#tomato-patch drabble

[the-tomato-patch]

Fluffyfebruary - Prompt 1: Snow

Fandom: SW:TOR ( Star War: The Old Republic )

Pairing: GN! Reader x Lord Scourge

Written for: @fluffyfebruary

Tags: Fluff without plot, potential ooc, cloak sharing?

You weren't aware that it snowed on Odesson. Granted it was the first year you were actually spending a proper winter here since joining the Alliance, but to be fair, your duties hadn't required you to give this world much attention. There hadn't been the slightest white dusting in your line of sight since your arrival, and maybe not for years before that either. Who knew. Who could possibly recall the last time it snowed on Odesson— the answer not being you. What with one catastrophe to the next, you couldn't have afforded the time to wonder. And evidently, neither could the Alliance, as the kriffing heat was busted too.

Today heavy clouds carried fat flakes of snow which fell upon the planet and collected where it lay. While Odesson could handle a light sprinkle, the lack of cold weather gear or warm clothes to bundle in left you feeling less prepared to meet it than normal. Like a protective shell, you wrapped your hands inside the excess material of your sleeves around your wrists. You shivered while pulling the collar higher up the sides of your neck and drew the hood over your head in the hope it would trap more heat.

The meager ensemble was the most suitable clothing you could dig out of your closet, though. And it would be some time before you could seek other, more sufficient outfits to get yourself through the rest of the season. Kriff it all, you might be in for an unfortunate, freezing week or three. It's not like you didn't deserve such hardships in the least, but did it have to be so blasted cold?

As you marched from the exterior of the base, your head was down in hopes the additional fabric over your face could block the bitter gusts which swept the open corridor. The icy needles were strong enough to make tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as they stung into your cheeks. Your breath danced out of your mouth and nose in a cloud of white fog.

"Take my cloak." A shadow stepped into your path, startling your gaze to lift, "You're cold."

You gawked, still reeling at his offer, when the dark lord returned your stare. His intense red pupils seemed to search your very soul. That and he'd spoken to you of his own accord— surely a strange day. Perhaps, a trick. No, it has to be. Still, you nodded an acceptance as the Sith stood tall and began to remove the swath of his cloak from his broad shoulders. He was so quick in response, a surprised gasp tumbled out of you when a newfound heat hit your chest in the most delightful way.

The shock of warmth rushed across your body, banishing some of the frost which clung to your bones. You gulped, reminded then how easily Lord Scourge was capable of killing. You knew the former emperor's Wrath had no ill intentions now, but his imposing figure was enough to make a chill run up the length of your spine. "I know the Alliance's current facilities are somewhat subpar—" he drew the edges of his black cloak around your shoulders a little tighter— "but perhaps, we can fix that."

With the air of superiority Scourge typically held, and the dark power of a Sith always laced in his veins, it had taken a moment to understand just how Lord Scourge wasn't completely immune to the harsh winds himself. Now, without his cloak, the Sith wore the thin, yet heavy weight, of his armor. In all the time you'd known Lord Scourge, he appeared unperturbed by many things and never acknowledged such discomforts or weaknesses. Had he merely pushed them aside? Or was the fact that this is something which couldn't be avoided making the thought all the more urgent in your mind.

Either way, the fact that he'd seen the cold rattle you so easily and had willingly removed the protective cover he could've kept over his own body, left you grateful.

You did the best you could not to take notice of his unusual softness. Though you had come to be familiar with this side of him as well since befriending him, the smallest parts of him were always easier to pick up on than others. Maybe that's why he doesn't share his kindnesses and generous moods so openly. Everyone's got to start somewhere, and it could prove awkward and clumsy if he went about it in full. As awkward and clumsy as he once made his introductions, for sure. And he already felt uncomfortable at times. But how lovely and endearing it was to learn a part of his heart you never thought would reveal itself.

"Thank you, Scourge," you said with an appreciative smile in place.

The glum attitude had suddenly shed itself, leaving a newfound appreciation in its place. You swallowed another cold shudder and hoped the deep hood of his cloak would do its job and hide some of your blushing.

It may or may not. It couldn't be avoided— not the affection.

"It is nothing," the Sith uttered with a curt bow of his head.

You barely managed to follow his step, Scourge didn't slow his stride and even quickened it. Once you had fallen into stride, it didn't take long for your gait to catch up with his, though the angle of his pace took you somewhere else entirely, forcing you to study the length of his arm. You ran a slow eye along his sinewed, nearly perfect build. When a pang of self-consciousness seized your confidence, you lifted the line of your sights and struggled to be free of the temptation to gaze his way.

Then Scourge would pass a subtle glance at you. It must have been the lingering shivers from the cold because every time you glanced his way, it was like lightning shooting straight up the length of your spine.

Stars. Stop it, he's only offering you a cloak.

Scourge looked back again to offer you a curious eye. His attention shifted your way, and when he opened his mouth to speak, a ping on his holocomm went off.

You never got the chance to discover his intentions, or even why he was interested to ask, the ring of his holocomm brought all those answers to a crashing halt. With a displeased hum, Scourge took the time to answer, turning a way for privacy. When the holo communication finally ended, a fresh sigh had the Sith returning his gaze to you, but when the inevitable happened, Scourge's footsteps also came to a standstill.

"I'm needed. You would do best to hurry and remain indoors," the Sith stated. He tilted his head as the contemplation of words danced behind his eyes. But they remained unsaid. You reached around to take the cloak from your shoulders, but his hand paused your efforts to return it. "Do not forget to hold onto my cloak," Scourge muttered.

The sith stepped aside to create a wider gap between the two of you. His ruby eyes latched onto your person. Scourge gave you an amiable, comforting nod. You smiled a faint grin in kind. "Keep warm."

"You, too," you muttered. Scourge bowed his head and turned, striding away.

[pupkashi]

gojo satoru masterlist !

* fluff ^ angst

— all for my angel boy <3

main masterlist // gojo masterlist cont.

* boyfriend!gojo hcs

* rainy evenings

in which gojo gets himself caught in the rain

* christmas cuddles

gojo finds his place in the universe

* arcades

arcades are scams, he knows, but dammit gojo will win you that prize

* flowers

gojo is a self-certified flower enthusiast

* periods

gojo is an angel on earth when you get your period

* sugar rush ride

gojo loves sugar, and you’re too sweet to resist

* priorities

gojo has his priorities straight: you’ll always be the most important

* rough day

gojo will always cheer you up after a rough day

* mornings

satoru loves mornings with you

* egg hunting

gojo’s never been easter egg hunting, you decide it’s time for the famous bunny to pay him a visit

* sunday love

sundays with gojo are slow and sweet

* grocery shopping headcanons

*^ jealousy, jealousy

the worst part of dating gojo? how often he gets hit on

* movie night

satoru gojo has developed a new weakness: romcoms

* migraine

gojo helps ease the pain of your migraine

* picnics

in which mother nature decides picnics are no good without a little rain

* after like

you and satoru say the L word

* my you

gojo learns he loves stargazing

* titles

in which gojo realizes you truly see him

* going to an observatory

* costume parties

* a scenic drive with him

* time

gojo will always make sure you’re taken care of

*^ hugs

“can i hug you? you look like you could do with it”

* sweet nothing

gojo always finds himself running home to you

* clean linen

gojo’s second favorite smell is your laundry detergent

* untitled

the last person you expect to patch you up is gojo satoru, so why are you knocking on his door?

* azul

when you think of love, you think of the color blue

* oranges

gojo knows how to peel oranges

* pretty boy

gojo has to let you know how much you mean to him

* sick

gojo’s favorite hobby is being your personal nurse

* scrapbooks

satoru isn’t a sentimental person, until he is

*^ nightmares

satoru has nightmares, but also long as you’re by his side he knows he’ll be okay

* easy

loving is easy when it’s gojo satoru

*^ scars

gojo learns to love the scars on his body

*^ arguments

arguments are never nice, but at least they help you grow

* birthmarks

even in his past lives, satoru was always loved

* pizza time!

or the one time satoru tries to make pizza from scratch and is effectively banned from ever trying again

* mistletoe-go

satoru comes up with a new Christmas tradition

* new year, new superstition

whoever said wearing red on new years brought love was onto something

* kisses

satoru always makes sure your lips are well kissed

* volví a nacer

gojo feels life start anew now that you’re by his side

* f1 racer!satoru hc’s

* to love is to linger

* cereal, soup and other deep questions

* “what do you think you’d be doing if we never met?”

* “you’re bleeding!” “I was trying to cut the tomatoes!”

* “i have a meeting in an hour! get out of the bathroom!”

* “you’re my everything”

* "what do you mean you've never gone trick-or-treating?!"

* going to the fair hcs

* collegebf!satoru

* study buddy!satoru

* birthday special <3

* satoru loves yapping [to you]

* drabble #1

* drabble #2

* drabble #3

* drabble #4

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* drabble #6

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* drabble #43

[arcane-vagabond]

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Three

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Jake flirting, suggestive language, talk of theft, talk of hangings. I think that's it.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I know y'all have been begging for it, so here you go! Just a reminder to everyone that my 100 follower celebration is going on through the rest of the weekend, which means my ask box is open for requests of drabbles or just to talk about those fine af Top Gun men! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

If there was one thing you absolutely hated, it was the heat. You hated how it made you sweat. You hated how it made everything stick to you. Most of all, you hated how you could never seem to find any relief. You mulled over all of this as you stabbed into the dirt beneath your fingers, making a hole just big enough to plant your newly acquired seeds. Hondo had been excited to show you the new variety he had gotten in the previous morning, and you had eagerly purchased multiple packs.

Now, you were covered in dirt, sweat dripping down your brow. You leaned back, tilting your head towards the sky as you wiped your arm across your forehead. Your temples pounded from the exertion, and you were sure most of your hair had come out of the bun you had secured it in that morning.

Your mother had loved gardening, and she would always drag you outside to the small patch of land your father had set aside to do so. She taught you the different names of the flowers she kept and how to tend to the different vegetables.

“They’re just like people, Scout,” she had said with a smile, plucking a ripened tomato from the vine in front of her. She had handed it to you to put in the basket, and you had done so obediently. “Every single plant has different needs, and if those needs aren’t met, the plant can’t flourish.”

You hadn’t understood what she had meant by that, and you still weren’t sure you did as you knelt on the ground. Sure, different species of plants needed different amounts of things like water or sunlight, but two tomato plants should be treated the exact same way in order to grow. You weren’t much of a gardener, however, but you had taken it upon yourself to continue to do it after she had passed. The thought of nothing growing when your mother had always worked so hard to make sure life was ever plentiful caused a pain in your chest and tears to prickle behind your eyes.

A low whistle caught you off guard, and you jumped. Snapping your head to the far side of the fence that surrounded your tiny garden, was none other than Jake Seresin.

“Well, aren’t you a vision?” He drawled, looking you up and down. You felt a different kind of heat rise on your cheeks as you fixed him with a scowl.

“What do you want, Jake?”

He pushed off from the side of the fence and casually strolled to where you had left the gate propped open. You moved to stand, attempting to brush the dirt off of your skirt in the process.

“Just thought I’d come and see how my best girl was doin’ today,” he said, shooting you a wink. Your lips pursed as you took him in.

“I’m not your girl,” you said finally, taking in the stubble that was starting to grow on his chin. “You need to shave.”

Jake hummed as you pushed past him and towards the barn. “You don’t like it? Martha told me last night while we were down at the saloon that she thought I should grow it out. Said it would make me look rugged.”

“Then grow it out,” you grumbled. “I really don’t care either way.”

Jake came up to your side and fixed you with a mirthful stare. “You don’t have an opinion at all on it?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s strange,” he chuckled. “Most girls have an opinion one way or the other. The ones who like their men clean shaven like it ‘cause it gives their men a nice, boy next door kind of charm that’s hard to resist. The ones who like a little growth, though…”

You opened the door to the barn, but Jake stepped in front of you, halting your movement. A sly grin had broken out on his face, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He was so close, you could smell the mix of smoke and and fresh linen on his clothes. It was an oddly comforting smell. His lips brushed against your ear and you felt a shudder run up your spine as he said, “they like how it feels against their skin when we’re alone.”

A beat of silence passed between you two before Jake pulled away from you slowly, looking at you with an amused smirk. You scowled up at him before pushing past him and into the barn.

“You’re insufferable,” you hissed, moving towards the ladder to the second floor where you kept the hay.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, darlin’,” he laughed as you began to climb the ladder. You looked over at him with a sour look, and he huffed another laugh. “I was talkin’ about whether or not you like your men clean shaven, sweetheart.”

“I really haven’t, Mr. Seresin,” you said as you hoisted yourself up onto the ground of the second floor. Jake followed you up the ladder and stopped when he saw you attempting to pick up a rather large bale of hay. He rushed to your side, snatching it from your hands and walking over to the edge of the floor.

“I don’t need your help,” you protested. Jake threw the hay down onto the first floor with a loud thump and turned back to look at you with a scowl of his own.

“Yeah, well,” he started, already moving to grab another bale, “you’re getting it.”

You huffed but allowed him to throw down the second bale. He turned to you as if to ask if he needed to get another one, and you shook your head. He allowed you to move down the ladder first before following suit, and once you two were on the ground floor, you moved to start dispersing the hay amongst the stables for the horses. You heard Jake scoff behind you, and before you could even touch the hay, you felt a pair of hands land on your waist.

“Jake!” You screeched as he picked you up. Turning with you in his arms, he sat you down on the workbench that had been shoved against one of empty stable doors. You moved to stand back up, but Jake shoved you down gently by your shoulders.

“Stay,” he commanded, giving you a look that left no room for argument. You huffed, but complied, watching him as he began to work.

“Does your brother know you’re doing all of this?” He grumbled.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course he does.”

“He hasn’t thought to hire any ranch hands?”

“He’s working on that part,” you mumbled. “Besides, it’s not like there’s much to do around here yet, and I am more than capable of doing it all for the time being.”

“Right,” Jake responded sardonically. “And when you keel over from exhaustion, then what?”

“That won’t happen.”

“Sure it won’t,” he said, throwing the last bit of hay into the final stall. He dusted his hands off and walked over to stand back in front of you. Placing his hands on either side of you, he leaned in so that his warm breath ghosted over your face. A smirk tugged on his lips. “So, do I get some kind of reward for helping you out today?”

“What is it you want?” You asked suspiciously, eyes flickering down to his lips momentarily.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, thumb stroking over the back of your hand where it rested on the table. He leaned in even closer. “I can think of a few things.”

“Don’t,” you said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jake moved away only slightly. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

“And what kind of idea would that be, pretty girl?” He smirked.

“The kind that can ruin my reputation.”

Jake scoffed out a laugh, and you frowned. “I’m serious, Jake. A woman’s reputation is all she has in this world.”

Jake studied you for a second. “I think you have more to offer this world than just your reputation, sweet girl.”

“Yes, well,” you stumbled, feeling your cheeks warm yet again from the intensity of his gaze. “You would be one of the few people to think so.”

“That’s a cryin’ shame,” he murmured, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, almost cupping your cheek as he stared at you. He really was so unfairly handsome.

“You should go,” you whispered, eyes darting between his own.

Jake stroked your cheek slowly. “Yeah? You sure you don’t want me to stay.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, almost breathlessly. Clearing your throat and shaking your head in an attempt to clear it, you said more firmly, “I mean, yes. I need to get ready for dinner at Maverick’s tonight.”

Jake gave one last stroke of his thumb to your cheek before pulling away completely. He fixed you with a mischievous grin. “Need any help getting ready?”

“Jake.”

“I’m only teasin’, pretty girl,” he laughed, already moving to leave the barn. Looking over his shoulder and back at you, he gave you one last wink. “Don’t be a stranger, Scout.”

Maverick and Penny’s home was humble, but no less spacious than your own. Maverick was a kind man with an air of assuredness about him that put any of your worries about your brother’s ranch at ease.

“I’ll help him every step of the way, y/n,” he said with a smile.

“Please, Maverick,” you had smiled back, “call me Scout.”

Two other men had joined your group for dinner that night - Sheriff Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and U.S. Marshal Beau “Cyclone” Simpson. Sheriff Kazansky was a quiet man, and you learned that he and Maverick had a friendship that spanned back decades.

“I wasn’t going to let this scoundrel found a town without someone there to make sure it didn’t all go to hell,” the sheriff had laughed. Maverick had rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at his old friend.

“I was a bit of a wild card back in those days,” he admitted.

“‘A bit’ is the understatement of the century,” laughed Kazansky before launching into a story about the time Maverick had taken it upon himself to go bull riding.

“So,” Penny had started once the laughter had died down. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company tonight, Mr. Simpson?”

The marshal finished chewing his food before answering. “Well, ma’am. I’ve been tasked with rounding up a group of wanted outlaws that have started making a name for themselves out here in the western territories.”

“Oh?” Maverick questioned, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead.

“Yes,” Simpson continued. “A group calling themselves “the Daggers,” in fact.”

You felt your blood run cold, and you shook your head at the odd sensation. Taking a steadying breath, you spoke up. “The Daggers, marshal?”

“Yes, miss. They’ve stirred up quite the ruckus over the past couple of years. They robbed a bank about a hundred miles north of here just a few months ago.”

“Really?” You breathed, setting your fork down. Simpson offered you a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, miss,” he said. “We’ll have in custody in no time.”

“So, what brings you here to our small town?” prodded Kazansky, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, the word is that this town is where they like to come and set up shop. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“If I did,” the sheriff smirked, “you’d be the first to know.”

“What do you plan on doing when you catch them?” You asked.

“We’re going to hang’em,” Simpson answered plainly. Your heart stopped, and you felt your eyes grow wide before you could stop them. You heard Penny’s breath catch and Maverick became eerily still as you all stared at the marshal.

Mr. Simpson, to his credit, seemed to grow uncomfortable at the sudden change in atmosphere. With a clear of his throat, the marshal stood and offered Penny a smile. “This was a mighty fine meal, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’ve got some work I need to be getting back to.”

“Of course,” Penny smiled. With a nod to the table, Beau Simpson turned and walked out of the house.

Maverick groaned, resting his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill those kids.”

“Pete,” Penny started, but he shook his head.

“I can’t keep bailing them out, Penny. I don’t know how many more favors I can call in.”

“I might have a few,” grumbled Kazansky. “But nothin’ I can guarantee.”

You gulped. “How many times have you had to rescue them?”

Maverick bit out a humorless laugh as Kazansky grimaced next to him.

“Enough times to where that’s how Jake earned the nickname ‘Hangman,’” Maverick stated, casting you a solemn look. You felt the color drain from your face. You weren’t sure why this whole situation made you feel sick. Perhaps it was due to the mentions of the gallows. You had seen hangings before, and you never understood the amusement people got from going to watch them. You found them horrible, feeling nauseous at the memories of the bodies as they writhed in the air.

“Are you alright, Scout?” Penny asked quietly, noticing the change in your demeanor. You took a deep breath and offered her a small smile.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you replied, turning to look back at Maverick who continued talking.

“That boy has been on the business end of a rope more times than I can count. I keep tellin’ him to keep his nose out of where it doesn’t belong, but does he listen to me?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“Maybe he just needs something to help keep him grounded and out of trouble,” Benjamin offered.

“Something,” Penny hummed, casting you a knowing glance, “or someone?”

Sheriff Kazansky let out a booming laugh as Maverick chuckled at his wife’s suggestion. “The day Jake Seresin hangs up his womanizing ways is the day I eat my hat,” he said, tone filled with mirth. Penny smiled knowingly.

“Would you like it stewed or fried, honey?”

“I’ll let the chef decide,” Maverick had scoffed. Penny looked like she was going to say something else, but you cut her off.

“Maverick, I wanted to talk to you about the children in this town.”

“What about’em?” He smiled.

“Well,” you started, “I noticed that they seem to be running around town all hours of the day. Shouldn’t they be in school?”

Maverick grimaced. “Yes, they should, but unfortunately we don’t have a schoolhouse, and we don’t have anyone who knows the first thing about teaching.”

“I see,” you murmured. Maverick offered you another smile.

“I promise, we’re working on it. Have you thought about teaching?”

“Goodness, no,” you laughed with a shake of your head. “I don’t think I’d have the patience for it.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied. “Well, I’ll guess we’ll keep lookin’ then.”

The rest of dinner passed by quickly, and before you knew it, both you and Benjamin were bidding farewell to the older couple.

“Come by anytime, you hear?” Penny called after you as you made your way home. Benjamin wished you a good night before retiring to his room, and for the first time that evening, you were left alone with your thoughts. You washed your face in the basin you kept in your room before quickly changing into your night dress. You cracked the window open in hopes that the cool, night breeze would offer your heated skin some relief. You snuffed out your candle and moved to lay in bed. Staring up at your ceiling, you couldn’t help but to think back to the conversation with Marshal Simpson. You thought about the things he said Jake and his friends had done.

“That man,” you growled to yourself. “That stupid, stupid man.”

You thought of how infuriating said man could be with his attempts at flirting, his snarky comments, his broad chest, his surprisingly soft fingers that held your cheek oh so gently…

You felt a burst of warmth pool in your stomach as you thought about how soft his lips had been on the shell of your ear, and how rough his stubble would feel pressed against your-

“Stop it,” you hissed at yourself, placing your pillow over your face and yelling into it. You laid there for a second, willing your thoughts to stop focusing on the man you were sure you hated more than anything. He was a scoundrel, after all. You placed your pillow back in its original position, closing your eyes with a deep breath. Sleep soon found you, dreams filled with green eyes and quiet sighs of your name falling from his lips.

[pearlwithgirl]

Wordless Conversations

John Price x gn!reader

Fluffy fluff - 1200 words

(a subtle hint of smut, but in the way that a La Croix seems like it has been flavoured by sitting in the same room as a strawberry)

~

A syrupy sweet drabble about words spoken without the need for speech.

It’s hard not to stare. The late summer glow slides across the expanse of your property, and John is leaned up against a quaintly crooked fence post, knitting his brow in mild exertion. Cushioned muscle draws your eye as he lifts his shirt to wipe the soil and dew off his face. He always loves a sun shower, gentle sheets of rain dyed golden by a low-hanging sun.

He’s harvested the last of the herbs and vegetables for tonight’s dinner - leeks, potatoes, sweetcorn, and dill. They’ll meld together so nicely, mellow and hearty as the whitefish flakes apart on your tongue. He’ll melt into his chair after polishing off the soup (an old family recipe) and give you a warm look, eyes crinkling, hand on his belly. The expression will say “This is just what I needed. This - and you.”

You’re busy getting a head start on dessert, fragrant steam from bubbling berries curling through the air in a saccharine wisp. Sweetened red currants, loganberries, and crab apples stew before you as John pops a cherry tomato into his mouth. The fruit will pair well with chilled cream and buttery shortcake - dessert with a nightcap before you meet in the shower and tumble into bed together. 

John’s face smooths out and he smiles as he watches Laska dart over patches of clover and between berry bushes - she’s always chasing butterflies. He snacks on a few pilfered strawberries as he reclines against the cedar planks, crossing his legs in front of him. Your pup playfully bows before she leaps into the air once again, arcing gracefully before barrelling into John’s side. He ruffles her fur as she wiggles in his lap and his laugh rings out above the tinny sound of the heirloom radio. 

You remember this song. So does he. The melody wafts through the window and he turns to face you, illuminated by tinted shafts of sunlight and whirling fractals cast out by the stained glass rim above your swimming head. Those strong brows quirk up and you know he’s thinking the same thing as you are.

“Remember that night in Copenhagen?” He asks you silently, grin turning sentimental and wry. 

Of course you remember. That’s where it all began - on glistening cobblestones outside of a cafe from a past life. Somehow, his eyes light up even more as your face grows dreamy, and that sarky smile goes saccharine - syrupy sweet.

You’ll never grow tired of that look. It says “You are my sunshine, my favourite thing in the world,” “You and I - it’s as easy as breathing,” “I miss you,” even though you’ve been apart for scantly more than a single chime of the clock. A lazy grin peels across your face and you catch a gentle quake in his shoulders.

He takes you in, chuckles, and brings two fingers up to tap his nose. - “You’ve got a little something right here, sweetheart.” 

Your face heats up as you wipe the smear off your face and suck the vanilla-speckled sweet cream from your thumb. You savour the little honeyed cloud, and with a tilt of your head, you beckon him toward the house.

It’s funny, isn’t it? The extensive communication that happens without a single utterance - hidden meanings and professions flowing easily over crags and cobbles that would have been hindrances for a pair less bonded. 

To others, he may come off as coarse or abrasive, while you could be glinting, sharp - but you’re nothing more than frosted sea glass to each other. Rare finds - blushing rose and stormy violet. You’ve smoothed each other’s edges, found yourselves moulded seamlessly to one another. 

Sweet words are shared in abundance, vocalized, but they’re not necessary much of the time. The two of you have learned to move in tandem, to have conversations with heated looks, gentle hands, vice versa, and everything in between.

“I need you, John,” as you walk through the door, face steeped in sorrow, little diamonds clinging to your lashes and tumbling down your cheeks.

“I’ve got you - I’ll always take care of you, sweetheart,” as he wraps you up in his arms and rocks you back and forth, rain playing a staccato lullaby while he cradles your head right next to his heartbeat.

“You’re mine,” in the midnight umbra, where heated breaths are exchanged and swallowed up greedily. 

“You fit so perfectly into my arms,” as he cages you in, bracketing you in between bulky forearms. You feel it again when he draws you in close, head tucked neatly under his chin, sleepy and satisfied.

“You are my comfort, my safety, my home,” while you blink slowly up at him, lashes fluttering around dripping adoration.

“You are the joy of my life,” as he levels you with a look of reverence and a mouth full of cake, legs touching under the table. Every hellish moment you’ve endured together holds nothing more than the weight of a papercut in comparison to the magnitude of what you feel for each other, what you've built. 

You delay the post-dinner cleanup so you can sway back and forth in the timber swing out back. With Laska tucked under one arm and you under the other, he downs the last sip of rhubarb cider, enjoying the view beside him in lieu of the remnants of rainbow and sunset. You know this expression too - better than any other. It paints a more colourful image than the one on the horizon. It holds memories, devotion, proclamations, and vows. He wore the same look on your wedding day - a strawberry-sweet smile and glassy eyes to go with the rosy pocket square from Copenhagen. 

After the dishes are done (he washes, you dry), you linger under the arch of the threshold, finger stalled over the brass switch as you look around the room. Your nostalgia-laden gaze roves from John’s grandmother’s old pie plates to the moss green tiles he installed around the picture window. Trinkets are scattered across the hearth, a lovely landscape filled with photos of found family and homemade knits and ceramics. Every bit and bauble, down to the simplest fruit-stained recipe card, has been carefully curated and cherished over years of blissful benediction. You think you’ve found heaven on Earth, and it’s not a place - it’s him.

He slings an arm around your middle and you rub a soothing thumb over his hand, leaning back into the crook of his neck. Your eyes fall shut as he presses his lips to the crown of your head. There’s a shared sentiment in your mutual touch.  

“Thank you for giving me this life.” 

You exhale in unison, shimmying around to face him, placing a palm on his cheek. His larger hand eclipses yours, and the expression on his face goes downy-soft. Right now, his baby blues hold your favourite look of all. It flickers warm and bright, comforting and exhilarating all at once, and it’s mirrored in your own half-lidded eyes. You know exactly what it means - it flavours every interaction and perfumes the room along with viridian herbiness and the sweet tang of berries. 

Three little words hang softly in the air as you flick the light off and stride down the hall hand-in-hand.

[cosmickid-inmotion]

Puzzle Pieces Drabbles: part 2

Ben Miller x Fem!Reader

Fic Summary: You're dating Tom, a whirlwind romance that came at a low point in your life. Within months, you live with him and he's not as nice as he was in the begining. Tom does things that upset you, Benny finds a way to make it better.

Chapter Summary: Tom won't come look at your tomatoes. Based on a tumblr post I cant find.

Warnings: IDK what to call this but it's def shitty behavior throughout. Will progressively get worse during the series but let's start with this. Drinking. Someone not appriciating your excitment.

A/N: This will be a short series of comfort drabbles where Tom does something shitty and Ben makes it better. No smut. I'm at a low point rn and just want softness.

This is my submission for Triple Frontier Write-a-Thon !!! come join in the fun and follow @triplefrontier-anniversary to find more fics!!!

************************

“TOM!!!!!” You scramble up from your garden patch to where you were tending to your plants, standing to see Tom and Ben drinking on the porch.

Tom turns, looking worried. “What? What happened?!”

“My tomato’s bloomed!!!” You say with a wide grin, giddy with excitement.

He relaxes. “Oh my god. Is that it? Woman, you scared the shit out of me.” He went back to his grilling.

Your shoulder slump a little. “Sorry… I was just excited…” You point to your garden. “It’s just… the tomatoes!!!” Ben is watching curiously, but he doesn’t say anything.

Tom flips a burger. “Uh huh. That’s nice honey.”

Ben asks a question now. “The tomatoes?”

Muttering, Tom explains with a wave of his hand. “She was trying to get the tomatoes to grow forever.”

“So will you please come see them?” You try to get him to come over, but he just looks over the railing.

“Uh-huh, they look great.” 

Your hands drop to your side. “Tom, you can’t even see them.”

“They look… so cool” Is he… laughing? He’s laughing at you. You don’t turn to look at Ben, you couldn’t bear to see him laughing at you too. So, you simply go back to your garden, tending to the weeds, trying to immerse yourself in the classical music you heard helps plants grow. You don’t even hear him walk up to you at the garden bed.

“Oh!” Your startle when Benny kneels down next to you, getting in the dirt with you.

“Shit, sorry.” Ben chuckles, his floppy dirty blonde hair falling in his eyes. You wonder if he ever had an emo phase. “I wanted to see the tomatoes”

You roll your eyes but laugh. “You don’t want to see my tiny green tomatoes.”

He is completely sincere, blue eyes shining in the summer sun as he smiles. He has a pretty smile. “I do, actually.” You ignore the flutter in your chest.

So, you show them to him, Benny sounding very impressed as he looks. He tells you how his therapist wanted him to try getting plants to have something to take care of, briefly mentioning that he feels like he was always the one being cared for. He chuckles when he says ‘guess I’m not responsible enough to keep a succulent alive’, but you can feel the truth behind his words. You offer to help him if he wants to try again. Benny lights up at that.

You want to know what he’s in therapy for, why he feels like he’s not responsible enough for a plant, you want to know so much more about him… but you don’t ask. Ben isn’t your boyfriend, Tom is. You loved Tom, you were going to marry Tom. Ben… Ben was just a nice bonus, right?

***************

Remember, if they dont care about the things you care about, they arent the one!!! someon will care <3

follow @romana-updates for more!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @missdictatorme @rubyfruitjungle @axshadows @pimosworld @casa-boiardi

[allisluv]

finnick odair masterlist

headcanons

honeymoon headcanons

modern dating headcanons

secret dating headcanons

nsfw alphabet*

girl!dad finnick headcanons

hcs on using your safeword with finnick*

finnick x pregnant!reader headcanons

finnick with a little sister headcanons

finnick x fem!reader with a deep voice headcanons

finnick with a partner who has an oral fixation headcanons

finnick is a hoarder

finnick x super shy reader headcanons

aftercare with finnick headcanons*

character analysis on finnick's mental health in mockingjay

finnick x plus sized!reader headcanons

hijacked finnick headcanons

finnick x dom!reader headcanons (sfw)

finnick trying to protect reader during the quarter quell headcanons

finnick with a partner who has postpartum depression headcanons

cuddling with finnick headcanons

finnick and reader having teenagers headcanons

finnick x poc!reader headcanons

shy!finnick headcanons

series:

coming clean

shy!wifey x finnick masterlist

one-shots:

better days are coming (TW). -- summary: after a rough patch, you turn to the unthinkable, but your boyfriend is there to help you through it.

shoreline. -- summary: finnick kisses you in the arena, outing your relationship to the capitol.

reunion.* -- summary: reuniting with your husband could never be sweeter.

dreams.* -- summary: finnick takes care of you after an... inventive dream.

feelings are not facts. -- summary: finnick notices when you stop eating.

birthday. -- summary: finnick stands up for you when your parents keep picking apart your eating habits.

safe and sound. -- summary: finnick hears someone slutshaming you.

bedsheets. -- summary: you leak on the sheets while in bed with finnick.

enter sandman. -- summary: finnick knows just what to do when you can't sleep.

old habits die hard. -- summary: you flinch during an argument with finnick.

interlinked. -- summary: you comfort finnick after a nightmare.

the addams family. -- summary: you and finnick go trick or treating with your daughter

first time for everything.* -- summary: you and finnick try for a baby

good as new (TW). -- summary: finnick helps you after a self-harm relapse

burning the candle at both ends. -- summary: finnick helps you with exam stress

thunderstorms. -- summary: you show up at finnick's house during a thunderstorm in the middle of the night

would you still love me if i was a worm? -- summary: finnick takes care of you after you get your wisdom teeth taken out.

a cross to bear. -- summary: finnick helps you through a binge eating episode

anniversaries.* -- summary: you surprise finnick on your anniversary by wearing a new lingerie set.

good things come to those who wait (TW). -- summary: you tell finnick about your scars.

flattery will get you nowhere.* -- summary: finnick gets you to suck on his fingers when you're being too loud.

mother's day.* -- summary: finnick and you have some fun on mother's day.

bizaare stories. -- summary: finnick asks reader why she covers the scar on her face

group chats. -- summary: finnick comforts reader when she is excluded from a work event

ask nicely.* -- summary: finnick has the perfect solution for reader with an oral fixation

god. -- summary: finnick sees you on tv after you've been taken by the capitol

blinds. -- summary: sleepy morning cuddles with finnick

bluffs. -- summary: finnick comforts reader after she has a nightmare

barefoot on the sand. -- summary: reader comforts finnick after a long capitol trip

grilled cheese and tomato soup. -- summary: reader and finnick's three children organise a date night for them

saved by the bell. -- summary: finnick helps reader through a sensory overload

disconnected. -- summary: reader comforts finnick after they are intimate with capitol people watching

water off a ducks back. -- summary: finnick comforts reader after someone makes fun of her lisp

control.* -- summary: edging with soft!dom reader and sub!finnick

drabbles part one, part two

[the-tomato-patch]

'Could the Sith have chosen a wetter, muddier planet?' Rhiasen muttered into her comm, not really expecting a response from the other end. It had gotten scuffed in an all too close call with some of the more rebellious jungle beasts. Said scuffle had also damaged the hooded robes she had been wearing earlier but Rhiasen tried not to think of that, despite the humidity and rain of Dromund Kaas seeping its way into her clothing, preferring to focus on the plan ahead of her, specifically getting back to her temporary lodgings as soon as possible and ridding herself of the muck that was caking itself to her boots.

Rhiasen continued to make her way through the jungle, stepping gingerly through puddles that didn't seem quite deep enough for her liking and cursing whenever she stumbled. However, the night was drawing on and, finally, the familiar shapes and patterns of the structures of Kaas City, which had been rendered obscure through the trees, grew clearer as she drew nearer. The usual guards were easily avoidable, the eyesight of an imperial guard apparently as bad as the eye-rolling at their superiors was good.

Kaas City was far from pretty, yet held a sinister kind of beauty as one saw it. The architecture was jagged and black. Nearly every building, Rhiasen believed, had been sculpted by some kind of brutal force that wasn't at all keen on giving away the warmth and security of a home. The harsh edges, too, spoke of the same coldness, seemingly wanting nothing more than to cut as deeply into the person entering the city as they could. But she supposed this was home, for now. And a tugging at the back of her mind wondered just what it might have been like to come here as an acolyte fresh from Korriban. To look at it through the lens of an acolyte hungry to know its power, instead of the eyes of a jaded, displaced Jedi, or whatever it is she was these days. She sighed, pushed her thoughts aside and continued onfoot to their safehouse, knowing she had someone waiting for her.

Eventually, the warm light from the front room greeted her like an old friend as she stepped past the threshold and futher into the apartment. And sitting near the holovid screen, was her Sith, a man she wouldn't have known she needed, had the Force not seen fit to place her on the same path he once tread. And now…

"There you are." He spoke, voice a soft rasp against the otherwise noiseless backdrop of night, save for the constant thrum of rain against the windows. His tone tinged with a familiar warmth he always had with her.

"Here I am, 'my lord'." Rhiasen called back, a fond quip lingering at the back of her voice, and a small laugh. She reached up, pulled at the cloth she used to secure the cowl at the back of her head. Strands of auburn hair, previously tucked within the cloth, now framed the contours of her face and she let out yet another long sigh. 'Stars, what I'd give to actually have the chance to sleep sometime soon,' She thought tiredly and leaned back against the wall, shrugging off the heavy material of her robes and the packs strapped over top.

Unbeknownst to her, Scourge had risen from the table he'd been sat at. With him, he'd brought her usual cup of tea, setting it down within arm's length from the tired Jedi. His right arm fell lightly upon her shoulder as he lowered himself next to her. There was a twinkle in his eyes she'd recognise anywhere, so Rhiasen gladly accepted the drink, quietly thanking him, and watched as he moved off toward the hallway. She then felt his intention shift and realised his target. Her thoughts scattered, much like the droplets of water against the windows, in anticipation as she heard the refresher door click open and the water begin to draw.

A warm bath was in order and the feeling of Scourge's intent and attention being brought towards her was a comfort Rhiasen welcomed.

She stepped slowly towards the refresher, barely able to refrain from tearing the rest of the ruined clothes off her body, a thought which she acted upon, of course. Then, upon entering, her eyes shifted first toward the steaming hot tub and then towards her lover, who had been busy preparing the soap, hair and skin products that Rhiasen often brought back from Coruscant whenever it was possible. The room was illuminated by a few, low hanging lights on either wall that emitted a very soft purple-pink light which set the mood well. Rhiasen then turned towards the mirror above the sink, suddenly struck by her own reflection. She looked tired, bags forming evermore under her eyes, skin marked in dirt and blood. However, the smitten expression upon Scourge's face, a look Rhiasen was once convinced he wasn't even capable of making, spoke of no care for the sight before him, but more, how he missed her whilst she'd been away.

"Kallat.." He breathed. ur'Kittat for beloved, he had told her. Her gaze shifted from her own image towards his. "Come," He spoke firmly, offering his hands, in which she placed her own. "Your rest awaits."

'Stars, this was going to be a long night.'

Kaas Storm Imagine

Much like a reverse Regina George, I don't usually have the spoons to answer ask games, but I love writing them and unleashing them on the fandom.

--

Imagine your SWTOR oc getting absolutely soaked in the cold rain of a Kaas thunderstorm, wind whipping the drops into them like needles, drenching them. Bold what applies.

Do they like it? Dance under it and laugh with the thunder? Or dart for cover and wait it out, shaking with fear like a tooka? Or do they hate it, but have no choice except to trudge through it, steps squelching as the water that can't absorb into their gear pours off them with every stride?

When they get where they're going, the door opens for them revealing their friend (/comrade/love interest/whatever the fuck the Agent and Hunter have going on/pissed off medic/mother-hen companion/etc).

Do they have a towel ready to swirl around them and scoop them up? Or do they order them onto a mat just inside the door so they won't drip on everything? Do they help them off with the soaking gear, despite how little it actually reduces how badly they're waterlogged?

Do they carry them inside, murmuring reassurance, or drag them by the wrist already lecturing them for being out in that mess?

Is it a real fire they're warmed by, or a soft, heated blanket? A big towel fresh from the dryer? Fluffy, cuddly, comfortable clothes?

Hot tea (what kind? how do they take it?), cocoa, something stronger (what's their poison?) to warm them from the inside?

Does their companion insist on holding them and fussing over them? Are they still irate about how they went out in the rain?

What do they say?

"Get in here!"

"Look at you, you're soaked..."

"You're freezing!"

"Sit down."

"You're going to catch cold..."

"What possessed you to go out in this??"

"Ugh, I'm gonna have to mop..."

And add whatever details you'd like!

Tagging @nekorinnie @grandninjamasterren and @thaniraslegacyswtor and whoever wants to, but no pressure of course!

[lokisgoodgirl]

OK, fluffy request lol soooo........

Loki finally works up the courage to ask you out, totally ecstatic when you say yes. And decided he wants to try to make dinner for you....and everything that can go wrong does.......

And when you show up to the utter disaster that is Loki cooking, you just think he couldn't be more adorable 😁😁💚💚

Fluff Drabble Marathon II

A link to my Fluff Library is HERE

Warnings: None. (w/c 900)

A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE [18+]

Seventeen Lemons

There was a soft knock at Wilson’s open door. He looked up to find the god of mischief peering around the corner with what could only be described as abject fear in his eyes.

“Uh-huh? What’s up man?” he said warily, eyeing Loki with suspicion.

“I require...aid, Wilson” Loki mumbled. Was he...blushing?

Sam leant back against the counter of his kitchenette, sipping his green tea pointedly. “Aid, huh?” he chuckled, “What could you possibly need my help for, since you keep reminding us how much better you are all the damn time.”

Loki shuffled into the room, pulling at the edge of his t-shirt. “Wilson you are a modern man of this realm familiar with its technicalities. My predicament relays to cooking and... namely, I have found that I cannot to an adequate level actually...cook anything.”

Loki frowned.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Cooking? Why you cooking, man?” Loki sighed. “In exchange for her company, I ensured Y/N a delicious meal in my chambers, and I fear I may have over-promised…”

“Ah, a date” Sam chuckled, “welcome to the real world, man. Over-promising and under-delivering all the live long day out here.”

As they approached Loki's apartment, the smell of something burning hung heavy in the air. They hurried along the corridor, Loki threw the door open, a flash of seidr dissolving the cloud swirling in his rooms instantly as he walked over and turned off the hob.

“Ok so, where are you up to in your culinary exploits huh?” Sam smiled, folding his arms.

“Well, I am attempting something called...pasta? But I cannot seem to get it to relent from its hard and crunchy state. I believe that is not how it is supposed to be presented. Additionally, the sauce methodology is proving...difficult.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow, “did you...boil the water?” - Loki’s blank stare told him that was a no. He sighed. “Ok dude, I think I gotta go hands on for this one.”

"You left it on? You left the gas on? Unattended? Laufeyson. Steve would shit a brick" he shook his head, observing the utter carnage around him. What Wilson suspected was an attempt at a ragu was bubbling in sticky black patches in a pan on the stove.

Every available surface in the kitchenette was covered in...something. Shells of pasta,  half cut tomatoes, basil strewn across the tabletop. Was that...mango? Pans littered the floor where they had been desperately pulled out and inspected. Loki wasn't kidding about having had servants his whole life, apparently.

"Loki why are there like....is that...ten lemons you've cut in half?"

"Seventeen" Loki murmured regretfully. "The recipe called for a teaspoon of lemon-juice but I know not what this tea-spoon requires so I presumed seventeen was as good a number as any. "

"What?" Sam hissed, not bothering to hide the ridicule in his voice. His eyes fell to a gigantic pile of grated parmesan sitting on the dining table in pride of place. "What the hell you planning on doing with all that cheese?"

"Oh, yes..."Loki said smugly," Y/N loves parmesan so I have ensured we will not run out. "

"Ain't that the truth...how about that " Wilson mumbled, regarding the obscenely high triangular pile. "Can you not magic-up something to eat, you know? Cos man...this is pretty bleak, I won't lie" he said, surveying the room again, rubbing his forehead.

"It doesn't work like that" Loki huffed, "and regardless, I wish to make something for Y/N that conveys my excitement to get to know her."

"Seventeen lemons. Seventeen." Sam said incredulously, shaking his head "Loki Laufeyson. I would have bet hard money you would have moves in the kitchen but seventeen lemons" he cackled, doubling over as Loki's frown deepened.

"Your mirth is not welcome here, Wilson" Loki said stiffly, "Y/N arrives in a mere fifteen minutes"

Sam wiped a tear from his eye as they continued to stream down his face. "OK... OK... dude I’ll help you, only because I need to have this story in the bank. I need it." he burst out laughing again. "You clean this place up" he said, grabbing the apron covered in all manner of mess "leave 1/3 of the parmesan and one lemon..."

"One? That hardly seems fitting. " Loki murmured, beginning to clear away the burnt mess from the dirty pans with sweeps of seidr.

Wilson grabbed the clean cookware, twirling it around as he went to work. In ten minutes, a delicious smell of roasted garlic and tomato was sizzling in the air as pasta gently simmered.

He dipped a wooden spoon into the ragu, bringing it to Loki's lips. "Taste" he said, raising his eyebrows in expectation. Loki supped it gently, his eyes widening as the men nodded at each other in mutual appreciation.

"It's just missing one thing, my man" Sam hummed, looking knowingly at the god beside him.

"All you need to do is drain the pasta with this" he said, waving the sieve, "and then put it on a plate...and put the sauce on top... OK?"

Loki picked up a lemon half gleefully, pleased with himself. "I saved the best one" he said haughtily.

"Course you did. Now give it a squeeze over the sauce...that's it." Sam raised the apron over his head, placing it immediately over Loki's.

Loki busied himself at the stove, stirring the sauce that Sam had technically made but that he was an integral part of, naturally. It still counted. Of that, he was sure.

"Wilson" Loki huffed, "I am not entirely hopeless..." as Sam rolled his eyes.

"Seventeen lemons, man..." Wilson said knowingly, another whoop of laughter escaping him as he backed out the door, shaking his head.

"That smells delicious"

Loki turned, his breath hitching as you leant in the doorway. You were absolutely stunning. You walked to the kitchen, admiring his messy apron tied tight around those muscular hips.

"I can't believe you went to all this trouble for me" you whispered in his ear, admiring the flickering candles and soft music tinkling softly behind his shoulder.

"You have no idea, darling" he purred, conjuring a bottle of wine and two glasses theatrically to the immaculately set table. "You are the only one I would go to this trouble for, believe me" he said, swinging the front door shut and locking it with a wave of his hand.

-

Fluff Tags (reduced)

@lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @vbecker10 @mochie85 @muddyorbs @evelyn-kingsley @123forgottherest @thedistractedagglomeration @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @homesickcassie @yelkmelk @demoiseller @wheredafandomat @michelleleewise @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @xorpsbane @chantsdemarins @ficitve-sl0th @theaudacitytowrite @nightshadelm @ladylovesloki @mcufan72 @gigglingtigger @loopsisloops @holdmytesseract @fantasyfan4life

[shallyne]

Feysand Month Day 30: Cooking

An Honest Mistake

Very tiny. More like a drabble. Have fun!

Words: 454

TW: none

Feyre and Rhys try to cook together

Feyre didn't know why she agreed to cook with Rhys. They couldn't cook. Rhys could still cook better than Feyre but he was far from perfect. Something was always burning when they cooked but Rhys thought it would be nice if they would make dinner together. She watched him as Rhys showed her the groceries, excited. "And ketchup!" he said, grinning at her. "Why would you need ketchup if you make sauce yourself?" Feyre asked him. He chuckled and answered "If it goes wrong."

Feyre snorted. "That's the spirit!" Rhys rolled his eyes, but still grinned as he unpacked the rest. "Don't worry, Feyre Darling. I have a fool proof recipe."

She smiled and kept a remark back about how many fool proof recipes she already managed to ruin. A lot, she ruined a lot of fool proof meals. Not salvageable. Not even if she scratched off the burnt patches.

These thoughts didn't help her, so she shook her head and focused on her husband, who read something on his phone. They were together and that was what mattered, right? Husband and wife spending a fun time together.

"Okay!" Rhys said. "Let's cut the...vegetables."

"How?" Feyre asked.

"With a knife."

"No, dumbass, I meant slicing or dicing?" she said.

He chuckled and gave her tomatoes. "Slicing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." he answered, kissing her cheek. Feyre shrugged and they began preparing. As they did, Rhys put on Feyres favorite playlist. They worked together while Rhys told her about his day at work. The longer they stayed like this, the more Feyre was glad that they did it. She loved spending time with Rhys and this was a nice way to calm down.

A few minutes later, Rhys took the bowl with the carrots. He looked at her and then at the bowl, his brows scrunching in confusion. "How many did you make?"

"Three, like you told me. Why?" she asked.

"It looks so....empty." he said.

Feyre grinned at him. "Maybe I snacked some."

Rhys chuckled "Carrots?"

Feyre nodded, echoing his chuckle. "Why not?"

It didn't take them long until the sauce cooked on the stove, bubbling as sauces usually did. Hopefully. Feyre took Rhys's phone and looked on the recipe. "Did you read everything through?"

"Of course I did." he said.

"When are you planning to eat?" Feyre asked.

He looked at her. "Why?"

Feyre laughed "Because it takes hours until the sauce is ready."

He snatched his phone out of Feyres hands and scrolled through the recipe. "Shit." he murmured.

Feyre took the phone back and the bottle of wine that was standing on the counter. "Let's order something." she giggled. "And try again tomorrow."

Rhys sighed and followed her. "Alright."

Taglist: @reverie-tales @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 @feysand-month @elentiyawhitethorn

[kissproof]

first off LOVE THIS!! and maybe a little drabble w Luca Brassi ! hope i am doing this right 💕

𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘠𝘖𝘜 !! 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 (𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬) 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘪 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 !! 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 <3

𝘚𝘜𝘔𝘔𝘈𝘙𝘠: 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦𝘴.

𝘞𝘈𝘙𝘕𝘐𝘕𝘎𝘚: 𝘴𝘢𝘥 </3

for as long as you can remember, luca brasi had always been there for you. though he had been proven by the incessant word of mouth to be a frightful, revered man of deadly, brute strength, you'd never seen it. to you, luca was your bodyguard during chatty walks in the tomato garden, peaking through the cordon stakes as the blooms veiled across his stern italian face. he had been your quiet playmate when you were young, keeping you company while the large oaken door to your father's office was kept closed and locked to potential interlopers. in the mornings, when called to do business, he'd stand outside your family’s home to catch a glimpse of your window curtain sliding open, so he'd know you'd made it through the night. luca was a man who was feared by all who knew what was best for him. but to you, he was the greatest guardian angel you'd ever known and you loved him for it without fault. now, as you loaded the last of your chests into the trunk of your family's car, swatting wisps of hair from your face, the tight little knot in your chest causing your lungs to sigh repeatedly from heartbreak and nostalgia, you turn to see him lingering by the patch of green beneath your mother’s clothesline in the distance, unsure of himself, but absolutely sure of your presence soon weaning like the sun befalling the dusk. you float past the car to him. he visibly stiffens, nerves overpowering the rest of his likeness until he was bloated and red in the face with frustration, and you take his fat hands in yours, rub your thumbs along his thick olive skin. he tightens around your fingers gratefully for you are his safety now. "i..." he starts, breaking to give a heavy breath and recall the words he practiced with concentrated eyes. and though he spoke with sentiment, his voice was still as proud and as penetrating as ever. "i will be here when you... you come back." luca brasi was a man who kept his word. you know deep down in your gut that he didn't mean to lie. his death was the hardest you'd ever lived through. to this day, recalling the sting of the news, you’re reminded that it still is.

[l4verq]

warped | s.r

steve rogers x reader

in which you discover a peculiar drone

warnings : angst, mention of death

fic : drabble (double)

“Y/N, can you hear me?”

A distorted voice, almost unintelligible, blares from the unfamiliar thing in your hands.

A rubescent red, with three wings? perched on top. You turn it around in your hands, the bright color of it gnawing at your mind.

The distorted sounds start again and you can almost make out someone calling your name.

“Y/N, I need you to remember.”

A small chill goes down your back as you recognise the voice now.

“Bucky?”

Your hand reaches to wipe the tears you didn’t even realise were falling.

“Yes! It’s me. Y/N, you need to get out there right now!” The voice gets more distant.

Out of here?

You look around at your lawn, the dying patch of tomatoes you and Steve’d tried to grow but miserably failed.

Tomatoes you wanted to grow ever since you read in that one magazine that it’s good luck for a new house.

The new house that Steve was planning to surprise you with.

Before he died.

“Honey, is everything okay?”

You turn to face your husband, blue eyes just a tad bit too light.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You give a cheery smile, hands covered in crumpled pieces of the drone.

-

A/N : i miss wandavision :( but tfatws this week :)))

[aedwritesfic]

The lovely @tredman14 asked me to write a Ginsy with the prompt "Patching up a wound." I hope you like it, love!

CW: Blood

She didn't register it immediately. The pain. 

One moment she was slicing a freshly baked loaf of tomato and herb focaccia and the next a crimson river stained the bread knife, the loaf, and the scarred cutting board beneath. The knife rested between the knuckles of her middle finger, flying it open, stopped only by bone. 

"Shit!" she hissed while delicately removing the knife, effectively breaking the dam created by the sharpened blade, the blood now flowing freely.

Pansy had never been good in a crisis. She would panic and desperately search for a way out. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to run and, nowhere to hide, as this problem would only follow her. She didn't have her wand, and there was no way to fix this on her own.

Taking a deep breath, Pansy closed her eyes to the damage and did the only thing she could. "Hey, babe," she called out, hoping to mask the quaver of her voice. "Can you come to the kitchen, please? Um… now!"

Ginny clomped down the stairs. Honestly, the woman makes more noise than an erumpent in a china shop, Pansy thought wildly. Maybe the blood loss was starting to get to her.

"Aw, fuck," Ginny gaped, hazel eyes going comically large before she rushed into the room and conjured a clean cloth, wrapping it firmly around her lover's severed finger. "What happened?"

"Bread knife," was all Pansy was able to get out. She was feeling a bit light-headed, but Ginny's presence was already calming her fear.

Ginny gave her an odd look but slipped into the role of Gryffindor protector and "fixer". She unwrapped the cloth and gently assessed the damage, muttering cleansing and healing charms along the way. After the skin neatly knit itself back together and a small application of dittany, it was as if the accident never happened. A flick of the wand vanished the stained bread and spilt blood.

The dishes were sent to wash, and a pot of tea began to brew itself. Ginny gathered Pansy into her arms and slumped into a chair. She tucked a lock of ebony hair behind Pansy's ear, then brought the now healed digit to her lips placing a feather-light kiss upon the flesh.

The tea that night was strong and sweet, and the closeness of the women remained steadfast. A hand playing with hair. A head on a shoulder. The tops of feet pressed into the soles of the other. No words were needed, just touch and care and love.

If you'd like me to write a little drabble featuring your favourite HP ship you can shoot me an ask with your pairing and a prompt from THIS LIST of acts of non-sexual intimacy.

[marimeetsmischief]

Return to Sender - Ch. 1

Some interconnected ML drabbles for Lukanette February

Read on Ao3

Tags: Delivery Service AU, Sort of a Coffee Shop AU?, no miraculous, Personal Stylist! Marinette, Delivery Boy! Luka, Aged Up

Summary:  Personal Stylist Marinette Dupain-Cheng gets dragged into a last minute trip with one of her clients and ends up back in Paris, France, after working in China for four years. A series of fateful encounters brings her face to face with Luka Couffaine, Paris's most popular and well known delivery boy with a talent for music.

Chapter 1: Mine

The soft patter of rain against the cobblestone alley was music to Marinette’s ears as she stepped out of her back door. Since she had moved, no matter what she tried, the apartment always felt too confining and stiff. Which, honestly, it was, compared to the cool and rainy air of Chengdu, and her tiny flat there. Four years of working in southwest China had made her forget about how dry and bland Paris could feel at times. 

That wasn’t a problem, exactly, but she did miss the climate of the place she now thought of as home. It was humid, but usually not too hot. That wasn’t even bringing up the lifestyle there either. It was city life without the pressure of an over-expensive and over-saturated market built on tourism. Fashion was part of everyday life, and she could eat at a dingy food stand one night and an aesthetic cafè the next. The best part was that people were always looking for the next interesting thing, and her commissions had taken off because of that. 

But now she was back in Paris, staying in a borrowed apartment for the month, all for some event that she had been volunteered for at the last second. Was it an excellent opportunity? Of course. Did she still wish she had never left China? Undoubtedly. 

It was a little uncomfortable, but she was still trying to make the best of it. Her parents had been ecstatic when she finally told them she would be in Paris for a whole month. They had even offered her her old room for the month, which she had quickly declined, not wanting to step back into her old life that much. Even with the awkwardness, she was still a little happy to be in the city she had grown up in, and she had plans to catch up with some old family and friends over the month. Plus, her schedule for the event kept her busy enough that she hopefully wouldn’t get too bored for the month. 

It was only the morning of her second day, after she had crashed immediately upon landing the day before. She hardly even remembered leaving the airport, let alone getting to her apartment, but she had woken up in a strange bed and reminded herself where she was. After a cup of green tea hadn’t quite woken her up, she had dragged herself through the process of getting ready. 

It was only as she looked in the mirror that she had the thought that Chengdu street style was much more adventurous than Parisian, and she hadn’t really packed anything that would fit in. The girl she had been before she left Paris would have been terrified at that, but this version of Marinette took pride in it, and stepped into the alley way with experienced charisma. She was even happier when she noticed the rain, just light enough to not need an umbrella, which was good considering she hadn’t actually packed one. She popped the collar of her blazer and stepped out of the doorway completely. A gust of wind shivered down the alleyway and she pulled the jacket tighter around herself and shaking her scarf loose in the process. She unwrapped it and pulled it off the rest of the way so that she could readjust it, but another strong breeze barrelled into her and knocked it out of her hand. The pale pink fabric fluttered down the alleyway, coming to a stop for just a moment only to be picked up by another wind current. She started after it, lightly jogging to catch up to the scarf and almost wrapping her hand around it before it was carried away again. Giving it a look, as if to say ‘really?’, she sped up behind it. Preoccupied with her annoyance, she didn’t notice the person stepping into the alleyway until they reached out and snagged the scarf from the air and she skidded to a halt in front of them.

“Oh! Uh, sorry, that’s mine,” she apologized quickly, holding her hand out for it. “The wind just kind of swept it up.”

The man smiled slightly and nodded, gently handing it to her. She curled her hands around the now damp scarf, shaking her head. 

“Well, uhm, thank you! For catching it, I mean,” she stuttered awkwardly and doing her best to give him a polite smile in return. He didn’t seem to be the talkative type, which wasn’t a problem by any means at all, but it was something contradictory to his look at least. He looked every bit like some kind of alternative rock star, ripped black jeans and a jean jacket covered in patches from a variety of bands. His hair was just a little too long and just a little too messy, with teal dyed tips. 

“No worries,” he finally replied and her heart jumped inside her chest. He had what might be the kindest voice she had ever heard, and that was even more startling when paired with his edgy aesthetic. He gave her one last smile and started to turn around and she could feel herself staring awkwardly without any willpower to stop herself. Then, just as he started to walk, she managed to find her voice. 

“Wait!” She called a little too loudly, quickly fumbling with her purse. By some miracle, she managed to find a business card and slide it out, holding it out to him. “Sorry. I’m Marinette. That scarf is actually, I guess important, sort of? So thank you, again. If I can repay you in any way, give me a call.” 

He raised a brow at her and she flushed, quickly holding her hands up and shaking her head.”I swear I’m not flirting with you, I would never, well I mean, not never, you’re obviously attractive but I mean that totally professionally, I think. Oh, what am I saying, I soun-”

In the middle of her rambling, he burst into laughter and she froze, eyes wide and face as red as a tomato. It took him an embarrassingly long time to finish laughing at her, and Marinette was just about ready to pass out. 

“Sorry, sorry, that was just… cute. And, thanks for the compliment, I think. I’m Luka.” He took the business card and gave her one last smile before walking away, leaving her standing there like an idiot with the dorkiest grin on her face. After a long minute, she shook herself out of it and hurried back into her apartment, closing the door and falling back into it. 

“Oh. My. God. I am such an idiot.”

[lightwoodsmagic]

Lost keys & larry

🔑 💚💙

The new man had taken over Harry’s old plot, and everything he was doing was wrong.

The soil was still too dry and Harry winced, watching as the man seemed to stab at it viciously with a rake of all things, a wide grin on his face. He seemed to be happily chatting with Lorna, Harry’s 73 year old neighbour, who seemed besotted if anything. Typical.

He chewed on his thumb nail, grimacing at the taste of the polish as it chipped away. There seemed to be carrot seeds just next to the wooden edge, next to a few tomato plants and...sunflowers? They were all waiting to be planted, sitting happily as the man wrecked the plot, destined to fail as summer turned into autumn.

Harry let out an unhappy whine, covering it with a cough and a sheepish grin when the Murray family shot him a curious glance.

He hadn’t wanted to move plots, not really. He’d been a part of the community garden now for over three years, but when he kept adding to the small patch of flourishing soil, vines, and colours, the committee had politely suggested (demanded, really) that he take Mr. Hudson’s recently vacated space. It was twice the size, and he knew deep down that it made more sense, but he still felt like he’d abandoned his original home here.

Bit sentimental for a veggie patch, he supposed.

It didn’t lessen the emotional sting as the man seemed to have moved on now, haphazardly spraying water over the surface. Lorna was almost cackling now, and Harry’s gaze shifted to the crinkles next to the man’s eyes as he moved forward to whisper loudly in her ear. They were too far away for Harry to hear, but he felt the small smile creep onto his face as he watched. They were both full of joy, obviously happy to be in each other’s company, and it distracted Harry just long enough that he forgot about the travesty happening right in front of him.

Right. Focus.

But it seemed impossible now. The man’s loud laughter was infectious, carrying easily across the block as Harry took a step forward.

Curious eyes wandered over inked skin, catching on the 28 on the man’s fingers. A birthday? A lucky number? Something more meaningful, maybe? Definitely a coincidence.

Another tentative step as the man threw himself onto his knees to plant...something. Harry wasn’t quite sure it mattered anymore. With each new step towards his old plot, Harry seemed to learn something new about the man that’d moved in around the corner.

Soft fringe.

Easy grin.

Didn’t care that his shoes were getting muddy from the plot behind, mud splashing onto him from where the Carter twins were accidentally overwatering their parent’s peas.

Gentle head tilt whenever Lorna spoke.

Blue eyes.

Gorgeous.

Had absolutely no fucking idea what he was doing.

Harry came to a sudden halt in front of the plot just as they both turned to look at him, Lorna delighted, the man smiling faintly, and it was only then that he realised he didn’t have a plan. Luckily, it didn’t seem like he needed one.

“Harry dear, how are you?” Lorna’s expression was soft, and Harry moved closer to kiss her on the cheek.

He was just about to answer when he saw the man pick up a trowel, and before he could stop him, shove it straight down into the dry soil.

Clink.

The man froze, resting back on his feet, and raised his eyebrows at Harry. “I hear this used to be your plot, you know.”

Northern accent.

Even more attractive up close.

Still doesn’t know when to plant carrots.

Harry swallowed heavily. “Uh, yeah, yes, it was.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his current garden. “I’m somewhere over there now.”

“Ah.” The man grinned up at him, but it was kind, and Harry realised Lorna had slipped away. “Leaving me little trinkets though, yeah? Not exactly what I was expecting, but effective.”

In one swift movement, whatever was hidden in the dirt shifted free to hang from the man’s finger. Harry stared for a moment, frozen in slight shock, before he let out a startled laugh.

“My keys!” He reached out grabby hands, laughing when the man just twisted them in his grip. “I lost them months ago, ‘ve had new ones for ages.”

The man dangled them out, metal twinkling softly through the air, just about to drop them into Harry’s outstretched hand, when he huffed out a breath. His eyes were trained on the keys, and Harry shot him a curious glance.

“Do you believe in destiny?” The man’s voice was breathy and soft, but there was a nudge of determination.

No, was the clear answer; Harry didn’t.

His eyes flicked across the anchor on his own wrist, and the matching rope across from him.

Not everything happened for a reason, and not everyone was designed for their perfect match.

A green key hanging from his belt loop that perfectly matched the blue one on Harry’s dangling keys.

People fell in love all the time, on their own, not because the universe had made it so.

His gaze shifted to the dagger on the man’s arm, and his rose seemed to ache.

There was no unknown force, no hidden agenda.

The exact vintage Pink Floyd shirt that was currently hiding under Harry’s hoodie was staring back at him, too.

It just happened. The answer was no, a clear and solid no.

Harry gently took the keys, glancing at the engraved 28 on his key that signified his house number, their fingers brushing softly.

“Yes.”

A handshake that Harry somehow felt down to his toes.

“Good. I’m Louis.”

Feel free to send me drabble prompts!

[alloveroliver]

Oliver Knight + MC “And A Hint Of Possessiveness.”

Rating: Smut 18+

QuickFics Drabble

Prompt: “You’re so tight.” and “Mine.”

Ikemen Revolution Fanfiction

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

Oliver ordered a bottle of cabernet sauvignon to share between the two of you. The restaurant was mostly quiet due to being there on an off night and so late into the evening. 

“Would you like to split a plate of cheese-filled garlic knots and a salad before our meal?” Oliver asked from the seat next to you, bumping his knee against yours to remain close. All his attention was on you as he waited for your response. 

“Ooh yes! And could we get a serving of fried cheese and sun-dried tomato marinara dip with a small bowl of mixed olives?” 

Oliver picked up his menu and sighed. “Anything else? The whole front page of the menu perhaps?” His lips quirked up into a smile at his own jest. 

The waiter set two wine glasses between you two and left a lingering look toward you. His eyes notably dipped down to your cleavage before he stood back up straight. 

“Would you like a few more minutes to decide?” The waiter asked, having a difficult time looking toward your boyfriend.

Oliver turned him down and suggested they order everything all at once as to not allow for you to keep adding things along the evening. If he didn’t stop you, it would've been easy to sample everything the fancy restaurant had to offer. 

The waiter left with a notepad scribbled full of your order giving Oliver a chance alone with you. 

“Did you see how he was looking at you,” Oliver grumbled, keeping his voice low and close to your ear. 

“I… No. I didn’t” You sipped the dark wine and felt Oliver’s hand move up the top of your knee. 

“Is it not obvious we’re on a date? Why would he gawk at you so crudely.” 

Oliver leaned in, his hand moving up the layers of your skirt. 

“It’s obvious we’re on a date. We were even holding hands when we entered.” 

The scent of Oliver’s cologne permeated your nose, and you took a deep inhale as his lips ran along your jawline. 

“I was a bit peeved they gave us the back corner of the restaurant to eat our meal,” His voice was barely an audible rumble in your ear. His fingers teased your inner thigh, tracing small patterns. “But now, I’m happy we have some privacy.”

“Oliver-” You managed to whisper as your cheeks heated due to his intimate touch. “Why are you doing this right now?”

“Do you want me to stop?” He paused, waiting for your reply. 

“N-no… I mean… You don’t have to.” 

He continued his venture toward his goal and used his other hand to reach up and gently turn your face toward him.

“Because you're-” His lips pressed a chaste kiss to your lips just as his fingers ran a line down your core. “Mine.” 

“Of course, I will be only yours, always.” You eagerly added. Biting your lip, you moved your legs apart hoping the waiter would take a long time with your order despite your grumbling tummy. 

“That's a good girl.” Oliver’s lips met your neck as he indulged in heated kisses down your main artery. 

The moment your panties were moved to the side, cool air hit your heated sex, making you stifle a moan. 

Oliver groaned. “I want to hear your moans, but-” He glanced around then moved back to your neck to tease the delicate skin with his tongue. “I don't want anyone else to hear them.” 

His pointed finger dipped between your pussy lips and he sunk into your accepting hole. He pressed his forehead into your cheek and sighed. “You’re so tight.” He licked his lips “but also so wet.” He pet your sensitive patch gently, curling his finger upward. 

It was a shame the dinner had just started. You wanted to forget your surroundings and disappear with Oliver into your own little world for the evening. Allowing him to give you immense pleasure as he shared his love for you with his gentle touches. 

.

.

.

Thank you so much, Anon for celebrating my one year anniversary with me! I was hungry when I wrote this O.O

QuickFic asks are now closed! Thank you all who submitted asks!

[vvolgarov]

🏠 For Jay

Send me one of the variants from “ More Memories “ for a drabble regarding a memory of my muse ( Accepting ! )

🏠- A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live

It was a single family home with a tudor-theme going on. Jay’s ‘ madre ‘ was fond of the structure those very homes had when visiting a friend in Northern England and It all essentially steered from then. He would mumble about the descriptions of the theme of the domain, trying to recall exactly whether the domain had a prior version before up until renovations. Jay was certain that there was a prior design considering the basement had a form of flooring that was discontinued in the 1990s, but couldn’t recall the previous design since It was redone when he was a toddler along with his sister. His folks still reside there and very little has changed, aside from some inner renovations over the course of years. When you have two crazy kids in the similar age range, one of them is bound to crash into a paper-thin wall headfirst after an episode of ‘Jackass’. Then ... It lead to young Jay getting his first job as a butchers assistant so he could pay off some amount for the renovations and rebuild the home with cemented walls instead. While his father didn’t find the event amusing at the time, now he retells the story of how It occurred with a chuckle among his friends while holding a pint of beer in a bar. While originally the Erblindet parents considered to renovate the domain and sell It for future investments, the plan was put to hold considering the village the house resided in began to be rumored as a cannibalistic town and attract even lesser visitors. Despite the decrease in popularity of the village, the family didn’t lack funding to rebuild their home to their liking. The home gradually gathered a proper second floor with higher walls, meanwhile the miniature so-called “third floor” became an attic that carried boxes of childhood items, boxes of old records and an old pilot uniform Jay used to wear during his trainee period. There used to be a glass-paneled balcony on the second floor, on the exact side of the home where the main entrance was placed. The entrance side of the home was formed into a triangle, although further rooms took up a more rectangular shape. The bedrooms both Jay and Iris used to sleep in? Repurposed as guest bedrooms, although the decorations where left be. Iris had few paintings purchased from a friend and hanged up, displaying illustrations of women with long brunette hair combing their hair, or playing the piano. On Jay’s end -- There’s a playboy poster on the other side of the door, taken from an edition where the models where elves. Other posters within the room where just of bands that he used to enjoy listening to back in the day. Many of them being German industrial rock bands like Rammstein and MDFMK. The home had a little garden a decade ago, but the territory was expanded since the parents purchase the additional piece of land that the neighbors where selling. It now has a small greenhouse that always grows red and yellow tomatoes. Rest of the land is decorated with pansy flowers and a tiled path was formed for people to comfortable walk through the yard without getting themselves dirty. “I really miss the old times.” Jay would comment while resting on his couch, snapping out of his daydreaming state when spontaneous memories began to fill in. Now living in a two floored cabin house with his son, he remembered of a time he questioned the sanity of those people who spoke of missing their childhood homes and wanting to revisit. He perfectly understands their feeling as of now, considering the fact childhood homes where the homes you grew up in before taking up independence and starting a new page in your life. He misses the older times of his mother teaching him how to make pasta, the times of being given a small patch of dirty to grow his own desired vegetables and take care of them well before harvest. He hopes he could have such memories with Seiko and teach him how to grow his own vegetables, too.