#flashfics

[mamichigo]

Kaveh, upon being told that Alhaitham and Cyno were now a couple, laughed in their faces while praising Cyno for improving his comedy skills. Later, he drank a whole bottle of wine and cried that "Alhaitham was always bullying him for no reason."

Dehya's reaction was much less dramatic, but considerably more insulting. She looked between the two of them, raised an eyebrow and stared at Alhaitham.

"He can do much better than you."

(It was pretty clear who she meant.)

For a moment, it felt as if Candace believed them. She clapped them on the back and smiled sweetly; her happiness was palpable, as well as sincere.

"I'm glad you two get along well enough that you can joke around like this now! You've come a long way," she said.

Somehow, neither of them had the heart to correct her.

Tighnari, to his credit, listened to them for a whole five minutes. He even looked like he was trying his hardest to comprehend his friend's words. When they all went quiet, he looked to the side, eyelid twitching. He seemed to be recalling a past episode with some degree of annoyance.

Finally, he said, "I don't know who put you up to this, but it's not like either of you. We'll discuss this later." And promptly left to tend to his work.

Collei, on the other hand...

"I don't think this is working," Alhaitham finally admitted defeat one evening.

Cyno, comfortably sitting on his lap and tucked under Alhaitham's chin, hummed his agreement.

"Should I kiss you in front of everyone? That might convince them," Alhaitham suggested.

"No, it would backfire."

"How come?"

"It's not like either of us to do something like that in public, and I'm sure it'll somehow come back to bite you in particular." Cyno tipped his head back to look at Alhaitham. "Probably think you're harassing me."

"Hm. Fair point."

He dipped down to deposit a kiss to Cyno's cheek, then his nose, and finally his mouth. He lingered there sweetly, until a sudden crash behind them forced them away from each other.

"AH--!"

They caught the tail end of incoherent apologies, as well as a glimpse of green hair running out of the room.

...Collei walked in on them kissing.

"Well, that solves that problem," Cyno mumbled.

[skelezomperman]

Flashfic #10: Zelkov drinks coffee, to Ivy's dismay

After an hour of prayer and one or two of lying in bed ruminating on her thoughts, Ivy was finally on the edge of falling asleep. This was interrupted, though, when there was a knock on her door. She took her pillow and held it over her chest out of fright until she realized whose knock it was. Neither of them said a word to each other after he opened the door perhaps because they had already said good night to each other earlier. Ivy found herself intrigued by Zelkov finding all of the pillows in her room and meticulously examining each one of them before putting it back. He did this even with the pillows on her bed.

“Zelkov, why is it that you are rearranging every pillow in my room?" she asked after he had done this three or four times.

"This buzzing feeling in my head gives me extraordinary energy," he responded. 

Ivy groaned. "Must you do this now?"

"Yes."

She reluctantly let him test out all of the pillows in her room until he was content. Eventually he picked one of the pillows and gave it to his princess. She was delighted to discover when she lay her head upon the pillow that it was fluffed perfectly – neither too hard nor too soft, it was perfect for her to go to sleep with a smile on her face.

Alas.

She had to cover her head with another pillow as she kept getting distracted by the sounds of Zelkov walking up and down the halls. It was too bad that she couldn't fall asleep with noise in the background like how she could fall asleep with the light of a candle in her face.

Eventually, Ivy had enough. When she got out of bed, her mood was so sour that she did not even bother to slip her feet into her slippers despite the cold floor. Instead she stomped over to her door, slammed it open, and shouted in Zelkov's direction: "What is the problem?! Can you not leave me alone?"

"I assure you, Your Majesty, all of the work I am doing right now is constructive. You will be pleased to see the end result when you wake up."

Ivy put her head in between her hands. "Wake up...like I'm even going to go to sleep with you doing this..." she trailed off.

"I regret to inform you that I had two full cups of this coffee drink that was imported from Solm," Zelkov stated. "I was not aware that its stimulating properties were so potent."

She could do nothing else but shake her head. "Just go outside at this point. Run around fifty times in the snow. I want to go to sleep,” she commanded.

“Indeed I will do so,” Zelkov stated. “Good night, Ivy.”

“Good night,” she brusquely replied as she closed the door on him.

“How did I fall in love with him of all people…” she said to herself as she tried to go back to sleep.

-+-

Ivy did eventually get to sleep although it was only for two or three hours. She was surprised that Zelkov was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, she asked Kagetsu what happened when their paths crossed between meetings. He told him that Zelkov seemed to be sick. When she had a moment alone after lunch, she took it upon herself to enter Zelkov's sanctum in the basement of the castle. She found him reclining on his side on one of the sofas with one of his hands over his head. He barely reacted when she opened the door.

"Urghhhh...." he groaned.

Ivy gasped. "Zelkov, what happened to you?" she asked as she rushed to his side. 

"Head...hurts..."

She had been in the sanctum enough times to know where everything was. Zelkov kept his medicines in one of the cabinets. She opened it and found a blue-colored container: that was his pain/headache medication. For once she was giving to him rather than the other way around. Ivy practically forced Zelkov to swallow a pill and then drink some water from a jug that she found. Then she stayed with him for the next twenty minutes and gently stroked his hair until the medication took effect and he finally came to his senses. (They both loved playing with each other’s hair though it was usually in more serene circumstances.)

“Thank you,” Zelkov said when he sat up. “Never in my life have I felt so fatigued.” 

"Zelkov, promise me that you never drink this coffee again," she sternly ordered him. 

"If you forbid me then I have little choice in the matter," he replied with a slight smile. "But it was quite tasty. I recommend that you try coffee," he said.

Once again Ivy found herself shaking her head. “No, no, no, Zelkov…If that drink did that to you, then I must never try it. I am certain that you prefer seeing me fully conscious just as I prefer that you are fully conscious.”

“I felt your fingers in my hair earlier,” he replied.

In a past time Ivy would have abruptly denied that she had done such a thing. But now that they were both more comfortable with each other, she had the strength to admit the truth. “Yes, I did do that. I would have enjoyed it more had you been awake.”

And she simply put a hand over his mouth before he could respond further…being with each other was good enough.

[arislore]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚જ⁀➴ Can’t You Just Sleep?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x insomniac!Reader

Summary: You had a dream that gave you anxiety and Spencer wants to comfort you by talking it out.

Warnings: Reader is kind of rude at one point (just sleepy w no tone control, i prommy), Reader’s mom also sucks.

Tags: this one’s actually a story y’all 🤞🏻, Reader has hair that goes past her ears. also this is incredibly self-indulgent because i literally had these dreams last night.

Word Count: 500

You wake up sweaty, feeling like you can’t quite catch your breath. Next to you, Spencer stirs, his arm draping around your waist.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep.

“Yeah,” you say softly, scooting closer to him. “Just had a really weird dream.”

He hummed, his fingers dancing along your spine. “Tell me about it?”

You smile wistfully, moving your head so that you’re looking at his face. “No thanks. It’s too silly.”

He grinned, pulling you by your hips so that you’re flush against him. “I love silly things.”

You sigh, looking down until your forehead connects with his chest. “You were just, like, really mad at me. And, like, I clearly fucked up, you know? Like, big time. But I don’t actually know what I did wrong.”

He kissed the top of your head, moving his hand up towards your shoulder, then back down in slow, rubbing movements. “I think I know why.”

You pout. “You only get to tell me if you’re not profiling me.”

“I’m not, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“You were talking to your mom yesterday.” He said.

“Yeah, and?” You took a deep breath, letting yourself calm down as he talks.

He pushed your hair behind your ear, his thumb tapping on your cheek. “Well, I know she makes you feel that way, and often.”

“You are profiling me.” You roll your eyes. “I knew it.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just saying that the way you were feeling when you went to sleep may have influenced your dreams.”

“Yeah, well, if you know so much, why did I dream about a merman getting stuck under a shipping container, then?” You snap, pulling away.

He chuckled. “A shipping container?”

You realize how pathetic you sound, but you continue anyway.

“Yeah. It fell off a cargo ship,” you say, as if it were obvious.

“I see.” He paused, grabbing your hand. “Were you a merman in this scenario?”

“I was a mermaid. You know, for someone who’s supposedly a genius, you know very little about the sexual dimorphism of faeries,” you joke, intertwining your fingers with him.

He smiled. “You got me there.”

“I also had a dream that I was a bridesmaid and it was really hot, and I had to walk up a hill. And I was already in my dress and makeup and had my hair done. It was so sweaty.” You smile, moving flush against him again.

“Who’s wedding was it?” He asked, bringing a hand to your hip.

“I don’t know. I just know that another bridesmaid was trying to get courted.”

“Courted?”

“Yeah, she used that exact word. I was like, ‘You can worry about getting courted tomorrow, lady. Today is her wedding.’ but I don’t know who I was defending.” Your eyes begin to feel heavy, so you close them, nuzzling his chest.

“Getting tired?” He asked, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“So tired.”

“Sleep,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head.

[sailtomarina]

Buy None, Get Two

cw: smut, M/M/F

It was supposed to be a short stop, your intention being to pick up a few personal items then head on home. Today was the one and only day of the Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes Spring Sale, after all, and their lines of WonderWitch were second to none in creativity and efficacy.

In hindsight, it would have been smarter to enter like any other customer from the front door. The main entrance meant light, open space, and plenty of witnesses. You would have been able to shop in peace with little interruption but the knowing wink of the clerk.

Let’s just say that eagerness played a part in your absence of thought. You tossed on your favourite corduroy skirt, a heavy knit jumper, and your trainers before grabbing your purse.

You went through the Floo by habit, stepping directly from your cottage into the twins’ flat above the shop. Were this any other day, the lights would have been out, the space quiet, the telltale ginger hair bent over experiments or paperwork downstairs in their offices.

So when you walked directly into the well-lit sitting room where Fred and George lounged on the sofa directly facing the fireplace, you froze.

“Well, well, what do we have here, Forge?”

“I don’t know, Gred. It looks like our girl’s here to take advantage of some great savings.”

You could feel your lips curling into the familiar grin these two always prompted, but you angled your body towards the front door in an attempt to squeeze by safely. “Now boys, I only have a small window of time that I intend to use wisely–”

Your well-laid plans ended in a squeak as you were lifted off your feet and laid unceremoniously across two sets of legs. Fred’s arm cradled your head carefully while his other automatically wrapped around your waist. George immediately took to removing your trainers, strong fingers massaging circles against the tight muscles and turning you limp.

“Our little sale has been more successful than anticipated and we thought we’d get away for a breather–,” Fred said lightly, his hand now tracing down your cheek.

“–so your arrival comes at a perfect time, love,” George picked up where his brother left off. You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped you as he slipped off your socks. His hands were warm against your smooth skin, and you thanked yourself for the foresight of shaving the night before.

“What did you two have in mind?” While you knew exactly what it was you wanted, you decided to play coy. They’d disrupted your original ideas, after all. You couldn’t make things too easy for them.

“Well…” Fred’s fingers propped your chin up as he leaned down to hover just out of reach, “that depends.”

“On?”

Your eyes flickered away from Fred to watch as George shifted on the chaise, separating your legs so he could turn and kneel between them. 

George licked his lips as he eyed the two of you, and his hands moved up your thighs to continue his gentle rubbing. “On what it was you were planning on purchasing.”

Trapped between their warm bodies as you were, you couldn’t help the flush that worked its way up your chest to fill your cheeks. They smirked at the sight.

“I wanted to pick up some Daydream Charms,” you continued despite the way Fred clicked his tongue in disapproval, “Crush Blush, since I’m almost out, and a Tongue Twister–”

“I can understand the blush, but do you really need the others when you already have two wizards who are more than happy to fulfil any fantasies you might have?” George interrupted.

His hands slipped beneath the thick fabric of your skirt, long fingers sweeping up the expanse of your thighs and encouraging you to widen them as he bent forward.

“George, you really don’t need to–”

“He wants to, love, as do I,” Fred said, gripping your chin firmly and raising his eyebrows. “Or do you want us to stop? Just say the word.”

The mouth that had been kissing its way up your inner thigh paused now above your centre, the heat of his breath priming you for a very different sort of tongue. A gush pulsed through you at past memories of how skillful they were with their fingers and mouths. They were insatiable, their focus unwavering and discerning of how every single sensation affected you. They used that knowledge to their advantage and your demise, turning you into a helpless puddle at their beck and call.

Sometimes it mortified you, afterwards, thinking about all the ways you unravelled at their touch, how easily they could make you say and do things you never would have dared on your own. You weren’t a very open person, despite how your body and mind seemed to unfurl at the mere suggestion of their eyes on yours.

You knew without a shred of doubt that, were you to say so, Fred and George would remove their hands. You hadn’t put a label on what it was that went on between the three of you just yet. You hoped, yes. You craved and dreamt.

“Don’t stop.” Low and breathless, you sounded desperate because, well, you were.

“Your coins are no good to us, sweetheart,” Fred murmured. He maintained a steady commentary while George mouthed you through the thin cotton of your knickers. 

The barrier was a joke sodden as it was with the combination of his spit and your steady arousal. He sealed his mouth against you and hummed. The vibrations sent you into a backbreaking arch with a moan. It was only Fred’s hands against your shoulders that stopped you from lifting off of the chaise entirely. His chuckle was warm against your cheek, his kiss a reassuring pressure to your temple.

The moment the gusset of your knickers was swept to the side and George ran a flattened tongue the full length of your slit, you cried out, scrabbling for purchase on something, anything.

Fred met you, fingers threading through yours and lips crashing down to muffle your cries. Slowly, he brought your hand up with his own to wrap around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he didn’t have to. The mere presence was close enough of a claim to tip you over the edge as George plunged two fingers inside and curled them upward.

“Pretty girl, so sweet and good for us,” Fred cooed. “Can you be good for a bit longer?” His hips shifted beneath your head where it rested. You could feel the thick length of him straining against the constraints.

“Please!” This was why you’d come over, wasn’t it? You’d dreamt last night of a scenario much like this one where the twins moved over and around you, taking turns wringing pleasure from you like another one of their experiments. 

You only had to turn your head the barest amount before your jaw opened wide to take in his bared cock, while, at the same time, you felt a blunt pressure at your cunt. Like they shared one mind, they impaled you from both ends. Hands pressed against your hips and the back of your head, bringing you flush against them. You trembled, and you gagged, and still they held on tight.

“Nnnnn,” you couldn’t speak with your mouth and throat stuffed full; you weren’t sure how much longer you could last like this.

One of them, you weren’t sure who, shushed you. Fingers brushed against your clit, a fist tightened around your hair, spots danced across your vision through which you could only see the milky skin of Fred’s lower abs and a thatch of red hair slightly darker than the rest.

Just as you felt like you were about to pass out, they pulled back, and you gasped for air just in time to be filled once again. They repeated the process until you shouted around Fred’s cock and shook beneath George’s circling thumb.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I’m–” Fred groaned deep as he started to come, spilling down your throat as you worked to swallow all of him. “Look at you, drinking me up.” He didn’t care about the cum still coating your lips as he bent down to tangle his tongue with yours, thrusting deep and swirling around as if he meant to clean you up.

His mouth caught your cries as George pulled your knees up and spread them in a wide v, thrusting as deep as he could to finish. George nuzzled against your tits over the jumper you still wore as he pulsed inside of you. The slight tingle of magic across your abdomen let you know one of them had cast a contraception charm. It wasn’t until he slipped out of you and sat up that Fred pulled back from your kiss.

“Any chance we can convince you to join us downstairs?” George asked as he offered you your knickers. 

They both wore satisfied grins, eyes crinkled at the corners and lips swollen and red. Given the state of their faces and how their hair stood in disarray, there was no question about what they’d been doing in their free time. 

You tapped your chin as you pretended to think. “I do still have a few more fantasies I’d like to experience if there are any more Daydream charms left…”

Laughter bubbled out of you at the insulted looks they gave you, a joy that turned into dismay when George vanished your knickers with a casual wave of his hand.

“Cheeky witches don’t get to wear knickers,” he sniffed. The act was just that, his smirk giving away his amusement.

“We do still need to eat, if you’d like to join us for lunch.” The uncharacteristic seriousness in Fred’s voice prompted you to look more carefully at him.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Fred Weasley?”

“What if we are?” His chin came up in that stubborn way of his you sometimes saw around his family and rivals. George looked much the same, even with the hint of his smile remaining.

You could slap the invitation down with your usual playful air, and they’d likely go along with your decision. While none of you had strictly gone out of your way to hide the attraction you felt for one another, this would be the first such instance of publicly acknowledging it as such.

“I could be persuaded…”

You looked them both over, biting your lip as you imagined all the ways they could go about convincing you. The possibilities were endless, your mind a playground for three. They leaned forward, beckoned by the prize dangling before them.

Then you bolted, aiming for the door sans knickers and trainers knowing full well they’d never let you make your escape. Laughter rang out behind you, then the familiar weave of their magic wound around you and yanked you back into their arms.

Right where you belonged.

1825 WC

5.19.24 FB: Lauren’s Kitchen prompt: “sale”

Cross-posted on Tumblr, Facebook, and AO3.

[kykyonthemoon]

Sudden Rain

Your plan to see a meteor shower on his birthday was canceled because of a sudden rain.

── .✦ Xavier x Female Reader|MC

♡︎. Tags: short, flashfic, R16 - MDNI - suggestive themes

♡︎. Word count: 700w

♡︎. This little piece is my entry to a LaD Hotel Discord event.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

The day of October 16th passed smoothly, with plenty of laughing, exactly as you had hoped. Plans for Xavier's birthday proceeded well, from the surprise at Philo Flower Shop with Jeremiah's assistance to the excursion to Moonfall Bay, the handwritten letter personally delivered at the Time Post Office, and the incredibly romantic dance under the moon. You also heard Xavier confess his sincere feelings. To end such a wonderful day like this there was only one more thing left.

You had checked the weather forecast online in advance and knew that there would be a meteor shower that night. It was easy to witness in Moonfall Bay. You were expecting meteors, but after your kiss with Xavier, chilly rain started falling. 

"Oh!"

You suddenly shouted and reached out to catch each raindrop. Xavier also raised his head to the sky. 

“It's raining.” 

Like many others, you quickly grabbed Xavier's hand to find shelter. The unexpected downpour ruined your meteor-watching plans. In addition, the rain continued to fall heavily throughout the night. 

“I'm sorry… I intended to watch the meteor shower with you, but…”

Xavier softly clasped your hand and said, "This is already the best birthday I've ever had."

You waited awhile, but the rain refused to cease, so you decided to return to the hotel room you had reserved. It was festival season at Moonfall Bay, so getting a hotel was quite tough. Fortunately, you managed to get the only room left, and Xavier was more than willing to share with you, even if it meant sleeping on the sofa.

As soon as you opened the door, you were very surprised to see that inside the small room were many unlit candles and lights. A lovely cake was displayed on a tiny table in the center of the room. That must have been a present from the hotel once they learned about your plans to celebrate Xavier's birthday that day. Even though you could not watch the meteor shower, a small party with just the two of you here was always delightful. 

Xavier let you change first. However, after entering the bathroom, you realized that you had forgotten to bring clean clothes. You wrapped a cotton towel around your body in a set of lingerie and walked out.

The room had been illuminated. Xavier stood with his back to you, holding little fragments of light like fireflies. He lit up candles and lights. And you could see his back adhered to the damp shirt after he removed his vest. Hearing your footsteps, he turned around.

The buttons on Xavier's shirt had been removed, displaying his soaked abs in the faint glow of the lamps, candles, and lights made by his Evol. Raindrops were still flowing from his hair, down his neck, chest and abdomen. Your face reddened yet it was difficult to look away.

Xavier was also very surprised to see you in that state. He asked: “Finished?”

“No… I forgot something.” You replied. Afraid he might catch a cold, you took a clean towel and wrapped it around his neck. “At least dry your hair first.”

“My hands are full,” Xavier replied with a small smile. You looked at the new lights emerging from there. “Would you mind?”

You knew full well that Xavier was just making excuses to get you to take care of him. However, this made you extremely pleased. You motioned for him to lean down and begin drying his hair. 

Xavier stood near you. So close. His hot breath blew on your exposed neck and shoulders, making you feel ticklish.

Before you knew it, Xavier had placed his hand on you. He drew you closer till his lips left a burn mark on your ear.

“Seeing you like this, I'm glad we didn't get to see the meteor shower.”

You smiled and gently pushed Xavier away. “Dry yourself.”

You then swiftly stole some cream off the adjoining cake. You swiped it onto Xavier's face. He frowned.

You glided your finger and ran a long line of cream down his neck, chest, and abdomen. Xavier reddened and quickly grasped your wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Testing the cake," you chuckled. At that point, Xavier tugged you toward him, brought your cream-stained finger to his lips and gently bit it. 

"You—!"

"Then I… want to taste it too…"

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*images credited to Kim Kardashian Twitter, and CW photo stills

Anonymous Prompt: I really want demon dean stalking someone but I don’t know how to do that with consent? But guh just the thought of him.

Characters: Knight of Hell/Demon Dean Winchester x unnamed female character

Tags/warnings: 18+ only; this is not your mother’s Dean Winchester; stalking; exhibitionism; voyeurism; mutual masturbation; dirty talk; horny on aisle 3; fuck it, we ball

Words: 2,400

Author’s notes: #Mutual Masturbation for @jacklesversebingo

This did not turn out the way I'd planned, and it's not nearly as dark as I thought it would be. But I still love it! I hope you love it, too.

Thank you @brrose-apothecary @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @runawaydr3amerao3 @bigmouthlass for idea bouncing, and @stusbunker for the proof read and green light.

ENNUI

For some people, the passage of time is beautiful and magical; the smallest things are to be cherished. For others, time passing reinforces our connection with the world, marking each pulse of the rhythm of life. For her, time measures the loss and emptiness of what isn’t or will ever be again. 

Today is a milestone birthday for her. The days leading up to it have been punctuated by discoveries of new lines, bulges, and other undesirable changes to her body that remind her she’s steadily failing.

Since she had just two appointments this morning, she decided to close her office early and hit the pool shared by her HOA. Her neighbors are mostly professionals without children, and it’s Tuesday; she’s sure she’ll have the pool to herself to languish in the wet heat of July in the Midwest.

That annoying fucking saying ‘it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity’, comes for her breath and doesn’t leave. It seeps into the lining of her lungs, heavy and damp, slowing and weighting each step she takes toward the south-facing bank of chairs. Once she reaches the chair she always uses, she drops her canvas tote to the concrete and shrugs out of the sheer wrap before shuffling out of her sandals.

She bends to rifle through her bag for her tanning oil, and a faint chill begins to weave its way up her spine. 

+

Dean is sitting in the front seat of the Impala, swallowing the last bite of his Biggerson’s double bacon and cheese when she snags his attention. She walks with the measured confidence that speaks more of a dare than of enthusiasm. She’s alone, and everything about her vibe tells Dean that she’s more than comfortable with that. 

She doesn’t miss a beat as she makes her way to a randomly chosen lounger in a line of another dozen exactly like it. She lets her bag slip from her grasp, and her robe floats from her straight shoulders to join it at her feet.

She’s small in stature but she looks strong and fit—thick thighs and sculted arms, a narrow waist, and curves upon curves. Dean's never cared much about short, tall, fat, thin; he likes women and sex, and if he hits it off with someone, he’s down to fuck.

But this woman is a work of art.

He watches her dig through her bag, dragging his gaze from her delicate ankles and smooth calves and thighs to the generous curve of her ass. He imagines wrapping arms around her, lifting her to carry her to... bed, most likely.

He chuckles to himself. 

She takes a seat half-upright with her legs outstretched and applies oil to her bronze skin. He wishes he could rub it in for her. He lets himself believe she can read his mind, that she's doing this for him, putting on a show just for him. 

Why not? 

When she unties her bikini top to expose her full, heavy tits and dusky nipples, he doesn’t think twice about popping the button on his jeans and pulling his hot, persistently hard cock from his boxers.

+

As she had hoped, she’s alone at the pool. The small cluster of townhouses where she lives and the complexes on either side are as quiet as any Tuesday afternoon. Other than the birds and squirrels in the trees, she’s got the place to herself.

Well, and the old black Chevy parked at the Biggerson’s next door and the shadowy figure within. She may be cynical, but she’s self-aware, and she’s going to squeeze every drop of pleasure from this bland existence as possible. 

She’s always been an exhibitionist, definitely a thrill-seeker.  She pulls the tie at her neck until the triangles, scarcely covering her breasts, fall away. Then she splashes oil across her collarbones, letting it heat and drip down and around, and between her breasts. 

She flicks her shaded eyes to the car before hefting and massaging the full mounds of flesh, then sighs and nuzzles into her lounger. She bites her bottom lip hard as she pinches and twists her puckered nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

She notices the figure shifting in the driver’s seat. They don’t start the engine or exit the vehicle. Instead, they lift a palm to their mouth and, she imagines, they spit before the hand disappears out of her sight once more.

“Fuck,” she whispers with a smile as she settles her head back against the plush headrest, dragging one hand down her torso and pushing it into her bikini bottoms.

+

That smirk.

Dean looks around the parking lot to find no one else around—it’s as empty as her pool area. He looks back to see that she’s planted her feet on the ground on either side of her chair, her legs spread open, and one hand working rough and slow in her bikini bottoms while the other pulls at her nipples.

“Fuck yes, sweetheart. Do it for me,” Dean mutters, twisting and pumping his cock. 

He grunts and groans as she pulls her hand from her bathing suit and lifts it to her mouth. She raises her head, then, and pushes two fingers between her luscious lips. She sucks and licks her fingers, taking her time, and Dean wishes she wasn’t wearing those mirrored sunglasses. He wants to see her eyes.

Are they blue? Green? Brown?

Is she watching him like he’s watching her?

After what feels like the longest and most uncertain staring contest, she pushes her fingers back between her legs. She doesn’t immediately put her head back, though. This time, she licks her lips and grips the edge of her chair with the hand she isn't using to fuck herself.

“That’s right, good girl, show me how you like it.”

He grips the steering wheel as he pumps himself until her mouth drops open and she starts to tremble. Her gorgeous tits bounce and her hips undulate, and, before he knows it, he’s spurting hot over his fist. 

+

She slams her head back against the headrest, sweating and panting even more than she was from the afternoon sun. She feels gooey and giddy, and light. She opens her eyes and heaves a sigh of satisfaction, pitching forward to look across the pool to Biggerson’s parking lot.

A flash inside the car lights a cigarette, and she catches the first glimmer of the dark stranger. He holds her gaze for a beat, the flame’s reflection dancing in eyes so dark they appear black, before throwing the zippo closed and roaring from the empty lot.

She sighs again as she sits up straight and ties her top back in place before standing, stretching, and striding toward the pool to dive in. The water is cool and calm as she strokes from one end of the pool and back again three times before barrel-rolling to her back to aimlessly float. A light breeze ruffles the leaves overhead, making the sunlight flicker like a strobe. 

After a while, she draws a deep breath before tucking into herself to blissfully sink to the bottom of the muted 4-foot depth.

+

“Sure.” Dean nods and rolls his eyes as Crowley nags him on the other end of the line.  

Crowley gave him a job, which is what brought him to her town, and he really should do it—to calm The Mark and keep the peace with the King of Hell—but he’d rather be knocking on her front door. 

Seeing her yesterday has completely derailed his plans. It’s been years since he felt an instant connection with someone like he feels with her. Separated by the green vining through the black chain link and shade inside his car, he felt her. He wants to feel more. 

“I’ll take care of it, OK?”

He isn’t lying, not really; he’ll take the guy out, just not right now. He’s... preoccupied.

“Now, Dean. Not tomorrow, not next week-”

“Yeah. I know. I’ll get it done. Bye.”

Dean cuts the line and tosses his phone to the passenger seat then looks up just in time to see her exiting her townhome. She’s wearing those stretchy kinds of pants women wear to the gym with heeled boots and a leather jacket. Dean has no idea what the fuck that outfit is all about, but her ass looks incredible. She takes even steps with her head held high. The view from behind her is infuriating. With every stride, her ass plumps and sways, and her wide hips tease him relentlessly.

He fires up the engine and puts the car in Drive before carefully pulling away from the curb to follow her. 

He pictures what she’d look like bent over the hood of the Impala. He imagines yanking those stupid fucking pants down to her knees and kicking her heeled feet wide. She’d moan and arch her back, presenting her perfect, bare ass to him. He’d smack it, and she’d yelp, begging for more. 

She’d beg. And he’d grab a fistful of her shiny black hair to twist and squeeze as he slammed inside her over and over.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing the heel of his palm down onto his ever-present and now throbbing erection.

He watches her toss her hair as she turns into a storefront six blocks from her front door, and Dean slides into another parallel spot and waits.

+

The drugstore door closes behind her, and she’s instantly enveloped by artificially cooled air. One of the many things she despises about midwestern summers is the necessity of air conditioning. She procrastinates turning hers on inside her townhouse every season as long as possible, but when her clients begin to complain, she gives in.  

She doesn’t waste time browsing for anything other than what she came for—eye cream. Yesterday’s existential crisis is a distant memory, surpassed by him. 

She thinks it’s silly that he’s trying to be stealthy, parking a block down the road, like she didn’t see that ridiculous car of his in front of her house before she even opened her door. This game of cat and mouse is fun for her, though. There’s mystery and suspense. It distracts her from the mundane.

She pays for her eye cream and drops it into her handbag before replacing her sunglasses over her eyes. She doesn’t know the rules of this game they’re playing, but she’s never played by anyone’s rules except her own, so it doesn’t really matter.

Back out in the heat, she pauses before heading toward the restaurant to meet a friend for lunch. Sunlight beams off the chrome bumper of his car, making her squint even with her sunglasses on. She shields her eyes and tosses him a smirk, then turns to walk the other direction.

+

She sees him now, and she saw him yesterday.

That fucking smirk of hers is the guarantee he needs. Every step she takes and every move she makes is an invitation, and he has to think long and hard about whether that’s a good thing or not. Because he’s sure that not only does she see that he’s watching her, but that once she sees him up close and personal, she’ll see who he really is.

She’s a kindred spirit. He knows this as well as anyone knows when they find that person, that connection. He doesn’t know what the connection is exactly, but he knows it’s there, and it’s undeniable.

But can she hold her own with him?

He decides to follow her with renewed purpose. 

+

After lunch, she stops at a consignment shop, the florist, and the liquor store. She wanders along the selection of wines, row by row, waiting. She doesn’t have to wait much longer, though.

“Lotta choices, huh?”

The ticking of her heart speeds up from the sound of his thick, masculine voice. It’s only been 24 hours, but she’s been on tenterhooks, willing him to approach her, and it’s finally happening.

Then she turns to face him and gasps.

He’s gorgeous—tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly proportioned, defined, angular jawline, thick eyelashes, and a mouth that has her rapidly dampening her underwear. But it’s his eyes that give her pause. 

Sparkling obsidian. She wasn’t imagining what she witnessed yesterday. Then he blinks to reveal the most exquisite jade. Her skin crackles with anticipation. He’s like no one or thing she’s ever seen before.

She wants to know everything.

“Small talk? After all we’ve been through together?” she murmurs, shifting into him like he’s a black hole that will never let her go. 

She can’t- won’t deny him.

+

He narrows his gaze and slowly tilts his head, studying her face. 

“Honey, we can talk about anything you want.” He scans her bright, whiskey eyes and the straight bridge of her nose leading to the enticing pitch of her top lip. “But I’d rather do something else with my mouth.”

Her eyelids flutter and he chuckles, teasing the backs of his incisors with the tip of his tongue. He reaches for her, tucking one hand under the back of her hair and bringing her the last few inches closer. 

“Like what?” she whispers, and he meets her trembling lips with a firm, insistent kiss. 

“I think you know,” he mutters, turning and pressing her against the selection of Australian whites.

She hums, draping her arms around his neck. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Dean drags her flush against him by her waist and twists his fist in the back of her long, raven hair. And he tells her what she wants to hear.

“I’m gonna taste every inch of you.” He mumbles against her throat and lower. “I’m gonna suck those beautiful tits and bite your tight nipples.” He pushes a knee between her thighs and lifts until his leg meets the hot, damp crotch of her thin, stretchy pants, then scrapes his teeth over the shell of her ear. “And I’m gonna lick and play with your little clit until you're begging me to fuck you. And then I’ll lick you some more.”

She grinds over his thigh. “We gonna do this here?” she breathes. 

Dean huffs a laugh as he steps away, setting her back on her own two feet. He holds her hand and her gaze. “Yeah, I know how much you like an audience. But I want you naked and I don’t wanna share you.”

She swallows and nods. “What’re we waiting for?”

Dean grins and spins toward the door, leading her out into the afternoon sun.

Dean Winchester Masterlist | MJ’s Masterlist

[thedevilinmybrain]

Hi love

Prompt: Love at first sight, like "the world stop when I first saw you" kind of.

Thanks xx

this is silly and a little dirty and flirty and happy christmas!

"Oh for heaven's sake, Louis. It's your turn. Just go do it!" Liam shoves a hand into Louis' jacket, shoves him towards where the line for the Christmas stall has already gained two more people. "Oi, alright alright. Fuck off then." Straightening his coat, Louis digs his hands into his pockets and waits. That's all he can do as the line slowly crawls forward. It's his own damn fault - promised to buy the lads a round of mulled wine since he lost the bet over at the ice skating rink. How was he supposed to know that fucking Zayn of all people knew how to skate because of ice hockey? Stepping up behind a couple that clearly has no idea what they want, Louis glances around. The Christmas market is all lit up with strands of multicolored fairy lights, heavy with boughs of fir and pine. It smells like a Chris Kringle dream, like cinnamon and sugar dust and cranberries. He half expects to see magic reindeer walking around, maybe an elf in the eaves of one of the canvas tents. What he doesn't expect at all is to finally be first line and come face to face with a literal Christmas angel. Louis is an expert on the subject. He's a Christmas baby after all. "Hi there. What would you like?" Green eyes, pink cheeks, a crooked grin. It's all Louis can see. Peering up at him from behind the rough wooden countertop, a crown of gold tinsel nestled in his curls. "You." It falls out of Louis' mouth, just an honest answer, and Louis can't feel bad about being this bold when the flush on the man's cheeks darkens. "I'm um," A ringed hand flutters around the top of his red apron, the man ducking his head a little. And god does flustered look downright devastatingly good on him. "I'm not on the menu." "Hi, Not on the menu. I'm Louis." Whatever rulebook Louis has prescribed to for dating has gone up in flames, and he's almost cringe at the worst line in the world if it weren't for the way the guy gives out a startled and loud laugh. "Oh! You've got jokes then, hm?" Brushing his fingers to his lips, the angel lets out another giggle before holding his hand out. "Well, Louis, it's nice to meet you." "Come now, love. You're really not going to tell me your name?" Louis asks, reaches to slip his fingers into the other man's, giving him a firm but slow shake. He knows he's holding up the line, knows he's laying it on thick, but the guy just is too close to a holiday miracle to pass up. "I'll tell you," Leaning down, the guy meet Louis' eye, all seaglass green with a hint of mischief. "But only after you take me out." "When you get off?" Louis asks, raises a slow eyebrow. "That won't happen till at least the third date." The guy pulls his hand back, turning to fill up a cup from the large stock pot on the water, the mulled wine a deep red. "But you can meet me here at seven."

[ahomeganeyatsu]

a little dream of me

“Chicken dick… am I dreaming?”

He Tian stares at Mo Guan Shan’s bleary eyes. The pursed lips and the squinted look makes him want to eat him up.  He’s just too adorable like this. But…

He feels fingertips press harder on his cheeks. The slight wobble of his lips that he hides by pressing them together. The way his eyes try to look at their reflection on his phone despite the struggle of keeping them open.

Am I dreaming?

Are you really here?

Will you leave again?

“Yes,” He Tian says when all he means is No. There’s a certain elation about knowing Mo Guan Shan dreams of him. That he plagues his thoughts enough to follow him in his sleep.

Then he moves and He Tian is wrapped in warm arms. He buries his face into He Tian’s chest. Mo Guan Shan is a solid line of heat against his body and He Tian wants him there forever.

Stay.

Don’t go.

Don’t leave me alone.

Unbidden, He Tian has shifted to accommodate him. He curls himself around him, slotting their pieces perfectly into each other. Tangles their limbs together so that there’s no telling them apart. He holds him for as long as he can, for as much as he can. He counts Mo Guan Shan’s breaths, pressing a kiss to his hair. The steady beat of their hearts a lullaby singing him to sleep.

[honeyflower-bellybower]

I had a dream tonight and I thought it was cute so here it is

The Potters', Christmas, probably 1977 or around that.

Sirius and Remus are standing right under the Christmas tree, and there's no one else in the room, because it's night. They have a small light up, on Sirius' wand point, but the wand's been left on the small coffee table so that now it only creates some visible shapes, but their faces are no longer lit.

They used the light, a minute ago, to see the stairs as they made them down, the tiny, neatly wrapped box with a golden ribbon as Remus put it in Sirius' hands, and the earring inside it.

It was a small thing, nothing too catchy, to replace Sirius' current simple gold hoop. This, too, had a little gold hoop, but it also had a pendant, a crescent moon with a star inside it. The star was floating about in the semi-circle, enchanted, and it spun on itself occasionally. The moon was enchanted as well, though not visibly, to grow full and wane again.

Remus thought it better to give it in secret, as the romantic implication of such a gift were far too obvious. The Marauders knew, but not the Potters, and they normally had additional visitors for gift giving, too.

Sirius loved it of course. He took off his old hoop and had Remus put in the new one at once. Then Remus admired the result, a calloused hand on Sirius' soft cheek, and they kissed.

They are kissing now, gently, both cherishing this moment and the rare feeling of peace, of being safe and sound. Breathing each other in. When they pull back, Remus draws an affectionate line long Sirius' cheekbone with his thumb, and hits the small, gold moon lightly before resting on his neck. The earring spins and the star twirls cheerily in his pool of space.

It matches him perfectly, he thinks. Something so lively, that can never be still, and yet so elegant.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, because he can't keep it in. He hopes if he can look deep enough in Sirius' eyes he might fall in.

And he sees them glint, even in the dark, and Sirius squeezes his hand like he, too, is simply feeling too much. When he talks, it's strained, as if he's struggling to keep his voice down. "You're just the most gorgeous thing," he says, and Remus is startled into a smile.

What's he saying? Out of all the things Remus is, and could be praised for, beauty surely isn't one. Certainly Sirius doesn't love him for his looks. Certainly. But Sirius looks at him like he truly is seeing something gorgeous, an artwork. Remus feels his awestruck gaze on his big, crooked nose, his jagged scars, his plain brown eyes.

"I still can't believe my luck," Sirius gasps, and Remus wants to laugh. "I can't believe you're real, and I get to have you."

Yours, Remus thinks. All yours.

Remus has been feeling that disbelief for ages, all the time, when he looks at Sirius, when he holds him, when they kiss, when they're in bed together and Remus gets to touch even, he gets to know the feel of his pearly white skin and trace the line of his solid arms, his lovely back. He feels drunk on the thought that it might be the same for Sirius.

"I love you," he says, both hands squeezing Sirius' now. Sirius squeezes back. "I love you, too."

They kiss again, and this time is less graceful, less delicate. It's everything they can't put into words, because they don't know how or because the right words haven't been invented.

"Oi! No messing around with the gifts, you raiders!"

Remus and Sirius spring away, as James bounds down the stairs and throws the lights on.

"Fuck," Remus mutters.

"Prongs!" Sirius accuses.

"Oh, shit, sorry," James says, taking in the actual nature of the situation.

His shouting is sure to have woken the Potters, Remus thinks, throwing a concerned look at the corridor that connects the living room with the master bedroom, downstairs. But, horrified, he discovers it's not James who woke them. There she stands already, Euphemia Potter, a hand to her chest and a gasp on her mouth.

She turns to her son, wide eyes and a stern set to her lips. "James!"

James' expression mutes in shock. He throws a look at the boys, then looks at his mother again, then forces a smile through.

"Ah, dang, you caught us! Promise we're normally better at pranks!" he laughs. James Potter was a terrible liar to be a Marauder.

Euphemia arches an eyebrow at him, having none of that.

"Effie, we were just," Sirius tries, voice shaking.

He mouths around for words. Remus can see his eyes shining, a different type of glint this time. The Potters mean the world to him, Remus knows. He's spent his whole life defying his own parents openly, but a single bit of judgement from Euphemia Potter would shatter him.

Except, when Euphemia turns to them, she looses her reproachful set immediately. She reaches for Sirius, hand extended as if to touch him, even though they're on opposite sides of the room.

"Oh, darling," she says, head tilted and a sorrowful bend of her brow. She looks bashful, like she was the one caught onto something. "I'm so sorry. I heard a noise and wanted to check," she gestures vaguely to the corridor she came from, "but then I heard..."

Remus feels his cheeks heating up. How long had she been listening?

"I wanted to just go back to bed," she continued. "I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a private moment..."

Sirius' shoulders relax. Remus feels it, too. She's... not mad? Not even weirded out? More than that, she's apologizing for... intruding?

"You mean..." Sirius raises his eyes, hopeful. "It's alright with you?"

"Of course it's alright!" James blurts, eyes big. He looks at his mother, expectantly. "Right?"

Euphemia raises her eyebrows, like she's surprised and a little offended, too. "Of course." She nods, fervently, and casts a fixed look on Sirius, then on Remus, as if to make sure it's been received.

Then, her tight lips flicker and her features melt, settling into an affectionate smile like she physically couldn't keep the stern look for long.

She gasps softly. "Oh, but you two are just adorable!" she coos, and then points a finger at them both. "But don't think you can get away! I'd have never let you sleep in the same room if I'd known!"

"Effie," Sirius starts, at the same time James gasps, "mom!"

"Non of that!" she chides, "the same rules as when Lily visits apply. A corridor away."

"We all sleep in the same room," James pushes on, "every night!"

"That's right. With you and Petey there."

James groans. "We have silencing spells, mom."

That's about when the embarrassment gets strong enough to shake all remaining shock and emotion away, and Remus catches on.

"We've never done anything," he rushes to say, confused as to why would Prongs so valiantly fight for their room-sharing rights.

But then he realizes that's too much of a lie, and no one'd believe it, and Sirius is looking at him like he's gone mad, so he clarifies, "in the room, I mean. With the others." And then he wants to groan in frustration because there's no saving this, is there? Now he just admitted to doing things in a room without others in it, and therefore in this room, at the Potters', and he definitely should've just shut up. So he does, mortified.

Euphemia simply looks validated on her point. She nods to herself. "A corridor apart," she declares, "and I shall ask Gully to keep an eye on you." Then, a thought hits her. "No need to tell him why, of course!" she assures, sweet and preoccupied again, "and, oh, Monty is definitely awake now, but it's alright. I'll just tell him you boys were trying to steal some pies away... you don't worry about a thing."

Remus is a couple steps behind Sirius at this point and can't see his face, but he knows instantly what he'll say. Sirius turns to him first, asking for permission. Remus smiles and nods.

"It's fine, Effie," Sirius says softly, "you can... you can tell him."

Euphemia blinks, then smiles broadly, then shakes her head. "Oh, no, no, you do that in the morning, then. These are things we ought to do ourselves, no one else. Now off to bed. I'll make the new sleeping arrangements in the morning."

They all go, in various states of queasy and emotional.

That night, Remus and Sirius make the best of their last bed-sharing opportunity, hoping Gully hasn't been notified yet.

[sweetasmiele]

NALU WEEK - DAY #3

YEARNING

“Is something wrong, Natsu?” Mirajane asked, skillfully balancing a tray full of wobbling dishes.

Natsu had been restless all morning, and a restless Natsu was a danger to society, especially when the guild had just been renovated, again. 

She had been watching him wander from table to table, annoying everyone he encountered. He had already set a wooden pillar on fire and picked two fights with Gray. He would likely have started a third if the ice mage hadn’t left for a job with Juvia.

He was slumped over one of the tables, his forehead pressed against the wood. Happy was doing the same beside him.

“Just so you know, the Master said if you start another fight, I’m allowed to kick you out,” she said casually, trying to catch his attention. “He said I can use any means necessary.”

She saw him shiver and heard a series of grunts, which answered her previous question. Natsu was anything but okay. Mirajane sighed, putting the tray down on the table to focus on the little depressed boy in front of her.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whined while sitting up straight. “I’m so bored.”

“Mira, life has no meaning,” Happy added, his tone equally depressed.

“Have you looked for a job?” Macao suggested from a table nearby.

“They’re all stupid,” Natsu grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe you’re hungry,” Droy chimed in from somewhere behind her.

“You just need a drink!” Cana cheerfully exclaimed, presenting him with a full pint.

Mirajane looked around. The hall that day was quite full, but someone’s absence was clearly standing out.

“Guys, I don’t think it’s any of that,” she said with a giggle, and Natsu raised his eyebrows and looked at her with curiosity. She picked up her tray and started walking away, realizing there was nothing she could do to fix Natsu’s mood. 

“What, Mira? What?” he called after her, as if she knew secrets he couldn’t remotely fathom.

“Lucy will be back shortly,” she raised her voice so he could hear her, a knowing smile on her lips.

“What does that m—Lucy! You are back!” Natsu shouted, loud and excited.

“You are back!” Happy repeated.

Mirajane shook her head and chuckled. She might have to help Lucy out one of those days because Natsu was oblivious to so many things it was becoming painful to watch.

But, at least for now, the guild hall was safe.

[merceyca]

Same shit, different day

Jeremy and Andrew are lifeguards for the summer.

There was a saying Andrew liked to apply to the summer break: “Same shit, different day.” It was true that his days each brought the familiar routine of donning his uniform—a disgustingly bright red tank top and shorts that scraped his inner thighs raw when wet—and driving his mother’s car to the local public pool. From there, he would deal with the same cohort of squealing children, hairy-chested men, geriatric water-exercisers and women in large straw hats, until the sun was low and the sky turned a colour Andrew dubbed Freedom Orange.

The letters in front of the days were ever-changing, but the shit was invariably the same. 

A sudden splash of water on Andrew’s sun-warmed skin startled him out of his half-doze. Not that Andrew could ever fall asleep in a plastic chair so uncomfortable, let alone a public pool teeming with people who were his responsibility to watch. Still, the sameness had lulled him into a kind of calm. He shook it off with the water droplets already seeping through the fabric of his armbands. 

‘You know, you’re going to get crazy tan lines wearing those all summer.’

Andrew didn’t need to look up to see who had spoken. ‘Worry less about my tan lines and more about the kid in lane three, Jeremy.’

Sure enough, Jeremy followed Andrew’s gaze to where a dark head was bobbing just along the surface of the water. Andrew reached for a floatation ring, lobbing it in the kid’s direction before Jeremy could make a move. They both watched the ring soar through the air and land right within the kid’s reach. The kid pulled themselves up, coughing and then gagging.

Jeremy ran over to the podium close to the kid, performing the usual routine of finding their carers and suggesting they head back to the kiddie pool for now. All of the nonsense Andrew never bothered with. 

The kid was alive. As far as Andrew was concerned, his job was done. 

‘Nice throw,’ Jeremy said upon his return.

Andrew hummed. ‘Terrible catch.’

‘What?’

‘If you had been watching the pools instead of me, you could have caught that far sooner,’ Andrew elaborated. ‘Someone almost died because of your lapse in attention. That’s gross negligence.’

Jeremy tutted, amused. ‘What would you suggest, criminal justice major? Should I plead guilty and ride out the punishment?’

‘Just change your name and flee the country,’ said Andrew. ‘You would never survive prison.’

‘I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two from your juvie days.’

Andrew held up a finger in response. Just one. 

Jeremy’s laughter was as bright as the light reflecting off the water, sending a ripple of reluctant amusement through Andrew’s chest. 

There were people who would say these things to incite a fight, but Jeremy and his soft pink mouth sought only to reassure Andrew. You are worth talking to. You are worth joking with. It’s the same shit, different day, but not all of it has to be shit.

[mamichigo]

This was exactly why Cyno never bothered sparring with Alhaitham, no matter how much he craved it sometimes. There was too much pent up frustration in there, thrumming energy that couldn't be resolved any other way. Cyno swallowed the blood in his mouth and knew Alhaitham hadn't held back on that last strike.

They stared at each for a moment. Then, Cyno kicked him squarely in the stomach and caught Alhaitham by the hair when he doubled over.

"You're playing with fire, Scribe," he warned darkly.

Alhaitham laughed. "I've been told I can be reckless."

As if to prove his point, Alhaitham stretched up, against the iron grip Cyno had on his hair—taut enough he felt a few strands snap off. His tongue darted out, pressed to the corner of Cyno's lips where a bit of coppery taste still lingered. Cyno breathed unsteadily before he threw Alhaitham down to the ground.

"You're not tired out yet. Get up and fight."

Alhaitham's responding smile was wicked, matching the almost mad glow in his eyes.

(It shouldn't shake Cyno to his core so violently, but it did all the same.)

[impossiblepluto]

Jack strolls into the house, heading immediately for the kitchen, and continuing the animated conversation that occupied the entire drive over. That he was alone in the car and upon entrance has gained an audience doesn't break his stride-- pace or verbal deluge. Mac's a smart guy, he'll pick up the topic and register his opinions-

Within the depths of the fridge, Jack stops short, bumping the back of his head as he quickly backs up, straightening, and staring intently into the living room.

Sitting on the sofa, Mac stares back. 

Jack crosses his arms as the refrigerator door swings closed. "What's wrong?"

Mac's gaze darts around the room as though searching for whatever raised Jack's hackles, before returning to Jack. "What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong." Jack takes a step toward the living room. He too scans the room, though his stare is slower, piercing and precise before lingering on Mac. 

"Something's wrong?" Mac repeats with an air of skepticism.

"Yeah. Why are you repeating me?"

Mac scoffs. "I'm not repeating you." Before Jack can retort, Mac shakes his head and continues. "I'm trying to figure out how you can walk in here, distracted by an argument you were waging against yourself, yet still apparently losing, barely look around and declare that something is wrong.” 

"Oh ho,” Jack leans a shoulder against the wall. “You are good."

"I'm good? Wait. No. I'm still not repeating." Mac squeezes the bridge of his nose. "I am just sitting here."

"Yeah,” Jack’s brow furrows. He straightens, feeling the pieces of the puzzle beginning to come together like he’s that one French detective from the movies Bozer makes them watch, and steps into the living room. “You’re sitting. On the couch."

"That is why I brought it. It's not just for you to sleep on."

"Sitting on the couch like a normal person sits on the couch. Not sprawled across it like a teenager with limbs askew in all directions just begging for back pain and bad posture.” 

Mac snorts but it lacks amusement. He doesn’t rise to the usual ‘tease Jack about getting old’ bait like he normally would. 

“So, you want to tell me what’s up?” Jack sits on the old trunk which doubles as a coffee table. 

"I... " Mac sighs and splices together three or four words under his breath.

Jack squints, tipping one ear closer to Mac, trying to decipher the mangled phrase. “Say again?” 

Looking up, Mac enunciates, "I tweaked my knee."

Jack winces. "Trail running? I told you you need some better shoes if you're gonna be out there jumping over logs and scaling mountains."

"I wasn't trail running." Mac pauses between his words as though each one is painfully eking out.

Jack cants his head.

"I stood up wrong."

Jack's face twitches. He's a government agent, damn it. He's got a better poker face than this.

"Shut up," Mac glowers.

"I'm sorry." Jack swallows his emotions. It’s not amusement. He’s not sure what emotion he would call it, but it’s sure not amusement. He’d never find anything funny about Mac getting injured. If anything, this emotion is concern. “You stood up... wrong?"

“It’s not funny.”

“No. It’s not funny. I’ve been sitting here thinking it’s not funny,” Jack defends himself. 

“You’re smirking.”

“I’m not smirking. I wouldn’t smirk if I heard you got hurt.”

“Even if I hurt myself by standing up weird?” 

“No.” 

“Oh. Thought maybe you’d see this as some sort of payback.”

“You mean for the fifteen years I’ve spent sharing my wisdom with you and you ignore it because you’re young and your joints still work like they’re supposed to and you couldn’t imagine waking up one day and suddenly something as simple as standing up can leave you limping and hobbling around for the rest of the day?” 

“Yeah.”

“Nah.” 

“Oh okay. Thought maybe it would be something like that.” 

“And I could see how you might think that. A less sensitive, empathetic man might.” 

Mac hums. 

“You need an ice pack?” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting one.” Mac sighs, looking toward the kitchen. “Don’t want to try getting up yet though.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

“No.”

Jack eyes him carefully.

“I did think about it-” Mac hurries to continue as Jack stares harder. “I want to wait it out. If I’m wrong you can gloat.” 

“I wouldn’t gloat either.” 

“Right. No smirking. No gloating. Got it. I’ll remind you.” 

Jack stands, knees creaking. “No smirking from over there either.” 

“No smirking.” Mac winces in sympathy at the sound. 

Jack pats Mac’s shoulder as he passes. 

“You were like my age when we met.” 

“Huh, I guess so. About a year older.” Jack grabs an ice pack from the freezer and returns to the living room. 

“I remember thinking you were ancient.” Mac reaches out to accept the proffered ice pack.

“Hey!” Jack withdraws his hand before the exchange is made.  

“At twenty-one you seemed old. Listening to the way you groaned when you got out of the humvee, that seemed a whole lot older than I feel now. Or at least older than I felt this morning.”

Jack nods in concession as he settles on the couch next to Mac and passes over the ice pack. Mac claps it on his knee. With a groan he raises his leg and positions it on a pillow.

“One day you’re able to sit all curled up like a pretzel, and the next you sneeze and can’t turn your neck for three weeks.” 

“I am almost sorry I teased you all these years.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I mean, compared to me you’re still like ancient. I have a few good years of teasing before it comes back to bite me.”

Jack opens his mouth to protest, then purses his lip. “You know, I’d grab that ice pack and run but honestly, watching you try to move that leg makes me hesitant to try it.” 

“It wasn’t fun.”

“Didn’t look like it was. Last thing we need is to explain to Matty how the both of us got taken out getting up from the couch.” 

Mac flops back on the sofa, blond hair splaying against the cushions. He drops his arm across his eyes. “That’s going to be almost as much fun as moving my leg.”

“I don’t envy that.” Jack leans forward with a grunt and scoops up the remote control. “Die Hard?”

Mac shrugs, eyes still covered by his arm. “Might as well. Don’t think I’m moving for a bit.” 

“Yippee-ki-yay.”

[arislore]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚જ⁀➴ Wedding Planning

Pairing: Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: This is what Steve daydreams about when he’s with you, even though he hasn’t even proposed.

Warnings: none

Tags: this is my first time doing a flashfic! i really hope you all like it lol. i know it’s more headcanon-y than story-like, but i thought it would be fun to do.

Word Count: 500

Steve is the biggest softie. You could be the biggest lovergirl on Earth, and Steve would still beat you in terms of how much he loves planning your wedding.

For the wedding colors, he’d really want a mix of baby and navy blue. He’d probably want the bridesmaids to have the baby blue dresses and navy blue accessories and the groomsmen to have navy blue suits and baby blue ties and handkerchiefs.

Going off of that, he’d want the flowers along the aisle and all the decorations to be blue and white. He’d want stuff like baby’s breath, irises, and forget me nots.

He doesn’t go dress shopping with you, because he knows you’ll be drop dead gorgeous in anything you choose, but God, he wants to see the dress. Every few days or so, he’ll ask you questions about it, trying to envision it in his head.

“Is there lace? What about beads?” he’d ask.

“You know I’m not gonna tell you, Stevie,” you giggle back.

He’d want to wear a white suit, with a navy blue handkerchief. He’d wear white leather shoes and navy blue socks. He’d also make sure his face is clean shaven and his hair is perfect so that he looks good–for you and the photographers.

He’d want the ceremony to take place in nature, preferably in the venue with a small, rocky waterfall. He’d want the reception to take place in an old castle about a half an hour away, just for the character. He’d even pay for everyone to sleep there, if he had to.

For the cocktail hour, he’d probably choose a large charcuterie board. We’re talking about the whole table, covered in meats, cheeses, and fruits. He’d also do free drinks for everyone, with themed drinks about your relationship, including how you met, your first date, and how he proposed.

For the food, he’d want it to be simple but elegant. He’d want a pasta dish, a beef dish, and a chicken dish. He’d also include a vegetarian dish for Robin, since she’s not a fan of meat. For the pasta dish, he’d probably want cavatappi and pesto with chicken. For the beef dish, he’d probably want ribeye with a sweetish glaze, like blackberry or honey. For the chicken dish, he’d probably want coq au vin. For the vegetarian dish, he’d probably want vegetable lasagne.

He’d taste every cake the bakery would make, but ultimately choose lemon with raspberry icing. The bakers would get so annoyed after the third or fourth appointment, because they know it’s just him being indecisive.

He wants to hire a DJ for the reception so you can choose your own music. He wants songs like “Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” by R.E.O. Speedwagon or “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner. You know, real sappy songs. He’d want your first dance song to be “Somebody to Love” by Queen.

As an extra, he’d want to hire a wedding painter for the ceremony.

[sailtomarina]

Here is Where I Want to Stay

“Fred, do you have a mo–”

Before you could finish your sentence, the office door crashed open with the arrival of his twin.

“We have a problem.”

The tone in George’s voice made it clear the problem needed immediate attention, and the two of you rushed out without hesitation. Fred squeezed your shoulder in passing, however, reassuring you that you’d find another time to speak.

Except, it seemed like everything and everyone was out to interfere. 

No matter the time or place, whenever you approached Fred, something would happen that would pull one or both of you away. Not even the shop closing gave you the privacy needed, as not even half an hour after locking the door and cleaning up, Ron clattered down the stairs trailing soot from the flat.

“G-Ginny! Th-the baby! It’s coming!” He gasped out the news and bent at the waist as he attempted to catch his breath.

George scrambled to join Ron as they ran back up, but Fred paused just long enough to throw you a look.

“What are you waiting for? Go! I’ll close shop.” You shooed him along with your hands, earning a grateful smile and wink.

“Thanks, love! We’ll chat later, yeah?”

Then he was gone, leaving you alone in the now quiet store. It felt strange to be the last one, despite having worked there for over a year now as you finished your Runes mastery.

What you didn’t expect was how fun each and every day was with the twins. They didn’t hesitate to pull you into product development and testing, and you found modern applications for runes that you never would have considered in the past. You were so invested in your projects with them, that you neglected your post-graduation job hunt as months passed you by. It was easy to forget about the outside world when working with the twins, especially Fred.

Fred, with his crooked grin and easy laugh. Fred’s eyes that sought you out without fail. He didn’t just look. He saw you with all your insecurities and curiosities and knew just what to say and do to fire you up. Everyday, you went back home alone, and everyday, you told yourself you’d tell him how he made you feel the next time you were alone together.

With a wave of your wand, the lights went out in the shop, but instead of leaving, you took one last look around. Just enough light from the street lamps outside streamed through the window to cast a glow over the polished wood shelves. Maybe it was time for you to bid farewell and move on.

 “You’re still here.”

You whirled around at the familiar voice, nearly crashing into his arms as they flew up to catch you. “Fred! What are you doing back already? What about Ginny?”

You felt as much as saw the quirk of his lips in the shadows. “She’s good, as is the baby. It’s a boy. They named him Albus.”

He had yet to drop his arms. They remained circled around you, hugging you close enough to breathe him in. Citrus, smoke, home. You felt faint. “Good. That’s good.”

“What was it you wanted to tell me all day?” His breath tickled your ear. 

You didn’t expect his face to be so close to yours when you turned to answer. He’d bent down towards you and now you hovered mere millimetres from one another. The air around you almost tripled in density, fighting your attempts to draw in one damn breath.

“I…” You stuttered to a stop, uncertain of how to phrase your longing.

“You?” His palms smoothed up your back to press you even closer.

“I want…”

How could you think with the way he brushed back a loose curl, or how he brought that same hand to the base of your neck, fingers threading into the strands and thumb rubbing circles against that sensitive spot behind your ear?

“What is it you want, love?” he murmured, lips nearly brushing your own.

“You.” The answer escaped before you could hold it back, rephrase it into something more eloquent.

His thumb stopped its circling and slid down to press upward against your jaw until your eyes met his. “That’s good.”

“It is?”

He hummed in assent. “Otherwise what I’m about to do would be very awkward.”

You had only a second to register the wicked grin that spread from cheek to cheek before you felt a yank to your navel. With a snap of his fingers, the lights turned on just enough for you to take in your surroundings. 

“Is this…your flat?”

You knew the answer before he even gave it; there was no questioning in whose room we stood. Those were Fred’s work boots next to the door, and there was his coat hanging on one of the hooks lining the wall. A small pile of books on Runes and Arithmancy sat on the nightstand of a bed made up in navy blue and cream.

“I didn’t bring you here under any pretence. I just wanted to give us a bit of light and privacy since George should be home soon.” 

“We could have walked up here,” you teased.

His cheeks turned a delightful pink. “I might have been showing off a bit.”

He barked out a laugh when you shoved him back onto the bed and he bounced in place.

“A bit? You cast those spells wandless and wordless.” 

Then you were on him, straddling his hips and tilting his face up towards your own. His reaction was instantaneous, hands grasping your hips and squeezing tight.

“I meant what I said. I don’t want to pressure you into anything.” His hands said otherwise as they slid down to cup your bottom.

Riding high on the confidence you’d lacked earlier, you saw no further reason to hold back. “Well, with your permission, I intend to snog you breathless.”

You squealed at the sudden shift as he rolled you both over and caged you in place. “You have my whole-hearted permission.”

Except, it was him who dived into the kiss first, tasting of whatever sweet treat he’d had earlier. It was him who pulled back to gaze down at you with a soft smile. It was also him who confessed, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you like this for months now.”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

With a little laugh that you pocketed to cherish later, he admitted, “There always seemed to be something coming up: rampant Pygmy Puffs, rogue frisbees, the nonstop disaster that is my family–” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, the usually bright blue of his eyes darkening as he stared at you.

“What?” You couldn’t help but feel nervous at his continued silence.

“I’ve fantasised about us countless times, but to have you here with me still seems too good to be true. I’m going to wake up any minute now and find that this was all a dream.” He leaned forward, brushing past your cheek, to bury his face in the loose waves of your hair. A hand swiftly followed, burrowing and kneading and relaxing all the muscles in your body. “But this feels so real.” 

“That’s because it is real.” You cupped his cheek, thumb catching along the stubble lining his jaw, and brought him up to look at you. “I am here with you, and here is where I want to stay.”

So, you did.

WC 1242

Cross-posted on FB, Tumblr, and AO3.

4.18.24 Hump Day prompt: “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

More second-person POV. It's been fun writing reader insert, mostly because I get to imagine it's me experiencing these moments ;) I hope you don't mind!

[kykyonthemoon]

Cookies for the birthday boy

When MC bakes cookies for Zayne on his birthday.

── .✦ Zayne x MC (F.Reader)

With the appearance of other MLs and side characters.

── .✦ Tags: AU, childhood, fluff, sweet, birthday fic, MC and other characters are children, flashfic

── .✦ Word count: less than 500w

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes: This little piece is my entry to a LaD Hotel Discord event.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

When MC and Caleb arrived at Zayne's house, all of their friends were present.

Rafayel was out in the garden, conversing excitedly with the fish. Sylus sat with the crows atop the tree, staring down and smirking at her. Xavier was cuddled up on the sofa, enjoying a nice nap. In a corner of the room, Yvonne was instructing Greyson on how to correctly hang the lovely banner. Thomas and Jeremiah were playing video games together. She also caught the twins Luke - Kieran trading hoods and masks, confusing everyone and making it impossible to tell the difference. All was present, just like at school. Only the birthday boy was yet to appear.

She anxiously fixed the bow on her head and gripped the cookie basket safely. Caleb saw this and softly patted her hand.

"I'm sure Zayne will like your present!"

She nodded. Since being adopted by Grandma and Caleb and moving to the area, she had made many new friends. Including Zayne. It was his birthday. She requested Grandma to help her make frosted sugar cookies for him. She was quite nervous to offer him the gift in person.

However, before Zayne showed up, her cookie basket was almost empty!

When Zayne's mom placed the cookies on the table, everyone wanted to try. One for each person. Everyone praised how delicious MC's baking was. In the blink of an eye, the plate was empty! 

“Huh? Where did the cookies go?” Xavier asked sadly.

“I whink Wywus aw em allllll!” Rafayel replied with his mouth full of cookies. (“I think Sylus ate them all!”)

"Boss has to eat a lot to grow quickly!" Luke and Kieran spoke at the same time.

Even though the party was still fun, she felt bad since she had not left any cookies for Zayne. Later, she caught him in the garden alone. She said:

“Sorry Zayne. I… I wanted to give you cookies…”

Zayne noticed her sadness and replied: "It's fine. I don't really like cookies.”

It was as if she had been struck by lightning. She exclaimed, gasping for air, and clutched the hem of her garment with both hands.

"Z-Zayne doesn't like… my cookies?…" 

Seeing that she was about to burst into tears, Zayne panicked.

“It's not like that. I mean… Please, don't cry… I'm sorry.”

It was too late. The faucet from her eyes had just been opened. She cried out, confusing Zayne even more. Regardless of what he said, she kept on weeping. Even if he made a snow seal for her, it would not be enough to fix the situation. At last, he took her into his arms and caressed her back.

“Be good… There there…”

Zayne's warmth caused her to stop sobbing. She snuggled into his arms. It was his birthday, but why did she feel like she was receiving a gift?

Fortunately, Zayne's mom had quietly kept some cookies just for her son that day.