when her foot's over the edge too or just when she's looking over it's so good

Chat’s Heart Gets Stung!

Hey @edendaphne  so I did the thing…

Here is the artwork of Eden’s that inspired this.

I have no idea what I just created…

Marinette had a strange fear revolving around bugs, particularly scorpions (bug family or not Marinette considered them a bug and she was absolutely terrified of them). Needless to say Marinette was more than a little on edge when a guest speaker came to her class with containers and containers of bugs, including scorpions. While most girls were squealing over the various spiders and tarantulas Marinette eyed the scorpion’s cage warily. She wiped sweaty palms against her jeans and swallowed hard. Her heart drummed in her chest and her breathing felt much too shallow.

“Girl chill out it’s in a cage!” Alya shook her head.

“It could still get out!” Marinette pointed out.

“We’re almost legal adults and you’re telling me you still have a phobia of scorpions?” Alya shook her head incredulously.

“You’re still afraid of swing sets!” Marinette shot back.

“Hey those things are a deathtrap!!!” Alya snapped. Marinette raised an eyebrow at Alya’s outburst. Alya took a deep calming breath. “Okay you’re right but don’t you think it’s about time we faced our fears? Maybe today is the day we leave these silly phobias behind…” Alya urged Marinette towards the table of critters. Marinette’s chest tightened. She shook her head violently, flipping around in Alya’s arms and looking up at her pleadingly.

“Today is not that day!” Marinette pushed Alya away from the table, a lump already forming in Marinette’s throat. Alya sighed in resignation, patting her friend comfortingly on the back. Adrien noticed the girl in distress and began to move away from the table to see what was wrong. All the while Lila sat by and watched. She sent a loathsome look towards Marinette. Lila looked towards the table, smiling cruelly as she discreetly knocked one of the containers to the ground releasing its contents unknowingly into the classroom.

“Hey Marinette is everything okay?” Adrien asked. He knit his brows together as he looked on the frightened girl. Marinette squeaked, nearly jumping into the air at the sound of his voice. She turned to him pulling at one of her pigtails as she did so, cheeks pink.

“I’m fine! I just I- um- I- uh- bugs um they uh- the scorpions they- I uh-“ Marinette fumbled for words running her fingers nervously through one of her pigtails. A smile pulled at the edges of Adrien’s lips.

“Not a fan of scorpions?” Marinette nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “Want to know something? I’m afraid of spiders,” Adrien admitted.

“Y-you are?!” Marinette’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs.

“Yeah, they really freak me out.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“They do kill 6.6 people every year!” Marinette blurted. Adrien chuckled.

“So they kill six people and a half person?” Adrien smirked tilting his head to the side.

“Well technically it would by 60% of a person,” Marinette babbled, face growing red. She couldn’t believe she was saying this. To her relief Adrien laughed.

“Somehow I think we are getting this statistic wrong,” Adrien said.

“We probably-“ before Marinette could finish the thought Lila let out a sharp scream. Everyone turned towards her in alarm. Her eyes were blown wide as she pointed a shaky hand towards Marinette.

“Scorpion!!” she shouted. Marinette’s heart beat sped out of control. Her mouth went dry as her head slowly shifted down to see a small black scorpion resting on her foot. Marinette screamed as panic swept over her. Her body jerked backwards in an attempt to shake the scorpion from her. She stumbled backwards throat raw from the inhumanly high pitched noise emanating from her. She fell back onto the ground scorpion landing on her stomach. Her chest felt tight her breathing shallow and erratic. Perspiration lined her forehead. She could hear her pulse pounding haphazardly in her ears.

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And All This Devotion (1/1)

Happy Valentine’s Day, @once-upon-a-captain-swan!

Hi, dollface! I’m your CSSV and had so much fun writing this for you. I’ve enjoyed our little chats over the last few weeks and I hope you enjoy the story. I tried to put as many little touches of you in it as I could. 




The knock came at 2:05. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent. 

Tossing the covers off and cursing as he kicked his feet free from the tangled sheet, he padded through the living room, throwing the deadbolt and dramatically pulling the door open, ready to give his untimely visitor hell while wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs and a scowl.

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway. 

Her face was red and blotchy with strands of blonde hair sticking to tear tracks. A cheap diaper bag, stretched to the limits and overflowing, was slung over her shoulder, one of those infant car seats designed for carrying at her feet, the baby inside asleep. 

Chin lifting just enough to convey some measure of pride, her eyes wouldn’t rise enough meet his. When she spoke it was to the dog tags resting on his chest.

“We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

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lurkeymclurker  asked:

What do you think it'd be like if one of the Rogue One members had survived? How would that effect the original trilogy and how would they cope with everything?

Cassian didn’t talk, at first. There didn’t seem anything else to say.


Mothma came at some point. Cassian woke up and she was at his bedside, sitting ramrod-straight, so very tall and white, even moreso washed out by the lights of the medbay. (She made him think of the columns on Imenthe—natural salt deposits like spires, like teeth ringing the great and violent sea. He killed a man there, got blood on all that white, white salt. And afterward he had sat in the sand, watched the tide come in and wash it all away.

Mon Mothma always made him think of Imenthe.)

She was studying his face now, and Cassian raised his eyebrows at her. She smiled a little. “Ah, Captain. I—have spent the last half-hour trying to decide what I would say.” 

She was quiet a moment, then the smile turned rueful. “I’m still not certain whether there is anything I could say.”

Cassian snorted, shut his eyes again. After a moment, he felt a very cool hand pressed to his forehead. “Cassian,” Mothma said, and there was something almost human in her voice, a thing like kindness. “Cassian, you saved us. How will we ever repay you?”

The meddroid had been very clear, he wasn’t supposed to move unassisted. Cassian risked it to turn his head away, screwing his eyes so tightly shut that he could see those little floating stars flare to life behind his eyelids.

Mothma drew her hand away. 

He heard her stand, the chair scraping a little as she did. “Bodhi Rook was released from bacta suspension last night,” she said, and her voice was cool again, impersonal. “He is expected to make a full recovery. The technicians are still working to fully recover K-2SO’s backup, but…I believe this means you were more than just successful in your mission, Captain. You brought everyone home.

“I thought you might be interested to know,” Mothma added after a moment. Her boots made a sharp, clipped noise on the stone floor, and then she was gone. 

Cassian went back to sleep.


(He only vaguely remembers what happened after Scarif. The adrenaline wore away quickly after Krennic was dead, and in its place came a rising pain, pain like the firestorm that engulfed Jedha. By the time they stumbled from the lifttube, Jyn was the only thing holding him upright; Jyn was telling him, cassian cassian c’mon, just a little farther, okay? just a little—it’ll be over soon, you can rest, I’ll let you rest, just—just—

But the rest is a scattered succession of images, half-memories: the sound of a ship’s engine overhead, and Jyn shouting here, we’re here!, a heavy weight on Cassian’s chest and screams he couldn’t make out (was that him screaming?) too much pain—he thinks he passed out once or twice; someone asking for his medical history and Cassian slurring, ask kaytoo, he keeps my records, before remembering—

I can’t feel my legs, he said at one point, he remembers that. Jyn’s face swimming into his vision, the red of blood streaked across her cheek. I can’t…that’s not good, is it, if I can’t…

Flickering lights, medical jargon he couldn’t understand. Someone saying spine, and spine again. (Every time he shut his eyes he could feel himself falling again, the whip-bang of the metal landing—) His spine again. Jyn’s voice, high and tight, saying yes, okay, yes. do whatever you have to.

When he woke up in the medbay on Yavin, he was alone.)


Cassian’s dreams were confused, a muddled haze of dead sentients clawing at his skin and his mother’s face—out of focus, distant and cold as a moon; he barely remembered enough of her to dream it anymore—and then suddenly, a cool pressure on his mind, rippling outwards. He was standing at the edge of a vast ocean, breathing in the cold tang of salt and the water. 

It was quiet.

He exhaled, and then he was lying in the medbay, and the sound of waves beating against the shore was just the thrum of blood in his ears.

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Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: overload of fluff ! Pregnancy, cravings, cute ass Steve

Word Count: 1000

Summary: Steve loves your baby bump

Steve yawned loudly as he slumped into the Avenger’s kitchen, one of his hands rubbing tiredly over his eyes while the other swung a plastic bag from its grip. It was close to one in the morning and he was exhausted, having gotten up at close to the exact time for the last four days in a row. Not that he was ever going to complain about it, you were a whole lot more uncomfortable than he was while in the last stages of your pregnancy and anything that Steve could do to help ease that discomfort he was going to do it.

The last month had been the worst by far, it hadn’t agreed with either of you it seemed. You couldn’t get comfortable in bed, on the couch or anywhere, which ultimately meant that Steve had no rest either. On top of that your cravings had been through the roof, leaving Steve to go on midnight runs to grab the stuff you wanted.

Shaking away another yawn Steve placed the bag down onto the counter, startling a bit in surprise when he saw Sam leaning against the other bench, bottle of water in his hand and a smug smile on his face. He nodded towards the bag with raised eyebrows.
“What was it this time?”
“Salted crackers and peanut butter.”
“That’s not so bad,” Sam shrugged, taking another mouthful of his water.
“No, that’s not so bad,” Steve replied. “You should have seen what she made yesterday however.”
“Okay, what was it?” Sam chuckled.
“She made mash potato with chocolate milk.”

Sam laughed at that, the sound echoing around the quiet room while he ignored the unamused expression on Steve’s face.
“Are you serious? That’s - yeah okay, wow.”
“It isn’t funny!” Steve huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought she was going to cry when I told her I didn’t want any, I didn’t have any choice but to eat it and I’m telling you right now I’m lucky I didn’t throw the lot back up.”
“I’m so, so glad I missed out on that one.”

Steve was about to open his mouth and reply when he heard feet shuffling across the floor, his eyes meeting yours a second later as you walked into the room; one hand running back through your bed mussed hair while the other cradled your large baby bump. Your bottom lip quivered as you took a shaky breath, Steve in front of you in seconds, his hands rubbing circles across your shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“N - nothing,” You sniffed, leaning forward until you could press your face against Steve’s chest. “I mean - God, it’s so stupid.”
“Hey, it’s not stupid if it’s upsetting you.”
“It’s just that you weren’t - you weren’t there and baby Roger’s keeps kicking me.”

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i wondered if i could come home

so, the episode 300% killed me dead. on the floor. so this came out of it. straight up shameless fluff. fluff without plot, if you will. anyway, i owe my heart and also this fic to @elsaclack​ and @jakelovesamy​. title from first day of my life (thx a billion @jokeperatla​ omg)

Amy slowly comes to, blinking hard against the golden late-afternoon light filtering through her window. She can’t quite seem to gather her thoughts - unsurprising, since these random midday crash-naps are the closest thing she’s gotten to proper rest since the night of the trial. Her eyes are dry and a little red-rimmed, crusty with sleep. She takes a few more moments to relish this calm, taking deep breaths and steeling herself against the long night to come. It’s been ages since she slept properly, centuries since she took a true deep breath, eons since her bed, with its freshly washed sheets devoid of crumbs and spills and the miscellaneous junk that’s made its home in her - their - apartment, has felt truly comfortable or familiar.

She rolls over, away from the setting sun wafting through her half-open blinds, in the hopes of catching a few more minutes of sleep before reality sets in, before she has to put back on a pantsuit and reopen Hawkins’ file and pretend everything is normal–

–and then she lands in an unexpected warm spot on his side of the bed. It smells, quite unmistakably, like him. She groans, curling tighter into the blankets, because she’s had this dream before. She shuts her eyes tight, feeling that brief jolt of hope ebb away into the familiar numbness that’s dulled her mind for more than six weeks. She’ll open her eyes again in a second and the bed will be cold and she’ll get up and find her discarded blouse and Captain Holt will call her with an update and she’ll have ten texts from Charles about how to cry on cue for her upcoming podcast appearance.

But the longer she lays there, steeling herself against the evening of work to come, crouched around Captain Holt’s coffee table with Cheddar safely locked in the upstairs guest room and Kevin bringing out trays of desserts in which sour gummy flourishes are featured with an unusual frequency, the more she notices that something is off.

For one, the warmth isn’t going away as her mind slowly emerges from its post-nap fog. For another, the smell is different this time, tinged with sweat and the unmistakable scent she recognizes from the visiting room in South Carolina. She notes the water she can hear running in the bathroom sink. Finally, she registers the feeling of her too-clean sheets against her naked body, and her mind starts to catch up, first slowly then in a flood of images and memories that nearly overwhelms her.

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I’m sorry it’s taking forever to update, but thank you for being patient and sticking around!

If you haven’t, this follows the Whipped Friends series which you can read here

And then this came to be. You can read part1 and part2 first if you’d like.


Every tear that slipped, every muffled cry that got caught in his throat, every heart breaking sigh made Y/N break just a little more. Her Harry’s breaking down right before her eyes and she doesn’t know what to do, what to say, to make him feel better.

It’s never been this bad either. On days when he didn’t feel like himself, whether it was because he was feeling under the weather or just having a bad work day, a bath and a cuddle normally did the trick.

He would get home from a particularly bad day, body slumped and feet practically dragging on the floor. And Y/N would be sat on the couch in one of Harry’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts, feet propped on the coffee table, flipping through channels, the rim of a glass of red wine between her lips. She’d glance his way when a soft ‘hey, love’ escaped his lips, and she’d look at the way his tall frame would walk over to where she was, and knowing what was to come, she’d sit up straight and plant both feet on the white carpet, wine glass sat on the table. He’d offer her a small smile before toeing off his shoes and plopping down at the edge of the couch, giving himself enough room that when he lies down, his head would rest on her lap, eyes meeting hers. Only then would she ask what was wrong, and feeling safe, Harry would tell her about how his day went from bad to worse. She would let his fingers play with hers, his other hand resting on top of his chest, sometimes mindlessly fiddling with his necklace. She’d hear him out and nod accordingly, speaking when necessary while the fingers on her free hand worked to pull at his hair in twists. And Harry would feel better after, he always did. Just having his Y/N listen to him and empathise is all he needed sometimes, Harry just felt like he needed to be heard.

And that’s what she did. No matter the situation, even before they started dating. Y/N always made time for Harry, as did he for her.

She would listen and give him advice. When they were best friends she would gladly take on Harry’s problems, and she would console him the best she could by doing things Harry enjoyed, to get his mind off things until they came up with a solution together.

She still listens, and gives advice, now that they’re dating. She still takes on his problems, and she’ll console him the best she can by still doing things Harry enjoys. They’ll go out for late dinners, Harry still choosing to sit next to her, taking the chance to lay his head on her shoulder, arms crossed as they think up a solution to his problem. They’ll go for walks around town, popping by their favourite little cafe for coffee on a nice chilly day, and stay for a bit to chat to their favourite waitress. She’ll gladly watch rom-coms until the next day, too, and pepper him with kisses when she gets the chance.

But now, she’s not so sure that would even help.

What can she do? Other than let him get it out, let him sulk as she stays kneeled in between his thighs. The room’s fallen into a heart breaking silence, and no matter how many times Y/N’s pleaded with him, begged him to tell her what’s wrong, Harry hasn’t budged, hasn’t muttered a single word other than the phrase ’m'sorry, love. M'so so sorry.’ It’s the only thing he’s said since he wrapped his arms around her, grip tight like if he was scared that if he let go she wouldn’t be there. His sobs rack his body uncontrollably, she can feel the heaving of chest against her own in attempts to gain control, failed attempts to stop crying. She feels his hot breath on her neck every time he whispers those words, and it’s starting to scare her, not knowing exactly what he’s sorry for.

All she knows, all she sees when she finally pulls away from his tight embrace is red bitten lips. His cheeks blotched a dark tint of pink, and damp from the tears that’ve finally stopped. His eyes are red and puffy, eyelashes wet. Nose red from when he’d rubbed at it with the back of his hand to rid it of any snot.

“Need t'take a shower,” is all he says.

He’s not meeting her gaze.

“Harry-” she begins. She needs to know what’s wrong. She needs to know what he’s sorry for.

“G'na take a shower.” His head is pounding, the pulsing on his temples sending him into a daze the second he makes any effort to push himself up off the chair. He can’t remember the last time he cried this much.

But his head hurts, his eyes hurt, his throat hurts…his heart hurts.

And he can’t bear to look at the woman he’s hurt.

Heart heavy, he makes his way to the bathroom, heel of his hand pressing into his eyes.

He strips down, movements too weak that it seems he’s taking longer just to remove his shirt. When his feet hit the cold tiles of the walk in shower and the hot water begins to trickle down his back, he lets himself break down for the second time since he’s stepped foot in the house. He stands under the shower head, hoping the steam that’s building up mixed with the sensation of water washing over his body would relax him in the slightest, but it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

Now, he’s gotta decide. Does he tell her now, or does he wait.


“You’d think Netflix would stop asking if we’re still watching after the tenth time of clickin’ yes,” Harry laughs, pressing the button to assure the telly that yes, they’re still wide awake.

They’ve been binging on the US version of The Office ever since Harry mischievously woke her from a nap.

She’d seemed spent when she got to his, instantly letting her body fall on his comfy white sofa. Harry had stepped away for no more than five minutes to fetch a blanket, only to find her asleep when he walked back into the sitting area. He’d taken off her shoes for her, leaving her to rest for about two hours, until he got bored of course. He’d finished the book he was reading, and had even taken some time to jot down ideas on his brown leather journal. When he had nothing else to write, he’d tiptoed back into the room, undoing the bun his hair was in and slipping the hair tie on his wrist. He had admired the way she looked, so serene, lips parted slightly to allow her lungs to fill with air. He thought maybe, if he pressed his lips to hers and she didn’t wake up, he’d finally find out what she tastes like. He’d always wondered. But no, he couldn’t. Not his best friend. Not like that and definitely not if it might ruin things. So he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and instead grinned cheekily, taking a few strands of his hair in between his fingers and bringing the edges of it to the apples of her cheek. He choked back laughs as he tickled at her temples, then just behind her exposed ear, and to the top of her lip. Harry’s eyes smiled at the way her brows knitted, and she’d brought the pads of her fingers to scratch where his hair lingered. It’d taken a good five minutes until she’d finally gotten up in disgruntlement, knuckled at her still tired eyes, and lightly pulled at Harry’s hair only for him to over dramatise the gesture and tumble forward, over the back of the sofa, and on top of her still laying body.

Harry had laughed at Y/N’s incapability to push him up and off her, his body clearly much stronger. And she’d only settled when Harry sat up, wrapped an arm over her shoulder, and pulled her up and into him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. They’d talked about her day for a bit until Y/N insisted they watch the telly, and Harry couldn’t help but feel like there was something she wasn’t telling him, but he obliged none the less.

So now here they are, arguing over how Jim hasn’t said anything about his crush to Pam.

“What was that??” Y/N’s so involved in the show that Harry thinks she thinks if she screams loud enough at the telly, somehow the characters will be able to hear her.

“Harry, did you see that??” She moves to sit up, taking Harry’s arm with her.

“Paper, love. They do work at a paper company y'know.” She scolds him, stare kept no more than a second before she’s turning back to the telly.

“But why’d he take it? Didn’t he put it there for her to read!” She wasn’t questioning the fact that Pam was meant to see it, rather stated that Jim meant to give it to her for a reason.

“Maybe he changed his mind.” Harry knew what that would set off.

“Ugh-” she grunts, plopping back into his chest with force, but not enough to really bother him any, “why can’t he just tell her! Would save a lot of trouble.”

“S'not as easy as it seems, kitten.”

It never is.

“But-” she chokes out, “why?” Her voice small, hurt.

“Hey,” he whispers, like you would to get the attention of a sad toddler, “hey. Wha’s wrong, kitten?” He feels like there might be more to it than just Jim discouragement to tell Pam he likes her.

The light emitting from the TV allows him to see the single tear that’s making its way down her cheek, and he reaches out to wipe it with his thumb.

She laughs half-heartedly, “nothing, nothing. M'fine.”

But all it takes is that look. All Harry has to do is stare at her long and enough, and right into his arms she goes, sobbing and shaking.

It isn’t long until his white tee is soaked at the shoulder, his best friend clenching by where it’s ripped in a hole.

Harry rubs at her back when he moves her to sit on his lap. He sighs into her hair, eyes closed and chest heavy just at the thought of her hurting. His large hand strokes her hair as he rocks her back and forth. And when she seems calm enough, he detaches himself to look at her face, his hands reaching out, removing the strands of hair sticking to her cheeks, thumbs caressing at the flushed skin.

“Who did this to ye’, pet?” He’s pleading for her to tell him.

But she doesn’t say anything, just nods her head no and wipes harshly at her eyes to dry them.

“C'mon then.” He pats at her thighs once, and Y/N tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as gets up off his lap.

Harry kisses her forehead and whispers “be right back” before clicking the telly off and disappearing into the hallway in the direction of his room.

“Here.” He reappears with his long black coat on, his beige jumper in hand, handing it to her with a small smile. And yes it’s much too big for her, but it smells like Harry. And that’s okay.

She might not want to tell him exactly what she’s got going on, but he’ll be damned if he’s just gonna sit around not doing anything to lift her spirits up.

“Harry,” she whines. She really doesn’t feel like going out, not for the next year at least.

“Please, kitten. Jus’ put m'jumper on.”

She doesn’t question him after that. He hands her her shoes from where he’d placed them, and slips on his own.

They walk down the streets in silence with their hands in their pockets, Harry occasionally glancing to make sure she was okay.

“Know ye’ too well, kitten,” he says, hoping to get her to talk to him.

“M'fine, H.” And again, a weak smile he’d come to know as her 'tell’ in situations like this.

They’re nearing a corner when a body bumps into her.

“Sorry. M'sorry-” the guy starts, “Y/N?”

“Oh, hey man.” Harry greets, nodding his head once as an informal 'hello’.

She tenses up.

“Hey, Harry,” the hello’s rather quick as he turns his attention back to Y/N.

“Y/N, can we talk?” He reaches a hand out, but she steps back from his reach.

Harry notices how she’s looking anywhere but at her boyfriend.

The man glances at Harry once, a flash of irritation in his eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” and this time he grips her arm. All Harry does is stare at where he touches her, eyebrows knitted in…concern. Maybe even anger. And he can’t ignore the fact that his tummy had tighten in…jealousy?

Harry doesn’t need to see more, the situation clearly uncomfortable for her, so he removes the man’s hand, “don’ think she wants to, man.”

He snaps, “doesn’t concern you Harry. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Was.” It’s the first she’s said since they’d left his place.

“No. I just, let me-” he takes another step towards her, and this time Harry wedges himself in between them, one hand finding Y/N’s behind him, the other firm on the guy’s chest to halt any other actions.

He tries to look at her, eyes pleading, but Harry’s body seems to shield all of her from his view.

“I’m sorry okay.”

Y/N turns her head to avoid the man she thought she once knew as he makes his way around Harry and past her, the sob that’d been caught in her chest erupting from her throat.

“Wha’ happened?”

If Harry recalls correctly, he remembers Y/N was completely smitten with that guy. It was as clear as day when she first introduced him, eyes brighter than Harry had ever seen. And Harry was courteous with the bloke. Made conversation when Y/N brought him to gatherings, but they were never really friends, per-se. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was either. Maybe because she’d stopped going to his, making the trip only once in a while and no longer staying at his when he asked. Maybe Harry was jealous because for the year or so they dated; he had to share Y/N with another man.  No, not maybe, definitely, but he’d never admit that.

Y/N wipes at her eye harshly, a tear already threatening to fall.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” And she’d kept walking along.


Harry presses his forehead to the shower wall, tile cool despite the temperature in the room due to the hot water. He remembers that day. It was the first time he’d seen her that broken. It was the first time he realized how fragile she really was.

He also remembers the night she’d revealed to him the reason for the breakup. It was the same night he’d confessed his love for her. They had been talking about everything and anything, and after Harry confessed that she was the reason for the lads’ teasing, she’d shyly mumbled 'y'know. That’s why my last relationship didn’t work out.’

He’d been confused at first, until she’d explained that her ex had become overbearing. He had compiled an endless, and frankly absurd, amount of reasons for why he thought she was cheating. He’d admitted that he was very wary of Harry. He’d insisted and insisted that surely Harry didn’t want just a friendship from Y/N. It’d started with 'a guy knows when another guy is into his girlfriend.’ Which turned into 'I see the way you two look at each other’ until it became everything he could talk about. She’d tried to explain more than once that it wasn’t at all like what he thought. That Harry and her were only friends. But of course that didn’t help. Not when her ex knew them before he’d expressed an interest in her, not when he saw them cuddling at gatherings, or sharing lingering glances.

She told Harry how she tried to make it work, tried to defuse the situation, but when her ex had gone banging on her flat door, drunk and in the mood to fight, is when she’d called it quits. She told Harry how she wasn’t going to stand for it, not after he’d yelled harsh words, accusing her of having an affair and calling her a whore.

Harry remembers it all because it was the same night he’d promised he’d never hurt her in any sort of way. He didn’t want to be the cause of her sadness.

But now here he is, in a position he could never have thought he’d be in.

He exits the bathroom to find his bedroom empty, curtains still closed, rays of light illuminating a picture of the both of them in its respective frame. He walks to the dresser to pull out a pair of briefs and shorts.

Meanwhile Y/N’s been sat quietly on the white, soft sofa. Telly background noise to her thoughts, a foot tucked under her knee and her hands clasped together on her lap.

Her head whips up when she hears footsteps nearing from behind to see Harry, damp hair and all making his way to her.

She says nothing, rather watches meticulously at the way his body moves, a hand running through his hair to push the wet strands slickly back, his nose scrunching for a second and his eyebrows knitting.

“What’re we watching?” He coughs into his fist before taking a seat next to her and giving her a small smile, his hand on her bare thigh.

It feels like she hasn’t heard his voice in a hot minute.

When she doesn’t answer, Harry turns his head to press a kiss to her temple, allowing his lips to linger and his eyes to close as he breathes in her scent.

“I love you, y'know tha’ right?” His thumb rubs her skin, state holding hers.

She’s somewhat relieved to hear that, but it doesn’t settle her worries fully.

She nods anyway.

“Love you, too.”

freakinamask  asked:

Hey so for your prompt thing if you're still doing those have you any thoughts about what might of happened if Jyn had been found by those storm troopers and been captured with Galen?

The expression on Saw Gerrera’s face is hard to read. 

It’s hard to read, and that, more than anything—more than his band of scruffy Partisans, bristling with weapons and grinning like mnira wolves—sets Jyn teeth on edge. She doesn’t like being stared at.

“Is there a dress code I should have been aware of?” she asks narrowing her eyes at Gerrera.

Jedha has turned her Imperial greys to a sunbleached, dusty ash, but it wasn’t as though she’d had time to pack. Papa had woken her in the middle of the night, she’d barely had time to shove on her boots before he was dragging her down the corridor to the docking bay. (It was the only time Bodhi had smiled, the entire nerve-wracking trip from Eadu to Jedha. Your shirt is inside out, he’d said with a tentative smile, and Jyn had laughed herself breathless for the sheer, pressure-relief of it.)

The silence stretches on too long. “Well?” Jyn demands. “At least you could tell me where you took my pilot—”

“You look so much like your mother,” Saw Gerrera says, and it lands like a concussive missile. 

The silence after that is worse, somehow.

Jyn exhales. “Oh,” she finally says. 

She folds her hands together behind her back to keep them from shaking, even though she knows it makes her look like a cadet at parade rest. Krennic told her that once—she’d dropped out of the training program entirely just to spite him for it. (He dragged her back a week later, after he found her holed up in the base’s dense labyrinth of undertunnels, but Jyn had won that round.)

Gerrera is still looking at her. “I—yes, I know,” she adds hurriedly. “My father’s said. I have her eyes.”

Gerrera has a clear crystal on a length of cord around his neck, and he’s turning it over and over in his hand now. There’s something oddly familiar about the gesture, though Jyn can’t quite place what. 

“Lyra was a brave and devoted woman,” Gerrera says. “She served our cause loyally, even—before there was a cause. We were…she was my friend.”

“I have a transmission from my father,” Jyn blurts out, before she does something embarrassing like cry, or demand he turn over the strange crystal to her, or storm through the compound looking for Bodhi. Anything to distract her from the way fearsome Partisan leader Saw Gerrera said ‘friend’ like it carries terrabytes of encoded data.

“Your pilot mentioned that,” Saw says, and there’s a cruel amusement in his expression now. Terror and anger flood through her, and she lunges forward.

“If you’ve hurt him—”

“He’s well enough,” Saw says, warding her off with a hand. “Maybe a little spooked, but the boy’s got nerves like manka cat. I get the sense he’d startle at loud noises.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Jyn says fiercely, even if there’s more than a little guilty agreement curling in her gut. Galen helped Bodhi wean himself off the stimulants the Empire poured into TIE fighter pilots like water, but his hands will always shake, and even behind the console of a freighter he’s skittery, anxious.

But when Galen had asked him to defect, to take his only daughter to Jedha and meet with the dangerous Partisan insurgents, so that they could deliver a crushing blow to the Empire, Bodhi hadn’t hesitated. He’d reached for Jyn with his shaking hands, and clutched her forearm in a grip like durasteel.

I’ll take her, Bodhi had said, and Jyn had been sure of him as the stars over Eadu.

Something thoughtful has taken over Gerrera’s face. He’s watching her—or studying her, maybe. It’s like being put under a scope, only now Jyn feels shy, wrong-footed. She wonder if he’s seeing Lyra standing where she is now.

“Someone go bring Miss Erso’s pilot out,” Gerrera says, and one of the Partisans breaks away from the mob, disappearing into the depths of the complex. Jyn exhales.

“Now,” Gerrera says. “I think you ought to show me Galen’s message.”

Jyn pops the first few buttons on her uniform, and is a little annoyed when Saw doesn’t react, merely raises his eyebrows like Papa did, whenever she was being particularly obnoxious. She feels herself flush, and after she fishes the transmit-chip from its carefully-hidden pocket, thrusts it at him. 

“There,” she says.

He takes it from her gingerly. The chip looks so small, impossibly fragile in his enormous hand. “Have you watched it?” Gerrera asks, and there is gentleness in his voice.

Jyn nods. 

(Jyn, my Stardust, never doubt how much I have loved you, how sorry I am—)

Gerrera passes the chip to another of his Partisans, a xeno in heavy armor and striking purple eyes. Jyn tries not to stare, but she’s never seen so many xenos in her life. She has vague memories of her childhood on Coruscant, one of her little friends having a Twi’lek tutor, another claiming that his father traded with Toydarians, but it was all secondhand stories.

It’s different, standing in a crowd of species she could never hope to identify. 

They pull out an older holo-imager, and the xeno Partisan slips the transmit chip into the drive. Jyn sucks in a sharp breath as her Papa’s image flickers into view, and she braces herself—

Jyn’s almost grateful when Bodhi is frogmarched into the cavern, the sight of him enough to distract her from the holo. The Partisan guard isn’t gentle, and Jyn darts forward to catch him before he falls to his knees. “Hey,” Bodhi mumbles against her shoulder. “Did we do good?”

Jyn holds onto him tighter, until she feels his hand come up and cradle her elbow. And they stay like that, the cavern silent as a tomb except for distant water and the voice of Galen Erso, saying, Saw, if you are watching this—

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i’m missing you like crazy

summary: based on this prompt: “Established long distance relationship, one of them surprises the other by showing up right before midnight [on New Years Eve].” with a side helping of vloggers au! (a mixture of angst and fluff beyond this point)

word count: ~3600

an: happy first day of au week! I probably won’t post very much this week due to juggling way too many mcs, but I hope you enjoy this humble offering that I sort of threw together last night. :)

Emma Swan sits in her favorite booth wearing her favorite slightly oversized sweater with her favorite drink at her favorite diner, across from one of her closest friends, Mary Margaret Nolan.

Mary Margaret has a sweet smile on her lips as she chats about the goings-on in her life, including but not limited to the newly acquired husband Emma had thought Mary Margaret would stop talking about post-wedding.

Turns out, love is inescapable. So is the impending feeling of sadness and guilt over her own love life.

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Castaway {ACOTAR/Chapter 2}

Word Count: 2,281

Summary:  A modern-day University AU, from the A Court of Thorns and Roses universe. All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas. The idea for this fanfic hailed from prompts sent in by Anonymous, and @queen-archeron. You can read previous chapters here.

Author’s Note: Chapter 3 is when shit starts getting real, so I hope you enjoy the path to feels. Let me know what you think. :)

Originally posted by beeerponglife

September 3 – The Day I Wore Heels

My paintbrushes look good in the vase Elain bought me. She probably meant for me to put flowers in them, but I guess that’s where we differ in taste.

My roommates are nice, I guess. Well, the blonde one is, anyway. Her name is Mor, and she changes her clothes at least fifteen times a day. Her make up is always immaculate, she never has a hair out of place, and I swear she wakes up that way. She keeps giving me strange looks, though.

They both do.

I’m not sure why.

I’ve racked my brain a thousand times of what I’ve done to offend them. I keep going back to Tamlin. They reacted strange when they found out we were dating. I didn’t ask, though. I can’t decide if I didn’t ask because I didn’t care to know why, or because I was too scared to know why.

What if he and Mor dated? I can’t see him dating someone like Amren.

Mother help the person who ends up with that one.

Maybe I’ll ask Tamlin tonight. He invited me to a party. I guess I finally get a chance to wear the heels Elain bought me for my birthday last year.

Once again, shoes are where we differ in taste.



The Lamb in the Lion’s Den

Feyre had never been to a college party before. Hell, she’d never been to a high school party, either, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, she was dressed in her only dress – a hip hugging, black, long-sleeved dress that reached only to her mid-thigh – and she was walking around campus, from her dormitory to the Beta Theta Pi fraternity house.

It didn’t take her long to find, considering music was blasting from its lawn and a banner with the frat’s name painted across it hung from its roof.


Feyre knew that voice. She turned to find him running toward her, his golden hair hanging limply in his eyes. “Hey.”

“You made it just in time,” he assured her.

“In time for what?” she glanced around, but it didn’t look like anything too exciting was about to take place.

“In time to see me before I have to make my rounds.”

Tamlin was the president of Beta Theta Pi, and he took his role very seriously. Feyre, to her disappointment, had not seen a lot of him since she moved to campus the day before.

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Art:Catalyst” by @murrchow/ @minmeiz
Fic: “Fireflight” by @the-flame-and-hawks-eye

I’m so hONORED TO BE WORKING ALONGSIDE MIN THIS YEAR GUYS YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. We wanted to spin in a little angst and young!Royai for this collaboration after we thought, ‘Why can’t fire be a catalyst?’ And thus this magnificent piece of art (and this fic) was born!!!

Every love story needs a catalyst of some sort - Ian Somerhalder

Riza wasn’t sure what to make of her father’s newest apprentice. Since his arrival he had kept to himself, for the most part, working diligently on whatever tasks her father gave him. She had thought it a good thing – it kept him out of her hair.

His other protégés had focused less on the work her father had given them and instead tried to build relationships with them. While she understood to some degree where they were coming from, they failed to realize that they were essentially there to learn alchemy. He, on the other hand, did try to make small talk to lessen the awkward silences that would sometimes stretch between the three of them when they were together, though it was not to the embarrassing degree that the others did.

So she found it unusual when he sat down next to her while she was sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace. She stopped herself from looking utterly surprised, waiting a few moments before she looked up from her book to shoot him a questioning look.

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@stardreamerlove sent me this amazing prompt for all injured paladins and no working pods and Lance ignoring his injuries to tend to the others until he collapses

Sorry this took so long, love!

It was becoming common knowledge amongst the paladins that they did not do as well in hand-to-hand combat as compared to fighting with their lions. However, in some cases, attacking on foot seemed like a better option than attacking with the lions. 

They had come across a small Galra base on an abandoned planet. They wanted to try and find out any plans for the main Galra ship, so they decided to attack on foot while the castle hovered nearby in case of necessary assistance.

They had plotted and planned for two days, but when the day to attack came, they had quickly realized that they severely underestimated the amount of Galra in the base.

The fight was brutal; there were Galra at every corner, but whether it was sheer force or will, the paladins somehow won– but not without injury. They, as well as the castle, took a severe beating, especially Lance.

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In Dreams, When We’re Alone

Aaaaaahhhhh, so this is basically my attempt at exploring the trauma that, undoubtedly, came from dealing with/fighting off Pennywise. These kids are strong, but we all break once in a while. 

This is also the first fic i’ve written in years, so i’m kinda out of practice. Hopefully that doesn’t hinder anything though. 

Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, panic attacks, mild language 
Pairing: Reddie

Read it on Ao3 here

Eddie woke with a scream lodged in his throat.

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Harry Hook x Reader

Originally posted by froyst

Note: Credits to @nitakali for the amazing and frankly adorable idea! If you’re reading this you’re super sweet and thank you for requesting this xx I do hope it’s alright and who knows this ending seems like something that could lead to a part 2

prompt: ‘right to the good parts’

#7  “I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved.

#12 “Don’t come near me or I swear I’ll kill you.”

request: So I’ve seen some imagines where Harry and other villains kids are brought to auradon and meets reader, and I wanted to request something where Harry thinks he’s alone in some space in the school when he hears someone screaming “Don’t come near me or I swear I’ll kill you.” (12 from the drabble list), and he thinks thats aimed at him but is just the reader half running away, half trying to kill a spider and after a few minutes of “die! die! die!” she kills it and he says “I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved.” (the 7 of right to the good parts you’ve also used on sleepover)

requested by @nitakali

The first time Harry Hook finds himself daydreaming is on the Jolly Roger, his father’s ship. He’s only four years old, not even tall even to look over the edge of the deck. He sits, content, on the floor, with his head tilted towards the infinite blue stretching miles and miles over his head. He’s thinking about the crocodile that drove his father mad and the clock in its stomach that makes his father go tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

The next time he does it is the day he meets Uma and Gil. He’s ten. Finally mustering up enough courage to strut into Ursula’s Fish and Chips, feigning confidence. His father has told him stories of grotesque sea witch that runs the place and her equally wicked daughter. That night, he sits on the ship’s railings, feet dangling above the choppy waters. He’s staring up at the brightest star in the sky, hoping, wishing, that the friends he met today will finally stick.

Harry doesn’t daydream for a long time after that. He’s grown up, teaching himself not to wander too far from reality. This time, he’s far away from home, in a land he had once vowed to never set foot on.

He thinks it’s Uma pulling a prank on him when men in Auradon uniforms stroll into the shop. But it’s not a joke. This dawns on him when he sees the conflicted look on his best friend’s face. Uma has always wanted the best for her pirate crew, but now that a chance to live a better life had come along, she’s not sure what to do.

She wants Harry and Gil to be happy, that’s of highest importance to her. So, blinking back her tears, she tells them to go to Auradon. Not for world domination, but for freedom and a better life. Even if the cost was leaving her behind. Forgetting her.

He’s heartbroken, but he does as she says. It’s been a few months since he’s moved here. It hasn’t been easy, and he misses his home, but this place is undoubtedly better, despite him still calling it ‘Boredon’.

He’s strolling along the less popular paths of the school late at night, head bopping from side to side to the quiet tune he’s whistling. He’s thinking, thinking about everything. His thoughts drift from Gil to Uma, jumping from memory to memory. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that the bloodcurdling scream cutting through the air shocks him straight to his core.

He hears a scream, then a desperate wail. “Don’t come near me or I swear I’ll kill you!” 

Harry stops in his tracks, his heart sinking to his stomach. He immediately thinks it’s directed towards him. Who else would it be? He thinks to himself, quickly realising that whoever screamed could be in actual danger. 

He jogs over to where he heard the scream, cutting a sharp corner, expecting to see some evil Isle kid mugging another. He reminds himself of where he is, and that the scene in front of him is not a mugging, but it’s you, huddling as far into the corner as physically possible. 

Your whole body is shaking, as you hold one of your shoes in your hand. The shoe is trembling as you reach out hesitantly only to pull it back with a yelp. Harry’s eyes dart around the hallway. There’s nothing there. Perhaps you’re having night terrors? He’s had his fair share of those.

No, you’re not suffering from night terrors, nor are you fighting off a ghost invisible to anyone else. His bright eyes land on the speck of black on the floor. It’s crawling around in all directions, trying to get as far away from you as possible.

Harry’s body relaxes. It’s a spider that’s got you so hysterical. A spider. He chuckles, leaning his shoulder against the wall. The scene in front of him is amusing, enough to make him stay and watch.

A few more minutes pass, with you screaming, “Die, die die,” repeatedly, mixed with whimpers and groans of anger. All the while, Harry’s behind you, watching you conquer evil. Eventually, a loud slap echoes through the corridor and you stop yelling. 

Your back is still towards him, so you almost jump up when his claps fill your ears. “Congratulations, darlin’, you’ve done the impossible!”

You whip around, cheeks flushed red in a mix of fear, anger and embarrassment. The first two melt away almost immediately, leaving the last to fill you up. Of course, Harry Hook, out of all people, had seen you at your lowest. You’ve harboured a tiny crush on him ever since he and the new villain kids arrived at Auradon. Despite what everyone else says, you have a hard time believing the evil facade. 

I’ve never seen anything like the way you handled that. I’m just so moved.” Harry continues, walking towards you. You let out a sound of a strained laugh.

“Don’t act so high and mighty, Hook, I’ve seen you daydreaming all around campus when you think no one’s looking!” You shoot back, face heating up even more. It was true. One of his favourite places to think was outside your dorm window, giving you plenty of time to observe.

He quiets suddenly, chest catching mid-laugh. He stammers, trying to find a way to threaten, to intimidate, anything. But there’s something about the way you talk to him. You don’t talk with your voice laced in venom or disgust. You talk to him just like you would any other friend, so he smiles.

“Touche,” he smirks, hand reaching into his hair to smooth it out of his face. You smile, looking away. You’ve noticed the lack of smudged black eyeliner and tricorn hat, his usual pirate-y get up replaced by a ripped tank and jeans. Saying he looked good would be a massive understatement from you.

“as long as you don’t tell anyone about what you’ve seen, no one will know what happened tonight.” He offers his deal, holding out his hand. You look at it, heart skipping a beat before you place your hands in his. 

You plaster a faux-threatening look on your face, “I swear, if I hear anyone say anything about spiders near me, you’re going to get it.”

Harry lifts your hand, pressing his lips gently against your knuckles, saying with a wink, “I hope I do.” 

Escape:  the residency years

Claire sat cross-legged on the bench outside of the hospital.  She was trying to decide if she should call Jamie or take the bus home after her appointment. Her OB-GYN had given her the all clear today.  

Six weeks.

Six weeks since she’d lost her daughter.  Six weeks since her body had survived a bloody nightmare.  

You can resume a normal life, her doctor had said.  

There was nothing normal about her life, except for the hospital.  Her life as a doctor was normal in that chaotic, hectic way.  

Her home life wasn’t normal.  Jamie was quiet, and distant.  Some nights she would see him at his drafting table gazing off, unfocused, his face a mix of sadness, and introspection.  Some nights she would get home from working late, and see him on the fire escape sipping from his tumbler of whisky.  He was a strong man, yet even he had his limits.  

She wasn’t normal.  She felt and looked different.  She was softer now.  Her mind, her body, her strength all so much softer than before.  Her stomach was far from the flat plane it once was.  Her mind was plagued by insecurities, what ifs and why me. 

You can resume a normal life.

It was time to reconnect.  Reconnect with her husband, with herself, and with her dreams.  

Claire unfolded herself from the bench, gathered her things, and began walking to the bus stop.  She was standing at the corner waiting for the light to change when the small shop caught her eye.  Normally she would walk past. That was for other women.  Life was no longer normal, so maybe a trip to that shop would be what she needed.  A suit of armor, so to speak.  

She crossed the street and pushed open the glass door.  

Jamie was waiting for her text.  He’d asked her to tell him what the doctor said, and she nodded absentmindedly.  He didn’t want to badger her, so he waited. He checked his phone obsessively, and fought against the impulse to call her and ask. By three o’clock he’d had enough of waiting.

“Gu ifrinn le e!” Jamie said, and started to pack up for the day.

 “Willie!” he shouted to the outer office.  

His assistant lifted his head.  “Aye, Jamie?”  

“We’re done for the day, mate.  Let’s go.  It’s Friday. We’re knocking off early.”

Jamie walked into the flat laden down with his computer bag, and two grocery sacks.  He bustled in banging into the door frame, his keys wound around a finger, and the post in his mouth.  

“Claire!” he said, and dropped the envelopes in surprise. He laboured over to the kitchen trying not to drop anything else.  “What are you doing home so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing?  And what’s all this?”  Claire got up from the sofa to check out what her husband had brought home. The floppy leaves of fresh leeks were sticking out from one of the brown bags, and in the other she could see the tiny spears from a bunch of asparagus peeking over its edge.

“Ach.  It’s been a long week.  Willie and I skived off early.  Also,” he said a little sheepishly, “I saw this dish on Instagram today and I wanted to try it.”  

“Jamie Oliver?” Claire laughed.  Ever since she started her residency Jamie had done the cooking, and once she got pregnant –

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye.”  Claire’s breath caught at his smile.  Jamie really did have the most beautiful smile.  “Risotto.”

“Oooooo!”  Claire started removing the foodstuffs.  

Jamie looked at this wife.  She was freshly showered, her curls drying around her face. She had on one of those wee dresses she found so comfortable, and that he found sexy.  He could see most of her legs, and the fabric clung to the curve of her bottom.

“Ye look beautiful, Claire.”  

She paused for a moment, and glanced up at her husband.  It was his voice that stopped her.  That mixture of wonder and awe that sometimes crept into it. She could see truth in his eyes.  After all he had witnessed, after all the ugliness, he still found her beautiful.  His compliment was a soothing balm to her mental wounds.  She walked around the counter, and placing her hands on the sides of his jaw, kissed him softly on the mouth.  

“Thank you.  Now go change.  I’m starving.”  

Dinner was amazing.  The risotto was delicious, and it did his heart good to hear Claire laugh as he tried to juggle the recipe on his phone and imitate Jamie Oliver while he cooked.  They’d had wine, and talked.  Claire told stories of people at the hospital that made him laugh until he ached.  He caught her up on the recent projects at the Distillery and showed her a couple of his newest designs.  

When he sat down on the couch with a beer and turned on one of his many recorded rugby games, she stole upstairs.

You can resume a normal life.

Jamie stretched his long legs out in front of him. He sipped from his beer, still content from dinner and the fact that Scotland was winning.  It took him a minute to register the shape at the top of the stairs.

“Jesus.  God.  Claire.”  He fumbled trying to put down the bottle without knocking it sideways.  He almost missed the table because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Her breasts were plump over the barest of lace cups.  He couldn’t tell from this distance but there was no way they covered her areolas.  The panties hugged her low on her hips.  Her hair was a riot of curls dancing over one shoulder, thick and full.  She smiled like the devil herself, twirling one curl around her index finger.  Well, if that wasn’t a damn metaphor for how he felt right now.      

Red.  She was wearing scarlet red lingerie.  

She set him afire.  

Mesmerized he walked slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, to the bottom of the stairs.  

“Holy Mother of God.”

Claire laughed out loud.

“What?  What did I say?  Are ye laughing at me?”  Jamie’s brain was completely addled.  

“Yes, I most certainly am!”  She couldn’t stop giggling.  

What had he said that was so funny?  

“You can call me Claire, darling,” she added, teasingly.

Jamie bit his lip.  Aye, she wasn’t exactly the image of an angel.  “Don’t make fun, Claire, or ye’ll get what ye deserve.”  

“Promise?”  The vixen turned, and walked away.  The scrap of lace from behind framed her bottom in such a way that her bare skin resembled the shape of a heart.  

He groaned and missed the first step, swearing as he stubbed a toe.  The sight of her bare arse swaying in front of him was too much.  He sprinted up the stairs two at a time.  

Their bedroom was dark, just the light from the hallway seeped through his first few steps into the room.  He moved to turn on a lamp but she stopped him.

“Please don’t.”  Claire stood by the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers.   She was nervous.  She had been offered so many opinions. Women telling her it would be different.  It would hurt.  Don’t expect too much.  

“What’s this, then?”  Jamie approached her cautiously.

She shrugged.  Her eyes begged him to acquiesce to her request.    

Jamie moved to the window and opened the curtains. The pale gray light of the streetlights coupled with the moon bathed her in a pearly glow.  She was luminescent.  Claire covered her tummy, just below her belly button.  Ah. So that’s how it is.  Jamie moved toward her slowly, linked his pinky fingers through hers and slowly drew her hands away from her body, and the flesh they covered.  One red striation snaked down the left side of her tummy.  Her belly button was droopy.  Jamie looked at his wife, and saw the insecurity in her eyes.  

“It’s ugly,” she whispered.  

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered back.  “I ken a wee bit about scars, Sassenach.”  He let go of her hands, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.  “I ken how they make ye look at yerself.”  He turned his back to her, and spoke over his shoulder.  “Because I once looked at myself, and felt ugly, too.”  

Claire made a small noise that made him turn around and face her once more, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh.  Claire needed his reassurance.  He would give her the same gift she gave him years before.

“I remember every minute, every second of that first time we made love.  Ye walked around me, and ran yer hands over my back.  I waited to see revulsion in yer expression, and when I looked at ye, weel, I saw lust.”  Jamie chuckled. “Ye’ve no idea how relieved I was because by then I was so turned on I couldna bear it if ye walked away.”  

Claire smiled at the memory.

He ran his index finger lightly down her stretch mark, and hooked it under the lace edge of her panty.  He heard her breath hitch.  He tugged at the fabric, just enough to knock her off balance so she had to take a step toward him.  He placed his big hands on either side of her, and slowly ran them over her hips and down her backside.  He cupped her, lifting her slightly.  Her face was close to his, her mouth a fraction away.  “Now kiss me, mo neighean donn, and let me show ye how beautiful ye are to me.”

Claire grabbed her husband’s shoulders, and hung on. He kissed her, pouring all of his love into that first meeting of their mouths.  She ran her hands over him, feeling his familiar scars.  The scars that made him Jamie, and no one else. This big man who was the gentlest of lovers when she needed him to be. 

Tonight, she needed him to take the lead.  She surrendered herself to him, let him turn her around in his arms and hold her against his chest.  Let him run his hands over her body, feeling the weight of her breasts as he kissed the side of her neck.  Let him slide a hand down over her soft stomach, and find the heat between her legs, making her feel warm, and sexy while he nipped at her lobes.

Jamie led her by the hand to their bed.  He slid off her panties, murmuring in Gaelic, his eyes hooded.  He worshiped her body, kissed every inch of her skin.  He ran his tongue down her stretch mark, and kissed her misshapen belly button.  He took her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, making her writhe and buck, and finally shatter.  

Then, he stood and shucked his jeans.  Climbing onto the bed, he nestled himself between Claire’s thighs before she could catch her breath.  He balanced on his elbows, and kissed her again.  

He felt her tense beneath him.

Jamie pulled back and looked at her.  “What’s wrong, mo graidh?”  

“I’m scared,” she breathed.  “I’m scared it will be different for you.”

You can resume a normal life.

“Och, aye.  After 2 months without my wife, it’ll feel different right enough.  It’ll feel like Heaven.”  He bumped his nose against hers, waggling his eyebrows.  

Claire did not smile.  “They say,” she swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They say after you give birth that it’s….it feels….looser, down there.  To a man.”

A Dhia, she was struggling. Jamie had no idea that Claire had all of these thoughts battling inside her head.  While he appreciated her honesty, she picked a fine time to reveal her anxieties, when he was fit to bursting.  He took a deep breath, and brushed her hair away from her face.  Laughing through dinner relaxed her.  Their banter on the stairs relaxed her.  He’d carry on with the humour.  

“Is this yer way of saying size matters, Sassenach?”  He teased her with the tip of himself.  “Are ye afraid ye’ll find me lacking?”

Claire grinned, and slapped his bottom.  “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

Jamie took that moment, when her legs relaxed, to enter her.  She arched her back, and gasped.

“Can ye feel that?” he asked, breath hot against her neck.  “For I surely can.” He kissed her, licking her bottom lip.  “And it feels like I’m home.”

You can resume a normal life.

It did feel like home.  Jamie was right.  He was in her arms, and in her body, and it felt like it had a hundred times before.  It didn’t matter what she looked like, how many stretch marks she had.  Even the damn lingerie didn’t matter. This was right.  This was perfect.

In response Claire locked her legs around his back.  She shifted and settled him deeper between her thighs. Reaching up, she brought his head down for a scorching kiss that had him rocking instinctively.  She gave him all of herself and took nothing in return.  When Jamie shouted and stiffened above her she felt the joy of loving him fill her heart.

Jamie’s head was pressed against her neck as he tried to catch his breath.

“So, where did ye find this?”  He pulled at the strap of her bra.  

“At that lingerie shop near the hospital bus stop.  The doctor said I could ‘resume a normal life’ and I wasn’t sure I could without a bit of help.  A suit of armor, so to speak.” She ran a hand over his bicep.

“Christ, Sassenach.  Dinna show up to battle like that again.”  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and mumbled sleepily.  “My heart canna take it.”  

Claire woke up some time later to the sound of cheering. Slipping out of bed she stole downstairs to find the television still on, and Jamie’s beer warm on the table. She hit the button on the remote, and silence fell. She took his bottle to the sink, and turned off the lights.  

Darkness in the flat allowed her to look out the window at the lights of Edinburgh.  She could see the fire escape that mirrored their stairs inside. She had taken those outside steps, cautiously, years ago, not knowing where it would lead her.  Now, she was on the inside, having taken those steps towards love, marriage, medical school, and a family.     

As she climbed up on her way back to bed she laughed softly thinking of how Jamie had bolted up these stairs tonight at the sight of her.  Honestly, why had she worried so much?  Scars be damned. They didn’t change how she looked at him, how could she have been so shallow as to think hers would have mattered to him?  Resuming a normal life had made her think that how they had been living for the past six weeks was somehow abnormal.  Wrong. Flawed.

It wasn’t.  

They would carry their scars together.  The ones on their bodies, and the scar of losing Faith on their hearts.  Together.  Forward in life.  

She crawled into bed next to her husband,and stroked the russet coloured curls back from his forehead.  He smiled briefly, and her heart melted. Jamie was still Jamie.  They still found pleasure in each other’s bodies.  They still had the same dreams.

Everything was normal.  

And now I need a tag because I am helpless. More mafia au which takes place at some point after this and I blame on Drilla and This

“How long has she been here?”

“Long enough to down her first drink and order two more.”

“Wonderful.” Jason runs a hand through his hair, turning the decent looking blond stands to a disheveled mess. “Cover things for me will you? Just for a bit.” He turns to Gwen, giving her a weak smile.

“Sure thing, Jace.” She gives him a reassuring smile back, even giving him a pat on the shoulder as she walks away.

This leaves him alone in his own club, staring at a girl that leaves him feeling like the world is slowly falling.

Jason takes a deep, unsteady breath, surveying the damage. She’s alone, already halfway through a drink, a second empty glass in front of her, shirt half untucked, and blackened stains on her cuffs. He lets out the breath and starts walking.

She’s too busy swirling her drink to notice, and too far into her drink to be anything but absent mindedly swirling it. Jason takes the bar stool next to her and pulls it out, stopping for a second to unbutton his jacket before sitting down. He sits, waiting one, two, three seconds, takes a breath and leans against the bar.

“Rough night?” His voice shatters the silence, both of them flinching.

She turns, keeping herself surprisingly upright, to look him over. When she’s done she turns back to the bar, standing on the footrest of her stool and bending over the bar.

“What the hell are you doing?” He doesn’t wait for an answer to grab the back of her shirt and pull her into her seat.

“One of us is on the wrong side of the bar. I needed to figure out which one.”

“Very funny.”

“Might as well die laughing.” The words fall from her mouth like spent bullet casings.

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Addewid (IX)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4,168

Genre: Fey!AU + Series 

Summary: You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

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Surface of the Sun

Jonerys Week Day 5: Smut. Not very graphic smut I’m afraid. Barely any smut at all. More like nudity. But I hope you enjoy it regardless.

Dany being Unburnt in front of Jon-here you go. 

For a second, Jon thought he was dead.

The water was clear and cold and for a split second he was suspended, neither up nor down, surrounded by the dead and he was sure-no, he was positive-that he was moments away from breathing his last.

But maybe he had been brought back for a reason. The Dragon Queen would have no reason not to believe him now-and neither would Cersei, once they brought the wight to King’s Landing. There was still hope. And if he didn’t live to see the dawn…well, it was a pity. But Daenerys would make a good queen. He knew it. The more time he spent with her the more he saw how much good was in her.

He would have liked to see the monarch she’d become.

And then he felt a hand close around his wrist and yank him upwards, until the cold stung him so badly he almost fell back in the water.

“Come on! We have to go!”

At first the words didn’t make sense; his head was still full of water. And the sight in front of him didn’t make sense either; there was Dany, fending off a wight by kicking it with her foot every so often (with little success), kneeling beside him in her white coat-and Drogon was gone. Her features were pale and drawn with cold but she stubbornly yanked on his arm, again and again until awareness slowly returned in bits and pieces. “What?”

She pulled harder, her distraction costing her-a wight grabbed her foot and yanked and she nearly fell.

Jon decided he would deal with the cold later. For now he had to make sure that she didn’t die up here, because of him. Because he’d been stupid enough to make a plan like this in the first place and she’d had to go along with it. He heaved himself out of the water, the cold cutting into him like knives, grabbed Longclaw, and sliced the wight in half. All of his movements felt heavy and awkward; there were too many in the army of the dead and he knew it was only a matter of time before his strength ran out. “Where’s Drogon?”

“He already left!” They had to shout to be heard over the melee and the roaring of the wind. “Hurry, we have to-”

He was just about to wonder how they would possibly survive if Drogon was gone when there was a loud roar from somewhere above him and not for the first time that day he had to dart out of the way of a wreath of fire. The green dragon, Rhaegal-it was Rhaegal, wasn’t it?-swooped low over their heads, taking out the nearest wights around them and half of Dany’s coat. He landed impatiently, fidgeting as if he wanted to leave just as much as they did.

At first Jon balked at the sheer size of him-he wasn’t as big as Drogon but he was still enormous-but Daenerys pulled him onto his back before he could protest and they took off, leaving the wights far behind them. Viserion screeched and followed after them and he saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye as something went flying through the air towards them and swung wide, just barely missing its mark. He couldn’t tell what it was.

It was even colder with the wind than it had been on the ground. That surprised him more than the fact that he was flying on a dragon and everything below him was a blur of white. He couldn’t see the place where they’d made their last stand now, couldn’t see anything but the snow blowing in his face and the glow of Dany’s hair next to him. His hands were gripping the dragon’s scales so hard that he worried he would break them and he couldn’t tell if it was the fear of flying or the cold.

Dany had to grab him to keep him from falling off, holding him tightly. She seemed to radiate heat, more than most people did; he wondered if that had anything to do with the dragon’s blood she was always talking about. But for the moment he didn’t mind; she was the only warm thing in this cold, cold world.

When Rhaegal landed what must have been only minutes later but felt like hours, they were both nearly frozen through. Jon tried to get off the dragon gracefully but he fell in the snow and Dany practically tripped over him. The scene swam before his eyes-there was Eastwatch, there were several figures rushing towards them and he couldn’t tell whether they were friends or enemies…

And then he remembered-hadn’t the Queen been on fire?

The next time Jon woke up he was on a ship. He could feel it rocking underfoot; the first time he took a step he pitched forward and almost fell on his face. It was warm, almost too warm; although his torso was bare he was covered in bandages and blankets, and there were candles lit on what seemed like every available surface.

It was very quiet. He wondered, briefly, if everything had been a dream and he was still on Dragonstone. But no; floes of ice bobbed around their ship. They were still in the North. And they…were alive.

He found the door and entered a small, dimly lit hallway. There were three other doors in it and he tried them, one by one-two were supply cupboards but one door opened easily under his touch.

The Queen slept peacefully, wearing a long white nightdress and draped in furs. She looked angelic; her hair was down and cascaded down around her face and tangled on her pillow.

She stirred, as if she’d heard him and opened one eyebrow lazily. She didn’t seem surprised to see him there. “Lord Snow.”

“…Your Grace.” She didn’t look at all like the queen she was; she looked so young, so vulnerable.

“Are you cold?”

He couldn’t help but nod. “It’s the North. Who isn’t?” She moved until she was pressed to the side of the ship-and still he didn’t realize what she wanted him to do until she’d been looking at him for a good minute or two. “It’s not proper-”

“You’re shivering.” That was funny. He hadn’t realized it.

He got into the bed carefully, feeling it lower under his weight. He lay on the very edge, as far away from her as he could get. Gods, if someone walked in on them now, he’d never hear the end of it.

“You won’t get warm all the way over there, you know.”

Reluctantly, he scooted a bit closer.

And then Dany moved until she was pressed against his side and there was that delicious warmth again, seeming to warm him from the inside out. It didn’t occur to him to pull away. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed deeply.

There was something important he had to ask her before she slept again…what was it? Oh, yes. “Your Grace.”

“Hmm?” Her voice was barely awake, hardly there.

“Didn’t the dragon burn you?”

But she was already asleep.

It felt like they slept for days, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jon’s dreams were heavy and undisturbed, but he was always aware of the woman that lay next to him, everywhere they touched. Ygritte had never been this warm. He’d never really just lay next to her and slept, with no ulterior motive other than them both being tired beyond belief.

Someone told him that they were safe, they were on a boat back to Dragonstone, they had the wight, he was going to be all right and so was she. They were fine.

She’d gotten off of Drogon as soon as she saw him fall and had told everyone else to go, insisting one of the other dragons would take her instead.

Her coat-or what was left of it-lay in front of the fire, which was blazing all the time now. At least, what was left of it. It was nearly all burnt away, scorched by dragonfire. But he didn’t see any bandages on the Queen.

He was confused. Nothing made sense. So, inevitably, he would always go back to sleep again.

One day he realized that he wanted to sit up.

Daenerys was already awake, sitting at her desk below the window. She had a fur draped over her nightgown, pen in hand, head bent over her writing. Her hair was loose, as if she’d tried to braid it but had given up halfway through and it was slowly coming unraveled again. She turned to look at him as soon as he stirred; her eyes were soft. “You want to know why I wasn’t burned by Rhaegal’s fire.”

Yes. “No.”

She stood and cast off the fur, stepping in front of the fire. As he watched, she reached out-until her fingers were practically on top of the flames…and then inside of them.

He tried to stand but she waved him off. Something strange was happening with the fire…it touched her, but it didn’t. It wound lightly up her wrist, jumping up her sleeve, burning at her collar and then jumping to her chest, her back, her legs…but she didn’t cry out. She didn’t even seem to be in pain. Finally she stepped away, turning to face him-and stripped what remained of the dress away (which, to be fair, wasn’t much since it had nearly burned through).

There were no burns on her skin, no abrasions, no bandages. It was as if she’d never been burnt at all.

And then, of course, there was the shape of her-now so clear. He’d known she was beautiful, of course-how could one not know that? But he hadn’t expected…this. The curves, the softness, the planes…he caught his breath and tried not to be obvious about it.

She took a step closer, and then another. She didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

The silence was deafening.

She took a seat on the edge of the bed, not so much as reaching for a blanket, and traced his chest-the paths of his scars, the edge of his bandages. “Does it hurt?”

“Not that much. It’s bearable.” His skin felt like it set on fire where she touched it.

He saw her startle quickly, as if she had come to her senses. “I should let you get some sleep.”

“But what happened-”

“It’s…I’m immune to fire. Even my children’s fire.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, since out of everything he’d ever seen or experienced that was nowhere near the strangest-but he still didn’t know what to say. “The blood of the dragon.”

She smiled, almost sadly. “Precisely. Fire cannot kill a dragon.” There was something hollow in her words, something sad. It made him want to hug her.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

She glanced down, not in shame, but as if she’d forgotten why she didn’t have any clothes on. “You need rest.”

“I’ve rested.” He touched her hand, tentatively. It was soft and warm and small in his. “I don’t want to rest. I have to know.”

“Know what?” He suspected she already knew-or had guessed.

“You came.”

“Should I have left you to die?”

“No. I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

“We will destroy the Night King and his army. You said you can’t do it alone. I’m beginning to realize…maybe I can’t either.”


She was surprised now. “No one’s called me that name in a very long time.”

“Dany. Daenerys.” A beautiful name. Why not? She deserved a name like that. She deserved to be called it all the time.

She laughed quietly. “You’re tired.”
“Only a little. You are too.” He could see sleep weighing heavy on her eyelids, just waiting to consume her.

“I have a letter-”

He wasn’t sure if he surprised her or himself more when he kissed her. It wasn’t something he’d been thinking about even a minute before. It just…came out of nowhere. But it felt right. Her lips were warm too, just like the rest of her. For a minute they were almost slack, surprised-and then she kissed him back, vigorously, only pausing to draw breath.

Her eyes smoldered like hot coals, burning like the fire in her soul.

They came together, again and again, fire and ice. There was something desperate in their passion, something that told them to kiss harder, consequences be damned. And he wanted her-gods help him, he wanted her. Not just her warmth. He wanted her-her kindness, her courage, her heart. He wanted her on this boat in the middle of the ocean when they were already in a dream anyway.

And he could tell that she wanted him too.

When she climaxed, when they were joined skin to skin as close as two people could be, he wondered how he could ever be cold again. How could one fear the ice when they could touch the surface of the sun?

She was his sun.

Maybe he would regret this later, when he had come to his senses. But for this moment, for this time-however short-he was exactly where he wanted to be.

One more thing left thank goodness. As a reminder I’m doing a Hogwarts AU tomorrow because my multichapter story Forever and Always on Ao3 is a soulbond fic and I feel like that’s too close to a soulmate fic to write something new. 

Taking Control

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You/Baekhyun

Rating: 18+ (smut)

Word Count: 2,481

Summary:  Work is stressing you out lately. You’re tired, angry and things are not helped by your boyfriend - who always seems to need attention from you. One night you snap and get to be particularly er, controlling. 

Originally posted by ethereal-baek

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Request: Hi! Can you please do an imagine where the reader first comes up in the maze and when Gally jumps into the box, she beats him up and Newt got sent down to convince her they aren’t dangerous? It would be nice if you could include a part where he gives her a tour and they feel something towards each other, but they are both too scared to admit it, but I know you’re busy so I wouldn’t mind if it got excluded. Maybe things could get a little heated if that’s okay with you…..

I know this is well overdue. I am so extremely sorry for being so late with my imagines. I know I asked for requests and disappeared just like that, but due to sudden unavoidable circumstances have I been inactive on Tumblr and only now started to write my long list of requested imagines. I promise I’ll get them done as soon as I can.

About this one… I kind of made Newt and the reader know each other before, because I couldn’t see such a quick connection without familiarity. I hope you don’t mind and that this imagine has lived up to your expectations. And again I apologize for the delay.

You blinked a few times, willing all of this to go away. Where were you? What were you doing here? Who were all these boys? Who were you?

You shook your head, denying everything. Why couldn’t you remember who you were?

Your thoughts were cut short as a boy jumped into the pit you were in. He was seventeen, maybe eighteen, with rough hands and a disgusting nose. You felt threatened.

“Hello?” he said, edging towards you. “I know you’re probably confused and sca-”  

You lunged at him before he could finish. Your arms and legs were flailing wildly, and your fist made contact with his jaw. He let out a guttural scream but they were cut short as you kneed his thigh. He doubled over and you kicked him.


And again.

Suddenly arms were pulling you back, dragging you away. Several, actually. You thrashed and swung your limbs only to have more hands stopping you. The boy- Gally, as you heard someone call him- was lying on his side and groaning, blood dribbling from his mouth as people tended to him. You felt guilty for a second, but survival instincts and panic took over your gut. You screamed at tried to squirm your way out of these people’s grasps.  

“It’s okay.” Someone said. The calmness of his voice made you falter and look up.

Two warm brown eyes stared deeply at you. “It’s alright. Everything’s okay.” The voice murmured, soothing you. A thumb gently rubbed your elbows, causing ripples of calm to pulse through your body. “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You felt clutching hands letting you go and only two still clasping your forearms.

You stilled and look fully at the boy holding you. He was tall, with soft sandy hair and thin orange lips, a tranquil and at the same time concerned look on his face. You felt yourself trust him almost immediately.

“You promise?” you whispered, hearing your voice for the first time.

“I promise.” He replied, squeezing your hand reassuringly.


“This here is the homestead, and there we have the fields.” said Newt; the boy who calmed you that other day in the box. He was giving you a tour of the Glade, the place you landed in with no recalling of how you got here. Or before that for the matter.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the vertical large gap in the seemingly walled up site.

Newt’s expression turned dark. “It’s an entrance.” He replied.

“To where?”

“The maze.”

You gave him a questioning look.

“All in good time.” He said, patting your shoulder. You felt butterflies churn in your stomach when he touched you. You fended them off. You just met him, right? But you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you knew him before, like… you had a connection. Each time you smiled at each other it was like electricity hummed in the air.

“Just don’t go in there unless you want to be torn apart and eaten by loud and unseen creatures.” He said, causing you to snap back from your thoughts.

You furrowed your eyebrows and he laughed, even though there was an edge to his tone.

“Moving on.”

He guided you through the fields explaining about the rules as much as he could. You weren’t really paying attention to his words. All you could think about was that cute accent in his voice, which sounded so familiar, the way he ran his hands through his fluffy, gorgeous hair, the way his arms contracted when he walked that tuned his biceps… until he stopped talking.

He smiled, and you blushed knowing that he knew that you were checking him out.

Sort of.

You suddenly found the grass very interesting. You poked at it with your foot, refusing to look up.

He laughed, causing you to frown. “What?”

“Nothing.” He replied. He met your gaze and smiled. “You’re cute when you blush.”  

You reddened even further.

“This might sound strange, but I feel like…” he furrowed his eyebrows and sighed. “Forget it, it’s probably nothing.”

He continued showing you around the Glade, and all you could do was debate in your head about whether or not to tell him about the familiarity which you felt. After a while you decided not to, scared that he might think you were delusional. But you could almost swear he felt it too.


It had almost been a week since you had come to the Glade. By now you had grown accustomed to it and its rules. But not your feelings towards Newt. The connection between you two only seemed to grow which wouldn’t have been a bad thing if he admitted that he felt something too. You could almost hear the hum of electricity when you were around him.

Like right now, for instance.

“Pass me that box, Y/N?” he said.

You were helping him arrange some supplies in the homestead. You hadn’t got an official job yet so you just helped around here and there.

“When’s more stuff coming up?” you asked, handing him the box.

“After about three weeks.” He replied.

Newt reached for a shelf but abruptly slipped. You instinctively reached for him, only to result in you tripping and bumping into him; which in turn caused him to fall and land on top of you.

You blinked, your head slightly throbbing from hitting the floor. Your gaze came into focus, and you realized that Newt’s body was pressed against yours, his face only centimetres away. You blushed.

“I’m so sorry.” He grunted, attempting to get up.

All you could do was redden at the proximity of your bodies, your heart beating faster. His arms were on both sides of your head, his cascading locks brushing your brow, the pressure of his body causing you to let out a small gasp.

Newt stopped struggling and gazed at you, then your lips. You found yourself staring at his too.

You moaned as his lips moved against yours. Your arms circled his neck, kissing him back, letting out all your feelings into that embrace. Heat coursed through your body, and the feeling of his arms tightening around you as you rolled on the floor caused you to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced yours and youmoaned. He suddenly pulled back and both of you gasped.

You traced your fingertips along the back of his neck.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He said, cupping your cheek with one hand as you sat up. “Ever since I first saw you, I had this feeling that I knew you before, like you meant something to me.” His thumb ran gently across your jaw line. “I felt this connection, this protectiveness over you. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I think… I think there was something between us before, before all this.”

You leaned into his touch and lightly pecked the tips of his fingers. “I felt the same way too. This familiar feeling came over me each time I saw you. I think you’re right.” You felt the corners of your mouth lift. “There was something between us before.”

Newt studied you intently. “What about now?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, pretending to think deeply. “What do you want us to be?”

“I don’t know…” he said playfully, leaning in. “A couple, maybe?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”