#unbeta'd we die like men

[shadowtriovibes]

can you write one where f!MC is being pursued by an annoying guy she doesn’t like who won’t take no for an answer. it annoys sebastian just as much as it annoys her, so next time it happens he pretends to be her boyfriend and suggests they start fake dating for good measure. eventually they make it for real.

thank you! i love the fake relationship trope sooo much and i’ve yet to see anyone write one with sebastian.

of course, lovely anon!! i haven't seen any fake relationship fic either so i'm happy to contribute a lil something! tbh i sincerely thought this would be a short ficlet but it ended up being just over 2.5k fluffy words of dummies in love 🤩

Title: rumor has it

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Summary: Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back.

"Northcott," Sebastian greets him, leaning against your potions station and resting a hand possessively on the small of your back. "Is there something my girlfriend can help you with?" "Your girlfriend?" Eric asks skeptically. "That's new." "I suppose it is," Sebastian agrees, nonplussed. "Been a long time coming, though." Across the room, Ominis laughs under his breath.

Sebastian Sallow is an excellent young wizard. Clever, well-read, focused – by all accounts, he should be a brilliant strategist.

But sometimes he comes up with the worst ideas you’ve ever heard.

“You musn’t be serious, Sebastian,” you laugh, closing your potions textbook to appreciate the actual madness of what he’d just suggested.

“Why not?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes as you tell him, “You can’t just pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Earlier that afternoon, the two of you had met up with Ominis in the Undercroft to study after staging a quick exit from the library. While Sebastian was hunting down a book on ancient runes, Eric Northcott had cornered you in the stacks and tried for the second time to convince you to have a Butterbeer with him at the Three Broomsticks instead of “hiding that gorgeous face behind those dusty books like you always do.”

When Sebastian had returned, you were shoving the Gryffindor boy away from you with a tense look on your face, and if he hadn’t just finished a stint of evening detentions for slipping a Puffskein into Duncan Hobhouse’s schoolbag, he would have hexed the amorous git himself.

Since then, he’d been suggesting ways to make him pay, with each idea more fantastical than the last.

“Sure I can, and we can even make a real show of it,” he says with a charming grin. “If you want to get Northcott off your back for good, let’s allow him to think your handsome, roguish boyfriend is the type who would challenge him to a duel if he tries anything untoward.”

“That is a terrible plan,” you deadpan.

“It’s actually not a bad idea,” Ominis chimes in.

You glare at him, because Ominis never thinks that Sebastian’s ideas are any good – even the ones that aren’t completely bonkers.

“What are you playing at, Gaunt?” you accuse him.

“I’m merely suggesting that Northcott may actually accept your contempt for him if it’s for a reason that allows him to save face,” he explains with a secretive smile. “Simply telling him that you’re not interested hasn’t seemed to work thus far, so why not be creative?”

“Creative?” you snort. “Wouldn’t ‘creative’ be blasting him myself the next time he lays a hand on me?”

“As if you need any worse of a reputation,” Ominis drawls, and he has a point.

“Come on, let’s really mess with him,” Sebastian pleads. “You know he deserves to be taken down a peg or two.”

You’re not surprised that Sebastian is able to get you on board so quickly. Truthfully, you think you’d follow him on his harebrained schemes just about anywhere.

“Fine,” you cautiously agree. “But just to scare him off, alright?”

You swear you can see the gears in Sebastian’s head start to turn immediately.

He kicks off his brilliant plan the next day during your N.E.W.T.-level potions class. You’re supposed to be brewing an antidote to Veritaserum, and while the draught itself isn’t necessarily difficult, some of the ingredients are a little tricky to prepare.

You’re focused on trying to carefully slit open some Sopophorous beans when you felt a presence behind you, and then Eric Northcott is draping his arm across your shoulders.

“Need a hand with those?” he offers, trying to sound congenial.

“I’m fine, Eric,” you insist.

“I’m really quite good at potions, you know,” he reminds you, grabbing one of the paring knives off the table and haphazardly slicing one of the beans you’d laid out. “I’d be happy to give you some hands-on lessons if you’d like, one-on-one of course.”

“Sebastian,” Ominis hisses from across the room, having picked up on the conversation while the other boy poured over his notes on wormwood. “Now might be a good time to offer some gentlemanly assistance.”

His eyes narrow when he spots Northcott leaning over your cauldron, clearly trying to sneak a look down your top.

“Don’t let my antidote burn,” Sebastian mumbles as he storms across the room, as if Ominis would ever spare a thought for Sebastian’s cauldron when the show is about to begin.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch him notice your predicament, silently pleading him with your eyes to do something to get you out of it.

“Northcott,” Sebastian greets him, leaning against your potions station and resting a hand possessively on the small of your back. “Is there something my girlfriend can help you with?”

“Your girlfriend?” Eric asks skeptically. “That’s new.”

“I suppose it is,” Sebastian agrees, nonplussed. “Been a long time coming, though.”

Across the room, Ominous laughs under his breath.

“Really?” Eric asks dubiously, briefly glancing at your expression. “I was under the impression that the two of you were just ‘best friends.’”

“Well, shouldn’t a good relationship start out as a friendship?” you counter, though you don’t sound entirely convincing.

“Right,” he says slowly.

“Mate, you know how tough she is,” Sebastian says with a charming grin. “Took me ages to convince her to give me a chance, she strung me right along for months.”

You jump slightly when Sebastian slides his hand across your back to your waist, tugging you closer to his side – and out from under Eric’s arm.

“But she finally took pity on me,” he says with a lovelorn sigh, and you narrow your eyes at his dramatics.

“Oh, Sebastian,” you reply, laughing nervously. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love with you,” he says, quickly leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

Before you can react, Professor Sharp wanders by and instructs you all to stop your dallying and focus on your draughts. Eric spares one more skeptical look at the two of you before returning to his cauldron.

Sebastian’s hand on your waist lingers for a moment even after he’s gone, but then he lets it fall.

“Sorry about that,” he says under his breath. “Had to sell it, you’re really a bad liar, you know.”

You think Sebastian doesn’t know the half of it.

(Sebastian’s just glad you avoided his gaze long enough to miss his deep red blush.)

—

As it turns out, the kiss wasn’t enough to convince Northcott that you were properly off the market.

The rumor mill quickly focuses on you and Sebastian – specifically whether or not it’s true that your platonic friendship has become something more.

“I don’t really believe it,” Nerida claims whenever the subject comes up. “Sebastian has always seemed like the bachelor type.”

“He could have had a girlfriend all this time and never has,” Violet agrees, trying to hide her bitterness. “I don’t think he really wants to be in a relationship.”

“Are you joking?” Imelda scoffs. “Sallow’s been a lovesick puppy over that girl for years, I’m just glad she finally came around.”

“She is very protective of him,” Grace speculates. “I remember when Samantha Dale asked him out last fall, I thought she was going to Depulso the poor girl clear across the courtyard!”

You do your best to ignore it, but Ominis stubbornly insists on telling you everything he’s heard.

“I would have thought that the two of you would be better at pulling off a ruse as simple as this,” he says, disappointment dripping from his words. “How hard can it be to pretend to like Sebastian? I don’t have to see him to know that the whole school thinks he’s handsome.”

“You don’t understand,” you sigh, walking alongside him on the way to arithmancy. “It’s… I don’t have to pretend, if you know what I mean.”

“Come now,” he says quietly. “I’m blind, not dim.”

“Then you do understand!” you whine. “How am I supposed to just let him pretend to be my boyfriend to ward off Eric and not go mad from knowing that it’s all a lie?”

“I suppose me telling you to be honest with him about how you feel would go in one ear and right out the other,” Ominis suggests, smirking to himself when you curse at him under your breath.

“Buck up, then,” he says simply. “I’m sure this whole thing will blow up in some spectacular way sooner than later – it is Sebastian, after all.”

—

As per usual, Ominis is correct.

Not even a full day goes by before Sebastian corners you outside the Hufflepuff common room and asks to walk you to dinner, taking your hand in his as soon as he notices some fifth-years studiously watching the two of you as you make your way to the Great Hall.

“I missed you this afternoon,” he tells you as he walks you upstairs, putting on a good show. “How come you didn’t want to study with Ominis and me after class?”

“I just needed to lie down for a little while,” you tell him, not wanting to admit to avoiding the way he’s been so unbearably charming lately.

“Feeling alright?” he asks concernedly.

“Yes,” you tell him. “Just… I don’t know. Out of sorts, I guess.”

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.

You get distracted by the feeling of him stroking his thumb along your wristbone reassuringly.

“Um… n-no, I don’t think so,” you stutter.

“Surely there’s something I can do to help,” he says, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way his eyes look a little darker than usual, as if his pupils have entirely taken over.

“Like what?” you breathe.

Then he gets that look on his face that he always gets when he’s about to do something stupid.

“Come with me,” he says, tugging you over to a spot along the wall in the reception hall, next to one of those empty cabinets you’d looted for Nellie Oggspire back in your fifth year.

“Sebastian, w-what–” you stammer.

He presses you against the wall, one hand pressed to your waist and the other flat against the stone behind you, boxing you in. He glances around again and clearly spots whatever it was he was looking for, grinning mischievously before he leans in and traces his nose across your cheek.

“Don’t hex me for this,” he murmurs against your lips, and then he’s kissing you.

You melt against the cool stone wall, tipping your head back so Sebastian can tilt his head against yours and completely overtake your senses with his demanding kisses. Without consciously deciding to, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close to you, desperate to ensure he stays right where he is.

He kisses you well, you think. You know he’s always been a huge flirt, and that he has taken some girls in your year on dates to Hogsmeade over the years, but you’ve desperately avoided any post-date conversations with him because you did not want to know what he and those girls had gotten up to afterward.

Now you know, you think bitterly, but just as quickly you realize you don’t actually care. He’s skilled at this – nipping at your bottom lip to get you to open up for him, sliding his hand between your robes and your dress shirt so he can feel the curve of your waist, nudging a knee between your thighs to pin you even further to the wall.

“Bastian,” you murmur, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He groans against your mouth like he can’t help himself, and you whine a touch too loudly when he grinds his hips against yours.

Then you hear Eric’s voice call out, “Sallow!”

Sebastian looks like sin when he pulls away from you, and not just because his hair is a little mussed from your helpless tugging and his lips are red and swollen.

It’s because he’s smirking, and you quickly realize he’d planned this entire thing.

He’d pulled you to a spot where the Gryffindors on their way to dinner could easily see you being ravished, and it’s not just Eric he’s caught up in it – it’s Leander and Cressida too, some of the worst gossips in the entire castle.

…You are absolutely going to hex him for this, you think.

“Northcott,” Sebastian drawls as he turns around. “Can I help you?”

Eric looks furious, but at least he doesn’t look skeptical anymore.

“You might want to consider someplace a bit more private,” he offers, seething. “I am a prefect, after all. Could send you to detention for being so lewd in public.”

“Fair point,” Sebastian says easily. “In fact, maybe you ought to send us both. Hardly anywhere’s as private as the dungeons.”

You quickly smack Sebastian in the chest with the back of your hand, wordlessly begging him to stop before you actually do have to report to detention.

Mercifully, Eric simply throws a few choice words at Sebastian and stomps off to the Great Hall, Leander and Cressida on his heels to undoubtedly tell the entire school what just happened.

“You’re evil,” you hiss, still catching your breath. “You arranged all that just to embarrass Eric? To embarrass me like that?”

He frowns, confused. “No I didn’t, and I would never embarrass you.”

“You did!” you whine, shoving at his shoulders so he’ll step back. “They’re going to tell everyone and it’s going to make me sound like – like some pathetic girl who’s so desperate to avoid Eric’s attention that she’ll let her best friend feel her up in a busy hallway.”

“That’s not what they’ll think,” Sebastian argues. “And if anyone’s pathetic, love, it’s me.”

You scoff and wrap your arms around yourself, ashamed at how badly you wish you were still wrapped up in his arms instead despite everything you’re saying.

“You think I’m lying?” he asks derisively. “I’m a fool for you, and I would never hurt you. I kissed you like that because I wanted to, and if it happened to embarrass Northcott in the process, that’s even better.”

“Y-you wanted to?” you ask softly.

“I’ve wanted to for so long,” he finally admits.

His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out for you, but he forces himself to behave.

“It’s the reason I came up with this stupid plan in the first place,” he sighs. “So that if anyone at this damn school gets to have the pleasure of walking you to class, or taking you to the Three Broomsticks or – or even kissing you senseless somewhere everyone could see, it would be me.”

You don’t have any words. But even if you did, there’s nothing you’d want to say to him that you couldn’t communicate by tugging him in by his collar and kissing him like you can’t think straight without his touch, so you do just that.

When you both break away to breathe, Sebastian quickly asks, “Are you actually hungry?”

“Not anymore,” you admit, your gaze still on his lips.

Sebastian barely manages to utter the words “Undercroft” and “hurry” in between kisses, but while he determinedly works a claiming bruise into the side of your neck, you whine, “Your common room’s closer.”

—

Once Ominis overhears Cressida waxing poetic about Sebastian Sallow practically mounting his new girlfriend in the hallway by the Grand Staircase, he doesn’t wonder why the two of you never show up for dinner.

#sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #eric northcott #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #my fic #i LOVE omniscient meddlesome ominis if you can't tell #also i swear the next thing i write is going to be pure filth bc i've been doing cute for several days in a row #unbeta'd we die like men

[thunderousavery]

Ocean-Blue Eyes Pt. 1 (Ghost x M!Reader)

A/N: Was bored thinking about dicks and masked men, so I thought of making a little story about one of my cutie patooties. This will have an eventual smut, I swear it's evident in the writing. I'm so bad at this though, so bear with it a little.

Summary: You're the Ghost and Soap duo's favorite bartender. You're harboring a secret crush for Ghost, and well, Soap annoys you about it. Main Pairing: Ghost x M!Reader Warnings: Cursing. More cursing. Vulgarity. And Soap being an annoying mohawk rat for the reader's taste.

Midnight of April. Saturday. A gentle warm breeze of the summer wafts in the air.

I work as a bartender at a little club in town somewhere in South America. I don’t know, but I like my job. It’s what kept me in a stable life nowadays, and I haven’t run into any financial problems with it. I please customers, and they give me tips; very opportunistic work if I could say so myself.

“The usual?” I asked my long-time customer and friend as he greets me with that charming smile of his before sitting down at the bar counter. I know his drink was more of a hard Scotch mix that I never make for others, so it’s pretty much very easy to remember.

He nods, setting his cap down, and ran a hand through his mohawk hair. “Aye. Ya know me so well, lad.”

I chuckled softly while preparing his drink, grabbing a few bottles of beverages from the liquor cabinet as I spoke, “It’s because you’re the only one who drinks shit like this, man.”

“Hey! It’s a specialty from Scotland. It ain’t shit,” he retorted, shooting me a playful glare.

“It’s shit. I tried it once, and it tasted like dog piss and water from the the fucking Amazon”

“Hey, now that’s just rude!” He pouts.

It’s always like this whenever Soap comes to the bar after a long day from military work; banters and laughter with him and a couple of shots of his shitty drink. We’ve been friends since he came here two months ago, and I have to admit that he’s grown on me for some time. He tells good stories, encourages other customers to buy drinks (especially his weird concoction that he keeps forcing me to make), and he also looks after me when I feel down.

He’s one good friend, I’d give him that. But I never get any other ideas than that.

Soap’s cute, but not cute enough for me to spread my legs for. That’s a gay shit that I won’t cross the line. Personality and appearance are both a big fucking check for an annoying Scotsman like him, but I don’t like him more than as a friend.

... Well, except for his ‘other’ friend.

“So, where’s Mr. Blue Eyes?” I asked with a soft smirk as I try to hide the eagerness in my voice while wiping the countertop.

“Ghost? He’ll be here soon,” he replies before taking a swig from his drink. He raised an eyebrow and broke into a mischievous grin. “Why ya lookin’ for him? Gonna fuck him with yer eyes again?”

I felt my cheeks erupt in red at his vulgarity before looking away and groaning in annoyance. “I-I’m not...” I trailed off, can’t seem to think of a good retort to that. Damn him.

“Oh, admit it, lad. Yer stares are enough to undress him well, and he hates getting cold. He gets all grumpy when that happens.” Soap chuckled.

“I-I wasn’t staring!” I tried defending myself, but I know it was no use.

“And ya know what they say? Denial is a river in Egypt, baby.” He grinned as he made the innuendo gesture on his hands, his finger pushing in and out on a little hole he made with his other hand. “He likes angry fuck, by the way.”

This is why he’s better off as my friend. We don’t take each other seriously, and he’s a fucking bully to me when it comes to my crush on his friend, Ghost.

Yeah, I like his friend. And yeah, Ghost is the type of guy that I’d spread my legs for if he allows me to. With just a single look from his piercing blue eyes, I’d call him ‘Daddy’ and beg for him in obedience. Gosh, I don’t even remember the last time I got laid.

But I’m not admitting that out loud. I learned my mistake by telling Soap, and he won’t stop being a bitch to me about it.

“Fuck you. I’m putting rat poison in your drink next time and I’d play that Ratatouille theme when you die.” I shoot Soap a glare while threatening to throw the dirty towel on his face as he held his hands up.

“Hey, quit it, (Y/N). No one’s poisoning anyone’s drink tonight.” A familiar gruff voice with a strong British accent vibrated in the air.

...

...

... Holy fucking twat, it’s Ghost! And he’s walking up here wearing something that I've never seen him wear before!

His typical skull-faced balaclava was on, but he was wearing a dark green sleeveless shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. With the way he moved and dressed like a fucking macho man, I could see every muscle on his tattooed arms flex. He has some light scarlet burn scars on the skin of his right shoulder, but it didn’t lower the fondness I felt for him at all.

He looks so scrumptious right now, and the way his ocean-blue eyes looked at me sternly makes me want to take a dive and drown in them.

“... You’re doing it again.” Soap decided to pop my thought bubbles and laughed.

“What’s he doing again?” Ghost asked him, clearly in confusion as he sits down and looked at me once more with curiosity.

“I-I’m not doing anything, Soap. Damn it...” I cursed under my breath as I busied myself again to wipe the countertop that I and Soap knows was already clean. I couldn’t look at Ghost; I’d fucking die and let the ground swallow me whole.

Soap continued to laugh it off before sipping on his drink one last time before he handed his mug to me, gesturing for one more. I could only glare at him silently before sighing and taking his mug to prepare his shitty drink again.

This night’s going to be a disaster...

Ghost eyed me for a bit before he pulled out his wallet and put some cash on the counter. “Scotch on ice, mate.”

“That same plain shit again? I swear, ya have sum boring taste buds, LT.” Soap chuckles as he took a sip.

“Shut it, Johnny. I’m just making it easy for the lad, unlike you who always wants some fucking weird shits in your drink.” Ghost snorted, and gosh how I’m proud to hear him put his friend in his place. He’s so aggressively British, I’d let him talk me down and destroy me—

“Eh, but why’d ya put for more than one glass? Tipping him the extra?”

... Huh?

I looked at the counter, and I had to blink a few times before I could register the fact in my head that there are a couple of dollars sitting right there. Even at this distance, I can already count that it can afford more than one shot of Scotch on ice. Not only another one but probably a couple more.

“I-I...” I gulped softly as I looked into Ghost’s piercing blue eyes that could stare right at my soul. “You... You’re tipping too much—”

“It ain’t. Have a drink of your own and join us.” If he ain’t smirking behind that intimidating mask of his, I’m having doubts now because of how his chuckle gruffly vibrated from his chest. “Or, it can be a tip if you wanna be boring, mate. You don’t seem to look too busy, though.”

It’s more than enough for one drink!

... However, there’s a bar policy; never drink with the customers. No matter how convincing they are or they offered to pay, never ever drink with them. Never entertain them too much because work always comes first. Failing to uphold this, you’ll find your last cut of salary and letter of expulsion in the boss’s office the next morning.

...

... I’m just kidding. There’s no bullshit like that here. This is the best workplace that I’ve ever been in.

“Yeah, and there ain’t even a single customer here other than us, lad.” Soap agreed, nodding with a soft hum.

“That’s because it’s only an hour before closing time.” I shook my head and chuckled. “But sure, I can join you guys.” I grabbed a glass for myself along with a couple of beverages and some lime. I made my favorite cocktail mix; Moscow Mule.

Who would’ve thought I’d get to have an excuse to drink with my British military soldier crush? Aren’t I so lucky?

“That’s the spirit.” Ghost lifts his mask a little, just enough to reveal his stubbled square chin and plump lips as he takes a sip from his Scotch. And, oh my god, I swear there was a damn smirk on his lips just before they touched the fucking edge of the glass.

Does he even eat ass with that mouth of his? I wonder.

“If stares could kill, someone could become a bloody murderer now.”

The impeccability of this fucking mohawk rat to just outright say such words is so darn bad, I just want to shove a whole empty bottle of Scotch up to his fucking ass. I glared at him silently while I finished making my drink, thinking carefully if I should throw a lime at his face and hope it would catch on his fucking eye.

“... So,” I spoke, trying to make a small conversation rather than having another banter with Soap. “When are you guys going on your next mission?”

“Classified detail.” Soap snickered when I gave him another deathly glare. But then he eventually answered, “In two days, I guess.”

“I see...” So, I only got two days left to get laid by some British hunk? “And you’ll come back in?”

“Depends on it, lad.” Ghost answered this time, and he didn’t bother to slide his mask back on to cover the lower half of his face. Thank goodness for that. “If we’re lucky and Soap doesn’t fuck up a single time, then we’re back in two days after as well.”

“Hey, I don’t fuck up on missions!” Soap pouts like a fucking rat, I swear it’s damn annoying.

But I like these two’s dynamics. A lieutenant and a sergeant. They look so close like two brothers with different blood and origin, and I remember Soap telling me some stories about how he hates Ghost but likes him at the same time. They respect each other at work, but Soap says he will always find time to annoy his lieutenant at some point. Typical brothers, I guess.

“—And they said Gaz would be... (Y/N)?” Ghost’s voice snapped me back to reality when his words trailed off and mentioned my name. He looked at me with a soft frown on his lips along with a concerned look in his eyes. “You okay, mate? You’re staring off.”

“O-Oh... Uh, y-yeah... I’m fine.” I smiled sheepishly before taking a sip from my drink. I didn’t bother to look at Soap because I know he had a damn smirk on his face right now.

“... If you say so.” He sighed before setting his glass down and put his shoulders on the counter, leaning forward a bit. “Enough about our work. I wanna know something more about you.”

If I still had my drink in my throat, I would’ve spat it out, probably aiming at Soap’s face. “W-What? U-Uh... What do you want to know about me?” I gave Soap a quick glare to make sure he doesn’t speak any dirty side comments.

“Hmm...” He rubbed his chin for a moment before he spoke. “... Are you hitting on Johnny here?”

...

“... Wait, what?” My eyes widened as the size of saucer plates. Did I... hear that correctly? I’m pretty sure he asked if I was hitting on—

“Hold up, why’d ya even think the lad’s hitting on me?” Soap laughed obnoxiously, almost tipping over from his seat as he found it also surprising that Ghost would jump to that conclusion. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, LT.”

“Then, why does he keep looking at you like you’re some piece of meat?” Ghost grinned.

I swear this is not the right time to show your pearly white teeth, Ghost! Oh my god, what has the world fallen into? I know Soap and I know that I’m already being obvious with my little gestures and looks to Ghost for quite a while now, but why the hell would he think I’m hitting on Soap all this time?!

Hasn’t he seen my heart eyes whenever I look at him? Hasn’t he seen the way I’d smile charmingly for him just to notice me? Like, what the actual fuck?! He was thinking I’m hitting on this fucking mohawk rat?!

I blushed softly nonetheless mostly because I’m finally running out of patience and sanity. “I-I... No, I’d never—”

“He’s hitting on you, LT.”

That was the last straw.

“Alright, where’s the fucking knife?!”

A/N: Will post part 2 as soon I finish it. Love lots :))

#ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #soap being an annoying mohawk rat #no beta we die like men #unbeta'd because I'm lazy #cod fanfic #ghost x y/n #ghost

[evilovesyou]

Louis and Zayn being drunk and dancing at a festival (the kind of vibes She Is Beauty is giving off)

Louis watched the beer slosh in his cup and felt like his brain was right in there… splashing around in a sea of overpriced beer, barely contained by the confinements of a cheap plastic cup. 

Zayn’s hand on his hip and his arm pressing into his side warped him back to the present. He felt Zayn’s lips move against his ear and heard his voice reverberating in his skull, but didn’t understand a word he said.

“What?”

“Can I have a sip?”

Oh. Sure. Louis thrust the cup towards him, getting swept up in the wave of cheers and enthusiasm a bass solo on stage created in the crowd. He was happy to have the cup out of his hand, so he could jump to his heart’s content.

It wasn’t entirely evident whether the band was just absolutely smashing it, or whether he was absolutely smashed, but he turned towards Zayn to share this moment of pure joy — and he was met with the image of his friend already watching him, as he took another slow sip from Louis’ cup. His adam's apple bobbed in slow motion and Louis didn’t know if what he saw running down his neck was spilled beer or summer sweat.

With a glance at the cup, he saw there wasn’t much of it left. So he snatched it from Zayn’s hand and chugged the last few sips, before jamming it in his back pocket.

“Dance with me, Z!” he yelled over the chorus of a song he didn’t know.

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply took Zayn’s hands and raised them to the stars, swaying with the music, and turning under Zayn’s arm once, twice, three times — just until he stumbled and tripped over his own feet and right into his best friend’s chest. Zayn caught him effortlessly, hugging him tight and laughing into his neck until the world around Louis stopped spinning and he could stand on his own two feet. Zayn’s eyes were still squinted with a bright grin and Louis pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek, just as the song faded out.

more of my writing

#asks #anonymous #drabbles #ficlet #my writing #zouis #this one was so fun!!! #unbeta'd #we die like men #if you see any mistakes feel free to lmk #thank you for the prompt nonnie!!!!

[swanqueensalad]

oh my god PLEEEASE talk about emma getting dark one memories of regina’s life

for you and @counselormills i believe who requested this, here we go...

besties... i have so many thoughts and feelings

(tw for marital rape & child abuse)

i know it's never really clarified in ouat's canon, but nothing's clarified in ouat's canon and nothing's consistent either so i'm just running with my little ideas in the same unbothered way the writers were (except you know, i'm doing it well)

so the concept that when you become the dark one, you sort of link minds with the past dark ones, gain their memories and knowledge and experience... wow that's super rich and complex and has so much potential for great storytelling i wonder why the writers DIDN'T EVER FOLLOW UP ON IT

(bc they're dumb)

in my headcanon these shared memories/knowledge is murky and inconsistent bc i think that's cool, but also it makes sense that the minds of the other dark ones were all unreliable narrators - their memories are underlined by their own feelings, wants, perceptions and fears

so when emma becomes the dark one she is hit with this dizzying lineage of memories and experiences she knows aren't hers, but at first she can barely sort them by which dark one they belong to, they are out of order and foggy and distorted, and it just feels like she's going crazy, like a headache, having to adapt to all of this...

so for a while she just doesn't. she does what emma swan does best: repress. she shoves it all down and powers throughs. after all, she has things to do.

but gradually repetitive images come back, threads of narratives of other people's lives, and she can't quite ignore them

and then, quite suddenly, a face she recognises - but not quite - and emma stops whatever she's doing abruptly, head aching because that's regina. that's her regina! but - she looks so young, barely more than a kid, and her hair is so long and she's in a castle and she's crying, she's scared, and emma wants to call out to her and help her because she hates seeing regina cry but - it's only a memory, and it's not even hers

she pushes it aside but it's freaked her out and intruiged her and suddenly, lying awake one night in camelot, emma realises she has more than just rumple's voice in her head now. she remembers vague words and brushed off questions, remembers that he has known regina mills for a very, very long time

the image comes back and emma, intrigued, can't help but keep chasing it

she sees a baby-faced regina curtseying clumsily, beautiful as she is now but with wide innocent eyes, and it almost makes her smile before it breaks her heart. 'i don't want to hurt anyone' regina protests in a tiny voice, and emma wants to run into the memory and push rumple away from her and keep her safe. but she can't.

so she just drifts deeper into memory, gradually becoming more and more angry at the cold tint that covers them all, at how rumple sees her as weak and pathetic and perfect for all he needs. she sees how alone regina is, leaning into his touch even as she shakes with fear, and emma's heart is breaking.

she doesn't know if she can handle all of this. she doesn't know if she wants more of these memories to come but she can't stop them. now she's started the whole road of memory stretches out in front of her and she cannot shut her eyes to it: that only makes them sharper

emma begins to understand rumple watched her for a long time. he knew when she'd been crying over daniel's body (emma swallows down her sickness at the feeling of rumple's glee, his satisfaction, that this is how broken he needs her). he knew when the king had called for her and left her fighting back tears and scrubbing her skin raw. (emma digs her nails into her palms til they bleed as she tries to reject his cold, cold appraisals, that this is the anger he needs from her).

he comes to her so perfectly, sometimes sweet and almost fatherly, sometimes cruel and pushing too hard, and emma watches her struggle with magic in a way she never would have believed knowing how skilled she is now

slowly, emma begins to understand some of these memories are out of order. because later, much later, she gets an image of a baby in her - his - arms, tiny eyes closed, a cold-eyed woman watching from the corner. she feels rumple's heart beat with hope. he has had this plan all this time, long before she was born, long before this woman broke his heart. it breaks emma's again now.

(and again, when she realises he watched her once or twice as a child too. emma gets only glimpses but what she gets makes her blood cold and fists clench - the same woman, more of the cora she recognises, striking a tiny dark-haired girl for some imagined crime, withholding and giving affection as carefully as rumple imitates later)

emma watches her, through rumple's cold calculating gaze. watches her try to run away and be trapped by her mothers confining spells. watches her try to throw herself off a balcony and be 'saved' by an interfering fairy. watches her tuck knives into her sleeves and then sit on her horrible bed breathing and do nothing with them. watches her cry into her pillow every night. watches her be left alone again and again, locked away, ignored, whispered about, raped and hurt and manipulated and used and she begins to understand everything with searing clarity, begins to regret every assumption and bad word and carelessly thrown out joke she ever made.

(and she feels rumple watch it all with mounting smugness and satisfaction and emma has never wanted to hunt him down and break his face more)

emma watches regina with wonder and fear and bated breath because she knows this only gets worse and worse. yet still, she finds fondness and awe and yes, love - she knows it's love now, has known since the darkness tried to take her and emma knew in a second she would lay down her own soul a thousand times over and never regret it - because this young regina is everything she glimpses once in a while. a sweet, kind soul who despite everything does not want to do harm. the kind of girl who falls asleep in the stables to nurse an injured horse, who brushes snow white's hair with gentle compliments and funny stories even as she fights back tears and intrusive thoughts and her knuckles turn white on the brush. the kind of girl who tries, tries, tries.

and emma sees, slowly, in starts and flashes over months and years, this light dim in her. she sees the pain and anger and fear take over, watches rumple and the king and the ghost of her mother and every other adult in her life who should have protected her stamp out the hope and scare away the gentleness.

she watches regina's power grow, day after day the ease with which fireballs flicker to her small palms, and emma feels rumple's pride mirrored in herself. she still doesn't support all the killing and murder, but she gets it now, she wonders if in the same shoes she would have done the same, wonders if there could be any other option.

(she feels, underneath it all, that rumple has always loved her in his own selfish way, this girl who should have been his daughter, this girl who he needs for his redemption and his revenge. emma wishes someone had loved her selflessly, in the way she deserved. someone does now, she reflects, but nothing can ever come of it, so she pushes it aside with the other memories)

emma watches rumple toy with regina even when she takes power, when she thinks she has it all. emma feels a shocking joy and satisfaction when regina kills the king - her own grandfather, she realises with sickness in her gut - and feels guilty that she ever felt sympathy for sidney. she begins to understand even as the evil queen regina was nothing more than a puppet on so many strings.

(she sees rumple grab her throat and threaten her and remembers their 'please' deal, and understands this was the case even in storybrooke, even when regina herself barely knew it)

and with all of this happening in her head, emma has to get about and go about her day and interact with her regina normally, when all she wants to do is squeeze her tight and tell her she understands now and she's sorry, sorry for everything. she has to force tight smiles at belle and pretend she isn't thinking of killing her husband every second of the day, in the back of her mind.

emma wants to reach out to regina more than ever but with everything else, she ends up pushing her further away. forcing neutral looks and casual smiles. avoiding her mother's eye when she mentions her wonderful father.

(and then regina has to look through a dreamcatcher to give emma a tear, and when emma sees the image whirling inside the strings she can't help the breath that escapes her because this girl, this eighteen year old regina screaming as her mother murders daniel before her eyes, is as familiar to her as the one sat across from her. and once again she just curls up her fists and murmurs how sorry she is.)

i like to think someday emma lets regina know she knows all of this, because regina's privacy and autonomy has rarely been respected, and now emma knows that better than anyone she doesn't want to contribute to that.

she just gently mentions one day, cuddled on the couch early on into their relationship, that she knows. when i was the dark one, i, we... our memories all kind of entwined. and regina stares back with wide eyes and processes, not sure she likes it, but emma kisses her hand and tells her it's okay and they never have to talk about it if she doesn't want to, and regina cuddles closer and is quiet for a long time

but she processes. she trusts emma to carry this knowledge, this intimate understanding of her more than anyone else. and gradually... it allows regina to talk about things with her that she can't, that she's never been able to before. to discuss triggers in a way that feels safe. to refer to her horrors and tragedies without going into graphic detail.

it's still strange for emma to have these memories. they dim after the darkness leaves her, and many of the ancient incoherant ones leave all together like a forgotten dream, but the ones that feature regina touched emma deeply, affected her in a way she doesn't think she'll ever forget.

but it's okay, because emma makes new memories of regina every day. much, much happier ones.

#longpost #swan queen meta #swan queen headcanons #swan queen fic #lmao this is basically fanfiction in bulletpoints #but i have so many thoughts about them #rumple and regina's dynamic is so endlessly fascinatingto me #we die like men #unbeta'd and kicking #i guess i just dont reread these anymore lmao #regina mills #emma swan #swan queen #emma swan meta #emma swan headcanons #regina mills headcanons #tw rape #tw abuse

[readingnreccing]

Geralt Discovers His Prostate by Bourneblack

the witcher | explicit | 9k | geraskier | complete | porn with feelings 

“A prostitute put a finger up my ass,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s brain stutters to a stop, the swiftly begins anew. “That is… quite the mental image. How was, uh, that?” “It felt good.” OR Geralt learns Jaskier sometimes has sex with men, and can't stop thinking about the process. Also, drowners covered in sewage water.

Geralt hears that Jaskier also has sex with men. And gets curious. How does it actually work? How can it be pleasurable? So he does what needs to be done and decide to ask a prostitute about it, and like the title says, discovers his prostate. But that doesn't feel like it's enough, because it's Jaskier! So, it's actually super sweet in a Geralt kind of way, Geralt and Jaskier talk. And the smut is super hot!

Author’s tags: Sexuality Crisis, Mutual Pining, Feelings Realization, Kink Discovery, power bottom geralt, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Humor, Fluff, Smut, Sits somewhere in the show canon, but idk where, Geralt discovers his prostate, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion is kinda along for the ride, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, unbeta'd we die like mne, Jaskier just wants to braid his Witcher's hair

Remember to leave feedback to the author! <3   @bourneblack

#the witcher #geraskier #fic rec #geralt of rivia #jaskier #smut #pining #kink discovery #humor #canon divergent #e #10k #complete #bourneblack

[astrowaffles]

Answer all of them :]

JAMMIE I'M IN LOVE W YOU HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED TO ANSWER THEM ALL

anyways

Do you listen to music when you write?

no. my little animal brain must have complete silence in order to function. i'm very easily overstimulated and even if i have it on and manage to ignore it, the moment i leave the Writing Zone for even a second, i'm extremely irritated and frustrated. DOWN WITH BACKGROUND MUSIC

Do you have a trusted beta?

NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN!! honestly i'm too egoistic to have a beta, i tend to just assume i got it right the first time anyway. most of my fics are unbeta'd, although a few were done by hayla (@cauxtion)

First person or third person?

Third person. Personally I hate reading fics in first person so I don't write them either, but it has been known to happen.

Past tense or present tense?

Usually if I want something to have an emotional tone, I'll use present tense, whereas cracky or otherwise shallower fics are past tense.

How long do your fics tend to be? Multi-chapter or one-shots?

Short! Mostly one-shots, mostly about 1.5k or thereabouts. Plot is not my strong point.

Rarepairs? Yea or nay?

I don't tend to write them and usually don't actively ship them, but i'm not against them or anything. i just prefer the ships that make sense to *me*.

In character or out of character?

I try SO HARD to make everything in character, but the problem is, I write UA's (universe alterations) so the characters are in situations they have never canonically been in. it's a lot of guesswork, and i'm sure it turns out ooc regularly!

Favourite trope?

Well, obviously, i'm a SUCKER for a good old single father figure ... reluctant father figure ... doting father figure ... found family, y'all. found family.

Do you like reading/writing Omegaverse?

Have read it, will probably read it in the future. Would 100% never write it. Not my thing, really, but lots of love to the people who do!

OTP(s)?

It's endless, dear god. Just in haikyuu, there's iwaoi, ushiten, kghn, daisuga, skts, kyouhaba, matsuhana, kuroken, bokuaka ....... there is literally no end

NOTP?

y'all are gonna hate me for this, i can feel it, but I have two: ushioi, and kiyoyachi. detest them, tbh

Fluff or smut?

Fluff!!!! i literally do not give a flying flamingo whether the characters fucked or not, tell me what they did on their date to the amusement park fr

Does angst get you excited?

I literally hate it so much throw it away bury it put it in a nuclear reactor i hate it so much. i will only read it for the Greater Good of a fic i'm very invested in

How do you come up with fic ideas?

Usually i'll sit there and think, i want to write a fic. what shall i write it about? and then i get an idea and then i write it. simples.

Are you a planner?

Nope. there's a reason my fics usually peter out at about 2k words, and it's because i've run out of ideas since i didn't plan anything :D

Do you title your chapters?

Not usually, but it depends on the context. sometimes i'm trying to copy the style of a book (like percy jackson) or the chapters are essentially standalone stories, in which case there'd be titles.

Overused words or phrases that just make your eye twitch?

i don't have any! the only thing that annoys me is when native english speakers try to use common english-speaker phrases but get them wrong. how do you even manage that??

What's something you struggle with as a writer?

character/story depth. my writing it just ' they bantered and then they went home'. WHERE ARE THE FEELINGS??

Any writing advice?

Write what you want to write! there's no point forcing yourself to continue things or start things that you're not interested in. you're here to have fun, so let yourself have fun and don't feel obligation to do anything. and if you end up not writing for months on end, so what? you have to do what works for you.

thanks for the ask!

#astro speaks wonders #hq #JAMMIE 👹

[simultaneously-sick-and-calm]

So this prompt list really stuck with me, and I decided to pull some ficlets from it to get back in the swing of things.

I have 8 randomly selected pairings of character and numbered prompt, thanks to the help of a friend blind choosing for me 😂

I'll be yeeting these into the void as I finish each one and then I'll make a master list afterwards. They will be tagged with [#prompt run] in the meantime. These are unedited and unbeta'd - we die like men I guess lol

By interacting with this content you acknowledge that you are 18+. Minors DNI.

Aizawa Shouta - #4 “I swear i’ll do things differently this next time.” - angst - approx 1k.

You knew his injuries were more severe than he would let on, simply from the way that he held himself during your shared patrol debrief. What should have been a quiet night had turned into a dangerous take down of one of the low-life criminals who’d been skulking too close to UA’s outermost border. He looked just a little too rigid, speaking only when prompted by the Commision rep who sat at the head of the hastily arranged ‘conference’ table which now took up the back half of the teacher’s lounge. Any other onlooker would think nothing of the large hand spread carefully over his ribcage, or the way that he hovered behind the chair instead of taking a seat. But you knew better.

Shouta always shrugged off the healing heroes and EMTs unless he had no other choice. If he could walk away from the scene, he did. Even when–much like today–he should have allowed someone to at least check him over. You had seen his right side had taken a few too many direct hits during the battle. A risk that he ~~and you begrudgingly~~ accepted, since his quirk required a direct line of sight.

The last three years as his patrol partner gave you more insight into the man than most other people had been granted, more even than you bargained for to begin with. His silence spoke loudly, but by the end of the first year, the language of his body was even louder. Whole patrols often passed without a word spoken between you, and it felt natural.

From the very beginning, moving with and around one another in a way that allowed your quirks to work together effectively, happened without so much as a forethought. Being with him was easy. And recently, your thoughts about the ease of being near him were beginning to bleed into other parts of your imagination.

You had to get away, while you still had a little of your resolve left to spare.

But those feelings had been easy enough to bury, until now.

You couldn’t afford to get caught up emotionally with a partner. Especially not with Aizawa, and especially not now, with the League of Villains sniffing around at his first-year students. Since the battle at Camino, he’d been getting progressively more reckless, and you didn’t like it.

You knew where he'd be, and you found him just as you knew you would. Rounding the corner into the large locker rooms, you caught a glimpse the black and purple blooms decorating his ribs just as his shirt fell into place over the expanse of his back.

"So are you just determined to make a martyr of yourself before the end of the year, or are you going to let someone look at those clearly broken ribs?"

The way he went rigid made clear the fact that you'd managed to startle him, yet another thing that grated at your patience. If he hadn't heard you approach in the quiet school, how could he possibly ward off a villain in the field while in this state?

How could he possibly keep himself safe if he kept going like this?

"I'm fine." His words came back sharper than he usually spoke. Threatening to cut the fine threads of his tolerance that remained in place.

"You're not fine, Shouta. I mean fuck, with the way those bruises look, you could be on the cusp of an internal bleed! Why won't you just let them heal you?"

"Because that will take me out of the patrol rotation, and we can't afford to not have my quirk available during an attack on the grounds."

"What we can't afford, is for you to be killed!" You practically scoff in your frustration, trying to keep the angry tears from escaping. "If you won't let me have your back out there instead of running off headfirst at every one of these low-life thugs that skulk around in the woods, then I can't–"

He spun on you as quickly as his injuries allowed. Dark eyes glazed over with something even darker, a scowl more menacing than anything he'd turned in your direction before. Your hero name sounded wrong, foreign In the way he nearly barked it out to cut you off. "Can't what? Can't trust me?"

He pressed closer, his nose nearly bumping yours as his steely resolve met your angry tears head on. "You know that nothing and no one will keep me from trying to protect my students."

"That's not what I'm asking from you, Eraser. I care about those kids just as much as you do, and you know it. Your hurt, and you're angry, and you're not fucking listening to me!"

He softened suddenly then, as if he finally realized the way he'd been crowding you so aggressively. He shifted back slightly, granting the both of you a moment to breathe. Then..."I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–" he rushed, reaching out to you.

"I just can't let myself do this." You choked the words out, your resolve buckling under the weight of the hand that came to rest on your shoulder, sliding down to catch your wrist when you finally turned away. "I'm sorry, Shouta, I can't. I, I'm putting in for a transfer."

"What? No, I'm sorry– you know I wouldn't hurt you." he said matter-of-fact, gently squeezing the hand that remained firmly in his grasp. "If I don't know what you mean, we can't get past this."

"I can't do my job if I'm constantly distracted by you. Worried about whether or not you're safe."

"Please, just hold on a second and let's figure this out. I can't afford to lose you, you're the best partner I've ever had. Just tell me what's going on, and I swear I'll do things differently next time."

You met his eyes again and found them no longer angry, but still intense. Relentless.

Finally pulling your arm away from his grasp, you began to step away "No, I can't. It's too dangerous."

Those hero's eyes that saw everything, and usually understood even more than that, looked helpless.

Like he was already lost.

Like he was almost afraid to ask.

But he asked anyway.

"I'm too dangerous?"

"No. Not you, Eraser." With that you turned away fully and took one step, and then another away from him.

"What then?"

You stopped then, and hesitated. You knew that if you turned around, you wouldn't have the strength to leave him alone. So when you finally answered him, you didn't look back.

"Falling in love with you."

You left him standing there, shocked, alone, and unable to tell if the echo of your words came from the concrete surrounding him, or simply within his own mind.

#prompt run #claire writes #bnha #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #the exhausted loml

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Fight for Me

A/N: Barris Week day #2, and yes I am late again, oops! This oneshot is hot off the press if you will, and as such unedited and unbeta'd as I wanted to get it out here quickly. Please be advised that this story contains canon-typical violence for Series 2, as well as a brief scene that includes a description of a medial procedure with extremely minimal gore. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Thomas Barrow is very narrowly rescued by a handsome soldier in the trenches. What might he learn from him now their paths have crossed?

--

Thomas shrank back from the sounds of the bombs exploding around him, watching with eyes wide and terrified as bits of rock and dust and dirt were launched far up into the air. Was he going to die here? Oh God, he couldn’t die here… Was he going to?

Somehow, he’d gotten separated from the rest of his squad. The only weapons he had on his person were small arms, and he was entirely alone- not even still in the trenches. If he got caught by the enemy, he was dead. 

Another bomb exploded in his near vicinity, and he shrunk back, heart pounding as he watched the ground set on fire. All that had to happen was one land where he was, before he made it back, and he was dead. The thought terrified him.

Thomas finally got to his feet, once it seemed there was a break in the explosions, and he took off running for the trenches. If he could make it there, it wouldn’t necessarily mean he was safe, but he’d be better off than out in the open in No Man’s Land.

As he ran, he suddenly heard the sound of shouting coming from the enemy’s trenches, and then there was gunfire. He hit the ground and let out a startled sound, blood ringing in his ears as he tried to crawl towards his base. The closer he got, the safer he began to let himself feel, and then there were men popping up over the edge, aiming their guns around him and returning fire. 

He made eye contact with one of them, who suddenly dropped his gun and reached out with both his hands, pushing himself up just a little bit more to reach for Thomas, who suddenly pushed forward as hard as he could to try and grab onto him with both hands. 

They connected, and suddenly the man was pulling Thomas as hard as he could, and grabbing onto his arm, his shoulder, any part of him he could reach to pull him down into relative safety. Unfortunately, this opened him to enemy fire, and he grunted as he took a bullet to the shoulder, just as he pulled Thomas over the edge and the two toppled to the ground. 

Thomas panted as he looked down at the man who had likely just saved his life, and the man looked up at him with a grin. “Can’t say I’ve ever met anyone like this,” he quipped.

This was so startling to Thomas, who hadn’t expected this man to crack a joke immediately after being shot, that he answered on instinct, “We haven’t met, I don’t even know your name.”

“Richard Ellis,” the man said. “And my shoulder feels like it’s on fire.”

Thomas looked to the now bloody hole in Richard’s coat, and grimaced, before climbing off him and offering him a hand up. “Thomas Barrow,” he introduced himself. “And I’m in medical.” 

“Looks like it’s my lucky day,” Richard said. “Anything you can do for this?” He used his uninjured arm to gesture toward his shoulder, and Thomas nodded.

“Yeah, come with me and we’ll get you fixed up,” he promised, and led Richard away. 

The two snaked their way through the trenches into the heart of them, where the medical station was set up in the safest spot to protect their wounded, and Thomas took Richard under the shelter to an area where things seemed to be pretty slow at the moment. There, he instructed Richard to get out of the top portion of his uniform so he could access the wound, and Richard acquiesced. This became rather inconvenient for Thomas, who had already noted how handsome a man Richard was, and having the man sitting there shirtless was no help.

He went about getting the tools required to fix Richard up, and soon dragged a chair over so he could get to work. Grabbing a pair of forceps, he first set to the task of getting the bullet out of Richard’s shoulder, which had the other man squirming slightly as he searched for it.

“You’ve got to stay still,” Thomas admonished him. “Else I won’t find it as quickly and it’ll hurt a lot more.”

“Sorry,” Richard said with a self conscious chuckle. “I haven’t been hit yet, takes some getting used to.”

Thomas’s lips quirked up into the slightest bit of an amused smirk as he chuckled. “Well, you’re not a screamer, at least,” he said. 

“And how would you know that?” Richard asked.

Thomas immediately sat up and looked at him with wide eyes, his cheeks flushing pink at the implication. How this man could still have that sense of mirth about him, even while getting his shoulder tended to after being shot in it was beyond him, but at least he wasn’t screeching miserably like some of the others.

“Guess I wouldn’t,” he eventually said. 

Richard chuckled a little. “Where are you from?” he asked.

“Downton,” Thomas replied.

“I’m from York,” Richard told him. “Not too far away, is it? Maybe you’ll get to find out, if we both make it home.”

Thomas’s cheeks flushed even more at what he knew that statement meant, and he asked Richard, “How could you tell? About me?”

Richard smirked at him and put a finger to his lips. Not here, his eyes seemed to say. Later. “I’m good at reading people,” he said, as opposed to any real answer.

“Well, either way… I do hope we both make it home, and I’d be happy to see you again after.”

Fixing up Richard’s shoulder went quite well enough after that point, with the two making conversation between themselves, and soon Richard was all sewn up and ordered to rest it for a bit, although it wasn’t the sort of injury that would send him home. He gladly acquiesced to this, and on his way out, managed to convey a time and location to meet later that evening. Thomas agreed, and he was off.

The wait was nearly excruciating for him, even if he had his hands full with other wounded men, but the time did eventually come that he was able to sneak off and go find Richard. As promised, he was waiting in something of a little alcove, which would provide them plenty of privacy to have a delicate conversation. Thomas slipped into it, and Richard grinned when he saw him.

“So you found me, then,” he commented by way of greeting. “Well done.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and said, “You gave me directions, I don’t think I could have missed you.”

This earned a quiet chuckle from Richard. “Maybe not, but I’m happy to see you, anyway.”

Thomas flushed pink at that, shifting on his feet. “I should hope so, you did ask me to meet you so you could explain yourself. I’ve been wondering the rest of the day how you figured me out, and I’d rather like to know now, I think.”

“Oh, well… that was easy,” Richard confessed. “I could see it from how you responded to my shirt coming off.” If Thomas hadn’t been pink before, he’d passed it now and gone straight on to red. “You seemed a bit flustered, and men who aren’t like us don’t get flustered at the sight of another shirtless man, and they certainly don’t get flustered when another man flirts with them.”

Thomas grimaced a bit and glanced around them. “Please don’t tell me I was that obvious,” he said anxiously.

“You aren’t obvious,” Richard assured him. “I only noticed because you’d already caught my eye, so I was looking for something.”

“I’d already what?” Thomas asked him then. He’d heard him, of course, but he hadn’t expected to hear that.

Richard smiled. “You’d already caught my eye,” he repeated. “A handsome man quite literally falls into my lap? How could I not have noticed?” Thomas knew it was risky for Richard to reach up and touch his cheek, but the moment felt so good that he couldn’t bring himself to move away. In fact, he found himself leaning into the touch, his heart pounding away for an entirely different reason than it had that morning.

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Thomas said. “I might have been shot worse than what you got if you hadn’t pulled me in.”

Richard hummed softly. “I wasn’t going to let that happen,” he said. “Didn’t know it would turn out so well, but I couldn’t just let one of ours get shot out there when he was trying to get back.”

“Still,” Thomas insisted. “You may have saved my life today, and I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough for that, or repay you for it…”

“You stitched me up,” Richard pointed out. “If you must repay me for it, I’d say that makes us even.”

“If I must?” Thomas questioned, tilting his head. “Of course I must. That’s how it works. You helped me, and I help you.”

Richard now tilted his own head a little, an expression crossing his face Thomas couldn’t quite read. “Is that what you think? That good things that happen for you have to be repaid? Do you expect people to repay you for doing nice things?”

“Not exactly,” Thomas confessed with a shrug.

Richard frowned at this, and his hand flattened so he was cupping Thomas’s cheek more than just touching it. “I don’t know what’s happened to give you that impression,” he began. “But I hope to hear about it one day. As for now… you don’t owe me anything for pulling you to safety today, and anything else I do to help you while we’re here, you won’t owe me for. If you choose to see me again when we get home-”

“-If we get home,” Thomas interrupted. Richard just doubled down on his statement.

“When we get home,” he corrected. “If you still want to see me again then, you still won’t owe me for anything.”

Thomas blinked a few times, surprised by Richard’s insistence. “Not for anything?” he questioned, and Richard smiled.

“Not for anything,” he confirmed. “Besides, as of right now, you and I are at war. So how about this? I’ll fight for you, and you can fight for me, and we’ll both make it home. How does that sound?”

Thomas smiled at him. “Sounds doable to me, if you mean it,” he said.

“I mean it,” Richard confirmed, and after a quick glance around, he leaned down just slightly to kiss Thomas’s forehead. The action melted him, and he smiled up at Richard. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever taken the time to show him that sort of affection- not without expecting something from him for it.

“Then I’ll fight for you,” Thomas promised. “And… maybe we can meet like this more often?”

Richard smiled and brushed his thumb over Thomas’s skin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

If you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to check out my masterlist!

Happy Barris Week everyone!

@barris-week-2022

#barris week #barris week 2022 #barris #thomas barrow #richard ellis #thomas barrow x richard ellis

[love-bokumono-fics]

Fresh Crops! September 11 - September 17, 2023

This week's newest stories and chapter updated for Harvest Moon and Story of Seasons on AO3!

Blue Feather dan Bunga Kebahagiaan - by tealwrite; Complete, 3/3, 5.1k; Language: Bahasa Indonesia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: F/M Fandoms: Cookie Run, Back To Nature Relationship: Affogato Cookie/Caramel Arrow Cookie; Characters: Affogato Cookie, Caramel Arrow Cookie, Doug | Dudley, Ann the Innkeeper | Ran, Zack, Cliff, Gray, Crunchy Chip Cookie Additional Tags: Crossover, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, village, Marriage Proposal, Drama & Romance, Alternate Universe Summary: Lelah dengan hiruk pikuk kota, Affogato mengajak Caramel Arrow untuk berllibur ke destinasi wisata yang bahkan ia tidak tahu seperti apa

Bao Yue Cai - by GlitterAsPocketSand; Complete, 1/1, 1.4k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M Fandom: Magical Melody Relationship: Gina/Alex; Characters: Gina, Dia, Alex, Martha Additional Tags: Food, Recovery, Cultural Differences, Awkward Crush, Cute, No Smut, No Spoilers, Misunderstandings, Lunch, unbeta'd we die like men, Straights, Traditions, Medical, Short One Shot, Ace-friendly, no substance mention, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Slice of Life Summary: Gina made Alex lunch, but what does Alex do with it? Be himself. And Gina loves that about him. Dia just wants to move on with her life but it's hard when not even your health is certain.

The Egg Thief - by dicelady20; WIP, 9/19, 34k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: F/M Fandoms: Dragon Ball GT/Z, Friends of Mineral Town Characters: Trunks Briefs, Claire the Farmer Additional Tags: Harvest Moon, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, Romance, Slow Burn, Martial Arts, Cussing, Crossover, Healing, city vibes, dark scenes, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Mild Gore, References to Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons Games, Suspense, Supernatural Elements, First Meetings, story of seasons, Superheroes Summary: Claire decides to give the city life another chance, but as she does, she is haunted by her nightmares. Mr. CEO of Capsule Corp., Trunks, needs to keep a secret. He is bound by the oath of an unsealed dragon. What happens when their two worlds collide? And what is lurking in the shadows of West City as these two learn to show vulnerability? Is it something that could shake up the dragons emotions?

Help! I've been Isekai'd into a Dumb Farming Game! - by Siren (one_eyed_siren); WIP, 4/?, 3.3k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi Fandoms: Pioneers of Olive Town Relationships: Beth/Lars, Marcos/Manuela, Patricia/Georg, Victor/Gloria, Lovett/Food, Norman/Sydney, I've only put established relationships for now; Characters: Beth, Lars, Damon, Fae (My bratty OC), Karina, Jeanne, Reina, Victor, Gloria, Clemens, Norman, Sydney, Jack, Ralph, Jacopo, Iori, Linh, Bridgett, Like literally everyone who lives in Olive Town Additional Tags: No Beta - we die like my crops, Eventual Smut, like way later, i dun know how long this one will be, Don't Judge Me, also send coffee, Isekai, Olive Town deserves love Summary: Over the course of Fae's life and various hospital stays, the Harvest Moon and Story of Seasons game series have been a comforting staple to his sad, sickly life. But the most recent edition 'Pioneers of Olive Town' didn't live up to his standards. But what's a guy supposed to do when he wakes up in the world of 'Pioneers of Olive Town'? Well first is to find out that things weren't as one dimensional as the game made things out to be! How in the hell is a man supposed to live in these conditions?!

The Secret The Church Holds - by Anonymous; Complete, 1/1, <1k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M Fandoms: Friends of Mineral Town Relationship: Carter the Pastor/Claire the Farmer; Characters: Carter the Pastor, Claire Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Outdoor Sex Summary: The forest behind the church held two secrets, known only to two people. One was the mushrooms that Carter (and Claire) would pick in the autumn. The other…

Gilded Strings - by Basilface; WIP, 5/?, 35k

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Categories: F/M, F/F, M/M, Multi Fandoms: A Wonderful Life Relationships: Celia | Seperia/Pete | Jack, Lumina/Gustafa, Muffy | Muumuu/Nami, Molly/Nami/Matt Characters: Lumina, Gustafa, Pete | Jack, Celia | Seperia, Nami, Rock, Muffy, Matthew, Gordy Additional Tags: Romance, Fluff and Smut, Cute, i love this game, Musicians, Work In Progress, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Song, writing, Drinking, Smoking, Outdoor Sex Summary: A tale of two lonely musicians from two very different walks of life, finding their own harmony along the leaf-strewn paths of Forgotten Valley, man. Little lady songbird and her blue-eyed bard 🍃 // A few other side pairings I thought would be spicy and fun 🤷 A collection of one-shots told from a fan-goblin’s dirty, dedicated mind.

Skiffing Stones - by Dinomilkshakes; Complete, 3/3, 4k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con; Categories: F/M, Gen Fandoms: HM DS Cute, A Wonderful Life Relationships: Female Farmer/Skye | Steiner, Farmer/Skye, Lumina/Rock, Reader/Rock, Reader/Skye; Characters: Skye, Rock, Lumina, Muffy, Cecilia, Takakura, Nami Additional Tags: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sort of non-con? but not reaaally, They/them pronouns used Summary: Let’s go back to the old farmstead. You’ll find your old pond stones, still sitting around. The topside’s the way you left them, if not a little faded and dusted with soil. The undersides are light once they’re all turned around- still flat and smooth and ready to drown. Toss them in the crystal pond where the ducks used to play, and watch as they skip the top of the pond, watch the water spray. Just like old times, pond skiffing is fun to play. Just like old times. And just like old times you love him and he loves Lumina. What else is new?

Sugar and Spice - by Chibimiie; WIP, 59/?, 159k

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M Fandoms: Animal Parade Relationships: Chase/Molly the Farmer, Angela/Luke; Characters: Molly | Hikari, Angela the Farmer, Chase, Luke, Kasey the Farmer Additional Tags: Slow Burn, oh god how do you tag fics, mentions of eating disorders, alternating povs, Friends to Lovers, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, bumped up the rating because i honestly should have a little bit ago, burn so slow it's honestly a simmer, Mutual Pining Summary: Wanting to get away from past hurts of the city, sisters Molly and Angela decide to respond to a flyer advertising an abandoned farm on the faraway island of Castanet. Leaving behind their closest friends and brother Kasey, the two take a chance and move to the tiny island hoping for a new chance at life.

Risks be damned - by ChuckleKip; Complete, 1/1, <1k

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: F/M Fandoms: Friends of Mineral Town Relationship: Claire the Farmer/The Kappa; Characters: The Kappa, Claire, Harvest Goddess Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Not Beta Read, Implied Sexual Content, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, The Goddess and sprites are mentioned, My First Work in This Fandom, First Work in General, Kappa’s pov, mentions of biting/marking, I'm Bad At Summaries Summary: Kappa knows that this relationship shouldn’t be happening, not without going through formalities, not without the Goddess’s approval, but does he really want to go through these risks knowing what could happen to both him and Claire?

Distraction - by TwinklingCupcake; Complete, 1/1, 2.3k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M Fandoms: Friends of Mineral Town Relationship: Claire the Farmer/Won | Huang; Characters: Claire the Farmer, Won | Huang Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut, Storms Summary: Claire can't sleep with a typhoon raging outside. Fortunately, Huang knows how to take her mind off it.

Un an dans la vallée - by CamaradeHarmonia; Complete, 2/2, 2k; Language: Français

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Appl Fandoms: One Piece, HM DS/Cute Characters: Gin, Original Characters, Griffin | Garfan, Ruby | Lou, Takakura Summary: Gyn a reprit la ferme de son grand père, comment sa première année va se passer dans cette ferme ?

#fresh crop monday #harvest moon #story of seasons #friends of mineral town #pioneers of olive town #animal parade #magical melody #back to nature #hm ds #hm ds cute

[shadowtriovibes]

pt. i: break a sweat

pt. ii: blood, sweat and tears || pt. iii: sweat it out || pt. iv: never let 'em see you sweat

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, dubious safe sex methods, even more dubious interpretations of how the room of requirement works

Summary: sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

"Speaking of which," you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. "What prize will you not be winning?" Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, "I have something in mind." You force yourself not to get distracted. "Do tell." "If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game," he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

Seeing Sebastian for the first time since the end of your sixth year at Hogwarts is quite the shock.

You knew from his detailed letters that your dearest friend had spent the better part of his summer break training for Quidditch tryouts in the fall, frequently flying down to the Poidsear Coast to log hours and hours at their pitch.

Sometimes he would even bring Anne along with him when she was feeling well enough to ride on the back of his broom. He’d convince her to release a secondhand Snitch for him to track down, and while he hunted it down, she worked on the assignments your professors had set to help her prepare for her return to Hogwarts in the fall.

He’d even written to tell you that he’d never felt more confident on a broom, and that if he only got to have one last season on your house team before leaving school, he was determined to make the absolute most of it.

You knew all of this, and yet when you first see him in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast, you nearly swoon like a Muggle schoolgirl at the sight of him.

The first thing you notice is that he’s taller. Even seated next to Anne at the Slytherin table, you can see his entire head whereas you can barely make out the top of his sister’s. Sebastian had never seemed that much bigger than his twin before, but things have clearly changed.

Then, you notice that his complexion has changed as well. He’s tan from spending all summer training in the sun, his button-down shirt suddenly looking so crisply white against his sun-kissed face.

His freckles, too – there are so many more.

But that could also just be because there’s simply more Sebastian now. His shoulders are broader, his chest wider, and even his hair has grown long enough to brush upwards into a less haphazard style (though certainly not as severe as Ominis’).

It’s as if your boyish Sebastian from the previous school year had quite suddenly become a grown man in just three short months, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him.

It takes you a few minutes to adjust as you slide into a seat across from him next to Ominis, and based on the look on Anne’s face, she at least knows what’s got you so flustered.

During a lull in conversation about Anne’s return, you tell Sebastian, “You’re looking fit.”

You hope you can casually get it out of the way, and that no one will dwell on it.

“Am I?” he asks with an easy smile.

“I mean physically,” you insist, remaining one step ahead of him. “I nearly mistook you for one of the Beaters for the Magpies.”

“Sebastian could never be a Beater,” Anne interjects. “He’s too much of a show-off to be anything but the Seeker.”

“I’ll be whatever the team needs me to be,” he insists. “I practiced for all four positions this summer, so wherever they want to slot me in is fine.”

“Silly Sebastian,” Violet McDowell calls out from a few seats down, a wicked grin on her face. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that there are many more positions than just four?”

Your entire end of the table bursts into laughter while Sebastian simply flashes a wicked grin, and you think about using your ancient magic to hurl one of the stacked platters of food in front of you at Violet’s head. (Or maybe you should simply toss her out into the courtyard.)

“Is this how it’s going to be this year?” Anne sighs. “When I left, Sebastian was just an awkward boy with his nose always buried in a book, and now the girls are lusting after him.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either,” Ominis agrees. “He had a big enough head before he was attractive.”

“I think it’s excellent,” Sebastian laughs. “It’s about time everyone realized that I’m the perfect man, and all it took was a little bit of Quidditch practice and one last growth spurt.”

“‘All it took,’” Anne mumbles at the same time Ominis exclaims, “‘Perfect man?!’”

While both his sister and best friend take turns putting dents in Sebastian’s inflated ego, he takes it in stride and sneakily winks at you from across the table when he catches you silently observing, your gaze firmly settled on the sharp line of his jaw.

Sebastian makes a mental note of the fact that you immediately go red. Even if no one else notices, he certainly does.

—

Two weeks later, you and Anne link arms with Ominis to walk down with him to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Slytherin team tryouts.

“Now that I’ve got a brilliant witch on each arm, I suppose I won’t be needing my wand as often to get around,” he teases.

“Please, I know a thing or two about that wand of yours,” Anne replies. “Last year I spent a full month reading books on wandcraft that Sebastian brought me from the library. If I had to guess, I think you can probably ‘see’ more clearly than either of us can. It’s powerful.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Ominis demurs. “I’m just naturally perceptive.”

Once you arrive at the pitch, the three of you take seats along the practice bleachers with a few of your housemates, who chat excitedly when the Slytherin hopefuls begin to take the field.

You spot Sebastian quickly, even among nearly two dozen others in green practice uniforms circling for warmups on their brooms. Compared to how big he’d looked at the start of term in just his school robes, he’s huge now – equipped with pads across his shoulders, forearms and shins that accentuate his muscular form.

He’d declined a helmet, of course, because despite his newfound bulk he’s still the same exasperatingly headstrong boy you’ve nurtured a crush on for nearly your entire school career.

“Between us, what do you think his chances are of making the team?” you ask Anne.

“Truthfully?” she smirks. “I think he’ll have his pick of positions, unless Imelda wants to humble him on purpose.”

“Which one would be humbling?” you ask, amused.

“Probably Chaser,” she muses. “He’d be an excellent Chaser, of course, but it’s his least favorite.”

“I’ll bet he becomes a Beater,” Ominis offers. “Without the Dark Arts, I’d like him to have some sort of outlet for his intensity.”

“Fine, then I’ll say… Keeper,” you say, smiling to yourself at your private joke that only Sebastian would appreciate. “Because that way he’ll get to stay in one place the whole game and know that everyone’s eyes are on him.”

—

Shortly after tryouts wrap up, Imelda sequesters herself in the girls’ dorm to put together her official roster and the majority of Slytherin’s upperclassmen start passing around Butterbeers while they settle in to await her decision.

Sebastian is inarguably the center of attention, casually leaning against a table in the corner with Anne at his side. A flock of fifth-year girls crowds around him to listen intently as he talks about the impressive diving save he’d made, capturing the Snitch just feet from the ground.

“He’s going to be insufferable now,” Ominis groans while the two of you watch from across the room. “There’s barely enough room for his ego in this friendship as it is.”

“Come now, we can keep him in check,” you laugh. “Especially with Anne here.”

“It’s really good to have her back,” Ominis agrees softly, smiling to himself when he hears Anne’s voice through the noise, telling Sebastian’s fan club how he’d attempted a similar save over the summer and ended up crashing into a derelict poacher camp.

Huh.

However, before you can spend too much more time thinking about Ominis and Anne, you hear the noise in the room spike as Imelda saunters down the stairs, a rolled-up piece of parchment in her hand.

“Who’s ready to meet this year’s Slytherin Quidditch team?” she calls out, and the entire room bursts into excited cheers.

She starts to read off from her list, allowing brief pauses for applause after each name. You and Ominis snake through the common room to stand by Sebastian. He seems to be perfectly calm, but by now you can recognize some telltale tension lingering in his jaw.

Anne holds one of his hands to reassure him, swaying a bit nervously herself.

While Imelda works her way down the list, the four of you learn that hasn’t been named Slytherin’s Keeper. He’s not a Beater either, nor is he ultimately a Chaser.

“Lastly, your newest Seeker,” Imelda teases as she reaches the end of the list. “...It’s obviously Sallow!”

Sebastian beams brilliantly while Anne pulls him into a tight hug, and Ominis smiles and murmurs his congratulations to his friend, assuring him he always knew he’d make the team.

There are several other girls quick to offer their congratulations as well, but you wait for the crowd around him to thin out and for Anne to escort Ominis to get more Butterbeers before you sidle up next to Sebastian and nudge your shoulder against his.

“Excellent work, Bash,” you murmur. “You put on quite a show at tryouts.”

“Only because you were watching,” he flirts back, and you roll your eyes fondly.

Since the start of term, he’s been relentless with his play-flirting. You resist it as much as you can, but it always makes your heart race when he calls you “love,” or offers to carry your books for you, or even charms little notes poking fun at your classmates into tiny birds that gracefully land on your desk during classes.

(You don’t have the heart to ask him to knock it off, because even though you know he doesn’t mean it, it still feels nice to be the center of his attention.)

“Then I’ll have to come to see you start in next week’s match,” you offer. “Especially if you only play that well when I’m watching.”

“You can be my good luck charm,” he jokes. “Felix Felicis is prohibited, but you’re not.”

“That was awful,” you laugh, but Sebastian just grins.

“Tell you what,” he says after a moment. “We should make a bet on it.”

“A bet?” you ask. “On what, that you’ll win?”

He shakes his head. “Too easy, we’re playing Ravenclaw, we’ll obviously win. I mean something more challenging.”

“You’re clearly confident,” you tell him. “What are your terms?”

He considers his offer for a moment and then says, “I’ll bet that I can catch the Snitch in under thirty minutes. I’ll even let you be the official timekeeper, since I’ll be a bit preoccupied.”

“Under thirty?” you ask skeptically. “That’s nearly professional, Sebastian. Ominis told me most games last at least an hour.”

“I’ve been practicing all summer,” he insists. “Anne would release a Snitch and I’d even give it a five-minute head start, but I never let one get further away from me than the far side of Marunweem Lake.”

“Careful, Sebastian, you sound quite cocky,” you murmur, and you think you see Sebastian’s gaze dip down to your mouth for a split second.

“I am,” he agrees. “In fact, I’ll even let you pick your prize first, for if you win.”

“Alright,” you laugh. “When I win, I want… for you to write my History of Magic assignments for the next month.

“That’s it?” he scoffs. “You could have anything and you want me to write your essays?”

“I didn’t start studying magic with the rest of you lot, and I don’t know a lot of the foundational things that Binns wants us to reference,” you remind him. “You know your history much better than I do, and I need to bump my ‘Acceptable’ up to ‘Exceeds Expectations’ by the time N.E.W.T.s roll around.”

“Love, I would’ve done them for you anyway,” Sebastian says dismissively, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning at the nickname. “Pick something fun.”

“Fine,” you reply. “I want…”

You consider your options for a moment, trying to think of something that isn’t either obscene or pathetic. Finally, you have an idea.

“There is one thing I’ve been thinking about,” you tell him, a secret smile on your lips.

Sebastian perks up, leaning in closer. “Go on then.”

“I want you to help me set up Anne and Ominis,” you say carefully, watching him for any signs that he’s about to blow up.

He just blinks at you, bewildered. “What.”

“I think they would be a lovely couple,” you croon. “And I know she’s your sister and you’re, y’know...”

“I’m what?” he demands.

“You’re very protective of her,” you say tactfully. “But we’re all adults now, and I think they really understand each other. I want you to help me convince them that they should give it a chance.”

Sebastian is quiet for several long moments.

“Well,” he finally murmurs. “I would prefer it if Anne never dated anyone so I wouldn’t have any more reasons to worry about her, but I suppose if she must, Ominis is a good man.”

You shout excitedly and wrap your arms around his impossibly broad shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. He easily allows it, fondly pressing his nose to your hair.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter though, since you won’t win and I’ll never have to aid you in your scheming,” he murmurs against your temple.

“Speaking of which,” you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. “What prize will you not be winning?”

Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, “I have something in mind.”

You force yourself not to get distracted. “Do tell.”

“If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game,” he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

“O-oh?” you ask softly, squirming a little in his grasp. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he confirms.

His eyes are dark, and despite the cacophony of the room around you both, he’s focused solely on you.

“And what would we be doing in the Room of Requirement?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. Instead, he deliberately drags his thumbs across your hips, raking his gaze down your body and back up with a pointed look.

“You mean it?” you ask him quietly. “You aren’t just teasing like earlier?”

“When was I teasing?” Sebastian asks, amused.

“This whole time,” you insist, fidgeting nervously with the laces at the front of his Quidditch shirt. “All the flirting, all this back-and-forth… You’re just winding me up.”

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I thought about you all summer, love. I missed you like mad, and I sincerely want you.”

Merlin.

Some bold part of you steps a little closer so you can lean in close to his ear and ask, “Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to the Room of Requirement right now?”

You hear Sebastian swallow and exhale sharply.

“N-not now,” he answers. “After the match. I just…”

He doesn’t really have the words to articulate it, but he wants to earn your affection. He has to prove he’s good enough first, that you aren’t making a mistake by letting him finally force your close friendship into something more.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, gently brushing your lips against his cheekbone. “Just don’t get too distracted and fall off your broom, because I actually want you to win.”

“The match or the bet?” he asks in a low voice.

You just take a step back with a teasing grin, and before you disappear into the crowd to find your friends, you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sallow.”

—

It’s so many flights of stairs up to the Room of Requirement. You almost feel bad for Sebastian, but not enough to stop relentlessly tugging him up countless flights in the quiet Astronomy Tower.

He must be exhausted already, you assume. While the match itself had only lasted twenty-seven minutes and forty seconds, he spent nearly all of them racing around the pitch alongside Ravenclaw’s Seeker, eyes trained on any flash of light that shimmered like gold.

He’d even taken a Bludger to his right thigh. You’d felt like you were going to be sick just watching it collide with him, but he’d merely dropped a few feet with a wince and sped off again.

Not even a damn Bludger could knock him off his broom.

(As soon as your nausea had dissipated, you’d felt another dizzying wave of sensation take over slightly south of your stomach.)

Just as he’d promised, he quickly caught up with the Snitch near the base of the Hufflepuff student section, landing not-so-neatly in the muddy grass with one arm thrown up in the air. He was evidently clutching the struggling Snitch and beaming so hugely you could see it from your spot in the stands fifty feet in the air.

As soon as Madam Kogawa blew her whistle, the Slytherins had begun to move en masse toward the stairs, preparing to turn their common room into the official site of the year’s first not-so-clandestine party.

You, however, snuck away from the group and lingered outside the team’s changing area. Inside, you could hear raised voices.

“Imelda, you don’t understand,” Sebastian was whining. “I need to go now.”

“There’s a way we do things here, Sallow,” she had argued “I’m the captain, and if I say we’re going to discuss the game before anyone leaves, you stay.”

Sebastian had a few choice words to say to that but ultimately relented, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly while you leaned against one of the canvas walls that lined the interior channels of the pitch. Ultimately, it only took about ten minutes to discuss how everyone could improve – and Imelda’s only suggestion for Sebastian had been to try to find a dryer patch of grass on which to land next time.

Seconds later, he’d burst through the door and started to take off toward the castle.

“Bash!” you called out. “Not so fast.”

When he turned and spotted you, his face lit up.

“You waited for me,” he breathed.

“Of course I did,” you said. “I believe you’ve won a prize, and the nature of it is time-sensitive.”

He looked like an utter rake with that crooked smile on his lips. He was still in his uniform head to toe, his hair even messier than usual thanks to his helmet. He’d even kept his pads on, so when he reached out to take your hand, you felt impossibly small next to him.

“Shall we?” he asks, and then the two of you were off.

By the time you reach the Room and ensure no house elves are present, you’re both out of breath and panting.

“Come here,” you whine, throwing your arms around his shoulders and messily kissing along his jawline.

“W-wait,” he stammers. “Let me get these pads off, and–”

He cuts himself off, making a face.

“I need to clean up,” he tells you, suddenly self-conscious. “I must look like hell.”

“You look obscene,” you reply, dragging your hands down his chest pads. “Which is obviously a compliment.”

He wraps his hands around your wrists to stop you from attempting to undo the laces at the front of his trousers. “Just – just let me clean off first, the prefects’ bathroom isn’t far and I got the password off of Weasley.”

“No, don’t leave,” you whine, and Sebastian is merely a man, he can’t resist the girl he’s been in love with for years when she’s begging him to take his pants off.

“I must smell foul,” he laughs. “You’re – you’re seriously okay with this?”

“Look where we are, Sebastian,” you croon, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. “Just imagine what you need.”

For your part, you imagine a plush armchair where you can wrangle Sebastian into finally taking a seat, and one quickly spins to life just behind him. You take advantage of his distraction to shove him backwards toward it and climb astride lap.

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” you tease him, straddling his thighs and dragging your nose along his cheek so he’ll tip his head back for you. “If you require something, the Room provides.”

“I require a bath,” he drawls, cursing quietly when you gently bite just over his pulse point. “Quickly, please, Room.”

Sebastian waits patiently while you eagerly strip him of his pads, but the Room doesn’t change.

“I thought you said you’ve taken baths here,” he points out skeptically. “In a huge basin, like the prefects have.”

“I have,” you insist, frowning. “I don’t know why it’s not…”

Then you trail off, your realization making you go red.

“Go on, love,” Sebastian murmurs, sliding a hand up the back of your thigh to lazily palm at your ass underneath your skirt. “I know that face, you’ve figured it out. What’s the problem?”

“W-well, it’s my Room,” you tell him sheepishly. “So it, um… I suppose it defaults to what I require.”

“And what you require,” Sebastian says slowly, “is for me to not take a bath?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“I… I suppose the Room must have deduced that I – I like you like this,” you whisper, dragging your hands across his rumpled Quidditch shirt. “And I don’t need to wait for you to clean off.”

“You don’t?” Sebastian asks, his eyes now impossibly dark. “You’d let me touch you just like this? I’m a mess, I’m covered in sweat and mud and probably some blood, even.”

“Don’t care,” you breathe, sliding your hands underneath the hem of his shirt. “I want you now, Sebastian, exactly like this.”

He says some absolutely filthy words under his breath, sitting back so he can strip off his filthy uniform shirt. You can’t get your hands on his body fast enough, hurriedly familiarizing yourself with his sculpted core, broad chest, and strong shoulders.

He’s less of a mess underneath where his shirt had lain, but his skin is still warm and damp with sweat from the match. You want to put your mouth all over him, everywhere – and there’s so much of him to explore.

“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw you like this,” you confess to him. “You’ve gotten bigger since last spring, and so handsome… how did you become a man in just one summer?”

“You think I’m the only one who changed this summer?” he asks with a low voice. “Look at you.”

“What about me?” you ask dumbly.

His hands go straight for your chest, roughly tugging open your uniform shirt with no regard for the longevity of its buttons.

“Here,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts through your thin brassiere. “I can assure you that I noticed where you’ve grown bigger.”

You gasp softly as he tugs down on the cups of your bra until he can lean in and press his mouth to your skin, sucking on one of your nipples and then the other.

“And here,” he murmurs into your chest, his hands returning to the backs of your thighs and sliding up your ass. “You have all these curves now, love, and they’re driving me mad.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper. “Take off my clothes.”

He helps you wrestle your skirt up over your head and tosses it recklessly as far as he can. When you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, Sebastian wraps one strong arm around your lower back and hooks the other below your hips, easily standing up from the armchair to walk you over to the bed you’d hastily imagined into existence.

Once he has you on your back, he tugs down your last remaining garment and leaves you bare and exposed to him, breathless and flushed all over.

“Your turn,” you remind him, even though part of you wishes he could leave the uniform pants on (despite the impracticality).

Once he manages to peel off the last of his clothes, he settles on his knees between your legs and skims a hand up your body, from the curve of your hip all the way up to your cheek.

“Is this too fast?” he asks you softly. “Did I ask too much?”

Your heart aches. Sebastian always stuns you with his sincerity when you least expect it.

You turn your head to kiss his palm and murmur, “No, love.”

His shoulders drop a little, the last of the tension he’d been carrying all week draining from his body. He wants, he always wants so damn badly and he would never forgive himself if he marred your first time with each other by rushing you.

“Can I touch you?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Please,” you whine, letting your knees fall wide.

(Whether or not the other has ever done this before is still a mystery to you both, and it’s not something you’ll discuss until afterward. But right now, it’s of no importance to you.)

For a while, Sebastian’s hands roam your body without an agenda, acquainting himself with your breasts, your hips, the insides of your thighs. You moan softly when he drags his thumb along your slit, spreading your wetness around until he can easily rub slow circles over your clit.

“How do you feel?” he asks you.

“Good,” you gasp. “So good, Sebastian, like that.”

“Do you want more?” he offers, and you frantically nod, one of your hands fisting the pillow behind your head.

He carefully presses one long finger inside you, glancing between your face and your entrance to make sure you’re comfortable the entire time. One finger quickly becomes two, and when two nearly becomes three, you have to pause and take a breath.

“Enough,” you pant. “That’s enough.”

“Are you sure?” he asks you.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, giving him a few slow strokes while he leaks precum onto your hand and groans helplessly.

“I want you,” you insist. “I’ve wanted you.”

“R-right, yeah,” he agrees, trying to clear his head and focus on the task at hand. “Enough.”

He gently nudges your hand away so he can guide himself inside you, one hand wrapped around himself and the other gently pressing on your inner thigh to keep you still for him.

Underneath Sebastian like this, pinned to the mattress by his hips and hands, he completely overtakes your senses. He’s all you can see, all you can touch — you even taste and smell him.

Masculine sweat. Dark brown eyes. Crisp autumn air. The curve of his collarbone where it meets his shoulder. Woodsmoke. A million tiny freckles. Metallic blood from a split lip. Flashes of copper in his messy curls. Singed pine needles.

Sebastian groans low in his throat as he presses in, his hair falling into his eyes before he frantically brushes it away so he can see you take him for the first time.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he bends down and presses his forehead against yours.

“Tell me,” he begs, his hand curling gently around the back of your neck to hold you close.

“Tell you what?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his with every syllable.

“Tell me that it feels like this for you,” he practically breathes into you. “It feels like you’re — you’re everywhere, like you’re all there is.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper, and his hips snap against yours.

“Say it,” he growls. “Please.”

“You’re all there is,” you gasp. “You’re all mine, Bash.”

He makes a sound like you’ve sucker-punched him, messily kissing wherever he can get his mouth on you – your cheek, your jaw, your lips. All the while he’s fucking you open with relentless, eager thrusts.

He’s not going to last long, but you don’t expect him to. You just want him to feel good – the two of you have already wasted enough time not doing this, so why delay satisfaction?

You wrap your legs around his hips to hold him against you, rocking your own hips upward to meet him and coax him closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come,” he grits out, grinding into you desperately the closer he gets to his climax. “Can I finish inside?”

“N-no,” you whimper. There’s a potion you can drink to make it safe that takes an entire week to brew, and the batch that’s currently bubbling away at your potions station across the Room isn’t quite ready yet.

“Where?” he begs.

“Anywhere else, wherever you want,” you promise him, your mind quickly tossing out mental images of him spilling himself across your breasts, into your mouth, on the curve of your back.

He pulls out of you with a reluctant moan and kneels between your open thighs, wrapping a hand around his cock to finish himself off. You watch his eyes while he takes you in, seemingly torn between meeting your gaze and staring transfixed at your fingers between your thighs as you get closer to finishing yourself.

“Next time, love,” you murmur softly. “The next time you fuck me you can finish in me, I’ll take it all.”

“Promise?” he asks breathlessly, still an incorrigible flirt even when he’s seconds away from his orgasm.

“Promise,” you whine, spreading your legs a little wider when you catch his gaze lingering again.

You’re so close, desperately rolling your hips against your own hand until you tip over the edge, the rush of your release arching your back before you collapse lazily against the bed.

He shuffles forward and groans your name just before he spills, leaving a warm, wet mess all over your stomach and between your hips. You feel properly claimed – especially when he flops down next to you and immediately tugs you against his chest, unbothered by his release smearing between your bodies.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes into your hair. “Merlin, I love you.”

“You love me?” you whisper against his collarbone.

“Enduringly,” he says.

You rest your cheek against his chest and listen to his racing heartbeat for a few moments before you tell him, “I love you too, you know.”

Just then, the Room starts to rumble.

“What’s going on?” Sebastian asks, urgently peering around for his wand.

He quickly settles and even laughs under his breath when he sees the Room shifting around the two of you to provide a spacious, sunken bathtub in the middle of the room, complete with a luxurious amount of taps that undoubtedly offer an array of bubbles, salts and soaps.

“Oh, now you want to let me clean myself up?” Sebastian drawls. “After you’ve completely worn me out, hmm?”

“It’s more for me,” you giggle. “I can’t possibly sleep like this, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

As if Sebastian would ever pass up the chance to feel you up in the water.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #my fic #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #(it's subtle but it's there) #unbeta'd we die like men #how do we feel about “bash” as a nickname because it's my favorite 🥹

[secret-engima]

Snippet of Kacchako Day 0 Story: “Breathe For Me”

(I didn’t know Kacchako Week was a Thing until like two days ago so this is horribly rushed but I regret nothing)

     There had never been a moment where Ochako was more thrilled than the moment she opened the letter and found out that she had actually won the scholarship. She had worked her soul into the ground for it, prayed and spent sleepless nights over it, but she had never actually expected to get in. Not to U.A., the most prestigious school for all aspiring oceanic explorers and aquatic vets and anything that had to do with anything under the waves. There were so many other applicants with more money, more connections, more prior training when all Ochako had was a passion for helping and an all-consuming love of the ocean. Or, more specifically, the mysterious humanoid race that lurked within it.

     Humanity had known about merfolk and visa versa for centuries, even if most of humanity had passed the knowledge off as legends and wives tales for much of that time. But solid, undeniable contact had been made eighty years before Ochako was born, with the first merman being accidentally caught in a deep sea trawling expedition. The merman had been let go by the surprisingly moral fishermen after some pictures and excited recordings, but after that, everyone had been on fire over the realization that there really was another species similar —or equal— to humans in intelligence and power.

     Because merfolk were intelligent. Dangerously so. They did not speak any known human language and their behavior could be very primal compared to modern sensibilities, but a few cautious contacts and tests revealed that they could learn any writing system and understand any language presented to them. Not just simple words or phrases like apes or cats or other animals, but true language. Written communication or fluent sign language and an ability to comprehend even the most complicated sciences.

     The history books, of course, focused on the brief but brutal flares of conflict that had started and died out over the eighty years after formal contact was made. Mostly between humans who wanted to exploit the “creatures of myth” or merfolk who took offense to the submarines that wandered too close to their ancestral territories. But while humanity had technology on their side, the merfolk had magic and an entire ocean with which to wield it and neither side had wanted war badly enough to risk mutual destruction of land or sea.

     By the time Ochako had been born, there were official treaties in place between the two races —if shaky ones—, designated areas and depths where humans were allowed, where humans and merfolk were allowed, and where only merfolk were allowed. Most of merfolk culture was unknown and bizarre —it was hard to interview people who couldn’t speak your language and didn’t really like talking to you anyway—, and while there did appear to be countries below the waves, what country meant to merfolk was … different compared to humans. A lot of things were different to humans, and while merfolk demanded recognition as a free and sentient species, in a lot of ways they didn’t seem to care when humans treated them more like the ocean creatures that they shared a home with.

     Case in point, U.A., the school Ochako had always dreamed of going to. It specialized in oceanic exploration and the care of aquatic life, and half the campus was dedicated to a rehab center for a mind-boggling variety of ocean creatures who had been injured in fights, or in illegal poaching, of any number of things. Students of U.A. not only got to learn from the best minds and most experienced professionals of their dream job, but they frequently got to work with creatures from every ocean there was.

     Including merfolk.

     U.A. was one of only two known human-run establishments that served as the home of a merfolk pod. U.A.’s pod mostly consisted of mermen and mermaids who had been injured at sea and couldn’t really stay out in the open currents —such as the now famous Toshinori, who had badly injured himself saving an ocean liner of humans—, or just those who, for whatever reason, liked humanity rather than only tolerated them. It was one of only two pods that had regular, friendly contact with humans. Researchers and anthropologist all over the world paid fortunes for the privilege of seeing either pod, but for U.A. students, the honor of meeting and interacting with merfolk didn’t cost fortunes, all it cost was school tuition and impressively good grades.

     Or a once in a lifetime scholarship offer for those specifically looking to train in merfolk care and culture like Ochako.

     Who had actually won the thing and spent the next weeks leading up to moving into the U.A. dorms  losing her mind with joy and nerves combined.

     First day in class their teacher, a boisterously loud culture and music specialist called Yamada Hizashi welcomed them to U.A., lectured them on the basic dos and don’ts of interacting with merfolk and then hauled them all down to a different building entirely for their “homeroom class”.

     Ochako was baffled as to why their classroom was not in the main school building until Yamada-sensei slammed open the doors to a huge room with a glass wall that only went up halfway, through which Ochako could see a little piece of what had to be a huge underwater aquarium. Laughing at their astonished faces as he herded them to the desks right next to the glass, Yamada-sensei said, “Everybody put your hands up for the other half the class and your other homeroom teacher, yeah?”

     Oh. Thought Ochako faintly as she pressed her hands against the glass, that’s why this class is only half-sized. I haven’t met all of them.

     She waited breathlessly for someone, anyone, to appear, tried not to bite her lip in anxiety when nothing happened for several minutes. Yamada-sensei sighed after the fifth minute of empty water and, without warning, climbed up the steps to the top of the glass wall, stuck his head underwater, and gave a strange, shrill scream. Pulling his head out of the water and flipping his soaking hair back like everything was perfectly normal, he grinned smugly, “That should do it. Just one more minute and… there he is! Lazy bum.”

     Ochako gaped as the bright yellow lump half-hidden in a patch of swaying kelp that she’d assumed was a rock unfurled and darkened to inky black and stoney grey. With graceful, twisting limbs, the man who had been playing stone —sleeping?— a moment ago swam over to the edge of the glass and settled next to Yamada-sensei’s seat on the other side. Yamada-sensei flipped a switch on his desk and said, “Took you long enough, sleepy head.”

     The merman flicked a few of his tentacles in a gesture that looked rude, then faced the class with a vaguely dead expression and folded his hands into the sign language for “hello”. While the rest of the class whispered and Yamada-sensei cheerfully introduced the merman as “Aizawa Shōta, just call him Aizawa-sensei”, Ochako stared at him with wide, wondering eyes.

     From the waist up, he looked like a very tired human being. Hooded black eyes and swaying black hair, rippling muscles and scars barely hidden by the grey scarf that seemed to be his only clothing. He even had stubble along his jaw like her father when he forgot to shave. From the waist down, however…

     Eight black tentacles, each several feet longer than Ochako was tall, fidgeted idly against the floor of the aquarium. His “hips” were not as wide as she would have thought for having so many limbs, but every twitch of his tentacles made his scales ripple faintly from the muscles beneath.

     Ochako had studied a lot of ocean life in her childhood, watched every documentary, seen every youtube clip, gone to every aquatic show she could. She knew what suppressed, predatory power looked like, and Aizawa-sensei was it.

     The merman sagged quietly against the glass, already ignoring the human students in favor of holding a half-sign language —on his part—, half Japanese —on Yamada-sensei’s part— argument over the entire concept of two homeroom teachers for one class. Or just Aizawa-sensei having a class in general, if Ochako was remembering her sign language lessons correctly.

     Yamada-sensei waved his arms, “Just call the rest of the class already so we can get started!”

     Aizawa-sensei sighed with an explosion of bubbles, looked over his shoulder and gave a low roll of chirps and clicks Ochako could only hear over the speakers Yamada-sensei had turned on. A few seconds later, the first of their classmates trailed in, each one of them as wondrous and exotic as their new teacher.

Read the rest on Ao3

Read the rest on FF.net

#bnha #bnha au fic #bnha katsuki #bnha ochako #kacchako week 2019 #modern merfolk au #quirkless au #bnha class 1a #katsuki x ochako #bakugou x uraraka #Katsuki is a lionfish merman #unbeta'd we die like men #Secret-Engima's Writing #Melodies and Manuscripts

[write-nerdy-to-me]

“dean, how long have you known you’re bisexual?”

dean inhales sharply and shuts his eyes, managing to count up to six before settling for gritting his teeth. the only reason he doesn’t pour his coffee down the kitchen sink and leave to hide in his room for the next, oh, fifty-odd years so he doesn’t have to deal with this shit, is that he just filled it before jack meandered in. dean’s already close to snapping, and it’s not even 11am.

it’s gonna be one of those days.

he turns to face jack. “what.”

jack looks at him patiently, head tilted, resembling cas as he squints a little, like he’s focusing harder on dean’s face. “when did you know? or how did you?”

“piss off, kid,” dean says offhandedly, tired of this conversation everyone seems to keep having with him. “did sam put you up to this?”

“well— not exactly. he talked to me about it, but i came to you on my own.”

oh for fuck’s sake—

dean sets his coffee on the counter, needing both hands to rub his face as he says, “he did, did he.” looks like dean is gonna have to break sam’s knees now.

“yeah, i think he was trying to give me ‘the talk.’” dean can hear the quotation marks jack puts around the words, and while his face is covered, he doesn’t need to see to know that jack did the actual gesture, too. if it was any other time, dean would be suppressing a smile at the very cas-like mannerism, but right now, he’s not feeling it.

he lowers his hands to cross his arms over his chest. “how’d that go?”

“it was… unpleasant, for the both of us.”

dean snorted. “yeah, i can see that.” when jack continues to stand there, staring at him, dean lets out a breath that turns into a displeased groan at the end. “you’re not going to let this go, are you.” jack stays silent. “fuck, i dunno. when did roadhouse come out?”

“1989.”

“sure. yeah. that sounds about right, give or take a year.” he’s not being entirely serious — though roadhouse was a sort of awakening for him — and he wasn’t expecting jack to give him the actual year. part of him is proud that the kid knew the answer, but as he starts to imagine patrick swayze, he gets lost in thought. “swayze, hmm. and jennifer grey. demi moore….”

“who?”

oh. right, they haven’t gotten to ghost and dirty dancing during their swayze watch. and dean’s not sure if he’s ready to show jack to wong foo just yet — not with the way sam’s been acting. he swears his brother is gonna start hanging up pride flags around the bunker. “never mind. point is, a long time.”

“so… almost all your life?”

“i guess you could say that, yeah. didn’t always have a term for it. i just knew what i liked, better yet who i liked. that’s never been an issue for me. it was the-the…” he shifts his weight on his feet, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “the love thing that took me a while.”

“why is that?”

“jesus, kid,” dean says. he can’t help but laugh a little. “i dunno, i thought i was no good, that i didn’t deserve it. pick a reason, i’m sure i had it.”

jack gets a contemplative look on his face — and again, dean can’t help but be reminded of cas. “cas says we all deserve love, even when we don’t feel like we do.”

well, shit. jack just tosses that out there, his steady gaze on dean containing multitudes. his eyes are young and well beyond his age.

“yeah,” dean breathes, hit unexpectedly. just what this morning needs. he’s not gonna fucking cry now. “yeah. yeah, we do, especially then.”

“i’m… not sure what i am,” jack says. “is that okay?”

is that okay? as if dean could be upset with him for not knowing. dean feels his heart twist. goddammit, maybe he is gonna cry. he’s surprised — and grateful — his voice doesn’t come out a little strained. “'course it is.” to cover up the fact his eyes are stinging, he quickly adds some levity. “just— use protection.”

“protection? what would i— oh.” jack scrunches up his nose. “i don’t think i’m ready for that.”

dean picks his coffee back up, giving a lazy salute. “you and me both, kid.”

—

a companion piece to the crackfic taken seriously

#dean's known he's bi since before he met cas thank you and goodnight #thanks for coming to my tedtalk #obviously han solo and gunnar lawless are also dean's childhood crushes #but we've been talking a lot about patrick swayze and dean having a crush on him and jennifer grey and this snowballed #also lee webb's bar being called ''swayze's'' so #dean is just..... a very tired dad trying to live his life #everyone keeps bothering him #crack taken seriously #dean is bi #dean knows he's bi #dean winchester #jack kline winchester #spn fic #unbeta'd; we die like men #happy pride to this tired bisexual dad #[blows a kiss to the sky] that's for thee charcubed person #spn #nerdy writes

[three-headed-monster]

beside you

*gif is mine please do not repost without credit

summary: you sleep alone, his heart wants to come home...

word count: 1.6K

pairings: jamie drysdale x reader

warnings: some swearing, one TINY slight mention of possible infidelity, says trevor's name like twice

requested: yes 🙈 by one @brandtsclarke

It’s late when you hear the door click a quick open-close and the sound of someone breathing heavy down the hall. At first, you’re a little bit worried cause holy fuck why the hell is someone breaking into your house at like 3 am, and where the hell is the Jamie’s baseball bat. You calm down slightly though as soon as you realize that the security system Jamie had installed last summer would have blared if someone so much as tried to pick the lock. You’re probably just hallucinating. You still have to be careful though, so you slowly get up out of bed and move towards the balcony. If it came to it, you could try to make a run for it through there.

You wait with baited breath to see if there are any other sounds, any signs of someone moving, any indication that you should be running. There’s nothing at all for a few seconds, before there’s a bang, a crash, and a whispered “fuck” that you would recognize anywhere.

That’s Jamie. Jamie’s home.

You can barely contain your excitement as you rush out towards the front foyer, running into his arms immediately as soon as you see him. He catches you with an oomph, nearly falling backwards into his suitcases, but you barely notice as you breathe him in deep and feel his arms curl around you in a way you’ve missed so much.

Fuck. He’s home.

“I missed you.”

It’s so achingly true, you can feel it in your bones. Deep down, you had always known that he’d have to leave to chase his dreams, to be in the NHL. But that doesn’t mean it hurt any less to see him go, to watch as he tore up the league, while you were here in Toronto, feeling like something that was just a memory of the before. It had hurt like hell to feel like that, even if he had reassured you time and time again that it wasn’t like that, that he’d always be coming home to you. You just couldn’t help shake the feeling like you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but you had nodded along because the less time you talked about your stupid insecurities, the more time you could spend on Skype together.

“Missed you too, let’s go to bed baby.”

He sounds so so tired, and desperately, you want to ask him why he came back so late if he knew how much this would take out of him, how exhausted he’d be. He could have waited another day, another week, another month if he really wanted to before he had to come back. It’s not like there was much keeping him here anyways. You didn’t understand why it was so imperative for him to be back so soon. You guess in his mind, maybe you, but you know that it’s probably not that. After all, he hung out with Trevor all the time, and if you knew anything about Trevor, it’s that he wouldn’t hesitate to bring along girls to anything and everything. There was most definitely temptation and even if you trusted Jamie would never act on it, you still knew that maybe it was enough for him to reconsider his place with you.

“Are you okay babe?”

You’re not. You’re really not. You know it’s stupid and that realisitically you have absolutely nothing to be insecure about. But you can’t help but feel like you were living on borrowed time. That tomorrow it would all be over and there wasn’t nothing you could do about it but try to enjoy the little amount of time that Jamie’s still yours. It would sound ridiculous to anyone else who heard it; he’s your boyfriend after all, but this is really your first time in a long distance relationship. You’re just not sure how you get over the feeling of not being secure.

“I’m fine,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. “C’mere.”

The sigh he lets out as he drops into your arms makes you want to cry. He’s exhausted, you can see it all over his face, and all you want to do is make it better. But as you drag him into the bedroom, with his head buried in your hair like he’s breathing you in deep, you realize that may not be your job anymore. He may be looking for someone else to do it. He might-he might just not want you here.

“Do,” and your voice definitely sounds meek now. “Do you still want me here?”

It’s not a silly question to ask. Jamie just came home from a long trip away, and you know that most people typically like to be left alone to sleep off jet lag and just the plane ride in general. And considering you weren’t sure where you stood, maybe it would be better for you to just take the guest room for now. Just-just until the morning where you could talk and figure out where you guys would be in a short-distance relationship, if he even wanted that.

“Uh no? C’mere I wanna cuddle.”

He pulls you down instantly onto the bed, wrapping a warm arm around your middle. He smells like the inside of an airport, cold coffee and some kind of Lysol, and it kind of puts you off. It’s just another reminder that he had been far away, that he wasn’t here with you in the way you wanted him to be. That you were practically hanging by a telephone wire, waiting for when Jamie would finally just disconnect you and move on with his life.

Suddenly you don’t want to be here anymore, and you move awkwardly away from him, lying down on the other side of his huge king bed. You don’t want to pretend that everything is alright, that you don’t know that he’s probably breaking up with you in the morning or that things won’t be different now that he’s home and just everything. You don’t want to prolong it any longer. Even though he hasn’t given you any indication that he wants to break up or anything, it’s like an itch under your skin you can’t scratch. You have to know where you stand.

He asks you, “Y/N? Are you okay?” at the same time you say “Are you going to break up with me?”

He looks as shell shocked as you feel in the moment, because fuck, you didn’t mean for it to come out like that. You just wanted to know what his intentions were, you hadn’t meant to blurt it out so blatantly like that.

“What? Of course not? What made you feel like that?”

You shrug, as if it’ll stop Jamie from prying. Once he grabs onto a subject, he won’t stop until he gets to the bottom of it. Especially about relationship shit. He just wants you to be happy, you know that, but there’s no way he can possibly fix this stupid insecurity of yours.

“Y/N?”

Your voice is shaking when you answer him, when you say “Because Anaheim,” and you can tell he doesn’t get it fully until you add “Because you’re gone all the damn time, and I feel like I’m losing you every single day, and I just want to know if we’re done.”

You want to throw up because he’s being completely silent, and he looks so done with all of this shit, all of your shit. You’re getting up before you can even help yourself, clutching his white bedsheets to your chest like that will stop you from feeling completely, emotionally, naked. He stares at you blankly for a moment, like he can’t believe you said what you did. Until he grimaces disgustedly at you, and you know in that moment, it’s over.

But then he gets up and practically rips the drawer of his nightstand open before pulling out a little black box. And you have no words as he pops it open, and you can see the little diamonds of a promise ring glinting in the moonlight.

“Jamie,” you say tentatively. “You didn’t.”

It’s fruitless though, because there’s evidence right there that he did.

“I did, and I still do, because I love you, and I bought this to show you that you’re not losing me.”

You can’t breathe as he walks towards you, holding the box in his right hand. You can’t breathe as he drops the box into your own hand, as he presses you up against the wall and holds you close in the way he used to before everything.

“I know this year was tough as hell for you and me, but I promise you that next year will be better. That we’ll see each other more, that I’ll be able to take you to Anaheim with me and show you off in the way you deserve. Please Y/N. You’re the only one I want there with me.”

Nothing is magically fixed. There are still a lot of things needed to be said, lots of time spent breaking down both of your insecurities about this. More discussions of what both of you want out of a long distance relationship. Most importantly though, how you’re going to handle all of this.

But as you wrap your arms around his neck and surge up to kiss him, the only thing that matters is that he’s yours.

And you’re his.

taglist: @heighia @2manytabsopen @brandtsclarke @pucking-insane @callllumhood @barzychuk @b-brz @0cean-vib3s @stars-canucks@dumbbrunettechild

#hockey #jamie drysdale #there i go being in his tag again #hello again jamie if you're here #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale imagine #man i really did not think this would be this long #but apparently it did get this long #trevor zegras #<- for blacklist #ducks #writing #reader insert #hope y'all enjoy!!! #unbeta'd we die like men here #edit: whoops forgot i had peeps who want to be tagged

[dothwrites]

15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3 

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes. 

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers. 

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color. 

“Cas.” 

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice. 

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave. 

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here. 

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?” 

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy. 

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story. 

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words. 

That’s not who I am. 

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets. 

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...” 

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking. 

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.” 

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon. 

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.” 

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what. 

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?” 

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems. 

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed. 

He does make one stop, however. 

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders. 

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.” 

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...” 

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his. 

“So what happened?” 

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack. 

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.” 

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved. 

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses. 

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem. 

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle? 

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...” 

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does. 

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out. 

There’s work to be done. 

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention. 

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” 

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human. 

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.” 

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back. 

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?” 

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.” 

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.” 

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.” 

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.” 

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing. 

---

Bobby is wrong. 

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him. 

There’s still time. 

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt. 

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow. 

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him. 

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon. 

It’s always too soon. 

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?” 

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer. 

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.” 

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him. 

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology. 

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care. 

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier. 

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere. 

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before. 

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around. 

Dean Winchester is there. 

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world. 

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move. 

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.” 

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.” 

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm. 

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.” 

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.” 

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them. 

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.” 

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--” 

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?” 

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.” 

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.” 

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his. 

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more. 

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.” 

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them. 

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him. 

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?” 

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.” 

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing. 

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest. 

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed. 

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure. 

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s. 

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.” 

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say. 

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?” 

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition. 

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought. 

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him. 

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place. 

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.” 

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles. 

“Dean,” he says. 

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo. 

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs. 

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.” 

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to. 

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?” 

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.” 

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair. 

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him. 

You are valued. You are loved. 

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies. 

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling. 

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years. 

There is so much work to do. 

But they have time. They have all the time they need. 

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

#spn spoilers #destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #saileen #saileen fic #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #eileen leahy #coda fix #15.20 coda #fix it #fix it fic #because fuck the finale that's why #do not take this fic as agreement with what happened #but this is the only way my brain will accept it #unbeta'd because we die like men in this house #dothwrites

[pestis-blight]

Small Winter Snippet

Hyde and Utterson stuff because I'll be damned if Utterson doesn't slowly learn that being the poised Victorian Gentleman that everyone seeks to be is complete BS

And I'll also be damned if I don't give Hyde some good experiences where he can actually LIVE rather than be some Alter Ego that Jekyll uses

ANYWAY - No content warning! Just old timey slang and english geezers in the snow Xx

---

Hyde was, in essence, pure excitement. The freezing cold, the gentle falling of snow, it was all something the man had scarcely had time to enjoy and now, on his own, with the wind in his hair and his hands outstretched to feel the full wrath of the bitter north wind — he felt alive. Stood on the balcony of his newfound residence, the man hopped over the wrought iron fencing, clinging to the edge as his legs dangled.

He laughed, a rich and bubbling cackle escaping into the cool winter air, snow resting on his nose with his head thrown back to admire the grey clouds that painted the sky. He couldn’t help the grin that grew further across his feature, a curling a menacing snarl of delight.

“Mr. Hyde would you please get down!” Utterson called, rushing to the balcony with his hands balled into anxious fists.

“Snows fallin’ Gabriel!” replied the other, “Didn’tcha ‘ear?”

“No I — Of course I did, would you — be so kind as to not shout so loudly?”

“Bah!” he scoffed and waved a hand, now only holding on with a singular grasp much to Utterson’s dismay.

“Oh heavens —”

“Means the Thames’ll be all frozen up! C’mon!” And with that, the creature had dropped to the ground with a thud, snow dusting his coat as he lay there, sprawled with a sharp bark of laughter escaping once more. His fingers dug into the soft surroundings, his gloves torn and tattered, fraying at the edges, doing nothing to provide insulation to the already freezing claws.

“Edward!”

Hyde would only continue to chuckle, his cheeks a dusting of rose as he lifted his hands up to the air, eyes watching the snow fall in clumps to his cheeks. “Bet good ol’ Harry never had this much fun a day in ‘is bleedin’ life!” His gaze shifted to the man still stood on the balcony all while placing snow in his mouth.

It melted.

Of course it melted. The internal temperature of his mouth was approximately 35 if not 37 degrees centigrade, why would it have stayed frozen?

Well…because it was snow. Though snow was only water and water was only — snow, he supposed.

Still, the melting was a sensation he had enjoyed and so placed his hands into the snow once more, fingers sinking deep into the texture, his skin a canvas of purple and pink, of faint blues and frozen greens where his veins lay.

“He certainly never ate snow,” the lawyer replied as he pushed himself over the balcony with scrambling legs, arms shaking as he slipped from the roof tiles below him. “He was a sensible man, he knew what not to do, he knew,” Utterson babbled, not entirely sure where he was supposed to go from there, though soon found himself settled on tiles below, at least three feet off of the ground.”

“So what if he knew what all good men know! I know what all good men know, don’t I? Don’t see me all poised an' proper anyhow —” Hyde practically scoffed at the thought, his arms moving against the snow, pushing it out of his way before lowering them by his side, a way of stretching he supposed, he wasn’t sure why the instinct had kicked in. But he knew it felt fun and right, and so continued the notion until he was a laughing delight once more. “You should try this, Gabriel! Makes a man look balmy but it’s a barrel of fun!”

“It makes you look —”

“Like a right gigglemug, don’ it!”

Utterson sighed with a small smile on his face as he dusted snow from his jacket, now firmly on the ground with his wits about him. “It certainly does, Mr. Hyde, yes.”

---

A murderer this man may be, but my god, he is still inherently human in the book and I will. Die. On. This. Hill. I also realize that I have only been showing parts where he is inherently happy, I can assure you Hyde is very much so still the curt if not grumpy man we were introduced to. Agitated. That's the word. I just really like to see him happy. It's not so much that he deserves it, but I do like to make Utterson essentially have to parent this man for the life of him so that Henry doesnt get entirely peeved and or frustrated further at his lack of subject to analyse.

#unbeta'd #we die like men #jekyll and hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #utterson #john utterson #gabriel utterson #mr hyde #edward hyde #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #hyde #fanfic #fanfic au #pestis.fic #pestis.for a year

[mando-chicken]

Tiny Spots | Clones and Their Cats

“When Commander Thorn’s Tooka, Spot, goes missing, he enlists the help of his brother, Commander Fox, to try and find his beloved pet. When they find her, however, they’re both in for quite the surprise.”

Another chapter based in the ‘Clones and Their Cats’ universe. The basis is literally just what it says on the tin - some of the clones have cats (and some other pets too) - all these fics will largely focus on the clones and their animal companions. Not all chapters/works are in chronological order, this one is set a few months before the first one.

Other works in the series:

Cat Sitter

Read on AO3

Tag List:

@cxptain-rex​ @spaghetti-666​

A knock at Fox’s door caused him to groan loudly, scrubbing at his face with a hand, before glancing at the chrono that sat on his desk, noting that he had been working at the massive piles of flimsi before him for almost two hours. His frown deepened when he also noticed that he had only managed to get part way through the first pile. “Come in,” he huffed, snatching the next document from the pile and scanning the mess of words that seemed to go on forever without actually saying anything of any real importance.

 Fox immediately narrowed his eyes when Thorn’s familiar head popped through Fox’s doorway, offering him a sheepish grin. “Uh, hey Fox, is Spot in here?” the younger clone asked, glancing around Fox’s office and at all of the usual hiding places of the Tooka in question.

 “Haven’t seen her all day,” he shook his head, returning to reading the flimsi before him, “did you try checking the storage rooms?” The sound of an affirmative, “the street out back?” Another affirmative, “and what about the Doctor? You know Spot likes to hang around at the vet clinic or at her apartment when you’re out on patrol.”

 “Dalthic says she hasn’t seen her either.” Thorn’s voice is unusually subdued, and when Fox looks up he can clearly see the way his eyebrows wrinkled. He still seemed to be glancing around the room, as if expecting the cat to suddenly poke its head out of one of the flimsi filled crates – something the animal was indeed prone to doing – because the boxes in Fox’s office were clearly superior for a Tooka to sit in compared to any other.

 Fox made a respectable effort at holding back an exhausted sigh, only allowing a brief puff of air from his nose to signal any sort of displeasure. Sure, technically it was none of his concern what happened to the cat, but Thorn absolutely adored the little creature and it was rather sweet the way he lit up the moment he spotted the ginger furball. Admittedly, Fox himself had grown somewhat fond of the Tooka, enjoying her quiet company when he was stuck in the office, even if he could live happily without the unseemly number of cat hairs that coated his blacks and found their way into his cups of caff. Not that he would ever admit such a thing aloud, that would only encourage more brothers to try and get their own hands on a pet.

 “She’ll be fine, Thorn, she knows the streets as well as any Guard,” he breathed, “I’m sure she’ll be back here in time to wake you up for feeding tomorrow morning.” Thorn had learnt very quickly that cats did not tolerate late feeding. Whenever he was out, Spot had evidently decided Fox was the lucky person who would get woken up by her ungodly screeching for food, forcing him to feed the animal, lest he have to spend the next few hours trying to sleep through the sound. So much for her being Thorn’s sole responsibility.

 Thorn only frowned at his words, shaking his head slightly, “that’s the thing, she hasn’t been to my quarters this evening, and it’s hours past feeding time. You know she’d never miss out on free food and especially not a main meal.” The trooper was shifting slightly, his fingers drumming along the side of his helmet as he clutched it in one of his hands.

 It was enough for Fox to take pause in consideration, the flimsi in his hand drooping slightly as he began to think to himself. No matter what, Spot was always present at mealtimes, often arriving a little while early to ensure no one forgot her feed.

 “And it isn’t just that either, she’s been throwing up recently, and keeps trying to hide from everyone. I thought she just wasn’t feeling well and it’d pass on its own in a few days, but now…” he trailed off with a sigh, looking down at the floor. It was typical of Thorn to think he had somehow failed his pet before they even knew if anything was actually wrong with her – a habit it seemed he had picked up from Fox himself – and he decided to quickly put an end to the line of thought.

 “Look, vod, I’m sure she’s fine. Have a little faith in her.” Fox placed down the document he had been working on, “go on and do your patrol, the boys will be waiting for you. I’ll just finish up these priority documents and then I’ll go and look around the barracks.” He was fortunate to have finished most of the priority work beforehand, only a few documents required for important meetings within the senate the following morning, and the rest could wait a while longer. It wasn’t as though Fox expected to get much further through the nasty piles of flimsiwork anyway.

 Seemingly, his reassurances were enough to take off some of the edge off Thorn’s worries, and the other commander was quick to give Fox a nod, straightening up and sliding his helmet smoothly into place. “Thanks, vod.” Thorn’s shoulders lowered slightly, as if his tension was slowly being drained away.

 Fox nodded back, beginning to shoo his fellow commander from the room with a few waves of his hand, “don’t worry about it, just make sure to keep the little beast in your quarters where you can keep an eye on her once I find her.” From the way Thorn snickered slightly and muttered a quiet ‘sure’ as he left, Fox’s gruff, annoyed tone hadn’t exactly come out as such.

 Within half an hour Fox had managed to scribble the final approval signature into place on the documents he was working through. He placed it on the pile of completed work with a relieved sigh, taking a moment to roll his wrist, frowning slightly at the way it ached with the movement. Although it wasn’t quite late, Fox knew he would have to be awake before dawn to begin some preparations for a guard detail later the following day, so he was determined to get a reasonable amount of rest beforehand.

 After taking a few moments to ensure everything was left in order, Fox exited his office and began the short journey to the main barracks attached to the lower story of the Guard building. If the Tooka wasn’t in Thorn’s quarters or office, the local alleyways or harassing the local vet for affection, then there was a solid chance she would be hiding out in the barracks.

 Luckily for Fox, the men were good at keeping their sleeping areas practically spotless – as per the regulations – so there were only so many places Spot could try to hide. But it seemed that no matter how many rooms he checked, nor how many brothers he spoke to, there were no signs he could find that would lead him to the cat’s current whereabouts. No one had seen her, not since the previous evening at the latest.

 Fox had been searching for well over an hour before Thorn eventually returned from his short patrol of the nearby area, only just taking the time to switch out with the next trooper assigned the route, before he was back to Fox’s side, questioning him on his progress. They both agreed to spend only another hour searching for Spot at the most, knowing they were both needed the following morning. Despite their efforts, however, neither of them could find the elusive feline, and Thorn was eventually the one to call the search off, albeit reluctantly.

 Defeated, but agreeing to spend some time in the morning continuing their search, Fox returned to his quarters for the night. It took him only a few minutes to mindlessly work his way out of his armour, setting it all aside in a neat pile, before he fell back onto his bed. The thin mattress did little to cushion his small drop, but he hardly cared, moving into a slightly more comfortable position on his back before grabbing his datapad from the side table.

 He silently skimmed through the ever-growing list of updates, ensuring there was nothing that urgently needed his attention. The screen of the datapd was the only feature illuminating the room, and Fox was silently musing to himself about how the Guard medics Fibula and Tibia would probably be berating him for causing potential eye strain, when he picked up the distinct sound of a Tooka’s meow.

 Practically rolling off the edge of the bed, Fox quickly dropped down to the floor, using the brightness of his pad to light up the small space beneath his bunk. It took him all of about four seconds – enough time to curse Thorn and the tube he was birthed from – before he reached out and snatched up his comm unit, calmly summoning the other commander to his quarters.

 By the time Thorn managed to reach him, Fox had switched on the lights and had settled himself on the floor. “When you adopted Spot, what exactly did the vet tell you to do?” Fox asked, glancing up at Thorn. His voice was soft and almost conversational, but his eyes glinted dangerously in a way that had the other commander shrinking slightly under the older clone’s gaze.

 “The Doc’ told me plenty of things I’d need to do…” he slowly answered, curling in on himself further when Fox made a show of taking in a deep breath, holding it for a moment, and then releasing it. He was mad. “Why do you ask, ori’vod?” Thorn was scared to ask but prayed to whatever deity was out there that he could perhaps try and suck up to the other commander and somewhat lessen his wrath, or at least what amount of it got directed towards him.

 Fox, however, saw through his futile attempt, eyes narrowing on his dangerously, “Don’t you ‘ori’vod’ me, Thorn,” he growled, “come and look what your cat’s done.”

 There was little room for argument with Fox’s tone, and cautiously, as if approaching a fierce predator, Thorn slunk his way closer, sliding down to kneel on the floor beside Fox’s bed. He glanced under it, only to gasp in both surprise and slight delight at what he saw. “Spot’s had kittens?!” he whisper-shouted, trying to be considerate of the five, tiny bundles of fur currently snuggled up close to Spot’s side. Thorn had the sense to at least attempt to look sheepish, but it was hard to maintain it with the way he kept having to fight down the urge to grin at the adorable kittens.

 “I thought you said you’d gotten her splayed months ago!” Fox couldn’t help snapping, “what the kriff are we supposed to do with kittens, di’kut?”

 Thorn gave a nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck, “Uh, yeah, about that…” he merely offered an apologetic smile, though it began to look more and more like a grimace the longer Fox scowled at him. “Look, I’m sorry, but I got caught up with all the chaos we were having recently, and it just slipped my mind.”

 Fox had practically buried his face into his hand by that point. “That still doesn’t answer my question. We don’t exactly know how to deal with newborn kittens, nor what we should do with them.”

 “We can just ask Dalthic, she’s a vet, she’ll know how to look after kittens,” Thorn replied, reaching out to gently nudge one of the restless baby Tookas with one of his fingers. The fearsome clone commander looked as though he was going to burst into tears and desperately clutched his chest with a hand when the kitten made a tiny ‘mew’ sound in response.

 Fox already had his datapad out, shooting a brief message to the vet who had been kind enough to help Thorn adopt Spot in the first place. “You’re going to have to apologise to the poor woman, I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate being woken up at this hour,” he grumbled, sparing a glance at Spot and noting tiredly that it was indeed his blanket that the cat had stolen to give birth on.

 Thorn nodded, but didn’t seem to be paying much attention, too absorbed with stroking Spot’s head, informing her of just how adorable her kittens were. Spot was vibrating with happiness, purring so loudly that Fox was slightly worried the walls would start shaking if she purred any louder. “Some of the other brothers have mentioned wanting pets, maybe we could keep the—”

 “Absolutely not.” There was no way they would be keeping the kittens, much less giving them to other brothers in the Guard to keep as pets. As far as Fox was concerned, they had already broken enough regulations by deciding to keep one Tooka in the barracks, six would just be asking for trouble. “We’re not going to be keeping any of them, as soon as they’re old enough we’ll give them to the Doc’ and she can find them homes.” He absolutely meant it, no matter how put-out Thorn looked at being so quickly shot down.

 It was six weeks later, when Spot was happily sitting in one of the crates in Fox’s office, with four kittens spread out across his desk’s surface and one kitten attempting to lay on top of his datapad while he was using it, purring away happy and content, that Fox realised yes, they would indeed be keeping the kittens.

#writing #star wars #the clone wars #commander fox #commander thorn #coruscant guard #clone troopers #clones and their cats #vet among the stars #pets #tooka #loth cat #unbeta'd #we die like men #a couple of my ocs are mentioned #but that's about it