light up that halo

The Thing About Love

Originally posted by mvssmedia

Characters: Kim Taehyung. ft bestfriend!Jeon Jungkook. 
Type: College AU.
Genre: Fluff and a smidgen of angst.
Word count: 7.1k

The thing about love is that you’ll never know when it’ll hit you right in the face until it does and you’re tumbling into a downward spiral of mishaps –and in the process, embarrass yourself to the point of social disgrace– still, even then you’ll wonder what the fuck just happened?

“Hey, you okay over there?”

The first thing you should have noticed is the person calling for your concern but you’re too busy being in pain from the akin-to bitch slap that landed smack dab on your face and the throbbing of your butt from the fall which also happen to be caused by the bitch slap. You wince at the stinging sensation when your index finger brushes your nose and realize it’s bleeding –most definitely broken too.

“Let me see.” Along with the voice comes a callous hand pulling yours out of your face then god, you don’t think a bitch slap could kill but no other explanation could make sense because you’re looking at an angel –a damn good looking one at that.

His face is shadowed by the halo bathing his beautiful sun kissed skin but from this distance –oh boy, from this distance– you can very well tell what emotion flashes across that attractive face.

“I think your nose is broken, might not wanna touch that.” He grimaces at the damage and swiftly pulls you up to your feet, strong –but not too buff– arm around your waist and your own arm around his broad shoulder.

You think he said something about going to the nurse’s office and some other thing you can’t be bothered to listen to because you’re too busy being in awe of his long lashes, soft, deep brown strands and just the perfect shade of tan.

Then he calls your name –he knows your name.

“Huh? What?” You snap out, blinking, dazed.

“I’m sorry I broke your nose with a football.”

So Kim Taehyung broke your nose with a football, that is what the fuck happened.

Keep reading

alec always liked post battle showers, taking their time washing the grime and blood off of each other until exhausted limbs were ready for sleep. despite stepping in looking like they had both been through hell and stumbled out the other side, they’d step out of the shower with steam warmed skin, half lost in kisses and ready to sink into the sheets.

but what he liked far more than that, what they both liked more than nearly anything, were baths shared after a day so long neither of them felt like they’d see the end of it. days filled with clave related nonsense, both of them dealing with bureaucracy until alec’s teeth hurt and magnus was rubbing his own shoulders, growling at everything. it was nearly unspoken as they stepped through the portal, magnus tugging alec closer, their torsos pressed together his warm face tucked down against alec’s neck. it made alec shiver but he held onto him, dragging his fingers over the tight muscles of magnus’s back.

“i’ll get the bath ready.” alec’s whisper was caught in the warm air between them, magnus’s breath released in a sigh against alec’s deflect rune. but with it came a nod, though he didn’t release alec just yet, pressing a soft line of kisses down that rune before he did. it sent a shiver through alec but a distant, tired one. and then they parted in the breezy hallway, magnus already pulling his military jacket off, his shoulders slightly slumped.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

You know how Winn fanboys over superman can you do a prompt of Alex fangirling over Wonder Woman. I think I'd be interesting to see cool Alex freaking and also Wonder Woman is so worthy.

“So technically, she’s not an alien,” Maggie read through the file in the middle of the DEO command center. She dropped the page she was looking at. “But she is super strong and has weapons that are obviously not of this world.” She looked over at Alex who was distracted by her favorite alien gun in pieces on the table. She had a soldering iron in one hand and some kind of alien version in her other hand.

Maggie looked toward the entrance to the DEO when the door opened. She heard Kara talking and knew their special guest with the mystery file had arrive.

“So Kal-El is your cousin?” an elegant voice asked that was both powerful and comforting.

“Yeah,” Kara smiled. “My little baby cousin.”

“Alex,” Maggie poked Alex’s arm.

“Hold on,” Alex grumbled. “Can’t believe it got smashed.”

Maggie didn’t look away from their guest as she hit Alex with the back of her hand. “Alex, look.”

“One sec.”

“Alex!” Maggie finally moved her hand up Alex’s head, her hand patting Alex’s face. “Alex, look.”

“What?” Alex looked up from her beloved gun to the approaching group. At first all she saw was J’onn and Kara, then she saw her. The light coming in the glass door lit up their visitor like a halo, making her face seem like a dream. A smile lit up her face as she stepped forward out of the light and Alex’s eyes adjusted.

“You’re Wonder Woman,” Alex blurted out. The tools in her hand clattered onto the table and she walked quickly around the table.

Keep reading

“Hey, Moony?” Sirius said tentatively as they crossed the grounds heading up the castle, the first light of dawn after the full moon casting a faint orange light across the grass.

Remus glanced down at him, a tired smile curling up on one corner of his mouth, “Yeah, Padfoot?”

Sirius looked down, his face getting hot, “I was wonderin- or thinking- I was thinking-”

“Hmm? Do you want some chocolate?” Remus asked, patting his pockets absently.

Sirius pushed his hair behind one ear, “No, not chocolate, just-”

“Is something wrong?” Remus asked with concern, stopping in his tracks and pulling Sirius to a stop in front of him, “You can tell me if there’s something wrong.”

Sirius shook his head. He looked up at Remus, haloed by morning light, and reached out his hand, carefully taking Remus’ in his own, curling his fingers around his palm. When he dared to glance up Remus’ surprise had been eclipsed by a brilliant smile.

Remus said quietly, “I see,” squeezing Sirius’ hand back.

anonymous asked:

yo i haven't seen pd2 in like YEARS but yuuri and victor in your little drabble had me weak and i don't even know what kinda factor they play in the movie or if there's anything else you can give us but i'd love to see more of them because. yes @ them being all over each other in front of everyone when people have shit to do, i.e. important ruling a kingdom stuff

well, the dynamic between the queen and joe in the movies (can’t say much about the books bc it’s been years since i read one of them lmao) is that they’ve got a will they won’t they tension going on and literally the entire damn country ships them (the friggin bishop or…. whatever religious leader officiating the wedding was like “finally” when they did get married in pd2 lolol) and yea that’s probably what i’d be going for. but with a couple tweaks since a lot of details have been shifted around in this au to make it work better with the yoi cast lol

Viktor’s never seen anyone as stoic as Mr Katsuki before in his life. He runs a tight ship, getting all the other security officers into line and smartly suited up. He obsessively goes over every possible breach or flaw at every venue, even drawing up blueprints and maps of the buildings Viktor sets foot in just so he knows the weaknesses of each wall, the locations of each ventilation shaft. He knows the precise details of Viktor’s schedule down to the minute, coordinating with Lilia, his chief advisor and assistant, until everything around the King seems to flow like clockwork, the well-oiled cogs of a machine designed to protect his every step.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks Mr Katsuki once, a couple months into his tenure as chief of security, and Mr Katsuki only smiles a tight, brittle smile that doesn’t reach his calculating yet sparkling eyes.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were hurt, Your Majesty,” he replies.

Viktor laughs at just how earnestly serious the man looks. “My life is in your hands already, Mr Katsuki. You might as well call me Viktor.”

There’s a little chink in Mr Katsuki’s armour at that when his cheeks flush visibly pink. “I don’t know if I could, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice quiet, soft, and Viktor immediately realises he’d do anything to see this sort of expression on the man’s face again.

Mr Katsuki is a reassuring shadow at his side, watchful yet protective. Viktor values his work and dedication. Admires his bravery and honour.

But he doesn’t fall in love, though, until one fateful afternoon when he’s leaving his motorcade and a gunman opens fire, and Mr Katsuki is on him in an instant, tackling him onto the asphalt and shielding him with his body. As his heartbeat rings loudly in his ears, Viktor looks up into the wide-eyed expression on his chief of security’s face, and realises that the man is genuinely terrified of losing him.

“Yuuri,” he breathes, reaching up for him. The light haloes Mr Katsuki, making him almost angelic. The noise and commotion fade away with each blink of Mr Katsuki’s long lashes, and then the world fades to white.

When Viktor wakes up, he is in a hospital bed, and Mr Katsuki – Yuuri – has fallen asleep with his fingers inches from Viktor’s own. 

Keep reading


Hey guys! I went to the museum and had a buncha cute thoughts about Tom there, so I thought I’d do my best to eloquently sum them up for you guys! I hope y’all like the imagine, and feel free to message me if you ever want me to write anything specific!

She was drenched within the white walls of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Different colors seemed to drip from the ceiling and she eagerly soaked them up, ambling through the varying exhibits.
Biting down on her lip, she pulled the map out of her bag and tried to pinpoint her exact location. The whole reason she came today was to see the German expressionism art exhibit. From the articles she read, she learned that the LACMA had secured assorted paintings from the 1920s, and she was desperate to see them.
Nobody had wanted to come with her, so she decided to go alone. Thinking back to her decision, she realized that it probably wasn’t the best, seeing as she was as directionally challenged as the fates from Greek mythology, who only had one eye to share between the three of them. Glancing up at the sculptures, she wished that they’d come to life and help her with directions like the characters from Night at the Museum would. Alas, she thought, and stuffed the map back into her purse and carried on walking.
Tom wasn’t too jazzed to be spending his Sunday afternoon at a museum. Him, Harrison, and Harry had only come because Harry wanted to take photos outside. Harry then decided that they should all explore the museum because they happened to be there, and some of the exhibits sounded neat.
It wasn’t that Tom disliked art, because he didn’t, he liked art just as much as the next guy, but he had too much energy to be quiet while they walked through the massive museum. All the walls were clean and white, bare except for paintings, and it reminded him of being locked away in an insane asylum. He wanted out, but decided to wait it out for Harry’s sake.
“Hmmm,” Harry muttered, leafing through the museum’s vast map, “we should try to find the German art, it says here that they’re being moved around in a few days.”
Tom groaned into his hands, “Why? You don’t even like history, let’s go outside! It’s 85 degrees, we could be at the beach.”
Elbowing him, Harrison said, “We’ve gone to the beach everyday this week, you can handle some,” he glanced at the page to confirm the exhibit’s title, “German expressionism.”
Tom pouted as he followed Harrison and Harry up the stairs to the German exhibit.
She smiled victoriously. She’d made it to her exhibit, all without asking for help. She had traipsed around long enough, wandering up the stairs, down the stairs, through long hallways, all while taking in all the art the museum had to offer it’s visitors.
Softly, under her breath, she muttered, “Finally,” and walked into 1920s Germany.
When the boys had gotten to their destination, the room where all the art was hung-up was essentially empty, except for the small frame of a girl loitering around the pictures.
The first photo Tom stopped in front of was horrendous. The colors were all dark, and cool-toned and seemed to blend together in a very unfavorable fashion. The people depicted looked afraid, dazed, and as if they were being chased down some great monster. It was also a somewhat abstract painting, and Tom couldn’t really tell what anything in the painting really was. Shaking his head and crossing his arms, Tom moved onto the next painting while Harry and Harrison discussed the information on the plaque beneath the artwork.
She came to a stop in front of a vivid, richly red painting. The woman portrayed was naked, lying on her back, looking as if she was floating above the earth. Her eyes were startled and her mouth curled back, as if she had a scream caught in her throat, and her hands grasped at something invisible and unattainable.
Her eyes drifted from the plaque and back up to the painting again as she attempted to decipher and put back together the conceptual work of art. She heard the shuffling of a body behind her, but didn’t turn her head.
Tom reached the painting the girl stood in front of. Focusing more on the back of her head than the disturbing painting, his gaze trailed down the length of her spine, covered in the soft blanket of her black sweater, and then back up to the halo of light emitted from her shiny hair. He wanted her to turn around so he could see if her face was as pretty as her hair, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to spend anytime thinking of something to say. Harrison backed into Harry, and Harry let out a shout of surprise, and she whirled around and collided with his chest, clearly surprised by the sudden breach of silence.
She made a move to side-step around Tom, so she wouldn’t fall into him, but her ankle slipped up and she let out a shriek of shock and began to fall backwards. Quickly regaining his bearings, Tom slipped a soft hand around her waist to pull her back up, but tripped over someone’s feet, at this point, he couldn’t tell who’s, and ended up tangled around her as they fell to the ground.
Thankfully, due to his Spider-man training, he knew how to fall with someone in his arms without either of them getting bruised up too badly. Tom shifted, pulling her to his chest and placed a hand behind her cranium, and fell with his back onto the wood floors, cradling the girl to his chest.
When they finally settled onto the ground and he opened his mouth to ask if she was alright, he was stricken by her eyes. Her eyes were like flower petals, Tom thought, as they glassily peered up at him. They unfurled like fresh, spring florets and her eyelashes curled the same way leaves did. Soft roses smeared across her cheeks as she began to utter apologies a mile a minute at him.
Removing herself from his grip, she sat back on her knees and pressed her hands to her lips. Tom could hear hysterical laughter and Harrison shouted, “Smooth mate, smooth!” In his general direction. Leaning up onto his elbows, he tried to think of something smooth to say.
“Shit, fuck, fuck, I’m really sorry! Are you okay? Should I get someone? Oh geez, don’t move, I can try to find you an ice pack. Oh my gosh, I’ve literally killed Spider-man before his film is even out to the cinemas. I’m really so sorry, like, anything you’re thinking, double it, triple it, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry!” At this point, she sounded like she was becoming frantic.
Swiftly, Tom was sitting up and trying to comfort her. “No, no, don’t worry! It’s fine, I’m fine! Are you fine?”
“I cannot believe, of all things, I bump into you! I literally crushed you and you’re asking if I’m alright?” Her hands flitted around rapidly, not sure where they should settle down.
Tom sat up straighter, she seemed to know who he was. “Are you, uh, do you like Spider-man?”
“Youre-fuck- he’s my favorite. I’m really sorry, I just can’t believe-.” Tom noticed that her hands were shaking.
“Darling, it’s fine! Don’t worry about the fall, I’m just glad that I was there to catch you! Made me feel like I’m actually your friendly, neighborhood Spider-man.” He moved to help her up off the floor as he stood up.
A giggle left her lips as she accepted his hand. “I’m sorry for being a creep and for almost mangling you to death.”
“Don’t be silly,” Tom tilted his body closer to hers, “Wouldn’t be doing Peter justice if I just let you fall.”
She smiled up at him shyly. She could barely believe that this was happening to her. She knew Tom, she loved Tom, she even had an embarrassing blog dedicated to Tom, and now, here Tom was. He was even cuter, more polite and charming than his interviews did him justice, and she had almost flattened him against the hardwood floor of the museum.
“Are you here with anyone, because if you’re not,” Tom’s arm curled up behind his head, “we could look at all this disturbing artwork together? And, maybe I could buy you a coffee afterword?”
Her entire face lit up, and she felt so giddy that she had to physically stop herself from jumping up and down. She automatically launched into a nervous chatter about the artwork surrounding them. “The artwork is historical! All these were right before Hitler came into power, so Germany was struggling economically after the war and was looked down upon by basically everyone, so that’s the only reason they’re not light and fluffy, if that’s the disturbing aspect you’re speaking of.”
Quirking an eyebrow, Tom smiled at her, “is that a yes? Or-?”
Her eyes widened and she impulsively grasped his hand, and upon realizing what she’d done, she recoiled, blushing furiously. “Yes, I’d love that.”
Taking her hand within his own, and making a blatant point of flipping off Harrison and Harry as they hooted in the background, “Now, tell me more about,” He turned around to examine the time period stamped onto the painting, “1920s Germany.”
Leading him to the next painting, she did just that.

the dappled light was dancing over the grass as a breeze played with the leaves on the trees and the ribbons trailing off of the floral arrangements. it was beautiful, breathtaking honestly as the sound of silverware and glasses clinking mingled with the chatter and laughter that wove it’s way between the tables underneath that canopy of green. candles flickered and little orbs of magical light trailed over the tables as the sun started to sink lower on the horizon and the day started to drip into twilight amidst the reverie of the wedding party.

magnus was lost in it, lost in the hum of alcohol and the joy of watching two of his closest friends get married. but it was more than that, as the fireflies started to blink close to the grass, there was a feeling rolling up in him that he barely had a word for. sitting there watching catarina cup dot’s face as the swelling sound of forks against glasses echoed over the tables, a bubble of joy had embedded itself in his chest and he felt lost in it. he watched the way the sunlight dripped over catarina’s dark brown skin as her thumb dragged over one of dot’s cheeks and kissed her slow and deep. and as he did, he felt alec shifting under his arm, one of his hands lazily dragging over magnus’s thigh.

it bubbled up as his attention focused back on alec, settled there in the seat next to him, his hazel eyes catching a bit of the honeyed near sunset light. he was staring at magnus with one of those looks they’d been throwing at each other the entire night. the ones that said so much without any words at all. the ones that made magnus’s heart feel like it was far too full.

Keep reading

Fire and Claws - Polysanders Fanfiction

Written for @angsty-anxxiety for the fic exchange. I hope its okay!

Prompt: (sfw): Prince gets badly hurt when out fighting dragons one day. It’s the worst he’s ever been injured and he passes out in the woods. It’s up to the other sides to find him and bring him to safety.

Pairing: Polysanders

Words: 1815

It was commonplace for Logan, Patton and Virgil to see Roman off in the morning. They’d each pepper Prince’s face with kisses and give him bone-crushing hugs as he tried to disentangle himself from his boyfriends and make his way into his kingdom.

“If you return injured, I won’t be impressed,” Logan warned. Roman smiled- he knew what Logan meant. I don’t want to see you hurt. 

“I am a prince. Princes don’t get injured. Injuries mean failures and I never fail.” Roman pulled Logan forward into his arms, planting a quick kiss onto Logic’s lips. “Don’t worry, Lo, I’ll be fine,” he whispered, reassuring Logan. Logic gave him a wobbly smile as he stepped back, Roman knew he was faking it for him but he’d let it slide for now, they’d talk about it later.

“You better come back soon, you dork,” Virgil quipped, smiling slightly as he intertwined his fingers with his boyfriend’s. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Roman winked, giving the other a gentle kiss. He felt Virgil step back as Morality rushed forward.

“Be careful,” Patton muttered against Roman’s lips, arms winding tightly around the others’ waist, as if Roman would disappear if he didn’t hold him tightly enough. 

“Don’t fear, love. I have bested many dragons before, this one will be no different,” Roman smiled, disentangling himself from Morality and planting a kiss in his hair before slipping through the door. “I love you all, count the minutes until my return,” he grinned, closing the door. 

Logan made his way into his study to work as Patton and Virgil went a separate way to start their planned movie marathon. Each of them felt calm and sure that Roman would come back unharmed and safe, even Virgil had faith in him. Roman would be fine. 

At least they all hoped he would.
Roman made his way into the forest, moving slightly in the saddle as his horse made its way over the fallen sticks and moss-covered ground. He loved days like this, when he could get away from the organised chaos of his realm and the mindscape and just enjoy the peace and quiet. Sometimes, he’d slip away from his advisers and make his way into this very forest. He’d stretch out in the sun and enjoy the tranquility, daydreaming of heroic quests or magnificent beasts or practice his sword fighting, slashing his sword into a tree to work on his strength or make his way into a clearing to practice his footwork. It depended on his mood.

But today he wasn’t here for any of that. The local village was being terrorized by a dragon. Every week, the beast would swoop down and fly away with one of their livestock. The people lived in fear of the great dragon and, as their number of livestock dwindled, feared that soon the dragon would take off with one of their people. They called out to Prince Roman for help and Roman had agreed to assist, he couldn’t let his people suffer. That led him to his quest today: hunting down and killing the dragon.

As the day went on, light filtered through the gaps on the trees, making halos of light that lit up the forest floor and causing the forest to light up with shades of colors ranging from the bright green of leaves on small plants taking in the sunlight to the dark brown of the oak trees that stretched high above him. The halos were scattered about randomly, making patches of the woodland a sunlit wonder before being plunged back into the dimmer light that hid the vibrant colors as if they were never even there.

Prince observed his surroundings, constantly attentive to any sounds that would alert him to the dragon’s presence. He heard nothing. As the sun rose to its highest point, Roman reached a large clearing. He hopped off the horse and slowly started walking around the area, twigs and sticks crunching underfoot. Roman made his way towards the black marks in the middle of the clearing, his curiosity rising. As he knelt down to inspect the markings, his blood ran cold.
They were scorch marks. 

A deafening roar made him jump up and look to the sky. The dragon hovered above the clearing, it was an intimidating beast, it’s body covered in red scales that protected its body. Great wings kept it hovering above the clearing, it could easily crush Roman if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d have to be careful. 

That was when he realized. 

The dragon’s gaze was fixed on him. As they made eye contact the dragon roared and bought down a claw that was twice the size of the prince. Roman easily dodged the swipe and reached to his hip for his sword. He felt his stomach drop, his sword was tethered to his horse. Roman dodged again as the claw came down for the second time, running to retrieve his sword from where it was tired to his horse. 

But he wasn’t quick enough. 

The dragon scratched Roman with its claw, dragging its talons down his back as it just missed him. Blood rose to the surface sickeningly quickly from three long scratches. Roman cried out and fell to the floor. Red hot pain rushed through him, forcing him onto his knees. Prince forced himself back onto his feet as the dragon spewed fire in his direction. He was less than a few centimeters away from expertly dodging the fire. But it wasn’t enough.

The fire caught his ankles, pushing him to the floor again, the skin burning and blistering.

But he was a prince. He couldn’t give up now. 

Roman pushed himself up again, this time running – as best he could –  for the cover of the trees. The dragon saw him escaping and landed in its territory. 

Roman grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled it into the forest. Just as Roman escaped the clearing the dragon roared, looking for the prince. Fire was spewed in the opposite direction and Roman took his chance to get as far away from the clearing as possible. After a few tries, he awkwardly managed to clamber back onto his horse and urge it forward.

As the sun reached the highest point in the sky, Roman’s consciousness started to leave him. He fell off the horse and stared up at the sky, his energy leaving him.

‘I’m going to die.’ Was his last thought before passing out.
Virgil was starting to pull at his sleeves, Patton was shifting from foot to foot and Logan was chewing on his fingernails as they anxiously hovered around Roman’s door. 

“Somethings happened. I know it,” Virgil started, his eyes filling up with tears.
“What did we say about jumping to conclusions?” Logan replied, not taking his eyes away from the door. 

“He’s over an hour late! He’s never late. What if he’s lying some ditch somewhere? What if he’s dead?”

“I’m sure he’s fine kiddo. Just a little late,” Patton replied, taking the crying anxiety into his arms.

They stayed there for another hour before Virgil finally convinced them to take action. 

“Logan, somethings definitely wrong.” Virgil wrapped his arms around Logan, trying to keep his rising anxiety at a manageable level.

“I think he’s right, Lo. We should at least go look,” Patton agreed.

“Fine,” Logan sighed, hesitantly opening the door to Roman’s kingdom. It wasn’t that Logan didn’t want to look, it was that he was afraid of what he’d find on the other side of the door.

The three sides headed toward the forest Roman had told them he was going to and started searching for their boyfriend.

The sun had reached its peak and was now starting to lower again, giving them only a few hours to find the prince. 

They combed the forest, working together to search the area. Occasionally they called out for him but could never hear an answer. The sun was setting and they were turning back when Patton called out one last time. 


There was a groan. 

“Oh gosh. ROMAN? WHERE ARE YOU BABY?!” Patton shouted again.  

There was another groan, this time louder. Patton sprinted in the direction of it, seeing his horse after a few feet. 

“Guys, his horse!”

Virgil and Logan took off after Morality. “Pat, be careful. He might be on the floor,” Logan called to the other. 

A few moments of silence. Roman was lying next to his horse.

“Guys I’ve found him!” 

Virgil and Logan rushed forward. Roman was shivering, eyes barely open as he muttered. “Gonna die. Gonna die. Gonna die.”

Virgil’s hand flew to his mouth as his eyes filled with tears. “Oh my god, Ro.”

Logan dropped down next to Roman. “He’s passing in and out of consciousness. We have to get him out of here. Now. Roman, stay awake.” 

Virgil and Patton quickly moved into action. Logan carried the barely conscious trait as Patton walked next to them and soothed him and Virgil took care of the horse. “It’s okay, Ro. You’re gonna be okay,” Patton comforted.

They made their way out of the forest quickly, taking the horse back to its stables and making their way back to the mindscape before the sun fully set. Logan quickly set Roman onto the bed and barked out orders. 

“Virgil, Patton, blankets. Now,” Logan ordered. The other two went running. 

They returned quicker than Logan expected.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Logic said, stepping away from where he had been inspecting and treating Roman’s wounds. “His injuries don’t seem to be too serious.” 

Over the next few hours, Roman’s coherency slowly returned. 

As his vision slowly cleared the trait came face to face with 3 very unhappy and worried boyfriends. 

“You’re never doing that again!” Patton cried, throwing himself around the other.

 Roman winced at the sudden pain that flared up but smiled, clinging to Morality. 

“Will you ever listen to me?” Logan said, placing a hand against Roman’s cheek. “It’s not big or impressive to get yourself injured like this. It just causes us and yourself worry and pain.” 

“That dragon may have got a few hits in. I apologize for making you worry.” 

Roman looked to Virgil. “Virgil, baby, come over here.”

Virgil hesitated, shuffling and staring at his feet. “I-I don’t want to hurt you. What if I make your injuries worse?”

“Logan and Patton aren’t. Please, I need all 3 of you right now.”

Virgil hesitated for a split second before rushing into Roman’s arms, a sob breaking through as he carefully wrapped his arms around Roman’s waist. 

Roman smiled and lay his head back against the pillows as Logan, Patton and Virgil carefully settled in around him.

Lying there with his boyfriends he knew he was going to be okay.
No, not just okay…perfect.

anonymous asked:

Can u do an imagine where u broke your arm so you had to get laughing gas. And you wake up all loopy and Grayson is a helper and then you talk about how you guys are gonna get married and have kids. You see the video and go back to apologize but then he ends up asking you on a date. (There's a video that was inspired by this on YouTube called ' girl proposes to nurse on anesthesia!!' Just in case you need more details)

OMG I LOVE THAT VIDEO AND I LOVE THIS IDEA YOU ARE HEAVENLY FOR REQUESTING THIS, I put my own twist in as I was in love with the idea that I wrote at the end instead. I hope you enjoy!

The room is spinning, the border of the wallpaper is melting to the floor and you’re not even quite sure you remember who you are. Those damn stairs to your third floor apartment were the stairs from hell, claiming your arm as a victory. Ten grocery bags and three flights of stairs didn’t mix well with you, the reason why you’d stared in horror at your hanging arm with vomit in your throat.

The recovery room is blindingly bright and the occupant behind the curtain next to you is moaning in pain. It all sounds like a scratched up CD, cutting in and out and twisting all together into one horrible background noise. You would wonder where your friends or your parents were, but you were far too high to care.

The doctor had unfortunately done surgery, having to place a metal rod through your arm, the caution yellow cast nearly putting your eyes out. Your mouth was dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth like shoving an entire spoon of peanut butter in without anything water to drink. You groaned out in agitation from the lack of liquid, and partly from the lack of company, your eyes double visioned as you tried to make out the green scrubs by the foot of the bed. “I’m here to give you a little more medicine, Miss Y/L/N.”

You squinted to focus, not truly seeing the nurse until he sat in the chair next to you, a vial of antibiotics in his hand. You shook your head to rid the swirling of your eyes, zoning in on the most handsome creature you’d ever seen. “Omg, you’re hot as fuck.”

His bellowing laugh made your droopy smile feel like it was willing to slip right off your face. “I’d say that’s a first from a patient.”

You don’t even acknowledge his hands placing the syringe of antibiotics by your IV, all you could care about was how you’d lucked up with the hottest nurse in history. “You’ve got to be fibbin.” You’d try to correct your slur but your tongue felt ten sizes too large for your mouth.

His hand reaches over to the bedside table, grasping a styrofoam cup full of glorious ice. “Here, you can’t have water yet, but this should help a little.”

The spoon scraping against the ice sounds like nails against a chalkboard, he reaches out to feed you some, a few falling carelessly to the bed sheets to melt. You focus on his rounded button nose, the slight stubble on his chin, the flecks of green that dot his irises in such an interesting way. You’re in slow motion, it feels like years that your undamaged arm reaches out to him, your pointer finger booping his nose as you bust into a fit of girly giggles. “You are just SO cute! Are you married?”

He grasps your hand which is still floating in mid air on its own, placing it to the sheets. The warmth feels like euphoria, the medication running through your veins making you a block of ice. You grasp onto it, refusing to let go even as he tries to gently pull away. He relents after a moment with a sincere smile, letting you play with the rough pads of his fingertips. “No, I’m not married.”

You giggle out again, it was actually embarrassing as you weren’t a giggler, but the high was too intense to stop you from doing it. “Okay,” you pull his hand to rub along the side of your cheek, “you can marry me then.”

Instead of handling the overbearing situation awkwardly or rudely, he continues to smile like the obvious gentleman he is. “You’re very forward aren’t you?”

You grasp his entire arm to cuddle into as he checks to make sure your injured arm is safe as you roll over. “No, I just love you. Do you love me?”

His head throws back as his laugh bounces off the melting walls and echoes in your head, you really like the sound of it. “Only if you let me check your blood pressure.”

He rolls to the side to grasp the blood pressure cuff, having to extend his body as your death grip is not letting go of his arm. “Alright, sexy, cuff me!” His laugh blows out through his nose as he shakes his head and struggles to wrap the cuff around your arm. You stare up at him, the lights and the medication casting a halo around him. “Gosh, you’re just so pretty. Please marry me.” He hums as he watches the meter working to find your vitals. “We can buy a two story house, have a few babies. I can make you pasta, you can mow the lawn-”

You’re interrupted by your parents sliding the curtain open to see you, your mother rushing over to take a look at your caution cast. You continue to nuzzle the perfect man’s arm as he explains the details of your condition to your parents. Your mother reaches over to try and pry you away from his arm, but you don’t budge. “Honey, he needs to get back to his other patients.” She stops to give him an apologetic look, “he can’t stay here with you, let him go.”

You muster up the meanest face you can make which probably looks ridiculous. “No! He’s my husband! We’re going to have three children and he’s going to mow the lawn!”

Your father shakes his head with near tears of laughter in his eyes. Your mother finally pries you away from your dream man, the tears slipping from your eyes as you whine for him to come back to you. “I promise I’ll be back in ten minutes, okay? I won’t forget you.”

You snub, throwing a sad excuse of a glare at your mother the traitor. Everything rushed into a blur after that without the beautiful nurse there to catch your attention. Hours turned into the morning as you woke with a groggy head and a throbbing arm. The room was empty and vacant, far away from the ER. You can’t remember much, aside from the hazy memory of a gorgeous man that you assumed you’d dreamed up in your head.

The door creaks open, your eyes looking up to expect your mother with some lecture about being more careful, but instead it’s a random stranger with a case of gorgeous white peonies. “An order for Miss Y/L/N?”

You nod your head, your brain feeling as if it was floating unattended inside your skull. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man sits the cold vase in your hands and leaves without a word, what a charmer. Your sense of smell is a little wacky, but the fresh flowers still smell pristine and perfumey. The tip of a card pokes your nostril as you lean back to pluck it from the blooms. Hope your arm isn’t killing you too much. Here’s my number in case you’d like to discuss our future more with a clear head. – Grayson

1997 [4]

Previous parts

Characters: Dean, twin sister!reader, Sam, OC characters

Words: 1900

Music Suggestion: 80′s Films - Jon Bellion

Your name: submit What is this?

”We’re going running.” Dean declared and looked at you expectantly. It was Saturday before lunch and your twin brother looked alarmingly keen.

You rose one eyebrow and stared at him, really not feeling it, as you were sitting on the couch of the motel room (that also was your bed), watching some random show on the TV — that actually got you quite hooked on the plot.

”We are?”

”Yes, we are. Gotta stay in shape. Now, go change.”

You groaned and muttered not so nice words under your breath. Dean only smirked as he watched you get up from the couch, grab some clothes and go to change in the bathroom. Then he turned to Sam.

Keep reading

someone asked how Coran knows memes

Lance suddenly with spectacles: My favorite space uncle,,, I forgive you, because you’re an alien and I don’t think space memes exist


Hunk: it is time

Coran: !!! For what? (*^▽^*)

Hunk, Pidge and Lance simultaneously: MEMEDUCATION

- an hour later -

Lance, wiping a lone tear: We’ve done it, boys

Pidge: boy and girl you little shit

Hunk: he’s,,,, memeducated

Lance: my uncle, all grown up

Coran, a halo of light surrounding him, the angels singing: here comes dat boi

bisexualtimothydrake  asked:

if you have any x-files feelings that you want to fic out, this is your prompt!

Once—they might have been a little drunk, the two of them and an off-brand six pack, a sticky motel comforter, the window unit gurgling and grinding—they make a map. It was bought along with the six pack, and Dana thinks the owner of the corner store probably should have warned them about drinking and driving, but he just eyeballed them and rang up one six pack, one driving map.

Anyway, it’s one of those foldout Rand McNally maps, all the highways laid out and every state a different color. Georgia is a kind of off-orange, and Mulder whips out a red sharpie, marks—vaguely the spot where Senoia should be. Your turn, he says, grinning, and it’s the grin that makes Dana think he must have been the bane of every teacher’s existence grades one through twelve, because what the hell are you supposed to do with a kid so smart he’ll dismantle all reality to see how it works?

My turn for what, Mulder? she asks. The beer is sweating in her hand, and she can feel the wetness of it trickling down her wrist.

To mark somewhere we’ve been, Scully. Afterwards, you can put it in your scrapbook. A memento.

I don’t scrapbook, Dana says, but she takes the sharpie from Mulder’s hand anyway. Studies the map and then draws an X, right over St. Paul, Minnesota. The map’s not detailed enough for her to pick out Clyde Bruckman’s apartment complex, but she wishes she could. ‘X’ marks the X-file, right? 

Rest in peace, Mulder says quietly, and doesn’t need to specify who he meansHe’s uncharacteristically gentle when he takes the sharpie from her fingers. For a moment he studies the map, then draws an X over Dudley.

Never again, Dana swears, and Mulder laughs. 

What, you don’t crave some Chaco Chicken?

Seriously, Mulder? she scoffs, and there’s a brief fight for the sharpie before he surrenders it to her again.

They go back and forth like that for a while, arguing good-naturedly about exactly which DC case they’re talking about, and whether the Piper Maru should be marked in the middle of the Pacific or not. (Mulder is the one to draw the X over Skyland Mountain, and they say nothing. He just squeezes Scully’s knee, and passes her the sharpie again.)

They’re slowing down when the motel alarm clock flips to midnight with an audible click. Scully has mostly given up, and has stretched out on the bed, letting Mulder mark the rest. Rockville. Aubrey. Bend. Delta Glen. It’s surprising the details he remembers. She could write you a novel about motel rooms like this one, tacky motel comforters and Mulder, whose hair is falling in his eyes, and who has a smudge of red sharpie ink on his finger.

He missed a spot on his jaw, shaving. She wouldn’t have noticed, but she’s looking up at him, Mulder with the shitty overhead lighting haloing his head. His hair is falling in his eyes, and she’s resisting the urge to reach out a hand and push it away. X marks the spot, she could say, tapping his forehead. It’s all in your head, Fox.

Hey, Mulder, which one was your favorite? she asks instead.

Favorite what, Scully?

Your favorite place. All those ‘X’s, you’ve got to have a favorite.

He smiles at her, a little absently. Oh, you know me, Scully, he says. Tomorrow, the map will have vanished, inexplicably, and Dana won’t see it again until she drops by Mulder’s apartment with a stack of files, finds it framed and hanging above his couch. I’m not really very sentimental.

Roomies Part 2

A/N: Since everyone seemed to like the first part, I thought I should post this next bit, warning it does have smut. Also everyone who asked to be tagged, I have tagged you, but the ones with the strike through, your tag wouldn’t work for me, sorry. Also, I have started the next part, so stay tuned. Please let me know what you think!

Pairings: Steve x Female Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, Smut, Clit Stimulation, Penetration

Word Count: 3,000+

Blurb: Tony fucks up, causing half the tower to relocate – you get to bunk with Steve for a few weeks.  Then you go out dancing for your birthday, get drunk, try to sleep with Steve and pass out. Now you have to face the aftermath.

Sunday morning of the second week rolled around; you woke up, your head was pounding, your mouth felt dry and your whole body ached. You rolled over and found that Steve wasn’t in bed; in fact his side was neatly made. You sat up groggily, and realised you were wearing nothing but your bra and panties. You looked over but Steve’s side of the bed was neatly made.

“Oh god” you moaned, before throwing yourself back down onto the bed in a heap. What did you do? What did you say? Did you piss Steve off? Did you embarrass yourself? You were going to kill Nat for taking you drinking.

You tried to recall what you’d done, and when you couldn’t you climbed out of bed. When you rounded the end of it you saw your shoes on the floor near the door, and your dress lying haphazardly in the middle of the room, heading towards the bed. But you didn’t see any of Steve’s clothes, which meant…

You grumbled really loudly. You’d tried to molest Steve while he slept, and you were drunk? You were such an idiot!!! How would you ever face him? You snatched up your dress and threw it in the hamper, and put your shoes back in the closet, before grabbing some clothes and heading for the shower.

You knocked on the door and when you got no answer, you entered. The bathroom was immaculate, clearly Steve hadn’t been here this morning, which meant not only did you try and come onto him, you chased him out of his own room. Fucking fantastic.

Keep reading


Happy Birthday to my darling @letsjustsee!!!!! I can’t believe writing one little witch harry fic led to finding one of my best friends in the fandom <3. This preview (and mood board) is for you because you’ve been so supportive of this fic since day 1! Most of the prologue is under the cut. For more snippets of this fic you can check here.

These Sparks We Light by QuickedWeen



But did you see the flares in the sky? Were you blinded by the light?

Bodies pressed together and stray limbs flailed as Louis Tomlinson stared up at the stage of the Apollo in Manchester. Louis had been looking forward to this concert for months. The members of The Script were performing their hearts out as he watched with wide eyes.

This. This was what he wanted to do. He wanted to write songs and belt his heart out in front of hundreds, thousands, of people. This was all he had ever wanted, and he needed to figure out how to make it happen. He had enough putting it off, enough sitting around on his ass. All the song ideas floating around in his head needed to be flushed out, written down, given proper chord progressions – instead of staying stagnant as plucked along melodies and half written lyrical phrases on napkins.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

If you're still taking prompts, will you do bughead 9 months of pregnancy and then them with the newborn?

Here you go, one fresh batch of pregnant!bughead all served up for you! I really hope you enjoy it <3

“Morning, Betts,” Jughead mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he shuffled into the kitchen, following the wafting scent of pancakes and bacon. She flicked a glance at him over her shoulder, warmth filling her chest at his dishevelled state - he never was a morning person. Ever since they’d moved into their first apartment together, gotten a permanent home, Jughead always made the most of having a warm bed to sleep in that he wasn’t worried about getting kicked out of at first light. The fact that it was Betty who was next to him, warming it, was the best added bonus he could have asked for.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she cooed affectionately, turning back to the pan to flip the breakfast before it burnt. Betty was already up and ready for her work day, fresh faced and bright eyed, pencil skirt perfectly smooth and put together. Jughead didn’t know how she did it - he would be forever grateful that his job allowed him to work from home. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked pleasantly. Jughead hummed in contentment, coming up behind her to rest his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his warm arms around her waist.

“All the better for having you next to me,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t a picture a time when he wouldn’t be as in love with Betty as he always had been. She made everything easier, even breathing. It was a high he wasn’t willing to give up. A soft pink blush tinged her cheeks, apples prominent due to the bashful smile that played across her lips. He loved that he could make her respond to his words like that. She twisted in his arms, breakfast momentarily forgotten, to gaze up into his slightly hooded eyes, resting her palms on his chest.

“Say what you like about yourself but you’re a charmer, Jughead Jones. Always will be,” she whispered against his smirk, leaning up on her tiptoes, still bare of her heels for the time being, to place a gentle kiss to his lips, hands moving to cup his cheeks. He sucked in a breath through his nose, tightening his arms around her frame and pulling her harder against his chest as he tilted his head to deepen the action.

“Ow!” Betty pulled back with an unexpected shriek, Jughead releasing her instantly, leaving his arms hovering just inches from her body. She moved her hands to cradle her chest gently, frown pinching at the space between her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” Jughead asked, concern lacing his tone as his eyes flicked over her every inch, checking for damages.

“Nothing, just… tender,” she said, gesturing to her boobs as she shook her head. “Guess it’s just coming up to that time of the month,” she shrugged dismissively. Jughead exhaled slightly in relief. She glanced up at him from beneath thick eyelashes, green eyes glinting with mirth. “So hands off, mister,” she teased. Jughead rolled his eyes, cupping the back of her neck as he dropped a chaste kiss to her forehead before moving to pick up her discarded spatula and continue making their breakfast.


Betty felt sick. And not just queasy sick, like ‘run to the bathroom puke your guts out’ sick. She tried to take deep breaths in through her mouth to quell the sudden, rising nausea that had settled in the pit of her stomach. All attempts were shot to hell when one of her coworkers walked past her desk, the smell of whatever lunch they were carrying drifting to her nose, making her throat constrict around a gag.

She flew out of her seat, dodging colleagues as she raced towards the bathroom, barely making it in front of the bowl before her pancakes and bacon made a repeat appearance.

Ugh, pancakes… she thought, the idea of any food causing her stomach to turn over once again. She sat back against the cubicle wall, wiping the damp sheen from her forehead with the back of her hand. She’d felt fine this morning. Actually… if she thought about it she really felt fine again now. She mentally prayed that she didn’t have some kind of weird stomach bug as she clambered to her feet, desperately in need of finding some gum.


She was absolutely starving. Seriously, her stomach was rumbling loud enough to inform the entire floor of her office about her current needs. Betty shifted in her seat, trying to find a way to stifle the next wave of gurgling that was brewing in her gut. It was entirely perplexing; one minute she was hunched over a porcelain bowl, the next she couldn’t stop thinking about what she could get her hands on to eat.

Sighing, she grabbed her phone, tapping on the message icon, Jughead’s name right at the top of her list. She knew he was supposed to be focused on writing today, but with the morning she’d had she just really felt like seeing her husband. A wave of unidentified emotions washed over her as she sat staring at the device in her hand. God, she just really missed him. Like, was it always this hard to spend the day away from him? Why hadn’t she noticed before?

Wanna meet me for lunch? x She typed quickly, already knowing his answer. The three little dots were gone as fast as they appeared.

On my way.


“Betty? Everything alright?” Jughead asked gingerly as he tapped on the panel of their bathroom door. There was a heavy pause. “Betts, you’ve been in there a while I just wanted to check-” He was cut off by the door swinging open suddenly, revealing a very dishevelled looking Betty. Her eyes were wide and glistening with tears that pooled along her waterline before following the already wet trails down her flushed cheeks. Loose tendrils of her golden hair fell about her face, some sticking up at amusing angles. Her lips were dark pink and full like she’d been chewing on them nervously. Jughead’s eyes went wide as he took in her state, hands instantly going to smooth her hair, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks. “What is it? What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he rushed out, eyes scanning her face for any indication of what had upset her.

She opened her mouth, no sound escaping, before just shaking her head, trembling hand pointing to the bathroom counter. His gaze followed her finger until it landed on the little white stick that was resting on the smooth granite. He walked towards it with numb legs, picking it up with hands that were now shaking just as much as hers. The word stared back at him, clear as day.


He turned to look at her, lips parted in silent shock. Her bottom lip with tucked between her teeth again, a nervous habit, fingers twisting with each other as she looked at him with apprehensive eyes. He could see something else simmering beneath the surface though, waiting for the right moment to burst free.

“Are you really…?” he trailed off, eyes shining, every inch of his body tingling with adrenaline, hope tinging his voice. Betty couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth tilting up slightly at his tone. She nodded, lips quivering as she took in a breath.

“Yeah,” she whispered, smile growing as a full blown grin spread across Jughead’s face. He rushed towards her, scooping her up in his arms and twirling her round as she giggled gleefully, arms coming up to wrap around his neck tightly. He placed her back on the ground, not moving to release her from his hold at all. She was positively glowing in his embrace. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten. “You’re happy?” she asked timidly, fingers playing with the short hairs at the base of his neck. He let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“Betty, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life,” he gushed, slipping one hand round her waist to settle over her still flat abdomen. “You are the best gift that life has ever given me, and now you’re giving me another one. You’re incredible, this is incredible. I love you so much,” he whispered, leaning in to press a bruising kiss against her lips as a fresh wave of happy tears cascaded down her cheeks.


“Wait! Stop right there, the light is perfect,” he commanded, holding out a palm to pause her in her tracks. “I want to get a picture of the bump,” he smiled, raising the camera to his face as Betty rolled her eyes, complying with his wishes nonetheless. Once he’d actually had enough money to invest in the equipment, Jughead had discovered a newfound passion for photography. Just like with writing he could express himself through the images he captured, finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. And one of his favourite subjects of all time was definitely his beautiful wife.

“I’m barely showing still, Juggie. I just look like I’m bloated from eating a giant burrito!” she whined, bowing her back slightly to make the tiny swell stick out more in front of their bay window, resting her hands on her waist where she arched. She was only wearing some dark green shorts and a sports bra, makeupless, hair thrown up in a messy bun on top of her head. The countless fly-aways there caught the early evening sunset that was pouring into their living room, lighting her hair up in a halo of golds and pinks and oranges while leaving the rest of her frame in shadow, little bump popping against the overexposed sky as she stood side on to Jughead’s camera.

“I wanna capture all of it,” he said with a small smile, ignoring her protests as he took a couple of shots. He’d been obsessed with the bump ever since she’d popped about a week ago. He couldn’t keep himself from running his fingers over it while they laid in bed, resting his hands over it as they snuggled together on the couch watching a movie, placing gentle butterfly kisses on top of it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. He’d not told Betty yet but he’d already started talking to it, only after his wife had fallen asleep, tiny whispers into the darkness for his and the baby’s ears only. Promises of a wonderful life.

He lowered his camera to look at her, dazed smile still resting contentedly on his lips as he watched her watch something out on their street. It was never the life he would have written for himself, but he thanked whatever author that was out there who did.

“Are you done? I have to pee,” she said bluntly, pulling him abruptly from his romantic thoughts with a chuckle. He held up his palms in surrender, backing away, happy to go and upload them to his computer as soon as possible.


“Betts, what is it?” he asked in panic, quickly coming to her side as he saw the tears in her eyes. He rest one hand in her hair, fingers gripping the delicate silken strands, while the other went directly to her bump. Betty pressed her lips together, shaking her head where she stood in front of their kitchen sink.

“I’ve just gone to the store and we needed garbage bags and I forgot to get them and we’ve completely run out!” she wailed, gesturing viciously to the trash can like it was the enemy. Jughead blinked in shock, face like stone for a single moment, before he cracked. He burst out laughing, tears springing to his own eyes as he doubled over, clutching at the aching strain creeping into his sides. She glared at him disapprovingly.

“Is-is that all?” he wheezed, pretending to wipe away a drop of moisture from beneath his eye.

“It’s not funny, Forsythe Jones!” He sobered slightly at hearing her use his given name, amused smile still dancing around the edges of his mouth. “I’m so damn emotional all the time it’s driving me insane,” she moaned, eyes titled downwards at the corners in frustration. He pulled her close, planting a kiss to her forehead. She sighed, closing her eyes to enjoy the soothing sensation of having him close, sifting through every mixed feeling battling for attention in her head.

“I know, sunshine. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for you. You’re incredible,” he murmured against her skin. Her sniffles signified she’d calmed down somewhat. “Would you like me to go out and get garbage bags?” he asked, tone soft. She stiffened slightly against him,

“No…” she said tentatively. He pulled back to look at her in question, one eyebrow raised. “I can see them under the counter, they must’ve rolled out of the bag,” she admitted in a small voice, cheeks red at her hormone induced outburst.


“Jughead? Jug? Jug, are you awake? Juggie?” The chorus of his name pulled him from the depths of his slumber, groaning as he blinked groggily into the darkness.

“Hmm,” he managed to get out incoherently. He turned his head to look at Betty, finding her sitting cross-legged next to him on her side of the bed. He rolled over, hand coming out automatically to run over the ever-growing swell of her stomach. “You okay?” he asked, voice still thick and gravelly with sleep.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, placing her tiny palm on top of his hand. There was a pause as he waited for her to continue.

“Was that all?” he asked, amusement clear in his voice underneath the frustration at having been woken at some ungodly hour.

“You know what sounds good right now?” she asked, completely bypassing his question. He was more awake now, leaning up on an elbow to look at her with teasing eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed.

“What sounds good?” he questioned, indulging her. Betty bit her lip against an excited smile.

“Salt and vinegar chips covered in warm nutella,” she grinned, eyes sparkling even in the darkness. He huffed out a laugh, just about getting used to her cravings by now.

“Betty, would you like me to get you salt and vinegar chips covered in warm nutella?” he asked with a smirk. She looked away from his teasing eyes, shrugging gently.

“Well, if you’re up…” she replied cheekily. He laughed, throwing his head back slightly before rising up to capture her lips in a loving kiss, moving down to drop another to her stomach before throwing the covers off his legs and making his way downstairs.


Betty had her feet propped in Jughead’s lap, his magical hands rubbing her sore, swollen ankles. She tipped her head back, letting out an appreciative sigh, eyes sliding shut.

“Hey, Betts? What do you want for dinner later? I could make that pasta you like or-” His sentence was cut short as her hand flew out, grabbing his arm. “What?” he asked in confusion. Betty’s eyes were wide and unfocused.

“Say something?” she all but whispered, turning her gaze to focus on his face.

“What? What do you mean, Betts, what do you want me to say?” he asked, still entirely bewildered. Tears shone in her eyes, a look of complete wonderment lighting up her face. She grabbed his hand, placing it on her lower belly.

“Talk,” she commanded. Jughead finally understood her meaning, features rearranging themselves into one of apprehension, suddenly nervous at what to say.

“Are they moving because of-” He felt it. One swift quick beneath his palm. His throat closed up as he dropped lower, resting his cheek against the bump, Betty’s hands instantly going to his hair.

“They can hear you, Jug, they like your voice,” Betty whispered, glowing as she stared down at her husband. Jughead took a steadying breath.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “How’s it going in there? I’m your daddy…”


“I’m home!” Jughead called out into the house as he kicked off his shoes, throwing his jacket onto the rack. “Betts?” he asked when there’s no reply, wandering into the living room in search of her. Suddenly she was flying at him out of nowhere, his arms filling with a strawberry scented goddess. There was no preamble as she pulled his mouth to hers, running her tongue over the seam of his lips, begging him to open them for her. She used his resulting groan to gain access, swirling her tongue with his, pushing every curve of her body roughly against him. Her hands were in his hair, tugging gently at the roots, or gripping his bicep, or running over his back, everywhere all at once, surrounding him. He pulled back when they were breathless and panting, eyes slightly glazed and pupils blown. “Well, hello to you, too,” he gets out between pants. “What did I do to receive such a gracious welcome from my wonderful wife?”

“New pregnancy symptom,” she heaves, slightly exposed chest dancing enticingly before him from where her already low cut top had fallen askew. “I’ve been so ridiculously turned on all day and you haven’t been here,” she admitted almost accusingly, eyes trailing shamelessly over his body. All the blood rushed from his head, moving directly south as she bit her kiss-swollen lower lip, eyes darkening by the second.

“Well,” he began, throat thick. “We should definitely do something about this,” he said, nodding, face serious. “As husband and father of your unborn child it is my job, nay, my duty to take care of your every need during this pregnancy,” he finished formally. She giggled prettily, flush moving down to spread over her neck and chest. The next minute she let out a surprised squeal as he scooped her up into his arms, heading for the stairs.


“Okay… if we just… yep. There, do you see? It’s a girl,” the technician announced, offering the couple a small, pleased smile.

“A girl!” Betty murmured excitedly, gripping at Jughead’s hand tighter. He felt as if all the air had left the room, chest tightening.

“A girl,” he repeated, tears forming in his eyes.

Betty could tell there wasn’t something right on the way home, not voicing her concerns but still throwing him worried glances every so often during the drive, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel.

She found him later in his office, folded in on himself, back against the wall, hands pulling at his dark, mussed waves.

“Juggie? What is it?” she whispered softly, trying to join him in his spot on the floor as slowly and gracefully as possible. He looked up at her, eyes rimmed red.

“We’re having a girl, Betts. A little girl, and she’s all ours. What if I mess her up? What if she ends up…” he choked on his own tears, pushing back the memories of his own youth. Betty pulled his head to rest against her chest, cradling it gently as she rubbed soothing circles against his back.

“Shh, Jug, it’s going to be okay. We’re not our parents,” she reminded him, repeating his famous words to her. It had become almost like a mantra for them over the years of their relationship. “You’re going to be the best dad ever, this little girl isn’t going to know what darkness looks like with you in her life. She’ll be safe, and loved, and it’ll be all thanks to you. To us,” she whispered into the top of his head. His shuddering shoulders began to calm as he sucked in large gulps of air, evening out his breathing until he could pull back to look her in the eyes.

“You’re right,” he mumbled. He knew she always was. “We can do this,” he affirmed, more to himself than to Betty. She reached up to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“We can do this.”


“Ugh, why did Veronica have to set a dress code? Who wears smart-casual to a barbecue?!” Betty shouted as she tried to pull the zipper up her back, the fabric of her dress pulling tight over her giant, swollen belly. She’d certainly grown during her pregnancy. Jughead told her daily that he’d never seen her more beautiful. She didn’t believe him, usually telling him so as she wiped yet more sweat off her forehead, or relieved herself of more bodily gasses. She felt utterly gross. “I’m so huge!” she sulked, throwing herself onto the edge of their bed as quickly as she could manage.

“Beautiful, Betts, you’re beautiful!” Jughead reminded yet again, shouting from their bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, rubbing a motherly hand over their daughter. “Oh!” she called suddenly as she felt a clenching sensation in her lower abdomen. “Juggie?” she called tentatively, waiting for the sensation to hit again.

“It really doesn’t matter what you wear, Betts, it’s just Veronica and Archie’s barbecue, no one will mind,” he replied back, misinterpreting her call.

“Jughead, come in here,” she said, more firm this time. His head appeared in the doorway, brows raised at her sharp tone.


“I think I’m going into labour,” she told him, raising her eyebrows in return. She could see the moment the panic switch flicked on in his eyes. He dashed about the room, throwing things all over the place. “Juggie, calm down, we have time!” she tried to soothe, unable to stop herself from laughing at her overly concerned husband.

“Bag! Where’s the bag? Have you seen my keys? Babe, are you okay, you’re not gonna have her right now are you?” he fired off in a fluster. Betty just rolled her eyes, waddling slowly towards the front door, knowing he’d be close behind.

“Come on, Juggie,” she laughs, “Let’s go have a baby.”


He was in awe. Even a week later he couldn’t believe he’d made something so wonderful, so beautiful, so small. She was perfect. He ran a finger over her tiny, soft fist, other arm wrapped tightly around Betty’s shoulders as they both stared down at their daughter. Theirs. The life they made together.

“She has your eyes,” she mumbled as Juliet blinked up at them with her big blue gaze. Jughead smiled, happy to be any part of her. He could see Betty in her entirely, though, something he was sure he’d be eternally grateful for.

“She has your wisdom,” he whispered, grinning as her tiny flower petal lips opened in a perfect O while she yawned. “Thank you,” he whispered against Betty’s temple some time later, both of them still watching their daughter soundly sleeping in Betty’s arms now, releasing the occasional snuffle as she dreamed.

“Thank you, too,” Betty replied, turning her head to barely brush her lips against his. They had made a new life, not just in their daughter, but for each other, and that was something he’d never be able to stop saying thank you for.

past lives | park jimin

summary: reincarnation was sweet with the promise of immortal love

a/n: some mature themes; also, i’m sure this has been done before (i haven’t seen one for jimin), so if there are any similarities between this and another reincarnation fic, it’s purely coincidental!

based off close to you by the carpenter’s (reneé dominque cover)

Keep reading

Apollo, Icarus thinks, must taste like sunlight and warmth and summer. His hair is spun-gold, eyes blue as a cloudless sky, and silky-smooth skin bronze with the sun’s kiss. There’s grace to his movements, a fluidity that reminds Icarus of flowing rivers in the midst of a peaceful forest.

He’s like the sun, Icarus believes, as he sees the soft lift of Apollo’s perfectly sculpted lips. The light is almost blinding in its brilliance and Icarus’ breath catches in his throat. Sunlight is supposed to blind, but why does it make him breathless?

Icarus, Apollo thinks, must taste like autumn and cinnamon and sweet vanilla sugar. His hair is a fluffy brown and his fingers itching with the need to run them. His eyes are the color of autumn leaves with flecks of gold. His skin appears soft and delectably bronze and all Apollo wants to do is pull him into a hug and never let go.

He’s an angel, Apollo believes, as he sees a bright smile light up Icarus’ face. His hair forms a halo, the innocence in his eyes painting a picture-perfect purity. Icarus doesn’t need wings; Apollo’s heart is already soaring. Angels are supposed to bring hope and salvation, but why does Icarus make him want to fall?

Apollo, Icarus observes, could freeze over hell with his eyes. The usually summer blue hue darkens with anger and becomes icy in a way that makes Icarus feel as if he’ll never be warm again. It makes him want to reach out and grab Apollo’s wrist, pull him into a hug, and ask who or what had wronged him. He wants to thaw his rigid well-guarded heart and bring summer back into his eyes.

He’s not himself. Icarus recognizes the signs, sees it in technicolor that Apollo is troubled. He doesn’t know what else to do, but to ask Apollo out for some coffee. His heart skips a beat when Apollo smiles that devastating smile of his and agrees. Icarus was supposed to help Apollo defrost, help him become warm again, but why is he the one melting?

Icarus, Apollo notes, is too good at hiding his emotions. The broken smile he wears is brittle only at the edges if one looks close enough. The slump of his shoulders and the nail indents on his palm are carefully hidden by a mask of sunny smiles and twinkling laughs, but Apollo knows the truth; Icarus is a little lost, a little broken and all he wants to do is help him feel whole again.

He’s hurting, Apollo notices as he sits down across from him. The bittersweet aroma of coffee washes over them, but he takes no mind, only looking to Icarus, who has this sad, sad smile on his lips and it breaks Apollo’s heart. He orders him hot chocolate, asking for extra whip cream and milk, the way Icarus likes it. His heart clenches wonderfully at the way Icarus beams when he finds out that Apollo has remembered (how could he ever forget?). Apollo is supposed to be the one to make him feel better, feel like Icarus again, but why is he the one who feels alive again?

I’ve liked you for a long time, he says, and I can’t wait any longer. He takes Icarus’ hand in his and swallows the lump in his throat. Something is hurting you and I just want to help you feel like you again.

Icarus smiles brightly, the pink crossing his cheeks rivaling its brilliance. I’ve liked you for a while, too, he murmurs so softly that Apollo almost misses it. I know you’re angry and feeling numb and I just want to make you warm again.

Wow, we’re perfect for each other, Apollo blurts out and Icarus laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

I guess we are, he says and kisses Apollo softly on the cheek. The sun and the boy who fell in love with him.

No, Apollo corrects, kissing his forehead tenderly, the sun and the angel he fell in love with.

- Excerpt from a book I’ll never write write someday #60 // A Progression of their Love through the Seasons x


As all dawns are inevitable twilight

All nights are eventual morns

White fades to black, dark becomes light

And halos are held up by horns

The struggle to find our inner peace

While declaring and fighting our wars

The love for each other proceeds to decrease

As our want to be loved becomes more

A smile can peek right through the tears

And we cry in a fit of laughter

Frequently age doesn’t reflect the years

Of those come before or hereafter

Our sight is suffered from blindness

But in recognition of our duality

Focus your actions to those of kindness

Yet stare not in shock at brutality