In which Draco keeps disappearing into the Room of Requirement, but not to fix that dumb Vanishing Cabinet. So what is he doing in there? That’s what Harry would like to know!
He watches Draco, day after day, making his way to the Room of Requirement, carrying a bag. It drives Harry mad. He knows he can’t get in there, while Draco is in the room, so he waits after Draco has slipped out again. Harry stares at the wall and concentrates hard.
“Show me the room you become when Draco Malfoy goes in there.”
At first, he doesn’t think it’s working. But then, a door appears, and Harry’s heart beats faster. He yanks the door open impatiently and steps into… the Room of Hidden Things. Is Malfoy hiding something in here? Harry spends hours walking around, trying to find something that would look suspicious, until he finally gives up. He heads for the door again, when something catches his eye - his own name. It’s an article from the Daily Prophet, that’s peeking out from a big trunk.
Frowning, Harry opens the trunk. There’s not only one article in there, more like a hundred. There’s also lots of pictures of him, a stuffed teddy bear that has a lightning scar stitched on its forehead, some old quills and… is that a Remembrall? And is that a Gryffindor scarf? Harry remembers, he lost a scarf in fourth year, but… that can’t possibly be this scarf, can it? Except… there’s an old shirt Harry has been looking for for ages.
Heart pounding, Harry hurries out of the Room of Requirement. He has no idea what to make of this. He knows some people are obsessed with him, but this? This is a bit much! And he still hasn’t figured out what Malfoy is doing in there!
A few days later, Harry gets his answer. He’s under his invisibility cloak again, following Malfoy and Zabini. They’re chatting about something Pansy did yesterday. Apparently, it was rather scandalous. Harry’s heart stops, when Zabini suddenly says,
“So, you finally got rid of all your wanking material?”
Malfoy rolls his eyes.
“Shut up, Blaise.”
“Does this mean you’re finally done talking about him?”
Malfoy elbows him and Zabini snickers.
“One more thing, then everything will be locked away and gone for good,” Malfoy mutters and tells Zabini to go to the Great Hall without him.
Harry’s mind reels as he finally realises it’s Malfoy’s collection he discovered in the Room of Requirement. But why is he getting rid of it?
Harry’s brows knit together at his own thoughts. He has been worrying for days about the person who that collection belongs to. But now that he knows it’s Malfoy… it doesn’t feel that weird and creepy anymore. The only thing that concerns him, is why Malfoy is dumping this stuff in the Room of Hidden things.
Not thinking about consequences, Harry runs after Malfoy, pulls off his invisibility cloak and grabs his wrist. Malfoy startles and turns around. Gasping, he lets go of his bag, the contents spilling all over the floor. Harry can’t believe his eyes when his gaze falls upon several drawings. Of him.
“You drew me,” Harry says flatly. Malfoy doesn’t say anything. His wrist twitches in Harry’s grip.
“Why are you getting rid of it?” Harry murmurs, his eyes locking with Malfoy’s.
“What do you care?” Malfoy counters.
Harry thinks about it for a moment. Yes, why does he care? He can’t really find an answer and he doesn’t exactly understand it, he just… does.
“The Remembrall in there, it’s not… I mean… is it-”
“The one Longbottom thought he lost in first year?” Malfoy finishes for him.
Draco lets out a sigh and closes his eyes.
“Yes, it is.”
Harry is pretty sure he should feel creeped out and weird again, but he feels excited instead.
“Why did you keep it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Malfoy mutters.
Harry steps closer to him and puts a finger under his chin. Malfoy gasps at the touch and blinks. Harry is overwhelmed by his own boldness, but it’s like his body is acting on its own.
“Tell me why you’re getting rid of all this stuff,” he whispers. Malfoy shudders and his eyes flick to Harry’s lips. His breathing is heavy and Harry faintly feels his pulse racing, as he moves his finger down Malfoy’s neck.
“What do you care?” Malfoy repeats. His gaze is still fixed on Harry’s lips, which sends weird little jolts down Harry’s chest.
“I don’t know,” Harry breathes. “I just… don’t want you to.”
Without warning, Malfoy closes the gap between them, his lips brushing over Harry’s. A shiver runs down Harry’s spine and his gut clenches. When he feels Malfoy’s arms circle his waist, he throws his own arms around Malfoy’s neck.
Harry doesn’t know how long they’re standing there and who starts making these obscene noises first. He is, however, rather irritated when they get interrupted by a loud groan.
“Potter,” somebody whines. Harry blinks and sees Zabini standing a few feet away from them. “I thought this whole thing would finally be over! Why did you have to go and snog him? Now he will never shut up about you!”
Malfoy blushes furiously as Harry’s booming laughter echoes off the walls.
“You know,” he says with a little smirk, “I think I’m rather good at shutting him up.” He winks at Zabini, before gripping onto Malfoy more tightly and giving him the snog of his life.
He can already feel the exhaustion in his body as he awakens. He’s tired. Emotionally. Physically. Probably more so than he has been in a long time. A direct correlation to the little sleep that the past two nights has provided. But as he forces his eyes open, he instantly moves them to gaze at the cold and empty space beside of him.
He keeps them there for a few moments before he allows them to flutter shut once more. And then as he runs an exasperated hand down his face, his mind falls back to the place it has been so many times before over the past two days.
Getting so damn tired of “progressive” men who think it’s okay to throw around b*tch and c*nt. I don’t give a fuck if you’re a gay man, I don’t give a fuck if you’re a man of color. I don’t care how much you disagree with a woman, or how vile she is. Men don’t get free passes to throw around gender slurs at women. What really gets me is how common and acceptable it is even in “progressive” circles for men to throw out vile sexist comments and insults at women, then nobody who claims to care about “progress” and “equality” bats an eye, and he’s even hailed as a progressive liberal hero for throwing sexist vitriol at women. If you’re a man, find more creative ways to insult or call out the women you disagree with, or check your privilege and shut the hell up.
Lucifer walked towards the bar, leaning against it as Maze poured him a drink. He released an exasperated sigh as he looked at her, pulling his phone out to check if he missed any calls or texts, placing it onto the bar when he saw that he didn’t. They shared no words as he downed the drink and she poured him another one. They both knew that last night was the craziest Lux has ever seen, and no words could express how exotic it was. He felt powerless last night, and Chloe wasn’t anywhere around. The cops even came to tell them to settle down, but he somehow managed to get them to join the party and he doesn’t remember how. Everything was a blur.
He signaled Maze to not pour him another drink, giving him a water instead, and the two of them sat in silence, staring into nothingness. He sucked in a deep breath, and that’s when he heard it. It was very muffled, but it was there nonetheless.
He looked at Maze with a raised eyebrow. “Do you hear that?” he asked her and she stared at him as if he were insane.
Say hello to the
shrinking in your head:
you can’t see it, but you know it’s there, so don’t neglect it.
Sam walks into a bar.
There’s a hunt. Werewolves, maybe, or ghouls. He and Dean
have been working the case and he’s still not sure which it is, which is kind
of a worry. Either way—he knows what works. He sits at the bar and pops his
neck, shrugs his shoulders, but it’s just out of habit. He’s not sore anymore,
not tired. A relief, after the long months of feeling so shitty with the
trials. He can have a beer now without puking, while he waits for Dean to get
back from interviewing the sheriff, and hell, he’s going to indulge. Been long
The bartender’s tall—maybe as tall as Sam is. “What do you
need?” he says, and he’s not smiling.
There’s a hunt, he thinks, and it’s something—it’s pulling at his attention.
Angels, and he doesn’t know why he’s so scared of them, why there’s some kind
of hollow yawning dread pulling open the pit of his stomach. He looks at
Castiel and feels no warmth, feels nothing but pure skittering terror and he
Sam walks into a bar. The light’s dim, the bar long and dark
and familiar. Bars are all the same, in the end, and he takes a stool close to
the end, leans his elbows on the counter. He wants a drink. The bartender
stands in front of him, silent, and Sam says, “Hey, just a pint of whatever’s
on tap,” but the bartender doesn’t move. He’s tall. Maybe Sam’s age, or Dean’s.
He frowns, sits up a little more. Thinks, maybe the guy didn’t hear him, and he
says, “Hey, buddy?” because it pays to be polite even with assholes, and the
bartender leans his hands on the counter, looks right into Sam’s eyes, and
Sam spreads his thighs
wider, stretches out against the plush leather back of the armchair. Dean’s
mouth is—god. He’s almost too sensitive, but the soft thorough cleaning he’s
getting is just so good he can’t find it in himself to complain. Rough hands
smooth up over his belly, pet over his hips, and when Dean goes to pull back
Sam picks his head up off the chair back with an effort, cups the back of
Dean’s head and runs his fingers through the soft short hair. “My turn, isn’t
it,” he says, and he’s drowsy but he really is more than willing, only Dean
picks his head up and licks his lips and grins, and maybe it’s not the wide
pleased got-the-cream smile Sam’s used to but it’s pleased enough, and he says,
“Nah, I’m just feeling greedy, Sammy,” and he leans in and kisses Sam, soft,
quick enough that Sam finds himself leaning forward, wishing for more. Dean’s
already zipping him up, though, neatening him away. Sam wishes he would look up.
He wants to see Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t know why Dean isn’t
Sam walks into a bar and the bartender looks right at him.
It’s like he was waiting. Sam sits at the bar and leans on his elbows, asks for
The bartender looks at him.
Sam drinks his beer, cold bitter at the back of his tongue,
and the bartender looks at him. “What do you need?” the bartender says.
Sam puts his pint down and shrugs. “I’m good,” he says, and
it’s the truth. Nothing hurts, and there’s a hunt, and Dean’s healthy and
happy, and everything is as it should be. Not like this guy needs to know that,
“Of course,” the bartender says, slowly. He talks stiffly,
awkwardly. “You are—happy.”
Sam frowns a little, though he smiles, too. “Yeah, buddy,”
he says, and toasts the guy with his beer. “I’m good.”
shit, there’s so much—blood purling out from between his fingers, a weird lucky
shot and Dean’s crying out, yelling his name across the awful reeking basement,
and Sam wavers, shocked, stares at the blood on his fingers for a weird moment
thinking, he didn’t expect this, that this terrible dusty place and this stupid
ghoul would be the end, after everything, and he falls to his knees and feels
the blood warm against his chilled skin and thinks, Dean—
Sam walks into a bar. There’s a hunt. There’s something—wrong,
maybe, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. The bartender is gripping hard
onto the brass railing. “Whatever’s on tap,” Sam says, and the bartender looks
up at him with weird grief on his face, something so vivid that Sam startles
still, for a second, frozen half onto the bar stool, and the bartender says, “I
am sorry, Sam Winchester,” and Sam thinks what,
he thinks how do you and he also
thinks why but then the bartender
squeezes his eyes closed and bows his head and
There’s time missing.
Miles go by and Sam isn’t—he doesn’t remember them. Dean’s worried, he can
tell, even though all he gets when he talks about it is dismissal, lots of ‘oh,
the trials,’ and ‘you just need more time to heal,’ and, well, Sam loves him
but Dean talks a lot of bullshit, a lot of the time. He’ll crawl out of Dean’s
bed and go take a shower and then blink at himself in the mirror, completely
dressed and brushing his teeth, and have no idea what happened in the interim.
He’ll go for a jog and not remember a thing. He looks at himself in the mirror
and he’s okay, he recognizes himself, but sometimes, sometimes he’ll open his
own eyes and there in the split second when his eyelids part his eyes spark
unfamiliar and he thinks
Sam walks into a bar. There’s a hunt, he knows there is. He
just—can’t remember the details, right now.
The bartender looks like he’s been crying, though Sam doesn’t
notice until after he’s already asked for a pint, and by then it’s too late—he sits
there, awkward, while the guy goes through the motions, pouring off the foam,
setting the full glass carefully in front of Sam on a neat square coaster. “Thanks,”
Sam says, trying to pass it off as normal.
“Do not thank me,” the bartender says, voice a deep scrape.
He leans on the brass rail, right in front of Sam, looking into some middle distance.
Sam takes an awkward sip—cold, bitter hops lingering in the back of the throat
like sorrow, and it’s hard to swallow it down. The bartender closes his eyes.
He says, “I am not sure of my course.”
Sam puts the glass down, cups his hands around the cold
solidity of it. “Nobody is,” he says. The bartender blinks at him, and hell,
Sam’s half-surprised himself, but this guy doesn’t expect him to be Agent Rose,
or a hunter with the answers. They’re just two guys, talking.
“Do you not think—“ the bartender starts, and swallows. He
folds his arms over his chest, standing stiff and straight. “I thought, always,
that there must be a plan, for all of us. That there must be meaning. Now, I am
not so sure.”
Sam shrugs. He and Dean have had this conversation, in
various ways, half a dozen times. He always feels like he comes to a different
conclusion. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he says, semi-honestly. “I
think, all you can ever do is what you believe is right.” The bartender looks
directly at him, and Sam shrugs, again. “I mean, what’s the alternative?”
a pause, and the bartender nods. “Of course,” he says, but quietly, like he
doesn’t mean for Sam to hear—or like it doesn’t matter, if he does. Sam sips
his beer and the bartender nods, and meets his eyes. He seems taller, brighter.
His shoulders square out and for a second Sam sees him—pure, strong. Beautiful,
and that thought’s a surprise but the bartender earns it, somehow. He smiles at
Sam and it’s—beautiful. He says, “Thank you, Sam Winchester,” and all Sam can
see after that is light.
Sometimes I see people’s prompts in the tags and I just….! X-x!! Hope you enjoy and it’s okay I took your ideas and ran with them! Seb says it’s too early for clothes, but even he knows the dangers of cooking bacon naked u_u
So for the meetcute prompts could you do number 7 please? 💖
This was so much fun! Thanks for the prompt! And, as always, also on ao3!
Truth be told, Derek had never actually kissed anyone before. Not really.
Sure, he had kissed Paige on the cheek once or twice back in their sophomore year, kissing her farewell when he dropped her off back home after one of their handful of dates. And he might have kissed the back of her hand while asking if she wanted to dance at the winter formal, but that was all.
They had only gone out a few times, gone to a few dances together, but that was before she had officially come out. A few days before winter break, she had sat Derek down and explained that while she’d had a really nice time with him on their dates and at the dances, she was one hundred percent into girls not guys.
Derek had done everything he could to be supportive, hugging her and thanking her for feeling comfortable enough to share something so personal with him, even offering to throw her a coming out party. She had declined, but shortly afterwards she had started dating his younger sister, Cora.
So, he and Paige had never really kissed. And he had never gone out with anyone else after Paige, either, preferring to focus on his schoolwork. He put all of his effort into maintaining his spotless GPA and honing his skills for the basketball team, hoping to be team captain one day.
Besides, he constantly had to worry about keeping the fact that he was a werewolf hidden so as not to draw any unwanted attention from hunters or worse. And so as much as his friends teased him about being an asocial nerd, dating and kissing just weren’t that high on his list of priorities.
Which was why he was still upset with himself for letting Erica and Isaac drag him to some raucous party at Jackson Whittemore’s palatial house. On a school night, no less!
With Boyd out of town visiting family in New York, Erica was without a ride to the wild party, the same one she and Isaac had been talking about nonstop for weeks. Derek being the only other person in their little group of friends with a car, the sleek black Camaro that Laura had passed down to him when she had left for Princeton his freshman year, the scheming duo had turned to him for a ride.
He was helpless to deny them, especially when they both gave him their best puppy dog eyes. How Boyd managed to resist giving Erica whatever she wanted when she jut out her bottom lip and batted her eyelashes oh so innocently, Derek would never know. So, he agreed to drive them to the party, Erica’s promise that Stiles would be at the party perhaps influencing his decision a bit, too. Just maybe.
Because while dating wasn’t very high up on his lift of to-dos and kissing wasn’t something he dedicated himself to pursuing, it didn’t mean he never thought about them. He did. Quite often, as a matter of fact. And the person starring most prominently in his little daydreams and half-baked fantasies he usually reserved for late at night when he couldn’t sleep, was none other than Stiles Stilinski.
Stiles was infectious. Not in a bad way, it was just that everything about him was positively contagious. His enthusiasm, his laughter, his sometimes twisted sense of humor, even his unique way of looking at the world around himself. It was all just contagious.
Derek didn’t know a single person who didn’t laugh when Stiles made some kind of horrendous yet clever pun about whatever time period they were studying in history of whatever formula they were going over in calculus. Even people who, somehow, didn’t like Stiles always cracked a smile at his well placed one liners and sly innuendos.
Except Mr. Harris. But Derek was pretty sure he didn’t have a soul so he didn’t really count.
Stiles was like a ray of sunshine, ushering forth light and warmth to brighten up even the gloomiest day when he strolled into class fashionably late and took a seat in the front row. He never failed to make Derek’s day just a little bit better, whether it be with an offhand joke or a conspiratorial wink in his direction, or even just a smile or wave in greeting when they passed each other in the hallway.
And he was just so genuinely nice, it almost hurt.
He always asked people about how their day was going and actually listened when they answered, sometimes just sitting with someone he barely knew and letting them rant about school or their family or their favorite TV show. When someone was upset, he would just wrap them up in a tight hug or squeeze their shoulder, tell them that he was there if they ever needed someone to talk to.
He never let any bullying go unnoticed, sometimes charging right up to the perpetrator just to divert attention away from whoever was being bullied. He had ended up with his own fair share of black eyes and bloody noses for his troubles, serving weeks worth of time in detention, but it never stopped him.
A few years ago, he had actually smashed Matt Daehler’s phone when the little creep had recorded a video of Erica having an epileptic seizure. Stiles had wrenched the phone out of Matt’s hand and slammed it onto the ground before stomping on it a few times for good measure as he directed his friend Scott to call the nurse.
He was caring and considerate, alway carrying an extra inhaler in case Scott had an asthma attack, keeping an Epipen on hand should anyone have an allergic reaction, his backpack stocked with pads and tampons for people who unexpectedly had their period. He even carried different sized condoms around so no one had unprotected sex if they were too embarrassed to go out and buy their own, giving them away without charging anyone.
Stiles was amazing. And Derek really, really wanted to kiss him.
So, when he saw Stiles sitting down in the circle of people gathering in the living room to play spin the bottle, he threw caution to the wind and took a seat directly across from him. He could feel his ears burn at the curious looks he received from the rest of the people in the makeshift circle, Stiles cocking his head to the side as he scanned his eyes over Derek in blatant curiosity.
Warning: cussing, SMUT, UNPROTECTED SMUT(WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT)
Pairing: Charles Xavier x reader, Hank, Raven
hi my birthday is the 17th can i have a charles x reader bday sex cuteness thing thanks :-) ~anonny
A/n: Happy Birthday anonny. I hope you like it and I tried to have it be cute but I honestly think I can’t really keep smut with Charles all that cute, The man does shit to me. Where ever you are, I hope I made it in time. I spent most of my day working on this, through my slight depression that’s been building. I really hope you like it.
woke to an empty bed. Charles must have gotten up early and didn’t want to wake
you. Today felt different, not unusual different but different. It just
happened to be your birthday. You got up out of bed and pulled on your (f/c)
robe that you knew Charles loved on you. It covered everything and the bottom
hem landed about five inches below your ass. It was your go to robe when you
wanted to get a little touchy feely with Charles and today was your day so you
thought it would be a good idea.
pulled your hair out of your face and into a ponytail before walking out of
your shared bedroom. You slowly made your way across the mansion to the
kitchen. You saw Raven along the way and she just smiled. She knew what today
was, she gave you a quick hug and wished you a happy birthday.
will be once I get my hands on a certain telepath.” She giggled as she walked
away shaking her head. You made yourself a cup of coffee and found some fruit in
the fridge for a quick breakfast.
finished your coffee and carried your fruit with you as you made your way to
Charles’ study/ office. The door was open and you heard him talking to Hank
about something. You leaned against the door jamb watching the two men talk.
Charles was sitting on the edge of his desk as Hank stood a few feet from him.
Neither man noticed you there until Hank turned to walk towards the door.
(Y/n).” Hank tried hard not to look at your robe covered body and tried even
harder not to blush.
Hank. I hope Charles wasn’t too much of a pain.” You heard Charles chuckle, you
walked into the room so Hank could leave. You popped a piece of fruit into your
mouth, smirking at Charles as you made your way closer to him.
nothing like that.” Hank was practically stuttered as he almost tripped over
his own feet as he left the room.
are you up to today, love?” Charles extended a hand to you. You graciously took
it as he pulled you into him. He took a piece of fruit from the bowl in your
that’s mine.” You smirked at him as he popped the fruit into his mouth. You
felt his hand slide down your side and made its home on your ass, giving it a
slight squeeze. You had to bite your lip to yourself from letting a soft moan
fall from your lips.
know, love, and your mine.” You heard the hits of possessiveness in his voice
which sent shivers down your spine. He tilted your head up and placed a soft
kiss to your lips. You carded your fingers through his hair, holding him in
place so you can deepen the kiss.
lifted you up and sat you down on the edge of his desk. His hands slid under
the edge of the bottom hem of your robe, only to find you bare. He pulled back
and looked down at you. His eyes widened with lust and his demeanor was now
almost predatory. You couldn’t help but moan softly at the look he gave you.
love. You walked all the way down here, like this.” You nodded your head. You
didn’t care what the others thought of you because they all knew you were
can you blame me? It is my day, isn’t it?” You looked at him innocently. “Besides,
darling. No one noticed that I have just this on.” You tugged the rope that
held the front of your robe together, letting it fall off your waist as you
shrugged off the top of your robe.
attacked your neck and shoulder. Nipping and sucking dark marks on your
shoulder and neck. You had your fingers in his hair, racking your nails softly
over his scalp which caused him to groan against your skin. You started unbuttoning
his shirt and shoved it off his shoulders. He stepped away from you and quickly
closed the door to his study, locking it to make sure no one walks in. You sat
there on the edge of his deck, you pulled your robe away from our body and
dropped it on the floor. Charles made quick work of his pants and the rest of
his clothes, not wanting to make you feel under-dressed.
his way back to you, dropping to his knees in front of you. He placed your legs
on either side of his head as he looked up at you, smirking knowing exactly
what he was about to do. “Happy Birthday, love.” He buried himself between your
legs, causing you to throw your head back with a loud moan. You laid back onto
his desk, arching your back off the hard wood. You felt Charles dig his fingers
into the tops of your thighs, pulling a louder moan from you. He then slipped
one hand from your thigh down and slipped two fingers inside you. He loved to
make you squirm with his tongue and fingers. Thrusting his fingers in and out
of you, pulling moans and whimpers from your lips. You let one of your hands
reach for him, digging into his hair. You could feel the knot in your stomach
grow tighter and Charles knew you were getting close. The sounds you made were
getting high pitched. He took his fingers out of you and replaced them with his
tongue as his fingers rubbed harshly against your clit. The knot snapped. You
came undone with his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He stood up and
looked down at you, your juices made his lips glisten which caused you to reach
up for him. You needed him right then and there, he needed you just as bad.
leaned down, pressing his body against yours causing you to moan as you felt
him rub through your sensitive folds. He lightly grabbed your jaw, holding your
face so he could kiss you. Sliding his tongue across your bottom lip, demanding
entrance. You gladly gave him, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.
You whined when he pulled away.
ready for your present, my love?” You nodded your head as you tried to keep
your breathing even. He pulled you up and helped you stand for a moment before
laying you back down on the hard wood of his desk, chest down. You felt a sting
to your ass followed by more. “You didn’t think I would pass up giving you your
birthday spankings, did you?” You heard the smirk in his voice. He gave you a
swat for each and every year, causing your ass to turn red.
next thing you felt was him teasing your entrance. He slowly and torturously
pushed into you. You moaned as you stretched around him and he moaned at the
feeling of how tight you were. Once he was fully seated into you, he sat there
for a few moments. You needed him to move. You lifted your lower body up,
showing him you were more than ready for him to move.
his hands rest on your hips, gripping you tightly. He pulled back and slammed
back into you. He placed his forehead against the center of your shoulders as
he thrusts hard and deep into you. You felt him twitch inside you as he
continued his pace.
Charles.” You managed to moan out, more like almost screamed. He pushed himself
to slam into you harder. You could feel the knot forming again in your stomach.
Charles lifted one of your legs and set it on the desk, causing him to go
deeper into you. Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling of him sliding deeper
into you. The sounds of both of your moans and skin slapping skin filled the
room. The feeling of Charles enveloped you completely. He was slamming into
you, surrounding you, and completed you completely. He slipped his fingers to
your clit again, rubbing harsh circles on it. Throwing you over the edge.
Silently screaming as your orgasm took over your body, dragging Charles over
with you. Shooting himself deep inside you. The both of you chanting each other’s
name, fuck and a slue a various curse words as he worked the two of you through
kissed your back as he pulled out of you. He helped you stand up right then
helped you sit on the edge of his desk again. He was about to grab his pants
but you stopped him, pulling him back to you.
do you think you’re going my dearest?” You looked up at him as you wrapped your
arms around his neck, pulling him down for a simple soft kiss.
going to go get something to clean you up with, love.” You silently said oh and
remember that I can teleport, right?” You giggled at him when he remembered
your mutation. “Really, darling. You’re a telepath and you freaking smart but
you couldn’t remember that I’m a teleporter.” You chuckled softly. “Why don’t
you grab your clothes and unlock the door. Then I’ll take us up to our room and
celebrate my birthday some more.” You winked at him which caused him to smile
at you. He did as you said and you wrapped your arms around him once again.
Teleporting you both up to your shared bedroom, in bed with him on top of you.
1. the warden finds what she needs for her quest and immediately heads to skyhold. she shows up during a war meeting, ignoring any guards or agents and bursts through the doors of the war room bc there is no way a bunch of political bullshit is gonna keep her from seeing her love for a moment longer. (maybe she has even managed to dig up some dirt on corypheus, which she slams onto the table before striding around to leliana) then she practically picks leliana up and spins her, both are crying (if morrigan is there, she rolls her eyes and tries to hide her smile) bonus points if the warden was a circle mage. she throws a cheeky wink and smirk over leli’s shoulder at cullen, who is blushing furiously (the warden then takes every opportunity to make out with leliana whenever cullen is around. leliana also thinks his reaction is hilarious)
2. the warden soon finds out that dagna is at skyhold and they immediately start working together on all sorts of things, many of which can be carried in bottles and thrown at enemies (much to sera’s delight). this eventually devolves into a prank war, which goes on for weeks and has many people on edge and paranoid. finally it ends. leliana is the winner.
3. in between spending time with leliana, advising, training recruits, and drinking in the pub (bc she fuckin deserves a break at this point) the warden starts hanging with kieran (he affectionately calls her “aunty”) and soon gets in trouble with morrigan for distracting him from his studies and teaching him tricks that morrigan thinks are ‘immature and irksome’
4. after hearing about what happened with the rest of the grey wardens, the warden is furious, and goes on an angry rant about what “fucking asshats” they’ve all been. any time grey wardens are mentioned around her from then on, she is likely to start cursing again, and maker forbid she runs into one at skyhold when she’s in a bad mood.
5. the warden loves teasing the inquisitor about how easy they have it. comfy bed, big castle, resources, none of alistair’s terrible stews. the inquisitor tries to one-up her but after “have you ever been attacked by shrieks at camp while you’re butt naked and in the middle of sex?” the inquisitor just gives up.
6. the warden brought dog with her. he is getting old now, some days he helps train recruits, others he just naps in the sun and roams skyhold, flashing his puppy eyes at anyone and everyone in order to get treats. he starts getting a bit chubby but the warden isn’t too hard on him about it bc she figures he deserves to relax and be spoiled for once. kieran loves him, morrigan is less than thrilled to find him hanging around asking for belly rubs and to play fetch
7. one day when having a few drinks with varric, he mentions that he has a friend called isabela, and that she claims to have ‘met’ leliana and the warden. she smiles, drifts off into a daydream for a few seconds before confirming. she tells him that isabela was gracious enough to teach her a few tricks. “was this in bed, or on the battlefield?” he asks. “yes.” she replies, with a smirk.
When Danny slipped through the wall into the mayor’s office, it was nearly one in the morning. Despite the hour, Amity Park’s mayor - Vlad Masters - was sitting at his desk sorting through papers.
“Daniel,” Vlad greeted, glancing up. Despite the fact that Danny was invisible, Vlad’s eyes zeroed in on him with disturbing accuracy. “It’s well past your curfew.”
Danny scowled and crossed his arms, letting himself become visible. “I was at the hospital.”
“Ah yes. How is your friend doing?” Vlad went back to making stacks of papers.
“Seven broken bones, a punctured lung, and a severe concussion,” Danny stated. When Vlad had zero reaction, Danny threw his hands into the air. “Seriously? Have have nothing to say about that?”
“What would you like me to say?”
“Like, an apology? A tiny bit of remorse? Some semblance of humanity?” Danny stalked forwards, grabbing onto the back of one of the chairs positioned in front of Vlad’s desk. “It’s completely your fault he’s-”