falling whistle

| Mine | Human! Bill Cipher

Dipper Pines was absolutely adorable, you realized.

Adorable, yes, and also incredibly clueless when he could be.

Three weeks. He’d known you a full three weeks. And he still hadn’t figured out that you were a demon.

Well, it wasn’t his fault really. You were almost flawless at covering your tracks. You snuck into his life so easily it was like butter, befriending his twin and closest friends, especially becoming friends with that redheaded lass. Stan though?

You stayed away from him. That man wasn’t what he seemed, you could sense the intelligence about him. Not to say Dipper wasn’t intelligent, he was.

But he was just, so, clueless.

“Maybe I should just give him a hint,” You mused to yourself, yawning as your tail slowly wrapped around your leg.

“Hmm?” Said brunette nerd hummed from his spot on his bed, his head buried in that journal of his.

“Nothing,” You said, quietly laughing to yourself. He knew of your abnormalities, yes, he was actually quite perceptive with how he found out about your cat ears and tail, but he thought nothing of them. Gravity Falls was an extremely odd place, and you were just another oddity that he managed to befriend.

You wondered how long it would take though, how long till he realized what a danger you could be to him.

You yawned again, rolling slowly onto your front on the bed, a cat-like grin on your face as you watched him, resting your chin on the back of your interlocked fingers. As if he could sense the stare on him, Dipper looked up. A faint splash of red painted his pale cheeks.

“W-what?” He asked, fidgeting slightly, but still trying to seem confident.

Adorable.

“Mm~” You hummed, the action slow and drawn out as all your actions tended to be. A tingling sensation ran up your neck, setting your enhanced senses on edge. You immediately put away your tail, slipping it up into your shorts and making sure the process was subtle. Dipper never noticed a thing, but you knew someone was now watching. A certain someone that rhymes with ‘Kill’.

Hah, ironic.

“I was just thinking how cute you were,” you drawled, honestly relaying your thoughts. Dipper’s blush worsened at your blatant compliment, ducking his face more under his hat and avoiding your eyes.

Adorable.

“H-hah? Shut up Y/N, stop joking around,” He shifted around on his bed. The burning sensation of being watched worsened and you frowned, starting to get up.

“I wasn’t joking,” You left him with the comment, knowing he would overthink it as you exited the room. Were you teasing him? Yup. You meant nothing by it, but he was so easy to rile up you couldn’t help yourself.

As soon as you closed the door to the attic and took a step down the stairs your surroundings turned black and white, static flickering behind your ears and a pressure entering the space. You didn’t even need to look to know that a certain dream demon was behind you.

“Why, hello, Bill,” You said lightly, a sway in your step as you continued walking without a problem.

The demon didn’t answer, and you were taken back a bit by his uncharacteristic silent behaviour. Shouldn’t he be talking your ear off by now with his cocky and carefree attitude?

You sat on a couch, laying down and stretching your legs out. “What? Cat caught your tongue?” You inwardly cackled at the irony in your question, feeling your tail itching to reveal itself. When there was still no answer you looked up at the ceiling in mock realization.

“Ah? Could it be you were jealous~?” You stretched lazily, curling into the couch as if you were the only in the room.

“I will find out what you are, kitten,” Bill finally spoke up, as if snapping out of whatever faze he was in. You snorted.

“In your dreams, Bill,” you teased the dream demon, sending a lidded gaze his way.

This was the basis of your whole relationship with the guy. Curiosity. He was undeniably curious towards you. You were a demon that was to be sure, but of what kind? This was the question he’d been trying to figure out since you met him. You could freely roam the modern world without any tricks or plans unlike a lot of demons out there. There was so much mystery surrounding you that Bill was determined to find out.

It had began like that at first, but now your relationship with the guy was twisting, changing. He’d become clingy, to the point where you just calling the kid cute made him jealous and initiate spending time with you.

“The only thing that’ll be in my dreams is you, kitten,” He shot back, floating towards you with a smirk, hands behind his back.

You almost let out another snort. Even his nickname for you was hilarious, considering that was exactly the kind of demon you were. There was no way you were telling him that though.

“Oh really?” You yawned again, rolling your neck languidly. No wonder he called you kitten, you couldn’t help your lazy body language, as you were literally a cat. Cat demon at that. You had a pair of furry, f/c cat ears and tail to prove it. Though they obviously weren’t out at the moment.

“Why are you so afraid of telling me?” Bill tempted, tilting his head with a devious smile as he poured a cup of tea from a kettle he conjured up out of nowhere, sitting indian style in mid air.

“I’m not afraid,” You said after a moment of hesitation, hoping he didn’t realize that moment of unease. But of course, you couldn’t hide much from Bill. Especially not in his domain.

“But you are,” He said, taking a single sip of the tea before tossing it behind him, uncaring of where it ended up. In a blink he was suddenly right before your face, dark eye boring into yours. “What are you hiding there, kitten?”

You tried not to react, keeping up your cool front even as you jumped on the inside, your feline instincts begging you to jump up onto the wall and force some distance.

“Why don’t you try harder to find out, hon?” You baited, smirking right back. You were known for being confident towards him, it wouldn’t do for you to reveal your true feelings.

“Oh I will,” his dark eye darkened even more, a strike of worry springing up inside you. Did you somehow cross the line? Bill was trying to seem his regular self but you could tell that something was different today. He seemed…off.

“Looking forward to it,” you wasted no time firing back, putting a finger to his nose and pushing him back gently.

A strange expression crossed his face.
“Watch me, kitten. Soon I’ll strip you completely bare before me.”

You could feel yourself heat up at his words, swallowing hard and keeping up your mental walls so he couldn’t see what you were thinking. Yet something in his words triggered fear within you.

You were scared.

Bill was annoying yes, and an arrogant, cocky, idiot, but you couldn’t deny that you were attached. Completely, utterly attached. You enjoyed this game as cat and mouse, with Bill continuously chasing after you as if you were the best mystery out there. He had become such a constant part of your life now that you feared the day he finally figured out what you were. Would he be disappointed? Would he grow bored of you once he knew?

Would he leave?

That last thought terrified you the most. You had denied it for long, but you couldn’t any longer.

You didn’t want him to go.

But you were a demon. He was a demon. You both knew the nature of your kind. The attachment you felt was intense, stronger than anything a human could ever feel. And it frightened you so, so much.

“Penny for your thoughts, kitten?” He asked, slinging an arm round your shoulder. You forced yourself to stay still, face a blank state of nonchalance as you tried to ignore the way his skin ignited yours.

“How about a hundred?”

He laughed, blonde shaggy locks falling before his eye and partially covering his eyepatch. A snap of his fingers and a diamond appeared in your lap.

“Will this do?”

You shot him a side look, smirking.

“Well actuall-”

And his fingers touched your ear.

Your voice faltered, a shock rippling throughout your entire body. This had never happened before. Sure Bill was touchy, but he had never strayed towards that area before. You had been so focused on the witty banter that you didn’t notice the hand slung around your shoulder slowly slipping up into your hair.

Bill raised an eyebrow at your pause and you swallowed on a dry throat.

“I mean, a-ah,” You cursed yourself at the stutter. “You know I care nothing for human monetary value of stupid rocks.”

“True,” Bill replied, but there was a  glint in his eyes, as if he noticed your slip up and was determined to find the reason behind it. His hand brushed by your ear again and your hands clenched into fists in your lap. “Then what do you want, kitten?”

“I want you to leave me alone Bill,” You laughed it off, nails biting into the skin of your palms as you fought off a shudder. Why in the world did he have to manage to find one of your sensitive spots as a cat demon? If not for hundreds of years of practice on controlling yourself you would have given in the moment he even barely touched it.

“Do ya really now?” He leant even closer and you leant back.

Don’t show any response, Y/N.

You could feel the fear climbing. You licked your lips as he stroked down your ear, your nerves screaming and on edge.

“Yeah,” You cleared your throat, smirking. “Wasn’t it clear enough already? I think I’m still hung up on how cute that Dipper is.” You changed the subject quickly, hoping that he would be surprised and jealous enough to stop the stroking motions down your ear.

Instead, something way worse happened.

He grabbed it.

“Ngh!” You couldn’t help the noise that emitted from your throat, falling backwards against the arm of the couch as Bill drew closer till he was partially hovering over you.

“Don’t mention him in front of me,” He growled through gritted teeth, his relaxed and comedic countenance ripped away and replaced with something more violent, closer to his demonic identity. “Don’t mention anyone else when you’re with me.” His eye burned into you, swirling with something cracked, something that made you uncertain of his sanity in the moment.

“B-Bill-!” You tried to speak, eyes widening as your mouth went dry at his intensity. “L-let g-”

“Let go?” He mocked, grinning. His smile was sadistic. “Is that what you’re trying to say? I knew you were acting strangely. What’s the significance of this?” He pronounced the last word by pinching your ear once more. You felt your face heating up, wiggling underneath his hold.

“S-stop!”

Bill’s grin widened even more if it was possible. “Does my eye deceive me? Is this the same confident and cool girl who’d been giving me a run for my money? Hah! Decreased to a blushing and stuttering mess at this single action?”

You shivered, trying to force your eyes open as they lidded slowly. “Bill, I s-swear if you d-don’t let go I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He asked, leaning down so that he was nearer to your face. You could do nothing about it, your entire defense system was demolished as his hand kept stroking your ear. “Please tell. I’m very…”

He bit down on your left ear. “Interested.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

A purr vibrated through your chest, echoing through the silence. Your eyes were shut in embarrassment, biting your lip hard. You peeked an eye open at his face, panting slightly. His face was stunned, an enlightenment covering his features.

“δαίμονα γάτα,” He breathed, eyes lighting up blue flames for a second before it returned to soulless black. He caught himself, the runes flashing before his gaze fading. “A cat demon.”

You were silent, avoiding his eyes as best as you could. Now that he knew what did that mean for you? Would he discard of you like a toy he didn’t care for anymore?

He still looked to be in a state of awe, leaning even closer. “Show me.”

You knew exactly what he was referring to. Nevertheless you refused to answer, quivering slightly. His awe stricken glaze faded, a frown overtaking his lips as he glared.

“Show. Me.”

The words were accompanied by a specific rough pinch to your ear, which you were sure was red and bruised by now.

“N-No,” You said. Your cat features, the characteristics that showed your identity. You were genuinely terrified to show them. Demons were different than humans. Your cat ears and tail weren’t considered 'cute’ or anything ridiculous like the weak meatbags would come up with. They were considered a weakness, considered ugly in the demon world. It was like baring yourself to Bill, and that was definitely the last thing you wanted to do.

In simpler terms, you didn’t want to be judged.

Bill sneered, his nails digging into your ear now till it pierced the skin.

You yelped, hissing as your cat ears and tail popped out forcefully. You hissed at him, shrinking into the couch, a tad bit hurt that he would do that, but most of all furious.

Bill could read you like a book as he rolled his eyes. “Oh don’t be so melodramatic, kitten. You know that I think that pain is hilarious~”

He leant to the ripped and bleeding flesh of your now, cat ear, licking it teasingly. You hissed louder, curling your tail round his leg and pulling hard, dragging his body off yours. You jumped off the couch and landed in an animalistic crouch on all fours about twenty feet away, pupils now dilated just as his turned to slits.

“Stay away from me,” You bit, straightening up back on your feet.

His eyes flashed dangerously. “No can do, kitten.”

He flickered behind you before you could register it, blue, glowing chains wrapping around your body.

“What are you doing?” You growled, frustrated when you found that you couldn’t move.

He didn’t reply, instead his gaze following your twitching ears and now brushed up tail, hairs tense.

“Breathtaking,” he said. Your breath hitched.

“You don’t mean that,” You muttered. A gloved hand tilted your chin to look up at him, another one turning your body around to face his.

“I do,” He confirmed shortly.

For a second you melted in his embrace, let yourself rest your cheek into his palm. For just a second you smiled back, the first real smile you’d ever gave him. Then you got knocked back to reality and the frown melted onto your face.

You cleared your throat and tilted your head to hide your blush. While this was nice and all, you were still tied up. You relayed your thoughts out loud and Bill chuckled.

“Now why would I let you go, kitten?” He tsked, giving you a look as if you were the dumbest people on the planet. “I only just discovered who you are. You’ve become a hundred times more interesting.”

You scowled. “I’m not a toy, Bill. Let. Me. Go.” While you were a cat demon, you were still relatively powerful, and if you had to fight your way out of here then so be it.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying here, Y/N.” He said your name for the first time, making you stiffen.

Bill used his cane to hook round your waist and tug you closer to him, so that your bodies touched. You opened your mouth to snap something but your voice caught in your throat when you saw his eye. There was a swirling nightmare within it, something dark and mad enough to make even you, a being of the same caliber want to curl up in a ball. It was so intense you couldn’t look away, and yet you wanted to run as far away as you could.

Bill grinned painfully wide.

You’re mine.

[MasterList]

Decided to post a picture of my head canon for Tate’s kids. A while back there was a post that consisted of a screen grab of a random background teen that looked exactly like what you expect a young Mcgucket would, and since my head canon for Tate’s son was fourteen I figured I’d use it as the design for him

Anyways, this is Jed and Penny Whistle Mcgucket. They are Tate’s kids and of course Fiddleford’s grandkids. They mostly appear in the Mystery Dads au but I like to head canon them as existing in general. 

Penny Whistle is five years old in 2012, she’s very excitable and absolutely adores her Grandpa Fidds. (She likes Stan too but Fidds is definitely her favorite. Fidds and her sing folk and filk songs together a lot.) 

Jed is fourteen and is generally a really sweat and somewhat chill kid. He isn’t stoic like his dad, but he is just generally very pleasant. During the summer he generally works as a camp counselor, and he really loves working with kids. He wants to be a teacher when he’s older, like his mom. (who teaches science.) However he is more interest in english, art, and music than in teaching anything like Math and science.

Penny Whistle would like to be a postman at the moment, because she is five and changes what she’d like to be every couple of weeks or so.

Stay With Me Tonight {Reader Insert}

Imagine: Hogwarts is celebrating Halloween with a grand ball, with dancing, and passion, and fun. Remus is rather upset, as well as a little annoyed, to see that the girl he wanted to spend the night with is dancing with someone else.

Summary: {Y/N} was asked to the ball by Sirius, someone who she was very happy to go with. But when the boy she really wanted to spend the night with makes his annoyance known, her curiosity is caught.

Request?: Yes! A lovely little nonny wanted a Remus x reader piece where the former gets jealous of the date between Sirius and the reader at Hogwarts’ latest ball.

Word Count: 1925

Taglist: Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

A/N: I do love to write about the beloved Mr. Lupin, he is one of my favourites! I hope this is up to standard with expectations. I also wanted to add that, yes I do have a lot of requests, so patience is muchly appreciated with the busy week I’ve got ahead of me. Pieces will be published in a different order to what’s been requested, in order to space out the different fandom content. Enjoy, my little bookworms 🖤 

Originally posted by peterandygarfield

Keep reading

You are Velora Vessar, and you are nineteen.

 You just celebrated your birthday a few days late with Vox Machina, since traveling from the feywild was still hazy for you.

 They all were there, including Vax’ildan. Of course, it had been years since the end of Vecna, but you still see him. He speaks often, and he speaks on the merits of being a rogue. You’ve started your worship to the Raven Queen a few years back. A small little shrine that you’ve kept inside a box. Mother and Father would be livid if they found out, so you hide it.

 She understands though. The Raven Queen is an understanding goddess. You are not your brother in his faith, but you are her fate touched like he once was. He tells you not to fear, for he will watch over you like he always had.

 Your party with Vox Machina is wild. You get many gifts from them. Your first favorite is the gift from Cassandra, a beautiful dress of Whitestone’s colors. Vex’ahlia gives you a spare room, and your gifts are piled there. Many whirling and interesting objects from Percy and Taryon, A beautiful tapestry from Scanlan and many other things that are haphazardly put away.

 Pike gives you a great gift. A holy symbol. The raven head that she so struggled to trace from the borrowed book. Studded with dark stones, it was great.

 Just as you’re about to head off to the library, you’re told to stop. Your brother wants you to wait. As you wait, you realize that one member is missing. Keyleth. Soon enough, she appears out of the sun tree. Tall and elegant, she’s powerful and gentle. Vax misses her greatly.

 Vex’ahlia and Percy accompany you through the tree with her, and you are in a new place. Your brother tells you that this is Zephra. The home of the  Air Ashari.

 Your next birthday gift is something that you’ve only ever read of. The Deathwalker’s Ward. Your brother’s old armor.

 “ Now yours.” He tells you softly as the girls help you get on the armor. Quietly, you look at the armor and it’s quite beautiful.  “ Walk to the edge.” He tells you. Walking to the edge of the cliff, you stand there with your arms out and your eyes are closed. The Wind rushes past you, the sound filling your ears.

 “ Be at peace.” The female voice fills your ears, “ You will be safe.” Your queen assures you as you hear the steps of someone coming towards you.

 “ Take a breath, and be calm.” The voice belongs to Keyleth, or does it belong to Vax’ildan? You feel the push and you are falling. The whistling brings fear to your heart, but then something happens. You slow and then you open your eyes. Two large raven wings, that slowly lift you up.

 It’s a wonder to fly and to be what the Raven Queen wants you to be. After a few laps, you land and Vex’ahlia practically tackles you. In between the babbling and excitement, you see Keyleth approach with a few more things.

 The belt of returning fits snugly and the three daggers look nice on you. Lastly, she hands you an interesting gift. Vax is grinning brightly at you as you see Keyleth handling a snake. A white snake who slowly sniffs you, before slithering onto your arm.

 “ He will serve you well.” He tells you softly as the snake looks at you, and you can swear that he’s delighted. “ His name is Simon.” The snake slithers down you and wraps himself around your waist and he turns into a belt.

 Your name is Velora Vessar. You’re on your way to becoming the champion of the Raven Queen.

For @hannibalnuxvomica who requested:

Hannigram, #41: Comfort Food

(From this list of prompts.)

Full disclosure: this is basically crack. After the extreme angst of this prompt fill, I needed an angst detox. ;)


To all appearances, Hannibal is never ill. It’s an image he has always been glad to present to the world, even before his time in the proverbial spotlight. Physical weakness is such a distasteful thing. Of course, looks can be deceiving. Hannibal does get sick on occasion. He’s managed to muscle and medicate his way through all the illnesses of his adult life—colds, even the occasional bout of flu—without attracting anyone’s notice. But now that he has another person living with him full time, carrying on a charade about his health is something of a lost cause.

He can hear Will downstairs, moving through the kitchen with too much clanging for Hannibal’s comfort. He hopes he’s being careful with the utensils and the cutting boards. Will is sometimes too utilitarian with the things he sees only as tools. Hannibal suppresses a sigh. Or at least that’s his preferred explanation of events when his stuffed sinuses don’t respond to his wishes.

The scent of Will’s efforts is wafting up the stairs and under their bedroom door. It’s a rather delicious and savory aroma. Hannibal is impressed. Impressed enough to heave himself up, put on a robe, and attempt the appearance of something other than infirm misery. The appearance is admittedly hampered by the way he shuffles down the stairs, but Will doesn’t witness it, so it hardly counts.

Will is stirring a large pot of what Hannibal’s incapacitated nose can’t identify as beef stew until he sees the sliced beef bubbling away in the broth.

“How are you feeling?” asks Will, stirring with admirable concentration. Hannibal wishes he felt more like inquiring about Will’s recipe and less like collapsing into the nearest chair. He settles for seating himself on one of the raised stools around the kitchen island. It feels like a long and arduous climb. He’s still trying to formulate a reply that’s a bit more dignified than like death when Will chuckles to himself. “That bad, huh?”

Hannibal chafes at being so easily seen through, but forcing his lungs and vocal cords to form words seems like far too much effort. He soothes his wounded pride by admiring Will’s forearms as he stirs.

“Should be done in a minute,” Will adds. He drops a spoon into a small bowl and ladles a tiny serving of stew inside, setting it on the island before turning back to the stovetop. It’s thick and steaming. The peas and carrots look tender, and the barley seems thoroughly cooked. Even the meat looks done to perfection.

Hannibal wonders why on earth Will has given him such a small serving. Worse, he wonders why he can’t smell any seasoning. His nose isn’t reliable at the moment, but it’s never failed him quite so drastically before. He reaches for the spoon and takes a tentative bite—

—which only confirms that there isn’t an ounce of seasoning in the stew. Hannibal can’t quite believe that Will could be so culinarily naive. He’d assisted him countless times in the kitchen; surely he’d picked up a few things along the way? Hannibal tries to remember if he’s ever eaten anything Will made without assistance—and comes up empty. 

Hannibal is horrified.

He feels Will’s eyes on him. When he looks up to meet them, Will is wearing a very strange expression.

“How is it?” he asks, voice strained. Hannibal perceives the telltale signs of anxiety—muscle tension, stiff posture, tight voice—and is astonished that Will cares so much for his opinion of his cooking. He swallows the abominably bland stew and steels himself for a truly heinous lie.

“Good,” he replies. The word feels nearly as tasteless as the stew. “It’s—“ He trails off and searches for a word that sounds like delicious and means proof of an indifferent God.

“For the dogs,” Will interrupts. The strain in his voice finally erupts into a laugh. “I was going to taste it to make sure it wasn’t too hot. They love beef stew. It’s great comfort food, you know.” Will smiles in a way that can only be described as wicked.

For a long moment, Hannibal can’t remember why he didn’t definitively kill Will any of the times he’d tried.

“I made you soup, too,” Will continues after the evil leaks from his smile. “I was waiting for it to cool before I called you.”

Hannibal finally notices the second pot on the stove, quietly leaking steam.

Will bends down to ladle the thick stew into the dogs’ bowls. The pack comes running at his whistle, falling on the food as though Will doesn’t feed them twice a day. Will washes his hands and ladles a bowl for Hannibal from the second pot. Hannibal is grateful to note that he’s been given a heaping serving of savory broth, tender beef, and thick-sliced carrots and potatoes. And seasoning. Hannibal decides that sometimes God is benevolent, and spoons a large and flavorful bite into his mouth. He closes his eyes and hums in satisfaction. Will had learned something from him after all.

A growl erupts from the dog bowls. Will tsks loudly. “Share,” he reprimands, and the dogs subside at once. “I’ll get you more in a minute. Do you want more?” The statement was addressed to the dogs, the question to Hannibal.

Hannibal finally processes the fact that he and the dogs are being fed at the same time. He isn’t sure whether to be offended or overjoyed by the fact that he’s officially part of the pack. 

He settles for asking for seconds.


I was googling homemade dog food, and found a recipe for doggy beef stew, which isn’t all that different from the human variety. And thus a cracky oneshot was born. I’m always so overjoyed by writing crack. I should do it more often. ;) I hope you enjoyed this, @hannibalnuxvomica!

the five times steve falls in love with you

a/n; hahaha remember when i used to write a lot and post actively?? hahaha me neither.. here’s a thing, tho

 warnings; some swears, sexualness if u squint hard enough




He had just finished a meeting when he decided to grab something to eat, walking to the kitchen with a small whistle falling through his lips. He stopped when he found you, sitting on a windowsill in the living room, headphones in your ears, and a book on your lap. It was pouring outside, and while others saw it as an inconvenience, you saw it as a blessing. You loved the simplicity of rain in a world that was the opposite of simple. You loved the raincoats, boots, and umbrellas that a storm brought out, and the way that it felt when it touched your skin.

Steve couldn’t help but stare as he saw you there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Your skin was practically glowing from the odd light of the dark clouds, and he couldn’t miss the small smile that easily rested on your lips. He admired this about you, the fact that you gave yourself time to relax, and to enjoy little things like reading and the rain with all the chaos that spiraled around you. He stood for a moment, and began to realize just how much he admired you.

_

It was a Thursday, which meant it was Steve’s turn to provide dinner. They used to order out, hire chefs, bake frozen pizzas, but they soon came to understand that the home cooked meals were the ones that they always seemed to crave. Whether it be the lasagna you cooked with ease and precision, or the cherry pie Steve learned to cook at the age of 6, the team came to a consensus that when they were all back to the compound, they would switch off cooking duties daily.

Steve was making a casserole of some kind when you walked into the kitchen, a small grin on your face. He hadn’t heard you come in, so you decided to try to scare him. You moved slowly, using means of sneaking around that Natasha had taught you, and once you were behind him, you poked both of his sides and let out a shout. He jumped, turning around in shock, a gasp falling from his lips as you giggled profusely. With a shake of his head, he moved one hand over his heart, and one to balance his body behind him. In this second, Steve had forgotten he was standing in front of a stove, and as he placed his hand behind him to steady himself, he placed the whole of his palm on the burner.

“Ah shit!” Steve shouted, removing his palm quickly and bringing it in front of himself to see the damage.

“Oh my god! Steve, I’m so sorry, stay here I’ll be right back!” He began to tell you he was fine and that it’d be okay in seconds, but you were out of sight. You came back a minute later, one of your plants in hand. He was okay at this point, but he didn’t stop you as you cracked open your plant and walked over to him. “This is an aloe Vera plant, it’ll help your hand,” you began to slowly lather the liquid over his palm, Steve watching you as you did this.

One thing he noticed a lot, was how you bit your bottom lip when you were in deep thought. You did this as you treated the affected area, making sure to rub it deeply into his palm.

“I’m really sorry, Steve,” you muttered and he could hear it in your voice how upset you were about this.

“Hey,” he spoke, making you bring your head up from your task. “It’s okay, really.” You smiled as he spoke, then maneuvered under his arms to give him a hug. His palm was still slick with residue, but he pressed his other hand against your back. As he held you, glancing to his aloe-covered hand, he began to realize just how much he appreciated you.

_

“Fuck, Y/L/N is down, I repeat, Y/L/N is down. Report to quinjet immediately,” Steve’s heart just about rolled out of his chest and down his pant leg over the words exclaimed in his ear. He ran, sprinted even, to the quinjet, standing still after he had entered, seeing you lying there, the corners of your lips turned upwards, although dried blood remained in the crevices.

“Glad you could make it,” you smiled, coughing slightly as Steve walked towards you, kneeling to the wound in your side. He didn’t feel or hear the jet take off, his heartbeat and a slight ringing pounding in his ears. Sam was hunched over, not uttering a word, his hands pressed firmly and unmoving against your wound. “Now don’t have too much fun down there, kids,” you remarked, a small tinge of worry coating your face.

“How are you? Are you hurting?” Steve moved around Sam, placing his palm under your hair, intertwining a few strands between his fingertips. Your eyes followed his lips, then his eyes, then to his eyebrows. They were furrowed, a crease forming between the two. You forgot his question, the palm of your right hand, opposite of the wound, moving slowly toward his face. It landed on his cheek, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. You then extended your thumb, placing it between the crease of his eyebrows, and smoothing down the area.

“Did you know-” you were cut off by a cough, and Steve would never admit this, but he noticed a splatter of blood fall to your rising and lowering chest. “That when you furrow your eyebrows like that, when you’re thinking or concentrating, a little baby crease forms,” you explained, and his face visually softened. He could not understand how in a moment of peril, facing a detrimental injury, you did not seem phased in the slightest. He was about to speak, but was stopped when the doors to the quinjet opened, doctors rushing to move you onto a gurney as quickly and safely as possible.

“Hey!” Steve stopped one of the doctors, watching as you were taken away, Sam keeping up with the people around you. He turned, his eyebrows furrowed. “Is she gonna be okay?” The doctor could’ve sworn he heard a slight crack in the Captain’s voice that day.

“We’re gonna do everything we can,” he answered simply, running off to meet with the others. Steve sat at the edge of the pad, his head falling in his hands, not feeling fulfilled by that answer. As Steve sat, he began to realize just how much he needed you.

_

“My heart hurts,” you mumbled, your face pressed to your white and grey shag chevron carpet. An empty pint of ice cream laid close to your head, a two redheads sitting on your bed. You rolled to your back, turning your head to the two of them.

“Nicholas Sparks novels and films are fictional, no one is actually as perfect as Noah,” Wanda had repeated the line close to one hundred times since she had met you. You always found yourself here, every Wednesday night, your heart full of love with no one to give it to.

“I want someone to be madly in love with me,” Steve heard the words as he passed by your room, stopping himself. “I want someone to make me feel like the constellations in the sky,” he heard a slight slur to your voice, his back leaning against the wall next to your door. “I want someone who will go mad with adoration for me, so much that it drives them crazy.” You exclaimed, only stopping to release a sigh. “I want to love someone until it drives me crazy, I want passion, I want love, I want 365 letters!” You exclaimed, and stopped for a moment. “But most importantly, I want more ice cream,” Steve heard stirring and froze, he didn’t want you to realize he had been listening. He quickly jogged to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Grab some more wine!” You heard Natasha shout as you sauntered down the hall, a small sigh falling from your lips. You hoped desperately that no one had woken up for a late night snack, as you were only clad in a Henley and some high waisted shorts that rarely and barely covered the flesh of your ass. You entered the kitchen, your heart skipping a beat as you saw someone hunched over and looking into the fridge.

“Captain,” you acknowledged him, making his head bump on the inside of the refrigerator in shock. You covered your mouth, trying to suppress your laugh, a groan emitting from his lips.   

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled weakly, his hand moving to the back of his head. “What are you doing up?” He had grabbed your carton of almond milk from the fridge, putting it on the island.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you commented, moving past him and to the wine cupboard. Steve’s eyes fell, his Adam’s apple bobbing once he fully took in your appearance. You were wearing the shorts he liked, the burgundy ones that reminded him of the wine you always loved to sip. The wine that burned your throat, and stained the inner rim of your lips. The wine that made you lean over, Steve’s eyes raking over your flesh, watching your every move as your fingers grasped the neck of the bottle.

“Couldn’t get to sleep,” he choked out once he realized he hadn’t responded, his eyes moving to directly in front of him as you straightened and turned to face him. You drove him absolutely crazy. “You?” He swallowed, his eyes moving when you did, going to the freezer and grabbing ice cream.

“Girls night,” you answered simply, a shrug and grin emitting from you as you began to retreat to your room. “Sweet dreams, Rogers,” you hummed and he chuckled in response. He watched you walk away, your hair cascaded between your shoulder blades and to the end of your ribs, and he absolutely adored it. As he stood, staring at the milk that wasn’t even sweating as much as he was, he began to realize just how much he wanted you.

_

“We’ve watched Jurassic park eight times for our movie night, it’s the only film you pick when it’s your turn,” Wanda groaned, watching as you began to set up the DVD into its place.

“Because it’s a piece of cinematic art that I think everyone should watch at least five hundred times in their lifetime!” You defended, hearing the bustle of chatter and popcorn behind you.

“Come on, doll, just pick a different movie for tonight, yeah?” Bucky pleaded, coming up next to you. He was pleading with those ocean eyes that you could never say no to, causing for you to roll your own. You put the DVD back in its case, feeling two strong arms wrap around your shoulders, a kiss being placed on the crown of your head. “I just adore ya, doll!” He exclaimed and you chuckled, your neck heating from the attention. He went and sat, you placing the first movie you saw into the player, taking your seat next to Steve.

“Can you move over a little bit?” Steve was interrupted from his fuming pit of jealousy when he heard your sweet voice in his ear, your breath cascading onto his neck and ear. He turned to face you, and realized you had little room between him and Peter. He gave you a small closed mouth smile in apology, and moved over to the right slightly. You squeezed his forearm in gratitude, and leaned your head on his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat at the simple exchange, straightening his posture slightly. He looked to you on his shoulder, a small smile on his face, his wave of jealousy completely forgotten as he shared this moment with you.

He would never forget the way your eyes fluttered close a fourth of the way into the movie. The way your plump peach lips, slightly parted, began to breathe constant, even, breaths of air. The way you subconsciously took his left arm and intertwined it with your right. He would never forget the feeling of your nails scraping up the inside of his forearm, slowing when the palm of his hand met with the pads of your fingers, and the relief he felt when your fingers finally intertwined with his. As he sat, his eyes trained on your lips, he began to realize just how much he loved you.

_

Can we all, as a fandom, agree to give Pearl a little more love? I hardly ever see her mentioned, which is weird considering she’s literally one of the primary characters in StEx, and arguably a secondary protagonist.

arirashkae  asked:

Fluff prompt: “If you would have just kissed them, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now we’re tied up on traintracks about to be smushed like bugs!”

This prompt was so unique it totally threw me for a loop at first, but writing it was so much fun! Thank you!!

Train Tracks

Read on Ao3

Pairings: pre-tuckington

Grif turns his head to shoot Wash a side-eyed glare. “If you’d just fucking kissed him when you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now we’re tied up on train tracks about to be smushed like bugs!”
Wash blinks. Then,
“What?!”

Or, Wash and Grif find themselves in a bind, and Wash really doesn’t have time for this conversation.

Keep reading

from the dayfield, full of blush
and starglint, 

I thread a violet through you

while we watch the slant light find
us in the bell-grass,

nevering the paean of the owlsong
wind-whistled blue

dirt falls from our hands, full fret
and ember’s rasping breath

emanating throatward ; it is her,

in reverent hunger for the umber-
tide of pine-eaves,

the hounds found, swollen with
salt-dawn

alone and no end

while deep in the horned cave of
lacertilian winter

the hunter waits          swallowing
mouthfuls of bell & arrow

lost to the creek, the river, the lake  
witchgrass, belladonna, wolfsbane

lifted and scattered, strewn thus
and not otherwise

for you,
for you

this old world of prayers , of longing
all tossed to the crow or the
                          gallow’s magpie

the same questions and somewhere
answer                                    enough

the spear is gone,
the hand a weapon

Napstaton x Reader fluff

Raffle Winner One-shot
for @bigfanofpuns
Napstaton x Reader  ||   Underswap Pacifist Surface timeline
Reader specifics:  aerial acrobat.  
… I went a little further and did an aerial acrobat with a specialty in silk acrobatics.

*Hope you like it!


You didn’t know what to expect when you got the call from a rather shy, soft-spoken person that claimed your talents were requested–but of all the possibilities you entertained, standing in front of a literal, smiling robot was never one of them.

“Yo!  You must be Y/N!  Gotta say, it’s great to meet you in-person.  You’re exactly what my next show needs!”

They beam at you, and your eyes sweep over their metallic body, taking in the sight of their blue jacket and matching hat (turned around backwards to sweep the gray locks of hair from their face), the headphones around their neck, and the fist now extended out to you.

“Don’t leave me hangin’, dude.”  The robot shakes their hand toward you, and you finally snap out of your shock to awkwardly fist-bump them.  

“Sorry, I just…”  You trail off, so many different questions running through your mind at once, that it was difficult to pick just one.

“I know, it’s kinda overwhelming meeting a star as big as me, right?”  The robot reaches out and claps a hand on your shoulder, leaning forward.  Your spine stiffens in surprise, but you have to admit… He’s actually really handsome.

And totally a robot.

“I don’t think I know who you are,” you manage, your best apologetic smile plastered on your face.  The robot blinks slowly, pulling back yet not breaking the physical contact.  He stares at you for a moment longer before he suddenly breaks into a grin.

“Ohhh, dude!  You really had me going for a second there.  I doubt there’s a home out there that doesn’t know the name Napstaton.  My NTT line is pretty rad, after all!”

The name sounds vaguely familiar.  But, if this robot’s famous… then…

“How do you know who I am?”

“Your video!”  He releases your shoulder to give you a thumbs up.  "Once I saw how talented you are with acrobatics, I was, like, so entranced!  Holy cow, you’re limber!  How did you even start doing aerial silk shows?“

You feel your face heating up.  It’s always been a passion of yours; you got into gymnastics as a child, and then went from there, using uneven bars to propel yourself into flips and corkscrews mid-air.  But, the moment you saw an aerial silk show, where the acrobat would twist their body between two hanging strips of silk, combining the acrobats you loved with the sensual beauty of the silk, well…

You wanted that to be you.

So, it had become a hobby.  You were known for how versatile your moves were, how you basically made it into a dance.  But, you only did small local performances.  You never expected someone from Ebott City to take notice.  And you especially never expected that someone to be a celebrity robot.  

… Did he even count as a monster?  Would it be incredibly rude to ask?

"It was just something I wanted to try,” you finally answer, finding your voice as the initial shock wears off.  "I’ve always been an acrobat, but the silk shows are something new I’ve been trying.“

Napstaton raises a brow.  It amazes you that their mechanical features are so expressive.  Who in the world built them?  

"Woah, you say that like it’s so easy!  Aren’t you scared of falling?”

You shake your head.  "Nah, I’ve walked tight-ropes before.  As long as the silk is secured well, I won’t fall.“

The robot whistles low, crossing their arms.  "Well, in that case, you’ve got nothing to worry about!  We’ll make sure you won’t literally break a leg.”  They grin wide, and there’s something so charming and relaxed about that expression.  Is it in their programming?  

Or is their something more to them?

You find yourself eager to discover what that something is.


The first day of rehearsal, you sit back and watch the performance.  Napstaton is spinning records and remixing tunes in a massive DJ booth to the side of the stage.  A literal pink ghost is singing, and it’s the same timid voice you heard on the phone before–only it’s beautiful and relaxed when put with the music.  There’s an equally-timid-looking, yet absurdly-muscular horse monster singing backup vocals and adding a deep baritone timbre to the mix.  The two of them harmonize well, especially with the tone of the music.

There’s also a blue-haired rabbit monster is scowling off to the side, dressed up as… the scenery.  In fact, it seems like the only thing he adds to the performance is standing there with a crude bush costume around him, and his head sticking out of a hole.  

You wisely decide not to question it.

The group runs through all of the songs, and you find yourself getting lost in the music.  When they stop, you realize why they’re so popular; they’re mesmerizing, even without the hook of being a monster band.  

Napstaton deftly jumps off the edge of the stage, landing with a metallic clunk in front of you.  They’re wearing their usual charming grin, filled with the content confidence of someone quite comfortable in their own skin–or metal casing, rather.  "Whaddya think?“

"It sounds pretty amazing, honestly,” you respond, your brows raised.

“We always sound rad,” he agrees, although he does seem to brighten at your compliment.  "So, can you make up a routine based on that?  I can give you some CDs with the songs to take home.“

"Yeah, that’ll definitely help.  I can come up with something.”

“Cool!  How about we rehearse again in a week?”


You spend all week listening to the songs and practicing at the studio your friend runs.  You don’t know why, but there’s a part of you that’s eager to impress the robotic celebrity.

You can’t stop thinking about the way they smiled at you, the confidence exuding from them in waves.  They had accomplished so much since ascending from Underground (you finally Googled them, and hoo boy, they weren’t joking when they said everyone knew them.  Their NTT line was everywhere), and yet, they hadn’t been stuck up about it.  Instead, thye’d been warm and friendly, casual even, like you were friends despite just meeting.  

It was refreshing, and you want to make sure your routine is perfect.  If you play your cards right, this could even be what propels you further in the world of acrobatics.  


At the first rehearsal, the stage looks the same, only there’s now two long silk ropes hanging down, in the same shade of blue as Napstaton’s jacket.  You’re wearing a simple leotard as you examine the silk, tugging on it, and then jumping up to swing on it slightly, making sure its secure.  

“Don’t worry; I’m, like… 95% positive you won’t fall to your death.”  

Napstaton’s voice startles you, and you nearly let go.  They reach out and place a hand on your back, steadying you, and their fingers touch the skin exposed by the leotard.  Surprisingly, they don’t feel cold, but warm… and slightly buzzing.  It makes your skin tingle.  “Sorry,” they chuckle.  “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you…ah…”

They seem to trail off, and you notice their gaze on the exposed skin of your legs.  You can’t help but shift on your feet, feeling a little self-conscious.  You don’t have much experience with monsters–much less robots–and aren’t sure if your attire is crossing some strange boundary.  “Is this okay?  The silk tends to slip if I’m wearing leggings or tights.”

“What?”  They snap out of it, shaking their head.  “No, no, i-it’s fine.  I was just thinking that Happy is gonna have to whip you up some rad threads for the show!”  There’s a soft blue glow to their cheeks suddenly that you find fascinating. 

… Is Napstaton blushing?

Instead, you query, “Happy?”

That charming grin is back in-place.  “Yeah, my cousin!  He does lead vocals!  Name’s Hapstablook, but I’ve always called him Happy.”  They shrug.  “It’s stuck.”

A robot with a ghost cousin?  Monsters are so interesting!  And so strange.

The rehearsal starts, but this time, it’s just you and Napstaton, the song playing from a CD.  They still sit at the DJ booth to the side, kicked back in a chair with their feet up and their arms behind their head.  

You can feel their gaze on you, intently watching.

Your face flushes, and you try to block it out.  

When the music starts, you immediately grasp both ropes and climb, twisting the silk around your body as you do so with practiced ease.  You invert in the silk, hanging upside down, slowly spinning in a circle as you dangle and wait for the moment when the beat of the music begins to rise.  At just the perfect moment, you drop, rolling down the silk and catching yourself with your legs to spin upright.  Even over the music, you catch Napstaton’s startled gasp, and when you spin around toward them, you see that they’re no longer chilling in the chair, but leaned forward with both feet planted on the ground in front of him.  

Your performance is perfectly choreographed, filled with inversions, flips, and displays of your upper body strength.  At one point, you slide down and catch yourself with only your ankle wrapped in the silk.  At another, you stretch out sideways and spin in the silk, wrapping yourself up, only to slide down further.  One song slides into another, and you keep the moves up, timing each feat with a portion of the song.  When the song ends, you end up rolling down the silk from the top, only to catch yourself at the bottom, still wrapped up.  One leg is bent behind your head, the other with your toe pointed down toward the floor, an arm stretched taunt and wrapped in silk, and the other extended toward the imaginary audience.

Napstaton breaks into applause and gives you a thumbs up.  Their grin is the widest you’ve seen yet.   

“Your rad performance is definitely going to be our grand finale!”


The next week, Napstaton’s made some notes on your cues.  The adorable pink ghost, Happy, films you during rehearsal, and Napstaton remixes a few of the beats to better fit the fluidity of your moves.  They’re mostly content to let you do whatever you want on the silk–NT seems utterly blown away by your flexibility, and super chill about the entire thing.  

It’s nice and sets you at ease.


Later that week, Happy gets your measurements and runs some costume designs by you.  It’s fun sitting just talking to the ghost, and although he seems really shy, when he talks about music, his entire face lights up.  

“…..Napsta has been watching your video a lot,” Happy comments quietly a few days later, while hemming part of your outfit.  

“Yeah?”  You quirk a brow, twisting your neck to glance at the pastel specter.  Happy’s cheeks are even pinker than usual when he nods.  “Isn’t that how I landed this gig in the first place?”

“N-not that video…. the one from rehearsal.  They’re really impressed…”

You can’t help but feel the flush rise to your cheeks.  The idea of Napstaton, watching your perform with that same intensity they had in their gaze the first time they saw your acrobatic feats in-person, well… It made you happy. 

“I’ve been listening to their music nonstop lately, myself,” you admit, omitting the fact that you bought an NTT shirt with Napstaton’s face on it a few days prior.  You maaayyy or may not be using it as your new favorite sleep shirt.

In the mirror, you see Happy’s smile brighten.


After rehearsal the following day, Napstaton catches you once you change out of your leotard and into normal clothes.  “’sup?  Wanna grab a bite before you go home?”  

Dinner with a celebrity?  You should probably feel nervous, but instead… that charming grin makes you feel at ease.  “Sure, is Happy joining us?”

NT shrugs.  “Nah.  Said he already ate, so I guess it’s just you and me.”

Now that makes you feel slightly jittery, but you’re happy to accept their offer.  You wonder what kind of fancy restaurant a famous DJ would like to eat at.  You’re not exactly dressed for anything that they could possibly–

They park the car at McDonald’s.

You can’t help but laugh, and Napstaton rubs the back of their neck.  “Uh, you don’t like Mickey D’s?”

“Just not what I was expecting,” you claim with a grin.  “You’re just… down-to-Earth for a monster celeb.  Or robot celeb?”

“Either works.  I’m still a monster, ya’know.  Got a SOUL and everything.”  They tap their chest with their fist, and the heart-shape imprinted in their design begins to glow a faint white.  

A robot with a SOUL?  Maybe that’s why they’re so expressive.

“But yeah.  I mean, I try to be.  Never have been the fancy type.”  They shrug, looking slightly abashed.  “Were ya, like.. hoping for somethin’ more?  We can go somewhere else.”

You open up the car door, shaking your head.  “This is perfect, NT.  Let’s go.”

The two of you order burgers, chicken nuggets, and fries, then find a corner booth to sit and talk.  You learn a little more about what drove Napstaton to stardom, and you finally ask them how they’re cousins with a ghost.

“Easy-peasy.  I used to be one, too, before the totally awesome Doctor Undyne built me this body!”

“What?  Are you telling me you’re a literal ghost in the machine?”  Your eyes are huge.  “How did you become a ghost?  Did you die?”  The inquires get blurted out before you can think about how insensitive that sounds.  Whoops.  You start to back-pedal.  “Sorry.  I mean…”

NT waves their hand dismissively.  “No biggie.  I was born a ghost.”  Their grin turns amused.  “Humans have such weird ideas about ghosts.”    They get up and throw away the trash, but instead of heading back to the car, they tilt their head toward the nearby park.  “Wanna walk off all of that greasy fast food.”

You want to prolong the night.  “Why not?”  With a shrug, you follow them down the sidewalk, chatting about yourself–what got you into aerial acrobatics, why you decided to try silk ropes, the first time you had successfully walked a tight rope–and Napstaton gave you their full, undivided attention.

There’s a moment of silence before you decide to voice a question that’s been weighing on your mind.  “Why did you want a robotic body?”

NT’s smile fades around the edges slightly, the light in their eyes seeming faraway as they look straight ahead.  They’re quiet for a moment, and you immediately regret asking, but then they speak up, “I wanted to be like the humans.”  That admission catches you by surprise, and when you turn toward them, Napstaton reaches out and takes your hand.  “I wanted to be corporeal–to be able to touch and be touched, and not just with my music.”  

You don’t really know what to say to that.  Your fingers shift to lace with NT’s, and you squeeze their hand.  “I’m glad you got to do everything you’ve dreamed of, NT.”

Their charming grin returns, and they squeeze your hand in return.  “I wouldn’t change a thing.”


The day of the show, you discover the stadium is packed.  There are even people sitting in the grass past the seats, and large jumbo screens situation on either side of the stage to showcase the performance.  

Holy crap, you’re nervous.  

Napstaton grins, winding an arm around your shoulders as you peek out from behind the curtain.  “Ready to give ‘em a show, Y/N?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, your nerves fluttering in your stomach.  NT laughs, pulling you against their side and squeezing your upper arm.  

“You’ll knock ‘em dead.  So totally dead, in fact, that they might even become ghosts and haunt the place.  Isn’t that, like… the human stereotype?”  Their grin is shit-eating at this point.   

“Ha ha.  I think Happy’s the only ghost we need haunting the place.  And, well–you, if you count.  But Happy wouldn’t scare a soul.”

“Not on purpose, anyway,” NT comments, laughing. They squeeze you one more time.  “Alrighty, it’s totally showtime.  Let’s put on a rad performance!”

And they did.

You watch most of the show from the side, listening to the haunting (ha) vocals and melodies, followed by a few more up-beat songs.  When your cue comes, you cross the stage to a chorus of cheers, all because of your costume, courtesy of Happy.

You’re dressed like Napstaton.  

Your leotard has a blue heart in the center, and you’re wearing the same baggy-style dance pants as them, completely with a hat turned backwards.  Your grand entrance involves a backhand spring toward the silk, which suddenly tumbles down from the ceiling.  When you regain your footing at the ropes, you rip off the dance pants (Happy was sure to just have the sides snap in place, making the feat easy) and throw the hat into the audience like a frisbee.  

Of course, they eat it up.

Your blood is pumping in your ears, your nerves jittery.  If it wasn’t for the rush of adrenaline, you’re certain your hands would be shaking, but at this point, you’ve practiced so much that you can do the entire routine on auto-pilot.  As you spin upside-down on the silk, waiting for the right moment in the song to fall, your gaze catches Napstaton’s, and he takes a hand off the controls to give you a thumbs up and that grin that makes you so weak now.

You hit your cue perfectly.  The crowd loves it.  You can vaguely hear Happy’s singing over the pounding of your heart.  There’s a couple of times where your motions could have synced better with the music, but overall, you’re giving the performance of your life.  By the second-half of the last song, you notice another voice join the vocals, a tenor complimenting Happy’s soft voice.  Slowly, it begins to overtake the vocals, rising in volume and absolutely stunning.  That had never happened in rehearsals.  

At the end, when you roll down the silk ropes, coming into your final pose where your body is stretched within the binds, you realize who’s been singing.  And you definitely don’t remember those lyrics.

And I can’t sleep at night
‘cause the ghost of your touch still haunts me.

Napstaton is standing in front of the silk ropes, and they reach up and skillfully untangle your ankle, freeing your leg.  With your arm still wrapped in the bright blue silk, NT slides an arm around your waist and dips you back with a smirk.  The audience goes nuts, but it all fades to white noise in the background.  You’re too entrance by the face that’s only inches from yours.

“I thought you hated ghost stereotypes.”

They shrug, looking mischievous.  “Thought it was most def ironic–you hauntin’ me.”

You blink slowly.  If you weren’t already out-of-breath from several minutes of showcasing your upper (and lower) body strength, your breath would have hitched.  

“You mean, you wrote that part…. about me?” you manage, your gaze wide and searching theirs.  

“Isn’t it obvious?”

In the next moment, you grab NT’s hat, pull it off their head and to the side of their face–and then wrap an arm around their neck and kiss them right then and there.  The entire stadium erupts in the loudest cheering and applause you’ve ever heard.  When they pull back, NT looks surprised, their lips still slightly parted.

“Maybe for my next song I can write about how your kiss makes me malfunction.”

You groan, swatting them with their own hat, while they just give you that grin.  

If you wrote a song, it would be about how it never fails to give you butterflies.  


(* Mobile Imagine Masterlist  )

reyes-of-sunshine  asked:

“Are you fucking insane!?” reyder?

I’m sorry this was so late! 

But as requested, Scott x Reyes ficlet! I hope I did them justice D:


Sunrise in the Badlands had a rather special flair for Scott. For one, the uniformly cobalt blue of Kadara’s horizon seemed unfazed by the pinkish glow of a sunrise whispering against the trailing darkness of night. The air had a biting and crisp coolness so typical of a planet with a thinner stratosphere. He breathed it in, letting the frigid air blister against the heat of his lungs. At one hundred percent viability, the sulfurous lakes were no longer so dangerously sulfurous, but instead almost purified save for the ossified detritus hovering on the lake’s surface. Reyes ambled about the jagged shoreline, stopping short of a stalagmite formation barring further passage.

“No,” came Scott’s chiding response. He shook his head with something of an incredulous grin. “No way we’re doing this.” 

“Relax,” Reyes countered, stressing the final syllable with a cavalier tone. “I tested it just yesterday.” His hands already fiddled around for his vest as if the question hanging in the air had already been answered.

“Are you fucking insane!?” Scott shook his head and lay flat palm over his forehead. “Wait… please don’t answer that.” He planted his feet firmly on the ground as if his own stubbornness could somehow move an otherwise immovable object.

Reyes merely chuckled. Almost rid entirely of his accouterments, he quirked a brow as he motioned to remove the rest of his clothing. “Suit yourself,” he said shrugging.

The Pathfinder, on the other hand, for once found himself timid. “Yeah I’d rather not have my skin melted off?” 

Given his penchant for pithy retorts, Scott half expected Reyes to counter, but he instead maintained a tight lipped grin as his eyes focused in the other direction - to the now glittering waves of the lake before them. His torso was bare, reddened by dawn’s copperish hue. He stood as if mesmerized by the gentle lull of a waveless shore. “Gorgeous isn’t it?” His words were muted into a breathless whisper.

“Now where have I heard that before?” Scott remained a short distance behind, watching as Govorkam’s star cast small shadows over the grooves and scars of Reyes’s back. An incoming breeze seemed to goad him further, closer to the jagged peaks jutting into the waters.

“There was a time,” Reyes began, “when my family lived by the water.” He kept his gaze off to the distance, as if endlessly hypnotized by the other side.

Scott ambled closer, almost brushing shoulders with him. “You never told me about your family,” he spoke with gentille caution, as if afraid that the mere acknowledgment would cause the more elusive man to clam up and to never speak of it again.

But much to his surprise, Reyes simply sighed - an exhalation that sang of relief rolling from his shoulders. “It was a long time ago. I was very different then.” A look of resolve left lines on his face. One could only glimpse a trace of the devilish smile that was once there. An air of contemplation seemed to hold sway, and the idleness of the following moments had both men staring lost into the cerulean sight of a lake no longer hissing with venomous fumes. Only the sound of undisturbed waters meekly lapping against placid rocks filled the otherwise soundless sunrise. “But enough about me.”

Reyes suddenly hooked an arm around Scott’s waist, pulling him closer. Scott let a low chuckle cut into the dexterous motions as he let himself be swept away. “Aw, but I was just beginning to enjoy you,” he said, proud of the shabby one-liner he barely scraped together in time.

Of course, the cavalier smuggler didn’t mind. In fact, he found it rather amusing. “There’ll be time for that,” he said in a low growl. Reyes pressed his forehead against him, the corner of his mouth brushing against the ridge beneath Scott’s nose. 

Scott could almost laugh. He wondered why, amidst the golden glow of a rising sun as they overlooked a gorgeous lake, they treaded around the delicate motions of a kiss. His impulsiveness got to the best of him, and soon his own hands wrapped around Reyes, waiting to close in.

“Ready?” Reyes suddenly murmured. 

“Wait wha-”

There was barely any time for a reaction when Reyes suddenly tightened his grip around Scott and whipped over the precipice. Suddenly the ground disappeared from his feet, and a breathless cry flitted through his lips. The thrilling weightlessness of the air right before the their bodies felt the tug of gravity made his stomach sink deeper into his body. The high of a free fall whistled low into his ears, and the two hit the brisk slap of a cool water’s now tempestuous surface. Soon all sound plummeted into a void as the clear sanguinary hue of a bright sunrise darkened into bluish depths. Bubbles rose in columns around him, and for a while all Scott could see and feel was Reyes’s hand clinging to his arm.

Scott felt the water push him to the surface, breathing through as he breathed back the cool air in sporadic bursts. “ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!” The once rhetorical question found a more sincere iteration in the grave moment of his shock. His arms splashed about, suddenly worried that the very weight of his armor would plunge him back in.

Reyes reappeared thereafter, but more gracefully breaking the surface as he threw his head back in the air. Gentle ripples trailed the swift paddling of his arms. The still panicking Scott scurried through the water after him, still enraged and deathly afraid that his skin would melt off at a moment’s notice.

“Relax,” he teased in a repeated yet nonetheless gentler tone. A slow laughter rolled through his throat in between hitched breaths. “Fun, right?”

The more fatalistic disbelief lining Scott’s face hinted at a much more different concern. “‘Fun’ is the most inaccurate description I can think of right now.” His hands padded against the waves, disturbing the limpid surface as it foamed around him. 

In a few deft strokes, Reyes swam closer and held Scott in a more steadied embrace as they floated aimlessly in the lake. A halcyon breezed seemed to silence the panic of the moment, letting the two catch their breaths so soon after an unexpected dive. “Don’t worry,” he said, in a hoarse yet reassuring voice. “I got you.”

“I hope so because if I-”

A long awaited kiss cut through his terrified words. Scott could feel the warmth of his breath, the softness of Reyes’s mouth as they locked together. Lost in the moment, all he could think about was how never wanted to let go; how the gentle motions of their feet keeping them afloat, and the tightened weave of their hands around each other were the only ways he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

Yet all things had to come to an end, however sweet. And as soon as a breath parted their lips, Scott found it in him to offer up a lopsided smile. “You are insane.”

Reyes was usually one for words. They often came as if inspired by the sheer force of his own suave ingenuity. But this time, under full view of a sun basking in the heights of a blue sky, all he could do was hold Scott closer and silence him with another kiss, neither guilty nor innocent of the affectionate accusation.


Thank you for the prompt! 

Send me one from this list.

foreverfelicityqueen  asked:

Stydia past lives au

So i wrote this twice and could never settle on the perfect ending but i could never deny you anything!

  • It’s not the strawberry blonde hair or the glistening eyes that Stiles recognises. It’s the power and intelligence she radiates. The pure force of nature that he recognises as Lydia Martin. 
  • He know’s her. Know’s the real Lydia vs the Lydia she presents to everyone else. He knows it’s more then a crush, more like a link or connection he just can’t shake and he knows she feels it too. He feel’s her eyes on him sometimes and see’s her staring at him sometimes with a unsure look on her face.
  • Lydia believes in science. In maths. In facts. Things that come with evidence and explanation. The attachment she feels to Stiles comes with nothing. Sometimes she tries to work it out. Tries to find an explanation. But mostly she does what Lydia Martin does best. She ignores it. 
  • It’s not until they’re dancing that she see’s something for the first time. It’s  their first period of extended contact or even time together. Lydia’s enjoying herself. Stiles is funny and honest and smart. He likes her and he appreciates her. She could be in worse situations right now. 
  • When she drops her head to his shoulder as they dance she see’s them together in a different dance. A candle lit room. Lush fabrics and bright colours. String music and the sound of a crowd. They’re moving around the room in practised dance steps and her eyes are locked with another version of Stiles’. 
  • She picks up her head and looks at modern Stiles. Know’s he’s seen it too. Knows they saw the same thing. 
  • Later that night when Stiles screams Lydia’s name across the field he feels it echo back to him across time. He’s done that before. Seen her body crumpled on the floor. Right now all he cares about is saving the current Lydia. 
  • The supernatural world gets in the way and Lydia and he never talk about it. He still feels it in the air but there’s only so many supernatural issues and murders he can deal with at a time. It’ll come back around eventually but for now he’s focused on keeping everyone alive.
  • The next time it happens she’s in a classroom. She pushes herself under the desk and then Stiles is crouching over her protecting her from the craze. And just like that she hears the whistle of falling object, gunfire and explosions. She see’s a vague flash in the distance. A version of Stiles is stood over her keeping her safe. 
  • They spend more time together. Stiles is the only one who can keep up with her and she’s the only one who can keep him focused. She likes spending time with him and working on puzzles with him. It’s easy and comfortable. They’ve done this before and neither of them need a vision to know that.  
  • She see’s the fire crawl over Stiles body before it happens. She doesn’t know if it’s her banshee powers now or a memory from the past and she doesn’t think about it before acting. Throwing herself across the concrete and into Stiles. 
  • They still don’t talk about it. Carry on as if it’s normal to see visions of yourself in a past life with someone. 
  • When they kiss every image from every life crashes into them. Lydia, Queen of arid lands with Stiles as an aide by her side. Wartime lovers lost. Stiles, a warrior being killed on the battle field. Lydia being tried at a witch being dropped underwater. A lady in waiting and an advisor to the king. It seems endless. 
  • When Deaton pairs them together it isn’t a shock. They’ve known that they’ve been connected for a long time but now everyone else does too. An emotional tether. Someone you’re linked too. It’s been thousands of years and countless lives and they’ve always found each other nothing will change that. 
  • There’s no denying it now. What they are to each other but each life is different and each version of themselves is unique. And in this life they need more time. 
  • More time to grow into the world around them and find themselves as individuals first. There’s obstacles and wrong paths taken. But they move forward. Know it’s inevitable. Know that eventually they’ll come together because that always happens. 
  • But when Stiles is taken Lydia feels like she’s lost part of herself. The part that balanced her out and kept her in going. Her soul is heavier and she feels a loss but she’s not sure of what. It’s the echoes of their past lives together that force her to remember him. 
  • She remembers the touches, the comfort, the encouragement and the esteem he always had for her come back and Lydia feels the pressure of Stiles’ absence push on her. 
  • She’s lost him before. Through war or death. He’s been taken form her and this time Lydia refuses to let that happen. Refuses to live a life without him. She pushes and fights for him. Makes the others remember and makes them fight for him. 
  • She see’s him and kisses him like it’s a reflex. Automatically pushes her lips to his and sighs into it. 
  • Stiles feels like he’s whole again. Grounded back to the earth by Lydia. It feels like they’ve done this before a thousand time and it feels so normal but his whole body is alight from her touch. 
  • They’ve spent far to many of their past lives apart or lost to each other. This time around hasn’t been simple but they’re both alive and together.
  • It’s rare in their past lives that they get to live it out together and they’ve been separated more often then not. But this life is not one of those times. 
  • This life is their’s together.  In this life they’re joined and it’s both familiar and extraordinary at the same time. 
What Is Written (Part One)

               Right, so this is long. It was absolutely monstrous, but after much deliberation, I decided it was best to shorten it. So that being said, it cuts off shorter than where I wanted it to and you end up knowing even less than I had originally intended. Lol. This one is out there, so I’m not sure if you all are going to be into this, but this is me testing the waters…. Although you won’t really know what I’m talking about until later chapters. I honestly hope you all do like it though, because I tried my best to make it not hokey and it was fun to write. So, here is part one. Feedback is awesome and greatly appreciated (: I hope you all like it and the second chapter will be released soon!! (: xx

Part: (2) (3) (4) (Final Part)


               “Contradiction…” you whispered under your breath, tapping the cold tip of a blue ink pen against your lips in thought. “Illogical incompatibility between two or more propositions…”

               You couldn’t make sense of it. A contradiction was bad, wasn’t it? A diabetic who eats sweets, a policeman killing a human being; those were bad right? The entire point of a contradiction was that one was the opposite of the other; positive against negative. So how in the world were you supposed to write a philosophy paper on the positive influence of contradictions when in your mind, there wasn’t any? No one ever liked to order jumbo shrimp, just to see it’s really not jumbo because after all, it was still a shrimp. If not a contradiction, then maybe you could write about paradoxes. As you thought, your frustration grew. A paradox was still just as messy in your head. Of course you understood the concept, just not the logistics; you didn’t make it to university while being clueless. But inevitably, contradictions led to destruction or disappointment for someone. The oldest house on the street always gets remodeled to look modern like all the others, a lion that’s a vegetarian would eventually die, and the sun would overtake the moon every single time. The cogs in your brain spurred like clockwork; there was no dispute about these facts, and yet that’s what you were asked to do. What was the point? One side always lured the other without fail.

               “Y/N!”

               Jumping in place against the kitchen counter, you quickly muttered apologies to your boss, grabbing the orders waiting to be taken out. The remnants of your internal debate raged in your head as you worked, though you still maintained your polite demeanor. Work dragged on, as it always did. For what seemed like the millionth time, you silently wished you were rich and never had to deal with stuff like annoying customers or leering guys. You felt slightly guilty for thinking that way when the owners of the small restaurant had treated you so well all throughout your employment. But sometimes that wasn’t enough. Dreaming of an easier life had become a favourite pastime of yours; dipping into your alternate reality in your spare moments and imagining a life without rules or responsibilities. In the end, reality was cruel and you could never stay in your fantasy for long when school fees and rent money were constantly knocking on your door. A sigh heaved through your chest as you glanced at the clock, relieved when you saw you only had a few minutes left. Grabbing your things from the back of the small shop, you sauntered to the clock, dragging your feet as you went. Staring at the number on the small digital display, you cheered it on in your head. Distantly, you wondered why minutes always seemed so short on your break, yet so long when it was time to go home. An eternity seemed to pass, when the clock finally flashed in a change of numbers. Punching yourself out, you sighed in relief even though you knew you would just be back tomorrow. Waving good bye to the owners who treated you as family, you made your way to the door, all too happy to go home to your small, overcrowded apartment.

               It was fall; wind whistled through the trees and leaves fluttered across the pavement, a telltale sign that winter was most definitely coming. Cupping your hands, you breathed out, fingers wriggling in delight at the burst of warmth only to shrivel again in the frigid air. Stuffing your hands into your pockets, you buried your face in your maroon colored scarf; the last thing you needed right now was to catch a cold. It was an eerie sort of night; the kind that set even the most stable of people on edge. You weren’t sure why, but each time your foot connected with the pavement, you felt that much more uneasy. Brushing it off as superstition, your mind drifted to more pressing matters; like your paper. The image of your teacher’s disappointed look loomed in your head making your jaw tense. You didn’t have a single word written yet, though you’d had plenty of time to start. That wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t due in two days. Feeling the wind nipping at your heels, you picked up your pace, desperate to be welcomed by the warmth of your home and hopefully food if your roommate was feeling generous. Shadow blanketed over every surface and as you passed an alley in between homes, you almost didn’t see him; Almost.

               A glimmer of silver caught your eye, instinctively making you turn your head to see what it was. There, in the middle of an abandoned alley which was littered by trash and stray pieces of nature, was a boy. Dressed in all black with a backpack slung over his shoulders, you couldn’t make out his face as he seemed to stare blankly at the wall in front of him. His fingers were stuffed in the pockets of his ripped skinny jeans. His shirt hung loose on his skinny frame, and you couldn’t help but shiver just from looking at him. Speculating at how he wasn’t freezing in a mere long sleeve shirt, you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head and outright staring at the boy. You would have moved on and continued home, curiosity growing short, but then he spoke. Unable to make out the words, your brow furrowed, squinting to see who he was talking to with no avail. Your heart quickened against your rib cage when you realized there really was no one there. Frozen in place, you wondered if you should just continue on, but a misplaced sense of responsibility prevented you from doing so. Taking a step closer, you realized now that it wasn’t only his jeans that had holes, but his shirt too. Not enough to be obvious, just tiny dots of milky skin peeking out in spots, but it was enough to fortify that feeling of concern inside you as your mind immediately ran to the thought of him being homeless. His lips moved once more, but you still couldn’t hear with the wind whispering in your ears, then he nodded once and his gaze drifted to the ground like he was watching something. Your eyes caught sight of something like a flash, making you stop in your tracks. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw the gleam of bone, exposed and shimmering in the moonlight. However when you blinked, attempting to peer through the shadow of night, it was gone and his fingers, which had looked skeletal only moments ago, appeared perfectly normal. Shaking your head, you dismissed the thought, convinced it was a mere trick of the eyes. But for some reason, a lingering feeling of trepidation remained. Quaking in your shoes, you walked closer to the boy, clearing your throat, despite your better judgement.

               “E-excuse me? Are you okay?” Your timid voice filtered out from your cold lips. His head whipped to the side, his eyes latching with yours and drawing you short of breath; he was beautiful.

               The chiseled line of his jaw tensed as he eyed you with indifference, the black pools of his iris’s sending a shudder down your spine. His hair shone in the blue cast glow of the moon, though you could clearly see that it was a very light blonde. Tousled perfectly across his forehead it was nearly silver in fact, almost devoid of both color and shading. Smooth pearly skin stretched over his cheekbones, sharp and just wide enough to create an elegant line slanting down to his lips. They appeared soft, even while in a bored line, though perhaps a little chapped from negligence. Catching hold of his gaze, which had analyzed you, just as you had done so to him, you felt your heartbeat quicken, suddenly feeling like an ant beneath a magnifying glass. But he didn’t care if you burned. You knew he could tell you were squirming under his stare as the side of his mouth quirked upward in a cocky smirk. Realizing he wasn’t going to answer you, you tried again, “Can I call someone for you? I thought I heard you talking to someone… but maybe not. I can help you if you need it.”

               A flash of a smile played on his lips as he lowered his head, shaking it and moving towards you. Lifting his head, he stared you down, coming to stand a mere thirty centimeters away from you. Flustered by the sudden proximity, you gulped nervously, unsure if you liked being placed under this level of scrutiny. Unable to hold his gaze, you averted your eyes, choosing to look at the ground instead. Panic shot through you, now terrified that you’d made a very big mistake by talking to this gorgeous, but undeniably strange, boy. For all you knew, he could be a nutcase, waiting for the perfect prey.

               “Why do you think I need help?” Low and rough, his voice made your skin prick. Raising your eyes, you saw the devilish look which most college guys carried plastered on his features, tempering the flurry of caution raging inside of you.

               “Well, you only have a shirt with holes on and it’s definitely not summer.” You replied, eyes flicking up and down his body, not missing the way he didn’t even flinch as the wind picked up while your own body curled in to shield itself. “Not to mention you were talking to a wall.”

               He barked out a short laugh, though it didn’t seem to reach the iciness in his eyes. “I wasn’t talking to a wall.”

               “But, I saw you—“

               “You’re young,” He replied shortly, seemingly annoyed, while pulling his hands out of his pockets, revealing a white phone in his right hand. Lifting it in front of your face so that it nearly touched the tip of your nose, he shook the chunk of plastic to taunt you. “Haven’t you ever heard of a cellphone?”

               “I’m not an idiot—“swatting his hand away from your face, your skin brushed his briefly, but it was enough for you to realize just how cold he was. Eyes widening, you snatched his hand in yours after he slipped his phone back into his pocket. His skin felt like marble; smooth and soft, yet freezing to the touch. Instinct made your limbs move, ripping your own hands out of the cloth shielding your fingers from the cold. As soon as he realized you were trying to place them on his own hands, he moved to pull his hand back only for you to snatch it up again. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he stopped struggling to allow you to slip them over his knuckles. Staring down at his wool covered hands you almost giggled, finding the contrast of his black clothes to your bright turquoise gloves comical.

               Seeing your lips trembling as you held back a smile, he glared at your figure. “This isn’t gonna help, you know.”

               “Don’t be dumb. Your hands were freezing; there’s no need to try to act cool just so you can freeze to death.”

               “I’m not trying—“

               “What are you even doing out here like that, anyway?” You cut him short, not wanting to hear more of his excuses.

               Blonde eyebrows rose, caught off guard by the question, only to relax into the same uninterested gaze. Sarcastically, he replied, “I was going for a walk.”

                Ignoring his obnoxious response, you prodded. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

               A sly smile etched across his lips, “and if I don’t?”

               You knew it was a challenge, but you weren’t sure what type it was. He was guarded; that you could tell. But he didn’t seem dangerous; he looked about the same age as you and the only thing he seemed to have was a backpack, so how much harm could he really do? From a young age, you were chided and preached to about bringing strangers home, but something about him made you go against what you had been taught. Finding yourself trying to sway your mind into believing that you had no ulterior motives, you debated your options. Unsure of whether it was your conscience or the way the downward slope of his eyes made your heart flutter in your chest, you came to a conclusion.

               “Well, I guess you’ll be coming home with me then.” The words tumbled out of your mouth much brasher than you had intended and you could feel your cheeks growing red. His eyes widened at your words, evidently not expecting that reply, before he let out a low chuckle, making you sputter. “I mean if you want to, because you really don’t if that’s not okay with you. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable…”

               The soft rise and fall of your voice became lost in the wind as he stared down at you, something flashing behind his eyes that you didn’t quite understand. When he spoke, it was different from before. No longer playful, though he only ever spoke coldly, now his words held a note of warning, as though pressuring you to see something you could not. “Are you sure?”

               Were you? Honestly, the answer was no. But as far as you were concerned, you couldn’t very well leave him and let the cold turn him towards his grave. So, though a little reluctant, you responded, “Yes.”

               His features immediately softened, lips upturning into a small smile, the creepy look dissipating altogether and reverting back into the nonchalant boy you had originally come across. “Alright, then.”

               A little unnerved by his sudden change in attitude, you nodded. Even though it was you who had invited him, you hadn’t really expected him to come along. So when you heard the sound of his shoes scratching the pavement behind you, you jumped a little. Refusing to look at him, you walked on in silence, though he hadn’t seemed to mind. Your brain was in overdrive, trying to process what had just happened as you tried to grasp at your sanity. Silently, you screamed at yourself for not only inviting a stranger to your home, but one that talked to walls to boot. Hoping to alieve a little of the tension and gather at least a little information before he stepped inside the walls of your sanctuary, you attempted to make conversation.

               “So, what’s your name?” You asked bashfully.

               “Suga.” He replied plainly, his manner remaining aloof.

               Your brow furrowed, trying not to laugh when you realized he wasn’t joking. “Your parents named you that?”

               He snorted under his breath at your question and you were graced with a small lipped smile, sending warmth flowing through your body like honey. “No, it’s just a nickname.”

               “Then what’s your real name?”

               “Suga; or at least it is to you,” He said firmly, making you feel small. Noticing your confidence shrink, he drawled, “For now. Maybe I’ll tell you eventually; if you don’t kick me out first.”

               Nodding, you felt your cheeks warm up, happy that he was at least a little compassionate somewhere beneath his exterior. “Well, I’m Y/N.”

               “I know.”

               “What?” Caught off guard, you looked at him suspiciously. Your body tensed, trying to not freak out and demand he tell you how he knew your name. Taming your panic, you merely muttered, “How?”

               “Your coats not zipped up and you have a name tag on.” An amused smirk peeked out from the side of his lip.

               “Oh,” you replied lamely, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner that you still had your work clothes on as the air between you two quieted.

               Continuing home, you had to admit that the extra pair of feet clanging against the pavement along with your own was a welcome sound. Though you barely knew the tall lanky man, his presence made you feel safer than when you had been alone. However, his accompaniment couldn’t change the weather. The wind bit at your limbs and you shivered, cupping your hands to your mouth and breathing on them. A small part of you regretted giving the mystery boy your gloves as you eyed his hands swinging comfortably by his sides. Noticing you staring, his head turned toward you and you immediately responded by turning your gaze away. Being quicker than you, he caught what you were looking longingly at.

               “I told you not to give me them.” Suga growled beside you, sliding the fabric off his hands and holding them out to you.

              “Actually, you didn’t.” You replied, obstinacy getting the better of you as you shook your head to say no to his offer. “You said they wouldn’t help.”

               “Same thing.” He said shortly, putting the gloves back on before scooping your hand up in his. The fuzz of the glove rubbed against your fingers as he laced your hands together and stuffed them inside your coat pocket.

               “What are you doing?” you sputtered, trying to remove your hand but to no avail as his refused to budge from its spot.

               “You won’t take them so this is a compromise.” Latched on like an octopus, he side eyed you.

               Tilting your face away, you took your best attempt at hiding your flushed face. Erratic thumps of your heart hit your ribs, though you knew it was silly for you to be so worked up. After all, he was just a stranger. Thankfully, the walk came to an end as your home came into view. Standing tall in the night, you knew it wasn’t the most impressive of apartment buildings with its chipping paint job and broken screens. But it was better than nothing.

               “We’re here.” You mumbled. A breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding left the confines of your lungs when his hand slipped out of yours, though an odd feeling of disappointment crept up in you as well.

               Walking up the stairwell, you fumbled with the keys in front of your door before sliding the lock free and pushing the slab of wood open. The familiar scent of your roommates cooking wafted towards you and you felt your mouth beginning to salivate. Suga followed you in, slipping off his shoes just as you had done. Perking his head, he gazed around the small home interestedly. In the light, you could see that his clothes were more worn than you had thought. Dirt stained the fabric and the damage it looked like it had taken was seemingly unrepairable. His body pivoted, turning to face you, fully satisfied with his inspection and as he did you saw a flash of red beneath his shirt. Alarm broiled inside you and you tried to discreetly peek through the hole to see what the shirt was hiding. A low clearing of his throat made your head snap up, meeting his eyes in a suffocating gaze. Tearing your eyes from his, you shrugged your coat off of your shoulders, hanging it in the closet.

               “There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to shower and get those clothes off. I’ll bring you something else to wear.” You motioned your hand towards the empty hall.

               Without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom, backpack in hand. Hearing the door slide shut behind him, you scrambled towards your roommates room. Knocking a few times, you entered the room, happy to see her sitting on her bed and staring into her books. Her voice filtered lightly through the room, “Who were you talking to—“

               Plopping on the bed, you frantically cut her off. “Okay, so don’t get mad but this guy was in the alley when I was coming home and I think he might be off or something but I didn’t want to leave him there so I kind of brought him home?”

               “You what?!” She replied, fury exuding from her body as she slammed her school book shut.

               “I know.” You hung your head low. “I’m sorry but he’s not like a murderer or anything… at least I don’t think so. It’ll just be for tonight.”

               “Y/N…” She groaned, her palm covering her face in frustration. “You really need to learn when it’s not a good time to be charitable.”

               “I’m sorry… can he borrow some of your boyfriends clothes though?”

               “What? Doesn’t he have clothes?” Shaking your head no, she sighed and got up to go to her dresser. Picking out some basketball shorts and a plain black tee, she threw them at you, hitting you in the face. “If I get killed tonight, I’m totally coming back just so I can haunt your ass.”

               “Thank you.” You said cutely, slipping out of the room before she flung something else in your direction.

               Re-entering your living area, you analyzed the area. Being students, you weren’t exactly rolling in money and had opted for cheap furniture when you had gotten the apartment. There was more space in your apartment than objects in all honesty. A low budget had left you with a small two seater couch and an arm chair. Neither was really bed material, much too small for the dream-like boy you had picked up on your way home. A bittersweet feeling ran through you as you realized you were left with minimal options. Not wanting Suga to have to be greeted by your roommate in the morning, you decided he would have to sleep in your own room. Passing by the bathroom, you could hear the heavy streams of the shower through the door and placed the clothing on the floor where he would find it. Lifting out fabric from the closet, you shuffled to the room, throwing it lazily on the floor. Spreading the futon, you made up a small bed for Suga beside your own. Testing it once, you decided it was good enough and changed into your pajamas.

               Thirsty, you got a glass of water from the kitchen, the door of the bathroom opening and Suga barrelling out of it and bumping into you. Letting out a surprised yelp, you nearly lost your footing. Your hand with the glass shot out to the side to stabilize yourself, only for your fingers to lose its grip on the beverage. Frigid fingers caught your hand, saving you from dropping the glass. Blinking, you looked up to see his eyes glued to your drink. His hair was messy and wet, tendrils sticking to his face and neck. Beads of water, dribbled down his skin while a slick sheen of moisture stuck to his flesh, making him shine. Mere centimeters away from him, you could smell the fruity scent of your shampoo clinging to his body. His lips were plump in the low light and a carnal part of you ached to reach up and claim them as yours. Despite all the odd quirks, he seemed like a manifestation of your own imagination; perfectly handsome, but mixed with a splash of danger. Hand still encased by his, he flicked his eyes toward you, faces only a small movement away. Eyes bore into yours and you became aware of the way his body loomed over yours, curling towards you as the wall brushed against your back. The places his fingers touched yours seemed to burn, only to fade as he removed his hand from yours, backing away from you.

               “Where do you want me to sleep?” He rasped, spurring you out of your day dream.

               “Um…” You mumbled, doing your best to hide the disappointment in your voice, though you yourself couldn’t understand where it was coming from. You weren’t usually like this; fawning over strangers and getting into suggestive situations. Keeping your iris’s glued to the ground, you walked toward the bedroom. “I made up a bed in my room. I didn’t think you’d want to sleep on the couch seeing as you wouldn’t be able to fit on it.”

               He hummed in response, curious eyes fluttering around your room as soon as he stepped foot in it. Quietly, you crawled under the plush covers of your own bed, shakily placing your glass of water on the small table next to your bed. Suga didn’t go to the makeshift bed; he simply skimmed his eyes over it before plopping down in your desk chair by the window. Propping his feet up, he stared out the window, eyes flickering back and forth from different stars. The moon filtered through the glass, striking his cheekbones and turning them alight. You were by no means a painter of any sort, but an itching came to your fingers that you had never experienced before. Watching him was like watching a masterpiece unfold and you couldn’t help but want to capture that beauty. Surrounded by a feeling of remoteness, he seemed untouchable to you; in a league far different than your own. But nevertheless, you wanted to be let in by the golden gates of his defences. You wanted to know why he looked so tired, staring into the sky. Why his actions didn’t seem to match is gruff exterior. But words eluded you as your body felt heavy, sinking deliciously into the mattress. Though he was a stranger, you didn’t feel cautious at all, in fact you felt just as comfortable as any other day, despite his presence. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you desperately wanted to ask him what he was thinking about that made him look so serious, but sleep was upon you and sucking you in.

               “Thank you, Y/N.” A low grumbled cut into your senses, though not rousing you fully.

               “You’re welcome; though I’m sure someone would’ve taken you in if I hadn’t.” You slurred, your brain slowing to a crawl as darkness dragged it down into its depths.

               Exhaustion finally got the better of you and you could feel yourself falling into the world of your imagination. The last sound hitting your ears being, “That’s not what I meant.”

Contents: 00q, Q-branch sabotage, disgruntled employees

Warnings: canon typical violence, suspense

This one got really long on me, so I’ll put most of it under a cut.


“At about waist-level, you’ll see a switch, I think,” Q says, speaking to Bond over the comm.

Bond on mission is equal parts focused intensity, snark, and improvisation. It’s been a wild ride for Q learning how to roll with his punches. But also entirely worth it–

“Mm. Something else I’d like to have at waist level.”

–for the perks of the job. Namely dating one James Bond, 007.

He’s well aware that not everyone would consider this a perk. High likelihood of tragic endings, package deal with traumatic stress disorder. But what they don’t know, and Q does, is that the insufferable menace of 007 isn’t all he is.

“Finish the mission and bring back your equipment and maybe there will be something waiting for you at waist level,” Q replies.

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Falling Into Autumn

Originally posted by halloweentreat


Characters: Matt/OC

Rating: PG

Description: The seasons are changing in Browntown as the family prepares.

Warnings: None



Early fall winds whistled through the treetops. Crinkling leaves clung to the branches in a desperate attempt to deny the inevitable descent to the ground. Fall had come early and bit hard at the Brown family. The sudden drop in temperatures had them needing more and more wood for the fire far earlier than they had anticipated, the entire family scrambling to keep up with their need to stay warm. The leaves crunched under Matt’s boots.

Matt enjoyed the sounds, though in his head he could hear Bam’s warning that the sounds he made with death in the woods. He had to chuckle as he shook his head. His steps were so loud he doubted there was any game left within a 5 mile radius. It was fine. Meat they had. Food they had. Wood for heat was his target today. He found a grove of several straight trees, perfect for firewood. Un-shouldering his axe, he assessed the tree before leaving an inaugural mark. He could hear echos of chopping elsewhere, knowing at least three of them were out hoping to stay ahead of the weather for once.

Soon his axe was chipping away at the bark, marring it as the axe head sank deeper and deeper into the trunks base, adding to the chorus of thudding echos in the forest. He paused only to drag his forearm across his forehead to clear the gathering sweat, slipping flannel off as the heat of his activity worked to warm him now. His forearms flexed  on each swing, his shoulders taut with exertion.

He laughed a triumphant ‘HaHA!’ as the trunk cracked loudly and finally gave way, dramatically careening to the forest floor. The satisfying sound of the solid core striking the earth, scattering the leaves fill Matt with a sense of accomplishment, especially since all her could still hear, was others chopping, indicating he’d been the only one to fell a tree at this point. Within the hour, the tree was reduced to many manageable chunks, stacked in a sloping pyramid. His arms now glistened with perspiration, his chest heaving from the spent energy. His greying curls were even dampened. He could see Bam through the spaces between the trees and saw him frustrated that he still had not felled the big cedar.

“Hey Bam!” Matt called out, wiping his brown, his arm bracing himself against the tree.

“Yeah?” Bam called out in almost a grunt after swinging his axe again.

“If you need some help I can come show you how to chop one down the right way!.” Matt offered, but it was more of a tease, a dig at outdoing Bam at something.

“I know what I’m frickin’ doing, I don’t need your help. Likely to drop the tree on me.” Bam snapped back. Matt couldn’t help but laugh, Bam was so easy to get a rise out of.

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