#he snapped my thread FIFTY FUCKING TIMES

[cosmic-horror-statements]

"Silly Archivist"

[gloomwitchwrites]

You tell them you paid $200 to put premium air in your tires.

Anon! I am SCREAMING! This prompt has me cackling in the best way possible. I know that this comes from a TikTok trend, and I've seen a few of the videos under this prank, and they're absolutely hilarious. I had a very fun time with this one. Giggled during the world writing process. Presented in four drabbles. Enjoy!

Task Force 141 x Reader

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, humor, pranks

Word Count: 400

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Love,” breathes John, placing his hands on either side of you. “You did what?”

“The low tire pressure light came on—”

“I know that. After.”

“I stopped at the shop you always take my car to. They offered me premium air.”

John takes a shuddering breath. “Premium air?”

“Yes,” you beam. “I got a good deal.”

“A good deal?” he repeats.

“Half off! Two hundred dollars.”

John blinks. His face growing pale. “What?”

You wave your hand flippantly. “It’s usually four hundred.”

“Four hundred?” John’s voice spikes, almost cracking.

“Helps with suspension!”

“Fucking hell. Show me the bloody receipt.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny twists in the driver seat, staring you down. “You did what?”

“I put premium air in the tires. It was a deal. Came with the oil change.”

Johnny’s mouth drops open. Closes. Opens again. “Premium air,” he says, almost absently.

“They only charged me two hundred.”

“Two hundred?” chokes Johnny.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “Is that bad?”

“Bloody hell, love,” he groans, leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes.

“Used your credit card for the points, too!” you beam, giving Johnny your best smile.

Johnny sighs and starts the car. “You’re lucky you’re cute and I love you.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Baby, listen.”

“It’s great, isn’t it? It’ll help with the balance.”

“The balance?” asks Kyle. He mutters your name and then rubs his hands over his face.

“Should I not have gotten the premium air upgrade?” you ask.

Kyle is hanging by a thread. He breathes deep, and holds his hands out in front of him.

“Do you have the receipt?

“No.”

“Where did you take the car?”

You frown. “I did it for you. Are you not happy?”

Kyle sighs. “I love you. I am grateful. Just tell me where you went. I only want to talk with them.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I said the tires needed to be rotated.”

“I know,” you say. “But they made me an offer. Said it was a good deal.”

“Premium air?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?”

Simon goes red in the face. “How much did they charge for ‘premium air?’”

“Two hundred.”

Simon stares up at the sky. “And how much did they charge you for the tire rotation.”

“One fifty.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Get in the fucking car.”

“Why?” you snap. “Did I do something wrong?”

Simon sighs loudly. “No. Just want to talk to the fucking wanker that sold you premium fucking air.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @daemondoll @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@pearljamislife @ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @spookyscaryspoon @vrb8im

[bullet-prooflove]

Exorcism: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @cosmic-psychickitty @puredicks @queenslandlover-93

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

“You want self-flagellation, running on the beach is definitely the way to do it.” That’s what you say to Robby after he admits he’s punishing himself for losing the baby. He isn’t convinced but then he pulls on his sneakers to join you at the ass crack of dawn, fuck does it feel like just the right kind of atonement.

His calves burn with the exertion, the sand sucking him in, forcing him to push himself, to work harder. His heart slams against his ribcage as the sweat coats his entire body making his vest top cling to his form. His chest feels like it’s on fire, every breath a sharp rasp but still he forces himself on because he likes the physicality of his emotional pain, the fact he’s exorcising his demons with endorphins.

The both of you are a mess by the time you get back to the beach house. He gestures for you to take the shower first but you pull him inside the bathroom with you, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him.

Robby’s self-control snaps because it’s the first time you’ve been intimate since what happened and he needs you to understand just how much he still wants you.

He finds himself fucking you under the heated stream, the water cascading down his body as his hips pump hard and fast, chasing your climax with a tenacity that’s borderline pathological. It gets a little rough, his fingers bruising your skin, your nails sinking into his back as the rapture takes you, causing you to grip his dick so hard he loses all sense of self. The pleasure and the pain mingle and that agony, it’s fucking beautiful. It spurs on his own release and he buries himself inside you, spilling his load deep.

“I thought you hated me.” He mumbles into the curve of your throat as he holds you place, keeping you close because he’s not ready to pull out just yet. “That you blamed me for not saving our baby.”

“No.” You whisper, your breath ghosting in his ear as your fingers comb through his damp hair. “I thought it was my fault for losing them.”

“Fuck no.” He tells you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “There wasn’t anything you could have done, there’s nothing I could have done…”

Oh, he realises, there really was nothing he could have done. Something so delicate, so precious could never have withstood a bullet of that calibre, it’s a testament to a God Robby’s not sure he believes in that you even did.

“It’s not our fault.” He whispers, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “It really isn’t.”

“No.” You whisper back, feeling that relief for the first time. “No it’s not.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dom-thatcher]

A black eyebrow arched up as icy blues questioned her intentions. People didn't ask after him, they just didn't. Even on the road when shit was really bad, not one manager, producer, bandmate, none of them gave a shit. All they cared about was getting him on stage. Hell, even his supposed fans sat back and filmed his breakdowns. The amount of pictures and videos of that last night on stage that were out was proof of his claims. Band played for another solid minute and who knows how long it took for help to get called. People would rather snap a picture than call 911. That shit wasn't even half of the reason Dom had little faith in humanity and had even more trouble accepting kindness at face value. "Why do you give a shit? Is this some sort of weird penance thing?" He responded to her question with yet another question. "Instead of fifty lashes or hail Mary's it's go cheer up the goth guy or turn me away from Satan's door?" But the guilty conflict on her face pulled at some thread in that black pit where his heart was supposed to be. He took a long drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke up in the air, away from her.

Dom nodded slowly, unconvinced, but he sighed. "I get it, you're a nice person and from what I can tell, a people pleaser. You don't owe me anything," and she didn't. There was no reason to apologize and if roles were reversed (even if they were basically the same) he wouldn't be apologizing to her. Dom couldn't even remember the last time he apologized to anyone. Not a real one, anyway. "It is what it is. Sucks he's back to being the same old asshole I know and hate, but that's on him, right?" No matter how much Ethan continued to blame his son for it. Nothing knew, he was used to taking the blame for being the source of his and a lot of other people's problems. Again, none of this was new and it certainly didn't spring from anything Cass suggested even if he wanted to turn that blame on her. He gets why everyone did it to him, it was easier to deflect than reflect or look inward. A bitter laugh left Dom. "Sweetheart, you couldn't fuck up me or my family, if you can even call it that, anymore than it already was." He crushed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and threw it in the sand filled bucket they were passing off as an ashtray. "Hey, maybe this will be a good thing and he'll learn his lesson for once." Dom was already laughing when the last words left his mouth. It would be a cold day in hell. "I think you're more at risk here, how's um, all your people or whatever?" He asked with a flourish of his decorated hand. "Your ma stop messing around with him, or what?" If not she should. What a strange family makeup they would be.

[i-like-writing-stuff]

sorry [five hargreeves x reader]

request: wanted to say I love ur 5 fics and how you portray their relationship as old partners :”) 💖If it’s not trouble to do (Dont feel obligated plz) I had this idea of 5 and reader having a fight and them being too prideful or bitter to apologize. Reader ignores him for some time and Five gets grumpier than usual bc of that. To the point where, one of his siblings tell him to just stop being children, apologize and give them flowers. But he finds it hard bc he is not good with that kinda of stuff ☺️

a/n: thank youuu <3, i try my best to keep the tua characters in... well, character lol- as much as possible! i hope this fic turned the way you wanted it, anyway- enjoy!!~

summary: five gets grumpy when his girlfriend gives him the silent treatment for being a jerk... shocker.

“Could you stop for one damn second and relax?!” You yelled at your boyfriend, already stressed out by the way he had been almost carving a hole through the floor of the living room with all his pacing.

“Relax?!” Five yelled, turning to glare at you, “Do you even realize how stupid you sound?! How could I relax- I lost my last lead on that fucking eye!”

“Come again?” You raised a brow, crossing your arms as you watched him curiously. Did he just call you stupid indirectly?

Your nerves were tugging at the last threads of patience you had left within you- they had been doing that for a few days. You knew that life wouldn’t be quiet when you decided to give a relationship with your partner a shot, but you never expected things to get so messy.

Not only you followed his grumpy butt all the way to 2019 to stop an apocalypse- which you couldn’t care less about, now you had been stuck in your younger bodies because he miscalculated something before traveling in time. On top of all that, he had been a jerk to his siblings- which you grew quite fond of and viceversa, he also started being an asshole to you, all because he couldn’t find a way to stop the apocalypse.

“Five Hargreeves, did you just call me stupid?” You asked, seeing that he was frozen in place, going back over his words in his mind.

“Not exactly.” He knitted his brows in confusion, before realizing the irritated look on your face, “I don’t have time for this, Y/N.”

“You think I had any time these past two years putting up with your shit?” You retorted, making him raise his brows in surprise by your sudden burst, “Screw you, asshole.”

“Now that was rude!” He yelled after you, once you started walking out of the room, completely ignoring him, “Y/N!”

You had been with the Commission for over four decades, you completely trusted its choices, since you never were given a reason not to. Well, that was until the Handler recruited Five Hargreeves. He was about four-five years older than you, but nonetheless still had the impeccable skills of an assassin- just what the organization wanted and needed.

You, being one of the Handler’s most trusted agents, she assigned him under your wing in the beginning until he’d get adjusted. So, he became your partner, it didn’t take long until he became your partner in the real sense of the word.

Five was in love with you- stupidly in love with you. He loved your wit and your kindness, he loved that he could have intellectual conversations with you for hours on end, he loved the fact that he’d feel whole again with just one look at your face, your smile, your eyes.

But he was a prideful man, he knew that. If he was wrong- which he rarely was, he had no intention of apologizing. You knew how important stopping the apocalypse was to him, but... it pained you to see him almost lose his shit completely when he loses the last remaining lead.

For the next couple of hours, you completely avoided him at all costs until he’d get that stick out of his ass and apologize. 

And he’d better have a grand way of doing it.

You knew that it was not like him- he’d never apologize, and the fact that you were avoiding him was not making it any easier on him, but you were beyond pissed. Even if he may not have meant it, all you tried to do was help him relax for a moment, take a breather before that pretty head of his would explode. And in return? 

In return, Five fucking Hargreeves continues being an asshole- what a surprise.

“Jesus, where did all the caffeine in this house go?!” Five groaned, searching the cupboards in the kitchen, feeling grumpier than usual.

“I told you- dad didn’t like it.” Allison reminded him, as she and Luther sat at the table, watching him in confusion, “What’s got into you?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, not done yet with his search- he wanted at least something that felt like coffee, “Come on- we don’t even have... coffee flavored fucking chocolate or some shit like that..?” He mumbled, shutting the cupboard with a loud smack.

“She means... you’re... grumpier... than usual...” Luther hesitantly explained, afraid that his little-older psychotic brother might have finally snapped.

“Mind your business, will ya?” Five asked with a fake smile, stomping out of the kitchen.

“I love Y/N, I swear I do... and oddly enough, Five too.” Allison spoke up, “But honestly, what was she thinking becoming his girlfriend?”

“I am just happy for her they’re not married.” Luther shrugged, resting his hand on his palm, as Diego walked into the kitchen;

“Is it just me or is Five a lesser ray of sunshine than usual?”

The following day, you treated Five with the same coldness as the prior day, which really drove him insane. Not only he spent the night in his bed alone, since you decided to bunk for the night in one of the empty rooms, but now you were still giving him the silent treatment.

Luckily, during breakfast, the Hargreeves siblings finally managed to understand what was going on.

“Hey, Diego, do you think we can pay Eudora a visit at the station after breakfast?” You asked the man, “I promised her the other day some files to help with an investigation she has on the side.”

“Sure thing.” Diego smiled, looking forward to seeing the detective again, even if he bickered with her from time to time.

“What files?” Five asked curiously.

“Vanya, can you please pass me the salt?” You ignored him, smiling at his sister.

Vanya raised a brow, unsure what to do, as the other siblings were piecing the puzzle together. Five raised a brow, as you avoided eye contact with him, waiting for the salt shaker which was, ironically, closer to him than Vanya.

“Here.” He said, reaching for it before his sister, handing it to you.

You looked at him with a smile, then at the salt shaker that was waiting on you to pick it from your boyfriend’s hand. Instead, you scoffed, getting up from your seat with your plate in your hands, suddenly losing your appetite.

“I am gonna go change.” You declared, placing your dish in the sink, “Diego, I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“Unbelievable....” Five muttered, throwing the salt shaker somewhere on the table, before abruptly getting up from his seat to pour himself a cup of freshly made coffee- Klaus made sure to stock up since Allison and Luther told him what had happened the other day.

“Why is Y/N giving you the cold shoulder?” Diego asked his brother, raising a brow.

“Leave me alone.” Five muttered, leaving the room even grumpier, with his hot cup of coffee in his hand to at least soothe him down a bit.

“Five!” Allison yelled after him, but he was already out of there, “Urgh, he’s such a child!”

After you and Diego had left the Hargreeves mansion, Five found it hard to focus on trying to get another lead on the prosthetic eye- he could not stop thinking about the fact that it almost had been twenty four hours since the woman he loved had chosen to deliberately ignore him, all because his stupid mouth could not help snapping at her.

What a moron he was, he knew that.

“Y/N told me what happened.” Allison told her brother, entering his room softly, watching as he laid on his bed on his back, “And woah- aren’t you an asshole?”

“What do you want, Allison?” He asked, rolling his eyes, staring up at his ceiling.

“Here’s a crazy idea... why don’t you apologize?” She suggested, crossing her arms.

“Have you... met me?” Five frowned, lifting his head to watch his sister in confusion.

“Look, you and Y/N both need to stop being children!” She said, “I know you may have teen bodies, but aren’t you both like over fifty? Honestly, Five...”

“Knowing I will regret this, what do you suggest, Allison?” Five asked with a sigh, watching as his sister smirked in response.

You and Diego didn’t really take long to finish your business at the police station. In about thirty minutes, you both were back on your way home, unaware of the big surprise that was waiting for you.

You entered the house, stretching your arms, already telling yourself you needed a drink, even if it was only noon. You figured a glass of some expensive bourbon would calm you down, so you made your way in the living room, as Diego went to his room in his own business.

Although, you couldn’t help but widen your eyes in surprise, as you stopped in your tracks once your look fell on Five, who was sitting at the bar with a Margarita in one hand, and a big bouquet of flowers rested in his lap.

“Five?” You frowned, stepping towards him confused.

Never in his life, would Five ever think he’d be so happy to hear his name on your lips. He softly smiled, realizing that Allison’s plan was working, as you finally spoke to him, even if it was one word.

“Y/N.” Five gulped, setting down his glass to jump off the stool, “These are for you...” He hesitantly said, stretching his hands towards you, as he held the big, colorful bouquet of all sorts of flowers towards you.

“I... Uh... what?” You frowned, taken aback by the gesture.

Five wasn’t necessarily the romantic type, so this was the first bouquet of flowers you ever received from him. You knew he loved you with all his heart and he was in love with you, that’s why you didn’t care about the romantic gestures he never did- but, right now, watching his cheeks turn into a slight shade of pink as he was biting on his bottom lip anxiously- your heart melted.

Allison had given him all sorts of advice on how to apologize to you with the help of Vanya, since they were both well aware of the fact that their brother was not capable of saying such words by himself. But right now, as you stood before him, Five had forgotten all that they taught him.

“I... I suck at this kind of stuff, I gotta be honest.” Five sighed, stepping closer to you, still with the bouquet in his hands, as you were still hesitant, “I... I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Y/N, I know. You didn’t deserve to be told that, even if I didn’t mean it at all. I swear, I was only mad and I never meant to take it out on you.”

“Oh my God.” You covered your mouth in shock, “Are you... actually... trying to apologize to me?”

“Sort of... yeah...” Five sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “Look, what I am trying to say... What I am trying to say is that I appreciate your love, and having your support with me, and I know you care about my well-being.”

“Keep going...” You smirked, stepping closer to him, “Come on... they are three simple words.”

“Right...” Five sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Look, Y/N? I... I am...”

You didn’t even let him finish, as you softly took the bouquet out of his hand not to squish it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a tight hug. You knew how hard it must have been so far for a know-it-all like Five to say that, so you didn’t want to push him further. To you it was enough that he at least felt sorry for bursting like that.

“I love you.” Five sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist, “And I truly mean what I said earlier.”

“I love you too.” You smiled, not yet pulling away from the loving embrace, “And I know... I know...”

Five pulled away to smile down at you, “Thank you for being so understanding... and supportive.”

“I’d say it is my pleasure, but I’d be lying.” You teased him, bopping his nose with the free hand that was not wrapped around his neck still and holding the flowers.

“Hilarious.” Five sarcastically said, slowly leaning in, “I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.”

“Really?” You scoffed, but before you could continue the playful banter, Five had already captured your lips into a soft kiss, finding a better way to shut you up.

[mmvalentine]

Fifty-Six part 2 | Feysand

Smut-fest continues, if you're enjoying this go say happy birthday to @asteria-of-mars!

Part 1 Part 3

Chapter 2: Chafing a bit?

Rhys was right about one thing- the inner circle were already seated and half way through their breakfast when they got downstairs. At the couple’s arrival, everyone looked up and greeted them warmly. They took their usual seats opposite each other, and Rhys caught Feyre’s ankles between his under the table and winked at her.

Feyre settled in between Cassian and Mor, but when the former leaned his elbow on the table and looked at her with a goofy grin, Rhys’s lips thinned.

Alright there? she asked him.

Fine, was the terse and completely unconvincing reply.

You sure you’re ready to be around other people?

Yeah, he said. I’m fine.

“So,” Cassian said, his eyes sparkling. “Mates, huh?”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Okay, I know all of you guys knew before I did.”

“We’re sorry,” Mor blurted. “We never meant to deceive you.”

Feyre softened. “I know,” she said. “It’s okay.” Mor grinned, and heaped muffins onto Feyre’s plate.

“Welcome to the family,” she said, and it was the best thing Feyre had ever heard.

“Congratulations, both of you,” Azriel chimed in, offering her a rare smile. Feyre beamed at him.

“We’re glad to have you,” Amren said quietly, and from her, it meant the world.

The whole time, Rhys kept his eyes on Feyre, and sipped his coffee.

“We missed you guys,” Feyre said affectionately.

“Oh you did not,” Mor smiled.

But Cassian said, “Especially me, right Feyre?” and Rhys snarled.

Everyone at the table stilled, and looked at the High Lord.

“Rhys,” Feyre said. “It’s okay.” Rhys locked eyes with her for a moment, and finally nodded once. Their friends continued eating, but kept flicking wary glances in his direction. Azriel cleared his throat.

“So, since you’re back Rhys, I was hoping to have a moment to discuss Jurian’s movements. My spies in the human realm have been keeping tabs on the human queens and-”

Azriel’s attempt at distraction was interrupted by another snarl, ripping from Rhys’s throat.

“What now?” Cassian hissed at him, dropping his roll to his plate.

“Would you mind keeping your great big ape-arms to yourself?” Rhys spat back at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Every time you move, you’re in Feyre’s space.”

“Rhys,” Feyre warned. “He’s fine.” It’s just the bond, love, she said in his mind. You’re not jealous of your brothers, remember?

Rhys did not reply. Just stared Cassian down until he shuffled further away from Feyre. Which was not very far, since the table was only so long and he was hitting the outside leg already.

“Uh, so… the human realm…” Azriel tried again.

“What about it?” Rhys asked irritably. Mor shifted in her seat. Feyre wasn’t sure whether to try to soothe or reprimand Rhys, but as Azriel talked he did seem to calm down a little. Even made a few comments on his spymaster’s plans going forward, and Feyre relaxed enough that when Cassian asked her to pass the eggs, she didn’t think too much of it. But then when Cassian took the plate from her, their fingers brushed, and in the next second Rhys was exploding across the table.

Glasses spilled and fruit rolled, and the everyone jumped back as Rhys lunged with clawed fingers and feral eyes. Amren grabbed a hold of Mor and said “Right girlie, that’s our cue to leave.” Mor shot a sympathetic glance at Feyre, then they winnowed. Az took a step forward as if he might get in between his brothers, but then thought better of it and left, too. Cassian, his nose bloodied and with egg splattered over his chest, shoved Rhys off of him with a great heave.

“Alright, alright I’m going. You big bloody baby,” he said, and then stalked out the door.

“Rhys,” Feyre began, and his head whipped round to her, teeth still bared. She held her hands up. “Rhys please calm down,” she said.

“Like hell I will,” Rhys growled, and then he lifted her by the waist and set her on the table, pushing her back among the ruined plates and stray danishes. Feyre thought to protest, but there was still testosterone rolling of Rhys in waves, and although her brain did not exactly approve of what had just happened, her body was fast taking over and by the time his lips crashed against hers, she was wrapping her legs around him and clothes were torn from their bodies in shreds.

Rhys sent apologies round after the breakfast debacle, but also stubbornly refused to admit that the mating bond was getting the better of him.

“It was just too many people at once,” he said to Feyre, after she she had taken him back to their room to wash the jam off his chest. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, while she wiped at him with a washcloth.

“It was too soon,” Feyre argued, looking him over for missed debris.

“Maybe I’ll just have them round one at a time, for now,” Rhys went on. Feyre sighed, and rinsed out the cloth. “Okay your turn,” he said, pulling her down and switching places with her. Feyre handed him the little towel, but Rhys, surveying the mix of breakfast smears and lovebites decorating her torso, decided there were better ways of cleaning her up. He licked her from navel to chin, and there was no further discussion about visitors that day.

But the next day, Feyre answered the door to Azriel while Rhys was in the bath. She was surprised to see him, and Azriel, for his part, actually looked nervous. Feyre wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him nervous.

“High Lady,” the Shadowsinger greeted her, ducking his head.

“Azriel,” she said warmly, and grasped his hand in hers. Azriel’s eyes widened, and peered through the doorway behind her. Feyre laughed.

“Don’t worry, he’s upstairs,” Feyre said. Azriel smiled.

“One can never be too careful with new mating bonds,” he said. “And Rhys… well, Rhys has taken my head off for less. Granted, that was a long time ago, but I’m assuming he’s basically a hormone-addled eighteen-year-old again.”

“That’s probably a safe assumption,” Feyre agreed, and showed him in. "Rhys is expecting you?"

“Yes, he asked me to come. I’ll, ah, wait in the study,” Azriel said, and disappeared round the corner. Feyre headed back up the stairs, where Rhys was walking out of their room towelling his hair off. Still naked and steaming from the bath. Feyre’s eyes followed the contours of his abs.

“See something you like, Feyre darling?” Rhys grinned, disappearing the towel with magic.

“Ah…” Feyre stuttered, forgetting what she was supposed to tell him. Gods, he really was a beautiful male. Rhys’s smile turned feline as he stalked toward her. Feyre stepped back as he approached, still watching the muscles shift under his tattoos. He walked her back out to the landing, and leaned her against the bannister as he bent to circle his arms around her waist.

“Cat got your tongue?” he whispered. He was so incredibly warm around her, and Feyre let her head fall back as he kissed under her ear. She struggled to remember what she came to get Rhys for.

“Oh!” she put her hands on his biceps. “Azriel…”

Rhys’s head snapped up, and his eyes were ablaze.

“Azriel?” he demanded. Before she could explain, Rhys had spun her around so fast her hands caught the bannister as she fell forward. He yanked her hips back and threw the edge of her skirt up. “I don’t want to hear another male’s name on your lips, not now and not ever,” he growled in her ear. And then he smacked her lightly across the ass. “Okay?”

Feyre was going to laugh it off and explain, but then something unfurled in her chest. “Do that again,” she breathed.

“What?” Rhys asked, dangerously low. “This?” He smacked her again, a little harder this time. Feyre’s eyes went wide, and to her surprise, heat gathered between her legs. Rhys saw it all, and a very slow, very wicked grin spread across his face.

“Do you like to be spanked, my love?” he asked. Feyre didn’t know how to answer. Rhys pushed her underwear up to expose her backside, and smoothed his hand over it. And then landed a tight slap on her bare skin.

“Oh,” Feyre gasped, arching her back. Rhys pulled her hips back further, rubbing his now hard cock against her from behind. Feyre gripped the railing more tightly, and completely forgot about the spymaster in the study. “More,” she breathed.

“You want more?” Rhys echoed. He spanked her again, and she moaned. “Is this what you were looking for?” He pushed the rest of her skirt up her back and smacked the other side of her ass. “Is this why you’re being so cruel to me,” spank, “coming to me with another male’s name in your mouth,” spank, “looking for punishment?” He yanked her underwear down so it dropped around her ankles, and landed another three slaps, each harder than the one before. Feyre cried out again and again, and was getting so wet she knew he could smell her.

“Spread your legs, darling,” he instructed her. Feyre stepped out of her underwear and leaned her forearms against the bannister. Rhys spanked her again without warning and her eyes watered.

"Oh!"

“Wider,” he snarled. Feyre obeyed, widening her stance. Rhys rubbed his hands gently over her stinging skin, and then his cock was nudging at her entrance.

“Good girl,” he crooned, and then he spanked her one more time and when she yelled out he threaded his fingers through her hair and plunged inside her.

Rhys fucked her hard, bent over the railing, tugging her head back by the hair while his free hand worked her clit. The now sensitive and reddened skin of her ass bounced against the tops of his thighs, and when her knees started to buckle Rhys let go of her hair to wrap an arm around her waist to hold her up. Every physical sensation seemed heightened unbearably, and Feyre screamed as she came.

“Who’s name, Feyre?” he asked her. “Who’s name belongs in your mouth?”

“Yours,” she gasped between spasms.

“Say it,” Rhys bit out.

“Rhys,” Feyre said. “Rhys, Rhys, oh fuck, Rhys,” and the last one drawn out in a moan. The sound of it had Rhys coming hard as she was, and she didn’t come down until he had emptied himself inside her and his forehead was damp on her back. Feyre tried to move but felt like a new foal. Rhys laughed softly and carried her back to their room in his arms.

He lay her down very gently, and pulled the blanket over her before softly stroking her hair.

“I didn’t know that about you,” he said quietly.

“What?” Feyre asked, luxuriating in his wandering touch. A laughing edge came into his voice.

“That you were such a glutton for punishment.”

Feyre blushed, and Rhys pressed his lips to her forehead. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Half the fun of being wicked is getting to take care of you afterward.” Feyre smiled.

“I like the sound of that,” she said.

“And I quite like teaching you not to talk about other males in front of me.”

Feyre’s eyes flew open. “Oh!” she said, sitting up. “I was supposed to tell you that Azriel is here and waiting for you in the study!”

They stared at each other for a second, and the burst out laughing. Feyre covered her face in her hands, suddenly remembering the wanton sounds she had been making minutes ago and how clearly Azriel must have heard them all. Rhys peppered kisses over her cheek, and jaw, and neck, and then rolled out of bed, pulling trousers on before going downstairs to see if the Shadowsinger had stuck around.

He had not.

****

Liz asked for spanking ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems

[rivers-rambles21]

The one where Bucky struggles to get it up

Part 6 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from  a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different  point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, cockwarming (later chapters)

Will include elements of TFATWS in later chapters

This one is a bit of a silly chapter to begin with and has a small amount of angst near the end. Apologies for any errors, it’s not been proof read today

Chapter 6 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1 | Masterlist

As it turns out, Bucky wasn’t the best person to take furniture shopping. You’d dragged him around each store, trying to get his opinion on couches but every time he responded with either a grunt or “it’s fine”. Despite him not being overly helpful in selecting a new sofa, you’d finally settled on one and was about to hand over your cash before being stopped by the Super Soldier by your side.

“A hundred and fifty bucks for delivery? Is that a joke?”

The cashier stuttered at Bucky's little outburst, not quite sure what to say. 

“Bucky it’s fine, I’ve got some savings and I’ve decided against the matching cushions-” 

“Take off delivery, I’ll carry it home for you. Go get your cushions” Bucky's hand pressed against your lower back reassuringly as you opened your mouth to object. You promptly closed it and nodded as you saw the stubbornness in his eyes. 

“Sir it’s quite heavy, are you sure? 

Bucky merely smirked in response. 

The look on the cashiers face as Bucky effortlessly lifted the couch from the ground and hoisted it onto his shoulder in one swift motion would remain etched in your memory forever. By this point you’d seen glimpses of his strength here and there but actually witnessing him lift things no average man could ever manage did things to you. 

It was quite comical really, a 106 year old man sauntering down the busy streets of Brooklyn with a full sized couch resting on his shoulder whilst you followed behind carrying the decorative cushions which were trying to blow away in the wind was a bit out of the ordinary - even for New York's standards. 

Eventually you both made it back to your apartment building, managing to squeeze the sofa through the lobby doors. As you waited for the elevator something suddenly dawned on you. 

“Erm Buck…” 

“Yeah doll?” He turned to face you, careful not to catch you with the couch. 

“It’s not going to fit in the elevator.”

“Oh”

“Yeah” 

“Fuck.” He muttered and began heading towards the doors up to the stairs. You ran in front of him and opened the door as wide as you could, trying to give him plenty of birth to get through. 

The first floor didn't seem to be an issue as he made quick progress but by the third, it was becoming a struggle. 

“Just - uh -f uck- nearly there !”

“I can’t! It’s too hard!!”

“C’mon Y/N you can do it, just one more” 

“Ah!” 

“Fuck, thats it!” 

“Oh my god, I’m done.” 

“Last one doll, I promise” 

You lifted yourself off the dusty floor from where you’d plonked yourself after helping Bucky maneuver the sofa round the many bends. It was at this point you were regretting not paying for the delivery service, the fee suddenly didn't seem so unreasonable. 

One floor later with you shouting “PIVOT” at every opportunity to a very confused Bucky and the sofa was finally in your apartment. 

For once Bucky was the first one to sit and threw himself onto the couch, testing its firmness. You swiftly followed suit and swung your legs over one of the arms, depositing your head in his lap - exhausted from the trip up the stairs. 

“I think the gloves were a bit unnecessary considering you carried an entire sofa through Brooklyn on your shoulder.” You laughed as you picked up his metal hand, pulling at the glove. “Thanks for helping me today, I appreciate it” Looking up, you met his blue eyes and smiled. He stared back with his usual intensity before cracking a smile back. 

“Somehow I don’t think I’ll be having a career as a delivery boy.”

With one final tug you pulled his glove off his hand and tossed it behind you. Without thinking you entwined his fingers with yours and began running your fingers over the gold knuckles. “Don’t get me started on careers, every day mine is slipping further and further away from me” You muttered, hypnotised by the ridges on his metal hand. 

You felt his flesh hand suddenly pull on your hair as he began combing out the knots and moving strands away from your face. 

Surely this wasn’t normal best friend behaviour? You were doing what couples did minus the kissing and mindblowing sex. Instead of questioning it, you tried your best to enjoy the moment as his fingers caressed your head with a gentleness you didn’t know he possessed. 

“Work still rough?” He asked

“Yeah, I had everything figured out before the snap but since I’ve come back… I don't know, everything just seems so pointless. It’s like I can’t get settled y’know?” He hummed in response, allowing you to continue on. “I don’t know Buck, I’m hoping changing the apartment round a bit helps but I’m not sure if New York is where I want to be anymore. Before the snap I loved how busy it was but now it just feels suffocating.” 

A minute or so went by as you both contemplated what you’d said, trying to process your moment of honesty and openness. 

Taking a leap, Bucky began “I thought coming back to Brooklyn would make me feel better. Having something that tied me to the past, to who I was before the war, before Hyd-” His voice wobbled as he struggled with the memories flooding back. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze and brought it to your lips, kissing his knuckles as an act of encouragement. 

“I find myself looking down some of the alleys, expecting to see Steve getting his ass handed to him but then I remember and it just gets so heavy. When he left its as though- as though -” His words stuttered out as he tried to force the rest of the sentence out. 

“Like that part of you left?” You offered, your voice barely a whisper. Looking up you saw the pain etched in his face, eyes glazed over as he stared dead ahead. Slowly, he nodded his head as the weight of it all sat on his shoulders, crippled by pain. 

You weren't quite sure how to respond so you did what you felt best and slowly sat up and turned to face him, his hand still in yours. As gently as you could, you threaded your free arm round his neck and pull him toward you, encasing him in a hug. You didn't say a word as you cradled his head in your arms, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs left his body. 

[cosmic-horror-statements]

"Silly Archivist"

[100hearteyes]

any more thoughts on 'clarke and lexa make a porno'?

🤔😏

Part 1 Part 2

“Last but not least, worry no more, citizens of Capitola: after a grueling week of searching, our very own superhero Jasper Jordan has finally found his cape. He was wearing it all along.”

“It’s so good to know that he will be able to go on keeping Capitola safe.”

“Yes, what would we do without Jasper Jordan here to protect us? And from now on, you’ll be in Lexa Woods’s hands. Also, such good hands those are. She’s got very long fingers.”

“Oh. Well, I never actually noticed, but I guess they are. Thanks, Clarke. And now, perk your ears for the new hit single from our very own global country star, Harper McIntyre. It’s called Call Me Harp-by. She’s a creative genius!”

-

Lexa’s first instinct when she hears the studio door open is to hide. She checks her options: Monty is holed up under his desk playing on his GameBoy Color, Octavia has barricaded herself in a corner with actual hand-carved sticks and is roaring at Bellamy in a strange language, and Murphy is probably peeing into a bin behind the pillar on the far side of the room.

She’s too slow to think of a solution in the end and she can’t do anything but flush when Clarke strolls in and heads over to her, smirk plastered on her face. Lexa only has time to save her miniature Baby Yoda from Clarke’s weapon of ass destruction before her coworker sits on the edge of her desk.

“Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa forces a polite smile, trying to focus on her outline for the day rather than the butt cheeks planted on her desk, the body attached to them, or the face looking down at her with a sly grin. “Hello, Clarke.”

“What do you think of Harper McIntyre’s new song?”

The topic confuses her, but she trudges on with a brave face. After all, she’s got opinions on Capitola’s Taylor Swift rip-off and if Anya is going to make it a point of leaving the room every time Lexa so much as mentions them, then she’s going to take this opportunity with both hands and pull out all the receipts. “Uninspired. Derivative. Oddly reminiscent of Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Yeah...” Clarke nods pensively, letting the subsequent silence drag on for a few more seconds. “I like your fingers.”

Lexa starts at the sudden topic change and struggles to keep her blush under control under the brazen intensity of Clarke’s stare. “Yes, I- I noticed. You mentioned. On the radio, for all of Capitola to hear. Thank you, I guess?”

Clarke hums, before clicking her tongue and hopping off of Lexa’s desk. She roundabouts it until she’s right next to Lexa, thigh brushing Lexa’s arm.

Lexa tries and fails to swallow down the knot in her throat as Clarke sits on her desk again, this time on her side, crossing her legs so her feet touch Lexa’s leg.

“So a little bird told me we’re starring in a porno together.”

Lexa almost yelps, scrambling out of her chair to fasten both hands over Clarke’s mouth. “The whole world doesn’t need to know, Clarke!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but Lexa can feel her smile under her hands. Their eyes lock, a tacit understanding passing between them. Clarke's eyes are a vivid blue, like a cloudless sky or the color of Lexa's highlighters before Anya dunked them all in a bag of manure, and it's hard not to drown in the depths of them.

"Glad to see you two getting intimate already."

They spring apart as though they were burned. Lexa sits back down on her chair, while Clarke takes a seat at her desk, which to Lexa's chagrin is right next to her own. Anya chuckles as she sinks into her own chair, propping her feet on Lexa's desk, crossed at the ankles.

"Anyway," she slams a hand over a stack of papers, making Clarke and Lexa jump in their seats, "can you guess what this is?"

Clarke and Lexa look at each other with raised eyebrows, then at Anya. Lexa shrugs.

"This is your fucking Bible," Anya says, not waiting for them to guess. "Your Dianetics.Your Loose Canon. Your gospel." At her companions' still expectant stares, Anya heaves a dramatic sigh, throwing her arms up. "It's the goddamn screenplay."

Oh.

Oh.

It's like the snap of an elastic band. Lexa and Clarke shoot out of their chairs to snatch the script from Anya's desk. Lexa gets there first (going to the gym does pay off after all), dribbling around Clarke, and lets out a triumphant cry before sinking back into her chair, thumbing through the pages of the heavy tome.

She stops on a random page and feels Clarke press closer to read over her shoulder.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S KITCHEN - TWILIGHT

Enter Lulu. Plumber by day, detective by night. She stops by the island and twirls a lead pipe in her right hand before sheathing it like a cowboy's pistol.

LULU

It seems it's time to read your...

Lulu puts on her shades. ZOOM IN.

LULU (CONT'D)

...Anya rights.

-

Lexa balks, peeling her eyes from the page to gape at Anya.

"Anya rights? Anya rights? You can't just... Arbitrarily rename the Miranda rights. They have that name for a reason."

Anya rolls her eyes like Lexa just said something obnoxiously stupid. "I didn't just rename them, you dumbass. I fucking changed them. If you'd read the whole thing, you would know that the suspect has the obligation to remain silent. No more fucking cry babies in cuffs."

"This is..." Lexa opens and closes her mouth like a fish, trying to find a thread of logic in the midst of... Whatever fever dream she's living in right now. "I thought we were filming a porno, not a sexy cop movie. Plumber by day, detective by night? That's- it's not even remotely realistic."

"Lexa... Suspend your disbelief."

"I think it's really good stuff," Clarke chimes in, her breasts still firmly pressed to Lexa's shoulder blade.

"Thank you, Clarke!" Anya exclaims, throwing her hands up and letting them fall on her legs with a loud clap. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Lexa rolls her eyes, but fine. Fine. She will read more; she will give Anya a chance. She opens the book on a new page, several scenes ahead.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Blondie rubs her lover's love button like she's scratching at a turn-table, making Lulu scream louder than Saoirse Ronan in Ammonite when Kate Winslet was eating her out with her neck.

LULU

Oh, fuck! You're so good at this! Almost as good as my awesome best friend and mentor Anya, even though I've never had sex with her because that would be totally gross.

Blondie stops her ministrations to look up at Lulu and smirks.

BLONDIE

I know. After all, they don't call me DJ Diddles for nothin'.

-

Lexa stares incredulously from the two hundred-odd pages to Anya, wondering how grave a sin she must have committed in a past life to deserve this.

"What are you, a sex-deprived straight guy?"

Anya scoffs, yanking the script from Lexa's hands before she can do anything to stop it. "I can assure you there is no deprivation in that department."

"After reading that I am seriously starting to doubt that you've ever even seen a vagina."

"I thought it was good," Clarke pipes in once again. This time, Lexa turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Is she paying you to say that?"

Clarke tsks with a smirk. "I'm just smart enough to know better than to get on the lead producer's bad side."

Anya snaps her fingers and points at Clarke approvingly, and Lexa has never regretted a decision so deeply in her life.

"Anyway," Clarke resumes, standing up and grabbing her bag. "This has been fun, but I need to get going. Anya, stay classy. We'll work out the schedule this week. Lexa," she adds, her voice dropping a tone to turn into a seductive purr. She leans down, and it's all Lexa can do not to focus on how her breasts squish together and seem to become fuller and more inviting. She loses the plot when a pair of lips presses to her cheek in a kiss that is chaste, yet way too slow for propriety. "See you tomorrow."

Lexa's throat is dry as a desert as she watches Clarke leave, her hips swaying more than usual. She jumps in place when Anya clears her throat next to her. This time, she can't avoid her friend's shit-eating grin.

"No chemistry, you say?"

"Shut up, Anya," she grumbles, focusing back on her work. She has a full, five-minute newscast to prepare, she can't dawdle and joke around gossiping like some people. But then a thought pops up in her head and she turns to Anya, eyes narrowed. "Is this some elaborate plan to get us together? I refuse to be your little Love, Actually experiment."

Anya's stare is fifty shades of unimpressed. "Lexa. Don't take yourself so seriously. It's a bad look on you."

Lexa buries her face in her hands with a long-suffering sigh. Why is this her life? Why is this her best friend? Why is she hopelessly attracted to the worst, most unprofessional coworker on the planet?

"Why couldn't you find a normal hobby? Something that doesn't include me? Like baking. Baking would have been so much better."

"You know," Anya drawls almost nostalgically, "I actually considered that, but the criminally inclined baker niche was already taken up by Martha Stewart."

"She is surprisingly niche," Lexa says, intrigued.

"Indeed."

"But she's also able to appeal to a larger audience."

"Uh-huh."

"Fascinating."

"I know. It's like Punkya. You'd think a lesbian erotica magazine would only appeal to queer women and depraved straight men, but it's been selling surprisingly well amongst the straight female demographic."

Hm. Are all women secretly queer?

"Interesting," Lexa concedes, before veering the topic back to Anya's passion (and Lexa's torture) project. "So when does principal photography start?"

And there it is again, that nefarious gleam in Anya's eyes. It grows along with her Cheshire cat grin, curling and curling until it's pure, unbridled evil.

"Next week."

[marvelousmaize]

you shine (like a diamond)

It takes Geralt longer than he cares to admit to notice.

Well - maybe “notice” is the wrong word. He’s noticed.

He just fails to connect the dots for an embarrassingly long amount of time. And of course, it’s Yennefer, who is always observing, always thinking, always five and ten and fifty steps ahead of everyone around her, who puts two and two together.

And her violet eyes are shrewd and narrowed as she watches Jaskier from across the expansive quarters of some lordling’s estate - one she’s put under her spell, compelled to do her bidding - watches Jaskier strum his trusty lute, humming a tune; watches with undeniable fondness the way Ciri curls into the bard, tucking her head as close to his chest as she can without disturbing his arms, her eyes fluttering shut, an utterly pleased smile on her face as Jaskier continues his little lullaby.

And you’re still so young

Still so innocent

But when you speak

There is greatness on your tongue

There is no distance you won’t overcome

No setback or defeat you won’t come from

And I’ll be standing

Right there beside you

Watching and cheering

Because I love you

Jaskier’s voice is soft and sweet near Ciri’s ear, and she’s fully asleep now in the crook of the bard’s embrace.

And Yennefer’s violet eyes are shrewd and narrowed because even in the dim candlelight, she sees it clear as day.

Jaskier is glowing.

Properly, unmistakably glowing. His entire body is surrounded by a faint but very present ethereal white light, and his smile is hopelessly fond, ocean eyes bright and adoring as he continues singing Geralt’s Child Surprise to sleep.

And Yennefer’s mind is running wild with thoughts of love and glowing and what glows when it loves when -

Everything slots into place all at once, like the final pieces of a puzzle.

“Did you know?” she asks Geralt in the courtyard the next day, her tone conversational, as the witcher fastens Roach’s harness, ready to depart on yet another monster hunt. A banshee this time, terrorizing a nearby village. “That Jaskier is a star.”

Geralt pauses, turning to fix the sorceress with a look that is half-wry, half-amused. “I had no idea you were such an admirer of his singing, Yen,” he replies dryly.

“A star you insufferable Witcher,” she snaps. “Immortal beings that reside in the Heavens and occasionally fall to Earth, assuming human form? Or did you miss that lesson during your witcher training?”

An expression of what can only be surprise crosses the Witcher’s typically stoic and stern face, but it’s gone in a flash, and Yennefer would have been left to wonder if she’d dreamt it, save for the briefest flickers lurking in the gold irises. “There hasn’t been a fallen star in centuries.”

“That we know of. Stars used to be murdered because eating their heart supposedly granted everlasting youth. Maybe they grew more careful.”

“Yen - ”

“He glows, Geralt,” Yennefer interrupts, voice quiet and serious. “Or have you not noticed?”

Geralt starts, eyebrows furrowing as he considers. His lips press into a thin line.

He’s noticed.

He just, well, he hadn’t pieced it all together. He needed Yennefer, who is always five and ten and fifty steps ahead, to force his eyes open to what he’s thought to be improbable, impossible.

“Fuck.”

And he doesn’t very well know what to do with this information - if there’s anything he should do. Because Jaskier - Jaskier, who is always talking, always saying too much, always revealing and confiding - hasn’t mentioned it, not even once.

Which is incredibly unlike him.

But Geralt is so deeply intrigued. Can’t help but wonder why.

And so he starts to mess with the bard almost (“mess” might be the wrong word. Geralt is a Witcher first and foremost, always striving to keep his knowledge of mythical and magical creatures as up-to-date as he can. Geralt experiments). Tries to figure out exactly what makes the starlight under Jaskier’s skin come through.

It becomes a bit of an obsession while they’re on the road, going back and forth between Ciri’s training in Kaer Morhen and monster hunts. But Geralt feels possessed, addicted, unable to stop.

Jaskier doesn’t shine after a particularly good meal.

Or when his singing is received with loud cheers.

Or when he’s offered the chance to sleep on a plush, soft bed instead of the hard, unforgiving ground.

But Jaskier does shine when -

Geralt draws him a warm bath.

When Ciri throws her arms around his waist and hugs him tight.

When Geralt watches him sing with a small, barely-there smile.

When someone plays with his hair; kneads his neck.

When Geralt gently tends to a wound on his hip, focused and guilt-ridden, because he’d just looked away for one second when the kikimora struck the bard.

And Geralt notices, notices that the bard seems more likely to shine when the Witcher has his undivided attention.

It’s both disarming and intoxicating to have the power and know it.

Because, see, it’s been established that Geralt is a bit obsessed, a bit enthralled. And he’s drunk with the heady knowledge that one well-placed look or touch and Jaskier will shine with starlight.

And they’re in an inn in a small town one day, just the two of them, Ciri temporarily away with Yennefer to learn control of her magic, when it all comes to a head. They’re both fairly drunk, and Geralt is unabashedly enjoying the flush of red on Jaskier’s cheeks, at the base of his neck, and quickly spreading onto his finely haired chest.

It’s his significantly lowered inhibitions that push Geralt over the edge he’s been toeing for a while now, and they’re both laughing and stumbling a little as they make their way into the room they’re renting for the night when -

Geralt crowds Jaskier up against the door, caging him in, and there’s an absurd rush of pride welling within his chest when Jaskier - heart thrumming wildly - starts to glow.

He takes a hand to wisp a lock of brown hair away from blue, blue eyes and the bard lets out a deliciously breathy gasp.

And glows even brighter.

The Witcher’s mouth curls. He presses even closer to Jaskier.

“I know,” Geralt breathes, so close to the bard’s lips, “that you’re a star.”

Jaskier visibly swallows, his eyes huge and blinking and wide. “You do?”

“Mhm.”

“How?”

And Geralt’s grin is wide as he says, “You’re glowing right now.”

Emboldened (by the grain alcohol or the shine of starlight, he doesn’t know), Geralt noses along the line of Jaskier’s neck, senses assaulted by starlight and sandalwood and pine. He hears Jaskier’s breath catch when his lips press against the delicate skin of his throat and then -

“Oh, fuck, Geralt. Geralt! What are you doing?”

Geralt pauses; leans back to meet Jaskier’s eyes; is pleased to note that he’s still glowing. He raises an eyebrow. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Do not pick right now to have a laugh, Witcher,” Jaskier says, eyes as serious as Geralt’s ever remembered them being. Then more quietly, “Not now. Not about this.”

Geralt understands. He presses closer once more; wedges one huge leg between the bard’s. “You glow more around me,” he says without preamble.

“I most certainly do not you -”

“I enjoy it.”

Jaskier very nearly reels. And blushes. And glows brighter still. “Really?” he breathes. Geralt is pleased to note that Jaskier is now more receptive; body more loose and less tense and Geralt suddenly cannot wait to uncover all the starlit skin underneath; to trace it all with his tongue and coax all kinds of beautiful sounds out of Jaskier.

“Yes,” he replies, voice deep and gravelly. He watches Jaskier’s eyes darken, hands coming up to thread themselves around the Witcher’s neck and head tilted up. The air is alive with thick, sinful, delicious tension.

And as Geralt bends his head down, a hand twining itself into fine brown hair while the other encircles a narrow waist, he watches the starlight; watches the finely haired chest heave; watches Jaskier’s eyes close with anticipation.

And adds -

“It’s my favorite thing.”

- before slotting their mouths together.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

If you're still doing these, from "Gilded Chain":

The Prime was as still on his throne as a statue as Megatron approached, pulse weapon still smoking. He swept a single brief glance over the room, just enough to confirm his suspicions that cost of any square astrometer could have provided fifty mecha in Rodion with an orn’s fuel. It didn’t deserve any more of his attention. His antipathy, certainly, but he had plenty of that to spare.

The attention went straight to the silent, shining Prime still watching Megatron’s advance. The air was silent and heavy.

“My lieutenants tell me,” Megatron growled, because he’d been shouting orders for the past several orns and his vocalizer was most definitely overheated. “that I cannot simply dispose of you.” Perhaps he was also angry. He had well earned his wrath. “Make no mistake. I would tear you and your cursed chamber down for two rusty bolts.”

The Prime, face hidden away and unreadable behind a mask, bowed his head and sloped his shoulders. Assent? Understanding? Weakness? Surrender? Contempt? Megatron couldn’t tell. He threw away the entire processing thread.

“But destroying you would cost the lives of far more and far better mechs to subdue the outraged fools who defend your sanctity.” He made sure to spit the last word, so the Prime knew exactly how much contempt Megatron bore him. “Besides,” and far more importantly, “it seems your office has recently been irrelevant to the running of the planet, which means I do not have time for you.” He let one lip plate curl. “Continue your distance, and I shall allow you to maintain your present lifestyle. Interfere…” Megatron let the implication that he could think of far worse things to inflict on the Prime trail off, more potent for being imagined.

The Prime raised one arm, placed it at right angles to his chest with his fist in front of his spark housing—or where his spark housing probably was, invisible under layers of gilt and frippery—and inclined his head, optics shuttering. A gladiator’s salute.

Megatron thought he might be insulted, but he didn’t have time to deal with the Prime’s insolent assents. He snapped, “Remember that,” spun, and stalked away.

The audience doors remained hanging open behind him, twisted and burnt metal evoking radius damage from a blast furnace. Or the edges of a killing ground.

Megatron sent Soundwave a memo that the Prime’s office would bear watching. He would love nothing more than an excuse to rip the stupid throne room apart for scrap.

GOD THIS SCENE WAS FUN.

I don't really think of Megatron as an unreliable narrator. he's a biased narrator, definitely, he's biased as all get out, but he calls things as he sees them. So putting him in the same room as Optimus--who is prepared for summary execution from the very end of his first scene--and not letting either of them realize the other person is Decent, Actually was fun.

the whole thing works--and therefore the central conflict is established--because Megatron is pissed. He's tired, he's angry, he just fought the most pitched battle of his still-uncertain revolution, and he thinks this guy is the root of all his problems. and he can't even kill him! because politics. Megatron assumes he's walking into a room of The Guy Who Has All The Power And Is Richer Than God and fucking hates him on sight. Optimus, terminally depressed, goes 'you know what? this is fair. I accept my fate.'

Optimus isn't talking in this scene because initially i went 'hehe what if his mask is welded shut' but really because he has nothing to say. He assumes Megatron knows roughly what's going on here and is mired enough in self-loathing to assume of course Megatron is fine with it. Optimus has been living the high life while people have been starving in the streets. why should he expect anyone to come save him? He has nothing to say in response. Megatron is right. Optimus isn't going to change his mind.

The salute is from the Matrix. I think Optimus may also be seeing this whole scene through just the wildest haze of sense-memories trying to give him what the Matrix thinks is relevant info. Megatron is a gladiator, give him a gladiator's salute. Here's how it goes. He's trying to appeal to Megatron on his own level and declare them equals. Megatron assumes he's being mocked.

I like writing Megatron with a temper--especially a younger and more inexperienced Megatron--and having that temper cause problems for him that otherwise wouldn't have existed. he should ruin his own life. this is correct. He's tired and frustrated and he doesn't want this to be his problem. so it isn't. Even when in that second to last paragraph he notices 'hey this place and the destruction i have wrought on it remind me of the places where i have suffered.' NOT HIS PROBLEM. asshole. i love him.

[krappykawa]

I read your s/o who likes to read hcs and was wondering if you could do the same request format or whatever it is you'd call it but with terishima,akaashi, iwa, Oikawa,and Daichi? Sorry if that's a lot! -anon

with a s/o that likes to read (part 2)

— iwaizumi, oikawa, terushima, daichi, and akaashi

word count. 1.4k

genre. fluff

note. i made these ones shorter than the ones in part two because anon requested a lot of characters and i didn’t wanna run out of headcanons to write,,, i hope you still like this though!

part one here

IWAIZUMI.

- will read the books that you’re reading just because he likes the feeling of being able to bond with you over something you love since you’re so supportive of him already (literally the perfect man. perfect bf. give me a kiss rn RN!!)

- maybe not all of them, but if you get him hooked on the description, then he will probably finish the book faster than you

- if he doesn’t like a book very much he’ll take ages to finish it though

- if you ask him about how he’s doing with reading it he’ll be like “oh i’m almost done” when in reality he’s only 20 pages in

- he’ll send you texts about the books you recommend but they’ll be super blunt like “this character just died” or “oh they kissed”

- you sit at your phone for 20 minutes debating on how to respond to those because HOW??

- he loves cuddles,,,, would literally die for cuddles

- so when you climb into his lap with a book in hand and bury your head in his neck as you read his heart literally malfunctions

- his cute s/o with their reading obsession that he secretly finds so endearing climbing into his lap for cuddle time,,,,,, his heart goes &2:$84!;💞💖💘💖💓💖💞/):&38,

- iwaizumi.exe has stopped working

- but he’s also not afraid to pull you into his lap if he sees you reading on the couch

- he’ll probably put on a monster movie and just hold you as you read and he watches

- probably also buried his nose in your hair and revels in your scent (also kisses your head every so often because he can’t help it and AHHHH HES SO CUTE)

- when you start sending him messages about your books, he will attempt to respond to every single text or he will just wait until you’re done and text back with “u done?” (not in a mean way though) there’s no inbetween

- he’s smiling every time you send him those texts though

- aoba johsai’s volleyball team (ESPECIALLY OIKAWA) teases him mercilessly if they ever catch him smiling at his phone in the locker room or during class or during lunch (basically u text him a lot lol)

- sometimes when you slam your book shut and scream into your pillow, he will just watch you with amused eyes and probably make an offhand comment that’s similar to “remember to breathe while you’re at it.”

- you end up throwing the pillow at him (which he catches and then proceeds to walk to where you are and swing you over his shoulder)

- get your mind out of the gutter on the “over his shoulder” part i swear he’s just teasing you for throwing a pillow at him (I CAN FEEL YOUR MIND WANDERING STOP IT)

OIKAWA.

- he makes an effort to read your books, really he does

- he’s just really busy, so most of the books he promises he will read stay only half way read through and never picked up ever again

- if you give him a sci-fi book though, this man will literally finish it at an insane pace

- literally he would be the one to text you at some ungodly hour (usually 3AM in the morning) because he just finished the book in one sitting and he’s literally brimming with reactions

- will text things like “WHAT THE FUCK HE JUST DIED”, “YN SEND HELP I THINK THEY’RE ABOUT TO DO SOMETHING STUPID”, “OH MY GODDDD I HATE THIS BITCH CAN THEY STOP TALKING” (always in all caps whenever he’s reacting to a book)

- you better pray that he doesn’t end up hating a character because he will text you every single time they show up on a page and complain about them

- “this character reminds me of ushijima why would you put me through this 🤕🤕”

- or “THEYRE TALKING AGAIN?? WHEN WILL THEY GET THE MEMO THAT I WANT THEM TO . ST F U ‼️😻”

- anyways, if it’s not sci-fi, it’s probably sitting on his nightstand and never touched again until you steal the book back

- CLAIMS he tried reading them (he got 2 pages in and then put it down)

- he is also a huge cuddler

- but you will not be able to read in his lap because he’s so fucking whiny

- “y/n-channn pay attention to meeee. you can read about that insanely hot dude in your book when you’re not already sitting in an insanely hot dude’s lap”

- big pouty face

- it works every single time and you hate him for it

- once you put your book down he will not let you go for a good ten minutes

- he also has tons of pictures of you reading on his phone because he thinks you’re so cute and feels like he has to snap a picture so he can remember how cute you looked at that very moment

- a lot like iwaizumi, oikawa will attempt to reply to every single one of your book related texts (except oikawa succeeds at replying to every single one)

- like you could literally send him fifty text messages in a row and you will get fifty replies back

TERUSHIMA.

- i am so sorry to say this but i genuinely cannot see terushima being interested in your books whatsoever

- he thinks that it’s boring and always questions how you can just sit down for hours on end and just read

- this changes when you give him one of those insane, mind-boggling, really dark, murder-mystery books

- he’ll scoff at it but after a lot of begging on your part, he’ll give it a try

- he loves it

- he told you that he never got bored and that feeling like that while reading a book is so weird to him

- that is the only book you’ll ever get him to read though (okay maybe he’ll read a few more if you beg him for it with that cute pouty face of yours that he cannot resist)

- like he’ll treat that murder mystery book as a holy grail and insist that nothing will ever top it

- i’m sorry again but he probably texts you “what u doing rn?” and if you say something about reading he’ll try to get you to do literally anything else (most likely will send a horny text to try and steal you away from your reading, let’s be honest here)

- “come over baby you can experience all that you’re reading in that book first hand 😏😏😏”

- if you send him text reactions of your book he will most likely reply with “awe babe ur so cute” but not say anything about the books in itself (IM SORRY HE’S NOT MEAN ABOUT IT THOUGH)

- cuddling with him while reading will never happen

- seriously

- he will do everything in his power to get you to put the book down

- like start peppering you with kisses or tickling you

- he just can’t stand sitting down in silence for so long lol

- he doesn’t put you down for reading though

- like yeah he might not understand it and thinks it’s boring, but he admires that you care so much about it and also admires your commitment

DAICHI.

- admires you for reading honestly

- like i feel like he’s the type to get really good grades but will not look at a book that he hasn’t been assigned to read for his life

- that being said, he probably has never read any of the books you ask him to read with you

- he’s told you he’s read one or two which is a lie (you know it’s a lie but you don’t tell him that because you know he feels bad about not reading them)

- he isn’t on his phone often so most of the time your texts don’t get answered for hours

- it’s kinda fun that way though because after a while you just start sending him long text threads and it’s like talking to yourself

- when he does respond it’s with something like “you look like you had fun there” (after that he’ll apologize for not seeing it and then ask if you had anything else about the book that you wanted to tell him about AWEHISHFNF)

- very good listener!! he’ll try and have a genuine conversation about the book even if he hasn’t read it (like if you want to talk about how you think the plot doesn’t work, he will either support you or give you valid reasons that sparks constructive conversation)

- will absolutely never see the texts you send at 1AM (until the morning) because he always passes out before 11PM

- will see them in the morning and will text back “well good morning to me”

- he has absolutely no clue what you’re talking about in the texts but tries his hardest to be supportive

- cuddling while you’re reading happens nearly every single time you’re together

- is very stressed from dealing with his volleyball children so he’ll more than happily sit on the couch and cuddle with you as you read

- sometimes he falls asleep while you cuddle and you just snuggle into him and it’s so cute

AKAASHI.

- THIS LITTLE SHIT

- man oh man he loves acting like a smart ass whenever you text him about your books

- you’ll be like “my favorite character just died!!” and he’ll be like “well tell them to not die then wtf”

- will stay up late texting you about your book though because he’s most likely reading it with you so you two can bounce ideas off of each other

- if you like a character that he hates he will not hesitate to start a debate about why you shouldn’t like that character (full one page of reasons. this man takes his opinions very seriously)

- if you’re together at his house or something and you start yelling at your book he’ll be like “y/n don’t hurt its feelings.”

- you momentarily pause your yelling to deadpan him

- he stares right back

- “just be nice.” (you’re like BWAH???)

- HE ALSO YELLS AT HIS BOOKS THOUGH

- it’s uncommon but it does happen

- if you’re both reading or you’re doing homework and he’s reading, he’ll slam the book shut and yell about how stupid this character is (and when i mean yell, i mean yell)

- and if he doesn’t like the ending of something he will rant for days and you’ll have to remind him to take a breath

- he gets so hyped up from reading books it’s so cute

- will read with you when you cuddle read (does that make sense??? like when you cuddle with him while reading)

- will mumble things under his breath while you’re both reading but you’re on his lap so you can hear everything and you just laugh

- one time he mumbled “stupid bitch just fucking die already” to this character he hated

- you had to put down the book because you were laughing so hard

[moeruhoshi]

Just a short bc @scarletgray9 put bad boy Natsu on my mind again

Lucy squeaked as her foot slipped on the lattice wall, tightening her grip on the squares as she regained her footing.

She held her breath, hoping no one had heard her short, startled outburst. She continued down the vine covered wall, smiling to herself as she made it safely to the ground.

She was able to quickly make her escape, grinning as none of the staff had come out to investigate.

Slipping through the front gate of her property was easy, a gap in the hedges hidden from plain sight.

The chilly night air nipped at her skin as she waited on the sidewalk for her ride, purposely having left her sweater behind.

The gentle hum of a motorcycle engine rounded the corner, Lucy’s heart pounding in her chest as it slowed to a stop.

"Hey, Luce," His gruff voice made her cheeks flush, the sight of him pulling off his helmet enough to make her melt. He put his bike into park before getting off, taking off his leather jacket to wrap around her shoulders.

"Hey, Natsu," Her words came out in a breathy whisper, feeling her vocal chords tighten as he leaned into her.

His hands fell to her hips as they shared a kiss, fingers dipping into her skin. She whined a bit as he pulled away too quickly, his smirk enticing her into wanting more.

"We've got all night," Natsu chuckled, pecking her on the cheek. "Let's get going before it gets any later."

Lucy slipped on the spare helmet he had for her, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist as they took off.

She felt most comfortable when on his bike, feeling the vibration of his driving and the warmth that radiated from his back.

Lucy closed her eyes, soaking in the silence of their long drive.

They always drove a ways away from town, not wanting to be caught by any prying eyes.

After all, she was the only daughter of one of the most successful business men in town. And Natsu was the third son of the most famous mafia boss in Fiore.

Her father had caught them together before, as Natsu used to sneak into her bedroom all the time. She was forbidden from ever seeing him again, let alone think about thinking about him.

But there was no stopping true love, both refusing to even fathom the thought of leaving each other.

So Natsu picked her up almost every night of the week, taking her to what became their most favorite date spot.

It was on a series of hills a handful miles away from the closest house or storefront. The next town over was Akane Beach, but it was at least fifty miles away. The blank patch of nature left itself to become the perfect stargazing meadow.

They always walked up to the highest hill, laid out a blanket, and ate the snacks that Natsu brought along.

"Your rice balls are always so good," She sighed happily as she bit down on the pointy mount, leaning her head against Natsu’s shoulder.

"Thanks," He hummed, laying them down, pointing up at the constellation above them. "That's Lyra, right?"

"And Hercules right above her," Lucy nodded, laughing as he whooped.

"I'm gettin' better at recognizing them," He grinned, stuffing a rice ball into his mouth. "There's Deneb too!"

She giggled, having missed his sweet childish behavior. It upset her that no one was able to see what a good heart he had, even if he was a part of the mafia. She wanted her father to understand that, but there was no way he'd accept anyone he didn't pick himself.

"You're so cute," She mumbled, finishing the last bite of her food. "I missed you,"

"I missed you too, Luce," Natsu said, making her laugh again as he rolled over her, his spiky hair gravitating downwards. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to come home. I hate it when the family has to get together,"

"But it was nice seeing your brothers, I hope? I know you missed Zeref, are he and Mavis doing okay?"

"They're just fine," He pouted, dropping himself slightly to nuzzle his nose against her cheek. "I don't wanna talk about them right now, there's somethin' more important we hafta discuss,"

"And what would that be?" Her heart began to pound slightly as his serious eyes glazed over his face.

"I saw you on the news," She squeaked as his hand began to make its way under her shirt. "And that freak Sting was kissin' your hand, holdin' your hip,"

"Does it make you feel better if I tell you that I slapped him later when he tried to make a move on me?" Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as he growled against her throat, lifting her shirt to expose her bra-clad self.

"Kinda," He chuckled, moving his mouth to caress the space between her breasts. "But until I beat the bastard up myself, I'm not gonna feel very good,"

"Can I watch?" Lucy smirked as he smothered her with a sudden kiss, groaning as he pulled off his shirt.

"You're so fucking hot," She laughed as he returned to her chest, snapping the front clasp of her bra. Her fingers threaded through his hair as the chilly night air made her nipples stand on end, Natsu’s tongue licking over the pair.

She admired the dragon tattoo that wrapped around his chest and shoulder, the black and red ink glaring warmth at her.

He sat up, wiping the drool from the corner of his lip. He looked over her disheveled appearance and rosy cheeks, grinning at the quick mess he made.

"You're real pretty all wrapped up in my jacket like that," Natsu grunted as he tugged on her jeans, pulling them down and off. Lucy flushed as he spread her legs, eyeing the wetness that had already gathered. "And all sexy getting wet like this. You pent up, baby?"

"That one phone call we had wasn't enough to get me through the week," She playfully frowned as he tugged on the lace material; grinning as it was the pair he bought her.

"I'm gonna wanna take you right here right now," He groaned, Lucy rifling through the pocket of his jacket.

"You brought enough for us to be sloppy," The lust felt heavy in her breath as she held up the few condoms he always had on him. "I'd really like it if we started out rough,"

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday: Writing At The Speed of Quick Before It’s Gone!

So last year, this trope mashup thread was going around, and I gave @o-rchidae a mashup which resulted in two ideas that both needed to exist. We each took one and mine resulted in a silly bit of fluff that I had loads of fun writing.

It also threatened to spawn a sequel. Of course, the sequel was full of stuff that was an even bigger mystery to me than the British medical system and I had other things to do, so it kinda foundered.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, someone happened to leave kudos on a completely unrelated work, which got me listening to my Go To Peter song on loop for the first time in ages, which...actually convinced the little photojournalist to come back and start chattering at me.

Since then I’ve been writing as fast as I can and peppering o-rchidae with questions in hopes of getting something worked up before Peter decides to wander off to Adamstown or something.

-

-

Peter listened to the rise and fall of his host’s voice, committing the words to memory as best he could, even though he was certain that, to the outside observer, he wasn’t paying the first bit of attention. He adjusted the focus on his camera, honing in on the words carved in the beam in front of him: Al + Bobby. There was a heart carved around them. The wood had clearly been refinished since they were carved, but the edges of the wood were surprisingly unworn. They could have been put there yesterday, rather than almost a hundred years ago by a pair of men who were undoubtedly dead by now.

“The police raided the place in 1927,” the building’s current owner, a man named Tim Bradley, explained. “It was bought again two years later by a company that used it as a furniture warehouse. It’s traded hands a number of times since then.” He waited for the snap of Peter’s camera, then walked over and ran his fingers over the carving. “Various owners tried to get rid of the graffiti. They had it filled and painted over. Finally, probably around the fifties, someone just drywalled over it.”

Peter snapped three more pictures while Tim was talking. He knew it hadn’t been the other man’s intention, but if the words themselves had been poignant, the sight of his fingers running reverently over them was even more so. “The whole building?” he pulled away from the camera and looked around him. Tim’s redecorating had done nothing to disguise the fact the place had been built as a warehouse: it was huge, with high ceilings, and no windows. Peter couldn’t imagine the cost and difficulty of putting sheet rock over everything.

“Not all of it. They only went about half way up, just enough to cover the graffiti. We found the original wood when we got the go ahead to pull the asbestos sheets off.”

“They still had asbestos in them?” This just got better and better. “The previous owners hadn’t dealt with that?”

Tim shrugged. “No reason to. It was already up and painted, so there was less health risk just leaving it than there was pulling it out. Besides, this place had been pretty much abandoned since the late eighties when I bought it. There have been several movements to pull it down, but it’s such a landmark the locals wouldn’t hear of it. A few other people have proposed buying it and putting it to use again, but it’s always fallen through.” He smiled and looked up toward the ceiling, which now boasted lights and fans, some of the only signs of modernization. “It just seemed right, you know, to honour it’s history and turn it back into a club.”

Peter looked back at the names carved into the wood. “You said that the carvings had all been filled and painted over. Did you restore them on purpose, then?”

“Yeah. Took plenty of time and effort, let me tell you, but it seemed the best way to recognize the men who were here before us…and give a big, postmortem fuck you to the cops who arrested them.”

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Ivory Dress

For: @thatesqcrush Valentine’s Bingo and a request from the lovely @beccabarba who requested this:

< I have an idea for Vday Bingo - 'Yayo' with Nick Amaro, if you'd like to write it? Use the lines "Put me onto your black motorcycle / Fifties baby doll dress for my 'I do' / It only takes two hours to Nevada / I wear your sparkle..." Reader is dating Nick in his new LA life. He proposes and they decide to elope to Las Vegas to get married, on his new motorbike! They stay over after the wedding...if you want to write the wedding night too, or not?! 💕💘>

Hope you enjoy it my love x And this also follows on from the relationship that started in Holiday Bingo.

Bingo square: Yayo- Lana Del Ray.

Pairing: Nick Amaro x reader

Warnings: weddings, slight spank and smut. Protection wasn't spoke about, these two have been in a relationship for a while and now married so we will assume Protection is taken care off.

WC: 1643

Enjoy x

You moved out to LA after doing 2 years long distance. You had told Liv you were thinking about making the move to be closer to Nick and a couple of weeks later a position came up at Los Angeles SVU, you applied and got the job. Nick wanted you to move in with him, so he found a house that was half way between your work and his. You had been out there for 9 months loving life with Nick and with the kids when Nick proposed on a day trip to Laguna Beach and although you guys hadn’t picked a date, you both wanted something low key.

You had been walking down the street with your new partner Renee on Friday after questioning a victim for a case when you walked past a wedding dress shop seeing a dress in the window. You both looked at each other and smiled, you walked in tried it on, paid for it and brought it home. Nick wasn’t home when you got home so you showered putting the dress on again to make sure you had the same feelings you had when you were in the shop. You looked at yourself in the mirror at your Ivory fifties baby doll dress for my 'I do' smiling to yourself thinking about the day you would finally become Mrs Nick Amaro.  

You had just settled down on the couch in shorts and tank top after you putting your dress in the spare room when you heard the reeve of Nick’s motorcycle coming around the corner and then stopping in your drive. You heard Nick come in closing the back door behind him taking his backpack off dropping it on the floor and sitting his black helmet on the table,

“Hey mi Amor. Missed you baby” Nick lent over the back of the couch peaking your lips.

“Hey babe. Missed you” You watched on biting your bottom lip as Nick took off his leather jacket and pants leaving him in his boxers and white undershirt.

Nick made his way around to sit next to you throwing an arm around you kissing your temple.

“How was your day?” you rested your hand on his thigh.

“It was good” he smiled at you “Glad’s it’s the weekend though so I can be with you” he cooed making you giggle “How was your day Hermosa?”

“Good, getting closer to cracking the case and” you cleared your throat “I found a dress”

Nick looked down at you with a big grin “The dress?” Nick raised an eye brow at you.

“Yes Nicolas the dress” you rolled your eyes.

“Guess we better pick a date”

“Or” you smiled over at him “Put me onto your black motorcycle, it only takes two hours to Nevada”

“You want to get married in Vegas? You would be happy with that?”

“As long as I wear your sparkle” you looked down at your engagement ring “and I’ am marrying you I don’t care where we get married”

“Will your dress fit in a back pack? You won’t need any other clothes while we are there” Nick cupped your cheek with a cheeky smirk leaning over to kiss you deeply “Just pack that black set that I like”

“Going to let me put on a show for you Daddy” you purred

“You can bet your life on it baby”

The next 24 hours was a blur. After you mentioned to Nick about going to Vegas to get married you both face-timed your families to make sure they were ok with it, promising them to take photos and letting your mum’s organise a big party to celebrate. While you packed the back packs with a few things, your wedding bands included, which Nick had brought when he got your engagement ring Nick rang ahead to book the honeymoon suite at the Bellagio and then jumped on line booking the little white chapel for the following afternoon.

Nick had tears in his eyes when you walked down the aisle to him in you ivory tea length 50’s style capped sleeved baby doll dress and navy shoes, red lips and hair pulled back in a low pony tail curled style and tears came to your eyes when you saw Nick in a black suit with a grey button down tucked in, his neck on show. You had a quick dinner in a restaurant down stairs of the hotel, you both not being able to keep your hands off each other,

“Your Mrs Amaro now, how does it feel?” Nick had his arm around your shoulders, his lips at your ear gripping your thigh through your dress.

“Amazing” you purred “But how about we take this upstairs so you can fuck me like Mrs Amaro”

Nick was sitting in the arm chair in your room his legs spread apart, shirt out, buttons undone hanging open showing off his under shirt, his shoes and socks gone, his eyes dark and grin wolfish. You stepped between his legs leaning down to rest your hands on his thighs, your face close to his,

“Excited to see what I have on under this baby” you purred scrapping your nails down his clothed thighs and Nick groaned.

You stood up toeing your heels off kicking them out of the way. You gave Nick a wink and turned around reaching behind you to your zipper pulling it down too its end. You let it slide off your shoulders letting it drop pooling around your feet. Nick groaned reaching down to rub himself over his zipper when he seen you in his favourite lace boob tube thong sets, but you had brought it in red without him knowing. You looked over your shoulder and you felt your aerosol soak through the thong smearing your thighs when you saw him with hooded eyes his belt and pants undone, his hand wrapped around his long hard length.

You stepped back out of your dress bending down to pick it up and you felt Nick’s hand landing on your ass cheek. Making your gasp biting your bottom lip and moaning before you stood up throwing your dress on the other arm chair.

“You didn’t tell me you got it in another colour Amor”

“It was surprise baby”

You walked between his legs again getting down on your knees, grabbing the waist of his pants and boxers tugging them down. Nick lifted his hips up so you could pull them off and you threw them to the side. Nick made quick work of ripping off his shirt and under shirt throwing them to rest with his pants. You reached behind you unclipping your bra letting it fall off your body and Nick licked his lips at your bare breast.

You looked up at him through your eye lashes with a small grin, wrapping one hand around his length to hold it still, leaning forward more pushing his cock between your breasts to rest in your cleavage. Nick grabbed onto the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white. You moving your hand away from him, both your hands going to the sides on your tits pushing them together rising up on your knees and sinking back down, fucking Nick with them.

“Fu- Y/N” Nick groaned his head dropping back, mouth wide open thrusting up into your chest. You pushed your breast together more moving up and down on his cock and Nick made a noise somewhere between a chock and a moan “Baby I ‘am going to come-babe stop please” You pulled back falling on your hunches “Y/N, fuck that felt good” Nick tried to catch his breath “But I want to come in you”

Nick stood up reaching for you pulling you up into him, hooking his pointer fingers on the waits of your thong pushing it down and off. His lips on yours wasting no time deepening the kiss, one arm around your middle, the other going straight to your wet pussy, his fingers running through your wet as he backed you to the bed. You turned Nick around pushing him down on the bed on his back moving to straddle his middle,

“Mrs Amaro is feisty. I should have married you before now” Nick’s voice was deep and husky.

You grabbed Nick’s wrists in your hands, wrapping your fingers around them, pinning them above his head leaning down kissing down from Nick’s ear and along his neck. Nick moaned when you nipped on his sweet spot lifting your hips up to line yourself to him sinking down.

“But you love it don’t you babe” you rolled your hips over Nick and his eyes slammed shut, bucking up into you as you bounced on his length.

You could tell he was close, he was still so worked up from before. The room was filled with the smell of sex, slapping skin, loud moans and groans.

“Baby- I’am close” Nick grunted out thrusting up into you, his skin covered in sweat.

You let go of Nick’s wrists pushing yourself up resting your hands on either side of his belly button, Nick reached for one of your hips with one hand and found your clit with the other rolling it with his long pointer finger,

“Oh Nick” you moaned loud slamming yourself down on Nick, your head falling back as your coil snapped your release rushing through you at lighting speed.

Your orgasms was so intense that the way your inner walls gripped Nick was enough to push him over the edge into his own pure pleasure spilling deep inside you. Your hips rolls slowed as you came down from your high and you lent down kissing Nick deeply, his hands threading into your hair to pull you closer.

“I love you Y/N Amaro”

“I love you too Nick Amaro” 

Tags: @witches-unruly-heart​ @teamsladsandgents​  @permanentlydizzy​  @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo​ @amorestevens​​

[hermannsthumb]

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.