#5+ sentence fics

[kryptonitejelly]

Hello! LOVED your Sonny Carisi first kiss 😍 How about some pillow talk with our favorite ball of Sonnshine 😏🌞

send asks for sonny carisi x reader (5 sentence baby blurbs!)

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Yes,” Sonny’s eyes are still closed, his arms wrapped around you, but his answer to your ridiculous question is immediate.

“What if I was a -”

“Yes,” his voice is thick with sleep, but he cuts you off with a quick answer.

“But I haven’t finished my question,” you protest as Sonny’s eyes flicker open. He flips you in one swift motion; you are with your back on the bed, Sonny’s arms caging you in.

“Doll,” he drawls, lips going down to the column of your neck; you can feel his voice against your skin, “the answer is always yes.”

[hergrandplan]

Wilmon + ‘are we out of view of the cameras?’

Aa thank you so much for this! Idk if you were angling for it, but this was the perfect sentence for a little sequel to this ficlet ! Fun fact that I forgot to mention in the first part: this idea is based on an actual, real life Dutch dating show called Lang Leve de Liefde where two strangers are matched together and have to spend the entire weekend in one house (though they can opt out after 24 hours if there's no spark)(Not that that's a problem for Wilmon lol)

“Are you sure we’re out of view from the cameras?” Simon gives an affirmative hum as he leads Wille into the little shed in the backyard. Their mics are somewhere on the kitchen table, the cameras in the house aren’t showing anything and Simon has no doubt that the producers will know what’s going on, but all that really matters is that Wille’s hand is warm in his own. Besides, without any camera proof or sound, they have nothing to show the public. They could stay in here the rest of the weekend if they wanted. “My mom used to watch this show all the time, and I’ve never seen footage from inside this shed so…” Simon turns around to face Wille and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, which Wille answers by crashing his lips against Simon’s and spinning them around so Simon’s back is against the door. “Please, baby,” Wille murmurs against his lips, before kissing him deeply again, “don’t talk about your mom right now.” Simon gasps when Wille then starts trailing his lips down his neck, grabbing a fistful of Wille’s hair. “What should I talk about instead then?” Simon says, managing to keep his voice level and teasing despite how hard Wille’s lips are working pulse point. Wille looks up with dark eyes, and Simon’s grin widens. “Well, I’d rather you not talk at all, actually.” Wille presses himself more into Simon and in turn presses Simon more against the door. Heat pools deep within his stomach at the feeling of the hard wood against his back, Wille standing over him, and when he feels Wille’s breath fan over his ear, Wille’s voice soft and low, Simon’s sure his legs would have given out had it not been for Wille’s arms around him. “Unless it’s to tell me exactly how and where you want me.”

Send me 'Wilmon' + a sentence and get a ficlet!

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

ok I've got a few good sentences that might inspire you, but this one feels very much Tav and Astarion:

"oh, that's a nice tavern. ...Where the fuck am I?!"

It was taking every ounce of self restraint Astarion had to keep from laughing as you staggered forward, leading an equally staggering Karlach through the streets of Baldur’s Gate on a quest to get tattoos.

He didn’t know when exactly the scheme was sprung, but he suspected in was somewhere after the fourth and fifth round of drinks. He had quit after the third, deciding he had to keep a clear head if you weren’t. Besides, you’d earned at least one night of drunken revelry.

Gale and Wyll had expressed their objections, but being a few cups deep in themselves, weren’t in a position to stop a barbarian when she decided to leave anyway.

Astarion had opted to simply follow, just to make sure the pair of you didn’t get into too much trouble. And by the gods was he delighted he did.

“I think it’s this way,” your slurred, pointing down a side street.

“No!” Karlach bellowed, having lost control of her volume three drinks ago. “It’s ah…fuck, they changed fuckin’ everything. Should be ah��“

“Wait,” you objected. “If we’re…if we’re gonna do this. We’re gonna need another drink.”

“You’re so right,” Karlach said, leaning on you so heavily, Astarion was shocked she didn’t topple you over. “Elfsong is around here somewhere.”

“Oh that’s a nice tavern… Where the fuck am I?!”

Astarion did laugh then, muffling it behind his hand. He needn’t had bothered; both you and Karlach were too far gone to notice.

This was going to be a night to remember, for him if no one else.

(Astarion x AsexualBard!Tav Masterlist)

[landoom]

5581 or 3381, and “sulking” for your prompts thing :)

“You’ll get wrinkles early if you keep frowning like that,” Oscar says as he’s getting tired of Carlos ignoring him.  “They might appear in a few months, old man…” he adds knowing it’s a low blow as Carlos is not even that old. “I’m sulking. Let me be.” Carlos answers not even turning to look at Oscar. Oscar chuckles, knowing that Carlos is pouting because Oscar said to the journalists that they weren’t friends…which wasn't really a lie after all. But Oscar knows how to make Carlos give in so he just stands up and goes to his suitcase in the corner of the room, leaning in a fake attempt to grab something and wait for Carlos to succumb to the appeal of the Oscass… 

[in-amor-veritas]

Wilmon + "I am going to sleep on the couch tonight"

💜

So my brain immediately goes to angst when I see something like this but in an attempt to challenge myself to write things I normally don’t have something not angsty at all 🤭 kinda inspired by my recent bout of COVID

…….

“I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight,” Simon says looking exhausted, arms full of blanket and pillow, “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

Wille frowns, gently taking him by the arm and pressing a hand to his forehead, his skin his burning and the dizzy sheen in his eyes paired with the shivering is concerning, “Don’t worry about me love,” Wilhelm soothes, “I‘ll be fine—it’s you who needs to be comfortable.”

After a small noise of protest Wille manages to guide his husband to the bed and gets him settled, covering him with blankets and making sure he’s comfortable before going to get the essentials—tissues, tea, Alvedon and the iPad from the living room in case he wants to watch something.

When he returns Simon is sitting up against the propped up pillows, watching him as he arranges everything, gives him the medicine and waits for him to take a few sips of tea, his voice is scratchy when he sets the mug down and looks up at him with a frown, “You’re going to get sick.”

Wille crawls into the bed from the other side, on his side, meeting his husbands gaze who hesitates as he shuffles closer, “I don’t care, in sickness and in health don’t you remember?” Wille murmurs and Simon seems to melt when he pushes back the damp curls at his forehead, eyes fluttering shut as a soft sigh escaping his lips.

Wille pulls him into his arms and feels the way he’s radiating heat, kissing his burning temple as the tension seems to slowly ease out of his husbands body and soon all he hears are the soft sounds of sleep.

….

Love how all of these are just insane run on sentences. Also Wille most definitely got super sick after this but he didn’t mind.

[enjoythesilentworld]

💜 wilmon;

"Shhhhh!"

hello anon ;) you ready for a lil horny wilmon?

“Shhhhh!”

Still wrapped around Simon from behind, Wille moved his right hand from where it was grasping Simon’s neck up to cover his mouth, the left hand still splayed hotly across Simon’s lower stomach, keeping his backside pressed firmly against Wille’s front.

“You’ve got to stay quiet, love,” he whispered into Simon’s ear, then nibbled the soft skin of his neck, increasing the temperature in the small closet even further.

Wille continued, “Can’t let anyone find us just yet,” sliding his left hand even lower, coaxing a muffled whimper from Simon, who was using every ounce of self control to not bend over and let Wille take him right there, no matter the exclusive royal gala happening just on the other side of the door.

Simon squeezed his eyes shut as Wille continued his rampage of Simon’s neck, and when the other hand finally untucked his pressed shirt from his pants, and three fingers dipped under the waistband, Simon barely swallowed down a moan.

“Will you stay quiet for me, baby?” asked his perfectly cocky ex-prince — who Simon loved, and loved that he enjoyed stealing away from fancy royal dinners to take Simon apart piece by piece — and Simon nodded rapidly, hoping it was enough; it seemed it was, because he felt Wille smile against his neck, and the hand dipped even lower.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Uhhhh.... I want so many of them with Frank! For now I have chosen ❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜ and ofc with Frank Castle! <3

btw I loooove 'Sneaky' so much and I've read it so many times!!!

Oh I haven't written Frank in a loooong time. Thank you so much for reading "Sneaky" and sending in a prompt 💞

Pairing: Frank Castle x gn. reader

Warnings: a kiss I guess

"You can kiss me, you know," you heard him say, your eyes blinking a couple of times to get out of your daydreaming about what those lips...

"Wait, what?" you asked, your eyes finally focusing on more than just those lips that were now twitched into a small smile, his eyes mischievous.

"I said you can kiss me instead of just staring at my lips," Frank winked with a little smirk and your mouth fell open, your blood rushing to your cheeks, your hands getting sweaty.

"I... I wasn't staring... I was just.... thinking... about.... things...." you mumbled, trying to search for the perfect lie, your eyes widening as Frank got up from where he was sitting until his hands were resting on the armrests of your chair, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin.

"Things, huh?" he asked and you slowly nodded, gasping when you felt his fingers tilting your chin up, his eyes on you, his face coming slowly closer as if giving you a chance to back out before his lips pressed against yours.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

several sentences sunday

tagged by @tizniz @daffi-990 @wikiangela @devirnis @elvensorceress @thekristen999 @lemonzestywrites @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck

thank you lovelies! <3

another snippet from calls fic which i think is just gonna haunt me forever asdfghjkl

“You good?” Eddie asks when it’s been silent for too long, praying that the complexities swirling inside him aren’t present in his voice. If anyone could hear them, it would be Buck.

“What? Yeah, yeah, sorry, just–tired.”

Eddie is pretty sure tired isn’t what Buck was originally going to say.

Buck has the uncanny ability to steer people, including himself, away from what’s really going on inside his head, masterful at the craft of saying things that aren’t necessarily true but aren’t exactly lies either, euphemisms spilling from his mouth like sanctified honesty, so very hard not to believe.

And Eddie has learned how to navigate this for the most part, knows when he needs to push and when he needs to hold back, knows when Buck wants him to offer something he can take whether it’s advice or sympathy or an opinion and when Buck needs him to deflect, to amuse, to lighten their circumstances enough that Buck can breathe.

Admittedly, Eddie doesn’t always do what Buck wants or needs in these situations, because he is only human and stubborn and willful and at times dangerously affirmed of his own thoughts and occasionally frustrated easily enough that he will give no thought to how he should structure his sentences, often straddling the line between being careful with Buck but also not treating him like he’s fragile, but right now, well, right now Eddie has the feeling that a strong gust of wind could knock Buck over, so he treads delicately.

“I, uh–” Buck coughs and there’s some rustling in the background, a familiar enough sound that lets Eddie know Buck is currently sitting on his couch. “I just got home and realized I kinda forgot about our usual Thursday dinner.”

Eddie tuts as loud as he can into the phone, leaning back against the counter so it digs into the bottom of his back. “A truly unforgivable offense, Buckley. Not sure how Chris and I will recover.”

Banter is easiest. Banter he can do. It’s the thing they use most often with each other, because it’s fun, yes, but also because it’s the only thing they really know how to do properly. They can fully lean into it because there are no expectations or consequences, it’s just–them, being silly and teasing because it makes the other feel better and because anything else might be too soft or too harsh to bear.

tagging @spaceprincessem @bucktits @shitouttabuck @911onabc @try-set-me-on-fire @rewritetheending @sibylsleaves @messyhairdiaz @bvckandeddie @loserdiaz @rogerzsteven @shyaudacity @buddierights @monsterrae1 @gayedmundodiaz @heartshapedvows @wh0re-behavi0r @thewolvesof1998 @sunshinediaz @jeeyuns @spagheddiediaz @exhuastedpigeon @butchdiaz @bucks118 and anyone else who wants to share!

[willesredlights]

Hey Sari 💜 hope you have a lovely Sunday 💜

Wilmon + “it’s called acting, you dumbass.”

Hi Lia! Thank you, I hope you had a lovely Sunday too!💜

Let's pretend as if this is 5 sentences.

"It's called acting you dumbass", Wille says jokingly, after he kissed his roommate, Simon, while they were rehearsing for Wille's  theatre play.

"You didn't mention this scene involved a kiss", Simon is still shocked by Wille's sudden action to kiss him, he hadn't see it coming and it felt as if his insides were on fire, burning him up from inside out. That happens when the boy you've had a crush on for months just suddenly kisses you without a warning.

"A theatre kiss needs to be spontaneous, otherwise it will feel forced for the audience and I wasn't sure if you still wanted to help me rehearse if you knew it involved a kiss scene", Wille explains, his cheeks turning a bright red.

Simon is still processing what just had happened but only one thought is crossing his mind, he wants to feel it again, he wants to feel Wille's lips on his again because it had felt so good, it had felt as if all the noise had left their small dorm room and as if his heart was bursting with happiness.

Without thinking and in an impulse he grabs his roommate by his neck and pushes his lips onto his again and it feels like a thousand butterflies are erupting in his stomach and it feels so good to be finally doing this after months and months of pining.

Wille looks at him, confused and shocked at the same time, the same shock that was written on Simon's face a few minutes ago, he can't bring out another word but instead he pulls Simon closer and kisses him soft and tender and for Simon this is all the confirmation he needed.

Thank you for the prompt! 😊

Send me a ship and a sentence and I'll write the next five.

[pagegirlintraining]

Jealous!wilmon

"Back off, Simon is mine!" 🤭

I’m so sorry this took me literal ages to get to 🙈🙈🙈 but thank you so much for the prompt anyway! It was a fun one and I hope you like the result ☺️

“Back off, Simon is mine.”

The way Wille’s actually full-on glaring at Henry, cheeks still pink from their warmup sprints and eyes a full shade darker than usual, shouldn’t do anything to Simon other than make him giggle. But damnit, he can’t help the tiny, primitive part of him that preens at hearing his boyfriend stake his claim on him so explicitly, even if it’s for something as minuscule as a game of dodgeball. And maybe, just maybe, the deeper register that Wille’s voice has slipped into like second nature is also doing some things to Simon that he really should reevaluate when they’re not in the middle of gym class.

“Okay, okay, have him then”, Henry says with his palms slightly lifted, and only once Wille has turned his back to him to face the remaining players to be picked, Simon can see him mouthing a “Jesus Christ” in Walter’s direction.

“So” Simon hums quietly once he’s made his way over to Wille’s team, making sure to brush his shoulder with his own as he goes to stand behind him, “I’m yours, huh?”

He doesn’t expect the little “Very much” Wille whispers back to him, voice still holding that same, deep vibration, but oh my, is he not going to disagree.

[chicgeekgirl89]

Rating: T Characters: Carlos Reyes and T.K. Strand Summary: In the early days of their budding relationship, T.K. and Carlos discover some of each other's more adorable characteristics. Or, five times T.K. learns adorable things about Carlos and one time Carlos learns something adorable about T.K. A/N: Thanks to @bluenet13 for the title help on this one. It's been on the back burner for a while and it was time for it to fly free. Also working on a reverse 5+1 companion for it, so keep your eyes open for that...someday... Tagging: This is more than seven sentences, but please accept it anyway. Thanks to @strandnreyes, @bonheur-cafe, @carlos-in-glasses, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @ladytessa74, and @lemonlyman-dotcom. Tagging @liminalmemories21, @welcometololaland, @carlos-tk, @louis-ii-reyes-strand, @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad, and anyone else who would like to share your Seven Sentence Sunday! Read on AO3

Glasses

T.K. is brushing his teeth in Carlos’ bathroom. Usually his daily oral hygiene wouldn’t be a notable event, but today it feels monumental. Because it’s Carlos’ bathroom. And T.K. is brushing his teeth. Because he’s staying over. Because they’re together. Like really together. Officially. 

He smiles goofily at his reflection in the mirror, his mouth still full of white paste and toothbrush. He’s happy. Really, truly, deeply happy.

He opens up Carlos’ medicine cabinet one handed as he continues brushing away and realizes that while he remembered to bring a razor he did not remember to bring shaving cream. “Hey babe,” he calls around his mouthful as he turns around and pokes his head back into the bedroom, “can I borrow—“

His eyes find Carlos on the bed and he immediately chokes on his toothpaste and has to rush back to the sink to spit it out. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before turning and marching back through the open doorway. 

Carlos looks at him, amusement on his face. “You okay over there?”

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

Because he is. Carlos is sitting in his bed, shirtless, hair soft and wildly curly after his shower, a paperback in his hands, and a pair of glasses on his face. Glasses that T.K. has definitely never seen before in his life. Glasses that are kind of knocking the wind out of him.

“Since the fourth grade?” Carlos says. 

“But I’ve never…you’ve never worn them when I’ve been here.”

“I haven’t?” Carlos scrunches up his nose in thought and it makes him even more freaking adorable. “Are you sure?”

“I think I would remember my boyfriend morphing into Clark fucking Kent,” T.K. retorts.

Carlos chuckles. “I only wear them at night when my contacts start bothering me.”

“You should wear them more often.” The words are out of T.K.’s mouth before he even realizes it. He feels wildly out of control of himself right now and who could blame him? His already incredibly fucking hot boyfriend now looks like an incredibly fucking hot librarian and it is making T.K. think some very, VERY dirty thoughts.

Carlos raises his eyebrows. “Why?” A slow, lazy, self-satisfied smile spreads across his  face. “You think they’re sexy?”

“God yes.”

T.K. is across the room in two seconds flat, scrambling onto the bed and pulling Carlos’ face to his for a bruising kiss. Carlos immediately drops his book and responds in kind, mouth open and inviting as his hands grip T.K.’s hips and pull him close. “You called me your boyfriend,” he says when they finally break apart for air.

“I did,” T.K. says, diving back in for another taste of Carlos in glasses. It’s completely different than regular Carlos. It’s nerdy. And hot. He loves it.

“You’ve never called me your boyfriend before,” Carlos says breathlessly, grinning so wide it’s like the sun has come out. “I like it.”

T.K. grins back at him. “Me too.”

Socks

“Oh my god,” Carlos says as T.K. collapses onto his chest and presses kisses into his sweat sticky skin. “How does it just keep getting better?”

“Because we’re amazing,” T.K. mumbles against his pecs, his eyes already heavy with sleep. “So. Freaking. Amazing.”

He takes a few breaths and feels his body relaxing as sleep pulls him down. He snuggles deeper into Carlos’ chest, eyes drifting shut. He’s nearly out when he feels Carlos shift beneath him.

“Where are you going?” he asks, tightening his hold on Carlos’ torso to keep him from moving.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to put some socks on,” Carlos says, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

T.K.’s eyes pop back open and he props himself up to look at Carlos’ face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m going to put some socks on,” Carlos repeats.

Things still aren’t computing in T.K.’s brain. “…why?” he finally asks slowly.

“Because if we’re going to sleep I need to wear socks.”

He was looking for clarity, but now he’s even more confused. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? I’m putting socks on to go to bed,” Carlos says, looking equally as confused.

“But…why?”

“Because otherwise I might catch a cold,” Carlos says with a laugh, gently pushing T.K. off so he can get to his feet.

T.K. blinks a couple times trying to get his bearings and then rolls over, sitting up with the sheet wrapped around his waist. “That is not how colds work. Like not even close.”

Carlos returns and sits on the bed to pull his socks on. “I know that,” he says.

“And yet you’re still putting the socks on,” T.K. says.

“My mom always made us wear socks to bed when we were kids.”

“Is she coming over?” T.K. asks incredulously.

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing them?!”

“Because she always made us!”

T.K. takes a breath. “Let me get this straight. You are going to get into this bed with me, fully naked, except for socks that you’re going to wear because your mom made you do it when you were seven?”

Carlos pauses. “Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“I just like it okay? I’ve done it forever. I can’t sleep without them,” Carlos says defensively as he slides back into bed beside T.K. “Is this some kind of a dealbreaker for you?”

“Nope,” T.K. says. “Just trying to understand. If wearing socks to bed is what does it for you, then by all means wear the socks.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, giving him a peck on the lips and turning out the light before pulling T.K. close and snuggling in to go to sleep.

T.K. gets comfortable and closes his eyes, but he can’t stop the thoughts running through his mind in the dark and quiet of the room. He sits up and turns the light back on. “I really need you to tell me that you understand that you can’t catch a cold from not wearing socks though.”

Romance

T.K. loves being in Carlos’ condo without him. He likes it better when Carlos is around obviously. But he feels so special that Carlos has given him a key and invited him to share his space. It means he trusts T.K. enough to let him be here alone where it’s peaceful and calm, unlike his dad’s house which somehow feels crowded even though there are only two of them there most of the time.

Carlos’ place feels more like home than anywhere else has in a long time.

He takes his shoes off when he arrives and dutifully puts them away, then grabs a mineral water and a yogurt out of the fridge before collapsing onto Carlos’ couch. “Ouch,” he says with a frown as something pokes into his back from behind the throw pillow.

He reaches behind him and pulls out a book. It’s not unusual to find books around the condo, Carlos is a big reader, but the brightly colored cover on this one makes T.K. pause and raise his eyebrows. The Spanish Love Deception is the title and when he flips it over to read the back he learns that Catalina Martín is in desperate need of a date for her sister’s wedding and her mortal enemy at work seems to be her only option.

He’s rifling through the pages when the door opens and Carlos walks in. “Hey,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet T.K.’s. “When did you get in?”

“Like fifteen minutes ago,” T.K. tells him as Carlos slips off his shoes and then comes over to press a kiss to his lips. “I found this behind the throw pillow.”

He holds up the romance novel and Carlos takes it from him. “Francesca must have left it here,” he says, referring to his sister. “Looks like her kind of book. I’ll text her and let her know you found it it.”

T.K. doesn’t think about it again for a couple of weeks until one night when his dad cancels their dinner plans and he spontaneously heads to Carlos’ instead. “Hey, it’s me!” he calls as he pushes the door open.

“T.K.?” Carlos appears at the top of the stairs, one hand behind his back, looking a little frazzled. “I thought you were going to dinner with your dad.”

“He bailed,” T.K. says, adjusting his overnight bag on his shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time, giving Carlos a peck on his lips when he reaches him. “You okay?” he asks, taking in the weird expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Carlos says, even as a minor amount of panic is flickering through his eyes. “I just didn’t know you were coming.”

T.K. looks him up and down. “Do you have some other guy in your bedroom?”

“What?! No!” Carlos says quickly.

“Were you watching porn?”

“Of course not!” Carlos says, but there’s a deep blush rising up in his cheeks. 

“What’s behind your back?” T.K. reaches for him, but Carlos steps away out of his reach.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

T.K. raises his eyebrows in amusement. “You know you are so freaking bad at lying, right?”

“Can we just drop it?” Carlos asks, desperation creeping into his voice.

T.K. takes a step forward so that Carlos is forced to back into the wall and then reaches around him and plucks the hidden object from his fingers. It’s another book, the cover bright blue with the title The American Roommate Experiment on the front. T.K. recognizes the name of the author as the same one from the book he found behind the couch cushions and his eyebrows rise. “Oh. You were reading porn.”

“It’s not porn,” Carlos says. “It’s a book.”

“Are you telling me there’s no sex in this book?”

“I…don’t know yet,” Carlos says, dropping his eyes. “I haven’t gotten that far.”

Delight is spiraling through T.K. as he fully realizes what’s going on. “That was your book a couple weeks ago. Not your sister’s.” He can feel his eyes start to sparkle with mischief. “You like smutty romance novels.”

“I don’t like them because they’re smutty,” Carlos says quickly. “I like them because…I like them.”

“You like them because you’re a big old softy romantic,” T.K. says, poking him gently in the chest. “Do you watch Hallmark Christmas movies too?”

The silence that follows tells him all he needs to know. “You do,” T.K. says happily. He could not be more thrilled about this new discovery.

“I grew up with four sisters,” Carlos defends himself.

“Please tell me you read Fifty Shades.”

“I would never,” Carlos scoffs. “Those books are not an accurate depiction of the BDSM community.”

“Oh my god you’re adorable,” T.K. tells him. 

“No, I’m, no don’t call me that,” Carlos says, clearly embarrassed.

“You are,” T.K. tells him, wrapping his arms around Carlos’ waist. “You are the most adorable boyfriend the world has ever seen.”

“Are you going to let this go, or is this something you’re going to talk about forever?” Carlos asks.

“Mmm definitely the second thing,” T.K. says as Carlos sighs with long suffering. “Now how about you take me to your bedroom and teach me some of the things you’ve learned from these books?”

Scaredy Cat

Sharing new things with each other has become a complete delight for T.K. So when he finds out that Carlos has never seen a single one of the Halloween movies, he declares the need for a marathon during the month of October and immediately goes over to his dad’s to dig out his DVD’s. No way is he dealing with ads breaking up the masterpiece that is Michael Myers. 

He’s popped popcorn, pulled out all the throw blankets, and even gone so far as to make up a bloody looking mocktail to really get them in the spirit of the movies. Now he’s just eagerly awaiting Carlos who has gone out to fetch their pizza.

He’s pulling down plates from the cupboard (Carlos refuses to eat pizza straight out of the box like they’re “college frat bros”) when the door opens and his boyfriend returns, pizza in hand. 

“Perfect timing!” T.K. says, eagerly taking the box from him and handing him the gory looking cocktail in return. 

“Oh, wow,” Carlos says. “This is…something.”

“I found a recipe online,” T.K. tells him excitedly as he dishes out pizza slices onto plates. “I thought they would be fun!”

“So creative,” Carlos says, poking at the gummy eyeballs that T.K. ordered online and added for extra pizzazz.

“Okay,” T.K. says as they settle onto the couch, his excitement at an eleven. “So, John Carpenter and Debra Hill wrote this in like ten days, which is crazy, and Carpenter got paid ten thousand dollars to write, direct, and score it. They built a cinematic masterpiece, the go-to film for horror, and they did it in ten days for ten thousand dollars. Can you even believe that?”

“Sure can’t,” Carlos says with a shake of his head. 

“We’re starting with the original Halloween,” T.K. tells him as he flicks on the television. “1963, Michael Myers versus a bunch of teenage girls. We’ll skip a few in the middle, Halloween: Resurrection isn’t worth anybody’s time, and while Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers does feature a young, fresh faced Paul Rudd, it has too many flaws to be worth watching.”

“So we’re skipping two out of…”

“Thirteen,” T.K. tells him.

“I guess I should have taken the month off of work,” Carlos tells him, sending him an odd, tense sort of smile.

Come to think of it, Carlos’ whole body feels a little tense too. If T.K. didn’t know any better, he’d think Carlos was nervous. But he chalks it up to worry over getting pizza grease on the couch and hits play as he snuggles into his boyfriend’s side.

They’re still snuggled together as Michael takes a knife to his teenage sister and T.K. doesn’t miss the way Carlos stiffens even further over the bloody scene. Or the way he seems to get more and more tense as the movie progresses. “You want another drink?” T.K. asks after Michael murders the Wallace’s dog.

Carlos shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a firm line, eyes a little wider than normal as he stares at the screen. He gasps audibly when Michael appears in Annie’s car and when T.K. looks down he finds that Carlos is gripping the edge of the couch cushions so hard that his knuckles are going white. 

By the time Michael starts going after Laurie, Carlos’ breathing has gone rapid and T.K. carefully slips his fingers under the edge of his sleeve to find his pulse racing. Not a surprise given the contents of the movie, but Carlos’ face has gone almost white and and he’s sitting so rigidly T.K. is afraid all of his muscles are going to lock up. 

“Carlos,” he says quietly, but Carlos doesn’t respond, eyes glued to the screen, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard.

“Carlos, are you okay?” T.K. asks again, reaching for the remote.

He’s too late. Michael appears out of nowhere and Carlos jumps to his feet with a shout, hands going to his hips as he paces a couple agitated steps back and forth. 

T.K. finally gets his finger on the button to pause the movie. “Carlos, hey, look at me,” T.K. says, feeling legitimately concerned.

“No I—it’s fine. I’m fine,” Carlos says, hand making chopping motions as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as T.K. “Go ahead, turn it back on. I’ll just um, I’m just going to—“

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” T.K. says.

“No I’m—it’s good,” Carlos says even as a car honks outside and he flinches violently.

“It’s not fine,” T.K. says. “You hate it. Let’s watch something else.”

“We can finish—“

“Carlos, you look like you think Michael is coming after you personally. We’re not watching anymore,” T.K. says with a chuckle, using the remote to flip over to live TV, Bobby Flay declaring loudly that he will not be beaten at his own culinary game this time.

“Thank you,” Carlos sighs, collapsing back into the couch.

“When were you going to tell me you hate horror movies?” T.K. asks.

“Never,” Carlos says, running a hand through his hair. “You were so excited and I thought maybe it would be okay.”

“But?”

“I begged my parents to let me watch It with my sisters when I was ten. I didn’t sleep for like a month after that and ever since…” he shivers, “I just don’t get why people like them.”

“It’s pretty cute you know,” T.K. says with a fond smile. “My big tough police officer being scared of horror movies.”

“Cute or pathetic?” Carlos says with a roll of his eyes, finally starting to look like himself again now that it’s vegetables being chopped up instead of people.

“Cute,” T.K. tells him definitively, pulling him close. “Now come here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Paparazzi

The radio is blaring when T.K. walks in from his shift, so loud that for a second he thinks he’s walked into the wrong condo. A quick glance around reveals that no, this is indeed Carlos’ place, although there’s no sign of Carlos anywhere, and it takes him another moment to realize the music is actually coming from upstairs.

He climbs the staircase, the music getting louder with each step and by the time he’s reached the top it’s changed from something in Spanish to Lady Gaga and is blasting so loudly that it feels like he’s at a live performance rather than in his boyfriend’s bedroom.

That’s when he finally hears the singing. Not Gaga herself, although she’s hard to ignore. No. Someone is belting out the lyrics from behind the bathroom door, slightly out of tune, but with the most passion T.K. has ever heard.

He opens the door quietly, the sound intensifying as the spray of the shower joins the fray. 

“I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN, I’LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME! PAPA-PAPARAZZI!” Carlos bellows from behind the semi-frosted glass of the shower door.

T.K. crosses his arms and leans against the wall, a grin on his face as he watches the blurry silhouette of his naked boyfriend scrubbing away at his hair while he sings along. He makes it through the rest of the chorus and another verse before he turns around and lets out a yell. “Jesus Christ!”

The water turns off immediately followed quickly by the music as T.K. laughs. Carlos opens the shower door, poking his sopping wet head out. “What the hell? How long have you been standing there?” he says, clearly torn between fury and embarrassment.

“Long enough,” T.K. says, handing him a towel before returning to his position against the wall, watching appreciatively as Carlos pulls it around his waist and steps out, water glistening on his skin.

“You realize that’s really fucking creepy, right?” Carlos asks as he double checks that his towel is secure.

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the concert,” T.K. says fully aware that he is smirking and enjoying every second of watching Carlos squirm.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that,” Carlos says, looking down at the floor, his cheeks flushed from more than the heat of his shower.

“Do you always sing in the shower?”

“No.” But he doesn’t meet T.K.’s gaze when he says it.

“Yes,” T.K. says gleefully. “Why don’t you ever sing when I’m here?”

“Because some things are better left in private,” Carlos tells him with a glower.

“Babe, come on,” T.K. says, taking a step forward and putting his hands on Carlos’ hips just above where the towel is sitting. “I love knowing stuff like this about you. It makes me feel like you’re mine. I get to see these little parts of Carlos Reyes that other people don’t.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you also put on performances in the precinct showers.”

“Definitely not,” Carlos scoffs. His hands come up to rest on T.K.’s biceps. “You really don’t think it’s weird? I know I’m not a good singer.”

T.K. kisses the tip of his nose. “It doesn’t matter. It makes you happy. And that’s all I care about.”

+ 1: Ticklish

Waking up with T.K. had been his dream for months, but he wasn’t completely surprised when it turned out not to be a reality. It turns out T.K. doesn’t wake up with anyone. In fact he barely wakes up at all. He has to be dragged out of bed and plied with coffee and a shower before he’s even remotely functional. 

When questioned about how he can wake up and immediately go to work when the alarm bells go off at the fire station, T.K. looks at him like he’s crazy and says, “That’s different.”

So Carlos contents himself with waking up beside T.K., pressing a kiss to whatever part of him is poking out from under the blankets, and then greeting him more officially when he finally stumbles out of bed usually an hour or two after Carlos.

He’s just finished his workout when he hears T.K.’s alarm going off followed quickly by a muffled thud as T.K. predictably sends his phone flying to floor in his attempts to turn it off.

Carlos smiles and wipes a towel across his forehead before stowing away his weights and jogging back upstairs. T.K. is buried under the blankets, only the top of his head poking out. “Morning,” Carlos says softly, bending over to kiss his forehead.

T.K. reaches up and catches his arm, tugging him downward. “Come back to bed,” he mumbles. 

“I’m all sweaty,” Carlos says with a laugh. “I need to go take a shower.”

“No staaay,” T.K. groans, tugging more insistently.

Carlos rolls his eyes but he concedes, sitting down on the mattress and pulling the blanket down enough to reveal T.K.’s face. “Are you going to get up?”

“It’s our day off,” T.K. tells him, eyes still tightly shut.

“It is.” Carlos leans closer, a fond smile on his face. “And if you don’t get up soon it will be over.”

He pokes T.K. in the ribs good-naturedly and immediately receives a sharp backhand across the face. “Ow!” he yells, rearing back and clutching his nose. “T.K. what the fuck?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” T.K. yelps, and Carlos can feel him scrambling to get upright in the tangle of their sheets. “Oh my god! Are you okay? Let me see!”

He reaches for Carlos’ face, but Carlos pulls back. His nose feels like it’s been smashed into a thousand pieces, but he rubs at it experimentally and it seems to be intact. Another check shows no blood on his fingers, so he’s probably all right, but damn. It hurts. “What the hell was that for?” he asks grouchily, sending T.K. a glare.

T.K. looks sheepishly down at the sheets. “Um, well, I might be just a little bit ticklish?”

Carlos blinks at him. “No you’re not.”

T.K.’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Yes I am?”

“T.K. we’ve been together for like four months. I would know if you were ticklish.” He knows T.K.’s body intimately. Where he can touch to make him moan, to make him gasp, to make him arch his back. If T.K. were ticklish, it would have been revealed long before now. 

“It’s just that one spot on the left side of my ribs,” T.K. tells him. “If your hands start to go there I just take them and move them somewhere else. You’ve never noticed?”

Huh. Carlos sits with that for a second replaying as many of their sexual encounters as he can remember. “I guess…I guess not. Why did you hit me though?” he asks with a frown.

“Ah.” T.K. blushes. “I always move your hands because I can get a little…violent when I get tickled. It’s kind of a panic response.”

“And instead of telling me this you just waited for me to discover it by accident and nearly broke my nose in the process?”

“I kind of forgot honestly. It’s just become a habit to move your hands,” T.K. tells him.

Carlos snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god what?” T.K. asks warily.

“Oh my god…that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Carlos says, full on laughing now. 

T.K.’s face breaks into a smile and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “It is kind of dumb.”

Carlos leans forward and cups his chin, pulling him in for a real kiss. “You’re cute,” he says. “You and your ridiculous ticklish spot.”

“You’re cute too,” T.K. says, then wrinkles his nose. “But you kind of stink.”

“Oh I do?”

“Yeah you do.”

Carlos wraps his arms around T.K. while he yells in protest, holding him tightly as they fall onto the mattress together. It’s disgustingly adorable. And Carlos wouldn’t trade it for the world.  

[hergrandplan]

Wilmon + "I can sleep on the couch tonight"

Hi anon! sorry this is so late, I hope you'll still see this somehow <3 I've been having a bit of a writer's block for a few weeks, but this particular story would not let me go, and it was actually really helpful in beating the brain demons. I hope you'll enjoy it 💜 (fair warning it's 1k words idk what happened here)

“I can sleep on the couch tonight,” Wille announces once the movie credits start rolling. He gets up from under Simon and from the couch, then stretches, shirt lifting up to show a sliver of alabaster skin that Simon wants to feel, to touch, to experience.

And maybe he would have, if he wasn’t so stunned about Wille’s announcement, given Simon has spent the better part of the evening cuddled up on said couch with Wille, lying in his arms as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, as if they hadn’t met mere hours before.

Simon tries to swallow his disappointment down. “Oh,” he says, mouth quirking up into a smile that feels so fake that he’s sure even the people at home will be able to tell. “That’s sweet of you.”

He’s usually better about getting his hopes up. He had thought that, especially for a TV show like this one, two strangers being locked in the same house for the entire weekend, he would have been more on guard. More careful about getting close to Wille, given all of Sweden was watching. But that was the entire point of the show, wasn’t it? To see if two strangers could fall in love within just a few days.

And they’ve known each other for even less than a day, so Simon really shouldn’t have expected Wille to want to share the bed with him. He definitely shouldn’t have hoped for it. And yet, here he is – hopes absolutely squandered.

Had Simon just misread everything up until this point? Is Wille simply not interested in him like that? Simon had been sure that something had been building up between them. They'd hit it off right from the moment Wille had walked in the door. Simon had been a bit nervous, and he suspected Wille had been too, but his radiant, carefree smile had been enough to calm Simon’s nerves. They've done nothing but talk and laugh for the past few hours, getting to know each other, and Simon had loved every minute of it. It didn't feel forced, even though it should have, or fake, even though they were on TV – it had just felt natural. And when they'd put on the movie, and Wille had opened his arms, an invitation for Simon to fall into them, Simon hadn't even thought twice, had let himself be held. Not at any point did he feel uncomfortable, or like he shouldn’t be doing this – like even their bodies fit together.

Once or twice during the movie he had even imagined leaning up a bit, wondering what it'd be like to kiss Wille, what his lips would feel like. 

But maybe all of Wille's touches, the hand he placed on Simon's arm for a second while they were cooking, jostling against him when they were doing the dishes after dinner, staying really close to Simon the whole while and the playful giggle Wille let out when Simon had splashed him — maybe it had all been friendly for Wille. 

An uncomfortable feeling settles in Simon’s stomach as he watches Wille clean up their mess, bring the cups and empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen – their kitchen, at least for the next 30 hours. It was the ease with which Wille shifted out from under him, that maybe hurt more than Wille saying he’ll sleep on the couch.

Simon’s not normally the guy to fall this fast. He hadn’t really expected anything to come out of joining this programme other than maybe finding a friend, but Wille had been so warm, and welcoming, and funny that it had just happened. And now, more than anything, he wished they’d met under normal circumstances, no cameras to see what they were doing.

“Are you okay?” Wille asks, when the table has been cleared, the dishwasher running.

Simon blinks up, back to reality, back to Wille, who has sat down next to him again. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies. He can’t say the truth, that he’s weirdly upset about Wille not wanting to share the bed with him. He’s sure people would make a meme out of him, his face plastered on every Swedish channel as yet another desperate guy.

Wille looks at Simon for a moment, a look on his face that Simon can’t quite decipher before his gaze softens. Then he does something that makes Simon’s heart burst in his chest, just a little: as if he has read Simon’s mind, he covers his mic with his hand.

“What’s wrong?” he says so softly that even Simon’s mic won’t be able to pick it up, only Simon himself.

“I had …” Simon starts, not sure how to continue. If it had been just him and Wille, he’d have asked him to come to bed with him in a heartbeat. Would probably have done more than they would do tonight, because he’s not doing any of that with the camera’s surrounding them, but he still would like to fall asleep next to him, maybe in his arms.

Simon covers his own mic to give himself a semblance of security, but he still feels too seen, too vulnerable, so when he speaks, he looks down to where Wille’s leg almost touches his. “I had kind of been hoping you maybe wanted to share the bed… tonight. But if you don’t want to that’s of course totally okay you know, no ha-”

“Simon.” Wille stops Simon’s rambling with a hand on his thigh. Simon looks up, just in time to see how Wille’s face completely lights up with a smile, almost relieved, and even the room around them feels brighter all of a sudden. “I’d like nothing more.”

There’s a twinkle in Wille’s eyes. It’s nothing sexual, nothing that conveys anything but pure joy, and Simon already can’t wait to find out what else will make that twinkle appear, hoping to see it so much more often in the future. Maybe if there weren’t any cameras around, this would have been the moment Simon would have leaned in and kissed him, but he’s not sure if he wants all of Sweden to see that. Still, smiling, Simon takes Wille’s hand and leads him to the bedroom.

Send me 'wilmon' + a sentence and get a ficlet!

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

5 sentence for you if it sparks anything ^_^

Astarion *mumbles in elvish*

Tav, intrigued “wait what was that??”

A/N: Okay, I did spark something, but slightly different from this set up. I hope that's okay!

Also, this is in keeping with the canon that Evie (Ace!Tav) can't read common. So, any Elvish they've learned is purely through what they've heard and conversational context.

You should have known you'd find trouble the second you saw the look on Astarion's face.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen you perform. However, it was one of the few times you had decided to sing as opposed to simply play. The crowd seemed right for it, and after going through your standard set list you had decided to end to night on an old favorite. It also happened to be the only song you knew in Elvish.

He looked so...delighted. It made you suspicious, not helped by his overly enthusiastic applause as you finished.

“Bravo," he exclaimed as you took your seat beside him. "And here I thought you didn’t speak Elvish."

“Not fluently. Just enough to negotiate a meal really," you admitted.

He nodded, his expression turning just a little too smug. “Ah.”

You narrowed your eyes, your lips turning into an unamused line. “What does “ah” mean?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself my love," he assured, innocently. "So I take it you learned that song by ear.”

“Yes…" you said, frowning. "Seemed to be a crowd favorite.”

“Indeed it is. And you do play it so beautifully.”

You bit back a frustrated growl. If he was going to play coy, so could you. “Oh I don’t know. Something tells me I would play it much better if I knew what it meant. Perhaps if somebody could translate it for me.”

Astarion shook his head, clutching a hand to his chest is dismay. “Perish the thought. I wouldn’t dare jeopardize your performance. No, I believe it would be much better if you keep doing exactly what you’re doing.”

You gave a slight huff, realizing your efforts were futile. You then turned your attention to Shadowheart.

"It's all a big metaphor for sex, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "Not much of a metaphor."

send me a sentence + pairing and i’ll write the next five sentences

[landoom]

for the prompt thingy, landoscar and "dying"

“I’m dying,” Lando moaned from where he was lying on the bed, surrounded by too many pillows and buried under two duvets and two woollen blankets. “You aren’t, you just have the flu and you’re not going to die from the flu. Not on my watch.” Oscar answered in his usual neutral tone.  A tone that was contradicted by the way he was gently caressing Lando’s burning forehead and by how he had taken care of his teammate in the past hours: bringing him his meds, entertaining him, covering and uncovering him every 5 minutes and even making him some chicken soup.  “Promise?��� Lando asked, moving his head a bit so Oscar could see his pleading eyes. “Promise,” he answered without any hesitation.

Please feel free to send me more prompts here.

[in-amor-veritas]

Hey hey,

Idk if you are still taking prompts but I thought I'd shoot my shot as I missed that you were participating. I absolutely understand if you aren't taking more though.

Wilmon+

"No, no, no, please no!"

Hiii I am still taking prompts :)

This is some kind of silly arts university AU where Wille and Simon are both dance majors (Wille is ballet and Simon is modern/street/hiphop idk what’s the exact term for what im imaging I just know he wants to be a choreographer and run his own studio) also idk why but Wille has s1 hair bc ballet Wille to me always had longer hair 🤷‍♀️

"No, no, no, please no!" Wille stares in horror at the four letter word greyed out under the stupid text message he’d meant to send to his best friend, Felice, and instead sent to the insanely attractive, intimidatingly outspoken and extremely talented boy in his dance history class.

He had sent it to Felice, moping about his crush and hadn’t expected the message to be read so immediately after sending it, so it had been with a horrified gasp when he realized after rushing to unsend that it was no use because Simon had already seen the stupid message talking about how distracted he gets sitting behind him and how badly he wants to get to know him better.

Fighting the urge to throw his phone across the room he lays back on the mattress, staring with some kind of masochistic fascination as the typing bubbles appear, fingers running through long strands of his blonde hair, twisting and pulling the ends in anxiety as he think about what Simon must have thought when he read it, what he’s writing back right now.

Simon must think he’s weird, after-all he’s always been socially awkward and quiet and they’ve barely exchanged more than a few words since the start of this class together, someone as social and popular as Simon Eriksson probably has plenty of people interested in him, Wille can just imagine the other boy showing his friends the message and laughing at how weird that Wilhelm guy is.

He almost doesn’t want to look when he feels his phone vibrate, but he’s too curious and when he see opens the notification he has a slight panic attack as what’s written there, sitting up and pushing his hair out of his eyes he reads it again.

sorry for being too distracting for you to pay attention in class…guess i owe you one…why don’t we get together and study or something sometime….for the record ive watched you in rehearsal and you’re pretty distracting yourself ;)

Wille grins, feeling his cheeks flushed and a sense of curious wonderment bloom inside of his chest—holy shit Felice wasn’t going to believe this.

…..

this is technically 6 but ive decided im not counting the text message as a sentence 😌

[sexynetra]

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY

Remembered my beloved @thecollectionsof wrote the worlds best hanahaki fic and remembered that I've wanted to write one since they published that masterpiece............ and here we are

~~~~~~

Marcia brushed past her into the lobby before twirling on her heels to face Anetra again, brown eyes glimmering like topaz under the dim fluorescent lights. “Picture Beyoncé. Then picture Megan Thee Stallion. Then combine those images. This woman was like–a hundred times hotter than that.” Marcia was gesticulating wildly with her free hand as she spoke. Normally, Anetra would find her dramatics endearing, would be teasing her for being incapable of speaking without her whole body getting involved. Instead, she felt frozen, the glimmer in her stomach suddenly starting to feel a lot more insidious.

“That feels sacrilegious to say,” Anetra spoke after a moment, trying to recover.