happy in the haze

We walked arm in arm down the cobbled slope of the Royal Mile at a quarter to five, suffused with a glow engendered by several bowls of well-peppered oyster stew and a bottle of wine, shared at intervals during our “private communications.”
      The city glowed all around us, as though sharing our happiness. Edinburgh lay under a haze that would soon thicken to rain again, but for now, the light of the setting sun hung gold and pink and red in the clouds, and shone in the wet patina of the cobbled street, so that the gray stones of the buildings softened and streamed with reflected light, echoing the glow that warmed my cheeks and shone in Jamie’s eyes when he looked at me.

chipmunkwithwings  asked:

so something like: nathan waking up to find he must have gone to vlads in his wolf form, curled up on the bed like a big puppy and now he has no clothes, and vlad is in the kitchen making him a big breakfast.

Oh gosh, this is so close to an actual scene in the book you have no idea haha hmmmmmm lemme think.

The world looked different through the eyes of a wolf. Often times what seemed irrational to the human part of the brain, could make perfect sense to the part that insisted four legs were better than two.

He tried again, digging his claws in and trying to fit his snout under the door. He could smell what he wanted on the other side, and he was determined to get to it, even if he had to dig his way through the flagstone to do so.

The door opened with an irritated jerk, and the occupant looked around then down. The part of him that insisted two legs and opposable thumbs were useful traits to have, recognized the vampire as Vlad. The rest of his lunar addled brain simply thought of him as his. His vampire. His person. His.

Vlad opened the door farther to let the giant wolf into the room, sighing heavily when the wolf brushed up against him and left a trail of fur from shins to hip bone. He didn’t even bother trying to brush it off. 

“You’re supposed to be out running through the forest.” He said, somewhat reproachfully.

The wolf made a low sound deep in his chest flicking his ears to convey his displeasure with the current outside world. He didn’t so much mind the rain, but lightning still made him skittish.

“Oh fine, come on then.” Vlad muttered, padding back toward his darkened bedroom and crawling back into the gargantuan overstuffed bed they’d been sharing these past few months. He held the cover open, expecting him to settle at his back as he had done several times before, but after some consideration he settled neatly at the foot of the bed, resting his head on the vampire’s feet.

“You are so weird.” Vlad said, but even the canine part of Nathan’s brain could hear the smile in his voice. He snuffled softly in response, breathing in the room, the familiar scents that were so uniquely Vlad enveloping him in a warm happy haze. Hey lay still for a while, listening to the other man drift between wakefulness and sleep, watching the moon through the still open window, letting the sounds of the forest drift in.

 This, the wolf knew, was happiness.


Morning broke, and Nathan awoke with it. There was a brief moment of disorientation where he wondered where he was before some hazy recollection connected, matching up the missing dots between canine and human brain.

“Oh gods,” he muttered, realizing that he was curled up, not in their bed, but at the foot of it. “Ugh.”

He’d heard of puppy love but sometimes the wolf really took it too far.

Vlad appeared at the doorway, dressed down in only a pair of black trousers and a white shirt and casual waistcoat, his sungoggles perched atop his head. “Mornin’. Feeling a little rough, are we?”

“If that was a pun,” Nathan rasped out, struggling to work moisture into his mouth as he sat up on the edge of the bed, “then you can fuck right off.”

The vampire chuckled, crossing over the short space and pressing a mug into Nathan’s hands.

“Oooh I love you.”

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?” Vlad asked, wryly, grunting when Nathan reached out and pulled him against him, nuzzling his face against Vlad’s abdomen and trying to drink his coffee at the same time.

“Don’t make me choose.”

“Hmm,” Vlad hummed in response, lifting his hands to run them through Nathan’s unruly hair, nails dragging over his scalp in that oh so pleasant way. “You don’t have any clothes in here you know.”

“Oh no, what a shame.” Nathan deadpanned, leaning further into the touch.“I’ll just have to stay here. In your bed all day. Naked.”

The vampire snorted, allowing himself to be manhandled as Nathan set aside the mug and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Some of us have things to do you know.”

“Yes,”Nathan agreed as he wrapped both arms around Vlad’s waist and toppled him unceremoniously onto the bed. “Me.”

anonymous asked:

betty/veronica, 34!

Truth be told, clubs aren’t really Betty’s thing. She prefers the quiet bar just a mile off campus to the places that Kevin dragged her off to on Saturday nights. The grinding and the sweat; it all makes her a tad uncomfortable without obscene amounts of alcohol coursing through her body, which is something she tries to avoid because one of them needs to be responsible. And yet…

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LuHan scenario - my wish

Originally posted by ingrid-xiaolu


genre: birthday fluff and birthday sex ;)

Warnings: eating out, neck bites, dirty talk

summary: Luhan comes for a visit while you celebrate your birthday with family and makes sure that you have a very happy ending.

word count: 7,460+

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anonymous asked:

Women's day today. Mulder should do something nice for Scully. :)

He brings her breakfast in bed: a perfectly toasted English muffin with the nice imported butter and the good coffee, made in the French press instead of the regular machine.  There are cut-up strawberries too.  Folded neatly under the plate is the New York Times crossword, untouched, with a mechanical pencil and a pen, so that she has options.  She takes her time with it, letting him rest his chin on her shoulder.  He doesn’t offer help with any of the clues.

He lets her drive them to work.  She weaves neatly in and out of traffic as they listen to NPR.  He doesn’t even say a word about the way she adjusts the mirrors.  They’ve delineated their own neutral territories over the years.  

He takes her out to lunch, away from the files and the corpses, to the place she likes that does great soups and salads.  They linger, smiling at each other over cups of tea.  

He listens to every single thing she says, which he usually does, but he does it with a special air of attentiveness, especially in the presence of other people.  Especially in the presence of other men.  She appreciates that.  

They go to the gym together.  Mulder looks very fetching in his “Nevertheless, she persisted” shirt.  Scully wears red.  They run side by side on the treadmills and make their way through the circuit of machines.  He drives home through the rush hour traffic.  She holds his hand and looks out the window as they listen to Fresh Air.  

They cook dinner together.  She sears the pork chops as he throws together a salad.  They eat at the table, not on the couch, and discuss their days, the hours that they were apart, the things they thought that they weren’t able to share at the time.

He draws her a bath, hot and deep and frothy with bubbles.  She sinks into the lavender-scented water.  When she emerges, he wraps her in warm towels and rubs her feet .  She sighs in a happy haze.  When she’s limp with pleasure, he hands her his Knicks t-shirt to sleep in, fresh and clean, and they curl up together in the bed.  She runs her hands over him and he presses himself against her.  They move together in a rhythm that suits them both.  

She falls asleep in his arms.

the light of day

Because it’s the Inquisition, and apparently everyone has an opinion (a.k.a. the companions are idiots with no sense of boundaries). Fluff.

Dorian wakes wondering why he’s wrapped in an extra blanket - he’s been meaning to requisition one, they aren’t in the hotter months yet and the Plains can be cold - until he realises that said blanket is actually an astonishingly warm, asleep man. He doesn’t particularly mind. This far south, he’ll take any heat he can get. He absentmindedly examines one of the arms around his waist, plucks at Gal’s sleeve with half-conscious curiosity, and touches the hand that’s glowing slightly in the dim light.

He’s certain they started out with separate bedrolls, or at least nominally separate ones. He wonders when the gap was closed, but considering it in any more detail would require proper thought, and for now he’s quite happy to enjoy the haze. He lies there, on the edge of sleep and thinking in circles, until he finds himself closing his eyes and savouring the feeling. It’s far too comfortable, and it shouldn’t be.

He extricates himself as gently as possible, shifting and rolling over. It’s an art, leaving without waking a bed partner, and really he should be finding his leathers and his gear. But he glances at Gal, and for some reason he lingers.

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The muscleboy was so well trained now he instinctively sent his master videos of him working out, grinning and subtly flexing as he felt that familiar sexual appetite rise in his groin. In his earbuds, he could hear the sound of that pleasant, whirring buzz that subconsciously instructed him to think less…. work out harder… get hornier and hornier. His tongue flapped out of his mouth and his eyes glazed over in a glassy haze - he was nothing but a happy, horny himbo fucktoy now. The more he released his mind to the strange amicable lust he felt for muscle and sex, the more at peace he felt. This is how it was supposed to be

Otherwise Engaged

A fluffy drabble for OTP Day, with much kudos and credit to @otterandterrier for coming up with the idea for said rad holiday!

To be honest, the events of the last half-hour were something of a blur to Ron Weasley.

He had asked, she had tackled him, there had been a fair amount of snogging (on the floor, where they landed), there had been some laughter and a few tears, quite a bit more snogging, and then her overflowing excitement and need to talk about the engagement had dragged them up to their current position on the sofa in their flat: him, still experiencing the aftershocks of deeply-desired success, and her, mind and mouth running a mile a minute with eager planning.

She said yes. SHE SAID YES. To me. Ron Weasley. Actual Ron bloody Weasley. For forever!

The wonderful, almost-improbable chorus seemed to be running in a loop in his head, pushing out any other rational thought. Of course, he hadn’t expected her to say no, exactly, but… still. The release of several months of compounded nerves - and the warm, sweet-smelling lapful of freshly-minted fiancée - made it fairly hard to focus and he forced himself to pay better attention.

“Maybe I should call them?” Hermione was saying. “But it’d be so much more fun to tell them in person! It is getting late, though, and they usually turn in early. We could go over tomorrow, before going to the Burrow,” she chattered happily.

Ron’s face already felt sore from the amount of smiling he had done in the past thirty minutes, and watching Hermione’s enthusiasm was doing nothing to relieve it. “Yeah, definitely we can. But just so you know, I’ve already told them.”

Hermione looked up at him in confusion. “What? How?”

“No, I mean talked with them before. Before I asked you,” Ron clarified.

 Hermione stared at him. “You did?” she asked blankly.

“Well, yeah. Not to ask permission or anything,” he explained hastily, trying desperately to remember, through his happy haze, the particulars of several heated diatribes he had heard Hermione deliver to various unsuspecting and ill-advised individuals who had tried to condescendingly educate her on “traditional” wizarding family values. “I know you’re your own person and you’re not anyone’s, er, cattle.

“Chattel,” she corrected instinctively. “But actually, it amounts to about this same thing.”

“Right. Anyway, your parents. They’ve been pretty good about… well, about us, and about me, considering. My family already considers you family, and I thought your parents should know that they’d be family, too. I wanted them to know what was going on and, uh, hopefully be happy about it,” he finished uneasily as she continued to stare. Oh sweet Merlin’s pants, he knew he wasn’t completely up on muggle customs - had he committed some kind of inexcusable blunder? “Was that mphfk…”

Any further temporizing was forcefully cut off by Hermione’s lips, applied forcefully in one of his very favorite ways. She pulled back after a few moments, still gripping the front of his shirt tightly in her balled fists.

“You wanted my parents to feel included; you know how much that means to me,” she said wonderingly, looking at him with watery eyes. “And you remember what I said to that miserable harpy!”

“‘Course I do. She looked like she swallowed a dungbomb, it was wicked.” He eyed her carefully. “So that was an OK thing to do?”

“More than OK. It was lovely.”

Ron barked out a laugh. “Actually, it was bloody terrifying,”

Hermione smiled at him knowingly. “So,” she began archly, “do I get the pleasure of announcing this at all, or does everyone else already know?”

“Well, George knows, because he saw the ring box. Long story,” he added darkly. Hermione lips twitched at the look on his face. “And I might have mentioned it to Harry. But they only knew it was going to happen eventually. They didn’t know about it happening now.”

“Harry!” she exclaimed, jumping up and tugging on his arm. “We’ve got to tell Harry first. I think he and Ginny were going out tonight, do you think they’re home?

Ron tipped his head back and forth exaggeratedly, pretending to consider. “Mmmm, maybe. You know Ginny likes to drag him out dancing. Better give it a bit, just to make sure.” He let Hermione pull him up, wrapping his arms around her body tightly. ”In the meantime, I think we’ve got a bit more celebrating to do, if you’d care to follow me?” he asked, inclining his head toward their bedroom and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione shook her head at his cheesiness, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “Yes, I will.”

Ron grinned. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.”