#hehehe i love this prompt

[souperbloom]

hey, i had an idea for a fic where reader is part of the band and is dating ashton. she originally wrote 'english love affair' and it gets chosen on the dice while on tour, and ash gets jealous about her performing it coz she wrote it about someone else so he gets moody - mostly angsty, but kinda smutty towards the end?

the face i made when i first read this, omg. friend, you are a GENUIS. YES.

enjoy, you little genius. <3

————————

my english love affair [A.I.]

🎲 boyfriend!ash x bandmate!reader

after rolling the dice and performing a song about a girl you used to see, Ashton gets jealous over the fact that he’s not the one you’re singing about.

a/n: the boys have nicknamed you ‘peanut’. no reason, just thought it was cute and have been dying to use it :3

CONTENT WARNINGS: angst, tension, angry Ash, ref. to past hookups, strong language, ref. to weed, teasing (sexually & literally).

WORDCOUNT: ~3.9k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

"Thank you, London! Goodnight!"

You watch with wide eyes as your frontman, Luke, blows kisses into the arena, at fans that had been reaching out to the stage since the moment the curtain fell.

A rush of adrenaline washes over you, faced with yet another insanely energetic crowd that had poured nothing less than their hearts out to you.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," You mouth out to them, your hands clasped over your chest in pure adoration.

Above all the screaming, a thunderous drum rollout plays you off; the familiar, rhythmic tapping sounding off like sirens in your head.

It extends for a few minutes longer than normal, as your bandmates throw gifts into the crowd.

You can’t help but look behind you at the drum kit, something you always find yourself doing no matter when or why. For your lover is the one behind those tubs; the one providing you with one of the most wicked bow outs of the century.

Your eyes quickly find the flurry of sweaty curls and drumsticks, anticipating his cymbal crashes as you’d learned them like the back of your hand.

As he destroys the final beats, his eyes glance up to you; a frantic, rage-fueled expression adorning his face with the final cracks at his cymbals.

The crowd grows louder, catching your attention— you take your eyes off of him for a moment, as the rest of the boys start to huddle around you.

"You fuckin’ killed it tonight, Peanut." A broad hand grips your shoulder, Michael ducking down to whisper in your ear beyond your ear piece.

"You too, Mikey."

Another hand wraps your back, Luke coming up to your side to give you a gentle squeeze.

As moments pass by, you and the rest of your bandmates get in order for the final bow. With Michael on your right and Luke on your left, you lean forward to watch Calum join the line.

Your brows then furrow when you notice a certain somebody taking a few extra minutes to toss his drumsticks into the crowd.

"What’s up with him?" Luke leans into the side of your face, gesturing towards your boyfriend with his eyes.

All you could do is shrug, before plastering a smile on your face and speaking through your teeth.

"Who the fuck knows."

Ashton seemed off, to say the least. You weren’t quite sure where his head was at since the second Luke sent that damn dice into the crowd. But the most you could do in this moment was grin, filled with overwhelming happiness at the reception of this incredible crowd.

"He’s coming," Luke mumbles, before switching whatever monotone face he had on into a smile.

"Finally."

You watch as Ashton joins the line, trying to sneak a glance at him over Luke and Calum’s bodies.

But he doesn’t even look up. His lips were painted into a straight line as Calum bends down to initiate your bow out.

You thought to yourself, as your bodies bent down to face the floor:

Whatever the fuck’s gotten into him better have a damn good explanation.

After the final bow to close another sold out show, you and the rest of the boys had made your way offstage.

Being the only girl in the band had its perks— you got your very own dressing room 90% of the time, one decked out with all of your favorite fixings and beverages.

But the best perk of all, was that the afterparties always happened in the boys’ room.

"What a fuckin’ show!" Calum pumps his fist triumphantly, as he is the first to lead you all into the room. He jumps up, smacking the top of the doorframe with his palms and letting out a hoot.

The rest of you funnel in, filled to the brim with adrenaline and post-show excitement.

"God, I know— The energy… fuckin’ electric, man…" Michael still seems in awe of it all, with unkempt pink locks that had been disturbed by him tossing off snapback.

"I feel like I could run a goddamn mile," Luke blurts, jogging in place.

You and Ashton are the last two to enter the room, Ashton still having barely spoken a word to you, or anyone else, since in your fifteen minutes of being off stage.

"You guys want anything to drink?" Calum asks, while Michael and Luke make their way to the couch.

"I’ll take a coke," you shrug, trying to ignore the elephant in the room that just so happens to be your brooding boyfriend.

"Really, Peanut? After a show like that, you’re settling for a can of coke? How about we put some Jack in that bitch and call it even?" Michael looks at you with teasing eyes as you wait for Ashton to find his seat.

Post-show parties and conversations were a ritual for you as a band— each of you needing your own times in the spotlight to debrief, and let off steam.

These gatherings you shared were like a perfectly thought-out routine. Mike and Luke sit down on their couch, Cal grabs the refreshments, and you make your way to your assigned seat on Ashton’s lap. Sometimes, Ashton would roll up a spliff for the four of you to share, especially if the show was one like tonight’s.

But Ashton lingering on his phone in the doorframe was never part of this routine. You didn’t like it one bit.

Michael, Calum, and Luke begin to talk amongst themselves, leaving you standing and watching your beau with worried eyes. His knuckles were practically going white as he anxiously ticked, mindlessly clawing at the pocket of his dress pants.

A snapping sound grabs your attention from across the room.

"Hey, lovebirds— the fuck’s up with you guys?" Luke quizzes, his brow quirked as Calum hands him a can of spiked seltzer.

You shake your head, "Fuck if I know."

Your words make Ashton’s head snap up from his phone; sending a bothered glance in your direction. But you just ignore it. You didn’t want to risk ruining a perfect night over some trivial bullshit.

"Well? Gonna’ take a seat, Ash? That chair’s got you and Y/N’s names all over it."

You stifle a giggle at Michael’s reference to you and Ashton’s routine, your eyes bouncing back and forth between your pink haired friend and your unamused boyfriend.

"C’mon baby, sit down," you coo, walking over to the brown leather arm chair that has been deemed your throne, "Let off some steam."

Ashton lets out a huff, causing the general chatter of the room to grow quiet. The rest of you watch in solace as Ashton shoves his phone in pocket, and walks towards you.

He brushes past your shoulder coldly, before sitting down with a loud sigh.

"Dude. What’s going on with you?— Lighten the hell up."

Calum’s jab only earns a nasty look from Ashton, but you just remain still, standing above him while he leans back comfortably in his arm chair.

There’s an awkward silence surrounding you all, before Ashton’s fingers start rhythmically tapping on his thigh.

"Well? I’m sitting," he says dryly, the first words he’d spoken in a while, "Happy now?"

Luke and Michael toss each other a look, before Calum walks over to you with your drink.

"I’d be happier if you put a smile on that face," Calum says, leaning down to be parallel with Ashton’s steely expression. You try your hardest to remain stern, putting your poker face on lockdown.

As much as you hated to see your boyfriend so solemn and serious, you found it a bit amusing.

Ashton was one of the least serious people you had ever come across, which is one of the reasons why you worked so well as a couple.

He’d tell jokes, you’d laugh, then fire one right back at him. It was just one of those indescribable instances that made the two of you perfect for each other.

But seeing him so stone-cold, so inexpressible, you were sure it was some sort of joke.

You test your luck, shuffling between his legs and fluttering down into his lap. Usually, his hands would instantly grab ahold of your waist, before chatting up a storm. But instead of that, his hands completely dodged your body, folding them into his lap with his elbow resting on your thigh.

"Should I play music? Not gonna lie, I fuckin’ hate the vibes in this room right now…" Michael breaks the tense, ongoing silence.

"Oooh, can you play some Zeppelin?" Luke requests.

"Queue up some ‘Sabbath while you’re at it," says Calum.

As the other boys bicker about what songs to play, you’re left staring down at your lover. His blank expression had yet to dwindle, and you were certain that if you had stood in front of him, he’d be able to shoot daggers into your back with his stare alone.

"What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?" You ask the question quietly, ducking down into his ear. Your hand travels up to toy with the baby curls that sat at the nape of his neck, which he normally goes crazy for.

But even with you asking, he didn’t move a muscle.

"Okay," you shrug, helpless, "fine. Don’t say anything then."

A pinprick tugs at your heartstrings upon Ashton’s refusal to speak. But you try to push that worrisome feeling down with the rest of your intrusive thoughts, hoping to focus solely on having a good time.

Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin starts to roll through the speakers behind the ambiance of conversation, with Calum and Luke now aiming the discussion towards the show.

"Can we just talk about how Luke’s fly was down the entire time? Like, from curtain fall—"

"Fuck you mate," Luke defends, the heated little argument grabbing your attention, "I swear I pulled it up! Must’ve fallen down— ‘er something…"

"It’s true, I saw him do it," You interject, raising your drink in the air.

"Okay, but how did it manage to fall down by the second song of the set? That’s gotta be a record or something… is anybody keeping track?"

Michael practically spits out his drink at Calum’s observation.

"Oh, ha ha, veeery funny. Let’s all laugh at the amount of times Luke has gone out on stage with his fly down… I swear, it’s like Peanut is the only one who actually gives a shit about me." Luke leans back into the couch, looking down at his fly before taking a sip of his own drink.

"Speakin’ of Peanut… dude, what the actual fuck was that?!" Michael shoots up from his seat excitedly, his eyes going glossy at you.

"What was what?" you ask.

"English Love Affair? You haven’t performed it in a while. Not like the way you did tonight, at least. How’d it fuckin’ feel?"

"Singin’ about your mistress in her hometown must’ve been a real culture shock, huh." Calum mumbles.

You can’t help but laugh, "It wasn’t that extraordinary… But, I’ll admit, it’s a damn good song. I did write it for that reason—"

"Don’t be so humble, Y/N." Luke jokes.

As you and the rest of the band go back and forth, you notice Ashton’s leg out of the corner of your eye. It had started feverishly bobbing up and down, with him still not speaking a word throughout this entire conversation.

"The crowd was eating it up, too— you were like a fuckin’ machine out there."

Your cheeks flush pink at Michael’s compliment, "You don’t mean that."

"Oh, but I do. God, I can’t even describe it… When you sing that song it’s like you get possessed ‘er some shit."

Calum snorts, "Yeah, possessed by some good pussy."

That comment seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, for Ashton is suddenly shooting upward in his seat, sending you flying with him.

Your head whips to face him, his cheeks glowing red hot. He only utters four words, before guiding you off of his lap and standing up himself.

"I need a fuckin’ smoke."

The lot of you watch in shock as Ashton angrily barrels out of the room, slamming open the door and making it hit the wall with a loud crash. You all jump, before passing each other confused, worried glances.

"What— what the fuck was that?"

You let out an angry huff, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. Luke only chuckles, before tossing his hands in the air.

"Well, Y/N— looks like it’s time for you to do your thing. Go tame that raging bull."

Your eyes land at least once on all of the boys, each of them giving you a ‘you probably should go out there and get him’ type of look.

"Why does it always have to be me?" You sigh, but Michael sucks his teeth.

"I think you already know the answer to that one, Peanut."

After the boys had shooed you out of the dressing room, you set off down the halls to look for Ashton. You checked every corner, every bathroom, every area with a chair to sit and ponder in; but the angry mess of a dirty blonde mullet and dress pants was nowhere to be found.

You contemplated giving up after circling the same hallway for a third time, your legs feeling like wet noodles as you trudged along the dimly lit corridors—

But you then felt your shoulders relax when you noticed a rock propping open the outside door.

"Ashton?" You call out, pushing the steel-clad door just enough for you to pop your head outside.

And sure enough, there he was.

"Ash," you say again, a bit louder this time, stepping over the rock timidly and snaking your way through the gap.

He was leaned against a lamppost that lit up the parking lot, with tense shoulders and his brow furrowed. He stared off into the abyss, taking a pull from his joint.

You felt as though you were walking on eggshells, trying your hardest not to go into panic mode and start screaming your own head off.

Or, apologizing profusely for something that you may or may not have done.

"Baby?" you try your hand at sweetly grabbing his attention, one last time.

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

"I’m fine."

He ashes his joint, before taking another pull, the veins in his neck practically popping through his skin. You take a step closer, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Are you sure?"

He blows out smoke through the side of his lips, "Yes."

"Don’t lie to me. You’ve been acting like such a brat all night," You warn him, finding the stern, coldness in your voice, similar to the one he’s been firing off at you and the guys since he stepped off stage.

There’s a brief moment of tension in the air, lingering lowly above your head. You hold your breath for a moment, before Ashton is tapping his joint with his eyes glued to his shoes.

He hadn’t looked up at you. At least, not yet.

"If you don’t want me acting like a brat, then don’t call me a fucking liar." He mumbles to the ground, an angry baritone rumbling through his voice.

"I didn’t call you a liar. I just said, don’t lie…" you drop your hands to your side, taking another step towards him.

"…Now tell me what’s wrong with you before I smack that joint right out of your fuckin’ hand."

Your threat brings Ashton to lock eyes with you. You’re finally able to get a good look at the angry crimson hue that surrounded him; with shaky pupils and a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

"You really wanna know what’s wrong with me, Peanut?" He mocks the endearing nickname like poison rolling off of his tongue.

"Well, I—" You stutter, taken aback by his serious tone. He then chuckles dryly, lifting the joint and resting his hand on his chin.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

"Obviously not, asshole." You hated to sound so brash, but you were still residually upset by his ignorance.

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. Only to say the stupidest thing you had ever heard in your life.

"You think I enjoyed watching you parade around onstage tonight— all smiley and giggly— singing about some girl you fucked one time? A time so memorable that you went off and wrote a goddamn rock ballad about?!"

Your eyes widen in dismay.

The rumors were true, you thought, Ashton had finally lost it.

"Oh my god— you’re joking… You’re joking, aren’t you?" Your face melts into pure, sadistic amusement. But Ashton’s face hadn’t faltered.

"Do I look like I’m joking?" He ask the question seriously.

"You cannot be serious, Ash. You’re telling me that you’ve been moping around all night because of a fucking song I wrote eight years ago?! Meanwhile you were the one who suggested putting it on the fuckin’ dice!"

He finally finishes his joint, flicking the roach to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of his boot.

"If I had known you’d perform it like she was actually there on that stage fucking you, I probably wouldn’t have suggested it at all."

A shaky chuckle flies past your lips. "God, you are such a baby! I cannot believe that you’d stomp around and make such a fuss over this! You’re really serious right now, Ash? Like, really?"

"As serious as a goddamn heart attack, Y/N."

The only emotion you could process at the moment was anger. You were completely baffled by his behavior, unable to muster up even a sentence that would aid in your argument.

"…What’s mine is mine, baby. It’s as simple as that. Can’t blame me for gettin’ a little jealous sometimes." His tone of voice had softened, significantly.

Knowing him well enough by now, after almost four years together, you had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to hold a grudge.

And, of course, you were right. As always.

"Ash, it’s been eight years. You’re gonna have to get over it eventually."

"Well— what if I don’t want to get over it?" He blurts, still stern.

Before you reply, you step even closer to him. Close enough to feel the sizzling hot anger radiating off of the both of your bodies and creating a spark between them.

You hated when he was angry. He hated when you were angry.

But something about that anger made your stomach twist in knots. In the best possible way.

You decided to test your luck. To push his buttons. Get under his skin, a bit.

"Then I’d say you’re being a brat. A whiny, fucking brat."

Ashton chuckles, rather dryly, before lifting himself from his slouched position resting on the lamppost. He towers over you, straightening his posture to show off his much larger frame.

"Takes one to know one, sweetheart."

You could sense the obvious switch in dynamic of this situation. Now clouded with sexual frustration, as opposed to just the regular kind of frustration.

You cross your arms over your chest, swallowing back the newly formed lump in your throat. "You don’t scare me, y’know."

All he does is shrug.

"Don’t think I need to scare ya’ to make you scream. Thought we’ve been over this."

That comment only riled you up more, but you tried to hide it beneath a playful glare, "Is that a threat, Ashton?"

"No no no, baby— not at all…"

He shakes his head, slight sarcasm falling over his tone before he’s snaking his arms around your waist, digging the tips of his fingers into your back.

"…It’s a fuckin’ promise."

The speed in which his lips found yours seemed almost impossible. From the way he had gone from blatantly ignoring your existence, to feeling you up like you were the last thing he’d ever touch.

"You’re mine. Y’know that, right?" He presses you against his torso, clasping his broad hands at the small of your back.

"Mmmmhmm," You sigh into his kiss, as he roughly sinks his teeth into your bottom lip.

He then takes one of your thighs in a handful, lifting it up to rest it gently on his hip.

In the midst of the commotion, you realize that you were still dressed completely in your stage clothes. Clad in an oversized, striped sweater that was stolen right from Michael’s closet, and a short black tennis skirt.

You were fully aware of just how short your skirt was. And to be totally honest with yourself, you loved wearing it.

You loved the way it floated around you as you danced, the way it complimented your platform boots and knee high socks…

But you also loved the absolute chokehold it had on your boyfriend.

You catch your breath as Ashton pulls away from your heated kiss; only for a moment. To admire you, as his hand slowly snakes its’ way up your skirt to grip your bare asscheek.

"This ass," he grunts, digging his fingers into your flesh, "is mine."

"Mhm." You nod again. Affirmative. Your bottom lip was still trapped between your teeth with helpless, puppy dog eyes.

"This face?" He removes his other hand from your back to cup your cheek, "This gorgeous gorgeous face? Is mine. All fuckin’ mine. Ya’ hear me?"

You nod at him, trying to ignore his hand creeping towards the hemline of your panties.

"Need ‘ya to use those words, beautiful. Like the ones you used to write your song, yeah?"

One thing about Ashton was that he never failed to piss you off— but he was also damn good at turning you on.

"…Wanna hear one last bit of your poetry before the only word you’re able to say is my fuckin’ name."

"Ash—" You go to speak, but your mouth clamps shut as he traces your inner thigh with his fingertips.

"Go ahead, Y/N, tell me. Tell me who’s really ‘all you ever think about.’"

His head dips down to your neck to leave a trail of wet kisses, all the way to the base of your collarbone. Your hand finds his hair, tugging at the roots gently with each gentle kiss.

"You. You’re all I ever think about… All I’ve ever wanted—"

Your breath hitches as his teeth bite into your skin, his hand finding its way back to the outside of your thigh to anchor your body against him.

"—All I’ve ever needed."

In a swift motion, Ashton is dropping your leg from his hip, bringing you to teeter on your shaky legs and look at him with desperate eyes.

His head pops up from your neck, pupils wavering and twinkling with lust.

And suddenly, your mind is clouded. All of the things you’ve ever needed in a person was right at your fingertips. Any syllable of a song lyric, any chorus of every single song you’ve ever written.

It was him.

"You wanna’ write songs about getting fucked ‘till you can’t speak, sweetheart?"

At this point, you were too needy to care about whatever words flew past your lips. "Yes, Ashton. Please—"

His eyes darken, a sultry smile climbing across his cheeks for the first time all night.

"Allow me to provide you with some inspiration, then."

In a second, he’s lifting you up by the back of your legs, tossing your body effortlessly over his shoulder. You let out a laugh, slapping his back, his arms, anything you could get your hands on.

"Hey! What the fuck—"

Your ass is fully exposed to the parking lot around you, as Ashton begins to walk. You couldn’t see much, but the most you knew was the direction of your shared tour bus.

He leans his head over to you, whispering a little something in your ear that sent chills down your spine.

"You wanna make music with me, baby? I’ll give you somethin’ to fuckin’ write about…"

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[vinestaff]

for what it's worth, i was telling the truth when I said I enjoyed working with you

[tsuutarr]

Perfect. Pristine. Pure.

That is what angels are. That is what Finley should be – what he is.

So, it’s really no surprise that he’s chosen as a guardian angel – your guardian angel. After all, only those who are the most pristine, the most perfect, the most pure can be a guardian angel. Anything less and corruption will be too easy. But Finley will be fine – he’s the pinnacle of what an angel should be, after all.

And now, he’s so excited to watch over you, to ensure that your life goes a little smoother than it has been.

As he watches over you, making sure you’re safe, he can’t help the affection that blooms inside of him. You’re someone he’s taking care of, which means that you’re his. You’re safe right now because he’s helping you. An umbrella on a rainy day, a pencil on exam days, a timely bus on busy days… he’s making your life so much easier! He can’t help the surge of pride that lights his heart.

He’s always so vigilant, watching out for you in any way that he possibly can. Whether you’re eating properly or sleeping properly concerns him greatly. It won’t do if you don’t take care of yourself.

But that doesn’t mean he wants other people to take care of you. Bitter vines of envy crawl up his throat whenever you thank someone else. He’s the one that’s doing most of the work, you know. Those thorns of envy only continue to bloom as he watches you laugh and talk and interact with other people.

Why can’t he interact with you? He’s the one that’s always watching you and taking care of you. Greed floods inside him as his desires fester. More and more and more – he’s greedy for your attention. For you. 

So, really, it’s no wonder that his thoughts become so twisted and wrathful. You can’t see him even though he gives you all of him, so why should those pesky flies around you get to bask in your presence? It’s not fair. It’s not fair. 

And it’s really not fair that you’re so pretty, so lovely. You always shine so bright, the epitome of everything Finley loves and adores. Watching you makes his skin flush with so much desire.

But he shouldn’t be feeling this way – oh, no. No pure, perfect, pristine angel should be feeling this way. Only those that have been corrupted by the world succumb to their desires. By the time Finley realizes this, he’s already in too deep. He’s already been colored by all shades of you.

So, there’s really only one answer, right?

Now, he’ll live only for you. He’ll make sure you realize just how devoted he is to you – just how much he belongs to you. Just how much you belong to him. You’re the one who taught him all these new emotions, after all. You’re the one who made him the way he is.

To him, you are his everything.

For you, he will kneel.

For him, for you, he will worship you and only you.

[the-fyre-flie]

Bruce taking Clark out to dinner and spoiling him and kissing his cheek after every little date, causing Clark to fumble and quickly refuse his attention cuz "I-i dont w-wanna make a scene, M-Mr Wayne...////", but as soon as it's Batman and Superman, Supes is happily carrying Bats around and tending to him and always checking his heartrate/well being. He's so happy to just hug and lean on Batman, all while Batman huffes and scowls and pushes him away.

Their alternate egos are inverses of each other PDA wise and it's so cute :3c

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

All artists friends and foes !!

Draw your oc as if they had drawn themselves!!

[beevean]

[writingpromptsworld]

Prompt #64

“You know you really shouldn’t have fallen in love, especially with a hero.” The hero said, pressing the dagger deeper into the villain’s stomach, attaching their foreheads, with a sad smile and tears running down their face.

The villain let out a shaky breath. “Forgive me for loving you, then.” They said, before collapsing on the ground as the hero let go of them. They gave the hero a trembling smile as their eyes closed. Forever.

[ivymoonstudios]

@elriel-month prompt 3: powers & possibilities

[queenofbaws]

I just imagined, what if Chris and Sam were siblings? Siblings or step-siblings, Idk, but it's up to you 🤭 (I hope I'm not too late!!!)

It wasn't until he swallowed that he noticed The Way she was looking at him, and oh. Oh.

He did not care for that.

With the calculated movements of a man navigating a landmine testing field, Chris lowered the cookie from his mouth. Set his hand on the table. Watched every itty-bitty twitch of Sam's smug, awful face. Waited.

And, because apparently comedic timing was genetic, she popped her eyebrows and sweetly asked, "Good, huh?" right as he asked, "So that was poison, wasn't it?"

The kitchen table was silent, silent, silent as they sat there staring at each other - her with her hands gathered demurely beneath her chin, him with a suspicious cold sweat beginning to prick at his temples. Neither wanted to be the first to fold (that would mean losing), neither wanted to be the first to repeat themselves (that would also mean losing), but God. God! He had to know!

"It...was...fine..." he began, glancing down to the (no getting around it) mostly-devoured cookie, turning it over in his hand so he could better examine the lumps of dried cranberries, the dark squares of chocolate, the -

Wait.

His eyes snapped back up to hers, and there it was - the grin, the goddamn glee. Chris threw the sliver of cookie to the table and proceeded to gag huge, retching dry-heaves, mostly fake until he freaked his system out and very nearly hurled for real. "Did you feed me something vegan, you monster?!" he managed, and that's when Sam stood, walking around the table to pat him on the back...and gloat.

Mostly to gloat.

"Carob chips and flax eggs, bitch," she teased in a voice way too low for Mom or Dad to catch even if they did rush in at the sound of his misery. "Wanna know the best part? If I hadn't said anything...you never would've figured it out. Uh oh. Better sleep with one eye open, because the v-card's coming for you."

"Don't say it like that," he groaned, slapping her hand away. "For the love of God, Sam, say it any other way than that!"

[hello7soone]

ig it's obvious who got them in trouble 🤭🤏🏻❤️

[mappingthesky]

nymph being a physical touch girlie is so real which leads me to a prompt idea¿

a 5+1 kinda thing with the 5 times nymphia was a cuddly pda gf and the +1 that jane initated the pda

baby i jus wanna dance (with u)

here’s my super late response to this cutie prompt in honor of the cute lil touchy moment from pj’s story today ::) i’ve had this one written for a lil bit but kept it in the drafts for a while, but it feels alright to share it with u today <3 thank u to my beloved headgleeksana for being such a muse & the best beta reader of all time <3

Jane comes back to it often - the first time she knew she was in trouble.

She’d only known Nymphia for a few minutes before she’d been dragged to the center of the dance floor. She’d like to have said she was playing hard to get, or that she was just naturally mysterious and completely unmovable, but none of that was true. Jane was just awkward, and not much of a dancer, and Nymphia was making her nervous. The bass thumped in Jane’s chest, but it could’ve been her heart. The mirrorball sent silver squares of light shining in her eyes, but it could’ve been that Nymphia was really just that bright. She was glowing, even in the dim purple light of the nightclub. She was endlessly captivating, all hips and dark hair and glittering eyes looking up expectantly at Jane.

“I didn’t take you to be so nervous,” she laughed, looking every bit like Jane’s dream girl except paralyzingly, overwhelmingly real.

Jane hesitated, open-mouthed and dazzled. “I don’t really dance.”

Nymphia just shook her head, rolled her eyes, one corner of her mouth twisting up into a smirk. “Just follow me,” she insisted.

And then Nymphia did it - reached out and touched Jane for the first time. She took Jane’s hands and guided them to her waist, laying them against the curve of her hips like she knew they’d fit. Nymphia’s hands lingered for a moment over Jane’s, holding her there as she started to move, giving Jane permission to follow the ebb and flow of her body, watching her eyes as they caught on the swing of her hips, how her breath hitched in her throat. Then Nymphia smiled, because she knew she had her. When Nymphia went to drape her arms around Jane’s shoulder’s, Jane didn’t dare let her go. Nymphia was a figment of her wildest dreams, not the sort of thing you can take your hands off of. Her body shimmered beneath the lights, curving with every change in tempo, eyes low and dangerous. Jane didn’t have to be a dancer. She just had to be good at being awe-struck by Nymphia.

“Not so hard, was it?” Nymphia yelled over the music a while later, a bit breathless and grinning.

No, Jane thought. Not at all. 

-

It was some weeks later and they’d agreed to stop meeting like this - unplanned and every weekend and in line for drinks at the bar. Instead they’d try the real world on, see if their dancefloor encounters could translate into coffee shop dates. Jane was nervous; it was one thing to be wanted in the dark, and entirely another to be wanted in the light of day. She wasn’t sure it would work, that Nymphia could want her in the same, all-consuming way Jane had come to want her. She was worried, even when Nymphia was sitting across from her starry-eyed and smiling. Even when Nymphia slid around the table to show her something on her phone, and her hair brushed against Jane’s cheek because she had leaned in that close. And then Jane said something stupid that sent Nymphia into hysteric, head-tilted-back-open mouthed laughter, and her hand was resting on her thigh, squeezing just above Jane’s knee. And then, somehow, Jane wasn’t so worried anymore.

It had been several hours and Jane and Nymphia were still too enthralled in each other’s company to notice the barista shuffling around the shop, a bit too polite to say they were closing in five minutes and should really be on their way. 

“Can I walk you home?” Jane asked when they were finally shooed away. She’d been thinking it for the past hour - that she didn't want the afternoon to end, that she wanted to accompany Nymphia into the night, to follow her as long as she’d allow. Nymphia beamed as they pushed through the doorway and onto the street, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Then, without even looking, she reached for Jane’s hand.

It was like some ancient dance they’d done in a past life but were remembering now; Nymphia’s palm sliding against Jane’s, coaxing her fingers apart in some unspoken command. And then Nymphia had taken Jane’s hand, laced them together as though she’d done it a hundred times before, and was leading Jane down the street like it was as natural as breathing. Like she was ready to take her on. Like she knew exactly where they were going.

-

Jane was trying really hard not to be a total bitch about this situation, but it was proving difficult.

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the store for snacks and wine and whatever else they needed to hole up in Jane’s apartment for the rest of the weekend, but it was taking much longer than anticipated. The line hadn’t moved in ages, for some unknown reason Jane and Nymphia had been guessing at for the past ten minutes in a desperate attempt to keep morale high.

“I mean, really, are they paying in fucking pennies?,” Jane grumbled, but not quietly enough. The man standing in line ahead of them glanced over his shoulder, and Jane resisted the urge to sneer until he had turned away, then did so at the back of his head.

Nymphia muffled a laugh with her hand, even though the situation had stopped feeling fun and silly several minutes ago. She was tired, they both were. It had been a long day, an even longer week, and their Friday night escape into each other’s company had been the guiding light through all of it. That light could not be any more necessary at this moment, or feeling any more out of reach.

“This is taking too long,” Jane groaned, rose on her toes and craned her neck towards the front of the line.

“I know,” Nymphia squeezed her hand.

Jane fell back into place, defeated. “I’m tired, Nymph.” 

“I know, baby,” Nymphia sighed. “Me too.” 

And then Nymphia leaned into Jane, letting her head come to rest on the taller girl’s shoulder. The weight of Nymphia against Jane was gentle, grounding somehow, a light pressure that held Jane down. It reminded her that Nymphia was real, that they were, that this was; in that, there was always comfort to be found. And then there was a small smile on Jane’s lips, because if she had to be stuck with anyone at the end of all things, she was glad it was with Nymphia. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Nymphia said, voice small and just for them to hear, and Jane wholeheartedly believed her. 

-

It’s a Sunday afternoon, and they’re at the birthday party of one of Jane’s friends. The summer sun is still high in the six o’clock sky and promising to shine for a while longer, filtering down through the trees and shining soft and gorgeous over the scene: people gathered in clusters across the backyard, drinking or dancing or waving their hands as they emphasize the details of some hilarious story. Jane hasn’t bothered with the formality of informing everyone Nymphia is her girlfriend, but she doesn't really have to. She slips Nymphia into every conversation, takes her home at the end of every night, brings her with her to bars and birthday parties. That says enough to anyone who really knows her. Jane looks out across the gathering and spies Nymphia across the way, engaged in conversation with a gaggle of Jane’s friends. On the way here she’d made Jane promise not to leave her side, something about being scared and socially inept, but here she is now - arm in arm with people she’s only just met, and already has them doubled over with laughter. Nymphia smiles, and the day seems brighter somehow. Jane smiles too, if only to herself, because she knows Nymphia is supposed to be here with her. She’s never doubted that for a second. 

The song that’s playing over the speakers fades out, and is quickly replaced with the opening notes of another. Nymphia’s head turns, and Jane knows she’s scanning the party for her, because this is one of their favorites. This is the one they couldn’t remember the name of for weeks on end, the one that randomly reappeared on shuffle when they were making dinner two Sundays ago, the one they sang to each other in the kitchen, dancing and spinning and sliding across the tile in their socks. Nymphia finally spots her and the corner of her mouth pulls into a smile, because Jane is already making her way over to her. 

“Mind if I steal her away?” Jane says to her friends, who are still laughing at whatever absurd story Nymphia had been telling, and curls her arm around Nymphia’s waist. She doesn’t mind when they ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and jokingly make Jane promise to give her back later. She completely understands. She’d want her back too.

“Couldn’t go on without me, huh?” Nymphia beams, hand already finding Jane’s as they walk towards the garden.

“Something like that,” Jane hums and brings Nymphia’s hand to her mouth, kisses it absentmindedly. “Wanna dance?”

“You’re not a dancer,” Nymphia teases, like she’s not already putting her arms around Jane’s neck, like she’s not already falling into step.

Jane shrugs, smiles, and takes Nymphia’s waist. “It’s not so bad,” she says, because it isn’t. Not with Nymphia. 

They come together. It’s not the electrically charged dance of a nightclub, it’s hardly the sort of song you ask someone to dance to, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re dancing anyway, soft and sweet in the garden and surrounded by friends. 

There’s a lot of things that could be scaring Jane right now, but aren't; not that she doesn’t know how to dance, not that she and Nymphia are in the light of day, not that another week starts tomorrow. She’ll get through it. She’s in good hands. 

When Jane pulls Nymphia closer, she’s not scared at all. Not scared of what it means, or what people will say, or that everyone will know that her heart belongs wholly and completely to Nymphia. She’s not scared that people will see, not concerned with explaining it to anyone. She won’t have to. She’s showing them herself.

[einsatzzz]

KHR Rarepair Week Day 7 - Vampire AU (Specifically Vampire Prince x Demon Lord AU) 🥴💜✨ base artist

[maxmoffs]

“ you want to tell me what's going on? “

as if everyone wasn't already on her back . ( was it an avenger's obligation to also share personal thoughts ? ) arms crossed still , turning to him and head tilts to a QUESTIONING GESTURE . –a sigh under her breath while clearly finding an out to this conversation “ i wasn't aware anyone really noticed my presence . ”

@renownedagent / : inbox prompts .

[lattesqueeze]

💙 i am here requesting politely a drunken kiss for lando/charles...please........ thank you

hello my sweetie love!! thank you for your polite request!! please find below the attached kiss for your perusal

(i love you so so much thank you for this!!! made the brain go brrrrr)

Lando/Charles - Drunken Kiss - 700 words

“Lando, we can be world champion I said!!” A voice yells across the bar.

Charles and Lando turn to each other and roll their eyes in unison. A long-dead meme that seems to never quite leave them alone. Tonight, though, neither of them really mind. Tonight, Lando feels like he could be a world champion. Tonight, nobody can touch him. Tonight, Lando will go to bed a Formula One race winner. Assuming he goes to bed at all.

This is a fact he can’t quite get over yet. He expects it will take a few days at the very least for it to truly sink in.

The club is packed, and Lando has lost his friends somewhere deep in the crowd. He has a habit of wandering off blindly on his own, and frequently finds himself absorbed into a new group of complete strangers. Tonight is no different, and he relishes the attention from everyone who passes him by. Well, tonight would be no different, if he didn’t feel on top of the world right now.

He closes his eyes, swaying in a manner that he thinks is in time with the music. His shirt, previously only loosely buttoned, has somehow come entirely undone, his bare chest sticky with champagne and the remnants of a whole cocktail of shots. Each time he tips his head one way or the other, it feels as though his eyes and his brain take just a second longer to catch up, reminding him of the odd, lingering motion of stepping off a yacht after a weekend in the sun.

His mind wanders just enough before a firm hand clasps him on the shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes straight away, only smiles. What’s another well-wisher, after all? He takes a deep breath, about to sigh contentedly, when he recognises a familiar, niche cologne. Only one person he has ever met wears this cologne.

“Charles?” He pronounces the name with a hard syllable, the English way.

“Lando, mate, we lost you!”

Lando leans back against Charles’ solid chest, relaxing his shoulders. He shrugs, still smiling so wide his lips part a little at the corners. He feels arms wrap around him, feels the snag of a crystal bracelet catching on the hairs of his own arm.

Someone, somewhere, tosses a huge Union Jack over Lando��s head, and he squeaks in alarm. The flag settles to cover him and Charles in a shroud of red, white, and blue. Charles laughs, moves to bundle up the flag, but Lando stops him, turning around to face him.

“Did I tell you before? You smell really good. Like, really good.” Lando leans forward to mumble into Charles’ ear.

Always polite, always gracious, Charles smiles and thanks Lando noncommittally, again going to wrap the flag around his hand to remove it from their heads. Again, Lando stops him, this time catching him by the wrist.

“I like it in here.”

He stares into Charles’ eyes, doing his very best to focus his own. Charles blinks, bemused.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks, tilting his head to the side a little.

“Like what?” Lando feigns innocence, smiling sweetly. He thinks.

Charles just quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Like - I don’t know.”

“Are you serious?” Lando huffs. “Why do you think?”

Lando doesn’t leave space or time for Charles to answer. He closes the minuscule gap between them with no more than a lean, and presses his mouth against Charles’. Charles startles at the contact, but, crucially, doesn’t pull away. Lando takes this as a cue, and snakes his arms around Charles’ neck, shimmying his body ever-closer, wedging his leg snugly between Charles’ thighs.

Charles responds in kind, grinding against the stiff denim of Lando’s jeans. He squeezes him at the waist, at the hips, at the ass. He runs his thumb along Lando’s bones, his soft parts, the edges of each defined muscle. He toys with the front closure of Lando’s jeans. It’s all Lando can do to keep up with the desperate, breathy kisses, licking eagerly at Charles’ mouth and nibbling on his lip.

“Feels good, no? Winning.”

Lando whines in response.

“Can we go?” Lando begs, wrestling with the flag to bat it away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Charles grins, offering some semblance of a wink.

[dingoat]

GLOW prompts: Bioluminescence

@askshivanulegacy's choice for Cipher Thirteen, we've been dabbling with the idea of him developing a little bioluminescence after some shapeshifting misadventures, so I guess this is a bit of a concept piece?

[egg-on-a-legg]

cringetober day 2: self insert only self inserts i have arent really inserts anymore, theyre ocs, but hey they count!!