#the sun still pops out from behind begging to be seen and it creates the most mesmerizing show)

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

“The crowd goes wild at her fingertips/half moonshine, full eclipse” — I don’t mean to overthink (lol) before the songs come out but taken like this (after seeing it set to eras gifs) I love the interpretation I’ve seen that it’s like, she gets on stage and the roar of the crowd is an intoxicating tonic that momentarily overshadows whatever she’s going through. Or, that the magic she creates intoxicates the crowd, all eyes on her in total rapture.

Idk idk idk I know these songs are going to just grab me in a chokehold

[mysticmellowlove]

Teen Yan x teen Fem where he just wants to be with her so so so so bad. He can’t function without her. Every since he met her in a book store a few months ago he couldn’t get enough. He has never been in love but he knows he loves her more than anything this quadrant of the universe could provide. He knew that he found his purpose in this world and it was to serve her. It was such a coincidence that on summer vacation they met at the bookstore but even more so when she said she just moved to his home state and town which was across the country from where they were for summer… it’s almost like it wasn’t real!

Little does he know that she was manifesting and creating a perfect scenario in her head of how she could meet her twinflame and it came to be! Anyway back to the point. They make it back to their hometown at different times but the whole time he was away from her after meeting he could only think of her! He didn’t have many friends or even a friend at all at school.

He was beautiful but his personality kinda put everyone on edge because he was so quiet and intimidating but in reality he was just a shy thing. Only she would know that though. She was homeschooled maybe a couple years younger than him and didn’t have anyone at all that’s why she was manifestation for wishing for her eternal love.

They meet up again to continue their friendship but he just can’t believe that’s she’s real! She’s just so perfect he couldn’t have even imagined it. She’s so beautiful. He’ll do anything for her! It’s almost like he’s a whole other person with her. He still comes off very intimidating to people but when they look at him with her he smiles and laughs and blushes. He just wants her to be with him. Eventually he confesses to her basically begging for her to give him a chance because he knows that if he isn’t with her he will never be with anyone ever. She is the one he has always needed. She will be his ruler. He tells her he’ll serve her forever, be her lover, her best friend. And she accepts because he’s all she’s ever wanted too.

Omg that was so long ik I never write but whew

You can do what you please with that. You don’t have to make it a fix if you don’t want to because the plot is pretty long like multi parts lol. I’m fine with you just reading it 😭☝️❤️

Xoxo 🍪

a/n; just a little something something. anon honestly popped off, this was delightful to read. (also this is unedited, today's been long and i wanted to start working on some of the asks)

One - His

He couldn't believe what he was looking at. Standing in the aisle before him was the most perfect looking girl he had ever seen. Everything about her seemed to draw him in, the way she seemed to block out everyone around her as she read the blurb of the book, the way the sun hit her face just right, the way that she was dressed... it was as if she was his perfect match.

Instantly he felt himself grow lightheaded as he ducked around the shelving. His hand clenched the space above his heart. After all the daydreaming and reading he had done... he found his one and only love. He had found the one he wanted to devote himself to for the rest of his life and she was right in front of him.

His eyes widened, why was he standing here like an idiot! He hadn't seen her around before, this might be his one and only chance to talk to her. If he had been in a better state of mind he would've deflated a little at the thought of her going back to her hometown but he was too wrapped up in the moment to care about the future.

He coughed into his hand and walked out from behind the aisle. However, before he could walk casually over to her he found that she was right before him! He jumped a little, his face heating up as she smiled at him.

"Hey, I saw you looking at the sci-fi section. Do you have any recommendations?" He couldn't help the dopey look that crossed his face. This was going to be the start of something beautiful.

Two - Hers

A grin crossed her face as she looked in the direction of her kitchen. Her parents were out tonight and she had invited him over. All that work she had done before summer break had paid off. She had seen it in a dream, there was a person out there that was made for her. Someone who understood her like no one else would. Someone who knew just how to make her laugh, a real friend... someone who knew what it was like to be on the outside.

She could hear him bustling around in there, putting his cup in the sink. She had seen how he looked at her, that unbridled adoration. That was how she knew it had worked.

"Hey, thanks for inviting me over." Of course it couldn't last forever, he had to go away soon but she had a feeling that they would be seeing each other again.

"No worries, I'm glad you decided to hang out." He grinned at her, sitting down next to her on the couch as the final scene of the movie they were watching played out. He was so close, she could feel the warmth of his thigh on her own. His 'sneaky' glances, his attentiveness, the way he seemed to hold himself around her... as if he wanted to give her the whole entire world. Finally, she felt special.

[helliontherapscallion]

pspspsp can I just request an immortal reader who's life is just dull/sad as hell since they've seen their loved ones leave or die in front of them so many times

but when they meet SBI or anyone, their life just suddenly brightens up? (Platonic and it can be any type of fic!)

(A/N): I got waaaayy too carried away with this. Star god reader my beloved (also, I’d imagine that your cloak looks like this guy’s but on the inside with the outsides being any color of your choice (credit goes to original artist))

If you want more god!reader content with the dream smp, @wooloo-inc has a really good series about a male!nature god!reader (aka, the god of dilf collection)

In the beginning when DreamXD created you (which if you think about it, that makes him your father, but I digress) from stardust and meteorite shards, you were a ball of fun loving sunshine (well, starshine?)

You loved watching over all of humankind, admiring their determination and bonds with other humans (both romantic and platonic)

Your older brother, the god of the moon, told you about how they viewed you and you were amazed

“Oberon?” You ran up to your older brother and tugged on his cloak making him hum in question, not looking up from his parchment scroll. “What- what do the humans think of me?”

He scoffed and glanced at you with his lily white irises, “why are you on about them again? They are lowly creatures compared to us, filled with greed and misfortune.”

“They worship us and that’s how you speak of them?”

“(Y/n) believe me, you have not seen the brutality they are capable of. War, famine, greed, plague, genocide, it’s all something you have not witnessed before. You have only seen the good in those things.” 

“But Oberon, I wanna-” he lightly smacked the side of your head, “use proper English. We are gods and you will behave as such.”

You huffed, “I want to know about how they view us! I do not care about the bad things they have done! Plleeeaaassseeeeeee Beri?” You willed the stars that constantly gleamed in your eyes to shine brighter as you fluttered your eyelashes at him. He may seem like he hated everyone and everything (especially his siblings), but he had a soft spot for his youngest sibling. He just stared at you for a bit before he sighed and shifted in the massive throne so that you could hop up onto his lap. With a wave of a slender pale hand, he conjured up various images of humans with stardust gazing at the stars and the moon with carefree swipes of his hand. 

“They view us as… poetic of sorts. They compare us to romance,” an image of two human males kissing then gazing into the stars laying down on a cliff came into view, “fortune tellers,” an image of the Aquarius and the Capricorn constellations popped up making you squeal in happiness. He chucked and changed the picture to a mother and son standing over a grave looking up in amazement at a shooting star, “and most importantly, as a sign of hope. 

“They see us as complementary, the moon and the stars cannot be as beautiful without the other. We hold the power of the night and everything it touches, (y/n). This is our kingdom, do not forget that,” the image changed to the moon surrounded by stars and swirling blues and purples of nebulas.

You looked at the images with awe, absorbing every word that fell from his mouth. “Beri?” He once again hummed, his deep baritone voice sending vibrations along your back. “Will we be together forever?”

His lanky arms wrapped around your much smaller frame, “for all of eternity. The moon is nothing without the night sky and all of the stars it holds.”

Centuries passed and your fascination with humans only grew from there

When you eventually asked if you could meet a human Oberon reacted angrily and forbade you from speaking of humans again in your shared palace, worried for your safety

When he caught you attempting to sneak out, he locked you in your room for months on end

Humans wondered why the stars hardly appeared in the night sky anymore, forming the theory that they had somehow angered you

They prayed to you more and more, begging and groveling for forgiveness

They left more offerings at shrines

You heard their every word, feeling your heartbreak with sorrow and guilt for your lovely humans

You snuck out of the palace that night determined to make it up to the humans

You quietly snuck past the main room where you and Oberon used to sit on your thrones together and control the night. The large doors were cracked open showing your older brother watching the night with boredom. As you passed, his voice startled you, “I just cannot stop you can I?”

He appeared in the doorframe looking at you emotionlessly, his eyes glinting with hidden pain. “Do you realize how cruel of a place that world is? How cruel humans are?”

“I do not care, brother! They are in anguish because they think I am angry with them! Because you locked me in here!”

“I have told you time and time again, they are ruthless creatures. Humans are constantly clashing with their own kind for the slightest bit of power, they’re greedy creatures! Have you forgotten what happened to Arachnia?”

A shiver went down your spine at the mention of your fellow deity. She wanted to be with humans but they stripped her of her grace and virtuosity, torturing her when the moon would rise. That is the reason spiders attack humans in the night when the moon and stars show themselves and are dormant in the daytime. However, that did not deter you. 

“I have not forgotten what happened to Arachnia, her tale fills me with grief. But not all humans are like that! They are compassionate, loving, and sweet creatures deep down, each and every single one of them!”

“They were not showing compassion or love when they tore Arachnia limb from limb! When they languish in riches while millions die around them! What part of that is compassionate?”

“Sure they do bad things sometimes, but have you forgotten the love they hold for each other? The determination and hope shining from within them when they pray to us? Have you forgotten that?”

“THEIR ACTIONS ARE NOT JUSTIFIED IN ANY WAY!”

“AND OURS ARE? YOU ARE BLIND, OBERON. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE CRUELTY THE GODS HAVE SUBJECTED HUMANS TO? WHEN OUR FATHER TOOK YEARS AWAY FROM THEIR LIFESPANS SOLELY BECAUSE THEY STOPPED WORSHIPPING HIM AS OFTEN AS THEY USED TO? WHAT PART OF THAT IS JUSTIFIED?” 

He just stared at you with angry irises and his chest heaving before he ran a hand through his long ivory hair and turned around, the flowing white cape flowing wildly behind him with unseen air. He walked back into the observation room and back to his throne. Without a second glance to you, he worked on the transition of power between the sun and moon. You could imagine your sister Aelia grinning brightly as she rose the sun for the day.

“You are to never return here if you step foot out that door. You will still have control of your duties of the night. However you will never return. Do not come back groveling for forgiveness when I have given you constant warnings of their cruelty. If I see your face show up here, I will make sure father smites you down. Now get out of my sight.”

You huffed and whipped around to the front entrance, the stars that constantly twinkled and the nebulas that constantly swirled in the inside of your cloak illuminating the white floors below you as you ran. You left the palace without a second thought, leaving your old life behind in favor of spending it with the humans.

When you came crashing to the Earth in a shooting star, you were amazed by the beauty of it up close and in person

It was everything you expected and then some

You heard the humans cheering and thanking you in their prayers when the stars returned brighter than usual

You being completely enamoured by all of the humans, even if they recognized you or not you loved them all unconditionally

You set up a little cottage in the tundra where you could see the night sky clearly with the occasional aurora borealis 

From the roof, you controlled the stars

The tales of you defecting from the heavens was a popular one, and you became somewhat of a symbol of the hope that humanity should hold for themselves and compassion

Occasionally sending shooting stars over humans you knew were stargazing

You have met many lovers, friends, and even your own adopted kids over the next millenia, all of them accepting your immortality and everlasting duties

But it’s all the same in the end: they come, they leave, and they die

With each death of your loved ones, you could feel your will to keep going dissipate

The stars grew dimmer gradually in the night sky

The humans gradually stopped worshipping you as you disappeared from the night skies

You became a distant memory for elders to tell children 

Disappearing from the face of the Earth for a few centuries when you could not take the constant deaths any longer

Nobody knew where your cabin laid so you were undisturbed for centuries on end, left to your grief

That was until a knock sounded at your door

The knock startled you out of the comfort of your bed. Reluctantly, you left the warmth of the multitude of blankets and donned your cloak to hide your unkempt appearance. When you passed the mirror hanging in the hallway, you could see that your face was shrouded by darkness with the exception of a single glint where your eyes were caused by the lone star that was a constant reminder of your position. Before you fell into a deep depression, the stars would illuminate your entire face if you put your hood up. 

You opened the front door without a care in the world. If the beings on the other side were humans that would take you away and torture you, you didn’t care. You’re long past the point of caring for your own well being.

On the other side was a man of average height and long shaggy blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail. He was dressed entirely in green with a green and white striped bucket hat placed on his head. Past you would’ve been cooing at the object, but now you dully looked at the man in front of you. You glanced behind him and your eyes widened at the huge black wings sprouting from his back. You know who he was the second your eye caught the black feathers; he was the Angel of Death.

“Hello, Angel of Death.”

He tried to peer into your shrouded features, only seeing two pinpricks of light where your eyes should be. He gave you a friendly smile, brushing off the snow that gathered on his shoulders. “(Y/n), the God of the Stars and the Night Sky. Giver of compassion to the human race, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Why are you here? Last time I checked, my last lover died centuries ago.”

“Yes, my condolences. They were lovely when I guided their soul to the afterlife.”

“You still have not answered my question, Angel of Death. Why are you here?” You grit out the last sentence through a clenched jaw. He has no right to talk about them when he assisted in taking them away from you. Him and your cousin, the Goddess of Death Kristin. They took everybody you loved away from you. You knew that their deaths were unavoidable since they were human and you were immortal, but you still couldn’t help but resent them.

“The Goddess of Death sent me. The God of the Moon and the Goddess of the Sun sent her a request to send me to check on you.”

You stared at him for a few moments before you saw him shivering slightly and sighed. You always had a soft spot for humans, even if the being in front of you was not a human in the slightest. He reminded you of an old friend. You stepped aside and gestured lazily inside the house, “come in.”

He started to visit more and more over the next century

He eventually befriended you about half a century into the visits

It was extremely difficult to do because of how guarded you were, but he managed to break you out of your shell

You realizing how kind he was and how much he cared for you

You quickly came to the realization that he was immortal as well after reading up on the Angel of Death

After another fifty years, he became your best friend

You both opened up and comforted each other about everybody you both lost over the years

When he adopted Technoblade and then Wilbur not long after Techno, you were extremely hesitant to get close to them

Even going as far as telling Philza that you thought that it was an extremely bad idea

Mortals always end up leaving in the end anyways, it’s best to avoid the endless cycle of hurt that came with having mortals around

You told him about your own adopted children that have died over the years

You refuse to meet them, cutting off all communication with Philza for a year or two

Eventually meeting his three adopted kids when you reluctantly accept a dinner invitation one day

You attempted to appear cold and uncaring, but your love for humans (especially baby humans) shone through when an infant Tommy started to play with your cape

It seemed that the stars and the moving nebulas within the fabric entranced him

From then on whenever you visited Philza, you always held Tommy until he was too old for you to do so

Becoming very attached to the blond with your strong innate parental instincts

You introduce Techno to mythology, sharing stories of your personal interactions with certain gods and entities throughout the years

You teach Techno how to cope with the voices as you constantly hear multiple prayers to you from humans at the same time

You arrange a meeting for Wilbur with the Goddess of Music when he asks you about her

Arranging for her to start giving him lessons in exchange of a favor that will be cashed at a later date

You help raise all three of them, often taking them off Philza’s hands for a night or two 

Their favorite activity with you is watching you raise the stars and turn the sky dark

They always loved to watch you move the stars and summon shooting stars for them

The stars gradually returned to your eyes and a constant ecstatic smile slowly became synonymous with your face again

Humans started to worship you again when the stars in the sky became brighter

You became your old self again after centuries of feeling lost 

To repay them for everything they’ve done for you, you decided to rearrange the stars for one night 

One night of having a different star pattern couldn’t hurt 

Sure, it’d make a few theories pop up among the humans, but those are fun to overhear sometimes

The young boys and Philza behind you watched in awe as your eyes started to glow brightly and you slowly moved your hands gracefully raising the stars with the moon, your cloak starting to flow with nonexistent winds. They’ve seen you raise the stars thousands of times, but it never ceases to amaze them. It was just so… entrancing. 

You broke into a slight sweat and started to move the stars from their original positions in the sky. Shaking slightly, you pushed back against the strain and slight pain that it brought you. You’ve never done this before, so you really didn’t know what you were expecting. You felt someone put a hand on your shoulder.

“What’re you doin, mate?”

“Uh Dad?”

“Not now Techno. Mate, are you alright?”

“Dad, look up. They’re rearranging the stars,” Wilbur breathed out.

You could hear Philza gasp slightly as he watched star after star move until they locked into place. There in the twinkling night sky was each of their names gleaming brightly in small lettering. When you were done, you fell into a kneel onto the ground and rubbed at your aching head panting lightly. 

You could hear the boys around you panic slightly as you regained your breath. As you heard them approach you you looked up at them and smiled, the stars gleaming brightly in your irises. “Do you like it?”

“Y-yes but gods, (y/n) are you alright?”

“I am fine, but stars, I have never done that before. Are you four ready for stargazing?”

“That was so pog, (y/n)! How’d you do that?”

“I hold the power of the stars and the night sky in my hands. My brother once told me that the night is our kingdom.” You laid down onto the grass and took off your cloak to cover up a shivering Tommy and Wilbur next to you. You sighed as you thought about your siblings; you wondered how they were doing. 

“I will gladly move the stars themselves for you four. You are my family.” There was a stretched out moment of comfortable silence as you five watched shooting stars blaze by. Eventually, you saw an aurora borealis materialize above you. Furrowing your brow, you looked at it in question. They don’t appear this time of year, so why-

“Aelia,” you breathed out as you watched the greens flow above you. She must’ve sent a gust of solar wind your way. 

“Isn’t Aelia the Goddess of the Sun?” Wilbur asked you.

“Yes, she is my oldest sister. She must have redirected the solar winds over here.” 

“Damn, what’s with the gods changing everything tonight? You guys need to fuckin chill.”

“Tommy!” Philza scolded and was about to continue before he heard you start to laugh. They’ve only heard you genuinely laugh only a couple of times, so the sound that left your mouth immediately brightened the mood. 

“Yes Tommy, I suppose we do need to ‘fucking chill’.”

“You swore! Fuckin pog,” Tommy cheered to himself as the others looked at you in slight shock at your words. If you’re being completely honest in all of the years you spent alive (which is since basically the beginning of time), you’ve never sworn once. You were raised differently than that. When you realized that the others were staring at you, you smirked at them. The stars twinkling and giving your eyes even more of a mischievous glint, “what? Have you never heard a god swear before?”

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[in-ky]

An Old Scent [1] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Eventual smut, A/B/O dynamics, cheating, age gap, Negan

A/N: yay first fic! this will have four parts! i hope everyone enjoys. this is an au where the apocalypse never happened. 3.2k words

I squinted as I stepped out into the bright Virginian sun. People swarmed all around me, creating the steady hum of airport ambience that I had grown accustomed to over the years. I had just gotten off a four-hour flight home from college and all I wanted to do was shower and curl up in bed. But I couldn't. Oh, no. First I had to endure a fun thirty-minute car ride with my best friend since second grade. I scanned the curb in front of me for her small black car and caught sight of a tall woman waving at me. I grinned and walked forward, tugging along my baggage behind me.

"Ugh, it's so good to see you, Bee." I sighed as I enveloped my friend into a large hug. She let out a laugh and swayed us gently.

"It's good to see you, too," She hummed, rustling my hair "I forgot how short you were." Bee was an alpha; tall, muscular, and very quick to remind me of our differences. Of course, it was in a 'joking with love' kind of way. I was an omega; small, rounded, and very quick to punch her gently in the abdomen.

"I forgot how much of a jerk you are." I quipped, huffing and wheeling my bag to her trunk.

"Oh, come on, babes, don't be like that," Bee laughed, opening the driver side door and waiting for me to walk back to my side. "Now get in, we've got a lot of catching up to do."

---

"How are your heats going?"

"Jesus, that's what you want to start with?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. Bee shrugged.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," She clarified, turning out onto the street "I'm just saying, I know they've gotten pretty bad as we've gotten older. Did you try out those tips I sent you?"

"Yea, I did," I said quietly, looking at the trees rushing by on the side of the highway "They worked for a while but..."

"But you need an alpha," Bee sighed, finishing the sentence for me.

"That's the plan for this summer," I agreed "Might finally settle down."

"You know, I'm always here if you need me." She said with a wink. I scoffed at her.

"I'm not that desperate," I laughed, shoving her lightly "Not yet, at least."

"Anyone take your interest back in Colorado?"

"Not really," I hummed, tilting my head in consideration. "There was this one guy. We dated for a few months but towards the end he became a total knot-head. He couldn't keep his hands off me. I thought it was cute at first, but after I started to miss a few classes...well, that shit got old pretty quickly." Bee made a disgusted noise.

"Ugh, men," She grunted, wrinkling her nose "I'm glad I never went through that phase. I'm perfectly happy with chicks, thank you very much. Much less of a pain in my ass."

"Oh, they're not so bad," I smirked "I think it's just alphas in general." She glared at me momentarily and I stuck my tongue out at her. We drove in a comfortable silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company. That was always something I loved about Bee. We never had to fill every second with chatter, we could just exist together in the same space and be just as content. She started to hum along to the song that buzzed softly from the radio and my eyes tracked a hawk. Soon enough, we reached our exit and Bee turned the car onto a smaller road, starting the countdown to my arrival home.

"Are you excited to see your dad?" Bee asked, killing the silence.

"Yea, I am," I smiled. We hadn't always had the best of relationships, but the distance that college gave had done wonders for us. A few texts and calls had worked perfectly for us. When he invited me to stay a few weeks during summer I gladly accepted. I wanted to see just how well our relationship had strengthened. Plus I knew he really needed someone.

"How's he doing?" There was genuine concern in Bee's voice. A few months ago, my mom had revealed that she had been having an affair with one of dad's work buddies. She left with him and took my brother down to Georgia.

"I think he's okay. But you know dad, he's not really an emotions guy. He was starting to get some closure but then the divorce papers came in the mail. That really hurt him," I told her, twisting a strand of my hair around my finger. "I just don't know how Lori could do that to him, you know? She won't even let Carl up to visit. The new baby's cute, though. Looks just like Shane." Bee hummed in acknowledgement.

"Well, tell him I said hi, alright?"

"Will do." A few more seconds of silence passed. Until we stopped at a light. Bee looked up and spotted a billboard that sported a very familiar, very handsome face.

"Holy shit!" Bee shrieked, slapping my arm.

"Ow, what the hell?" I hissed, grabbing my shoulder. She pointed frantically at the sign.

"That guy! Isn't that, shit- the hell's his name?" Pulling my eyes from my lap, I let them settle on the object of her excitement. All of the color drained from my face. It was an add for a law firm. There was an old geezer posing proudly on the left, and to his right, was the man who haunted my wet dreams for the majority of high school.

"Negan." I gulped.

"Yea, your dad's hot friend you never shut up about." Bee groaned, pressing on the gas and moving us away from the sign. Negan was a lawyer/make-shift-law-professor and baseball coach at the local community college. He had a sort-of contract with my dad's department. Many times I had come home after school to the two of them puzzling out a case on the kitchen table. Negan was an alpha of alphas, something that got my little omega heart (and other things) pumping until I couldn't breath. His humor and dominating persona made me blush a deep crimson color any time I saw him. Sometimes I would spend hours sitting on the stairs just listening to him talk to my dad. His voice was something else. I had gushed to Bee about him countless times during our times at high school. But I hadn't seen him since my graduation party.

"I wonder if you'll see him again," Bee teased, nudging me again to pull me out of my trance of memories. Then, she did a dramatic gasp. "What if he's your mate?" It was my turn to slap her in the shoulder.

"He's older than my dad!" I squealed, burying my now-blushing cheeks in my hands.

"You're an adult I don't think it matters."

"I think he's engaged."

"Just 'cause there's a goalie doesn't mean you can't scoooore." Bee pulled a face at me and I returned her grimace.

"Whatever, you're lucky we're almost at my house." I huffed, falling back into my seat with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Oh, yea, omega? What are you gonna do?" I rolled my eyes as she laughed off my grumpiness. We rolled to a stop in front of my driveway and a leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks so much, Bee, I really appreciate you," I grinned, popping open the door.

"No problem, babes," She winked, unlocking the trunk "But I swear to the gods, you better fucking call me and give me updates on everything, especially if you run into Mr. Hotcakes." I rolled my eyes once more and promised her I would before closing the door. I retrieved my bag and gave her a wave as she drove down the street. When she was out of view, I took a deep breath and turned around, walking up the driveway to the front door.

I knocked heavily on the dark oak door. While I waited for someone to answer, I decided to look around at the home I had left behind about a year ago. My childhood home had changed now and then over the years, but there were still some iconic pieces of memories in the front yard that could never be forgotten. My personal favorite was Eddie the garden gnome. He was a standard gnome: small and stout with a large white beard that led into a pointy red hat. His eyes were shut and his mouth was curved into a smile. However, he was missing a nose. I grinned as I recalled the unfortunate mishap that caused Eddie to become deformed. I was about twelve, and carl was five. He had gotten a kid's baseball from Negan for his birthday and had begged me to teach him how to play, since I was on the local softball team at the time. I relented and set it up in the front yard. Eddie was our outfielder. Eddie didn't have a mitt. Well, he did, but it was his face. Carl absolutely smashed the first pitch I tossed at him and hit poor Eddie right in the face, shattering his round, pink nose into pieces. Carl bursted into tears and I had to promise him that he did not in fact kill our precious protector of our house. Lori ran out frantically and comforted her son before giving me a thorough chewing out for damaging Eddie. We never used the set again. That she knew of, anyways. Negan always let us play in his yard, though. I smiled at the memory, but the clicking of the lock to the door pulled me from my train of thought. The door swung open and I was met with the smiling face of my father.

"Sweetie, I'm so glad you made it!" He laughed, pulling me in swiftly and squeezing me tight.

"It's good to see you too, dad." I croaked, letting out a small chuckle. I tapped on his shoulder as a signal for him to let go.

"How was the flight?" He asked as he stepped out to grab my bag. I told him it was good but that the screaming kids had given me a bit of a headache. He gave a small laugh and gestured for me to enter. I thanked him and he rolled my bag in behind me. We exchanged a few words but as soon as I walked through the kitchen into the doorway of the living room I was hit by a wall. Not literally, no, but rather a wall of overwhelming scent. It was a delicious swirl of campfire and whiskey, with a hint of cigarettes and leather. I paused for a moment, my eyes forced closed and my lungs taking a deep breath of the intoxicating air. Colors danced across my eyelids. My whole body was flooded with warmth and my toes tingled. I felt safe and calm, and there was something else; something deep within my stomach that I couldn't quite identify, something I never felt before. My eyes snapped open when I felt my father's hand rest firmly on my shoulder.

"I hope you don't mind, sweetie, but I invited company over while I was waiting for you to arrive," He smiled at me. I got a good look at him then. He looked the same, his hair was a bit longer, a bit greyer. But his eyes were different. They were darker, rounder, rawer. I gave a soft smile and told him it was fine. He guided me into the living room. It was then I realized where that deadly smell was coming from. Or, rather, who it was coming from. "Negan, you remember my girl." In that moment, I held my breath as I scanned Negan. He looked fucking amazing, just as he always had. Perfect dimples guarding a charming smile, all surrounded by a gorgeous salt and pepper beard. His hair was longer than it was when I had left, not slicked back, but it still framed his face perfectly. Negan's body was draped casually over the sectional couch, legs crossed at the ankle on the ottoman. His arms were on the top of the couch and his wrists were dangling. He knew he was hot. That bastard. I suddenly became aware of his eyes raking over my form and I shifted from one foot to the other.

"'course I do, Rick," Negan said, voice silky and deep. I couldn't help but let a small shudder run down my spine. All I wanted to do was kneel down in front of him and curl up at his feet. I forced my inner omega down, shaking the thought from my head. "How could I forget the little slugger?" I cringed inside at the nickname. Especially the use of the word 'little'. I begged that he didn't still see me as the kid down the street. Instead as a grown woman. A grown omega.

"Hi, Negan." I greeted with a small smile, swallowing to relieve my dry throat. Now that I was next to him, his scent was clogging all my senses. I gripped onto the couch and lowered myself onto the cushion, hoping to ground myself. It helped, just barely. My heart was pounding, my instincts telling me to submit to this man in front of me. Why, though? Why now? He had never smelled this good before. No alpha had. Was I getting close to my heat? I did have a stomach ache, but that could be from Negan alone.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's college goin'?" Negan asked, sipping on his drink. He kept eye contact with me the whole time. Rick handed me a glass of soda and I thanked him.

"It's good!" I said after taking a sip, thankful for the hydration in my coarse throat "Towards the end it got a little hectic, but I was able to stay on top of everything, thankfully."

"You're studying film, right?" He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"That's right," I grinned, crossing my legs to relieve some of the pressure the movement caused to build up in my lower abdomen "You still teaching law?" This caused him to chuckle. Literally music to my ear.

"If that's what you want to fuckin' call it." Negan sighed, falling back to his original position, hands resting in his lap "I talk, the kids kinda listen. I just do it for the coaching job, really. You remember how much I love that damn sport, right?"

"Baseball?" I asked, raising a brow "You mean the only thing you talked about at all of the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners you were invited to?"

"Touché." Negan grinned. Goddamn that smile. Butterflies erupted in my chest, beating hard against my ribcage, begging to throw myself at his chest and bury myself in him. Rick cleared his throat and smiled at me to get my attention.

"I want to know more about your college experience!" He beamed, rubbing a hand through his beard "Any special alphas you've got your eyes on?" I heard Negan choke slightly on his whiskey. A small bubble of pride rose in my chest. I laughed at his words.

"Dad, I don't think Negan wants to hear about my love life."

"Shit, doll, I don't mind," He grumbled "I don't get to hear any drama now-a-days"

"What do you mean?" I giggled, tilting my head "You argue for a living. Your job is to literally deal with drama."

"Yea, but that's complex drama," He growled, waving his hand dismissively "I wanna hear simple, schoolgirl 'he loves me, he loves me not' kind of bullshit."

"Well sorry to disappoint," I snorted, running a hand through my hair "but no, there's no one I have an eye on." Dad's smile turned into a frown.

"Shame." I heard Negan whisper. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it. It was quiet, barely above his breath, and he said it while twirling his whiskey, following the words with a large gulp.

"You really should start looking, dear." Dad said with a sigh "You know it only gets harder as you get older."

"Dad please, I don't..." I cut him off "Listen, I appreciate you trying to understand this stuff, I really do, but I don't really want to talk about it with my father." He looked at me with an understanding smile.

"Sure," He nodded "But if you ever need anything, anything at all, you just let me know, alright." I nodded.

"Well, this sure has been fun, Ricky-boy," Negan grinned, getting to his feet and stretching his arms far above his head. "We do have that big court case in the mornin', though, and I need my shut-eye."

"Big case, eh?" I asked, rising from my seat as well. Dad nodded and excitement sparked in his eyes.

"You should come! It's an open court and I would love for you to see what I do. I know you always wanted to as a kid, but your mom made you wait until you were older. Well, now's the perfect time!" He rambled, grasping my shoulders.

"W-Well, I dunno, I don't want to be a distraction," I stumbled, taken aback by my father's display of enthusiasm. I turned to Negan, as if asking for permission. He just laughed.

"Oh-o, doll, I don't get distracted. Not in there, not anywhere. Don't you worry about a goddamn thing. You should come, Rick seems like he really wants you to."

"Okay, then," I grinned, nodding in commitment "I'll see you there in the morning then." I looked up to Negan and we locked eyes for a brief moment. But in that moment, something within me quivered. He brushed up against me and smirked down at me.

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart. It was nice to see you. You're lookin' great." It took all my willpower not to let out a whimper as he walked past me, taking his glorious scent with him.

My dad said that he should also get some rest, but that I could stay up as long as I wanted to. I was pretty wiped from my flight so I opted to follow him up the narrow staircase, tugging my bag behind me. I hugged him goodnight and stepped into my room. It hadn't been touched since I left last summer. The forest green bedspread was still perfectly tucked into the mattress and two plump pillows were perched at the head of the bed. My muscles ached for the soft release of sleep. I put my suitcase down by my dresser, taking a moment to smile at some old photos of me and Bee as kids. I showered and brushed my teeth before getting into the comfortable bed. I looked up at the ceiling and giggled softly at the glow-in-the-dark stars shining overhead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular, but for some reason, all of my dreams were plagued by the sweet smell, sound, sight, feeling, and taste of Negan.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 20, Story #2 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: Dittany Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Neville/Hannah Prompt: Bravery Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Discussion of maternal death, mentions of violence. 

Hannah's mother had been a muggleborn, and that had been her death sentence. 

Or rather, she had been a muggleborn with the audacity and bravery to be proud about it. 

Most muggleborns ended up slipping entirely into wizarding society, and as much as they might say that they would keep in touch with their roots, the magic took over. Jeans became robes, electronics didn’t work in their homes so their pop culture references grew stale, the effort involved in keeping the statute of secrecy for extended family and old friends was too exhausting to sustain, so they saw them less and less and eventually… 

This had not happened for Mum, even though the Abbotts were a very old family, well rooted in the magical community. She had agreed with Dad to live in Godric’s Hollow, because the Abbotts had lived there for many generations, but she had insisted on Hannah attending the local primary school, where she could make muggle friends. She was adamant that they make regular trips to Liverpool, to visit her side of the family, who believed that she worked in HR (which she did, but for a potion manufacturer, not for a haulage company as they believed) and that Hannah had received a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school, and that Dad owned a pub (which he did, but they neglected to mention that it was frequented by witches, wizards, goblins, the occasional hag and a half giant). And when the Stephens side of the family came to visit, they would have a flurry of activity where they would hide away anything magical-looking, and from the loft they would bring down the big television, and they would speed read some muggle newspapers so they could give their opinions on Tony Blair or Men Behaving Badly or Charles and Diana’s divorce or whatever else they thought might come up.  

That was life as Hannah knew it, and it never felt complicated or brave or shocking or daring or any of the things she later found out it was. 

She remembered certain details from the day very clearly. She’d been easing sneezewort plants out of their pots, the last repotting before winter, her fingers shaking at the long, pale roots, creating a rain of soil. The last of the cream coloured petals, curled and brown at the edges, fell onto the potting bench. There was a sudden shock of cold air, a breeze from the door opening that hit their faces and whipped through their hair.  

‘Professor Dumbledore’s here,’ said Susan with surprise, and Hannah had glanced up to see him closing the door to the humid greenhouse, his long white beard tucked into his belt, Professor Sprout hurrying over to him. 

Hannah looked back down at her plant. The roots were all tangled together. Professor Dumbledore was probably here for Harry Potter, there were all sorts of rumours flying around about secret meetings between the two of them. 

The plant needed a much bigger pot, but the roots were strong, there was no rot there. 

‘Hannah.’ 

There was no hiding the bewilderment on her face. She had never had a direct conversation with the Headmaster before, and here he was, speaking kindly, gently, softly, one hand touching her shoulder and the other, black looking, gesturing to the door. 

‘I need to-’ she started saying, as he led her out. Everyone was staring. 

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Professor Sprout, and her voice sounded so strange, ‘I’ll finish up here for you.’ 

Perhaps part of her had known then. She knew it was something terrible. She was too afraid to ask. No one was ever pulled out of class for a good reason. She walked up to the castle alongside him as though in a dream, her heart beating up through her throat and into her mouth.

She was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was in the warmth of his office, staring at Professor Dumbledore’s grave face, his lips moving, without really hearing, except for that first, terrible, world destroying little phrase. 

‘I’m so very sorry to tell you that your mother has been found dead.’ 

There would be no worse event, no greater loss, no stronger pain in her entire life. 

There was still dirt under her nails and in the creases of her palms, she noticed, as she reached into the silver box of floo powder. 

It had been so long since she had seen Godric’s Hollow like this, golden and red in its autumn. Fallen leaves tumbled and floated down the river that rushed through the village, or collected in the gutters along the cobbled roads, damp and heavy. The sun stayed a little lower each day, casting long shadows across the beer garden of The Lost Owl, and the wind ruffled the sign on the door which read ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’ 

During the days, she wondered what to do with herself, stuck between boredom and terrible, overwhelming grief. When she could cry no more, she wondered if there was something wrong with her for wanting to find something interesting or fun to do, but when she tried to read, she could not focus. When she tried to listen to the radio, she would fall asleep. She could not bring herself to ask her weeping father to play cards or chess or anything with her. She thought of going back into school, but how could she see other people? Now that the world had ended? She wanted to tell people about it, wanted to say the words enough until they made sense to her, or until someone found the right words to say back that would make it OK, but she did not want to do this to her friends. 

At nights, she would cry herself to sleep, and her whispers, please come back please Mummy please come back, would grow and grow and grow into sobs, begging into her pillow as the agony of it tore at her, the desperation, the feverish thought that there had to be something, that this couldn’t be it, there had to be a way, a special way, just for them, just for her, because it was her mother and there was no way she could live without her. Mum wouldn’t leave her like this, there was no way Mum would allow it, she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that Hannah was happy, she had always said so, she had always promised… 

But Death was something parents could not protect their children from, it seemed. The more Hannah thought on it, the more she became crushingly devastated, horrified to realise that each and every human on Earth had to endure this at some point. In different ways, at different times, with different feelings, but the mere act of bringing a child into the world was to condemn that child, one day, to the unbearable pain of loss. Every person she passed, she wondered, have you suffered as I have? Or is it yet to come for you? She wished she could spare them from it.

The aurors said she was probably targeted because she loudly and openly discussed her muggle heritage in the pub, and it must have been heard by the wrong people. That was what passed for bravery these days. 

In the church of St Jerome, the stained glass window pattered with rain, and Hannah looked up at the colours of red and yellow and green rather than looking at the coffin with the splay of lilies, and she wondered when this nightmare would end, when Mum would come back, and tell her that everything would be all right. 

***

Months passed in unbearable agony, worse than she could have imagined. But there were glimmers of light there too. 

Here, at the school she thought she would never return to, in the place that was filled with unimaginable horror and oppression, she had purpose again. More purpose, in fact, than she had ever had in her life. And with it, new friendships that ran deeper than she had ever expected. 

‘This way,’ Neville whispered, and they ran low across the lawn of the grounds. Some of the windows in the castle behind them blazed with light, so that she thought for a terrible moment that they must be visible from the Great Hall, but, of course, the windows would be black with night to anyone who looked out from them. 

It was the summer term now, but the air was still cold as they panted, as though Dementors were close, which, she reasoned, they might be. She could feel the dew of the grass, left to grow long since Hagrid had left, soaking the bottoms of her jeans, seeping through her ratty trainers. 

Following the dark shadow of Neville’s figure, she ran through the grounds until she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and, ahead, the slight shine of starlight reflecting off the greenhouses. 

‘They’re in greenhouse three,’ Neville muttered, and her stomach dropped. 

He did not notice, and continued to hurry along the garden path, past the raised beds for the hardier plants and herbs, and she followed, but at a walk now, dread gnawing at her. 

He stopped at the door, holding his hands up to the glass to peer in. ‘OK…’ he said, still breathless from the run. ‘OK, looks clear… Now, while I talk to the venomous tentacula, you grab a tray, and fill it with perlite and only a few handfuls of compost, it’s a mountain plant so it likes it nice and rocky.’ 

‘OK,’ she said, and though she thought she sounded normal, he turned to her. She could barely make out his expression in the darkness. 

‘Are you all right?’ 

‘I… I’m sorry, I just… I haven’t been in the greenhouses for a long time… especially not this one. I should have thought before I volunteered, I'm sorry.’ 

She felt immediately embarrassed for blurting it out, and she had no idea if Neville would even grasp what she was getting at. He had been in the class, yes, but did he even remember that day? What had been the worst day of her life had been a perfectly ordinary school day for the rest of her classmates, and so many terrible things had happened since then. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you out here.’ 

She thought he was telling her off, or saying that they had to go back, but before she had the time to feel hurt or ashamed, he was holding out his hand towards her. 

She swallowed, and then placed her trembling hand in his. She was not unaccustomed to physical touch with him, or many others. Over the past year, she had tended wounds and comforted people as they cried, she had grasped hands and arms and knees under desks to soothe people or tell them to control themselves, she had passed secret notes and morsels of food and whatever else needed smuggling, slipping it nimbly from her fingers into their palms as they passed in the corridors.  

But now his fingers pressed firm and reassuring against hers, and there was something very different about them holding hands. 

She let him lead her into the greenhouse; the humid, warm air surrounded them at once, like an odd sort of hug that sat heavy on their lungs. Tall, leafy plants towered above them, brushing the domed glass high above their heads, which magically reflected the brilliant stars above them and lit the place in glorious silver. 

Now that she was in here, she felt a little better. The dread that had stopped her ever returning here, that had caused her to drop herbology and pretend that this part of the castle no longer existed, had not come to pass. It was, after all, simply a greenhouse, and Mum could not die again. 

‘Are you all right?’ he said gently. 

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’ 

He nodded, and reached for some gloves on a nearby bench. She missed his hand around hers. ‘Let’s move quickly, and get you out of here,’ he said, donning some goggles and a thick leather apron.  

She went to the potting tables where Professor Sprout always stood, and seized a large seedling tray. As she took handfuls of compost and perlite, she could see Neville wrestling with the venomous tentacular, saying, ‘I’ll bring you doxy granules tomorrow - I’ll move you to a sunnier spot - I already checked with Professor Sprout - come on, you knew this was part of the deal, we agreed-’

Eventually, when he had tied enough of the writhing vines together with garden twine and stroked the shoots into calmness, he gave a nod to Hannah, and started to remove his protective gear as she hurried over and they squeezed behind the plant

There, on a table surrounded by blue lanterns to make up for the blocked light caused by the tentacula, were long, deep pots, stuffed with dittany. Their slender, arching stems were clustered with pleasant green leaves, with a dusty sort of whiteness, and they were dotted with pink flowers. She had never seen the plant as it was before; she had only ever remembered the little vials of dittany kept in their first aid kit, good for scraped knees and cuts from any broken glass in the pub. Mum had always said it was good to be prepared in an emergency, it had been one of her funny little things like that, along with being a bit of a hypochondriac, and so Hannah had had a vial in the bottom of her trunk when she returned to school. That, combined with her good potions knowledge, had helped her stumble into a kind of mothering role that she found had rather suited her. 

‘I just need the flowers, the book says,’ she said, as Neville started gently pulling some up by the roots. 

‘Yes, but I think it’d be good if I can grow another set somewhere, as a back up so we don’t have to keep sneaking out here. It’s just me and Seamus in the dorm, I don’t think he’d mind if I put them in the window between Harry and Ron’s beds. Here, take these, cut the flowers where the stem splits off - yeah, there - so it’ll grow back.’ 

‘It’s really pretty,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. It’s usually that the most useful plants are the ugliest.’ 

‘It is,’ said Neville absent-mindedly. ‘It’s from Crete. The healing properties were only discovered in the 17th century - people used to think it was an aphrodisiac, and it’s still used in some love potions.’ 

She looked at him, and though the light in the greenhouse was white starlight only, she could still see his cheeks burn red. 

‘It’s… it’s not, though,’ he mumbled. ‘Well… a little bit, but I… I don’t know why I said that.’

‘Because it’s interesting,’ she said quickly, as he busied himself repotting the seedlings. He nodded rapidly, and cleared his throat a little, and she cast around for something to say. ‘You… you should be careful, growing these in the dorm. If you’re caught-’

‘There’s no rule against growing plants,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plants up there loads of times. Especially my mimbulus mimbletonia, that’s had pride of place for a while.’

‘You know they don’t need an explicit rule,’ she said quietly. ‘They do what they want. If they think you’re… doing anything good, anything kind. That’s enough.’ 

He nodded, looking down at the delicate, thin roots of the dittany. There was a reason that he and Professor Sprout were growing such an innocent plant in such secrecy. ‘I know… but… it’s worth the risk.’ 

‘That’s very brave.’ 

‘Is it? Just growing a plant? Is that what passes for bravery these days?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘Anything good does now. And it’s not just that.’ She paused, still cradling one of the delicate, rose pink flowers in her hand. ‘I mean… what were you thinking in muggle studies the other day? I hated seeing you screaming like that.’ 

‘Well I had to say something. It was repulsive, what she was saying about muggle children.’ 

‘No one believes her, no one really thinks-’

‘We don’t know that. Maybe some people might start believing her, because it’s easier. And anyway, it’s not just about that. Remember Umbridge?’ 

‘I try not to,’ she said dryly, and in the pale, washed out starlight she saw him grin. 

‘I know it’s stupid, but as Ginny and Luna haven’t come back, and Harry and Ron aren’t here, or Dean, or loads of other people… I’ve been-’ he sighed, as though frustrated he couldn’t find the words, ‘I’ve been trying to think about what they would do. I can’t afford to be Neville Longbottom, I’ve got to be someone braver. And Harry used to just completely go off on her, used to tell her straight in lessons that You-Know-Who was back, and, yeah, it got him more trouble than it felt like it was worth at the time, but you know what? I always found it really inspiring.’ 

‘I did too,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember thinking… well… why would he stick to a lie through all that?’ 

‘Exactly. He had principles, and if he was here he wouldn’t stand for any of that rot. There’s a lot of times over the past few months where I’ve just tried to…’ he shrugged helplessly, ‘pretend that I’m Harry. That I’m brave.’ 

‘I don’t think you’re pretending at all,’ she said. ‘You are brave. You always have been. You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?’ 

‘Somehow.’ 

‘No somehow about it. You’re the bravest man I know, and that includes Harry.’ 

‘How on earth does it include Harry?’ he asked, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughter. 

‘Because he’s had to be,’ she said. ‘I’ve grown up in Godric’s Hollow, you know, I’ve seen the ruined house that he lived in. He’s had to be brave all the way from when he was a baby. But I didn’t. You didn’t. You’ve chosen to be brave, you’ve chosen to channel him. You're a pureblood, you could choose, every day, to keep your head down and get on with things, but you don't. You stand up and call her a bigoted liar in class and get tortured and you never back down. I find that more inspiring than anything.’ 

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said quietly.  

‘And you were brave lots of times even before. Don’t you remember winning those points all the way back in first year?’ 

He beamed, and looked at her directly, for the first time since he had blurted out that dittany was an aphrodisiac. ‘You remember that?’ 

‘Of course I do. Dumbledore pointing out about standing up to your friends - he was so right, that does take a lot of bravery. I tried to do it next year, when Ernie was telling me that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t as brave as you, but at least I tried, I suppose.’ 

‘I think you’re very brave too,’ he said. ‘Looking after everyone like this, handing out essence of dittany, running out here with me to get more… I’m sorry that you’ve had to come back in here. I didn’t think.’ 

‘I didn’t either,’ she said, and she started cutting more flowers. ‘I was just so focused on the idea of more, I didn’t really think about where I’d be getting it from… But, you know, I’m OK, actually. The thought of it was worse than the reality. It’s just a greenhouse.’ She looked around. The white starlight bleached the dark greenery into shades of silver, bounced off the watering cans, sparkled in the droplets of water from the sprinklers. ‘A very beautiful one.’ 

‘I like to think so,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘I always found this whole place beautiful, but now it… sometimes feels like only the greenhouses still are. They’re the only place I haven’t seen people being tortured.’ 

She paused. ‘I’m secretly thankful my mum isn’t alive to see this. Is that awful? I’m just glad she never had to worry about me being here. I feel bad enough for Dad.’ 

‘It’s not awful,’ said Neville. ‘I know what you mean.’ 

‘Do you?’ 

‘My parents don’t know anything about what’s going on, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad,’ he said, and for some reason his words seemed to surprise him. 

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, and without thinking she put down the little secateurs and touched his arm. He breathed deeply, not quite meeting her eyes, pressing down one of the seedlings quite firmly into the tray, before finally turning to her.

‘I live with my gran, because… my…’ He took another deep breath, and suddenly there was a clanging from outside. 

They froze, and heard a low voice swearing. 'Bloody wheelbarrow…' 

Hearts thudding, they ducked down and stayed silent, Neville silently mouthing for Hannah to get onto the large empty shelf under the potting table, where bags of compost were usually kept. He reached up, fumbling for the secateurs, and then started crawling along on his belly. 

'What are you doing?' she whispered, horrified. Alecto Carrow was opening the door to the greenhouse, still muttering and swearing about the wheelbarrow he had tripped over. 

He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the venomous tentacula, which had begun to writhe against the twine. The snip snip snip of the secateurs seemed unreasonably loud, but from the other side of the greenhouse Carrow did not appear to hear them, rifling noisily through the plants and shrubs, sending terracotta pots crashing to the floor. 

'Anyone in here?' he demanded. 'I saw your footprints in the gravel. Hello?' 

The vines of the tentacula waved threateningly, and Hannah watched with trembling fear as one of them reached out to Neville, still prone on the ground, and started to wrap itself around his throat. 

'Don't be cheeky,' she heard him mutter to it, and he calmly prodded it with the secateurs until it released him. 

It kept one tendril around his ankle, but Neville seemed to allow it as a compromise, and instead watched through the vines as Carrow upturned a table, still shouting and swearing. 

After several, agonisingly long minutes, Carrow came close to them. The venomous tentacula silently released Neville’s ankle, and raised it's spiked tendrils. 

'OW! Son of a bludger-' 

A long line of expletives followed, and the venomous tentacular shook noisily, whip-like noises echoing through the greenhouse as it reached after Carrow, now bolting from the room. 

'Grab the tray,' Neville told Hannah. 'He'll be heading straight to the hospital wing, we should have a clear path back. Quickly, before the tentacula gets over-excited and turns on us-' 

She did so at once and he held back the spiked vines as she squeezed past the plant, and hurried safely out of range. 

She stood there, holding her tray of little dittany plants and the heads of the flowers. She watched as Neville easily unentangled himself from the tentacula, patted it, said, 'thanks mate,' and grabbed a clear cover for the tray. He came close to her as he fitted it over the dittany, protecting them from the cold night air they would have to hurry back through.  

His face was inches from her own, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat a little as she looked up at him. There was a slight clunk as the lid of the tray found its place. For a moment, they were perfectly still, just their breathing in that humid place, and his eyes, shining light blue in the pale light, lifted from the tray of dittany to meet her own. 

'Do you really think I'm brave?' he whispered. 

She nodded, and he seemed to be steeling himself for something. Please, she thought, please make this place good for me again. Her hands gripped the edges of the tray.

Very gently, very slowly, he leaned closer over the tray. His hand moved as though to softly move her face to meet his, but he didn't need to, for she was already naturally tilting her head, and her heels were lifting a little off the ground without her bidding them to. 

Their lips met, soft like the petals of the dittany between them, sweet like the fragrance. His fingertips were trembling slightly as they caressed against her cheek, but then they calmed as the kiss deepened. 

The tray pressed into them as he tried to move closer, and it reminded them where they were. They broke apart, panting and gasping as though they had just finished the run down from the castle. 

She had never kissed anyone before. She was glad, unbelievably, overwhelmingly, joyfully glad, that her first kiss had been with Neville, in this place where the warm air was scented with damp soil and sweet flowers. 

'We… we should take these back,' he said, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Let - let me take them.’ 

He took the tray from her, and in her happy daze she allowed it, and let him lead the way out of the greenhouse. Joy had returned to her again, beneath the fogged glass, amongst the green plants, bursting with life. 

[qvid-pro-qvo]

headcanon: “when the svu boys propose to you”

created in conjunction with @hurricanejjareau. tw: food eating and mentions of food (especially mike and peter’s portions).

rafael barba -

rafael does everything he can to pamper you. so when he texts you halfway through your day with a time and place, it doesn’t even register past another sweet date with your man. what does is the gentle urging when you get home, the smile and light touch moving you to the fancier part of your closet.

“let’s really enjoy tonight, mi amor.”

the dinner is delicious. because of course it is. and rafael is grinning, because of course he is. each time you meet his gaze he’s winking, scanning you, teasing you. and he’s reaching for your hands.

each time he opens his mouth it’s another story, another moment that he remembers with fondness. you both reminisce about the first time you’d caught each other’s eye. and as the candle burns on the table, you see something in his gaze that makes you stop.

“what?” you have to ask. because you think the shine you see isn’t just the warmth in his eyes.

“nothing,” he murmurs. “i just love you.”

it’s a winter evening. your coats scratch against each other, as you walk arm-in-arm. your noses are numb, but the streetlights are bright. it’s a walk he insists on, and your feet step on fresh snow that’s starting to sprinkle on concrete sidewalks.

“i just love you.” he says it again. it’s reverent, as the flakes fall, and you turn to look at him as you walk home.

“hey.” you lean forward, meet his gaze, and then forward motion stops. “what’s going on, rafa? what’s got you looking like that?”

“nothing, nothing —“ he starts again, but you just level him with a look.

“don’t give me that. what’s going on with you?”

the snow keeps falling.

and he just looks. and that shine in his eyes is back, the streetlights bright. there’s no mistaking the way he swallows. the way his arm moves to his jacket pocket.

“i kept... waiting. for the right moment. that moment i could look at you and know exactly how to ask you to —“

he kinda laughs. at himself, you guess. no, you know. because he shakes his head, in that way he gets, the way that has your fingers lifting his chin.

“rafa.”

“i had a plan, mi amor. i promise. a romantic dinner date, at your favorite place. a whole speech, i wrote it down, but... this isn’t a closing on a case.”

he pulls his hand out of his pocket. the next snowflake you see that doesn’t get caught in rafa’s hair is on the red velvet box. it seems to glisten, snd you’re reaching for it before you can stop yourself. mesmerized.

“i’m never at a loss for words. you know that. but right now i look at you and i think there’s nothing i can say that fully gets it across. that could ever help anyone understand how much i love you.”

the box flicks open. your jaw drops.

“i love you. now. always. i promise that. nothing high or low, big or small. nothing... nothing will change that. will you marry me, mi amor? will you?”

the snow flurries down, but that’s not what makes it hard to see him. hard to reach out and manage to grasp both his cheeks in your palms, to pull him in for a kiss that rocks your worlds.

“yes, rafael,” you say. “i do, i will, yes to it all.” and when you kiss him again the cold of the night is but a distant sensation, the snow in your hair barely noticed as you kiss your future husband.

sonny carisi - 

you wake up in the morning, a day off with sonny head of you. but instead of rolling over and finding a body to curl around, your fingers connect with a piece of paper.

you can’t help the way your brow furrows and your lips pout. you’d expected a breakfast maybe, but there’s no divine smell filtering through the apartment. all there is this note, and when you pull it to your eyes you squint to read his chicken scratch.

sorry, sweetheart. i know it’s early, but i planned something special for you. get dressed. and meet me at the place we first met.

even groggy, the sight of the note makes you smile. and you rub your eyes as you get up, reading over it over and over as you dress yourself.

you know where he’s talking about. a chance stumble in a coffee shop halfway across town. but when you get there he’s gone, and all that’s there is a note scribbled on a napkin the waitress gives you, her smile coy.

not quick enough. our first kiss, maybe?

you can’t help but roll your eyes. ever the tease. you can basically see his grin as he scribbled it out.

so you go. the courthouse. meeting him outside after a tough case, the way he lifted you. but his friend (and yours) rollins is there instead, leaning against a pillar with sunglasses and a wry quirk of her lips.

those notes take you all across the city. first date, second kiss, first anniversary. you’re thrown this way and that, notes from his team, his squad. you kinda feel the need the apologize, but they don’t even blink.

“it’s sonny,” they laugh. all of them, even barba. “we expect nothing less.”

and all of them seem clued in to something you’re still searching for. because by the time you get to the last clue, his sergeant, mike, seems positively giddy.

last one, i promise, he writes. now. i’ll see you at home. our home.

you can’t help your sigh. of course. and by the time you get there you’re feeling run ragged. it’s cute, the reminiscence, but finding yourself back where you start has your mouth open before you even open the door.

“sonny, while i love the trip down memory lane —“ you start. but any words left in your throat are stole, because before you, your living room is transformed.

it’s still recognizable. the couch you and sonny picked, the tv he begged you for. but in the center of the room is sonny looking taller and more sure than you’ve ever seen him, and flowers seem to cover every surface.

he’s grinning. he’s so - so proud of himself, and you can’t help the gasp as your nose picks up what’s simmering on the stove, as you realize what he’s holding in his hand.

and then he goes to one knee.

“hey,” he says. and that confident lift of his chin doesn’t hide the way his voice trembles. as you love with long strides to his side, to look down at him as he gazes lovingly up at you. “i’m real sorry, but. i had to get you out of the apartment.”

his eyes are teary. you can barely see him.

“it’s okay,” you say immediately. nodding. “it’s fine.”

“i know, but. still.” and he laughs, and you laugh, and when he pops the box open you’re nodding. immediately. “i - i’m here. in our home. and i think about things i wanna do. with my future. and each time i think about it i think about you. there’s no step i wanna take where you’re not there. and i have to ask you —“

you can’t let him finish. you’re already nodding. already laughing, already crying. “yes, yes, yes, yes, sonny, i’ll marry you,” you’re saying, and before you can think you’re on your knees, too, pulling him into a hug.

(the ring is forgotten until later. you’re both laughing and still a little teary when you see it on the coffee table. and it’s another round of “yes, sonny,” that gets it on your finger, finally. as it should be.)

nick amaro - 

in another life nick amaro gets shot and comes out broken. in this life, he has you.

he’s here, instead. drying dishes, the laughter of his squad in the other room, and he gets the joy of watching you. gets to watch your little smile, the way you glance at him and shake your head. 

“take a picture. it’ll last longer,” you say, and it’s a tease, and he gets to grin and ignore the pain in his knee because you’re here, too. there are aches and pains that are going to last forever, but so is this, and he knows it. 

it’s a simple motion. he sets the dish he has to the side. leans from the counter to against you, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other into his pocket.

“you make my life better, y’know that?” his voice is low. you hum, lean back into him, mindful of the lone foot he’s balancing on.

“you say that like i’m not lucky, too,” you murmur, right back, wiping suds off onto your shirt before holding his hand.

he kisses your cheek, then your jaw, chin on your shoulder. and when he pulls out the little box he’s been carrying around for too long he can feel your breath falter. 

“nick,” you mumble. 

“i’m not - not a poet. i know that. but it’s not poetry to say that i love you. it’s just the truth. you love on my kids, you laugh with my squad, you... you show me what it’s like to see the world with... fresh eyes.” 

it’s that simple. the middle of your kitchen, your family behind you, your dishes in front of you. he lifts the lid, and your hand drops to the one he has on your waist, squeezing it tightly, swallowing as you glance up at him with big eyes. 

“marry me.” 

he watches you. watches your eyes scan the ring, trace up his arm until you’re turning to face him. your hand drops the dish you have, and if he could hear anything but his own heart pounding, he’d know that the other room quiets in an instant.

“nick,” you say again.

“marry me,” he whispers back, “because each day is better with you in it. my life is better with you, and... i never want to let that go.”

that’s all he can say, if he wants his voice is stay steady. but you know the rest. you whisper your yes. over and over. pull him in for a kiss, and the two of you are clinging to the counter because right now he can’t hold you quite how he likes.

and when prying ears become prying eyes, and the box is seen in nick’s death grip, there’s cheers of yeses, too.

mike dodds - 

it’s spring.

you both sit on a blanket with wildflowers around, looking at each other in the bright sunshine. there’s a chill in the air, but the sun cuts through it. makes mike’s hair look a little golden, makes your eyes shine.

a day off for the both of you. a rarity, but one you both cherished. usually days off mean nights in, but this day is different. mike has a plan, one he doesn’t share until you park and he has to grin.

“how about a picnic?”

it’s spring.

he looks at you as he leans back on the grass. watches your hand move as you tell him about your week, laugh about something you heard through the grapevine. he watches as you reach for a few berries, pop them in your mouth.

the sun is high in the sky. it’s burning his nose, his cheeks, he’s sure, but that’s not what matters. what matters is that he gets a little closer to you, sits up so he can smile gently, reach for your hand.

“hey, sweetheart. can we talk for a minute?”

you’ve finished your story, but the question still makes you pause. makes your brow furrow as you look at him, but his smile tells you all you need to know. it’s not something to worry about. 

“sure, mike,” you say, squeezing his hand. “what about?” 

it’s spring. and what is spring if not the buzz of bees, the flower buds, and new beginnings with the ones you love? with the one who makes your heart flutter in your chest, who makes butterflies in your stomach feel as real as the ones that land on windowsills? 

“the fact that i love you.” his thumb runs over your skin, and his grin is vibrant.

“i love you, too,” you say back. it’s instinct. easy.

not as easy as this.

“and i’m lucky. because i met someone who saw me past all the pomp, and circumstance, and bad ties, and —“

“i love your ties,” you protest, and he has to lean forward to kiss you. kisses you over and over, until you’re both giggling, so he can slide past the basket and dig his hand in.

“and i love you.” his voice is a little breathless, as he looks at you. “i love the way you make me smile. i love them way you make me laugh. i love you, every inch of you, and the fact that you love every inch of me. you’re home, to me, sweetheart.”

your smile is gone. your face is open, vulnerable, and he has to lean forward and kiss you one more time. “mike,” you whisper, and when your voice cracks, he pulls his hand forward.

“will you marry me?” he asks. and he feels that familiar warmth, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, as his cheeks go a little red, and your eyes widen with delight as the sight of the ring he pulls out of the basket he packed.

you laugh again. bright and warm and a yes thrown in there for the certainty. and when he gets to kiss you again, your back hits the blanket.

peter stone -

“how the hell did we lose that game?” peter groans. it’s about the drama of it, the way he leans on you with an over-the-top amount of pain, because it makes you laugh like that. 

“well, i think the long and short of it is that they scored more runs than us,” you tease. peter lifts up, stares agape, and you try and dart away before he pinches your side. you’re unsuccessful. cackle as he pulls you close to blow kisses into your neck. and your delight echoes down the street. 

the sun is setting now. summer heat warms metal buildings and the back of your heads as you walk alongside a busy new york street. a walk you’ve made a million times, always ending up at the same spot to get some grub. 

always the same spot. 

that’s the thing that peter savors with you. the routine of it all. the fact that peter can wake up in the morning and see you, call you in the afternoon and hear you.

building a life with you. step by step. building a routine, step by step.

this walk is different. this walk has peter’s hand in his pocket, a three-fingered grip on the ring he spent ages searching for. you pull him towards the usual restaurant, make the turn, and he follows with ease. he’d follow you anywhere.

the host recognizes the both of you. your booth is open. peter has a flash of that first walk together, the way you grinned and pulled him down on the same side.

“let’s be cheesy, peter stone.”

he remembers that any time he slides in next to you. this time, included. it’s cheesy, to keep his hand tangled in yours, to blow kisses onto the side of your neck to make you laugh. it’s cheesy to pull you against his side and feed you a piece of something from the appetizer. it’s cheesy as hell to look at you and see everything he wants for the rest of his life.

but he loves it.

loves you.

he reaches into his pocket. holds the ring like a good fastball, tight grip, thumb running against smooth velvet. he feels his heart pound, blood roar in his ears, as the sun lowers behind the new york high-rises.

“hey,” he murmurs. you’re both tired from the time out in the sun, the feeling of hot plastic seats, three hours and eight innings. but his voice is low for another reason, as he leans close and sets the box gently in front of you. 

your fingers holding his grip him. reach for his thigh, and hold that, too. “peter —”

“home is new york, and you, because you made it that way. hope is baseball games and late night dinners, and... this booth because of you. i’ve - i’ve lost so much, but gained so much more because of you. i love you. i’m in love with you. and i always will be.” 

you’re leaning against him, now. your grip is no longer tight, but firm. he glances down and sees your little smile, the single tear that he swipes away. 

“i want to marry you. will - will you let me?” 

the lid pops open. but the ring isn’t the focus. the focus is your hands on his jaw, now, pulling him in for a kiss and murmures yeses against his lips. 

-

tag list: @duchesschameleon // @writefasttalkevenfaster // @altsvu // @ssaic-jareau // @encounterthepast // @mijop // @bureaudart // @1234-angelika // @nuvoleincielo // @wanniiieeee // @averyhotchner // @barbasbodaciousbeard // @caracalwithchips // @xxlovingfandomsxx // @mad-girl-without-a-box // @alliekenner 

[maraudersftw]

Underwater

Had the most wonderful time writing this piece of pure fluff with the beautiful @petalstosarah, who also happens to be unbelievably talented and the sweetest person. ❤❤

This is our submission for @efkgirldetective’s Summer of Jily prompt #2:  Swimming with friends + Today we're younger than we're ever gonna be 🌊🏖

(Does it still count as friends if it’s just James and Lily?)

The summer sun was blazing over the beach, creating a landscape of umbrellas that sat atop glittering white sand. Colours red, orange, yellow, and blue popped out of the ground; the view of an endless rainbow from the top of the street. It was almost picturesque, like a postcard waiting to be delivered, when looking down at it.

Beyond the colours, the ocean shone like a turquoise jewel that begged to be explored. Ships rode the waves back and forth across the little bay. People were kayaking, fishing, and diving off cliff-sides into the deep blue water.

Lily was certain she’d never seen an ocean quite as blue as this one before. It almost looked fake, as if part of a painting in a gallery rather than the tangible spread before her, sticking the salty air to her skin. She took a picture with her camera, desperate to commit the sight to memory.

“Can you believe we’re in Greece?” She turned with a smile, looking at the man standing behind her. “I still can’t.”

Read more on: AO3 || FFN

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.2

Pt. 1   Pt. 2    Pt.3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, arranged marriage plot, kinda royal au, some fighting, secret relationship, angst.

a/n: Here is part 2! I might upload part three tonight. I’m so excited to see where this goes. It seems that the first part is doing pretty good so I might upload them faster. As always requests/asks are open! Just give me little time to get to them. Enjoy! 

Word count: 1.8K

Walking through the town, you felt an inordinate wave of liberation flow through not only you but also through Loki. It felt as if the weight of the world released itself from your shoulders. Confidence and strength soaring through the air. Loki lost his stiffness, his typical carefree nature restored once you became more grounded. 

“See, not so bad, right?”

Shaking your head, a cynical chuckle escaped your throat

“For you maybe. All these eyes on us is kinda gross.”

“It’s only because the most attractive prince has finally decided to show his face.”

You looked at Loki, amusement absent from your face. He laughed, a belly laugh almost. It was a free sound you had yet to hear from him and when you did your face painted your emotions before you had the chance to process them yourself. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yes, but you, my dear, tolerate it. So who's really at a loss in this situation?”  

“Well, it’s not me.”

“It couldn’t be me Y/N.”

“Looks like we’re both losers then Loki.”

You were approaching the main entrance of the palace and began to wonder if Loki was considering bringing you inside.

“We lost when we fell in love with each other Y/N. Listening to the heart is the most foolish thing one can do and yet here we are. Charging full speed with our eyes closed hoping we don’t trip over anything.”

Guiding you up the steps of the massive golden structure Loki called ‘home’ your nerves struck up again. 

“Seems to make sense that if we’re going full speed, might as well exploit our courtship in the place where you will eventually be spending all your time in. And with all things considered, sneaking you in is...counterproductive, to say the least.”

Exhaling, you brought yourself together and walked in front of Loki. His hand rested on your lower back escorting you inside. Grabbing fabric in your fists, you hiked your dress up a bit making sure you didn’t step on it. Walking through the main threshold, you realized you were worrying for nothing. The halls were massive, the ceiling stretching higher than you ever imagined.

 It would be a miracle if you were to run across someone you knew in a place so vast.

 You looked around in shock at everything you were being hidden from. The thought of it hopefully being yours to share with Loki in freedom and not in constraint was illuminating. One day to not only be openly in love with him but to call him your husband. Your partner for life was the solace you needed. Everything looked new to you because you had only ever seen the hallways in the dead of night to share evening visits with Loki, being as slick as one could, and it always working in your favor.

“Wow, it looks so different here with the sun shining through. Always felt like a runaway sneaking through the backways and balconies to get to your quarters.”

“And now you get to walk there like every other person in this place. Quite fancy isn’t it.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask for the smart mouth, you ass.” 

“Comfortable, are we?” 

“With you? Always.”

Finally, you two had walked up to Loki’s quarters. Opening the doors he welcomed you in and you welcomed yourself to his bed. Flopping down on the edge of it, the edge of your dress flying up and you went down. Hearing the door shut, you lifted your head up to face Loki at the door, only thing was he wasn’t there. Furrowing your brow you sat up on your elbows and by the time you looked behind you, it was too late. 

“Boo.”

Your body reacted before you could control your response. Your stomach fell to your ass, eyes widening and a sharp inhale all followed one another before you finally shook off the anxiety and realized that Loki had popped up behind you. 

“You asshole! What if I screamed, huh?”

Loki laughed falling over on the bed, your reaction to him obviously something of hilarity to him. You rolled your eyes and pushed his shoulder in and began to pout. He caught his breath and calmed down enough so he could respond back to you. 

“You’re only screaming for one thing and unfortunately, darling, the sun’s still out. So, someone will have to wait, considering they’re so concerned about being caught.”

Loki raised his eyebrow and your mouth was agape. You squinted your eyes and an idea popped in your head. Rolling over on your knee you placed yourself on top of Loki's lap, resting your hands on his chest stealing his smirk for this moment in time.

“I can control myself...you on the other hand, once you start you can't stop.”

To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips into his and brought your body down to level his. Reaching his ear you whispered

“If you can find containment within yourself, a prize will await you this evening.”

You moved from his ear and hovered in front of his face, your lips ghosting one another. You pulled back a little bit to stare into his eyes. They were hypnotic no matter how many times you saw them. Loki’s hand trailed up your backside squeezing the mound of your ass before continuing up your back. His hand finding refuge at the nape of your neck. He pulled you back to his face, a gentleness about the entire interaction, and kissed you. 

There was a different kind of spark in this kiss, it felt electric, coursing through your veins and settling in your brain as a memory you’d never forget. Losing yourself in the thrill of it all, your hips began moving against his. Your building arousal creating a fog between you. The more you ground into the god below you, the more apparent his bulge was. Flipping you on your back Loki now held the reins of the situation. 

“Now, don’t tempt me Y/N. You have a habit of teasing and where does it always leave you?”

“At your mercy.”

“Clever girl. So if you like to save this accolade you mentioned for later, mind your manners, my love.”

He leaned down to kiss you as to punctuate his words, ending the discussion with the pull of your lips between his teeth. Hissing through the pleasure you couldn’t help but roll your hips up towards him, now being the one desperately craving friction. Testing the waters, you wanted to see how far you could push Loki to his limits. Your hand found the scruff of his neck and scrunched his hair. Sucking a breath in between his teeth, he pulled back a light laugh following. 

“I’m aware of what you’re attempting to do Y/N, and I think it would be fair for you to know that it’s a feeble attempt. Reason being, now you’re the one left in ardor.”

Loki pulled off of you but made sure to drive his point home by sliding down your body and resting between your thighs before fully standing up. You lied on the bed in slight agony of your current predicament. You sighed and brought yourself up on your elbows. Looking ahead of you, you saw Loki sitting in the massive throne chair that was in his room. It was gothic in nature yet still regal with the back of the chair rising well up behind him and the arms of it embellished with Asgardian design. 

His position in the chair was more than purposeful. His legs were spread wide, his arm resting on the arm of the throne and his hand propping up his head to look not only at you but out on the balcony. The late evening sun illuminating his eyes, bringing a whole new meaning to golden hour. He looked breathtaking and it was as if you were falling in love with him all over again.

The lust you were previously feeling was now amplified but also accompanied with adoration for your lover. You raised yourself from up off the bed and waltzed over to him. A fire behind your eyes and in your presence but you had yet to act on it. Coming in front of him, you kneeled in front of him and looked up. Two could play at this game. Your hands slid up his legs, paying special attention to his thighs and feather lightly rubbed on this. His eyes were boring through yours and you felt small under his gaze. 

The silence between you was telling, that if you were to continue with your actions there would be no waiting until later. You wanted to enjoy the silence between the two of you, so you turned your back to him now sitting on your behind, and crossed your legs. You leaned your head back so it fell in between his legs, but before fully getting settled you reached for the two books resting on the side table in front of the chair and placed them in your lap. You wiggled your hips and settled into a comfortable position. 

Resting your head back, you craned it further attempting to look at Loki. He rolled his eyes knowing exactly what you were asking for. 

“You know, if I knew how often you’d beg for these I would have never indulged in your initial request.”

“You and I both know this is enjoyable for both parties.”

Loki huffed, a silent agreement without saying explicitly that you were right. Loki began to rub your temples. You closed your eyes enjoying the sensation and the loving intent of his actions. You finally felt calm and safe compared to the rest of the day which was riddled with anxiety and panic and the nagging fear of all the ‘what ifs’ you came up with. You had exhausted yourself and this simple action put you at ease. You opened your eyes for a moment and glanced down at the books in your lap trying to decipher which one was Loki’s. 

Catching a glimpse on the side you realized the one on the bottom was Loki’s current project at hand. Grabbing it, you twisted your arm behind you and slid the book into Loki’s lap knowing that sooner or later you would end up dozing off and you figured that getting this out the way would make it easier for both of you. 

“You are truly something else.”

“And you love me for it Loki.” 

“Can’t argue that one.”

A small smile painted your face before it fell back into its relaxed state and you began to drift off. Every little thing that had happened today made you feel that you were a few steps closer to getting what you so desired with Loki.

[gagmebucky]

[steve. breeding kink. baby.]

“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.) 

do not repost.

—

Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.

This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you. 

Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.

On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.

The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with  his knuckles breaking a few punching bags. 

In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him. 

So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either. 

When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret. 

His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.

Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark. 

The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.    

From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber. 

“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.” 

Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest. 

Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.” 

His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.

Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.

The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed. 

As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze. 

“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”  

You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.” 

The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.

“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door.   Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.” 

You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with. 

In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”

“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?” 

Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.” 

You fold your arms and nod.

“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”

 His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.” 

“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“

He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities. 

“That’s not funny.”

Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in. 

Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.” 

Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?” 

“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.” 

A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore. 

He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”

“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”

“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”

With your body clutched  around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.

He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue. 

“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.

His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.

Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?” 

At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal. 

He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.

“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”

“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence. 

Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger. 

The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!” 

It is about damn time. 

His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.         

He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and  help open up your elastic entrance for his  ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.

“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves.  He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”

“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”

He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”

In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.   

Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin. 

Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now. 

Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.

“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?” 

He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!” 

His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa). 

“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?” 

“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm  seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!” 

Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths. 

The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously,  and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating. 

When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.

Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?” 

A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”

[masterlist / feedback]

[katiebug445]

Soulmates Not Destined

Jearmin Week day 2

Prompt: soulmates 

Rating: g

Finding a soulmate was always an event, a huge deal in the small town where Jean lived. Love was always celebrated and looked for, and it made him grow up with the hope in mind that someday he would find his. He could remember when his best friend, a dark-haired man named Marco, found his, and everyone they knew came by to congratulate him and the man he was to spend his life with. That had been three years ago now, and since then, almost everyone he was friends with had been paired off, leaving Jean completely alone. 

He found himself wondering more and more if it was just a problem with him, if maybe… he was broken in some way, that nobody ever got around to creating his life long partner, and as the years went on, it seemed more and more likely. 

Would it be possible to be happy without one? 

Jean thought of his mother, a wonderful, loving woman who had met and married his father when she was around his age, out of desperation for the fact that she hadn’t found her match either, and found herself trapped in a loveless marriage and a weakening desire to force it. In the end, it had done nothing except land her with a son and a broken heart, both from a man who couldn’t love. It made Jean wonder if that was why, if he’d taken after his parents and was doomed to spend his life lonely and unhappy and desperate for the first person who gave him a second glance. 

That scared him more than anything. 

Another year went by spent completely on his own, and his fear was so loud in his head that it was almost deafening him. Marco would be getting married the following autumn, and as the date grew closer, Jean almost wanted to skip going. The last thing he needed was another reminder of how lonely he was. 

He first saw him coming out of a cafe following two others, a man and a woman, both dark-haired and all but clinging to each other and sharing their drinks. He had an iced coffee in his hand, and a smile that tried to be happy but held that same loneliness that Jean himself felt on a constant basis. He was beautiful, though, with the wind blowing his hair back the tiniest bit, and Jean couldn’t do anything but stare. 

He watched the man walk by, a deep blush in his cheeks, and wished he were brave enough to speak when he caught sight of the dark haired man with him look over and tap the blond on the shoulder. Suddenly, the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen were looking directly at him. The man stopped, raising his hand and waving at him, and Jean waved back nervously. He stood there for another second before turning to his friends and made his way over, and almost complete panic overtook everything else. 

“Hi.” The man greeted in a soft, almost embarrassed voice, and it melted Jean immediately. 

“Hi.” He said back, swallowing a little as he looked the blond up and down, taking in his slight frame and feeling his heart race uncomfortably fast in his chest. “Uh… sorry… I didn’t - I didn’t mean to, um… Make you uncomfortable.” 

“You didn’t.” He insisted, offering him another smile that made him feel warm all over. “Was… there something you needed, though?” 

“I’m Jean.” Jean blurted, his face going red when he realized the words that just came out of his mouth. “I-I just… I’m Jean.” 

The blond looked at him curiously for a moment, his adorable button nose scrunched up in the cutest way, before he held his hand out for him to take. “Armin.” 

“Armin…” Jean repeated, loving the way it sounded on his lips. 

“Jean…” Armin said back, still, he realized, holding his hand. 

*

Jean had been attached to Armin ever since. They’d spent the rest of that first day talking and walking around town, coming up with excuse after excuse to keep going just so they didn’t have to say goodbye. There was something about him, something that called to the deepest parts of Jean and pulled him in, and he had no desire to resist it. 

They ended their day at the same cafe where they’d met, sitting outside under the fading sun over cake pops and iced coffee, and the both of them knew when they finished, they had to go home for the night, and the thought was making him panic in the worst way. What if he never saw Armin again? What if this was just a one off meeting and that was all? 

He couldn’t let that happen. 

“Hey,” Jean started, realizing too late that Armin had just started taking a drink of his coffee. The other man swallowed quickly, his face scrunching up in a way that Jean knew it was too cold, and he had to fight not to chuckle. “Can I see you again?” 

It took Armin a moment to answer, a shiver running through his body and his hand at his throat, as if he were trying to warm himself up enough to talk. “Of course you can.” He said eventually, setting his drink aside for the time being, and when he saw Jean pulling his phone out, he sat up. When he was ready, Armin rattled off his number and Jean saved it, then he did the same for him. 

They spoke for a little longer, Armin nursing his iced coffee, but finally when the sun began to sink behind the buildings, he got to his feet. “I need to go.” He informed him sadly. “I… I have work in the morning, and I’ve taken up enough of your day.” 

Jean shook his head, sadness clear on his face, trying and failing to think of something to make Armin stay even longer. “No… No, I wanted to spend it with you.” He insisted. “This was… this was incredible.” 

Armin nodded his head slightly, and looked down at the number still pulled up on his phone, his heart racing a little at the thought of him really wanting to keep it there. “I’ll hopefully hear from you soon.” He said, and it sounded like he meant it. 

“Yeah,” Jean breathed, watching Armin as he finally got up and wishing he were brave enough to make him stay. “I’ll talk to you soon, Armin.” 

Armin gave him another melting smile, and waved goodbye before taking off in the direction of his house. Jean stayed put, watching his disappearing figure, and when he was sure he was alone hid his face in his hands to hide the giddy smile on his face. Had that just happened? Had it really truly happened to him?!

Was this it? 

--- 

Since that day, they’d made at least a little time to spend together almost every evening, by going to a movie, or to dinner, or even just a coffee and a quick stroll around the park near Jean’s house. They couldn’t get enough of each other, and both of them said as much whenever they had the opportunity to, and every time the words left Armin’s mouth, it filled Jean with so much happiness he thought he could burst. 

There was no doubt about it that they were meant for each other. 

They’d learned together that they weren’t soulmates. It had come four months into their relationship, on a double date with Marco and his fiance, that there had been no current between them. No charge that both of them felt to make it known that this person was different, special, that this would be one of a kind. Jean’s heart sank when he realized that Armin wasn’t his one person, that they weren’t destined for each other like he’d been hoping for, and after the realization that the other man probably wouldn’t bother with him anymore, pushed his plate away, and sat silent in his seat for the remainder of the night. 

He was still thinking about it on the way home. The panic was beginning to eat him alive, wondering when Armin would drop the bomb that he wanted to move on, to go out and seek his soulmate and leave him to spend his life alone, and he so badly wanted to beg Armin to not go. How could he, though? If Armin didn’t want him, then he couldn’t force him when he had that perfect person out there? 

Jean was quiet until they got back to Armin’s home, and when he stood at the door with him to say goodnight, Armin reached out and took his hand. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” He asked, knowing Jean too well to know he couldn’t be. 

“I can’t stop.” Jean admitted, looking down at their hands and squeezing Armin’s tight, desperate to cling to him for as long as he could. “I can’t… I thought for sure…” Pleadingly, he looked down into Armin’s eyes, his throat closing up, but desperately wanting to get the words out. “If… if this is it… just do it now. I don’t want to lose you slowly.” 

“Come in for a little bit.” Armin said, taking Jean’s hand and dragging him into the house, the one that Jean had been so curious about for so long now. 

Armin’s house was bigger than he thought. Dimly lit in the dark of the night, lamps took up portions on almost every flat surface next to chairs, bookshelves lining every wall around the room and full to the brim with books and nicknacks that Jean wanted to learn about. He stepped away from the other man, going to the one in the back that held framed photos amongst the tomes with cracked, well worn spines. Jean ran his fingers over the cracked leather, noticing that several of them were in different languages, and wondered to himself if Armin could read them or if they were just for show. 

As his eyes scanned over the gold lettering, he spied his own face in one of the pictures. 

It was their one month anniversary, and Jean had insisted to cook, wanting to show off his skills for his boyfriend for the first time, and Armin had insisted on documenting it. There he stood over Armin’s stove, his worn, stained apron tied around his waist, and a ladle in his hand that he was trying to cover his face with. Apparently, Armin was faster with his camera, though, because he could clearly see the embarrassed look he’d given him. 

Jean was still looking when he felt a pair of arms slip around his waist and a face press into his back, able to make out the shape of Armin’s nose and lips between his shoulders. He relaxed the tiniest bit, laying his hands over the other man’s and leaning back into the embrace a little. “I’m sorry.” He murmured. “For not… being able to be your… um… you know.”

“Why are you apologizing for that?” Armin asked, his voice a little muffled by his shirt. “I don’t want you to apologize for anything.” 

“But I - I’m wasting your time, aren’t I? I’ve kept you here when you should be looking for-” 

“Who said you’re not my soulmate?” Armin asked, his voice more stern than Jean could ever remember hearing it. 

“What?” 

“Who said you’re not my soulmate?” Armin repeated, stepping back when Jean turned and looking up at him with genuine confusion on his face. 

“Didn’t you hear Marco tonight?” Jean asked, his heart breaking when the realization hit him all over again. “We’re not - Armin, I can’t be what you need.” 

“Who gets to decide that?” Armin yelled, his eyes hardening a little as he forced Jean’s attention. “Tell me. Who gets to decide what I need. Is it you, or is it me? Because I’ve always thought it was me.” Jean opened his mouth to speak again but Armin cut him off, reaching out and taking his hands. “Who cares about if you’re my soulmate or not? Who cares if I didn’t feel some stupid sensation when we met? I don’t!” 

Jean could only stare as Armin spoke, able to hear the emotion rising in his voice and feeling about two feet tall for making him upset. He squeezed his hands, wanting to apologize but not knowing how to get the words out. 

“Jean,” Armin continued, “I don’t care about finding my soulmate. I’ve never cared about that, but especially not after I met you. Do you know why that is? Because when I met you, I felt something better than some stupid electric charge. I felt like I’d found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. When you said hi, it felt like a welcome home. It felt better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life, and I thought that maybe you felt it, too! Was it not like that for you?” 

“It was.” Jean said weakly, his voice thin with barely repressed tears. “It still does.” 

“Then who the hell is to say that you’re not my soulmate?” Armin asked, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t care if it’s - if it’s not like the others. Being with you has been the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. You’re my greatest happiness. You’re my biggest motivator and encouragement. You don’t judge me. You hold me at night and let me love you when we can’t sleep, and you always watch the dumb movies I want to and you don’t complain. You love me, and I love you, and I don’t care about what anyone says because you’re my soulmate because I said you are!” 

Jean’s lip quivered when he heard Armin say those words, his own face just as wet as the blond’s by the time he finished. All he could do was hold onto his hands like a lifeline, unsure if he could let go even if he wanted to. He was right, Jean knew. Who really got to decide who was and wasn’t meant to belong together except the people involved? He loved Armin. He loved his smarts and his humor and his passion to learn everything the world had to offer. He loved his love for the ocean, and his dedication to getting to see it in person one day, and he loved all of the documentaries and specials and regular movies that Armin always wanted to see. He loved it all because Armin loved it, and seeing him happy was the most rewarding thing that Jean had ever felt before in his life. 

If that didn’t make him his soulmate, then he didn’t know what would. 

When he still hadn’t said anything, Armin let go of his hands, and with a sob he pulled Jean down into a crushing hug, burying his face in his shoulder and clinging tight to his shirt. “I love you.” He cried. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’m not about to give that up for anything.” 

“I love you too.” Jean breathed, clinging back to Armin just as tight. “I love you, and you’re right. About all of it. You’re my soulmate because I want you to be. A-and I’ll always want you to be.” 

Armin said nothing, just squeezed him even tighter, and both of them stayed pressed up against the bookshelf until they were too exhausted to keep crying. When they finally were able to let go, Armin pulled back and wiped the tears from Jean’s eyes, the care and gentleness in his touch making Jean feel like nothing in the world mattered except for this right here. Nothing was important aside from Armin’s warm hands on his face, his small, solid body pressed against his, and his breath heavy against his chest. Nothing mattered except that room and the two hearts that beat as one inside of it. Two hearts that were destined to find one another and make a home. One that would stand for centuries to come. 

Two hearts that weren’t originally chosen for each other, but chose each other anyway. 

[quepasta]

A Relentless Past - Chapter 1

Author: Quepasta | AO3 | Twitter

Summary:  Link wakes up with no memory but discovers he has been asleep for 100 years. Now he must struggle with remembering his past, a painful past he has no memory of, and confronting his destiny in the present. Not to mention dealing with the crazy characters he meets while exploring the new world he has woken up in and the foes he runs into. Takes place during Breath of the Wild and expands on the story we know from the video game. (Part 1 of this trilogy. Also, you know I ship Zelink but this is the slowest slow burn I have ever written)

Author’s Notes:  Just a quick explanation of this story. This fic started out as a writing exercise and then it got out of control, as they usually do. This will be a trilogy, the first one (this one) being Link’s story during the game. Staying somewhat canon, but adding things that will round out the story and lead to non-canon things.    I will say that the story might be slow at first, but I promise I am building up to something. The first two chapters are setting up the scene and building Link’s character. My focus is on exploring his emotions during the game and how much he actually remembers, since we don’t get to see a whole lot of that.    The next story will be Zelda’s story before the calamity (not following Age of Calamity’s story, for obvious reasons). Mostly because I wanted to know more about her story and so I decided to write it. I actually wrote that story first, but I wanted to experiment with story telling by starting the trilogy in the present and then going back to the past. Also, the second story will answer questions that the first story will create.    The last installment will be after the game, following both Link and Zelda. The aftermath of the calamity and both of them rejoining the world after 100 years is very intriguing to me, so that is where my focus is. Also exploring some of the lore of the series. (We will see who puts their story out first, me or Nintendo lol. Please let us have an update on BOTW 2 soon)    The series will be an expansion of the canon story but also adding things that I would like to explore. Each installment will have many, many chapters. This has been the biggest project I have worked on so far. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any polite feedback or questions. Thank you - Quepasta

   The fire crackling was the only noise that was made as the two strangers sat across from each other. One of them, a young man, tentatively ate the baked apple that the other stranger, an older gentleman, had given him. The young lad was starving but also felt sick to his stomach, but an apple had seemed like a good thing to try to settle himself.

  The young man squinted at the sunlight poking through the clouds, his eyes still adjusting. The sun shined brightly, searing its light into his retinas. His head hurt and he was insanely thirsty, but more than anything he was confused.

  He played the events that had just happened back in his head. He had seen the golden bright light and heard the voice, telling him to wake up. What had the voice called him? Link?

  He had woken up alone, no one else being in...well wherever he had been. But he was sure that not only had he heard someone, but had also felt someone’s presence there with him.

  Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, he continued working through the rest of the events that had happened since waking up. The voice had told him to pick up the sheikah slate, some sort of technology that was now hanging off the belt at his hip. The voice said the slate would guide him after his...long slumber. That’s what it had said. Whatever that meant.

  The slate had opened the door to the...chamber? That word came to his mind. He found clothes to change into inside some old chests after leaving the chamber, a pair of pants and a shirt that were both a size too small. But it was better than nothing.

  After going through another room and pressing the slate against another pedestal, Link found the way out. Finally he had been able to see outside, the door opening up to a tunnel that led outdoors. When the door opened, he had seen the bright light once more. And the voice spoke to him. It had called him Link again. What had it said?

  He racked his brain trying to remember, but it was as if his brain protesting back. An intense amount of pressure found itself at his forehead, and the young man closed his eyes until it went away.

  Then he finally remembered. The voice had said that he was the light that must shine upon Hyrule once again. The meaning behind that meant nothing to Link, finding himself lost at what the voice was trying to tell him.

  Climbing out of the tunnel, Link had felt the urge to run. The air up here was much fresher than the thick air back in the chamber. He let the urge take him to the edge of a cliff, and he stared out at the land below him. He gasped at how large everything was, he suddenly felt dwarfed by the world. Huge mountains, hills, valleys, forests, and rivers took up the landscape. A large mountain stood out to him, but it didn’t look like the rest of the mountains. Volcano, the word popped in his mind. It was a volcano.

  Link looked to his right, and that is when he first noticed the old man. It seemed like the old man had been watching him and when Link noticed him, he had turned around to walk away. Curiosity taking over, he walked down the slope to where he had seen the man sit down.

  As he approached the stranger, the smell of food overwhelmed him and he spotted the baked apple laying on the ground by the fire. Link had grabbed it without thinking, which caused the old man to finally speak.

  “I beg your pardon! I do believe that is my baked apple. You can’t just go about taking whatever you please!” The old man exclaimed.

 Instantly Link felt bad, of course he knew that. Why had he done it?

  Seeing Link’s expression, the old man laughed. “Oh ho! Forgive me, I could not resist pulling your leg. Please, help yourself.”

  Link watched the old man, checking to see if he was serious. The old man had nodded, and that’s when Link had sat down to eat the apple.

  “You know, it is a bit strange to see another soul in these parts.” The old man said, breaking the silence.

  Link looked up from the almost finished apple, raising his eyebrow in a question. “Who are you?” Link asked, the words feeling unnatural to him.

  “Me? I’ll spare you my life story. Ha! I’m just an old fool who has lived here, alone, for quite some time now. What brings a bright-eyed young man like yourself to a place like this?” The old man asked, leaning forward with his head slightly tilted.

  The fire in front of them turned his long white beard to a shade of amber, but somehow deepened the shadows the hood around his head created on his face.

  Link thought about the question for a second while chewing on the apple. He didn’t know the answer to that, which he figured he should know. It occurred to him he had no idea what this place was.

  “Where are we?” Link decided to ask, finishing the apple and flinging the core behind him.

  The old man laughed again. “Answering a question with a question. That is fair enough. This is the Great Plateau. According to legend, this is the birthplace of the entire kingdom of Hyrule.”

  There was that word again. Hyrule . It was a familiar word to Link, though he couldn’t pin down why.

  The old man got up and pointed to a building in the distance. “That temple there...long ago, it was the site of many sacred ceremonies. Though ever since the decline of the kingdom 100 years ago, it has sat abandoned, in a state of decay. Yet another forgotten entity. A mere ghost of its former self…” The old man trailed off and sat back down.

  Link watched him as he did so, he could see a different emotion pass over the old man’s face that had not been there earlier. Link racked his brain for a word to describe it. Sorrow. Pain. Sadness, were the words his mind provided back. Link stared at the old man. He had said he had lived in this area for awhile. Had he witnessed the decline he talked about?

  The old man looked at him, and nodded his head toward the path behind him. Link got the message, move along now.

  “Wait. Do you have a name?” Link asked.

  “Whatever you want to call me is fine. Do you have a name?” The old man asked in return.

  He thought about it for a second. “Link.” He replied quietly.

  The old man nodded, as if agreeing with him that was his name. But he said nothing more. Link gave him a nod in thanks, and walked on.

[realityhelixcreates]

Dance of the Spheres Chapter 5: Martian March

Chapters: 5/?

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, forced marriage

Characters: Loki(Marvel),

Additional Tags:  Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:  

I'm going back to Saturn where the rings all glow

Rainbow, moonbeams, and orange snow

On Saturn, people live to be two hundred and five

Going back to Saturn where the people smile.

                                              Saturn-Stevie Wonder

our rooms glittered. They were faced in massive scale pietra dura stone patterns from floor to ceiling. Gray, black, and white dominated, with a surprising amount of green mixed in, as well as startling pops of orange-red, blue, yellow, purple, and bright pink.

The designs were large and geometric, almost a sister style to the classic Art Deco that you saw on the older buildings downtown, mixed in among the flavorless glass towers and Brutalist boxes that defined the 'modern' era.

This main room housed a delicately carved stone couch and chairs, around a low stone table, and several stone shelves and storage boxes. These were all made of a black stone that held numerous yellowish-green crystals in their matrix, all polished so that the crystals shimmered.

This same stone appeared in the patterns on the walls and floor, as very thin panes on a pale backing, highlighting the colors of their crystals. This, along with a similar black stone with reddish-orange crystals, and a dark gray, large-grained stone that sparkled at any angle, was contrasted against the now familiar creamy white and pale orange. Here and there, inlays of silvery wire brought organic shapes to the mix.

The cloudy crystal made a reappearance in a round, well-lit, domed room Loki described as a 'Solar', even though no sun could reach this place. Instead, the clearest of the crystal had been set into the dome, all of it covering the mysterious lights, creating a bright light source that illuminated the room to something close to midday. The walls were covered in the cloudy crystal, which, in the bright light, shone with veils and flashes of iridescent blue.

On one wall there was a subtle inlay of  translucent gray stone, in the shape of clouds, that shone in splashes of blue and purple. Cleverly inlaid within them were specific pieces of the same type of stone, in the shape of lightning bolts that sparked yellow when viewed at the right angle, but were invisible from others.

He showed you the antechamber that connected your rooms and his, all in black and green. Even the lights were covered in thin panes of green crystals thickly packed in black matrix, casting a dim, viridian light over the whole chamber.

You decided that room was extremely creepy, and you never wanted to be in it.

The bath room was much better, ridiculously large, with a shower just out in the open, a wide counter with a mirror of polished metal, a huge tub carved right into a semi-finished block of stone, and a strange toilet tucked away in a stall in the corner. It was all big enough for you to move around in easily, though you mentioned that you would need a chair for the shower. Loki vowed to have one brought immediately.

But your bedroom was the obvious jewel. Loki puffed up with pride as he showed it off, as if he were the one who designed it. There were jewels in here, bright, bubblegum pink, golden yellow, and apple green in elaborate platinum settings, affixed to the walls. There was more cloudy gray and white crystal in here, with their blue and purple, pink and yellow flashes. The lights were clustered around the ceiling like stars, and the bed was another of the precious rare wooden objects, a four poster canopy bed, draped with a gauzy veil.

Most surprising of all, the bedroom had a window-or rather, a doorway out to a semi-circular balcony that overlooked what must be the main palace courtyard and entrance. When you stepped out onto it, you could see lines of guards-more people than you'd seen in one place since you'd been here. They framed the long, rectangular space every ten feet or so, in bright, brassy armor and sunny yellow capes.

This was clearly a cape kind of place.

It was very strange. You could have sworn you hadn't climbed any ramps, and you certainly hadn't gone up any stairs, but here you were, at least six stories up, and there were more stories above you.

“You must be clever builders.” you said without thinking about it.

“Our engineering capabilities are the envy of the galaxy, it's true.” Loki boasted. You believed him. All around the courtyard more balconies jutted out. Several dozen feet to the side of yours, the balcony you assumed must belong to Loki was connected to another large balcony on the opposite side by an elegant walkway, supported by slender pillars. There was a round platform in the center, and red curtains obscured the balcony on the other side.

“We can address large crowds from there, or call emergency meetings of the guards, or the other high nobles.” Loki said, following your gaze. “That's who lives on this floor. Myself, my brother, all of the most important Asgardians, and now you.”

But not for long, if you had any opportunity. “Uh, I'm honored.”

“How do you like them, though?” he pressed, “Is the décor to your liking? The size? We've been working on it for months, but we can still change things if you need.”

“Months?” you gasped, shocked. “You guys did all this in just months?”

Asgard had come to Earth a little under two years ago, decimated and begging for assistance. Thor led them, but no one knew Loki had come along. Thor himself served as his own liaison to the United Nations, bringing his case before the leaders of Earth, to secure a place for his people.

Obviously, it had worked. Thor's reputation and high-profile friends, as well as his surprisingly diplomatic and optimistic outlook had both charmed and discombobulated most people who spoke to him. People liked and respected him, but no one expected him to be savvy.

It had worked out very well for him and his people. They had secured some secret land that the entire U.N. had remained tight-lipped about. Then, a few months in, Thor had stopped making appearances, leaving Earth-Asgard relations to his advisors; an abrasive, undiplomatic woman whom you loved to watch, and a stoic and imposing man with unsettling eyes. Rumors flew for a while, but you hadn't paid much attention. There had been so much to fight for at home.

Did anyone even know you were gone? You were supposed to attend a march tonight. Or last night? You didn't know how long you had been asleep. Surely someone noticed you were missing.

But if they did, how would you even know?

“-harness the sun's energy over the long rotation period so that we can build even more efficiently.” Loki was saying. “We've done an admirable job for such a reduced population, but there is so much more to do.”

“And you took them away from that to build this for me?”

“I took them away from this to build special chambers for the princess of Asgard.” Loki corrected, “It was not a waste, nor was it superfluous. It was for someone important.”

“I'm not.” you insisted, “I'm just some rando they snatched up and tossed at you. I'm not princess material.”

“I will find out what is behind this.” he said, “But until I can, I want you to feel comfortable here. This is all yours now, and more.”

You couldn't, you couldn't allow yourself. You weren't supposed to be here. It was only a matter of time before this mix up was discovered, and a swap was arranged. You'd go home, and some other woman would take your place.

How horrible.

“But is everything to your liking? Do you need more light? More space? Is the bed all right for your leg? A good height?”

You were more than a little wary about getting into bed with him here, but as you hobbled over to it, he remained at a distance. You sank onto the plush mattress, with it's silky green sheets and thick comforter. It was very nice, soft and smooth, and warm, despite being placed on solid stone. Hopefully the blanket would ward off the slight chill that followed everywhere you had been so far.

“It's a good height,” you said, “especially if I get a new cane.”

“Excellent. Would you like to see my quarters?' he asked, “You may come and go between them as you please.”

Which meant that he could too. You didn't find that reassuring.

“Uh...isn't that, um, inappropriate?” you asked, casting about for any reason to refuse. “We haven't even, um, there hasn't even been a wedding!”

He paused, then his face broke into a beautiful, glowing smile. “Of course. I understand. You want that big celebration, naturally. Well, it is only fair, isn't it?” He sat down on the floor next to your bed, as if forgetting that he was a prince and a god, a powerful figure, abandoning his dignity to sit on the floor like a child.

“Do you want to plan it, or leave it to the advisors? Asgard is very good at grand weddings, but if you've had some specific plan for it, I'm sure we can accommodate it.”

“Uh...” This would be the perfect opportunity to stall. You could buy so much time with this! “I would like to plan it. There's things I've been wanting to do since I was a little girl. It would be a dream come true, to plan my own wedding.”

Not strictly true. Certainly, as a little girl you had contemplated flowers and a dress. There being a groom was far less important.

“Then begin any time you like.” Loki said warmly. “I'll have notebooks brought to you, and you can plan out whatever you want. Whatever it is, we can do it for you.”

You almost felt bad for what you were going to do, but on the other hand, you didn't trust him and his terrifying adoration, and horrible power over your life and safety. You'd make as many impossible demands and take up as much time as you possibly could. If it kept you safe. If it kept you from the nightmare scenario.

“I will have your bathing chair brought. You seem tired; shall I have dinner brought to you? We can dine in your audience room. We can have you measured for a new prosthetic, and for a new cane as well. The artificers will set to work on them immediately.”

“Um, sure. That sounds fine.” Dinner would be welcome, after only one apple and one cup of water. And a new, higher tech leg and cane might help you escape faster. You should take every opportunity available to you.

Loki helped you out to the largest room, with it's bookshelves and seating, and saw that you were comfortable. Then he bid you stay put and wait for a bit, while he got everything set up. You were in no shape to try for an escape right now; you would just bide your time.

You waited patiently, taking in the details of the beautifully precise stonework that made up your new-temporary-living quarters. What incredible workmanship. Shame it had been wasted on you.

Maybe someone else would have been thrilled. To have wealth and power, security and luxury, a handsome prince just handed to them with no effort on their part at all. That wasn't what you wanted though; you didn't want to join the lucky ones. You didn't want to be lifted out of your hardships and set above your peers, you wanted those hardships to be eliminated for everybody. You didn't want to be a social climber, you wanted a more equitable society. This fantasy was worthless to you. It had all been done without your consent.

A quiet knock on the door grabbed your attention. You didn't answer immediately, and the knock was hesitantly repeated.

“Um, come in?” you called.

The two adolescents you had run off before cracked the door open and peeked their heads in.

“Your highness?” the girl asked.

“May we enter?” the boy finished.

“Yeah, come in. I'm in a better mood now.” you said calmly. No need to be rude to them now that she knew what was going on. If Loki hadn't even known about the kidnapping, there was no way these kids were in on it.

“We were sent here to get measurements?” the boy-Andvarri wasn't it-asked shyly. “For a prosthetic leg, and a cane?”

“Yes, I was told you might be coming. I'm sorry about earlier: I was very disoriented and confused.”

“No harm done, your highness. This won't take long.”

The girl-Bjarkehilde-helped you stand as Andvarri took several measurements and asked about your preferences in weight and materials, flexibility and points of articulation, even colors and decorations.

They were going to put in a lot of effort to help you escape. A fine efficient leg, a sturdy lightweight cane, and Bjarkehilde even asked about what kinds of medication you needed, and for what.

Bjarkehild was surprisingly close to your height and build as well. That stayed in the back of your mind for a while after the two of them left.

As the minutes passed, you began to realize that you were going to need some kind of clock. You had no idea what time it was. There was no visible sunlight, the lights in your rooms hadn't changed at all, and no one had mentioned it at all. How did the Asgardians know? Was some kind of internal timekeeping part of their natural abilities?

Maybe it was the nebulous grasp of time, maybe it was the fading adrenaline and setting in of weariness, maybe it was residual drugs working their way out of your systems, but you began to feel strange as you waited for Loki to return. Either you felt hot, or the slight chill that was prevalent in this place was getting worse. Perhaps you had been staring at the artistic walls for too long, because the colors seemed to be vacillating between painfully saturated, and fuzzy at the edges.

It seemed to take forever for Loki to return, carrying a tray of food and drink. This he set on the lovely stone table before you, and then took a seat in a nearby chair.

“You must be ravenous by now.” he said, and you were. You leaned forward to inspect the offerings. The metal tray was filled with small stone bowls and plates, and two small cups of liquid. Was this how meals were traditionally served in Asgard? A great variety of small portions?

One of the cups turned out to be orange drink, from powder. You recognized that taste from your childhood. The dry air had made your tongue rough, and the acidic flavor was a blast on your tastebuds, as bright as the colors on the walls. The second cup was some kind of brown broth, possibly also from powder, as it got thicker at the bottom of the cup. There were dried apricots, soaked in honey, and dates, a barley porridge with a swirl of honey and a dash of cinnamon. There were common Saltine-type crackers that went with a very strange stew that looked like it was made, not just with re-hydrated vegetables, but re-hydrated meat as well. It tasted fine, but the texture left something to be desired.

You barely noticed. You wolfed it all down as Loki just sat and watched, having brought nothing for himself.

“I see you needed the fuel.” he commented, after every bite was gone. “Yes, I think you will need it. Beloved, I must tell you something about that apple you ate earlier. I can see it's effects are starting to take hold. Like I said earlier, I had thought to feed it to you slowly.”

“The apple? What...what's it doing to me?” Beloved? He was taking things a bit far, wasn't he? But you definitely were feeling weird. Uncomfortable. “I had just woken up and I didn't know where I was, or what was going to happen. I didn't know where my next meal was coming from.”

“And I understand that now, as I did not then, or I would have refrained from putting it out at all. But it's too late now. For several things. We will simply have to adapt and endure.”

“Endure?”

“I will not leave your side, you may count on that.” He promised. “But that was a special apple. Its tree came from a cutting, taken from a remnant grove in Vanir territory, as part of their peace treaty with us. A sacred tree whose fruits provided the Vanir with ageless warriors. For us, they heal terrible wounds and sickness. But for you, they are known as the Apples of Immortality, and they confer a great gift indeed. But it is not without price.”

You doubled over in pain.

[justkeeptrekkin]

1975.

Crowley crosses Abbey Road. 

It’s a quiet residential street, totally normal, other than the fact that one of the world’s most famous recording studios is plonked right in the middle of it. And, aside from all the tourists trying to re-enact the Beatles album cover. 

Crowley invents the photo bomb a few decades early as he wanders across the road behind a nice German family taking picture on the zebra crossing.

He’s here to see Freddie. Crowley hasn’t seen Freddie in a while, and he’s a little apprehensive. Only because a call from Freddie on a Monday morning means he’s got something to say, and doesn’t just want to go for a few drinks or traipse around Vauxhall or Soho in their glad rags. The message on his answering machine (which is brand new, and still a little confusing) makes it sound like it’s good news, at least. Either way, the moment Crowley’s phone chimes with Freddie’s voice saying Listen, lovey, come on over to the studio tomorrow morning, I want to show you something, there’s very little that’ll keep him from going. 

It’s a little chilly today. Crowley zips up his leather jacket and puts out his cigarette on the pavement, stamping it out under black boots. He saunters over to the studio and hops up the stairs two at a time. Nudging the door open with his shoulder, a wave of warmth and cheap vanilla air freshener hits him. Crowley wanders straight past the reception desk towards the room that he knows Freddie usually takes. 

The receptionist doesn’t look up from her computer when she announces the usual, “Hello sir, how can I-” and it’s interrupted when she eventually casts her eyes over the rim of her glasses. “Oh- Mr. Crowley, sir- go right on through.”

He’d been planning to, anyway. He flicks his hand in a dismissive wave of thanks and idly makes his way down the corridor. 

It’s filled with the sound of the band members chatting. The first thing that Crowley notices is Brian’s cloud of hair; it’s the first thing most people notice when Queen enter a room. They’re all bickering about something, or maybe they’re just talking enthusiastically; the success of Bohemian Rhapsody has made them all excited and ambitious and perhaps created a little bit of strain between them all. Crowley slows his pace and watches them pop out the back door, realising that Freddie isn’t with them. 

A stream of piano notes flows down the corridor. Crowley follows the sound and pushes open the door to the studio. 

Freddie is half hidden behind the raised lid of a grand piano, a cigarette in his mouth and a small frown as he watches his hands run up and down the keyboard. “Hello, Crowley.” “Alright, Freddie.” “Ciggie?” “I’m fine.”

His hands remain in his leather jacket pocket where they’re still warming up, and he makes a circuit about the large studio- the wooden floors and abandoned instruments, chairs where choir members might have sat for some other band. Overhead lights unflattering and bright. Crowley winces up at them through sunglasses and listens to the jaunty chords that Freddie plays on the piano. Humming something tuneful as he goes. 

“Said you wanted to show me something,” Crowley starts. 

“That’s right,” Freddie confirms, “I’ve got you a present.” “A present?” he grimaces, turning around and staring at the back of Freddie’s head. He wanders slowly over to the piano, where he can see some sheet music. Hand written, with lyrics on a scrap of paper that’s been paper-clipped to the side. “I don’t like presents.” “Let’s not call it a present then.” He doesn’t elaborate. Freddie’s always had a gently playful sense of humour, and on this occasion, it makes Crowley grumble. Without glancing away from the keyboard, he asks Crowley, “Still dressing up like Robert Smith, then?” “What’s wrong with that? I like The Cure.” “I liked your moustache. It was a shame you shaved it off. I’m thinking of growing one like it myself.” “I’d been informed that it didn’t suit me.” “Ah,” Freddie replies vaguely, again. 

Crowley leans against the piano, watches the hammers and strings inside the belly of the piano jump about. And the tune that Freddie’s humming gains lyrics. He sings quietly, as if only to himself. “I can serenade and gently play…”

“So,” Crowley presses, looking at his watch. He has some sins to sow at midday. And he needs to be in Hackney after this. “How was Japan?” “The tour? Oh, yeah. It was great. Lots of people chasing after us in the streets.” “That doesn’t sound great. Sounds awful.” “We had to be bundled up in laundry baskets in our hotel and wheeled along so people wouldn’t spot us and chase us to our rooms. That's because I'm a good old-fashioned lover boy… Ooh let me feel your heartbeat...”

Crowley releases a loud, pointed sigh, and looks about the room. Drums his fingers against the side of the piano. Freddie continues to sing to himself, albeit a little louder, his dulcet tones filling the auditorium. “You going to?” he shrugs. “Tell me? Why I’m here?”

“A present, or don’t you remember?” “Yes, alright, but what is it?”

And then he finally looks up at Crowley, a little mischievously. He removes one hand from the piano to put out his cigarette in the ashtray at the far end of the keyboard. His right hand continues to trill its sweet tune. “Haven’t you been listening?” For a moment, Crowley doesn’t catch his drift. Freddie looks down at the keyboard and keeps playing. Then:

“Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine precisely

I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style, in my saloon will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours that will be fine 

Ooh love,

Ooh loverboy

What're you doin' tonight, hey boy

Everything's all right

Just hold on tight

That's because I'm a good old-fashioned fashioned lover boy.”

The song comes to its satisfying, light-hearted end, and Crowley listens. Frowning, despite himself. He doesn’t know who the song could possibly be about, and why it should be of any importance to him. It’s always been clear that Freddie isn’t attracted to Crowley, and vice versa, so it can’t be about him. Suffice to say, he wouldn’t be giving Crowley that look if it were about one of his own boyfriends. Least of all, Crowley and Freddie have never been to The Ritz together, so he really can’t figure out what-

When it eventually clicks, Crowley scowls at him. “Oh fuck right off.”

“I was inspired,” Freddie says innocently. 

“Inspired my arse, you’re sticking your nose in my business and trying to profit off of it!” Crowley gestures angrily at the keyboard and paces. He paces angrily. Paces like a politician might, having found out that someone’s splurged his deepest, darkest secrets to The Mirror or The Sun. Suddenly too warm, he shucks his leather jacket and announces, “You’re a twat, Freddie Mercury.” “So, you don’t like it. I’ll have you know I wrote it, and that makes it one of the good ones.”

“Inspired,” Crowley mimics disdainfully. Turning on the spot with an irritated flourish, boots knocking against the wooden floor. “What makes you think I’d enjoy having a song written about me?” “I know you’re self-conscious-”

“I’m not self-conscious-”

“Stop it with that shit, yes you are. And I know that our conversations about your man-”

“Don’t call him that-”

“Were in confidence. And trust me, I haven’t said a word.” Crowley points an accusatory finger at Freddie, who looks entirely unperturbed. “You better not have fucking done, Mercury.” “But,” his friend continues, “A little part of me thought it might be nice for you to hear about it out loud. In the open. Something cathartic about it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, definitely, really nice fluffy feeling. To have your unrequited love sung about and flung in your face. Cheers for that.”

“Don’t be daft,” is the all the response he gets, before Freddie starts playing again. 

He starts from the beginning. Slow and romantic and yearning. And then it picks up and takes that jaunty tone again, something fun and mischievous- like a dare, or an inside joke. And Crowley listens- to all of it. The tune, the lyrics, the way that Freddie sings it. It’s happy. It’s loving and it doesn’t sound at all unrequited, the way Freddie sings it. In this song, both the characters are old fashioned lover boys. And something about that soothes the defensive little monster in him that’s gnashing its teeth and screaming at Freddie to shut up. 

“Nobody would know,” Freddie pipes up half way through, no longer singing, rattling off a piano solo. “It’d be totally anonymous. Well, actually, I reckon people would think it was about me. Nobody would guess it was about you.” “He would,” Crowley says. But as soon as he does, he doubts himself. Because when has Aziraphale ever been that observant? This is the angel who’d inadvertently wandered into the midst of the French Revolution for crepes. 

And brioche. 

Freddie continues to play and sing. And Crowley listens. He finally listens without any retort. He sits on the chair behind the drum kit and listens to Freddie play it over and over, until he can almost convince himself that he lives in a world where Aziraphale loves him back. 

***

2019

One of Crowley’s favourite things in life is hearing Aziraphale hum. 

Crowley has lived a fairly isolated, quiet life. It’s largely self-inflicted. Some of it is Hell inflicted- which one could argue is a problem only because he’d been enough of an arse to fall from Grace. Either way, it’s quite solitary and silent. But with Aziraphale, his life is filled with sound. Not with sickening celestial harmonies, but just the sound of Aziraphale existing. 

One of his favourite sounds is Aziraphale making a cup of tea. The sound of him pottering about in the kitchen and clinking the tea spoon against the mug. Humming Mozart to himself. Asking if Crowley wants two sugars or one today (which is Aziraphale’s indirect way of begging Crowley to stop taking so much sugar in his tea). On this particular occasion, Aziraphale isn’t singing Mozart, however. Nor is he singing Liszt. 

Crowley looks up from his phone. Sat on the sofa that he and Aziraphale had argued over for three hours in DFS because neither of them could pick one that they both liked (and neither of them had managed to miracle one that they could agree on, so they thought it best to see what the shops offered as inspiration). He puts down his phone in his lap, mutes the television (which Aziraphale had also argued with him over, but Crowley had put his foot down), and listens.

“Crowley, dear, two sugars or one?” He hesitates, tries to tell himself he wasn’t imagining it. “Uh- one, just the one today- angel?” “Yes, love.”

“Were you just singing Queen?” There’s a quiet, knowing chuckle, and the sound of Aziraphale shuffling in his slippers from the kitchen to the living room. He’s wearing corduroys, and his bowtie has been abandoned in favour for a cable knit jumper and shirt. A relaxed look that Crowley had rarely had the luck to see, until recently. Aside from all that, the angel is also wearing a pleased little smile as he hands Crowley his tea and sits beside him on the sofa. “Oh, yes. It seems I was.”

“That’s bebop, that is,” Crowley jokes dryly.

“I know. You must be so proud of me. It’s all that time in your Bentley, it’s a bad influence on me.”

“Just the right amount of bad, clearly.”

Aziraphale smiles. That smile he has when he knows just how adorable he’s being and is supremely proud of himself. He buries his feet under Aziraphale’s bum to warm them up, and Aziraphale tuts, shuffles to get more comfortable. 

Crowley steels himself. Clears his throat. “You do know what that song’s about, don’t you?” He prompts.

Aziraphale’s rings clink against the mug he’s holding. He looks up at the ceiling as he thinks. “Just a very nice love song, really, isn’t it? You knew Freddie well, you probably know better than me.”

Crowley blinks at him. This might take some time. “Ye- yeeeees,” he encourages slowly. “I did know him well. Well enough that he might even write a song for me.” That little o-shaped gasp. “Really, Crowley?”

“Yes. And. You. You have listened to the lyrics, yeah?’

“Absolutely. It’s my favourite song by Queen, you know. The lyrics are perfect. So lovely. And relatable- you know it’s a song that reminds me a lot of us.”

Crowley looks at him with a wide-eyed, pointed gaze. Aziraphale looks back, eyes darting about the room in confusion. 

“You’re staring at me,” Aziraphale accuses. 

“You’re being really thick,” Crowley replies.

“Excuse me?”

“I knew Freddie. Very well.” “Yes, I’ve understood that much.”

“He wrote a song for me.”

“Right. You had mentioned that.”

“It’s. Uncannily relatable. Talks about old-fashioned lover boys and The Ritz.”

“Yes, I follow so far.” Crowley sighs and rubs his face. “Aziraphale, when are you going to realise that Freddie Mercury wrote a song for me about you?”

He peers at Aziraphale between his fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes widen comically. And he makes the very business-like decision of putting down his tea to give Crowley his full, undivided attention, turning towards him.

“Crowley. Really?”

“Yes, really, you silly bastard, how did you not put two-and-two together?” “Because it���s me, what were you expecting,” Aziraphale complains, a little flustered. 

It makes Crowley take pity on him, putting his tea aside too and leaning forward so he’s kneeling beside Aziraphale. “Well. There you are. Now you know. Whole song, dedicated to you. And, um. A few more out there too. Without lyrics, so it’s less obvious.” Aziraphale’s expression softens and brightens all at once. Something totally indescribable and beautiful. Like the sun behind a fluffy cloud. It’s miraculous. “Oh, Crowley. No.” “Yes, ‘fraid so.” “Will you tell me-?”

“Nah. Make it more fun to see if you can figure out which songs they are.”

Aziraphale smacks him playfully on the arm. 

“I do have a small confession,” Aziraphale says a little coyly. Eyes looking up at him, then away again. Then back at Crowley. Teasing. 

“Go on,” he says through a smirk, anticipation building. So much so he finds himself leaning in for a kiss before Aziraphale can speak. 

“There may be one or two out there dedicated to you, too.” “Oh, really?” he murmurs against Aziraphale’s cheek. Hiding his face, because he’s not quite ready to show how happy that makes him. How much Aziraphale completes him. 

“A few,” Aziraphale replies. Then, “A fair few.”

Crowley places the gentlest kiss he can on his cheek. “Do I get any clues?” 

He feels him smile against his skin. “That would ruin the fun.”

***

happy birthday to my darling @duocreatix!!! Here’s some Freddie Mercury inspired ineffable husbands content for your consumption <3

[star-whores-a-new-hoe]

Mission Gone Wrong//Obi Wan X Reader

Forever Series:Part Five

Summary: you tagalong with Anakin and Obi Wan in a mission. Also, I Think this is technicly song fic, the song is Warmth by Bastille, it’s a bop! And if anyone wanted to see me do an actual cover with my uke let me know 😅

word count: 2K

Warning:  Innuendos, Swearing, Pining, general cheeseynes, angst, fluff, fighting, ukulele shenanigan,

“Four months and and seven kidnapping attempts!” You grumbled, storming into the large blue apartment. You clutched an ice pack to the new black eye you had revived from the enemy during the attack. “It could be much worse young one. I once protected someone who had seven assassination attempts in a week.” Obi Wan chided as he followed you into the room. You plopped yourself down on the couch and closed your eyes, laying your head on the back of the seat, relishing in the feeling of the cool ice pack against your throbbing eye. “Besides, you made it out much better then he did.” Obi Wan reminded you as he sat down on the opposite couch.

You smiled pleasantly, remembering how you had kicked the enemy’s feet out from under him. A move Obi Wan had been teaching you for a while. “I was pretty awesome, wasn’t I?” “It is not the way of the Jedi to brag.” “Well,” You added, standing up and walking to the bathroom. “I’m not a Jedi.” I beg to differ. He thought to himself as he watched you walk away. You stood in front of the mirror and removed the ice pack from your face. “Ugh, I look pathetic!” You whined staring at your reflection. “Bruises are merely badges of honor.” Obi Wan called from the other room. You winced as you tried to touch the purple skin. “Well then I just received the god damn Presidential medal of freedom!” You shot back. “It could have been much worse y/n. If it weren’t for your training you would most likely be in sepritist hands right now, a black eye is a small price to pay.” You sighed and placed the ice pack down on the bathroom counter before turning to walk back to the couch. noticing the ukulele laying on the couch, You bent down and picked in up. You sat down in the place where it had just been and began to play some chords, not really worrying about the strumming or chord pattern, just enjoying the soothing, random, progression of sound. Obi Wan raised an eyebrow at you. You shrugged. “I find playing calming.” You said answering his unvoiced question. “And I need calm after an attack like that.” “I don’t hear you play very often.” You watched your fingers play a quick picking pattern “I normally do it when I have down time, here by myself.” “Will you play me something?” You paused your playing and looked up at him with great interest. “What do you want to hear?” “Why not something from Earth?” You smiled. “I only know songs from Earth.” There was a still silence as you contemplated what to play. Without a word, you stood up and jogged over to a nearby table, grabbing your capo and placing it on a fret. You started playing before you even sat back down. Never good just the bad and the ugly, Laid in front of you. Nothing quite like seeing the world through the TVs window. Obi Wan stared at you in total awe. Watching you perform was exquisite. The words falling off your tongue and combining with the music to create a wonderful melody was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. Tell me did you see the news last night? Hold me in this wild, wild world. Cause I’m your warmth I forget how cold it can be, And in your heat I feel how cold it can get. So draw me close. You had played this song a million times back home. You knew the pattern and words like the back of your hand. But for some reason, playing it for Obi Wan made it feel really special. So come on let’s forget the emotion, Tie the blinkers on. Hold both hands right over my eyes. Deafen me with music. You let the final note ring out as your playing ceded. You put your uke down in your lap, anxiously awaiting a reaction from Obi Wan. “That… you’re amazing.” You felt your cheeks heat at his complements. “Thanks.” At that moment, the com link on Obi Wan’s belt went off. He got up and walked to the corner of the room. Turning his back to you before he answered it. He talked quickly to the person on the other end in a hushed tone before hanging up and turning back to you. “I’m afraid we are needed at the Jedi temple, Anakin will be meeting us there.” He said, placing his com link back on his belt.

You gently put your instrument down and stood up as well. “Both of us?”

He nodded. “I’m not leaving you alone after that attack.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to argue with him. “Alright, let's go.”

                                                             ***

“You really don’t need to babysit me!” You said as you walked up the ramp of the ship.

“And Obi Wan can’t disobey a direct order from the jedi council either y/n.” Anakin said as he loaded the ship with supplies.

Obi Wan walked past the two of you, making his way towards the pilots seat of the small space craft. “The jedi order is spread far too thin. There are no other jedi on Coruscant to protect you. This should be an easy mission for Anakin and I, all you have to do is stay on the ship.”

“It’s not the fact that I have to come with you that I’m upset about.” You said, marveling at all the strange, alien tech that adorned the ship. “It’s the fact that you don’t trust me to look after myself.”

Anakin reached past you to fumble with some knobs and switches. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s that he’s worried about you.” You couldn’t help but feel touched by the fact that Obi Wan worried about you.

Sighing, you said. “At least I get to go to another planet. I must be the only person from Earth to have been to three different planets!”

“Thats it!” Anakin said reassuringly. “Look on the bright side. Oh, and nice black eye by the way.” he smirked.

“Hey! I may look like a burnt chicken nugget, but I still love myself!”

Anakin chuckled and shook his head. “It must be so hard to make so little sense all the time.”

You frowned. “Yeah, people on Earth didn’t get my obscure pop culture references either. I’m used to it.”

You paused and bit your lip, unsure of how to phrase your question. “Hey Ani?” He hummed in response. “I was wondering, I heard this this and I wasn't sure if it was true or not, I was hoping you could tell me?”

“Ok...” He said as he tinkered with a switch panel.

“Well,” you looked down and fidgeted with your fingers. “Are the jedi celibate?”

He stopped what he was doing and smiled at you in a teasing sort of way. “Why do you want to know?”

“Not reason, just...curious.” You could feel your face begin to heat with embarrassment.

“It’s not exactly celibacy, it’s attachments that are frowned upon. Friendships are tolerated by the council but romantic relationships are not allowed. We are still allowed to-”

“get some booty?” You suggested.

“Um, sure. But it’s more like one night stands and stuff.”

You glanced over at Obi Wan who was sitting in the pilot’s seat with longing in your eyes. “That must be really hard.”

Anakin followed your gaze. “Extremely.”

“Are we all ready Anakin?” Obi Wan called from over his shoulder.

“All set!”

You sat yourself down near a window. You were unable to contain the butterflies of nervousness in your stomach, from the excitement of the prospect of getting to travel through space.

The doors of the ship closed and the ship began to move, taking off into the busy Coruscant sky. You watched from your window as the large city grew smaller beneath you and as the sky grew darker.

When the ship finally made it all the way into space, all you could do was sit there breathless, marveling at the beauty of empty space. Somewhere in the back of your mind you heard Obi Wan tell Anakin to take the wheel.

You were so awe struck by how magnificent the view of the stars was, that you barely registered the footsteps approaching you.

“Enjoying the view?”

You nodded slightly in a dazed sort of way. “On Earth space travel is still very complicated and only a recent discovery. Every little kid dreams of being able to see the stars up close. I never imagined that I would so lucky.”

Anakin yelled from the front. “Approaching hyperspace!”

Obi Wan smiled at your bewilderment. “Then you are going to really enjoy this.”

Suddenly, the ship sped up. The night sky transformed into a beautiful light blue tunnel and the stars into thin white streaks.

Your face grew into a wide smile as you stared out the window. Obi Wan admired how the blue light illuminated your features, how you watched with such astonishment at something he thought of as so mundane. You looked simply angelic.

“Approaching our destination!” Anakin called after  few minutes, ruining the peaceful moment.

You turned from the window to face Obi Wan. “Where are we going again?”

“There was simply a skirmish with some droids, a senator got captured. It should be a very quick mission. We will leave the ship in a secluded area and you should be perfectly safe.”

Out the window, you could make out the distant shape of a s lush, green planet. Obi Wan started to grab weapons and supplies from the shelves of the ship as the ground came closer.

“You have your blaster.” He continued. “And there is some food on the ship.”

“Plus we all have our com links in case anything happens.” Anakin chimed in.

The ship landed in a green clearing surrounded by large trees on all sides. The sun shone through the canopy of leaves, tinting the area with a soft green glow. When the doors opened, you ran out of the ship into the clearing.

“Y/n what are you doing?” Obi Wan called from behind you, confused.

“I just want to do something real quick!” You shot back. Obi Wan watched with curiosity as you slipped off your shoes and stood in the middle of the green space.

You closed your eyes and grinned. “This is incredible! A different sun shining on me, a different ground beneath my feet.” You said as you jumped up and down on the soft grass.

“It loses some of its magic when you’ve been to so many planets.”

You shook your. “I won’t ever get tired of this.” Your smile gadded slightly and you said softly. “My family would never believe this.”

Anakin walked out from the pilots area and put a hand on Obi Wan’s shoulder.

“We should be going, y/n you-”

“I know.” You sighed, Enjoying the new planet for just another moment before grabbing your shoes and turning to go back to the ship.

“We’ll see you soon.” Obi Wan said, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Good luck.” You said, watching them walk off into the jungle before closing the door to the ship.

                                                               ***

Night had fallen over the jungle planet. You sat in the pilot’s seat of the ship with your feet on the dash. Half asleep and curled up in Obi Wan’s jedi cloak that he’d left behind, as the night had grown cold. You loved how warm and safe it made you feel, and how it carried the smell of him. You were awoken from your sleepy state by the buzz of the com link on your hip.

Startled, you quickly reached over and answered it. You were met by a fuzzy picture of Anakin.

“Y/n!” He yelled. The picture was not great and the sound kept breaking up, but you were able to make of the sounds of fighting in the background. 

“Trap...Captured! Sending coordinates...help...trust you.”

“I’ll call the other jedi!” You said.

“No time...kill us...hurry.” The picture went dead. You jumped to your feet and grabbed your blaster. It was up to you to save the jedi.

Tag List: @theatreandtessa​ @whovianayesha​ @fangirl-on-bitches​

[the-awkward-outlaw]

A New Adventure - Pt. 11

Howdy cowpokes! Here is the last segment of my Halloween pieces for this series. This one is by far my favorite! (And if you end up wondering by the end, yes I have the most commented on costume). 

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

Cowboys and Dinosaurs 

It’s nearly the end of October, and Halloween is only days away. 

You’ve started to run out of movies to watch to celebrate the season, mostly because you’re not a fan of slasher movies. 

You showed one of them to Arthur just so he could understand the term slashers. He’s not a fan either, mostly because he’s seen too many people die to want to watch a movie that focuses on that. 

Not only that, he hates how unrealistic the blood and gore is. 

You start making plans for Halloween day though. 

Your plan is to watch your favorite most terrifying movie. The Haunting, released in 1963. Legitimately the most frightening film you’ve ever watched, and one of your favorites. 

You also pull up a recipe for pumpkin cheesecake that luckily doesn’t look too difficult.

Arthur has grown to be quite a fan of Halloween. He likes the atmosphere it creates in you and the other people he’s seen. 

He’s excited to see the kids and their costumes, it’s obvious he’s intrigued. 

You feel bad for having to let him down a little that your neighborhood doesn’t have a lot of kids. Not only that, thanks to Covid there’s likely to be even less than usual. 

Arthur just shrugs and says he doesn’t mind too much. Then he gets an idea. 

“Say, dressin’ up ain’t just a kid thing, is it?” 

You answer that it’s not, and plenty of adults do it too. 

Arthur loves the idea and asks if you have some costumes. 

You blush, and state that while you do, they’re not really Halloween outfits, but cosplays. 

After you explain the concept of a cosplay to him, he begs you to show them to him. 

At first you say no, feeling highly embarrassed. 

“Oh come on, darlin! For me? Please?” 

“Oh fine,” you relent. Your reward is a gentle kiss. 

For the next few hours, you slip in and out of your different cosplays. 

Arthur is an excellent audience, asking thorough questions about each one and their characters. 

He really likes your Harry Potter robe. 

He then notices a cowboy hat, tucked in your closet. 

“Wha’s that for?” he points to it. 

“Oh, that’s for my Alan Grant cosplay, from Jurassic Park.” 

“Alan Grant? He a cowboy?” 

“No, he’s a paleontologist.” You smile at the memory of Arthur bumping into the dinosaur lady in the game. 

That’s when you get an idea. You recall that one of your costumes is an inflatable T-Rex from the Jurassic Park movies. 

You’ve neglected to show him those movies, despite it being one of your favorites.

Before you pull out the costume though, you decide to pop Arthur’s Jurassic Park cherry so he can have a better understanding of context. 

The science briefly explained in the movie goes right over his head, but he’s in tight agreement behind the statement of the movie. 

The raptors scare the shit out of him. 

He really likes the character of Grant, and you tease it’s because Grant is a grumpy man who wears a cowboy hat, just like him. 

Arthur’s convinced the dinosaurs are real, and you have to show him Youtube videos of the animatronic dinosaurs being built and operated to change his mind. He still finds it hard to believe they’re fake. 

His favorite dinosaurs end up being the brachiosaurs. 

After the movie, you show him your T-Rex costume. 

He laughs for a long time when he sees it, and finds it absolutely adorable how excited you get about it. 

That’s when he realizes you could do a couples cosplay. His outfit looks close enough to Grant’s, with a few minor adjustments. And you already have the T-Rex outfit. 

You also remember seeing an announcement on your neighborhood’s Facebook page stating that in the park down the street from your house (the one you first met Arthur in), the rec center on the edge is hosting a Halloween movie night outside in the park. Costumes are encouraged. 

Arthur jumps on the idea of the two of you going, even though the movies are ones you’ve already watched with him (Nightmare before Christmas and Hocus Pocus).

Halloween morning comes, bright and chilly. 

Arthur helps you make the cheesecake. 

You almost have to kick him out of the kitchen because he won’t stop sampling the pumpkin filling. 

While the cheesecake bakes, you sit down with him to watch The Haunting. 

He laughs when you sit as close to him as you can and grip his hand. 

“You scared, sweetheart?” he teases. 

“Oh just you wait, Arthur,” you say. 

The movie terrifies him. 

By the end of it, you’re clutching yourself to his chest and he’s holding you tight. 

When it’s over, he swallows hard. 

“How… that is one hell of a movie,” he says. 

You agree and explain that by using nothing more than sounds, strange camera angles and lighting effects, the movie ends up being very effective in frightening people. 

Arthur’s so excited for night fall it’s almost euphoric. 

You can’t help but get excited for it too, and it makes you feel like a kid again. 

By the time the sun finally begins to set, you and him get ready. Not that it takes long. 

Arthur replaces his black bandana with a red one and takes the cheap raptor claw you bought from Amazon right after your couples costume was agreed upon. 

Arthur helps you get zipped up and your outfit comfortably situated. 

As the two of you walk down the street towards the park, Arthur holds your hand the whole time. His other holds Sage’s leash. 

Unfortunately you didn’t have time to get a themed outfit for your dog. 

In the park, there’s plenty of other people, spread out to allow for social distancing. 

Luckily Halloween is not hard to adjust for Covid times, and most people have masks to go along with their own costumes. 

Yours and Arthur’s turn out to be a huge hit. 

Several people ask to take pictures. 

It’s clear Arthur feels relieved that people take him as Alan Grant and not himself. Strangers recognizing him because of the game has always unsettled him. 

By the end of Nightmare before Christmas, you’re needing a break and unzip your suit. 

You neglected to bring a jacket and it’s getting cold. 

When you state you might run home and grab one, Arthur states that you don’t need to. 

He settles down on the grass and folds you in his arms, planting you against his chest. 

Luckily he runs hot, and with Sage planting herself by your sides, you end up being fairly warm. 

Arthur doesn’t stop holding you while you watch the last movie Hocus Pocus. 

It’s apparent though that Arthur is enjoying holding you more than you expected him to, but you don’t mind. Your body perfectly molds to his, and he’s too warm for you to want to pull away. 

By the time the movie finally finishes, it’s nearly ten at night and you’re growing tired. 

Arthur helps you stand up and the two of you walk home, your inflatable suit hanging from his free arm while he holds your hand.

As soon as you’re inside, Arthur demands you both dig into the cheesecake you baked earlier. 

He hums loudly as he takes the first bite, tilts his head back and closes his eyes. 

You can’t help but laugh. But the cheesecake is delicious. 

When you’ve both finished your piece, Arthur grabs your hips and pulls you close. 

He kisses you gently, cupping your cheek with one hand. 

You can taste the pumpkin on his lips and you wind your hands into his hair. 

When he pulls away, he’s smiling. 

“Happy Halloween, cowboy.”

[msiopao]

The One with the Polaroids

pairing: jungkook x nobi

summary: whilst cleaning their closet, nobi stumbles upon a box that she thought she lost 5 years ago

to say the least, it was dirty.

ever since they moved in 2 years ago, the dorm hasn’t been properly cleaned because they were either too busy with touring or too lazy to do it. but it has gotten to the point where they actually were willing to clean everything. part of the reason might’ve been the boredom and the need to do something productive and the other reason could be that they would like to grab something without dusting it off first.

nobi and jungkook first started cleaning their room and around their beds. with having the biggest room in the dorm, they took a while to fully dust, vaccum, and throw away random garbage they found either under their beds or under their desks.

“ew, kook, why is there a banana milk box here?” she whined in disgust when she saw it under his bed.

jungkook merely shrugged and continued wiping the windows. “i don’t know. probably had a late snack.”

“dear god, jeon jungkook, we have a trash can for a reason!” she chided but he just turned to give her a grin.

“sorry.”

sighing, she got up from the floor and fluffed up the millions of pillows on her bed before grabbing the broom to sweep under her own bed. there was just paper balls and socks in the mix but she noticed a hoodie that she thought she really lost forever ago.

“oh my god!” nobi squealed and picked it up, examining it. it looked the same except it just had dust bunnies. “my stussy jacket!”

jungkook finished his job and looked over to what she was squealing for and gave her a look. “you mean my stussy jacket?”

laughing at his question, nobi walked over to him and patted his cheek. “sharing is caring, bub.”

a knock from their bedroom door made her go and answer it, finding jin at the other side.

“just saying that we have all the washers running so you might wait a while to run your guys’ stuff,” jin explained causing her to pout.

“this is why i keep saying that we should buy another. it’s a hassle with only 5 washers,” she pouted. jin smiled before ruffling her hair.

“once one of them is done, i’ll tell you.”

jungkook picked up a striped sock before tossing it to his laundry basket so that it could be washed. it baffled him of how many socks he has, considering he walks around the house barefoot.

once jin left, nobi went to their closet and opened the door, revealing the tons of clothing hanging on both top and bottom. it was split into 2 sections with jungkook’s and her clothing separate. but honestly, there was no use as she used his clothing most of the time. 

“hey, jungkook, should we wash all of our clothes? i mean, some of these haven’t been washed in several months. probably, since we moved,” she said.

he followed her inside and went to the very back of the closet, noticing that there was actually dust on the shoulder of one of his jackets. he took it off the long bar and examined it, forgetting he even owned it.

“do you remember this jacket, bub?” he asked making nobi look at him.

she looked at it and furrowed her eyebrows before shaking her head no. “i don’t think i’ve seen it before.”

“hm, maybe we should donate some of our clothes that we don’t own anymore. its good to give to those who need it rather than letting it sit here.”

nobi looked at him, shocked. “wah, jeon jungkook! you sounded so mature just now!”

he rolled his eyes and shoved her shoulder to hide the redness of his cheeks. “shut up. i’m always mature.”

she grabbed a big laundry basket for them to put their clothes in and they placed the hangers back on its place. nobi was amazed at how big their closet was and how small it felt when they it used to cramped with clothing. as they neared the end of the line, she saw a few boxes on the very back corner that looked like its never been touched.

she crouched in front of it and inspected it to see her handwriting, ‘2015′. lifting the boxes individually, she placed it by the foot of her bed and got out a pocket knife to cut through the packing tape that sealed it shut. jungkook noticed her with the boxes and sat on her bed as she wrenched the cardboard box open.

inside, there were many little trinkets from what looked to be tickets to a movie, a shonen jump magazine, a red jacket, and a smaller box at the bottom. carefully placing the stuff on top of her bed, she pulled out the black box and she felt a familiarity with it.

“ah! that box!” jungkook pointed. she looked at him in confusion.

“this?” she held up before lifting the lid open, finding an old polaroid camera with different pictures.

nobi held up the black and white object and blew the dust away, making jungkook cough as it was directed as his face. he made a sound of surprise but she paid him no mind, fingers reaching for the polaroids that were a mix of colored and black and white.

“did i... did i forget about these?” she whispered, hurt and angry at herself for not remembering about these precious memories.

“to be honest, i even forgot about it. maybe the members too,” he reassured.

there was one from her birthday. in the bottom, it was written, ‘nov 7 2014′ while the picture was of her with icing all over her face and carrying the birthday cake. she had a wide grin on her face and a party hat on her head.

“oh my god.. i remember these now,” she quietly stated. “this was one of the things that i took with me when i became a trainee. it was originally my mum’s.”

jungkook softly smiled at her and he gently grabbed her hand to sit on the bed where she was situated between his legs with her back against his chest. he rested his chin on her shoulder while she sifted through several more pictures.

one of her and tae in the restaurant they used to go to.

one of her and jimin in the dancing studio.

one of jin cooking.

one of hobi as he smiled widely.

one of namjoon in LA.

one of yoongi playing the piano.

one of her and jungkook as they clutched the music show trophy.

all of these were the memories of her youth yet they were sealed away in a box, only to be found years later.

as much as there were pictures of her members, jungkook was in most of them. from the simplest things like catching him staring at the camera to the happier things like their picnic in Han river that one night. he was present in almost all of the pictures and the camera lens was most familiar of his face.

nobi took a minute to fully look at this picture of her and kook where they were both lounging on her top bunk with their backs against the wall and her head on his shoulder while his rested on top of hers. the light hit them perfectly and the white walls shined the setting sun behind them. she remembered asking tae to take the picture and them fearing for their lives when their combined weight rattled the bed with the slightest movement. they both wore white and both of their hair was as messy as it could be.

it was labeled, ‘may 8 2014′, in black sharpie marker.

“god, my bare face was so bad back then.” her complaints made jungkook gently pinch her side.

“you were and have never been ugly.”

she turned her head to look at him, “yah, remember when i forgot to wash my face for 2 days and suddenly acne popped out of nowhere?”

he laughed and hugged her tighter. “you were forgetful. actually, still is. and you were too busy practicing in the studio to remember that you needed to take care of yourself too.”

a sad smile slowly replaced her grin, “but when i did remember, there was no cleanser left. i didn’t have money to buy more so i just endured it.”

“i think i used it all up. does my apology still count today?” he playfully asked to lighten her mood.

but the pain didn’t leave. “i remembered begging my parents for money. i wanted to have enough money to take care of all of us and put the company’s money to the music video.”

jungkook grew silent as she relived the time in their past where they struggled financially. it was a time where they almost disbanded because of their lack of money and not being financially stable enough to create their mv.

“i took the last bit of money i had to go to Jeju and i threw all my shame out of the window by asking them for more money. taehyung cried because he was hungry but we already spent our food money for the month. the imo from the restaurant has fed us so many times and never asked anything in return. that was when i knew i had to do something,” said nobi. “our manager was already doing so much for us and i didn’t want to ask for more.”

she never told him or the members this so he stared at her, sad and slightly upset that she burdened herself so early on. jungkook could faintly remember her disappearing for a few days and turning up a few days later with food from the convenience store. the angry outburst from yoongi being so worried for her still echoes in his memory to this day.

“i didn’t want all of our hard work to go to waste. i knew if we didn’t have any money, we would be forced to break up and i didn’t want to leave you guys. even if they didn’t help us, i wanted to think that i did everything i can to keep us together and i fought every battle with my all. we were just starting and the thought of it ending so quickly scared me.”

“we fought those battles and we won them all, nobi. we won them together,” he soothed. jungkook could feel her relax into his chest and he placed a kiss on her hair to remind her that he is there for her.

“god, i just brought the mood down, didn’t i?” she laughed. jungkook shook his head no.

“hm, no. you’ve always kept these things to yourself and never speak out whenever you have troubles. so, hearing you talk about this makes me happy because i feel like you’re finally opening up to me, bub.”

nobi swung her legs so she was able to look at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, softly tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. jungkook looked down at her with a curious smile while he rested his hand on her knee, caressing it gently.

“nah, i like keeping these things to myself. it gives me the mysterious vibes that i want. when people get curious about you, that’s when they instinctively stick around to try and figure you out. it’s like i’m running away and you’re after me to finally figure me out. i try to play hard to get,” she countered.

he chuckled before bumping her forehead with his. “is that why i’m still with you?”

“the chase is not over yet, jeon jungkook-ssi.”

“then i’ll chase you till it is.”

....

with their cleaning tools scattered around the floor and previous intention of laundry wiped from their minds, they spent the next few hours using up the leftover film in the camera. nobi tried to make it as aesthetically pleasing as possible with her posing on the bed with a fake rose or jungkook standing by the window. 

“wah, i feel bad for ARMY who can’t have these pictures. maybe we should post them?” she curiously asked while waiting for the picture to develop. he blanched at her question.

“yah, these are too intimate to be revealed to hundreds of millions of people in the internet!” he bursted causing her to laugh out loud. he sat up from the bed as he was previously laying, thinking of different picture ideas.

“i know. im just teasing. its cute to see you so jealous,” she smirked.

jungkook pouted and tutted. “i’m not jealous. i just try to help and look out for your innocent image.”

nobi walked towards him from the window and stood between his legs, jungkook loosely holding her hips. she pushed the hair that was covering his forehead and placed a soft kiss on it.

“i think we all know that concept has been out of the window since we turned legal.”

a/n: the moods in this one is just everywhere

additional: sorry for the total silence these past few days bc this girl has been binging on haikyuu