goddamn the chest hair is distracting

I’ve come to the realization I can only write one fic, just slightly different each time, but I’ve made peace with that fact. Anyways, here’s more mindless Ladynoir innuendo. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“So on a scale of one to ten, how much of a virgin are you?”

Black boots skidded to a stop, steel tips grinding against the shingle beneath them with a sort of crunching noise that almost drowned out Ladybug’s question entirely. Adrien (who in this moment was not, in fact, Adrien at all but none other than Chat Noir) swiveled at the edge of the roof, peering back at his partner as she waited for his response.

More surprised by her sudden inquiry than anything, he shrugged. “One being…?”

“One being a toddler who has absolutely no grasp of human sexuality and ten being the author of the Kama Sutra,” Ladybug clarified, winding her yo-yo back around her hip and effectively signaling their patrol had come to an end. “So where do you fall?”

Adrien grinned. “Twelve.”

Keep reading

Reading with Sam would include:

- “How do you read so goddamn fast?”

-  All the cuddles

-  Wiping away each other’s tears

-  Sitting on his lap, back pressed against his warm chest

- *points at picture of repulsive demon like creature* “Look, it’s you”

- Sam getting your hair in his mouth by accident

- Spending at least 20 minutes trying to find a comfortable position

- “Move your arm I can’t see”

- Trying an eBook, but getting distracted by each other and not listening

- Constant teasing from Dean about being bookworms, or nerds

- Coming home from each hunt with a new book to read

Luke Imagine: Playing Guitar at 3AM

Author: Rhine


“Could you shut the f – oh.”

You’re mildly surprised to say the least, not expecting clear blue eyes to stare back at you innocently, clashing with the small smirk on the stranger’s lips.

And all of your irritation melts into a faint embarrassment, your frustrated gnashing of teeth replaced by a soft tint of red in your cheeks.

You had prepared a whole ten minute speech – or angry proclamation, it really depends on your perspective on it – about the rudeness of people playing guitar in hotel hallways at three in the morning when some certain residents – this is where a sharp death glare comes in to indicate ‘certain residents’ meant you – had just come off a fourteen-hour flight and wanted nothing but sleep.

Your plane had been delayed for five hours and it had been a turbulent flight and your suitcase was the last to come out on the conveyor belt; your taxicab driver got lost and you were rained on as you were walking to the hotel doors.

All you wanted to do was take a nice, long, hot shower, scream into your pillow, and sleep.

It wasn’t a great start to your vacation, what with everything that could possibly go wrong going completely wrong – and this was the tipping point.

Collapsing into the white linen sheets of the hotel bed and closing your eyes, letting your worn body melt into the soft mattress, your mind finally humming to a sleep then –

The obnoxiously loud sound of a guitar twanging from somewhere outside your door.

At first you try to ignore it – breathe, breathe, fucking breathe – but it starts to get a little unbearable somewhere after the first hour of repeated chords and simple melodies.

You thought it would stop; small pauses the faintest glimmers of hope that whoever was playing was done – only to have it start up all over again with a quick succession of chords with loud, echoing strumming.

It’s the perfectly irritating volume where it’s just loud enough to rouse you from your sleep in sharp staccatos, not soft enough to be a lullaby serenade.

And you have had enough – you did not need this to be your closing credit song to a horribly disastrous day.

You moaned in tired frustration, the sound a low growl before peaking at a high shriek.

You dragged yourself out of the warm blanket coffin of the bed and stomped out the door, jaw set as you looked for the source of the damn noise, ready to give whoever was playing a piece of your mind and a very special finger.

You weren’t quite expecting the attractive blonde sitting at the very end of the hallway, worn guitar propped on his crossed knees – his blue eyes took your breath away and all of your arguments died in your throat at the sight of his sheepish smile, pink lips accented by the black ring pierced into it.

And all you can think is fuck – because not only was this boy irritatingly loud with his goddamn guitar, he just had to be infuriatingly good looking with his grey beanie loosely perched on top of his tousled blonde hair, large sweatpants loose on his hips and just low enough for you to see pale skin and the softly protruding hipbone.


He looks up at you with expectant aqua eyes, faint circles underneath them of someone who hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for a few too many nights but damn did he wear it well with the cheeky grin and soft stubble underneath his chin.

“Could you – well, you see – it’s just a bit – “

And the piece of your mind that you planned on giving him turned out to be nothing but the stutters of a brainless bimbo.

“Is it a bit distracting?”

He nods to his guitar, hands still frozen over the strings – and god, his voice was too deep for you to physically handle at three in morning – there’s a lilt to it, a melody in his words and maybe it’s the sleep deprivation but you swear to god he’s probably five words away from having you on your knees.

You deduce it as fatigue – though you’re certain he’s just as attractive when you’re fully awake after a good night’s sleep, certainly still just as attractive then with his face inches away from yours on the white pillow with that voice saying your name and

It’s too late and your mind is twisting things a little too far.

“You are very much distracting.”

His guitar was distracting you from sleeping but his smirked lip ring smile and long legs in low sweatpants was most definitely distracting you from having coherent thoughts that weren’t R rated.

You swear to god you’re not usually like this; it’s three in the morning and you’re not thinking straight, you’re not thinking right by a long shot.

You shake your head vigorously and clear your throat, crossing your arms across your chest and trying to remember your original intention for storming out in your embarrassing pajamas and messy hair in the first place.

“I’m trying to sleep and I would really appreciate it if you could… not.”

If he could not strum his goddamn guitar in the hotel hallway in the middle of the night and disturb you from your slumber, if he could not look so ruggedly good with his long fingers pulling his beanie over blonde tresses that would surely be a vision that keeps you from sleeping well tonight.

He smiles lopsidedly at you and shifts his legs so they stretch out from their previous crossed position – and oh god, they’re so long that the wide hallway still isn’t enough space for them and you just know he’s someone that would loom over you, broad shoulders and your eyes on his chest when he stands up and you did not need that thought right now.

“I’m sorry – I’ve been trying to write this song, you see, but it’s – it’s stuck, stuck inside of me and I… I can’t get it out.”

He laughs a little to himself, shaking his head slightly before turning back to you again.

“You don’t care about that, sorry. I’ll kindly shut the fuck up now and let you sleep.”

There’s a small, apologetic smile on his mouth and something a little sad his eyes, frustration in the way he rubs his unshaved chin and sighs quietly to himself afterwards.

You take a deep breath and mutter why the fuck not, slinking down on the floor across from him, head propped up on your bent knees with a crooked grin on your face.

“Well, what are you writing about?”

He looks at you with wide eyes of surprise, hands frozen next to his guitar, barely blinking while you waited patiently for his response.

“Wait, what? Didn’t you – but you – I don’t understand.”

The words are – there’s no other way to describe it – adorably confused, falling from his o-shaped mouth.

“God knows I won’t be getting any sleep tonight,” you chuckle lightly. “Might as well make some use of this inevitable all-nighter.”

The shock on his face is starting to melt into a soft grin as he picks up his guitar again, setting it on his lap.

“So? What are you trying to write about?”

He gives you one more long look before smiling at the floor in a way that you can’t seem to decode, looking back at you again, something playful in the waves of his eyes.

“You see, it’s about this girl I met…”


You’re not quite sure how it happened.

You remember chatting with him – Luke, you find out his name afterwards – about this song he was trying to write, the pregnant pauses where he’s trying to find the right words to convey to you how he’s been feeling about it, biting his lips and drumming his long fingers on the wood of the guitar.

You remember the scratches on the hotel notepad perched on his thigh, all the words he deemed ‘not good enough’, scrawled writing cramped into the tiny blank spaces of a final rough draft after hours of debating over what sounded best.

You remember the melody of the guitar and the acoustics bouncing off the thin hallway walls, you remember the bass of his voice as he sang along to the lyrics the two of you created, words low in his throat and rumbling in his chest.

You don’t remember this oversized maroon sweater draped onto your shoulders – most definitely not yours, most definitely his by the size and the faint scent of aftershave that you’ve come to recognize – and you don’t remember falling asleep, let alone falling asleep on his shoulder.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

He’s grinning down at you, lips brushing the top of your forehead – and he’s every bit as beautiful in the morning as you imagined the night before.

You yawn, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes and brush the stray hairs from your face – and you feel the light tremors in his shoulder from his quiet chuckles at the sight of you, his long fingers unexpectedly curling your messy hair behind your ears, knuckles faintly skimming your cheek.

You just know he can see the blush on your cheeks and you swear he smiles wider.

“Thanks for helping me finish my song – I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His voice is soft, sweet – almost a little shy, like he’s a stranger meeting you for the first time all over again despite spending the night with you – in a little bit of an unconventional manner, but spending the night all the same.

You think it has to do with the daylight, how it shows everything in a different light without last night’s glaze of laughter and mischievous eyes; something about remembering the brutal honesty and rawness that only the foggy hours of the night can produce.

You blink at him and manage a sleepy smile before reluctantly lifting your head from his shoulder and stretching your cramped limbs.

“And I,” you grin, “couldn’t have slept without you.”

He laughs at your little inside joke and you beam at his smile illuminated by the soft morning rays, bathing him in gold sunlight, drenching him in blue skies, painting him in white clouds.

You slowly get up and you almost instantly miss the heat of his body.

It feels strange to be next to him when you’re different people in the daylight, it feels strange to not be next to him after the night by his side.

There’s some awkward shuffling where you’re both staring at your feet and unsure of what to do, what to say.

“I hope I hear that song on the radio one day.” You say, trying to break the silence with a wavering smile.

“And I hope to see you again one day.”

There’s something heavy in the air, and you both know that the goodbye is inevitable, that it’s coming soon – and neither of you know what to do with it.

“Well… I – I guess I have to go… you know, um – go… get ready… or something.”

It’s painfully awkward but it has to be done; the two of you can spend the night together just talking for hours on end when time seemed to stand still, but the two of you can’t keep standing around in the hallways when the morning sun has come with a reminder that time was ticking by.

“Yeah, you should… you should do that. I – I have to go too.”

Snuck glances and quick turns of head when your eyes meet; he’s biting his lip and you’re rubbing your wrist.

You hold out his maroon sweater to him with a bashful gaze.

“Here, you should, y’know… have it back. Thank you.”

He shakes his head almost vehemently, gripping his guitar with white knuckles while staring at the pattern of the rug hotel floor.

“You can keep it.”

“I can’t – it’s yours, I – “

“You gave me a song. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes finally meet yours with a shy gaze and you smile at him, holding the sweater close to your body and feeling the aftertaste of his touch on it.

“Thank you, Luke.”

“Thank you.”

You stand there for a moment more, and you’re about to leave before it tips into awkwardness – but not before taking a quick step towards him and tip-toeing up to his height, placing a swift kiss on his cheek.

He’s as red as you are when you pull away again.

You start to walk back to your hotel room before you have to explain – I just wanted to – his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’ll see you again?”

He calls out from across the hall just before you walk through the doors of your room, his voice hopeful.

You smile at him, hair in tangles and clothes rumpled, smelling of him with circles underneath your eyes that match his.

“Goodbye, Luke.”

You close the door with a click and he’s left standing alone in the hallway, guitar in one hand and notepad of messy lyrics in the other.

But he smiles, he smiles because he knows – he just knows

You might’ve said goodbye, but all he hears is soon.


more imagines here!

happyinthesilence  asked:

Ok random ask for mckirk everyone pictures Bones as the grumpy professional but I would like to see bones with grabby hands. Squeezing Jim's ass in random places and eliciting some majorly I dignified squeaks at very inopportune moments.

It started out with small, innocent things. A touch on the inside of his wrist. A brush of shoulders as he walked by.  A hand on the small of his back as they walked through a crowd. Jim had barely even noticed the touches that his CMO/boyfriend was giving him whenever they shared the same space.

It wasn’t until Bones grabbed him full on the ass (and Jim did not squeak in surprise, captains didn’t squeak) right before they exited the turbolift that really got Jim’s attention (as well as the group of engineers who’d been there in the hallway to hear the captain yelp).

When Leonard threw a look over his shoulder at him, Jim’s face glaring and completely flushed, Bones just gave him an devious and unfairly attractive grin, before walking away.

Jim had fumed and blushed about it for a few minutes more (totally not appreciating the stare Spock gave him once he made it to the bridge), but soon was swept up again in work, his boyfriend’s sudden handsy-ness completely off his mind.

Hours later, he trudged over to his ready room, settling down at his desk to finish up some paper work before ending his shift.

When hands crept up his thighs, his squeak rebounded around the room.

Jim glared under the desk, seeing hazel eyes looking up to him innocently. The hands crept up further, palming the captain’s cock and pulling at his zipper.

Jim flushed again, hissing at the doctor, “Bones, what are you doing, what if someone comes-“

And simultaneously, as Bones pulled out his hardening cock, an ensign knocked and entered the room. And Jim completely missed what the young man had to say as Leonard had decided to swallow him down in one go.

“S-sorry, ensign, could you repeat that?”

The ensign gave him a quizzical look but continued on, apparently not noticing his captain’s flushed face, tightened fists, or persistent squirming. He certainly didn’t hear the soft sucking, deep swallows, or small gasps of air against Jim’s rock hard dick, but it was the only sound that filled Jim’s ears.

The young man started nodding, and Jim nodded back, waving him away dismissively until the doors slid shut with the ensign on the other side. “Lock cabin doors,” Jim croaked, hearing the locks slide into place, before releasing a long, grating moan.

The groan turned into a growl, “Booooones,” as he pulled the brunette off by his hair, glaring into darkened hazel eyes that didn’t break contact as Leonard leaned forward to swipe his tongue against his length again.

“Bones, what the hell!” Jim grabbed the man and hauled him out from under the desk to on top of it, standing between his legs as he fisted his medical tunic and growled, “If we’d gotten caught, we’d have gotten in so much shit-“

Those hands were back on him, winding around his waist, scratching at his back, as that hot mouth was on him, biting at his neck as Bones murmured, “Yes, Jim, I’ve been naughty, so so bad, come on, punish me, Jim…”

Jim flushed further, never having seen this aggressiveness or neediness from his doctor before, and pushed the man flat on his back on the desk, ignoring the legs wrapping around him as he hissed out, “What the actual fuck, Bones, why are you acting like-“

Three weeks,” was growled back, the doctor’s eyebrows lowered dangerously, “It’s been three goddamn weeks, Jim.” His hazel eyes were practically molten, and he grabbed fistfuls of gold to pull the captain down and nip sharply at his lips, “Three unholy weeks since you last touched me with more than a chaste kiss, you fucker.

Jim pulled back wide eyed as he felt his lips redden from his boyfriend’s attentions, mind racing as he thought back, “What? No. That’s ridiculous, Bones. What about when-” No, that was months ago, “Or when we-” Nope again, that had been three planets ago, “but what about-” Jesus fucking Christ, had it really been that long??

He felt the anger draining out of him as he looked to the man below him, who was glaring and goddamn pouting at him with a blush on his cheeks, across his nose. His chest was heaving slightly, his hair a disheveled mess, and his lips were still pink and swollen from sucking on Jim’s still hard cock which was remembering why it’d gotten so hard in the first place and began demanding sudden and urgent attention.

There has been paperwork and dignitaries and meetings and calls and just so much work, but how could he let himself get so distracted as to forget this goddamn gorgeous creature that would happily and eagerly warm his bed??

As Leonard raised an eyebrow, which really shouldn’t have turned Jim on as much as it did, the blonde groaned, "Fuuuuuuuck, Bones, I’m so sorry, so sorry, babe,” He leaned down and pulled at the man’s tunic to reveal collar bones to kiss, the crook of his shoulder to nip, brushed back hair to suck at his ears. “Things just got so busy with work,” he felt Bones’ legs tighten around him, and he groaned again, “Ugh, I never thought I’d get too busy to forget that fucking you through nearby surfaces was priority number one.”

Neither did I,” was murmured quietly, so quietly, that Jim almost didn’t hear it. When he pulled back to look at him, Bones gaze had shifted away, avoiding contact with the blue, as he said quietly, sadly, “I thought you didn’t want me anymore…”

Jim grabbed his face and kissed him then, not relenting until Bones was breathless and writhing under his attentions, eyes hazy and pupils wide. Jim bit at his bottom lip, grounding out, “Every star in the universe will fade out and die before I stop wanting you.” He nipped the tip of his nose, “But that doesn’t mean you can grab my ass in the turbolift.”

Bones expression changed quickly, grinning wickedly as he wriggled his hips, “Why don’t you pay me back for it now?”

Jim grinned back, hauling off the doctor’s pants and getting his hands on the his ass for a good, firm squeeze, “Well I’ve got three weeks to make up for, so you better hold on tight, sweet cheeks.”

Bones gripped the desk, spread his legs further, and purred, “Yes, captain.”

| L.H. | Love Me Again

Based off the request: I feel really horrible so will you write a super ooey gooey chocolate chip cookie cute one shot with Luke?

this ended up being more sad than cute omfg I am so sorry 

“Hey we’re outside”


I rolled my eyes and repositioned Aubrey in my arms. We were waiting outside the studio to be let in so she could see her dad. Luke and I were going through a rough patch and this is the last place I wanted to be but there was no way I could turn down my baby girls pleads to see him. I leaned against the wall giving her a kiss on the forehead when she nuzzled into my chest.

“Mommy where’s daddy?” She asked looking up to meet my eyes, “I wanna show him my stickers!”

Keep reading

eren cant fucking stand his new neighbor because who the hell mows their lawn at 5 in the morning on every goddamn saturday for the past two months. teeth gritted, hair disheveled, and in nothing but his boxer shorts, he storms out his house to give him a piece of his mi- oh. eren stops in his tracks, momentarily distracted by muscles. he didnt realize his neighbor was… ripped. he catches himself gazing at his forearms, only snapping out of his daze when he hears a throat cleared.

“jaeger…was it?” eren looks up at the voice (deep, he notes, he feels it in his chest) and is distracted once again but by a sharp jawline and composed gray eyes. his eyes arent on erens but rather, he follows his trail, towards…his…

jaeger…was it?” his neighbor’s voice drops lower and eren feels his cheeks and his boxer shorts-clad body heating up.

“good morning, mr. ackerman.”

A Smoother Ride

In reference to that Derek is Scott’s cursed motorcycle that can turn human AU I posted about yesterday @annoyinglycute and @fancythingsandgossamerwings: this is a test scene for how it would totally go… 

Derek crossed his arms over his stupid-tight leather jacket that framed his stupid-broad chest and god Stiles hated the stupid-sexy scowl and the stupid-masculine five o'clock shadow, ‘which how did a motorcycle turned human even have facial hair? Did he always have the stubble or did it like grow while he was zooming around town as Scott’s ride? Between Scott’s legs! Because his best bro-friend got to ride around with 'that’ vibrating and rubbing against his…'Goddamn stupid-lucky Scott..’ And stupid-frustrating hormones. Always surging up and being a distraction whenever Derek was playing at human instead of motorcycle and 'damn it,’ he was distracted again and 'why was Derek even glaring at him this time?’

Derek’s glare suddenly sharpened as his eyes narrowed at Stiles. 'Shit did I ask that last part out loud?’

With another impressive inhuman scowl, and who even taught Derek how to scowl? Less than a month ago he’d only been a motorcycle but now he’d mastered Huffing and Glaring 101. Right on cue, McMagicBike-turned-human Hale glared and huffed before speaking in that STUPID-God-Stiles-WANTS rumble that sounded too much like the engine roar when Scott revved him up in bike form, and 'Focus, Stiles.  He’s talking!' 

“I don’t see why you have to take that old Jeep everywhere. Its huge.  It’s clunky and old.  And..I’d be a much smoother ride…” Derek grumbled out in a stupid-cute pout-glare, a combination of expressions Stiles had previously considered impossible and 'Oh shit, did Derek just say ride him…' 

Stiles wanted to defend his Jeep’s honor, he really did.  It’s just… the image of Derek and thighs and Stiles and riding and…talking just wasn’t possible. He was too busy sputtering and coughing and struggling to remember the how-to’s of breathing while his hands waved about frantically trying I dispel the images his mind was conjuring. 

When he was finally able to draw a breath again he almost lost it to as his senses were overwhelmed with leather and engine oil and chrome smells as Derek shoved his stupid-sexy face and stupid-gorgeous eyes into Stiles narrowing field of view, looking stupidly-cute-and-worried as he shook Stiles and asked, “Stiles!? You’re making those sounds again. Does your engine need a tune up!?" 

Somewhere behind the looming 'Derek’ filling his vision, Stiles heard his traitorous, no-help-whatsoever best bro Scott, start to laugh and laugh and laugh.

comes a-long a-love;

It was an honest way of living, this. The fighting. The brawling. Adam spat over to one corner first before holding his fists up. Well…maybe there were more decent means of making end’s meat. Those other methods of employment weren’t so close to the pub though, and with the crowd beginning to roar out their bets around him Adam Walker was given a quick shove into the boxing ring and a laugh that followed from his mate’s mouth. James. The idiot hadn’t thrown one punch in his life yet was keen to make his own fortune off his friends’ fists. All he had to do was bet on Walker, the short, gingery Scotsman who had made something of a name for himself in the streets of London. 1953 it was, and yet the rings were still packed with people calling out just like they had done before the war. Only difference now was the fashion of the viewers, and the cameras that shuttered off in a fury around the pair. And maybe the loose hope here and there that one of the fancy big wigs from the television companies would be sitting in on a match. Other than that though it was a filthy thing. Cigarettes everywhere and bottles being smashed to clash with the ringing of the bell, followed shortly by the low grunt of Adam’s opponent once the first strike was thrown out. There was no way the ugly idiot in front of him was a lightweight. But then again, this was far from the professional shit the sport fanatics mooned over. This was for free beer and just enough to pay the rent, and if he were lucky, the thrill of beating someone twice his size and being able to brag about it to the birds who were far too timid to every step foot in a place like this.

Strange then, that when Adam had reared back from a short burst of punches to what’s-his-face’s abdomen that his eyes fell right under his arm to find a skirt. A skirt that was presumably attached to a girl who had found her way to the front of the audience. And Adam would have seen her face too, had it not been for the clumsy swing towards his head that came moments later. Not that it really took much to dodge and side sweep away from the oaf. Honestly Adam could already tell that this one wouldn’t be much of a challenge save for his size. But that was easy then, to wear him out and keep the hits short until eventually he slowed enough to finish him off. “Knock his teeth in, Walker!” James shouted from behind. As if Adam could reach his bloody teeth from here, he thought right back, wishing his hands were free of the gloves to flip him off. Though he supposed it was a good thing he had them after all when his rival was busy trying to clear his head off his shoulders. Adam scurried to the side again, the glove of the other man whizzing right past his ear to mix with the excited groans and cries of their audience. And then another dodge that actually forced a growl of frustration out past rugged lips. Serves him right, for not sticking to his goddamn weight class, Adam thought as another quick punch was thrown out. But then there was that skirt again, and a wave of long hair that wasn’t covered in tan or black trillby hat hats. And his eyes, blue as anything and distracted for just one moment from his fight landed on a girl wedged between those betting men. A suitcase was clutched to her chest, as though she was fearful that someone might snatch it out of her hands. And even in the bright lights of the makeshift ring he could see the faint makings of a blush. So not only had a bird wandered in, but a pretty one too. Pretty enough to keep Adam staring until the other man’s fist found its way right into Adam’s gut. And pretty enough for him to look right at her eyes before the pain of it all finally hit him. “Fuckin’…” He back peddled far enough to keep away. “Hell.” He was going to make a fool of himself if he kept trying to catch her eye, whoever she was. But it was a hard thing to keep himself away, no matter how James roared from the sides to wake up and the other men who had bet on him, no matter how he needed to focus on his current task of trying to win the damn thing. And as he dodged another blow, Adam had the gall to turn his head ever so slightly in the girl’s direction, throwing her a smile before whipping right along back to fight.