#before the box ghost comes and steals the inbox

[machveil]

Collective Writings - 18+, mdni

Collective Writings navigation page

there are definitely no sexual things here… but if there were, this would be the page for them (wink)!👙✨ fics are 18+ please read content warnings (CW) - you come first! check the fic before you read it

18+ Fics:

(18+, mdni) Simon Riley has reading glasses - fic, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!König crushing on you - fic

(18+, mdni) Johnny wants to use your hotspot - fic

(18+, mdni) Monster!König x M!Reader - Getting Handsy… Tentacly? - fic

(18+, mdni) Loser!König crushing on you Pt 2 - fic

(18+, mdni) Simon Riley deserves to relax - fic

(18+, mdni) Boyfriend!König is comfortable touching you - fic, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) König with a thirsty Reader - fic, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) Piercing HCs with König and Simon Riley - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Simon “Ghost” Riley likes being gently manhandled - fic, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) you play a song for Johnny - TikTok, fluff blurb, nsfw link

(18+, mdni) Loser!König being nervous and weepy - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Johnny likes taking photos with you - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!König miscellaneous thoughts, teasing him throughout the day - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Retired!Price takes up gardening - headcanon, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!König trying to learn - blurb

(18+, mdni) König sharing treats with you - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Loser!Ghost being nervous around you - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) dating Loser!König - talking for him/him talking/sleepy morning - headcanon, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) Simon Riley is a patient man - headcanon, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!König x Loser!Reader - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!König and Loser!Ghost with bound wrists - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Loser!König accidentally edging you - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Loser!König accidentally edging you again - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Loser!König and sleepy sex - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Loser!Simon Riley x Short!Reader - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!Simon Riley x Short!Reader - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Simon x Reader x OralFixated!Johnny - headcanon, fluff, nsfw below the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!Johnny - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Johnny steals Simon’s balaclava - blurb, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Roommate!Simon Riley’s boxers - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Price’s shaved beard - blurb, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) GuardDog!Simon Riley punishing Puppy!Reader - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) GuardDog!Simon Riley play wrestling with Puppy!Reader - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut (18+, mdni) GuardDog!Simon Riley, Mutt!Johnny + Hound!Price - headcanon, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) König’s shirts - blurb, fluff, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) Loser!Ghost x Short!Reader size training - headcanon, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) König thinks about you - headcanon, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) König x Sleepy!Reader - headcanon, nsfw under the cut

(18+, mdni) König’s thoughts on pubic hair - headcanon

(18+, mdni) Husband!Simon Riley shadow boxing - blurb

(18+, mdni) Loser!König can’t make it fit - blurb

(18+, mdni) overstimulating Loser!König - headcanon

(18+, mdni) König stages a break in - blurb

(18+, mdni) König’s miniature model - blurb

thanks again to followers and friends for keeping up with my writing! CoD requests are always welcomed, please review this post before requesting🎀✨ giving you guys a big, fat kiss for being wonderful and I hope to see you around - either in my inbox or notifications<3

[comphy-and-cozy]

Did I spend this morning rereading A Dream Come True again?

Yep. Zero regrets.

I wouldn’t object to peek ins on them if the urge ever hit to write more on this just saying 👀🫶🏻

this is very sweet and I am so very glad that you enjoyed it! because, well...

mastermind - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f) - A Dream Come True universe

Word Count: ~1.8K

Author’s Note: I’m sorry Ghost lol

Warnings: references to sex, implied smut, language, the usual banter; otherwise, just some ~relationship development~ and an update on my fav duo ♥️🐙

← LAST PART | → NEXT PART ← BACK TO SERIES MASTERLIST ← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

January 2024

The email lies buried beneath the myriad of holiday marketing newsletters you ignored and let build up in your inbox. Sales that have long since passed, codes like ‘HOLIDAY20’ and ‘HAPPYNYE’ expired from stores you shopped at once and never unsubscribed from the marketing. 

It’s a Wednesday evening, and you’re sitting on the couch doing your best to mass delete the influx of unread emails from the past three months after receiving the notification that your storage is running low. A knit blanket covers your legs, and the scent of tobacco and teakwood drifts to you from the candle on your coffee table.

“What’re you giggling about over here?”

JT’s low timbre echoes behind you, the sound followed by the soft padding of his feet as he approaches the couch with a bowl of popcorn. His favorite nighttime snack, you’ve grown to learn over the past three months, so you started stocking your pantry with a box. 

You aren’t sure exactly when things became so domestic and natural with him, only blissfully aware of the steady thump of your heart in your chest when his texts come through or the warmth that fills you whenever he kisses you. You’ve managed to get comfortable with his presence, craving it the same way you crave a sweet snack before bed, but you’re still adjusting to the idea that this is real. That he’s still here, returning to your bed, dutifully—eagerly—after every road trip. 

Every time, he’ll sigh, find solace in the warmth of your arms, press his lips against your skin. He’ll fuck you, God, he’ll fuck you; somehow never failing to reveal a new place inside of you that blooms pleasure. Your body has never sang the way it does for JT, expertly coaxing melodies out of you that you didn’t know you knew. 

But sometimes, he just lays, content to feel your warmth against his, head resting heavy on your chest until his breathing becomes steady and sleep takes him. His expression softens, hair falling out of its styled coif, wrinkles settling into the lines of his t-shirt—if he hasn’t already removed it. In those moments, you defy the heaviness of your eyelids to simply gaze at him, memorizing the shape of him in your bed, curled up against you underneath the blankets that will forever be embedded with his scent. 

You can’t decide which you like more.

“I just got an email inviting me to the Toast of Hockeytown event in February,” you reply, accepting the weight of him on the cushion beside you before you steal a kernel from his bowl—your bowl. “‘Fans can look forward to enjoying live entertainment, culinary delights, drinks, and desserts while mingling with the entire Red Wings team, coaches, select alumni, and other local celebrities.’”

JT hums. “Sounds like an event you can’t miss. A chance to meet them?”

“I better make sure I wear my nicest dress. One that really shows off the goods, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” he agrees, eyes flicking to your chest—though it’s covered by a t-shirt, you can feel the heat from his gaze. “Think maybe you’ll get to fuck one of them?”

Laughter bubbles out of your mouth and you shove his arm at his crass joke. “It would be a good opportunity to try and snag someone’s number.”

“Oooh, maybe Larkin? He’s dreamy.”

“Nah, he’s too popular,” you shake your head. “Can’t aim so high as the captain. Gotta go for lower-hanging fruit. Maybe one of the new guys. Ghosty, you think?”

There’s the briefest flash in JT’s eyes that you would’ve missed had you not been watching for it. You catch it, though, smug with yourself that you’ve one-upped him at his own game. 

“Heard his dick is small.” He feigns indifference, but you see the glint in his eyes. Your favorite eyes. 

“You really want me thinking about Ghost’s dick?” 

JT shrugs. “I’m the one sitting on your couch eating your popcorn. And I’m gonna be the one in your bed later.”

Check mate. The nonchalance paired with his confidence makes you weak—he’s right, and he knows it. You could have every one of them fawning over you, and you’d still pick him, every time. Once the joke falls and the silence settles, the sound of the Brooklyn 99 intro plays softly on the television in front of you.

As your mouse hovers over the ‘delete’ button, you’re reminded of the similar event you attended over two years ago—the one that led you to the man sitting beside you. You reminisce on how you spent days deciding on what to wear, even going so far as to get your hair blown out beforehand. Looking back, you’re a bit embarrassed at the effort, but as you feel the warmth of JT’s leg pressed against yours, you think to yourself it was worth it.

“I came to Denver specifically to meet you,” you blurt out, then freeze when you realize what you’ve just admitted to. Your heart thuds in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears as he pauses, three kernels of popcorn in his fingers halfway to his mouth.

Testing a glance at him, you’re surprised to see him pop each puff between his lips, one by one, taking his time chewing. Then, “I know.”

“You know?”

“You kn—the entire time?”

“The entire time.”

A sigh accompanied by a tidal wave of relief washes over you. If he knew, and was still here, it couldn’t have bothered him that much. “Do I want to know how?”

“Jus’ know,” he says with another shrug. Then your favorite glimmer shines in the warm chocolate of his eyes, the kind when he’s really feeling the banter. You love him like this. “You’re a bit of a whore when you’re desperate.”

“Joseph!”

An auburn eyebrow raises and he smirks. “You really gonna argue with me on that?”

Your silence is an answer enough, accompanied by flits of how he’s had you begging him on more than one occasion; you resist the urge to smack him at the smug ‘I told you so’ expression on his stupid, handsome face. “You’re not… creeped out?”

“Told you already,” he says around another mouthful of popcorn. “M’flattered. I think it’s cute.”

Heat simmers in your cheeks as you tell yourself you have no reason not to believe him; he’s still there, still eating popcorn out of the faded, red bowl you got from Target when you moved into your dorm at U of M. 

It’s another few moments before he says something that catches you off guard. 

“I came for you.” 

There’s an air of hesitation about him, like maybe he’s been mulling it over as he finishes the last few bites of popcorn before offering you the remaining kernels in the bottom of the bowl. A peace offering, maybe, like he wants to even the playing field now that you’ve confessed something so private. Funny how this isn’t the first time this has happened to you with regards to him.

“What?”

“That night. At Tin Roof.” The second time we met.

“I know you did. You were inside me.”

JT smiles at your snark, a spark glinting in his eye as if he’s replaying the memory in his head. “No, I mean… I suggested that bar to the guys because I knew you were there.”

“What are you talking about?”

He clears his throat. “After we met—the first time—I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to find you. I kept waiting to get a tagged photo from you, but never did, so… I started combing through my followers.”

Your eyebrows raise, heart swelling at the idea of making such an impact on him that he’d go through such an effort to find you. 

“It took me awhile, but I finally found you,” he continues. “Imagine my disappointment when you were private.”

You hum, waiting with baited breath to hear the rest of his story. The memory of posting the photo of you and him comes to mind, his hand placement just visible on your side that gives you butterflies to this day, despite him having touched you far more intimately since then.

“I’d check back once in awhile whenever you crossed my mind. Still, private. I even made a habit of checking my DM’s in case you decided to message me after we won the Cup.”

“Hard to get,” you tease with a smile. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

His eyes glint again, acknowledging your quip—because you sure fucking have kept him on his toes. “And then I got a call from Steve Yzerman.”

The breath in your lungs stands still.

“We talked—and I loved what he had to say, don’t get me wrong; Detroit really had been on my radar for awhile—but after I hung up the phone, I went to check your page. Figured it couldn’t hurt. And you weren’t private anymore. And, by all accounts, you appeared to be single.”

You’re doing your best to keep your jaw from resting on the floor, absorbing his candid confession with no shortage of disbelief. Part of you wonders if this is a long, elaborate play to tease you for how you lusted after him.

“Saw the picture of us,” he adds. “And the caption, too.”

A grin breaks out onto your face at his reference. It had been funny at the time, so far-fetched, unthinkable that the contrast between then and now hits you in the chest. Call me JT xoxo, it had said.

“Thought you said I wasn’t the reason you signed.”

“You were… encouraging,” he says with a smirk. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart down to your body. You don’t expect he meant for you to miss it.

As tempted as you are to take that concupiscent gaze and use it to quell the heat that’s simmering between your legs, you can’t resist probing just a little more to see what else you can glean out of him. “So… the bar?” 

“Oh, right,” he blinks, like he forgot he was telling a story; you can practically see the dirty images conjured in his eyes as they float away. “Pretty straightforward, really—before we went out that night, I checked your story, on a whim. You tagged the bar.”

“Joseph Taylor Compher, were you stalking me?”

For the first time, a tinge colors the pretty ivory of his cheeks and his expression turns… bashful? “Does it count as stalking if it’s on your public page?”

“I’m sure the police might have something different to say,” you shoot back with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s only if I harassed you,” JT says. “And I’m pretty confident I did quite the opposite of that.”

He nudges your knee playfully, and you roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you blew my mind, whatever, whatever.”

“You blew mine too, baby,” he adds, the tinge of huskiness in his voice undeniable. “But you knew that.”

And later, after he’s thoroughly appreciated your travel efforts to Denver, when your cheek is pressed against the warm skin on his chest, you whisper, “I can’t believe you were playing 4D chess this entire time.”

“What can I say? I’m a mastermind.”

[twisted-timeline-au]

Happy Dannoversary everyone!))

[p1nkcanoe]

I'm inviting myself into your inbox and building a nest like a really tall bird. Don't worry, I bring snacks. Anyway, your fic Love Like Ghosts is taking up so much of my brain, do you have any more thoughts on it? Do Mountain and Swiss ever find out what was happening? Does it become something he looks forward to? Does Aether ever reveal his mischief?

ooo yay!! I’ll be sure to drop by every hour just to drop by and share little snacks. and eventually i'll work up the confidence to sit and stay for a while <3

and speaking of love like ghosts, i'm glad you asked because i've had a few silly little thoughts. nsfw stuff under the cut, you know the drill... lets discuss.

first of all, aether definitely works open the lock of his door shortly after it all ends, closes it behind him before anyone can follow him in. i like to imagine him walking towards his bed slowly, a poisonous and amused smirk on his lips as he takes in the pathetic sight of the multi ghoul shaking and covered in his mess. swiss can barely life his head, his body is exhausted and his muscles feel like jelly. he hears aeth come in, listens to his footsteps as he comes closer, and his body flushes hot with embarrassment at the feeling of his eyes burning hot into his sweaty skin.

"what do we have here, huh?" aeth says once he reaches the edge of the bed. he places a hand against his spine and before he even makes contact that tingle of quintessence is there like a million tiny needles. swiss shivers, anticipating something but he doesn't exactly know what. the ghost cock? aeth's? something else? aeth chuckles as he peers at his backside, running his hand over the curve of his ass and down his thigh so that he can drag a finger back up through the leaking drip of mountain's cum. “guess mountain wasn’t tired after all.”

and suddenly everything clicks. well, kind of. swiss has a lot of questions, the first of many being “how???”

___

now, what if now that swiss knows the tricks of aether's little game that he gets very quickly intrigued with the possibilities and the vast potential? (did this sentence even make sense..? idk lmao)

lets just say he gets acclimated to the static of quintessence up his spine, has figured out the invisible timer that ticks down before he’s fucked within an inch of his life, and starts to look forward to it. there’s something so erotic about knowing your packmate is fucking himself the way he likes it, abusing a fleshlight that appeared out of nowhere, and apparently liking it a little more than he liked. and swiss has created a pornographic scene for himself, too. he's been fucked in the privacy of his own room, fucked in the shower, fucked in the common room with another ghoul feet away... there's a thrill in it and he can't get enough.

and maybe swiss gets curious and a little too horny for his own good and sneaks into both dew’s and rain’s rooms while they’re sleeping just to steal their favorite toys and return them later on, hexxed and tethered to his own body. and maybe he also manages to steal a strap or two from the ghoulettes just for a little fun. needless to say, aether gets really good at manipulating his magick and swiss has never cum more in his life. and right when he thinks that it couldn’t possibly get any better, a box shows up on his desk, the picture on the front: a pocketpussy in a clear shell speckled with glitter. premium, realistic silicone, it reads in bold, red font. stuck to the top is a sticky note:

“this one’s for you, choose wisely”

[vivilove-jonsa]

For the dialogue prompts- "Get in here!"

Welp, Anon. Here's another dialogue prompt that's probably been sitting in my inbox since last year and I'm sorry for the wait but hope you'll see this anyway :)

So, here's a little runaway bride/friends to (will be) lovers AU with a minor Halloween angle.

***

“You wanna ride with me, huh?”

Ghost wags his tail.

“It’s just the store and back. Fifteen minutes round trip.”

This doesn’t put Ghost off from his wish to go along. His friend always knows when Jon needs him most, he supposes.

“Alright. Get in here!”

He grins watching the animal leap into the passenger seat and gives him an affectionate nuzzle.

“Promise I’ll be okay,” he tells Ghost before walking around to climb in on his side. It’s his own damn fault he never plucked up the courage to speak his heart before it was too late anyway, isn’t it? What choice does he have but to be okay eventually?

A wet Saturday evening, the night before Halloween. His eyes avoid the lane that leads to the country club as he turns down the street towards town. He flips on the radio to distract himself. News talk. No love songs. Weatherman says it’ll clear up by tomorrow which is nice for the trick-or-treaters. He’ll need to pick up a bag of candy. Maybe one for himself to snack on, too.

He pulls his pick-up into a spot out front and gives Ghost a scratch behind the ears. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone steal our truck, ‘kay?”

Ghost pants happily but Jon knows only a fool would try to steal a vehicle with Ghost sitting in it. Part-wolf with those red eyes, he’s enough to scare trouble off even before he starts growling.

Jon heads into the little market – bread for toast come morning, couple of bananas, a six-pack, box of pasta, jar of sauce and one large bag of Skittles for any kids who might make it to his door tomorrow night. (And one smaller bag of Reese cups for him.)

At the register, he glances towards his truck in the parking lot (still there) and asks Edd how his night’s been. The dour store owner says it’s a typical Halloween weekend, meaning not typical at all. “Even had some girl dressed up as a bride in here a few minutes ago.”

“Was she the Bride of Frankenstein?” Jon asks jokingly while ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach at the mention of brides today. He’d left his phone off earlier. He’s off duty and doesn’t expect to hear from anyone. Not her anyway. He fucked all that up last time they spoke.

“If she was, she was the prettiest bride Frankenstein ever had,” Edd tells him before counting out his change and warning him to watch out for ghouls and goblins.

Jon hoists his bag of goods into one arm and heads outside. He’s not due back at the fire station until Tuesday. He’ll polish off the six-pack tonight along with the pasta and watch a scary movie or two and attempt to forget what day it is. Tomorrow will be Halloween and he can pick up the pieces of his life and move forward then maybe, one step at a time.

The wedding would’ve already started. He wasn’t invited to it and that was fine. He’d made his opinion of the groom very plain last time they spoke. (And he couldn’t stomach watching the girl he loves marry some other man.)

Did he ever tell her why he didn’t want her to marry that other man? Beyond the fact that guy’s not good enough for her? Did Jon tell his friend he was in love with her? No, and he’ll be stuck regretting it the rest of his life maybe.

He spies some kids hanging around Edd’s mustang wearing hooded cloaks and laughing a bit too loud. He shoots them a look and they move along. When he turns towards his truck, he doesn’t see any kids but he sees someone, someone dressed all in white and far too pretty to ever be Frankenstein’s Bride, probably too pretty to ever be Jon Snow’s either.

The world seems to stop moving with him as he stops dead in his tracks and watches her petting Ghost through the open window of his truck, talking to his friend who’s her old friend, too.

“Sansa?”

She turns slowly and her breath is short when she says, “I saw Ghost…” He feels like he’s seeing a ghost too but the most beautiful ghost to ever haunt him. She looks torn between laughter and tears. “Tormund said you’d just got off duty. I tried calling you.”

“You’re…you…why? Is something wrong?”

She winces and he should smack himself. Obviously, something’s wrong if she’s standing in the market parking lot on a rainy evening wearing a wedding dress on her wedding day with no groom or family in sight. Obviously, something’s wrong if she’s been trying to call him and been looking for him (apparently on foot) after the last time they spoke when he called her fiancé a shit who would never be worthy of her.

“Sorry. Sorry. Ignore I said that,” he mutters, hurrying forward as his feet come unglued from the pavement where he’s been standing and staring at her.

He opens the passenger door, tells Ghost to scoot. “Get in here,” he urges, helping her up and making sure her dress is safely tucked inside before he closes the door and places his bag of groceries in the bed under a tarp. He climbs in on his side next but doesn’t start the engine yet.

“So...what happened?”

“I woke up this morning and knew it wasn’t right, knew marrying him would be a huge mistake.”

“But it’s night already.” He could also point out she’s wearing the dress but she gives him that little scowl he can’t resist and he understands this was probably a huge thing to realize on one’s wedding day and then work up the courage to act. “Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“This is your fault by the way,” she informs him with that smirk he knows and loves.

“I’ll take the blame if it means you’ll be happier in the end, Sansa.”

She sighs at that and, for a while, they just sit there. They scratch behind Ghost’s ears together with eyes locked on each other, the silence present but not oppressive.

“Sansa, I-”

Her phone lights up in her lap before he can say anything more. “It’s my mom. I begged Arya to tell them for me…before I jetted.”

He tries smothering his chuckles. “I imagine your sister was very tactful.”

They both laugh at that, knowing Arya was probably anything but tactful. She'd hated Joffrey, too.

The phone is still ringing. “Answer it. Let them know you’re okay.”

“Am I okay, Jon?”

“I know you will be,” he promises because what else can she be eventually? She’s going to be more than okay, he hopes.

She answers and he can hear Catelyn’s frustration and worry filling the cab around them. He takes the phone out of Sansa’s hands after a minute and speaks. Her mom never was terribly fond of him as Sansa’s friend and she’s probably wondering now why the hell her daughter, the runaway bride, is with him when they’ve not spoken in three months. Doesn’t matter. He assures her that Sansa’s safe and needs some time to think tonight and then ends the call.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry about what I said last time we spoke, sorry for the way I said it.”

“I know. It hurt at the time but I knew you were sorry and I've realized you were right. I think I might understand better now why you said it, too.”

“You do?” he gulps and then tells himself the time for cowardice is past. “Maybe you do because there was something else I should’ve said that night to you instead and-”

She presses one finger against his lips and smiles. “I’ve barely been able to eat the past two weeks, Ghost looks ready to go home and I feel ridiculous wearing this dress. Maybe save that thought and we can go back to your place and talk?”

“I’m saving the thought. I'm making plenty of spaghetti for all three of us. You should know you look absolutely gorgeous in your Halloween costume, Sansa.”

“My Halloween costume, huh?”

“That’s it’s new name.” She starts giggling. That’s a win in his book considering everything. “And of course, we can go back to my place and talk.”

“You got anything else I can wear other than my costume?” she asks as they pull out onto the road.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can scrounge up something clean that should fit, more or less.”

Sansa in one of his flannels sitting on his sofa and eating spaghetti with him and Ghost sounds like the most perfect night ever actually. He’ll happily share his candy with her, too. She’s always had a sweet tooth and he can buy more tomorrow if necessary.

[creativeashproductions]

Curiosity // Luke Patterson

Summary: After filling up another journal designed his songbook Luke is left empty handed. With the offer to a shelf of blanket journals is given he’s immediately choosing. But Luke’s curiosity leads him to a discovery. In other words Luke finds Perfect Harmony in Reader’s bedroom.

Requested: Yes by @averyharrypotterlife​ 

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.7 (including lyrics)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the 5000+ followers whether it was years ago and you didn’t unfollow or in the future. Thank you for enjoying and interacting in something I’ve always loved: writing.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

Luke’s always been a curious person going as far back as his early childhood. The most consistent evidence being during the Christmas holidays. Until he was ten, yes, he’s aware that his friends stopped believing in Santa way earlier. The young lad would stay up hidden in the living room waiting to catch Santa. Without fail, Luke would wake up in his outer space planet sheets having fallen asleep in his mission.

When he was twelve years old, he was left at his aunt and uncle’s house for the weekend due to a work-related thing. His older cousin was eighteen at the time and at college, so Luke stayed in his bedroom. Luke couldn’t help but snoop through Bryan’s personal items, and in a drawer with a false bottom, he discovered magazines.

Luke had a lot of fun that weekend diligently going through the magazines his mother would skin his hide even knowing about them. He may have had to use the excuse of having a cold for the entire box of Kleenex missing. No one was the wiser on that weekend.

Now when Luke was fourteen years old, he had snuck into the Rated R film Candyman with Alex and Reggie. Luke’s parents had been strict in their rules and definitely had shot down the question of seeing the film. The three didn’t sleep with the lights out for a month after that, and the truth came out when no lie was sufficient to their concerned parents.

Luke Patterson didn’t care about boundaries. Why ask for permission when you can just ask for forgiveness? It worked with going through Julie’s dream box, but all personal items got hidden from the ghostly guitarist.

“No!” Luke exclaimed flipping through his song journal once more in hopes of a blank page. The frustration in his body snapping the pencil he had been using.

“You good?” You questioned glancing up from the essay you graded as a teacher’s assistant for an AP course. Luke’s frustrated brown met yours with a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ve filled my journal up. I hate using loose-leaf, but no money means no buying things.” Luke roughly scrubbed one hand on his face.

“You could always just forever borrow one from the- “Luke quickly shot that down with a look of absolute horror, “Okay…so stealing a no.”

“I did listen to my parents on certain aspects. I would never steal anything, other than the food when we didn’t have enough cash.” Luke’s brown hue had softened back into the hazel that caused flutters in your heart, “I have no respect for thieves.”

You nodded before scribbling a suggestion on the paper in dark red, “I have a shelf in my room dedicated solely to blank journals. If you want to, you can take one free of charge.”

With a quick smile, Luke disappeared from the room to your personal domain he sometimes hung out with you in. You had no misgivings on the teen finding solace in your room and gave him free rein; your prized possessions hidden very well.

Luke appeared in the soft blue and lilac bedroom with the queen white iron wrought style bed in the middle. A white desk in the corner with a multitude of bookcases and shelves in the room. The desk chair neatly pushed into the desk as well he went straight to the shelf.

Journals of all colours and styles with a label on the shelf noting them as empty. It was packed with dozens, but it was the midnight blue one that called to the boy. In his reach, he bumped an emerald green one off the edge. It opened having hit the edge of the desk.

As he leaned down, he noticed notations in the margins, now remember how Luke is a curious guy? He only hesitated a second before he was reading the pages of words in your signature script.

The guilt flared for a second before he justified it as being on the shelf you declared free game. So Luke settled sitting criss-cross against the side of your bed reading the words so eloquently written. Even notes allowed Luke to hear the melody in his mind.

Assignment: Write a piece of literature from two points of views. Genre doesn’t matter as long as it is a minimum of one page and not exceed eight.

Step into my world

Bittersweet love story ’bout a girl

Shook me to the core

Voice like an angel

I’ve never heard before

The words took his breath away, recalling a moment he gushed to Alex on how he had caught you singing. He had described your voice as being angelic, and it took him by complete surprise. He remembered Julie, and you entered the room shortly after with a nervous feeling if you had heard. Now Luke had his answer. His phantom heart pounded in anticipation for the reply to this first point of view.

Here in front of me

They’re shining so much brighter

Than I have ever seen

Life can be so mean

But when he goes, I know he doesn’t leave

The smile threatened to split his face with the elation as he continued reading with a subconscious hum. His fingers tapping the sides of the paper as his hazel irises tinged green ate up the words.

The truth is finally breaking through

Two worlds collide when I’m with you

Our voices rise and soar so high

We come to life when we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

The world faded as Luke distinctly heard your angelic voice singing the parts he could easily recognize as perfect for you. There was something so powerful in this incredibly personal song only intended for your eyes and your teachers.

The next handful of lines left him breathless and astonished as he visualized not sitting across from each other. But engaging in another art form that can be so incredibly intimate for people; he imagined singing this while holding you in his arms.

You set me free

You and me together is more than chemistry

Love me as I am

I’ll hold your music here inside my hands

We say we’re friends, we play pretend

You’re more to me, we’re everything

Our voices rise and soar so high

 We come to life when we’re

 In perfect harmony

 Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

 Perfect harmony

 Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

 Perfect harmony

Luke went from humming to softly singing to the heartfelt tune with a flutter of butterflies deep in his stomach. When Julie saw Unsaid Emily, he had denied it as an experiment, and it was the truth. Luke wrote rock anthems and rock-pop with his living friend. He never dabbled into romantic ones.

He’d never read something so poetically beautiful it felt him weeping at the sheer amount of feelings.

I feel your rhythm in my heart

Yeah yeah yeah

You are my brightest burning star

Whoah whoah oh

I never knew a love so real (so real)

We’re heaven on earth

Melody and words

When we’re together we’re

In perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

Perfect harmony

Whoa-oa-oa, whoa-oa-oa

We say we’re friends (we play pretend)

You’re more to me (we create)

Perfect harmony

His eyes found the last line of the song setting him back in a dead silence returning to the start to reread it. On his third read, he found the notes from your teacher on a separate page.

Y/N, in my years of teaching, I’ve never read something with such meaning behind it. The longing, passion, respect and love you artfully encapsulated is rare. To have written, this means you’ve felt this. No corrects needed, and I felt compelled to not mark on the piece. Thank you for being vulnerable with me, for letting me step inside your mind and please never let this emotion fade.

Your grade is A+.

Luke’s lips pulled apart at the genuine words your teacher had written because it indeed was a word of art. Carefully Luke returned the notebook back to the shelf to retrieve the blue one that caught his attention. AS he turned, he found you leaning against the door frame with a soft smile.

“I am so sor-“

“No.” You replied, walking into the room, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I told you any notebook on that shelf. I can’t get mad, and I’ve seen you can’t leave something half-read.”

“Probably why my book reports were insanely well done in school.” Luke joked as you stepped in his personal space. The tension faded from his shoulders as he took in your features, “You got a perfect grade.”

“I did.” You simply spoke, staring up into his eyes, “You helped me with it.”

“How?”

“You told Alex what you felt about my voice. You looked nervous when I walked in, so I let it go. It wasn’t the time to bring it up. It’s called Perfect Harmony.” You told the ghost gently grazing your fingertips on his hand. The feeling sends shudders down his spine.

“I guess it just wasn’t the right time. With the band and-“

“-the whole soul owning thing. Too much but now that you’ve read that…what do you feel?” You hesitantly asked because reading it and discovering how someone feels is another to if the feelings are reciprocated back.

“That I was always meant to live in 2020. That I was meant to love you with every atom in my very being.” Luke murmured before he crashed his lips onto your own in a searing kiss that had your toe-curling.

The midnight blue journal dropped to the floor as his large calloused hands cupped your face to feel the warmth. The very journal would be filled with songs all about this person, Luke adored not matter his state as a ghost. Two worlds collided just as two souls came together in perfect harmony.

So, wrapped up in each other Luke didn’t notice something magical encased in the warm love. In the bedroom, the two teens were kissing in had two distinct heartbeats with a glow emanating from Luke Patterson.

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[narumi-gens]

ukai decides to propose. you've already talked about it, you KNOW you want to spend your lives together, he knows hopes you'll say yes.

(his heart might never recover if you don't)

so he goes about buying a ring. he steals a ring of yours when you're asleep for sizing purposes. selecting a ring wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be — he knew his budget, he knew what you liked (he's known you your whole life). so he goes out and buys a pretty little silver band inlaid with three tiny diamonds. it's a little heavy on his wallet, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you deserve nice things.

then came the planning of the actual proposal. this was, he realized, significantly harder than he'd thought it would be.

maybe he should keep it simple? dinner followed by a walk under the stars. he'll get down on one knee and—no. isn't that too cliché? he can do better.

an elaborate treasure hunt throughout your house? maybe he can make up clues based on all the memories you've made together: eating dinner on the floor the first night of moving in because the dining table was too hard to assemble, or learning the importance of separating whites and colours when your favourite white blouse comes out the washing machine stained a murky blue because of that damn t-shirt of his. or something to do with that time you'd had a stomach bug and he'd nursed you through it, staying by your side even after you'd thrown up on him.

no, he decides, it'd be bad if you couldn't connect the clues to these events. besides, he's no literary genius. coming up with elaborate prose for the clues is not a task he considers himself capable of.

then what?

ukai is standing in the karasuno gym, thumbing at the ring box sitting snugly inside his jacket pocket. he'd taken to carrying it around with him after you'd almost stumbled upon the ring hidden behind the plants you'd insisted on keeping in the house.

he's exhausted his creativity racking his brain for ideas. everything he could come up with seemed too cliché, or too cringey, or just downright stupid. he's suddenly brought back to reality when takeda clears his throat next to him, 'is everything okay?' falling from his lips, tone polite as ever.

fuck, he shouldn't be zoned out during practice. he really needs to put a stop to this. ukai looks at the man standing next to him. maybe he could help? takeda was a poet at heart, after all, so he should be able to come up with a romantic proposal.

ukai confides in him, accepting the congratulatory pat takeda gives him. by now, this little interaction has attracted the attention of the nut more curious of his boys. tanaka, nishinoya, hinata gather around him with kageyama creeping up behind them. he can tell that the other members are listening in too, just not as obviously.

'what's the matter, coach?'

ukai eyes his team. it wouldn't hurt to tell them, right? they don't really come into contact with you all that often, and when they do, it's for brief moments only, when you're popping in to drop off his keys or his wallet that he'd forgotten at home.

'i'm, uh, thinking of proposing. bought the ring and everything, just need to come up with a plan now.'

dead silence echoes throughout the gym before complete mayhem breaks out.

he's being congratulated simultaneously by sawamura, azumane, and ennoshita while tanaka and nishinoya are huddled together on the floor, weeping tears of happiness (at least, ukai thinks they're tears of happiness. you can never tell with these two.) tsukishima goes back to sipping at his drink, while yamaguchi's eyes light up, much like yachi's. shimizu, too, offers him a soft smile and a congratulations before tanaka pipes up.

'can we see the ring?!'

well, they already know, so ukai reckons it wouldn't do much harm to let them see it. he reaches into his pocket and takes out the box, flipping it open to reveal the silver band wedged inside. the team crowds around him, oohs and aahs falling from their mouths. tanaka nods somberly, a finger stroking his chin, as he mutters, "excellent choice, coach. she's going to say yes."

"who's going to say yes?"

fourteen pairs of eyes land on you, holding so many emotions in them, from amusement to sheer panic. you stand at the door of the gymnasium, holding ukai's lunch. he'd accidentally taken yours today, so you thought you could pop in to exchange it and see your boyfriend while doing so. but the scene you happened upon was completely unexpected.

ukai scrambled violently with something in his hands, while takeda looked like he'd seen a ghost. the kid with the goatee was panicky, his eyes flitting around for an escape. the two shortest of the bunch were fidgeting with whatever keishin was holding, apparently trying to help him with it.

keyword: trying.

all the jostling and shoving they did managed to knock the thing out of keishin's hands. you squint as it flies through the air — was that a box? — as keishin desperately tries to get to it before it lands in front of you.

he draws on every single diving receive he'd ever done in his entire life and swoops across the gymnasium, towards you.

he does not get there in time.

the box clatters to the ground in front of you, keishin landing there a second later. you're still stuck trying to process the situation, but you have enough presence of mind to lean down and pick up the box, finally being able to see its contents.

oh. oh.

keishin thumps the ground with his first before he looks up at you, eyes filled with resignation. he's quite the sight - his hair had slipped out of his hairband and his nose was bleeding. yet he drags himself to sit up on one knee.

you've already seen the ring. might as well get it over with.

keishin opens his mouth, ready to launch into an unrehearsed speech, cursing the universe with every fiber of his being for making things turn out this way. but you don't give him a chance to say anything.

his eyes widen before he's knocked to the ground by you flinging yourself on top of him. you're hugging him, face buried in his neck, whispering 'yes, yes, yes, always, a thousand times yes' and suddenly he can't bring himself to care about the awkwardness of the situation.

keishin laughs before sitting up, bringing you with him. he gently separates you from him before taking the ring tightly clutched in your palm and slipping it onto your finger. the whole scene feels a little too intimate for a high school gymnasium, but it's only fair that it happens here, he thinks. after all, this is where he'd realised he loved you, all the way back when you two had been first years.

he blinks back the tears suddenly clouding his eyes and restrains the urge to kiss you senseless right there. the two of you had created enough drama for the day. instead he settles for kissing the inside of your wrist as he laces his fingers through yours, before lifting them up in the air, as if announcing his victory.

the entire gymnasium burst into cheers once again. this time it was asahi and kinoshita in tears while hinata and nishinoya jumped around in joy. takeda was grinning ear to ear when he gave you his congratulations, followed shortly by daichi and sugawara. and you could've sworn you saw the senior manager's eyes flit to the bald-headed boy, a blush coating her cheeks. but that was something for another day.

today, right now, you would celebrate. sure, the proposal had been far from ideal, but keishin was yours and you were his and you found yourself wishing it would be this way forever.

i do not know what this is but this scenario refused to leave my mind unless i wrote it down aaaa

sorry for the long ass ask!! please feel free to ignore i just wanted to share ❄️

....anon....I am SPEECHLESS!!!! what did do to deserve such a wonderful anon who drops such amazing things in my inbox 😭😭 (and while I may be slow to reply bc...life...ugh... don't worry anon, I would never ignore something like this!!!! god, nothing gets me more than dorky, lame, grumpy ukai who's such a sweetheart and so soft and I'm just DYING over this.

everyone be jealous of my amazing anon 💕

(also don't catch me going through all my ukai wips that haven't been touched in a year+. nope, definitely not doing that... 👀)

[nny11writes]

I didn't know you were taking prompts!!! But if you still are — “I’ll always be here for you.” for Obi-Wan and Ahsoka?

My dear, my inbox is ALWAYS open for prompts, I swear half my fics are prompt fics lol!

For anyone confused or wanting to play you can send in a Fluff Prompt or a Cuddling Prompt an Angst Prompt (I swear I reblogged a list of those and I know I posted fic for it, but now I can’t find the list????) or just something you’d like me to write! Sentence starters, fic titles, etc etc etc. :D

Also, forgive me, there’s a tiny bit of angst in this because suddenly it became canon to the Twilight Sith!Soka AU but it’s still mostly fluff!

Ahsoka cursed softly as she stared at the unmarked tea box. It wasn’t like her day hadn’t already been frustrating enough but to get so close to her daily allotted dose of poison only to cruelly have it ripped away from her...it was nearly the last straw. She tilted it to pour a few leaves out and hummed thoughtfully as she sniffed and poked at them, as if she was versed enough to know just from that what kind of tea it was. Brilliant, she’d just have to waste some to find out.

“Rooibos I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan chuckled lightly from behind her, a small wash of blue light poked around Ahsoka’s arms before he moved to her side. “This is not the tea you’re looking for.”

She slowly, carefully, put the lid back on and then proceeded to tap it against her forehead in a satisfying thwaping sound.

“Mmm, quite.” He chuckled.

It turned out that Anakin was not the only Force ghost alive. Alive? Ahsoka squinted at the tin again, frowning at her bony fingers as she took a deep breath. Existing maybe, arguably alive. But where Anakin had only had the bravery to face her that first time on his own terms, always deferring to her after she’d left Dagobah, Obi-Wan had no such compunction. 

Which was wildly hilarious if she thought about it too long. Anakin Skywalker being polite and overly formal while Obi-Wan Kenobi often just waltzed into her life without a care before vanishing again.

“This one here,” one of his incorporeal hands poked at another unmarked tin, “Strong enough to keep me up a whole day, and bitter enough that I wouldn’t waste it.” Somehow his eyes managed to twinkle through the glowing. “So it should suit you just perfectly.”

She snorted, one hand covering her eyes as she tried to not smile. Damn him. “I am not that bitter.”

His eyebrows shot towards his receding hairline as he stared her down.

Bastard. “...anymore,” she grumbled while switching to the other tin.

Inside of this one is a much smaller leaf with the occasional spot of gray among the brown. Like the whole hut, the tin was covered in dust but the inside is pristine. Obi-Wan may have given up many comforts while living on Tatooine, but apparently suffering stale tea was not one of them. A small sniff almost makes her gag, it’s overwhelming. Smoke and funk and stinky feet.

“You drank this?” Ahsoka asked, aghast on his behalf.

Obi-Wan smiled benevolently as he sat on the counter, shifting slowly as the memories came to him until there was no longer an old man but a young one instead. She will never say it, but Ahsoka likes when he changes to look like this. Like her best memories of him.

“I got tired of Cody stealing my kaf, so I got creative.”

The faintest smile tugged at her lips. “I see, and now decades later you’re trying to kill me.”

He tilted his head back to look at her literally down his nose. “You are the one who calls caffeine poison. I’m merely assisting.”

“Too much of it kills you and it developed so animals wouldn’t eat it,” Ahsoka shrugged but still went about preparing the pot, “therefore, poison.”

The spoon she was using to measure the leaves out passed through his armor covered hand before she dropped the remaining leaves back into the tin and sealed it. Apparently the limit for three cups of tea was pitiful.

“Oh don’t pout, you’ll thank me later.”

“I do not pout.” Ahsoka grumbled as she waited for the water to boil.

As they lapsed into a comfortable silence Obi-Wan slowly changed back to the age he was when he died. Slain by Vader she’d learned, almost backsliding as the rage and horror and pain washed over her. Her fury nearly boiled over at her grandmaster’s flippant, “Well I did tell Anakin not to do it, but he never did like listening to me.” She’d yelled and he’d left, and then a few weeks later he returned to point out an error in her paperwork.

And then a few days after that to mock her pitiful attempt at cooking. A few weeks after that he popped by to chat. Months later he scared the kriff out of her while she’d been on the fresher and he simply vanished into a mortified mist.

But more and more he came all the same. Usually to chatter idly with her, but sometimes to assist her.

Like now. 

Ahsoka had come back to Tatooine to gather whatever might be left of Obi-Wan’s corporeal life. It had mostly been as a distraction while Barriss was meeting with the boy. She carefully put the tin back down and made sure to not lose control of her grip and dent it. Barriss was off meeting with Skywalker and Ahsoka had known that trying to stay home would be foolish. So she came here instead to pack and clean and sell the place if possible. She wasn’t surprised that he would show himself here, it was his home after all.

All the same.

“Why are you here?” She finally asked, making sure to keep her eyes trained onto the pathetically slow burner.

There was a pause before he asked, voice soft and small. “Do you want me to leave?”

She snorted again and glared at him, “What did I just ask you?”

Obi-Wan shifted a bit. Hair growing and thinning, wrinkles coming and going, but his eyes always sharp and bright. “...two reasons. The first, well, simply put I had a promise to keep with you that I failed at rather spectacularly.”

At her confused look he paused again, before smiling warmly, “I did say I’d always be there for you.”

It was kind of funny that her first thought was about how she thought she’d lost the ability to blush, all the burst capillaries in her face over the years and training should’ve stopped something so obvious. But the way he said it, the genuineness she felt in the Force, she was flushed from head to toe. The wiggling feeling in her chest wasn’t discomfort though, no it was...goodness, it was warmth. She didn’t know how to explain it. The soft edges of the feeling and the energy behind it.

She returned his smile with as much of the strange gooey feeling as she could before looking back at the burner, of course since she’d been distracted the water was now boiling. She pulled it off the heat and waited until the bubbling settled to pour. “And the second reason?”

“Yes, the more pressing one.” He didn’t even give her a half second to tense up. “I missed you.”

“...you missed me?”

Obi-Wan frowned at her, befuddled before answering. “Of course.”

Like it was just that simple.

Ahsoka counted down the seconds until she could take the leaves out, reaching through the Force to him. Cradling the feeling of his presence as best she could with her own.

Maybe it was.

She poured her first cup and without allowing herself too much time to smell took a sip. It was as awful as it smelled. The second sip was no better. The third was somehow worse. But with the stimulant hitting her system Ahsoka found she didn’t care that much.

She still tilted her cup towards him. “I understand you want to spend more time with me, but killing me isn’t the way to do it old man.”

Obi-Wan laughed, fingers lacing together over his stomach.

The rest of her time there, he hovered by her side with a bland smile to cover his vicious barbs, and occasionally commented on her stimulant addiction with too much glee.

She was going to miss him when she left.

[kashimos-hajime]

honeyed tea | q.b.

Summary: So your best friend get’s fired and you’re left to find out if he’s still alive. So what if you kinda have feelings for him you’ve repressed since the Dark Ages? All you want is a good cup of tea and your best friend back. You end up getting both.

WARNINGS: FFH SPOILERS also Quentin is a dramatic bitch!!! CUTE AS HELL!!! Fluff!! Mentions of smut but it’s small. Swearing ‘cause I have a fat potty mouth but it’s still real cute!!!  Pairing: pre-FFH!Quentin x gender neutral!Reader Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Something cute for those who still miss him (me)

For fuck’s sake, you don’t understand what Quentin’s problem is with you. First he’s been ignoring you, next he doesn’t show up to work. You’re supposed to be his best friend for crying out loud, and although you know that Tony taking Quentin’s project right out of his hands and slapping his name on it has got to sting, you thought he’d at least call.

“Quentin, it’s me again. Where the hell are you? Ugh, look, it doesn’t matter. Can you at least call me back?” Hanging up, you put your phone back down on the desk before opening your emails. You need to catch up on some work, even if the other half of your team is gone.

Throwing a longing glance at Quentin’s empty office, you shrug off the feeling that spoils your stomach like sour milk and focus on your computer screen. Fingers dancing over the keyboard, you log in and hit Send/Receive, watching as the inbox refreshes.

Nothing important pops up. New project pitches, rescheduling of meeting, oh, and an email that’s highlighted as important. Meaning it has to be from one of two people on the list. Tony Stark or Pepper Potts.

Opening up the email, you spot Ms. Potts’ email address and continue to read.

The sour milk in your stomach curdles, and suddenly it makes all too much sense on why Quentin hasn’t been coming to work. It’s because he can’t. 

.

You knock on Quentin’s door, rubbing your palms together with a chocolate box pinched underneath your arm. You can hear shuffling on the other end so you know he’s at home and you sigh impatiently, knocking again.

“Quentin, open up! I know you’re in there.” No answer. Knocking more insistently, you rap your knuckles hard against wood. “Look! I know why you haven’t been answering my calls, even though we’re supposed to be best friends, and I quit. I quit my job so can you please open up so we can talk?”

Immediately, you get the response you’re looking for. The door swings open to reveal your beautiful best friend, the one and only Quentin Beck. More affectionately known as idiot, genius, honey, among other things. Currently, he looks like none of those, and mostly looks like utter garbage. His eyes are shadowed by dark half moons and his skin has lost its colour. His blue gaze normally alight with intelligence is muted, a fire gone out too soon.

“Hey, Quen.”

“Do not tell me you did what I think you did,” he whispers and you smile slyly. He takes your silence as your answer and his eyes widen substantially. “What were you thinking?” He takes you by the arms, not enough to hurt but enough to make you look at him and you glare back, unable to reply. “What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” you snap, breaking his grip on you easily. “You’re the one who got fired, and didn’t bother to call me. You’re the one who just ghosted his best friend!” You regret your harsh tone as soon as you say it because his expression falls. He looks so pitiful and hurt that your heart splits for him.

“That was your dream job,” he whispers and you hold up the box of chocolates you’d bought for him. You know chocolate is the way to this man’s heart, even though you already have a free pass to that zone, and he takes the box with wide eyes. 

A soft smile finds itself on your lips as your eyebrows knit together. Something hollow sits in your chest. “It was yours, too.”

It’s quiet as Quentin’s face nearly shatters but then he finds himself last minute, putting on some mask you wish he didn’t have. “You can’t be serious.”

“We come as a set, Quen. You think I’m gonna stand by and let Tony Stark steal your life’s work and then fire you?” You brush past him and shed your jacket, glancing around his apartment. His jaw is unhinged as he closes the door and you give him a fond smile. “Cat gotcha tongue?”

“You love working there. Stark was gonna give you a promotion and everything,” he says but you shrug and head to the kitchen, opening the fridge to find nothing but kombucha and half a loaf of bread.

“You seriously need to get this stocked, Quen. I’m only gonna be on this Earth for so long, and you can’t depend on your best friend for life.” You ignore his heated stare as he throws your chocolate on the kitchen island and leans against the marble, trying to comprehend your life choices. 

“How could you just throw away your life like that?” 

You turn on his electric kettle and pull the cabinet open to grab a mug. You could really go for a cup of tea.

“Are you even listening to me, honey?”

“I’m letting you have a moment,” you reply flatly, sending him a glance. “You need to get it out of your system.” Pulling out some chamomile tea you brought the last time you came over, you look for the honey you know he has somewhere. You love sweetening your tea with honey rather than sugar, which in part has lead to the ‘honey’ pet name the two of you have conjured up. The other part that contributes to it is the fact that Quentin finds you the sweetest person on Earth and likes to remind you often.

Finding it in its usual place, you set it on the countertop and wait for the water to boil, drumming your fingers against the smooth surface with a hum. Quentin’s still simmering but you’ve learnt to let him go through it over the years.

“Look, you’re gonna go back to Stark’s, and tell him it was a joke.”

“Quen,” you sigh, turning your head to see him storming around the island. He towers over you but you don’t care. He’s not frightening in the least. 

“You can’t seriously just let him take your life’s work, too.”

“Quen.”

“I mean, we can’t let Tony Stark just trample all over us—“

“Oh, my god. You’re such a theatrical bitch,” you mumble under your breath as the electrical kettle clicks. You grab the boiling water and pour yourself a full cup before pasting on a sunshine smile for Quentin. “You want any tea?”

He falls quiet.

He knows what the offering of tea means. It means ceasefire. No more arguing until the tea’s finished. Rule established after he realized your obsession with tea in senior year of highschool. A reminder that your friendship is more important than winning any argument. Also, an added bonus that it calms down fraught nerves.

His blue, blue eyes meet yours and his shoulders sink in defeat as you grab him a cup. Once you’ve steeped the tea leaves, you turn to him with puppy eyes. He sighs helplessly and grabs his cup, sipping it softly as you add honey to your own mug. Bringing the cup to your lips, you watch as Quentin retreats to the living space where he sits down on the couch and you realize how beaten up he is over this. He looks disastrous. There’s takeout boxes everywhere, and he’s still wearing days old clothes.

It’s kinda pathetic.

But also entirely dramatic, so you sit down beside your best friend, and make him look at you.

“Quen,” you begin, setting your mug on the glass coffee table. “You’re an idiot.” Your fingers tuck a tiny curl of hair away from his eyes and you trail your hand behind his ear, cupping his jaw. “You’re a genius, but an idiot. A helpless, dramatic, asinine, brilliant genius.”

“Please stop insulting me and complimenting me at the same time. You know it confuses me,” he mumbles and you kiss his temple. “He stole everything and called it his own. I poured everything into that project. Everything. God, I’m going to kill him. I swear, I’m going to kill Stark if it’s the last thing I do.” 

And at last, he begins to crumble in your hands. Bringing Quentin towards your body, you hold him to your chest as he curls up on himself. He runs ragged hands through his hair and you listen to his pointless rants, cheek pressed into his hair that smells like faded Dove gel and Old Spice, cedarwood and something they probably labelled as ‘Grizzly Bear Sweat’. Something stupidly masculine.

“I’m sorry, Quen,” you whisper and he looks up at you, torturously, with the blue blown out of his wide eyes. There’s only something dark, something sinister, and you run your knuckles down his face with a tight-lipped smile. “Tony is using it for good, though. You can be sure of it.”

“Good? Good? Who’s side are you on?”

“Quen—” You sigh helplessly. You hate this — arguing with him. He gets so fucking irrational it pisses you off, but you can understand the circumstances this time. He pulls away from you and your fingers snag on his sweater, making him look up from his mutterings. “Quen, look at me.”

“You throw away your life just to come here and shit on me, huh?”

“I didn’t throw away my life just because I quit my job.” Your tone leaves no room for argument. You want to see your best friend again, not this dark part you know lurks within him. His eyes lift and the spark returns to his eyes. You offer a hesitant smile.

He chews on his lower lip as you shuffle closer. You outstretch your arms and he huddles closer, allowing you to hold his head to your chest. His arms wrap loosely around your body and you rest your chin atop his head.

“That’s what you’ve been working for since… since forever, though,” he protests weakly. You stroke his head and kiss his hairline, chuckling. “You know it’s true. You work your ass off to get to where you want to be and you just throw away your dream ‘cause I got fired. It’s stupid, and—”

“My dream job is working with you, you thespian.” You place both hands flat against his face, drawing him back so he looks right at you. “You’re so dramatic. God, how am I even friends with you?”

“Seventh grade summer school for programming,” he mumbles and you laugh loudly. It’s so infectious it causes his own smile. “We were the only two who knew what we were doing.”

“Well, it was a rhetorical question,” you snort, kissing his forehead affectionately. He smiles against your palms, taking one of your wrists and pressing his lips against your skin. You melt, smile softening as warmth spreads from the point of contact to your chest. “I’d follow you anywhere, y'know?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Too late now, honey.” You reach for your tea but then Quentin’s hands cup your face, turning you back to him. His eyes bear into yours so intensely that your heart races up to your throat, your voice dying in a mere squeak. “Quen?”

“I love you,” he states and you roll your eyes, patting his cheek softly. You can ignore the fluttering in your chest if he shuts up right now. His thumbs graze over your cheeks and you chuckle nervously. Nope. No feelings. Just me and my best friend. My best friend and I. 

“Love you, too, honey.”

“No, seriously, I love you.”

“Yeah, I get it. I love you too.” You lean forward to give him a kiss between the eyes but he stops you, hands trailing down your neck to your shoulders and then to your waist. His blue eyes blown out wide, something dark and smokey lurks within. Utterly hypnotic and deep as oceans, you blink to save yourself from drowning as your throat runs dry. “Quen…” Your voice comes out almost like a moan and you clear your throat as heat rushes all around your body. You’re flaring up, and by his slight smile, he can tell. “Quen, we said this doesn’t work.”

“We said this wouldn’t work because we’re too focused on our careers and that hasn’t stopped us from hooking up before.”

“Oh, so this is a hookup now?” you whisper, gaze flickering from his eyes to his plush lips. Your hand on his cheek slides to curl around his neck, fingers playing with tiny hairs along the nape as you swallow what’s left of your inhibitions. If you have to sit here another moment with your hot best friend’s hands on your hips without any action, you might go crazy.

“Well, I wouldn’t say hookup. Too crass.”

“Oh, you’re so classy.” 

That sly smile you love crosses his lips, sitting right at home upon his bearded face. One of his hands wraps around your waist, hauling you onto him and you let out a tiny squeal as he twists to lean back against the couch. Your legs bracket his hips as your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself on.

“We said last time was the last time.”

“Well, it was the last time.”

“Then, why am I straddling you?”

“I’m comfortable,” he says with a shrug and you laugh, raking your hair back from your face as you look down upon him. “If you don’t wanna, I’m not gonna make you, honey. You know that.” His expression is so honest, so endearing, that your heart melts for him and you caress his cheek, the beard bristiling against your palm.

“I want to, but we gotta make it quick. I wanna drink my tea.”

“Deal.” Chuckling, you lean down to press a testing kiss against his mouth. He smiles against your lips, kissing back with equal fervor before you depart for another destination.

You kiss his cedarwood and smoke skin, trail up his neck, land on his lips, and taste the sparks of magic and mint and mountain air. His hands work at your top and you giggle when his fingers brush against your bare skin on your waist as he twists you around, pinning you to the couch.

“The tea,” you whisper against his mouth but then his lips leave yours and you whine impatiently. He leaves an open-mouthed, sloppy trail of kisses down your neck as you kick your pants off.

“Stop thinking about the tea,” he murmurs, exasperated, and you laugh, threading your fingers through rich dark hair. The warmth of him against your collarbone makes you shiver and sooner rather than later, he makes you forget all about the tea.

.

The tea goes cold. 

Your mourn its loss by sourly pouting at your best friend from his bed from where he stands in his bathroom. He makes it up to you by peeling the sheets away from your body, and pressing minty kisses onto every inch of you, but it isn’t enough.

He sighs in defeat and goes to make you a new cup of tea.

“What kind?” he calls and you smile sweetly at him through the doorway of his flat — your shared flat now, you suppose. Some time between midnight and daybreak, on linen sheets and silk pillowcases, you’d decided. It should’ve been a decision made long ago, but it doesn’t matter how long it takes to get to the destination, just that you reach it, right?

“Earl grey, honey, thank you!”

He brings you a cup of tea, a kiss, and a promise that he loves you more than best friends do. You laugh, whisper that you love him too, and smile at the melting honey in your tea.

[emospritelet]

Prompt: Dark Heart AU where Belle calls Gold and tells him she's pregnant

I knew I had this prompt somewhere! Okay so this has been sitting in my inbox since June 2018. Imagine the past timeline in the original story deviating around chapter 25 into this one. Hopefully that means they’ll sort their crap out more quickly.

Please send me a prompt from this list (I already have prompts 7, 13, 27, 31, 48 and 78) or this list (I have prompts 8, 11, 14, 22, 24, 39 and 45) 

[AO3 link]

-

Storybrooke in March was gloomy and cold, the sky iron-grey and oppressive with snow giving way to sleet and drizzle, and the sidewalks just icy enough to be treacherous underfoot. It meant that few people ventured out unless they were working, or grocery-shopping. It also meant that no one was likely to come to the pawn shop unless they were particularly punctual with rent payments. That suited Alexander Gold just fine; he wasn’t in the mood for company. It was unlikely that he ever would be. And so he spent his days holed up in the back room of the shop, cleaning and restoring antiques with meticulous care. Anything to keep his mind from present pain and past regrets.

The heavy ticking of clocks was drifting through from the shop as he sat there, hunched over his workbench like a hideous imp concocting an evil spell. The silver music box sitting on a square of chamois leather was a new acquisition, bought as a job lot in an estate sale and pulled from the bottom of a box of mismatched crockery, the newspaper around it showing a date of forty-odd years ago. It must have lain unwanted and unloved for decades, awaiting the attention of one who could see its value. He pressed a gentle fingertip against the dusky pink velvet inside, stroking softly. It was tarnished and broken, but he could see the beauty there, waiting to be revealed with time and tender touches. Once cleaned up and cared for, it would be a breathtaking piece.

He straightened up, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up before using his sleeve garters to push the black silk shirt further up his wrists and out of the way. The leather apron hanging by the bench went on next, hands tying it behind as he studied the music box, mentally running through his plan for the restoration. The buzz of the phone in his pocket made him frown, and he stepped back on one foot and fished it out, brows lowering at an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” he said.

Silence.

“Hello?” he repeated, more tersely.

Nothing. Gold’s frown deepened, and he checked the number. No one he knew. He opened his mouth to speak again, and there was a click as the line cut out, making him shrug. Probably one of those stupid robot calls trying to sell him legal services. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, sitting back down and gently pulling the music box towards him.

He barely noticed the day passing, caught up in the delicate nature of his task, long steel tweezers gently prising apart the workings to remove a broken screw and a damaged cog that had been preventing the mechanism from turning. He smiled to himself as the cog came loose, lifting it gently aside and laying it on the chamois. Looking it over with an eyeglass, he could see where three of the teeth bent inwards, and where one had broken off completely. It would take time and patience to fix, and his smile widened. This was turning into exactly the sort of project he had hoped for.

By six p.m. it was already dusk, and Gold locked up his shop, walking to his car with his usual steady, limping stride. The wind was trying to get through his overcoat, and he shivered a little, pushing his chin down into his collar. The cold seeped into his leg, too, the old injury to his ankle causing him enough agony to steal his rest and sap his strength and patience. He supposed it was a reminder of what little humanity he had left, a painful shard of reality cutting through the numbing cloak of bitterness he wrapped around himself. At least he hadn’t completely forgotten how to feel.

His phone buzzed again, making him roll his eyes, but he tugged at the fingers of his leather glove with his teeth, stuffing the glove in his pocket and retrieving the phone before swiping the screen to answer it.

“Hello?” he said.

Silence. Gold frowned, glancing at the screen as he reached the Cadillac. An unfamiliar number, and one which he thought had called earlier that day.

“Hello?” he said impatiently. “Is someone there?”

Nothing but a doleful click as the caller hung up. He growled under his breath, shoving the phone back in his pocket and wrenching at the car door. Either a telemarketer or some local kids deciding it would be fun to prank him. Either way, he wasn’t in the mood. He drove home, the relative calm he had experienced in his shop evaporating and leaving him as hollow and cold as he had been when he woke up that morning.

He passed the florist’s shop on the way, the usual buckets of bright blooms locked inside, the lights off and the shutters down. Moe French never stayed open past five-thirty. Not since Belle had left town. His jaw clenched as a memory of her pushed its way into his mind. Beautiful blue eyes smiling up at him, dark hair spread out on his pillows. Soft red lips begging to be kissed. The memory changed, her sweet, inviting smile turning into something flat and emotionless, her eyes as cold and hard as a frozen lake as she mouthed the words that came to him over and over as he lay sleepless in the dark of night. You’re a disappointment. And I wish I’d never met you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, snapping them open again as he remembered he was supposed to be keeping an eye on the road. The sky was almost fully dark now, Rain had begun to fall, the front end of a storm blowing up from the south. He wondered if it had passed through Boston. If it had passed over Belle.

The rain was just turning to sleet as he pulled into his driveway, and he made his way carefully up the steps and into the house, breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth rolled over him. The house was silent but for the ticking of clocks, and he took off his coat and hurried to the lounge to put on some music. It was strange how the house was too quiet now. Once he would have revelled in the fact that he would be alone and undisturbed, able to concentrate on a good book and an excellent glass of wine and be assured of no visitors to disturb his peace. When had that changed? When had solitude become loneliness?

Realising that he knew the answer to that question, right down to the hour, he decided to distract himself with a glass of wine and the preparation of dinner. After inspecting the contents of his fridge and discounting a number of ideas, he took some mushrooms, along with a carton of cream, and began peeling some garlic. The buzzing of his phone made him sigh, and he dropped the garlic cloves and wiped his fingers on his apron before pulling the phone from his pocket. His eyes narrowed at the number on the screen.

“Hello?”

Yet again, there was silence. Gold was losing patience.

“Hello?” he snapped.

More silence, and he sighed in frustration.

“Look, who is this?” he demanded. “Might I say that this silent treatment is extremely tedious? Any stalker worth their salt would at least try some fucking heavy breathing, or something.”

There was a whisper of sound then, a noise so small and brief he wasn’t sure he had heard it. A muffled noise, as though someone had put a hand over their own mouth. He licked his lips, his heart thumping as something that was equal parts hope and terror flared inside him.

“Belle?”

He breathed her name, barely audible as it ghosted from his lips, not believing she would answer. There had been all too many dreams in which she had returned, after all. Too many nights when he had rewritten their last meeting in his head, when he had not pushed her away like the coward he was, when he had not broken her heart along with his own.

There was no further sound on the end of the line, and his eyes closed, bitter disappointment flooding through him. Of course it isn’t her. Why would it be her? You wanted her to leave and not return, and you were as vicious as you could be in order to make that happen. What the fuck did you expect?

He opened his eyes, swallowing down a brief, tearing spike of pain and letting cold flood through him once more, numbing him from within. It was probably just kids messing around. The sound of a breath catching, as though the caller was trying not to laugh, made his eyes narrow.

“I’ve made a note of the number that comes up on my phone,” he said coldly. “I don’t know why the hell you’re calling me, but—”

“I had to!”

Her voice, high and frightened, made his mouth fall open.

“Belle?” he whispered. A sob burst from her and was quickly stifled. “Belle, is that you?”

“Yes!”

The word was tiny, squeaked out and cut off, as though she was afraid of him. Afraid of his reaction. He licked his lips, his heart racing.

“Are you - are you in trouble?”

She laughed at that, but there was no mirth in the sound, only a high-pitched sort of desperation.

“I guess that’s one way of putting it,” she said, her voice wobbling. “God, I don’t even know why I’m calling you. It’s not like you care, you made that very clear!”

“Then why are you calling?” he asked, trying for coldness again. “I was pretty sure we’d said everything there was to say.”

“God, you’re such a bastard!” she wept. “Why did this have to happen to me? Why did it happen with you?”

“Why did what happen?” he snapped.

“I’m pregnant!” she shouted.

It was as though someone had punched him. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, his heart a heavy, solid ball of pain in the middle of his chest.

“What?” he whispered, and she began crying again.

“I’m pregnant,” she whimpered.

Gold sat down on one of the kitchen chairs with a thump. Music was still playing in the lounge, the sound of strings and woodwinds drifting through, their calming strains in direct contrast to the thumping of his heart and the ringing in his ears.

“It’s been months,” he said numbly.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking, unsteady. “The baby’s due on May fifth.”

His mind did a hurried calculation from their last encounter. From the time he had fucked her in his shop with all the rage and passion he could muster. From the time she had destroyed him with cutting words and utter disdain. He swallowed hard, his throat sticking, dry and painful.

“And you’re sure it’s mine, are you?”

There was a moment of tense, awful silence. She had stopped crying.

“How dare you,” she said coldly, and hung up.

His jaw tightened, and he glared at the phone screen, bringing up the call history to find her number and dialling it. The phone rang, but went to voicemail, and he felt his nostrils flare. He tried twice more, but wherever Belle was, she wasn’t picking up. Not for him, anyway. He sent a text message, a curt one-liner asking her to call, and ran a hand over his face, thinking hard. Pregnant. She’s pregnant. What the hell are you gonna do now, you fucking idiot?

“Fuck!” he growled, slamming a fist into his thigh and relishing the brief pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It had been seven months since they had broken up, seven months in which he had retreated into the darkness, buried himself in work and tried not to think about what he had lost. She had left for college in Boston, left with a handsome young man in a shining red sports car, and he had assumed that would be the last he saw of her. Oh, he had grown nervous around Christmas time, thinking that perhaps she would return to visit her father, and had avoided the florist’s shop as much as he could, dreading the prospect of seeing her on the arm of her boyfriend, happy and radiant and out of his reach. To his knowledge, though, she had not come. He hadn’t had the courage to question her father about it when he came to pay the rent, but Moe French had nonetheless let slip some snide comment about how happy she was with her new lover. He had tried not to let the words pierce his soul. It was what he had wanted, after all. It was what she deserved.

Pushing to his feet, he retrieved his glass of wine and abandoned the cooking, heading for his study and turning on his computer. He doubted she would say the baby was his without being sure of it, but he needed certainty. He had been burned before, had failed to claim what was his with devastating results, and he would never make the same mistake again. There was no way he would let this child slip through his fingers, which meant that he would need to see Belle again. It meant that he would have to swallow what remained of his pride and his shattered heart and build a bridge between them, however difficult that might be. It meant a trip to Boston.

[tae-tae-drives-me-kray]

Addicted Jin x OC x Secret Member Au

Addicted intro

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<< Part 1 | Part 2>>

Locking the screen Lina turns her attention back to the loads of paperwork she had to get through before the afternoon meeting. Glancing at the black screen once more she picks her phone just to see if he even glanced at the message. "Typical" she murmured. What did expect from him of all people? He was ghosting her plain and simple.

Hearing footsteps approaching she stands to greet her boss. Head bowing slightly as he glided past her not even muttering a good morning. She starts to sit down once the door closes but the red light on the intercom flashes signaling that her presence is requested before her butt could touch the seat.

Gathering up the paperwork from the morning meeting and her phone. she makes her way to face the man who has been ignoring her the last few months. Stopping short of the door she takes deep breath and plasters on a smile so big that pageant queens would envy before knocking and letting herself in.

He was sitting at the Grand mahogany desk. Paperwork piled neatly on each end. He stands and loosen up his tie before removing his suit jacket hanging it on the back of his chair. He makes his way to the window looking out into the distance. Watching the hoard of people commuting to work.

His face was serene but she could always tell when something was bothering him. She wanted to ask but thought against it. He made it clear that he wanted to keep things professional so that's exactly what she will do.

"Good Morning Mr. Kim"she greeted him cheerfully while walking towards his desk. "I have the notes from the meeting this morning and a rundown of your agenda for today." She said setting the paperwork on his desk and stepping back a few steps.

Taking a minute he turns and makes his way towards her. In an instant his lips are on hers and his hands roaming her body. Lina melted into him her head was screaming to get a grip but her body had been craving this man. She wanted him and as much as Seokjin tried to fight it he needed her.

It took ever fiber in his being to not bend her over that desk. Grip her hips and ram his cock into her until office is filled with her moans and her sweet voice begging him not to stop.

Breaking the kiss he pulls her into a hug holding on her so tight. She allowed him to placing her arms loosley around his waist and placing her head on his chest. "This feels like home" Jin thought rubbing Lina's back. Closing his eyes to breathe in her scent he places a kiss on the crown of her head before a small smile appears on his face. "I missed you" he confessed " So fucking much Lina."

Kim Seokjin was the C.E.O of and heir to his families multimillion dollar company. He felt the weight of responsibility since he could remember. It was early on that he understood just how powerful his family name was.

Everyone wanted something from him and he learned the hard way to never trust anyone. He had been used by so called friends and had his fair share of heartbreaks when he would yet again catch his "girlfriend" either stealing, cheating or using his name for popularity.

When he had met Lina the night before unbeknownst to them both she was set to start as his secretary. He had only be looking for a one and done type set up however she had an allure to her that quickly drew him in. Maybe it was the fullness of her figure or her caramel sunkissed skin.

He was hooked on her and it frightened him. So he did the only thing he could think of cut it off and keep it strictly business.

So why is it that he found himself arms wrapped around her and breathing in her scent like a junkie getting the next fix. He loved her and it didn't matter in this moment because he knew he needed her so he will allow this small moment of weakness. Lina was his and she would always be there for him.

Well so he thought.

A/N: so I wrote a thing hahaha... I really hope you like it. The title is a work in progress as nothing I come up with fits the story well... If you have any suggestions please feel free to hit my ask box or inbox and share your thoughts and ideas.