#with him tiny and small under that great wall but so so so fierce and determined

[quoththemaiden]

Aziraphale: The Sword that Guards the Tree of Life

Looking where the furniture isn't

This post is dedicated to @meatballlady's excellent insistence that if we want to try to predict where season 3 will go, we need to look at where the furniture isn't. That is, what must have been there but wasn't shown?

For this one, my source material is going to be Genesis. That is, in no small part, because it does in fact fuck severely that Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett took the angel with the flaming sword and the serpent of Eden and made them kiss (@joycrispy, @ouidamforeman). It's also because Genesis, quite simply, exists, and it seems safe to assume that most everyone in Gaiman and Pratchett's intended audience has been exposed to at least its first few chapters dozens of times.

What does Genesis tell us about Aziraphale's purpose?

3:22 Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of Us, knowing good and evil; and now, he might reach out with his hand, and take fruit also from the tree of life, and eat, and live forever”—  23 therefore the Lord God sent him out of the Garden of Eden, to cultivate the ground from which he was taken.  24 So He drove the man out; and at the east of the Garden of Eden He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life.

@joycrispy's analysis above highlights Aziraphale's role as given in the last verse: as the angel chosen to wield the flaming sword, he was sent down after Adam and Eve were expelled to prevent them from returning. Instead, he chose to protect them by giving that sword away. His desire to protect humanity is indeed beautiful (@give-soup-please, @snek-eyes).

But wait, what came right before that? "And take fruit also from the tree of life...?"

2:9 Out of the ground the Lord God caused every tree to grow that is pleasing to the sight and good for food; the tree of life was also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

That's right: What we see in the show is that Adam and Eve were sent out of Eden so that they'd have to deal with the rain and the animals and have to work for their food, but that was never the primary motivation. God planted two special trees, and after Eve and Adam ate from one of them, God was terrified at the prospect of them turning around and eating from the other. And thus, the Garden of Eden was made off-limits and set to be permanently guarded by an angel with a flaming sword.

So, the flaming sword.

Twice now, Aziraphale's sword has helped humanity survive complete and total destruction (@nottobehornyonthemain). The first time, he handed the sword to the first two humans, which protected not just them but the entirety of the human race via Adam and very pregnant Eve.

The second time, he let it be wielded by The Them, who used it to best the Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse and save the billions of humans already alive as well as unborn generations.

Perhaps the flaming sword was only intended as a plot point in the first season. However, if its purpose were completed, it could have easily been destroyed. As a narrative piece, it could have broken dramatically at the end of the face-off against the Four Horsepeople. Or, Watsonianly, God could have chosen to break it Herself; after all, it was already used against its intended purpose twice, so why let it keep existing?

Instead, it's carefully taken away to... where? Heaven?

The place Aziraphale is now going?

Or at least a place where he could likely find a record showing where it's being stored?

Whether you call it "rule of threes" or "Chekhov's gun," I think it likely that Aziraphale will be getting his sword back in season 3. He probably doesn't want it (@createserenity, @ineffableigh, @doctorscienceknowsfandom), but he'll need it.

The question, then, is what would Aziraphale do with the flaming sword he was given to prevent humans from reaching the tree of life?

If we're looking at where the furniture isn't, the biggest stretch of an interpretation would be to say that the missing furniture is the tree of life. If anyone knows where Eden is, it would be Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. We know that both Heaven and Hell want to end humanity. The opening credits have humanity walking to their judgment after their deaths; what better way to prevent that than by preventing those deaths?

The most intense version of this theory says that the audience should be familiar with the story of the Garden of Eden and know damn well that there are two special trees there and that Aziraphale was put in place to guard the second one — the one humanity hasn't eaten from yet, the one that grants immortal life. That's where, if I were truly trying to swing for the hills by aiming at where the furniture isn't, I would ideally like to end this post. If that were the case, season 3 could even open with Aziraphale walking towards the Garden of Eden, sword in hand, but this time approaching it from the outside with the intention of tearing the wall down.

But, let's be honest, making individual people immortal doesn't feel like it would fit with the themes of Good Omens, nor with Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett's world views.

So, let's take the tree of life symbolically: Instead of the tree of life granting individual humans immortality, it could instead represent giving humanity immortality. In that case, the thing that's where the furniture isn't is Aziraphale's sword. You know, the sword that's already saved the human race from extinction twice now, with both times being because Aziraphale gave it away.

I suspect that the sword will wind up in Aziraphale's hands again in season 3. I also quite suspect that it won't be staying there. In the end, I expect it will once again be up to humanity to reach out their hand to take the apple from that second tree.

[multific]

Control

John Price x Reader

Summary: John was a man who liked being in control, and you were a woman who hated giving men what they wanted, so when it came to questioning you, John found himself in a rather tough spot.

"So, Miss Y/L/N... Codename... Black Cat. I have read your files." John Price put the papers down before he sat down at the table across you.

You watched him, not saying a word.

"Your Captain said that you are the best, but what it is exactly that you do?" he leaned back in his chair as you leaned forward.

Game on.

"If you read my file, you must know, so ask the questions you really want to ask, Captain Price." a small smile, just a tiny one, for a split second could be seen on his face. 

He liked you.

But again, everyone liked you.

Even if you behaved like a bitch.

"How? How do you do it? I have read about the mission in Qatar, you rescued over a hundred people. No casualties. No one saw you going in or coming out, so, how did you do it?"

"My Captain said that Taskforce 141 needed someone a little more... flexible. She said it will do me good coming here to help you, Captain Price. So, if you need my help, I suggest you refrain from asking more... stupid questions. With all due respect." your eyes never left him, you just sat there, legs crossed under the table, your hands on top of the table, resting.

"They say you are the best getting in and out. No witnesses, no death."

"Who are they?"

"I need someone who can do this job for me, I do not need an amateur egoist who won't work with my team and won't answer simple questions."

"Now, am I the best or an amateur? The two really don't work together. Also, if you continue insulting me, Sir, I might change my mind and just go back."

"How do you do it?! How can you get hundreds of people out of a building without anyone noticing?"

"I just have them focus on something else." you replied, your hand reaching for the cup in front of you. "And while they are looking elsewhere, I get what I want." you lifted your other hand and showed him the gun in your hand. His gun.

John watched you in amazement, but you could also see a hint of fear. Fear of the unknown, you were already used to that.

"I will send you the file tomorrow. Be ready at 5:00am." he stood from his seat, ready to leave after he got his gun back from you.

"So tell me John, am I an amateur or am I the best?" you asked as you turned and looked at him.

"You definitely are... something, Doll." you smirked as he walked away.

Oh, you will have a great time playing with the handsome Captain.

How sad that the Captain didn't realize that he was already in the claws of the cat.

Being played with, you will have your fun.

---

Captain Price got shot.

He walked right into a trap even though you warned him.

And now, you were hiding in a small shed with him.

He got shot in his left thigh.

"I told you not to go in there."

"I thought it was safe, they said it was clear."

"Yeah, and then betrayed us." you let out a sigh as you pushed on his wound, he groaned loudly. "Now, I will get the bullet out okay? bite down on this." you handed him a piece of wood.

John barely made a sound as you removed the bullet from his leg and treated his wound as best as you could.

"Don't trust the radio." he said, not like you didn't already know, yet you chose not to reply. You had bigger issues at hand, an injured Captain and a betrayal... "You have lovely eyes." you made you freeze as you looked at John.

His head, leaning against the wall as he watched you.

"So beautiful." he whispered. It had to be the blood loss.

You tried to convince yourself. It had to be the blood loss. What else could it be?!

"You are stunning." he continued, his voice sounding like a dream. You tried your best to focus.

Blood loss.

"So fierce and firey."

Blood loss.

"I like you very much, ya know?"

Blood loss.

"I shouldn't but I do."

"Captain." your voice sounded like a warning. A warning John was too oblivious to realize.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you." you replied immediately. And you truly didn't it was a simple attraction you felt towards him, an attraction you thought best to keep under cover. Perhaps he was the same, and with his delusion, he finally admitted them. "I do really like you John." you said as you sat down on the floor in front of him.

You knew you two were safe here in this basement.

But you weren't safe from your own feelings and his.

"But you do."

"To be fair, you were the one that interviewed me."

"I did that because I found you attractive. I couldn't believe my eyes, you were skilled, sexy and pretty at the same time!"

"I will get us out of here." you said as you tried to avoid his confessions. 

"I know you will, Doll. The question is whether I will be alive or not."

"I stopped your bleeding." he looked down at his leg and saw his bandaged up leg.

"Oh. You did." he genuinely sounded surprised. You let out a sigh, quietly, you rather not attract his attention.

"Take this." you said as you reached into your pocket and gave him a small pill. "It will help with the pain and... delusions."

"I'm not delirious. I'm only in love."

"Even worse."

"You could say that again." he let out another sigh, your eyes never left his face.

He was handsome, way too handsome for his own good.

He looked so good with a longer beard, it did things to you. You remember when you first met him his face was shaved. It was months ago, and it always felt like you two have been dancing around each other.

And now, in this unfortunate situation, you two confessed your feelings. Even if his mind was foggy due to the blood loss.

You knew his words rang with the truth. You weren't stupid, you knew exactly what was between you two, and was unsaid.

But you knew it could never be more than the looks you gave each other, the usual bantering, filled with flirting and sarcasm. 

It was good, it was unsaid, but a simple wound ruined it, and he didn't even know what he had just done.

And he didn't realize until you saved him and he was in the hospital wing.

It was a slow process, having to move him to safety and not getting caught, but you managed.

After all, you were the best.

The nurse explained to you that he was sleeping, but he wasn't.

He laid awake, recalling everything he said and did. He would have regretted it if it wasn't for you. He was ready to apologise and pretend it never happened but you reciprocated his feelings.

You told him that you liked him, you smiled at him so sweet and patched up his wound. You didn't pull away or frown, you stayed and told him that you liked him as well.

Two days passed since you last seen John.

He called you into his office the third day, needing to "have a talk in private". 

You assumed he would ask you to forget everything he said and move on.

You sat in front of him and he finally looked at you.

"I can't say my words were lies. I cannot and will not say that I don't feel a certain affection towards you. But our line of work is not made for relationships and feelings. I cannot go on a mission, worrying about you when I have three other men by my side. It wouldn't be fair."

"You wouldn't have to worry, Sir. Laswell asked me to work with her, we would work on strategies and come up with new trainings. Since I proved I know how to handle even the most extreme hostage situations, she wants my knowledge on paper. We wouldn't have to hide, John." you watched him as he processed the information. "If you want to, of course." you quickly added and he suddenly stood up, scaring you enough to jolt up as well.

You did it in defence, it was, after all, part of your training.

John rounded the table and stopped in front of you.

"Of course, I want you." the way he said it, with such desperation in his voice, made you weak.

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to kiss you.

Your lips collided with his and it all felt so right.

It was something you have longed for for months now.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[yuesya]

Sweet notes of music drift into the nighttime air, the song of a lyre accompanied by the clear notes of a young voice.

Ventus smiles broadly, fingers plucking the strings of his own lyre in harmony to his friend’s song.

The life of a bard is not a particularly affluent one. But luckily for them, Ventus has made many friends in all walks of life within the walls of Mondstadt… including talented craftsmen who happened to be highly skilled with woodwork. They had only been all too happy to indulge Ventus’ unusual request of making a miniature-sized lyre for his miniature-sized friend.

“How was that, Ventus? How did I do this time?” A white blur zips towards him, eagerly spinning around him a few times before stopping to hover directly in front of his face. Beneath the white hood, it’s difficult to make out distinct features, or even a face at all, but the small wind spirit’s buoyant enthusiasm is clear to identify from his voice alone.

Ventus smiles and praises, “That was great! You’re getting a lot better with the lyre now, Little Breeze.”

“Yay!” The nameless wind spirit cheers, with a small tinkling laughter that’s filled with genuine delight. He twirls in the air with a small somersault and–

–lands on an open palm.

Ventus blinks. Then, jumps with a startled yelp, because he had not noticed anyone else standing right next to him this entire time–!

The young wind spirit laughs, bouncing excitedly on the newcomer’s hand. “Did you like my music?”

“… It was passable,” is the young girl’s response.

Ventus roams the streets of Mondstadt every day, and he knows all its residents. Yet he can say with complete confidence that this young girl who’d appeared out of nowhere next to him is not someone whom he recognizes at all.

Her hair is long, white. Smooth and silken, in a way that Ventus hasn’t even seen in noble-blooded daughters before. Likewise, her skin is pale and smooth –unblemished and flawless in the way that a person might suspect of a statue, rather than another living human being.

But despite the physical perfections, she’s only clad in a simple white chiton. There is a thin girdle that encircles her waist, and looks to be entwined of coarse wooden fibers.

The juxtaposition is a little… startling.

“Just ‘passable?’” The tiny wind spirit that still stands upon the strange girl’s palm freezes for a moment, then draws himself upright with a loud ‘hmph.’ “But Ventus said my song was great! And he’s the best bard in all of Mondstadt, so there!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say best bard,” Ventus laughs sheepishly, then puts on a friendly smile towards their unexpected guest. “Are you new to Mondstadt, perhaps? A rare visitor! Shall I sing a small song of welcome for the lovely young lady, perhaps?”

The girl doesn’t even deign to glance in his direction, which. Ouch. That’s actually kind of–

“Unnecessary. Your music is stifled.”

Ventus freezes.

Stifled.

… A thick barrier of fierce, impenetrable winds surrounds the city of Mondstadt and its nearby territories. Stifled is the right word for it –how could he not be, being caged like this under the aegis of an uncaring god?

For all that Decarabian had been the one to protect the earliest generations of Mondstadt’s people and help them raise their city from the ground, their patron god had eventually chosen to retire to the recesses of their high tower after the barriers were raised, and none had seen them since… save for the few chosen among the God of Storms’ knights, who continued to serve the deity faithfully throughout the generations. Blindly.

“But your music…” the white-haired girl lifts her hand, studying the little wind spirit that cocks his head towards her. “… you are… happy. Exceedingly so. Why?”

“Well, what’s there to not be happy about?” The young spirit responds. “I’m with my friend, and he’s teaching me how to play wonderful music! We’ll be playing together in the tavern with all of our other friends, too! There’s going to be yummy food and drinks!”

The excitable wind spirit does another little flip again.

“How long have you tarried here?”

The little wind spirit freezes mid-flip, dangling awkwardly in the air. “… Eh? I-I don’t understand what you’re–”

“You should know this,” the girl says, and her next words dismiss any possibility of her being a mundane traveler for Ventus. “You are only a fragment of the wind, a momentary breeze. The rustling of leaves in the morning light… which is how you slipped through the barrier. But no wind is meant to be bound to a single place.”

“B-But I have friends here,” the little wind spirit stomps his feet. “I like listening to Ventus’ music. I like playing tag with Gunnhildr. I want to stay here! … Please?”

The girl tilts her head. “Even if it means your sense of self will disappear entirely, if you insist on forcibly maintaining this form instead of returning to the Thousand Winds?”

Ventus’ mouth drops open.

What?!

“I won’t be myself anymore, if I return to the winds,” the little spirit answers. “I… want to spend time doing the things I like, with the people I like, in the place that I like. Is that so wrong?”

The girl is silent.

Ventus tries to say something, anything. Why didn’t you tell me about this? Is there anything that I can do to help? How could you hide something like this from all of us, foolish little breeze?

But nothing comes out from his mouth. Ventus discovers that his voice has been silenced without his knowing–

And in front of him, a small breeze picks up around the strange girl and the young wind spirit that hovers in front of her.

For a single moment in the silence of the night, only the stars and wind remain.

“… Nameless spirit. One who is but a mere wisp of the Thousand Winds. Who has cast his gaze upon this land and its people, and wishes to linger,” the girl says. But there’s a certain cadence to these words, a certain intonation that causes each syllable to echo in Ventus’ head.

Every note overlaps upon each other again and again, rising into a terrifying crescendo–

“Upon the authority of–” 

The girl’s voice disappears entirely. 

… No, it doesn’t disappear. Ventus is still cognizant of her voice, but for some reason he just can’t hear. But the moment passes swiftly before he has a chance to think too deeply on it, and– 

Suddenly, all pressure disappears from his mind.

Blessed calm.

Ventus gasps, staring into the ground, hunched over and kneeling. What–?

“–I bestow upon you the name, ‘Barbatos,’” the girl says quietly. “… Rise. I permit you to cease your endless wandering, and henceforth grant you a place to belong.”

There is a blinding flash of light that encapsulates the wind spirit. It’s–

Music, song, laughter–

Run, drift, fly–

Freedom–

…

…

…

With a sharp gasp as he startles back into the world of wakefulness, Ventus immediately bolts upright in his… bed…?

No. No, he remembers going out to meet his little friend last night. Playing music together. Then, there was that strange girl who appeared and did something to the wind spirit. It didn’t seem like she had any malicious intent, but…

…

… just who was she? Surely there was someone who would know; her appearance was quite distinctive. Long white hair, coupled with eyes that were–

… were…

…

(What did her eyes look like again? Ventus can’t remember. Ventus has excellent memory, and he can’t remember.)

“You’re awake!”

It is with great relief that Ventus takes in the sight of his little friend… or rather, not so little anymore. The little wind spirit appears to have grown slightly in height. More noticeably, though, there are now a pair of feathery white wings that sprout from his back, fluttering in the air.

“Ba– … err, um. Cecilia! Cecilia said that you were a little sensitive to her power, which was why you passed out, but you should be fine after a good night’s sleep.” The wind spirit turns a playful somersault in the air and plops down atop Ventus’ stomach, causing him to let out a slight ‘oof.’

Then, the words register. “Cecilia?”

“Um… yeah!” A shifty response, accompanied by nervously-fluttering wings. Ventus gives his little friend a look.

“… Did you just make up a name for her on the spot?”

“Her hair is pretty! Like the cecilias you showed me!”

Ventus opens his mouth, then closes it distractedly. “I suppose that’s true…”

“Isn’t it?” Eagerly, the little wind spirit leans forward. “And thanks to her, I don’t have to worry about disappearing anytime soon! And I have a name now, too –Barbatos!”

“… Do you know who she is, really?” Although the girl hadn’t been particularly friendly or talkative… despite everything, she’d helped the little wind spirit –Barbatos– of her own volition even though there hadn’t been any reason for her to. 

The power she’d shown… was she a wind spirit, too? Surely a strong spirit, at the very least. Decarabian had slain so many gods that even now, none dared to linger anywhere close to Mondstadt’s borders. So the very thought of the girl potentially being a god in disguise was a laughable one, but…

If they could get her help, then… perhaps, they would stand a better chance at resisting and overturning Decarabian’s tyranny.

“The winds cherish her,” Barbatos responds, which lends credence to the growing theory of the mysterious girl being another wind spirit. “And… I think she needs friends.”

Ventus hums.

“Well, I think we could help with that.”

[lovejosephquinn]

all i can think about is joseph picking you up and fucking you. the moment is so sweet and intimate too. ur forehead to forehead looking in his eyes, whispering sweet nothings to each other, and giving sloppy kisses. like this is all i’ve been thinking about these past few weeks

It’s smutty o’clock here and I’m ready for it anon 💀

It starts off with you caged between Joe and the wall, your hands cuffed by his in midair as his free hand touches every crevice of your body, his tongue scrounging for every sweet part of your neck that has him a trance purely from the way your skin smells and tastes, somewhat of an addiction for him.

The bottom half of his clothing eventually found as a puddle at his feet whilst your panties are pushed to one side, skirt draped up your hips whilst you’re hoisted into the air, his cock slipping perfectly inside of you as you gasp for air at every inch slamming in and out of you at a great pace. Your walls clench as the knot in your stomach starts small and then builds further every second, his pre-cum spewing inside of you as his swollen tip aches from the way it taps onto your cervix.

Your moans echoing across the room, your whimpers hot and heavy becoming a tune whilst your name is being passed around like a prayer straight from Joe’s vocal chords. The low gravelly tone that makes it all the more seductive when he calls you his good girl. When your breathing increases erratically from him breeding you against the wall. The word yes becomes an even more welcoming word when it’s formed straight from the pit of his stomach, letting you know that you take his cock so well. The way he rails you hard increases massively when you’re crying out for more, even though he’s so close, you feel like you need to yell just for him to hear you and simply just for you to be able to form a sentence. More. More. More. Murmurs of the three sweet intimate words of I love you can be heard from time to time, an elaborate gesture that just because you’re fucking you can still express your regular emotion.

His mouth writhes against yours in an intimately and frantically fierce kiss, his teeth grazing every now and then on your bottom lip causing little marks to appear from how hard he grips, the skin around your lips covered in a combination of yours and his saliva from the messy mouth to mouth contact. The art work your tongues create together in a contemporary motion, seizing all of the sounds hitching from your throat that become soft hums as you savour the taste of one another.

Your foreheads magnetising as one together, your eyes scanning each others darkened aura almost reading each others minds, he thrusts that tiny bit harder to make you open your eyes every time you squeeze them shut from the immense pleasure your core is undertaking. Your hands grip to his curls like you’re holding on for dear life, your body jolting and squirming whilst his fingertips dig into the under part of your thighs leading to your ass cheeks, melting into your skin from the way they dig further.

Your head manages to slope into the crook of his neck, your hot breath and the sweat of your bodies now combining well, the stickiness of slick dripping out of your cunt, hitting onto his sack and down to the floor. The contents of a good time. You cum together, not able to take anymore when you feel his cock stiffen to its maximum capacity, the tightness of your cunt increasing when your orgasms engulf every inch of you. Goosebumps allowing themselves to cover your skin, the little ball of pleasure erupts like an earthquake and the greatest image of all his in front of you, Joe’s own eyes closed, his lips parted and his head partly thrown back from the way you’ve pulled on his hair. His thrusts become sloppy and slow but he continues to move until you’re both spent, giving you one last kiss for good measure before slowly getting you back to ground level, instantly gripping your arms to help you regain the feeling in your legs so you can stand on your own.

The veins in the rage of the erection are slowly disappearing and it’s becoming limp and you can’t help but giggle when he has a hard time jogging to the bathroom, struggling slightly because his clothing is still around his feet, but he’s too overstimulated to care that he can’t move well. It doesn’t matter so much, because even though you’ve gone just this once, you stand looking up to the ceiling with a smile on your face and even more so when you hear the sound of the bath water flowing through the tap and Joe pops his head around the corner to share your beaming look when he asks, aren’t you going to join me baby?

[loversdelusions]

Hi I love to see what you think Yandere kirishima be like :) Like kirishima would he be the type to kidnapped or is he the type to Just stalks her and collects every information to a wall or something or does he do both ?

⋆✸ Yandere Kirishima: Habits and Rituals ✸⋆

Kirishima - usually - is the ideal partner. He's sweet, loyal, fiercely strong and passionate. He's a great guy. Normally.

When he's infatuated, though, he's not the same person. He's big, towering over you, and makes you tiny by comparison. He enjoyed it, too. Made him feel powerful, how small you were in comparison, and how you'd look under him. He would use this to his advantage, leaning over you and trapping you in his arms, grabbing you and moving you around as he wished, like his little rag doll.

In all honesty in his lovesick state, he's a terror. He's not the type to make a shrine, or place photos around the wall of his room. He has a few treasured photographs of you he keeps with him at all times, to look at, satisfy his pleasures to, and remind himself of his focus.

Kirishima is a giant passive-aggressive bully.

No one understands what you're talking about, the pushing around, the small pinches to your thighs, hands skimming the side of your skin going up and underneath your skirt while you tried to move away without angering him. What could you do about it, anyways? No one believes you anyway. You're talking about Red Riot, he would never do such things. Why are you trying to muddy his name?

It continued to be like that, his subtle touches, sometimes rough and scarring, left behind scratches at times and red sore makes as if to remind you where he's been. He's a jealous guy, though it seems more internal than anything. Unlike Bakugou who will hate everything you touch and will be watching from afar, or Izuku, whose idea of 'take out the garbage is a bit too liberal when it comes to people and objects; Kirishima does not wait away or shy from your attention. He runs head-on and tells everyone that he is in love with you.

The peer pressure will not end. "Give him a chance,"

"Don't break the guy's heart,"

"It's Kirishima, no way you're gonna reject him right? He's been your friend since the beginning of our first year!"

His other stalker behaviour is scrapbooking whatever little polaroids he likes to snap of you, (polaroids on purpose for the aesthetic) as well as whatever remind him of you. A daisy he found, little heart sprinkles he found in the store that made him think of you, whatever little aesthetic things he likes and comforts him as if you were there to do it yourself. He has both sides of cruelty and the gentle-handed approach, and which one he used depends on the impulses he gets the moment you happen to be in his vision.

At times you'd get whiplash by the sudden gentlemanly act he has, holding your stuff for you, getting you little trinkets like a tiny gremlin, cute little animal candles is something he will definitely give you and for no apparent reason. It becomes very apparent he is going through it, his mind is bouncing from wall to wall flipping through moods and behaviours like play cards yet no matter how many times he pulls a card he is always the joker.

He doesn't think it through. When asked, if you turn to him with wide teary eyes and ask him why he was doing this he'd be very confused. He is aware what he's doing is a crime, but it does not particularly register to him that he might be considered a criminal. Unlike the others, whose forms of denial can consist of fake acceptance and/or severe delusion, Kirishima is hurt by the insinuation that he is terrorizing you, and the gaslighting may begin.

Was he that bad? He was so sorry if you felt that way, so upset that he was not being good to you as he wanted, or that he was simply playing, didn't mean to hurt you, and the big wide red eyes turning to you with apologies falling from his lips, but his eyes moving to yours— and if you soften...

Kiss.

He really wants you, no matter what, you know. He'll be the perfect guy, you just gotta accept it, and let him surround you with his love. It really doesn't come to his mind that accepting his love also means accepting his fury.

Kidnapping is not exactly his style. He'd much rather pressure you into his arms, it makes it easier to convince himself it was you who'd accepted him without his interference. He finds it much more pleasurable when he can shower you with love and attention in front of others in favour of accosting you at later times. The secrecy, the lying and toying with the public images of both of you makes him high with the power, all the subtlety it takes when he was considered too airheaded to do all those things boosts his self-image to a level unwarranted. Which is why he has no problem knowing you'll be his.

You can't out-manoeuvre him. But you're lucky he loves you, and you should care about remaining in his good graces otherwise his teasing smiles and cocky grins will turn into cruel smirks and sadistic touches.

Don't test him. You won't like the hardened shell he'll erect to push your limits.

[edutainer2022]

It's the aftermath of TV-21 sabotage and crash into the ocean. I was going one way with the story, but it's maybe going the other through a will of its own. It has no choice but to end in obliterating fluff, but, of course, not just yet.

A thing with feathers - Bit 1

They were huddled on top of the stairs in the darkened farmhouse, well out of sight, but equally well within earshot from where, in the study, their father's voice boomed frustration and anger, and something very close to the grief they were all too familiar with, at a very young, very shy bespectacled engineer, a silent and grim Kyrano and, quite likely, Aunt Casey's and Uncle Lee's holograms. But most of all at the "bad man", who made their Dad ditch his baby, his fantastic rocket plane, into the ocean. The word "investors" rolled around a lot in the tide of Jeff's fury.

John was, thankfully, on bedtime story duty with the Tinies. So it was just Virgil and Scott, backs against the wall, knees drawn up to their chins, in the shadows. If Virgil was leaning a little too heavily into his big brother's side, a little too shaken in hindsight that Dad nearly didn't make it back from the test flight, it was just as well. If his brother was propping him up with a half-hug, he didn't mind. Scott was pale, dark shadows matching beneath the eyes, bright blue dulled, haunted and red-rimmed. He looked almost as desolate as their Dad that day.

TV-21 was not just an incredible, groundbreaking engineering marvel, designed with a kind goal in mind - to reach people the fastest and save them - it was Dad's dream. All through brainstorming, design and construction of the project they almost got their father back, the one that hadn't been around since Mom - an inspired hero, a fierce pilot with a sparkle in his eyes and a spring in his step. A man with a great purpose. It all came crashing down that day at Mach 21. Scott had a sinking feeling their Dad, barely resurfaced from mourning and mountains of paperwork of an expanding business, would be lost to them again.

"Are we broke now, Scotty? Will we loose the house, like Nick's family?"

Virgil's voice was small and unsure, big eyes peering up at his big brother brimming with tears as much as a hope the big brother in question would make it all alright. Somehow. Scott wished he had a first clue how, though. Ever since Mom was gone, he had a queasy feeling of trying to tread a quicksand - both out of his depth and drowning - trying to leverage four heartbroken brothers and a withdrawn Dad, trying to keep together the quickly disintegrating pieces of their world. Just like Mom would want him to do. If only he knew better, if only he could do more, give more, be more... If only he could be enough...

Building TV-21 was a welcome change of pace to the giddy whirlwind of excitement. Scott hadn't honesty felt closer to their father in a long while than in those endless afternoons and even nights of planning. Dad let him curve the bedtime and come back to the office, once everyone was asleep, where Dad and Brains would pour over blueprints, 3D models and scattered drafts. They would argue, share ideas and airpunch in triumph, when a design solution clicked. Scott soaked it up as a sponge, trying to keep up with the cutting edge math and breakneck physics of the future plane. But he was happiest when Dad would include him in a comment or turn to bounce an idea. Dad's eyes sparkled with inspiration and mirth, but above all, hope Scott had only seen directed at Mom. Scott was on cloud nine.

Under the strict condition to stay quiet, Virgil and John would be sometimes allowed to stay in the study with Scott (when their Grandma came to visit, mostly, to distract the Tinies). The three eldest boys would then huddle in Scott's room way past the extended bedtime (that Dad may or may not have known about) working through the math and physics they didn't yet quite grasp (well, John almost did, Scott hot on his heels with the velocity equations), but moreso dreaming in hushed voices about amazing heroic adventures with the amazing unfathomable machines  - the creeping up sleep and impending dawn the only limits to their imagination. Virgil would sketch outlandish planes and rockets. John requested a space station, because everything was cooler with a space station, and they even came up with a little submarine for Gordy (of course they'd never leave Gordy or Allie behind in their thought through adventures - the resident astrocase John noted primly there were oceans and seas on satellites and exoplanets too, in space). Scott suggested a little kangaroo sling for Alan on a super-supersonic plane (blue, of course), although all three of them agreed it was too early for Allie to breach the sonic barrier. Maybe when he was five. It was decided they would put together the scrapbook of their fantastic designs and well wishes for Dad to present on the day of TV-21 test flight. Dad would totally love that and it was a while since they made a project for him. Well... not since Mom...

Scott secretly hated the name of the jet. It was plain and boring, and not badass enough. Something like Phoenix or Falcon, or anything equally flashy that telegraphed speed and power, would fit the purpose of TV-21 better - the fastest rocket plane ever to reach anyone in need anywhere, anytime. Brains, the timid young genius Dad recruited straight from CERN, insisted the name was exhaustive and reflected the plane key feature - maximum velocity of mind-blowing Mach 21. Which was just as well - Dad was gonna set the record and come back to them full of life and will to change the world for the better. Or so Scott thought as they were all glued to the screens, watching TV-21 take off...

[snowflake-of-destruction]

Not all of my screenshots would upload even when under the limit, but I like the conversation between Zack and the Wutai elite agents, the bits of challenge to Zack's view that, yes, might be slightly forced, but aren't near as heavy handed as they could have been by far--and are balanced by showing how far the Wutaians go into honor before reason as they try to insist on being killed even when faced with a simpathetic Shinra Soldier who thought he *was* lettting them keep honor as well as their lives by facing them in combat, not just telling them to run, but then granting mercy. Also, I'm a big fan of the small detail of you not looting/not being able to loot the obvious materia from the Leviathan statue's mouth after Zack learned/was reminded of the importance of Leviathan to Wutai, like that was a sign of respect directly from good egg Zack Fair.

Now on to the "confrontation" with Yuffie. It is great in a lot of respects. I love seeing the tiny spitfire, fierce even as a child, and Zack's clear conflict and discomfort is great, but I think it would have worked better with something like Zack having his moment of conflict and then him neutralizing her by putting her in a secret room behind (yet another) spinning wall and wedging the mechanism so she can't get back out rather than the play fight and then Zack letting her go where she could either be a real problem or run into a far less willing to play member of Shinra (Zack was mostly alone but there were others near by we see right after this) and get hurt, and Yuffie just running off like it was a game. Yes, she's a kid, but even if you pull the card that she really believed she vanquished him for good...he stood right back up and had already made it clear he wouldn't fight back. I think our girl would have started taking real pot shots or went for that Leviathan materia.

He should have made sure the threat was gone, even if it was "just a kid," and he should have made sure the kid was protected as well. A line of a shocked and misinterpretting Zack deciding Wutai employs child soldiers that also highlights hypocricy for those that know Sephiroth went into active warzones at like 12 would not have been unwelcome either.

My ideal lead in would have Zack running into traps all through the base and being taunted by Yuffie's voice then seeing the "great ninja" who has plagued him is just a kid, but the how Zack meets Yuffie isn't as in need of fixing as the end. Just my opinion.

Mostly, I still like this cameo though.

[sliptohk]

Prompt #16: Jerk

The sniveling little lalafel did not even have the good sense to accord Shezrah proper respect. He looked almost bored as he sat behind the desk, her weapons laid out before him as he droned on about some aggrieved party that dared lay claim to those arms. Why they would have chosen to come through this man instead of stealing them back by force was beyond her.

As he reached across the table to begin wrapping those blades in cloth for safe storage, she quickly focused back in on just what was being said. It had all seemed an utter waste of attention up until they began to actually move their tiny little arms instead of their tiny little jaws. If there was a knife in hand, she would have stabbed it down emphatically into the desktop to draw them up short.

Alas, the less pathetic guards flanking her kept a firm grip at the elbow, ensuring that those bound hands remained behind her back instead of stabbing small hands to emphasize her displeasure with the situation. With limited options, she did the only thing that made sense to her. Leaning back, they gripped her tighter as anticipated, only to lift and tuck both legs into just the right position to thrust forward with a burst of violence.

Catching their chest flush, the chair was knocked over backward with a wheeze of lost breath while the clerk struggled to regain their composure and shakily start to pick themselves back up again.

"Be warned, you… pathetic jackal cub! I will forgive none that steal from me!"

Already they were dragging her backward, legs kicking ineffectually to try and get another good hit in. Alas, the distance was too great when her desired target kept himself further back than needed after the warrior woman had already made her intentions clear. They may have been ill-suited to physical confrontation, but they were not too proud or stupid to admit it. That was what the guards were for.

Firing biting insults at the two men too infuriatingly professional to pay it much mind, Shezrah found herself dragged back into a small cell. With just enough space to lay down on one wooden bedframe, and a window set high into the wall with bars across it to let in the midday heat. Undoubtedly at the proper time of day there would be light streaming through as well, but the acolyte had no interest in waiting for that moment to arise.

At least they removed the bindings from her wrists before they left, which she thanked them for graciously, "Too feeble to handle me without arms bound? Hah! That it takes two to restrain me! This city has made you weak! Flee, idiots, before I let myself out and move through you!"

One of them muttered a reply, but it was too quiet to hear clearly. Something about it being far too early in the day but the rest was cut off. It was of no concern to her. Appraisal took priority, gaze sweeping across the limited range of options available to her. The door was thick, the bedframe too flimsy to pry it open. A few fierce kicks proved that as it shattered to splintered fragments that did nothing but clutter the limited space further.

Reaching for the bars of the window, the woman pulled herself up to give it a more complete examination. Old stone and iron, signs of age clear upon them. Nothing so painfully obvious as a seam running down the wall, but it was the best option she had before her. Dropping back to the floor, and nearly fall on her backside when a bit of broken frame slipped under one foot, she sought out the most important piece of the slowly forming escape plan.

No mirror. No steel. Nothing readily available to whisper words of power into, but the Abadi were an adaptive people. A sloshing bucket would do, turning it about until that reflection peered back at her. With a wide grin, she leaned closer, angling the bucket with a slosh as the foul smelling contents shifted. It was best not to think about the purpose of it, but so long as it gave what she needed that was not her concern.

Finding the browns of her eyes, Shezrah fell into them. Words drawing deeper as she dared to utilize imprints more advanced than she ought to. Nothing so dangerous as the most beloved of Mother's children, but above what she had first carried with her into the wider world.

Necessity demanded it.

"Strength of mountains - implacable! Bones of mythril - unbreakable! Stones pulverize! Iron bends! I do not!"

It was an effort not to crush that bucket between her hands, muscles shivering in excitement at the flow of energy within. Only the desire not to spill it ensured that restraint as she gripped the bars once more and pulled herself up. Legs planted against each side of the window and calloused fingers twisted tighter as they anchored themselves.

She pulled - slowly, at first. Sand jittering across the opening as it resisted the inexorable pull of the captive. A groan, either escaping her own throat or coming from the stone itself as sweat beaded and quickly found dust eager to coat itself against her. Legs and back gradually beginning to straighten as the bars bent slowly inwards. A pop of a joint sounded, but there was no pain to follow. Harmless sounds.

The wall quivered. Stubborn materials refusing to part as the stone seating that window began to slowly bow outward. With a victorious snarl, Shezrah leaned forward once more, before ripping herself backward with an audible crack as the cage of bars were torn free, and a good deal of the hard stone it had once seated itself in. It was that rough yank that hurled the piece of the cell behind her, fingers releasing it to slam hard enough into the door to dent it, warping it in its frame and crashing loudly against the floor at an awkward angle beneath her.

Twisting into a fall, and ignoring the excruciating ache of muscle and bone as reality began to slowly wash away those bolstering words, Shezrah let out a breathy, derisive laugh, "No prison can hold me! You were duly warned yet chose to ignore it! Prepare for the repercussions of this grave error!"

Squeezing herself through the newly formed gaped in the wall, a feat made more difficult as strained flesh was swiftly beginning to stiffen, she hobbled her way off into the growing crowd around one of the cities many markets. Those stolen weapons soon forgotten as she passed by an untended butcher's stall. Bloodied cleavers asking to be claimed, far too enticing to ignore.

She would need rest while her invulnerable body knitted itself back from its present quite vulnerable state. Not that the conditioning would allow her to acknowledge that. Then, something suggested a meeting with some sort of cub, but the meaning of it was long since lost with the moment that had spawned it. Weapons were in hand and that mission firmly embedded into the forefront of her mind. Anything else was a temporary distraction.

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

Zeph had always partially believed Alia Underwood was a myth. One of those stories told to minor demons to scare them away from the surface, leaving the power for those willing to fight for it. Sure, he’d heard the whispers of the greats like Richard Claudine, the White Crescent Legionary and the Twin Professors, but there was something that always got under his skin more about the teenager who seemed to be sending demons back without so much as a shiver.

‘Why me?’ he’d foolishly asked the greater demon when the proposition was put forward to him. The demon hadn’t liked the question, and yet Zeph didn’t regret it. Not even when he felt the pain of their anger, when he was reminded of just how small time he really was.

‘Because you can get close,’ they’d hissed in his ear, the words like fire against his skin. ‘She’s just a little girl.’

Cannon fodder, that’s what Zeph had heard in those words. They didn’t care if he succeeded or failed. He was merely going to act as cannon fodder. If he found something, he was obliged to share it with them back home. If he didn’t… Well, a dismissal for him wouldn’t personally impact anybody else.

‘It’s like that myth where the elephant’s scared of a mouse,’ came the increasingly familiar voice of Carolyn Grainger, snapping Zeph’s thoughts away from home and towards the task at hand.

‘The what?’ he asked dumbly, turning to see her walking towards him. A few of the football team were disappearing down the corridor behind her.

She waved a dismissive hand as she leant against the wall, her attention on him rather than the duo that made up her best friends in the courtyard. ‘Alia’s not all that scary.’

Zeph’s attention drifted back to the girl. She really was tiny; even some of the students still in uniform seemed to tower over her, and yet she somehow didn’t seem small. Where Freddy was loud and seemed to command attention, Alia somehow managed to earn it without trying. But Zeph had seen the fierceness in her eyes when he first met them, when Freddy had introduced them. There was an iciness in that look as well, a look that scared him more than some of the stories he’d heard.

‘She’s a pussycat really,’ Carolyn went on. ‘A mean one. With claws. And – There we go,’ she said, smirking when Zeph’s attention finally snapped to her. ‘D’you know how to make Al less scary?’

‘How?’ he asked, not caring that he’d technically admitted he was scared of her.

Carolyn waved a hand towards Alia and Freddy in a gesture that seemed to usher him in that direction. ‘Talk to her… Or rather at her to begin with. She’ll come around eventually.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ he whispered when Carolyn headed towards her friends. Two days at the school and despite all the stories he’d heard about her, Zeph had learnt one thing: Alia Underwood was a good person. And that was an uncomfortable truth for him to accept.

Merry Christmas @fiercefray; I hope you enjoy this little drabble that's about how Zeph got involved with things.

[rcksmith]

Attention — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “Hiiiiii would you be able to do 48 and 56 from the smut prompts for Five! Tyyyyy 🥺🥺”

“Hiii could I request 48 + 56 from the smut prompts with five”

Smut Prompts:

48. “I only want to please you.”

56. “Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope it got close to what you guys wanted. ❤️ As soft prompts, I chose not to make a heavy smut, because I think that's what the requests wanted. Basically it's a more tranquil smut.

Guys, I really understand who doesn't feel comfortable reading or writing Five's smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: smut explicit and fluff too.

— — — — —

While the night outside bathed the city streets with a midnight lunar glow, Five kept hunched over notebooks, pencils, a mug with coffee and the lamp on. He was in those equations for hours and, truth be told, you were starting to get bored.

Not that it was a surprise Five to spend hours immersed in their mathematics of probabilities, submerged in a world of numbers that you didn't understand at all. Usually, you accompanied him with a book, without saying anything, just reading while he did his math. It was cozy that dynamic, sometimes he looked at you just to make sure you were comfortable, that you were there, and you felt peaceful just for his company.

But that day... well, you were restless. You watched Five pass the equations onto the table, scribbling numbers on the wood as he pulled his coffee mug down for another sip.

You used those moments to observe all the details of him, from his silky black hair, smooth skin, strong jaw and eyes that were always fierce. The long fingers caught your eye even more, and you held your breath for a second when the same fingers squeezed the pencil.

You were an idiot for Five. It was true. You remembered perfectly the moments when those fingers already made you feel so good, sinking into you so deep that you were unable to suppress the moans.

You felt slightly needy all day, getting excited about small, ridiculous things. As it was now, just by watching those long fingers squeeze the pencil.

Five and you had recently engaged in a kind of relationship. You two didn't have a label yet, but you knew that Five already had an attachment and possession over you, so him couldn't even tolerate the idea of ​​you with someone else.

“Five” You called, your voice slightly slurred, trying not to show how needy you were.

He did not answer, immersed in his own thoughts. And then you appealed to... well, plan B.

You sat on the bed, looked at the pants in your pajamas and decided to remove them completely, putting them aside while opening some buttons on your shirt and showing the pulp of your breasts, covered by the lacy black bra. Your legs were now completely bare, your hips covered by the piece of black panties, with the hem of her shirt not covering much of your ass.

“What are you doing?” Then Five's voice came, without him taking his eyes off the equations, demonstrating that he had noticed your sudden lack of clothes.

Plan B was fulfilling its purpose...

“What?” You made a fool of yourself, just to get his attention.

And him did it. Five took his eyes to your direction, falling down your body before returning to your eyes.

“Your clothes.” He nodded “Put them back.” Then he turned to the front again.

That bastard...

You blinked a few times, looking at him while trying not to be consumed by the feeling of insecurity.

“Why?” You asked, dragging yourself to the edge of the bed, closer to Five. “It's not an invitation, I'm just hot.” What a great lie.

“Put on shorts then.”

This guy...

“Can't I stay like this?”

“No.”

“Why?”

So you've reached the peak of Five's tiny patience. He turned to you, his eyes slightly flashed with small irritation, his jaw clenched as if he were controlling himself to not do something.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

But if he wanted to discourage you with that, the reaction was the opposite. You grinned, your cheeks taking on a ruddy hue, your heart pounding, the feminine vanity bulging inside you. In those moments, when Five looked at you as if you were the most superb creature on earth, you felt powerful, desired, sexy. And that gave you the courage to take attitudes absent from shyness.

You stood up, the smile still on your face, your heart racing in chest. Five kept the eagle eyes on you, watching you sit on his lap, each leg next to his hips.

“Y/n...” his voice was a clear warning, but his hands involuntarily went to your waist.

That simple moment was able to bring vibrations in your belly, already wetting your panties. You held a sigh, brushing the black hair on the back of his neck with your fingers.

“I only want to please you.” You delivered the game quietly, making Five let out a loud breath when your words were combined with the movement of your hips.

He should have stopped you, but if there was anything in the world where Five had a weakness, it was you. He was addicted, unable to refuse anything about you.

Then Five gave himself the luxury of enjoying your wet panties against his pelvis, your mouth tracing kisses through him neck that was now as hot as summer. The feeling that it was having you in his lap was indescribable, him body pulsed under you, already ordering something that Five knew very well what it was.

The tightness in your waist became stronger, and the long, long hands went down to the hem of your shirt, reaching inside and squeezing yours thighs.

You blew out a loud breath, pressing your lips against Five's neck as his hands continued to rise, completely invading your shirt, until it reached yours breasts.

The cold palms against your hot breasts aroused a euphoric sensation in you, and a broken moan escaped when Five closed his hands, massaging the nipples of yours breasts, making you squirm in his lap and rub your hips whit his pelvis.

“You want this?” His voice was low, hoarse, slightly profane.

“Y-yes” You sighed loudly, bringing your mouth to his and whimpering there when Five tightened yours breasts and moved her hips against yours. “Fi ... five!”

“I will give you what you want.”

Then his hands left you, going to own belt, opening quickly and lowering his pants enough for the pulsating, hot member to jump out.

But Five didn’t give you time to enjoy the view, or enjoy the sensation of feeling that part of his body. No, he held the base of the cock with one hand while he pulled your panties away with the other, entering inside you. You clasped your hands on his shoulders, seeking help.

“Five!” You were unable to control a groan, but he stuck his mouth to yours, drowning out your groan and his himself.

“Shii. You don't want them to know what we were doing, do you?” His voice was still provocative, making your belly flutter, destroying any chance you had of being able to resist it.

Five's hands went to your waist again, pulling you upward before you came down hard against him. His cock went deep, reaching every corner, being squeezed by yours aching walls.

He groaned, or it was you, or it was both. But you didn't have time to get used to it, Five pulled you up and down brutally and quickly, making you put up with everything he gave you.

And you take it anything.

“F-fi-five” You moaned in his mouth, putting your arms against his neck and burying your face there, trying to stifle your groans while he was taking you so badly.

Five brought one hand to you collarbone, pulling the cloth of shirt aside and exposing you bare shoulder. He put his lips there to muffle his own sounds, pulling you with his hands closer, sticking your body with his, pressing his mouth to your skin when you started to move in rhythm, going up and down hard too.

Their bodies clashed, the air was muffled, the room became hot, their skins began to sweat. You started to feel a thread about to burst, lifting you high, about to push you into an endless void. Five turned his mouth to yours, putting an arm around your waist to pull you down and up harder, and the other hand went to the back of your neck, pressing his fingers to the strands of your hair while forcing you to keep your mouth against his mouth.

You were so close. Your moans became more broken, needy, and you felt Five's rhythm start to stutter, his grip to tighten. Mouths were now only an inch apart, feeling each other's moans on their own lips.

That's when you noticed Five. His eyes spilled from that serious, wild look he always had, his mouth ajar against yours, his black hair clinging to his forehead. He looked like a god, and the crash was too much for you.

You came intensely, in an orgasm that trembling your legs, and your hands tightened more in Five, your core squeezing him cock inside you, making Five swear loudly and sink deep once more, pouring all the hot cum into you, in yours walls tight.

You were both panting, bodys coming down from the top, muscles relaxing. Yours thighs were on fire, but it was a very small price to pay for such a good fuck.

You let out a small laugh, which was accompanied by Five. He removed some sweaty strands from your face, sealing his lips in you, a quick kiss before relaxing in the chair completely.

“Was that what you were looking for?” His voice was smug, boastful again, with a touch of arrogance and mischief.

You laughed again, nodding as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Was better.”

[rivendellsstuff]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 | ❝There is a house made of wood in the countryside where a former soldier lives with his small family. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind found peace. This is the place where Levi Ackerman feels whole in many years.❞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1319;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Manga spoilers for season 4 part 2 and mentions of canon-typical violence. Inspired by Samwise Gamgee's speech in “The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers“ and the song “To Build a Home“ by The Cinematic Orchestra;

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello! This is the first time I have ventured into writing a story in English - my first language is Portuguese. I hope, with all my heart, that I am managing to evolve and that the text is understandable. If you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know.

────── ▎The petals of the trees fell as the wind blew across the field; it tore them from their branches and swept them far enough away to lose sight of them. Each flower that sprang from the small garden — yellow daisies, hydrangeas, and jasmine — filled the air with the most pleasurable fragrance. Outside, the light was intense; in the stillness you could hear the beating wings of startled birds and the clear water lapping hard between the stones of the stream.

There is a house made of wood in the countryside. This is the place where a soldier feels at home. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind does not feel alone. This is the place where Levi Ackerman rests after the war.

His refuge, with walls covered with tiled and carpeted floors, with polished chairs and tables. In the house, there is a small hallway that describes two rooms, one next to the other. No stairs — the kitchen, the bedrooms, the small living room and the only bathroom —everything was on the same floor. There is no sign of dust, smoke from the fireplace or clutter. This is Levi Ackerman's home.

Sitting under a bamboo chair, he watches the sunset and the approaching dusk. There is a book on his legs, the pages of which rustle with promise. Pages that, over the years, have contained the emptiness latent in Levi. An emptiness that grew and devoured, whispered and growled; big and fierce, red and bloodthirsty. Many stories now lived in the mind of the still young-looking former captain. He still remembers a simple part of each comrade, each friend, each mission and each people; the scars will always be there to remind him.

How had the world managed to go back to the way it was when so many bad things had happened? How could the end be peace? Levi thinks that there is a greater similarity between real life and stories in books than ordinary eyes can see. Stories full of darkness and danger, but whose shadow and sadness always pass. A new day always comes, the sun shines again and shines stronger on the survivors.

Then, little by little, Levi is healed. The stars carry his sadness away. The flowers in his small garden fill his heart with beauty. Hortensia replace the smell of burning copper. Books replace sharp blades. The whistle of the kettle replaces the shouts and screams of the battlefield.

"It's not bad to celebrate a simple life."

Suddenly, a babble coming from the next room gains his attention. Levi places the book on the pillows and uses the arms of the chair to stand up. After three years, Levi is still recovering. His joints pop and he stands motionless for a fleeting minute, getting his muscles used to the sudden change in position.

The sound is repeated and the pair of blue eyes, like two agates, shine brighter than any city ever could. Then he moves; his slippers drag on the floor and a cozy breeze rustles through the white curtains, spreading the scent of tea berries.

Now there is a shadow of a smile on his face. There he was, the one few had seen, but who looked so much like Levi in his features that anyone would guess they were close relatives. The blue eyes — his eyes — examined his father with amusement, a toothless smile on his delicate features, groping the air with his pudgy hands as one who wanted to say "hi, dad."

But where along the way did mankind's strongest soldier become a father? His years of precise and strenuous training could not prepare him for this test. For the tenderness of fatherhood. It was a surreal love. He never imagined he could love something so much.

He remembers his mother in times long gone by; the woman who gave him great advice and was always encouraging and protective even under such cruel conditions of life. A woman who sacrificed body and soul for her son. He remembers Kenny and his twisted way of upbringing and how that boy, small and thin, sought in him the long-lost father figure. Everything he knows about family is based on these two experiences. Black and white.

Levi is guided by instinct. By love deeper than the oceans. That tiny creature had already wrapped him around its little finger, but he never felt more at peace or happy in his entire life.

— Hey, little one.

Levi held him in his lap. Such a light weight was unfamiliar to his armed arms, but the movement felt natural nonetheless.

— D-daddy.

Levi smiled.

— Yes, dad is here. — he said.

Dad will always be here.

With his son in his battle-scarred arms, Levi Ackerman started walking again.

Outside, in the garden where he planted the daisy seeds, there is a slate bench. He sat with the little one on his lap and closed his eyes to enjoy the light breeze of wind.

— Tch.

Levi clicked his tongue when his son tried to bite his finger. His reaction seemed enough to make him laugh. The kind of baby laughter that gets everyone going - light and innocent.

— Brat. — he mutters, but there is no malice or irony in his voice. Just a father talking to his son; a person who has lost and won everything.

Suddenly, he starts to shake his little legs. Shaking his head, Levi helps him stand on the light grass. The father tenderly holds his son's hand as he tries to walk. He still can't balance, but Levi is there to hold and guide.

In a moment, his son raises his head to look at him and Levi realizes that there are thin strands of dark hair covering his eyes, unaware that a man who had faced monstrosities beyond human comprehension had wept at the mere sight of him twelve months ago.

Since the beginning of his wife's pregnancy, all Levi had wanted for himself was something better. A safe home and a family — everything he never had.

When the power of the titans disappeared, as well as the Ackerman's special abilities, that reflection of himself with the woman he loves had taught the former soldier so many things. Levi was still learning, of course; like learning about strengths he didn't even know he had...and learning to deal with fears he didn't even know existed.

Perhaps in his younger years, when he was still desperate for some kind of parental love or when he was still fighting day after day, Levi could look on with indifference at moments like that — too exhausted to think about a post-war life. With his refusal to see that he didn't want any of it, with his inability to change, with his distance from people. He doesn't blame himself, of course. Because, like many who live in dark periods, Levi couldn't shake off that half-existence.

Now, Levi Ackerman is a man with deep, abysmal scars.

Now, Levi Ackerman is a happy man with his small family in a house in the country.

— Come on, brave boy. Let's go into the house.

(...)

So, there is a house made of wood in the country. This is the place where a soldier feels at home. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind does not feel alone. This is the place where Levi Ackerman rests after the war.

There is a house made of wood in the countryside where a former soldier lives with his small family. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind found peace. This is the place where Levi Ackerman feels whole in many years.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 25: Hiraeth

Hiraeth (Welch): A kind of homesickness which is a combination of the homesickness, longing, nostalgia, and yearning, for a home that you cannot return to, no longer exists, or maybe never was.

Harry hated cleaning Grimmauld. And it always seemed that no matter how much cleaning he did, more junk (half of it cursed) appeared to replace it.

He forced himself to set aside two hours every Saturday morning, someday this house would be worth living in and having guests in.

This particular morning, Harry was working in the hideous study, cleaning out the desk and thinking that he really ought to tear out the carpet and take down the wall paper, when he accidentally knocked over a small bust of Merlin only knew which Black. A heartbeat after the bust was knocked over, a panel on the wall scraped open.

That was interesting.

With a bit of caution, which was warranted given how many things had attempted to kill and maim him in this house, Harry made his way over and peeked inside of what appeared to be a cupboard of some sort. Inside was a pensive with a shelf above with memories floating in vials. Many weren't labeled at all but there were some that were labeled in Sirius' familiar script.

One sitting right in the front, as though it had been placed there for him, was labeled Harry. There were several memories swirling together in this one and Harry found himself reaching out and pouring it into the pensive without really thinking about it.

A moment later he plunged his head into the pensive.

He looked around when he landed and saw that he was standing in his parents' home in Godric's Hollow. His mum was sitting on the couch with her feet propped on the coffee table rubbing at the side of her very pregnant belly.

Sirius was knelt on the floor next to her, rubbing his hand over the other side, "And I am going to be your favorite uncle," he promised. "I'm the cool one, I'll teach you how to ride my motorbike and help you with your boy trouble."

"His boy trouble?" his mum asked, obviously amused.

"Well, I can't very well help him with his girl trouble."

(Read more below the cut)

His mum laughed and brushed her fingers through Sirius' hair. "I suppose you're right about that.

"He's kicking," Sirius crowed, rubbing his thumb over his mum's belly. "Hi, Harry," he said. "It's your uncle Padfoot," he informed him, leaning closer and putting his mouth almost against her belly, "I love you and I cannot wait to meet you."

--------

The scene faded and was replaced by the next one.

"He's perfect, Prongs," Sirius murmured and Harry saw that he was standing in a hospital room. His mum was sitting up in a bed, looking tired but smiling so wide that Harry's mouth ached in sympathy. Sirius and his dad were standing close together, a baby held securely in Sirius' arms and his dad hovering near his head.

"Yeah," his dad whispered in reply, sounding genuinely choked up as he brushed his fingers over the baby's downy head.

"Look at his tiny fingers," Sirius said. "He's got your eyes, Lily," he added.

Harry watched as the baby wrapped Sirius forefinger in his little fist.

"Oh Godric," he murmured. "I'm gone on him," he said, looking up at James and Lily. "I love him more than life itself."

"We feel the same," his mum replied, smiling. "James, you should tell him."

His dad covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head as though he couldn't manage any words.

"Tell me what?"

"We want you to be Harry's Godfather," his mum said.

"Really?" Sirius whispered looking back and forth at his mum and dad like he could hardly believe they were serious.

"Yeah," his dad said, patting his shoulder, "Yeah, of course."

Sirius looked down at the baby in his arms and Harry watched a tear track down his cheek, "You hear that, Harry?" he murmured. "I'm your Godfather. I'll never let anything bad happen to you," he promised.

-------

Godric's Hollow came back into view and Sirius was sitting on the couch, his arm around Remus' shoulders while Remus fed Harry a bottle.

"You're just a little angel, aren't you?" Remus cooed at him. "Just the most perfect, beautiful baby anyone has ever seen."

The baby kicked his feet.

"We'll teach you how to get up to mischief," Sirius promised. "Don't you worry. You'll get to inherit everything we've learned, you're going to make the best prankster imaginable."

Remus huffed, "But you'll be good to Minerva, won't you? She had more than enough trouble with your dad and uncles."

The baby finished the bottle and Remus sat him up, holding him over his shoulder as he lightly patted the baby's back. "I know things are a little scary right now," Remus murmured and Harry for the first time wondered where his parents were, if they were on a mission for the order at the moment, "But everything's going to be okay. You'll see."

Sirius rubbed Remus' neck soothingly, "Everything's going to be okay," he repeated but his face looked as weary and worn as Remus' did.

--------

"Come on, Harry! You can do it!" Sirius cheered and Harry shaded his eyes to see the back garden better. Sirius was squatted a few feet away from his dad who was steadying the baby as he apparently thought about walking. "Come on," Sirius said again, holding out his arms.

With a little giggle, the baby started to toddle unsteadily across the distance to Sirius. Sirius caught him and scooped him up in his arms, swinging him as he stood before pulling him in to smother him with kisses.

The baby giggled and grabbed at Sirius sunglasses, pulling them off his face.

"Ah, here, allow me," Sirius said, as he put them on the baby instead with a big smile. "Already developing better taste than your dad, I see."

"Oy," his dad called from where he stood with his arm around his mum's waist, stealing her glass of iced tea.

"I can't believe how big you've grown," Sirius murmured.

"Us either," his mum replied. "It's all gone so quickly. At this rate we'll be watching him head off to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"We'll all be there," Sirius promised, pressing a kiss to the baby's chubby cheek.

--------

The baby was a bit older in the next memory, and Harry knew there wasn't much longer left before the inevitable.

"I don't know how to do this," Sirius said, he was holding the baby in his arms, swaying back and forth, and Harry could hear the unshed tears in his voice.

"Be our secret keeper," his dad insisted. "Sirius we trust you with our lives, we trust you more than anyone."

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "Dumbledore said it himself, they'll know it's me."

"Then stay here," Lily pleaded. "Just stay with us. Help us keep Harry safe."

"I would," Sirius said, "You know I would if I could. The Order won't allow it, they need more people to be able to go out on missions."

His dad nodded, scuffing the toe of his trainer over the carpet and it struck Harry how young they were. Harry was older now than his parents had lived to be.

"How am I supposed to say goodbye?" Sirius asked, pressing his forehead into the baby's dark curls.

"It's not goodbye," his mum said fiercely. "We can't think like that. It's just for a little while. It's just a see you later."

Sirius nodded and pressed a long kiss to the baby's forehead, "See you later, love," he murmured. "I'll miss you every second."

------------

Harry was snapped out of the pensive and he stood still for a long moment, in what must have been shock, before he realized that he was crying. It took another second to realize that his entire body was shaking as he was overcome with a sense of grief that he thought he'd long since buried.

He was overwhelmed by the longing to have a home, to have a place where people loved him and cared about him, a home were people wanted to protect him and be sure he was safe. It was a longing that he'd felt from the core of his being for as long as he could remember. And in these memories he'd had that.

He'd had so many people who loved him, so many people desperate to keep him safe, desperate to watch him grow up, and he'd lost it before he'd ever really known it.

The injustice, the hurt, the loneliness, and every moment that he'd ever desperately wished to be loved welled up inside of him at once and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. It was like he was being pounded by waves in the ocean and he could make it up for air.

Harry couldn't stay here, he pulled out his wand and apparated.

He'd intended to go to Ron and Hermione's, or maybe even the Weasley's but that was not where he ended up. No, Harry ended up in the front yard at his auror partner's house, sobbing and gasping for air.

"What the-" he heard and looked over to see that Draco was out working in his Garden, "Potter? What-" he started as he got closer. "Are you alright?"

Harry shook his head but couldn't manage to get any words out.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head again, "I didn't mean-"

"Alright," Draco said softly, wrapping a protective arm around him before Harry could even finish his sentence, "Come on. Come inside."

Harry could only nod, trying to make his feet move in spite of their numbness.

"You're shaking," Draco murmured as he guided him inside of the cozy cottage, all full of sunlight and fresh air. "You're sure you're not hurt?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, voice still raw.

Draco nodded, "Let's have some tea, yes?" he asked, guiding Harry into the sunny yellow kitchen. "Here," he said, pulling out a chair and settling Harry into it before moving to prepare tea.

Harry took the few moments of relative privacy to try to get himself under control, to try to reign in all of the feelings. He was certain that he would feel embarrassed about this later; this wasn't a great look for someone you were a little bit in love with to see.

By the time Draco turned around and brought the mugs of tea over, his breathing had even out a bit and he wasn't sobbing anymore. Draco set a cup of tea in front of him, "Here you go," he murmured before sitting down in the chair next to Harry instead of across from him.

"Thank you," Harry managed as he took a sip of tea made just the way that he liked it.

"Don't mention it," he said, he reached over and rubbed soothing circles on the center of Harry's back as Harry drank his tea. He didn't push or ask any questions, he was just quiet, just there with him as Harry's heart slowly came down to a normal pace and he finally managed to stop crying. "There we are," he said.

"Sorry," Harry whispered, feeling embarrassed and foolish and raw. "I didn't even mean to come here," he confessed.

"Well, I'm glad you did," Draco told him and for some reason, Harry believed him. "I've got some ginger biscuits in, if you'd like?"

"I shouldn't impose-"

"It's no imposition," Draco said, standing up and reaching for the cookie jar. He set them out, offering it to Harry before taking a couple himself.

Harry nibbled at his biscuit, not really sure what to say.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Draco asked. "You don't have to, of course, but I can be quite a good listener."

They'd been partners for three years at this point, so Harry knew it was true that the other man was an excellent listener. After a moment debating where to start, Harry confessed, "I always felt like there was something wrong with me." He stared down at the biscuit in his hands for a moment, "When I was little," he swallowed and set down his half eaten biscuit. "My aunt and uncle didn't want me and they weren't shy about letting me know."

Draco frowned, "Then why did you live with them? Surely there were no shortage of wizarding families who-"

"I had to," Harry said. "In her death, my mother's magic protected me. It's why Voldemort couldn't kill me. Because my aunt Petunia shared my mother's blood, as long as I lived with them I was protected."

"Alright," Draco said, nodding once and apparently accepting that answer without any other questions, which Harry was grateful for.

"They didn't want me and they didn't love me," Harry continued, "and I just really wanted to be loved, you know?"

Draco nodded, "Yeah, of course," he said as though Harry was being totally reasonable right now.

"I always imagined that I'd had parents who loved me," he said. "Like I always imagined that Lily and James Potter were completely besotted with me; they literally died trying to protect me. And I've had it confirmed by people throughout my life in a casual sort of way."

Draco nodded again, "But you've just had it confirmed in a more tangible way?" he guessed.

Harry nodded and felt a tear slip down his cheek. "I found some of Sirius memories when I was cleaning today," he said.

"That's fascinating," Draco replied.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "And there was a vial with my name on it, so I poured them into the pensive and took a look." Draco waited patiently as Harry tried to calm himself enough to get the next words out. "They were all of me as a baby," he finally managed in a whisper. "Of him with me, of my mum and dad, and Remus. And they all-" he choked on the words. He could hardly get them out, "They all loved me so much," he managed.

Draco took his hand.

"And I can't even remember-" he couldn't manage another word before the waves of grief rolled through his soul once more.

"Oh, love," Draco murmured as he stood and moved to wrap his arms around Harry, holding him and letting him cry against his stomach.

"It's not fair," Harry finally managed.

"No, it's not," Draco agreed, one of his hands stroking through Harry's hair. "It's not fair at all."

When Harry finally got himself under control once more, Draco drew back and sat down in the chair beside him.

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling miserable, and drained, and exhausted.

"You've nothing to apologize for," Draco said as he took another biscuit.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "I just thought that I'd stopped grieving this."

"Do we ever really stop grieving the people we love?"

"It's not just the people, though," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's that I had a home, I had a place where people loved me and cared about me. If I'd fallen and scraped a knee in that home, I would have had adults clambering over themselves to fix it. I would have been tucked in at night, and someone would have read me stories. I would have always had enough to eat and I would have had clothes that fit me and toys that weren't broken. There are a million things that could have been that I'll never know."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly, "I can't imagine what that must feel like." He put his hand over Harry's, his thumb rubbing soothingly over Harry's knuckles.

Harry nodded once, trying very hard not to start crying again because three times felt like it might be a bit ridiculous for one day.

"There are people who love you now, though," Draco said gently. "And I know it doesn't change the past, and it doesn't make this hurt any less, but you have people who love you. And I'm sure that someday, you'll live with someone who loves you, someone who wants to protect you and comfort you when you're hurt, someone who wants to share their life with you."

Harry scoffed, "I have my friends but there's no one who would want that with me."

"There are loads of people who would want that with you," Draco said, rolling his eyes as if Harry was being ridiculous.

"Not people who actually know me," Harry argued. "Sure, there are people who want me because I'm Harry Potter but no one who wants me because I'm just Harry."

"That's not true," Draco replied.

"Name one person who wants that life with me because I'm just Harry and not the savior," he challenged. "One, single person and I will go out right now and move in with them. Tell me one name of someone who would want this," he said, gesturing at himself, "Who wants all of this mess, all of this baggage, and traum-"

"Me," Draco finally exploded. "I want that with you. I want to protect you and comfort you when you're hurt. I want to make you tea in the evening before bed and I want you to wake me up with coffee in the morning. I want to spend every moment with you, celebrating your successes and weeping with you about what makes you sad. I want that."

Harry blinked at him, a bit (alright, a lot) shocked.

"And I know that it's stupid and you don't want that with me, because, well," he shook his head. "There are a million reasons you shouldn't, but you said one person and I want you to know that it's more than possible for someone to know you and want that with you."

"You do?" Harry asked.

"Do you think I would have told you that I did if I didn't?"

Harry felt a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I would like that with you, too."

"What?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder, "I've been a little in love with you for like a year," he confessed, feeling brave now that Draco had already told him how he felt.

Draco smiled a shy little smile at him, "Maybe we should go on a few dates before you move in, for appearance's sake," he joked.

He laughed, but then actually considered it, "Do you care about appearance's sake? We already know that we work together, we already know that we're good at spending time together," Harry replied. "I know more about you than I've ever known about anyone I've dated."

"Do you really want to move in with me? Already?"

Harry shrugged, "I mean, you've got a second bedroom, right? We wouldn't have to rush into anything. Just," he swallowed and he reached over and took Draco's hand, "Wouldn't it be nice to come home at night to someone who cares about you?"

"Yeah," the other man agreed with a smile, "Yes it would."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, feeling hopeful.

He nodded, "Yes, of course. Merlin, of course you can move in," he said with a laugh.

"I'd like very much to kiss you if you'd be amenable to that," Harry said.

"I'd like that, too," Draco said, with a breathless little smile.

Harry leaned across the corner of the table, cupped Draco's cheek in his palm, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

When he pulled back Draco's eyes were still closed and he murmured, "I'm going to need you to do that again."

Harry grinned and obliged him.

"Again," Draco breathed.

Harry leaned in and took Draco's bottom lip between his, sucking lightly before brushing his tongue over it. Draco let out a soft sigh and his fingers clenched in the fabric of Harry's t-shirt.

"Again," Draco whispered when Harry pulled back.

He smiled and let his finger's slide in Draco's hair, tilting his head slightly as he slotted their lips together. He slowly explored Draco's mouth and Draco explored his in turn, they kissed slowly, luxuriously. Hands brushed over necks, cheeks, shoulders, and backs as they carefully learned their way around each other.

Draco was the first to pull back this time and Harry's eyes fluttered open to look at him, his cheeks flushed and lips red. "You are so beautiful," Harry murmured.

He looked down at the table, smiling shyly, "We should start getting you moved in."

"I'd like nothing better," Harry replied with a big smile of his own.

And while moving in with Draco didn't give him back the home he'd lost, it did give him a place where he belonged. It gave him a place where he could receive the love he'd longed for and give all of the love he'd always wanted to. It wasn't perfect and it wasn't always easy, but it was home and Harry wouldn't have traded it for anything.

-------------

Thank you, @iamactuallya-cat for the prompt! I hope you enjoy it and that I didn't break your heart too much! <3

Day 24: Mafia Husband | Day 26: Broken Bone

[softomi]

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors. 

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

[scorpionwins]

Oh geez no everyone shut up im having Thoughts about Jugpea Lost Years divorce

jug memorizes the little details, the small invisible ink written between bold lines about sweet pea.

He knows the gentle raise and fall of his chest in the morning, as Jug wakes up a few minutes before everyday, just to watch him sleep, when he's having a nice dream.

He knows how Sweet Pea likes his coffee but always tastes it before bringing it to his husband making puzzles on the living room carpet with Tony.

He knows Sweet Pea watches him with a smile when Jug reads every weekly route, every document, every brook, every movie line, if he has to, even when Jug isn't looking himself, and the small man preens.

Jug knows Sweet Pea's favorite song, his favorite sweet, all his favorite characters from the video games he doesn't get, but loves them bc sweet pea does.

Jug is crazy about him, just as crazy as Sweet Pea is. To learn is to love- he'll never, ever want to stop learning sweet pea.

jug wearing one of sweet pea's muscle tank tops, tight on him but almost knee length for his tiny husband who keeps on stealing his clothes.

Jug's side of the closet is more sweet pea's clothes than his own, and he has to smile againts jug's belly at that.

The fact that Jug easily steals, the fact that he stays docile and pliant and putty under his hands, trusting him completely, as if sweet pea is the average person and not the gang member people feared.

Jug humanizes sweet pea so much and makes him feel normal,-

" you ARE normal" jug says, chirped scolding, gently whacking him on the head, pout pronounced and enticing that sweet pea has to kiss him breathless, " you're not like anyone else, but still. You're normal. Not to me, thought - Sometimes I think you're too great. A piece of sun with skin."

I don't know how they divorce EXACTLY but I do know they reunite and it is STEAMYYYY-

I'll just be here imagining Jug in kitten heels, but still having to arch his neck to look that giant of a man in the eye.

But he doesn't plan to, since his eyes are trained to the side, and he's blushing fiercely, not shy from being embarrassed, but sweet pea's big hand gently gripping his jaw and making jug look at him.

" new York made my baby naughty. You had more manners when you were with me. Well no mind, I'll just have to remind you " jug likes the beard too, (divorce beard sp represent

) it's nice to look at, and the pins gently scraping againts jug's smooth skin when sweet pea ducks down to kiss and nip and mark at his neck, one hand alone pinning both of jug's wrists above his head, feel pleasant enough to make him want needily.

Oh my god- Sweet Pea shuddering because Jug's wrists are so delicate under his hand. Same small, slight build, neat and frilly and just as smooth as they were when they were teenagers, smiling too much for what was to come.

and sweet pea can bet his motorcycle his baby still smells like strawberry and fresh flowers and fries and earthy, because his neck does.

Jug whining and tugging at his wrists, asking to be left free, and sweet pea releases him instantly, thinking sadly that jug wants to go, -

but jug gets on his top toes and wraps his arms around Sweet Pea's neck and yanks, stronger than he looks, " wanna- wanna kiss"

"of course, baby," as if sweet pea could deny him anything. What a joke. " whatever you want"

and jug loses no time, uniting their lips tenderly, long and sensual and feverish- for sweet pea.

Jug knows how he likes being kissed, knows what makes his knee buckle, how to roll his eyes in the back of his skull because he's in so much bliss, and uses it masterfully, that stunning little brat.

After a while thought, Sweet Pea's back hurts from bending down, and hooks his arms around those gorgeous thighs, that he hasn't had time to look at behind his sunglasses, much too enticed by everything else, and reverses their positions.

Now sweet pea's againts the wall, his baby boy in his arms, holding him tight, while Jug kisses and kisses and kisses him like he wants the air in his lungs, gentle and addicting all the same, making all these little sounds that sweet pea heard only in his dreams, chanting his name in his neck,

" nate nate nate"

sweet pea would rather be called sweetheart, or honey or sunshine, but he's take what he can get. He's greedy for jug, and jug is greedy for him, and that soothes him

[keijislove]

Entranced: Ron Weasley X Reader

"I played like a sack of dragon dung," said Ron in a hollow voice when

the changing room door had swung shut behind Ginny.

You had just had Quidditch practice and you, being one of the best Chasers, tried your best not to tell Ron that you’d given him the easiest serves of all

"No, you didn't," you said firmly.

"You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves." Harry added.

You both kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time you reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful. When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.

You covered your mouth to supress a giggle as Harry’s features set into a scowl of the deepest loathing.

Ron, looking fairly affronted as well, spoke first.

"Oi!"

Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around. "What?" said Ginny.

"I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!"

"This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!" said Ginny.

Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return.

"Er . . . c'mon, Ginny," said Dean, "let's go back to the common room. ..."

"You go!" said Ginny. "I want a word with my dear brother!" Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.

"Right," said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, "let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron --"

"Yeah, it is!" said Ron, just as angrily. "D' you think I want people saying my sister's a --"

"A what?" shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. "A what, exactly?"

"He doesn't mean anything, Ginny --" you coaxingly began.

"Oh yes he does!" she said, flaring up at you. "Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie Muriel --"

"Shut your mouth!" bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.

"No, I will not!" yelled Ginny, beside herself. "I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!"

  Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron roared, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Harry, who was now standing in front of her with his arms outstretched. "Just because I don't do it in public --!"

Ginny screamed with derisive laughter, trying to push Harry out of the way. “Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?" You –"

A streak of orange light flew under Harrys left arm and missed Ginny by inches; Harry pushed Ron up against the wall.

"Don't be stupid --"

"Harry's snogged Cho Chang!" shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. "Hermione snogged Viktor Krum! Heck, even Y/N’s nogged Cedric probably once, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!"

“Hey, you’ve got no business talking to him like that!” you were very red in the face indeed.

“Oh, save it.” Ginny snarled, “You’re just embarrassed I told Ron you snogged Cedric.”

“I didn’t snog him-”

“I’m sorry Y/N, as much of a great friend and elder-sister vibes you have given me... he needs to know.”

And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breathing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, appeared around the corner, which broke the tension.

"C'mon," said Harry, as the sound of Filch's shuffling feet reached their ears.

They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. "Oi, out of the way!" Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toadspawn.

You hardly noticed the sound of shattering glass; you felt disoriented, dizzy; being struck by a lightning bolt must be something like this. You saw Ron ripping open the tapestry curtain and drawing his wand on Harry, shouting things like "betrayal of trust" . . . "supposed to be my friend" . . .

"Did you really snog Diggory?" Ron asked abruptly, as you approached the Fat Lady.

You turned around, “Excuse me?”

"Dilligrout," Ron said darkly to the Fat Lady, and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.

“I hardly think that’s any of your business, Ronald.” You coldly said.

“Oh, please.” The redhead sneered before trudging upstairs to his dormitory.

--------

Ron had been awful to you since the past few days. He’d try his best to ignore you and even slip in a few snarky comments about you, something which was very un-Ron-like.

You had become so tired of Ron's recent unpleasant behaviour that you had not come down to breakfast with him and Harry since, instead choosing to go with Hermione.

She had initially questioned you, but a few snaps and choked sobs later, she left it and just consolingly rubbed your back as you silently thanked her every night.

She paused on her way up the table.

"How are you both feeling?" she asked tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron's head.

"I dont know what you're talking about," said Harry, stowing the little bottle hastily in his pocket.

“Thanks.” You gave a weary smile. You felt really bad ignoring Harry, but your pride had gotten on the way tremendously.

“She doesn’t need it.” Ron whispered loud enough for you to hear, “I ‘spose Diggory had already said that a hundred times.”

You were about to open your mouth, but someone interrupted.

"Nearly time.” said Harry blithely.

"Fishy, isn't it?" he said in an undertone to Ron. "Malfoy not playing?"

------------

You, Ron and Harry were the last two in the changing room. You were just about to leave when Hermione entered. She was twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looked upset but determined. "I want a word with you, Harry." She took a deep breath. "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, its illegal."

"What are you going to do, turn us in?" demanded Ron.

"What are you two talking about?" asked Harry.

"You know perfectly well what we're talking about!" said Hermione shrilly. "You spiked Ron’s juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!"

"No, I didn't," said Harry, turning back to face them both.

"Yes, you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"

"I didn't put it in!" said Harry, grinning broadly. He slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out the tiny bottle that Hermione had seen in his hand that morning. It was full of golden potion and the cork was still tightly sealed with wax. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." He looked at Ron. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself."

He pocketed the potion again.

"There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?" Ron said, astounded. "But the weather's good. . . and Vaisey couldn't play. ... I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?"

Harry shook his head. Ron gaped at him for a moment, then rounded on Hermione, imitating her voice. "You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione! Y/N’s bad enough as it is, I don’t need you making my life miserable as well."

You inhaled sharply as Harry guiltily sent you what looked like a consoling stare. You shook your head, trying your best not to scream at Ron.

"I never said you couldn't -- Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!" said Hermione.

But Ron had already strode past her out of the door with his broomstick over his shoulder.

"Er," said Harry into the sudden silence; he had not expected his plan to backfire like this, "shall. . . shall we go up to the party, then?"

"You go!" said Hermione, blinking back tears. "I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done. . . ."

And she stormed out of the changing room too.

Which left you and Harry.

You refused to look at him and when he cleared his throat, you wanted to run, screaming.

“Y/N.” he began, “Is there... something I don’t know about?”

“Like what?”

“Like what the hell is going on between you and Ron?”

Harry instantly regretted saying this, as your lip trembled and you glared at him straight in the eye before coldly snapping, “If you haven’t noticed... Ronald has a problem of not knowing the fine line between being upset with someone and being nasty to them. I’m surprised how his broomstick can fly with that fat head on it.

When you arrived, the Gryffindor celebration party, which as in full swing. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted your appearance, and he was soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating you. What with trying to shake off the Creevey brothers, who wanted a blow-by-blow match analysis, and the large group of girls that encircled Harry, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids, it was some time before you could escape.

As you moved, you walked straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.

"Looking for Ron?" she asked, smirking. "He's over there, the filthy hypocrite.”

You looked into the corner she was indicating. There, in full view of the whole room, stood Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose hands were whose.

"It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?" said Ginny dispassionately. "But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Y/N."

She patted you on the arm; you felt as if you had forgotten how to breathe, trying not to choke on your spit too severely from the amount of effort it took you not to cry.

You quickly turned away from Ron, who did not look like he would be surfacing soon, and darted out the door out of sight.

---------

"Y/N?" Harry’s voice called five minutes later.

He found her in the first unlocked classroom he tried. You were sitting on the teacher's desk, next to Hermione, who had a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair.

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said in a brittle voice. "I was just practicing."

"Yeah . . . they're -- er -- really good. ..." said Harry. “Listen, Y/N...”

He had no idea what to say to you. He was just wondering whether there was any chance that you had not noticed Ron, that you had merely left the room because the party was a little too rowdy, when you said, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations."

"Er . . . does he?" said Harry.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him," said Hermione. "He wasn't exactly hiding it, was -- ?"

The door behind them burst open. To Harry's horror, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

"Oh," he said, drawing up short at the sight of Harry, you and Hermione.

"Oops!" said Lavender, and she backed out of the room, giggling. The door swung shut behind her. There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron in disapproval and anger, who refused to look at her and the H/C girl, but said with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness, "Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

Hermione slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the solar system.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said quietly. "She'll wonder where you've gone."

She walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking relieved that nothing worse had happened.

"Oppugno!" came a shriek from the doorway.

You spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: The little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach, and you were not sorry for him in the least.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and pulled you along, before you disappeared through it, choking on a sob.

----------

'Want one?” said Ron thickly, holding out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.

It was his birthday, and no matter how angry you were, you dropped by to say an awkward hello.

“Suit yourself,” said Ron, stuffing a second Cauldron into his mouth as he slid out of bed to get dressed. 'Come on Harry. If you don't hurry up, you'll have to Apparate on an empty-stomach ... might make it easier, I suppose ..."

Ron looked thoughtfully at the box of Chocolate Cauldrons, then shrugged and helped himself to a third.

Harry tapped the map with his wand, muttered, 'Mischief managed,”

'Ready?' he said to Ron.

“Excuse me.” You quietly said to make them aware of your presence, “We’re going to be late.”

You and Harry were halfway to the dormitory door when you realised that Ron had not moved, but was leaning on his bedpost, staring out of the rain-washed window with a strangely un-focused look on his face.

'Ron? Breakfast.'

“I'm not hungry,”

You stared ai him. “I thought you just said -?”

“-Well, all right, I'll come down with you,' sighed Ron, 'but I don't want to eat.'

  You scrutinised him suspiciously.

'You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't you?'

'It's not that,' Ron sighed again. 'You ... you wouldn't understand.'

'Fair enough,' said Harry, albeit puzzled, as he turned to open the door.

'Harry!' said Ron suddenly.

'What?'

'Harry, I can't stand it!'

'You can't stand what?' asked Harry; you were now starting to feel definitely alarmed. Ron was rather pale and looked as though he was about to be sick.

'I can't stop thinking about her!' said Ron hoarsely.

You gaped at him. You had not expected this and were not sure you wanted to hear it. ‘Friends’ you might be, but if Ron started calling Lavender 'Lav- Lav', you would have to put your foot down.

'Why does that stop you having breakfast?' Harry asked, trying to inject a note of common sense into the proceedings.

'I don't think she knows I exist,' said Ron with a desperate gesture.

'She definitely knows you exist,' you said angrily. 'She keeps snogging you, doesn't she?'

Ron blinked.

'Who are you talking about?'

Who are you talking about?' said you and Harry together, with an increasing sense that all

reason had dropped out of the conversation.

'Romilda Vane,' said Ron softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight. You stared at each other for almost a whole minute, before Harry said, 'This is a joke, right? You're joking.'

Think ... Harry, I think I love her,' said Ron in a strangled voice.

'OK,' you said, walking up to Ron to get a better look at the glazed eyes and the pallid complexion, 'OK ... say that again with a straight face.'

'I love her,' repeated Ron breathlessly. 'Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky ... and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her -'

'This is really funny and everything,' said Harry impatiently, 'but joke's over, all right? Drop it.'

He turned to leave; he had got two steps towards the door when a crashing blow hit him on the right ear. Staggering, he looked round. Ron's fist was drawn right back, his face was contorted with rage; he was about to strike again.

  Harry reacted instinctively; his wand was out of his pocket and the incantation sprang to mind without conscious thought: Levicorpus!

Ron yelled as his heel was wrenched upwards once more; he dangled helplessly, upside-down, his robes hanging off him.

'What was that for?' you bellowed.

'He insulted her! He said it was a joke!' shouted Ron, who was slowly turning purple in the face as all the blood rushed to his head.

'This is insane!' said Harry. 'What's got into -?'

And then he saw the box lying open on Ron's bed and the truth hit him with the force of a stampeding troll.

'Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?'

'They were a birthday present!' shouted Ron, revolving slowly in midair as he struggled to get free. ‘I offered you one, didn't I?'

'You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?'

'They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!'

'They didn't fall off your bed, you prat, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was looking for the map. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and they're all spiked with love potion!'

You gave an outraged cry at this information.

But only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron.

‘Romilda?' he repeated. 'Did you say Romilda? Harry - do you know her? Can you introduce me?'

Harry stared at the dangling Ron, whose face now looked tremendously hopeful, and fought a strong desire to laugh... Y/N thought that he would deserve another punching if he permitted Ron to declare undying love for Romilda Vane.

'Yeah, I'll introduce you,' said Harry, thinking fast. 'I'm going to let you down now, OK?'

He sent Ron crashing back to the floor (his ear did hurt quite a lot), but

Ron simply bounded to his feet again, grinning.

'She'll be in Slughorn's office.’ said Harry confidently, leading the way to the door.

'Why will she be in there?' asked Ron anxiously, hurrying to keep up.

'Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him,' you said, inventing wildly.

'Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?' said Ron eagerly.

'Great idea,' said Harry. Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, a complication both you and Harry had not foreseen.

  'You're late, Won-Won!' she pouted. 'I've got you a birth-day-'

'Leave me alone,' said Ron impatiently, 'Harry's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane.'

And without another word to her, he pushed his way out of the portrait hole. Harry tried to make an apologetic face to Lavender, but it might have turned out simply amused, because she looked more offended than ever as the Fat Lady swung shut behind them.

You had been slightly worried that Slughorn might be at breakfast, but he answered his office door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing-gown and matching nightcap and looking rather bleary-eyed.

'Harry, Y/N.' he mumbled. 'This is very early for a call ... I generally sleep late on a Saturday ..."

'Professor, I'm really sorry to disturb you,' said Harry as quietly as possible, while Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into his room, 'but my friend Ron's swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn't make him an antidote, could you? I'd take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we're not supposed to have anything from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and, you know ... awkward questions ...'

‘I’d have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, Harry, an expert potioneer like you?' asked Slughorn.

'Er,' said Harry, somewhat distracted by the fact that Ron was now elbowing him in the ribs in an attempt to force his way into the room, and Y/N held him firmly back, 'well, I've never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir, and by the time I get it right Ron might've done something serious -'

Helpfully, Ron chose this moment to moan, 'I can't see her. Harry - is he hiding her?'

'Was this potion within date?' asked Slughorn, now eyeing Ron with professional interest. 'They can strengthen, you know, the longer they're kept.'

That would explain a lot,' panted Harry, now positively wrestling with Ron to keep him from knocking Slughorn over.

'It's his birthday, Professor,' you added imploringly.

'Oh, all right, come in, then, come in,' said Slughorn, relenting. 'I've got the necessary here in my bag, it's not a difficult antidote ...'

Ron burst through the door into Slughorn's overheated, crowded study, tripped over a tasselled footstool, regained his balance by seizing Harry around the neck and muttered, 'She didn't see that, did she?'

'She's not here yet,' said Harry, watching Slughorn opening his potion kit and adding a few pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle.

That's good,' said Ron fervently. 'How do I look?'

'Very handsome,' said Slughorn smoothly.

‘It can never be me, can it?’ you asked quietly so only Harry could hear, ‘Even when it’s a mistake...’

‘You have no idea.’ Harry whispered back, patting your hand slightly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. 'Now drink that up, it's a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know,'

'Brilliant,' said Ron eagerly, and he gulped the antidote down noisily.

Harry, you and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at you. Then, very slowly, his grin sagged and vanished, to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

'Back to normal, then?' said Harry, grinning. Slughorn chuckled. Thanks a lot, Professor.'

'Don't mention it, m'boy, don't mention it,' said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. 'Pick-me-up, that's what he needs,' Slughorn continued, now-bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. 'I've got Butter-beer, I've got wine, I've got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead ... hmm ... meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas ... ah well ...' he shrugged '... he can't miss what he's never had! Why don't we open it now and celebrate Mr Weasley's birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love ...'

He chortled again and you and Harry joined in.

There you are, then,' said Slughorn, handing Harry, Y/N and Ron a glass of mead each, before raising his own. 'Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph -'

'- Ron -' you whispered.

But Ron, who did not appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it.

There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, did not. '- and may you have many more -

'Ron!' you yelled.

Ron had dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair and then crumpled, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth and his eyes were bulging from their sockets.

'Professor!' you bellowed. 'Do something!'

But Slughorn seemed paralysed by shock. Ron twitched and choked: his skin was turning blue.

'What - but -' spluttered Slughorn.

‘HARRY, THE STONE!’ you yelled, frightened at the spasming body in front of you.

Harry leapt over a low table and sprinted towards Slughorn's open potion kit, pulling out jars and pouches, while the terrible sound of Ron's gargling breath filled the room. Then he found it - the shrivelled kidney-like stone Slughorn had taken from him in Potions.

He hurtled back to Ron's side, wrenched open his jaw and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder; a rattling gasp and his body became limp and still.

-----------

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” you asked Madame Pomfrey for about the hundredth time.

“Yes dear, he’s fine,” she consolingly told you.

“Quick thinking on your part, Harry and Y/N. Using a bezoar.” Dumbledore informed you.

“I agree, Potter and L/N’s actions were heroic! Only, why were they necessary?” Professor McGonagall questioned.

As they moved onto a conversation about a plot, you moved Ron’s flaming red hair out of his face, gently stroking his arm. The thought of someone wanting to poison him was too gruesome.

“Where is he? Where is my Won-Won? Has he been asking for me?” a high-pitched voice suddenly asked as you groaned.

“You.” Lavender spat, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” you angrily shot back.

“I happen to be his girlfriend!” Lavender said in a dignified voice.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, “I happen to be his... best friend!”

“Friend.” Lavender scoffed, “Don’t make me laugh. You haven’t spoken in weeks! I suppose you want to patch up with him now that he’s all... interesting!”

“Interesting?!” you shrilly cried, “He’s poisoned, you daft dimbo!”

Ron chose that moment to groan in his sleep, muttering to himself unconsciously.

“Ah.” Lavender said triumphantly, “See? He senses my presence.”

“Ugh.” Ron groaned, still sleeping, “Uhh.... Y/N... Y/N/N...”

Your eyes grew wide as Lavender stifled a sob, running out of the room.

The professors stared after her.

“Oh, to be young.” Professor Dumbledore sighed, “And to feel love’s keen sting. I think we ought to leave, Mr. Weasley is well tended to by Miss L/N.”

“About time.” Ginny whispered as she and Harry shared a smirk, sending heat to your cheeks.

“Oh, shut up.” You huffed, still blushing madly as you stroked Ron’s hand.

-----

Ron had been released from the hospital wing, and was once again seated in the common room with you, Harry and Hermione at late night. The room was deserted.

“I’m leaving, Crookshanks is probably hungry,” Hermione announced, getting up.

The silence was deafening.

“So,” Harry said in an obvious attempt to make conversation, though you could practically feel the smirk in his voice, “Aren’t you curious, Ron? About how we drove Lavender away?”

“Not really.” Ron shrugged, “As long as she’s gone, it’s fine by me.”

The truth was, Ron was very much aware of what had caused the girl to run away from the hospital wing a week ago.

“Right.” Harry was smirking worse than ever, “Y/N. Say, why have you been avoiding Ron for so long?”

“Hmm?” you squeaked. Seeing no possible way out of this, you sighed, “He was being a git.”

“Aren’t I always being a git to you?” Ron teased, causing you to roll your eyes.

“And say, Ron. Why have you been so keen to get rid of Lavender?” Harry asked again.

“She was annoying me.” Ron whined, “All she did was snog me. My lips got chapped! Look!”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Harry grimaced in disgust, “But that can’t be all, can it? Is there someone else? Or are you ready to shag whoever asks you first?”

“Excuse me?” Ron’s ears had turned scarlet, “Of course not! So, what if there was someone else?”

“You like someone?” you asked, trying to make the agony in your voice less obvious.

Ron, who noticed it anyway, felt a small glimmer of hope inside his body, “Uhm, yeah. I do.”

“And who might that be?” you struggled to keep your voice even; it was already two octaves higher than usual.

Taking a deep breath and considering that this could prove to be a disaster, Ron told the truth.

“You. I fancy you.”

“WHAT?” you asked, “Did I hear that right?!”

“I said I fancy you!” Ron yelled in embarrassment and pain, scared that you would burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you said thickly, “Oh, Ron! I... I fancy you too.”

“What?” it was Ron’s turn to ask, “Say that again?”

“I fancy you too.” You clarified, cheeks burning.

Ron leaned into the distance between you and you could feel his breath on your face. Gaze flickering to your lips, he ran his thumb over them before closing the distance between you.

The kiss started out sweet and loving, but soon turned angry and passionate as your lips collided multiple times.

“Um, guys?” Harry asked, reminding you that he was still there, “I got the point, you can stop now.”

Ignoring him, you and Ron continued.

[starlightinhumanform]

The Untold Tales of Ba Sing Se

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender 

Ship: Sokka x fem!Reader (Romantic Relationship)

Summary: The daughter of an airbender has lived her entire life trying to hide her bending, but upon hearing the news that the Avatar is in the city, she is determined to meet him and learn more about her culture. But things never go as planned, and she finds herself sidetracked by a water tribe boy. 

Warnings (in order of strength): None (Please let me know if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff, Meet-Cute

A/N: Well... my hand slipped. This is based on this request and it was so fun to write!!! I’ve never written x reader before so I hope it’s ok! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3   Fic Masterpost   Fic Request Info

It was a dusty afternoon as you tried to walk inconspicuously through the crowds at the top of the middle ring of Ba Sing Se. As the sun beat down and the people bustled into each other, you were grateful for the loose, thin material of your clothes and its light yellow colour which kept you far cooler than the deep greens and browns of the earth nation. Your mother told you that dressing like an air nomad— you had shaved your head and everything in an attempt to follow tradition— was like drawing a target on your back and maybe she was right, but it was so much more comfortable.

The thought of your mother’s chiding turned your mind towards her and guilt began creeping over you. She would kill you if she knew you were here, trying to sneak into the upper ring of the city to meet the Avatar. She was incredibly cautious and, in turn, incredibly protective of you. You couldn’t really blame her, though, given her own experiences as an airbender barely escaping the carnage of the fire nation. She had managed to reach Ba Sing Se and hide her identity almost completely. Almost. Her foolproof plan had one tiny crack in its great structure— her daughter. By either blessing or a curse, you had been born with the ability to airbend like your mother. Unlike your mother, however, you did not have such an easy time tamping down those abilities. You could feel it all the time, the spiritual energy surging through you and all the powers of the sky trapped within your body. You felt like a caged bird, desperate for freedom. And finally, you had the chance to fly. The Avatar could be your way out if only you could reach him.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t expect to see you here!” A boy’s voice only inches behind you startled you from your thoughts. It was rough, with a hitch in the middle and it didn’t sound like anyone you knew.

You felt your heartbeat begin racing as he came up beside you and threw his arm around your shoulders, “What are you doing here?”

I’ve been caught haven’t, I? They know I’m trying to sneak through the wall. You tried to swallow but your mouth was dry. Your mind began racing to come up with a plausible excuse. The crowd was thick and if you could just break free, it would be easier to hide amongst all these people than it would be to try and talk your way out of this.

You ducked from under his arm, prepared to walk swiftly in any direction away from this situation but he quickly caught your wrist, gripping it tightly.

“Where are you going?” His voice was deeper now, dropping as it had shifted to a serious tone.

Guilt and panic churned in your core, your heart sinking to join the mix as you realized there was no way out of this. You turned to face him, actually looking at him for the first time. He was about your age but definitely taller than you. You could tell immediately that he was from a water tribe, his tan skin and blue clothing giving it away. His eyes were blue as well but what you noticed more than the colour was how sharp his eyes were, like they had been chiseled into his face.

Realization dawned on you, “You’re Sokka, aren’t you?”

He squinted like he was trying to read a small font, “And you’re not Aang, are you?”

The adrenaline still pounding through your body was making your head feel light and at the thought of being mistaken for the Avatar, you doubled over laughing, “No, no, that’s not me.”

Sokka let go of your wrist and rubbed at the back of his neck with his now free hand, obviously feeling self conscious, “Well, uh, sorry about that whole mix up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his awkwardness. You had heard stories about Sokka, he was supposed to be a great warrior but he was just… a boy. It was kind of cute, actually, “No it’s fine, even if you did give me a small heart attack.”

“Is there any way I could make it up to you?”

A grin spread across your face, “Take me to the upper ring?”

You grabbed his hand as he led you through to the center of the city, noting the blush spreading to his face as you did so. Oh, definitely cute.

Sokka cleared his throat, “So, uh, why were you trying to get up here anyways?”

Your face turned red, “Was it really that obvious?” 

“Oh yeah. And besides, you’re not exactly dressed for stealth,” He gestured at your brightly coloured clothes, “Why do you wear that anyways?”

“Well… I wanted to get up here to meet Aang and as far as my clothes,” You could feel your heartbeat quickening again. You could trust him, right? He was friends with the Avatar and was fighting against the fire nation. He was safe. The crowd was far thinner now as you continued walking, but there were still too many people. Your mother had taught you that even one could be too many if they were the wrong person, “I’ve just always felt a connection to the air nation I guess.”

“Huh.”

You began chewing on your bottom lip at his noncommittal answer. He can tell I’m lying.

“Aang’s not around right now,” Sokka broke the tense silence, “He’s looking for Appa.”

You nodded; you had heard about the Avatar’s missing bison and had been looking for signs of the animal yourself.

“But, you know, you could hang out with me. If you want, of course. Just until Aang’s back. But I understand—”

That adorable awkwardness was showing again as Sokka tried to get the words out. You smiled, “Yes, that sounds great.”

Sokka’s face split into a beaming grinning, “Ok, great!”

————————

The day passed quickly as Sokka took you on a tower of this elite portion of the city. He had even taken you to lunch at one of the fancy restaurants because— as he said, with a wiggle of his eyebrows, of course— he “had connections.”

Now you were sitting together on a hill from which you could see almost the entirety of Ba Sing Se burning with the rays of the sunset.

Sokka was sitting beside you, the sharp lines of his face accentuated by the deep shadows. You had convinced him to let his hair down and now tucked a piece of it behind his ear so you could see his profile more clearly.

He glanced towards you and you were almost startled by the intensity of his gaze. He was an idiot, no doubt about it, but that silliness was just a fraction of his personality, counteracting his fierce cunning. Now all of that intelligence was being directed at you, his eyes sweeping over your body.

“You’re an airbender, aren’t you?”

You turned away, your eyes searching for something to look at in the city below, anything but his eyes that continued to pick you apart.

You couldn’t see his face but his voice softened as he began to speak again, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I just—”

“No, you’re right. It’s just… my mother has always taught me to hide my bending. And she’s right, with the,” You lowered your voice, “with the war and all. We’re not supposed to even know about the war here, but my mom told me about it. She told me how she escaped one of the air temples and she taught me just how ruthless the fire nation army can be. She’s right, I should keep it a secret.”

Sokka placed his hand over yours, “You shouldn’t have to keep who you are hidden. You deserve better than that.”

Water was supposed to be cool, but Sokka was anything but cold. His voice flowed over you like a summer breeze and the warmth of his hand seeped into yours, your fingers thin and somehow far more delicate beneath his. And now the warmth was spreading upwards, reaching your face as your eyes began to fill with hot tears.

Sokka reached over with his free hand, gently tipping your chin upwards to face him, “I promise that one day this war will be over, and you’ll never have to hide again.”

You nodded, not sure what to say. The only other person you had ever talked about airbending with was your mother, and those conversations revolved entirely around fear and secrets. This was completely different, “How did you know? That I was an airbender, I mean.”

“Well for one thing your clothes,” He grinned, “I knew there had to be a good reason for a pretty girl like you to wear those big old robes.”

You shoved him lightly, trying to play off the blush rising to your face. You were grateful for the shift in the conversation but still completely unsure of how to react.

“But really, there’s something about the way you walk and move,” Sokka’s eyebrows were woven together in thought, “like your footsteps are lighter than they should be. I don’t really know how to describe it but it’s something I’ve only seen in one other person.”

“Aang?”

Sokka nodded, then suddenly pointed up into the sky, “Look, there he is now.”

You looked up where Sokka was pointing. The silhouette of a glider circled against the fading red of the sky before landing amongst the buildings a little ways down the hill.

Sokka began moving as if to get up, “Do you want to go to talk to him?”

“Wait!” The word slipped out of your mouth before you had the chance to think. You didn’t want to go yet, didn’t want this— whatever this was— to end yet.

Sokka shifted back into a sitting position, leaning lightly against you, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine, I just… I just wanted to say thank you.”

He grinned quizzically, “For what?”

“I don’t know. For everything, for today, for showing me that there’s hope for a different future. Also for this,” You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his and feeling him sigh into the kiss.

He broke away after a moment, his cheeks a bright pink, “Oh, that, ok.”

You winced slightly, “Sorry, was that alright?”

“What? Oh yeah that was fine!” He laughed then pulled you into another kiss, one hand holding the back of your head and the other lacing through your fingers.

You melted into it, feeling yourself smile against his mouth. The Avatar could wait.

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