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musette22 · 3 years

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Local museum volunteer Chris explaining all the items and history facts to teacher Sebastian and his 20 kids on a school trip or to single dad Sebastian and his twins (one who is really into it and ask a lot of "but why?" And the other one who just sticks his fingers up his nose and yawns lmao)

Okay so I was just on a walk and I started thinking about this ask again (I am so so so sorry for how long it took me to reply to this, I suck wow) because I couldn’t get that new pic of Seb looking like a literal DILF out of my head, but I couldn’t remember the specifics so what came out is slightly different from what you suggested but not much – hope you still like it (I personally screamed into my fist multiples times while thinking about this – I’m furious at how cute this little scenario is, thank you so so much for this!)

Disclaimer: I literally wrote this just now so it’s unbeta’d and probably riddled with nonsense, but I hope you guys like nonetheless! <3

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

“Hi, guys! Welcome to the Concord Museum. My name is Chris and I’ll be your guide this afternoon.”

Chris eyes the little family – a father and two young kids – standing in front of him in the entrance hall of the bite-sized museum, then makes a show of looking around the otherwise empty hall. “Seems like it’s a quiet one today, so you’ll have me all to yourself!”

The father smiles, his sparkling, blue-grey eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that Chris shouldn’t be thinking of as ‘adorable’, but does nonetheless.

“Fantastic,” the man says warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Chris. This is Margot,” – he gestures to the girl of about eight standing next to him – “and this little guy here is David,” he adds, lightly bouncing the three or four-year-old, curly haired boy on his hip. David gives Chris a wide eyed look before promptly burying his face in his father’s neck. “He’s a little shy,” the dad says fondly.

“That’s fine,” Chris tells them. With a smile, he ducks his head to try and catch David’s eye. “You’re not the only one, kiddo. I’m a little shy myself sometimes, you know.”

“I’m not shy,” Margot pipes up.

“No,” her dad agrees with a chuckle, “you certainly are not.”

Chris turns his eyes back to their father’s face. “And your name..?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the man says, “I’m Sebastian.” He holds out his hand for Chris to shake, warm and dry with long, elegant fingers that fit nicely against Chris’s own, studier ones.

Sebastian, Chris thinks. Perfect name for a perfect guy. The term ‘DILF’ flashes unbidden through Chris’s mind – wildly inappropriate, given the circumstances, but oh so accurate. Sebastian has a sweet, charming smile, incredible bone structure, and dark, wavy hair, swept up in a quiff-like style that manages to make him look both sophisticated and a little boyish at the same time. There’s a hint of grey at his temples as well as in his beard that has Chris placing him at maybe two or three years older than himself.

“New York?” Chris guesses, as he reluctantly lets go of Sebastian’s hand.

“That’s right,” Sebastian nods. “Well, formerly, anyway. We just moved to the area, actually.”

“Oh, really? What brought you all the way out here?”

Sebastian runs a hand through his hair; a nervous habit, perhaps. “Oh, um. My ex-wife got a job in Boston last year, and I didn’t want to be too far from her and the kids, so I decided to follow suit. Only moved down here last month. This is my first full weekend with these guys at my new place, so I thought I’d take them out to do something cultural, learn a little about the local history, y’know?”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of that here,” Chris assures him. “In fact,” he adds sheepishly, “that’s kinda all we've got.”

Sebastian laughs, causing Chris’s brain to glitch, which is probably why the next thing that comes out of his mouth is – “Divorce, huh? I’m sorry, that must’ve been tough.”

When Sebastian doesn’t answer straight away, Chris wants to kick himself for running his big, stupid mouth. As usual. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes hastily. “That’s none of my business. Just tryin’ to make small talk, but I always seem to forget I’m really bad at that. Just forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sebastian assures him, flashing Chris a quick smile. “Thank you. These things are never easy, but it’s better this way, you know?”

“They’re not fighting or anything,” Margot chimes in again, from a few feet below. “Mommy and daddy only got divorced because mommy’s a girl and daddy likes boys better than girls. Right, daddy?"

Well. Chris tries not to be too obvious about glancing at Sebastian’s face to see his reaction to that bombshell his daughter just dropped, but he’s not sure how well he manages.

Sebastian closes his eyes for a moment as if praying for strength. “That's right, sweetheart,” he says with a grimace. “But I'm sure Chris doesn't need to hear about all that."

Chris begs to differ – he’s actually extremely interested in hearing about all this, but before he has a chance to say anything in reply, Margot squares her jaw and crosses her football jersey-clad arms.

“Why not?” she asks defiantly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Some girls just like girls and some boys like boys, it’s totally normal. It’s not prola- probu –" She sighs in frustration, looking up at her dad, who’s watching her with something like pride on his handsome face.

“Problematic?”

“Yeah,” Margot concurs, “not probametic.”

Chris hums in agreement. “It’s not, you’re absolutely right. I’ll tell you what,” he tells her conspiratorially, “I happen to like boys better, too.”

Margot’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You do?”

“I do.”

Suddenly, Margot’s little face lights up, her shrewd eyes flitting to her dad’s face for a second, then back to Chris. “Do you like my dad?”

“Margot,” Sebastian cuts in, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “That’s enough, honey.” When he tuns back to Chris to give him an apologetic look, Chris can’t help but notice the slight blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. She’s gotten it into her head that she needs to find me the perfect man ASAP, or I’ll waste away or something.”

Chris laughs, throwing back his head in genuine mirth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine,” he assures them, then claps his hands together to change the precarious subject. “So, who’s ready to learn a little bit about what living in Concord was like over a hundred years ago?”

******

Chris always enjoys volunteering at the museum – it’s nice to give something back to the community that’s been his home for his entire life, and to chat to visitors from all over who have come to visit the land of Little Women, among other things – but what Chris likes best is when he gets to show kids around the place. Some of them need to be won over (after all, a dusty old museum isn’t quite as exciting as a trip to Disney World), but others are instantly captivated by the strange objects and old-timey atmosphere – Sebastian’s kids, fortunately, seem to fall in the latter category.

There’s one room in particular that’s an invariably a favorite with kids – the one that houses the old children’s toys. Trains, dolls and dollhouses, most of them made from wood, all arranged in a colorful parade, with a few screens set up in front of the glass display cases on which kids can watch animations of the toys being used. To Chris’s delight, Margot and David are both immediately taken with the display, David pressing his nose against the glass while Margot fires off question after question that Chris answers patiently and to the best of his ability.

“You sure know a lot about them,” Sebastian remarks, not without a hint of admiration, once Chris has finished explaining the mechanics of the miniature train set.

“Ah.” Chris rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m something of a toy enthusiast myself. I’ve actually got a carpentry workshop – that’s my real job,” he explains. “I’m just a volunteer here – and I dabble in some toy making sometimes, too.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding. I used to want to be a toy maker when I was a kid, you know,” he says wistfully. “Probably just saw Pinocchio one too many times, but it just seemed like the best job in the world to me, at the time.”

“It kinda is,” Chris grins at Sebastian, getting lost in his dancing grey eyes for a moment. “So what did you end up doing for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a journalist. I love it, don’t get me wrong. It’s enriching, challenging. But there’s just something about working with your hands, creating something tangible, something useful…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Chris nods. He bites his lip, hesitating for just a moment before deciding to bite the bullet. “Hey, I don’t know if you guys have plans after this, but my shift ends in a few minutes. I live pretty close, maybe a ten minute drive – if you want, I could show you my workshop? Maybe the kids can try out some of the things I’ve been working on, see if they’re actually any fun to play with?”

There’s an excited collective gasp from the kids, both of them immediately turning big, hopeful eyes on their father. “Oh, daddy,” Margot pleads, tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go see the workshop, pleaaase?”

Chris tries to ignore the way his stomach drops when Sebastian visibly hesitates.

“I don’t know, guys.” Sebastian looks back at Chris. “I don't want to intrude. It’s almost dinner time on a Saturday. I’m sure you’ve got plans, maybe with your partner..?”

Oh, Chris thinks, chest expanding with hope. He shakes his head. “No partner,” he says, holding Sebastian’s gaze. “Just a dog.”

“A dog?” Margot squeals. “Oh my god, daddy, he’s got a dog. We have to go.”

Sebastian chuckles, rolling his eyes. "They've been hounding me about a dog for months, excuse the pun. I want one too, but I'm just not sure I'm home enough.”

Chris nods sympathetically. “Yeah, it can be tricky if you work full-time, but there’s usually a solution for this kind of thing, in my experience.”

“What’s your dog’s name?” Margot interrupts, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

“He’s called Dodger,” Chris tells her, unable to keep the pride out of his voice as he talks about his beloved, four legged-rescue.

From Sebastian’s other side, a small voice suddenly joins in. “Like the one from Oliver?” asks David. His big, brown eyes are wide as he stares up at Chris.

“That’s right,” Chris confirms, dropping to his haunches to level the playing field a little. “Exactly like the one from Oliver. You like that movie, huh?”

David nods, looping one arm around one of his dad’s long legs while clearly fighting the urge to hide behind him completely. “It’s my favorite,” he mutters, then quickly sticks his thumb in his mouth to signal the end of the conversation.

“Really?” Chris asks, beaming at him. “It’s my favorite, too!”

David actually smiles at that, doing an excited little wiggle on the spot. “Daddy, can we go see Dodger, please?” he asks his dad, not bothering to remove his thumb from his mouth.

From his spot on the floor, Chris looks up Sebastian too, probably looking just as hopeful as the kids are – maybe even more so.

Smiling, Sebastian shakes his head. “Sure, buddy,” he laughs, ruffling David’s hair. “How could I resist all these cute little faces, huh?”

There’s a chorus of cheers from the kids that gives Chris a much-needed moment to recover from the euphoria of hearing Sebastian call him cute. Well, sort of.

“Alright,” Chris says, getting to his feet again. “I’ll just go grab my things. Meet you guys in the parking lot?”

“Sounds good.”

Chris nods and is about to head in the direction of the staff room, when Sebastian halts him with a hand on his arm. Chris stops in his tracks, swallowing as he tears his gaze away from Sebastian’s elegant hand on his bicep, back to his face.

“Thank you,” Sebastian says, giving him a look from under his eyelashes that can only be described as coy. “I really appreciate this, you know.”

Holding Sebastian’s gaze, Chris lifts a hand to cover Sebastian’s with his own, giving it a quick squeeze. “It’s my pleasure,” he replies honestly. “Trust me.”

Smiling, Sebastian bites his lip, no doubt noticing the way Chris’s eyes flicker down to his mouth when he does. “I do.”

Chris’s foolishly romantic heart can’t help but skip a beat.

“See,” Margot says suddenly from beside them, breaking the moment and sounding awfully smug about it, too. “Not prolametic at all.”

Chris barks out a laugh while Sebastian covers his eyes with his hand. “Whatever you do, never have kids.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Chris chuckles, giving Margot a wink and David’s hair a quick ruffle. “I kinda like yours.”

Sebastian clears his throat. “Alright, guys. Let’s go find your jackets and we’ll go see what Chris has in store for us, huh?”

#evanstan #rpf #kid fic #minnie answers #my fic #my writing #Anonymous

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honeylikewords · 3 years

Text

uneasy lies the head (poe dameron)

In the wake of her passing, the official, if somewhat symbolic, royal title of Alderaan has passed to from Leia Organa to her chosen heir, Poe Dameron. Along with his elected position as the Galactic Senate Represenative for his home planet, Yavin V, Poe is now burdened with the responsibility of a political office he never imagined holding, and is called to attend a summit of the galaxy’s leaders that will be held aboard the Starcruiser Halcyon.

This piece is based on a few things: one, me liking the idea of Prince of Alderaan Poe, two, my interest in Begrudging Politician Poe, and three, the new details that have come out about the real-life Halcyon experience that will be opening up at Disney World in Florida, which you can read more about here! I’ve been really excited about it for a long time, and just thought it’d be fun to tie one of my favorite characters in to this amazing new experience that will be coming soon!

(Content Warnings: mentions of Leia’s de@th, some slightly risque flirting between Poe and his wife, and a little bit of making out, but that’s about it! Word count is 5k.)

Poe stands in front of the mirror, anxiously adjusting the epaulets of his tunic. They don’t seem to sit right on his shoulders, he thinks, passing a hand through their silvery fringe and watching them brush the snow-white fabric of his sleeves. This isn’t his kind of uniform, and when he looks at himself, he sees more a child wearing the spoils of a raid on their parent’s closet than the Senate representative he was meant to be. He tries tightening the high, pale collar of his tunic against his throat, swallowing thickly and watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the colorless fabric. That didn’t help much dignify the image, he thinks, eyeing himself morosely.

He looks older. His beard is fuller, having let it grow out to appear more… wise, he supposes, and the grey streaks running through it match the ones appearing more and more every day at his temples. His tan fingers tease lightly at the end of his beard, trying to stroke it like he’d seen other, more senior politicians do when lost in thought (or at least trying to come across like they were). It makes him look pretentious.

Sighing loudly, he slumps his taut shoulders and rolls them a few times to loosen the aching muscles. He turns away from the mirror and steps out of the dressing room, entering the stateroom and collapsing onto the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. He hears a door hiss open and looks between his fingers at the emerging figure.

She’s still fidgeting with her hair, which is now lifted from its former looseness into a series of intricate looping braids. Letting out a huff, she takes her hands away, seemingly having resigned herself to leaving the hair as it was. Poe lifts his head a little, resting his chin on his palm as he watches her pat her dress and check the mirror in the dressing room, just as he’d been doing mere moments before.

She looks much, much better than he does. It’s an objective fact. Her air is stately and refined, with her gown framing her regally. The fabric is a delicate, pale blue, trimmed with fine threads of gold that interweave and flow, like braided ivies, trailing up her waist in a way that guides Poe’s wandering eyes to the loveliness of her figure. She seems to belong better to this world, with its mannerisms and socialites, its political politenesses. He never had the patience to be so diplomatic, even though that is his job, now.

He watches her pull a face at herself in the mirror, frowning at some flaw he’s oblivious to, and he stands up, coming to her side and placing his hands on the small of her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder and kissing her cheek amiably.

“You look like a princess,” he purrs, hoping his flattery will encourage her confidence. He hates seeing her unhappy with herself.

“I wish,” she responds, voice tinged with something wan and far away. “I… I really do wish.”

He knows what she’s thinking about: he’d been thinking about it, too. Dropping the air of adulation, Poe reaches for her hand and gently knits their fingers together, pressing their locked hands softly against her belly for reassurance. He meets her eyes in the mirror, and the two share expressions of loss.

“I miss her, too,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like… like I can do what she did. What she left for me to do.”

He feels his wife squeeze his hand intently, causing him to lift his head up and meet her gaze as she turns to look at him, unfiltered by the mirror. Her eyes, clear and sharp, stare at him as she nods, then kisses his forehead warmly, taking her free hand and brushing it softly across his cheek.

“She chose you for a reason,” she whispers, soft and sincere, just like she always does. “Leia left you her seat and title because you’re the only person fit for the job. She trusted you.”

Her hand dips to his jaw and she lifts his head up from its morose slump. He cannot look away from her, even if he wanted to.

“I trust you, too.”

Poe takes in all the angles of his wife’s face, knowing that no single word of what she said was untrue, but searching for the possibility of a lie anyway in some small giveaway of her expression; after all, how could he be the one fit to carry on in the shadow of his predecessor? How could his shoulders carry the burden of her greatness, much less improve upon it? But there, in her eyes, Poe sees the truth, reflected over and over again: he was chosen for this job, chosen to carry on a legacy he had no option but to strengthen. He is the only one who could, whether he believes it or not.

He straightens his back a little, standing up taller, and squeezes his wife’s hand in silent thanks, taking a moment to press their foreheads together and breathe in the scent of her. She is wearing perfume-- something they’d never had access to during the scarcity of the war-- and he marvels at how something so small changes the entire atmosphere of her presence. She truly embodies the grace and elegance of the woman who came before both of them, looking every inch the part of an Alderaanian royal.

Glancing back at himself in the mirror, Poe huffs; while she may look, indeed, just the way Leia would want the nation to be represented, Poe does not. He looks stuffy in his garb, at times like an old man in the too-tight clothes of his youth, and, at others, like a scrawny teenager in the baggy trappings of someone he was only pretending to be. She seems to sense his dismay, as she takes the initiative to comfort him, this time.

“You look dashing,” she smiles, adjusting his lapels and the ribbons of decoration on his chest. “Prince Poe Dameron, Senate Representative of Alderaan and Yavin IV. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

At that, Poe lets out a playful, exasperated huff, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be great,” he grimaces, eyeing his form in the mirror. He raises his voice into a mocking lilt, swaying his head from side to side in an intentionally cartoonish parody of a stuffy bureaucrat. “Oh, Senator Y’Barra, your engagement commission is most dreadful! Shall we discuss its heinousness over tea and crescent crumpets? Garcon, we need more gold-dusted butter for our scones if we are ever to pass this bill!”

She covers her mouth to hide the beginnings of a smile and tries to reprimand Poe, affectionately slapping his chest.

“It’s nice that we’ve been asked to attend the summit, Poe. At least try to make some--”

“Don’t say friends,” he groans. “I don’t want to make friends with these people. They’re politicians; they don’t want to do anything other than profit, and post-war reconstruction is a hell of a time to make money for slime bags like these people.”

That seems to take her back for a moment, and Poe watches her expression shift as she sorts through her thoughts, her lips pursed, eyebrows arched. She then shrugs and nods, acquiescing.

“Probably. But there are probably also people like you: people whose service in the war and dedication to their people, all across this galaxy, led them to this job. People who just want to rebuild. Do better. You’ll find them, dear: you’re an excellent judge of character.”

She taps her fingers against his nose playfully.

“After all, you picked me, didn’t you?”

“If I remember correctly,” Poe teases, lowering his eyes to her lips and smirking, “You were the one to get a crush on me first. All butterflies and nerves anytime I so much as passed you in the halls. More like you picked me, huh?”

Poe catches her face take on the familiar cues of embarrassment and flustering; he can just tell he’s got her all a-twitter, and she pouts her lips, looking down at her shoes shyly as he starts to chuckle. It’s adorable to remember how flighty and skittish she was in those early days, and how enamored of her he himself was, and remains. Getting her all shy like this is a sweet harkening back to that early, giddy tension, and he dips his face down, hovering his lips just above hers, feeling her draw in a breath of neediness and--

“Senator Dameron,” a robotic voice announces through the commlink in the stateroom, freezing Poe in place. “The ferry is beginning docking procedures with the Halcyon. Please proceed to the boarding area. A droid will be sent to collect your luggage as you leave.”

“Ah, shit,” he growls. He’d completely lost track of time.

Dodging back out into the stateroom, Poe glances out the window and sees the looming mass of a gigantic starcruiser, a sharp body of glimmering steel and inky black portholes contrasted against the star field behind it. It is massive-- far larger than any ship Poe had personally piloted in the past-- and spans more than the distance his window could afford a view of. They are extremely close, and within minutes will be aboard the behemoth, where Poe will have to eat, sleep, and breathe senatorial and princely dignity.

He turns away from the window to see his wife making sure everything was packed and prepared for departure, checking the bathroom and dressing room before giving him a confirming nod: everything is where it needs to be. They are ready to go.

They walk towards each other and Poe places his hands on his wife’s arms, stroking up and down the bareness of her shoulders to steady himself. As he feels the warmth of her skin beneath his rough palms, Poe blinks with awareness and gives her a quick squeeze, darting off to the dressing room. He opens a trunk and lifts up the topmost layer of fabric, running back into the stateroom with it carefully laid across both his forearms, then turns his wife to face him and gently lays the upper corners of the fabric on each of her shoulders.

“The cloak,” he mumbles as he fastens the pale silver silk around her neck, “Don’t wanna forget that. A princess is set apart by garments like that.”

“Right,” she hums, admiring his hands as he fusses with her collar. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that since you’re the prince, now, and I married you, I’m the--”

“Princess, yep,” grins Poe. “Princess Dameron.”

“By marriage only,” she teases.

“And I’m only the prince because she left an essentially honorary title to me,” Poe wits back. “But it suits you, at least.”

“You think?”

“Mm. Now, I think the prince owes his princess one of the tenets of royal responsibility: unadulterated affection towards one’s spouse.”

“Is that a tenet of your responsibilities?,” she smiles, brow cocked.

“I just made it up, but I like to think so.”

Once again, Poe presses his palms against the soft curves of her upper arms, squeezing in the grounding manner he knows she likes, tracing his thumbs along the creamily-smooth fabric now covering her, and he leans in close, admiring how the light shifts against her skin as his shadow draws nearer. He parts his lips, ready to feel the gentle swell of her soft ones against his, when, as if by divine interruption, the hydraulic hiss of the stateroom’s door fills the room and a silver-plated protocol droid peers at him through the now-open door. He grits his teeth to resist letting out a completely undignified expletive aimed at the droid and stares at it pointedly, trying to silently communicate that it had interrupted a private moment.

“It is time to board the Halcyon, Senator,” it chimes in the lilting manner all protocol droids seem to have, seemingly blissfully unaware of his frustration. “Please, come with me to the boarding area.”

Behind the protocol droid, a cargo lifter droid rolls by, seemingly waiting until Poe and his wife leave the cabin to enter. Poe sighs, but can’t resist letting a small chuckle out: both droids, despite their different purposes, both seem polite, in their own sorts of ways, and he always finds that endearing.

Looking to his wife, Poe gives a little bemused half-smile and shrugs his shoulders, as if apologetic but resigned. She takes his hand and turns, nodding to both droids with an impassive but gracious expression, one that Poe notes is more than befitting of an official such as herself. Distanced, but not dour, regal, but not recalcitrant. He loves it.

“Thank you,” she says, coolly polite. “Please, lead the way.”

The protocol droid begins its stiff-jointed hobble towards the boarding area and Poe and his wife trail behind, arms linked at the elbow as Poe fidgets with her fingers. He twiddles her marriage band as they walk, always comforted by the feel of it on her hand. He admires it as they silently proceed; it’s somewhat rough-hewn, made from hammered durasteel, a little uneven and dented in some places from the haste in which it was made, and Poe loves it.

He loves how it contrasts the delicate, fragile jewelry common amongst royals, how it’s not meant to glitter and shine and grab attention, how it ties her to him and he to her, with no regard for image or pomp. It is heavy and solid and made purely for the sake of love and belonging, and she wears it everywhere she goes with pride, as if it was the finest-cut Oshiran sapphire, or the most carefully sculpted gold. It is one of the crown jewels of Alderaan, now, and the thought of it-- of his parent’s simple, quickly-made wedding ring, forged in a time of war, without promise of any moment past the one they were in, now being a royal regalia-- makes his heart ache to bursting with unadulterated love.

Poe tugs her hand up and kisses her knuckles as they finally round the corner into the boarding area; somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the droid saying something about how their luggage will be sent directly to their stateroom aboard the Halcyon, but he’s hardly listening. He’s looking at his wife, his rock, his tether, as they begin their socialite dance, seeking steadfast comfort in her as he prepares to have to play his part in a world he was never born to be in.

The droid gestures to a corridor formed between the two ships: passengers traipse from the shuttle onto the boarding area of the Halcyon, representatives from a myriad of species in a breadth of costumes and liveries. Poe and his wife exchange glances, knowing that these people will have some hand in forming what comes next in the political landscape of the galaxy, and that they, too, will be instrumental in forging the new governments of the rising Republic.

“Come on,” she smiles, trying to coax him along, tugging his hand and taking a step forward, “It’s gonna be fine. It’s not like my flyboy to get cold feet, hm?”

Poe chuckles and shakes his head, trying to dislodge his clouding worries, and walks in time with his wife, joining the throngs of senators and royals and presidents and diplomats making their way aboard the Halcyon. Some of them exchange pleasantries, others are locked in conversations: some even look at Poe and his wife and nod in acknowledgement, or turn to their compatriots and whisper.

Poe feels an embarrassed heat creep up the base of his neck; he knows rumors have circulated about his particularly unusual position as a representative for a dead planet and a living one, and about how he’d been named the next in line for a royal title he was not born into. He tries not to let it get to him-- let people think that they think, and do your job, Leia had always told him-- but the feeling of alienation and disbelonging hangs over him, shaming him into silence. He tenses, and keeps his eyes fixed forward, which grants him an ever-nearing view of the grand foyer of the massive starcruiser.

The Halcyon is unlike any other ship Poe has ever been on. He’d heard about starcruisers like this, meant to be enormous cruise ships travelling in luxury and style from one planet to another, filled with sprawling cabins and indulgent amenities, and had never even pictured himself aboard one. The thought hardly appealed to him: days, weeks, even, of doing nothing? Just wandering aimlessly around, decadent and opulent in one’s revelry? The mere idea disgusts him. Still, as he steps into the expansive entry for the Halcyon, he finds himself feeling something other than disgust: he feels strangely at home.

The area is bustling as ship workers and bellhops collect luggage and transfer it to droids, as greeters guide guests to check in areas and hand them keycards, as officers check passports and documentation against databases, all lit under the glow of thousands of lights, which reflect off polished durasteel and marble surfaces. Holo projections provide information about travel destinations and the cruise itself in hundreds of different tongues, while a massive projection of the captain glows a familiar blue and greets the boarding politicians.

Poe turns in awe, gazing at the dozens of porthole windows affording views of distant and nearby star clusters, at the navigational crew high above, checking maps and charting courses, and takes a deep, steadying breath in through his nose, squeezing his wife’s hand tight. The hum and thrall of the ship, with its thousands of moving parts and requisite workers, feels exactly like all the ships he’d served on during the Rebellion. He half-believes that if he closes his eyes and turns around, he’ll open them and see Leia there, giving orders and directing the workflow.

The memory sits on his heart, but instead of a heavy, lingering pain, it kindles a warm, growing fire: she lives on in him. She would be proud to see him carrying on the mantle, working to do what no one else has the skill, speech, or stones to do. She is never really gone. Never can be.

Instilled with strength and purpose, Poe looks to his wife, who is staring at the gargantuan hub of activity before her, almost taken aback by how bustling it is. He leans down and gently pecks her cheek, tugging her along and breaking her out of her trance. They’ve got places to be, things to do, royal engagements to avoid, after all. As they begin to move closer to what Poe believes is the reception desk, a Twi’lek in a sleek, almost military-looking white uniform steps in front of Poe and his wife, grinning from green ear to ear.

“Senator Dameron, Princess Dameron,” she greets, bowing at the waist respectfully, “I am Lyna’ame, and I’ll be directing you regarding your stay on the Halcyon. Thank you for honoring us with your patronage.”

“Uh, thank you for having us,” Poe stammers, unsure of how to conduct himself in such a position.

Lyna’ame looks up at him with a quizzical eye, but seems too well-trained to respond with anything more than a polite smile and a nod. She produces from the pocket of her grey-trimmed suit a pair of infochips, extending them towards Poe and his wife.

“You will be staying in the royal suite on Deck B, unit number eighteen,” Lyna’ame smiles. “These chips will act as your keys to the room and to any amenities you should wish to access, and will remind you of upcoming engagements or conferences you should be in attendance of.”

As if on cue, the small screens on the infochips light up and read “19:00: Senatorial Dinner In Ballroom One!” Poe blinks at it, then flashes Twi’lek a cordial but slightly cold smile, taking the chips from her hand and tucking them unceremoniously into his breast pocket.

“Alright, thanks. I think we can get it from here.”

She seems not to register his attempt to tie off the loop of the conversation, continuing anyway.

“You will also have access to all the facilities of the ship, including the swimming areas, dining areas, lounges, bars, activity centres, spas and--”

“I’ll check the brochure in the room,” Poe smiles, searching for an exit. “I appreciate it, but, uh, my wife is very tired--” --Poe nudges her with an elbow and she balks, then understands his intention and mimes a yawn, nodding sympathetically-- “--And I’d love to get her some rest before any hobnobbing, y’know?”

“Of course, your highness,” Lyna’ame says, again accompanied by a civil bow. “The elevators are to the left. Press your infochip to the pad and it will take you to your floor. Your luggage should already be in your room, and please,” she smiles. “Enjoy your cruise.”

Poe bows back, then leads his wife by the elbow to the elevators, where they tap their key card and the doors hiss open. As they board, just the two of them, Poe’s wife turns to face him and raises one eyebrow, haughty.

“Really threw me under the bus there, Poe,” she smirks. “‘Oh, my wife wants to leave this conversation because my wife is awkward and doesn’t know how to handle subordinate behavior from service workers’. Real nice.”

Rolling his eyes, Poe can’t help but smile, and instead of replying, drops his hand to the small of his wife’s back, grazing his fingers there for a moment before dipping slightly lower and--

She jumps, then giggles, hitting him with a shocked but not at all displeased expression.

“Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. “Why?”

“You just seemed so…” She touches his arm, searching for the right word, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Severe, before. Lost.”

“Feeling better. Feeling… like I can do this, maybe. Or at least do what I need to do, even if it doesn’t look exactly like how everybody else might expect me to.”

At that she purses her lips and nods, and he can tell she’s happy for him: he’s not entirely out of the woods about this whole ‘galactic representative’ thing, and certainly not used to all the expectations that come with being the heavy head that wears the crown, but he’s going to be alright. At least, he feels like he is, at this moment, and that’s all that matters.

Poe finds himself allowing his smile to grow wider as he dips down and nuzzles her temple, teasing his lips over her ear, tempting and toying.

“I still hate the suit,” he whispers, sending her shivering, “And I don’t want to talk to these people like we’re all buddy-buddy--”

“--Acknowledged, Senator,” she teases, rubbing his arm in the way that lets him know she’s itching to get more handsy.

“But we’re gonna have a private room,” he continues, “And a lock on the door, and at least--” --He checks the infocard, which reads “17:05”-- “--About two hours before anybody’s gonna need us, so I say we shimmy out of these nice duds…”

Poe’s finger trails down the silky rivulets of her collarbones; he has to admit, he does find her massively attractive in this royal robing, but he figures it’ll be less hassle for both of them to assure he doesn’t get too rowdy while they’re wearing some of the best (and irreplaceably expensive) fineries in the galaxy, so he’ll have to bid her pretty little dress and luxurious cape adieu for their stateroom rendezvous. Not that he minds: the dress might be pretty, but the woman underneath is ten times more so. Besides, she can always put it back on again for the dinner, anyway.

“We go see what kind of minibar we’re looking at,” Poe teases, watching her roll her eyes, “Hop in the bath, and see where those two hours take us.”

“Mm, we’ll see,” she demures, patting his chest. He knows she likes to dance around it, never say anything too scandalous where someone else can hear, and he loves that; she extends the tension, making him wait for what he wants. He may not ever have been a patient man before, but she forces him to slow down, savor it, work for it. And that’s delicious.

The elevator doors slide open as Poe leads his wife out into the hall, kissing her jaw as he checks the suite numbers. They shuffle along, exchanging little pecks and touches in the graciously empty hallway (what would the other representatives think, she reminds him in a hushed tone as they pass rooms, if they saw the new prince of Alderaan and Senator for Yavin V hanging off his wife like a pubescent teen?) before arriving at suite eighteen. Poe fumbles in his breast pocket, keeping his lips planted on his wife’s neck, then slaps the infochip haphazardly against the door. It clicks open, and Poe doesn’t even bother to look inside: he just coaxes his wife in, and tumbles in after her.

The lights in the room slowly turn on automatically, rising from a low dim to a sunny brightness, illuminating white-panelled walls and a lush, wide bed, all the furniture sharply clean and sleekly modern, trimmed in shades of black and silver. A massive window shows the endless expanse of space beyond the double-layered transparisteel, and while Poe would normally be more inquisitive and peek around the room to admire it, he’s more than occupied as he pushes his face deeper in the warm, scented crook of his wife’s neck.

“Careful,” she warns as his hand starts to pet at the base of her head, eking dangerously close to the beginnings of her hair roots, “These braids took me hours. I don’t want to have to re-do them, Dameron”

“I get that,” he breathes heavily, “But you look really hot with messy hair and--”

“If we’re going to go to that dinner, I’m not going to go with my hair flying everywhere! I’ll look like a… well, you know!”

“Like a woman well-loved by her husband,” Poe teases, nipping at her jaw. “But, fine, we’ll skip the dinner, and I’ll just keep you all to myself. Nobody else has to see. In fact, I’d prefer they didn’t.”

His eyes glimmer with wolfish promise as he sets his wife down on the edge of the white-blanketed bed, staring at her as her skirts form pools of silver and blue. He’s serious: the summit dinner all but disappears from his mind as he looks at her; how beautiful she is. How elegant. So poised and pretty and his, all his, to love until all the suns swallow themselves and burn out. All these representatives won’t miss him at one measly, lousy dinner, right? Not when he has the love of his life to attend to, surely.

“What’s gotten into you?,” she giggles, kicking off one of her sophisticated shoes as she sits on the bed. “You’re acting like we’re on our honeymoon!”

Poe leans in and places his hands on either side of her hips, bumping his forehead to hers as he takes long, weighty breaths, feeling the heat radiate off of her.

“I just… This is a lot, right?”

“Mm,” she acquiesces.

“And you’re kind of… what I go back to when I’m in too deep. So, right now, all this summit stuff and the Senate and the council? I need that to take a backseat to me being with you. The person I love. And letting that be what guides me in what I need to do for… everybody else.”

She lets out a soft, appreciative “aw”, her eyes softening as she cups his cheek, and Poe leans into her hand, allowing a little lasciviousness to leak into his smile as he stares down at her.

“Plus, it’s kinda… you know, a little sexy, being somewhere so new and ritzy. I’m not used to this kind of stuff. That, and we barely got a honeymoon, if you remember--”

“Yeah,” she recalls, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly vexed by the memory, “I remember. The day after we got married, that First Order outpost tried to open fire and you were up and out of bed and back in deployment after less than twenty four hours of being a married man.”

“Duty never sleeps,” he shrugs. “But… We can make up for lost time here, on this big, shiny, fancy-ass ship, huh?”

Poe wiggles his eyebrows with playfully rapacious intent, sending his wife into a fit of good-natured laughs. He adores when she laughs; it sends his heart racing, every inch of him alight with the joy of knowing that her smiles are because of him, the sound of her voice bouncing up and down with glee all caused by some silly little thing he’s said or done. Unable to contain himself, Poe leans down and kisses her, cutting off the sounds of her laughter, a deep, satisfied groan emanating from his chest.

“God,” he rumbles as they part for a quick breath, “I haven’t gotten to do that all damn day.”

“It did feel really good,” she sighs, clasping her arms around his neck. She seems to take pause, etching his face into her memory with her eyes, then comes to a decision: Poe would recognize that resolute gleam in her expression anywhere. “Alright, we’re staying.”

“...You mean it?,” he chirps.

“Yep. You tell them your poor, defenseless wife is laid up ill and needs your constant and most doting attention,” she smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “Then when you’re done calling the front desk, you come over here and you help me get out of this dress and into that bath you promised.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, then catches himself. “I mean, yes, Princess.”

“Mm,” she beams, teasing him with a pinch on the thigh. “Much better.”

They share another deep, drawn-out kiss before Poe manages to wrest himself away from her and off to the side of the room with the comm built into the wall, but glances over at her as he taps at the screen to connect with the front desk. She grins coyly from the bed, kicking one leg out in a pseudo-sultry, semi-silly way from beneath her sumptuous gown. Poe can’t help but feel a swell of endearment.

As the call connects, Poe sighs dreamily to himself; if all else failed, at least he had her, and with her by his side, he was definitely going to enjoy a very, very pleasurable cruise.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #long post #original #OH MY GOD CAN YOU BELIEVEEEEE i actually sat down and wrote this? dkhfhdkf #im a little rusty but! felt good to finish a project! i hope you guys enjoy!!#star wars

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padfootagain · 4 years

Text

Why Are You Sad, September?

Here we go for the first request for my 4.7k followers event! Thank you so much for your request Anu!! I hope you like it!

This was written with the prompts:

1.“KISSES!”

2. “You are too far away.”

“I am literally on the couch with you…”

“But are you in my arms? No. See? Too far away.”

The prompts are written in italic, so you can check that I've done my job well ;)

Warning! You are not prepared for the amount of absolute fluff in this piece. Read at your own risk!

Word Count : 2037

It's rather cold outside. September seems to be particularly sad this year, and you wonder why. It's raining this afternoon, has been so for four days in a row now. The sky is grey and spooky-looking above London, a sea of clouds hiding the blue firmament. The rain makes strange little patterns on the windowpanes, and its sound makes almost the beat of a melody.

It's the weekend though. Sunday. It's quiet in London, lazy and too cold for people to be brave enough to fight the rain and take a walk. You don't blame them, after all, you're doing exactly the same.

In the corner of the room, your owl cleans its long brown feather, occasionally letting out one of her cute little sounds.

There is a record playing, an old Muggle album that you don't remember the name of, but you like the tunes. On the low table before you, two hot cups of coffee are smoking, little puffs disappearing as soon as they are created above them.

You're reading the Daily Prophet, hidden under your warmest blanket, almost lying on your sofa. On the opposite side of the furniture, Sirius is doing the same as you, only he's reading a muggle magazine about motorcycles instead.

You take a moment to look at him. His hair has grown a little over the past couple of months, now covering a part of his shoulder blades. There are traces of white in the dark stubble that covers his cheeks, and his reading glasses are a little lopsided on his nose. You like that look on him. The aging part. The watching-you-grow-old part of loving each other. You pull your mind away from memories of a time where it wasn't so sure that you could see grey hair creep up on his temples. It was a long time ago. Death Eaters were long gone.

Instead of dwelling on such memories, you resume your study of his features. His grey eyes you have always adored match the colour of the sky outside as they travel across the pages. The bruises that colour his cheekbone and his neck haven't disappeared yet. His knuckles are still covered with bandages, but there's no blood anymore.

Sometimes you hate the fact that he became an Auror. Sometimes you wish he and James had settled for some work in an office, and you know that Lily feels the same. But then, you know him enough to be aware that it was an obvious choice for him. He loves it. And that's all the arguing you need to drown the idea. Still, you wish you could make his scratches and bruises disappear simply with a kiss. He would never be hurt then.

"Admiring the view, are we?" His voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you playfully throw a cushion at his face to make his smirk disappear.

"I mean... I don't blame you," he goes on with a toothy grin, easily catching the cushion before it would hit him. "With a husband as hot as I am..."

"I was trying to evaluate how much your hair had gone whiter these past couple of months."

"You're an arse."

You laugh at him while he gives you one of his adorable pouts.

"I'm joking. I was admiring my very hot husband indeed. Besides, I like your grey hair."

"Really? You like it?"

You nod, humming appreciatively. You disregard the newspapers completely and put them down on the ground.

"I do. Reminds me that we've made it."

He gives you a tender smile, putting his magazine away as well.

"We did make it," he nods, before his eyes would drift toward the moving pictures that rested above the mantlepiece, settling on his favourite picture of you and your children. "And we've done pretty great since, don't you think?"

"Yeah... I think we did."

"I just wish they wrote to us more often."

"They're at Hogwarts! Give them a break, they're having fun. The same way we did."

Sirius gave you a pointed look.

"Well... I hope they don't have as much fun as we both did when they reach 7th year. There was too much sex involved and I don't have the strength to deal with all that for now."

You laughed at him.

"They're not there yet. Besides, Harry did survive Hogwarts!"

"Yeah... well... his 7th year was apparently quite close to what his parents were doing back then too so... bad example."

"He and Ginny are cute together though."

"Potters and their love for redheads..." Sirius sighs, leaning to grab his coffee and put down his glasses on the table instead.

He takes a sip, but puts down his cup again quickly. He turns to you, a large grin back on his features as he opens his arms, an obvious plea for you to cuddle him for the rest of the day.

You know the drill. How many days have been spent like this? Trapped in Sirius's arms when you had a thousand things to do?

Many. The thought makes you smile.

"You're too far away," he complains, giving you his adorable puppy eyes and you silently curse his Animagus form for enhancing that trait of his. He didn't need that to be irresistible.

"I am literally on the couch with you…"

"But are you in my arms? No. See? Too far away."

You can only laugh at how silly he is sometimes, but crawl across the sofa nonetheless, settling against his chest and shoulder. And you are forced to admit that it's much better than to be in the corner of the couch, no matter how comfortable your furniture is.

From Sirius's corner, you can peer in your kitchen, and even from there you can see some of the drawings your children have made when they were little that now decorate the doors of the closets and your furniture. You smile at the sight, nuzzling against the crook of Sirius's neck.

Your fingers brush against his jaw and you can feel the thin cut that is slowly healing there.

"When are you supposed to go back to work?"

"Tired of having me around already?"

"I'm worried."

He heaves a sigh.

"I'm fine."

"I know."

"So... no need to worry!"

"You attract troubles better than jam can attract wasps in summer, Sirius. I ought to be worried all the time about you."

"I'm careful out there, you know?" He whispered, pressing his lips to your hair. "I'm not as reckless as I was back in the days of the Order. Things have changed since then. I have people to come home to now."

You smile, his fingers writing little I love yous on your forearm.

"I know. Still... I can't help it."

He hums, low sound born in the depth of his chest, and you feel it vibrate through your frame from under you.

Sometimes he takes risks, but that's just who he is. And you love him despite that.

You reach for his hand and trace along his wedding band with your thumb. You have made such a good life for yourself with him...

You reckon that he's right. For now, at least, he's here, in your arms, safe. Your children are studying safely in Hogwarts. And really, you don't understand why September is so sad these days, because you're as happy as you can be.

"You know what could make me feel better?" You ask, looking up at him with this adorable smile of yours that he adores.

"What?"

"KISSES!" You exclaim, making him laugh.

He doesn't protest though, instead, he gladly complies. How could he not, after all?

After a few kisses, he tries to break away, eyeing the coffees on the table.

"Coffee's growing cold," he mumbles against your lips, but you pull him in for another kiss, and there is no way he can keep his eyes open when you kiss him like that.

"Don't care," you're the one mumbling against his lips this time. "You're warm, though."

He chuckles, his forehead resting against yours while he trails his fingertips across your cheekbone.

"You're just using me cause you're cold, huh?" he asks, a playful and rather mischievous look in his eyes.

"Hey! You're the one who begged for my cuddles not two minutes ago!" you reply, faking outrage when you could barely keep a straight face.

"It's true. You've discovered my evil plan…"

You dramatically gasped.

"You are the one using me cause you're cold! And I thought you just loved to be held by me…"

Sirius lets out one of his loud laughs, the ones that sound a little like he barks more than laughs.

"I do, my love. I do love to be held by you."

He dives for another kiss, but you playfully escape, his lips landing on your chin instead.

"No! You're not nice, so no kisses."

"No kisses?"

He gently bit down on your chin, making you shriek in surprise and try to escape his embrace, but you're trapped in his arms, and there is no way for you to move away now. Besides, you don't really want to.

"Sirius… I will hex you."

"I know you're not… Sirius."

"Oh… by Merlin's grey beard, I can't believe that after all this time you still use this stupid pun," you groan.

"It's hilarious! I am hilarious!"

"You wish. Two decades, Sirius! For two decades I've heard that joke!"

"And yet, you love it."

"I don't love it."

"You do!"

"I don't."

"You love me, so it means you love my stupid jokes."

"You're insufferable."

"Well, maybe. But you signed up for it the day you kissed me in the dungeons while we were hiding from Minerva, so don't complain now."

"If I had known that day what kind of trouble that kiss would get me into, I might have reconsidered and let Minerva find me."

"Well, strange… cause you signed up for it again when you kissed me in Hogsmeade after our first date. And all the nights we spent in the room of requirement. And then when we moved in together. And when you said yes and married me. And the days you carried our babies… And right now, when you came to cuddle me and asked for kisses."

He has such a cheeky grin on his face and you want to make the cocky expression disappear. But you can't argue.

You have chosen him indeed. Every single day since that chase against McGonagall across the dungeons in your sixth year at Hogwarts. Every single day ever since, you have chosen to spend your life with him, and have never wished for anyone to be by your side in his stead.

And Agrippa, are you lucky that he kept on choosing you over and over again as well.

"So… are you sure you want to reconsider that choice you made so long ago?" he teases, knowing perfectly well the answer.

And you know how to fight back against this smudge look on his face. You have to kill him with honesty and love.

"No, I don't want to reconsider. I chose the love of my life that day, and I always will, no matter what."

His lopsided smirk vanishes in the blink of an eye, and instead, you can feel his heart beating faster in his chest. You can't feel though that Sirius suspects the organ might explode for holding so much love. And it's all for you. For you and your children, and the family you have built together.

"And I will always choose you too, you know?" he answers. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me. I'll always love you."

Who would have thought he would be lucky enough to have you in his arms like this twenty years later? His teenager self who tried to play it cool while he was desperately falling for you wouldn't have, for sure.

You snuggle into his chest again, and while you cuddle, abandoning your coffees to grow cold, his eyes drift to the dark sky above and the angry rain hitting the windows.

Why is September so sad? How could it, when in your home, the world seemed so bright?

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

Tag list: @with1love1anu @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony

@geeksareunique @giggleberts @justanothermaraudersblog @sad-orange-thoughts @aylinnmaslow @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @mikeselevenn @knowledgeisthebomb @madamrogers @newtstarmander @wangmangagavroche

#Sirius Black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius fanfic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius imagine #sirius black fic #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfic #sirius fanfiction #Marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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bislytherinstarkerfangirl · 2 years

Text

I posted 109 times in 2021

50 posts created (46%)

59 posts reblogged (54%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.2 posts.

I added 119 tags in 2021

#starker fandom - 36 posts

#starker - 31 posts

#starker moodboard - 9 posts

#ironspider - 9 posts

#what do you think? - 8 posts

#tony stark x peter parker - 7 posts

#moodboard - 5 posts

#bisexual - 5 posts

#nff - 5 posts

#peter parker x tony stark - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 67 characters

#i tried to find a picture of blue paint being smeared across sheets

My Top Posts in 2021

Suffragette Omega!Peter

Tony’s always supported the Omega rights cause, funding them through secret bank accounts, hiding the rebels in his manor. His earliest memories were of the abuse his mother endured because of her secondary gender. When Natasha asks him to hide one of their omegas, on the run from his murderous alpha, Tony doesn’t hesitate before accepting.

When Tony meets Peter and sees what this shitty alpha has done to the boy, he swears that if he ever sees Quentin Beck he’ll rip him to shreds.

Peter is kind and gentle but stubborn and one of the most intelligent people Tony has ever met.

When they eventually start a relationship, Peter is cautious, and a bit terrified. But Tony is adoring and worships Peter. He sets up a bank account in Peter’s name, just in case, he writes form after form, giving Peter blanket permission to do whatever he wants.

Years into their marriage, they adopt twins, Harley and Morgan. Peter was scared, he knew that not wanting to go through pregnancy was strange with omegas. But Tony always said that just because Peter had the physical capability to carry pups, doesn’t mean he has to.

And Tony is the one who stays home with their pups, he couldn’t bare to take Peter from the work he loves so dearly.

79 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 20:41:23 GMT

Incubus!Tony Starker

incubus see peoples memories when they fuck them:

so as tony fucks this beautiful twink, tony sees everything about the boy, and for the first time isn't disgusted by his humanity

instead he is overwhelmed as he marvels at peter

Peter's perfection and kindness, peter's sweet moans falling around them like music. for the first time in years tony doesn't fuck a human because it's in his biological make-up, or sustenance, but because he feels genuine desire.

as tony cums, harder than he has in all his centuries as an incubus, he shouts out to the world that he loves this kind, intelligent boy, his peter.

for the first time, he stays, and as he holds peter in the afterglow, peter smiles up at him, so painfully lovely. And in that moment tony realizes that humans do not deserve peter, they do not deserve this selfless soul who has suffered so grievously at their hands.

not even a year later, when peter is denied his place heaven, because he killed a man in self defense just before the despicable man raped him, tony is there. to hold and comfort the human, that he loves so deeply, it defines him.

it’s not long before they marry and become hell's ultimate power couple.

Is this okay? Should i write ficlets about their relationship?

bingo card below

this started off as just a thing i wrote on the starker discord, is it okay to use it? if not, please tell me, i don’t want to upset anyone.

97 notes • Posted 2021-06-17 19:34:52 GMT

Starker Flower Shop au

Author’s note: This is my first published fanfic, I’m a bit nervous (read terrified) about doing this. I’m not that great a writer... So read at your own peril.

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?” Peter asked, confused. It was not unusual for costumers to be indecisive when asked what they wanted their flowers to say, but normally they tend to be slightly less aggressive.

“How can I say fuck you in flowers?” The man asked. He wore an expensive looking suit that hugged him in all the right ways, and fashionable sunglasses. His hair’s dark, and greying at the temples, his beard was sharp, styled perfectly. The man’s dark brown eyes, a deep chocolatey color. Oh shit, he’s hot, peter thought.

“Could you specify what kind of person you want to give them to?” Peter asked, blushing slightly.

“A gold digger, with who I have to spend the evening with, even after she stole a lot of tech from me and is a bitch!” The man exclaimed.

“Ok, well Sunflowers signify false riches, Yellow carnations represent disappointment, Orange lilies for hatred. Petunia’s are resentment. Finally, a few black roses to say she’s dead to you.” As Peter spoke he spun around the shop, adding each of the mentioned flowers to the bouquet. Lost in his work as he was, Peter didn’t notice the man watching him closely. When he was done, he flourished the bunch in a ‘ta-da’ motion. “What do you think?”

“They look great-” He looked at Peter’s name badge, “Peter.” As the man all but purred his name, Peter flushed. The man’s eyes darkened slightly as he followed the pink trail with his eyes.

“I’ll collect them later,” The man sighed. “I’m Tony, by the way.” Tony added. Tony leaned towards Peter slightly. Tony handed the younger man his card.

“I don’t usually do this, but I’m going to give you my number.” Tony said. Peter gaped, and sputtered a why? “Because you’re cute and I’d like to get to know you.” Tony answered with a wink, and a grin.

“Completely your choice if you call! I’ll see you in a few hours to pick up the flowers!” And with that Tony left, leaving a very shocked Peter. I won’t call, Peter promised himself.

Peter called.

@starkerfestivals

139 notes • Posted 2021-04-01 20:54:03 GMT

What if Peter's metabolism burnt through his energy from sleeping the same way it does food. So for Peter a whole 6 hours of school is like 18 hours, so he takes little naps. When Peter goes to Tony's for his internship, Tony is still in a meeting, and Peter is SO tired and Tony's MIT hoodie is on the couch. Tony gets back and is greeted by the sight of an adorable sleep rumpled Peter with sweater paws making grabby hands for cuddles, because Tony is warm. Tony and Peter curl up on the couch while Tony does paperwork on his StarkPad, although this devolves into Tony watching Peter sleep. When Peter wakes up, his sweater paws are rubbing his eyes, his face is flushed, and curls are ruffled, and he smiles so sweetly when he sees Tony. Tony just loses it at how cute Peter is and kisses him. This becomes tradition, every afternoon Peter will steal one of Tony's hoodies/sweatshirts and just curl up next to Tony, or on Tony's lap, and when he wakes up Tony covers his face in little kisses. It’s their tradition for the rest of their lives together.

154 notes • Posted 2021-10-22 23:00:07 GMT

Extremis!Tony/Blind!Peter

So Peter is an intern at Stark Industries, this always surprises people because SI only employs the best/most capable and Peter is blind.

Peter walks into Tony not realizing that he’s Extremis. Cue Tony falling in love with this sweet, kind, gentle, witty intern. All the while Peter thinks he’s falling in love with Tony, the sarcastic, overly-protective guy from the engineering department.

I want Tony being brutal and cruel to everyone except Peter. Tony worshipping and adoring Peter with every fiber of his being. Maybe one of the other interns steals Peter’s walking cane and bullies Peter, Tony hold Peter all night comforting him, then killing said intern in the most painful way possible. I want Tony to become a service top. I want Tony who’s usually the most dominant person in the room, brought to his knees at Peter’s smile. And Peter doesn’t realize the power he holds over Tony.

Anyone willing to have a go and write this?

243 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 18:44:07 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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bluegreenandpurple · 3 years

Text

A beard through seasons- Chap 3

Third installment of this four chapter series... let's see what moment is Ron's beard bringing to us!

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from HP Books nor do I get a single pound/penny/peso (money) out of this. Rated M because of Hermione's thoughts.

You can also find this work in AO3 and FFN.

Chapter 2: The grandad’s beard

Hermione was awakened by an obnoxious stream of light one cold Saturday morning. Although — as she stirred and adjusted her eyes to her new vigile condition — the same object of her disdain became a blessing when Hermione caught sight of her sleeping companion, looking almost ethereal under the dim light created by her former enemy.

A wide smile instantly spread across Hermione’s face and, determined not to waste such a view, she propped up in her elbow and began to drink in the appearance of one Ronald Weasley. He remained peacefully asleep spread on his back, one arm resting on his stomach over the duvet and the other one flexed upon the pillow. There was also one rebellious knee just slightly bent peeking out from the edge of the bed, teasing her with a hint of a freckled thigh.

Hermione averted her eyes from temptation and focused on what they’ve come to call the “freaking freckle”. The ludicrous name belonged to an oversized and slightly darker mark that appeared one summer just below Ron’s jaw. He hated it, but Hemione loved dropping slobbery kisses over it when she was snuggling into him. She had made her life mission to kiss each and every one of those darker and larger marks he so hated. To her, it was as if he had multiple solar systems in an extended universe of freckles, and she was an astronaut exploring and discovering new galaxies on the confines of his skin.

Hermione lowered her view, following the line of his throat. She licked her lips at the mesmerizing movement of his Adam's apple when he suddenly gulped. She wondered what was it that made his neck so delicious. Was it the shape? She mused, as she followed the lines of his tendons and muscles, stretching and relaxing as he swallowed once more. Or could it be the senses? The salty taste of his skin combined with his intoxicating essence. Maybe it was because of the fascinating patterns surrounding the freaking freckle. Or perhaps it was all. His neck was so alluring just because it was his, part of him.

She continued gazing down until she found his collarbone and had to suppress a chuckle as she caught the mess he had made of his T-shirt. It was almost impossibly tangled, rolled between his armpit and the duvet, showing half his shoulder. Hermione’s heart clenched at the sight of his splinching scar, being a reminder of one of many times their future together had almost been stolen by death. She decided to avoid the mourning memory and directed her eyes to his other side, immediately feeling better as she took in his rolled-up sleeve.

Well, that right there was another of the mysteries of Ronald Weasley. How was it that something as simple as an arm could turn her on like that? Hermione felt the warmth spread across her body as she drank in his bicep. It was relaxed but somehow yet contracted, highlighting the lines of his muscles. She bit her lip and decided to move up but a light moan escaped her as he jolted in his sleep, ripping his exquisite forearm. She had to keep going or she wouldn’t be able to hold back.

Hermione moved on in the Ron Weasley tour. Next stop: hands. There it was, a large calloused but delicate hand with those bony magical fingers. Was she barmy to find his hands so endearing? She pondered. Well, she was certainly and undeniably barmy about him. His fingers were barely touching his temple and Hermione felt herself smiling as she eyed his fringe. After all these years, that rebellious fringe kept falling free on his forehead, continuingly teasing her to reach and caress it away.

Ron’s eyes were closed, but Hermione could clearly picture the sapphire blue of his gaze. It was as if two gemstones were adorning his face. She loved those eyes so much. Those expressive, deep, passionate eyes of him that could pierce through all her barriers and unveil her soul. Those beautiful eyes that their daughter had inherited. It would never cease to amaze Hermione how they’d managed to create two human beings with such an exquisite mix of both of them, that would serve as living proof to the world that they were destined to be together. They had always been.

Hermione deflected from Ron’s eyes and studied the grey hairs that now adorned his sideburn, proof of the life they'd shared. She giggled internally as she inspected his beard. Ron's beard. A being by itself. She tried to put a number to how many times she found herself drooling at his beard. That strong, sexy coppery-auburn piece of facial hair that hypnotised her. The grey was rapidly spreading from the edges to the centre, already taking his entire sideburn and half his jawline, sparkling across his face as evidence of the years moving forward almost too fast.

Hermione was now too tempted to take those slightly open lips of his with hers, but she didn’t want to disturb his sleep. He seemed so peaceful. Then she remembered that Ron had told her once that if she ever felt the need, she shouldn’t doubt and always, always, wake him up. And after all the gazing and inspecting, she was more than needing him. So, without a second thought, Hermione leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

She was about to pull away when he took her lower lips with his teeth, a clear sign that he was coming out from his sleep. Hermione released a satisfied moan for all the hold ones from earlier and he groaned into her mouth, taking her in for a deep kiss. Oh, how she loved his groggy, slobbery morning kisses. Ron moved the arm he had stuck between them to hold her tight, half on her butt and half on her side, as his other hand was now tangling in her hair. He was mumbling into her mouth amidst kisses something along the lines of “love you so much” and “best way to wake up”. Things were heating up fast when they were startled out of their love bubble by Hugo’s voice, coming from somewhere in their room.

‘Your grandson is coming. Get out of bed you thirsty middle aged people! See you at St. Mungo’s.’ By the time they found the source of the voice, Hugo’s Patronus was starting to fade.

Ron was propped up in his elbows and Hermione had half her body over him, hanging by his neck. They were both blinking and staring at the empty spot where the Patronus had evaporated. Ron turned his head to look at his wife with his signature lopsided grin and said, ‘He is coming, love.’ His voice sounded strained out of the effort to contain a shriek of joy. Then he suddenly hopped out of bed, dropping Hermione unceremoniously to the side. He was bouncing around the room whilst he fetched his clothes and began to dress. Hermione shook her head amused at his overexcited husband, feeling her heart grow an inch as she took in how adorable he was.

When they arrived at Hospital, Rose was already there, dressed in her Healer robes. They greeted and hugged, excited at the news, as Rose proceeded to tell them how Hugo had come with his wife an hour ago and she had had to ask for a colleague to make her rounds to be free to meet her incoming nephew. Time started ticking and a few hours later the waiting room was like a ginger’s convention. Full of hordes and hordes of Weasleys, and the Potters.

After a few more hours, the maternity’s doors flew open and an euphoric Hugo came out. He stood at the threshold for a second, scanning the room. When he found his father, he sprinted towards him. Ron sprinted too, meeting him halfway in a winding embrace. Hugo was screaming at lung force ‘I’m a dad, dad, I’m a dad! A dad!!’ As Ron patted his back and nodded enthusiastically, too overwhelmed to articulate any words. After the initial shock, the entire room roared in joy as the Hospital’s personnel tried vainly to ask for silence.

When the chaos ceased, Hugo had to come back inside to attend to his wife. Hermione, Rose and Ron were the first in line to meet the newcomer, and about half an hour after Hugo’s announcement they were called in by a Healer. Hermione shared amused glares with Rose as they looked at Ron bouncing Luna Loovegod style all the way to the baby’s room. Upon entrance, the lot was received by a beaming Hugo holding a little baby with some patches of brown hair in his head. His wife was smiling fondly at Hugo, and Hermione felt her heart clench in emotion as she recognized the look in her face as the same she had held when Ron presented Rose to Arthur.

‘Hey, lot. This is Matthew Ronald Granger-Weasley.’

Hermione gasped and turned to see as a wide grin invaded Ron’s entire face. He dropped an amused ‘Wicked!’ and took a few steps towards his son and grandson. Hermione felt tears running down her cheeks as she saw Ron taking baby Matt from Hugo’s arms. Ron lifted his face to look at her, positively beaming with the precious treasure in his arms. Hermione was overcome with love as the memory of that same smile with a red-headed baby in his arms flew to her mind. But her heart grew another inch that day as she noted the grey hair in Ron's beard and she realised her Ron was now a grandad.

#ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #romione fluff

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a-dorin · 3 years

Text

valentine

pairing: seraphine kharis x obi-wan kenobi

word count: 1.043k

warnings: PINING. pining, pining, pining. some teasing. some banter. august threatening obi-wan.

a/n: sooo this is a valentine’s gift for my bestie @xcertaindarkthingsx ! the oc is hers and i do not own seraphine! i hope you like this bb, ily n happy valentine’s day <3

“and what are you doing for valentine’s day?”

three shadows sat together, huddled on steps of the temple. all around them, the air was crisp, barbed with an icy chill. although it was well below the temperature to be out and about, they still remained on the marble steps, shuddering underneath their robes. two of the three were women, giggling under their breaths as the other’s eyes widened, almost out of fear.

a bearded figure arched a brow, lips pursing ever so slightly, “valentine’s day?”

“oh you know,” another voice cut in, their tone firm and unforgiving, “the day of love. the day of romance. the day of sin.”

“august,” this voice was softer, melodic and sweet, “don’t be so bitter about it. obi-wan probably just forgot.”

august snorted, shaking her head ever so slightly, “i wouldn’t even want to celebrate it. it’s a pointless day. most worlds don’t even recognize it as a holiday.”

“is it a holiday in coruscant?” the confusion plaguing the jedi’s features shifted to mischief, his eyes glittering with amusement, “i was not aware it was, august. my deepest apologies. how shall i make it up to you?”

august narrowed her eyes, the depths almost an flint hue, “i would be more wise with your tone, obi-wan.”

“and what if i’m not?” obi-wan pressed, a chuckle lacing his words, “what are you going to do about it?”

“one more word and you’ll know what,” august folded her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes, “seraphine, how about you tell your boyfriend over there to calm down? he’s managing to get on every last one of my nerves.”

“b-boyfriend?” seraphine’s voice faltered, a pink blush tainting her cheeks, “august, obi-wan is not my boyfriend. we’re not even togethe--”

“i was only teasing,” august exhaled, rising to her feet, “i don’t know about the two of you, but i’m not freezing my ass off out here anymore. i hope you have a good night, seraphine.”

“and what about me?” a smug smirk painted obi-wan’s lips, “would you like to wish me goodnight as well?”

“i’d much rather face general grievous,” august sneered, smoothing out her robes, “goodnight, obi-wan.”

“goodnight august,” obi-wan murmured, his breath billowing out in the night.

as her steps faded, obi-wan cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. seraphine only remained still, eerily quiet as speeders whooshed by. although there was plenty of night life, there was such silence between them. obi-wan fiddled with his thumbs, eyes darting over to seraphine.

her head was hung low, propped up by her hands. wisps of hair fell onto her forehead, the strands flowing in the breeze. her cloak was a little large, perhaps one she stole from obi-wan. he couldn’t remember, but it looked awfully familiar.

her gaze was fixated on the sky, a vast expanse of pollution and clouds, their color a drab grey. there were no stars tonight, not even a single glitter. instead, rays of light reflected off the base of the clouds, only promising of something more disappointing. just some light cast on some clouds. nothing too riveting.

on a night like this, so peaceful and serene, there should have been stars. just so she could look at them, pointing out ones that piqued her interest, rambling on the myths and the legends.

obi-wan wouldn’t have minded, even if he knew absolutely nothing about stars. he would’ve preferred to hear her voice over this. the soft and alluring tune, the ways the words just dripped from her lips, so tantalizing.

he would’ve hung on to every single one, admiring the way her features lit up as she delved into her passions and interests.

now, there was just... silence.

if he could, obi-wan would’ve ensured seraphine could see every constellation, every star, every little planet and moon.

she deserved it. she deserved everything.

there was a tug at his heart, this nagging. gnawing away at him. eating up his thoughts. invading his mind.

“did you have a valentine for tomorrow?”

he blinked, realizing that she was no longer staring at the skyline.

rather, she was speaking to him.

“oh no,” he shook his head. perhaps, a little too quickly, “i forgot, if i’m being honest. by the way, what’s up with august? she seems to have a distaste for the holiday.”

“i see,” seraphine murmured, lips falling into a frown, “well, i can’t quite delve into why she’s so upset. she’ll be all right, though. i don’t blame you, though. we are going through an interesting time in our lives. i wouldn’t blame you for forgetting something so trivial as a holiday.”

“seraphine,” his heart fluttered as she paused, the blush residing in her cheeks, “i’m sorry.”

“for?” her brows furrowed together.

“for not asking you any sooner,” he began, scooting closer, “i should’ve asked you sooner. i am aware that we have been busy with other things going on, but you at least deserve a valentine. i don’t want you lonely tomorrow.”

“o-obi-wan,” seraphine stammered, fidgeting in her robes, “obi-wan, i can assure you it is not that serious. august was only being a menace and she knows how much i-- never mind. i-i wasn’t even really thi-thinking much about it e-either a-and--”

“seraphine darling,” his hand reached out, cupping her cheek, “may i ask you something?”

there it was.

her lips curled upwards, into that beautiful grin of hers, the apples of her cheeks dusted crimson, eyes glimmering with anticipation, eagerly awaiting his next move.

“yes, obi-wan?”

he leaned in, mouth dangerously close to hers. but not yet. he couldn’t. not out here. but maker, did he want to. it was an aching feeling, the desire filling him to the brim.

“will you be my valentine?”

the answer was immediate, and he knew she would say it.

but he liked hearing it, his favorite sound flooding his ears.

her voice, uttering the words he wanted to hear oh so desperately.

“yes, obi-wan, i would love to.”

he paused, fighting the urge.

an urge he couldn’t resist any longer.

another hand reached upwards, taking her other cheek against the soft skin, thumb caressing her cheekbone. tracing over the tattoos he’d grown to adore.

“i was hoping you’d say yes, darling. now, come here.”

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan #star wars #the clone wars #obi wan fic #for my bestie #i hope you like #valentine's day #happy valentine's day

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

Note

i got this idea because when am i not soft for chris? i’m a little shy typing this because it’s kind of nsfwish but here goes nothing, chris is tired and just wants to cuddle you, you are reading and he lets you continue but starts slipping his hands down your pjs (not in a sexual way, at least not for the time being) and then he starts undressing you because you are warm and craves the intimacy of having your naked bodies pressed against each other and just clingy but so soft?💕

A/N- Uhhh so it did turn into smut, gentle smut. Like need to relax smut. I cant help myself.

8:54 PM

Chris groaned looking at the time, and rubbed a hand over his face. Finally he was done, he was heading up the front porch steps and FINALLY he was going through the front door into a semi dark house. Can we say long day? Yes, it was a long day, he had flown out this morning on the red eye for Washington DC at 3 AM. He left you looking all sleepy in bed, your hair spread over his pillow as you shifted into his warm spot, and watched with half closed eyes at him picking out his suit.

“You should wear the grey Handsome.” You softly say while plumping his pillow under your head and wriggling in his dip in the bed. The blankets now twisted around your legs, and your foot poked out to brush along his leg as he laid it out on the end of the bed.

“Grey it is babygirl, go back to sleep.” His hand rubbed against your foot and tucked it back under the blanket. You yawned just then and went to sit up but he was quicker and his hand pressed against your shoulder to lay you back down. “We have enough time if you wanna play in the shower.”

Chris groaned at the idea, but he held strong. “You have a meeting in a few hours, and we can tomorrow, when Im not in a rush and can love you properly.” You seemed to accept that answer and relaxed back in the pillow nodding. Letting his lips brush one last time against yours, you settled back in to sleep, and Chris finished getting ready, mentally going over his schedule. As he left, he whispered to Dodger who now laid claim to half the bed. “Watch over her Bubs”

Now it was dark, the downstairs was dark short of the light over the stove, in which he found a covered plate sitting with a note. Evening baby, not sure when you will be home, and sounded like you guys were to busy to eat. Wake me up if Im not up! Xo, you had written in that wispy way of yours when your in a rush, and he lifted the cover to see a bowl of still warm stew and crusts of french bread. He popped it in the microwave and gave it a quick heat. Hitting the button before it could ding, he ate it right at the counter with now mans best friend sitting at his feet. “You want a taste bub?” he questioned, and with a light wag of his tail and hopeful eyes, Chris chuckled, and sopped up the rest of the soup with the last bite of bread, tossing it to Dodger. With a snap of his jaws, he raced off with his prize to disappear somewhere in the house, the click of his nails fading away.

Picking up and heading up the stairs, there was a soft glow in the hallway, to show the bedroom door half open and the source of the light. Easing it open, you were laying across the top of the bed, your hair in a messy bun and glasses perched at the end of your nose, reading a book. But hearing him you looked up and grinned. “Welcome home Handsome”

“Welcome home indeed” He sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his tie. You moved across the bed and draped over his back to nuzzle his neck while he unbuttoned his shirt, purring against his neck as you went to brush kisses against his skin. His hand lifted and cupped your face, tilting to kiss those soft lips of yours. “It went well, I think were just about finished up, and ready to launch.” Your hands rubbed against his shoulders and his head dipped forward giving a soft groan. “Your hands are magic Y/N.”

“Yea, you need it, your tense.” You gently tug on his shirt and draw it off. Moving to a stand, he continued to undress and put away his suit, telling you about the rest of his day, then he withdrew into the bathroom to brush his teeth. You got comfy once more with your book, stretched out on your stomach, your feet loping over your lower back, swinging back and forth slowly. When he returned in the only way he ever sleeps, naked, he laid on his back, arm over his face to relax. You promptly slid over closer, and his arm went around to rub your lower back, turning to kiss your shoulder, cuddling you in closer. Your so warm, Chris thought while letting his hand smooth along the band of your boy shorts, and slide under, squeezing an ass cheek lightly.

You simply turn the page, knowing your man would tell you soon enough what he wanted. His beard brushed against the sensitive spot along your shoulder, making you wriggle and glance at him over your glasses. “You know that tickles Chris.” you shift in closer and his hand slides back up to dip into your waist, mlving up your tank to make it ride up. “Mmhhh your so warm and feel so good baby.” He mutters against your shoulder while tugging you closer.

“Oh are you cold Handsome?” you giggle while marking the place in your book, tossing it aside while he drew your shirt up and over your head, looking down at you with more then a warm look now in his eyes. You pressed in close to his bare chest and pushed him back to lay down. You slipped to straddle him, your thighs lightly grasping his waist while you pressed your breasts against his chest, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Well I dont mind cuddling up to warm you back up.”

Of course he trailed your body, slipping his hands back under the band of your boy shorts, rubbing your cheeks and once more squeezed palm fulls, returning gentle nips to your lips. Brushing your hands through his hair till it spiked slightly, leaving it that messy bed head look you adored, you smiled down in his sleepy face. “Cuddling leads to other things, cause your fucking irresistible babygirl.” Chris confessed, letting his nose trail along yours and sighed softly. You could feel just how tense he still was underneath you, the ripple of his muscles tender to your touch, rocking your hips lightly against him as your hands rubbed up and down his side, those nips of kisses, soft and gentle turned more frequently shared. Deeper, and soft sighs led to a guttered moan and you give a soft bite while reaching down between you two, rubbing his erection that you can feel thick between you.

You were so warm, soft over him, it was impossible for him not to be turned on, and you arch up to move back enough to slide your bottoms off. “Cuddling does lead to other things, and you babe needs to relax. Let me do that for you.” You tell him while moving back up his body and now he could admire all of you. Soft supple curves glowing in the dim light, could see the slight glisten between your thighs. You nip lightly against his chest while pumping your hand around his cock and guide him to press into you, filling you when you press down. Ahhh, you were warm and welcoming, your hands taking his while rocking your hips.

“Mmmhhh you feel so good babygirl.” His hips taking slow thrusts, your rocking against him at the same speed, giving soft moans and moving your hands to his shoulders, panting at how good he feels filling you, hitting against your sweet spot at this angle, rotating your hips gently to grind against him. “So do you Chris, you make me feel so good, so full.” You shuddered lightly as his hands grasped your hips gently to move you faster, looking to reach that moment of release. You cup his face and kiss him fiercely, laying claim to his mouth, crying softly into it, as you shuddered in the beginning wave. “Oh god Chris... please im right there.”

“I know babygirl, I can feel it.” He grunts back, you were just warm before, but now your body sliding against his, hot, friction burning between you two, clasping around him and drawing him in deeper, making you moan out once more. “I need it...” loosening his grasp on your hip, to reach between your thighs and rolling his fingertips over your sensitive clit, your mouth hung open and your forehead pressed against his chest while grinding back. “fuck yes babe, oh god, oh god.” Your voice is soft whimpers and cries and his jaw clenches as he is right there, his thrusts ragged, stuttering. When you came, crying out his name, he to spiraled with you, pulling his arms around you and rocking through it, hissing out your name right back.

Your in bliss, milking him of the last of his seed, slowly loosening your hold around him, and settling more comfortably against his chest. He brushes your hair back and kisses your temple, holding there a moment and giving a sigh of relaxation. “Im not moving tonight.” you say while flexing heatedly around him once more and your head against his chest, which made you rise and sink slowly, could hear him chuckle softly. Chris reached for a blanket you frequently cuddled up with when you didnt want to get under all the covers and sheets.

“Dont, I rather like you right here, all soft and warm on me, and around me.” Draping the blanket over you and with a sharp clap above the two of you, the lights in the room turned off, leaving everything in only the soft glow of the street light across the street. “And its even better cause we can sleep in tomorrow and do this all over again.” He said sleepily, which you hummed softly back in agreement.

“Good things I dont have plans tomorrow.” You rubbed your hand over his shoulder and along his neck with gentle fingertips.

“Not true, you have plans with me Y/N” Chris informed you in a half sleep state and you rubbed your face in against his chest, chuckling.

“Im all yours tomorrow Handsome, Love you.” and when you looked up, his head was tipped back, and his breathing smoothed out, sound asleep and fully relaxed holding you, and you settled back in, not far behind.

#amber writes #💕anon #request

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wondersofdreaming · 4 years

Text

1 out of 9 in the making

Characters: Alexander Skarsgård x female reader

Word count: 1.525

Warnings: Nothing but fluff.

Author’s note: Request by @shweed55:

“First I have to say I love your writing!! (And your taste in men.) I looked for your master list with Alexander Skarsgård, but couldn't find it. I was hoping to read something involving Alex/Eric Northman as a new father. Nervous, awkwardness, and just adorable dad energy. I know this is super specific, if it's not something you're into I understand. Thank you.”

I do not own any of the characters in this short story besides the reader, the baby, and the dog, who are figments of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

Happy wasn’t exactly the first word that popped into your mind, when you looked at the stick in your hand. Two blue lines were shown inside the little display. You would probably say that ‘dread’ was the first word you thought of. Were you even ready to become a mother? Was your husband ready?

What a stupid question. Of course, your husband was ready for children. He had been since before you started dating him. He had been announcing that he wanted more children than his own father, who had eight - seven sons and one daughter. Ergo, he wanted NINE children. You had nearly passed out when he told you. You had thought he had been joking, but looking at his face, he was dead serious about having nine kids or more.

You cursed in 10 different languages as you paced your bedroom. Your Great Dane walked with you around the room, which comforted you a bit. Eventually, you sat down on the massive bed and cuddled up with your loving dog.

“What do I do?” You asked him. He just looked confused at you with his big blue eyes. You sighed and decided to google a few ways to surprise fathers-to-be.

A few days later

“Something smells amazing,” you heard your husband say from the front door. He walked in with a bouquet of red roses.

“Better be. I’m making your favourite pasta dish,” you told him. He snooped closer and wrapped his arms around your torso. He planted a kiss to your shoulder, another on your neck, then your cheek, and lastly, he turned your face to kiss you right on the lips. His beard tickling you.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“I’ve missed you too. How was New York?”

You stirred the sauce and looked down at your cardigan, hoping it hadn’t unbuttoned while he hugged you. You didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“It was lovely, but you weren’t there, so I was quite lonely,” he pouted. He kissed your cheek once more and went to put the flowers in water.

“Maybe next time,” you said and pulled out a string of pasta, chewing on it to feel if they were al dente. “Pasta is ready. Will you grab a few plates, please?”

“Of course.”

An hour later dinner had been eaten, you were sitting on the sofa. Your tall, blonde, and blue-eyed husband was pouring two glasses of red wine. You fiddled with your cardigan. It was now or never. You unbuttoned it, shook it off and tossed it over the back of the sofa. You stretched out your homemade T-shirt, flaunting it in front of your husband, who was oblivious to what was happening.

“Do you like my new shirt?” You asked cheekily. He turned towards you with a wicked smile, but the smile disappeared as he read what was on your shirt.

“1 out of 9 in the making.” He read out loud, looking confused, then it dawned on him. “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded nervously. He downed his glass of wine, put the glass on the coffee table before inching closer to you. He splayed his large hand over your still flat belly. His other hand cupping the back of your head. He put your foreheads together, closing his eyes as he took in the moment.

“I didn’t think I could be happier than the day you married me, but this moment might have surpassed that,” he whispered.

“You, Alexander Skarsgård, are going to be the best father in the entire world.” You told him matter-of-factly.

Seven months later

Alex was standing at the window overlooking the city. In his arms were his new-born daughter, who was happily content in his arms. You looked at your husband, really looked at your husband. He wore a simple mustard-yellow T-shirt and a pair of grey jeans. His hair was a mess from having run his hands through it a million times during the birth of your little girl. He hadn’t wanted to hold her, afraid he would break the tiny baby, but you had put her into his arms, carefully of course, and he hadn’t wanted to part with her ever since, except for the few times she needed to be nursed. You had slept a few hours like a rock. That’s what 36 hours of being in labour, trying to bring your daughter into the world, would do your body.

You had more than once blamed all the pain of the contractions on Alex. You even told him that this was the only child you would ever give him, during a really bad one. He had taken it as the ‘pain’ talking. You would give him a hundred children as you looked at him now. Your little girl stirred in his arms and her cries slowly got louder.

Alex moved back towards the bed, his eyes catching yours in a tender moment. He handed you the tiny bundle of joy.

“So, what should we name her?” He asked.

“You shut down all the names I had on my list,” you told him.

“They were all… how do I say this directly, but kindly?”

“Oh, just spill it.”

“Non-Swedish.”

“Then come with Swedish girl name that will fit her.”

He motioned for you to scoot over a little, so he could sit on the hospital bed with you. He wrapped an arm around you. The tip of his fingers caressing the top of your daughter’s head as she nursed.

“How about Alva?”

You contemplated for a moment. Looking down at your tiny baby girl. Alva. It was a good name for her.

“Alva it is,” you said and kissed the soft little head.

Back home

You carefully lifted the car seat and moved towards the front door of your home. You heard your dog scrambling inside, which made you giggle, but Alex was having doubts about bringing your new-born home. What if something happened to her? What if she got sick? What if you left for a few hours and she started crying for food? Alex stopped you before you got to enter the house.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Are we ready to be alone with her?” He whispered nervously. You could feel the anxiety pouring out of him.

“Stop doubting. We’ll be fine. You’ll be a great father. Trust me,” you reassured him and walked inside. Your dog was sniffing the car seat, wondering what you had brought home for him. You carefully sat your daughter down, so your dog could get to know her. Alex was wearily looking, he was ready to grab the collar of your dog if he became too rough. But your sweet loving giant dog put his snout atop your baby’s legs and just stared at her with love in his blue eyes.

“Good boy,” you said and petted him across his back. Alex let out a breath of relief.

Later that day you were napping, when you heard Alva screaming her lungs off. Alex was walking around the living room, trying to calm her down. He looked up as you entered.

“I’ve fed her, changed her, bounced and walked around for half an hour, nothing is working,” he told you. You could hear the panic in his voice. None of the baby books he had read, had prepared him for a baby that kept crying even though he had tried all the soothing methods.

You smiled softly at him, as you led him to the sofa. You pushed him gently, so he was sitting with your daughter cradled in his arms. You moved your daughter from his arms to a vertical position, with her head on his chest where his heart was.

“Now, sit still, calm down, chill, relax. She’ll be soothed by your heartbeat in no time,” you said. “I’ll go make you a cup of coffee. You look like you need one.”

The baby’s cries slowed down to a whimper, and when you came back with the coffee, she was soundly asleep on Alex’s chest. His hand was rubbing her tiny back in a soothing motion. He accepted the mug with his other hand, taking a slow sip.

“How did you know this would work?” He asked you curiously, as you sat down with a cup of tea.

“My mum told me. Whenever my siblings or I were fussing as babies, she would let us listen to her or our father’s heartbeat. The baby remembers the sound from before she was born.”

“Huh, a trick I need to remember next time you take a nap. Thank you, älskling.”

He leaned in to kiss your cheek, which moved your daughter, who started fussing again.

“She’s hungry.”

Alex moved the tiny baby to your open arms, watching curiously as she suckled on your breast.

“Any more tips to calm a baby I need to know about?” He asked and kissed your temple.

“Call your mum, love. She’ll be your best friend when it comes to kids, and you do want nine, right?”

Alex huffed. Not so sure if he could handle nine kids anymore. He had some serious thinking to do.

#Alexander Skarsgård #Alexander Skarsgard #Alexander Skarsgård x femaler reader #Alexander Skarsgård x reader #Alexander Skarsgard x female reader #Alexander Skarsgard x reader #My story #Mine #Fanfiction #Request #Oh dear #1 out of 9 in the making #I need a drink #Short story #alexander skarsgård fanfic

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benscaligraphyset · 4 years

Text

Chapter three

(A/N: I hope you all enjoy this new update! Please let me know what you think in the replies/reblogs! Reblogs are always appreciated :) )

Warnings: none that I can think of

“What exactly did you feel?” Leia asked after you nearly broke down her door at the crack of dawn.

She wrapped a pink robe around herself and followed your pursuit around the house. You couldn’t stay still in the state that you were in, because staying still is doing nothing and doing nothing is not helping Ben.

“All I know is it was Ben, okay? And he felt so scared and lost and I don’t think he even meant to reach out to me. It was just a very strong feeling, but it was him, I know it,” you insisted as you went into their kitchenette, Leia trailing behind you.

“Y/N, wait,” Leia said and whirled around to face her.

You knew you must look crazy, eyes puffy, dark rimmed and wide with desperation, hair a giant tangle, and you were so jittery you couldn’t even stand in still for one minute. But, you finally had a real lead on Ben and refused to lose him again.

Leia sighed. “This could be a trap.”

“A trap by who?”

Leia hesitated but you didn’t have the patience to wait for an answer.

“And even if it is, Ben still needs our help.”

You helped yourself to a breakfast biscuit, the crumbly bread at least providing you with some energy, but you knew you would inevitably throw it up. You saw some ration packs in the cabinet and looked at Leia, the silent question evident on your face. She nodded and you shoved some into your bag.

“I know, all I’m saying is maybe we should think before we go in blasters blazing—“

“You can stay here and think, but I’m going after your son,” you snapped.

She recoiled away as if you had physically struck her and you instantly regretted what you had said. But, why did it seem that you were more interested in saving her son than she was? It was making you so angry.

“Look, I’m sorry I snapped, but the more time we waste—”

“Y/N—”

“What?”

“Han will be here soon, we can take the Falcon,” Leia said. You didn’t realize how jittery you finally stopped moving.

Grateful tears pricked your eyes and you threw your arms around her. You didn’t miss the fact that she said, “we” as opposed to “you”. You knew if there was even a chance that Ben was close to falling to the dark side, you would need the whole Solo family to help pull him back. He needed to know he was wanted and loved, especially by the people he felt sent him away.

“Thank you, Leia.”

“But, we need to have a plan,” she said. “And you need to tell me exactly what you felt.”

“Well, I had this dream, but I don’t know if—“

“Anything can be helpful,” Leia said, urging you to sit down at the kitchen table.

You sat down across from her. “It was mostly flashes. Ben was with these men in strange masks and they said they were going to Minemoon the next day. Then, it shifted to what I guess was Minemoon and a couple of my classmates were there...I forgot they were off world.”

“They were off world the night the temple was attacked?” Leia asked and you nodded.

“I completely forgot until now,” you mused. Three classmates were off world and only two were in your vision, but you tried not to think about what that could suggest.

“Anyway,” you continued before Leia could ask anymore questions, “they were fighting the masked guys, but I don’t think Ben was sure of who’s side to fight on—but I watched Tai die with Ben just standing there…I couldn’t tell what he was feeling.”

You broke off to wipe a stray tear. Tai was always kind to you and he helped you to center yourself many times when your emotions got too overwhelming. You were grateful to him that he didn’t treat Ben like he was a ticking time bomb, and instead a human being who was suffering. Tai is the last classmate Ben would ever harm. You don’t think he would be capable of harming even Voe, who was always horrible to everyone.

“Then what happened?” Leia pressed gently.

“And then Voe was dead...and Ben was walking away. Then, I woke up and I could finally feel Ben again! But, the connection was full of fear and pain. I’ve never felt it so dark before,” you said, lip trembling. “And then...and then he just shut me out again.”

Leia sighed and reached forward, grabbing your hands.

“You know Ben has always struggled with the darkness inside of him—“

“No,” you cut her off before she could finish her thought.

You refused to believe he would fall to the dark side and yeah, maybe that meant you were in denial in which case, fine, you were in denial, but you knew the man you fell in love with. Of course you felt the darkness raging a war inside of him, it’d be hard to miss, but you also felt so much light inside of him, so much goodness.

“There’s good inside of him.” You didn’t know who you were trying to convince, you or Leia.

“I know,” Leia agreed. She didn’t say anything more, obviously realizing the conversation would go no where.

You weren’t able to say anything before you heard a key being shoved into the lock on the front door. A few seconds later, Han came through the door.

“Y/N, Leia! I didn’t expect either of you to be up this early,” Han greeted you gruffly. Old isn’t the word you would use to describe Han, and you know he’d ring anyone’s neck who said otherwise, but he was definitely older. His hair and beard were almost completely grey and wrinkles were starting to appear around his eyes and on his cheeks, but the one thing that hadn’t changed was that permanent cocky smirk he wore.

You and Leia exchanged a glance, wondering who should tell him.

“Y/N thinks she has a lead on Ben,” Leia ended up saying. Han’s smirk fell and he looked between the two of you as if you both had two heads.

“Are you kidding? What are we just sitting around for? Let’s go!” Han said, turning to the side to yell, “Hey Chewie, stop unloading we’re about to take off again!”

“Han—“

“We’re going to get Ben!” Han shouted back in response to Chewbacca’s grumble and you heard a distant triumphant roar.

“Han, we need a plan before we go,” Leia said, sounding annoyed already.

“We have a plan, getting our son back.”

You grinned at him, taking this as your cue to stand and join him in the doorway. Leia sighed harshly and looked down at the table in exasperation. She had always said whenever you and Han were together it was like there were two of you and you could practically hear her saying it now.

“We can’t just go in without knowing what we’re walking into! Y/N only has a vague idea of where he’ll be—“

“He’s going to be at Minemoon tomorrow I know it,” you insisted, locking your pleading eyes with her. “Leia, please, we’ll make a plan on the way, but we need to go get Ben.”

Leia looked from you to Han and then back to you and sighed.

“Well, I’m obviously outnumbered, so I guess I’ll get my things,” Leia grumbled and shuffled back into her room.

You turned to Han, grin returning and he wrapped an arm around you.

“C’mere kid,” he said and pulled you in for a tight hug. You relaxed into it and hugged him back, breathing in his scent.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you nearly sobbed into his chest and you felt him rub your back soothingly.

“I’ve missed you too, kid.”

Han pulled back and gave you a once over.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he asked, just now realizing.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you said, looking down with a chuckle. “Leia let me wear it to sleep.”

Han glanced back at the shirt and huffed. He didn’t say it, but you could feel adoration coming off of him.

“Well, go put on some real clothes so we can go rescue my son.”

Han hung back while you went to the Falcon, no doubt in need to speak with Leia privately.

You’d borrowed some robes from Leia and they made you shift uncomfortably with every step. You’d been wearing the same standard robes for months while training with Master Luke and it’s not that Leia’s robes weren’t nice, it’s just that they just felt off. At least there was a belt for you to put your saber.

You sighed as you made your way up the ramp, pulling at the pants that were squeezing your thighs. You weren’t prepared for the surge of memories that appeared when you entered the curved tunnels of the Falcon’s walkway. You hadn’t been here in years.

Last time you were on here, Han was teaching Ben to fly her.

“No, Ben you’ve gotta—“

“I’ve got it, dad!”

“No, you don’t because—“

The two men cut off as the ship began to shake violently and Ben’s eyes looked around in panic.

“Move over,” Han had snapped gruffly, leaning over Ben to flip some switches, bringing the ship back to a steady cruise. He turned back to Ben in irritation and the younger boy had shrunk under his gaze.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you at the sight of both of their faces. Han turned his stern face onto you now and your smile instantly fell. You cleared your throat, trying to play it off and your eyes flickered to Ben who just smirked at you in response. When Han has first scolded him, you could feel his embarrassment and shame rolling off his shoulders, but at the reminder of your presence he relaxed and you could feel him reaching out to you. You gladly reached back, sending feelings of encouragement his way.

“If you two are done Jedi flirting,” Han said and your cheeks grew hot. Han didn’t know much about the Force, but he had come to recognize when you and Ben were communicating through it. You instantly felt Ben retreat from you and watched the tips of his ears turn pink.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a mighty roar and you turned to see a wall of fur.

“Chewie!” you greeted in excitement and he didn’t hesitate to wrap you in a bone crushing hug, lifting you in the air.

“I missed you too, buddy,” you choked out and Chewie, hearing your strain, reduced the pressure on your ribs and set you down. He apologized and laid a large hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” you said with a chuckle, placing your much smaller hand over his.

He asked you what the plan was.

“We’re going to get Ben on Minemoon, a moon off of Mimban.”

He asked you what he was doing there, but before you could answer, Han’s voice rang out.

“We never should’ve sent him away,” Han grumbled, stomping his way up the ramp with Leia in tow.

“Who was going to train him then, hm? You?” Leia asked.

“Did you ever think to ask him what he wanted? Maybe he didn’t want to be a Jedi!” Han rounded on Leia.

Chewie wailed loudly, objecting to their arguing.

“Stay out of it!” They both screamed in union and Chewie grumbled in annoyance.

“Did he not want to be a Jedi, Han? Or did you not want him to?”

Chewie gave a low whine and looked to you desperately.

“Guys—“

“We never should’ve trust Luke with him, that little—“

“Han!” you shouted and he whirled around to face you, face angry until he realized it was you, then it seemed to soften. “Can I talk to you? Privately?”

Now seemed as good a time as ever to have this talk, you thought, and at least it was a good reason to get them to stop fighting. Han sighed and turned back to Leia.

“This isn’t over,” he said.

“It never is,” she mumbled before making her way to the cockpit.

You started walking towards the crew quarters, angry steps behind you letting you know he was trailing behind. He looked at you expectantly when you closed the door behind him.

“What’s up, kid?” Han asked. He sounded exhausted already and you briefly wondered if he had gotten any sleep since the news either.

“I, uh, there’s something I need to tell you...”

“Well, come on, then, spit it out.”

You’d be offended by his words if you didn’t already know this was Han’s way of being encouraging.

“I’m—I’m pregnant,” you said, bringing your hand down to cup your abdomen. You watched as Han’s lip twitched into a surprised smile.

“That’s great news!” he exclaimed until he noticed you weren’t joining him in his joy. “Or not?”

“It’s, uh, it is good news. It’s just...it’s Ben’s,” you admitted softly. Han’s smile faltered and his face showed an emotion you couldn’t place; you don’t think he understood what he was feeling either.

Every second he was silent felt like an eternity to you and you were losing your mind at not knowing what was going on inside of his head.

“I’m gonna be a granddaddy?” he asked quietly after a minute, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, yeah, you are.”

He instantly wrapped you in his arms and you happily returned the hug. You could finally feel all the emotions coming off him in hot waves. Disbelief, fear, happiness; all those emotions were swirling around in his head, fighting for dominance. Han pulled back after a minute and met his eyes with yours, staring at you intently.

“We’re going to find him, okay?”

You smiled and a tear escaped your eye, falling down your cheek, and Han reached forward to wipe it away. You leaned into his warm, calloused hand and he gently stroked your cheek with nothing but love in his eyes. Those were eyes that told you that you would never going to truly be alone.

Ben must’ve gotten those from his father, you realized.

You nodded. “Okay.”

“I was wondering why Leia was asking me to pick up those hormone pills. Pregnant neighbor, my ass!”

“Speaking of Leia, lay off her will you? She’s just worried about him too,” you said, voice stern. Han nodded and let his shoulders sag in defeat.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he agreed. “I hate it when you women are right.”

You giggled. “Unfortunately for you, that’s pretty much always.”

Han rolled his eyes but still wore a giddy grin from the news. At first glance, Han doesn’t seem like a sentimental man, but when you truly know him and learn his mannerisms, (Han-isms as you and Leia liked to call them) you’d come to understand what a loving man he truly is. He rumpled your hair on his way out and you heard the hiss of the door opening.

“Chewie! I’m gonna be a granddaddy!” he instantly shouted, the words echoing throughout the whole ship. You heard a roar of excitement and heavy footsteps coming your way.

You snorted. You should’ve seen that coming.

After vomiting very lady-like into a waste bin in the crews quarters with Chewie holding your hair back, you pulled yourself together in the refresher and went to rejoin the others. You were glad Han and Chewie were already privy to your little secret as it would be hard to explain the constant vomiting spells otherwise.

On your way to the cockpit however you were caught off guard by the resurgence of your and Ben’s connection.

Y/N... you heard him as clearly as if he was right next to you.

“Ben?” you asked, frantically looking around to no avail. He wasn't here.

And then, as quickly as he let in you, he shut you out again, leaving you with a hole in your chest. You wiped away a tear that had managed to escape for eye and you pulled yourself together. You needed to focus.

Han and Leia appeared to have made up if her sitting in his lap was any indication. Maybe the prospect of them both being future grandparents brought them together and made them realize how petty their feud really was. You smiled when he placed a silent kiss into her braided hair before he heard you come in.

He must’ve seen you out of his peripherals because a second later his head turned to you and he rolled his eyes at your triumphant smile. Leia turned to you and gave you a grateful smile.

“So, where is it we’re going again?” Han asked, tapping Leia’s thigh as an indication for her to get up. She complied and settled for standing next to him, a steady hand resting on his shoulder.

“Minemoon,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time today. “It orbits Mimban in the Circarpous System.”

Han tapped coordinates into the system, beeps sounding at each press. You flopped down in the chair behind him and closed your eyes, letting out an involuntary sigh. You still hadn’t slept well in four days now and that made the daily pregnancy fatigue even worse. Your head was pounding and you felt gross and clammy from recently throwing up.

“Why don’t you rest, Y/N?” Leia suggested and you opened your eyes.

“I’ll rest when we have Ben back,” you said with a tone of finality. No one dared argue with you, even as the bags under your eyes had become dangerously dark.

Even though you had assumed a position of stubborn consciousness, arms tightly crossed around your chest, you barley remember the Falcon groaning into hyperdrive as you finally lost consciousness just after that. You fell asleep to the feeling of Ben’s steady Force signature and the dream of him coming back to you.

(A/N: Again, I so hope you guys enjoyed this update and that it was worth the wait! Let me know what you thought!)

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#ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo x you #ben solo imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #Kylo Ren imagine #ben solo fanfic #ben solo fanfiction #Kylo Ren fanfic #Kylo Ren fanfiction #Leia Organa #Han Solo #sw fanfic #sw fanfiction #Star Wars fanfic #star wars reader insert #kylo ren reader insert #ben solo reader insert

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thorinthehottotty · 4 years

Text

The Dark - Part 1

Summary: Having landed in Middle Earth, Addie and Silvia find it to be very nice after Bilbo takes them in. Neither have a desire to return to their world until the book begins to get things wrong.

Warnings: There is no gore yet, but there will be violence and a few trigger warnings. For this part, there is only language and minor violence.

A/N: I have rewritten this part so many times. I'm sorry if it's hard to follow. I promised myself this was the last rewrite. As always, let me know what you think, good bad or ugly, I love feedback! Special thanks to @daisy-picking-lady and @fizzyxcustard for letting me bounce ideas off them for this story. I have had this in my drafts since before I started posting on here.

The Shire was a peaceful town, overflowing with flowers and herbs. It was rolling grassy hills and sweet, quiet folk. Very much the place you'd love to retire in. The vegetables and fruit were delectable and Bilbo was adorably polite. Incredibly introverted, yes, but overall, he was kind. A good friend to Addie and myself.

Addie was a gentle soul. Soft spoken and sweet. Her being easy to get along with and eager to please settle right in beside Bilbo's politeness and my own stubborn streak. Together, the three of us spent our first few weeks in summer bliss.

He'd seen us arrive like fallen stars, shooting through the night sky by fire that didn't burn.

Neither of us remember how it happened, what events lead to us appearing in Middle Earth, but it didn't take too long to figure out where we were. We had both seen the movies, though we hadn't read the books.

To be fair, it was on my reading list.

Addie and I both found ourselves reluctant to leave the Shire and return home. Bilbo asked us about it once only for us to share reluctant looks between us both. She wasn't eager to return to her overbearing mother who was growing ever worse. I had no one waiting back home myself. It was a lonely existance.

So it started off not far from what we had remembered. We were blinded by the gentle charm of Bag End casting it's shadow over the rest of the world. A pretty painted picture to hide the black mold growing on the walls. First it was Gandalf.

One late morning as I knelt in the front garden, enjoying the warm moist earth in my hands as I weeded the garden, a man began to wander up the road. I thought nothing of it for a few moments, only the nagging that he was out of place. It was only when I realized that this was the first man I'd seen, rather than hobbit that I snapped my full attention to him. Bilbo continued to puff on his pipe as the man in tattered grey robes and a flopped pointed hat meandered nearby.

Addie stops pouring the tea she'd just made to stare. She turned her worried doe eyes toward me. Slowly, I lean back onto my knees, pulling the gloves from my hand, I stick them in my apron as I rise with a basket, moving toward where the old man stands by the gate, eyeing Addie in a way I definitely didn't like.

"Good morning," the man greeted with crooked teeth, yellowed from age and too much tea. His grey hair hung in dreadlocks around his face, his beard similarly tangled.

"Ah, good morning to you as well," Bilbo chirps politely, lifting a brow at my chilling expression. Suddenly, these clothes feel all too translucent with this man gazing me over. A traditional hobbit style, skirts past the knee, tight bodices and sleeves that rolled up to my elbow. I didn't normally wear delicate skirts, but the cotton was comfortable and I quite like the blue patterns.

Only now, the low neckline made me feel dirty as this man gave an appreciative eye over it. My hand tightened on a spade as I refrain from driving it into his chest.

"It's a fine morning, Bilbo Baggins. I'm afraid I do not know your companions."

"Oh, tell me that's not..." I groan, unable to finish my sentence to turn and gape at Addie who looked just as shellshocked.

"Gandalf the Grey?" She finishes.

"Is it my reputation, or has Bilbo spoken of me?" He asks, looking much to proud of himself. Addie and I exchange glances and shrugs a bit at me.

"Color me less than impressed," I reply, and Addie finishes pouring more tea. Bilbo looks startled by my callous and rude behavior. "The tales we've head of you are very different than what I see before me." The wizard raises his eyebrows at me.

"Silvia," Bilbo gapes, his pipe weed burning forgotten in his pipe as he nearly drops it. "Sir, you must forgive my guest, she must be in a foul mood today."

"Less foul if he stopped undressing me with his eyes," I snarl. The wizard looks more amused than insulted by me.

"Feisty she is. Where might you be from, my dear," he asks. I pause for a moment, debating telling him. Finally, I decided it wouldn't hurt.

"Not Middle Earth." He nods, not looking too surprised.

"So the rumors of twin comets touching down in the Shire are true. I assume the other beauty happens to be from your world as well?"

"Yes, sir," she replies softly. His smile turns dark at her meek reply and I step closer to him, my lip curling into a sneer. He lifts an eyebrow at me.

"Bilbo, you have two charming guests," he replies. "Perhaps they should come along on our adventure."

"Adventure!?" Bilbo balks in terror. "Oh, no, no, no. Certainly not." His shrieked response relaxes me.

"You are the son of Belladona Took, are you not?"

"There will be no adventures here. You have come to the wrong hobbit!" Gandalf lifts an eyebrow in surprise.

"You are exactly the gnome I had in mind for this event. It will be a perfect fit." Bilbo's eyes darken and he stands from his bench. Those usually light green eyes turn to a dark forest as he begins to put out his pipe.

"The correct nomenclature happens to be 'Hobbit'," he rumbles out with a curl of his lip.

Bilbo normally looked soft and cute with his brassy curls and button nose. I had seen his teeth before when he spoke. Blunt white ones that were charming and a bit crooked. Cute. I was not expecting sharp needles of pearly white to sink from his gums as he bared them. When Gandalf saw our startled expressions, he smiled and drew back a sleeve, exposing the obvious scar of a bite. "Venomous as well," he had grinned mischievously.

I actually gulped at the frightening sight, hair rising on my arms. "Then perhaps you shouldn't call him that," I respond. Bilbo twisted toward me, giving me a glance that I couldn't quite read but felt a bit appreciative.

"Perhaps he should save those teeth for another day, the boggart. You haven't even heard the adventure."

"No adventures!" Bilbo shouts and turns to stamp into the house with Addie. I wait a moment, watching them disappear before turning back to the glowering wizard.

"If you bring your dwarves here," I begin in a quiet warning. "They will be polite, do you understand?" I knew of the adventure he wanted. How could I not. Bilbo was needed on the quest and I knew he would be fine.

Gandalf arches a brow at me, surprised. "And how is it you know of my dwarves?"

"Do you understand?" I demand. "I will not have them being rude to Bilbo." Gandalf smirks and nods at me slowly. With that being said, I moved into the house where Bilbo locks the door behind him.

"The dwarves are coming, aren't they," Addie asks. Bilbo frowns deeply and glances up to see my answer, his teeth had returned to normal and he looked more frightened than angry.

"Bilbo, I believe it is time we spoke of what we know of this world." And to his armchair we went.

And then the dwarrow began to arrive. I don't know what I expected, but this was certainly not it. I expected short men to crowd merrily in the dining nook. This was not the reality I discovered as dwarf after dwarf entered. Most close to my height of five feet, eight inches, but a few of them towering above at nearly six feet. From afar you might think they were short, simply because they were wide.

They were all broad-shouldered with hard muscles. Tattooed and pierced. Each and everyone of them had more piercings than us. All of the older dwarrow had their septums pierced and it made me wonder what had inspired that. I could see a big dwarf with a mohawk had even his nipples pierced, you could see them through his tight, embroidered tunic.

I saw the way one of the young ones eyed Addie. His icy gaze followed her everywhere. She had certainly captured his attention. It made her nervous, I think. She never met his gaze, keeping it cast down at all times. She stuck close to me under his intense staring. His braided mustache twitched up on one side when I met his gaze, just as coolly.

Fíli, if I remember correctly. The crowned prince. He had a long nose and the fairest hair of any of them. It was braided down his back decoratively, like ropes of white gold. He had sharper eyes than I had imagined. Almost white-blue and incredibly eerie to stare into. It contrasted starkly against his warm toned skin.

He leans back on the bench, tattooed arms stretching out bare. Most of them showed off their muscles and tattoos with their sleeveless tunics it seemed.

Bilbo was frazzled the entire time as he was ignored and jostled about. I felt terribly and when his teeth came out, I stepped right out of the way. "Such a bugbear," I grumble under my breath.

When there was a knock at the door, and the house stills. Bilbo's still too busy chasing a fat dwarf for tomatoes to answer the door. I knew who stood on the otherside and try to imagine what he would look like. It's closer than I expect.

When I open the door, I'm greeted by a fierce looking warrior. His septum twitches in annoyance when I stare at him. White blue eyes rip me apart, a gorgeously masculine face stares me down and he steps up. Challenging me to turn him away. "Is this Bag End?" He demands, not amused by my curious examination of the king under the mountain. Truly a mountain himself, only marred by the thick scar dragged jaw to temple.

"Yes, it is," I hum, curiously glancing over the tanned skin they all had and the dark hair tickled with silver that draped over him like his cloak. The wind blew in from behind him, casting me with his earthy, salty scent and I suppress my shiver of delight.

When he tries to step pass me, I step with him. "May I come in?" He spits through clenched teeth. I tilt my chin up and then glance to the little hobbit who's needle teeth are sinking away.

"Oh, what's another. They've destroyed my pantry as is." The hobbit crosses his arm, looking a little too childlike for me to take him too seriously.

"Alright," I hum back to the king, trying not to squirm under his great glare. I step back, opening the door widely for him. He wanders in, sneering at me.

"Gandalf, I thought you said this place would be easy to find?" He snarls in a deep baritone as the dwarrow prepare a spot for him.

The old man, who was much shorter and more portly than expected, lifted a challenging eyebrow. "I was quite clear in my instruction, Thorin."

"I lost my way. Twice."

"Hardly my fault. Everyone else seemed to find it just fine." Gandalf leans my way, a dirty grin on his face. "Be a dear and get me some ale please." When he tries to swat my rear I snatch his wrist away. I lean down into his face, teeth barring.

"Try to touch me again, I'll carve off your fingers one at a time." The dwarrow begin to chuckle around the table. I throw his arm away from me and move from the room.

"Are you still grabbing that ale for me?"

I didn't dignify him with an answer, just gestured to the skiddish Addie. She darts with me into the living room. Happy to get out under the heavy stares.

"What are two human maids doing in the company of a hobbit?" The dwarf king demands as I coax my friend into Bilbo's favorite arm chair.

"Bilbo, do you want tea?" I call. "I'm going to make some."

"Chamomile, please," he replies as I move into the kitchen. I listen to Bilbo tell the story of us falling from the heavens. Of the white fire that brought us here from our world and explained how he took us in, proud to find us civil. (He began to babble nervously about how I was really very sweet, I just had a temper. I think Thorin was glaring him down with skepticism.)

When tea was done, I brought a cup out for our host wordlessly. And then it began. The talk of dragons and mountains and Erebor. I was there to scoop Bilbo up when he fainted. Something about meat hooks and burning to ash in dragonfire.

"Grab the cards," I hum. And while sipping our tea, we played silently, aware of the guests slowly trickling into the room like a leaky faucet. Fíli and Kíli were the first to arrive, looking like a pair of foxes leaning by the fire place.

Addie casts me a worried glance and I sigh, turning to glare at the smirking pair. "Can we help you?"

"Fallen stars, ey?" Fíli hums, eyeing Addie's submissive staring at me.

"Bilbo likes his stories," with that, I return, playing another card. Addie reaches forward and snatches them both as the both of them approach now, curious.

"What's this game?" Kíli with his big brown eyes and messy hair chirps, settling on the coffee table.

"It's called, 'war'. You both play a card, whoever has the higher card wins the round. You play until one person has the deck." I murmur and play the next card on the top of the stack.

"The hobbit mentioned something about you knowing dwarves were coming to Bag End. How did you know?" Addie passes me a look and jerks when Fíli brushes her hair back from her flushing cheeks.

"Please, don't touch me," she murmurs. He gives an amused smile.

"Why? Because I'm a dwarf?" He challenges.

"No, Prince Asshole. Because you're a stranger that been watching her all night! You keep those hands to yourself." I match his glare.

"How did you know I was a prince?" He demands. The commotion has the rest of the company peeking into the room curiously. Thorin in front of most of them

"You're a story where we are from. Only..." I glance over them, "not quite how it was written it would seem."

Thorin approaches, very eager to learn more of this. "What kind of story?"

"An adventure. With Bilbo as the main character." This has them all staring at us. "He decides to go with you lot on your trip to reclaim the lost city of Erebor, steal the arkenstone, kill a dragon and then return home." I answer bluntly.

"Does Bilbo kill the dragon?" Addie mutters.

"No, its the pirate looking guy, remember?" I reply, then frown. "Or maybe it's Orlando Bloom..."

"No, no, I think it's the pirate guy."

"You know of our quest? You have information about how it will go?"

Suddenly, I'm not liking the way those white-blue eyes bore into us. "I guess."

"Then you will join us with the hobbit."

"Someone has to stay to watch over Bag End," I try to argue, my gut sinking at the darkening of his eyes. Tell him 'no' was exactly the wrong answers.

"That wasn't a request, woman." He moved toward me with slow steps, oddly quiet. In the stillness of the room, however, the creaking floor alerted me with how wrong this all felt. Why did so many of them look amused? "I will give you one more opportunity to join us before you regret your circumstances."

"Please, are you trying to make your journey harder?" I scoff, attempting to call his bluff. A humorless smile stretches across his face, looking more like a grimace.

"You leave me no choice then."

My gasp is cut off when he snatches me up by my throat. My oxygen already being cut off, I feel the pressure building in my face.

I don't miss the startled cry Addie gives as she reaches for me. I'm drawn so close to Thorin I can smell his dinner and ale on his breath, ever so faint. "You will both serve under me as slaves until I release you." I press up onto my toes as I claw at his arms. "You are less than the dirt we walk on. You will do as you are told or there will be repercussions. Understood?"

Gritting my teeth, I thump my hand as hard as I can into his nose. He grunts, but there is no noise beyond that, not break like I was expecting. Fuck. Maybe they were made of actual stone.

Thorin releases my neck with a shove and I cough as I tumble back onto the couch. The cards fly and Addie looks terrified, sinking back into the couch. "And what makes you think that you can?" I demand through my coughs.

"We can always burn down this house as an example." His eyes were cold and empty. "This is your last chance. Are we burning the house?"

Clenching my jaw, I meet his eyes and shake my head.

If he burned down the house we'd have no where to stay, even if he wasn't claiming us as slaves. I reach for my throat, dragging my fingers over the tender flesh. It's only now that I think I should have lied and said we were already serving under Bilbo.

Thorin doesn't say anything after that, only glares away toward the fire. Addie snatches up my hand, not bothering with the cards left abused and abandoned. In a way completely unlike her, she spits a foreign curse at Thorin and drags me away toward our bedroom.

....

Taglist: @tomisbaeholland @fizzyxcustard @daisy-picking-lady @queenofmankind @dumbassunderthemountain

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jiracheer · 4 years

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salutations and greetings, 🍊 nonny here! i saw your request were open and in the spirit of spooky season 👉🏼👈🏼 may i request some fall date headcannons- haunted houses, cliche horror movie nights, pumpkin patch dates, or cold night cuddles for Kuroo, Tsuki, or the Miya twins? (but the horror movie could lead to lewdness if so desired, i am 18 turning 19 in November :) )

these ideas have been stuck in my head and it’s a need & a want 😭 obviously you can ignore if not too specific, or if you have too much already waiting to be wrote! Thank you anyway!! ❤️✨

✨ a/n: Hey babe 🥺!! Sorry this took me so long!!! I AM GRR AT MYSELF!!! I had so many ideas and i kept writing n rewriting. Unfortunately I only wrote for Tsukki and Osamu, I hope that’s okay!!

✨ warnings :: creampie, unprotected sex / nsfw under the cut

🎃 TSUKISHIMA KEI

- As soon as the leaves turned an array of oranges, yellows, and reds, and the air grew to be a bit more bitter, you had suggested the idea of going to one of the local farms out of Miyagi to go pumpkin picking to Tsukishima one evening.

- A week went by and one morning you were woken up by Tsukki. He shook your shoulders gently to get you awake, and when your eyes fluttered open and you looked at your boyfriend with such an intense expression of confusion, he really couldn’t help but laugh at your expression and the small line of drool that formed at the corner of your mouth.

- He told you to get ready and to dress appropriately for the weather outside, and you still were confused, but you just shrugged it off as you assumed he was taking you out for breakfast.

- Once you were ready you two bid your bearded lizard farewell, simply watching as it licked its eye, and you just took it as him saying goodbye as well, and you two were off.

- You sat in the front seat with his hand held in yours. You had the habit of running your fingers over his knuckles, and every so often you would kiss the back of his hand. It always made him look over at you with flushed cheeks, still not used to all the affection you gave him, but he would always squeeze your hand to let you know that he loves it and you.

- “Where are we going?”

- “You’ll see.”

- His answer was so cryptic you couldn’t help but nervous laugh

- “You’re not gonna like, kill me. Right?”

- Silence

- “RIGHT?”

- You’re silently freaking out and eventually he starts laughing. You let go of his hand to punch his arm, yelling at him for scaring you, and you go back to holding his hand.

- You do end up falling asleep at some point since you were still pretty tired. Tsukki’s eyes would flick over to you every so often, smiling softly as it was now his turn to kiss the back of your hand and let his lips linger on your skin for a moment.

- You wake up before you arrive and you’re like a kid at a candy store when you see where you are; the pumpkin patch.

- The second your feet meet the ground, you’re already going feral. You’re holding onto his arm as you two walk with other people towards the tractor that would give you a hay ride out to the patch, and you’re practically shaking with excitement.. And from the cold.

- Tsukki holds you close to his side with his hands rubbing your arms, pressing tender kisses to your temple every so often, but you don’t seem to notice as you seem to hyperfocus on the farm.

- “Tsukki...”

- “Mhm?”

- “I wanna live on a farm :(”

- He snorts at your words and you lean against him, letting your head fall on his shoulder as you look up at him with puppy eyes. “I’m not joking!! Do you know how much fun it would be if we lived on a farm?”

- The blond rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but think about it. A farm, huh...? He could already hear the rooster crow at the crack of dawn, and see a cow or two simply lazing around at the pasture.

- He could picture you sitting on the porch with a warm cup of coffee, an open spot besides you for him to join you, and then out of nowhere.

- He sees a child.

- His face turns a bright red and he clears his throat, waving away his thoughts. Okay Tsukki, calm down-

- “Come on Kei!” You’re already taking his hand and leading him off the tractor, dragging him around the uneven patch.

- You both look at a multitude of pumpkins. You pick up a few and admire them, and you seem to take an interest in the white pumpkins, and he likes to enjoy the more classic orange ones.

- There’s a small white pumpkin that catches your eye and as you go to pick it up, you turn to show Tsukishima and your foot gets caught on a vine.

- You screech as you stumble forward and the pumpkin falls, breaking apart as soon as it hits the ground.

- “...”

- You two ran so far away from that spot and went to check out another part of the patch.

- Eventually, you two settle with a big phat orange pumpkin that’s a bit deformed. Tsukki called it ugly, but you said, and I quote, “He is very gorgeous to me.”

- You decide to name him Eugene and you decide he knows how to do his taxes, unlike Bokuto, and Tsukki laughs.

- The two of you reach the main log house at the entrance and you enter, enjoying the warm air as you get drinks and a few snacks, and you two find yourself back outside.

- “You know..” Tsukishima looks down at his drink, almost too nervous to meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat and sits closer to you, taking your open hand in his as his knees bump into yours.

- Tilting your head, you urge him to continue as you bite into your apple fritter.

- He rubs your ring finger and you almost choke. Your eyes widen and your heart begins to beat rapidly. Oh my God... Was he going to propose to you? You feel yourself begin to sweat as he slowly pulls back, hand going into his pocket-

- “Eugene is an ugly ass name.”

- “I cannot stand you sometimes.”

👻 MIYA OSAMU

- Osamu decided that on October 31ST that the both of you would be watching scary movies, whether you liked it or not.

- You never really took him to be the kind of guy to like horror movies. You assumed he was more into films like Fantastic Mr. Fox, etc.

- He really does like Fantastic Mr. Fox tho.

- When you arrive to his place you greet him happily and with snacks, opening a black bag to reveal candies and baked sweets you had taken the time to make that day.

- Osamu was so happy to see the treats. He gave you a small smile and thanked you with a kiss to your forehead. You blushed at the affection and eventually pulled him to his room to get started on watching the movies.

- You two built a pillow fort and made sure to be careful with his TV, once y’all were settled in you put in the first movie and get started.

- Osamu laid against his headboard with his hair brushing against the blanket above, legs stretched out and an arm around your waist. You laid your head on his chest with one leg thrown over his and resting in between his legs.

- Every so often you’d jump because of a jump scare, or even scream and hide your face, and Osamu would laugh softly at your reactions and rub your back with a kiss to the top of your head.

- You two would talk about what you’d do if you were in a horror movie, which was a poor choice, because Osamu was roasting your ass.

- “I would NOT die 20 minutes into the movie!!!”

- “Y/N.... You push ‘pull’ doors.”

- “.... OKAY BUT-“

- You pause the movie real quick to take an online quiz and as it turns out, you would die and Osamu would survive.

- “Okay Shaggy kin, you win this time.”

- “As I always do, Scooby Doo kin.”

- “STOP.”

- You’re a bit mad when the movie starts again, and you bitterly lay there as Osamu tries to hide his amusement at your pouting.

- He calls your name softly and you look up at him, brows furrowed and lip out. He chuckles and leans down to catch your lips in a kiss, and you feel like you’re walking on clouds.

- As the kiss progresses, you feel yourself losing yourself in it and you shift so that you’re sitting on his thigh now.

- His tongue is in your mouth and you can taste all the sweets he just had, and you moan is the next thing to be consumed as he holds the back of your head.

- You grind your hips against his thigh, starting to pant when your clit brushes against his flexing thigh. Pulling away you gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he peppers kisses down your jaw and neck.

- Osamu puts his hands on your ass, pulling at them to get you closer and to eventually put you on his lap.

- It seems like time flashed right before your eyes because suddenly you’re naked and bouncing on Osamu’a dick.

- Moans come out of your mouth as Osamu hides his face in your neck, leaving you love bites as you work yourself on him. You’re lightly scratching at his back, closing your eyes as you feel his fat cock brush against your cervix

- “That’s it, bunny. Shit- That’s it, babygirl.”

- He brings your left breast into his mouth, the other was slowly being teased with his fingernail tracing a circle around your nipple.

- You whine and beg for him to continue touching you, and thankfully, he does.

- He works at your breasts until finally he shifts so that he can gently pin you down below him, bringing your legs and hooking them over his arms, you arch your back as he hits places he’s never hit before.

- “Yes Osamu... R-Righ there- Oh. Oh right there please-“

- You’re almost driven to tears as he picks up the pace, pounding into you as you cry out his name as your orgasm comes crashing in.

- Osamu’s cold steely gaze comes to rest at where the two of you are connected, and he lets out a guttural moan at the sign of a white ring around his dick.

- With a few final and sloppy strokes, the grey-fading-to-black cook pushes himself forward to cum into you. He grunts as he buries his face into your neck once again, whispering how much he adores you as you cling to him.

- You both lay there up until a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV, making you both jump and nearly break his dick with you abruptly sitting up.

#haikyuu tsukishima #Tsukishima kei #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima scenarios #haikyuu osamu #miya osamu #osamu x reader #samu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu imagine #osamu scenario #haikyuu smut #osamu smut #tsukishima fluff

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fraysbanes · 3 years

Text

the price

Characters: Clary Fray, Luke Garroway, Jace Wayland, Simon Lewis, Isabelle Lightwood, others cameo/mentioned

Rating: G

Summary: They all want to take care of her, in their own little ways.

Warnings: mentioned past character death (which did not actually happen!)

She must have been drinking.

That’s the only explanation Clary can come up with for why she’s walking in a daze down an unfamiliar part of town. For why she can’t remember what she was doing right before, why she’s been crying, where she left her jacket. She must have been out with Simon, drank too much, lost sight of him, decided in a moment of intoxicated confidence to walk home alone, and ended up here.

And clearly, drunk Clary is an idiot, because it’s cold out and sober Clary has no fucking idea where she’s going.

She ducks into the first store she sees - a vintage little cafe that’s just about to close up - and asks the irritated-looking barista to use the phone, since drunk Clary has apparently lost that , too. The barista begrudgingly agrees and turns the landline over to her.

Clary’s first instinct is to call Simon, check in with him, see if he can give her a ride home. But he doesn’t answer, and she doubts a voicemail would do much good if he’s in a similar state to her, so she hangs up and dials Luke instead. He’s bound to go easier on her over the drinking and the losing-her-phone and the walking-home-alone than her mom is. Besides, she’s starting to recognize some of the streets she’s been walking in as being way closer to the station than her house, so if Luke’s still at work, she’s in luck.

But, of course, he doesn’t answer either. “Luke, I need a ride,” Clary says after the voicemail tone, growing antsy now. “Please, it’s urgent, can you call this number back right away?”

She hangs up and stares at the phone for a few minutes. The barista throws her a dirty look. Clary sighs and picks up the phone again, calling her mom’s number this time.

Her heart is pounding as the phone rings. She’s really not in the mood to be yelled at. But when Jocelyn, too, lets her go to voicemail, Clary realizes she would prefer yelling to the silence she’s faced with now.

A silence which she decides to fill: “Hi, mom,” she starts awkwardly. “So, uh, I’m okay and all, but I can’t find my phone, so if I’ve missed any of your calls…that’s why. It’s been kind of a weird night. And I know you’re gonna yell at me about it later, but honestly I’m a little lost and I can’t really remember how I got here and I probably just need sleep so…do you think the scolding can wait ‘til tomorrow? Anyways, I was just calling to let you know I’m safe and I should be home soon. I think the police station is nearby, so I’m gonna go fetch a ride with Luke or Vargas. So don’t be worried or anything. I’ll see you soon.”

She hangs up. The barista very deliberately flips the sign at the door from “OPEN” to “CLOSED”.

Maryse runs her fingers gently through her son’s hair as he clings to her and sobs so violently that she thinks he’s going to fall apart, break beyond repair, right there in her arms.

“It’s alright,” she says, again and again, hoping against all hope that it’s true. “It’s alright, my love, I’m here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Shakily, he holds up a crumpled piece of paper to her.

“Oh, Clary…” Izzy whispers, voice shaking, a feeling somewhere between love and anger and regret making her chest feel tight. “What did you do ?”

Clary really only starts to feel nervous when she realizes she can’t find any familiar faces at the station. Luke isn’t there. Alaric isn’t there. Captain Vargas isn’t there. There are very few people there that she even vaguely recognizes.

“Are you lost?” a middle-aged woman in uniform asks her when she finds her way to the bench in the cafeteria that she always meets Luke at when he’s supposed to drop her off.

“Uh, no,” Clary says with a polite smile. “I’m waiting for someone.”

She knows she looks a mess and probably more than a little suspicious and out of place, but she also knows that Luke always checks his messages. That he won’t ignore a missed call or a voicemail from her. That, if nothing else, her mom will tell him where Clary said she would be and he’ll come looking for her. And everything is going to be okay.

The officer nods and leaves. A few minutes later, she comes back with a chocolate bar from the vending machine that she wordlessly places in front of Clary. Apart from that, everyone leaves Clary alone.

Until, eventually, she dozes off with her head in her arms on the table in front of her.

“So much has changed recently. I know it’s a lot to keep track of. That’s okay. I’m here to help you remember. Just look at me and listen to me, okay, Clary?

“Your mother is dead. There was a fire, your apartment burned down, and she…didn’t make it out in time. There was a funeral and you…you were crying too hard to speak. But that’s okay. Because she knew how much you loved her, and everybody knew how great she was and how proud she was of you, so it’s okay. You didn’t have to say anything at all. And Luke was there, right next to you, the whole time.

“And your best friend, Simon, he was there, too. He’s not here anymore, but that’s okay too, because what matters is that he loved you when he was here. He loved you so much , Clary. And if you believe in another life after this one, just know that wherever he is, he misses you more than you’ll ever know, and not a day goes by that he doesn’t think of you.

“Hey, please don’t cry, okay? It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. You have a new life now. And you’re gonna be so happy. That’s what your mom and Simon want - for you to be happy. That’s all they ask. And that’s all you should focus on.

“Don’t dwell on the past. You deserve a good life, Clary Fray. Get out there and live it.”

When Clary comes to in her bed in the apartment she’s not quite done moving into yet, she’s crying.

She was dreaming of Simon.

“Ew, you shaved ?” Clary laughs as she throws her arms around Luke for quick hug when he finally makes it to the theater. She can’t remember ever seeing him without a beard before.

“Well, you moved out,” Luke says. “I wanted to make some changes, too.”

“Hell of a change.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but stops, shakes his head. “How’s school?” he asks instead.

“Great,” she says as they make their way over to the ticket booth. “I was actually gonna tell you…I got offered a scholarship!”

“That’s amazing, kiddo! What kind of scholarship?”

“Full-ride.” They move forward with the line. “Apparently it’s a new offer from a new anonymous donors. And three months into the year? I am scarily lucky.”

“ I’m the lucky one,” Luke scoffs. “Don’t forget who was supposed to be paying your tuition, missy. Two tickets for Rogue One at 8:30 please.” He says the last part to the box office cashier, who hands them their tickets a moment later and tells them to enjoy the show.

Clary’s not sure she can, because she’s starting to remember how excited Simon had been about this movie when he watched the trailer. “Hey, now that I don’t need the tuition money, let’s go crazy on the movie snacks,” she says to Luke in an attempt to distract herself. “Or did you already blow it all on your new turtleneck collection?”She gestures at his shirt - a grey, long-sleeved turtleneck that doesn’t leave any skin exposed.

Luke’s hand flies up to his neck, almost like he’s just remembered he needs to hide something, but he quickly drops it and gives her an adoring smile.

“Like I said: I wanted to make some changes.”

Izzy’s not looking at him, but Luke knows she’s struggling to hold back tears, to keep her hands from shaking as she polishes her sword. She made this one herself when Cleophas said she could keep some of the tools.

“How is she?” Izzy asks, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“She’s good,” Luke says. “She’s happy.”

“And she really doesn’t remember m- she doesn’t remember us?”

Luke feels a sudden surge of guilt at being the only one in a position where he can be the bearer of this awful news in the first place. “No,” he tells her truthfully. “She doesn’t remember anything.”

Izzy nods. She hangs her head, and for a moment her shoulders and bottom lip begin to quiver. But then, through sheer force of will, she shakes herself and straightens up, taking in a deep breath. “It’s better this way,” she says. “It’s… she’s safe. That’s all that matters. That’s…”

“Isabelle,” Luke says softly, taking a step closer to her. She shakes her head, face turned completely away from him, trying to make them both believe that she’s okay - that any of this is okay.

When he touches her shoulder, she crumbles. A strangled noise escapes her and she turns to him, tears running free.

“It’s not fair !” she cries, and falls sobbing into his arms.

Clary hasn’t been on many dates. By extension, she hasn’t been on many bad dates. But she’s fairly sure being stood up counts as one.

She rests her chin on her hand and pouts, watching other couples and families wine and dine and dance to live music at the restaurant while she sits alone in the corner, checking her phone every 10 seconds and feeling humiliated and sorry for herself. Fuck dating apps. Fuck dating in general. She wasn’t that excited about the date anyway.

The waitress approaches her and Clary braces herself, waiting for the inevitable pitiful “will someone else be joining you, or are you ready to order?” But the waitress just sets a shirley temple and a folded napkin on the table in front of her and smiles.

“Oh, I didn’t order anything yet,” Clary says.

“I know,” the waitress winks. “It’s a gift. For ‘the lady in red’.”

Clary frowns and looks up at the waitress, even more confused than before. “From who?”

“Secret admirer.”

The waitress gestures with her head at a table across the bustling room before walking away. Clary looks in the direction she indicated, but she sees nothing. For a moment she thinks she catches a glimpse of a woman with big curly hair done up and a high-waisted black skirt, but then the woman steps through the exit and Clary loses sight of her. Most likely forever.

Some admirer, Clary thinks, but she drinks the shirley temple anyway.

Clary has her hair in a side braid and a pencil in her hand and she’s talking excitedly to one of her classmates about the piece she’s working on. Apparently she’s not focusing on realistic sketches anymore: her unfinished painting has hues of blue in short, sure brush strokes that probably convey a lot more meaning to her than they do to non-artists. But if Jace looks closely, and stops trying to make sense of it, the darker colours almost remind him of something. The Institute’s halls, the lights at Pandemonium, the water in Lake Lyn.

Clary looks up at him. Her smile widens. Jace's heart stops.

“There you are!” she cries excitedly, hopping off her stool and making her way over to where he’s standing by the door, glamoured, just so he can watch her for a moment. “I can’t believe you kept me waiting this long!”

She walks past him like he was never there, and Jace turns to watch her pull a stranger into a hug.

#canon compliant #canon divergence #mundane!clary #post-3x22 but before the flash forward #angst #memory loss #c: clary #c: luke #c: jace #c: izzy #c: simon #r: clary & luke #r: clary & simon #r: clary & maia #r: clace #(well...it's IMPLIED)

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padfootagain · 5 years

Text

Singles Will Be Paired (VII)

Part 7: Longtemps

I'm too obsessed with this series to write anything else at the moment… so here comes a new chapter!

This song by Amir that I'm using in this chapter is soooooooooo beautiful!! You should definitely check it out!

I hope you all like this! So much cuteness still… I'm making myself blush and grin like a bloody idiot.

Gif not mine

Word Count: 2500

Outside the warm bedroom, the sun was still shy. A pale light bathed the rooftops of Paris while dawn rose, colouring the sky with gold and pale blue hues instead of inky shades. Clouds were gathering in the distance, catching fire as the sunbeams hit them. Slowly, the city was waking up with a laziness mingled with hurry, and the subway was filled with workers travelling across the town from home to their workplace with their eyes still filled with sleep.

Meanwhile, in your hotel room, Ben was staring at you.

Your closed eyes still moved under your eyelids at the rhythm of your dreams. You were lying on your side, facing him, your lips slightly parted. Your hair fell a little across your cheek, and he delicately brushed the strand away to admire your cheekbone.

He wasn’t sure what to do now. Oh, he wasn’t even thinking about leaving you here, don’t worry. He would stay by your side in this bed until you woke up, that wasn’t what he was unsure of.

But how would your relationship evolve after the prior night, that was the question that made him feel nervous. Almost afraid…

He had never meant for you to be a mere one-night stand. But he hadn’t planned on falling head-over-heels for you either.

Ben was mostly rational. Sometimes a little too much for his own good, he was willing to admit it. He thought things through before taking a decision. He thought about it thoroughly and weighed the pros and cons and chose the solution that seemed the safest.

But with you, it seemed that he couldn’t listen to his brain.

Instead his heart seemed to have taken the lead, beating harder whenever he saw you, skipping a beat when he touched you, pounding when you smiled…

He felt like he belonged here, by your side. And if his rational brain kept on reminding him that he had met you just a few days before, his trembling heart kept on pushing him towards you. It was such a strange feeling, to know beyond all logic that he was right where he should be. It was more than instinct or gut feeling. As he watched you peacefully sleeping next to him, it was certainty.

But did you feel the same?

His thumb traced the sharper edge of your cheekbone as he softly cupped your face, his touch feathery. You suddenly stirred, blinking a few times and opening your drowsy eyes before he could pull away.

You stared at each other for a moment, motionless. He waited to see your reaction, and your brain played the events of the previous night as a reminder. When you finally shook yourself, you tightened a little your hold on the sheet, pulling it up to fully cover your torso up to your neck.

"Hey," Ben greeted you with a tender smile.

"Hey," you breathed back.

There was a short silence before you spoke again in a voice tightened by emotions, barely louder than a breathy whisper.

"You’re here."

Ben smiled, amused and puzzled at the same time as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Of course, I’m here," he nodded. "What did you imagine? That I would turn back into a frog after you stopped kissing me?"

"Something like that."

You struggled to swallow back the lump in your throat, and your voice when you spoke again was tainted with fear.

"I… For a moment, I thought you would leave before I would wake up."

His smile changed into a reassuring one, and he shook his head.

"I’m not a bastard," he answered earnestly, and you couldn’t refrain a laugh.

"Yeah… I can see that."

Across your cheek, his thumb moved again, the gesture tender and soft.

You took some time to lay there, motionless on the mattress, staring at each other. You looked at his eyes, and his beard, and this freckle under his right eye that you adored, and his hair messed by both sleep and your fingers during the night.

And the way he looked at you, his dark brown eyes roaming your face again and again, passing on the same spots until he had memorized every detail, made you feel worshipped like never before.

Eventually, the alarm you had set on your phone the previous evening rang, soon joined by Ben’s, and the two of you exchanged a smile.

"I think Versailles awaits us," you breathed, letting your phone ring as you couldn’t gather the strength to look away from his eyes.

"There’s something I need to do before getting up," he replied, leaving his phone ringing through the room freely as well.

You silently invited him to continue and he smirked, before holding your face more firmly and pulling you into a kiss… that you could only describe as loving.

You kept on kissing, ignoring the ringing alarms until they went silent on their own.

And well… let’s say that you arrived at Versailles later than expected…

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

The Galerie des Glaces stretched before you as a gallery you thought had been extracted from a book. The marble floor made every of your steps echo through the hall. The walls seemed made of gold, the crystal chandeliers above your head glimmered in the pale light of a wintery morning, coming in through the tall windows on your left that ran all the way down the gallery. And beyond these chandeliers, the ceiling was fully painted, tracing in curves the story of the first years of the reign of Louis XIV, filled with war and peace. On your right the mirrors that had given the name of the room reflected the visitors in awe, the grey sky full of water droplets and the rich decoration.

Ben had wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and your own hand was settled on his waist. Slowly, you walked in unison through the gallery, your eyes round in awe of the scenery, and your hearts beating harder because of the nearness of the other.

You looked at your two reflections in one of the old mirrors that had witnessed so many people passing before them, people who were long gone by now. You could almost see their ghosts in the glass, from the ladies twirling in their satin dress centuries before to the young children coming now to visit the old halls. It was one of these places where you felt the weight of history on your shoulders. You could smell it in the air, you could see it everywhere you looked. There was this strange sensation that you were out of time. Ben’s body against yours still anchored you in the present, but the many people who had walked these halls before you accompanied each of your steps.

You walked across the hall to take a look by the high windows, and a dreamy grin formed on your features as you took in the view of the gardens. Bushes, grass, flowers, trees and alleys seemed to have partnered together to draw on the ground a painting that could only be seen from the sky. Spirals of grass traced their curves across the white alleys, pines adding darker shades to the ground. Three large fountains finished to decorate the scenery. There were still a few white stains left from the snow that had fallen a few days before and had been frozen in the branches of the trees and bushes. Further down, the park stretched till the horizon, the large lake that followed disappearing in the grey hues of the sky filled with snowflakes.

"That is what I call a view," Ben smiled, pulling you a little closer to him.

You hummed in agreement, snuggling closer to his chest.

"I have something to admit…" he went on, and you looked up at him with a little frown. "I’m not sure I’ll be able to get you such a view for our next dates."

You giggled, and he made a dramatic face.

"I mean… I know my charms will do all the work for me but…"

You swatted his shoulder playfully as you laughed and he soon joined you.

"Actually, the scenery is your main argument for now."

"What?! I thought it was my never-ending charisma."

You faked a wince and you both laughed again, making a few tourists turn to glare at you.

But you didn’t stop joking, and you kept on giggling as you walked your way down the gallery.

And as you stepped out of the room, Ben pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

He proposed to take a walk through the gardens, and you accepted with a smile full of excitement curling up your lips.

The air was cold, and the sun hidden behind the clouds wasn’t there to warm your skin. Ben had released your shoulders to take your hand instead. And as you entered the gardens, you intertwined your fingers together.

You walked across the garden you had admired from the Gallerie des Glaces. In the fountains, the water had frozen, and thus no liquid was running out of the statues, but it didn’t bother you at all. It felt wintery, but not less beautiful than if you had walked through the alleys in summer.

After wandering through the maze of bushes nearby, you started in the direction of the park and the long lake that stretched across the trees, like a blue arrow piercing a forest into two.

The cold weather had apparently discouraged most tourists from adventuring outside, and both you and Ben enjoyed this peaceful walk.

Upon the water, a few ducks swam slowly, paddling in the lake. All around you, the trees are for the most part lost their leaves. The grass was a little muddy, but the green shade in the pale light and grey world provoked a beautiful contrast. And the more you walked across the park, the most you wanted this moment to never end.

You kept on wandering through the park for a rather long while, until both of you felt painfully hungry.

You stopped under a little kiosk in the Trianon, and ate the picnic you had brought along next to the statue of a cupid.

Meanwhile, the conversation had drifted from your family and your work to his.

"But it must be tricky to put on this fake skin every morning, pretend all day long that you are someone else, and then come home and be you again," you asked Ben, before biting in your bread.

"Sometimes it is," Ben nodded in agreement. "For some characters more than others, but it’s always something you need to be careful about. Or else you might lose yourself in a character, and at the end of the job, there won’t be you anymore, just the character left."

"How do you cope with that?"

"I have friends who are good at reminding me who I am," he smiled. "They call me out when I don't come back as myself fully. And besides that… my parents are a psychiatrist and a therapist, I can still give them a call and I don't even have to pay for therapy."

You let out a loud laugh, and Ben soon joined you.

"Is it harder if you're single?" you asked in curiosity.

He seemed to think for a moment, before he would slowly nod.

"Sometimes, yes. It is. When you go home to find someone who is waiting for you… someone who wants to be with you as you are and not with one of these characters you play… Someone who doesn't see an actor at all… Someone who just sees me… I'm not saying that no one sees me as I am, don't think I'm complaining. But I would be a fool to think that no one sees my job before seeing through it all. And sometimes… sometimes it's tiring. Sometimes, I know that I can't really be myself around some people."

You put your sandwich away and took Ben's hand in yours, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment, your eyes settling on the cupid before you.

"I hope you can feel that you can be yourself with me," you let out a breathy whisper.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you both closed your eyes together.

"I know," he reassured you. "And it feels good."

After a while, Ben started to hum a tune you remembered from the radio, but you didn't know the name of the song. Nevertheless, you joined Ben as he kept on humming.

He smiled at the sound, before reaching for his phone and earphones. He gave you one of them, and you smiled at him, putting the earphone in your ear.

"What are we listening to?" you asked him, kissing his jawline and making him grin.

He didn't answer. Instead, he found back this song he had been humming and turned the volume up.

Longtemps started to play, but you couldn't understand the meaning behind the lyrics. The melody was soft though. The voice warm and soothing. Just by the sound of it, you knew it was a love song.

"Tell me what it is about," you whispered, stroking Ben's arm and nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck.

He took your other hand in his, and guided it to his lips, so he could kiss the back of your hand.

"I don't know what it means…"

"I'm sure you can catch a few words."

"Not really."

"Don't play it humble, come on!"

He chuckled, but when the chorus played again, he complied anyway.

"Longtemps it means… 'for a long time'."

"Lo…"

"Longtemps," he laughed at you as you tried to repeat the words.

"Longtemps," you repeated it well enough this time.

"Rêver, it means 'to dream'."

"Rêver."

"Sourire, it's 'to smile'."

"Sourire… oh, I like this one."

"Me too."

He had kept your hand imprisoned in his large one, and he rested it against his heart.

"It's a love song, isn't it?" you asked softly.

"Yes, it is."

"What is he saying?"

"That he wants to be with this woman he loves for a long time. That he wants them to grow old together, even when they are too old to remember who they are, he will be happy as long as he's with her."

"That's a beautiful love song… how do you say that? How do you say 'to love'?"

His heart skipped a beat as he answered, turning his head to whisper against your temple, his warm breath tickling your skin.

"Aimer."

You tightened your hold on his hand as you repeated the simple word, your heart quickening.

"Aimer…"

You stared at the cupid before you, holding on Ben tightly, feeling his heart beating just as fast as your own. Behind you, through the tall trees, a few birds were singing too.

Ben played the song again, unwilling to let this moment end.

And all around you, the snow began to fall…

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

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#ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes fic #ben barnes imagine

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