the rain falls softly

4 o’clock

pairing: Jimin | reader
✥ genre: angst
✥ word count: 3.963
✥ warnings: blood, violence, graphic language
✥ author’s note: sorry for the hiatus, guys :( I told myself that I would just take a break but it ended up being five months. here’s my gift (???) to you people. it’s my most angsty yet. I saw a Tumblr au based on this and I had to write it because we all love to read sadness. :/ <3 <3 <3 Enjoy!! au based on this and I had to write it because we all love to read sadness. :/ <3 <3 <3 Enjoy!! if you can


They went their separate ways, but that doesn’t mean their paths won’t ever cross again

You watched as the blade slipped closer to your body.

You closed your eyes, trying to get the sight of your impending demise out of your mind. You wanted to remember something happy, but the only thought in your head was the fact that the cold hand of death was reaching out to you. You needed to feel something comforting, but there was only fear. You needed something that meant something, but you could only see the glinting of the blade that seemed to hover in time for a long moment.

You weren’t ready to die.

“Please,” you whispered to the hooded man.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he let out a dark laugh. In his clothed hand was a knife. It was glinting silver in the darkness of the alleyway as he twisted it in his grasp.

Your back hit a brick wall – You were trapped.

His lips twitched grimly now.  

Please,” you sobbed. You couldn’t will your body to move. In that moment, you were completely vulnerable.

And he knew it too.

You knew it was over, but you weren’t going to let it happen easily. You bent down and tried to grab at his leg, trying to pull him down to your level. It didn’t work. He shifted his weight and moved to the side. In a split second, his left hand shot forward to grasp the back of your hair and slowly drag you up the wall to face him.

There was fear in your eyes, but not a trace of it in his.

The man slammed his cold, clammy hand over your mouth as he grasped the knife with his other hand. You saw the tip of the knife inch closer to you with every breath. You vigorously shook your head, the back of your scalp rubbing against the rough texture of the brick wall.

Again the twisted smile crossed his lips.

“You should’ve stayed quiet, darling.”

Your muffled cries for help rapidly increased in speed and vigour as the tip of the blade came closer, seeming to inch through eternity, moving closer with the precision that only the end could bring. A single glimmering tear shimmered out of your eyes. When you felt the sharp sting of the metal come into contact with your skin, a burst of pain shot through your chest.

And then it came again.

And again.

Please,” you croaked, so hoarse you weren’t certain you had even spoken. “No. More.”  

The faint sound of metal hitting the ground and the hurried scruffs of shoes against the pavement filtered into your ears as you immediately dropped to the ground. You looked down at your crimson hands, soaked with blood that was dripping from your side. You weren’t dead yet, but you would be soon if you didn’t get help. You were in no condition to walk, or even scream for help at this point.

So you lay there.

You always thought about how you would go, but one thing for sure, you always thought that you wouldn’t die alone – that you would die after a long and well-lived life with Jimin—Oh God, Jimin.

A new wave of terror flooded through you.

I have to see him, you internally panicked.

But you knew you couldn’t. You were in no condition to move, let alone walk all the way to his apartment.

The deafening silence of the streets was temporarily broken by the familiar sound of your phone notifications as it resonated off the ashen brick walls.

My phone

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the faint glint of your phone screen that was strewn across the ground. Despite the pain emanating from every cell in your body, you kept your hand firmly clamped over the gaping wound and dragged yourself towards it.

You stretched an arm out to swat the phone towards you, but in the process, your other hand moved away from your injury. The wound touched the ground and you let out a cry.

I have to get the phone

Without thinking twice, you grit your teeth and shot your arm to grab hold of your phone. You grasped it tightly and immediately brought it to your chest. You felt your head growing dizzy from the lack of blood and oxygen.

You don’t know how long you laid with your back against the pavement and your phone held in a death grip against the beating of your heart.

The loud thumping of your heart practically roared inside your head as your chest heaved up and down in an erratic manner. Spots began to cloud your vision as you tried to blink away the tears threatening to escape from the corners of your eyes. The wounds located just below your rib cage pulsated, the skin feeling as if it were being torn apart all over again. You could just feel the debris from the broken concrete sink deeper into your flesh, the stinging sensation intensifying with every breath.  

It felt as if an eternity had passed before you could properly breathe again. For now, the pain had subsided into a dull, static ache. Ignoring the pain in your abdomen, you brought the phone close to your line of vision. Immediately, the sickeningly dry, metallic pungency of blood covering your hands infiltrated your nostrils that smothered your senses. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the stench intensified. Trying to recall his number in the thick soup of your brain, you found your thumb scrolling through your contacts list. You squinted at the bright and bold letters pulsating across your phone screen.  

Jimin-oppa <3

With painstakingly slow hand movements, you pursued your lips together and pressed call.

The phone rang twice, three times, and then–


Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Did I wake you up?”

You heard Jimin fumble for and scrape up his wireframes.

“No,” he yawned, “I was awake.”

You inhaled a sharp breath.

“You were never a good liar.”

Jimin’s mouth curved up into a smile as another yawn escaped his lips. “You always knew me better than myself.”

“Don’t you think it’s strange when people say that?” you softly grunted as you shifted, trying to keep your side from paining you.

Jimin stayed silent for a moment as if debating against something. In the end, he chose not to question it.

“No, not really. Why?”

You felt your hand trembling with how hard you were gripping the phone.

“No one can really know you as well as you know yourself,” you paused, struggling to speak. “No one knows every single thought that races through your head or sees the things exactly the same as you do.”  

Jimin didn’t respond immediately.

“Well, I guess I never really thought about it like that before, but you don’t completely know yourself either. You don’t know how you look when you’re smiling in a moment of bliss because you can’t see yourself. You might see a photo but it’s not the same as the real thing.”

“But that’s just an appearance.”  

“It’s an appearance that shows an emotion, and that’s a part of you,” Jimin let out a yawn. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that nobody can truly know you, and you can never truly know yourself.”

A sudden chill rippled through your spine from the cool breeze of the night. You curled further into yourself to preserve whatever heat you had left. “Tell me about your day, Oppa,” you whispered.  

You heard shuffling from the other side of the call. “At, what? Three in the morning?”

You stared ahead at the faint orange hue of the streetlights spilling into the darkened alleyway. “Is it already that late?”

He softly laughed. “Y/N, you really need to go to sleep earlier. You need to take better care of yourself.” Another yawn escaped his lips. “I know that you didn’t call me to ask me about my day in the middle of the night. Tell me, did you call me just so you could hear the sound of my voice right after I wake up? I always knew you found it sexy. All deep and shit.”

You felt a bit light-headed but amused at his antics anyway. “I’ll hang up now.”

Y/N,” Jimin whined, “if you hang up now, I’ll lie here formulating a million reasons for your call, none of them your truth, and that would drive me crazy. You wouldn’t do that to your Oppa who also has your grandmother’s old phone number, would you? Trust me, you can tell me anything.”

You opened your mouth to speak when you felt soft droplets of water gently fall upon your cheek.

“It’s raining,” you softly mused.  

It wasn’t the type of rain where it was cold and hard and you would have to run inside and hope for the rain to blow over. Instead, it was the type of rain where you could walk outside with no jacket on. The type where the wind is blowing, lightly but effectively and all you want are for the rain to touch your burning face. It was the best type of rain.

Jimin closed his eyes and smiled. “It was raining that night when we kissed for the first time.”

You remembered the way his lips felt against yours–-how your bodies intertwined together just perfectly, nestled under a pile of blankets. You remembered the way he looked at you right before you fell asleep—a smile full of warmth and unconditional love.

“When we first met, you asked me a question.”

A slight crease formed in between Jimin’s eyebrows as he unconsciously frowned at the memory. “I remember. We were at Hoseok’s party.”

“Remember how you caught me throwing up in the bathroom?”

Jimin nodded.

“You were crying and asked me what the point of it all was and that everything hurt–that everything always got messed up, and it was usually your fault.”

You absorbed the trauma, swallowing the pain.

Jimin heaved a sigh. “I was beyond drunk that night–completely shitfaced.”

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know.” You sighed, “I still don’t know.”

All of a sudden, every neuron in your body felt as if it were set on fire – every jostle sent ripples of pain through your shoulder, back, and neck.

“You see,” you grit your teeth, “when we first met, I-I was heartbroken. I-I just got dumped, my mom hated me, and,” you quickly tried to catch your breath without being too noticeable, “I thought I had no one. I-I didn’t see the point of living, of doing anything anymore.”

“What about now?” he questioned you, too absorbed in what you were saying to notice your signs of distress.  

“Well,” you sucked in a breath, “now I-I’m happy.”

The soft rain fell upon your body, gently washing away at your wound. “I have you and m-my mom doesn’t hate me,” you coughed, “B-but it won’t stay like this forever.”  The rain mixed with the sweat that coated the back of your neck and the very top of your forehead. You felt dizzy.

Y/N—” You swiftly cut him off, hearing concern laced his voice that wasn’t there before.

“What I’m trying to say is, nothing is permanent,” you panted. “Things are always changing, and you can’t stop them from doing so.” You peaked through your lashes to look up at the moon, albeit it was just a silvery blur, you knew he was seeing the same one from his room across the world.

Suddenly, the once dull ache grew into random electric shocks of pain. It pulsated throughout your body at an accelerating pace. You immediately clamped a hand over your lips to muffle your sudden outcry of pain.

Y/N, is there something wrong?” He asked, his hand tightening around the phone as he tried to gauge whatever was going through your head through the sound of your voice. It was like he was looking for something but had no idea where it was. He knew you well enough to know when something was wrong but this time he couldn’t figure out what. “Why do you seem so…out of it?”

You quickly shook your head. “I’m just a little tired, Oppa.” You bit down on your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. You tasted the metallic sting of blood on your lips that previously covered your hand.

The lines on Jimin’s forehead deepened. “If you say so.”

On nights like this when the air was so clear, you end up saying things you ordinarily wouldn’t. Without even noticing what you’re doing, you open up your heart and just start talking to the person next to you—you talk as if you have no audience but the glittering stars, far overhead.

“Hey, are you already asleep? Keep talking to me.” Jimin asked with a slight edge to his voice you couldn’t exactly pinpoint, but you could tell that he was still worried about you. Whether it was because you wouldn’t tell him what was up or that he couldn’t figure it out on his own, you weren’t sure.

When you did finally speak, you surprised yourself by saying exactly what was on your mind. “Have you ever thought about how you would die.”

“I have,” Jimin said slowly, “why?”

“Are you scared of it?”  

Jimin cleared his throat. “I’m not scared of dying, actually. I just don’t want the people I love to leave before I do.” He let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I’m just selfish like that. I want to leave this world before anyone else I love does. Even if it hurts them,” he sighed. “Dying will be a perfect ending to the greatest story if I get to live my life to the fullest with the people I love the most. I’m not scared of dying—I’m scared of dying last.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears—you found truth in his words.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” His voice was quiet in your ear, but serious. One thing Jimin was good at was not letting things go, and for once you were a bit unhappy about it. The last thing you needed was him asking you over and over again what was wrong.

You smiled. “I love you, Jimin.”

“You know I love you more.”

You struggled to smile—it all hurt too much. “You must be an idiot,” you whispered, “To be in love with me.”

“I would be an idiot not to.”

You watched the moon edge toward the center of the sky above you. Your side burned and was angry from the gaping wounds that ripped the skin below your ribs. You felt sleepy. “Oppa?”

“Mmh?” he sounded as if he was fighting off sleep—a fight you knew he was losing.

“Can I ask you something else?”

Jimin yawned. “Yeah, sure.”

As you lay outside in the cool air of the night, fingers clutching the phone, your gaze was stuck on the sky while he was silently listening to you. “How did you fall in love with me? You’re always so fixated on the sky and what it holds I would imagine you didn’t have time for much else,” you decided to finally ask him what you had been wondering for so long.

Seemingly not fazed by your question, Jimin instinctively lifted his hand and pointed up towards a group of stars in the sky. “Can you see the sky tonight?”

You gently pried your eyes open, trying to focus on the sky without having your vision clouded from the droplets of rain. “That has nothing to do with what I asked.”

“Just trust me,” he said softly. “Look.”

You hesitantly looked up. All you saw was a heap of white lights dancing in the night sky. Your vision began to blur.

“Leo—it’s Latin for lion. Whenever I see it, it reminds me of the time we took your little brother to the zoo. He was so excited to see the lion exhibit, but you, you were terrified. I’m surprised you didn’t start crying,” he told you with a small laugh.

“And that beside that is the big dipper, you’ve probably heard of it. It makes me think of the first time I met your parents. God, I was scared. But then your mom came out with her homemade soup with that big ass spoon and started talking to me like I was family. I think that was the night I realized I loved you.”

You stared at the cluster of bright lights winking down at you in astonishment as he went on, comparing each piece of the universe to a memory you shared, or to a feature of yours. Finally, his words slowed down.

“The North Star. When I was young, my dad used to tell me that as long as you can see the North Star, you’ll always find your way home. That one reminds me that I love you, no matter what, you’re home. I don’t love you because you remind me of the sky—I love the sky because it reminds me of you.”

Suddenly, the ache in your chest felt lighter. His words were all too perfect.

Jimin sighed in content. “Have I won your heart yet?”

You closed your eyes, feeling the water fall from your lashes and onto your cheeks. They felt cool on your burning skin. “You have all of it, you always did.” The silent throb racking throughout your head was alarmingly increasing in sound, yet you continued without a hint of hesitance. “And I don’t want it back, Jimin. It’s all for yours to keep.”

A few beats of silence passed before Jimin spoke.

“Y/N,” he paused. “I’m going to marry you.”  

A surge of warmth temporarily replaced the numbness entrancing your heart.

“Okay,” you responded a few moments later. “Deal.”

You could hear the surprise in his voice. “Wait—really? I know you’re trying real hard not to laugh at the way you’re breathing. I’m being serious. I’m going to marry you.”

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears. Oh, Jimin.

Blood slid down your arm and soaked the material of your sweater. Pain fluctuated on your face, yet your defiant stance and angry crease through your forehead indicated you weren’t about to go down without a fight.

You faintly nodded your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Yes, of course, I’m serious.”

You struggled to sustain pressure against the mangled flesh—you once heard you were supposed to stop bleeding by applying pressure on wounds. But there was too much blood–dark crimson, with a discreet, metallic scent. It cascaded across your skin, right through your fingertips.

You screwed your eyes shut once again. “Oppa?”

“Yes, baby?”

Your voice was shaky. “Sing for me.”

His voice sent back waves of pleasure down your spinal cord.

“Only for you.”

Jimin’s voice wasn’t a beautiful voice by definition—it was rough edged and sorrowful, a bit used but somehow managed to make your toes curl up in pleasure every single time. His voice had more vibrancy to it than most, which was often thin and white and too pretty to trigger a shiver; it warmed you, as if your heart was on fire, burning passionately on his love.

I wrote a long letter
To the moon one day
It isn’t brighter than you but
I lit a small candle

The flesh wound still oozed blood and the entire right side of your body wore a purple-yellow smear of a bruise. It hurt so bad you could hardly negotiate the raw landscape that strobed in and out of focus all around you.

The nameless bird that sings
In the park at dawn
Where are you
Oh you

You pressed the palm of your hand firmer on top of your wound and felt a fresh wave of pain sear across your stomach.

Why are you crying?
It’s only me and you here
Me and you
Oh you

The blood flowed thickly from the gaps in between your fingers. In the dwindling moonlight of the night, it was indecently red, as red as any flower in bloom.

Your singing voice,
That follows deep into the night,
Brings the scarlet morning
One step, then another step

Every breath felt like a nail bomb exploding in your innards

Your singing voice,
That follows deep into the night,
Brings the scarlet morning
One step, then another step

A cry died in your throat as you forced yourself to stay conscious, desperate to still feel life in your body.

Dawn passes by and
When that moon falls asleep,
Then the blue light that was with me disappears

Ten seconds passed, and then twenty and thirty, and finally the pain started to pull back like the tide going out. It left your fingers first, and then slowly worked its way up your arm. You took a couple of deep breaths. A dull static ache had settled into your stomach.

“Y/N,” Jimin softly laughed. “Are you crying?”

You took in several deep breaths before responding. “Yeah,” you struggled to keep your voice stable. “I guess I am.”

A sleepy smile stretched across his face. “I didn’t know I was that bad of a singer.”

You took a shallow breath, but it choked you instead. “When are you coming back?”

“I talked to our manager and he cleared the weekend for us, so just keep waiting for me.”

You nodded your head, “I’ll try.”

You could almost visualize the lazy smirk hanging off the corner of his mouth. “No, you have to promise me, Y/N. Promise me or else I’ll have to take away every article of clothing you stole from me.”

Your lip wobbled as you fought to keep your voice stable. “I promise,” you managed to choke out.

“Good,” you could the relief in his voice. “I’ll be waiting for you too.”

Another stretch of silence passed, only this time it was longer. You realized Jimin was slowly falling asleep – and so were you.

“Tell me all of the things that make you feel at ease,” you asked him in a vain attempt to keep hearing his voice.

“I feel at ease when I kiss you,” he confessed. “Sometimes I want to kiss you in the most connotative way possible so that no dictionary definition would stand a chance to describe how your lungs could be filled with the sweetest air possible, and yet you still be so breathless.”

The splattering and trickling of the rain drops soon became your second favourite soundtrack, right next to his voice.

A sad smile came upon your lips as you closed your eyes, breathing out every word as if it were your last. “I want to remember this. Us. Right now. This will always be the moment when I was the most alive.”

A soft, yet familiar laugh rang out of his lips, except this time, it was full of love and adoration. “It’s almost 4 o’clock in the morning,” Jimin’s sleepy voice silently stretched through the call. “You need to sleep, Jagiya. We both do.”

You bit your lip, feeling the pressure inside your stomach begin to fall. You looked at the sky, noticing how the clouds had slowly faded away, revealing the argent disk of light quietly illuminating the sky. With a feeble nod of your head, you clutched onto the phone and inhaled a long, deep breath.

This time, it didn’t hurt.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N” Jimin lovingly whispered. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

You felt yourself slowly slipping into sleep, swept with exhaustion.

Like millions of red flowers blooming, the droplets of blood rolled onto the concrete and created a path. Yet, even though there was a path, no one would see it nor follow it. Eventually, the rain would transform into a torrent of water and completely wash away the red.

Your voice broke but a light smile came upon your lips. “Dream of me.”

But the call had already ended.

contrivedcoincidences6  asked:

So I just rewatched Amor Fati and one thing I've always felt was under explained/analyzed is Mulder's dream. I was thinking of who I wanted to ask to write that and thought of you (cause you're amazing.) Could you maybe write like Mulder's thoughts on it and/or him telling Scully about it or something?

Thank you so much for thinking of me for this! I’m not this is what you wanted, but it came out like this. I hope you like it anyway.

The boy is in his dream, again.

The features of the small child are familiar to him now. He recognizes the smile, the way he moves. Once every while his small hand comes up to brush a few strands of hair away from his forehead. In his dreams, the boy is always smiling. Today is no different. Today, though, he wants to ask the boy his name.

“Who are you?” The boy giggles and throws sand in the air, the grains showering him and settling in his hair.

“Are you here alone?” Mulder asks looking around. There is a shadow over there near the cliffs without a face, without even a silhouette. Yet, the familiarity draws him in, washes a sense of comfort over him. There is only one person who makes him feel this way, awake or asleep, dead or alive. Scully. He says her name, or thinks it, and the boy laughs harder, flinging himself into the sand.

“Where is your mother? Are you here by yourself?” Mulder faces the shadow again as it hovers there still, unmoving. The boy continues to squeal and kicks his tiny legs into his direction. Mulder feels the scrape of the sand against his skin, tickling him. Maybe it’s the sensation or the boy’s infectious noises, but he finds himself chuckling, breaking out into laughter himself. The child holds out his arms, wearing a grin that cuts through him like glass, reminding him of something, someone.

“Pick me up, daddy?” Mulder opens his mouth to answer this boy, his unlikely son, and yet no words come out. The sensation is overwhelming; he is a father here, in this dream.  

“I wanna go home, daddy.” The child pleads and Mulder reaches for him, feels a pull in his arm, but it’s not enough. They drift into different directions and there is nothing he can do.

His eyes pop open instantly and he knows he’s back in his apartment. It’s dark here in his bedroom, dry and cool. He rubs his eyes, waits for the throbbing pain in his head to pass. There is a glass of water on his bedside table and he quickly gulps the stale liquid down.

The boy.

The first time Mulder dreamed about him After, he didn’t think much of it. Just a remnant of what had happened. But unlike Diana, his nameless, faceless children, Deep Throat and even his sister, the boy refuses to leave his dreams. He is always right there on the beach, waiting for him. Never called him daddy before, though. Mulder spends more time awake these days; his brain and body healing quickly. Soon he’ll be back to sleepless, dreamless nights. The boy will be gone then. Daddy, he called him, and Mulder still feels the sound reverberate through his mind, his whole body. He dismisses it, for now.

Scully comes over after work like she’s done the last couple of days. As per Skinner, Mulder is not allowed to set foot into the J. Edgar Hoover building for another week. Scully brings him food, assures him that yes, the office is still standing, not burnt to the ground, and no, he’s not missing out on any extraterrestrial fun, before she checks on his head, meticulously scribbling down any changes.

“Looks good, considering.” Scully grants him a small smile when she’s done; lately, she’s been smiling more often, he finds, and today her upturned lips remind him of something, someone. It’s familiar, and the tingling that accompanies it is as well. Realization washes over him; he’s known before, has known all this time, who the boy in his dream is. The shadow watching over them there has always been Scully, there has never been a doubt in his mind. So why did he doubt this?

“Mulder, are you all right? Do you need to lie down again?” Her hands are on his face, touching him gently, as he begins to grin. “You’re scaring me.” Scully whispers, laughing uncomfortably.

“Am I that hideous?” Mulder murmurs.

“No,” Scully chuckles, “you’re not hideous. I just know that grin, Mulder. It means you just had an idea, or you’re about to ditch me.”

“I’m not going to ditch you, Scully,” he promises, taking her hands off his face and lacing their fingers together, “I didn’t have an idea either. It’s more like an epiphany.”

“Now I’m really worried, Mulder.”

“I’ve been having dreams,” he tells her and she sits there quietly, waiting for him to continue, “Ever since that operation,” she huffs, “or whatever you want to call it. These dreams… I had them during the procedure, too.” Mulder watches as Scully worries her lip, contemplating if she should say something or just wait. He does the same. Does he tell her about Diana? About the nameless children and their marriage? He spent a lifetime without her while he was asleep. He only came alive once she was there, showing him the truth among all the lies. There’s time for that later, he decided.

“It doesn’t matter. Just… I keep having this one dream. It’s not exactly the same every time but there’s this child.” His eyes are observing her carefully, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand to reassure her, or him. “A small boy. I don’t know his name, but he’s got sandy hair that I’m sure will darken as he gets older. A pouty mouth, big blue eyes and you should hear him laugh, Scully, he-”

“Why are you telling me this?” She tries to draw her hand away from his to get away from him and his words; he’s lost himself in the dream, sees the small boy – their child, he is certain of it now - and he wishes he could take her there, see him with her own eyes. His Scully, she needs proof. This is something he cannot give her. All he has to offer, right here and now, is hope.

“Until today I had no idea who he was. I kept asking his name and he never tells me,”

“It’s a dream, Mulder. It’s your unconsciousness so of course he doesn’t have a name, because it’s not real.”

“Today though he told me who I am,” Mulder goes on, ignoring Scully’s attempt to shut him up. Not this time. “You wanna know who I am?” He asks her.

“I know who you are.” She rolls her eyes. At least she no longer tries to get away, their fingers an intertwined mess. Judging from the look on her face Mulder is certain she is convinced she’s missed something. Any moment now she’s going to tell him they’re going back to the hospital for more tests.

“He called me daddy, Scully. That’s who I am.”

“That’s nice, Mulder.” Her voice betrays her words, as do her eyes. Sad and vulnerable, they look everywhere but at him. He touches her chin and waits until her eyes give in and finds his.

“It is nice, Scully. You want to know who his mother is?” He whispers, his smile giving away the answer.

“Mulder, please… we both know the IVF didn’t work, so don’t-”

“We can try again, Scully. We have to. I saw him.” Her head shakes vigorously and watching her, fighting against his words and the images he’s planting in her head, he almost gets dizzy.

“I saw him, Scully. He’s so beautiful.”

“You’re delirious, Mulder. You need to rest. What you saw – what you think you saw – it’s just a dream. Come on, lie back down.” She pushes at him and he lets her. If only he could take her with him into his dream, show her. If only he could see her there with their son.

“I’ll prove it to you,” her hands busy themselves with tucking the blanket around him. She refuses to look at him, what a surprise, but he lets her be, “We can’t give up, Scully. We need to try again.”

“Mulder.” His name leaves her lips as a sigh, resigned and sad, hoping to convey all the emotions she’s buried already, filed and hidden away.

“No, I’m serious, Scully,” as he tries to sit up once more, too eager, his vision turns blurry, his senses fuzzy. “I told you not to give up on a miracle, right? Our miracle.” He adds more softly, barely above a whisper. His eyes closing on their own volition, he feels her tears rather than he sees them. They fall on his hand softly, like summer rain. “I don’t want to give up, Scully. Not on this. I saw him… I saw him.” He’ll see him again, soon, in his dream.

“We can try… try it the old fashioned way, you know.” His eyes still closed, too weary to open again, he grins.

“You’re out of your mind, Mulder,” she whispers close to his ear, making him shiver, “but… we can talk about it. Maybe. Now go back to sleep.”

“Hmm.” He’s almost there already. Sand crunches under his bare feet as the waves gently lap against the shore, welcoming him back. There in the distance he hears it: the childish glee in his son’s laughter.

“Sweet dreams, Mulder,” Scully’s voice is distant now, but still present, capturing him between dream and reality, “and when you wake up, tell me all about our son.”

                                            Rainy Day Edition

  • ‘ Let me go put a kettle on for some tea. ’
  • ‘ It looks to be coming down harder now. ’
  • ‘ I don’t think you can go now with the rain. ’
  • ‘ Do you mind if I stay until the rain passes? ’
  • ‘ I just love the sound of rain and rolling thunder don’t you? ’
  • ‘ The sound of softly falling rain is so relaxing. ’
  • ‘ Here, I thought some hot coffee would go with the rain. ’
  • ‘ Come snuggle up and listen to the rain with me. ’
  • ‘ Hurry up! We’re going to get drenched if we stay out here! ’
  • ‘ Come on, come stand in the rain with me. ’
  • ‘ Dance with me in the rain. ’
  • ‘ Did you hear the thunder in the distance? The rain is going to start coming down harder soon. ’
  • ‘ That thunder shook the house. ’
  • ‘ Come inside before you catch a cold. ’
  • ‘ I just want to stay close to you and listen to the rain. ’
  • ‘ Don’t leave the covers it’s cold and raining out, and I need your warmth. ’
  • ‘ Nothing like some hot coco/cider on a rainy day. ’
  • ‘ I hope it doesn’t flood. ’
  • ‘ I love the smells rain brings out. ’
  • ‘ Sorry, lightning gets me every time. ’
  • ‘ I don’t like thunder. ’
  • ‘ Nothing like spring rain. ’
  • ‘ Have you ever made love in the rain? ’
  • ‘ Look at all that lightning. ’
  • ‘ The sky just opened up and suddenly it was downpouring. ’ 
  • ‘ I think we are stuck here until the rain lets up. ’
  • ‘ Do you like the rain? ’
  • ‘ The rain reminds me of home. ’
  • ‘ I’ve always loved the rain. ’
  • ‘ I never liked the rain until you. ’
  • ‘ The cool nip in the air and the sound of rain hitting the roof, I live for these days. ’
  • ‘ Are you sure you want to leave with the rain like this? ’
Every once in a while,
An August evening comes around,
When nostalgia is engulfing you,
Rain is enveloping you,
You can no longer hear the rustling of the leaves,
Instead a long silence prevails,
The sound of droplets falling softly to the ground,
To the thrashing of rain against houses,
Nature calls out to us.
Through the clouds huddling together in the sky,
To the petrichor which blows you away,
Through the crystal clear water on leaves,
To the greenery that borders our sight,
I simply sit.
I sit, and see,
For we have become so engrossed in the hustle bustle of our daily life,
That we somehow forget to witness the striking beauty and balance.
For maybe, with the eyes of a hawk,
Blinded by my lust for adventure,
I forget to halt to look around.
For maybe, sometimes even with the precision of sight,
Blinded by our fears,
We forget to see the glimmer of hope that lies within.
—  @mymellowcupcakestudent


Never did he ever think he would one day experience actual fear.Sure,he knew what it tasted like.He knew what it smelled like,what it sounded like but never did he think he would know what it felt like.
Drawing in short but deep breaths,he slowly knelt down and reached out to shakily touch the tombstone in front of him.His long slender fingers slowly traced the black cursive writing etched into the hard gray granite stone,your name underneath his touch.
Rain on Rahoon falls softly,softly falling,where my dark lover lies.
Sad is his voice that calls me,sadly calling at grey moonrise
With his eyes burning intensely as he glanced over at the ceramic photo of you placed above your name,his fingertips trace over the letters again and again.
“I..I don’t understand.Darling,why would you leave me?” he whimpered as he dropped down to his other knee.His fiery red hair fell flat on his skin as the rain began to fall down harder.The same quick way it began as mist and soon droplets of water,his sadness went from disbelief to inhumane agony.
Love,hear thou how soft,how sad his voice is ever calling.
Ever unanswered,and the dark rain falling then as now
Before he knew it,he was pushing the dead autumn leaves around the cold wet ground as if he was looking for something.”You can’t do this to me.You can’t leave me,my darling.Where are you? Give me a sign,any sign,to tell me you’re alright.” he cried out softly as he dug through the muddy earth,hoping that you’d somehow push through the dirt and reach out to him like you did 27 years ago every time you returned to him from your day out.
Dark too our hearts,O love,shall lie and cold as his sad heart has lain.
Under the moongrey nettles,the black mould
And muttering rai
He soon gave up and accepted that you were gone.His human,his mate,his love,was gone and was never going to return back to him.You were now somewhere beyond the sky,in between the stars like you said you would be when the day came.As agonizing as this was for him,he knew he had to begin hunting soon and now that he didn’t have you to hold him back on slaughtering everyone he came into contact with,he was going to let every animalistic instinct take over and let everyone in Derry feel the same hell he was going through.

Slow Dancin’

So basically @imoutofmyvulcanmind bugged me all afternoon to expand on my drabble. After much arguing back and forth, I relented (she is a bad influence)and I figured I would share it with you all as well. Nothing fancy, just short and sweet

Bones x reader 1,956 word(s) of so much fluff

I don’t even know who is interested in this so, apologies if you aren’t:

Tags: @bkwrm523 @arrowsshootyouforwards @fanscribbling @martinawalker @hellhoundsandunicorns @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl @8bit-arc-reactor @starmission

Happy Valentine’s Day once again :)

You sighed heavily and rubbed your face as you made your way down the quiet hospital hallway. You had just finished up a 12 hour surgery, you were exhausted to say the least. You changed out of your scrubs into your regular clothes and made your way out of the hospital.

Bones, your boyfriend, had the day off today, so he had insisted on taking you to work that morning and picking you up after your shift. Completely hating  driving through traffic, you gave no arguments. Feeling glad you took him up on the offer now, given how tired you felt. You made your way out to a bench outside after calling Bones to let him know to come pick you up.

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A/N: I wasn’t actually planning on writing anything for today’s ‘sunrise’ prompt but then I had this one idea and I just had to 

Gruvia drabble, based on that one scene in The Lion King (¬‿¬) y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶

Words: 600

Between the ticking of their alarm clock and Juvia’s soft snores, the only other thing Gray heard was the rain falling softly onto the pavement, the sound as low and familiar as the pitter patter of small footsteps.

Sighing, he turned to lie on his back, one arm on his stomach whilst the other hung slightly off the bed as he let sleep drag him in once more—

“Dad! Dad!”

And when the door burst open and a little boy rushed in, fully dressed from head to toe, eyes bright, and a toothy smile wide on his face, Gray realised that the sound he had been hearing really had been footsteps, after all.

“Dad?” Frowning, Silver ran to Gray’s side, taking his father’s dangling hand in his and tugging on it, hard. “Come on, dad! We gotta go! Wake up!”

Groaning idly in his sleep, Gray rolled over onto his side, arm draped over Juvia as he mumbled something about wanting five more minutes.

Beside him, Juvia stirred with a hum, her fingers moving to brush dark locks of hair away from Gray’s face before stroking his cheek tenderly. “Gray-sama…” she whispered.


“Gray-sama, your son is awake…”

Gray’s arm tightened around her waist as he drew her closer to him. “Before sunrise, he’s your son,” he replied hazily, resting his chin on top of her head as Juvia laughed into his chest.

“Daaad…” Silver shuffled across the room to the other side of the bed wearily, as though he had weights tied to his small shoes, before jumping up to slouch beside his parents, brow furrowed and lip jutted out in a pout.

“Your old man’s still sleeping,” Gray said.

Silver gave him a pointed stare. “No, you’re not! Your eyes are open!”

“Nothing gets past Silver-kun.” Juvia laughed, straightening up to pull him into her lap. Tilting her head to the side, she kissed his cheek fondly. “And just where is Silver-kun off to so early in the morning?”

The scowl on his face was one to rival his father’s as Silver folded his arms, shooting an accusing glare at Gray. “Yesterday, dad said we could go on a job together.”

“Ehh?! Silver-kun has already grown into such a big boy!”

“M-Mom!” Silver protested, squirming in Juvia’s arms as she pulled on his cheek and peppered his face with kisses whilst gushing about how fast the years had flown by.

Gray watched them, propping his elbow up on the pillow and resting his cheek on his hand, smiling to himself.

These last five years had passed by so quickly, like rain through his fingertips. Now, their eldest, Silver, was beginning to go out on smaller, menial jobs with him and would soon learn magic, and their daughter, who they had already named Skye, would be joining them in a matter of time too.


Gray’s eyes met Silver’s. “Yeah, son?”

“You promised.”

Those blue eyes of his always had their way with him.

Gray gave him a lopsided smile, stretching his arms high up above his head, shaking off the remnants of sleep. “Okay, okay. I’m up.”

“Alright!” Silver’s face lit up as he jumped onto Gray, circling his little arms around his neck and burying his face into the crook of his shoulder.

“But,” Gray started, flashing Juvia a mischievous smirk, “We’ll go after another five minutes in bed.”

And with that, he dragged the three of them down again with a laugh.

As the sunlight streamed in through the curtains, casting a soft glow around Juvia and Silver, tints of gold in their hair and specks of dust in the air, he couldn’t help but feel warm—grateful for his small family.

so I KNOW this was a request for the POV thing but this had a mind of it’s own and i ended up not even doing a caretaker’s POV??? i am sorry but Liz i hope you like this and i’m sorry it’s taken me a million years to finish it. ily and i hope things start looking up. you’re wonderful <3

(p.s. upon rereading this i realize it is sort of confusing so read this with the knowledge that like the last half of the first part is a fever dream)

Keith’s head is pounding, his blood boiling. The covers he kicked off an hour ago lie in a sweaty heap, halfway hanging off of the bed. He’s been in bed all day, classes the last thing on his mind right now.

The fan above him spins at max power, and the coolness of the air outside leaves a damp, cold fog on Keith’s window. Despite this, his breath comes in short pants and he’s sweating profusely, fever running hot through his blood.

From the base of his neck all the way to his temples, Keith’s head throbs. His lungs ache, and his chest heaves with careful breathing, treading lightly to avoid a vicious coughing fit. He’s lying stock still, limbs sprawled, willing the blissfully cool air from the fan to seep into his skin, but it’s to no avail. Briefly, in his feverish haze, he ponders opening the window, but decides against it on the account of he would have to get up in order to open it.

And Keith does not want to get up, even though he’s been swimming in his own sweat for hours now, all his clothes save for boxers long since left in a pile on the hardwood floor.  He can feel his sheets damp against his back, serving no purpose but to make him hotter still. He thinks about how he needs to change them, but vetoes that on the account of he’d have to get up to do that too.

Two seconds later, Keith’s chest feels tight because he wouldn’t have to if Lance was here, would he? His eyes feel damp and his face grows hotter. He rolls onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow as he’s shaken by silent sobs.

I’m alone again.

He’s choking on his own tears now, and thick coughs tumble out in the midst of his sobbing. They don’t stop, and he’s wheezing, breathless, dizzy, the weight on his chest as heavy as the weight on his heart.

Why hasn’t Lance come home?

The hacking refuses to subside, every barking cough intensifying the biting pain in his head and the aching throughout his body. Keith feels like he’s been doused in gasoline and set on fire. His face, his chest, his throat, his legs, hell, his whole damn body feels like it’s burning.

How did it get this bad?

He’s out of it, head spinning and mind reeling, borderline incoherent from the fever. He’s still sweating. Everything is too hot and he knows that everything is not alright, but he currently lacks the capacity to do anything other than lie in bed and cry and moan.

Where are you, Lance?

Keith is beginning to drift off, busy with idle thoughts of winter and snow and water and cold (He’s forgotten what being cold ever felt like, Will I ever feel it again? he thinks) when he thinks he hears the muted slam of a door. He’s at rigid attention now, every muscle in his body hoping for Lance to walk through the bedroom door.

Keith doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he knows it’s been a while. He’s sure he heard the door, but his fever addled brain can’t decide one way or another.

He wants to get up, he really does, because he needs to know if Lance is home.

If Lance is home, why wouldn’t he have checked on me by now?

He’s on his stomach, about to slide out of the bed when he hears footsteps in the hallway.

Unmistakeable footsteps. Keith wants to crawl back into bed but he just can’t find the strength. His knees are on the ground, anchored to the bed solely by arms that feel like jelly. The door opens. His gaze follows the movement and the noise, the figure passing through it merely a blur.

Am I dreaming?

Keith can vaguely make out dark hair and an olive colored jacket, blue eyes coming into focus as the blur moves closer. Lance. Keith’s heart rampaging, hammering against his ribcage.

Is this just the fever?

Lance moves closer, and Keith can see his mouth moving, can hear a jumble of words, but nothing’s making much sense to him. He feels the ghost of a breeze across his forehead, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, the momentary coolness fleeting. He wishes the contact would have lingered longer.

He can see Lance’s mouth moving again. He squints his eyes, but he never was able to read lips. Keith reaches out, but his hands touch nothing, a grab for empty air. Lance is right there, so why can’t he touch him?

He hears yelling, Lance shouting at him; he doesn’t know why Lance is so angry. It isn’t his fault he’s sick. Keith doesn’t know what he’s done and he’s so confused and his world tilts on it’s axis again, leaving him reeling.

Why is Lance so angry?

There are hot tears slipping down Keith’s cheeks, salty tears meeting the sweat trickling from his forehead. He doesn’t know what he’s done.

He wants Lance to kiss his forehead and give him medicine, to take care of him until he feels like he’s not burning from the inside out. But Lance is yelling at him, sparking a hot, guilty fire in Keith’s gut that could’ve easily been extinguished, cooled with a soft touch and gentle words.

He wonders what’s going on, but the cloudy haze in his mind prevents him from feeling anything other than hurt and confusion. He’s too hot and he wishes that he could hear what Lance is saying so he could know what he managed to fuck up this time, but all he hears is angry shouting, growing louder and louder in his ears, all he feels is hard hands shaking his shoulders.

Keith is shaking with sobs, rattling coughs seizing his chest and constricting his throat until he can’t breathe, and he waits for the steady hand against his back to help him regain what little control he has left, but it never comes. He’s floundering;  he’s on his own.

Suddenly, the yelling stops. No hard hands are shaking him. Unmistakeable footsteps. He hears a door slam once, another twice. Lance is gone.

He’s alone again.


Keith bolts upright in bed, rain now falling in sheets against his window. He can feel sweat dripping down his back, a sheen covering his chest, neck, and arms. His breathing is shaky and labored, chest thick with congestion and heavy with an invisible weight. Tears are still streaming freely down his face, and he doesn’t bother wiping them away. He’s not sure when he managed to fall asleep in the first place; all he knows is that he’s glad he woke up.

He reaches to the nightstand next to his bed, fumbling around to grab his phone, and presses the home button to light up the screen. He’s got two missed calls from Lance and five unread text messages. Keith lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, and sends Lance a reply before setting his phone back down.

The dream had felt so real, and upon the realization that it is, in fact, not, Keith feels unimaginable relief. Lance isn’t angry at him–he hopes.

He eventually falls back into a fitful sleep, a sleep plagued by an unforgiving headache, a fever that won’t seem to break, and a sandpaper-raw throat. But thankfully, Keith thinks, a sleep free of dreams.

The next time Keith wakes up, the sheets around him are no longer soaked with sweat and there’s a cold compress on his forehead. An uncapped thermometer is lying next to two pills and a glass of water on the bedside table, and Keith wastes no time downing the pills and half of the water in the glass.

He doesn’t see Lance, but he hears water running in the apartment somewhere, and he hears music playing. He hears Lance singing along, hears footsteps moving in time to the rhythm.

Keith is glad. He’s glad he doesn’t feel too hot anymore and he’s glad he doesn’t hear any yelling. He falls asleep again.

This time when Keith wakes up, Lance is sitting upright, asleep behind him. His head is resting on Lance’s chest and the rain is still falling, now beating softly against the window. The fans turns lazy circles above them, no longer whirring at maximum power. Keith feels cool, the feeling in the pit his stomach the good kind of warm.

Lance’s hand is resting near his forehead, like he fell asleep carding his fingers through Keith’s dark hair. Keith thinks how glad he is that he gets to feel not hot again, and that he never wants to forget how good Lance’s cold fingers feel against his face.

A Little Mistake Messenger

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8  Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11

Summary:  MC has exciting news to tell Zen and the other RFA members. That is until the MC gets a shock from Zen. MC finds comfort in a close friend, Jumin Han.

Rating: M (language and adult themes)

Tags: Mystic Messenger, Jumin x MC, Zen x MC

Authors note: Guys I tried really really hard to make this at least 10 pages long due to some suggestions that my other chapters are short. I had to go back to Jumins route to find pieces that i could incorporate into this story. Expect Smut in the next chapter. It wont be 10 pages long of a post though sorry to disappoint. I actually wrote the Smut first and then work the plot around it, just didn’t fit in this chapter. I love you guys for patiently waiting and reading still you keep me going! 

“I want to be honest with my feelings for you. I had intentions on letting our relationship grow however I ant deny that there is a strong attraction to you. I cannot hold myself back any longer.”


I felt his hand on my chin and he pressed his lips firmly against mine. My mind went blank at his tender kiss. I wanted more. I needed more. But I also needed to breathe before I was consumed in his heat. I looked into Jumins eyes that were tenderly looking into my own. I don’t know how long we stood there just looking at each other. Sarah must have let herself out on her own. Jumins hand placed behind my head. My hands holding tightly onto his shirt. I let my guard down and allowed myself to initiate the kiss again and pressed myself into his warm and soft lips. His tongue tracing around my lip as if asking for permission from my lips.

He was the first to pull away his head resting on mine. “I have been wanting to kiss you for a long time now.” He smiled kissing my head as if I were a child. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“All of it.” He just held me tightly against his chest. “I have never felt this much before I met you.” He whispered into my ear and I smiled knowing that he was becoming more open with himself and allowing himself to feel. He pressed his lips against mine as if he was trying to consume the air in my lungs. My lips brushing against his over and over again.

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A Little Fall Of Rain

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Inspired by A Little Fall Of Rain, from Les Mis

Warnings: Angst, tears, death, language…i’m so sorry…don’t hurt me…

A/N: This is really sad but I’m also really fucking proud of it

Originally posted by teamunderoos

Originally posted by hughvaljean

(Not my gifs)

The noise of the battle seemed to fade out, leaving your scream of pain to burst through the silence and take centre stage. Peter froze in place, staring in horror at you as time seemed to halt. His eyes drifted from the shocked expression on your face, to the red stain blossoming from the bullet wound on your abdomen.

“What have you done?” he whispered, catching you as your knees buckled beneath you, lowering you to the ground so that your back was against his chest. You chuckled weakly, hissing at the pain it caused in your stomach.

“It would have been you if I hadn’t been here,” you told him. He let out a heartbroken laugh.

“That would have been better, (Y/N). Jesus Christ, where’s the team? Anyone on coms? (Y/N) needs a medic now!” he called desperately, pressing the device in his ear in vain in the hopes of getting a response.

“Pretty sure this would need more than just a few stitches, Peter,” you joked. “The team isn’t gonna get here in time.”

“Don’t say that,” he said sharply, stroking your hair from your face and trying to stop his hands and voice shaking. “You’re gonna be fine.”

A flash of lighting shot across the sky, probably from Thor. You winced at the brightness, and a sigh fell from your lips as rain started to fall in icy sheets. Peter tried in vain to shelter you, and you reached up to touch his cheek, smiling softly.

“Peter, don’t worry. A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now.”

A sob caught in his throat, and he ducked his head to press a kiss to your forehead to try and hide his face.

“What can I do?” he asked desperately. “There must be something I can do.”

You screwed your face up in pain as you accidentally put strain on your wound. “Just…hold me please,” you mumbled, closing your eyes.

“Hey, don’t do that! Keep your eyes open, stay awake!” he begged, kissing your lips quickly in an attempt to wake you up. Your eyelids fluttered open weakly.

“What happened?” you whispered, frowning in confusion. “Where are we?”

Peter let out a shaky breath, and tried his best to give you a reassuring smile. “You had a bad dream. We’re on the roof of the tower, we were on a date and you fell asleep.”

You chuckled. “Sorry.”

A tear splashed onto your cheek, and you reached up to cup his face gently.

“Does it hurt?” he asked reluctantly, trying not to look at the wound. He could feel your blood seeping through his suit where you rested against him. He felt sick.

You shook your head, regretting it instantly as your world spun. “I’m okay,” you managed. “Just tired.”

“Don’t sleep,” he whispered. “Please stay awake.”

“I’ll t-try,” you coughed, and he rubbed your back soothingly, wiping his own tears away when your eyes were closed.

“Is she/he stable?” came Natasha’s voice in Peter’s earpiece. “The jet’s busted an engine, we can’t get to you for at least half an hour.”

“He/she’s not gonna last half an hour,” he whispered, trying to hide it from you. You frowned.

“Peter, you should go with the team. I’m fucked, but you can still get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he said firmly, stroking your cheek tenderly. “Natasha, he/she’s dying. He/she’s dying, and there’s nothing I can do.”

No reply came through his earpiece.

You couldn’t distinguish the raindrops from the tears on Peter’s face now, and you couldn’t stop shivering. You were so tired.

“Will you stay?” you whispered, suddenly scared of what was coming. “Until I’m…until I’m-,”

“Yes,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your brow. “I’ll stay until you’re sleeping.”

You smiled softly. “I love you, Spiderling.”

“Love you too, idiot,” he mumbled, running his fingers through your hair carefully. “Love you too.”

When he finally looked back into your eyes, they were glazed over and staring into space, your last smile frozen in place on your lips.

A/N: Sorry if I emotionally compromised you, please give me feedback in my ask box! Your feedback means the world to me

waking up next to magnus is like watching a flower bloom or sitting by a window and drinking a cup of coffee in an oversized sweater while rain softly falls outside. it’s like a warm, sunny day where the sun hits your face just right and embraces your body in safe, sweet serenity. It’s like wind chimes swaying with the breeze, peaceful and soft and new.

alec can’t help but stare at the man, his boyfriend, his darling, curled up in silk sheets next to him, no make up on his face and hair devoid of product. magnus’ eyelashes flutter and he mumbles something incoherent and alec stifles a laugh so as not to wake magnus up. watching him here, his body rising and falling with every breath he takes, the sunlight streaming in and casting a heavenly glow on the high warlock of brooklyn, who can be as tough as steel and violent as waves crashing and creating a cacophony of noise through water and sea salt, but is also as soft as kisses in a meadow, lying on your back as flowers and grass tickle your skin and smiling against your beloved’s lips as a cool breeze seems to whistle by. he’s sweet as cherries and as surprising as that moment when you chew mint gum and then drink cold water afterwards, your mouth seeming to be taken over by ice. magnus bane is complicated and complex and has so many dimensions and alec….

well, alec is the only one who gets to see them all and he doesn’t know how to quite feel about that yet, it’s that new, and, frankly, a privilege and an honor.

magnus stirs and alec props himself on his elbow as magnus’ eyes slowly open, his gorgeous eyes focusing on alec as a sleepy smile crosses his lips. alec’s stomach does a backflip at the sight of magnus with hair going this way and that and eyes bright and safe.

“hi.” magnus whispers and reaches up and runs a hand through alec’s hair and alec leans into the touch.

“hi.” alec says back and magnus hums and alec scoots closer to magnus and presses soft kisses all over his face in order to wake him up.

“i love you.“ magnus sighs and shifts so that he can bury his face against alec’s chest, placing a slow sweet kiss against it. “i’m so in love with you.” he yawns and nuzzles alec and alec is glad that they’re lying down or otherwise he might have fallen over.

“i love you, too.” alec replies sincerely and kisses the top of magnus’ head and is quiet for a moment before he asks, “magnus?”


“you changed my life.”

it’s not eloquent or fancy but it’s true and magnus lifts his head to look at alec, shock and love and happiness mixed into one expression on his face as he shakes his head in wonder.

“you changed mine too, sweetheart,” he brings a hand to alec’s face and strokes his cheekbone with his thumb. “for the better.”

“for the better.” alec repeats and magnus kisses him softly, both of them cocooned in sheets and happiness.

I don’t deserve this

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Prompt: “George Weasley x Reader based on “the only man who deserves you is the one who thinks he doesnt” ?”

Requested: By anon

Word count: 3,000

(A/N): Okay, so I really liked this prompt you guys! I don’t think it was meant to be used like I did, but hey! Hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by sensualkisses

Love is hard. Love is complicated. Love is commitment. How many people actually are willing to continue in a relationship when ‘falling in love’ is over? How many people actually want to make the commitment of loving once the chemicals your brain made stop. Falling in love always ends. Loving doesn’t as long as two sides are trying. That is where it often goes wrong.

Many people still think the feeling of falling in love will last forever, they think that the blushing, stuttering and awkward butterfly’s stays. Forever. A lot of relationships end because they aren’t ready for love. They aren’t ready to work to love each other. At that moment, when your partner leaves you because that feeling is gone while you were ready to fight, when you hit that point with the wrong person, your life seems to collide.

It feels like you can’t fall any lower, like you will never feel love again. Like you’ll never feel again. Of course, that isn’t true because the heart is strong. The heart can heal itself, even though time may not always help. Sometimes you need a person, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on. There are stories of people who died because of heartache. Almost similar to elephants. Elephants can die from a broken heart, and when you realize that animals can, while humans can’t, at least not really, then you realize that love is an illusion. Then you realize that the feeling you thought you felt wasn’t love, that was just puppy love. That was the fun part. The part with butterfly’s, small kisses and wanting to spent every second with each other.

Real love, the one that takes commitment and will, is far from that beautiful. When you love someone, you’ll need alone time, you’ll have fights. You will be scared when the butterfly’s are slowly being replaced with a steady, comfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach. It feels kind of like an extra organ, a part of you. Even when your partner isn’t there with you, the feeling stays. It feels like a part of your partner, a part that can be comforting but also painful.

it will turn painful when your partner is away for a long time. It will be painful when you realize that the one that gives you that feeling, doesn’t feel the same about you. But what hurts most of all, is seeing the one you truly love falling in love with someone else. It hurt because you don’t want to ruin their relationship. You don’t want to do that because you know how comfortable that feeling can be. You know how much pain it can cause and you want to protect them from feeling like that because you know it will hurt you to see them just as broken as you feel. That’s the ugly part of love.

George Weasley understood that. He was young, and most people didn’t think such young people would be capable of feeling real love, but he did. George Weasley knew he was lost once he got to know Y/n. It started out as just friendship, then he developed a crush. He was shy, he didn’t dare to tell her how he felt. Maybe he would have been less hurt if he had just told her how he felt. Maybe, if he had told her the feeling of falling in love would end. Maybe if he had told her, he wouldn’t feel so broken.

But then again, he couldn’t help it. Who wouldn’t fall for her. She was beautiful, that was something only a blind man couldn’t see. What only a select group of friends knew, was her shining personality. She wasn’t a living ray of sunshine, she wasn’t always and sweet. She had her bad days, bad weeks. But every time she smiled, all the pain in the world seemed to be just a little bit less. When she smiled, laughed or even looked at him, he thought all the pain he was going through, was totally worth it. he knew he would do it again if he had the choice. Without blinking.

George learnt that heartbreak was something friends and family could put him through, too. After the battle of Hogwarts, he had lost his brother. And in some ways, he had lost Y/n, too. He shut himself out, Y/n tried to talk to him, but it didn’t go well. He remembered he straight up ignored her, he remembered she had come every day for weeks, each day bringing fresh, self made food. She had lost her brother in the battle, too, but kept coming to him, she kept comforting him, trying to get a word, or even a sound from him. It was pointless.

After a month, she stopped. She started coming only once a week, she stopped trying to talk to her. And as if it was yesterday, he remembered her last words to him.

“I’m sorry to bother you with my love. I fought for us while there wasn’t even an us. Now, I’m done. I’m sorry for everything, George. I’m just tired. I don’t want to be the only one fighting. I love you.”

He remembered how soft and broken her voice had sounded. He had always thought she had been in love with someone else. He thought she was the blind one. Guess he was the one who couldn’t see. After that, George slowly tried to get his life back on track. He wanted to open the Joke shop again, but not just now. He knew he would collide again when he stepped inside without Fred. Only thinking about his brother hurt.

Slowly but surely, as time passed, George got better. He learned how to smile again, he learned how to laugh and joke again. He learned how he could gain happiness by himself again. He never forgot about Y/n, though. He had often started writing a letter, but he never wrote more then ‘Dearest Y/n,’. He despited himself for that. He wanted to talk to her, tell her he was sorry. He wanted to tell her he loved her too. But he couldn’t. She had probably moved on, it had been a year, after all.

But he was wrong. Y/n loved George just as much as George loved her. The feeling in her stomach never faded. She remembered the pain she felt when she finally left him. They never had been together, but it felt like it. But George didn’t know Molly had been sending owls to Y/n. She knew how George was doing. That both hurt her, but it gave her a happy feeling, too. He was getting better.

Y/n knew George had been to the joke shop three times, and each time he came back with puffy, red eyes. Y/n wanted to talk to him again, she really did. Even though he had broke her heart, even though he had ignored her feelings for more then a month. After hesitating, Y/n finally searched contact again. Not in a letter, no. She went to the joke shop. She waited. She knew he would come, Molly wouldn’t lie to her.

When the sky started to turn grey, and a small drop landed on her nose, she stayed. And that was good. George came, many people were already leaving the small village. He walked slowly, head down. But he looked happier. At least, since last time she saw him. When he looked up, she felt a smile tug on the corners of her mouth, she saw how his brows knitted together in confusion. She noticed the small lines next to his eyes and on his forehead. They were from laughter and pain. It was strange to see marks of long-lasting pain on the face of someone who used to be smiling all the time.

George soon stood next to her, on the first step to the shop. He reached his hand out, wanting to touch her arm. But he didn’t. He couldn’t believe she was real. He couldn’t believe he saw her again.

“Hello, George.” She said. George was not a broken man, but at this point he felt himself snap. A string of his being, the string that stopped love from coming in, snapped. The walls around his heart and eyes broke down. He smiled. His smiles still were rare. Tears formed in his eyes. Then, he hugged her. He hugged her as if it was the only thing he could do. And that was true. He could only wrap her arms around her, tears leaving his eyes. they both weren’t bothered by the rain, which was falling softly on them.

“Y/n.” He said into her neck. She had never been hugged this tightly. “I am so sorry.” He breathed out.

“George.” She breathed out, struggling to keep her eyes dry. She hugged him back, at least just as tight. The feeling in both their stomachs was back, and it was stronger, because even after all this time, they still loved each other, they were still willing to commit to the other.

That day, they didn’t make it into the shop. Y/n went home with George, Molly was more then happy to see Y/n. Y/n went with George, who refused to leave her, who refused to let her out of his sight. In bed, he held her tight, he held her tighter then you could imagine. He pulled her close, fingers dancing over her skin while she enjoyed being with him. Their bond may be hurt, but not broken. It felt impossible. They listened to each others heartbeats, to the other breathing. They both were afraid to fall asleep, afraid that this was a dream and the morning would take it all away. But it wasn’t. This was real.

When they finally had fallen asleep, the morning was near. But Molly let them sleep. She understood the pain they both had felt. She truly cared. When Y/n’s heavy eyes opened, she smiled when she remembered where she was. She didn’t move, she stayed put, hugging George’s waist. She couldn’t imagine a better place to be. Her fingers traced over his skin, over his arms and back. She didn’t want to wake him, but she had.

“Good morning.” He said, smiling, eyes full of sleep.

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” She whispered.

“I woke up in a dream.” He whispered back. Y/n smiled, fingers starting to trace figures on his back again.

They forgot about time, they forgot about getting up. They wished they could stay like this forever. They didn’t talk, and it was as if last night started again. The room was bathed in yellow light, the covers grew too hot. Then, their stomach craved for food. Eventually, they got up. George still didn’t want to let Y/n go. So, he took her hand, refusing to let go. Y/n felt safe. She felt safe and loved and beautiful. And that only because of George.

The days passed, Y/n stayed in the Burrow. She understood why George still lived with his mother and father, and she didn’t mind. Molly kept telling her George hasn’t smiled this much since forever. Y/n felt better, too. Maybe she was falling back in love, or maybe there just were a few lost butterflies still in her stomach. She knew she wanted to stay with George. He was her forever. She wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted. They hadn’t told that they loved each other, they hadn’t kissed. But at this moment, that was enough.

George wanted to go back to the joke shop, he felt as if he could do it now. He didn’t want Y/n to be with him, and he snook out. But Y/n was far from stupid, she picked his plan up and followed him. From the shadows, Y/n saw George, watching the door. For one short moment, it looked like he’d open the door and walk in. Then, that moment passed and Georg let his head hang. Y/n’s heart seemed to break. She couldn’t reach him fast enough, she couldn’t push through the crowd fast enough. She almost fell, but she made it.

Y/n’s hand wrapped around George’s hand, she squeezed his hand and he  rested his head on her shoulder. He didn’t cry, not really. Tears did leave his eyes, but he soon stopped.

“I don’t know If I can do this, Y/n.” He whispered.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.” She cooed, running her hand through his hair. “Let’s go back, okay? We can visit Ron, or Ginny! They don’t live that far away. I’ve been dying to see Ginny.” She smiled and softly pushed his head up.

“No. It’s not that. Not anymore. If I open the door, if I start it again, then I will realize he is gone. Then I will have nothing left.”

“George, look at me. I will always be there for you. I won’t leave you. I won’t stop fighting. Not this time. You can’t lose me, not even if you tried.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve your care, I don’t deserve a happy life. I am starting to be happy again, but I couldn’t save him, so how could I safe you?”

Y/n smiled. “George. I don’t need saving. I’m a grown woman. You don’t need saving, you need help. A shoulder for when your sad, a hand when you feel lost. Neither of us need saving. We have proven to ourselves that we are strong enough to fight for ourself. You don’t see it yet, but you are strong. And you deserve everything in the world.”

Y/n leaned in, her lips only softly brushing against him. “I love you. And you can try tell me that you don’t deserve me, you can try and run away, but I’ll always find you. Because I will always love.”

George didn’t say anything. What could he say? ‘I love you too’, that would just be weak compared to what Y/n just had said. He chose for action. His arms wrapped around her body, he pulled her closer in a kiss. Y/n froze, but soon melted into the kiss. This is what she had wanted for a really long time. Her hands rested still on his face, she let her hands travel through his hair. And maybe, the few butterflies that had survived all the pain, came back to life. Maybe everything would be fine as long as they had each other.

       Okay guys, I don’t say this often but I really like this one!

anonymous asked:

I know you said no more fox hux but I love the headcanon you made about him being scared of thunder. Maybe, if you feel like it, could you write something for it? please?

Kylo isn’t sure what sound rouses him from sleep.

Whether it’s the rumble of thunder, the crack of lightning or the rain pounding on the window, Kylo is now wide awake regardless.

It’s the middle of the night, Kylo notes as he blinks himself into alertness, realising that his fox isn’t lying next to him like he was hours ago when they’d fallen into bed.

“Hux?” Kylo shouts, sitting up, noting that their bathroom light isn’t on so Hux isn’t in there.

But there comes another flash of lightning before the noise of thunder follows a few seconds later, and then frightened whimpers sound from underneath the bed.

Kylo frowns, climbing out of bed to look underneath, only to see Hux huddled in on himself, lithe body shaking, eyes scrunched closed and his fox ears flattened to his head.

“Oh, Hux,” Kylo says softly, kneeling down, surprised that Hux has managed to even fit underneath their bed. “Is it the thunder?”

“I hate it, Kylo,” Hux says, hands covering his human ears. “It’s so loud and bad and–”

Another flash, another rumble. Hux cowers and Kylo’s heart flutters. He reaches under the bed, stroking down the soft curve of the fox’s back and to his tail, smoothing the wayward fur back into place.

“Come back into bed, sweetheart,” Kylo says. “It’s warmer, I’ll protect you.”

Hux opens his eyes and moves his hands away from his ears, and slowly crawls out from underneath the bed and into Kylo’s arms, who lifts him bridal style into a strong embrace. Nuzzling his nose into Kylo’s neck, the fox cries quietly as his mate holds him tight, the rain hammering down on their windows. They settle back into bed and Hux nestles as close to Kylo’s chest as he can manage, his fox ears tickling the underneath of Kylo’s chin.

“Ssh, it’s alright,” Kylo smiles, kissing the top of Hux’s head. “It can’t hurt you.”

“That’s what my mother used to tell me and my brothers,” Hux murmurs, and Kylo feels his lover tremble. “Even on the same night as–”

Hux’s voice trails off, pulling the blankets over them as the lightning and the thunder finally sync, the rumble sounding at the same time as the big flash.

“Same night as what, Hux? Talk to me. You’re shaking.”

The rain eases as the storm passes over their apartment building, moving with the winds. The fox breathes out, his ears returning to their usual alertness rather than flatten to his head against the loud assaults from the storm. He pushes himself out of Kylo’s hold, brushing stray hair out of his eyes as he sits up, back against the headboard, grey tee baggy on his small frame.

“The same night as the fire.”

Kylo sits up too, unnerved by the fearful looks in the fox’s eyes.

“The fire?”

Hux nods.

“I was part of a litter of four.” A small smile ghosts Hux’s lips. “Four boys to one parent. Our mother did her best for us but a litter of any more than 2 to a kitsune, male or female, means a lot of energy so the pups can be a handful.”

Kylo can’t help but imagine Hux as a small boy, able to shift into a little foxling, playing with his 3 brothers whilst their mother sat nearby and watched over her children with a proudness in her eyes.

“You’ve never mentioned your brothers before,” Kylo says, smiling, but it fades when he sees Hux’s expression fall.

“I’m the only one left.”

Kylo’s chest clenches, and tears fall from Hux’s eyes.

“It was the worst storm I’ve ever seen. My mother tried to take us deeper into the forest to find shelter after our den had been destroyed but everywhere was engulfed in flames. One of my brothers was injured, and whilst running back to help him, another became hurt and they were lost to the fire. I remember running to them but falling instead, slipping down into a hole in the forest floor and…that’s all I remember. I woke up to my home destroyed and my family with it. My three brothers and my mother. So you see, I have no brothers to talk about.”

Without hesitating, Kylo takes Hux into his arms, kissing his cheek and rubbing his nose against him like he knows comforts Hux in a way that only a fellow kitsune would know. Hux cries into his mate’s shoulder as the thunder fades completely into the distance, leaving the softly-falling rain the only sound to comfort them.

“I’m sorry, Hux,” Kylo says, wishing he could somehow stop his fox from hurting. “I’ve lost family too. Not in the same way, but…I know the grief kills a little part of you every time you think of them.”

“Their spirits live on with mine,” Hux says, sitting up to look at Kylo’s eyes. “That’s what we believe. Kitsunes. Death means the joining of souls, giving strength to the ones still fighting in Life. But…I still miss them.”

Kylo doesn’t know how to respond. Feeling compelled as Hux’s only remaining family, and mate, he takes hold of his hand and squeezes hard.

And to his delight, Hux squeezes back, equally as sorry about Kylo’s own pain.

“It’s alright, Ren,” Hux nods, tail wafting behind him. “I have you.”

“You do,” Kylo says softly, bringing Hux’s knuckles up to his lips to kiss. “You always will. By the spirits of your brothers, I swear it.”

And Hux’s eyes glow like Kylo has never seen before.