or at least this two were the first i acutally drew

The Upside of Falling Down

Originally posted by captain-pizzamaster

Warnings: Language

Pairing: University!Peter Parker x reader

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Hey guys!!! I’m so excited to finally be able to post my next series!!! Skyline received so much positive response and I really really hope you guys like this next story as much. It’s going to be pretty different, but I hope you enjoy it.  Also, while I have you, let’s just cover some housekeeping stuff: I do not have a tags list, so please please please stop spamming me with requests to tag!!! I appreciate how much you like my writing, but I have it in my bio and put it on almost every update.  I try my best to respond to every message I get, and sorting through all those messages just makes it harder!! Secondly, I don’t think I am going to be opening up requests.  I’m going back to school in a week, and I have eight classes as well as three jobs.  I’m going to do my best to update once a week, but I really just want to focus on the longer stories that I love, so I can give you guys the quality you deserve.  I’ll make a longer post about this all later.  Let me know what you think about this story!!! I would love to hear some feedback.


You never expected university to be easy.

When you walked up the steps of Columbia University for the first time freshman year, you had known that the path ahead of you would be hard.  Extremely difficult, even.  But nothing had prepared you for the hurricane that would be your life for the next ten months.  Between the all night cram sessions, endless term papers, lab studies, and regular class hours, you were emotionally, mentally, and even physically drained by the time you finished your final exams.  As you packed up your freshman dorm, you remembered how excited you had been while decorating it for the first time, and shook your head at how naïve you had been.  Freshman year left you beaten, bruised, and with permanent bags under your eyes, but at least it was done.

Now, walking into your sophomore year, you knew what to expect.  You knew what had to be done to manage your time and your life.  You knew what study methods worked for you, and what didn’t.  You knew when it was wise to go to a party and when to stay in to finish your English literature essay.  You knew which friends to avoid during exam week so they wouldn’t whisk you off to a frat kegger, and which friends would hold up flashcards to help you study. You knew what profs gave retests, where the best snack places were on campus, the best study corrals in the library. You knew the name of the librarian that would spend his time helping you find all the resources you needed for your chemistry write up, and the emails of every TA for every one of your classes. Unlike last year, you were prepared. You were ready.

But you weren’t ready, however, for the biology fieldtrip to Thatcher State Park, the fall you were about to have, and the unexpected consequences that would follow. There was no way to study up on how to keep a secret.  There were no flashcards on what to do if one of your classmates entrusts you with their life.  There was no way to prepare for Peter Parker.

Keep reading


Request: A Peter x reader, where they are together and Peter is receiving questions about how good she is in bed and other sexual questions towards the reader, because it’s ‘in her nature.’ @mazuru7

“I’ll stop by after school,” you promised as you doodled on your notebook. Peter rested his chin in his hand to get a closer look at you. When he didn’t answer immediately, you looked up at him confusedly. He was giving you this look he gave you often. You weren’t really sure what it was about  and you’d probably never ask him about it. It didn’t seem like a bad thing so what was the point?

“Parker,” you called, snapping him out of his reverie.

He turned a bit red, “Sorry, what?”

“I’ll stop by your place after school to do this project,” you repeated, “my parents won’t be home tonight and they’re not cool with me inviting people over while they’re gone. But as long as your Aunt May is home, my mom doesn’t care.”

“She will be,” he nodded.

“Good. Sorry about all the rules and guidelines. I have to put paperwork in three business days in advance before I can do anything.”

“I don’t mind. I like your mom,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Most people do. She’s extra nice to you though… like more nice than she is to Michelle even… but I guess Michelle is just another one of her kids by now so bad comparison. You know yesterday she was just in my house helping my mom make dinner. She didn’t even make plans with me.”

“You guys are neighbors,” Peter shrugged.

You scoffed, “I think mom just wants me to keep you forever, though. You’ve got potential to be filthy rich,” you joked.

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah you gotta catch the millionaires when they’re young and broke.”

“I think she likes you because you’re not an asshole,” you said truthfully.


“I like you because you’re not an asshole too. That and you’re an unbelievable nerd.”

You looked back down at your notebook, looking over the notes for the upcoming project. The amount of work ahead of you made you groan and rest your head on Peter’s shoulder. This would take two weeks at the least. Two weeks in which you also needed to study for three exams and a paper. Peter put a timid arm around your shoulder. He was still getting used to the idea that he could actually touch you. He was constantly playing it safe. You weren’t sure he even looked at anything in your “bathing suit area”. His timid nature was welcome and a beautiful change from other guys you had dated who would grab a handful of your ass in front of God himself if nobody reprimanded him. Peter was acutely different from the other boys in your school, in the cheesy high school ways, and in more nuanced ways that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“It’s an easy assignment and we work well together, it’ll be done in no time,” he assured.

“I’m sure it will be, but I’ve just got a lot of stuff to do.”

“I can help you study for Anatomy,” he offered earnestly but of course you burst out into laughter.

“I’m sure you could Parker,” you laughed.

“That is not what I meant, and aren’t you guys on the cat dissections!” he called out, embarrassment making him louder.

“I knew what you meant, and yes we are. I need to memorize the muscles on the cat so that means being in the biology lab and inhaling ungodly amounts of formaldehyde.”

“Yep that’s hot,” he grumbled in disgust.

“Well the cats are warm now,” you shrugged.

“Ugh!” he groaned, “how can you do that stuff?”

“Mind over matter.”

The bell rang and the two of you got up. Peter wound up walking you to class as you told him about the other wonders of Anatomy and Physiology. He was largely grossed out, but he had an unquenchable desire to learn so as much as he was disgusted he was also intrigued. He held your hand and your book bag. You were sure most of your muscle mass came from carrying around so many papers and text books, so you wondered how Peter effortlessly carried both your book bag and his. You’d seen his book bag, at any given time he had at least three text books inside. It was another one of those things you rarely questioned aloud.

“We cut through the ribs with scissors. It was awful. I think a career as a serial killer is out.”

“Damn, now you’re stuck with boring stuff like drug trafficking,” he stopped at your class and leaned against the wall beside the door.

“I’ve got to make my family proud somehow.”

“Good luck with that, I’m going into stripping you’ll never beat that,” he laughed a little.

You tried to keep a straight face but failed as you laughed, “I’ll see you this evening, around 6. If you’re not there I’ll just tell Aunt May about how you sneak into my room at night just to talk.”

“I will definitely be there.”

Peter left so he could make it to his class on time. He vaguely noticed people’s eyes following him. He was used to it now. You were something close to popular in school, which made him something like a first husband to your legacy. Which depending on you who you asked could be a good or a bad thing. You weren’t just known for your dazzling personality and looks, Peter knew that but honestly the dazzling personality is what sold him. Sure you looked good, really good, but he wouldn’t have done more than pined from across the room if that’s all there was to you. It was your genuine kindness that drew him in, nothing else mattered to him. Your exes and whatever they had to say was a part of your story, sure, but it didn’t do much for your character either way. As he stepped into industrial tech he made brief, unavoidable eye contact with your ex boyfriend. He was a grade A asshole, and he struggled to understand why you even bothered though you explained it one night on the phone.

“Sometimes I see depth in people where there is none. I thought he might have been some brooding bad boy from the movies… you know before I realized the guys in the movies suck.”  you sighed, voice masking would he assumed were tears.

“How’s our girl Parker? She invited you for dinner yet?” Adam, your ex jeered. Peter pulled in a deep breath and reminded himself that punching the jerk in the mouth would be counterproductive. It would upset you and Aunt May. Mr. Stark would probably be disappointed. It was best to ignore Adam. He’d lose interest, sooner versus later. Peter wasn’t that lucky, today. Adam decided to have a conversation with his friend very loudly.

“They’ve been dating about three months, by that point Y/N had already let me-” Peter put on his headphones reminding himself that starting a fight over this was petty and inane. Adam was an asshole with capital A, not worth the effort.

Miraculously he made it through his last class, but on his bus ride home things only escalated.

“Parker! Come on, tell us about our girl,” Adam yelled. Peter gritted his teeth, “she show you what she can do with her mouth?”

“How about you tell me what her right hook feels like?” Peter asked referencing the time Adam had been stupid enough to grab you in the hall. You got off with a warning thanks to parental involvement and evidence that Adam had instigated the situation. It was a solid punch, somebody obviously taught you how to punch like a heavyweight champ because Adam’s mouth was swollen and bruised for weeks.

“What was that, punk?” Adam grabbed Peter by the collar.

“Get your hands off of me,” Peter demanded.

“It’s not my fault you’re dating the high school whore. I just wanna know how much she’s put out for ya,” Adam pushed Peter back in his seat and made to grab him again. A hard punch in the nose thwarted that plan. Peter planned on stopping there. There was already a scene being made on the bus and he was sure the bus driver was looking for a place to pull over to address the situation. However, Adam wasn’t done.

“You and your fucking whore ass girlfriend are dead.”

Just like that Peter was punching Adam and any one of Adam’s friends that tried to join in.  When you got to Peter’s place you’d already heard about what had happen. You had friends on his bus and social media was already on it. Aunt May opened the door, she didn’t seem particularly happy to see you. You could imagine why. Peter had never been in this much trouble before and it was all centered around you.

“Hi, May,” you greeted, forcing yourself to meet her gaze.

“Hello, Y/N, Peter’s grounded so…”

“We have a school project… and I really need to talk to him. Please you know the last thing I want is Peter getting hurt.” you pleaded.

May looked at you for a moment, obviously deliberating whether or not to let you in, “Tell me what’s all this about first. Peter won’t talk.”

She let you in and you sat in the kitchen and told her the story in a hushed voice.

“I’m sure Adam instigated it and once they run the tapes, it’ll show… I didn’t ask him to do any of that-”

“I know, I know, honey,” Aunt May put her head in his hands, “I just don’t know what to do with him.”

“I know I’m a kid… but I think you should just give him a chance to tell his side. Can I talk to him, now?”

“Yeah… Y/N you’re a good girl, you know?”

“Thanks, May.”

You hurried up to Peter’s room and knocked on the door, “Peter it’s me.”

“Come in.”

You opened the door slowly and stepped in ready to see bruises like the time some kid named Steve and his friends jumped him. He sat on his bed seemingly in perfect condition. You sat beside him and carefully rested your head on his shoulder.

“What happened Peter?” you whispered. He told you everything, the words just kept spilling out, and you understood how he would have felt. You sighed and kissed his cheek when he was done.

“Peter, you can’t do this. People are going to say stupid stuff,” you murmured, “and they’re going to call me names because I’ve had sex with people. If you can’t handle that-”

“That’s not what makes me angry. It’s the hypocrisy! How can they try to make you look bad when it takes two consenting people to have sex? You don’t deserve that.”

“Not many people in this world are as good as you Peter,” you reminded, “you can’t fight every punk with a dumb opinion.”

“He kept calling you ‘our girl’,” he grumbled, “and I was waiting on him to touch me so I could have a good reason to hit him and he did…”

“Peter I’m with you and only you. Adam is just an insecure ass who can only come second if it’s in track and field,” you joked pulling a rueful laugh out of Peter. You looked down and noticed his hands in his lap. His knuckles were badly bruised. You took his hands and pressed a kiss to every knuckle.

“Who knew my sweet little nerd could throw hands?” you joked again to lighten the mood. He didn’t laugh, so you looked up at him curiously, he was giving you that look again.

“What?” you finally asked. He brought a hand up to your cheek, you leaned into the touch, still looking up at him curiously. He was getting closer, and you realized what he was, at a snail’s pace, going for.

“Kiss me, Parker,” you smiled. He pressed his lips to yours hard. He kissed you until you were breathless until you felt like you were going to explode with butterflies. When the two of you separated, you immediately went in for another kiss. When you’d tempered back your own eagerness, you rested your head on his shoulder again.

“You are something else, Peter.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s acutely you and I think you are a good thing,” you offered, “just stay out of fist fights, okay?”


~Mod Lillian

Title: Needle and thread
Fandom: Monsta X
Member: I.M/Changkyun
Genre/Warning: Kinktober,angstish?, smut, dom!changkyun, belt!
Summary/Request: Day 23 corset and against the wall
A/N: Gif credit to FY!Wonkyun Lord does he look like sin. I didn’t mention the corset much, but oh well?? Also, the boys call Changkyun ‘im’ as in his surname, not as in i.m :)
Word Count: 4231

Changkyun fiddled with his tie, tightening it as he stared at himself in the mirror. Suit’s weren’t really his forte; spending most of his time holed up in his box apartment usually meant loose sweatpants and sometimes a shirt depending on how hot it was, yet there he stood, velvet detailed blazer, open white shirt, fitted dress pants, shiny shoes, he was different from head to toe, even his brown hair parted neatly.

“Here goes nothing.” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and house keys before making his way out of his suite toward the company car waiting to take him to the venue.

It was the annual meeting for all the bosses to discuss the profit made, what assets to keep, get rid of, boring details smoothed over drinks and usually women. The sky was dark, stars blocked out by dark clouds, the only light shining on Changkyuns face coming from the overhead lights streaming through his windows.

“Who chose Paris?” Changkyun drawled, shutting his eyes and resting his head back against the seat.

“That would be Mr Yoo, sir. The word is that he’s managed to gain assets here.” Changkyun’s eyes shot open, a frown taking on his features. “He’s branching out to Europe? Hm, that’s interesting. God, he’s gonna gloat about that tonight.”

“I’d be willing to bet on it sir.” The driver said with a laugh. 


The interior was an unexpected sight, considering the outside resembled ruins of an old aged castle. The walls were a deep royal purple, lights nailed to the wall and casting calming glows. The flooring was lined with a thick carpet at the entrance, stairs leading down to italian leather seats placed accordingly in their own sections, giving guests a view of the stage of what was apparently a jazz club.

“Your party is upstairs on the balcony sir.” Changkyun nodded and walked past the man when he had lifted the rope for him to enter and then went up the stairs, in brief darkness before he came out onto the balcony overlooking everything.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive.” Jooheon was the first to greet him, a drink already in his hand and a woman already on his lap.

“That makes two of us.” Changkyun said greeting his friend.

The others joined not long after, Kihyun already smirking with his glass of scotch about his latest business deal. “Do you know how much I’m worth now?”

“Won’t be worth much if you’re chewing my bullet Yoo Kihyun.” Hyungwon said slumping into his chair, tilting his head challengingly at Kihyun whose smirk was quick to disappear. Changkyun could tell Kihyun was about to quip his own snide remark, but Hyunwoo slapped his large palms down onto his thighs, “Let’s talk business then.”

The following hours were boring, Changkyun never really enjoyed these formal meetings. And his eyes began to drift toward the stage filled with spotlight on a woman. The slow jazz made you more tantalising as you began to move along to the music, hands gently holding the mic stand as you rolled your head back and around sensually, eyes barely open as you drew in the attention of every man and woman in the audience.

Changkyun felt his throat tighten when your lips fell open for the first of the notes to leave your lips, your voice smooth and low, yet holding power and soul as you began to move more with your words. His eyes following your hands that caressed your body; slow and teasing as you lifted the mic from the stand and slowly strutted along the stage. Changkyun felt entrapped by the vision of you, something chemical like making the rest of the world fade and his thighs tense, body on edge and incredibly warm. The only thing he seemed acutely aware of was you.

Your eyes suddenly found his and Changkyun stiffened, thinking it impossible for you to see him up there, but the longer he watched you the less he was convinced. You dropped low, legs spreading and knees hitting the stage as you leant your body back to release the last long note and Changkyun’s breath ceased watching how your body twisted, your corset tight against your waist, body seemingly held together by the intricately detailed material.

Before he knew it, he was blinking out of a daydream watching you bow and thank everyone for watching. Blowing a cheeky kiss, eyes darting up toward Changkyun one last time before you twisted on your heels, hair flicking out into the air and you were walking away, displaying the globes of your arse and then Changkyun noticed it, a little tattoo that he only knew on one person. No fucking way. He shot out his seat, cutting Hyunwoo off from whatever he was saying. “Im are you-”

“She’s here. I gotta go.” He rushed out, already in the mouth of the stairwell, rushing down as quickly as possible. He weaved through the seats, ignoring the comments of displeasure as he blocked people’s view from the next act. He didn’t care, he saw you, there was no doubt about it.

He was like a lost man, stumbling over his feet as he rushed around toward the back of the stage. It had been so long, you were barely recognisable, especially in your attire; the image of you on stage in that corset and stockings, not to mention a thong possessed his mind and knowing that it’s you only made him all the more determined to find you as he reached the dressing room, a security guard blocking the entrance. A large palm hovered above Changkyun’s stomach, no contact needed to heed warning to Changkyun that he could not go backstage.

“I’m a VIP guest, check with your boss and let me in.” It was rare that Changkyun was firm, voice anything but playful or sarcastic, even during business, yet now, so close to seeing you he couldn’t help the edge to his tone, the way he sounded demeaning toward the security guard who dared to stop him.

“It’s alright Pascal,” Changkyun felt the way his adam’s apple bobbed as eyes drifted up to take you in for the first time in God knows how long. His eyes locked with yours, brown orbs still dark and playful and powerful enough to melt a man, to melt Changkyun. “He’s with me.”

Keep reading

Fic: As a Door Closes

Here is the latest part of my Heartlines AU story. I hope you all enjoy it.

The rest of the chapters (and my other work) can be found here 

As always I’d love to know what you think.


Originally posted by jlbwedding

She opened the door and Jamie was speechless. Claire was always beautiful, more than beautiful, but looking at her right now he simply could not formulate thoughts into speech. She wore a tight fitted black sequinned gown with a high neck and capped sleeves. A slit ran up one side revealing an expanse of creamy leg and strappy silver sandals. But her head was the biggest shock. Normally Claire favoured natural looking makeup, muted tones in browns and greys, her hair either haphazardly restrained or a riot of curls which grazed her shoulders. But today she looked entirely different, her whiskey coloured eyes looked even more tigerish with an application of flicked up eyeliner and her lips were an enticing cranberry red. Her hair, normally such a riot, fell in sleek, smooth waves down to her breasts. She looked at him shyly. “What do you think?” She gave him a little swirl revealing a low back. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly and she laughed. “Oh good, you like it!” He watched her sashay down the path towards the waiting car, swallowing audibly.

The event was a combination of wealthy donors, local businessmen and hospital staff. As it happened, because of this Jamie knew at least as many people as Claire and he was kept more than busy shaking hands, answering queries about Lallybroch and talking shop. Claire moved round the room, chatting, smiling and generally trying to encourage the great and good in attendance to cough up some money to help refurb the ailing pediatrics wing. Prior to choosing General Surgery Claire had rotated through the department and had been sorely tempted by a career in that speciality. As it was she had gone another way, but she was often called upon by the department when a general surgeon was needed and she had campaigned passionately for the wing in its bid to upgrade its facilities. Jamie watched her work the room. Her smile was simply radiant. He was struck again by his sheer fortune that such a wonderful woman was his. His pride in her and her achievements was endless and to see her here, tonight, amongst her peers, he thought his heart would burst with it. He lost sight of her for a moment and he scanned the room, his height giving his an advantage. She popped up beside him holding two glasses of champagne. “I managed to charm these out the waiter. He didn’t want to give me any as they are having terrible trouble rounding everyone up to go into dinner” Her face was flushed slightly from the champagne and it gave her a glow that made her look even more lovely. She hooked an arm through his. “I forgot to ask. What happened to the kilt I was promised?” Instead of the aforementioned kilt, Jamie was wearing a bright blue three piece suit. Single breasted with a sharp white shirt and blue tie he looked magnificent amongst the sea of black tuxedos, his red hair and towering height making him stand out even further. “Well, the last time I wore a kilt to an event like this I spent half the night bein’ asked what I wore underneath it an’ the other half fending off women tryna find out for themselves. I figured I’d save myself the bother this time” he laughed. “Are ye disappointed?”

“Well, a little bit,” she answered tilting her head to one side to look at him. “But on the other hand you look sexy as hell in that suit, so I can’t complain too much can I?” She gave him a lewd wink which made them both laugh and he drew her to him and kissed her on her forehead.

“And you, Mo Nighean Donn,” He said, “I canna begin to say how wonderful you look. Ye’re always the most beautiful woman in the room, but tonight, well, I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m awake.” Her colour heightened a little more, but her response was cut off by the the boom of the ever jocular chief of surgery.

“Claire, Claire. I hardly recognised you without your scrubs and cap! Isn’t it fun trying to spot everyone in their civvies?”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek and she turned to introduce Jamie. He shook Jamie’s hand warmly.

“This is Dr Grant, our chief, this is Jamie, my…” she paused slightly as she cast around for the right title. They’d only know each other three weeks and whilst what they had was clearly serious, they’d not yet gotten round to defining it in any way. “…my partner” she settled for, looking at Jamie meaningfully.

“Partner,”  he thought “Aye, that’ll do for now, but one day…”

This thought was abruptly cut short, by Dr Grant turing behind him and pulling forward a couple about Jamie and Claire’s age. “This is my nephew, David.” He said smiling broadly, “He’s a property developer. And this is his fiancee, Geneva.”

Jamie felt the heat rise in his face and Claire coughed slightly as she took a too big gulp of champagne. Geneva’s chestnut hair was swept back from her face and she wore a flowing tulle gown with a slight princess skirt in a soft blush pink. She also wore a very large, if conventional, diamond which she had not been wearing the last time the three of them had come face to face. She looked ethereal and stunning. She also looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, clearly not enjoying this impromptu reunion any more than Claire and Jamie. David, a handsome man, with dark hair a soft brown eyes, also appeared somewhat discomfited by this meeting. He may or may not have been aware of the show down in Jamie’s living room, but it was obvious he knew who Jamie was. He moved slightly closer to Geneva, placing a hand around her waist. Claire recovered herself first.

“Oh how lovely. And what a beautiful ring. Have you set a date?” The corner of Geneva’s mouth lifted slightly as she answered. “Oh, not yet, but we’re hoping for next summer. We only got engaged last week, didn’t we darling?’ She turned to David. “Oh, yes, just last week” he replied. Dr Grant laughed loudly digging poor David in the side. “But how many times did ye have to ask the lass? What was it four times before she finally said yes to you?” David smiled blandly, Jamie developed an acute interest in the pattern on the carpet. Thankfully the waiting staff took that moment to get assertive and they were promptly rounded up and herded into the ballroom.

Fortunately, Dr Grant’s table was over near the front of the room, whilst Jamie and Claire, along with a host of other hospital staff were tucked away near the back.

“Keeping us hidden” said Geillis, archly, flipping red hair over her shoulder. “But still, least we’re much nearer the bar here” She waved a red nailed hand in the direction of a waiter beckoning him over. Next to her, her new boyfriend, Josh sat looking slightly bemused and very much under her spell. Jamie was thrilled to at last have a chance to meet all the friends that Claire had regaled him with stories of. Her friend Joe Abernathy, who had transferred here from Boston, the indomitable Mrs Fitz, who despite clearly having a first name, no one called anything else, including her husband a jocular highlander with a big laugh who had clearly not suffered the same concerns as Jamie as he wore a kilt in eye catching MacKenzie tartan. Timid little Mary who spoke quietly but after a few drinks it turned out had a fondness for rude jokes and a huge dirty laugh. These were the people who he knew were important to Claire. As someone with no blood ties, this was the closest she had to real family and he was acutely aware of what it meant that she had wanted him here, with her and them tonight. The night was a lot more fun than he had expected. He found that he had an easy rapport with Claire’s friends who made him welcome, and with the exception of Geillis, who Claire had warned him about, none of them felt the need to grill him too intently. They danced until Claire begged for mercy, her high heels finally getting the better of her. Moving off to the side he drew her close and kissed her deeply. “Shall we go home now, Mo Nighean Donn?” he murmured into her ear.

“Oh yes” she replied. “I might not be getting the chance to find out what a Scotsman wears under his kilt, but I’m still pretty interested in what might be going on under that suit” She tugged his earlobe gently with her teeth and he gave a shudder. “I’ll just pop to the bathroom and then we’ll leave”

He waited across the hall for Claire, fiddling with his phone. A blur of pink caught the corner of his eye as the statuesque figure of his ex wife strode purposefully into the bathroom in which Claire had just entered.

Claire had been in there for a while. So had Geneva. He’d seen David go by looking for her, but offered no information. He stared at the door willing it to open and for Claire to come out. He couldn’t hear any shouting. Or screaming. That was something he supposed. Surely if something terrible was happening he’d hear it. But still what were they both doing in there. The door opened and Geneva exited, catching Jamie’s eyes briefly. He tried to make out the expression behind them, but she was gone too quickly. Another minute later, the door opened again this time bringing Claire with it.

Jamie’s eyebrows were almost under his hairline. “And what was that about? Should I be worried? She’s no been telling you what a terrible man I am has she?”

Claire laughed at Jamie was surprised to feel his heart and stomach both unclench a little. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him lightly. “Let’s go home and I’ll tell you everything”

She sat facing him on the sofa in her living room. She’d kicked off her heels in the hall and her hair was starting to kink slightly.

“Well, I don’t think you need to be too concerned with Geneva from now on Jamie. We had a good chat and I think things are going to be ok on that front.”

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? We’ve been seperated for over 4 years and she turned up at my house because she’d heard I’d been kissing someone. She’s no exactly rational.”

“No really, Jamie. Just listen”

As Claire had stepped out of the cubicle she had walked straight into Geneva.  Dodging round her to wash her hands, she had become aware of the fact that Geneva was clearly there to speak with her. She waited for a beat.

“C..Claire?” Geneva began unsteadily, clearly searching for the words. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. For the other day. It was, it was… unacceptable.” Claire opened her mouth to respond but Geneva raised her hand imploring to be allowed to continue. Claire nodded.

“Jamie was right. It was pride. I was so angry with him. For so long. I felt cheated by him. When we got married I wanted it to be a certain way. But it wasn’t. So I tried to change him. To make him into what I wanted him to be, rather than simply accepting that he wasn’t what I wanted any more than I was what he wanted. And he, being the honourable man he is left. He couldn’t live a lie, he couldn’t be less than his true self. And I was so angry. For almost 5 years it’s eaten away at me. He’s the only thing I’ve ever failed at. That I haven’t been able to bend to my will as it were. And so I couldn’t let go. Even after I met David, who is everything I was looking for in my marriage to Jamie and couldn’t find, I still didn’t let go. I didn’t let Jamie go. I knew, deep down that he would feel the weight of the failure of our marriage whether it was his fault or not and I used that to hurt him. Whilst I was living my life and being happy elsewhere, and Jamie was right about that, David does make me happy, I kept on punishing him. And all because I couldn’t admit failure. When my friend called me and told me she’d seen the two of you. I don’t know what came over me. It was like all the anger and bitterness of the last four years were just poured over my head. I wanted to rip my skin off with it. But I saw then , the way he looked at you. The way he never, ever looked at me. But I do have someone who looks at me like that. David has been asking me to marry him for years and I’ve always said no. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t bear for Jamie to feel like he had permission to move on. And I’m sorry. I’m so very fucking sorry.” The profanity seemed out of place coming out of the mouth of one so perfectly coiffed and softly spoken. She seemed a different person to the wild eyed, object flinging woman of only a few weeks earlier. She looked at her hands and adjusted her ring.

“Tell Jamie.” She looked Claire in the eye. “Tell him I’m sorry. For all of it. And that I wish him… I wish him joy.” Claire nodded slowly and Geneva smiled, tears in her eyes. Claire unthinkingly reached out a hand and Geneva took it squeezing her fingers slightly. She nodded stiffly and in turned and was gone in a swish of pink tulle and chanel No 5. Claire stood there for a moment, wondering if that had really happened. She took a deep breath and went back to join Jamie.

“So she really said all that?’ Jamie asked incredulous. He had known Geneva a long time and whilst he knew she did have her virtues he wasn’t sure magnanimity had ever been one of them.

“She did” Claire replied nodding. “Whether she meant it, I guess only time will tell, but she seemed genuine” She shrugged. “I’m glad we can put it behind us though. I’m glad that *you* can move on with your life now.

“Aye, aye I can” he met her eyes and held her gaze, reaching for her hand as he did so. “And I so what you to be part of that life, Claire. Next weekend, I ken ye’re off work until Wednesday, will ye come to the Highlands wi me? To Lallybroch?” Nerves were making his accent thicker.

“Jamie, I honestly cannot think of a nicer way to spend my time off.” He smiled a smile of such joy that he looked, for a moment like a small boy. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. “But right now I want to find out what a scotsman wears under his suit.”

Study Sessions (E2-Harrison Wells x Reader) - Bittersweet

Barry, Cait and Cisco had gone out for a night of drinking to celebrate the holidays, while Harry and you stayed behind in the lab. You noticed he was a bit jumpy and tongue-tied around you; but, you don’t know why…


“Why don’t we take a break?” you suggested.

The deep tone of concern rooted in your voice made Harry look up. It was the most responsive the S.T.A.R. Labs executive had been for the past half hour. While you had made several attempts to start a conversation, the most that you could coax out of the man was a simple ‘mmhmm’ or ‘okay.’

Which, admittedly, worried you.

“Okay,” Harry nodded in agreement. “I think we both need it…”

Just as Harry stood from his seat and was about to leave the room, you reached out and grabbed his arm - an action that made him instantaneously freeze.

Part of you was nervous of your sudden behavior, felt as if you had just stepped into unwelcome territory; yet, another part of you knew you had to stop him from going.

Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to resolve this awkward tension between you two.

Keep reading

i was thinking about ravenclaw jungkook and slytherin yoongi but per usual my brain took it in a weird direction where when they’re grown-up in the happy ending version jungkook is flight instructor and yoongi, unconventional as it seems, is the charms professor. ah. it’s just a drabble….there’s a sad ending alternative too but i didn’t post that one. yet. 

[ version ii ]

“you need to stop making flowers grow in my classroom windows. they make me look approachable.”

“you are approachable.”

“but they don’t need to know that right away!”

jungkook sighs and laughs but the two don’t really mix so he ends up coughing a little. yoongi rubs wide circles along his back while he adjusts his glasses with his other hand, three books floating in front of him as he flips through the pages inscrutably. once jungkook has recovered enough to talk again, he wheezes a little, pink in his cheeks as he says, “you were never scary. not even when we were students.”

“i never said i wanted to be scary.”

“mmhm,” jungkook hums and leans in close to thread his arms around yoongi’s middle, drawing him close enough to perch his chin on yoongi’s shoulder, breathing in deep the smell of him – a replete mixture of sun, forest, fire, and something like roses. this last comes from some of the charms that yoongi has been teaching, charms for helping things grow – not silly sweetheart tricks like a bloom from a quill, but the lasting everlong northern star kind of growth…the kind that stays. yoongi has for years complained that this particular spell should smell like lavender and not roses but jungkook said to him the last time they had this conversation: but of course it’s roses. yoongi mumbled muttered and moaned a little more to himself about it but jungkook could tell it was more bluster than actual discontent, and yoongi has long since gone on teaching said charm anyway. so there’s that.

besides, jungkook, for all that he likes scents such as vanilla, the first day of winter, and the summer ocean most of all, he also has a soft spot for the iconically romantic flower. among other things, he likes that the different colors can stand for different kinds of love. he thinks of the bouquet of yellow roses that taehyung once brought him and all the other colors yoongi turned until taehyung laughed and drew one from the bundle, offered it to yoongi himself and said: come on, i’ll bring you yours next time.

“at least stop interrupting my classes…” yoongi sighs in a way that would be long-suffering except that it’s quite the opposite, a hundred thousand times the opposite, belied by how his hand slips to rest at jungkook’s waist and hooks him that much closer, close enough for jungkook to tilt his head and press a whisper of a kiss to the line of yoongi’s jaw.

“sure,” he says.

“lying isn’t a cardinal point of a ravenclaw.”

“and being charming isn’t a slytherin’s either.”

“i guess that makes us even.”

when jungkook doesn’t reply, yoongi leans back just enough to look down at him properly. somehow the slight pout to jungkook’s mouth is unsettlingly becoming, and by now yoongi knows better what it means, knows jungkook is saying without saying exactly what would make them ‘even’.

not able to deny him anything in quite some time, he angles down quick and sharp – a kiss with acute magic made of moments rather than witchcraft, a kiss that says here is my heart, here is my heart, here is my heart and hold onto it for me, hold onto me and here. yoongi kisses jungkook and he remembers the first time this happened – how jungkook was asleep in the infirmary, how yoongi wasn’t supposed to be there at all, how the hour was late and the moon was full and yoongi knelt beside his bed and whispered: next time, i’m going to save you.

it was the kind of thing a teenager says because he’s scared, the kind of thing any person says because they’re scared…because they’re scared and in love.

that kind of thing.

jungkook remembers too: the events preceding, the dark dark dark of the forest despite that full moon which could not quite touch where they had fallen, the nauseating pain in his side that sent his body alight with unhealthy shivers, the cold hard grip of yoongi’s hands on his shoulders and the low desperate rasp of his voice begging jungkook to stay with him. that night yoongi’s words were fighting some kind of current trying to pull jungkook under, and it’s curious to him that while almost everything else from that near disaster is a blur, yoongi is not. if he closes his eyes, he can hear him plain as if it was yesterday, as if it was seconds ago: please – i swore on my family name i’d never beg for anything again but i’m breaking that now and i don’t give a fuck just…hey…hey don’t… – and on it had gone. jungkook remembers how what scared him most was not the danger he himself was in but how deathly still yoongi went amidst his hysteria. he had to ask later what yoongi saw, but in the moment, against his own fear, against a bigger nightmare, he remembers conjuring his own patronus, remembers thinking that it looked ridiculous – a rabbit the breadth of the moon it seemed, banishing the cold.

in the here and now, it’s spring. when yoongi breaks away everything is warm and jungkook can’t help himself. he reaches toward yoongi’s ear and just behind it to draw out a rose.

yoongi’s nose wrinkles.

“what kind of magic trick–”

“just take it.”

they stare at each other and some unofficial contest starts. neither of them wins and neither loses, the stampede of yoongi’s impending class echoing through the school corridors as jungkook flips backwards out of the window onto his waiting broom because why do anything the easy way? the smile he sends yoongi is warm and smart and if yoongi died right then and there he supposes he’d be alright with that except for the bit about leaving jungkook behind.

he watches his husband do three unnecessarily risky climbs and dives on that ridiculously expensive broom before he flies out of sight, presumably to teach his next batch of first years. sometimes when yoongi doesn’t have his own classes, he’ll wander to where jungkook is teaching and watch from what he deems to be a reasonable distance. once or twice headmaster namjoon has caught him and joked whether or not yoongi needed more to do, after which yoongi promptly left. later, loitering in the astronomy tower, namjoon admitted with heartbreaking softness: it makes me happy…it makes me happy, to see you happy.

yoongi charmed a star out of the dark, had it hover near namjoon’s right eye and said: i want to see you happy too.

blinking, yoongi is caught off guard (this happens, when you disappear into reverie, it would seem) as a paper plane soars in through the window and narrowly misses his head, gliding to a perfect landing on his desk. when he unfolds it, he shakes his head at the writing there: you dropped your flower!

crouching, yoongi retrieves it, and despite his initial scoffing, yoongi wears said flower behind his ear for the rest of the day.

it’s not lost on his students that the rose? is blue.

Fire Vs Ice

Fandom: Little Witch Academia

Word Count: 1,023

Characters: Diana Cavendish/Akko Kagari/Amanda O’Neil

A/N I live for teasing Amanda 

{Part 1} {Part 2} {Part 3}

“She totally is! Akko quick take a photo!”  

“Will you both please stop being melodramatic.”  

Some part of her was feeling flustered with the fact that she allowed herself to slip up, with the two witches gaping at her like some exotic animal it was any wonder she hadn’t bashed their heads together yet. “Yes, I was smiling, it isn’t something to make a fuss over.”  

“But that is where you are wrong!” Excited green eyes bore into her, “I truly believed that you couldn’t smile - aw man, I must be dreaming.” Amanda brushed long fingers through her hair, her grin somehow growing as she turned to Akko. “Can ya believe it? We got little miss Princess to smile.”  

The brunette seemed to match the others enthusiasm, a bright smile on her features. “Diana! You looked great smiling!”  

“E-excuse me?” Now that had certainly caught the young Cavendish off guard.  

“Yeah! Your entire face brightened!” It was as if an invisible force was trying to spite her; Diana could practically feel the added warmth to her cheeks, causing her mind to go into overdrive.  

“Y-yes, well. Since I don’t have the capacity to stay with the both of you any longer, I will take my leave for the night.” She didn’t even dare to look the others in the eye, already knowing what their expressions would be. That didn’t stop her from hearing Amanda’s teasing tone however.

“Sweet dreams, Cavendish!”  

Classes the following morning had been frustratingly slow. Diana often found herself progressing through the textbooks, re-reading information that she was already familiar with. Both of the red and green team had been late for the first lesson, earning themselves a scolding that easily went in one ear and out the other once they took their seats. Diana was quick to catch the devilish grin Amanda sent her, the fiery haired witch kicking up her legs as her teammate began downing another bag of crisps.  

“O'Neil, feet down.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  

And just like that, class continued.  

Once evening had arrived however, a certain brunette made it her goal to get her to talk. “Diana! Did you sleep well?” The young witch raised an eyebrow with the easy-going attitude, hoping her obvious suspicion was portrayed with all the causal talk.  

“Why do you need to know?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t you, like, be in detention or something?”  

One at each side, both Hannah and Barbara began their usual antics; giggling behind hands and sending sneering looks towards the brunette. Akko made an angry pout towards the duo, ready to defend herself when another voice beat her to it.  

“Oh look, dumb and dumber. You really need to put a leash on those two, ya know?” Grinning at the reaction received, Amanda causally strolled beside her friend, clapping her hard on the shoulder.  

“As if. You’re the one who should be tied up!”  

Amanda’s quick tongue couldn’t stop at the opportunity. “Careful what you wish for.” She stalked forward towards Hannah, bending down until eye level before shooting the stunned girl a wink, grin altering to add a sultry tone.  

“That is quite enough.” Sighing in exasperation, blue eyes put the dancer back in her place before she addressed her team mates. “I have some business I need to attend to, I shall meet you both back in our room.”  

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”  

Accepting the answer, the two members of blue team turned to leave, the brunette sticking her tongue out towards Amanda before they were no longer in sight. “Why must you be so immature?” Shrugging, Amanda curled her arms behind her head before stalking over to her own team; the pair had been watching the scene in silence, Constanze beginning work on her Stan bot once things began to settle down.  

Akko continued to stare at the platinum blonde, barely registering that both Sucy and Lotte had already left. Red eyes appraised the girl before her; back straight, head held high and nothing short of elegant. Diana really was the definition of a noble birth. “It’s your night for patrol, right?”  

Slightly caught off guard, Diana’s eyes widened for a brief moment before her mind registered the question. “Yes?”  

“Can I join?”  

What was with this girl?

“I am afraid not, it will be much easier if I go alone.” The words were almost retracted when she caught the deflated expression Akko portrayed. Like a lost puppy. But remained steadfast, her words were the truth after all. And she was beginning to get fed up with the spontaneity always emitting from the brunette.  

“Perhaps another time.” That seemed to work at least.

“Yeah!” Fire back in her eyes, Akko turned passed the young Cavendish and towards the green sashed witches. “You guys wanna come over?”  

“Heck yeah!”  

An hour into her rounds, Diana became acutely aware that the remaining light illuminating the dorms was from the red teams; she had to physically restrain herself from flying over and sending them all to bed like children.  


That’s it.

Maneuvering her broom towards the window, the talented witch drew herself as close as possible before tapping on the glass, watching as 6 pairs of eyes landed on her in unison. “Diana!” Lifting open the fairly large window, Akko greeted the young Cavendish with a bright smile.  

“Do you have any idea what time it is? You all should be asleep.”  

“Hah? Didn’t know my mom was here.” Yep. Definitely Amanda.  

“Sorry, we won’t be much longer.”  

Diana raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. That was better than nothing she supposed. “Very well, you have fifteen minutes.” And with that, she took off into the night.  

Only to hear another scream.

“Those idiots.”

Her lips began to curl.

Anger is a Curse - TOG Fanfic (Rowaelin)

I’ve finally returned to the TOG world! YAY!

“Aelin, calm down.”

Fae females were far more aggressive than males. That much, Rowan knew. Sure, males had the added effects of testosterone and instinct strong enough to require personal training, but as Aelin liked to say that was all “showy shit.” Females didn’t have shoulders big as melons, or arms they could swing (unintentionally) and wreck a door with. Their strength lay beneath the surface, in some strange concentrated form, as he knew from countless experiences in the sparring room, flying through the air and landing flat on his ass. Just because they were smaller didn’t mean they were any less vicious, far more so since idiot men, enraptured by their beauty, were so keen on underestimating just how far that muscle went. Rowan had always liked to think of females as dogs — you know, the little rabid kinds that yip and bark at your heels before sinking a mouth chock-full of needles into the fleshy bits around your calf. Unfortunately for him, Aelin was a dog with one hell of a bite.

“I will not calm down!” She snapped her teeth, seemingly beyond words.

Rowan fought the urge to take a step back and forced his voice into a semblance of calm. “You’re being unreasonable.”

Aelin snarled and began pacing at a furious rate. The way she was at it, she’d set fire to their bedroom floor, or at least render it hot enough for cooking. The sunlight had squeezed in through the fabric draped across the broad planes of their windows, a weak thing so late in the evening. Even still, the fury was quite clear on his wife’s face.

Another growl echoed through the room, louder and with frustration coloring every note.

He gave a little sigh. They’d been married for ten years now, and even now he was wary of her rage.

Aelin halted on the purple carpet, half-turned away from him, fists clenched. “I hate that man.”

“Aelin, he —”

She whirled on him, eyes flashing. “He insulted my family,” she spat.

A sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. He knew it wasn’t his place to be upset, but he was just so tired of her temper. “Aelin,” he massaged his temples, “I think I’m going to have to leave until you’re out of this mood. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this —”

She was on him before he could finish his sentence, hands gripping his neck and abdomen caging him in against the wall. His lips parted at the sheer fury radiating off of her body. It was in the wild spark to her eye, the way her fangs hovered half an inch above his neck, her muscles trembling, as if she could barely keep her instincts at bay.


Her voice was a whisper in his mind.

Stop talking.

His mouth snapped shut.

In the following silence, he was acutely aware of the sharpness of her breaths, his own lungs straining for air, the unrelenting grip of her fingers on his neck. An abrupt thought left him dizzy and slightly nauseous. She could kill me, if she wanted to.

But just as he’d thought it, a jolt went through her and suddenly she was halfway across the room. Her eyes were wide, breaths short — in other words, the perfect expression of horror.

Rowan pushed himself off the wall, still a bit shaky. He drew his tongue across his teeth, tasting for blood. There was none, but… His hand tentatively brushed the skin of his neck, and he pulled back, hissing. So she hadn’t let up at all, then.

“Rowan,” she murmured and took a half-step towards him.

He glanced up at her, noticed that her face was still aghast, and then his own anger was bubbling to the surface. What right did she have to be worried when she’d damn near killed him? He was about to snap out those very words, but he hadn’t lived three centuries only to let his mouth run ahead of him. So he bit down on his tongue and waited.

Aelin had not moved closer, had instead seated herself against the wall, knees drawn to chest, watching him. Her anger seemed to have abated, at least for the time being, so he felt safe in approaching. Silence was what he offered as he sat beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Again, he was silent.

“I didn’t mean to —” She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know what happened.”

He was struck by a memory, of centuries ago, when the land had been greener and mankind lesser. Then, there had been more fae, and more fae meant more fae children. He had been one of them, and growing up had been…hard, to say the least. Instinct ran deep in his veins, just as it did in any other of his kind, and self-discipline was taught rather than expected. He’d been, oh, seventeen summers when he’d first killed someone out of pure, blind rage. He’d been having a bad day, the unfortunate lad had taunted him one too many times, and then he’d been dead. That was it. Magic aside, Rowan had been quite normal for a male: no malicious intent, no homicidal tendencies.

But even still, that had been cold-blooded murder.

Rowan brushed Aelin’s hand with his own, willing her to continue.

At his touch, she seemed to find the strength to look at him. Her eyes tracked the lines of his face, the slope of his brow, his nose, lips, a pause…and then they slipped to just above his collarbone. Rowan suppressed a snarl when her fingers brushed that same sore spot.

“I left marks,” she breathed. She retracted her hand. “Shit. Shit.”

“Why are you so angry?” Rowan asked.

She swore again. “I don’t know, Rowan. Maybe because I almost killed you.”

He gave a half-smile. “You know I would’ve killed you right back.”

Aelin opened her mouth, closed it. An incredulous laugh burst out of her. “You would say that.”

“I meant why were you angry before,” he clarified

She sobered. “He insulted my family.”

“You’ve said that twice now, but he never once mentioned your parents.” Rowan said this, ignoring the fact that it sounded crass because he was sure that Aelin would be aware that he knew.

“I…” A grimace. “I’ve never told anyone this. But my parents…” She sighed, faced him fully, and stated, “Well, I didn’t know them.”

“No shit.”

She shoved him. “I’m trying to be serious, here!”

“Go on, then.”

“So I didn’t know them. Because of that, I think, the word "family” has always been a title designated only to those that really matter. From all the hundreds of people I’ve met, I could only call you, Aedion, Lysandra, and Dorian my family.“ The gold in her eyes gleamed when she said, "Not two dead people.”

Rowan looked at her.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she ducked her head and stifled an affronted giggle. “Shit. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Rowan squinted. “It kind of did, though.”

She snapped her gaze to his, relaxed when she realized he was joking. “Rowan, I almost just killed you, bared my soul to you, and the most you’ve done is lay your obnoxious "I’m-too-stupid-to-understand-you-so-I’m-going-to-play-it-off-as-if-I’m-better-than-you” act on me.“

He raised a brow. "I must be a remarkable actor. Didn’t even practice that one.”

Aelin let out a disgusted snort and stood up. “Ugh. I don’t know why I even bother.”

Christmas on Mars

A/N: For @happy-snape-week 2017
I realize this is a little late for Christmas, and ALMOST late for Sev’s birthday (it’s not quite midnight where I live). I meant to get this done sooner, but I’ve been in the middle of traveling halfway across my country and haven’t had much time for writing. Also, I stand by this story as being happy, technically, although it’s the kind of happy that makes you cry, for parts of it. At any rate, it’s done, so enjoy!


Christmas Eve had once again arrived at the Burrow, and it smelled like cinnamon and ginger and rosemary and sage. Snow, which had begun to fall gently in the outside night, was already sticking in a soft, clean layer, but inside, a fire was blazing cheerily, and familiar faces buzzed about, talking, laughing, embracing each other, hands and hearts thawing in the warmth of it all. Dinner had been prepared and enthusiastically devoured, and even the grownups had indulged in far too many of Molly Weasley’s sweets. When even the latest arriving guests had been served a plate, everyone had settled in for the lovely holiday evening. The children had sat in front of the hearth, playing boisterous games of Gobstones and Exploding Snap, until they were sent upstairs when they got too loud, while the adults had gathered in armchairs and sofas and at the kitchen table with steaming mugs in hand, smiling, remembering, and enjoying each other’s company.

Molly was in an old, patchy brown recliner, cooing at her newest grandson. Arther stood behind her shoulder, his elbows on the chair back, chatting with a smiling Hermione Granger, whose happy brown eyes kept darting between him and the baby. She and Ronald Weasley sat comfortably together on a settee, a navy blue knitted blanket across their laps. The longest sofa had been claimed by the Potters, and a small boy was slumped between Harry Potter and a very pregnant Ginny. She had her legs in her husband’s lap, and his hands rested on the tops of her feet. Other Weasley boys, extended family, and friends were scattered around the house. Conversation was carried about in the typical, noisy, Weasley fashion, and continued to be so until a very unexpected guest walked through the front door.

In an instant, the whole house became silent. Judging by everyone’s faces, Molly and Arthur were the only ones who knew of his possible arrival, and, Severus would assume, Molly was the only one who expected him to show up. The others wore looks of shock and horror so vast that Severus immediately regretted his decision to come. For what seemed an infinitely long time, he stood there, fingers still terribly cold, blood rushing in his ears, stray snowflakes melting in his hair, feeling the appalled stares burn into him while completely unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Then Molly was rising from her seat, and then the baby was in Arthur’s arms, and Molly was right in front of Severus, who was still frozen, and then… and then…

Before Severus had time to process what was happening, Molly had pulled him into a tight, warm hug.

“I had hoped you’d show up,” she said loudly, still with a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “You go sit yourself down and I’ll fix you up a plate.” Giving his shoulder a last affectionate squeeze, she turned to do exactly that.

After one brief, uncomfortable second, the silence ended, and hushed but urgent conversation broke out.

Arthur, who had deposited the infant, who had a rather thick mop of brown curls, on Hermione’s lap, hurriedly stepped forward and guided Severus to the recently vacated brown chair.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Arthur admitted, and Severus resisted the urge to snort. Obviously. And then, as if realizing how that statement could be interpreted, Arther hastened to add, “But I’m glad you’re here.”

It wasn’t the words, so much, that caused such a foreign, and almost uncomfortable pang of something in Severus’ chest, but the sincerity with which they were said. Arther had really meant that, and so had Molly.

Severus inclined his head.

“I thank you, and your wife, for the invitation,” he said, his voice stiff with formality.

“Nonsense,” said Arthur. “You know you’re welcome here, any time. You’re family now.” Strangely, he darted a glance at his daughter and son-in-law before giving Severus a half smile that was equal parts nervous and honest. “Well, I’ll go see if Molly needs a hand, now,” he said awkwardly, and almost fled to the kitchen to ‘help’ Molly, leaving Severus to wonder what that bit about family had meant, as he hardly felt welcome at the moment.

It took only a moment for the realization to set in that he was now in the dubious company of four former students and their progeny, all of whom were still mutely starting at him. Severus then became acutely aware that he had not seen any of them for over a decade, and as his dark eyes roamed over all of them in turn, seeing their faces - so much older, more mature- it occurred to him just how much time that really was, and how much had changed without him being a part of it. It wasn’t as if he’d missed it, exactly, but, to be fair, he had never imagined that he would willingly attend a Weasley Christmas.

Surprisingly enough, it was Weasley who seemed to come to his senses first. He leaned forward in his seat, blanket shifting from his lap, to extend his hand to Severus.

“Professor,” he greeted in a voice that was not the least bit hostile, and if it was strained, it was only from surprise.

Severus accepted the handshake, halfway wondering what alternate dimension he’d managed to step into. And then he saw Granger surreptitiously wipe her eyes, and the look of utter devastation on Potter’s face. It hit him, suddenly, that the silence and tension of earlier wasn’t because of disappointment at seeing a hated face, but because at least some of them -Granger, Potter, and the two youngest Weasleys included - hadn’t known he was alive.

Still, apart from the shock, their actions confused him. Why the tears? Why the sadness? He’d understand it if it had been Potter’s beloved Godfather, or even Lupin that had walked back from the dead, but him? All four faces were looking at him, eyes shiny with wonder and… something. And he didn’t understand. They hadn’t… mourned him, had they? It was impossible. If anything, they should have been glad that he was gone. Or indifferent. But this? And yet, the grief on their faces was undeniable. They truly had missed him while he was gone.

The pang in his heart was so strong that time that he reached his hand up to rub at his chest. Why? Why would they miss him? Why would they care?

Silence fell once more, all of them stunned, until a soft, gentle voice began to speak.

“Mum told us that someone would be here tonight. A special guest, she said. None of us imagined it would be you.”

It was Ginevra who had spoken, and she smiled, despite the tears running down her cheeks. She gave a shaky, overwhelmed sort of laugh, and then she was sobbing. Potter had his arm around her in an instant, his hand running soothingly across her back, but he had yet to take his eyes off of Severus.

Granger seemed to have recovered by then, and she tenderly placed her son in Ronald’s arms before standing and gently pulling Severus to stand as well. And then she hugged him, tightly, her head against his shoulder as if they were the best of friends, as if she were truly glad to see him. And then Severus, despite trying desperately not to, began to believe that she - that all of them - really were.

It was a long moment before Hermione pulled away, both of them blinking fiercely.

“Don’t you dare leave again, don’t you dare,” she said vehemently, but quietly. She sat back down, and Ronald took her hand. There was a respectful kind of silence as everyone waited for Severus to pull himself together.

“Mummy? Who’s that?” a small voice whispered loudly.

Everyone’s attention was then drawn to the little boy who was rubbing his eyes with one hand and tugging on Ginny’s sleeve with the other. It was Potter’s boy, it had to be, with the same messy black hair that seemed doomed to run in the family. And then the little brat turned to point at Severus, and Severus drew in a sharp breath as he was once again looking into achingly familiar bright green eyes, which also must have been genetic. He looked at Potter for a fraction of a second, but he could not keep himself from staring at the boy, who couldn’t have been more than two, maybe three years old.

“Alby,” said Potter slowly, and Severus realized that his voice was different than he’d last heard, deeper, and rough with emotion, “Why don’t you go and introduce yourself.”

Severus once again looked at Potter, but was confused to see that he was looking at Ginevra with an intensity that didn’t seem to make sense.

Slowly, and a bit shyly, the little boy walked to Severus and stopped by his knees, raising his arms as if asking to be picked up. Severus darted a glance to Ginny for reassurance before setting the child gently on his lap and giving him his full attention.

The boy, who Potter had called Alby, surprised Severus by giving him a blinding smile, all shyness forgotten, and once again, he was looking into those eyes.

“I’m Albus. Albus Sev'us Potter,” the boy said with a slight lisp, but evident pride in his voice. “What’s you’re name?”

But Severus didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. He looked up in shock, eyes flicking between Ginevra and Potter, mouth open and unable to fully take in the entirety of it. And then Arther’s words were ringing in his ears: “You’re family now.”

It was like a dam had broken inside. He was horrified to find tears came to his eyes, but there was nothing he could do. He was completely helpless against the emotion that overwhelmed him. Maybe they hadn’t been as happy as he’d have imagined by his death, but this was simply too much. It had to be too much.

“Severus,” he told the child distractedly. “Severus Snape.”

Alby, of course, was too young to realize the significance of what had just occurred, and contented himself by leaning against Severus and closing his eyes, seeming happy enough to just be held by a perfect stranger, albeit one with the same name as him. Severus’ hand, without conscience decision on his part, came to rest against the child’s dark hair, as he pulled the boy just a bit closer to himself. And finally, he looked at Potter and spoke.

“He looks just like his father,” he said softly, his voice coming out altered and thick. “But he has-”

“My mother’s eyes,” Potter finished for him with a grin.

Severus nodded helplessly. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the boy - man, now, he realized - smile, but it was the first time he had smiled at him, and, at some point, due to his face maturing into that of an adult, his grin had stopped looking like a carbon copy of James Potter’s. And with that came the realization that Potter was now older than his father had ever been.

This time, the silence that followed wasn’t weird, but comfortable, and even pleasant. Severus wasn’t used to being around this many people, especially not this many people who seemed to like him, and he certainly wasn’t used to having children on his lap, but as it was, the child’s warm weight was rather soothing, and his hair was very, very soft.

Eventually, Molly came in and set a plate of food on the table beside him, and Severus realized vaguely that her waiting for the tension to ease before interrupting was thoughtful, but then, Molly usually was.

Knowing from experience that he’d get a thoroughly embarrassing scolding, even at his age, if he were to not eat, he picked up his plate, careful not to disturb the sleeping boy in his lap. The plate was piled high with turkey, served with stuffing, gravy, and current jelly, roasted potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and Yorkshire pudding. There was even a smaller dessert saucer of sherry trifle, and Severus wondered if it was a coincidence that it was one of the few puddings he was fond of. He made a valiant effort to eat as much as he could, but still didn’t even manage half of it before he had to set it aside.

There were a few quiet minutes where the only sound was the deep, steady breathing of the - currently - youngest Potter. Then Ginevra stood and walked, or rather waddled, over to take Alby to bed.

Severus looked at the young, obviously pregnant woman, and then at the stairs, and hesitated. To Severus’ amazement, she rolled her eyes at him and huffed.

“This is the third one,” she said dryly, hand over her belly to indicate the child within. “I assure you, I know my limits.”

Severus spent the next second patently horrified at how very much Ginevra resembled her mother, and the openly fond smile she gave him as she picked up her son didn’t help at all.

“You should see the way she scolds James when he misbehaves. It’s like Molly all over again,” said Potter, rightly interpreting the look on Severus’ face. He was clearly amused, by the way the sides of his lips had curled up, and the way his eyes sparkled, just a bit.

It then clicked that James must be the third child Ginevra mentioned, and the oldest by the sound of it.

“It’s a redhead thing, I assure you,” said Severus after a moment. “Your mother could be the same way. She could be downright lethal with a wooden spoon.”

Talking about Lily was less painful than he had imagined it would be, and Potter’s face immediately brightened, making him look younger, so much so that couldn’t help but remember the years he had spent as the boy’s teacher.

Harry smiled at him, a genuine, happy smile that was apparently contagious, because, after a second of hesitation, Severus felt himself smiling back.

At that moment, George Weasley walked into the room and promptly froze at the scene before him.

“Woah,” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. “We must be on a different planet, right?” He looked between Harry and Snape in amazement.

“Never imagined you’d see Professor Snape smile, eh?” Ronald joked lightly. “And at Harry, no less.”

“No indeed,” replied George mildly.

“Oh, but it is Christmas,” said Hermione, joining in on the teasing.

“Yeah,“ said George with a grin. “Christmas on Mars.”

Headlights Fading (10/13)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

Also on ff

Summary: When Emma Swan’s car breaks down outside of a small town in Maine, she finds herself stuck at the local garage, but as the repairs take longer and longer to complete, she has to decide if, in the end, she wants to leave the town at all.

Keep reading

The Christmas Prodigy

(Note: You can see my other one shots on my Tumblr masterpost or on my Ao3 account. This is a companion story to The Prodigy on Tumblr or on Ao3. It is inspired by Dean playing the piano as a demon this time and takes place after 10x09.)

Dean counted it as a miracle that his piano survived the destruction and evil of being a demon. A vague, darkened memory threaded between his thoughts, however, that recalled touching a piano as that monster. A few notes emerged from his fingertips grazing the keys as if his soul being suffocated by the blackness had clawed for any sense of humanity and brought out those notes so intrinsically linked to his mother.

The rare moment of privacy afforded by Sam taking Claire Novak a Christmas care package let Dean descend low into the bowels of the bunker where he kept his treasure. Sam had developed a soft spot for the Novak girl or maybe he just liked the idea of a younger sibling that didn’t want to see him dead like Adam had. It wasn’t that Dean disliked Claire or anything, but he knew he wasn’t fit to be around people. He was dangerous. He was a risk. So he sent Sam out alone with snacks and odds and ends bought from a Gas ‘n Sip, which was a bit of a Winchester tradition at Christmas. Locking himself in the bunker was safer for everyone.

Security monitors near the utility room showed a good, steady bout of Kansas snow falling outside, making the hillside and woods look like a white glitter bomb exploded. He used to like snow. Even as a grown man on the trail of some monster or ghost, he stopped and beaned his brother on the head with a snowball, which escalated into a fight that allowed them to forget the dark turns their lives took. The raised red scar on Dean’s inner forearm wouldn’t let him forget anymore, not even for a good snowball fight. Knights of Hell didn’t deserve to play. They didn’t deserve to forget.

Keeping the piano deep in the bunker’s basement was for the best. He couldn’t see the snow and the walls weren’t draped in Castiel’s obnoxious silver metallic garland. It was the only home they each had, he’d said, and living in humanity meant enjoying holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

He pulled the bench out enough to sit on it, but he didn’t open the lid over the piano keys right away. With his arm leaning on the piano, he caught a glimpse of the scar peeking through his rolled shirt sleeve. It looked menacing to him. He tugged his sleeve up more and dragged his fingertips over the scar’s raised edges. It controlled his thoughts and impulses, bleeding blackness into his brain and heart no matter how he fought it. Drinking usually numbed whatever he felt, but booze only gave the Mark of Cain more power to make him do disgusting things. He watched himself do much of it even before it happened too. At first the visions felt like nothing more than nightmares, the same sort of nightmares he’d endured for his whole life, but then nightmares became reality. He was having precognitive visions. Once upon a time, Sam had visions like that as well, except he wasn’t the one spilling blood.

Keep reading

What if they weren’t blueberries? (Part 2)

I wasn’t initially going to write more, but people wanted more, so here’s more! 

Part 1

“ … Bellwether …  arrested … .mastermind …  plagued Zootopia … of late …”

Judy’s acute ears picked up the vague messages that droned from the television. The words from the news anchor blended in her mind for a couple of moments as she carefully dragged herself back into the realm of consciousness.

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing dim lights and a cream colored ceiling. She shifted once, and every muscle in her screamed in protest. She groaned.


The shout nearly made her wince, her ears not yet accustomed to the noise. As she looked up, Judy found herself facing the bright yellow fur and spots of a certain cheetah. “Clawhauser?” she grumbled. He must have been keeping an eye for her at the hospital.

The cheetah was halfway through a donut when she spoke. He quickly licked his fingers clean. “Judy, you’re up! I gotta go tell the Chief. The media is buzzing about Bellwether’s whole scheme, and everyone news agency in Zootopia is out to get an exclusive story with the cop that cracked the case.”

“Media? What? Huh?” Judy hoisted herself up on the bed. The pain was constant, but at least it was light. But there was still quite the ache in her leg. She lifted up the blankets, and found that her wounded leg wrapped in bandages.

There was a flash in her mind. That time when Gideon Grey attacked her, the shock of fear that filled her senses. The similar ram of panic once she realized Nick was trying to kill her.

Judy blinked those images away, instead focusing on her leg. She tried to move it, but it was terribly sore.  “How bad is it?” she asked.

“Pretty bad. The doctor said it would take at least a few weeks for it to heal.”

But as Judy’s violet eyes stared at her injury, her mind had already wandered elsewhere. “Nick,” she demanded. “Where’s Nick? How is he?”

“The fox?” Clawhauser hesitated in his response. “He’s … been better.”

Keep reading

"What did you expect to happen?" [Outlaw Queen]

Dialogue prompt from the lovely whitebuddah0524. Enchanted Forest! Missing Year!

He tries not to protest, but it hurts like the dickens, what she’s doing to his arm.

“Well,” Regina says scathingly, cutting off both his gasp and his blood circulation as her hand tightens around the bandage, gives the ends a vicious tug. “What did you expect to happen?”

“I don’t know,” he responds, because honestly he hadn’t thought it through at all, hadn’t the faintest idea what would be in store the moment he did what he’s just done.

She gives him a single look—pointed, without words, that tells him exactly what she thinks of his most recent display of untimely chivalry. The injuries he’d sustained, the lengths she’d just gone to repair what her magic couldn’t.

Not to mention the way he’d just thanked her for it.

But he’s not sorry, he thinks defiantly as she reexamines his wound, silent and seeming quite ill-tempered. Not if his actions have amounted to a bloody slash at his limbs rather than a fatal blow to her heart. A few simple nicks he can manage, and these hadn’t even cut through to bone; but the thought of the Queen, lifeless in his arms as he carries her back to the castle, had been unbearable. Had filled him with such insensible panic that pure instinct had flung him forward and into harm’s way, so he could shove her out of it.

Keep reading

pointless numbers

Jemma misses the point of an online dating website, but succeeds anyway.

Prompt: 67%, sent by ellizabethkeen (drabble meme)

“They’re all idiots. This one said he likes smart girls better than pretty girls, but I am both. How pretentious!”

Jemma has her back turned to Fitz, but she can guess he’s rolling his eyes behind her.

Two weeks ago, he convinced Jemma to create a profile on this online dating website, and only now she logged into it again to see how the experiment went.

There are 8 messages total, and at first Jemma thought that was flattering. And then she saw the messages.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

pleaseeee do a sequel/part two of the fic where beca and chloe are announcing their relationship to beca's parents, pleaseeee :)

Part I is a good time, friends

“Dad, shit” were the first words that left Beca’s mouth when her dad’s voice finally broke through the slow-motion humiliation that spread over her skin like a thick syrup. Then, the world was spinning entirely too quickly, like her words jolted the entire scene into fast forward. “Oh my god. Get off, Chlo,” she mumbled, when she became acutely aware of the compromising position they were both in. Chloe, lost in that panicked place where boundaries and social etiquette were erased completely (that place Beca saw first when she stood in the shower with the redhead, shaking under the gaze of Chloe’s at-the-time casual “boy with benefits”…like Chloe was considering every possible course of action with equal weight). She nudged Chloe harshly, shoving her out of the already open door so that Chloe, took-twelve-years-of-ballet-Chloe, skinned her knee on the edge of the car.  

“Fuck,” Beca spat again, fumbling with shaking hands at the seatbelt that was still holding her to the seat. 

“Lemme,” Chloe reached over easily, pressing one turquoise nail over the red button, “Lemme help with that.” 

Beca slapped the hand away, feeling Chloe’s breath on her shoulder and the pressure of her hand on her knee. “Dude, no.” 

Keep reading

A while back, I said I was going to finish a bartolemy fic over break. This proved to be wholly untrue, and I apologize to Klimpaloons, to whom I think I specifically promised it to. It is a LABOR OF LOVE and goddamn it is longer than it deserves to be so put on your seatbelts lets make this thing HAPPEN

Keep reading