#Moonlight Serenade fic

[renlyslittlerose]

Another Moonlight Serenade ‘B Side’. Based off the prompts that @ghostlingpupskywalker and @kittonafoxgirl suggested, regarding Obi-Wan’s reaction to finding out that Anakin was more grievously wounded than he first let on!

All’s Fair in Love and War (2k)

‘1944/05/23 Skywalker Queen Victoria Hospital East Grinstead, England

Dear Kenobi,

I hope all is well. Still stuck at the hospital, but I can’t complain too much. The food is warm, the beds soft, and the nurses are pretty. Did I mention we get free beer on tap whenever we want? I guess there are some perks to being wounded. But I can’t wait to get back out in the field. I miss the skies. I also feel like I’m not doing my part like I should. Rex keeps telling me that he can win the war without me, but I beg to differ.

My arm is still on the mend, as I am sure you can tell from the different handwriting. One of the new nursing sister’s has volunteered her time today, in exchange for a game of bridge later on. The RAF boys have been playing “Shove Ha’Penny” in the mess the last couple of nights. I still don’t find it all that appealing, but it’s the only thing going on, so I find myself learning the game despite my best efforts.

Well, there isn’t much doing. I’m due in for another surgery but rumour has it I’ll be discharged soon. Can’t wait. I’m getting sick of the smell here - too clean and sterile.

Wishing you well. Stay safe, and leave some fighting for me.

Skywalker.’

Obi-Wan fiddled with the edges of the letter, running the thin blue paper against the pad of his thumb. Anakin’s words stared up at him in unfamiliar, feminine handwriting. He’d been through six different nurses so far, each with their own particular way of spelling and writing, though their penmanship was universally legible and neat - unlike most of the officers’ who wrote as if they were being chased by a herd of wildebeest. Obi-Wan wondered when he’d get to see Anakin’s again - all sharp angles and the occasional misspelled word.

Anakin kept promising in his letters that there would be one more surgery - just one more - and he’d be right as rain again, but after three different hospitals and numerous surgeries later, Obi-Wan was beginning to suspect that something more grievous had happened. The facts didn’t add up, Anakin’s assurances sounding less and less comforting each time Obi-Wan opened a letter only to be greeted with the sight of another person’s handwriting.

He loathed to pry; he had no right, really. He knew he ought to take Anakin’s word as it was given, and believe him despite it all, and yet…

Worry sat in Obi-Wan’s guts, tangling deep in with all the other anxieties he’d swallowed at the start of the war. Though he’d only known Anakin a short while he already knew his habits, the little ways in which he carried himself bleeding through the letters he dictated. He was scared - scared and grieving and so terribly sad. It made Obi-Wan want to weep; to ask if he could help; to pack his bags and swim across the channel to see Anakin with his own two eyes - touch the scar on his cheek and kiss away whatever it was that had hurt him so. He wanted to hold him in his arms and tell him that it would all be okay, even though Obi-Wan wasn’t sure it would, or could, ever be right again.  

Folding the letter up, he slipped it in the front pocket of his shirt before leaving the mess tent. It was early afternoon beneath the hot Italian sun, the stink of petrol and oil thick in the muggy air. Most of the men had taken shelter beneath the trees that sprouted up in the hills, the tents far too hot to spend any time in unless you absolutely had to. Squinting back the sun he headed toward the tent at the end of the camp next to the freshwater source.

He found the field medic, Captain Buck, sat at a table, sweat beading down his forehead as he filled out a form in front of him. Next to him were a stack of other such sheets along with an opened water canteen, the contents probably long since dredged. Behind him a man lounged on a cot, bandages thick and white wrapped around his skull and his knee - a victim of an early morning motorcycle accident awaiting transport to a nearby field hospital.

Buck smiled when Obi-Wan stepped inside and sat back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him.

“I’m sure one of the boys would share his shady spot with you outside if you asked,” Obi-Wan said.

“Why?”

“It’s rather hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He smiled despite the beads of sweat that dripped along his temple.

“I suppose it’s a state of mind,” Obi-Wan remarked. He resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt. “How’s our Lieutenant doing?”

“He’s fine; just a little banged up. Probably more embarrassed than anything - I guess he got spooked by a passing goat and swerved into a ditch trying to avoid it.”

“Did the goat survive?”

“It’s who alerted the locals to his presence!”

“Perhaps we should take the goat with us - have it aid us as an early detection alert.”

Buck chuckled before sitting forward again, his hands locked together on the table. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but is there something I can help you with, Major?”

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment. It really wasn’t his business - Anakin had kept whatever it was from him for a reason. And yet…

“Queen Victoria Hospital back in the UK - have you heard of it?”

Buck nodded. “They’re known for their plastics unit - specialize in burn trauma and recovery.”

“Is that all they do?”

“No, but that’s why they send our men over there. Why? Do you know someone who’s there?”

“Yes - a fellow with the R.C.A.F. He was shot down a few months ago, but has been rather tight lipped about the extent of his injuries.”

“Stands to reason he was burned in the crash. It’s common for airmen to suffer from burns due to the fuel tanks in those things. They tend to… explode when filled with bullets.”

Obi-Wan had seen burn victims before. During his first year of service in the war he’d help drag a man from a burning Blenheim, a memory he’d tried to forget. He could still smell the scorched fabric of his uniform and hear his screams as their commander tried to put out the fire, touch brutal as he beat back the flames in an attempt to stall its quick creep up his legs and across his chest.  

The smell of his burning flesh reminded Obi-Wan of grilled pork, and he felt mildly sick for weeks any time he caught a whiff of cooked meat.

Obi-Wan’s gut twisted. Anakin was such a near perfect creature, youthful skin marred only by nicks and cuts caused by the errors of youth. The thought of his skin, bronzed and dotted with freckles and beauty marks, being twisted and torn and warped by the heat of flames made Obi-Wan want to be sick.  

“If he’s up and talking and walking, he’s going to be fine,” Buck said, his voice creeping back into Obi-Wan’s consciousness. “They’re doing some fabulous work over there; best of the best. He’d in good hands.”

“Yes, of course,” he said quickly. Swallowing the sour spit in the back of his throat, Obi-Wan smiled tightly as Buck. “I have one more question, if I may.”

“Of course.”

“Your typical arm fracture wouldn’t require multiple surgeries, would it?”

“Not if it’s just a regular break. Maybe one or two, if the surgeon didn’t know what he was doing, but setting the bone and casting it is typically good enough.” Buck sat back again and rested his hands on his stomach. “Did your friend hurt his arm?”

“Yes.”

“How many surgeries?”

“A fair few, though I’m doubtful they were all for his arm, if what you say about Queen Victoria is true.”

“Would I lie?”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied. “Though I wish you would right now.”

Buck’s smile tensed, sympathy flashing across his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kenobi, I wish I could offer you more reassurances.”

Obi-Wan nodded and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling the fabric of his shirt off of his sweaty chest. “It’s as you say - he’s receiving the best care available.”

“He is.”

“Thank you for lending me your ear.” Buck nodded, smile once again softening. “And let me know if you need any help when the truck comes for the Lieutenant.”

“I will.”

Obi-Wan slipped out of the tent into the marginally cooler air. As he walked back to his tent the letter in his pocket sat heavier.

XXX

‘I think I owe you a proper explanation for that. When I said that I was recovering, I wasn’t being entirely truthful. I’m fine, but there were complications with my arm. They had to amputate it.’

“Oh, darling…”

“You alright?”

Obi-Wan glanced up from his letter to peer at one of the men from across the table. It was late at night, the tent buzzing with men and moths as they congregated around the kerosene lamps that dotted the tables in the mess tent. Off in the distance Obi-Wan could hear the distant rumble of aircraft engines a few short miles away as night fighters took advantage of the cloudless skies.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said, his breathing catching on his throat.

“You sure? You look a little piqued.”

“I’m fine.”

Folding the letter up he stood and left the tent with haste. It wasn’t until he was in his tent, sat on his cot, with a flashlight pointed at the letter did Obi-Wan read the rest of it. Anakin’s assurances he was alright and the photograph he’d sent of his garden did little to reassure Obi-Wan that he truly was okay. Losing an arm was traumatizing enough, but losing the ability to fly was like asking Anakin to breath without air, or sing without a voice, or love without a heart. Flying was everything to him.

And Obi-Wan couldn’t reassure him; couldn’t be there to help him in the ways he knew he needed help.

Instead he was stuck in the middle of Palestine, constrained by his duties, beaten down by grief and misery, made to stay and fight in a war that had already taken so much from him, and had stripped what little left Anakin had from him. All he could do for Anakin was write useless words of encouragement on blank sheets of paper while censors held him back from declaring his foolish, delirious love for him.

Anakin deserved better; they both deserved better.

It wasn’t fair. It was all so unfair.

Those who didn’t know loss and fear like a soldier did would remark that life wasn’t fair; that life was filled with ups and downs and we were powerless to stop them. Those religious would even state that things always happened for a reason, as if to make it sting a little bit more; as if to make you feel more inadequate, more powerless. But things didn’t just happen, and life should be fair. It was easy to say that it wasn’t because then it absolved humanity from even trying - for striving for something better.

Anakin wouldn’t have lost his arm, been burned, been tortured, stripped of his life’s goals and aspirations because there should have been no war - no conflict, no death, no misery. And if there had to be conflict then let the old fight’ the men in their suits in their offices who signed the papers and made the choices. Let them take up arms and come to blows while the youth lived in peace and security.

Life wasn’t fair because they made it so.

Obi-Wan was sick of it.

Standing, Obi-Wan kicked over his cot, watching the sleeping bag fall on to the sand covered floor as the wooden frame clattered in the quiet space. Next he kicked his side table, sending documents and a compass down on to the floor next to the bag, the two creating a mess that was satisfying for only a moment. It wasn’t often he acted out in such a way - not any more - but the anger came through him, hot and sudden and biting, making him want to scream and tear, to rage and cry. It was almost overwhelming, the sudden build up of grief, like a torrent of rain and waves against the hull of an already battered ship, continual and never-ending.

But the release only lasted a moment - a sudden violence followed by a calm that Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to do with. It was almost easier to remain angry.

Taking a deep breath he looked down at the chaos he’d created, the light from his flashlight flickering off the turned over cot and messy sheets. As far as temper-tantrums went it wasn’t very impressive. The sheets could be cleaned up in moments, the bed righted in much the same amount of time. But at least it could be fixed, unlike everything else in the world.

He cleaned up the mess in the relative dark, his flashlight waving about the tent walls as he righted the bed and sorted through the papers. Once finished he kicked off his boots and collapsed on top of the sleeping bag, head cushioned by his arm. The letter sat in his free hand, the paper crinkled and worn. If he tried hard enough he could almost smell Anakin’s cologne on the sheet - cinnamon and something else, something that made Obi-Wan nostalgic for soft embraces and laughter against his neck.

He’d write a letter tomorrow, when the sun had risen and the crush of Anakin’s loss wasn’t felt as deeply. For now, Obi-Wan would wallow in his sorrow. He knew Anakin wouldn’t begrudge him for that.

[unspuncreature]

“I had nothing painted on mine." But if he did have something he'd have gone with something a little more flashy. Maybe just a giant portrait of Obi-Wan. With his legs spread and ass up in the air. Now that was an idea.

from chapter 4 of @renlyslittlerose’s incredible Moonlight Serenade

i have not been able to get this scene out of my head since i read it. such a silly and sweet moment amidst some of the lowest of anakin’s lows that we’ve seen.

i don’t know that obi-wan would realistically have facial hair like this if we’re really trying to be accurate, but i’m trying to give the people (me) what they (i) want

anakin’s imagined nose art is based on the real nose art referenced in the fic!

and here’s the full image of obi-wan :)c

i know you all wanted to see him. that’s why you really clicked the readmore. you horndogs.

[fiendishfables]

hii i just saw ur request page and thought i'd give it a try! soo, can i please have an nsfw oneshot w/dom! lucifer x reader ? i've just been thirsting after him sm...

anyways can it be about like him going down on reader, or just being talented with his fingers, cus we know what he can do with em 🫣

thanks so much!!

a/n: ahh, yes, thank you so much, my lovely, for sending in this request! This is my first attempt at responding to a request, so I hope its to your liking and doesn't disappoint. We love Luci!

warnings: nsfw, sex, cursing, use of pet names, first time as a couple, Luci being a complete dork

word count: 1.2k+

characters: 6646

notes: This is my first fic on here, as well as my first attempt at writing smut, so I apologize if its not any good. But nevertheless, enjoy!

Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x GN! Reader

Oneshot

Going down on you was something Lucifer had wanted to do the day he first laid eyes on you.

Don't get him wrong, he was a gentleman at heart and would continue to be until the day someone replaced him as King (which you both knew would never happen), but by the fiery skies of Hell- he wanted you. You. No other soul.

Lucifer had met you through Charlie, his own daughter and Princess of Hell. Your kindness had lead you to offer your services with helping his daughter with her whole idea of a rehabilitation hotel, meant for the sinners who wanted a second chance at life; wanting to fix their mistakes and be evolved into a better version of themselves. He had met you there when she had invited him to visit and see her progress. Its safe to say you two hit it off perfectly fine.

Now, exactly how you two hit it off doesn't really matter- all that mattered to you right now was the fact that his cock was buried so deep inside of you, that you could barley form a coherent sentence, let alone a singular word.

The room was dark, making the moonlight that filtered through the curtains the only source of light; the only thing that allowed for you to see the beautiful fallen angel hovering over you, both of your bodies sweaty and hearts pounding rapidly against your ribcages, as if trying to silently connect with one another through rapid pumps of blood. To express your emotions to one another through anything other than what he was doing now, which was stuffing you to the brim with his cock.

When you first saw it, staying quiet had become a big concern to you in your mind, what with the other residents of the hotel potentially being able to hear you both.

But that fear had quickly flown the coop as soon as he entered you for the first time.

Fuck, it was absolute heaven.

You were convinced that somehow, Lucifer had managed to descend the heavens down upon you in that exact moment; your most intimate moment. That any second, angels would be surrounding the pair of you and begin serenading you with a specific love song just for the two of you, or pointing angelic spears at your throats. Now, that thought did cause some momentary fear to shoot through your body, because the last thing you wanted was for some random angels (especially if they were exorcists, or Adam) to randomly appear in the room, just to be greeted with the sight of you, a moaning mess underneath Lucifer, drunk off of his length as it stretched you so wide you were afraid he might break you. But when you opened your eyes after the so slow, yet so delicious insertion of his cock...the room was still pitch black. No holy light. No angles. No song. Just you and him. You and Lucifer.

And that was the way it was supposed to be. No other soul, no matter angelic or demonic, could compete with what you two had. It was special; a connection that had to reach from the deepest pits of Hell, to the brightest place in all of Heaven.

For being one of the most powerful beings, Lucifer was being very careful with you; his fingers gripped your sides and hips, holding you in place securely as he rutted into you. Those fingers were sure to leave marks tomorrow. Neither of you minded.

"Oh...you're the best choice I've ever made, lovely- fuck..~"

Lucifers words only helped to fuel the fire that burned within your heart; the fire that represented your eternal, undying love for him. The tightening in your abdomen became much more noticeable too, coiling and constricting like a snake fighting to escape its confinements, or the talons of a predatory bird.

Except in this scenario, Lucifer was the bird, who held you oh so tightly in his sharp talons, and the last thing you wanted to do was escape. You'd allow him to devour you to his hearts content; until you passed out, fainted, or hell, till your heart stopped. He had you right where he wanted you and the smug little smirk on his lips whilst he turned you into this blabbering mess, was enough proof to show he knew it too. And he enjoyed it. Every. Single. Second.

His hands stayed perched seriously on your hips, as if you might just disappear if he so much as dared to loosen his hold. Not that you minded. You could hardly think straight.

"L-Luci..-"

Your attempt at saying his name fell flat, his next thrust replacing the messy words with a desperate moan from you, making your eyes roll back into your skull and a tremor of pleasure trailing its way through your body. He could reach places inside you that no one else had ever even dared to try. He was special in that way. Although he did lessen his movements after your butchered attempt at speaking. He looked genuinely worried and the sight did just enough to melt your heart.

"Are you alright, love? I didn't hurt you did I? Do you need anything? Do I need to stop? I can get you-"

He started to ramble, which he often did. His worst nightmare was hurting you; even just thinking about it made him shudder, as if he had just been doused with cold water.

But all it took was a weak smile from you and a kiss on his cheek to calm him and get him back in the movement again. You assured him that you were feeling the best you've ever felt in your entire life, both in living and in death, that all the pleasure you were feeling was making it hard for you to speak properly.

"I'm okay, Luci. You're just making me feel so many things-"

A finger then found its way onto your plush lips, slightly moisturized by your saliva having been produced by your fucked out state.

"Shhh, spare your breath, darling. I'm just glade you're holding up so well. Such a good beloved, you are."

Then: "You'll want it for when I make you scream."

Seeing you an absolute wreck because of him- because of his actions- his cock- it was almost better than the orgasm that ripped through him shortly after you came undone due to his words and continuation of his previous actions.

Ropes of his seed shot into you, stuffing you like you've never experienced before. His pale blonde hair stuck to his forehead, both your bodies damp with a light sheen of sweat. Your heavy breaths mixed together, as did the small chuckles that came from both of your lips. Thankfully, he kept his promise about making you scream.

Hell, meeting you had to have been the best thing to ever happen to him. To both of you.

No one would ever find themselves as to be so lucky, to know that the King of Hell found the taste of them the most enchanting out of all the souls both above and below.

Just try and doubt his love for you. He will be sure to give you a night that you won't ever forget, as many times as he needs to, until you're begging him to stop.

You are his, and he refuses to ever let you forget it.

[ugh-yoongi]

hi! hope youre well!! would u mind putting together a taehyung rec list whenever u have the time? 🥹 happy holidays!

decided to combine these while i have a quick minute! thank you both for asking, hope you find something you enjoy in here. :)

most of these works contain mature themes/content. please heed tags and do not engage with any explicit work if you are a minor!

i know there are a bunch i’ve forgotten (and i feel like i see jimin/tae fics the least these days???), so please reblog and share your own work and your faves!

taehyung x reader

a human touch by @snackhobi

heatwave by @curly-bangtan

too long; didn't read by @fortunexkookie

upstream colour by @honeymoonjin

backseat serenade by @jungkxook

just a taste by @xjoonchildx

let it snow by @suga-kookiemonster

everything by @gukyi (special shoutout to good luck charm tho)

all of @here2bbtstrash's drabbles

jimin x reader

catch your drift by @snackhobi

into the wilderness by @gukyi

the devil in his details by @johobi

warm hands (ice cold heart) by @hobidreams

florezco by @honeymoonjin

red flag by @xjoonchildx

dreamy by @1kook

point of no return by @wwilloww

the shape of your body by @here2bbtstrash

menace by @eoieopda

good for you

as always, member x member fics under the cut!

member x member

taegi/yoonmin: see yoongi recs here

taejoon/minimoni: see namjoon recs here

vhope/jihope: see hoseok recs here

taejin/jinmin: see seokjin recs here

taekook/jikook: see jungkook recs here

you're only brave in the moonlight (vmin)

paint (vmin)

ring the changes (vmin)

you keep me up at night (vmin)

help me hold onto you (vmin)

i will make you whole (vmin)

hooters on peachtree (vmin)

meaner than mean (vmin)

you know i know (vmin)

the only one who makes me (vmin)

you are my bravest everything (vmin)

[zexapher]

Vacuan Nights, Like Vacuan Days

They’re just so great together! I’d love for Jaune and Weiss to get a little downtime in Vacuo to live out a moment like this. They really deserve it, and I’d love to see Jaune’s guitar make a reappearance.

The comic here was inspired by u/Silverstar1243’s excellent piece of art, A Serenade Under the Moonlight. Send some love to them on their twitter, commission some art if you’re willing and able, they’ve made some great stuff.

You folks may have noticed I threw in a couple of references for those in the know; the Golden Oreos behind Yang (double stuffed, I might add) for the trio’s ship, Weiss liking it rough for Mallobaude’s great fic, and of course I made a whole theme around the Arabian Nights Disney song. A song, along with its Aladdin compatriots, which I spent the better part of a day finding covers for just to listen to on repeat while I worked.

This one’s now officially my longest comic project, with 14 panels, two over the past record since I added the White Knight kiss at the end. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Not sure I’d say it was more difficult than my Vanity of Vanities post, but for this one I actually knew how to use my editing software going into it (at least somewhat).

Put a lot of work into this one, been working on it on and off since February. Took a few breaks for vacation, to make my memorial post for Rooster Teeth, and another five meme edits or so, but I came back around to it. First half was pretty easy, relatively minor edits inserting characters into scenes and so on. The second half with Jaune and Weiss was tougher though, with color correcting, merging poses, redrawing features, drawing Jaune’s entire head to fix some lighting issues, etc. Really like how the edit to make Jaune strum his guitar turned out.

The time it took to make the whole comic got me down a little, until I did a bit of math. Including my side projects since starting this, all the scripting and editing and all, I’ve been pumping out a panel every two days. That seems pretty good to me, that kind of accomplishment makes me a little proud of myself.

Really need to get around to watching the second part of the Justice League Crossover movies. It’s got a few Vacuo scenes that might make things a little more authentic instead of me just using Saphron’s house and pretending it’s a suite in Vacuo. I do love taking yet more character stills from Jaune and friends experiencing deep trauma and turning it into something positive, been making that a bit of a personal habit. And I’ve got to say, the background for Jaune and Weiss’ scene is really beautiful, pulled it from when Sun and Neptune hear Ruby’s message about Salem. That’s just a really good shot all on its own, I even saved a copy for my computer’s wallpaper after editing out the two.

Posting a big RWBY White Knight edit, watching not one but two RWBY Beyond episodes, and all on the trail of the news that RWBY’s found partners that they’re negotiating with and that the creative team is expected to stay on. And I'm sipping bubble tea. Life is good.

Anyway, pardon the long write up. I’m invested in this one, and am quite pleased with how the comic turned out. I hope you all get a kick out of it as well!

[wandawxdow]

Masters of the Air fic recs

(*) = includes smut

gale ‘buck’ clevens x john ‘bucky’ egan

in london / on leave

bomber’s moon by moonrocks

in london, secret & established relationship, (*)

level-off manoeuvres by wormringers

together in london, (*)

dallas girls by hcneymooners

london, fluff and dash of angst

hurt/comfort & angst

good men die too / oh i’d rather be with you by moonrocks

grief/mourning, first kiss, injured!bucky

falling apart by cloudystars

post-mission hurt/comfort

Whatever Happens Tomorrow, We Had Today by MaShEd_Potat_os

angst, love confessions

a good dream by lilium

hurt/comfort, protective bf, 1x04 au

dear john by ForASecondThereWedWon

angst, love letters, 1x04, (*)

you’ll never be alone (i’ll be there for you) by tearsricochets

first kiss, pining, emotional hurt/comfort, 1x01-1x02

make you feel alive by signifier

emotional hurt/comfort, happy ending, presumed dead

it had to be you by MaShEd_Potat_os

post-war, angst with a happy ending, insecure!bucky

Another First by JoeyAlohaDream

(mild * mention), hurt!buck

stalag / imprisoned

greyspace by cloudystars

sick!bucky, protective!buck, hurt/comfort

night terrors by cloudystars

trauma, nightmares, hurt/comfort

I’ll Get By (As Long As I Have You) by JediRobertHogan

hurt/comfort, reunited

whatever you want me to do (i will do) by tkachukypls

angst, unrequited love, 1x07

scars by cloudystars

protective!bucky, fights, 1x07

You Put Your Arms Around Me (And I’m Home) by johnslittlespoon

fluff, sharing a bed, 1x07

Full Count by madeitsimple

angst and (*), 1x07-1x08, fights

judgement by the hounds by anonymous

1x08, hurt/comfort, fights, sharing a bed

Whatever you want me to do, I will do by Anonymous

john brady!centric, protective!buck & bucky

rainfall by switchgrassdevil

sick!buck, hurt/comfort, sharing a bed

I Won’t Rot by GrayFingers

hurt!bucky, protective!buck, injuries

Fluff + AUs

back home where you’re safe from, that’s the measure of a man by wolfhalls

established relationship, learning to dance, (*)

Reverie by Avonne

soulmate au (*)

the secret list of very serious (and sober) 100th’s rules by Amethyste_Blanche

fluff

Look The Other Way by Disastrous_Canasta

first meeting, fluff

all roads lead home by cloudystars

biker!au and abo!au, modern universe

A Kiss With A Fist by perpetualmotion

buck defends bucky’s honour

Love Tokens by perpetualmotion

gift giving

moonlight serenade by puffanities

abo!au, omega!bucky, alpha!buck, ongoing series

You and Me (5 Times) by stopstopstopit

various jokes about buck & bucky being married

any day now by tkachukypls

gift giving, bucky gives buck a puppy

Garden in My Heart by 13SapphireStars13

abo!au, omega!bucky, alpha!buck, courting

Smut - no Plot

A Suite at the Ritz by stillheremydear

secret relationship & sneaking around (*)

buck x bucky x curtis fics

I’ll be looking at the moon (but i’ll be seeing you) by moonrocks

1x03, grief/mourning

different but equal by Ikharys

fluff, pre-relationship, sharing beds

my hand was the one you reached for (all throughout the great war) by RavenOfRao

fluff, pre-relationship

A Brief Moment of Mourning by Perpetual Motion

angst, emotional hurt/comfort

First Meetings (and Punishments) by scaraheather

first meetings, pre-relationship

Both (*) by Ikharys

fluff and smut, sharing a bed

each man has got his classification (*) by mpix

smut, jealousy

Out of Reach by studies in subjunctive

unrequited love, (*)

The Long Way Home by livelaughlove_write

post-war, ptsd, love confession

x reader recs

jealous!buck request by @sansaorgana

jealous!buck request (2) by ↑

to the rescue (curtis biddick) by @sagesolsticewrites

with all my gratitude, hope and adoration, john (2) (3) by @buckysegan

twenty five (to life) by MissFreakingFortune

blurb (bucky egan) by @swiftiekisses

Hitchin’ A Ride by @pisupsala

girl dad!gale request by @sansaorgana

Because the Night by @gloryofroses19

Birdie by @jointherebellion215

amor aeternus series by @saturnville

agape (wattpad) by perxwxnkle

[earlysunshines]

moonlight serenade

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader. (pt. 3)

summary: sana finds you even cuter after seeing you in shark pj's, you two are hopeless lesbians, you drive sana home and it's more romantic than it should be – oh my god you're not a mother?

wc: 5.3k

warnings: mentions of food, i think that's it ; reader has tattoos ; u two are hopeless romantics ; lesbians being lesbians

pt 1. pt2. pt4.

a/n: I love jazz. I've been listening to jazz in a bakery/cafe while writing each part actually. pls listen to moonlight serenade by ella fitzgerald, it's a work of art and one of my all time favorites :-D

(are lyrics in fics corny? I have no idea. I just love jazz and thought this song was perfect for this part.)

trying to write as much before I move! enjoy ;-]

-

“Are you actually serious?” Jihyo says, placing her cup of coffee down. Sana pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a small breath,

“Jihyo, I don’t know what to do,” Sana says defeatedly.

Two months have passed by and that means two months of seeing you every now and then. Johnny, your brother, has returned from his business trip, so he ended up being the one to take Hana to school in the morning and the one to pick her up in the afternoon. You, however, were not going to miss the chance to see this lovely woman named Sana. 5'4 inches of pure beauty and charm. So, you convinced him to let you take Hana to school once or twice a week just to see who you think is the woman blessed by Aphrodite. 

I mean, the temperature is dropping, and the warmth that spreads through your body when you see Sana is definitely something you need for this weather.

Every week Sana would see you in the morning once or twice. You two would exchange your friendly greetings before Hana goes off to chat with her new best friend Jiyeong, you’d stare at each other all lovingly (you two are oblivious, it’s sick), and then part ways. Rinse and repeat, reuse, reduce, recycle, etc, this went on for two damn months. 

Sana would never say anything more, she wouldn’t flirt, she wouldn’t ask you out, and she wouldn’t do anything but be friendly. She still believed that you were literally her student’s mother, and there was a guilt that got heavier every time her heart did a flip from seeing you.

Each interaction sparked a small flame in your hearts, and just before it grew bigger, you’d wave goodbye; the flame would die again, never growing large enough to really warm you two the way you both needed.

“Sana… I honestly have no clue what to say,” Jihyo starts, and she looks at the young teacher in front of her, practically losing her mind, “I mean, you’re sure she’s her mom?”

“Yes, I mean, the girl’s dad and her take turns dropping her off and whatnot. I'm not going to be more delusional than I already am trying to find anything that makes her seem less like a mother, I mean, it's clear that she is the mother of that girl.” Sana explains, and her heart sinks a little, “I guess her dad is nice, though, and tall, I don’t know.” Sana groans. 

Jihyo watches Sana stick out her signature little pout and swirl the coffee in her cup, 

“Well… There are always others, no?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something about her Jihyo,” and Jihyo listens with interest, “I just, ever since we met, I feel like, there was some kind of… god this is so embarrassing…” Sana trails off, putting a hand on her forehead and pinching her eyes shut from slight embarrassment. Sana reminisces the way you’d joke about Hana making your wrinkles appear if she kept it up with her little antics, how you’d make her laugh at your little comments, and the way your eyes scan the room for her in the mornings and -

“You’ve been a hopeless romantic since we were roommates, I’ve probably heard worse.” Jihyo sighs, and she reminisces about the days when Sana and she had to share a small single-bedroom dorm, and how she would gush about anything and romanticize everything. 

“Look, she’s just so pretty… Maybe we could just be friends? She’s sweet.” Sana suggests, and Jihyo laughs in disbelief.

“You want to be friends with someone’s mother that you also, or, might have a crush on?”

“Maybe.” 

-

You let yourself in through the front door with your spare keys, hanging your jacket on the coat hanger and sliding your shoes off, setting them on the shoe rack. 

There’s a faint melody of a slow, soft song playing, and there’s a low voice that hums along to the old tune. It fits the atmosphere of the quiet house on a Thursday night.

You creep through the hall quietly to see your brother in the dimmed kitchen washing a few plates. He’s in a navy long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up so water doesn't temporarily shade his apparel, and loose shorts that go down to just above his knees. His hair is a bit messy, and he looks nerdy with his circular black glasses on. You laugh at the sight of him in his pajamas and slides, he jumps a little and turns his head in surprise after hearing you.

“My god, at least text me.” He sighs, and you chuckle at him. You make your way over to the area where he is and sit across from him at the kitchen island, he directs his attention back to the dirty plate in his hand, “Did you need something?”

“Kinda.”

“You know where everything is, just grab it if you need it. Also, be quiet, Hana just fell asleep.” Johnny responds, turning off the sink and placing the white dish in the dishwasher. 

“It’s not a physical thing, I just… maybe some advice, or at least your thoughts.”

“...On?”

“There’s this girl,”

"Oh," He mumbles quietly, “You’re ready to date again?”

“I think so,” You begin, “She’s different you know. Not like that girl in high school. She’s actually the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she’s sweet and nice and caring and-”

“How long have you known her?”

“Two months...”

“So it is Ms. Minatozaki.” Johnny scoffs, though, not in an insulting way, more of an ‘I fucking knew it’ way. He picks up a rag and starts to wipe it on the countertop.

You look at your taller brother in surprise, “How did you know?”

“Hana tells me all about you two y’know? Why else would you willingly wake up earlier than you should to drop off my daughter at school? And, she tells me that you ask about her teacher?” He laughs, “You’re not good at hiding things, never have been.”

“Hey!” You say defensively, and a little too loud as it makes him put a finger to his lips,

“Lower your voice.” 

“Sorry.” You mumble, laying your head on your palm. Johnny turns his body to face you instead of the counter connected to the sink that he had previously been wiping,

“Soooo, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Johnny.”

“You think she likes you?” He asks, genuinely curious about your new interest. Johnny grabs two glasses of water and places them on the counter, then sits down to the right of you, making sure to give his full attention to you. 

Johnny has always been a good brother, and you two had your necessary brother-sister moments where you were at each other's throats; in fact, you’d bicker all the damn time and it even went on into high school. However, you two always had each other’s backs. Even when you hated each other there would be moments where you two were the only ones who understood each other, and sometimes time seemed to stop when you’d talk about the deeper topics and anything bothering you two. 

And so, time slows down as Johnny listens to your rant.

“We’re friendly, I mean, what am I thinking? I feel slightly delusional I won’t even lie,” You sigh, “She’s so pretty and sweet and I just, I really want to get to know her. Like ever since I met her I felt like… It’s so corny but I swear the world literally paused for a moment.” You add, shifting your look away from your older brother.

How are you supposed to tell your brother that this woman that you’ve known for two months is making you lose some sleep, and, by the way, you haven’t even had a full conversation with her either. You think of the woman that you go out of your way to run into and see for ten minutes a day total, twice a week. You think of her radiant smile that rivals the sun's rays, the voice that’s more soothing than any song on your playlist, and the way her eyes light up when she sees you, and -

“You’re head over heels, huh,” Johnny says, amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I barely know her.” you lie,

“Well, you could.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? ‘Oh hey I think of you day and night just because I think you’re cute and nice and I think I almost overfilled a cup of cold brew while daydreaming about you, uh maybe we could go out sometime?’”

“Maybe don’t say that much, dumbass.” Your older brother says playfully, “Just start with a compliment or something, you seriously suck at this romance stuff.”

“Thanks,” You mutter, rolling your eyes, “But what if she thinks that’s weird? I’m literally her student’s aunt.”

“Maybe,” Johnny sighs and finishes the water in his cup, “Maybe you should get some rest, y/n. If you lose sleep over this woman who you’ve never had a full conversation with, imagine how much sleep you’ll lose when you finally do.” He stands up and makes his way over back to the sink to rinse the glass cup you had gotten him for his last birthday, “So, maybe you should catch up on rest now and rant to me when you finally have the balls to actually make a conversation with her, then I could actually give you some decent advice."

“You suck.”

“I want to give you my feedback and advice, but this is literally all I can say right now: ask her out and come back to me.”

“This is too much.”

“You’re a loser, y/n.” Johnny jokes, and he takes the cup that you hadn’t touched away and then rinses it.

-

You don’t even get to plan anything or prepare yourself for your next interaction with Sana, and you look stupid when you run into her too.

You’re at the nearest convenience store in an oversized t-shirt that was your brothers’, the gray shirt with a shark graphic on it that was too comfy to not steal. Paired with that tee were plaid shorts and white socks with more sharks on them that you had gotten from Hana last Christmas, along with grayish-green clogs on your feet. 

You were dressed like a college student that was on a budget, and of course, you had to run into the woman of your dreams at a convenience store at 12:24 am on a Friday night while looking stupid.

Sana had run into you while you scanned the drinks section. You didn’t notice her calling out your name while there was pop music playing in your earbuds, and when you turned to see who had tapped on your shoulder your eyes widened.

Sana held a small basket in her hand, and she wore a purple sweatshirt along with gray sweatpants, much more presentable than what you were wearing. Your face goes red as you realize that she’s caught you looking ridiculous, all while she looks perfect.

Her hair is clipped up and some strands fall over her face, and she looks so unbelievably adorable just standing there smiling at you.

“Hi.” She says, looking you up and down. 

She scans your whole look and gets a little flustered by how precious you look. Your hair is messed up and disheveled at the roots, as if you’d just gotten out of bed and ran a hand through it. The oversized t-shirt drowned your figure in comfort, and your inked, toned forearms were revealed. The t-shirt you wore had a cute shark graphic on it, Sana had guessed that your daughter had something to do with why you had that shirt. She smiles at the sight of you in such comfy clothing, looking lovely as ever while you stare back at her. 

“Hey.” You respond, taking out an earbud,

“It’s surprising to see you here y/n,” Sana giggles, “Thirsty?” She questions, and she’s peeking at the vitamin water in one of your hands.

“I guess so.” You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek and putting a hand in your pocket, “It’s pretty surprising to see you here too.” You add. Surprising, but wow, definitely lucky. When would you ever see her looking so comfy and out of her workplace looking so cute? 

Sana giggles and you feel like a huge gust of wind has hit you so suddenly, about to hit you off your feet. You smile brightly. 

“I couldn’t sleep, I wanted something to snack on,” Sana shrugs. You glance at her basket and see some spicy turtle chips in the basket,

“Eating something spicy at this time is new to me, most people would have something warm, no?”

“Maybe.” Sana mutters, “I like your outfit, by the way.” 

Your ears turn red again and you look down at your clothing, “Yeah… It’s a shirt from Hana’s dad, haha, that’s why it’s so big.”

Sana’s heart sinks a bit at the mention of Hana’s dad. 

Sana and Johnny had met other times, and Sana thought he was nice, sweet, and she can't lie he does has a nice smile, but not as nice as yours. He treated Hana with care; Sana could tell he loved her dearly, as much as you did. 

“I see, I like it. The two of them must love sharks, she always draws them during class.”

“She and her dad are very similar, lots of shark things in the house. I prefer koalas.” You reply. You wonder why the hell you’re mentioning koalas at this time, at this moment in this place, but it doesn’t matter because it seems to spark some kind of conversation with the woman in front of you, and Sana thinks it’s cute, actually. 

“Koalas?” She questions amusingly, "They’re cute. I think hamsters are cuter, though.” 

“hamsters?”

“Mhm.” 

You chuckle at her response and wonder, how does she get cuter every time? Sana turns her head to eye at the drinks, then makes her way to the refrigerator door to grab one for herself, she grabs a canned iced americano and turns her body to face you again, 

“Do you live near? I feel like I would’ve run into you sooner if you did.” Sana says, looking at the can in her right hand. 

“Uh - no. The nearest convenience store closes at 12, so I just drove around until I found one open.” You answer, “Do you live near?” You ask. You wonder if the question is too weird or creepy to ask, I mean, this is a woman you don’t know too well, and would it be weird to ask a person you find so attractive where they live?

“Kind of. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, maybe less, give or take. The one right next to my place is closed too.”

“You walked? At this time?” You question her. Worry takes over your whole body because she walked alone? In the dark? At this hour? 

Sana just hums in response, “Yeah, the neighborhood is really quiet and not too bad.”

“Still, you should’ve driven or something.”

“I don’t drive.” She simply states. You furrow your brows. She just stares back at you with those big brown eyes, it almost makes you forget about worrying.

She walks past you and heads to the self-checkout, you follow. There's a sudden idea that pops up in your mind, and you usually wouldn't be so bold to suggest or ask anything so direct, but it's twelve in the morning and your mind is too scrambled to make or think of any decent decisions.

“Sana,” You murmur, voice just barely above a whisper as you find the confidence for what you’re about to say, “Uh- this might be a little weird to ask, but, um…” You stutter, why the hell are you stuttering? She’s staring at you with those large espresso-colored eyes that remind you of your job at the moment, and the longer she stares back at you the more your mind races. This woman has your heart doing flips and pounding through your chest, you can barely manage your thoughts and words,

“Yes?”

“Uh, could I take you home?” You finally say, barely managing to make eye contact with her and it’s a humbling experience as your usually leveled (at least you think) demeanor crumbles under the presence of this woman.

“You don’t have to. It’s late and I don’t want to cause you too much trouble, y/n.” 

“I’d be much more troubled if I knew you were walking home alone at this time, I insist.”

“Alright then. Let me pay first.”

You pause for a moment and Sana just turns back around, scanning the chips and canned coffee she had in her basket. It’s almost 12:30 now, and a pretty girl is letting you take her home. This wonder of the world is letting your disheveled self take her home.

-

“You have a nice car,” Sana says. She's never had a thing for cars or really knew too much about them. She's only paid attention to Jihyo’s five-seat white Lexus and the black, modified BMW that belonged to her childhood friend Momo. Other cars don't really matter or stand out to her, but Sana’s interest in you grows when she first sees the green Mercedes. Five-seated car looks nice and neat from the outside, for some reason, it really catches her attention. When she sits in the passenger seat she’s hit with the smell of coconut and vanilla. There are two things hung from the internal rearview mirror: One, a small keychain of a koala, and two, a picture of you and Johnny.

Sana can’t help but smile at the picture of you two, you two look happy.

You start the engine and put on your seatbelt before putting the drink you bought in the cup holder. You press on the screen in your car and a slow jazz melody plays. Of course, it had to be a love song. 

“I’ve never seen your tattoos up close, they’re really pretty.” Sana suddenly says as you start to move out of where you were parked. Her eyes scan from your upper forearm, where the tattoo started, and down to where it ended just below your wrist, “I only saw a bit of them when you had dropped Hana off the first day.” Sana added.

She wanted to add on about how she also noticed the tattoo just under your knuckles too, and how she found the ink on your skin so endearing. She wanted to tell you all about the things she found attractive about you. From the noticeable things like your bold features to the little things she’s noted in her mind from every meeting. The way you’d always run a hand through your beautiful hair once or twice, the eye contact you couldn’t hold with her, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were quiet, the way your fingers often tugged at the beaded bracelet on your hand, how cute it was to watch you say bye to your daughter, and various other little details. Sana wanted to tell you all about those things, but that would be incredibly weird, right?

“Oh, yeah, thank you. I got the tattoo on my forearm a couple of years ago. Hana picked out the butterfly on my hand last year, actually.” You say, looking at the screen of your car as you back up a bit, making sure you don’t hit anything. 

“Oh, also, you can type the address on my phone. Here.” You add, handing her the device. Sana types in her address quickly and it pops up on the screen. It’s a quick 4-minute drive, and you both wished it were a bit longer.

The music continues to play softly while you two sit in silence, and it somehow makes the mood a bit more intimate whilst the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald's voice echoes,

I stand and I wait 

For the touch of your hand in the June night 

The roses are sighing 

A moonlight serenade

Your breath hitches, “Um, you can change the song if you want…” You say embarrassed. Sana shakes her head and mumbles, 

“It’s alright. I like it, It’s cute.” She admits, making you blush a bit. You grip the wheel a little tighter as you stop at the red light. The heartfelt lyrics fill the air with a romantic hum, and only the tender melody is heard as you sit together in silence.

The stars are aglow

 And tonight how their light sets me dreaming 

My love, do you know 

That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?

Sana’s heartbeat skips a little knowing that you listen to such romantic melodies, and she wonders if you love as romantically as such songs. Her mind wanders to the thought of you serenading her in the moonlight, or serenading her in a more domestic setting. The sudden thought of you humming along to these tunes while you cooked or cleaned allowed made her cheeks flush a bit. Jihyo was right: Sana is a hopeless romantic. She’s too far in to get out of the hole of these feelings, and her heart aches a little, the guilt piles up.

You on the other hand are freaking out.

Sana likes your lovey-dovey taste in music, and she seems content (Sana's having a crisis). Maybe you do have a chance with this woman, I mean, she’s already in your car and letting you take her home. Maybe you can do this again, maybe you can listen to songs like this together in a more intimate setting rather than your car, and maybe you can do more than just listen to Ella Fitzgerald together. All the maybe’s in your head are cut short as you reach her place and park in front of her apartment complex. 

“We’re here.” You mutter, and you wish you weren’t.

Sana nods and reaches for the eco-friendly bag she had set down, unbuckles her seatbelt, then turns so that her eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. She puts her left hand on your right hand that had been gripping the gear shift ever so gently, your jaw tenses a bit and your left hand that had been on the wheel tightens its hold once more. She looks from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again. Your heart is suddenly an acrobat the way it's doing so many flips.

“Thank you again, I appreciate it.” She says, and her other hand is on the handle of the door, ready to get out, but she doesn’t.

“Anytime, I didn’t want you to be out alone at this time.” you wonder how that sentence leaves your mouth so calmly because your heart is beating at least two hundred times per minute. 

Sana’s lips curve into a smile again and you relax a bit,

“Well,” Sana starts, and she opens the door, “I’ll see you soon?”

“I’m picking up Hana on Monday.”

“Great. See you then, y/n.” She finally says, turning away and getting out of the car. You two look at each other again and your eye contact lingers a bit before she finally closes the door, waves, and turns to head inside the apartment complex. 

The music continues to play, and your heart longs for her once again.

I stand at your gate

And I sing you a song in the moonlight 

A love song, my darling 

A moonlight serenade

-

A week passes after this encounter, and Sana is currently giving the kids an announcement that might have them jumping off the walls.

“Alright everyone in your seats please.” She says kindly. The students listen to her and shuffle to their seats, some chatter being shared as they do so. Sana claps her hands in a pattern to bring the students’ attention to her, and they clap their hands the same way that she had, quieting down in the process.

“Alright everyone, before I make this announcement, I need everyone to behave and not get too rowdy, okay?”

“Yes Ms. Minatozaki!” The class answers enthusiastically. Sana nods and smiles at them,

“Alright. So, there’s a special trip that is planned for you all next week.” She begins. The kids' faces start to light up after hearing the words “special trip” and almost all of them are itching to get more details on it. Sana’s face seems to light up with theirs from just looking at the excitement on their faces, so she continues,

“Next Wednesday we will be spending the day at the art museum downtown. There are going to be multiple people guiding you throughout the museum, and you’ll be able to learn about the art.” Sana explains, “And, at the end of the trip we’ll all meet back at a special room where you can paint along with an instructor.”

The kids’ smiles grow even wider, some are whispering to each other while others continue to keep their attention on the young teacher. 

“Now, I also wanted to add that we will be needing some chaperones to help look after the class. I have some papers that I’ll give to you, make sure you show them to your mom, dad, or guardian. If they’d like to tag along to help out that would be great, and highly encouraged.” Sana says, pulling out a pile of papers from her desk, she begins to pass around said forms.

-

An hour passes and it’s free choice time. Hana walks up to the young teacher with the form that Sana had previously handed out. Sana smiles at the young girl and tilts her head,

“What is it, Hana? Is everything okay?” The young teacher questions,

“Um, Ms… What does guardian mean? You said mom, dad, and guardian earlier. Does that mean grown up?” Hana asks, and she looks at the paper as if her five-year-old self can read the whole thing with ease, 

“I guess so. It’s an adult who takes care of you.” Sana explains to the girl. The girl hums to herself and furrows her brows,

“Does that mean y/n can come?”

“Of course, she’s your mom isn’t she?” Sana asks, and she’s confused as to why the girl looks up at her in surprise,

“My mom?” 

“Yes… She’s your mom, no?”

“Ms. Minatozaki, Y/n is my aunt.” 

Sana’s whole world stops for a moment. Y/n is her aunt? 

“So your dad and her are…?”

“Y/n is my papa’s younger sister, she always jokes about him being so old,” Hana says, laughing to herself.

Sana genuinely stops functioning as she processes this new information: You’re not taken. Fireworks set off in her heart and confetti seems to pop: you’re not her mom. All the guilt that had been on her shoulders from thinking she was infatuated with a taken mother is gone, and it all makes sense now. Sana wonders how stupid she could’ve been, I mean, you and Hana’s dad had similar features, face shape, hair texture, and color. The young teacher had also realized that Hana only called you by your name, and not “mommy” or “mom” or anything like that; how could she have been so stupid?

“Ms. Minatozaki?”

“Oh, yeah, yes Hana. Y/n can come, of course, she can.” Sana says, and she really hopes you do come. Hana smiles and looks back at her paper before talking to her teacher again,

“You know, my aunt, she asks about you a lot.” 

“She does?” Sana says, her heart skips a beat. Hana nods and looks back up at the teacher,

“She always asks about how school was, but she always ends up asking more about you and how you were during the day.” Sana’s eyes widen and she looks at the young girl in front of her, exposing you for being so interested in her. 

The flame in her heart grows bigger, and it seems that the flame has no intention of dying down now that she knows you’re not Hana’s mother. Hana turns around and makes her way back to her desk to color after seeing that Sana wasn’t capable of responding again, and Sana doesn't even notice. Hana sits down unbothered, not knowing that she just turned Sana’s whole mood around, not knowing that this new piece of information will have her daydreaming the rest of the day – no, the rest of the week – maybe the rest of the month.

-

The school day comes to an end and the usual routine occurs: bell rings, kids scream, talk, and practically leap out of their seats to get in line to go to the entrance of the building. Sana waits with her usual group of eight, which includes Hana, and she hopes that today would be the day that you decided to pick her up. You had already picked Hana up on Monday, but now it’s Wednesday and those are the days that Hana’s dad would usually pick the little girl up, great.

-

Forty minutes pass and Sana sits down at the main office with Hana, no one had come to pick her up yet. Hana seems to be unbothered by this as she colors and draws on the sheet of paper that Sana had given her to cure her boredom, but she worries slightly since Jihyo still waits for her in the front. 

Sana texts Jihyo a string of apologies and explanations and before she reads the instant reply, the sound of heavy breaths are heard as a familiar face enters the room, looking around all worried until her body relaxes when she sees her niece.

Y/n lets out a sigh of relief seeing Hana sitting down, coloring as if there wasn’t a single problem in the world. Her look shifts over to Sana, who is already looking at her. Their eyes meet and it makes the two women smile at one another.

“Hana,” your voice makes the little girl turn her head. She smiles and runs up to hug you, leaving her art on the desk,

“Aunt y/n!” And this is the first time Sana hears the little girl actually call you her aunt, she wishes that she would’ve called you aunt earlier (it would've saved her sleepless nights of wondering what the hell to do with her feelings, but at least she knows now). 

You hug the little girl back and swipe away the strands of hair on her face, “Hi little one. Your dad had something come up at work, I rushed over as soon as my shift ended.” You explain. You turn back to share eye contact with the young teacher, eyes narrowing and lips curving upwards as you smile at her, “Thank you for watching her, I’m sorry for being so late.”

“It’s all right, really.” It’s more than all right, Sana thinks. 

You grin again and turn your attention back to your niece, “Ready to go?”

“Yup!” 

“Okay little one, come on.” and you crouch down to let her wrap around your shoulders, letting her piggyback ride you. You grab the art that your niece had made on the table and finally stand in front of Sana, thanking her.

“I’m sorry again, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, it’s nice to see you again,” Sana admits, a bit shyly too. The grin that’s already present on your lips grows and you wave to the shorter woman,

“I’ll see you.” You finally say, waving with your free hand and turning your head to the little one, “Let’s get going, your dad will be back by dinner.” You mutter, and Hana hums tiredly in response before you head out the main office doors, taking a quick glance at Sana, smiling again.

…

Jihyo’s going to lose her mind when I tell her all of this, Sana thinks to herself.

[stfrancisprayer]

Last Winter, This Spring

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader —when bucky thinks about the past, you're there.

word count: 4.2k notes: female reader, but no physical descriptions and no use of y/n. friends to lovers + postwar. reader is implied to be an aviation machinist. a smidge of angst at the beginning and then a giant helping of fluff for the rest. ❀ warnings: brief description of stalag

HO HO HO! @bandagesandloveletters, i was your secret summer santa! it was a such pleasure getting to know you through your asks and i loved all of the room for creativity you gave me...and your music recs!!! "moonlight serenade" and "a nightingale sang in berkeley square" were big inspirations for this fic. thank you for trusting me with your gift-- and i hope you have an amazing summer <3

ⓘ This is a work of fiction based off of the AppleTV series Masters of the Air and strictly intended to be understood as factitious. Any named mention of an individual is based solely on their dramatic portrayals, NOT their real life counterparts.

In that cold German night, you’re there.

Inside that cabin, frozen to the touch, with his cheek pressed to his pillow– his bent left arm. 

Above John Egan is the corrugated wood of the top bunk, its pattern his personal constellation. In the middle bunk, there’s barely enough room to raise his head and ask Buck if he’s still awake. The spotlight on the eastern side of the grounds makes a wide revolution, sending a scanning light through the window before plunging the room back into the darkness of winter.

It comes again. In that cold German night, Rita Hayworth's there, too; Grace Kelly right below her. Posted on the wall below them is the lead hitter for a hometown baseball team, on the wall opposite is the other team’s pitcher. But John can turn to face his wall, and you're there.

He didn’t expect you to write, but the way he’d nervously paced around the bunk betrayed the fact that he was hoping you would. So when a letter comes on a gray winter morning, your familiar handwriting penned on the front, John’s numb hands fumble open the letter tellingly eager. He reads it in your voice, once, twice, enough times to memorize. But most importantly, you send him a sprig of the wild cherry tree.

When the light comes again, he can see it on his shelf. Its once-white petals are shriveled and missing now, it’s a different color than when you’d first sent it to him. But it’s still you, the brightness in your eyes and that smile– the smile he’d always loved coaxing out of you. 

John switches arms so he’s lying on his right.

There’s a scratching at the base of his throat now, the sound of your name fighting to release itself. The weight that sits on his waterline is the type that he thinks won’t spill over if he pretends it isn’t there. When he breathes, his chest only expands so far, suffocating in the space between the two bunks. It’s the layers, it has to be. You’d never do that to him.

He takes the twig into his hands just to feel the thin wood between his cold fingertips. 

I'll be back, he thinks. I'll be back.

In the Norfolk spring, the trees blossom at the turn of March like clockwork. Where the English sky has been gray since the beginning of September, the bloom is a welcome sight in Thorpe Abbotts. Their petals are the same color as the overcast: a delicate white. Bucky first notices them by chance from the window of the cockpit, glancing to the right as the landing gear touches down on the runway.

By mid-April, the blooms are dense enough to see from the air. When Bucky's circling above the airfield after another near-death mission, he spots the spattering of trees on the ground below and allows himself an exhale. Repetition has turned the sight of them into his own personal air marshall, congratulating him on surviving and beckoning him down onto the runway. He wipes the soot and blood from his face and tips the nose down until they’re clear from the windshield.

He’s barely pushed himself through the escape hatch, but Bucky's already making a beeline toward the aircraft hangar. His legs are still getting used to the ground; wracked with pins and needles and clumsy with each step, but he wears a smile he can’t seem to wipe off. He knows you’re behind those open metal doors, and he likes to think you’ve been waiting for him to return.

You’re there, so focused on tinkering with the uncapped propeller of a plane that you don’t notice him limp in. He could tell it was you from a mile away, all unruly hair and oil-streaked slacks, standing on a platform and putting the brunt of your weight on your wrench. Bucky calls your name, and it's familiar on his tongue.

You flash him a grin– his favorite kind, the one with teeth and the crinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you weren’t expecting his return, but like this he can’t help but believe it.

“Major Egan!” You wipe your hands on your pants. “How was it?”

Terrible; missions like those never go well. He still returns your grin. “Good. I'm here, right?”

“Right,” you laugh. “And since you’re here, hand me those pliers, will you?”

He notices your toolbox underneath the propeller and retrieves the pliers obediently. As he inches onto his toes, you reach down, tongue darting out past your lips as you grasp the handles. He stifles a laugh, remembering how you’ve sworn up and down it’s not a tic of yours.

“She took flak to the engine,” you call out over the sound of mechanics. “Pierced right through the skin. Lucky she didn’t get it from the underside, otherwise we’d be out a plane.”

“Can’t have that,” Bucky muses half-sarcastically.

Smirking, you use the pliers to point at him accusingly. “You’d like that, Egan.” 

He scoffs. “What, like I'd prefer to be on the ground?”

“Maybe you should.”

You’d be on the ground with him, he considers. Maybe he should.

“Hey, you see those– flower things?” he pivots. 

Your voice is muffled by the machinery. “What things?”

“The trees with the flowers.”

“Oh, the wild cherries,” you realize, wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Yeah. Real pretty, right?”

“Stunning,” he stuffs his hands inside his flight jacket. “You can see ‘em all the way up there.”

“Is that right?” When you pull away from the propeller, your expression is impressed. “Seen them from the ground?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it sometime,” you offer, like it’s advice. “They’re better up close.”

You dip back down to fiddle with the mechanics. This might be your way of dismissing him, Bucky realizes, but he can’t seem to leave the hangar. So he stands there, content to share a space with you, the noise of engines, and the heartbeat he catches resounding between his ears. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the way he lingers. You’re too proud to tell him you enjoy the company.

The upcoming mission gets canceled later that week– bad weather or faulty intel or a miscalculation; some reason Bucky didn’t feel the need to triple-check. He'd have the weekend on the ground and that alone was enough cause for celebration.

Tonight, the pub is hazy with the smoke of cigarettes and fanned with the heat of alcohol. Glasses of warm beer exchange hands as easily as money. Buck sits at Bucky’s left, and there’s an empty chair to his right he’s hoping to fill. He can pick out the rest of his friends from the sound of their laughter alone. Bucky’s eyes scan over the room, the corners of his mouth urged upwards in a lazy smile: this is how things should be, he thinks, without the threat of a mission come morning.

And if tonight couldn’t get any better, he notices the way you creep in through the pub’s door.

Your eyes scan over the crowd until your gaze magnetizes to his. He's hard to miss, the only head turned in your direction, unabashedly waiting for you to notice.

Bucky’s eyes scan up and down your figure as you approach the table. You’re dressed in your Class A’s, hair styled into regulation curls, the cheeks that once sported oil smears now complimenting a ruby-red smile. It spurs him to remember what you’d told him earlier: something-something better up close. 

“Good evening,” you grin.

“There she is,” he greets you. “Come here often, stranger?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “When I can.”

The two of you pause to smile at each other.

“...Mind if I take a seat?”

Bucky looks down and realizes the way his hand is smoothing over the chair seat might seem like he’s saving it for someone else. He draws his palm back, stumbling out of his chair to pull yours out for you. “Ma’am.

You smooth your skirt under your thighs as you sit. “Thank you.”

“Crosby,” Bucky chides Harry across the table, “What are you doing? get her a drink!”

“No, no, that’s alright,” you raise a hand to motion for Crosby to sit back down. “I'm up early tomorrow.”

Crosby's not so quick to take a seat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you tease, “Egan’ll drink for me.”

When the table laughs at your remark, something like pride swells in Bucky’s chest. That's my girl.

Both of you lean back into your chairs in sync, settling in to observe the conversation. Bucky’s look of adoration is unabashed, trailing along the curve of your eyelashes with lidded eyes. You’re so beautiful like this– effortless; with the relaxed slump in your shoulders and the poised way you’ve crossed your legs. He’s keen on the way you’re resting your weight on the armrest closest to him, and he’ll still be pleased if he’s only here as your accessory for the night. 

You could practically feel the way Bucky’s gaze swept over you, passing up and down your figure with a slight hesitation. He was holding back his affections, undoubtedly, if it wasn’t obvious by the way he was smoothing his hand over the back of your chair but stopping short of draping an arm atop it. 

When you lean into him, you’re sure to have your shoulder bump gently against his. Go ahead.

Bucky seems to take the hint. He rests his arm atop your chair, fingers brushing against your opposite shoulder like he’s waiting for further instruction. You hum with laughter at the feeling.

“Is this okay?”

When you turn to face him, he’s already pulling away, afraid you’ll bite. 

You settle into his side. “It's perfect.”

That's all he needed to hear.

He brings his chair closer until your seats are touching, melding both of your spaces into one for you to share. Your gaze is still fixed in your lap, half-afraid of ruining the moment with a misplaced word, your breath in your throat even as Bucky inches closer. At the table surrounded by pilots and airmen, this space feels intimate– isolating yourselves amidst the haze of the pub until it’s the two of you alone.

When he leans in to whisper, Bucky’s lips brush feather-light against the shell of your ear. “You look beautiful.”

A shiver runs up and down your spine at his words. When you turn to look at him, he’s close, impossibly close, so close you’re afraid he’ll see the way your irises tremble with misplaced confidence. But he’s patient, content in the moment you’ve stolen together. 

Before you can speak, your hand’s pulling the sprig from your lapel.

“Now, what’s this?” Bucky asks curiously, taking the plant between his fingers. It’s so fresh its wood is still damp with afternoon rain, the flowers adorning it still retain their shape. Spinning it between his pinched fingers, he studies it in wonder. 

“Those are those flower things, John,” you grin, pausing to nervously retreat to the opposite armrest. “Wild cherry blossoms.”

Bucky tucks the sprig into his lapel gingerly. You slump a little further into your seat.

Air service command decides that a sunny Thursday morning is the perfect time to reschedule the mission lost. Aside from the immediate threat of warfare, the day couldn’t have been any more picturesque.

The tail end of April brings warm breezes meant as a preview of the upcoming summer; and when Bucky looks up at the sky through his aviators, he wonders if the troposphere is any less colder. The B-17s creep slowly out of their hangars like waking giants– in the meantime, he slings his bag over his shoulder and counts the altocumulus clouds peppering the sky. 

They’re just like the white petals strewn across the Thorpe Abbotts’ lawns. The wild cherries are beginning to fruit upon the branches; he wonders if you’d tell him you’d miss the sight of them adorning the trees if it’s worth the smell of cherries after.

He hears someone call his name, and you’re there, bounding on the tarmac towards him.

The streak of oil on your nose matches nicely with your stained coveralls. When you skid to a halt in front of him, Bucky lets you find your breath, tugging your hefty gloves from your hands to stick into your back pocket. His mouth opens and shuts as he scans over you, unsure if he should be the first to break the silence and ask if you’re alright.

“Are you heading out?”

He takes off his aviators and meets your gaze with his. “I guess I am.”

“Okay,” you cough, nodding your head. “Okay.”

Your hands smooth hastily over the woolen lapels of his flight jacket, your lip caught behind your teeth. Bucky watches you before he can think to flinch away, looking down to notice the way your eyebrows furrow in the middle as you brush off nonexistent dirt. His tie’s loose, and you take the liberty of tugging it further up his neck– strangely enough, Bucky finds himself looking upwards, amused. This is a ritual for you, he realizes, a way to make him tangible while you find the words to say.

Finally, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, exhaling in defeat. “...You’ll be fine.”

The words are spoken like they’re for you to hear and Bucky to understand.

“Course I’ll be fine,” he laughs, cradling your waist with his arm. “I don't go down that easily. Besides–”

Somehow, you understand to pull away from his shoulder. Although you keep your hands on his jacket, there’s enough space for him to pull his lapel to the side and reveal the uniform underneath. There, tucked in his breast pocket, is the outline of a sprig from the wild cherry tree, as close to his heart as it can possibly be.

He winks. “I’m takin’ you with me.”

“John, don’t–” your fingers trace across the shape sadly. “Don’t do that.”

His hand envelops yours, stilling your trembling fingers with a squeeze and calming them with a smile. He doesn’t seem worried; nowhere as worried as you find yourself, and somehow it makes it a little better.

“For your peace of mind,” his voice is low, the words only for you. “Can’t have my pretty girl worrying, right?”

Buck strides behind the two of you, nudging John as he passes by. “Load up, Bucky.”

Bucky nods at his friend in acknowledgment. “Be there in a second.” 

Now, your features are sullen, gently tugging his lapel to cover the outline of the twig in his pocket again. 

“I should let you go. I'll miss you,” you admit. “I always do.”

Bucky brings a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing a rhythm across your cheekbone.

You can’t think of anything else to say.

“...I just wanted to let you know how I felt before you left.”

The sudden heat coursing through Bucky’s chest almost makes him want to abandon the mission. In his hands, the looming threat of burning engines and inevitable loss seems so much more real. His jacket stays between your fingers, digging into the plush material like you’re hesitant to release him to the sky. 

“I'll be fine,” Bucky whispers, leaning to bring himself closer to you.

Somewhere in your haze, you can feel his lips brush against yours in permission. You respond with a soft nod, a shy please– and relief seeps through your veins when he presses his lips to yours to dull the ache.

He begins slowly, allowing you to get used to the feeling of contact, relish the moment into your hands. His arms hold you flush against each other– somehow, the pressure takes the edge off, and you respond with your own like it’ll convince him to stay. Though his time is drawing near, your lips part a little wider, and he responds with a sweep of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You push off of him right as someone behind you calls his name. Heavy, ragged breaths exit you as you try to fight tears and the undeniable feelings you have for the pilot doomed. A noise betrays you when it spills from your lips; a quiet sob that he’s already leaning down to kiss better.

“I’ll be back for you, gorgeous. I promise.” Bucky presses his lips to yours, feather-light. "We’ll be okay.” 

And when he says it like that, you can’t help but believe it. 

The taste of you is still buzzing atop his lips by the time Bucky pulls up the yoke. Thorpe Abbotts shrinks into the distance, further and further away until the cherry trees on the ground are dancing underneath the shadows the clouds cast onto the earth. In his mind, you’re still there, standing beneath a thousand petals falling like confetti, waiting for him to land. 

His words to you are lost among the roar of the twin engines– I'll be back.

“...John.”

“John.”

“Bucky, wake up!”

“Hmm?”

Your hand is rubbing up and down his arm before he can startle himself awake. When his vision unblurs, his first sight of the morning is one of you backlit by the sun, an orange glow around your face like a halo. You’re the angel standing in your shared bedroom, coaxing him awake, and Bucky decides this must be heaven.

“G’morning, beautiful.” A sleepy grin stretches across his face. 

“Good afternoon,” you giggle. 

“Afternoon? Already?”

“John, it’s half past twelve,” you tell him as he rubs his eyes. “You said you’d help me get after the living room.”

“It's too early,” he murmurs. “Lay with me.”

“John–!”

You barely have a moment to protest when he’s surging forward, wrapping his arms around your waist to tug you back onto your mattress. Unfairly, his advantage is that you’re weak with laughter, yelping when he pulls you down to his chest and rolls on top of you for good measure. Your hand swats weakly at his back as you giggle, the morning scruff on his face tickling your cheeks when he peppers your face in kisses. Your fingers card through the messy brown curls atop his head– maybe you can be convinced to stay in bed a little longer.

Later that afternoon, the windows of the living room are pushed open as far as they go and the curtains are fluttering in the spring breeze. It’s the end of March, and the nascent Wisconsin spring ushers itself in through the door. Outside, patches of grass poke through the melting snow and the overcast clears– the perfect time to start fresh with some spring cleaning.

Bucky pushes the couches against the wall so you can drape the rug over the railing of the front porch. He throws paper, and you throw scissors, and he pretends to be a sore loser about it when you hand him the mop. By the time you’ve halfway finished sweeping the floor, Bucky finally decides what radio station he wants to listen to.

He perks up the moment he recognizes the tune. “Oh, I love this one!” 

A smile spreads across your face. You know this one, too. “Here we go.”

Bucky’s already gliding across the living room floor in time to the music, never mind the fact that the mop is dripping water while he uses it as a microphone stand. You playfully roll your eyes, pausing your sweeping to tap your foot in time. He swings his arms, pointing at you in dedication when he begins to sing.

“Never saw the sun shining so bright– never saw things going so right,”

You offer him your palm when he approaches and he takes it gingerly, spinning you around.

“Watching the days hurrying by– when you’re in love, my, how they fly!”

Bucky gestures grandly in your direction, leaning down to speak into the end of the mop handle like an announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen…MY WIFE!”

“My turn?” you prop your broom handle up. “Blue days, all of them gone…nothing but blue skies…”

“FROM NOW ON–!”

Both of you complete the verse as a duet, holding the note as a shout rather than the dulcet way that Ella Fitzgerald had intended it. If you’d stayed focused, the living room would have been spotless an hour ago, but here you are, dancing arm-in-arm with your husband as he revels in your newfound singing career. You take a joint bow when the song ends, a reverent kiss from Bucky your encore.

“My girl's a superstar,” he murmurs, dipping down to kiss you again. “My superstar.”

“That reminds me,” you grin. “There's something in the garden you should see.”

Your fingers lace with his as you lead him through your home, nudging open the screen door to the backyard. Slowly waking from its winter slumber, sprouts emerge from the thawing dirt and the remnants of snow piles melt into the ground. Bucky raises your conjoined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air between your palms to warm them. “You’re gonna catch a cold, baby.”

“We'll only be out here a second,” you say. “Look!”

Sprouting along the fenceline are the reams of begonias you’d forgotten to uproot before the winter frost came. Lo and behold, they’d survived, now unfolding under the light of the spring sun. Their petals are delicate white along the stalk, bending slightly in the spring breeze. You kneel before them to get a closer look, beaming proudly– Bucky’s eyes light up when he sees how happy you are, crouching down next to you.

“Would you look at that,” he whistles, running a hand along the flowering buds. 

“I can't believe they survived,” you lean forward, scanning over the flowerbed. “I really thought the cold would kill them.”

The realization hits him; he’s seen this shape of flower before. “These look exactly like–”

Your smile is practically ear-to-ear. “The wild cherries in Thorpe Abbotts, right?”

He nods, studying the flower between his fingers. They even feel the same. 

“I think they’ll be in full bloom by May,” you lean into his chest as he drapes an arm atop your shoulders. 

“You should be proud,” Bucky muses, pressing his lips to your temple. “They’re the second prettiest flower in this garden.”

(It takes you a second.)

“Stop,” you laugh, shoving him lightly. Bucky allows himself to fall onto the wet grass with the satisfaction of making you blush.

Mid-afternoon creeps in slowly, the setting sun casting light from its peak at the west face of the house. It was the perfect time to recline on the living room couch and enjoy the direct sunlight before it shifted away. Bucky savors the moment by stretching lazily across the couch, feeling the tension in his spine release with a satisfying pop. 

“What do you think?”

Bucky raises his head at the sound of your voice. You gesture towards the end table, now decorated with a single stalk of the begonias from the garden in a glass vase.

“You picked them early?” he yawns.

“One of the sprouts looked ready,” you tilt your head, inspecting the arrangement. “Something to make the living room nicer.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, shutting his eyes. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

It's more than evident that Bucky’s losing the battle with sleep, and seeing how the sun hits him just right makes it difficult to stay awake yourself. You consider the implications: it’s more than likely you’ll both wake up after the sun has set, but it’ll be a reason to justify takeout and late-night TV with him. Toeing off the heels of your shoes, you amble down until your weight rests comfortably atop his chest.

“Move over,” you murmur, settling into the crook of his neck. He lets out a pleased hum right as your thigh slots between his.

Your hand feels around until it finds his dangling over the side of the couch. Lacing your fingers together, Bucky brings the back of your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin that lingers.

“I was thinking we’d go somewhere for dinner,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Bucky nods. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

His hands urge underneath the hem of your shirt, palms smoothing firmly up the plush of your sides. With your face slotted in the crook of his neck, he can feel the way you smile. The only thing he can think to do amidst his fog is press a trail of lazy kisses to the side of your face. 

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, fingers curling gently into your waist. “Feels good.”

You giggle. That drowsy little giggle– he swears, it’ll kill him someday. 

Before he falls into slumber, Bucky opens his eyes to remind himself of the life he’s made with you; stolen kisses and singing out of tune and the vase of white flowers in the house you live in together. Neither of you had ever really left behind Thorpe Abbotts– but you’re here, with your head on his shoulder and your fingers interlocked, underneath the sunlight of a lazy afternoon. 

John Egan never doubted he’d be back. He was just happy that he’d come back to you.

“Sleep,” you press a chaste kiss to his neck. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

And finally, John can believe it.

[obiwan]

Hi! I just started watching the Star Wars prequels and I want to read some obikin fanfictions but I don't know where to start so if you have any recommendations for me I could really asappreciated.

Have a good day/night!

Hii! I keep saying I'm going to do this because I have so many messages like this - and what I usually try to do is leave the most "famous" ones out of reclists, because most likely everyone has read them, but they were also the first ones I've read. So I will try to do a combination of both new and old fics which I consider "classics". Also a reminder that I have already posted this this & this before. And oh boy this got long.

✰(Explicit, Complete) When the Abyss Stares Back at You  by skyl_tales

Pausing the holovid, Mace looked from Anakin to Obi-Wan. "This holovid was taken on planet Revoran two days ago."   In the holovid, the golden-eyed Anakin looked at something just out of frame. There was something distinctly hungry and possessive about that gaze. It made a shiver run up Obi-Wan's spine--because he recognized that look. He'd seen Anakin look that way at Senator Amidala.

But it wasn't Senator Amidala who stepped into the camera's view. It wasn't Senator Amidala the Sith yanked closer and kissed.

It was Obi-Wan.  [Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to investigate the sighting of a Sith Anakin, who appears to be in a relationship with an older version of Obi-Wan.]

This is one of my favourite Obikin fics, and if you enjoy time travel shenanigans chances are you will enjoy this too. skyl_tales wrote some of my favourite fics for this fandom, so if you enjoy this, I suggest you check their other work as well!

✰(Explicit, Complete) If I only knew by wanderlove

Newly knighted Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker, have been sent to Ryloth on a simple diplomatic envoy. While there, an unsettling incident causes Obi-Wan to look at Anakin in a new light and re-evaluate…everything.

The Galaxy will never be the same.

aka: "come for the obikin, stay for the tzai and deep emotional discussions that dismantle every single misunderstanding in the prequels."

Beautiful story!!!! This is honestly one of the most wholesome and "fix-it/what-if" kind of canon obikin fics I've ever read. I really really recommend reading this if you're just getting into Obikin and the SW-verse in general.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Moonlight Serenade by Lemon (@renlyslittlerose)

“Glad you came,” the man said. He pushed away from the lamppost and approached Anakin, his hand held out for him to take. “I realized I never properly introduced myself. I’m Major Kenobi, but you can call me Obi-Wan.”

Anakin took his hand and shook it, their touch lingering for just a little longer than was normally acceptable. It felt like holding on to fire. “Flying Officer Skywalker. But most call me Anakin.”

An accident in 1944 over the fields of France puts an end to Anakin’s flying career. Discharged and sent back to Canada, Anakin must confront the ghosts of his past and find a new path forward.

This is a WWII AU - so beware of that in the first place, but I have always enjoyed historical AUs, and this is very beautifully done. It spans over a long time (my favourite) and does it so well.

✰(Explicit, Complete) To Eden by Unfortunate17

Accused of masterminding the Jedi Temple bombing, Obi-Wan is expelled from the Order.

Anakin is left to pick up the pieces.

This fic. THIS FIC!!!! I don't have anything to say about this - read this fic (in fact read everything written by this author - they have a bodyswap fic called Gray Matter) I really enjoy their characterization of both Obi-Wan and Anakin and the story telling is amazing. Truly love them.

✰(Teen, Complete) Don't be Afraid. by spqr

Tainted by your encounter with the Sith, you are, Obi-Wan imagines Master Yoda saying. Fix you, we cannot. To the AgriCorps, you shall return.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda says, after a moment. “Complete your training, Master Skywalker will.”

Another reverse AU! I realise this is one of those 'either you love it or hate it' tropes, but I do love it, so I include it in my recs. I enjoy imagining the scenarios of Jedi Master Anakin and Padawan Kenobi, so if you think that's something you would also enjoy, give this a chance!

✰(Explicit, Complete) Fearless and the Negotiator by @zimriya

Anakin Skywalker is a superhero. He spends his nights roaming the streets of Coruscant alongside his superhero partner—a man called the Negotiator whom he has never seen without a mask, and yet whom he loves desperately all the same. By day, Anakin works an uneventful nine-to-five at Jedi Inc., doing his best to remember that he cannot murder his coworkers—even if they are called Obi-Wan Kenobi and are the literal worst.

A superhero AU!!! I love his au because it's so well done and so well thought out (the details in this!!!) and I love enjoying Obi-Wan in white spandex. Like that's my bread and butter right there. Either way, if you enjoy marvel-esque superheroes and Obi-Wan and Anakin is the usual idiots they are, give it a go <3

✰(Explicit, Complete) if you love me, let it remain unnamed by @tennessoui

Obi-Wan Kenobi is grappling with his failure to protect his padawan from Dooku's blade. As the galaxy around them plunges into civil war, he overcorrects and refuses to allow Anakin's Knighting ceremony in order to keep him by his side where he will be safe.

His padawan is less than pleased.

Only trying to help, the Force overcorrects Obi-Wan's overcorrection and pulls them into an alternate universe where they run into a different version of Anakin Skywalker altogether.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi is also grappling with new, sudden, and insistent feelings for his padawan. He overcorrects by following the older version of Anakin into bed.

His padawan is less than pleased.

The Force….lets them figure this one out on their own.

OBIWAN GETS TAG TEAMED. OBIWAN GETS DOUB- [gunshot] Look, this fic is hot but beyond that, I loooove time travel shenanigans, and Anakin being pissed off at a future version of himself is so delicious.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Lex Talionis by @intermundia

The ancient Galactic Republic is dying slowly—an ugly death of corruption, sprawl, and decay—with the sin of slavery hanging over its every triumph. The beleaguered Jedi Knights are too few to adequately patrol and police the entire Republic, and are faced with complacency and greed at every turn. Born into a crumbling and stagnant galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are faced with the greatest challenge of all: themselves.

Obi-Wan likes rules and control. When the galaxy around him stops playing by the rules, what is a Jedi to do? Anakin needs rules and restraint. When the galaxy around him conspires to set him loose, what is his Master to do? Falling slowly or falling fast, falling through lust or falling through wrath—it all leads to delusion and moral decay. What can be born from the ashes?

Or, how Obi-Wan and Anakin fell to the dark side, obtained their revenge, and saved the galaxy in the process.

An insane canon-divergence AU, this is so intricate and could truly be a movie of its own lol. It features (eventually) sith! Obi-Wan and sith! Anakin, so beware of that, but I don't want to spoil that story. Also that I would never rec any story that has a sad ending :)

✰(Explicit,A/B/O, Complete) i shouldn't cry (but i love it) by blahzarry

Obi-Wan knew alphas that liked to be taken existed. He knew it was possible. But not once in his life had he felt even tempted to try it.

...It's exactly what it says on the tin. Once again one of those: either you will love it or hate it kind of tropes I think, omegaverse is what it is. If you're familiar with it and the idea of an Alpha Obi-Wan growing to enjoy submission sounds like up your alley (it is mine,) then by all means!

✰(Teen, Complete) that mouth of yours looks like it gets you into trouble by @tennessoui

Obi-Wan Kenobi inhales a powder that compels him to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Good thing Obi-Wan doesn't have any secrets.

or,

by god, Obi-Wan Kenobi is forced to talk about his feelings. It's, on the whole, regrettable for everyone involved. Or it would be once everyone stops laughing about it.

Fairytale tropes! I've always loved truth serum/truth spell trope where one party is obliged to tell the truth. Add one repressed Obi-Wan Kenobi into the mix? Perfection. I looooove this fic so much, it's wholesome and touching at the same time.

✰(Explicit, Complete) The Bottom of the Ninth by @ragnarlothcat

"No baseball pitcher would be worth a darn without a catcher who could handle the hot fastball." - Casey Stengel

Obi-Wan Kenobi is the veteran catcher of the Coruscant Jedi, a talented baseball team that have been down on their luck. The addition of rookie pitcher Anakin Skywalker might be a sign all that's about to change.

Especially for Obi-Wan.

Lmao anyone who knows me a *little* bit knows that I have an obsession with sports aus. This is no exception. Granted I know *nothing* about baseball, but this was a perfect balance of actually explaining the sport without getting too heavily into details and making it a perfect obikin story. WE 👏 NEED 👏 MORE 👏 SPOTS 👏 AUS 👏

✰(Teen, Complete) the sound of your voice (helps me find peace) by izazov

It was a promise to Qui-Gon Jinn that had allowed Anakin Skywalker into Obi-Wan Kenobi's life. But it was Obi-Wan Kenobi who had allowed Anakin Skywalker into his heart.

OR (more accurately):

Five times Anakin had to ask for a story. And one time Obi-Wan offered it freely.

Ahhh this author, this fic. It's so beautifully written, canon compliant au, and it just hurts (in the most beautiful, gut wrenching way). It's beautifully melancholic, I always love their works even if they leave me with a pang in my chest.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Conceal Me What I Am by @himboskywalker

Separatist Propaganda is turning the Republic against the Jedi Order and the Senate sees no choice but to join in a political alliance to fight dissent on a unified front.An alliance is proposed through an arranged marriage,between a Jedi Knight and Republic Senator. Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi are chosen as representatives of the political union by Darth Sidious, meant to bring ruin to the marriage and the public's support of the Jedi,for Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the Beta he claims. But even Sidious does not know of the secret Anakin Skywalker keeps, that he is not the Alpha the galaxy believes him to be.

Another omegaverse fic!! This time with omega Anakin and alpha Obi-Wan in disguise. I read this fic eons ago (read: when I first got into the fandom) but it always stuck with me, because I love sneaky stuff like this - also it's plot driven! It's an au but within the same universe, so again, if you don't have anything against omegaverse, give it a read.

✰(Teen, Complete) we should run after each other (and be with one another) by Resacon1990

Even though he’s still full of anger and rage, he pushes it all aside to force a smile and squeeze Anakin’s shoulders.

“No, Anakin,” he says quietly, “I could never blame you for his death.”

It’s the first time Obi-Wan ever lies to Anakin.

or

Five times Obi-Wan lied to Anakin, and the one time he told the truth.

Another 5+1 fic!! I love this fic, also semi canon compliant, and very much gut wrenching. I love this kind of story telling where we get to see the span of their lives throughout 5+1 thingies. This is a beautiful story <3

✰(Explicit, Complete) Swear On It by dirkygoodness

Anakin lets his feet take him a good ways from camp before he actually stops, breathing fast from the memory of his dream.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight against it and holds his breath for a moment, trying to get himself under control. Tonight it doesn’t seem to be working, though, because the images of people he knows and loves hurt and bloody and dead just won’t get out of his mind.

YOOO - this is one of the first fics I've read in this fandom and oh my god. It's kind of PWP - but the characterization, the feeling, the EMOTION. It's all there. It's a two parter - read them both, it's so good, it's one of those fics where I read it and I was like. Oh yeah this happened in canon.

✰(Explicit, Complete) Bare grace misery by @thedunesea

Anakin let out a pained sound. “I failed my men, I failed you, and now… and now this. Could you, Obi-Wan? Could you come from this humiliation?” His voice broke, and then he was weeping, hot tears streaming down his face even as he kept stroking himself, his sobs of shame intermingling with his whimpers of pleasure. The mixture was so unbelievably erotic Obi-Wan felt his head spin.

Or: Anakin gets poisoned, and the antidote that saves his life has some uncomfortable side effects.

Ahhh, gorgeous fic! Have to say the only version of Dom!Obi-Wan I enjoy is Gentle!Dom Obi-Wan and this fic does it justice! It's such a nice read - I love some self shaming Anakin and Gentle! Obi-Wan guiding him through those feelings.

✰(Explicit, WIP) toss overboard what is too heavy to carry by @tennessoui

In the aftermath of the Clone Wars, Palpatine dead and untold tragedy averted, the Republic struggles to heal and rebuild itself.

Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi attempt to do the same with their own relationship, riddled as it has become with betrayal, distrust, and hurt. It's not going too well. Desperate and unwilling to accept that maybe their friendship is ruined, Anakin finds a counselor they can talk to, one that specializes in healing "teams."

Or, as the counselor would probably put it, married couples, which they are decidedly not. Not that she knows that though. And not that they know that she thinks they're in a romantic relationship either. What a silly assumption to make. It's not like they're more intimate than lovers or anything.

I know I recced this before, and I'm usually against that but lol. This fic, this fic truly holds such a special place in my mind, it fits in SO WELL with the headcanons I have of Obi-Wan and Anakin, the little questionnaires they answer in the end of each chapter - the EVERYTHING. I'm not even exaggerating this fic is what's keeping me tethered to the obikin fandom atm. I really get a bit stupid when Kit's fics are involved, she is probably the author who got me hooked on obikin, so I would suggest checking out her work in general. I could rec anything and everything from her.

✰(Explicit, Complete) You can call me baby (You can call me love) by @lilredghost

Four times Anakin calls Obi-Wan an old man, plus one time he realizes how much it bothers him.

I love Sub!Obi-Wan who loved being called baby and who is also a bit insecure and this is why this fic is here sue me.

✰(Mature, Complete) Fringe believers and hopeless wanderers by iiscos

A Jedi falls in love with a kind, but poor mechanic aboard the luxurious, ill-fated R.S.C. Terranova.

A Star Wars/Titanic AU

A titanic AU!!! I love this so much, (it does have a happy ending) and the premise is so intriguing, (as someone who has never seen titanic) I love this fic greatly)

Look - this is OF COURSE not a comprehensive list. I tried to compile somewhat of a combo of new and old fics, of course of the ones I've loved. Please do check out the author's other fics if you like their fic you've read! That's a sure way to discover more fic you'll most likely enjoy. Hope you like this, I wish I could do more, but it takes up more time than you can imagine, so, until next time!!!

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a Valentine's Day fic rec list! All of these fics involve Valentine's Day in some way or have a Valentine's Day vibe. We had a very short version of this rec list that we posted many years ago, but as you can see, there have been a ton of amazing Valentine's Day-related fics posted since then. Happy reading!

1) The Valentine's Day Special | Explicit | 1,322 words

Every year on Valentine's Day Harry and Louis spend the whole day participating in whatever kinks they want. This means February 14th is one of their favorite days of the year.

2) Valentine's Day | Explicit | 1,900 words

Louis and Harry are excited for Valentine's Day and can barely make it back to the hotel room.

3) All The Love | Explicit | 2,118 words

Harry smiles warmly when he sees the room with the makeshift dining table, coffee mugs for wine glasses, and a couple lit scented candles scattered across the room. He fills an empty glass and places the flowers in it, setting it on Louis’s bedside table. His smile grows even more fond when he sits across from Louis, seeing the meal his boy has prepared. They’ve only been officially dating for about a month and a half, but things couldn’t be going any better. “What’s this?” Harry asks, nodding in the direction of the dishes in front of him. “Chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in Parma ham with a side of mash,” Louis says full of pride. “My little chef,” the curly haired boy grins, leaning over the table to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek before taking a bite. “This is really good baby.”

4) Red Pants | Mature | 2,463 words

One shot in which fem Louis wears his tight little red pants to school on Valentine’s Day, and discovers he has a secret admirer.

5) Love Me Like You Do | Not Rated | 3,964 words

Louis is all in if Harry is, and Paris seems like the perfect place to ask

6) Lagrangian Point | Explicit | 4,055 words

They find each other again the night of Valentine's Day.

7) I've Loved You Three Summers Now Honey, But I Want 'Em All | Mature | 4,216 words

The restaurant was small and bright, soft colors filled the walls and tables and fairy lights hung from everywhere. From what Harry had read, the food wasn’t overly expensive but it was still comparable to what you would get at one of the more expensive places. If Harry could he would take Louis to the biggest most expensive and extravagant restaurants to do what he planned to tonight, but this would do. After being led to their table Harry nervously tapped his jacket pocket, sighing in relief when he felt the small box still there. Tonight was the night. He couldn’t wait till it was time to surprise Louis with all the gifts he got for him. Then finally the big surprise.

8) Reckless Serenade | Explicit | 4,446 words

Note: This fic features Girl Direction.

Harry's Google search history may or may not look like 'my girlfriend doesn't know we're dating.'

9) Dancing In The Moonlight | Explicit | 4,587 words

Louis’ fuck buddy gets a date for Valentine’s day and he discovers that denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.

10) Keep Your Head Down And Make It To Me | Not Rated | 4,643 words

“You know, if I hadn’t been so stupid 8 years ago, we could’ve been doing this for 8 long years. My sincere apologies,” “Maybe, but now I get to enjoy this moment even more because it’s been 8 years and I’ve never stopped wanting to kiss you ever since,” Louis admits, a light blush surfacing upon his face. “I love you,” Harry repeats. Louis beams at him. Literally beams. “I love you, Harry.”

11) Cherries In The Snow | Mature | 5,151 words

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Harry is not in the mood. So naturally, Louis lets Harry paint his body with kiss marks to make him feel better.

12) Be Mine, Little Valentine | Explicit | 7,435 words

All Louis wants is to find someone who’ll love all of him. There’s just one tiny complication.

13) Indecent Proposal | Explicit | 8,445 words

The one where Louis and Harry reminisce the ups and downs of a relationship that once was, imagining themselves as the happy couple celebrating in front of them, and decide that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be too bad to relive their relationship one more time.

14) Let Me Be Your Good Night | Explicit | 10,517 words

Cupping one hand over his fist and holding them to his chest, Harry’s nose scrunches hopefully, “Would you want to get a drink before calling it a night?” Louis stares at him. “I know you’re probably tired, it’s just—” Harry sighs, wiggling his hands around nervously. “We’re both going to be alone after this and I really enjoyed talking to you, so maybe this is a little pathetic, but I could use the company?” “I, uh,” he stalls, weighing his options: either go home, have a wank, then bathe the night off, or talk more with the affable sweetheart while sharing a drink or two. Easy. “I’d like that. Sure.”

15) Better Than Words | Explicit | 11,321 words

Note: This fic is the second part of a series.

Harry and Louis have an argument while at the doctors to check on their baby. Then they celebrate Harry’s birthday and Valentine’s Day in their own way.

16) Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice | Mature | 13,487 words

You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.” Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing. “You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

17) Lead Me To Paradise | Explicit | 14,615 words

No one told Harry that a paramedic could be this pretty.

18) James The Pimp | Mature | 28,255 words

Everybody, please welcome my other good mate and Harry Styles’ Valentine Date, Louis Tomlinson!” 'Kill My Mind' played as the dusty-haired singer walked onto stage from the opposite side that Harry entered. “Thanks for having me, James.” Louis’ light voice carried well as he hugged James. With the grin still plastered to his cheeks, he looked around the bulkier man at Harry politely. “But, uh, I’m a tad bit confused. As lovely as Harry here is, you should probably both know I’m, er, into women.” There was a hint of awkward hesitation in his words. He likely thought Harry wasn’t straight and didn’t want to offend him, which Harry appreciated, even if he knew he had to say his next line despite it being utterly untrue. “The same goes to you, Louis, but I am as well.” James waved a hand flippantly. “Pish posh. Who really cares about that anyhow? Come along, boys. This is my show, so if I say you are each other’s Valentines, then you are each other’s Valentines. Now act like it!”

19) Cupid’s Chokehold | Explicit | 35,326 words

Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn’t work out as planned.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[renlyslittlerose]

More Moonlight 'B' sides! This one is based off a prompt by @ghostlingpupskywalker who suggested I write a little piece from Padmé's POV.

"To Write is Human" (1k)

Before the war, Padmé was a firm believer that you had to meet someone in person in order to know who they really were. Letters and telegrams were instruments by which to hide behind, tone and intent shrouded by the anonymity of the printed word. Things could be gleaned by a handwritten letter, of course, but there could only be so much one could learn about a person. You had to take in their hands and see if they were worn and torn by a life of manual labour, or soft and supple from a life of privilege. Did they clean beneath their nails and keep them trimmed, or did they grow them out with bits of dirt and other such things caught beneath?

Accents were also important; rough and low, high and lilting, or curt and crisp? English? Canadian? From the Southern United States? And what of their dress - was it styled and polished, the fabrics expensive, the cut modern and of the season? Or was it worn and patched up from years of wear and tear, the shoulders frayed and the hems torn? How did they greet a person? What soaps did they use? How did they treat those around them? Did they smile or smirk? Laugh or chuckle? Shrug or sigh?

All this and more could be used to form a proper picture of a person, to get an idea of who they were before they even opened their mouth and started to spew whatever it was they wanted you to think they were.

But then Padmé ‘met’ Obi-Wan.

First it was through Anakin’s voice and Anakin’s tone, the soft look in his eyes as he spoke about his ‘friend’ from overseas. He’d calm in those moments, the tension in his shoulders slipping away, the misery in his expression replaced by a hazy sort of look that reminded Padmé of the end of summer, when the sun was still hot as the grasses baked beneath its rays. He thought he was subtle but Padmé knew from the second he mentioned his name, a reverence to his tone as he ducked his head and fiddled with invisible lint on his trousers, cheeks pink and lips parted in a lazy sigh.

Then it was through his letters to Anakin. Obi-Wan’s handwriting was crisp and clean but surprisingly loopy, his ‘L’ and ‘B’s wide and bulbous as they took up their fair share across the pages. He wrote mostly with a pen, ink black and of high quality that didn’t smudge and dried quickly. He spelled in the English way and rarely made any mistakes, though the occasional scratched out portion did appear. But his love for Anakin resonated throughout, Padmé taken with how careful and yet reckless he was being, his adoration for Anakin clear to anyone who knew anything about proper romance.

Finally it was through his letters to her, personally and without Anakin as an excuse. At first the letters were cordial and polite, but as the days turned to months turned to years, and as Padmé became a ‘friend’ to ‘family’, Obi-Wan opened up. Cordial was replaced with friendly and warm, polite with witty jokes and subtle jabs - at Anakin, at the war, and sometimes at Padmé herself. She wrote back telling him about what it was like to live in ‘one of the Colonies’, how the perpetual rain made her hair frizzy, how she had a predilection for chocolate, and her favourite singer was Billie Holiday. And he wrote to tell her about what it was like to live in London, how he loved shortbread cookies, that it was always cream before jam on a scone, and that he loved Anakin - terribly, deeply, forever and always.

And that he knew she felt the same, and that he cherished her for that.

Eventually she told him about her work, how she struggled with the position, and how sometimes she didn’t think she’d be able to make it - that she’d let everyone down, and that she’d have to live her life in a way she’d never envisioned for herself. Defeat, which had always been an impossibility to her before, now seemed very real. And Obi-Wan told her about the fear he felt in the fields of war; like a rabbit pursued by an enemy with more teeth, more stamina, more hunger than he, who never relented even when Obi-Wan was exhausted to the point of insanity. He told her of how he wondered if he’d make it out of the deserts he’d found himself in, and if he was doomed to die amongst the tombs of dead kings from eons past, with no grave to mark his spot nor mourners to come to grieve.

These were things that neither could tell Anakin, and yet were only voiced aloud because of him.

By the time the war had ended and the plans were set for Obi-Wan to come to Canada, Padmé knew him in all the ways that mattered - knew his fears and his desires, his future and his past. She knew what made him laugh and what he found boorish and unkind; knew how he took his breakfast and when he liked to stop for tea, and knew that the first thing he was going to do when he reached Vancouver was find Anakin, scoop him up into a hug, and never, ever let him go.

Clothing, the hands of a person, the lilt of their voice and the way they stood - they were all still important. But they couldn’t tell you about the soul of a person - what made them do the things they did and say the things they did, wear the clothes they had and sing the songs they loved. So when Padmé saw Obi-Wan on the platform of the train, civilian clothing on as he clutched the handles of his suitcase, she knew immediately who he was; without voice, without touch, without introduction, she knew him. Completely and entirely, from the marrow of his bones to the freckles on his cheeks and the silver streaks through auburn hair.

“Hello,” she said, catching his attention as he looked toward the exit.

He smiled when he saw her and dropped his suitcase. Immediately he swallowed her up in a fierce hug, one she returned in equal measure.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Padmé,” he said into the curls of her hair.

She sighed and squeezed a little tighter. “And you as well, Obi-Wan.”

[callsign-mimic]

Not gonna lie, it had been a loooong time since I've written any fanfics of any kind. Needless to say, I am beyond rusty lol.

Anyway, here's a fluff fic with Price and Reader.

Threads of Moonlight

Tags: price x reader, GN!Reader, established relationship, pure fluff

Song: Moonlight Serenade - Diana Patton

Inspired by my own spouse lamenting their hair starting to go grey.

It was no surprise to anyone that Captain John Price was under constant stress. As a captain of a specialized task force, he has a lot of weight on his shoulders. You did your best to help him relax, but there was only so much you could do for a man who was actively trying to keep the world from falling apart.

You were currently sitting on the bed, watching him run his fingers through his hair as he stares into the wall mirror with a furrowed brow. He sighs, stressed and exhausted, and joins you on the bed. You wrap your arms around him, planting a soft kiss on his jaw.

"What's on your mind, love?" You ask, enjoying the feeling of him melting into your embrace.

"I'm not even 40 yet and already starting to go grey." He mumbles, his stress showing clearly in his voice. You pull him down until he's laying his head in your lap and start running your fingers through his hair. You can see the strands of silver peeking out through his natural dark brown and chuckle quietly.

"I think it looks good on you, John." You say, your voice soft and soothing. He scoffs at your comment as he continues to pout in your lap and enjoy the feeling of your fingers in his hair. "I'm serious, John. It looks like you have threads of moonlight interwoven into the warm earth of your natural color. It's gorgeous."

John looks up at you, surprised by your poetic compliment. You look down into his eyes adoring and smile. "It's pretty fitting, too." You continue, running your fingers along the curve of his jaw. "Because your eyes are like starlight. Especially when you smile or laugh. I can see the universe in you, love. And you're only getting better with age."

He sits up suddenly and wraps you tightly in his arms, covering your face in kisses until you're giggling and squealing in delight.

It's no surprise to anyone that Captain John Price is under a lot of stress. But, at least with you in his arms, he gets sweet relief and all of the love he deserves.

[outtoshatter]

This week's author spotlight is: the wonderful @raisesomehale! So many delightful fics to choose from!!

One-shots:

Beyond the Canyon Nook | T | 7k tags: spark Stiles, magical realism, found family Summary: Stiles has retrieved countless children from the shadows.

But Eli is the first child Stiles has found alone.

All I Want for Christmas, is You | E | 6k tags: post-canon, pack feels, Christmas fluff Summary: The sight of him is like whiplash.

Stiles and Derek have managed to keep up a reasonably active text-ship for the last few years (heavily due to Stiles’ undying persistence on the matter) but Derek’s recent inclination to jump around between continents paired with Stiles’ grueling school schedule has resulted in them not having been in the same room since Stiles left for Brown the summer after he graduated.

He’s broader. Taller. Hair buzzed short like it hasn’t been since he was a sophomore in high school, a scar nicked into the corner of his left eyebrow that Derek remembers hearing the story about (a frisky leprechaun with a bad sense of humor and a hard-on for blades.)

And when Stiles’ eyes catch sight of Derek across the room, his grin glitches into shock and he lets go of the door.

Which must be safety-weighted, considering the force with which it slams backwards against Scott.

Club Serenade | T | 822 tags: DJ Stiles, Bartender Derek, sexual tension Summary: Stiles, popular DJ at the Hale's club The Wolf Den, catches the attention of the bartender and part owner, Derek.

Serenading ensues.

Multi-Chaptered Fics:

Define "Dating" | T | 7k | 6 chapters tags: 5+1 things, oblivious Stiles, didn't know they were dating Summary: “You and Derek text each other memes?” she sounds both surprised and delighted - but more surprised.

“Well,” Stiles says, “I send memes. Derek sent me a picture of a newspaper comic strip, once.”

Lydia says, “Oh my god.”

- OR the 5 times people point out that Stiles might be dating Derek + the 1 time Derek tells Stiles they're dating himself.

Bite the Moonlight & Bleed Gold | E | 87k | 18 chapters tags: magical creatures, BAMF Derek, Creature Stiles, angst, mutual pining Summary: Seven years after being tricked and imprisoned by the Argents, Derek Hale finds himself off the blistering coasts of Antarctica aboard the Argentum Domina, an illegal prison ship out of which the Argents operate their behemoth, underground poaching empire. Bitter and packless, Derek spends his days working off his servitude by poaching creatures for Gerard to sell on the Black Magic Market, no future or end in sight. Until, Allison Argent brings him a capture case with a reward price so ludicrous that he has no choice but to accept.

The only problem is, the target creature shouldn't even exist.

Derek is flung fast into the deep webbings of a bigger mystery than he could have ever imagined. And discovers that, like this enchanting creature, not everything is as it seems.

Bonus wip:

light a spark | T | 37k | 9/15 chapters so far! tags: canon divergence, fluff and humor, energy bond Summary: “It’s not” - Derek cuts off as quickly as he starts, teeth gritting with frustration - “It’s not like the others it’s… There’s a reason I came to your house last.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raise. This is hands down the weirdest Derek has ever acted around him, and it’s making him curious. 

“And that reason being…?” He rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows and leans against his desk to start untying his shoes.

“I need” - Derek grits through clenched teeth - “Your help.”

Stiles just blinks at him, shoes in his hands. “That was excruciating to witness, just so you know.”

Go check out raisesomehale's AO3 page and don't forget to mind the tags, leave a kudos and maybe even a comment!

[azsazz]

Moonlight Rising

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Isn’t this what living in the Night Court is all about? AKA: You feel like one of the stars and you love Azriel because he reminds you of the thing you adore the most, the moon.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,409

Notes: This is the song that inspired this fic and I literally listened it to repeat while I wrote this. 💙🌙 

_________________________________________

“Look at the moon,” you murmur, eyes awe-filled and casted towards the sky.

“You always say that,” Azriel responds just as softly, admiring that look on your face, committing it to memory. He’s afraid that speaking too loudly will wake the glowing beacon hanging above or draw your attention away from it.

The silver of the moon reflects in the pools of your eyes and he feels so lucky that it’s him you’re here with right now. It’s like a secret between the two of you in the late hours of the night when it’s just you and him and the moon, the rest of the court asleep and dreaming. But not the two of you. No, you’re here, hand in hand and walking amongst their dreams, the stars.

You shrug, grinning, and as your gaze slides to him the admiration doesn’t falter. It makes his heart flutter and his bones soften. “I like to see what she’s up to way up there. How she’s feeling.”

“How she’s feeling?” his brows furrow as he glances up at the moon in question. It’s big and full,  painting of metallic light, casting a magical sparkle throughout the streets. “What do you mean?”

“You mean you don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” he questions, and he realizes that he’s let his guard down, too comfortable in your presence. He calls upon his shadows from where they’re lazily trailing along the winding path, but they have nothing to report.

“Oh, come on! Here,” you shake your head, pulling Azriel to the center of the square, “Lie down with me.”

Azriel watches you fall to the ground in the center of the square, settling onto the uneven cobblestones on your back, looking up at him with a brow raised.

He glances around the streets. It’s too late for anyone of sound mind to be roaming around. The arts district is quiet.

So he joins you, planting himself directly beside you. His wings are tucked awkwardly and they brush against the rough ground beneath him but he’s willing to lay for as long as you want if you keep looking at him like that, love-drunk on stardust. 

His heart thumps in his chest like the first time you’d ever held his hand.

“Now close your eyes.”

Azriel stares at you. You’re so beautiful in the moonlight like this, happy and free.

You squeeze his hand with a soft smile, urging him to follow your instruction. Your lashes kiss the tops of your cheeks. “Close your eyes, Az.”

His cheeks burn, but he does as you say, adjusting himself, the pattern of the cobblestones is uncomfortable but he’s slept on worse. He wonders if he complains enough you will give him one of your massages that always turn into something more–

It’s quiet. He can hear your breath, the sounds of bugs serenading the night.

“You feel that?” 

Whatever you’re feeling he doesn’t. But what he does feel is the warmth of the palm of your hand on his own, the bones of your knuckles pressed to his, your fingers utterly relaxed in his slightly tense grip. He can feel the sliver of moonlight in his chest, that string from his mind, his body, his soul, connecting him to you, to everything that you are. It shimmers.

“Yeah,” he breathes anyway, “I feel it.”

“Do you think the stars gaze back at us?” You stun him sometimes. When you’re not taking his breath away with your beauty you’re asking him silly questions he’s never considered, patiently awaiting a serious response.

He loves you for it. Your mind, unmatched.

“I suppose they could be,” he ponders, turning toward the stars. “Although they’d probably think us crazy for lying on the hard ground in the midst of Autumn staring up at them.”

You laugh and his heart soars.

“What do you think that one does?” you ask, pointing to a star just north of the moon.

Azriel tries to pinpoint exactly which one you’re talking about but there’s so many in such close proximity that he doesn’t think that he can, but he answers anyway, an amused smile on his lips.

“A baker, I reckon.”

Your finger shifts in a different direction, “And that one?”

“Swordsman.”

“How about that one over there?”

“Town fool,” it rolls off his tongue easily, the rapid fire back-and-forth.

“And her?”

“Thief.”

Your hand falls and you make a face at your mate. “A thief?”

He shrugs in response, “What? They can’t all be nice.”

You huff in disagreement. You suppose he’s right though. It did look a little dimmer than the rest.

Letting the night wash over you once more, you settle. Being out under the moon and the stars with Azriel is something that you’ll never tire of. And you’re thankful that he’s willing to go with you, whether it’s admiring them from afar or answering your playful questions or flying you with them, across the night sky.

“Why do you like the moon so much?” Azriel breaks the comfortable silence, voice barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

You swallow thickly, blink slowly as all of the reasons you love the moon rush through your mind.

“There are many reasons,” you start, thumb brushing over the rough scars of his hands. You let your head fall to the side and he’s already staring at you, golden eyes so different from the silvery moon in the sky. They look like the sun, and light up every part of your soul with just a single glance, in the same way that you are the moon, seeing through all of his darkness.

“Tell me your favorite.” It’s soft, small smiles like you’re sharing a secret.

“I think your hands are the first thing I loved about you,” you admit.

Azriel frowns, nearly dropping your hand. Your fingers tighten around his loose ones so they don’t slide from yours.

That wasn’t what he had asked. He didn’t ask you to lie to him, didn’t ask you to bring up the marred flesh over ruined muscle and charred bone. He flinches because when had they stopped becoming a constant reminder and were now just…a part of him?

“Why?” Azriel’s throat is tight and his heart pounds in his chest. His eyes hurt, prickling with the unfamiliar feeling of tears, something he hasn’t done in years, and he wonders if the moon is actually affecting him in some way. He doesn’t want to talk about this but he wants to know why such an ugly part of him can be the thing you loved first about him.

“Look,” you nod back towards the moon but he doesn’t look away, eyes flickering between yours as if looking for any sign that you’re lying to him or about to change the subject.

You flood the bond with the warmth that the sun within him makes you feel, and he looks.

Taking his hand that you haven’t yet let go, you raise them up into the air between you, until the back of his palm sits next to the moon in your line of vision.

“Look at them,” you whisper, teary eyed and soft smiled.

And Azriel does. He’s overcome with emotion as he stares back and forth between the moon and his own hand, really looking. It doesn’t take long for him to understand why you’ve said what you did, with the way that the roughness of his hands look like that of the moon. Dips and pock-marks alike, both imperfect and rough but yet somehow they’re your favorite things in the world.

He sucks in a harsh breath as he assesses, and you let him take his time, watching the realization wash over his features in the bright moonlight. His long, inky lashes clumping together with wetness, the bob of his throat as he swallows the lump of emotion lodged there. You can feel what he’s feeling, down the open bond. Never closed, not for you. Apprehension and fear melting away into something more, something stronger. Love and pride.

“We’re the same,” he breathes, tearing his gaze from his hand and the moon shining down.

You nod, a tear of happiness slipping from the corner of your eye that reflects silver in the light. Azriel brushes it away with his fingers, hand still holding onto yours tightly.

“I love you to the moon and back, Az.”

“To the moon and back, (Y/N),” he promises.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

Love in the Hamptons🤍🥂

Parings: Chris Evans x reader

Summary: You and Chris spend a romantic weekend in the Hamptons

Song for the fic: Old Money- Lana Del Rey

The warm summer breeze swept through the car as Chris drove down the winding road towards their house in the Hamptons. The scent of saltwater filled the air, and the anticipation of a relaxing weekend away together made your hearts flutter.

As the both of you arrived at the stunning beachfront property, Chris parked the car and turned to you with a grin. "Welcome to our little slice of paradise," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Hand in hand, you and Chris walked up the stone pathway, surrounded by vibrant flowers and manicured gardens. The sound of seagulls filled the air as the both of you reached the front door. Chris unlocked it, revealing a beautifully decorated beach-style interior that exuded warmth and comfort.

Your eyes widened in awe as you stepped inside. The spacious living room boasted large windows that overlooked the ocean, inviting the golden sunlight to fill the space. The scent of fresh ocean air mingled with the soft sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Chris wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling them close. "This place has always been my sanctuary," he confessed, his voice filled with affection. "And now, it's ours."

Over the next few days, you and Chris reveled in the beauty of the Hamptons. The both of spent lazy mornings strolling along the shoreline, the both of your bare feet sinking into the warm sand. The sun kissed your skin, and laughter filled the air as the both of you chased each other, playfully splashing water.

In the afternoons, you and Chris explored the quaint little town nearby, hand in hand as you both ventured into charming boutiques and indulged in ice cream cones. The both of you shared intimate conversations over candlelit dinners, savoring every moment of each other's company.

As the sun began to set, you and Chris would retreat to the porch, sinking into plush chairs as you both watched the sky transform into a canvas of vibrant colors. With your fingers intertwined with his, you and Chris would whisper sweet nothings and dreams for the future to each other, feeling the weight of Chris’s love grow stronger with each passing day.

On one particular evening, a gentle breeze rustled through the palm trees that lined the property. Chris pulled you into a slow dance on the porch, swaying to the rhythm of the waves crashing against the shore. The soft sound of “Moonlight Serenade” by Frank Sinatra playing in the background added a touch of magic to the moment.

The both of your hearts beat in sync as the both of you danced under the starlit sky, together your was love casting a warm glow around the both of you. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only Chris and you in your own little universe.

As the night wore on, the both you wrapped yourselves in blankets and lay on the porch, your bodies pressed close together. Your fingertips traced constellations in the sky, sharing stories and dreams that the both of you had never spoken aloud before.

Eventually, exhaustion took hold, and you both retreated to the cozy bedroom, falling into a peaceful sleep wrapped in each other's arms. The Hamptons had witnessed your love story unfold, and it held those memories close, ready to welcome them back whenever you and Chris needed a sanctuary from the outside world.

In the embrace of your shared beachfront home, the both of you found solace, love, and a never-ending bond. The Hamptons became not just a place, but a symbol of your love, a reminder of the beauty you both had created together.

And as the both of you drifted off to sleep, your hearts and souls intertwined, you knew that the Hamptons would forever hold a special place in your hearts—a haven that would always welcome the both of you back, whispering tales of love and memories yet to be made.

[trashboatprince]

I'm still on a writing streak of just doing stuff with Fourteen, it seems.

Soooo... I wanted to write up something with their first night of being a retired Doctor, after Fifteen departed for his own adventures.

As always, I use they/them for Fourteen, but because they never correct anyone on this because they don't care, other characters will refer to them with 'he/him/his'. It's not rude, they just don't know.

On with the fic!

--

The Doctor stood there quietly, staring at the spot where the bi-generated TARDIS had been standing. Where had it flown off to? To another planet? Maybe to Barcelona? The planet, not the city.

Maybe it was in the past, lots of years and days the Doctor had never visited yet. Or into the future, lots there too.

Or maybe he's just in the vortex, having a fun time exploring his TARDIS as this Doctor had with their own.

"Ready to go?" Donna asked, a hand gently touching their shoulder.

The Doctor's eyes glanced at the spot where their TARDIS had stood. It was moved now, UNIT was going to take it to the location where the Noble-Temple family had been staying for a few days now. Apparently, it was a both a safe house and a temporary home until UNIT could fix their old one.

With a bit of work, the Doctor could repair the damage with the TARDIS. It was a bit troublesome to repair damaged buildings as such, but the Doctor could do it. None of the Time Lords were around to stop them.

They could be in the TARDIS now, flying to the location, but in their dazed state of just... taking all of this in, they had agreed with Donna about just letting someone drive them there in a car. Donna had said something about the Doctor needing some rest, and a tired Time Lord piloting sounded like a dreadful idea.

Probably was, actually way. The Doctor had once nearly flown the old girl into a white dwarf because they had been awake for two weeks straight without a single nap. Not one of their better moments, really.

"Yeah." The Doctor finally replied, gently bouncing on their feet. Oh, right, they had no shoes. He had gotten them in the bi-generation. What an odd thing, they wondered if he'd stop by to return them. And then shirt. And the tie. And maybe the undergarments. Oh, and the socks.

"He'll be alright." They heard Donna say, then felt her take their hand. "Just as you will be. Come on, I called Shaun, he said the family is safe and sound. Kate had given them the armband things. Gramps is with 'em."

"Good." The Doctor nodded. "Was worried about Wilf, but he's stubborn, he'd be fine anyway."

Donna smiled at them, walking them towards the elevators. They rode them down quietly, the Doctor's mind buzzing with thoughts while their body felt like it had ran five marathons in five hours.

Fifteen hours.

Is that really how long they'd been this Doctor? So much had happened from the moment they stood on that cliff, confused and excited. They had fought Daleks, a Sycorax queen, accidentally helped in the genesis of the Daleks, told a bedtime story, reunited with their best friend in order to stop an evil, adorable warlord, scarred themself for life by fighting a clone at the edge of the universe, and now just bi-generated while fighting one of their most terrifying enemies.

Had they stopped?

Even for a moment? Or was it only a slow moment in the chaos?

The New Doctor and Donna were right, they needed to stop and rest.

The next thing the Doctor noticed was that they were outside, being led to a discreet UNIT car, where a kind looking employee stood, smiling at him. "Thank you." She said as she opened the door for them and Donna.

"You're welcome." The Doctor smiled back, giving a nod, before slipping into the backseats.

Once they and Donna were in, the employee went to the driver's side and got in, and started to drive off. The Doctor leaned back into the seat, sighing softly. The rumbling of the car, the soft music from the radio (was that Moonlight Serenade they heard?), and Donna leaning against them had the Doctor feeling relaxed for the first time since they sat on top of the TARDIS, eating ice cream with one of the most important people they've ever met.

They didn't even register that they'd fallen asleep until someone gently shook them.

"Is he alright?" They heard the driver ask.

"Yeah, the dumbo's finally ran out of steam. He can rest when he's inside, but for now, up and at 'em!" Donna said, pushing the Doctor up from where they had been leaning against her.

They blinked a few times, glancing about. Outside the windows was a nice, average looking home. Two stories, a cute garden, totally normal. UNIT knows how to blend in when they have to.

They got out and stretched, wincing as their bare feet touched the pavement. Once they got back into the TARIDS, they'd get into some new shoes. Probably some new clothes.

The driver waited until Donna was out before driving off, and a moment later the front door of the home opened. Rose was standing there before she rushed out, hugging her mother tightly. "Mum! You're okay! Oh, you're okay!"

"Course I am!" Donna laughed, tears spilling from her eyes. "Oh, honey, are you? Everything alright?"

"Totally okay! Totally fine!" Rose smiled as she pulled back, then looked at the Doctor. "You're okay too!"

Suddenly, the Doctor found themself with their arms full of Rose Noble. They blinked, before returning the hug, smiling. "Right as rain! Just really, really tired."

"You look like you could use a nap." She laughed before glancing down. "Where's your shoes?"

"Long story." Donna sighed dramatically. "Really long story. Come on, I want inside! I'm starving and exhausted, and in need of a good sit down! You too, space man."

The Doctor followed quietly into the home, where they were greeted by a grateful Shaun, who thanked them for keeping Donna safe and for saving the world (had Donna mentioned that?). Sylvia and the Doctor exchanged looks, a silent thank you and you're welcome. Wilf was practically jumping for joy in his chair, and the Doctor rushed over, giving him a hug.

"I told you! I told you all that he'd save us! He always does!" Wilf cheered.

"Yeah, but our Donna helped too! If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have figured out who was behind the Giggle." The Doctor stated.

"The Giggle?" Shaun frowned. "What's the Giggle?"

"We'll... tell you over dinner." Donna waved a hand about. "Speaking of, what's on the menu!"

--

In all of the time that the Doctor had known Donna, they had only attended a few dinners with her family, and they weren't exactly... great.

There was the haunted house thing, that turned out to be alien ghosts. They were supposed to have spaghetti hoops, but due to a spook, they had pizza instead.

Then there was the whole thing involving Wilf's old friend, and when the Doctor had stupidly gotten involved with an issue between Donna and Sylvia. That had ended terribly. The food was alright though.

Would the whole Beep the Meep thing count as one? Kinda, maybe, probably. It was dinner time. It had smelled pretty good.

The Doctor watched the family before them, catching up in the few days they and Donna had been gone. Neither of them had talked about what happened when the TARDIS had taken off after the coffee thing, Donna hadn't bothered to mention it.

The Doctor was thankful for that.

They quietly ate, finding that vegan chicken alfredo was actually pretty tasty. Apparently, Rose was vegan, or vegetarian, they weren't quite sure, so a lot of meals were planned with her preference in mind. The Doctor had eaten meals like this, their sixth incarnation had been a vegetarian himself, and made a smashing good nut loaf.

Well, the Doctor found that this body seemed to like this sort of thing too, and still liked bananas, considering they ate two while dinner was being made. Donna was strict, saying they needed the energy, and the Doctor didn't complain.

However, they discovered that tea was absolutely disgusting to this new-old mouth. Which was a shame, this old face loved tea, it helped them back on that Christmas day so many years ago. Well, regeneration was a gamble, you never knew what would change.

"Alright, alright," Rose spoke up, "you're stalling. What happened while you two were off in the stars? What happened when you came back?"

The Doctor swallowed their bite of food and set down their fork. "Oh, just... a few random stops throughout history. Accidentally met Sir Issac Newton. Who, let me tell you, was hot."

Rose snorted at this and Donna cackled. The Doctor side-eyed her. "You brought it up first!"

"Oh yeah, sure, Mr. 'He was so hot!'" Donna smirked and the Doctor promptly looked away.

"Anyway, we ended up... uh... we ended up on a space ship, several trillion miles away from here." They scratched the back of their neck. "The edge of the universe."

"There's an edge?" Wilf asked.

"Yeah." Donna added. "It was surreal, just... nothingness. For miles and miles, a voice of nothing but the dark."

It was quiet, and the air was heavy. "Why was there a ship there?" Sylvia asked.

The Doctor toyed with their fork. "Wormhole, my guess. Deposited it there. It was void of life."

"But what about-" Donna started, but the Doctor looked at her.

"They were Not-Things. They told us they were not alive."

The silence returned, and the Doctor took a drink of water from their glass before continuing. "I'm not... ready to talk about that stuff yet. We escaped, that's what matters. Then we ended up here, with Wilf. And UNIT took us to their headquarters, where Donna figured out what was making people act so angry."

And they told what happened, with Donna adding in. They told about the Giggle, and the toy shop, but not what horrors they saw in there, neither were ready for that. The Doctor talked about the Toymaker, and what he was like.

Donna mentioned the weird musical number. The Doctor spoke about the bi-generation.

"So... there's two Doctors now?" Rose questioned, looking excited at the idea. "That's never happened before!"

"It's a myth of the Time Lords. An impossible regeneration, but possible in the strangest of circumstances, like when being killed by a being from another dimension."

"Or having regenerative energy stored in your extra body part coming into contact with a human?" Donna asked and the Doctor tapped their nose.

"Exactly. Impossible, but possible under circumstance." They turned back to Rose. "He's out there, the Doctor, doing what we always do."

"But what about you?" Sylvia spoke up. "What will you do? You're not running off with my daughter again. If you try, I'll slap you into next week!"

"And I don't doubt it." The Doctor frowned, the slap had healed easily, thanks to still being within the first fifteen hours of regeneration, but it had HURT.

They sighed, slumping in their seat. "I'm honestly not sure what I'll do. I think I'm grounded for a while, which isn't bad. I think. I dunno, I've never done... domestics before. Well. I have. But not this me, the meta-crisis me has."

"How do you know that?" Donna tilted her head.

The Doctor gave her a lopsided grin. "Weird shenanigans! Met Rose, Rose Tyler, when I was all chins and bow ties, but also when I was curly haired and having memories issues. Long, long story! But she told me she's living a good life with her husband, the other me, and they have a daughter! Oh, I bet she's brilliant! My friends always have brilliant kids!"

They grinned at Rose now, who laughed, giving him a small swat on the arm.

They laughed a little before looking at the family before them. "The other me, the New Doctor, he wants me to relax, to take it easy. Donna wants that too. Guess it's what I'm set to do for a while. Not sure what that entails, but it might mean a job. Or a house. Oh! I've never owned a house before. I had a car once, I wonder if Bessie is still about..."

The conversation lightened after that, with the family chattering about their own homes, the fact that Sylvia needed a new car, which she said with a nasty glare at the Doctor, and how Donna got a job at UNIT. When did that happen? Oh, who cares, Donna would be perfect for UNIT, her bossy attitude and office skills would have that place running perfectly!

After dinner and dishes, Shaun gave Donna and the Doctor a tour of the house, where the bedroom of the bottom floor was for Wilf and Sylvia to share, since she wasn't great on the stairs either. Upstairs had a room for him and Donna, one that Rose occupied, and the last guest room was, well...

"You... want me to stay here with you guys?" The Doctor asked, dumbfounded. "Why?"

Donna scoffed. "Of course we do! You're now part of the family! And don't tell me you aren't, space man! You and I have been through so much together, and because of you, my family is safe and sound. Hell, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have my family. I wouldn't have Shaun and Rose."

She took his hand, giving it a good squeeze. "You're one of us now, as long as you're here with us. With me."

The Doctor stared at her quietly, blinking twice.

Sarah Jane Smith had once told this face ages ago that they had the biggest family in the world. And now it felt like it just got a little bit bigger.

They swallowed, their eyes felt wet, and they grinned. "I'll be the most annoying sibling."

"Never had a sibling before, but I don't doubt it." Donna laughed. "Didn't expect anything less."

--

The family was asleep, and the Doctor was in the TARDIS. It had been in the backyard before they arrived, but they only just not slipped out to check on her.

They took a trip into the wardrobe to grab some clothes and supplies for their room in the house. "You can believe it? A bedroom? In a house? Weird! But hey, it's got a bunk bed in it! You know I love a bunk bed! Bunk beds are cool."

THe TARDIS hummed in response as the Doctor dressed in their jimjams, the familiar pair they had worn over the years, a gift from Jackie Tyler. It was nice that they still fit. They tied their robe closed and looked up at the ceiling. "I'll check on you tomorrow, alright?"

She hummed again, lights changing to green, the faint scent of wet grass and pine entered their nose. She knew they'd keep that promise.

Then, faintly, they heard a knock, from far away. The lights changed to orange, and the scent of warmth, spices, and sunshine came to the Doctor.

Grabbing their overnight bag, they rushed out to the console room and heard a knock from the doors. They ran down the platform and threw open the doors, but saw no one.

"Hello?" They said, glancing around at the dark yard.

Glancing down, they noticed something at their feet. A pile of clean clothing, a pair of shoes, and a note written in a familiar language of circles and lines.

'You forgot something, kid. See you later.'

The Doctor laughed, shaking their head as they heard the distant sounds of a fading TARDIS.

Maybe resting would be okay. He was doing just fine, so why shouldn't they?

They had a family to help them along the way.

Putting their clothes into the bag, the Doctor closed the doors to the TARDIS and made their way back into the house, for their first night of temporary retirement.

--

I love getting to throw in references to audio stories, books, and comics into my fics.

Also, I do color association for characters and orange is very much Fifteen's color. So, if I do more of these little notes from him to Fourteen, they'll be in orange. Fourteen would be blue.