him until he calmed once more. 

“I love you.” He sighed, burying his face into his hands. 

My fingers brushed his hair back. “I love you too.” I finally sat down next to him, both of us lying back onto the bed. My eyes found his and my thumb brushed his cheek. “You can tell me all about it.” I wipe away a stray tear, “Or not, whatever you feel comfortable.” 

He let out a hum, pulling me into his chest, much warmer now after all the previous embraces. “Okay.”

Like this? This is a drabble from my A Year of Fics with Han series found here