and his pants were too loose on him so he made a habit of holding them up

anonymous asked:

Just literally any nurseydex fluff w ace Dex please and thanks 😙

I’m not sure if this has too many feelings for fluff, but I’m pretty happy with it. Hopefully you are, too
Read it (and other Ace!Dex fics) here on AO3!

When Dex opened the door to his and Nursey’s room, he stopped with one foot through the threshold. It was not how he left it that morning. It was… well, it was clean. It wasn’t that their room was usually messy, but it was never clean unless Dex was the one who cleaned it.

That morning, before he left for his first class, there had been a pile of sweaters and cardigans on Nursey’s bed; he was looking for his favorite, which had somehow ended up at the bottom of the drawer (again). There were also snack wrappers littering the floor from their marathon the night before, and the growing collection of empty coffee mugs that never made it back down to the kitchen was threatening to tumble over the edge of Nursey’s desk.

All of that was gone now. On top of that, the bookshelf that was usually overflowing with Nursey’s frankly ridiculous collection of books had been straightened out and it looked like the beds had been made (not well, but they weren’t the usual nest, at least). Dex could even smell a weird mix of off brand Fabreze and Bitty’s “Sweet Home Georgia” candles.

He couldn’t see Nursey anywhere, but there was a familiar off-key humming in the bathroom. Nursey never cleaned the bathroom. Neither did Chowder. Dex was the only one who ever did (and frankly, he was okay with that because he knew that he was doing a thorough job of it).

He had no clue what was going on, but something had to be. He wanted to believe it was innocent, but that horrible, destructive part of his brain said that it was bad and wrong. It was an apology, that Nursey was breaking up with Dex, that he couldn’t deal with no sex, that he was cheating, that, that, that.

Except Dex knew better than to let himself get lost in intrusive thoughts. He trusted Nursey, and he trusted that Nursey would come to him if he had a problem. And, even if that wasn’t the case, they already had the Polyamory Talk, and Nursey knew that if he needed more than Dex could give him, sexually, then they could discuss Nursey going outside of the relationships for those needs. They were good. They were solid.

But he still had no clue why Nursey was cleaning, so he dropped his bookbag, leaned against his desk, and waited. He was impatient, but thankfully only had to wait through a song and a half before his boyfriend finished whatever he was doing in the bathroom.

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Why did he have to leave?

Dean X Reader

Warnings: Smut, Language, extreme angst, Major character death, reader isn’t eating or sleeping, unprotected sex, fingering.

Word Court: 2.5K

Originally posted by supernatural-jackles


Request from: @just-another-winchester Hii! I was just reading some of your spn one shots and I thought they were really good! I was wondering if you might write one where like, the reader and Dean had just begun to date right before he went to Hell, and she had nightmares and struggled with it, but when he came back reader is super emotional and then starts screaming at Dean and gets mad at him for dying in the first place and then they have angry sex?? I understand if its way weird but anyways thanks for your time!

A/N: This was very emotional to write.  I hope you like it. Feedback really helps me know what you guys like and to make me a better writer.  Please leave me a comment. 

Making your way to the Roadhouse, in your little ole’ reliable Honda, you wondered what the case would be this time.  Pulling up in the parking lot, you spotted Dean’s black beauty, that amazing ‘67 Chevy Impala, you were looking forward you riding in the back of her.  You walked into the bar, and spotted Jo by the serving station with her back turned towards you.  You cautiously wrapped your arms around her waist trying not to spook her, placing your chin on her shoulder, “Did you miss me?”

She put the tray of drinks down on the bar, “of course I missed you,” she turned around hugging you back and placed a kiss on your cheek.  It had been too long since you saw your best girl friend.

“Oh wow,” Dean smacked Sam’s arm just enough to get his attention, “Sam look at that.  Damn now that’s a beautiful sight, I could die a happy man if I could be in between those two for an evening.”

“Really Dean!” Sam said with the best bitch face.

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Personal Protection Squad
  • Hamilsquad x Reader
  • Hamiltime
  • Requested by anonymous
  • Request: Could you possibly write a Hamilsquad x reader where the reader is one of the boys teenage sister (maybe Alexander or Laurens) and she really wants to join the war and stuff cause FREEDOM and the boys are super protective and it’s super sweet bUT I gotta have some angst so the reader gets seriously injured or something and the squad gets MEGA UPSET

A/N: Let’s play ‘Spot the Doctor Who Reference.’ Also, screw writer’s block. I could not write anything. So sorry for no story lately. I will get to ships again. Lastly, I move into college again in a week. So give me a few days around that time to get resettled. And oops, the reader isn’t a teenager. Sorry…please forgive me. But I hope you still enjoy this.

PSA: Do not bind your chest like the reader. It’s not safe so look for safer alternatives.

Word Count: 5,493

~~

Your brother was always protecting you.  When you were learning how to walk, he’d toddle along beside you. Every time that you stumbled, he’d reach out to catch you. He was only two years older so he usually failed to keep you upright and walking, but every now and then he kept you from falling down.

Of course, the two of you did stupid things while growing up. You got into a lot of situations where you could’ve gotten hurt but John was always there looking out for you. There were times when you’d walk around the land of the family plantation, just looking for something to do. One of those times you managed to slip and fall. You injured your leg. John helped you get back home. And he helped you the whole time you were recovering.

Then, the two of you ventured to New York. In any other situation, you might have been scared but not with your older brother there. And then you met his friends, Alexander and Hercules and Lafayette, and they looked out for you just like your brother did. Which was actually how you had met Hercules the first time.

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The Start of a Symphony

Something sweet for @svu-stories!!! Because she’s fabulous!!! Hope you all enjoy catching up with The ADA and the Caterer!!!

“You heard the doctor, Rafael. I am not budging on this.”

Your husband rolled his eyes, and a low grumble hit the air as you clicked your tongue and cut up a few vegetables.

“I was fine just a few months ago,” he argued.

“Time catches up with all of us,” you countered. “And as of this minute, your cholesterol is through the roof.”

“Maybe they got the results wrong,” he said, his long fingers picking at the frayed edge of a dish towel until you gently swatted them away.

“Or maybe someone’s been spending too much time around the food trucks when I know I’ve been packing you salads,” you shot back. And what salads they were. Beautiful bouquets bursting with leafy greens and ripe red tomatoes and onions sliced just so. Just the way that he liked them. Add a little oil and vinegar, and each serving was a masterpiece worthy of the finest restaurant in the city. And far superior fare to greasy egg and cheese and sausage sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and sometimes dinner sprinkled with an unhealthy helping of red hots and soft pretzels. Corn muffins if he was claiming to be good and living well.

The test results clearly showed that both ideas were wishful thinking.

Keep reading

Not Dead Yet (Part 27)

*Quick update! Don’t forget to let me know what you think. Love ya!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language


“Wow, you almost look like a lady.” Devin remarked as I cleaned myself up the best I could.

“How dare you.” I dragged my comb through my hair again. “Take a good look now because you will not be seeing me like this again.”

“Here’s the dress.” he handed me a large bundle of lilac colored fabric. “Lot of fabric there, need any help…”

“Shove off,” I kicked him and he scampered off. I unfolded the dress and sighed. I know that this was my idea but the thought that I was going to be playing a damsel in distress made me groan.

I stripped out of my clothes and changed into the dress and shift that went underneath it. But, wait, the back is open! I craned my neck and saw the loose ribbons that were meant to lace it up. Guess I do need Devin to help with this. I gathered up my clothes and started back to camp to find Devin. I tossed my other clothes in my tent and grabbed the little cracked mirror studying my reflection in it. My hair looked tidier than it ever had and there was not a speck of dirt nor drop of sweat to be seen on my face.

“Need a hand there?” I turned around and saw Peter studying me with an amused look. “I’m not the most adept with woman’s fashion but I don’t think they’re supposed to look like that.”

“I just need Devin to lace me up.” I stood upright.

“I got it,” he motioned for me to turn around, “What? It’s a dress, not that hard to comprehend.”

I rolled my eyes but turned around anyways. He took either ribbon in his hands and started to lace up the dress quite deftly. “So, you found this rather quickly. Did you just happen to have a dress my size lying about?”

“Conjured it up from an old cloak.” He answered.

He finished lacing it and tied it tightly in place. “There we are, let’s have a look.”

I turned around once more. “How weird do I look? Let’s have at it.”

“Believe it or not, you actually look pretty. As pretty as a Lost Girl like you can, that is.” he gave me a sincere grin.

“Oh why thank you.” I smoothed out a crease in the seemingly endless yards of satin. “Did it have to be such a girly color?”

“It’s only for a little while. Now let’s go have some fun. You still have your dagger?” he asked. I pulled up the dress to show the dagger safely strapped at my thigh.

“Duh, just round up the boys and we’ll head off.”

He held out a hand, “Let’s have some fun then.” I took his hand and in a whirl of wind we were in a different part of the island. A group of boys were there and jumped when Peter and I appeared out of nowhere.

“Find them?” I asked. No one said anything and kept staring at me. “Yes I actually look like a girl for once. Just cause I’m wearing a dress doesn’t mean I can’t still kill you all. Now, pirates?”

“Over there.” Nick pointed off to the west.

“Was that so hard?” I muttered. “So you guys know your part right?”

“We get to chase you down like we’re going to kill you. I’ve been looking forward to it!” One of the other boys, Flint, said.

“You hurt me, I hurt you.” I warned him. “Don’t overdo it with the theatrics, keep a good distance, I’m heading in.”

I started running toward the west. The boys were going to wait till I was further ahead to start chasing after me. I glanced back to see how much space I had put between us when I ran right into a body. First instinct made me fear it was one of the pirates but was relieved, if not a little annoyed, to see Peter had manifested right in front of my trail.

“What the hell are you doing?” I pushed myself back up.

“I needed to tell you if things should go awry–”

“I’ll be fine. I can hold my own, even against pirates.” I rolled my eyes.

“I know just–”

“Are you worried about me?” I gaped at him, “The fearless Peter Pan is scared that his little Lost Girl is going to get herself into a compromising situation she can’t get out of?”

“You do have a habit of getting into near death experiences.”

“Then you should be used to this by now. I’ll be back before you know it.” I gathered the front of the dress up and moved to run towards the pirates when Peter grabbed my arm stopping me.

He pressed his lips to mine in a hot open-mouthed kiss. Despite the situation I kissed him back without another thought. He pulled back, our mouths making a slight popping sound as they came apart, “We’ll finish that when you get back.”

“Great. I look forward to it.” I pulled myself free of his grip, “Now get out of here and let me work.”

~~~

“Stop,” Hook and the few of his crew halted behind him. “Someone’s out there.”

“The Lost Ones?” one of the crew suggested. Towards the east he heard the ruckus of the Lost Boys making some big ado. They readied into fighting stance as some shuffling came closer. A girl crashed through unto their path looking frightened and dazed. She spotted them and her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

“Who are you? You look too old to be Lost Boys.” she panted heavily. Giving the pirates a once over before glancing back behind her. “Nevermind, run!”

“Wait, who are–” Hook tried to ask.

“No time! Run! They’re right behind me!” She screeched as she pushed past them and took off down the trail they had just come from. The noise of the Lost Boys was getting closer and they didn’t sound happy.

“Go!” Hook barked at them and they all turned to follow the mysterious new girl. They ran, the noise of the boys following after them until they reached the sanctity of the beach. When they felt they were safe Hook took a moment to really look at the girl they had blindly followed here. She was knelt in the sand gasping for breath.

“Alright, love,” Hook approached her, “Who are you and why are you running from the Lost Boys?”

She peered up at him, “They had me locked up as ransom, I was able to escape, need I say more? And you are?”

“I’m Captain Jones, this is my crew.” This poor girl, she looked so out of place in this grand jungle.

“Pirates…the ones they’ve been talking about.” she sat back on the sand, “So that means you have a ship? You can get me out of here?”

“Aye, we do and we could. But how can we know that we can trust you?” After they found Alf Mason rotting in the bowels of the Jolly Roger they were wary of everything and everyone on this island.

“Pardon?” she gaped at them visibly abashed.

“Well as much as I would love to believe you I have also been bombarded by mermaids and my men slaughtered since coming to this island. So forgive me if I’m not entirely trusting of sudden pretty face.”

Tears started to well up in her eyes. “I’ve been strung up in the center of their camp for years. I know everything about it, about them. I can help you get off this island. Just take me with you when you do.”

Hook watched the girl carefully. Her large eyes reflected that of a fish out of water panicked and desperate. He held out a hand for her, “Come lass. Let’s get you out of here before those boys track you down.” She glanced at his hand before taking it and pulling herself to her feet. “That a girl. You didn’t say what your names was.”

“Y/N,” she answered. “My name’s Y/N.”

“Well, miss Y/N, allow me to more properly introduce myself. Captain Killian Jones at your service.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” she spoke softly. They rowed back to the ship and Hook gave her his quarters to rest. She explained that she had been taken from her home one day and that according to Pan the only way her family would get her back was if they relinquished one of her brothers. So far it had been to no avail.

“Father never wanted any girls running around. Found them too high maintenance to raise.” Y/N mumbled, her hands wrapped around a warm teacup. “Should have seen this coming to be honest. He’s rid of me and has his sons to carry on the name. Only regret probably is that he wishes it would have happened sooner.”

“Don’t speak like that. I’m sure your father is worried out of his mind about you.” Hook tried to assure her.

She let out a small scoff. “If he truly was worried then he would have come for me by now, wouldn’t he?”

“Love, how long have you been on this island?”

“Trapped in a cage it’s hard to tell but I believe it’s been a couple years. A decade maybe.” she shrugged, “If father wanted me home then something would have been done a long time ago.”

“A decade. You’ve been locked in a cage for a decade?”

“They let me out to eat and such but all my time was usually spent in a wicker cage suspended off the ground. I only escaped because they had let me out to eat and I clocked the boy that was supposed to be keeping an eye on me over the head. Then I started running as fast as I could.”

“If I may ask, you seem impeccably dressed for someone who’s been locked in a cage for years.”

“Oh this?” she picked at the sleeves of the dress, “It was a present from their leader, Pan. He thought I should have something pretty to wear for…for being a good girl. Oh dear, it makes me sound like a mutt. Obey: get a bone. Misbehave: get rapped on the snout.”

“And did you ever…misbehave?” he gestured the question carefully.

She gave a slight nod and rolled pulled down the fabric at her shoulder to reveal a large jagged scar. “That was for spitting at one of them.” she gulped heavily, “I can’t go back. I just can’t…”

“You won’t. I promise.” he pulled the sleeve back up over her shoulder. “Now try to relax and rest up. We’ll deal with any Lost Boys that come snooping. When you’re stronger you’ll tell us what all you know of this place and it’s inhabitants, alright?”

“Of course. Thank you, Captain.” she smiled up at him for the first time.

“Please, call me Killian.” he returned the smile. Peter Pan was playing a dangerous game. First there was his fun assaulting Hook’s crew but to kidnap a young girl and hold her prisoner for a decade…that was the final straw.

~~~

This was painfully easy, I thought as Hook left the room. A scared girl in peril, add a sob story and sprinkle on some tenderness and he was putty. I think it was the flashing of that old scar that really did the trick, an old reminder from one of my run-ins with Slightly so long ago. If things went well then I should be able to find the eye and be back home by tonight.

Now alone I stood up from my seat and began my search of the captain’s quarters. He’d have to keep it here if it wasn’t on him. A secret compartment or safe hidden somewhere. I lifted the mattress of the bed but there was nothing under it. First rule of searching, never dismiss a hiding spot just because it’s obvious. I dropped the mattress and flopped back on the bed. This ship is full of nooks and crannies how am I gonna find something as small as an eyeball?

This bed is very soft though. Not fit for a king but much better than my cot back at camp. I glanced back at the doorway. I had already gained entry to the ship. There was no way off this island without Peter’s knowing so I didn’t have to fear an unexpected departure. If I could actually relax for just a moment…

I nestled further under the blankets and let out a long sigh of pleasure. This was the most comfortable thing I have ever laid on in my life! The gentle rock of the ship and the sound of the water lapping against the hull was so soothing. I shut my eyes and started to drift off. Peter’s eye could wait, there was no way I was passing up a great sleep like this.

~~~

“Pan,” Felix tried to get his friend’s attention, “You haven’t stopped pacing since Y/N left with the pirates. She’s a strong girl, you know she can handle herself.”

“I know,” Peter snapped, “But it’s nearly nightfall. The way she spoke she made it sound like she’d be back by now.”

“It’s a large ship and a lot of pirates. If she’s going to find the eye without getting her throat slashed open she needs to be discreet.” Felix’s words did nothing to calm him. This was a stupid plan! What had he been thinking?

He sent his Lost Girl to a ship of malicious pirates with only a dagger for protection. It wasn’t exactly like she was hideous or a child either. What if one of them–

“Pan!” Felix shouted and Peter stopped his pacing. “You’re gonna make it start thundering if you keep thinking whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Peter looked up and noted that dark clouds had started to invade the once clear sky. He cursed the island for betraying his real worry. No doubt Y/N had taken notice. How smug she must feel seeing it. He tried to force the clouds away but more rolled in against his will.

“I’m going to check on the ship.”

“Pan, you know that’s a bad idea.” Felix warned.

“Only if they know I’m there.” he blinked away from the camp and reappeared on the beach. Out on the ocean was the Jolly Roger with it’s lanterns aglow in the quickly darkening evening. If he used his pixie dust he could just fly over and check but pixie dust was in very short supply. Besides the emergency vial he kept on him at all times there was barely any left. He couldn’t go wasting it on stuff like this.

So he sat down on the beach and watched the ship swaying on the sea.


(Part 1) (Previous) (Next)

flightsnitch96  asked:

After this last episode with the making the 'batsuit' scene you should totally do a story about the first time Claire made some sort of costume for Bree

For the first time in my life, I cursed my juvenile disinterest in sewing. As a child, I’d mended clothes out of sheer necessity, the rigor of constant travel taking its toll on my shirts and trousers. I had cared little for skill back then, regarding the whole affair as a tedious chore that kept me from more important duties—namely, dusting off bones for Lamb.

As an adult, I was a surgeon, but even that seemed to do me no favors. Despite my professional expertise—how many wounds had I stitched with far sharper tools on far more delicate materials? —it seemed I still couldn’t manage a bloody Halloween costume. In previous years, I’d simply bought one or asked Millie, our neighbor, for a helping hand at the cost of a bottle of wine.

My break from tradition was inspired by a recent conversation, whereupon it was revealed—to the horror of several Betty Crocker types—I had no plans to slave over a Singer for the sake of my daughter’s trick-or-treating.

“Oh, but you must,” one woman had said.

“Your child would so appreciate it,” another had chimed in.

“She’ll be the only one whose mother didn’t make her costume.”

I’d rather thought Bree wouldn’t notice either way, she being the sort who’d drape a sheet over her head, stare through two circular cut-outs, and cry “Boo!” as if she were the most convincing ghost in the world. But the women’s scornful expressions had stayed with me, stirring up feelings I hadn’t felt since I’d arrived in America: a nagging self-consciousness; a desperate need to prove myself.

Bree was ecstatic when I informed her that I, not Millie, would be making her costume this Halloween, and what was it she’d like to be? Frank’s incessant prattling about the monarchy had clearly made an impression. Of all things, Bree had chosen Queen Elizabeth II, who’d been crowned the year before.

If I’d known how complicated it would be, I might have scrapped the project altogether and thrust expensive merlot in Millie’s face. Being without such hindsight, I now had a half-constructed dress that looked more like a war casualty than a royal ballgown.

“You sodding bastard,” I barked at the sewing machine.

My daughter, sitting not five feet away, looked up from her book with a delighted smirk. I groaned, already envisioning the moment Frank would walk through the door, greeted by an oral report of the day’s linguistic infractions (most of them mine). Though Bree shared her biological father’s penchant for mischief, she’d adopted the English reserve of the man who raised her. With frequent lapses, of course—she, after all, was my child too.

“Mama,” she tsked now, “you know what that means…” Smiling, she pointed towards the table beneath the window, which sat littered with the odds and ends of our daily life. The dried stems of pressed flowers sprouted from a medical textbook. A dog toy, practically chewed into oblivion, sat beside Frank’s corn cob pipe—a habit he’d taken up as a way of ingratiating himself to Harvard’s social circles. At the center of it all, however, stood the glass jar whose cheery label, “SWEAR BANK,” had become the bane of my existence.

Two weeks ago, Frank and I had been called to Bree’s school on the grounds of discussing a recent misbehavior. Our daughter, it seemed, had a fondness for words that were unsuitable to a woman of 35, much less a girl of 6. The principal’s meaningful looks had plainly indicated he knew where—or from whom—Brianna had received her vocabulary lessons.

“Children, you know,” he’d said, leaning forwards. “They don’t just learn these things by themselves. I think some disciplinary action could be taken at home…”

And so it was by Principal Gellar’s suggestion that we—the Randalls of ill repute—came to use a swear jar. For every curse, the delinquent had to add two quarters, with each subsequent offense requiring double that amount. A mild punishment, I’d thought, until it was obvious that losing pocket change wasn’t sufficient inducement to watch my own mouth.

Because of this, it was agreed that I prepare a proper dinner—from scratch, not frozen—if I exceeded my daily max of five swear words. Frank promised to exchange his loose leaf tea for Lipton’s, should he do the same, though this was more a demonstration of his superiority than his solidarity. Unless provoked, he rarely said more than the occasional “damn” in Bree’s presence.

Rummaging through the purse at my feet, I extracted money from my wallet.

“There,” I said, giving it to Bree. “Happy?”

Bills in one hand, Bree counted her fingers on the other, “That’s six today, Mama,” she said, still smirking. “So what’s for dinner?”

I snorted and motioned her towards me. “Well, if you want this costume finished, I’ll have to take a rain check.” I looked at the chaos strewn about my work table. “A two-week rain check.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Bree said, skipping over to my side. “Daddy and I will have meatloaf tonight, and you can have soap.”

I laughed. It always baffled me how my child—once a gurgling thing with an untamable cowlick—had transformed into a human capable of swear words and jokes.

As they always did when Bree came close, one of her hands automatically rested on my head, tiny fingers submerging themselves in a tousle of curls. They found the tender patch behind my ears, beginning an idle massage that expelled all tension from my body.

She’d done this as a baby—then, with a naïve curiosity; now, by the simple force of habit. It reminded me of someone else, though I knew it was merely coincidence and not some genetic trait passed down through the centuries. Still, the small fingers always grew larger in my mind—pads turned to callous and nails made blunt—as they moved in slow, gentle circles towards my temples. I could hear Gaelic, spoken softly, and see a calmness wash over a startled horse, as it now washed over me.

I shook the memory away, and returned to the disaster cascading into my lap.

Really, there was no hope for it. Uneven hems. Too-large and crooked stitches. The circumference of one shirtsleeve would fit someone’s thigh, not Bree’s skinny arm.

“Smudge,” I sighed, “perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I mean—” I gestured at the clumsy mess before me, and Bree removed her hand.

She leaned closer, head tilted to examine the work I’d done until her expression turned into one of obvious resolve. “I could always be a hobo,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or a garbage man.”

In that moment, I swear I had never loved her more.

Clearly unconcerned, Bree flopped down on the couch, and asked, “What’d you dress up as when you were a kid, Mama?”

“Come to think of it, I can only remember one Halloween,” I said, sitting back. “I was a little older than you, and my outfit was a hodge-podge of things. Somewhere between Indiana Jones and a girl who raided a closet, blindfolded.”

As a vagabond who drifted from continent and continent, Halloween never seemed to cross Lamb’s mind. A brief lecture, perhaps, about its pagan origins—but there was none of the pomp and circumstance one would see today. Being only vaguely aware of the holiday’s existence myself, I had never found us lacking for it. Our days were already filled with adventures, strange characters, and the spirits of years past.

It was one of Lamb’s colleagues—a charismatic American named Tom—who put forth the notion we hold a celebration of our own. Even I, who by this time was more adult than child, couldn’t resist the idea of being someone else, swapping ghost stories under a full moon, and gorging myself on sweets.

Lamb, bless his soul, was more than happy to oblige me. It was a belated birthday present of sorts, as October 20th, 1926 had passed in whirlwind of sand and dirt. The more immediate concerns of suffocation and hazardous winds had taken precedence over cake and candles that day.

Lamb and Tom took me to the market one morning, each of us bouncing from stall to stall to inspect the wares. After hours of browsing, we’d managed to scrape together a rudimentary costume, though it had none of the frills, silks, or skirts Tom had assumed I’d want.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a princess?” he’d said, regarding me sideways. At the insistent (and fiftieth) shake of my head, Lamb had clapped Tom on the back with a jovial smile, reminding him that I was a girl who preferred slouch hats to tiaras. I recall grinning up at him, then, and taking his hand as we walked back to camp. In truth, I think I’d just wanted to be Lamb for a night.

And so there I was days later: a poor man’s cowgirl astride an invisible horse, galloping through the nearby village in search of treats. Naturally, few people were prepared for the presence of my wild-eyed, boyish self at their door. But most smiled at my requests—all spoken with a pitiful Southern twang—and indulged me with whatever they could spare. Lamb, meanwhile, stood at my side—an elderly pirate-guard who assured them we were not, in fact, bandits.

We returned to camp at sundown with a sack full of furry, odorous, and glittering miscellany slung across my shoulder. Against all sense, someone had given me a pack of cigars, and I placed one between my lips. Knees braced and arranging my hands into a finger gun, I did my best Butch Cassidy impression as Lamb inspected the bag for other inappropriate goods.

“That stuff ain’t yours, old man,” I’d said, words mumbled by the cigar. “Stick ‘em up.”

Lamb had hooted, crying, “Excellent, my dear! Just marvelous!” and took a seat across the fire. His head bent before a lit match, the flame lighting the end of one of the contraband cigars.

What I remember most, though, was his face when he looked up at me. My cheeks were flushed beneath a layer of grime. My too-long pants were pooled around my feet, while my dark hair was pulled into a bushy ponytail. I imagine I’d been the image of freedom and recklessness—a person who appreciated the simplest of joys, like dress-up and too much sugar.

“You’ve always favored your mother, Claire. But I daresay that right now…” And here, Lamb’s eyes had shimmered, his expression grown suddenly soft. “Right now I see so much of your father in you.”

“Mama?” A voice broke through the haze of my memory. “Mama, were you listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I said distractedly, slowly returning to the present. Shaking her head, Bree said, “Maybe next year I could be a cowgirl too?” before launching onto an entirely different topic.

Seeing my daughter chatting confidently away, her hands fluttering with the excitement of conversation, of being with someone…Seeing her hair catch the sinking sun and the mischief inside her curving mouth—a mouth that would never cease to amaze me with its jokes and its compliments and its observations. Seeing these things, and how her slanted blue eyes took in her shabby costume—unbothered by its inelegance but appreciative of the work I’d put into it—I thought I saw so much of her father in her too.

Request 37-fuck boi

This is so long and took me the whole day to write?

From the first moment I spoke to him on that warm April afternoon I knew I’d end up fucking him only a matter of days later. After all, he was Dan Howell, the boy who did it with every girl who entered his apartment, at least once.

My friend and I giggled as we stood outside the coffee shop; catching our breath while resting our hands on the top of our thighs. “How far was that?” I stuggled out between pants. Katie twisted her watch around her wrist; the result making her eyes widen.
“3 miles.” She panted, swiping the loose hair from her face.

I walked into the dimly lit room, the smell of coffee mixed with berries knocking me back a little. Making my way to the queue I saw him from the corner of my eye, smirking back at me. He knew I saw him, causing me to roll my eyes. As I approached he ran his hand through his gorgeous brown curls. “Howell.” I stated making eye contact with him.
“Peppermint tea?” He guessed noting my running outfit. His eyes wondered down to my tightly covered ass which he’d had his hands on more than once.
“Eyes up here.” I laughed, letting my lips form a smirk.

Scanning the room I spotted a free table near a large window. The chocolate eyed boy followed me to my seat, holding a large white mug filled with green peppermint liquid. “Mine, 8pm, Saturday.” He mentioned with a wink. I knew what the wink ment: any other time I would have dismissed him but I felt like playing along.
“Hmh, I’ll have to dig out my matching underwear for you babe.” I responded with a giggle.

collect the bad habits that you couldn’t bare to keep. “Fall out boy.” I stated to the 20 year old in front of me, recognizing the familiar tune and voice. I could smell the alcohol radiating off him; the smell wasn’t too strong signalling he wasn’t too pissed.

After a short, and dare I say flirtatious, conversation with Dan I realised where we’d found our way to.
“Gin?” He asked already with my favourite pink bottle in his hand.
“Classy. Almost like you knew I’d be here.” I pushed my hand through my hair at took the gin and tonic from him.
“Babe, I know you’d never let me down.” He winked, sipping from what smelled like vodka and coke. We were leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as people neither of us knew wondered past.

Every time I looked to his direction Dan’s eyes where studying my body as if I was  a work of art.  I’d opted for a simple pair of black jeans and a blue and white striped button up. It wasn’t the easiest outfit to get off in a hurry but the past two times we’d fucked Dan got it easy. Dan had gone for black jeans with a long grey sweatshirt that hung off his body perfectly.

“What y'thinkin?” I questioned, turning to pour myself another drink.
“I’m thinkin’ about how quickly I can get you out of that shirt if I’m honest.” He answered, never taking his eyes off my waist.
“Hmh, honesty. I like it.” I smiled a little. His eyes lifted to meet mine; both of us smiling at our own minds. He had his side and elbow leaning against the counter making him shorter than me. I was still smiling as I looked down at him; examining his body.

His hair floated above his forehead like a cloud in the sky, his eyes like pools of hazel asking me to dive in, his skin soft and pale snow that hid beneath the black cloth. I wanted to hold him and feel every inch of his skin; his eyes showed he felt the same about me.

“By the way” I started, leaning down to his ear “I don’t mind if you want to see how fast you can get this thing off.” My sentence ended with a smirk as I pulled at my shirt.

With that his lips where on mine, both of us moving in sync to eachother. His thigh stood between my thighs as one of his hands held my jaw, the other rested on my waist. Dan’s tongue ran over my bottom lip, asking for entrance which I allowed less than a second later. We both fought for dominance before I gave in and allowed him to take over.

I was now pinned to the back of his bedroom door where we’d stumbled to not breaking away from eachother. Dan’s lips moved down to my jaw and neck leaving wet kisses wherever he went. The more his lips moved the more moans left my mouth. His hands fumbled with the small white buttons of my shirt which caused me to giggle. Upon hearing me giggle Dan pushed his knee against my clothed core making me moan again. Dan’s lips contiued their work before he muttered “fuck this” and ripped my shirt open.

He stepped away from my body letting me move to the monochrome sheets. “Fuck I forgot how good you look in black.” He breathed before climbing atop of me, his lips crashing onto mine again. Our lips moved together again until his left and made their way to my boobs.

Dan pushed the black lace material from my boobs so my already sensitive nipples were exposed to the cold air. Almost immediately he took the right boob in his mouth and began playing with the skin with his tongue and teeth. The other was cared for by his soft hand, massaging it slowly, earning many moans to escape from my mouth.

I felt his hands on the top of my jeans, my hands tugging on the bottom of his shirt, which he soon removed. The light hit his perfectly pale body making it glow like the sun. After his shirt joined the pile with mine both pairs of black jeans soon followed. His large palms ran up my legs sending a shiver down my spine. “Never let you down babe.” I laughed as he noticed my matching black bra and panties which I knew would both be removed soon.

The gorgeous pools of hazel ran over every inch of my body his hands following the route. When they reached my waistband they bought my underwear down with them. My clothed heat was hit by the cool air causing a sharp intake of breath.

Before I could fix my breathing Dan’s finger ran up my slit, stopping before touching my clit. The same finger sunk inside of me moments later, thrusting in and out. He soon picked up pace adding another finger in the process. My back arched off the bed, immense amounts of pleasure coursing through my veins. “Fuck Dan.” I screamed out once his thumb began moving my clit in cirlces. I felt the familiar fire gather in my stomach and Dan must have felt how close I was because seconds later he removed his fingers. He smirked as I moaned from loss of contact before he bought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them both dry

Sitting up on my elbows I pouted my lips, unhappy with Dan’s actions. He flashed his signature smirk as he reached behind me and un-clasped my bra leaving me fully naked. Dan crawled back over me, his lips sucking on parts of neck and collarbone as he searched for my sweet spot. Moans flooded from both of our lips before Dan couldn’t wait any longer.

My y/e/c eyes met Dan’s hazel eyes as he asked for consent. I nodded my head letting him reach for a condom from the drawer. He rolled it on before hovering above me, one hand holding himself up, the other lining up with my entrance. Both of our moans filling up the room as Dan’s dick filled me.

After allowing me to adjust to his size he began thrusting into me, each thrust bringing me closer to the edge. Ecstasy took over my body making me buck my hips to meet Dan’s. My legs wrapped around Dan’s back for more contact. The familiar fire returned to the pit of my stomach. I felt Dan’s thrusts get sloppier signalling he was close too. “Oh. Oh my god Dan Im so cl-close.” I moaned out, my fingers gripping the sheets beneath me. His thumb returned to my clit drawing figures of eight on it causing my walls to clench around Dan and fireworks to go off around me. I heard Dan mumble something along the lines of oh fuck before releasing into the condom.

Dan climbed back onto the bed behind me after disposing of the condom. His arm wrapped around my waist as he pulled me closer to him. I thought about my escape route for the morning; a night with Dan was never anything more than a night.

to: @balletfever89 from: @canadianplatonics

To my dear friend Ale. A fic that I promised to you just over a year ago, and it’s finally getting written! Well, partially.

I hope that you have a merry Christmas and a safe and joyful time with your family and friends. Best wishes for the New Year, and thank you again for putting this secret Santa project together. I know it stresses you out, but everything always turns out so nicely! Much love —Mar

Our Little Secret

“Welcome to the zoo, Christmas lights edition,” Scott whispered into her hair. 

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The Right People Ch. 2

Summary: Its Junior Year of college and after the break-up with her ex-girlfriend Riley Matthews wants to focus on school and her friends, most especially her new friendship with Lucas. She’s hoping that with the right people this year will be a great one.
Fancast: x
A/N: In this Riley is bisexual, and this fic does deal with emotional abuse. If you’re sensitive to that proceed reading this fic with caution. Next time: Girls’ Night In, Riley gets some texts, Girls’ night gets crashed 
Word Count: 2,651
Ch. 1 

A large part of Lucas liked Wednesdays, he had class with Riley and it was the day they met up to do reviewing and their partner assignments for their shared class. They were in the middle of the third week of classes and Lucas and his friends had fallen into a schedule, they almost always ate diner together and they would mostly each lunch together. But every other day usually ended up being Riley and him and one of their friends, usually Farkle. He of course loved hanging out with his friends, and being with Riley anytime was great. He was sure she was quickly becoming his best friend. But he loved when it was just the two of them and she would talk with him. They were never at a loss for things to say and he felt like he could tell the pretty brunette anything. And their assignment they were working on today would involve a lot of back and forth, idea bouncing, one on one time with Riley and Lucas could not wait.

           What he could wait for was his science class he had Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the morning. The class itself was interesting but his current lab partner was the devil re-incarnate, he was sure of it. She had red-ish blonde hair that was straight as a pin and was constantly turning her head and hitting him in the face with it. She also never did her share of the work, always trying to get him to do it. And she never stooped talking. Today she was rambling on to Jessie and his partner Abby who sat across from them about this girl she had hooked up with this past weekend.

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Rock, Paper, Sissors

Genre- Smut

Group- SHINee

Member- Kim Jonghyun

Admin- Aussi

We all walked into the hotel room tiredly. Karaoke was super fun but exhausting.
 "I call bed.“ I murmured to the rest and they groaned, not arguing.

 "You know..we only have three sleeping bags and a couch. You should share the bed.” Key pointed out and the others paused before grinning and excitedly agreement. Taemin smiled sweetly 

 "Rock, paper, scissors?“ 

 "Sounds good.” Onew said animatedly with a thumbs up

 "Oppa! I’m a girl!“ I cried but he just put his hand up in a ‘stop’ motion and winked.

 "Leader says yes so it is set in stone.” The eldest said and Minho grinned 

 "It’s rude to argue with your elders.“ He smirked and I glared at him. Traitor. I’m not so doing a duet with him again.

Key threw his hands up “Let’s begin!” The diva yelled
Key got couch,
Taemin floor,
Minho floor,
Onew floor, this left one person.
Jonghyun..Bed.
 I went in the bathroom to change into my nightclothes. The least revealing thing that I brought was a nightgown that went to my upper  thigh and was a little sheer. My cleavage could be seen over top the dress from the low cut. I decided to keep my bra on because the fabric was too thin without it. I flushed a little before walking out of the bathroom and into the room where the boys were in. I prayed that they were sleeping already.. They weren’t.


First thing I noticed when stepping In the room was that all the boys were shirtless. Second, all eyes were glued to me. Taemin, Key, Minho and Onew flushed pink but didn’t look away from my exposed body. Jonghyun on the other hand looked at me with an intense hunger that made my insides flutter with nerves. I scurried to the bed and hid my body under the thick covers.
 Onew turned off the lights and went to his sleeping bag as did everyone else. I closed my eyes, as I waited, heart racing as the bed sunk with Jonghyun’s weight. I shivered when his hot breath hit my neck. I gulped
 "Jonghyun you’re a bit close.“ I whispered shakily

 "I know.”
He wrapped a muscled arm around my waist and pulling me to his hard chest so that we were spooning. I felt every curve and dip in his body.

Every.

Single.

One.

I blushed a little as the thought of licking his defined abs ran through my head. They must refer to them as chocolate because you want to eat them up. After a while I began to relax and drift off to sleep attempting to block out his hot hand on my hips. His hot everything on me. The hand pulled away and my body relaxed, only to tense again as it touched my soft thigh, slowly moving upwards and sending tingles through my body.

   “Jonghyun? What are you doing?” I rasped His hand was now moving over my hip, tracing over the side of my panties. Trailing over my stomach, fingers playing with the bottom of my bra. His teeth grazed the shell of my ear, kissing its was down to lick and bite my neck leaving only a trail of hot saliva and pleasured prickles behind.

   “Stay quiet, you wouldn’t want to wake anyone.” His nose buried back in my neck “I wouldn’t mind them knowing how much pleasure I can give you though. How you’re mine. Should I wake them up?” He asked, sucking gently on my neck and I whimpered in protest.

   “No, d-don’t! Please don’t!” I cried out, pleading. Something hard poked at my lower back and I gasped at the   that I was arousing him. He liked me begging. He liked me at his mercy, writhing under him. Jonghyun’s hand was at the back of my bra, playing with the clasp. Un-clasping and re-clasping it. Taunting me and subtly making sure I was okay with what was about to happen. The thought made me shiver in excitement.

“I’m taking it off.~” he said in a sing-song voice before all the pressure on my breast was let loose and my perky boobs fell out, nipples hardening from the cool air. I felt his grin against the back of my neck as his hands explored the new terrain. A small mewl left my mouth when he prodded at my hardened nipple. Jonghyun took his free hand and turned my face to his, bringing our lips together. His lips were rough and wet, I assume he had been licking them, a habit when he gets focused on a task.

Our lips moved together with a fierce passion, all our frustration, lust and admiration was expressed through our lips. His tongue brushed my bottom lip and I opened my mouth slightly only allowing his tongue to slightly slip in, however he pushed it fully into my mouth, immediately finding my own tongue. They intertwined, becoming as close as possible much like our bodies. Saliva intermingling, desire inflaming and merging. I pulled away, one for breath, two for turning my body to his so our bare chests were flush together and legs could twist together. Too close was nonexistent.

“Too much clothing!” I desperately panted and Jonghyun hastily slipped off his pants and boxers. Even in the dark I could see the massive outline of him. I took off my dress, leaving me in only my panties before pushing myself over his body. His middle fingers reached inside my underwear to pull them down before throwing them across the room, landing by Taemin. He chuckled and I playfully hit him in scolding before he grabbed my chin and interlocked our lips once again.

I smiled slightly. Sorry Tae-baby.

Soon I was pulled atop his body and I moaned as my womanhood made contact with his abs. My hips bucked against him instantly and he growled, moving my body down onto his erection, grabbing my ass and pushing down so that more friction was made. I ground hard on his pulsing cock, feeling every vein against me and covering him with my juices. I continued to rub hard against him as my hands traced over his hard chest. It was my turn to explore. The fact that Jonghyun hides this body behind a shirt is amazing. I knew he was ripped but I didn’t know it was to this extent.

My hands found every single crease and bulge of his flaming hot skin. I leaned down to lick his hardened nipples. I slowly bit one while looking straight in his eyes. Next up was his abs, covered in my essence even from only being on him for a second. My teeth scraped them, the slight pain making his cock twitched from beneath me. “I can’t wait any longer!” He groaned, flipping us so that I was underneath his burning body. He looked in my eyes in question and I let out a raspy

“Yes.” He began to insert his cock in me and I let out a yelp at the pain. My lover pushed my head into the crook of his neck, cooing sweet words as I adjusted to his massive size. Once the pain ebbed I rolled my hips, testing the waters. I only found immense pleasure. Jonghyun rocked against me slowly upon the realization that he could move. I heard a quiet “Screw it.” My legs were lifted over my head only to be held over my ears, leaving me exposed and helpless.

Jonghyun pounded into me with fever. My back arched and I stifled a pleasured scream as he hit my G-spot head on. He grinned like a cat before slamming into it again, I instantly came. He moved faster into my sensitive pussy before grasping my wrists and holding them above my head, leaving me helpless to the continuous pleasure. He rubbed every part of me making me feel raw and fragile yet his rough thrusting didn’t yield. I didn’t want it to. The feeling of his labored breath against my sweaty body while we fucked was wonderful. His long fingers began to rub my clit in tight circles and I bit his shoulder to hold in a moan. I need to remember we are not alone in this room. This only turned me on more, moaning loudly and nails digging into my palm.

“Are you getting close again? From me pounding into your hot tight little cunt? Your such a dirty slut cumming from my cock and seducing all the others.” He huskily groaned his thrust continued their bruising pace, speeding up slightly. I decided that it was time to take control and I flipped us. He began to sit up in protest but I put my hand on his chest before rolling my hips on him. I roughly bounced on his cock at high speed. I was sure the inside of my pussy would be bruised from the hardness filling me so roughly but I didn’t mind it. Jonghyun sat up and speared into me before cumming deep inside me. The hot juice filling me caused me to come so hard I swear I saw stars. I collapsed next to Jonghyun and he softly kissed my nose, looking into my eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” He said softly, stroking my hair and I smiled softly.

“I’m glad you did.”

Taemin looked back and forth at the bed and the panties that had been thrown beside him, astounded. Minho patted his back. “I really wish I picked scissors right now too.” Minho sighed, frustrated, his head filled with regret

Running Down a Dream: The Definitive Guide

So. Back in January of this year, when I was about eh, twenty hours into FFXV, I started a fanfic on Ao3. I thought it would just be a nice place to sock away little drabbles or short fics, here and there, that might be inspired by my playthough. I had no intentions of doing more than maybe ten of them, and I thought they’d all be too small to be stand-alone fics. So I made them chapters, though they weren’t really meant to tell any kind of overarching story. I called it Running Down a Dream, because too many things were already called Life is a Highway, and I liked the Tom Petty song better. I didn’t expect it to amount to much, really.

…The current collective word count for my FFXV works on Ao3 is 106,074 words. (My FFXV game save is about two hundred and thirty hours.) Slightly more output than I planned. Probably more than anyone expected when reading the first chapter of this five months ago! (The fact that this comes after two years of painful block following the publishing of my first novel is just the cherry on the sundae.)

So, I realize that some people might not have read RDD, because the main fic and the B-sides are marked as unfinished. That’s because they’re a collection of stand-alones and the whole thing probably won’t be finished ever– I want to leave it open so I can go in and write something whenever. Someday, I may go in and mark them as finished. Probably about thirty minutes before the Earth crashes into the Sun. But each ‘chapter’ of RDD and the B-sides is complete as is, and while there is some continuity from chapter to chapter–mostly in the form of in-jokes and relationship status–you can still go in and read any one of them, at random. But who wants to plunge into a thirty-chapter mess that’s part of a series which also has multiple-chapter fics and some of them are marked finished and some aren’t and there’s a crossover?? and what? Especially since this Tenshi no Korin person never puts in summaries that actually tell you anything and it’s always a song quote or obscure movie quote I mean, the hell?

Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered. Because I’m here with the……

DEFINITIVE GUIDE TO TENSHI NO KORIN’S RUNNING DOWN A DREAM FFXV ARC SO FAR (as of 5/12/17). With links. Buckle in. Here we go.

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swingandswirl  asked:

Headcanons for the verse where Emperor Hux offers to sign a peace treaty with the Republic, and actually mean it... in exchange for the hand of Jedi Knight and Senator Ben Organa-Solo.

Listen I love me my Emperor Hux. (Some of these I discussed with @demideerling)

  • This is an offer Leia outright refuses. To the Emperor’s face. She ain’t got no fear when it comes to her baby. “And just what are your intentions with my son, Your Grace?”
  • Ben holds his chin high and agrees. He has a chance to help the galaxy. To stop the war. How can he refuse? Isn’t that selfish of him?
  • The wedding is grand. Hux is in his dress whites, a long cape, circlet sitting proudly on his head. Gods, he feels perfect. Until Ben appears at the end of the aisle. In a large, glittering gown with a large train (and listen I totally have inspiration pics for Ben Amidala’s wedding gown and just clothes in general if anyone wants to see more of that). Headpiece and ears and throat adorned in sparkling jewels. His lips are painted gold.
  • Nobody gives him away. Han and Leia couldn’t bring themselves to. Ben strode down the aisle proudly. Hux take to take a deep breath and force himself to close his mouth. Shit. Ben looked better than him.
  • Much to both of their reluctance, they had to kiss. They made it look good though. The media ate it up.
  • After the wedding Ben spends most of his time avoiding Hux, going on Jedi missions despite the Senate telling him not to Hux will kill us if you’re hurt and hanging out with his bff Poe who he’s only slept with a few times okay
  • Hux… tries to woo Ben. Buys him pretty things, gowns, jewellery, lingerie. Spoils him rotten. Has far too many unsavoury daydreams about him (that Ben can hear dammit). And Ben has a knack for acting like he’s madly in love at galas and dinners, hanging of Hux’s arm like he’s an accessory (and Hux has a habit for treating him as one). Ben goes right back to ignoring Hux.
  • One evening, Hux bumped into Ben coming back from the gym. He was sweaty, shirtless, hair tied back and wearing loose drawstring pants. No makeup. Muscles on display for all to see. He’s looks younger. More vulnerable. Ben flushes. “Do I not reach your standards anymore, Your Grace?”   “I… is that an eight pack?” Cue Ben hurrying off to hide himself in his room.
  • He rants about it to Poe. ”He saw me without my makeup! It’s utterly embarrassing! And all his fleeting little daydreams are still projected loud for me to hear. What’s worse is sometimes I think I like them.” To which Poe just shrugs. “I heard he’s a really good lay.” He probably knows this first hand 
  • Hux and Ben get into a lame argument about something or another and end up hatefucking expect it’s kinda just normal fucking and ??? Ben really likes it. Poe was totally right.
  • And he wakes up the next day in Hux’s bed and wow it feels kind of nice. But also weird. Like it shouldn’t be happening. Their marriage resulted in the galaxy being a far more peaceful place. And they were sleeping together.
  • And it was happening on a frequent basis. They’d ignore each other, smile at galas, cross paths and fuck. They’d eat breakfast together. Sometimes shower together. And Ben can’t help but feel guilty bc half the galaxy thinks they hate each other but he might be falling in love with this man?? Bc Hux is so much nicer when they’re lounging in bed and his walls are down. And he coos and purrs praises at Ben and makes him feel spectacular.
  • “I’m having an affair on my husband with my husband because surely these aren’t the same people???”

I took some three word prompts over on twitter a couple weeks ago to try to break myself out of my writing slump. I meant for this one to be very short and kinda funny, but it kept getting angstier and longer when I went back to it today. 4500 words of Sterek, with a happy ending cause that’s how I do. I doubled up on the prompt fill, since two folks asked for a rainy day fic.

@ademska1 “caught in rain”.

@East_Of_Hell wet sock problem ? (I’M SORRY, IT’S RAINING SINCE FRIDAY AND I’M SINGLE MINDED)

(Read on AO3)

***

Derek twisted the radio dial down a couple of notches, telling himself it was so he’d be better able to hear the rain. It’d been sprinkling off and on over the last couple of weeks, in typical Northern California fashion: in fitful bursts, mostly in the middle of the night, leaving the ground just damp enough to indicate an effort had been made. It wasn’t steady enough yet to make him bother with an umbrella when he left the house; anyway, he didn’t mind shaking the rain out of his hair (or fur, if he’d been on an early morning run), even with the jokes that inevitably followed when he chose that method of drying off.

He supposed it was soothing enough, if you liked that sort of thing. He adjusted his movements to follow the patter of rain against the pavement outside, the slow drip from the gutters providing a soft, constant beat as he rinsed each dish and set it in the dishwasher. It didn’t take long to clear away the evening’s dishes. When he reached for the next glass and found himself grasping at empty air, he clenched his fingers for a moment, then shook them loose and resisted the urge to begin pulling clean dishes out of the cabinet to keep his momentum going.

California was still in the midst of a drought, he reminded himself, shutting the dishwasher door with a firm click and resting his hands against it, breathing in and out, grounding himself. He’d wait to run it until after breakfast. Lunch, maybe; there was still plenty of room left inside, since each dish was carefully slotted into a position that would hold it securely as the water rushed over it. There was no haphazard arrangement of bowls and glasses jostling against each other, the clink and clatter making him tense as he sat in the other room, expecting something to shatter in an instant.

The house was quiet that evening. He’d be able to turn the heat off, put on a pair of warm socks, and read in his favorite armchair for as long as he liked. There’d be no television flickering in the corner of the room to distract him, no one crunching chips and scattering crumbs as they rapidly cycled through the channels, over and over, in an optimistic loop as though the programming would change in the few minutes it took to check each station.

He plucked his neatly folded socks off the ottoman and sat down to slip them on his feet, wiggling his toes in the soft blue fabric and trying to breathe past the catch in his chest. He settled back in the chair after a moment, propped his feet up, and opened his book, staring unseeing at the pages. Despite the bookmark, he couldn’t remember where he’d left off, or why the characters were engaged in a knock-down, drag-out fight, their words bitter and sharp, tearing at each other.

The wind was picking up now, sending the rain in a brisk slant against his windows. It was unusual for there to be a downpour at this hour; he wasn’t used to the way his heartbeat tried to keep pace with it, shifting speed in rapid patterns as the wind whistled outside.

To his own surprise, he’d relaxed enough in recent years to return to his normal sleeping habits - that is, once his eyes closed, he’d be dead to the world, so sound asleep that it’d take a strong, or extremely determined, person to shake him awake.

Stiles, of course, fit both categories to excessive degrees. He’d jolt awake at the slightest hint of rain, wrapping his limbs octopus-like around Derek and breathing heavily in his ear until Derek drifted back to the surface and grumbled loudly enough to drown out the thunder.

“I know the lightning bothers you,” Stiles would say, his dark eyelashes fluttering earnestly, his eyes wide and bright in each flash of light streaking through their bedroom. “Not because - I’m not saying it’s a canine thing,” he’d add, stumbling over his words until any sparks of potential offense were drowned out by laughter, by Derek untangling them enough to flip them over, to press Stiles into the mattress, to silence him with biting kisses as thunder rumbled in the distance, to leave them panting and breathless and exhausted enough to slip back into their rudely interrupted sleep.

The night before, Derek had jerked out of a dream, reaching for the cold space next to him. He’d listened to the faint trickle of rain for hours before acknowledging that all hope of further sleep had fled. He’d made coffee, drank it while standing at the counter, rinsed the cup, and shifted into his wolf form, curling back up on the bed, his head resting on the gap where Stiles’s pillow had been. He’d be annoyed by the fur Derek had left behind, he knew. He’d pointedly pluck each black strand free, always managing to miss the trash can in his righteous indignation, his irritation steaming off his skin when Derek took the opportunity to describe exactly how much hair he’d fished out of the bathtub drain, the washing machine, the dishwasher. What kind of fucking idiot would drop a bathroom sponge in with their dishes, he’d ask, pressing the point until Stiles gathered up his pillow and stormed out of the house.

He always came back, a day or two later, his stupidly beautiful face bright with apologies. Derek’s heart would flip in his chest when he opened the door, Stiles having inevitably forgotten his key in the heat of the moment, as well as the source of their argument. He’d kiss Derek until he forgot, too, until he could rest his head on Stiles’s chest and fall asleep to the reassuring thump of his heart, temporarily secure on an island of peace.

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Soldier Wars - Epilogue

Epilogue
[Prologue]
[Read Chapter 1][Read Chapter 2][Read Chapter 3]
[Read Chapter 4][Read Chapter 5][Read Chapter 6

Summary: Part time assassin, part time wife. It’s a hard life

Pairings: Hot Nozoeli, classic Nicomaki, fluffy Kotoumi

Tags: #LittlePlot  #MajorFluff

Note: You know those very serious animes that have very cracky OVAs? This is kinda like it. Almost crackfic. I’m calling it fanservice 

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The Black Dog

I did a oneshot from @notllorstel‘s post about Stan meeting the Grim (x)



When I first saw the black dog it was from a distance and I assumed it was just a stray. It was following an older lady down the street. The next day she died. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Later I saw it at the cemetery when I was looking for ghosts. It was sleeping among the graves. I got close enough to see that while it looked normal its eyes were wrong. A glazed over white like that of a dead thing. As I approached it I began to feel listless and depressed. It vanished before I could investigate any farther.”

-From the Journals of Stanford Pines on “The Grim”

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Lost Letters - Seven

|| Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight

TXF |MSR | Revival - Post Home Again | Angst | PG | 7/8


Scully comes to him on the longest night of the year. If the look on her face didn’t tell him not to ask questions, just to be, then her outfit would. Dana Scully does not leave her home after 10pm and drive to a middle-of-nowhere place she has no need to go back to, her pajama pants tucked into socks inside boots and her coat buttoned up wrong, unless the world is ending. Her face is crumpled in the porchlight. She’s been sailing into the wind for too long and in the seemingly endless hours between dusk and dawn the ropes have snapped and it’s all fallen down. She’s drifting, empty, and without words she tells him he is the closest thing she has to a safe haven.

They haven’t broached any difficult subjects since the day where she talked him through the first few pages of an album of baby pictures. They’d both smiled over the stories that accompanied those previously unshared pictures of their son, shoulders resting together. Mulder was still marvelling at seeing Scully’s eyes so clearly in William’s face, even at four months, when she had slammed the album shut and asked him, firmly but not unkindly, to go. She couldn’t make it any further that day and he had cried in the hallway from the bittersweetness of it all, then waited for her to bring it up again. 

She hasn’t.

Mulder follows her upstairs in the silence and watches her climb into bed, fully clothed, boots and all, to bury herself in his scent. He joins her, like the old days, but is careful not to touch her, not to intrude or insert himself uninvited into whatever healing process this is. He will be there, on the edge of the bed, to the ends of the earth, but he will not fall back into old habits. Scully’s breathing slows and her eyes stay closed. She doesn’t reach for him and so Mulder just watches, tracing her outline with his eyes through the darkness and the sheets and all of her clothes. He knows her by heart. Three weeks of sporadic meal sharing has replaced the first few of Scully’s missing pounds and Mulder can imagine the peaks and troughs of her skin, gracing her bones in clinging planes. just a little loose still in places. He wonders if the fact that his body is not responding with arousal to her presence in his bed, his imaginings of her naked, says more about his age or their circumstances. He decides it doesn’t matter. They have been so very far apart and know, he feels closer to Scully than he has in years; perhaps not physically, perhaps not even in terms of his involvement in her life, but in terms of honesty and openness and the kinds of things that make life worth living.

As if reading his mind Scully’s lashes flutter and she’s awake, sleep softening the spaces between her words.

‘Who am I Mulder?’

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sympathy

grester SFW/SFF

1,360 words


Chester is awoken by an unfamiliar dampness seeping in through the fabric of his shirt. He takes a moment to acclimate his eyes to the darkness and at first observation everything seems normal. Grace is tucked snugly into his side, blonde curls messily strewn over a pillow they are sharing, a sweater-clad arm across his chest accompanied by a firm hand gripping his side, hot breath warming the crook in his neck, and the all too common trail of drool leading from the corner of her mouth descending downward to the back of his shoulder. This was in terms habitual, a routine sleeping occurrence for the new couple. However, as Chester became increasingly aware of the little world they were presently in, he could feel the heat radiating off of his girlfriend who usually had an attire of two shirts beneath a jacket in climates of up to 98 degrees.

Chester carefully retracts his arm from the spot around the small of her back to tuck a piece of uncooperative hair behind her ear that moments before laid across her face. He meant to be gentle but the small movement was unintentionally disruptive. Her eyes fluttering open, revealing a look of confusion and immediate discomfort as they set on his. Chester’s face portraying that of utmost concern as he slides the pad of his thumb over the drool-clad corner of her mouth and notes the clamminess as opposed to its usual softness. Beads of sweat trickle from her hairline down her forehead, and smudges of remaining black eyeliner surround her eyes, but apart from the present situation, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Grace lets out a guttural groan unceremoniously falling back into his side.

“Gracie what’s wrong?”

Burrowing further into his neck, she mumbles. “‘S hot. ‘M cold”

Chester runs his hand delicately up the length of her spine, the heat from her forehead pressed into his neck not going unnoticed.

“Baby, let’s get you in a change of clothes. You are burning up.”

A small whimper escapes her lips, rolling onto her back; she vigorously rubs her fingertips over each temple. “My stomach and head are fucking killing me.”

“I think you may have a stomach virus, sicky.” He carefully leans over to place a delicate kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead, making his way to a pile of clothes to find something comfortable for her to wear. His mind is racing trying to meet her every need. Water. Right. She needs water.  

Chester returns to the bedroom, water in hand, to find Grace has discarded her sweater and sleep shorts that were drenched in sweat; all intentions of modesty displaced, while weakly stumbling into the bathroom.  Before he has time to help, she crashes over the toilet, releasing the contents that were irritating her stomach. Chester runs up behind her, taking her hair carefully but urgently out of her face in one hand and massaging her bare shoulder with the other.

“Aw sweetie- all done?” He removes his one hand on her shoulder and reaches over to flush the toilet. Carefully helping her with her journey to the sink, Chester encloses her between his body and the counter as she shakily brushes her teeth with only him supporting her fragile figure. Grace leans back into him as he runs a washcloth under cool water and carefully traces it over the bareness of her upper half and behind her neck to bring down any lingering fever. Taking the new sweater that was swung over his shoulder, Chester carefully places it over her head, letting it fall to hang loosely over her body, with only a few failed attempts and pained giggles battling with the fabric to get her arms to freedom.

Grace turns in his arms, face flushed and eyes glassy, “Than-k you. Hot but cold, don’t want pants.”

Chester lets out a sympathetic chuckle, scooping her up and carrying her into the living room.

“Ches I can walk and…” She was interrupted.

“No arguments missy. Let me take care of you.”

The strength to argue was distant and she was soon comforted falling into his embrace as he sat on the couch, putting her in-between his legs so her back was on his chest and his muscular arms wrapped around her middle, where he gently placed his hands under the sweater onto the smooth skin beneath and began rubbing gently. Grace let out a satisfying moan at the heated contact, and then is discomforted by the hair sticking to her neck. Chester seemed to pick up on it and removes his hands and takes the hair tie from her wrist. Lightly picking up her hair in its entirety, Chester does his best to put it atop her head in a non-painful manner.

“Better?” He asks while running his hands back to their previous location.

“Mmmm yes. Thank you honey.”

Lying together, Chester’s heated palms run over the expanse of her stomach, slowly trying to alleviate any discomfort. In that moment realization hit that under any circumstance, he would care for her and be by her side for the rest of his life. He didn’t want anyone else to hold her hair back, help her change when weakness took over, run to the store in the middle of the night to fill a chocolate craving, or learn the parts of her body only a few knew.

Over the past 6 months they inched deeper into each other’s lives and carefully built a lifelong bond. The pool house became their temporary home and had Grace’s personality and decorative style surrounding the interior.

He grew to love how she would intently watch Real Housewives for hours and forget about the shower running, how she would leave half-filled Red Bull cans on the floor by the couch which Chester never failed to trip over every morning, and how she always seemed to steal the shirt he was planning to wear the following day. None of these things were faults or annoyances, to Chester they were attributes that made Grace who she was and he loved every single one of them. However, her eating chips on his piano bench, leaving crumbs on the display of keys which he would spend hours picking out between each one, he could do without; but then again it reminded him that she was in fact his and decided he would never want to change that habit either. He sighed contently knowing that this, in fact, was the rest of his life.

Both had fallen asleep and were awoken by an impatient Friday and a sudden urge through Grace’s body, signaling her that her previous trip to the bathroom was unsuccessful.

Grace shot up, waving her hand at Chester to show that she could handle it and he took that time to find something for her to eat in order to keep her decreasing nutrients up. He dug into the back of the fridge for a vitamin water and quickly popped bread into the toaster. Toast is bland and good. Yeah..good. Peanut butter has stuff that she needs. Wait does that have cream? No, I’m an idiot. Ok you got this. Change sheets and help Grace to bed and come back for the food. Yes good plan.  

Moments later his girlfriend emerges from the bathroom, hair askew accompanied by a distressed look. Carefully he takes her hand and leads her to bed, helping her slip into the covers he had just replaced and tucks the blankets adequately around her body. “Lay with me? You’re warm and comfy.”

How could he resist? “Of course sweetie, let me just grab your food.” 

Smiling; she adorably nestles into the blankets, letting a small ‘I love you and thank you-u’ escape her chapped lips before almost immediately dozing off to sleep.

A tray of toast with crunchy peanut butter, vitamin water, and cut up watermelon are placed on the bedside table before he carefully slips into the covers next to her and captures her in his waiting arms. Small snores fill the room as Chester keeps her trembling body warm, humming sweet nothings into her ear.

“I love you too. Every single day”


A/N: Hope you enjoyed :) Feedback is appreciated!

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Pairing: Lawrence Sonntag/Jon Risinger

Universe: Fake AH Crew

Warning: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) explicit buttsex

Ao3 Link: [x]

Gift for @patrickrodriquez lmao I hope its alright


The Funhaus Crew had gotten cocky, and now one of their own was injured. They came close - too close. Lawrence always felt that guilt - that overwhelming guilt that it was his fault.

Jon knows that. He always does. He’s always there. Always stays.

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Home is Where the Heart Is

I got a bunch of Art School AU domestic prompts and what came out this this: Bog and Marianne moving into their first home together.

Thank you for all the prompts and song suggestions! If you feel this didn’t fulfill your prompt properly go ahead and talk to me again!


Now …

For most of Bog’s life waking up in the morning wasn’t something he had typically enjoyed.

Usually he was being jarred out of restless dreams by his alarm, or woke up on the weekend to the pale gray light of morning filtering in through his curtains, washing the room in muted shadows. No alarm to shock him to reality, no job to get to, no classes to be in time for. Those days he stared at the ceiling and listened to the clock tick endlessly, counting out the empty minutes that showed no promise of being filled, or pulled the comforter over his head to block out the light and sound, trying to pretend he could sleep a little longer and avoid facing the day ahead.

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hold me in your arms (keep me safe)

AO3 // TEEN // ROMANCE/ANGST/FLUFF // 2.273 WORDS // MORE STORIES

five times Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak cuddle and the one time a third party joins them.

this one is johanna’s fault @emilybuttrickards

i.

The first time they ended up accidentally ‘cuddling’ was on the couch in Felicity’s living room. One of their weekly study sessions in attempt of getting Oliver his company back had run late and Felicity had suggested they order take out and watch a movie. That’s all they did. Nothing they hadn’t done before. There’d been plenty of movie nights over the summer. Felicity’s head rested on his shoulder, his arm loosely draped around her. She’d fallen asleep a while ago.

Ever since the whole ordeal with Slade and telling Felicity he loved her to fool him, Oliver had begun to wonder. What if? What if it hadn’t been fake? What if he didn’t break her heart when he put that syringe in her hand? What if in the process of lying to Slade, he’d been lying to himself too? What if she hadn’t come back and his last words to her were lies?

He was being unfair to himself, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop. He’d risked her life and he would never be able to forgive himself for that. The plan worked, they won, but Oliver knew how much it had hurt her when she figured out he’d been lying to her. She didn’t hate him for it, she couldn’t. He did what he had to do, but it still stung.

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