#Falls in love with Evergreen and is mad about it for the rest of his life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cattyb2 · 1 year

Text

Take a Break

Summary: As news breaks of an assassin targeting Senators in Coruscant, each Senator is assigned a Jedi for protection detail. Anakin Skywalker, a young Jedi knight has been taking his job protecting you very seriously. He grew on you, and finally let you convince him to take a break.

Warnings: flirty Anakin, then protective and serious Anakin, blood, guilt - gif not mine

A meeting of the senators had just come to a close, the heavily armed room now leaving. Anakin Skywalker stood behind you the whole time, he didn’t make any commentary, not even a face as you argued endlessly with another senator. You couldn’t understand why anyone would want to prolong this war any longer. And you were mad.

You stood up quickly from your seat, your long evergreen colored dress swaying with your movements. The dress was nothing short of bothersome. It was exceptionally long, having a train, the sleeves fell so low around your hands, and the open back made a chill constantly run down your spine. You’re sure Anakin could sense how angry you were, and he learned in the past months of being with you to not ask. You’d come to him when you’re ready to explode, and he would sit down and listen to everything you had to say. He never disagreed, and often offered his own input.

“I cannot believe this is what we’ve come to!” You almost shouted while reentering your apartment. Chancellor Palpatine had each senator moved when these assassination attempts came to light. You left your small, homely apartment to get moved into a bigger one higher up. It had another room, as Anakin also stayed in this apartment to monitor you around the clock. It didn’t bother you, and he insisted it didn’t bother him. Of course, it was his job, but you’re sure the poor guy wanted alone time.

“I’m surprised you didn’t combust on the spot, Senator Y/L/N.” He joked lightly, though this was not the right time for it. You shot him a glare, which caused his smile to go into a smirk. He knew when he struck a nerve, he became very good at doing in these long months. “Alright, alright. I agree with you, you just need to get others to agree.”

“I cannot get others to agree when everyone’s head is so far up their own ass!” You shouted, forcefully ripping pins out of your hair, letting in fall down your back, finally providing much needed warmth.

“Senator,” Anakin said.

“We’ve been over this. No senator talk when it’s just the two of us, please Anakin. I need one person to treat me normally.”

“Your wish is my command, Y/N.”

He was resting against the back of the couch, his arms crossed. His mechanical fingers moved with the utmost precision.

“Does it ever, hurt?” You asked lightly, not wanting to offend.

“My arm?” He questions, although he already knew that was what you were talking about. You nodded, staying silent.

“Sometimes, other times I barley notice I’m without a limb. Depends on how busy you keep me.” He spoke calmly, another signature smirk on his face. You pursed your lips at the comment, but then again, what else did you expect to hear from him? His laugh rang out clear as day, his arms moving to grip the edges of the couch.

“You’re almost as infuriating as them.” You accused, trying to balance as you unlaced the summer styled wedges that adorned your tired feet.

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

“Maker, you look like a baby trying to take its first steps.”

You huffed, getting more irritated. You didn't want to bend over, not with him in front of you, and not with the low cut bodice dress you had on. So balancing on one foot while bringing the other up was the best solution in this current state. He knelt down in front of you, looking as if he was about to propose and confess his undying love for you. But his mouth stayed shut, lips still twisted into a light smirk. His mechanical arm reached out for your ankle, taking it softly, and resting your shoe clad foot on his thigh.

Your dress slid, exposing your entire leg and pretty high up on your thigh. Although it was a beautiful dress, the low cut front, exposed back, and high cut slit made you question if you were ever going to wear it again. A common dress back home, wasn’t so common on Coruscant.

You wanted to look away as he unlaced your shoes, if he looked up and saw the blush on your cheeks you knew it was over. He’d never let you live this down. But you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. Not as he gently placed your foot back down, reaching for the other.

“Do this often?” You asked, trying to split the tension with some humor.

“Would you be surprised to hear that you’re the first?” His breath tickled your leg, and you were sure he saw the goosebumps that it caused crawl across your skin.

“Yes, actually. I would.”

“Well I’m sorry darling,” He started, the name catching you off guard. “But with all my watching out for you, I haven’t much time to myself.” He dropped your foot back down to the ground, grabbing your shoes and stood back up.

“Trust me, Anakin. If I had my way you’d be out fighting on who knows what planet. Not here, wasting away day after day.”

“I don’t consider protecting you wasting away.”

“I know, which I’m extremely grateful for. But still, you’re a Jedi Knight, not a guard. They shouldn’t treat you as such. You should be off on the front lines somewhere, actually doing something for us.”

“I’ve been gone for a long time, it’s good to be back home. Plus I needed a break, I haven’t been able to relax since I was living on Tatooine.”

“Relax? I didn't even know you knew such a word.”

“Oh please, despite all you’ve heard about me I can relax.”

“Would you like to know how I relax?” You asked, not even caring if he didn't. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “I get out of this stuffy apartment.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, chuckling. “I’m afraid that is a non negotiable activity. We haven’t found who is behind these attacks, and until we do you are not going anywhere.”

“Well, I’ve heard there are some beautiful gardens the Jedi-”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ve got you. What can happen?” You asked him. “Plus, only a Jedi can access these gardens I’ve heard about.”

“Those gardens are used for meditation. And I don’t believe Master Yoda or Master Windu would view kindly any sort of distraction.”

“Oh, so I’m a distraction?”

You couldn't imitate the look on his face if you tried, the eye roll and tight smirk.

“Take a break, Anakin. You’ve been at this for so long, nothing is going to happen in...” you thought for a minute. “20 minutes.”

“20 minutes?”

“In and out.” You say, getting excited he was considering it. “I just need something other than meetings, angry senators, and this stuffy apartment. So, I’m going somewhere tonight, with or without you.”

His eyes ran you up and down. Your dress perfectly hugged your figure, you were shorter than him, not by much. Your tan long legs made up for a lot of your height, although he never understood how you always managed to look so sun kissed. It’s not like you had much time to lounge around, especially not since the war started.

“In and out, and I mean it. I get one inkling of a feeling, and we’re done.”

“As you command, general.” You whispered, walking towards your room to change.

“Isn’t it me that is supposed to convince you to break the rules? This doesn’t seem like you, Senator.” The title rolled off his lips like honey, and your spine tingled.

“It does seem to be backwards.” You admitted, realizing that ever since you were appointed this position, you seemed to become a different person. “But where’s your sense of adventure, Skywalker?”

He watched you walk, you could feel his eyes boring into your back. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but your ‘bodyguard’ was starting to feel a little bit more like a crush than he should.

Within a flash you slipped the dress from your shoulders and stepped out of it. It felt nice to put on a pair of pants, felt like such a mundane thing, but one you cherished. Although you would agree you had quite the knack for being a part of the senate, it wasn’t where you wanted to live forever. Traveling to all the planets, touching the stars. That’s what sounded like a life, not arguing with opposing sides.

You glanced at yourself before leaving the bedroom, you looked normal. Pants, a black jacket, pair of old working boots. You didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at you.

“Are you ready?” Anakin’s voice ripped you out of your headspace. You didn’t even hear the knock, but his knuckles where resting against your door.

“Yes.” You say with a smile, slipping past him in the doorframe and heading out of the apartment.

Little did you know, he did cherish spending all his time with you. He had learned a lot, seen a lot, met a lot of important people. But most importantly he gained a friend, someone who understood him, who listened to every feeling he had. Someone he had grown to admire, someone he had grown attached too. One of the first important rules of the Jedi, and he broke it. Broke it trying to do a job given to him by the Jedi. He spent long nights gazing out into the distance of Coruscant, telling himself, convincing himself that this wasn’t right. He was given a job, an order, and he was starting to let this job personally affect him. He never wanted to let you out of his sight, whether it be his job, or not.

But, little did Anakin Skywalker know, that you felt the same.

In the beginning it was a tad tedious in your mind to have a 24/7 bodyguard. The constant communication every second, the constant shadow following you to meetings. But over these looming months, he had been a constant. You knew he was there, and always would be. No matter the Chancellor, no matter the outer rim, it was just him and you.

As he escorted you to the gardens, it was hard to miss the lack of people around. Although yes, this was secluded, there was no one. No stray Jedi wandering about. It was silent, eerily so. By the look that homed in on Anakin’s face, you could guess he was feeling the same. His brows furrowed together, and his fists clenched tightly to his sides.

“Is everything alright?” You almost whispered it, as if you weren’t supposed to talk.

“Something about this isn't right.” He commented, eyes scanning the gardens. We hadn’t even entered them, only standing in the doorway. The sight of green was overwhelming, it filled your heart with some hope.

“It looks like home.” You whispered, this time not because you were worried if anyone would overhear, but because emotions clouded all your senses. You ignored Anakin’s voice, not purposely, but you couldn’t help just staring at what’s in front of you.

“Y/N, we need to go.”

You turned your head toward him, but everything happened before you could even move a finger. He moved, rushing in front of you, reaching for the lightsaber hooked to his belt. A blaster fired, the hit meant for you. There was a wind as Anakin hit the ground. The assassin fled, but that was the last thing you had on your mind. The only thing you could wrap your head around was the man laying on the ground in front of you, a blaster shot through his chest.

You started to scream, you screamed for help, hoping someone would round that corner. Hoping someone needed a late night meditation session.

“Y/N,” Anakin said softly, face scrunching with pain. You looked at him, you didn’t know when you crouched down but you held a type grip on his hand.

“We have to get you up, we need to find someone.” You started saying, but your words were getting stuck in your throat. “Please, please Anakin. I have to get you up.”

“I’m sorry, Senator Y/L/N. But you need to go, that assassin could still be around. I will not take the risk of him finding you alone. You need to leave.”

“I am not leaving without you.”

This groans intensified, and a light layer of sweat started to appear at his forehead. You knew this wasn’t good, you knew he needed help, and he needed it now. His Jedi robes were burned through, but the smell of flesh was fresh enough to make your nose crinkle. You wiped his longer hair out of his eyes, and stood up. Legs shaking, and breathing heavy you went to reach for his arms.

“Y/N. You need to leave. Go. Now. That’s an order.”

“Last time I checked, General. You cannot order me around. We are getting you up and we are getting out of here.”

He groaned loudly again as you tried to pull him up, you got him to a sitting position, but he wasn’t budging any further than that.

You kneeled in front of him, exposing your back to whoever just had tried to kill you. But you didn’t care about that, the only possible thing you could think of was Anakin Skywalker.

“Anakin. Get up. NOW. We don’t have time, I need to get you up and get you help. I can drag you the whole way once you’re standing, but I need you to help me.” You pleaded, one of your hands resting against the back of his shoulder, helping keeping him propped up, the other rubbing soft circles on his cheek with your thumb. “If you do not get up,” you started to say. “I will be forced to stay here with you, assassin nearby or not. I will not leave you alone, and if you die, then i’ll die out here with you.”

Trying to convince a stubborn man to listen to you was not the easiest task. But the threat of staying here was enough to panic him into helping you get him to stand. By whatever power you possessed, you managed to get him standing. He screamed in pain, his jaw clamped down tight, and his nostrils flared.

“Y/N.” He whispered as you linked your arm around his back, throwing his left arm over your shoulder. “Y/N.” He said again, his tone more urgent.

“I’m not leaving you behind so I’d just drop that if I were you.” You snapped, focusing on starting to drag him out of the gardens.

“They’re back. I can feel them.”

“The assassin?” You asked, your heart beat starting to race as you already knew that was the answer.

Before he could answer you, a familiar voice came from Anakin’s wrist. The com link. How could you forget about that?

“Anakin, Anakin.” It was Obi-wan.

You grabbed his wrist, ready to quickly tell him where you guys were, and that you needed help, and fast.

“Obi-wan, we are at the gardens. Anakin is hurt badly, we need -“

“Say another word and I’ll kill you both.” It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, having a blaster pressed to your back. But it wasn’t one that you ever wanted to deal with again.

The assassin stood tall behind both you and Anakin. You let go of the com link, hearing Obi-wan’s panicked voice still coming in.

“Senator Y/L/N? Senator? Can you hear me?”

“Turn around slowly Senator, and drop the Jedi.”

Anakin’s spine snapped up straight. His eyes going cold, and his breathing even more intense than it previously was. Whatever pain he was feeling, the burning wound on his right peck was no longer existent in his mind.

“Run, Y/N.” He whispered, unhooking his arm from around your shoulders. Anakin turned, shoving both his hands in front of him as the assassin flew backwards. “GO.” As Anakin drew his lightsaber, stumbling slightly, you turned and ran towards the council room. Someone had to be there, Obi-wan had to be coming once he heard about Anakin.

Your body came to a screeching halt as the sounds of blaster fire rang from behind you. Anakin.

You turned back around, determined to do something. What, you didn’t know. You weren’t a Jedi, you didn’t have the force, a lightsaber, you didn’t even have a blaster on you. You were utterly defenseless. Yet, still you ran in his direction. You shouldn’t have left him, why did you leave him?

“Senator!” It was Obi-wan’s voice. You turned towards him, tears prickling in your eyes. He wasn’t alone, Mace Windu and Yoda trailed behind him. Lightsabers drawn except for Yoda. You couldn’t pull your body away from where Anakin was. Your feet were frozen, but your mind was running wild. Obi-wan and Windu ran past you.

“Senator Y/L/N, with me you must come.” You knew he could tell you weren’t psychically hurt, but mentally you were battling yourself. You wanted to go to him, needed to see him. “Taken care of, he will be. Protect you, we must.” You knew he was right, and as the blaster fire finally ceased, you turned towards Yoda.

“Master Yoda,” You started saying. He just nodded, and motioned for you to walk. Your feet stayed planted, all your weight leaning forward, still ready to run in the direction of Anakin. But it was eerily silent again, and you were struck with the overwhelming feeling that you could have lost him.

“Come, meet them in medical bay we shall.” You knew there was no point in arguing with him, he’s far too wise to argue with. You silently nodded, ripping your head from Anakin’s direction and walking with Yoda.

You sat in the same chair for hours. Although to you, it felt as though days have passed. Yoda sat you down and stayed with you for a while, which you assured him was unnecessary. The threat was eliminated, which means not only are you in any harm, but also that there would no longer be a need for Anakin being with you.

“Alone right now, I do not think you should be.”

“With all due respect Master Yoda, alone is all I want to be right now.”

“Fine he will be. Guilt, you have. Very troubling indeed, but not your fault, this was.”

“He’s been with me every day, every minute, for the past couple months. Knowing his reputation I thought he’d get bored and break the orders he was given. But he never did. This was my fault, I asked him to take me there. I wasn’t listening when he said there was a threat. I did this.”

“You did nothing, Senator.” Obi-Wan spoke, although you didn’t even notice when he walked in. “This is no one’s fault. He followed orders, he protected you, also allowing us to catch this assassin.”

You sighed, running your hands through your hair.

“Maybe you should get some rest, Senator.” Obi-wan suggested.

“I want to see him.” You said, ignoring his comment completely. You weren’t trying to be rude, and all three of you knew that. But you couldn’t erase the rush of terror that filled your body when the events of the night unfolded before you.

“One must be mindful of their feelings.” Yoda said, studying me.

“I’m no Jedi, Master Yoda. I respect you, I respect all the Jedi for what they do. Anakin and I were pushed together by the councils doing. And in these long months he became my friend. So I mean no offense when I say tonight, I don’t have to mindful of a damn thing. I want to see him, I need to see my friend.”

You’ve heard about Yoda’s extraordinary wisdom and ability to read people. So he could probably read right through you now. Something about the young General made your heart skip a beat, yes, he was your friend, one of your best friends. But he was something more, a bit of happiness, and he reminded you of home.

You could sense Obi-wan and Yoda gazing at each other, a silent conversation over what to do.

“I’ll take you to him.” Obi-wan finally spoke, offering a soft smile. You only nodded, no longer trusting your voice.

The walk was silent, but quick. You had been ushered to change earlier, Anakin’s blood on your other set of clothes. The blue dress was simple, but elegant. More acceptable to see a senator in versus pants. As you came to the door Obi-wan stopped in front of it.

“He’s a little out of it, but shouldn’t cause an issue.”

“This is Anakin Skywalker, when has he not caused an issue?” You quipped.

“Right as always, Senator Y/L/N.” Over the months Obi-wan had also become more present in your life. Of course, not as much as Anakin, but you noticed him around more. You tried to get him to just call you by your first name, no formalities, but it never worked. Obi-wan was a rule follower, a senator you’d always be to him. As Master Kenobi walked away, you stood in the doorway and stared at him. He was sitting up right, and not bandaged like you thought. The wound looked more healed, like it happened weeks ago. It was still an angry shade of red, but it looked … old.

“Force healing.” He said calmly. You looked up towards him, peeling your eyes away from his chest.

“Ani- I.” You started your apology to him.

“Don’t. I don’t need an apology, and I don’t want to hear one.”

“You could have died. You could have died because I pushed you to do something. I pushed you when all you wanted to do was keep me safe.”

“I did my job, and even if it wasn’t my job, I would still do the exact same thing. If you haven’t picked up on that already, I’m afraid you aren’t using your head Senator.”

“You’re never allowed to do that again. Do you hear me?”

He chuckled, his normal, sassy, Anakin chuckle.

“Come here, Y/N.”

You sat down on the bed, slightly facing him. You didn’t want to stare at his chest, but it was right in front of you. His skin tanned, and his muscles rippled around with each breath he took. But you also didn’t want to stare at the wound.

“Thank you.” You whispered, looking down to your fingers. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I did it today, and I would do it all over again tomorrow. If that’s what it takes to know you’re protected. That’s the price I’d pay, because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure you’re safe.”

“So stay with me. Don’t go, just live with me, be with me.” He was silent for a moment, taking in the words you effortlessly spoke.

“You know for a Senator you sure wear your feelings on your sleeve.”

“You know for a Jedi you have formed an attachment.” He laughed, a wince of pain flashed across his face but he barely let it show.

“Will you always fight me, Senator?”

“Until my last breath.” You confessed. He smiled, motioning you towards him.

“You sure you could keep this a secret?” He questioned, causing you to scoff.

“Yes.” You responded. “But only if you could keep this secret.” Before giving him the chance to respond, you turned his face towards yours and pressed your lips against his. They were softer than you’d think for a man who was just shot, and you smiled. You could feel him smile too, pulling back ever so slightly to gaze at your face.

“I don’t know if I can keep this secret, I must find a way to keep my mouth occupied so I won’t spill.”

“That was the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” You say, holding back a laugh.

“Kiss me, darling.”

This was Anakin Skywalker. The man, the myth, the legend. A name known in every corner of the galaxy. And you couldn’t be any happier to have his lips pressed against yours.

#Anakin Skywalker #star wars anakin #star wars #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin imagine #Anakin #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin fluff #anakin x fem reader

1K notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 10 months

Text

Silver & Gold: Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @corruptedcoffin @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @thelonewolfwillsurvive @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @ambassadortotrilliusprime @yvette22 @legally-a-bastard @thequeenoftheisleofavalon @joyfulfxckery @thanossexual @justreblogginfics

Companion piece to Punishment

There comes a point when someone has to draw a line and after what happened with Galen, Chibs makes the decision to call time on the relationship. When he closes his eyes he sees the blood, running down your back in rivets, he tastes the copper on his tongue. When he looks at you, he sees the toll that life he leads has taken upon your body and it feels like he’s being eviscerated.

Your connection to him has tainted you, he sees the way that it will play out in the aftermath. The only way to forge ahead is to harden yourself, he fears that you’ll become brittle, that every impact will bring you closer to breaking point until one day you fall apart. He can’t stand the thought of it.

Tig tries to change his mind. He’s the one that’s stayed with you up at the cabin, helped change your dressings, stood guard as you recover. His brother in arms would protect you with his life after what you’ve endured for this club. Chibs knows that it wasn’t all about him, that that head of yours is full of secrets, details that members have given you over the years, of their crimes, their finances, their dealings. He knows that Galen walked away with nothing but a red stain on his hands. You’re tied to them now, they owe you.

“That girl is tempered steel.” Tig tells him when they cross paths. “Ain’t nothing gonna break her spirit.”

Chibs wants to believe that, but he’s seen trauma, experienced it himself and he knows how insidious it can be. Noone can walk away from something like that unscathed. He certainly hasn’t. He has nightmares about that barn, about the trepidation he feels with every step. He hears the catch of your breath, sees the crimson bubbles erupting on your lips as you choke out his name.

He thinks that what Galen did has ruined the two of you. He doesn’t know how you can stand to look at him. It’s the reason he’s kept his distance over the past few weeks. He doesn’t want to have to look you in the eye and see the horror of it all reflected back at him. This thing, it’s broken him as much as it’s broken you.

“Have you heard of Kintsugi?” You ask him softly.

The two of you are sitting on the steps outside of the cabin. It’s the first time he’s been up here since he got you settled, and he’s forgotten just how peaceful it is. The leaves rustle in the breeze and he feels his muscles begin to unwind just a little as the scent of evergreens fill his nostrils. It’s hard to believe there’s a world outside of this, that on the opposite side of the treeline, there’s a mad Irishman who owes you his pound of flesh.

You shift slightly, your body brushing against his. Your head comes to rest on his shoulder and for the first time since this whole thing started, he feels like he can take a full breath. You look better than he thought you would. There’s still a stiffness to your movements, you hiss through your teeth when you sit down but you aren’t withdrawn. It’s the opposite of what he expected. He’s forgotten how much you flourish in the face of adversity; he admires your grit and determination.

“No love.” He says with the shake of his head, answering your earlier question.

“It’s a process they have in Japan of putting broken things back together again, they use gold or silver lacquer to join the places where the cracks were.” You explain tilting your face towards him. “The bowl, or plate or whatever it is comes back stronger, more beautiful.”

There’s a fierceness in your eyes, a surety in the way you speak, it strikes a chord somewhere deep with him because he knows that it’s like to be fractured, to feel your life bleeding through the cracks. He’s always come back stronger, a little more jaded, a little more wise but always stronger.

“It’s a metaphor.” You tell him. “A means of working through trauma, it teaches you to be bold, not to hide the injury or the imperfections but to embrace them.”

There’s a strength in you, one that fucking shines in moments like this one. This isn’t the first time he’s seen it and he knows it won’t be the last. He understands now, what Tig sees when he looks at you. You’re a survivor. A woman forged by fire with a resilience that’s as steely as any blade.

“I know what you came here to do Filip.” You say into the space between the two of you. Your hand captures his, fingers entwining, and he savours the sensation because despite all of this you’re still standing, you’re still the same person you were when he first met you, you’re still the woman he fell in love with. “But Galen doesn’t get to dictate our story, he doesn’t get to ruin us.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, his lips brushing over the welts indented into your wrists from the rope that Galen had bound you with before he took the bullwhip to your back.

“Aye love.” He whispers against your skin. “We won’t let the bastard break us.”

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#chibs telford x reader #chibs x reader #chibs telford #chibs imagine #filip chibs telford x reader #filip chibs telford #filip telford

138 notes · View notes

moonshine999 · 8 months

Text

The Crows as Taylor Swift albums (pt.3)

because sleep and sanity are out the fucking window

Jesper Fahey : 1989

🎞️ “Everybody here was someone else before // And you can want who you want // Boys and boys and girls and girls” - Welcome To New York

🎞️ “Nice to meet you, where you been? // I could show you incredible things // Magic, madness, heaven, sin // Saw you there and I thought // “Oh, my God, look at that face // You look like my next mistake // Love's a game, wanna play?"” - Blank Space

🎞️ “And when we go crashing down, we come back every time // ‘Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style” - Style

🎞️ “You took a Polaroid of us // Then discovered (Then discovered) // The rest of the world was black and white // But we were in screaming colour” - Out of the Woods

🎞️ “I said, "No one has to know what we do" // His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room // And his voice is a familiar sound” - Wildest Dreams

🎞️ “Tossing, turning // Struggled through the night with someone new // And I could go on and on, on and on // Lantern, burning // Flickered in the night, only you // But you were still gone, gone, gone” - This Love

🎞️ “Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it // My love // They are the hunters, we are the foxes // And we run” - I Know Places

🎞️ “Ten months sober, I must admit // Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it // Ten months older, I won't give in //Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it“ - Clean

🎞️ “Haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds? // Ooh, didn't it all seem new and exciting? //I felt your arms twistin' around me” - Wonderland

🎞️ “No proof, one touch // But you felt enough // You can hear it in the silence, silence, you // You can feel it on the way home, way home, you // You can see it // with the lights out, lights out // You are in love, true love” - You Are In Love

🎞️ “You keep his shirt // He keeps his word // And for once, you let go // Of your fears and your ghosts // One step, not much // But it said enough” - You Are In Love

🎞️ “And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars // And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words” - You Are In Love

🎞️ “‘Cause baby, I could build a castle // Out of all the bricks they threw at me // And every day is like a battle // But every night with us is like a dream // It's poker // He can't see it in my face // But I'm about to play my Ace (ah) // We need love // But all we want is danger // We team up // Then switch sides like a record changer // The rumors are terrible and cruel //But honey, most of them are true” - New Romantics

🎞️ “Baby, we're the new romantics // Come on, come along with me // Heartbreak is the national anthem // We sing it proudly // We are too busy dancing // To get knocked off our feet // Baby, we're the new romantics // The best people in life are free” - New Romantics

Wylan Van Eck Hendriks : Evermore

🍂 “You know that my train could take you home // Anywhere else is hollow // Begging for you to take my hand // Wreck my plans // That's my man” - willow

🍂 “How evergreen, our group of friends // Don't think we'll say that word again // And soon thev'll have the nerve to deck the halls // That we once walked through” - champagne problems

🍂 “I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush // I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch // Everybody wants you // Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you // Walk past, quick brush // I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush // I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush // Everybody wants you” - gold rush

🍂 “I notice everything you do or don't do // You're so much older and wiser, and I // I wait by the door like I'm just a kid // Use my best colors for your portrait // Lay the table with the fancy shit // And watch you tolerate it // If it's all in my head, tell me now // Tell me I've got it wrong somehow // I know my love should be celebrated // But you tolerate it” - tolerate it

🍂 “He reports his missing wife // And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires // And his mistress moved in // Sleeps in Este's bed and everything // No, there ain't no doubt // Somebody's gotta catch him out” - no body, no crime

🍂 “Showed you all of my hiding spots // I was dancing when the music stopped// And in the disbelief // I can't face reinvention // I haven't met the new me yet “ - happiness

🍂 “Break my soul in two looking for you // But you're right here // If I can't relate to you anymore // Then who am I related to?” - coney island

🍂”You're a cowboy like me // Perched in the dark // Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear // Like it could be love // I could be the way forward // Only if they pay for it” - cowboy like me

🍂 “When I dropped my sword // I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door // And we live in peace // But if someone comes at us // This time, I'm ready” - long story short

🍂 “Long story short, it was a bad time // Long story short, I survived” - long story short

🍂 “‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me // Watched as you signed your name Marjorie // All your closets of backlogged dreams // And how you left them all to me” - marjorie

🍂 “You're alive, so alive // And if I didn't know better // I'd think you were singing to me now // If I didn't know better // I'd think you were still around” - marjorie

🍂 “It cut deep to know ya // Right to the bone // Yes, I got your letter // Yes, I'm doing better // I know that it's over // I don't need your closure” - closure

🍂 “And when I was shipwrecked (can't think of all the cost) // I thought of you (all the things that will be lost now) // In the cracks of light (can we just get a pause?) // I dreamed of you (to be certain we'll be tall again)” - evermore

🍂 “Sometimes giving up is the strong thing // Sometimes to run is the brave thing // Sometimes walking out is the one thing // That will find you the right thing” - it’s time to go

🍂 “Now he sits on his throne in his palace of bones // Praying to his greed // He's got my past frozen behind glass // But I've got me” - it’s time to go

(Kaz, Inej, Matthias and Nina are already posted)

#grishaverse #six of crows #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck #wylan van sunshine #wylan x jesper #jesper fahey #taylor swift #swifties #evermore #1989 #love the fact that my otp is #Completely in line with my two favourite albums #who would have thunk it #otp #wesper #the crows as taylor swift albums

29 notes · View notes

bentobarnes · 3 years

Text

『𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐲 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠』

note : my requests are OPEN! Feel free to send me story requests

pairings : bucky barnes x reader

word count : 600

summary : you and bucky move to a cottage away in the woods to start your little family.

warnings : fluff

*feedback is appreciated. please reblog so it can reach more people♡

After the events with the Flag Smashers, you and Bucky finally decided to settle down in a beautiful cottage surrounded by an evergreen forest

It’s everything you both ever wanted. The place where you wanted to raise your children and take care of your pets.

Soon after you moved into the cottage you made yourself a garden with all kinds of flowers, fruits, and vegetables. Bucky bought two sheep and a cow. Alpine could run around and play with the butterflies that were coming around the water for the cattle.

It’s been a few months since you found your Eden and now it was going to be even more complete with a baby on its way.

When Bucky found out about the baby he went into overprotective mode making sure everything is safe for the baby.

You weren’t even showing yet but he didn’t let you do anything in the garden or take care of the animals because he was scared something would happen to the baby or you and his little joy would be taken away from him.

When you started showing his hand never left your belly. Every morning he would go to the garden and collect the best strawberries, melons, and raspberries and make you a big bowl of fruits. Your biggest craving was melons so he had to plant a lot of them because you were always hungry.

When the last trimester started his overprotectiveness went over the roof. If you thought he didn’t allow to you do anything from the beginning you were very wrong. If he could he wouldn’t even let you go out of the bed.

In the afternoon you sat down on the rocking chair and knit beautiful clothes and blankets for your little one. You decided the gender to be a surprise. He was worried you are draining your energy by knitting but it actually calmed you and the baby down.

When you got tired of knitting you put the yarn down and eventually fall asleep with your hand on your belly. It was the only time your little one was calm and let you sleep.

Bucky allowed you to sleep for a little bit on the rocking chair before waking you softly up for dinner.

He made sure to take care of the cooking because with your due date knocking on the front door he saw how exhausted you are and how you needed more and more rest.

The baby didn’t allow you to sleep at night constantly shifting which always made you mad not wanting to wake James up. He had enough of you both all day and he needed to rest just as much as you if not more.

“Let your mama sleep, little one.” He would whisper to your belly while stroking the top of it. He loves to feel his child’s hand or foot pressed against his hand on your stomach.

You were a little insecure about the stretch marks that started to appear at the 7th month but Bucky made sure you knew you are the most gorgeous woman in the world and you were the woman carrying his child.

He even made you homemade remedies for stretchmarks or homemade tea when your morning sickness was too much to handle.

This is your little piece of heaven. In the woods with the love of your life waiting for your little one to be born. You couldn’t wait to meet him/her and the others who would come after a while.

Tag list: @lovie-barnes , @littlecanadianlani

513 notes · View notes

rebrandedbard · 3 years

Note

I’d love to see what you do with 27 and geraskier 😂

I took your prompt and ran in a completely different direction. Still funny moments in there lol

WC: 1434

27. “I’m pregnant.”

Pixie Pranks

Jaskier won’t shut up. He will not shut up. Days into a hunt and he can’t sit still or keep a thought to himself for five minutes. Geralt is very tired.

“For fuck’s sake!” Geralt shouted. He couldn’t stand it another minute. It had been going on and on for days without end by this time, dawn to dusk. Even in sleep, Jaskier was humming and grunting out snatches of melodies, so that Geralt could not get a moment’s reprieve. It was like nothing he’d ever known, this never-ending noise!

“I can’t help it!” Jaskier said, rather a bit too cheerfully for Geralt’s exasperated state. “I’m pregnant. My head is bursting with ideas, my throat swelling with the strain of holding them all in! I must give birth to this song, so tenderly incubated in the bowels of my soul, so thoughtfully enriched by the sweet nourishment of life: the mother’s milk of experience. By the—”

Geralt clapped a hand over his mouth abruptly, aborting the next metaphor before it breached. “Enough! Not one more word,” he growled. “Next it’ll be ‘the virginal innocence’ that granted you inspiration, or ‘the cock seed of curiosity.’ I’d rather things not get to that vulgar point.”

Jaskier snorted through his nose, looking all too delighted at Geralt’s rude metaphors. Geralt could see the note tuck itself away in his head for future reference. He sighed and pushed Jaskier’s head away. He stalked back to his side of camp and flopped upon his bedroll. He was exhausted; it was midmorning and they hadn’t even broken camp.

Cautiously, Jaskier crept up to his side and crouched at his head. “Is something the matter, Geralt?” he asked.

“Yes. You’re even noisier than usual. If you’re not singing or humming or whistling, you’re snapping your fingers and bouncing on your heels, tapping your feet, knocking on your lute.”

“I can’t seem to help it.” And there he was, drumming his hands on his knees. “There’s something itching at the back of my mind. I swore I’d be done with it days ago. I’d been on the verge of finishing the verse when we first set off to deal with these pixies—(or was it faeries? What is the difference between a pixie and a fairy? Is it something to do with the wings, or perhaps the coloring and size?)—but anyway, I nearly had it then, but it’s as if the verse was snatched from me. It’s killing me! I’ll be driven mad until I can figure it out. It was the perfect rhyme, too.”

He’d be driven mad? Geralt was neck-deep in madness already. Jaskier could hardly keep to one point without diving off into another. It was no wonder he could not finish his damn song. He lacked the focus to finish a sentence, let alone a verse. In addition, they’d never found the pixies. They were somewhere in these woods, Geralt knew, for his medallion was constantly buzzing like the hum of an irritating insect that would not subside. It all compounded together into one fine headache, and he couldn’t stand it anymore!

Geralt groaned and dragged his hands over his face. “Shut up,” he begged. “For the love of all that is good in this world, shut up. Shut—up!”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon!” Jaskier huffed. “It’s not as if I can help it. I’m a bard, Geralt, and composing is a large part of what we do. Why, if I did not compose, I’d have nothing to sing, and with nothing to sing I should have no livelihood, and without that, well, how should I live? Would you wish me dead, dear friend? Poor, lonely, destitute Jaskier! Can you imagine, me, become naught but a desperate vagabond, left to my own defenses to st—”

Once more, Geralt sat up. He curled an arm around Jaskier’s head, putting him in a lock as he slapped a hand over his mouth. He yanked Jaskier down onto his chest, caged his arms, and forced him to stop his tapping. For extra measure, he rolled the two of them face down upon the mat and let Jaskier take the full weight of him.

“For five minutes,” Geralt said. “That’s all I’m asking. I will pay you to keep quiet for five minutes, sitting perfectly still. And if you won’t I’ll bundling you up in your bedroll and toss you into the river, let you float back to Moën by yourself.”

And for a moment, that seemed to do the trick. Geralt counted five seconds … ten … then Jaskier began to squirm. The medallion vibrated between them and Geralt bolted to his feet, searching the trees around them. The pixies!

Jaskier started up speaking before even taking a proper breath, words strained in a mad rush. “I will not stand for this abuse of artistry and this brutish handling of my person with so little regard for how I may even breathe with you pressing me into the earth like the trunk of a hundred-year-old redwood tree!” He gasped, breathing deep on empty lungs, and his teeth chattered. He made a strange sound, like a person speaking backward: on the inhale, the most unnatural way. When he spoke again, he seemed several lines ahead of himself, off on a tangent about the difference between redwood and sycamore, evergreens and pine, whether or not pine was an evergreen, and if evergreen was a classification of tree or a species in and of itself.

The medallion’s hum quieted as Jaskier resumed his normal speaking pace. Geralt looked at Jaskier and understood. “You’re enchanted,” he said.

Jaskier stopped and turned to look round at Geralt. “Thank you. First nice thing you’ve said to me all day. Now if I might have an apology for the way you so rudely keep interrupting me, then we might be getting somewhere. As for my question of the evergreen—”

“No, you’re enchanted. Bespelled.”

“Bes—bespelled? Oh fuck, have I been cursed with something? But why? By whom? Why is it these things always happen to me anyhow? If it’s not one thing, it’s another, and more often than not, it’s a curse of the most horrible nature. I’ve half a mind to—”

“Here,” Geralt grunted. “Maybe this will shut you up.”

Geralt lifted the medallion over his head. He walked back to Jaskier and put the medallion around his neck. It still hummed, but more quietly, and Jaskier found, for the first time in days, that his fingers lay still, his foot did not tap, and the words died on his lips.

Jaskier stood in stunned silence as the medallion shook on his chest. He picked it up, eyes wide. “I … ” he trailed. But he did not know what to say.

Geralt sighed, his shoulders going slack. “The spell is still there, but this will relieve you of the effects until we can find those pixies. Their enchantments are weak: annoying party tricks. The silver of the medallion is enough to mute it for now.”

He’d been following the medallion in search of the pixies all this time, but they’d played a clever trick in enchanting Jaskier, turning him in the wrong direction, making him chase after the bard’s magic instead of theirs. He had to admire their originality.

Jaskier stared at the medallion, his face slightly flushed. “Is it really alright to wear this?” he asked very quietly.

Geralt shrugged. “If it means I can get an hour of sleep,” he answered. He lay back down on his bedroll and closed his eyes. “We’ll break camp at lunch and continue our search. When we find those pixies, we’ll get you fixed. For now, try to ignore the vibration as best you can.”

Jaskier let the medallion fall to his chest once more with a smile. Slowly, he sat at the edge of Geralt’s roll, back to him, admiring the bit of silver. “It’s like the purr of a cat,” he said. “Or a tuning fork laid on a hollow box. It’s marvelous.” He tucked it under his shirt, lips quirking slightly. “Kind of tickles,” he chuckled.

Geralt covered his mouth a third time and pulled him down sideways onto his chest. “Please. Just one hour of silence,” he mumbled, giving the top of Jaskier’s head a warning dig with his knuckles. When he removed his hands, Jaskier did not rise, but remained as he was. Geralt gave his shoulder a pat to signal he was free to get up, but Jaskier stayed, relaxing under Geralt’s arm. If Geralt let his arm drape around him, well, he was tired, and Jaskier made an excellent arm rest.

“I’m keeping this,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt snorted. “Keep dreaming,” he replied.

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #pixie pranks fic #lol let geralt sleep

253 notes · View notes

0risha · 3 years

Text

THE FIRST MONTH

» CHAPTER SUMMARY : As an aspiring author in New York, life hasn’t been the easiest. To your surprise, things start to look brighter when you're met with an unexpected offer.

» TAGS : a few curse words, mentions of insecurity

⤻ series m.list | series playlist | ⤻ the next month

“Take as much time as you need,” Draena drawls. Your brows furrow as you note that she was, indeed, being sarcastic.

“A-are you gaslighting me,” you scoff over the line. You wait to hear a bubble of laughter from your editor/best friend but it never comes.

“Shut it.” You gulp as her tone turns hard. “What you turned in last night.” You shut your eyes in hopes of drowning out her next line.

“Was complete shit.”

“Gosh, you’re so rude.” You turn in your seat, propping up your glasses as your attention moves from your computer screen to your slumbering cat. “What happened to my happy, enthusiastic Rae rae?” you boast, clutching the phone closer to your ear.

“Well, this so-called final draft made my mood go sour.”

“Fuck, Rae- I’m trying here.” You coax, internally wincing when you catch the crawling desperation in your voice. Draena must’ve heard it too.

“I know you are babe but when you send me videos of you dancing with Yuka while Erykah Badu’s singing her heart out in the background—” her voice cuts off when you let out a snicker.

“It’s not funny Y/N!” Draena proclaims but you hear the low laugh she lets out. “Okay, but when you send me videos of that it makes me think otherwise.”

You hum in feigned contemplation. “But you know…. those are like my interim periods.”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

“Wait, no! Rae rae please- I was kidding,” you plead, frantically.

“Give me a better draft by the 12th an—"

“Rae rae!” Your cat turns to you, telepathically telling you to shut up with her green, narrowed eyes.

“And have a goodnight Y/N, I love you.”

Beep.

You heave out a sigh. “She definitely doesn’t love me,” you confess to the air. “Yuka baby,” you sing, patting your lap; a signal for her to jump on.

“But you do…. I just know you do.” You coo, rubbing the scruff of Yuka’s white-haired neck as she curls into you.

“Yuka…. why does the world hate me so much?” You take your pair of glasses from your face and throw them on your desk.

“And my head hurts…..” you whine. “And m’ so hungry.”

You hear Yuka purr in agreement.

“Ugh, Yuka, back home they had such good ramen.” You sigh wistfully, turning to glare at the microwaveable ramen cup that sat in your trash.

“I miss it.” You divert your gaze from the trash to your office window to watch a trail of rain pellets zig-zag across the glass. Dark, heavy clouds farther up in the background.

New York’s current weather didn’t help with your somber mood.

“M’ gonna take you there one day, I promise.” You sniffle, unwanted emotions welling up in your chest.

“You know who I want you to meet!” You raise an index finger idly in the air. “Want you to meet my brother, he loves cats. Have I told you that, Yuka?” Your mood instantly flips as you remember your older sibling. Though, it drops just the same when you get no response. It wasn’t like you were gonna get one anyway.

With the piercing silence in your apartment, your mind starts to wander to forbidden thoughts. To straggly blonde hair, dark amber e—

“No!” Yuka jerks up when you do. “I’m not doing this tonight.” You push up from your chair, Yuka mewling in rejection. “Sorry, baby, come cuddle with me in bed.” You take one last guilty glance at your computer before walking to your bedroom. Groaning when your body hits your not so soft mattress. You pat the sheets for signs of Yuka’s body but to no avail. With a roll to the side of your bed, you see her glued to the floor. “You’re so spoiled,” you grunt, taking her in your arms and plopping her next to you.

“Goodnight Yuka.” You get a nuzzle in response.

When your eyes close and the rest of the world fades, you end up dreaming of him.

Well, it’s not just him. It’s more of an uncatchable blur of moments together.

Your entry at the local girl’s volleyball workshop that you had eventually begged your mother to quit because you were terrible at it.

The teasing words he would throw at you because of your non-ability to even set a ball. How his brother would force him to apologize after seeing the tears that stained your brown, pudgy cheeks.

Unsurprisingly, Aran was too caught up in his little world to even care but they were glee-full memories, nonetheless.

Although, as if your subconscious was in tune with your wants, your dreams didn’t stray too far, cutting right off before that summer.

The next morning, you’re pulled out of your sleep by Yuka’s insistent scratching against your chest.

“Damn it, Yuka, don’t scratch my nipple off,” you grunt. When you open your eyes, you’re forced to squint due to the harshness of the sun that filters through your bedroom blinds.

With a sigh, you roll over to grab your phone, groaning when the bright light hits your sensitive eyes. You didn’t have any texts from Draena, which made you happy and sad at the same time. Usually, if Draena sent texts, they were pleas for a new draft or implied words of motivation that were sometimes laced with venom; the absence of emoticons always a telltale sign.

However, Draena was the only person that bothered to text you, so it did brighten your day a teensy bit when she did. Aran didn’t text, at all, and if you didn’t know better you would think that he physically couldn’t, but he just took joy in speaking on the phone.

“She’s really mad at me huh, Yuka.” You throw your phone on the pile of sheets when you rise from your bed. Body craning to relieve itself when you elongate it to an upwards stretch. Yuka does the same, her white tail thumping on the wood-like tile floor.

“Don’t have anything to do today,” you whisper, rubbing your eyes as you drag your body to your cramped bathroom.

When you reach for your toothbrush, you glance at your reflection in the mirror. A simple glance turns into a long, attentive stare as you try to mentally pick and prod at your appearance. You blink, silently shocked that you weren’t falling into an ether of insecurities.

While furiously brushing your teeth, careful to avoid harsh circles on your sensitive gums, you stare vacantly at your mirrored face. As if observing for long enough would finally uprise the emotions you had grown accustomed to.

Droopy eyes, too full lips, not the prettiest nose.

But they never came.

And as uncanny as it sounded, you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the unfamiliarity of losing such a dear friend. One, that you had carried by your side for years on end.

After placing your toothbrush back in its rightful place, you swished a small amount of evergreen mouthwash in your mouth, letting out a wince after following it down with a swish of cold water.

You turn to leave, but not before glancing once more at your mirror.

It’d be back soon, it had to.

After feeding Yuka a reasonable amount of catnip and changing her litter box, you plop down on your couch (which was to your dismay, missing a few springs), grab your remote, and flip to a random channel.

After a couple of minutes into a series about fire emergencies, you found it hard to concentrate, the colors that were supposed to solidify into suitable entertainment only blurred by. You squint, but the effect only works for a second.

Things were so bad that you couldn’t even watch television?

Though, you weren’t sure what exactly these things were. Yeah, living in this place wasn’t exactly ideal but you were gonna make it big in due time. The heavy-paged outline you’d sent in last month had been placed on the top of the Greatest Upcoming list by your publishing company.

Perhaps, that was the case; the heavy expectations that had been placed on your already frail shoulders, albeit, you knew exactly what you were signing up for when you’d hit the submit button. You couldn’t help but think that your conflicted emotions were for an entirely different reason.

It was frustrating not knowing what was going on with yourself. The little things that were supposed to make you happy; eating snacks, listening to your mother’s voicemails, playing with Yuka, all felt like a toll.

However, this train of thought introduced a new one.

A rush of impelling air flits through your apartment, before it could find the means to disappear you clamber up to your office. Well, it was more a corner of your apartment that could fit a desk than an office, but it was enough.

Grabbing your glasses from the desk drawer and placing them right on the bridge of your nose, your fingers fly. They’re set in rhythm, thoughts that fly to your fingertips and transfer. It goes on like this for nearly two hours, your eyes burn and your joints ache but something tells you that if you were to stop now, a feeling like this wouldn’t be so easy to attain again. Rare moments like these felt like euphoria. But it always came with a price; a hook of fear that settled in your skin. The fear of writing something that wasn’t up to par.

To your utmost dismay, your writing is interrupted by the ringing of your phone, and just like that your impel disappears. With an annoyance-filled groan, you grab the source of the noise.

Draena.

“What! Rae rae... I can’t believe you, I had the best feeling of motivation, and my fucking fingers wer—”

“Come. Now.” Your eyebrows shoot up as Draena cuts off your impending rant, her voice low and demanding.

“Huh- to NPC, why?” Going to your publishing company was a rare occurrence, you basically worked from home.

“Urgent news.” Draena clips.

“Why the short answers? Just tell me…” your voice trails off. As much as you hated to admit, you were terrified. What if they booted up your deadline? Or worse…

“No, they’re not kicking you off the list because of your terrible drafts.” You release a long breath in relief.

“So what is it?” You gnawed the bottom of your lip in trepidation.

“You’ll see.” The line cuts.

You roll your eyes. Draena hanging up on you was starting to become an annoying habit.

With a glance at your computer screen, your eyes widen in shock.

68,000 words.

A new record.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone knew about New York, the melting pot of all types of people, food, festivities, and yadda yadda.

But no one seemed to know how dampening it was. To you at least.

The difference between being in one of the most active places in the states and having nothing going for you was very...depressing. Though the thoughts of impending success snuck into your gloomy thoughts, it was driven away by impatience.

When? When were you going to finally catch a break? When were you going to be shrouded by contentment and feel as though moving to the states was the right choice?

These thoughts compiled onto your mind as you stared at the back of a stranger’s brown and very ugly loafers.

The metro was loud and bustling with life. Though, it didn’t hold much surprise.

You made sure to keep your head downcast and avoid eye contact with anybody. You were lucky enough to get a seat on the train, but the regret finally started to set in when you felt another person pushing against the left of you.

With an inaudible sigh, you close your eyes in hopes of getting a few moments of peace before you had to go to your publishing company. Draena did tell you that it wasn’t a serious matter but a gut feeling told you that it was.

When your stop comes, you squeeze through a plethora of bodies to get out of the doors.

The walk to your publishing company is short, your gray sweatpants and sweatshirt made it an easier trek. With your heart in your throat, you elongate your neck to stare at the company. It was nothing special, a five-storied building that looked slightly crappy on the inside. However, it was seemingly special to you. It’d housed dozens of authors esteemed with the title of best-seller and you’d be damned if you weren’t one.

After giving yourself a speech of confidence, you enter the building. The first thing that hits you is the overbearing stench of coffee. The sweet smell of donuts, next. Which leaves you to salivate due to the absence of breakfast.

“You can have mine if you want to.” A figure towers over yours. Michael. Your eyes flit to his face, then to the donut, he offers on a folded napkin. Your nose scrunches up in distaste. A cruller.

When you see the way his face slightly falls, you smile at him. “Thank you, Michael. I’ll make sure to eat this since I didn’t have any breakfast this morning.” As you grab the donut from his hand and your fingers brush ever so slightly, you catch the way his cheeks flush red.

Now, you weren’t an egotistical fool but there was no way that Michael didn’t have a thing for you. But there was no way you were going to entertain him. Yeah, he was cute; short-cropped black hair, sharp cheekbones, and nice jade eyes to go with it, he wasn’t your type. It didn’t help that he was only eighteen, four years your junior. The gap wasn’t huge but it just… wasn’t your thing.

“H-have a nice day.” He chokes out, a nervous smile adorning his pasty cheeks.

“I will, thanks again.” With a small smile, you turn away to trudge up the stairwell.

The stairs are rickety and downright scary. Every step you take causes a flash of childish vision in which you end up falling through. The quality of the rails didn’t help either. Renovations, maybe?

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you finally make your way through to the fifth floor. Surprisingly, this floor was tidier than the rest. More expensive printers, offices, and equipment in general.

“Finally.” Draena cruises towards you, her expression is neutral, conveying no signs of what’s about to come.

“Hi Rae rae,” you smile, handing her your cruller. “You look nice.” You observe her pencil skirt that fits just right on her curves, and her white button-up that makes her chest look really, really nice.

“Stop ogling my tits, you perv.” You roll your eyes at her crude language as she stuffs her face with the donut. “You look….” She ducks her head to study your attire. “Comfortable.”

“Putting your rudeness aside.” You wave your arms. “Uh… what am I here for?” You scratch the back of your neck as a source of relief.

Sensing your nervousness, Draena places her hands on your shoulders. “Everything’s fine, I promise. Just follow me.” She turns.

You blink out of your stupor to follow behind. Your eyes stay downcast. “Stop looking at my ass—”

Your eyes widen in shock as everyone turns to give you a perturbed stare. “W-what! Draena— I was not.” You scramble up to stand side by side with your friend, sending her an icy glare.

She gives you a low chuckle in response. “I know, I know. Just tryna get you to lighten up.” She pats your mass of curls. “Well, I hope ya did, cause we’re here.” She stops in front of the main conference room.

She pulls your sweaty hands into her own. “You got this! Just don’t say too much because you don’t nee—”

“Huh- you’re not coming with me!” you whisper-yell, eyes moving sporadically in disbelief.

“Nope!” She springs, letting go of your hand and turning you towards the door. “Good luck, babes, call me when you’re done, I can’t wait to see your reaction.” And with that, Draena pushes a very terrified you into the conference room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Uh, Miya!” Atsumu turns to the loud reporter. “Any ladies in your life?”

“Nah and yer crazy if you think there’s gonna be.” He gives an upturning grin as the conference room bursts into a muttering mess.

Next to him, Sakusa grunts, “you’re so damn arrogant.” Atsumu gives him a shrug in return.

“So, any past ladies you’re still willing to pine over?” Atsumu blinks once, twice. The room falls into an eerie silence as his teammates turn to peer at him.

“Nah,” he clips. “Let’s talk about the game now.” Atsumu coughs. “We should be talking about Mr. Shoyo here, no?” The orange-haired boy flushes in embarrassment as the attention of the room shifts to him.

When the team heads back to the locker room, the air is filled with exhaustion. The adrenaline finally slithering away as they grab their belongings.

Meian, their team captain clambers up to Atsumu’s figure and clasps him on the shoulder. “What was that about, Miya?”

Slowly, Atsumu turns to give him a confused look. “What was what about?” He lies, slinging his bag on his other shoulder. His eyes flicker across the locker room as everyone tries, but fails miserably, to hide their interest in the conversation.

“Whatever, I know you’re not gonna tell me,” Meian sighs, already used to the boy's nonchalant façade.

With a huff and a series of goodbyes, Atsumu slides out of the locker room and pulls the hood of his jacket on his head. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, thumbs ready to send a pleading text to his Osamu.

When he does, he sighs wistfully. Silently hoping that his brother would give him at least a dozen of onigiris of his choice, for free. When his phone ringer goes off, he immediately slides accept. A wide smile on his face as he speaks to what he thinks is his brother.

“Sumu! If you’re calling to ask, I’d really like some with grilled salm-”

“Nah, It’s not Osamu.” Atsumu comes to a stop in the MSBY parking lot.

“A-aran?” His dark amber eyes go wide. It’d been so long, but there was no he’d forget his best friend’s voice.

“Yeah.” Though his voice is much deeper and gruff, a sense of nostalgia washes over Atsumu.

“What’d you call for? We haven’t talk-”

As Aran’s next words filter through Atsumu's right ear, the setter’s spine grows rigid. A plethora of thoughts enter his mind to merge into a red, blaring question mark.

“Y/N’s coming back to Japan.”

a/n: yayy, i know this is kinda short and should probably be a prologue instead of chapter one but.... idk. also, i’m really excited to dive more into atsumu’s character. okay, okay other than that. I hope you enjoyed this! I feel as though the header is downright ugly but whatevs ┐( ˘_˘)┌

#atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu angst #atsumu fluff #atsumu x you #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #atsumu x black reader #atsumu x poc reader

58 notes · View notes

tessiete · 3 years

Note

HELLO. *Yeets at you with no expectations or pressure* The grass reached for the sky in uncoordinated brambles. Flowers sprouted in the voids, gasping in relief in the sun. If one was to lay within it, they would be completely hidden. "I thought I might find you here, little one."

OH HI! No, I’ve not completely forgotten about prompts, and yes, I will post at midnight again.

I fear no gods.

Anyway, thank you @kyber-erso for letting me make this about my boy, the Korks, and his dumb grandpa.

ILU Your gorgeous prose is such inspiration!!! (It was the only part @lieutenantmittens praised :sunglasses:)

Let’s have a title....um...

TO FORGET OURSELVES

The grass reached for the sky in uncoordinated brambles. Flowers sprouted in the voids, gasping in relief of the sun. If one were to lie within it, they would be completely hidden. Qui-Gon Jinn, however, was a large man, and though he crawled forward on his belly, and twisted to lie on his back, his knees still arced above the grassline like ancient monuments on a foreign plain.

"I thought I might find you here, little one.”

Beside him, couched like a barah fawn in a nest of broken reeds, and soft needle greens, Korkie Kryze grumbled out a paltry welcome. He snapped the twig in his hands then launched the pieces into the air above him. They arced high, then fell out of sight, disappearing into the long grass surrounding them.

“No one knows this place,” the boy countered. “It’s secret.”

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, suitably chastened. “Do I need a chain code, or civil chit to stay?”

Korkie frowned. The dry litter crinkled beneath his head as he shifted to consider Qui-Gon with all the seriousness of a Mand’alor.

“No,” he decided. “Just a password.”

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said, nodding sagely. “What is it?”

“I can’t tell you,” Korkie sighed. He kicked his feet out straight, flinging a handful of needles into the sky to emphasise the impossibility of Qui-Gon’s request. “You have to guess. Otherwise it’s not very secure, is it?”

Staves - small brown and green slivers of yesterday’s sunlight - fell like confetti around them, pricking the skin of his cheeks and brow. He closed his eyes, as beside him, Korkie flinched away to shield himself.

Once recovered, Qui-Gon considered his options.

“What password shall I guess?” he asked.

“If you can’t guess it, then you don’t know it, and you can’t stay,” Korkie decreed.

“A fair judgement,” Qui-Gon said. “But I am so very old that perhaps I just forgot it. Would you be kind to an ancient, aged fossil such as myself, and give me a clue?”

Korkie sighed again, loud enough that he nearly gave it voice, just to be certain that Qui-Gon was quite aware of the inconvenience of his request. Still, he relents, and he cupped his hand to Qui-Gon’s ear to breathe the secret between them.

“Oh, I see,” the Jedi said. He opened his mouth, and exhaled, the confidential code a near corporeal thing in the world before Korkie slapped his hand across his mouth, preventing the sound from escaping.

“You can’t say it out loud,” he cried. “You have to whisper it to me. Otherwise anyone might hear it.”

So Qui-Gon held his own hand to the boy’s much smaller ear, and murmured the password back.

“Okay,” Korkie said, satisfied. “You can stay.”

“Thank you,” the master replied.

For a while, they lay in silence, staring up at the wide expanse of sky above them. The firmament above was a bright blue, but to those two votaries it appeared bruised, and dark as the heavy dome of Sundari arched high to dim the effulgent rays so that mortals, too, might bask in them.

Between them, there was perfect accord, both content to rest in the company of the other. There was a meditative peace in the sound of grass, and in the touch of the sun. But, at four, Korkie had little patience for the beauties of the world. Instead, he was much preoccupied by his own troubled thoughts, and unlike the heavy evergreen needles, they refused to settle softly beneath his head.

“It isn’t fair,” he houghed, another twig straining to reach the escape velocity of their orbit.

“That is true about many things,” Qui-Gon agreed. He reached his hand to the earth beside him, digging until the litter gave way to fine silt. It ran over his fingers like silk, weighed down by the oils of his skin, and left a dusting over his palms. “What, in particular, are you most troubled by, my boy?”

Korkie sighed again. His sighs contained whole systems within the bounds of their expulsions. He rolled to his side, facing Qui-Gon, curling his legs, and tucking his hands beneath his head. His entire aspect was bent toward the consideration of his most serious complaint.

“It isn’t fair that Bebu must leave again when you only just got here.”

Qui-Gon rolled to face him, equally considerate.

“Well, that’s not entirely true, is it?” he asked. “After all, your father and I have been here for nearly four months. Since before your mid-break. And we shall not be leaving until after Holyhod Day. That is quite a long time, don’t you think?”

“If I were in school the whole time,” Korkie agreed. “But break doesn’t count. And plus, I was in school for some of it, so I didn’t get to see you as much.”

“Your buir saw you every day, Kiorkicek,” Qui-Gon said, quite firmly. There would be no slighting of his own evergreen, and erstwhile padawan by anyone.

Korkie felt the justice of Qui-Gon’s correction, and thrust his lower lip forward in tremulous defiance.

“I said, not as much.”

“So you did,” agreed Qui-Gon, quick to acknowledge his own fault. “Forgive me. Go on.”

“I am only saying,” continued Korkie, “That it isn’t fair that Bebu is going so soon, and taking you with him.”

“As I am the elder, perhaps it is I who is taking him.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” Korkie said.

“No, I suppose not,” Qui-Gon said. It was his turn to sigh, as he rolled to his back once more, and stared up at the sky, watching it ripple behind the glossy dome, like light over water. “Do you know, when your father was little he used to lie in the grasses at the Temple, just like this, and look up at the vaulted claricrystalline of the Coruscant day?”

“Bebu did? Like me?”

“He did.”

Korkie screwed up his mouth, riddled with scepticism. “No, he didn’t,” he said. “This place is much too dirty for Bebu. He always tells Belli that I look ‘a wild creature unfit for civil tables’ when I come back like this.”

“And what does your mother say to that?”

“She says she loves wild and untamed things the best. And Bebu always laughs, and -” he added, leaning near to confess - “he never gets actually mad when I get mud on his trousers or his tunics. He just pretends.”

“Well, I tell you quite truly,” Qui-Gon murmured back. Korkie’s eyes were brightened with expectation. “When your father was not much older than you are now, he used to hide in the grass in the Room of a Thousand Fountains and look at the sky.”

“Really?”

“Really, really,” Qui-Gon vowed. “And I can recall several instances where he found himself covered in muck up to his ears!”

“You’re tricking me,” Korkie said.

“I am not,” Qui-Gon denied. “On one occasion, he dropped your mother into a great puddle of mud, and she was covered, too!”

“And then what?”

“What do you think,” Qui-Gon said, his eyes glinting with mirth. “He reached in to help her out, and then -”

“Then?”

“Then she pulled him in after her!”

At this, Korkie burst into a riot of laughter, so bright and clear as to startle a flock of dozing echo’lanaar from the trees.

“Bebu was covered in mud!” he shouted, alive with joy. “And Belli, too! They must have looked so silly!”

Qui-Gon grinned. “They did,” he swore. “Quite silly. Much sillier than you look when you go home covered in needle greens or clay. And do you know what else?”

“What?” Korkie asked, falling silent and reverent again, caught in the grip of Qui-Gon’s voice.

“Every time we left the Temple he missed his home, and his friends, too. Just like you miss him when he’s gone.”

“It’s different,” Korkie said, feeling slightly betrayed by the way Qui-Gon has turned back to beckon his troubles join them in this den. “Because he left his friends. His friends didn’t leave him.”

“What is the difference, Kiorkicek, if everyone is still parted?”

And that is something he had not thought.

Korkie frowned, trying to puzzle it out, but Qui-Gon spared him the struggle because the lesson to be learned was difficult enough for a master, fully grown, never mind a boy hardly older than a few revolutions of the earth.

“Don’t you think that your Bebu misses you?” he asked. “Don’t you think he’s sad when you’re not there?”

“Maybe,” Korkie conceded. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” Qui-Gon said. “And I can promise you that when you are here, and he is there, he always wishes you close.”

“I don’t think so,” Korkie said. “Because if that were true, then he wouldn’t leave at all. He’d always be here, and he wouldn’t care about there.”

“But he has many duties and responsibilities to do there,” Qui-Gon countered, his voice soft as the brambles below. “You know he saves lives. You know he frees people. You know he changes whole wide worlds, Kiorkicek. And he can’t do that from here.”

Korkie breathed deep, and exhaled. Needles scattered. The curving back of a tiny strill appeared in the dirt beneath his finger, gaining a wide jaw and a long tail as Qui-Gon watched, and Korkie thought about things.

“Are you sure he misses me?” he asked, at last.

“I am certain,” Qui-Gon said.

“How do you know?”

He looked at Qui-Gon then with such belief, such faith, and all at once, the Jedi saw another little boy who’d looked at him much the same for years, who also hid in brambles when upset, who also longed for the reassurance of desire, and he knew that this time, he would not hold back.

“I know,” he said, his voice solemn, and his gaze steady, “Because when your father is here, and I am there, I miss him just as much.”

#korkie kenobi #qui-gon jinn #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #obitine #my fic #prompt fill #thank you

73 notes · View notes

fictumlibrary · 2 years

Note

i hope that the midori x romeo wedding is either Extremely fancy or with like 5 people in attendance theres no in between JSSKKSKS 👁👄👁

send me a ship of mine and i’ll talk about their wedding

OKAY BUT. what about both kinda ok hear me out. this got even longer than the other ones so i'm putting most of it under a read more

romeo gets to a point where he really wants to ask midori to marry him and midori is thinking about marrying him as well but doesn't know if she should ask or not.

this all comes to a head when, under some wild magic-driven circumstances, they have to magically bind their souls together in order to get out of a situation. midori has no real problem with it but romeo is hesitant. they do it in the end because there's no other way, but it sort of makes things a bit tense.

midori asks if it's so bad for their souls to be intertwined, considering they're already dating and love each other. romeo tries to come up with an excuse but gives up pretty quickly and tells her that he's worried about "when you find someone better"

she is, understandably, very confused. "boi wtf" and all that. he says that since she's a princess she should probably end up with a prince or nobility or someone worthy of her. she gets mad about this of course and i won't describe the whole argument here because i'd be here for ages but in the end it comes down to midori asking if he'll just never want to marry her and he says "of course i want to marry you" and she goes "prove it."

he asks what she means and she says, "marry me. if you want to marry me, then do it."

i need to actually write this i'm going iNSANE

ANYWAY, they're already magically married but now they getting married for real for real and they tell team asteromeo first and while they're all excited they are very confused on how this happened. romeo and midori are sheepishly all "well we're already sort of married" and have to explain what happened (without mentioning the argument)

and then they go back to the guild and have to tell everyone else and romeo tells macao first and macao is ECSTATIC okay even though he lost the bet with wakaba and cana over when it was going to happen that doesn't matter because his boy is getting married

midori tells hisui the moment she's home and hisui is overjoyed and helps her tell their father, who pretends to be protective for like three seconds before giving her a big hug

then the rest of the guild finds out and all hell breaks loose. fairy tail don't do anything by halves okay this is going to be a MASSIVE celebration everyone is getting involved. lucy asks cancer to do everyone's hair, mirajane and kinana start planning the menu immediately, droy is already talking about the best flowers to choose.

and of course you have toma e. fiore who can't keep his excitement to himself and soon everyone in the palace is getting ready to come down for the wedding this is going to be a massive event folks

team asteromeo are the main members of the wedding party though midori and romeo play rock paper scissors to decide who gets asteria. midori ends up winning but asteria promises she'll be helping both of them out. hisui is also part of the wedding party because of course she is and romeo grabs wendy to be in his because i really love the idea of romeo and wendy as a brotp ok

the ceremony is at kardia cathedral and the reception is at the guild hall because where else would it be

the cathedral is PACKED and toma walks midori down the aisle as petals and shimmering dust fall from the sky (thanks droy and evergreen) and she's wearing this because it's what she deserves

the ceremony is absolutely beautiful except for when toma and macao are hugging each other and sobbing their eyes out

the reception is where things get fun because everyone knows all bets are off. the ceremony was classy now everyone gets to go batshit, though they make sure to calm everything down for the speeches. asteria's speech is the favourite because half of it is just her complaining about how stupid midori and romeo were before getting together and then the rest is her tearing up about her best friend getting married

then right after speeches are over a brawl breaks out and natsu, gray, gajeel, and elfman all go tumbling into the cake which was strawberry flavoured and erza is PISSED

so a typical day at fairy tail, really

midori and romeo are so happy though like it's all worth it

#*ft midori e. fiore #*otp midori x romeo #*fd fairy tail #*an interlude #i. really want to write this now holy shit

2 notes · View notes

sushiandstarlight · 3 years

Text

“Ornaments”: NaNoWrimo 30 Days of Prompts

Today’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

Rated: G

Summary: Crowley wondered, honestly, if the ornaments were rigged to explode once they were all gathered together.

The first package showed up on Crowley's doorstep, no knock or request for a signature, less than a week from Christmas. He had nearly tripped over it on his way out to tempt Aziraphale for breakfast. It was a plain brown package, carefully tied with twine. No return address. Actually, he noted, no marking on it at all. He couldn't be sure it was even for him except that it was very deliberately placed where he would find it... With his wayward feet. He took it back inside and opened it. Inside, tucked securely into a nest of white tissue paper, was a single ornament: white enamel and gilded metal forming a human holding a drum with the number 12 floating over his head. Digging all the paper of the box did nothing to resolve the mystery. Shrugging he put the delicate bauble back in the box and left for breakfast.

One ornament showing up at his door unannounced he could explain, but when he left the next day to cause some mischief somewhere (he would decide along the way where that mischief would take place, being a free agent now) he was stopped short by a box exactly the same as the first. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the first package was, in fact, still on his table. Then he reached down and plucked up the new one, taking it inside. Still, no addresses and no names. No labels to indicate the craftsperson or store that had made them. This one was blue and white, decked out with a cheerful flutist and holly leaves. Above the flutist was the number 11. Apparently, whoever this was, they were counting down. He slipped it gently back into the box and then went about his day, but he thought about it quite a lot.

The third day he poked his head out into the hall early, still in his pajamas and bare feet. He thought perhaps he would catch the deliverer in the act, but no. There was a third package, placed exactly where the other two had been. He plucked it up and brought it inside. This one was red and there was a man on it... To Crowley he looked sprawled out like he'd just had a bad fall. Surely that wasn't it, though. Above the sprawled man was the gilded number 10. The ball, this time, was a shiny red.

He never mentioned the mysterious ornaments to Aziraphale, though he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was that he was concerned for his own safety and, by extension, the angel's. He had no idea what these ornaments meant or what they might be counting down to. It could be a cruel joke from his previous bosses with the last one exploding in his face or something. They hadn't been bothered in months, but one never could be too careful. No, he wouldn't worry Aziraphale until he understood what was going on. Until then, all would be normal.

On it did go, though, perplexingly. The fourth day saw a red ball with a dancing lady on it, the number nine gleaming over her curls. The fifth one was green with a cow on it. The sixth, blue with a swan. The boxes were adding up on his desk. In lieu of stacking them and possibly breaking the delicate little things he got a larger box to keep them all in.

The seventh day was a red ball with a nesting goose, laying on her golden eggs. He found himself getting jumpy thinking there was someone outside his home, everyday, so close to him and yet unknown. He wondered if he should throw them away, but something inside him hoarded them like the mystery was a treasure itself.

Day eight was a deep, forest green covered in golden rings that overlapped and were tied together with a red ribbon. His skin was starting to itch with anxiety with only four more days to go until the finale of this... whatever it was. He was sure Aziraphale noticed him being so quiet. It was just that he couldn't stop thinking about what would be in the little brown box tomorrow. And what would happen when the countdown reached it's end?

The night before day nine he purchased a tiny security camera and installed it outside his down, linking it his phone. He tried to stay up and keep watch on the feed, but they'd had a very pleasant evening out, him and the angel, with plenty of libation. He was out not twenty minutes after he sat down. In the morning the feed was clean, but for a tiny disruption at first light. And there, after said disruption, sat a package at his door. More birds, this time, and music notes. Either someone was clever with technology or they were occult.

Day ten found chickens in a sea of green. Day eleven, doves on blue. Crowley didn't sleep the night before day twelve. When the sun rose, he was keyed up to the point of shaking. He went to the door, threw it open. Another package, another bird. He held it delicately in his hands, more than half afraid it would explode. When it didn't he placed it in the larger box with the rest.

Okay, countdown successful, but countdown to what?

His phone ringing shattered his tattered nervous so badly he was left clinging to the ceiling, eyes wide and yellow to the rims.

Only one person ever called him on his landline.

Slithering down from the ceiling, he answered.

“'ello, Angel.”

“Crowley! You will be by today, won't you? I thought... Well, I thought we would spend Christmas eve together.”

“Sure, sure. I'll be by in a bit.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale's voice was wrapped up in a smile like a bow, “Oh, good. Do bring the ornaments I sent you, would you?”

“The...” Crowley looked over at the box on his desk, all twelve baubles gleaming in the morning sun, his brain coming to a complete and utter halt, “ornaments?”

“You did get them? I mean, you never mentioned it. I hope they went to the right address!” He could hear the sound of rustling papers and then, “Yes, it's here correctly on the receipt.”

“You sent me ornaments?” He felt like he was dragging his brain through sludge to get it to the point, but after all the anxiety this made no sense. He saw Aziraphale every day, or damn near. Why hadn't he just given him them in person?

“Yes, there should have been twelve.”

“I got them.”

“Oh good, so you'll bring them with you?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah sure I will. No problem.”

“Alright, see you in a bit, then.”

“Yup.”

And the receiver went dead. Aziraphale had sent him Christmas ornaments. And they counted down until today. But, he must know... Crowley never put up a tree?

He stared at the box for another minute more, puzzling, but then shrugged and headed for his shower.

He snapped open the door and shouldered his way into the bookshop, box of ornaments taking up most of his dexterity.

“Angel!” he called out, but saw no sign of him. He walked into the center of the book shop and found... A twinkle light lit evergreen tree that had to be at least 8 feet tall. It had decidedly not been there yesterday. All around it were boxes of trinkets and garland and even hand-threaded popcorn-and-cranberry strands.

“Ah, hullo, Crowley!” Aziraphale was descending the stairs, a box in his hands. Crowley sat his down by the others and rushed over to help, “oh, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale clapped his hands together to remove the dust.

“Where did all of this come from?” Crowley took the last box over- glittery balls in gold and silver, all different sizes- and put it with the rest. The tree was well and truly boxed in at this point.

“Oh, I bought most of them. Lots of thrifting. Love the human idea of thrifting, don't you? One person's discard is another person's treasure!” Aziraphale was fluttering around the boxes, but didn't seem to be actually doing anything with them, “I made some of it. I think I ate more popcorn than made it on the strands, I must confess.”

Crowley stood in the midst of the Christmas festivities and felt utterly lost.

“Ah, here are the ones I sent you! Oh, but they're even more lovely in person!”

Crowley watched him, as if he was going mad.

“Do you like them?” Aziraphale looked up at him and frowned, “You don't?”

“I mean, they're nice,” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck and joined him at the side of the box, looking down at all twelve ornaments, “it might've been nice to, ah, leave a note with them.”

“Now that can't be right...” and the angel was off, back to his cluttered office desk (not to be confused with his book restoration desk which was pristine and clutter free). He pulled out a receipt and produced his tiny spectacles from out of nowhere, “says right here that there was to be a note with every package. I gave them twelve notes with the twelve different lyrics.”

“Lyrics?”

“Yes, Crowley. From the song.”

“But it wasn't a song...” Crowley could feel his voice dipping into a whine due to his strained misunderstanding of this entire escapade, “it was ornaments.”

“The Twelve Days of Christmas. Surely, you've heard it.”

“Maybe? I tend to kind of sleep through Christmas, if I can manage it.”

“Then you don't...” Aziraphale dropped the receipt back on his desk, “you can't have...” He sat down at his desk with a thump, “oh dear.”

“I do like them, Angel, of course I do. They're from you, right? Little strange sending them to me and then having me bring them to put them on your tree, but you know I'm down for whatever you want to do,” He had been moving while he spoke, picking his way around the boxes over to where Aziraphale sat, staring off into space, “Alright, Angel?”

“But they had meaning, my dear. And that's been totally lost. Here I thought... I thought I was saying it and I wasn't.”

“You could tell me now.”

Aziraphale smiled up at him, but it was with an edge.

“You can, I want to know what they mean. It's been driving me around the bend for twelve days!” he pulled an ottoman up across from Aziraphale's chair and sat, waiting.

“I just- it was easier to let gestures speak to me.”

“You don't need to be nervous, it's only me.”

“There's nothing 'only' about you, Crowley.”

Crowley cocked his head to the side, deciding not to respond to that, and kept waiting.

“Have you heard 'The Twelve Days of Christmas?'”

“Er, probably, but I... oh,” Crowley paused and let that sink in, “so there was one ornament for each day. I get that.”

“Yes, but the song. Well, it's supposed to start on Christmas day, really. But, for my purposes it worked better to count down to Christmas eve.”

“Your purposes.”

“The song is about a lover sending gifts.” Aziraphale said it quickly and to his hands, rather than Crowley's face.

Crowley continued to stare at him as the Angel started to sing, low and soft: “On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me A partridge in a pear tree.

On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me Two turtle doves, And a partridge in a pear tree.

On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me Three French hens, Two turtle doves, And a partridge in a pear tree.”

Firstly, Crowley shivered as Aziraphale's voice drifted over him. How had he never heard him sing before? Even such simple verses sounded, well, heavenly. Secondly, true what now?

“True what now?”

“True,” Aziraphale coughed, “Well, true love.”

“For me?”

“If you'd like,” Aziraphale was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “I had one more ornament for when we were done decorating the tree.”

“Can I see it now?” Crowley felt his heart should be racing, anxiety cluttering his brain, but he felt a sudden wave of calm. Aziraphale thought of him as a true love? All these years... All these centuries. It hadn't just been him alone with his feelings? “Or would you rather we decorated first? That was the plan.”

“I can show you now,” he got up and went over to his register, producing a small white box with a red ribbon. He sat down across from Crowley again and handed it to him.

Crowley gently pulled the ribbon off and opened the box. Inside was a porcelain ball, light blue and crackled in gold. When he lifted it, he saw the image on the front: a black and red serpent tucked under the wing of a dove. He stared at it for, well, he wasn't sure how long. Finally Aziraphale cleared his voice across from him.

“Do you like it?”

“It's beautiful.”

“I had it commissioned. Hand crafted and painted.”

“For me.”

“For you.”

“Your true love.”

“Yes.”

“You did all of this,” Crowley gestured to the boxes strewn about and the trees and the ornament he now sat at his feet, “to tell me you loved me?”

“Well, it all seems a bit daft now.”

“Maybe a little.”

Aziraphale looked wounded.

“But I love my daft Angel,” Crowley reached over and took one of his hands, squeezing it until he looked up, “Maybe next time you can be a tiny bit more direct. I can't guarantee I would've understood it, either way. We're a right pair of ineffable idiots.”

“Do you want some rum and cider? I want some rum and cider.”

“Heavy on the rum, light on the cider.”

“Deal,” Aziraphale bustled off upstairs to his kitchen, leaving Crowley to sit and stare at the tree. He wound his way back to it, carrying the new ornament, cradling it to his chest. A commemorative piece of art of their first meeting. When Aziraphale had protected him from the storm.

“You can put it on first, if you like. Give it prime of place.” Aziraphale had appeared, quietly at his left elbow.

“Yeah, right in the middle?”

“I like that.”

Crowley hung it and then took his mug from Aziraphale, taking a deep sip. Aziraphale edged closer to him.

“May I?” he gestured with his arm.

“'course, Angel.” He felt Aziraphale's arm wrap around his middle and they stared at the tree for a while. He didn't know if it was the proximity or the alcohol, but he was feeling warm and syrupy, kinda like his bones were melting, in a pleasant way.

They spent the next few hours decking out the tree and downing mug after mug of what was slanted increasingly away from cider and toward rum. By the time the last bit of garland went on, they were covered in tinsel and laughing over nothing. Slumping onto the sofa next to the tree, Crowley curled into Aziraphale's side.

“Going to dream of sugar plums?”

“Nah.”

“What do you want Santa to bring you in the morning?”

“Santa only comes for good boys. M'not a good boy.”

“Hmm, maybe not.”

“I've got what I want right here, don't need Santa for anything,” he drifted off, already dreaming about being curled up safe and dry under white feathers.

Previous Prompt Ficlets:

Cocoa or Cider / Feather Duster / Scarf / Family / Hearth / Frosty / Ribbons / Wrapping / Cardinal / Coal / Unwrap / Blustery

#aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #christmas fluff #star light-reads #30 days of prompts #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020

10 notes · View notes

labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

The Show Must Go On

Part of The Greatest Thing

Christian x OC

Moulin Rouge Fanfic

Read the rest here

As the weekend came upon her, Estelle found herself sitting in the guest room of Mr. Danvers' home, getting ready for her engagement party. She looked into the mirror to see a woman she didn't recognize. The light in her eyes was gone and she wasn't quite sure she'd ever get it back. Everyone was downstairs waiting for her, but she had to build up the courage to face them, for when she went down there, it would be the beginning of the end. When she went down there, she would be engaged to a man she did not love, while the man she loved was in another country. She would be one step closer towards being another man's wife and having to let go of any dreams she had of a life with Christian. As she pinned a hair in place she sighed.

"So this is the day that dreaming ends," she murmured.

"Only if you continue to think of it that way," her father said from behind her.

She met his eyes in the mirror, "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," he said with a small smile. "I know how you must feel right now-"

"Do you?" Estelle asked quietly, "Because, if you did, you'd know that this is the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I could have been happy."

"You still can be," her father reassured her. "Sometimes, these things take time to grow."

"Its not the same," she murmured, looking down at the scarf she had in her hands.

Her father sighed, "His show is this weekend, isn't it?"

Estelle nodded.

"Well, if his show is still going on, then so should yours," her father advised, taking her chin in his hands. "Smile, and go greet your guests." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead before leaving.

Estelle looked into the mirror one last time, studying her face, and forcing a smile. She made herself a promise. "Inside my heart is breaking, and my make up may be flaking, but my smile still stays on."

She stood, smoothing out her skirts and giving herself a resolute nod before making her way down the stairs to the party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christian made his way through Grub Street towards William Cavanaugh's house. He knocked rapidly on the door.

"What?" William asked as he ripped open the door. His eyes widened on his friend. "Thompson! You're back in town!"

The two men shared a friendly embrace before William asked the big question.

"Why are you back?"

"Estelle. I need to see her," Christian said seriously.

"It's a little late for that, I'm afraid," William sadly replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Tonight is her engagement party to that Danvers fellow," William said, sadly clapping him on the shoulder. "I'll get the wine."

"No. No, I- I have to see her," he said adamantly. "I came all this way. I can't... I can't lose her without putting up a fight. She deserves that much."

William sighed. "Come on, I know someone who definitely has not left for the party yet who might be able to sneak us in."

Christian smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You're mad," Annalise commented when they told her the plan.

"Anna, come on, darling. You know they'd do the same for us," William pleaded. "Besides, didn't you come home to make sure that Estelle was truly happy? Wouldn't seeing Christian again make her truly happy?"

Annalise closed her eyes and exhaled. "Alright. I'll put the large trunk on the carriage. Christian, you sneak in by hiding in there. William... you'll be my date. It should distract enough that people won't even notice another person at the party. Let me ask my brother if he has any spare suits you two can borrow."

Christian and William shared a grin while Annalise went to fetch them some new clothes. Yes, everything was going so well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Estelle made her way through the crowd, but the attention was all too much. Everyone wanted to know details about their courtship, and she didn't have any. She couldn't tell them the truth, could she? No, she knew her father would resent them being informed that he made her leave the love of her life on Christmas to marry a man she hadn't even met a few weeks later. When Anna arrived and stole the show, she was grateful. Her friend shot her a wink and she nodded before slipping out into the cool January air to take a walk in the garden.

Her feet were cold in the freshly fallen snow, and she could see puffs of her breath in front of her, but she kept walking. She only stopped when she came upon a dead rose bush. A wry smile crossed her face, "That is to be my fate."

"Nonsense," a voice came from behind her. "My little star, if you were a plant, you would be an evergreen; always perfect, and always in season."

Estelle stiffened, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "You're not really here. You have a show in Paris. My emotional turmoil is just making me hear things."

Arms came around to hug her into a warm chest. She turned into him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Shhhh, it's alright," Christian murmured, stroking her back. "I'm here now, and I'm not letting you go again."

"You... you can't be here," she said, pulling herself together after a few moments.

"What do you mean?" Christian asked.

"Christian, this is my engagement party for another man," she pleaded for him to understand.

"Run away with me," Christian begged. "Please. We can be as we were in Paris. You said all we needed was love."

Estelle looked at him hopelessly, "That was then."

"I don't understand," Christian said, brow furrowing. "What's changed? Do you not love me anymore?"

"No! That's not it," Estelle said adamantly. "I love you, Christian. I always will."

"Then, why can't we be together?" he asked.

Estelle swallowed and looked at the ground. She needed to tell him the truth. "My father is on the brink of ruin. If I don't make a wealthy match, then my sister may never have a season."

"So you're marrying Danvers, then," he stated, "because of money."

"Christian, I don't want this," she said, taking his hand, "But, she's my sister. I want to make sure she's happy."

"Your adoration for Mary is admirable," Christian admitted. "I can't fault you for that. If I had a sibling that I cared about, I suppose I would do the same."

"I wish it were different," Estelle sadly stated.

"So do I, darling," he sighed. "So do I."

Estelle reached up to cup his cheek. "You missed your show for me."

He leaned into her touch and gave her a lopsided smile. "I already know how it ends."

"How does it end?" she asked quietly.

"With the penniless sitar player wishing he was a Maharajah," he murmured, turning to kiss her palm. "I hope he can learn to make you happy."

"He'll never be you," she promised.

He pulled her in for a long hug, kissing the top of her head. He let out a shaky breath, loosing his resolve to be strong. "I... I don't have the strength to let go. I don't want this to be goodbye, Ellie."

"Christian, what choice do we have?" she whispered.

"You have a choice to be happy," a soft voice said from behind a hedge.

The two of them broke apart to see who it was.

"Mary? How long have you been standing there?" Estelle asked.

"Long enough," her sister said, walking towards them. "When you were missing, I said I'd find you. I heard..." she trailed off, looking down at the ground. "Is it true that you're only marrying Mr. Danvers for my sake?"

"You were never supposed to know," Estelle replied.

"Well, I do know, and I can't let you go through with it," Mary said resolutely. "Your happiness is just as important as mine. Besides, who says I'll find someone I love in a Season, anyway? Maybe my match isn't part of Society? Or... maybe I've met him already and I don't need a Season to tell me that."

Estelle smiled knowingly. "Young Mr. Renton?"

"This isn't about me, Elle. This is about you," Mary quickly corrected. "Now, will you please just go in there and call this whole thing off before you both end up miserable for the rest of your lives?"

Estelle blushed and gave Christian a look. "Mary, tell them that I'll be back in a moment and that I'll have an announcement to make."

Mary nodded. "Alright, but do hurry up!"

When they were alone again, Estelle turned to Christian. "I don't wish to implode one relationship without knowing for certain that I'll have a future with someone else."

Christian grinned and fished a box out of his pocket. It was wrapped in green and tied with a red ribbon. "You never did open your Christmas present."

Estelle blushed a dark shade of scarlet as she took it from him. Carefully, she unwrapped the box and opened it to find a ring with a modest moonstone set into the silver.

"I thought diamonds were a girl's best friend," she teased.

"I heard that a moonstone stands for new beginnings and success in love," he murmured, getting down on one knee. "And... William may have told me you mentioned it."

She looked down at him with a big grin growing on her face. Gently, he took her hand.

"Ms. Devereaux, would you do me the honor of being my wife?" he asked her seriously. His heart was thumping in his chest, although he knew her feelings towards him.

"Yes, Mr. Thompson, I will," she beamed, pulling him up from the ground to kiss him. He held her close, kissing her deeply in the softly falling snow.

The two of them made their way back to the party before splitting up. Estelle strode over to the stairs that led into the ballroom and tapped a glass for attention.

"Everyone, I would like to thank you for coming to my engagement party this evening, but I'm afraid you have been a bit misled," she announced.

A quiet rumble spread through the room, trying to contemplate what she meant.

"You see," she continued, "This is an engagement party, because there was an engagement tonight, but it is not between Mr. Danvers and myself," she said, shooting Mr. Danvers a wink. "Although Mr. Danvers is a very lovely gentleman, and a truly remarkable catch, I'm afraid we simply would not work because we both are in love with other people. In fact, I have recently been asked for my hand in marriage by the love of my life, Mr. Thompson, to which I said yes." Her eyes fell on her father's dumbstruck face. "I do apologize for the misinformation that brought you all here this evening. I do hope you enjoy the rest of tonight's festivities." She gently stepped down the stairs into the awaiting chaos.

Her father was upon her in a moment. "Estelle, a word."

She took in a deep breath and nodded, following him into the adjacent study.

"What do you think you're doing?" her father asked incredulously. "We had an agreement!"

"Mary found out. She told me to follow my heart," she replied calmly.

"So you listened to the advice of a teenaged girl and not your own father?" he seethed.

"Yes, because my sister has my best interests at heart, unlike you. I don't know what happened to make you stop being a father to me after mother died, but I'm tired of it! I have never been good enough for you," she said in exasperation, letting out her pent up feelings. "But, I am good enough for Christian. Christian loves me for who I am, no matter what the circumstances are. I thought you'd want me to have a love like that, because that was how you and mother were."

"And look what happened there!" her father pointed out. "Had your mother married who your grandfather wanted, she would still be alive, because they could have afforded the best treatments."

"Money doesn't matter!" Estelle shot back.

"It does if you want to be in society."

"Why would I ever want to be in a society that keeps me from being happy when the whole purpose of a society is to protect us so that we can acquire the things we need to be happy?" she asked. "The whole point of a society is to create a sense of security so that we may progress to acquiring happiness and things that make us happy. Things like love and happiness are neglected when we are trying to survive in the jungle state. Yet, society is not the jungle state. Why are we putting so much pressure upon ourselves to acquire as much wealth as possible and equating that to surviving when you can survive with less and still be happy, father? My time in Paris was possibly the happiest time of my life, and also my poorest. When money is out of the equation, you focus on less superficial aspects of a person and can form a true bond that transcends the boundaries of class."

"You are just like your mother," her father sighed.

"Is that so wrong?" she asked softly. "Mother had a happy life. The only one who seems to think she should have had more is you. It's a shame that it was cut short, and I miss her, too, but you know she was happy. She wouldn't have traded her life for anything. She had a choice, Father, and she chose you. Now, I have a choice, and I choose Christian. You may choose to support my decision, or you may disown me, but either way, I will still be with someone I love."

Estelle turned and went towards the door, pausing. She took a deep breath before readying herself to go out into the storm that was brewing beyond.

#The Greatest Thing #Moulin Rouge #Christian x OC #christian moulin rouge

7 notes · View notes

mygalfriday · 5 years

Text

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

{ao3}

The sun is just beginning to peek over the London skyline and creep its soft pink rays across the floor when Aziraphale slips from Crowley’s bed. Knowing how much the Crowley likes to sleep and how utterly unbearable he can be when woken before he’s ready, Aziraphale navigates the bedroom as quietly as possible.

Quite uncharacteristically, his clothes are scattered across the floor without much care. There had simply been no convincing Crowley to let him fold them properly and put them away. To be fair, Aziraphale hadn’t really tried very hard to convince him. Such as task would have involved far less kissing as they stumbled toward the bed and…well. Aziraphale quite likes kissing. Especially when it includes Crowley.

Unwilling to endure the petulance of a sleep-deprived demon, Aziraphale decides not to forage for his things and instead scoops up the nearest article of clothing - which happens to be Crowley’s dressing gown draped over an armchair in the corner. He slips it on and ties it at the waist. It fits a little too snug but a small smile tugs at his mouth at the intimacy of wearing something that belongs to Crowley. He rubs a fingertip over the black silk sleeve and casts one last fond glance over his shoulder.

Crowley sleeps sprawled on his stomach, one arm outstretched as though reaching for Aziraphale in his sleep. His lips part slightly as he breathes, his cheek pressed into the pillow. His freckled shoulders are bare and the sheet has bunched around his narrow hips. There are red marks along his exposed throat, lasting evidence of Aziraphale’s mouth. All the worry lines and prickly defenses have disappeared from his face. Crowley looks as carefree as he had the day Aziraphale had met him in the Garden, as though one night has erased six thousand years. He looks, Aziraphale muses, like a painting. The rising sun setting his auburn hair aglow and tinging all his lovely bare skin a warm shade of pink.

His heart full of wonder that such a creature would want him, would love him as fiercely as Crowley does, Aziraphale turns away with a secret, besotted smile and slips silently from the room. The kitchen is his first stop. They’d had quite a meal at the Ritz last night, celebrating their newfound freedom from the pressures of Heaven and Hell, but after what they’d got up to after their meal, Aziraphale feels peckish again. A cup of tea and a few of those biscuits Crowley keeps around for him will do nicely.

He has been to Crowley’s flat before, of course, but he never stayed long and certainly never overnight. It hadn’t felt safe. To be quite honest, Aziraphale hasn’t felt truly safe since the Arrangement began. He’d always been convinced discovery was right around the corner. Some nights he’d simply paced his shop and wrung his hands, wondering how he would protect Crowley when the time came. And now here he is, roaming barefoot throughout Crowley’s flat with a cup of warm tea cradled in his hands. The irony of feeling safe inside the home of Hell’s best demon is not lost on him but Crowley has never been a threat to Aziraphale. Even in the Garden, he’d known that somehow.

His aimless exploration of Crowley’s flat eventually leads him into the atrium. He’s only ever seen Crowley’s plants in passing before and he breathes out an excited hum as he steps inside, surrounded by vibrant green plants of nearly every variety. There are Chinese evergreens and English ivy, and even Saint Helena Heliotrope - which he’s quite sure has not been grown anywhere since sometime in the early 19th century.

Gently petting one brilliant leaf, he murmurs a delighted, “Hello there. Aren’t you beautiful?” The plant seems to tremble at his touch, leaning almost hungrily into his hand and the quiet praise. Aziraphale beams. “He takes such good care of you, doesn’t he?”

At this, the heliotrope droops a little. The tremor of leaves sounds like a complaint.

Aziraphale tuts. “None of that now,” he murmurs. “He’s all bark, you know. Showing affection is difficult for him so we must be very patient, mustn’t we?”

The plant straightens at this gentle admonishment, the leaves perking up a bit in reply.

With a wide smile, Aziraphale offers it another gentle pat. “Very good, you lovely thing.”

He takes another turn about the room, cooing over the succulents and giving the philodendron a bit of encouragement, before he finally wanders out and across the corridor, finding himself standing in Crowley’s office. Unlike the atrium, this room is just as stark and cold as the rest of the flat. Aziraphale briefly considers the prospect of shopping for new furniture with Crowley to make the place a bit more inviting, a bit more…them and has to shove such thoughts aside before he gets ahead of himself. It’s been one night and he’s already mentally redecorating.

Steady on, old bean.

Tossing a wistful, admiring glance at the da Vinci portrait on the far wall, Aziraphale moves further into the room and runs a hand over the back of Crowley’s chair. Really, more of a throne — his sweetheart does love to make a statement. Aziraphale pushes the chair back and settles into it, placing his teacup on the desk. Crowley doesn’t have many books but he’s rather hoping there’s something here in his office to read as a way to pass the time. Knowing Crowley, he could be asleep for days before he gets hungry enough to stumble out of bed.

Sliding open the top drawer and hoping to find a secret stash of cheap romance novels or even a wayward copy of National Geographic, Aziraphale instead blinks down at a scattering of black and white photographs of himself and Crowley. All of them have been taken at a distance and at various points throughout history, long before the humans had even invented cameras. There they are feeding the ducks at St. James Park, watching rehearsals at the Globe, and sharing an umbrella outside of Aziraphale’s favorite little patisserie in Paris.

There’s something troubling about the photos, almost voyeuristic in nature. Aziraphale frowns, stroking a fingertip over Crowley’s profile in one of them, and wonders where all of these strange photographs had come from and why Crowley had them stashed away in his desk.

Which is just how Crowley finds him moments later when he comes skidding into the room like something half-mad. The wild, panicked look in his eyes fades the second he spots Aziraphale standing behind his desk but it’s quite clear that he’d been under the impression Aziraphale had gone. Though his heart aches to reassure Crowley he doesn’t plan to go anywhere, Aziraphale only smiles, allowing Crowley the dignity of rearranging his expression into something a little less stricken.

“Good morning,” he says warmly. “Sleep well?”

Crowley only grunts, running a hand through his rumpled hair. There’s a crease on his cheek from his pillow and he still looks a bit rattled as he saunters into the room. It’s only then that Aziraphale notices he’s barely dressed, wearing only a tight pair of pants — no trousers or shirt anywhere to be seen. His long, lanky legs and bare chest are on full display. Beautiful. Aziraphale licks his lips, forcing his eyes not to wander before he realizes he doesn’t have to anymore. After last night, there are no more secrets between them.

His gaze drifts.

Catching his stare, Crowley smirks. “Morning, angel.” He pauses when he reaches the desk, scrutinizing Aziraphale’s face. Perhaps looking for permission or trying to discern if his affections are still welcome in the light of a new day. Whatever it is, he must find it in Aziraphale’s smile because to the angel’s delight, he bends to press a soft kiss to his mouth. As Aziraphale hums and savors the sweet-sleep taste of him, Crowley strokes a fingertip over the collar of the dressing gown. When they part, he murmurs, “Suits you.”

“Hardly,” Aziraphale replies, blushing. “But you made certain my own clothes were quite difficult to find.”

Crowley doesn’t look even a little bit guilty, perching lazily against the edge of the desk. In fact, he looks rather proud of himself. “Just didn’t want you going anywhere, angel.”

“Well, no chance of that, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale reaches out a hand and cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb tenderly over the snake tattoo at his temple. “You’re quite stuck with me.”

Though he looks pleased to hear it, Crowley isn’t the sort for sentimental speeches. At least not yet, anyway. Eyes warm and soft, he leans in for a kiss instead and Aziraphale has no choice but to sink into him with a sigh of quiet, giddy contentment. This belongs to him now — this intimacy, this longing finally met, this demon he has loved from afar for centuries. The thrill of it, still so new, makes him dizzy.

Crowley’s hand wanders across his shoulder, bare where the dressing gown has slipped amidst their embrace. Touching a reverent fingertip to the bite mark there, still a vivid red against the pale of Aziraphale’s skin, he asks, “All right?”

Warm all over under his attentions and the memory of exactly when Crowley had bitten him last night, Aziraphale breathes, “Oh, tip-top, darling. Perfectly perfect.”

Crowley looks only marginally less poleaxed by the endearment in the light of morning, avoiding Aziraphale’s affectionate gaze by leaning in to nose at his cheek. “Yes,” he murmurs, as though safe without eyes on him. “You are.”

Aziraphale blushes, his heart thrilling at the smallest hint of sweet nothings from Crowley. As he stares over Crowley’s shoulder and tries to hide a smile, his eyes fall on the photos still scattered on the desk. Remembering his curiosity, he says, “I was looking for something to read and I found those. Where did you get them?”

Crowley turns, following the line of his gaze. “Oh. Gabriel had them.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and avoids Aziraphale’s expectant stare. “I nicked them on my way out. Turns out they’ve been keeping an eye on us all along.”

“Well… I’m quite glad I wasn’t aware of that.” Aziraphale grimaces, imagining the nightmarish panic it would have induced. He probably would have agreed to run off to Alpha Centauri just to protect Crowley and who knows if poor young Adam would have had the courage to stand up to Lucifer without a couple of hands to hold. If Aziraphale had known about the existence of these pictures, the Earth might very well have been destroyed. Unsettled by this, Aziraphale turns to frown at them. “But…why take them, my dear?”

With a sniff and a careless shrug, he says, “No reason.” And then, as though sensing Aziraphale’s disappointed stare weighing heavily on him, he sighs and waves a hand he probably intends to look careless. “Oh, you know…thought I’d add them to my collection, that’s all.”

“Collection?”

Gritting his teeth — possibly to hold in something sentimental on the tip of his tongue — Crowley lifts a hand and snaps his fingers. A long, slender black box appears on the desk beside the surveillance photographs. It looks full, the lid on top askew and the mysterious contents beginning to peek out over the edges. Crowley gestures at the box wordlessly.

When Aziraphale glances at him, his cheeks are a bit more full of color than usual. The sight of Anthony J. Crowley, suave demon extraordinaire, blushing is so distracting that it takes Aziraphale a moment to register the words coming out of his mouth. “Open it.”

Hesitantly, Aziraphale reaches out a hand and lifts the lid off the box. And blinks.

Inside is a diverse conglomeration of paraphernalia — mostly photographs and all of them featuring Aziraphale, either alone or with Crowley. Aziraphale reaches out, sifting curiously through them. He moves aside a black and white polaroid of himself standing outside the bookshop sometime in the 1950s; a sepia-toned photograph of him and Crowley posing in their suits and top hats just days before their argument over the holy water; and another Crowley had taken on his mobile just a year or so ago, a closeup of Aziraphale’s face when a butterfly had landed on his nose in St. James Park, his smile wide and his eyes creased with laughter.

There are even a few miniature portraits from the days before the humans had invented cameras. Other little trinkets are nestled inside the box as well, theatre ticket stubs and wine corks from bottles they’ve shared, a few brittle envelopes with handwriting Aziraphale recognizes as his own, and a very old advertisement for the first showing of Hamlet.

Taking it all in, Aziraphale feels a lump begin to form in his throat. Crowley has been hoarding little mementos of their time together. And for quite a while by the look of things — long before the Arrangement even began. Aziraphale spots an oyster shell sitting atop a stack of photographs, thinks fleetingly of Rome, and his trembling hand gently sets it aside as he sifts through more their memories.

Standing beside him but refusing to look at either Aziraphale or the box on the desk, Crowley crosses his arms over his bare chest and frowns into the middle distance. Out of the corner of his eye, Aziraphale notices that his cheeks and the tops of his ears are still flushed. Crowley doesn’t say I love you the way others might. He may not ever say the actual words but Aziraphale hears it when he shows up at the bookshop with tickets to a new play Aziraphale mentioned wanting to see once. He hears it when Crowley orders dessert even though he barely eats any, just so Aziraphale can have a taste. He hears it when Crowley says things like little demonic miracle of my own and we can go off together. And he hears it right now, staring at their whole relationship tucked tenderly into this little box.

With an achingly fond glance at his dear one, Aziraphale plucks a shard of sea glass from Crowley’s collection. Admiring the way it catches the light, he asks, “Might I inquire when-”

“That weekend we holed up in Vladivostok and worked on our reports to Heaven and Hell together.” Crowley risks a glance at him, finds Aziraphale watching him intently, and makes a noise like he’d very much enjoy turning into a snake and slithering away. “It was the first time we’d spent more than an evening together and I…wanted something to remember it by.”

Aziraphale thinks briefly of the tattered, singed volume of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies and Crowley sitting in a pub drinking himself into a stupor. His heart tightens and swells in his chest as he whispers, “A souvenir.”

Caught, Crowley looks away again. “Yeah.”

Rubbing his thumb over the glass, smoothed and worn down by waves and time, Aziraphale asks delicately, “Weren’t you afraid all this might fall into the hands of…the wrong sort?”

Crowley shrugs. “Kept it in the safe with the holy water but…” He sighs, lifting his head and finally really looking at Aziraphale for the first time since the box made its appearance. “Yeah. All the time.”

The sea glass grows warm in Aziraphale’s palm and he curls his fingers around it, swallowing. And it feels like the glass is in his throat, cutting sharply on its way down. “But it didn’t stop you.”

With a sniff, Crowley pokes at a photograph of the two of them dressed as Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth, Warlock cuddled between them and beaming at the camera. “Couldn’t bear to part with any of it.”

Aziraphale bites his lip, the deep well of tenderness within that has always been for Crowley rising up to war with the sharp disappointment he feels at his own cowardice. “You’ve been so much braver than I, my dear.”

Crowley lifts his head from inspecting the contents of the box and frowns. As if he truly doesn’t hold it against him. He really is so much better than he’ll ever believe he is. “I didn’t have anything to lose, angel. You did.”

Carefully depositing the sea glass back into the box, Aziraphale turns to Crowley and shrugs the dressing gown up over his bare shoulder. Crowley follows the movement with his eyes, looking faintly disappointed, but Aziraphale won’t be distracted. “You can’t possibly believe I was afraid of losing anything but you.”

“You-” Crowley blinks at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a moment. “What?”

With a patient sigh, Aziraphale reaches for his hand. “I tried to keep my distance for you, Crowley. Not because I was afraid of Falling or earning Gabriel’s wrath. Because I feared what hell might do to you if they discovered us.” In his grasp, Crowley’s hand trembles and Aziraphale squeezes his fingers, rubbing his thumb soothingly over one of Crowley’s sharp knuckles. “It was never fear for myself that kept me from you.”

“Angel.” Crowley breathes out unsteadily, a hushed reverence in his voice that Aziraphale has only ever heard in the prayers of the devout. Until last night, at least. Crowley is nothing less than worshipful when they’re in bed together — a strange contrast to the blasphemy dripping from Aziraphale’s lips when Crowley touches him.

“I’ve always been so afraid for you,” Aziraphale confides in a whisper, his breath washing warm over Crowley’s cheek as they stand together. “Forgive me, my love, for pushing you away to keep you safe.”

Crowley squeezes his amber eyes shut, swaying forward to press their foreheads together. His slender hand wraps around the back of Aziraphale’s neck to keep him close, his fingers digging in tight like everything will slip away if he doesn’t hold on with all his might. “I really don’t deserve you.”

Keeping his eyes open — all the better to admire him with — Aziraphale smiles fondly and points out, “Says the man who risked complete annihilation just to hoard a few keepsakes in a shoe box.”

Crowley scowls, eyes blinking open to glare weakly at him.

Aziraphale keeps smiling, lifting a hand to stroke his sharp cheekbone. “I believe it’s safe to say we deserve each other, my dear. For better or worse.”

Turning to nuzzle into Aziraphale’s touch, Crowley presses a kiss to his palm and raises an eyebrow. “That sounds a bit like marriage vows, angel.”

“Does it?” Aziraphale hums thoughtfully, watching Crowley through his lashes. “Well, it has been six thousand years, after all.”

Crowley makes an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat, lips parting wordlessly. “What - uh, what happened to going too fast?”

Tracing a fingertip over Crowley’s jawline, Aziraphale replies honestly, “I suppose I’m not afraid anymore.”

“No.” Crowley wraps an arm around his waist and as he gathers him close, Aziraphale feels a soft, careful kiss pressed to his temple. Like he’s something precious. A treasure to be tucked safely inside the box on the desk, right alongside old letters and photographs. As though he’s something Crowley doesn’t want to forget. “Neither am I.”

With a hopeful grin, Aziraphale leans back just enough to look into his eyes. “Might I take that as a yes?”

Crowley huffs out a laugh, his face softening the way it had as he’d slept - like all the stresses of Heaven and Hell have been lifted from his thin shoulders. “It’s been yes for a long time, angel,” he murmurs.

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale says, just before their lips meet.

As he melts against Crowley with a happy sigh, he smiles broadly into their kiss —giddy at the very idea of adopting such a human custom. Nothing thrills him more than the notion of belonging to Crowley and publicly declaring that Crowley belongs to him too. Perhaps they could even invite some friends.

Anathema and Newt would surely attend and Madame Tracy, of course. Though Crowley might balk if she insists on bringing Sergeant Shadwell. He’d been a bit tetchy about the man when Aziraphale had told him the story of how he’d ended up getting discorporated in the first place. But surely the children could attend. And Warlock, of course. It simply wouldn’t be a proper wedding without their godson.

Oh dear. Perhaps they have gone a bit native.

Well. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the humans say.

Aziraphale breaks from Crowley’s warm, devouring mouth with a gasp. “I forgot something.” At Crowley’s soft noise of protest, he smiles and assures him, “Only for a moment, darling.”

Under Crowley’s watchful gaze, Aziraphale slowly slips the ring from his pinky finger for the first time in six thousand years. His hand looks strange without it - naked and vulnerable. No matter. Aziraphale suspects he’ll have another ring to wear soon enough.

“Angel,” Crowley begins, brow furrowing. “What-”

“I believe a ring is customarily presented along with the proposal.”

He takes Crowley’s hand, waiting patiently for approval. Crowley swallows audibly, his eyes wide. His hand trembles in Aziraphale’s reassuring grasp. After a long moment spent staring at the ring and then another moment studying Aziraphale, he finally clenches his jaw. And then he nods, once.

Pleased, Aziraphale slides the ring onto his finger.

And it fits.

The angel wings wrap snugly around Crowley’s ring finger and somehow, impossibly, the ring looks right there. As though it had never really been Aziraphale’s ring at all. It had always belonged to Crowley all this time and Aziraphale had just been keeping it safe until the proper moment. It’s a keepsake Aziraphale is only too happy to part with. “Look at that,” he whispers, smiling. “It suits you.”

Crowley stares down at his hand, at the ring on his finger, and blinks again. His throat works as he tries to speak but for a long moment, he manages nothing but a wordless noise of bewilderment. “Right.” He clears his throat, still staring at the ring. His voice comes out hoarse and unsteady as he asks with a drawl, “So… how do humans usually celebrate an engagement?”

Properly enamored with the sight of Crowley wearing his ring, Aziraphale beams. “Oh, with crepes, I should think.”

Crowley laughs, startled and fond and genuine. “Crepes,” his intended promises, his eyes warm and mischievous. “After we celebrate my way.”

“Your wa - oh.” Aziraphale yelps as Crowley grasps him by the sleeve of his dressing gown and tugs him emphatically in the direction of the bedroom. His new ring glints in the morning light, bright against the black of Aziraphale’s borrowed robe. Stifling a chuckle, he stumbles after him and agrees, “Yes, dearest. Definitely yours first.”

And as they tumble back into bed together, entwined and grinning, the rest of eternity promises to be very good indeed.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #gofic #my fic

416 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Pining

I can’t decide if this was the most or the least obvious route to take, but here we go: day 11 of @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

Totally lighthearted fluff this time, since the chapter I posted to AO3 was pretty dark. But it was fun!

11 - Pine (1,642)

Pine: To yearn intensely and persistently for something unattainable.

The first thing Aziraphale ever remembered wanting was a twig of evergreen.

“It’s the smell I miss, really,” he explained over the campfire, out of sight of the humans in their camp. He and Crawley sometimes waited out the nighttime hours together, mulling over their thoughts of the world. “The other plants just don’t smell the same.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Crawley, who hadn’t actually paid attention to the smells in Eden. “Any particular kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. White pine? Or black? I don’t think it matters.”

The next day, Crawley disappeared, as he sometimes did. Aziraphale kept a sharp eye on the humans, to make sure the serpent wasn’t causing trouble again, but no sign of him there.

After almost a week, the demon returned, bearing a branch of black pine, the sap still sticky and fresh. “Saw some of this when they sent me up north,” he said, handing it over.

It smelled even better than Aziraphale remembered.

The first thing that Aziraphale really missed – in a deep, intense way – was a song played on a reed flute, the words lost to time.

“I don’t know why I miss it so,” he sighed, a century after he’d last heard it. “It just popped into my head one day and I felt... sad.”

“Nostalgic, probably,” corrected Crawley, sampling a new ale. “How did it go?”

“You know the one. “Dee-dum-dee-dum-dee-da-dee-dum.”

“Devastatingly beautiful,” Crawley laughed. “That could be any song!”

“Fine. It was the one we heard that first time we went to Knossos.”

The demon nodded slowly this time. “Ah, that was a lovely song. Whoever wrote it really understood pain.”

“I don’t know about pain, but…” Aziraphale sighed, looking out the window, feeling the strange lethargy take him again. “Lately I’ve not been able to get it out of my head. Something to do with the long nights and cold weather, I’m sure.”

Four evenings later, Aziraphale suddenly heard a strange, high wailing sound outside the inn where he was staying. He rushed out to find Crawley with a reed flute he’d made himself, carousing drunkenly in the street, trying to play the lost tune.

The angel had very nearly laughed himself sick before taking the flute for himself. By the morning they’d managed to mostly reconstruct the song.

They invented new lyrics – in Aziraphale’s, a tiny bird flew home in the spring; in Crawley’s the bird ate some strange berries and got very ill all over town. The angel wanted to scold him, but he was too busy laughing.

The longest Aziraphale ever yearned for something, was during the years he spent in Rome, working alongside the imperial family, influencing the younger members towards good.

He would never admit how draining the job was, how isolated it made him feel. He longed for simple companionship, someone he could talk to, even just for a day. Someone he could be himself around, instead of playing a part.

Then he’d heard a familiar grumbling – turning to the counter of the thermopolium, he saw a figure in black toga (if you could call that a toga) and red hair. He jumped up, abandoning his table and his game, determined to seize this opportunity no matter what.

Though he probably should have taken a moment to come up with something to say first.

Still, several plates of oysters and copious amounts of wine later, they ambled back up the street, passing the last jug back and forth between them, Crowley quite nearly smiling.

“My dear fellow, what is that thing on your head?”

“Oh, I forgot.” He pulled off the laurel wreath, studying the silver leaves where they reflected the moonlight. “Won this, you know. Fair and square.”

“You had a sussez-suckstes- victorious military campaign?” Aziraphale took another sip of wine. “Awarded a triumph an’ all?”

“Nah. Just arm wrestled a general.” He chuckled, tossing the wreath in the air, and trying to catch it – missing it, so that it clattered and rolled away up the street. “Caligula said it was the greatest military victory he’d ever seen.”

“I’m starting to think that child does not have much of a background in warfare,” Aziraphale opined as Crowley snatched the wine away.

“You get executed for saying things like that,” Crowley scolded.

The angel gave his best look of utter shock, rubbing at his throat, until he and Crowley both burst into gales of laughter, stumbling against each other in the street.

The thing Aziraphale wanted the most was for Crowley to be safe. This, perhaps, went on longer than any other desire, but it rose and fell, moved from the front of his mind to the back, pushed aside but never fulfilled.

He felt it in the fifteenth century, and the sixteenth, and the seventeenth. Meeting in taverns and tea houses and theaters, trading jobs, planning miracles and temptations together.

Again and again a worry rose within him, this could go wrong, they could find out, they could hurt him, destroy him.

But he didn’t allow the desperate fear of it to overtake him until the day he thought Crowley might destroy himself. “Just insurance,” he said.

Aziraphale put his foot down. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – give Crowley the means to end his own life, to take that smile and that laugh and those beautiful eyes out of the world, even if it was to end his suffering.

There was only one other way to keep him safe.

And so for over 80 years he didn’t want anything. Even if the demon hated him, even if they never saw each other again, Crowley was safe, and what else could possibly matter?

Until the day Crowley danced up the aisle of a church and back into his life, saving him, saving his books, and giving him a smug grin and a lift home.

And Aziraphale realized that wanting things could get very complicated indeed.

One August night when the world hadn’t ended, Aziraphale stepped onto a bus back from Oxford, his mind racing with wishes and fears and regrets and things longed for but never named.

When Crowley sat down, the angel sat beside him, shaking hand grasping the edge of his seat, so close the knuckles were just shy of where Crowley’s fingers lay limply at his side.

“You must have wanted this,” Aziraphale suddenly spoke, breaking the silence of at least ten minutes. “For a very long time.”

“Hmm?” Crowley, exhausted, emotionally wrung out, had nearly fallen asleep where he sat. “Wanted what?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but found that he didn’t have any words. Not for the first time that night, the tears filled his eyes.

“Hey,” Crowley turned toward him, their knees just touching. “Don’t…don’t be afraid. We’re going to think of something.” How could his voice be so gentle? So calm?

“I…I don’t think I am afraid.”

“You’d be mad not to be. Isn’t this what you’ve been worried about all along? That they’d find out about…about us?”

“Oh, I’m terrified of that.” Aziraphale almost laughed, still trying to blink his eyes clear. “But… us. I don’t think I’m afraid of that anymore.”

Slowly, carefully, with utmost certainty, his hand drifted across the last few inches of space and clasped Crowley’s.

Behind black lenses, the demon’s unreadable eyes stared at their hands. “Are you… are you sure? Is this what you want?”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t have the first idea what I want. I just know…” with a watery smile, he lifted their hands to rest together where their knees met. “Any time I’ve ever wanted anything, it’s been you there to bring it to me. Even when I didn’t really know what I wanted, you were always there.”

Crowley turned his hand, threading the fingers through Aziraphale’s, letting the warmth of it fill them both.

“And I think…” the angel continued. “I think that’s what I want. Whether we have another six thousand years or only tonight, I want you to be there. With me.”

“Ok.” It wasn’t even a whisper, just a movement of the mouth, a nod. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, brought it to rest against his cheek. “Ok.”

He couldn’t help shivering just a little from the thrill of it. Aziraphale had to almost fight to keep from doing something that would ruin the moment. “So, ah, so that’s why I said. You must have wanted this for a long time. I’ve…I’ll admit I’ve not thought about it nearly as much as I should, but I suppose I at least missed out on any pining. You, though…”

“Pining?” Suddenly the gentleness was gone from Crowley’s voice. “You think I’ve been pining?” He threw back his head and laughed, hands falling again to rest in his lap.

Embarrassed, realizing he’d ruined the moment anyway, Aziraphale tried to pull his hand back, but Crowley only clasped it harder.

“Angel, all I’ve wanted for six thousand years is to see you happy. And you were, most of the time, so I was, too.” He finally let go of Aziraphale’s hand, but only so he could clasp both shoulders. “People who pine are idiots who don’t appreciate what they already have. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but that is one I have never, ever made.”

Without thinking, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him close, resting his head against his demon’s heart, feeling those thin arms surround him, the long fingers bury themselves in his hair.

“Oh, my dear Crowley. I think it would take another six thousand years for me to learn to appreciate you.”

Aziraphale could feel the nod as Crowley’s chin brushed against him, felt the shaky breath pass his ear. “Well. We better make sure we’re around to enjoy that, huh?”

#good omens fanfiction #31 days of ineffables #ineffable husbands #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #fluff #romance #hand holding #they're a pair of adorable babies really #advent calendar #writing challenge #my writing

63 notes · View notes

hunterscoffee · 4 years

Text

The Days of Ficmas

Masterlist Day 1: Decorating Daryl Dixon x Reader, Pre-Apocalypse or No-Apocalypse AU… Take Your Pick Summary - Daryl has never really talked about his past and Christmas is a sore subject. Warnings: None, just wholesome fluff and some angst. Word Count: 1170

There was a bounce in your step as you half-skipped to the small store that was located near your home. Your parents were out of town for the weekend and had left you and your older brother to your own devices, your brother, Rick, had decided to spend this time with his girlfriend and bestfriend. You didn’t care much, with Rick gone you could decorate the house however way you wanted. You didn’t need much from the store, just some more tinsel to make up for the ones that had been ruined for whatever reason. And some more outdoor lights would be nice.

The snow had started lightly falling and it caught in your y/h/l hair, winter had to be your favourite season, Christmas, snow, lazy days. The doors of the store automatically opened when you got near and you stepped inside, a sudden blast of heat hitting you. The store owner, Dale gave you a wave from where he was standing at the register. Andrea was standing with Amy down one aisle, you loved the way the store decorated for Christmas, tinsel was everywhere and you couldn’t hold in your giggle.

“Heya, knowing you, you’re shopping for decorations…” Her voice was smooth and you kneeled down on the ground by her. “My folks are out of town and I’d like to surprise them with decorating the house before they get back.” The faint sound of Christmas music could be heard in the background. “I thought you’d make an appearance.” She smiled before you stood your self up. “I’d better get to it.” You smiled back before letting your feet carry you to the beautiful site of outdoor Christmas lights and tinsel, you got a bunch of multi-colour ones, some cold white and warm white, and bundles of tinsel. It was almost too much to carry.

“Got enough there y/n?” Dale smiled and the bundle you had plonked on the counter, all you could do was grin like a mad man.

“Could I have a bag please?” It seemed as if your mouth had a mind of its own, not smiling seemed impossible.

“You’re going to need a rather large bag.” He matches your own smile with his soft one and you thanked him before grabbing your stuff and running out the door to get home.

Your rather rundown car sat outside the store, it was painted a sort of red colour, but the paint had come off a bit on the bumper and the seats were tattered, none of the less it got you where you need to be and you were grateful for that simple attribute. You threw the two large bags in the backseat, before inserting a CD of Christmas music into the stereo.

You hadn’t gotten far down the road before you ran into Daryl Dixon, you not so much ran into him, he was walking down the street and you spotted him from your car. It didn’t take much time for you to decide that decorating with him would be better than decorating alone and Rick wasn’t around to be a disapproving big brother. You slowed the car and pulled up next to him before whistling to get his attention.

Daryl’s head whipped around when he heard you motioned for him to get in, he walked over before giving your backseat a look and realising you had just roped him into some Christmas decorating spree.

“Just get in.” You huffed and he did as you said, you gave him a peck on the lips before driving off.

***

Your house was an old wooden one, it was reasonably large and along with outdoor decorations you had snuck in a bottle of eggnog. Snow littered your front yard, it wasn’t enough to make a snowman, but it was enough to seem like winter.

You stepped outside again, with two cups of eggnog. One for you and the other for Daryl, he was sitting on the porch unwrapping Christmas lights, you had littered your garden with the Christmas decorations from years before. It was a mess as if Christmas had vomited on your front step. None of the less it just made you more motivated to finish the job.

“We start with lining the roof, then the tree and then balcony.” You gestured as you spoke, as you walked over to him. The snow had caught in his hair and the sun lit his face up as if he was an angel. You smiled for the 100th time today before taking one more step closer and brushing the hair from his eyes, making him smile a little too, not as much as you, but it was a start you decided.

He quickly caught your lips and your arms went around his neck. “Mmm, as much as I love this we have all this to finish.” You patted his chest then nodded to the shit load of decorations and he smiled at you.

***

“Hey, babe could you give me a lift so I can get the star on the tree?” You called over to your boyfriend, Daryl was finishing wrapping lights on the bannister of your front porch. He made his way over to you as you threw your arms up like a child.

You carefully put the star on the top, and then patted Daryl’s arm as if to say, ‘I’m done now put me down’. Once on solid ground again you took a step back to admire your work. “The house looks, wonderful baby!” You exclaimed to him, before turning and wrapping him in a hug. Just as he put his arms around you, you broke away and clapped. “We had to plug then in!” You took Daryl’s hand and ran over the plug, all most squealing with excitement. “Come on, come on!”

“Do you wanna do the honours?” You asked Daryl, but he knew how important this was to you so he shook his head and you plunged forward to plug it in. And as soon and metal met electricity the whole house and the evergreen in your yard you had decorated lit up. Your eyes sparkled as the house lights seemed almost magical. This time you really did let out a squeal. “Aww it looks so good.” You looked towards Daryl who was still staring ar the lights. “Come on, let’s get inside before you freeze.” Daryl only wore a flannel, where you were dressed in full winter apparel.

***

You had lit the fire, grabbed a blanket, made hot cocoa and now you sat half on Daryl’s lap on the couch, watching a Hallmark movie. He seemed almost sad. “What’s the matter?” You twisted your head to look at him and even though he would never let you know he almost seemed as if he was crying. “I just… Bad memories.” His southern drawl was clouded with sadness and your eyes became empathetic. “Things weren’t too good at home, with dad being drunk most of the time ‘n Merle not being home to stop dad’s drunken hand." That was all he needed to say for you to fill the rest of the story, he had told you his dad had been abusive and you had seen the scars on his back.

The first time he had shown you, he had been worried that you were gonna leave him, but you had only loved him more. He seemed so broken that you could do nothing but hold him tighter.

"You can always stay here if you need to. You know my parents love you! Not so much my brother…." You break the hug to look into his brown eyes and cup his cheek.

"I know, I'm so lucky to have you." He smiled at you before capturing your lips into a deep kiss.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon x reader fluff #daryl dixon x reader angst #angst #fluff #rick #daryl #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #merle dixon #merle #andrea #amy #dale

65 notes · View notes

unholyromanoff · 4 years

Text

Oh Christmas Tree

It was the first Christmas after The Decimation, the team parting ways and the world-changing forever. The last few months had been absolute hell for Natasha, whose own grief of their greatest failure weighed her down like the rocks Thanos had once trapped her under. Steve noticed this too. How little sleep she got, how there seemed to be more and more empty vodka bottles laying around, how she’d spend hours at a time in the gym. They had spent the years by each other's sides, always having the other persons six, and he knew at this moment she needed him most. He tried to be there as much as possible for her while simultaneously dealing with the global aftermath of half of the universe turning to dust.

That was when the cold front set in and snow began to fall, blanketing the city in a fresh cover of white. Natasha normally loved the snow, seeing she grew up in Russia, but now she couldn’t care less. That was when Steve knew something had to be done, something to cheer her up because he feared he might lose her forever. That’s how he decided to get a Christmas tree.

Early that morning he quietly slipped out of bed as though not to wake Natasha, who lay sleeping next to him, got ready and headed to the garage of the compound. Not being able to take his motorcycle he opted for one of Tony’s many cars. “Sorry Tony” he muttered as he started the car, Tony had absolutely hated when people touched his stuff, especially cars.

He got to the tree farm and eventually picked out a nice six-foot evergreen. Tall but not too tall, he thought to himself. He tied it to the top of the car and was off back to the compound. He pulled up the snowy driveway to find Natasha, outside, staring at him, hands on her hips.

“What the hell is that?” She gestured towards the tree.

“Well uh... you see... I knew you were feeling down especially with the holidays coming up so I thought I’d cheer you up and get us a Christmas tree”

Natasha let out a laugh, the first real one in a long time, and Steve smiled at her. It felt so nice to hear that laugh again. It was one of the many reasons he had fallen in love with her in the first place. She was so guarded to everyone around her, never showing her true self unless she really trusted the person. After the events of the accords and her going back to her family in Russia, he realized how much he needed her in his life and how he would do anything to keep her there. She had opened herself up to him and for the first time in a very long time, he saw who she truly was, not who she made up for the world to see. Those two years he spent on the run with her by his side was some of the best and worst times of their lives. Sure, they were fugitives and had to move around frequently. But they also helped a lot of people behind the scenes that needed it. He remembered coming back to the apartment they had shared in the very humid city of Jakarta that previous summer to see her with platinum blonde hair that was cut down to her chin. “Red hair is too noticeable” she had said when he questioned her about it. He didn’t really know how he felt about it at first because it was so different than what he was used to but now as he looked at her, smiling, he realized he had come to love it.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by her voice, “Steve I think you’re gonna need help with that.”

“Yeah probably”, he chuckled.

Together they had managed to undo the tree from the top of the car and carry it into the living room of the compound, where Natasha had been spending most of her time. They set it down in a perfect corner right by several couches and a TV. Natasha had dug through some old storage to find the ornaments and other Christmas items and sorted them out for her and Steve to decorate the tree with.

“You know what would be perfect right now?” She mused.

“What’s that?” Steve looked at her quizzically.

“EGGNOG!”

“That’s actually a really good idea, Nat, I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t forget the rum! It’s better spiked!”

He came back five minutes later from the kitchen with two glasses of spiked eggnog, handing one to Natasha. “Cheers!” The glasses clung together before they both drank. The eggnog mixed with the rum caused a warm feeling to rush all through Natasha. Happiness.

They spent that whole afternoon together, decorating the Christmas tree and surrounding areas with a bunch of lights and ornaments while listening to cheesy Christmas music. For the first time in a long time, it just felt like they were a normal couple. The guilt and weight over Natasha’s head disappeared between laughter and kisses. It was as though they had not faced a mad Titan who turned half the universe to dust less than six months ago. A home. Family. Stability. Everything Steve had wanted with his life, and to his surprise, Natasha had wanted it too. They had eventually finished decorating, turning on all the lights strung throughout the room and on the tree, both smiling and happy. As Christmas music played quietly Steve put his arms around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder, taking in his scent and all that was around them.

“Hey, Nat..” She turned around to face Steve, taking his hands in hers.

“Yes, Steve..” Her emerald green eyes reflected into his crystal clear turquoise ones.

“Lookup, we’re under the mistletoe”

Natasha smiled at him, “Guess we should kiss shouldn’t we?”

“yeah we should”

Steve took his free hand and grazed her cheek lightly before holding her chin up and lightly pressing his lips to hers. He always loved kissing her. She tasted like eggnog and mint and he never wanted to let go. Natasha threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. He obliged and they stood like that for several moments, wrapped in their embrace. They moved in harmony, like they always did, both on and off the battlefield. It was Natasha who broke the kiss, sighing.

“You know a girl gotta breathe sometimes, right?” She whispered

“Yeah I know, but I really like kissing you.”

Natasha pressed her forehead to his, arms around his neck, and they both started to sway slightly to the music they had put on earlier. The Christmas tree, now fully decorated illuminated the room, a reminder to both of them that even in the darkest of moments there will always be the little things to light your way and give you hope for a better time. They stood like that for a while, wrapped in each-others embrace swaying to the Christmas music that played, ignoring the time passing by and the darkening of the sky outside the compound. It was just the two of them against all odds. Steve kissed the top of Natasha’s head, inhaling her scent, “I love you, Nat”

“I love you too Steve.”

“Do you think everything will be okay?” she asked quietly, as she buried her head in his chest.

“Yeah, I think it will.”

33 notes · View notes

sweetmemories2606 · 4 years

Text

Dangerous Game (Gruvia and NaLu fanfic) Chapter 7

This chapter introduces a ship which is still rather unknown and certainly underrated: MesCana (or Mest x Cana). Created by @tobethefairybest, who made me fall in love with it, this pairing is fresh and adorable.

Title: Remembering Her Pairings: MesCana, minor Miraxus, very minor ElfEver

Link: Chapter 1, Chapter 7 Happy reading! ---------------------- Chapter 7: Remembering Her

September X791

"Mest Gryder, your mission is complete." Mest stared at Makarov in utter shock. Then his eyes caught the Fairy Tail mark which suddenly appeared on his shoulder. "What the hell is this?" He started freaking out. "Start talking!"

Makarov explained things calmly. How Mest always had that emblem, but concealed it once he began his mission. How he had erased his own memory to infiltrate the Magic Council.

Mest couldn't believe what he was hearing. Me? A member of Fairy Tail? It can't be.

Makarov noted how he was a good man, so devoted to protecting his guild that he had erased his own identity.

When Mest inquired about the time he had been infiltrating Fairy Tail for the Magic Council, the older man affirmed that's why he had been told not to erase his memories.

It was unbelievable, but suddenly the pieces started to come in. Flashback by flashback, Mest began to remember his life and the mission he had risked so much for. He's telling the truth. But this...is too much...

Makarov watched him quietly, a sympathetic look upon his face, letting the young man figure things out himself. Then his eyes wandered to someone behind Mest, making the latter turn around.

She was standing not far away, probably having heard what they said. Her eyes were widened, a look of pure shock on her face, but there was also recognition.

Cana….Mest remembered her. They had been childhood friends, as close as Natsu, Gray and Erza. They had shared everything for so long, but then he had left and she had been heartbroken.

"Mest?" Her voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"Cana..." Mest stared at the woman in front of him in disbelief. I've missed her so much.

Makarov glanced between them with sadness. "I can only imagine how much you two must've missed each other. I'm sorry it had to be like this."

"I..." Cana struggled with words. "You...We were..."

"You remember?" Mest asked and she nodded, tears streaming down her face. He couldn't stop himself from crying too. It's finally over. I can come home to her.

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

Unfortunately, home ceased to exist for Makarov disbanded Fairy Tail that very night. While most people were confused, shocked and unaware, Mest knew this must be related to his mission.

He was proven right once the older man explained how there was nothing stopping Alvarez from invading Fiore now. Makarov had thought this was the best way to keep everyone safe in case they did.

He also made Mest promise not to tell anyone, not even Cana, about this threat. Briefly mentioning his intent to go to Alvarez to try and negotiate peace, Fairy Tail's master left before Mest could protest.

The next few months were weird. Despite remembering everything, Mest was unable to reunite with his comrades since each took a different path. Many disappeared, not to be seen nor heard from until a year later.

He was glad that at least Cana stayed. She helped him adjust to a life after his mission and their friendship soon resumed to what it had been before. They even moved in together, choosing to stay in Magnolia.

During this time Mest spent with her, he reflected a lot about the past and future. Now having all the information, he began seeing everything in a new light. That included his relationship with Cana.

Recalling every single moment, he wondered if there was something more to it. Analysing his feelings led to doubt, but also hope. The thought of loving her like he had watched Gray love Juvia or Jellal love Erza felt so right. Maybe I am in love with her.

But he needed to be sure, so he watched and waited to see if she gave any indication of returning his affection in a romantic way.

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

January X792

The answer came one night when she came home late at night and they had an honest, serious conversation.

She was very emotional that night, traumatised after being forced to watch her client be murdered in an exhausting mission. Involuntarily, every wound and tragic memory resurfaced. Cana talked about missing her mother, worrying she'd never see her father again, and fearing that he would leave her too.

Mest reassured her he wasn't leaving, voiced his hope that someday the guild could be together again and comforted her as he used to whenever she broke down.

She surprised him with an unexpected kiss. He eagerly replied but once able to think rationally, pulled apart.

Cana stared at him in confusion and slight embarrassment. She apologised, but he dismissed it. "There's no need to. It doesn't have to mean anything."

She sighed, seemingly disappointed. "I thought...you wanted it too."

Hopeful, Mest asked. "What do you mean?"

Cana shook her head. "Nothing."

He watched her begin to walk away. "Cana! Talk to me, please."

"There's nothing to talk about." She told him, bitterly. "You said it yourself, this doesn't mean anything."

He refused to let her go before they could properly talk about the kiss. The conversation that ensued was difficult, but they soon realised that they were on the same page.

After confessing to possibly having romantic feelings towards each other, the decision to try dating was unanimous and they sealed it with a passionate kiss.

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

June X792

After five rather blissful months, they were reminded that the world was still collapsing when Jellal came and informed Mest that Alvarez had sent a demon to spy on Fiore.

Again he had to leave Cana behind in order to eliminate this threat. She was reluctant to let him go, but also understood he needed to. Truth be told, she also had a mission of her own to get back to: tracking down her father.

They said their goodbyes once he walked away from her, both starting to get teary eyed, they thought the same thing. I hope this goodbye won't last for years like last time.

Thankfully, 3 months was all Mest needed to complete his mission. Although he had actually thought it would be less, even with Jellal, Meredy and Mirajane's help, Lilith still evaded them. They worried about what she might be doing, hoping it wouldn't be too late to stop her.

They searched all over Fiore until Mirajane led them to Marguerite where she said Lilith's presence was stronger. Unfortunately, she had to leave them to go to Fairy Tail's reunion, so they were left without the person who could pose the greatest threat to the demon.

Marguerite turned out to be a bust since there were no signs of Lilith. Then, Meredy recalled that Gray and Juvia had lived not far, in Rainfall Village. They made the wise decision of checking out the couple's home and that's where they struck gold.

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

One day later

"What happens now?"

"Now you eliminate Lilith." Mest said matter of factly.

"But..." Gray's confusion remained. "The only way to do that is to kill her host."

"Wait, what?" Erza's eyes widened.

"Are you suggesting that he kills Mirajane?" Lisanna asked in disbelief.

Before Mest could explain, there was a strike of lightning that almost hit him. What the hell?

"If he is, he'd better be ready to die." It was Laxus and the Thunder Legion who showed up all of sudden.

"Laxus!" Mira called his name, appearing relieved, while everyone else was surprised.

"Where have you guys been?" Elfman asked, eyes focused on Evergreen,

"It's none of your business." She snapped.

"I...I didn't expect you to come." Mest told Laxus, slightly afraid of the latter's death glare. He really is mad.

"Mira texted me." The dragon slayer said before turning to her. "Are you okay?"

Her face showed pain, but she put on a smile. "Yes, I'm alright."

"We should finish this quickly." Mest said, noticing her state. Looks like Lilith isn't as weakened as I assumed.

"Finish what exactly?" Freed asked, looking around curiously.

"It's a long story." Mirajane answered.

Mest spoke again. "We can explain things after Lilith is defeated." Using his magic, he retrieved the item they would need. A book. Lilith's book.

"How do you have that?" Mirajane was shocked.

"Doesn't really matter." He explained. "Now, can you trap her?"

After a moment of consideration, she nodded and approached him. He noticed that Laxus watched them with a glare. Is he...jealous?

Cana's look wasn't much different and Mest had a hard time ignoring her. Gotta focus now.

Everyone was silent again while Mirajane put a hand on the book and concentrated. The same dark cloud from before enveloped her before transferring to the book.

"There you go." She panted.

"Thank you." Mest told her, concerned by how pale she suddenly was. She doesn't look good. "You should get some rest now."

"I'm...fine." Mira stepped back, but soon her knees gave in. Being the closest person, he was the one to catch her.

"Mirajane!" There were multiple screams. Laxus moved at lightning speed and appeared by her side.

"I can take her now." His look was menacing, so Mest chose not to argue. Carefully he escorted Mirajane to the lightning dragon slayer.

"Laxus…" She whispered his name, weakly.

Holding her close, Laxus surveyed her worriedly. "How do you feel?"

"Just tired." She tried a smile.

"I'll help her too." Wendy, who was still healing Juvia, promised.

Wasting no time, Mest called the ice mage. "Gray, now it's your turn."

After a moment's hesitation, Gray nodded before rushing towards him.

Taking the book, the ice mage allowed his demon slayer magic to be activated. Within seconds, it had turned to dust, much to everyone's relief.

"She's finally gone now." Many people let out relieved sighs that the insanity was over.

"Good." Gajeel spoke after a moment of silence. "Now you can start explaining things."

#fanfic #mescana #miraxus #elfever #gruvia #nalu #fairy tail #avatar arc #tartaros #demon #plot twist #angst #makarov dreyar #meredy milkovich #jellal fernandes #crime sorciere #wendy marvell #dangerous game #chapter 7

2 notes · View notes