I love your blog and your fanfics. ❤ was hoping if you could write a sort of one-shot of Jon's POV if Dickon tried to flirt with Sansa! Maybe even propose her lol
Thank you so much, hun!!! *_* You’re way too sweet to me! I’m just a trash blog haha <3 Bless you though. Thank you!!
And for you:
The air was still, quiet, a stark difference from the storm that had raged through the night. Jon hadn’t been back longer than a sennight and yet he could already feel the calmness of Winterfell weaving through his skin and settling into his bones. It was a few days till he would have to leave for the Wall, but sunrise after sunrise, Jon found the necessity of war to fall idly on his mind, his desire to stay here more pressing than ever. It wasn’t simply the calm, the serenity that blanketed over him, but something more unbidden and confusing.
In the aftermath of Daenerys’ siege on the Lannister army, many of the men burnt by her dragons had somehow escaped into the river, floating down until they were found by travelers. One of them happened to be Dickon Tarly, and when news came of Randyll’s execution, Sam had written to Jon to take his family in, pleading that they weren’t safe in the Reach. There hadn’t been a question in his mind. Winterfell would house the Tarly’s and offer them sanctuary while Daenerys and Cersei waged their war, but Jon had never anticipated, never fathomed that in doing so he would be placing Sansa at risk.
No, he begrudgingly admitted, she was in no danger, but the way Dickon looked at her, like she was the sun rising after the Long Night, Jon loathed it. Sansa had been through so much, endured so much at the hands of men, and he would be remiss to let her fall prey to another, even if Dickon appeared as honourable as his brother. It didn’t matter. When it came to Sansa, nothing mattered more than her safety.
“Lord Dickon,” Sansa greeted as she stopped just at the bottom of the staircase. Jon was supposed to be training the younger soldiers, but he paused, sword held tightly in his hand, as he watched Dickon stride up to her.
“My lady,” Dickon bowed his head, and when he lifted it back, there was a bright, fond smile on his face. “I pray that you are well this morning?”
“I’m perfectly well, ser,” she answered, returning his smile with one of her own, and gods, it even looked genuine. Sansa inclined her head and tentatively touched Dickon’s wrapped arm being held up by a sling. “Are you well? Are your injuries healing? I can send for the maester if it’s troubling you still, my lord.”
Dickon laughed. “I am as well as I can be, my lady. And I must say it is entirely in thanks to you.”
“I have done nothing, Lord Dickon,” Sansa said, ducking her head, pink tingeing her cheeks. Jon prayed it was from the cold, but there was no wind today, no nipping frost to prey on exposed skin.
“Forgive me, but that’s simply untrue,” Dickon said earnestly. He reached for Sansa’s hand and held it in his. “You cared for me when I thought I was on the brink of death. My mother calls you, my Winter Angel.”
Jon threw his sword down to the ground with a loud clatter and walked towards them, body and mind warring with one another as one felt ready for war and the other warned of disastrous repercussions if he were to act on that hostility. Sansa caught his eye instantly, so always attuned to him in a way that made his heart race, and a pretty frown settled on her lips.
“Jon,” she murmured, just as Dickon turned around.
“Your grace,” he bowed. “I hope the preparations for the war is going well.”
Jon resisted the urge to growl in response and nodded curtly. “It’s going fine, Lord Dickon.” But he wasn’t looking at Dickon, he had eyes for only one and she was staring right back, concern, confusion and irritation flashing through those summer blue eyes. “Sansa, I need…” But he hadn’t an idea what he needed or why he was standing here before them, and so the words trailed off, empty and unfinished.
“You need?” Sansa prompted, continuing to watch him carefully. “Jon, are you well?” She stepped forward, past Dickon, and laid both of her hands over his forearm. Almost immediately, his body relaxed, the tension easing away under her touch, like a winter rose blooming for the first time. He caught one hand with his other.
“I need to…” He was aware of Dickon watching them curiously, but he didn’t care. He needed Sansa to come with him, anywhere, away from everyone, just so it was just them two again, like how it used to be before all of this. “Can we speak in private? I need to discuss urgent business with you.”
“Oh,” Sansa said, surprised colouring her face. She then nodded and turned towards Dickon. “Well, I hope you have a fast recovery, Lord Dickon. Good day.”
Dickon smiled, bright and clear. Gods, Jon hated him.
“Yes, my lady. Good day to you both.”
He watched the taller man walk away, waited until he disappeared back into the castle, before looking back at Sansa, who had a knowing smile on her face.
“He is not a bad man,” she said gently. “He is a good and honourable lord with a kind heart.”
“He fought for the Lannisters,” Jon immediately countered moodily, his brows furrowing in annoyance.
“And yet you pardoned him and offered his family sanctuary,” Sansa replied just as haughtily. “I could find a worse match.”
“Match?” Jon repeated, his anger growing now. “And when did we start speaking of matches, Sansa?”
She rolled her eyes and tore her hands from his, before walking away. “I am a trueborn daughter of House Stark, am I not? And he, a trueborn son of House Tarly? It would be a good political match.”
“And would you live in the Reach?” Jon demanded, grabbing her wrist and turning her back around. “Would you truly leave Winterfell?” He paused, breathing heavily. “Leave me?”
Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed tightly. “You have no right to judge me for thinking of matches when you are out there making your own!”
“What are you talking about!” Jon shouted, causing the men on the yard to turn and stare at them. He growled under his breath and tugged Sansa along until they were hidden in an alcove at the far end of the courtyard. “What match am I making?”
“Lord Davos said that you were showing great interest in the Dragon Queen,” Sansa answered coldly, eyes challenging him to contradict her.
Jon shook his head, too shocked to find the right response. “I have no interest in Daenerys. How can I be interested in another woman when all I can ever think about is…” Jon stopped, startled by his own admission as shame coloured his cheeks. “Forget it. It’s nothing. I have more important matters to attend to. Go back to your Lord Dickon.”
He made to leave but Sansa held him back this time. “Finish your sentence, Jon.”
“Sansa,” he warned. “Let me go.”
“Finish your sentence,” she repeated angrily. “You cannot yell at me then not explain to me why. That’s not fair!”
Jon growled, fighting a losing battle, as he twisted their hands so he could grip her instead. He crowded her back up against the wall and leaned in close. “How can I be interested in another woman when all I can ever think about is you?” he whispered, his breath fanning across her skin. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That you have me this twisted up inside? That I can hardly go a day without thinking about you, desperate to just be near you? Do you know how I loathe myself for having these thoughts?” He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, as he continued to stare at her.
For the longest second of his life, Sansa said nothing, did nothing, but stare back, and then slowly, her hands ran up his chest. “Then let us be twisted together,” she murmured, as her hands curled around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him lightly. “Because you are all I think about as well, Jon Snow,” she said against his lips.
Jon sighed into her, holding onto her hips as he continued to kiss her as lovingly, desperately and wantonly as he could, while knowing that there was now a new reason why he didn’t want to leave Winterfell. How could he now that he knew what she tasted like?
So this is a silly little thing I wrote for my lovely friend @anuecc. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 💙 I am still intent on dragging your cute, yoga toned ass down to drarry hell ;)
Harry should have known this was a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. But to be fair, who in Merlin’s name would have expected Draco Malfoy showing up here, looking… like this?
“Malfoy,” Harry spluttered, his voice sounding embarrassingly raspy. “Are you… Is that a crop top?”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms in front of his chest, seeming unconcerned.
“Is that what this is called?”
Harry swallowed around the lump that was building in his throat. Dear Merlin! Malfoy’s stomach looked simply delicious! And the way his trousers hugged his hips!
“Um… aren’t those trousers a little tight?”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes.
“I was told this is what Muggles wear when they do…” He waved a hand around in the air, clearly searching for the right word. “Whatever this is called.”
“It’s called Yoga,” Harry sighed, “and we’re going to be late. Come on.”
Harry held the door open for him and immediately wished he had gone in first. Watching Malfoy’s perfect bum move in those trousers was torture. Malfoy briefly hesitated after a few steps, looking around the room.
“What is this, Potter?” he hissed under his breath. “We’re the only blokes here.”
Harry blushed and wordlessly made his way to the last two spare yoga mats, right in the middle of the room.
“I will kill Shacklebolt for this,” Harry heard Malfoy mutter. “Last week, he sent us on that bloody camping trip and now this?”
Harry sighed as he sat down on his yoga mat. He peeked at the two girls beside him, who were laughing about something and tying their blonde hair into buns. Trying to drop his voice into a whisper, so they wouldn’t hear, he spat, “It would be so much easier if you weren’t such a prat, Malfoy. He wants us to get along. I hate to say this, but we’ve compromised two of our missions now because we couldn’t agree on-”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Malfoy interrupted him. “My approach was better than yours. Why did I have to get you as my partner anyway?”
“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you applied to become an Auror. You knew it was what I wanted to do and you knew there would be a chance we would end up as partners. Just my luck.” Harry muttered the last part under his breath, but Malfoy must have heard, because he shot Harry a dark look, before plopping down on the yoga mat in front of him.
“Hello everyone,” the instructor said in an overly breathy voice. Harry suspected it was meant to be soothing, but it just sounded really odd.
“We will begin today’s class by trying to reconnect to our breath,” she continued. “Now, bring your palms together in front of your heart, really press them together and close your eyes.”
“You must be kidding me,” Harry heard Malfoy sneer.
“Now take a deep breath in through your nose… but do it gently…”
Harry startled at the collective intake of breath that sounded like a giant was gasping.
“… and then press your lips together as you slooooowly exhale. Imagine that the sound you’re making right now is the sound of ocean waves rolling in and out, in and out…”
Harry could practically see Malfoy rolling his eyes, even from the back of his head.
“Breathe innnn…. breathe ou-hhhh-t.”
“Seriously, she wants to teach me how to breathe?” Malfoy snarled, turning his head back to Harry.
“Stop complaining and just do it,” Harry whispered.
Of course, Malfoy continued with his little commentary.
“…Downward-facing dog? Who came up with that name?”
“…Ow! This is not a natural pose for a human!”
“…What do you mean ‘lift your leg’? If I do that, I’m never going to have any children!”
“…Merlin, is this woman trying to break my neck?”
Harry pressed his lips into a tight line to keep himself from snickering. Malfoy’s hissing was rather distracting. As was…
“Potter! Stop staring at my arse!”
“Am not,” Harry mumbled, mentally slapping himself for getting caught like that.
“Good, good,” the instructor crooned. “Now, we take a little break. Sit down on your yoga mat and let the person next to you massage your feet.
“Ugh, why feet,” the girl next to Harry groaned. He smiled at her awkwardly, to which she bit her lip.
“No offense,” she said, “but I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet.”
“Fair enough,” Harry mumbled and turned to Malfoy.
“Don’t you dare, Potter,” he growled, when Harry stretched out his hands towards his feet.
“Yeah okay, maybe we skip that one,” Harry muttered sheepishly.
“We should have skipped the whole class.”
Harry usually didn’t agree with Malfoy, but when the instructor told them they would be doing partner poses now, he cursed Kingsley under his breath.
“Now, stand up and face each other.”
They did, but not without scowling at each other.
“Place your feet firmly on the ground and stretch out your hands. Press your palms against the palms of your partner.”
Harry almost flinched when their hands touched. If he had known touching would be involved, he probably would have refused to come here altogether. Thinking about touching Malfoy in the privacy of his own home was one thing, but actually doing it in a room with a bunch of strangers, that was something else entirely. Why did Malfoy have to be so handsome? It was irritating.
“Now slowly bend forward,” the instructor said in her breathy voice, “until your foreheads are touching. Your arms should be up, over your head.”
Harry tried to control his face, praying he wasn’t blushing. When his black hair mingled with blonde, he heard Malfoy making an odd sound.
“This is disgusting,” Malfoy muttered. “We’re both sweating.”
“And it wouldn’t be disgusting if we weren’t?”
Harry startled when Malfoy slightly raised his chin. Their noses were touching and Harry could feel Malfoy’s breath on his lips.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you have been looking at me all day,” Malfoy said with narrowed eyes. “Or how I woke up with an arm draped over me when we were camping last week.”
“Oh. I- I thought you woke up after me,” Harry mumbled, definitely blushing now. “You didn’t say anything about it.”
Yes, why hadn’t Malfoy said anything about that? He could have made fun of Harry for days.
“You really are thick, Potter,” Malfoy said in a teasing tone, as the instructor walked by them to correct the pose of the couple beside them.
“Good job everyone. Now, turn around, so you’re back to back and link your arms at the elbows.”
“Um, Malfoy,” Harry said, when Malfoy stepped closer to him and put his hands on Harry’s hip. “I think she just told us to turn around.”
Malfoy’s lips stretched into a huge smirk. He leaned forward, his cheek briefly brushing Harry’s, until his lips were right at Harry’s ear.
“I won’t stop you if you want to.”
Harry choked on his own breath, his eyes going wide.
“Come on,” Malfoy chuckled, “we’re hitting the showers.”
“But class is not over yet,” Harry mumbled absentmindedly.
“Well, I want to try some… different kind of poses.”
“Oh,” was all Harry was able to say.
“You do remember how to do a water repellant charm, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Why?” Harry frowned.
“We need to use it on your Muggle distant-talking device.”
“My… you mean my phone.”
“And why exactly do we need to do that?”
“Well, after Shacklebolt went through all this trouble, so we would get along, he really should get something in return for his hard work.”
Harry stared blankly at him.
“We’ll send him proof,” Malfoy winked.
“Come on, Potter,” Malfoy chuckled darkly as he tugged Harry forward, “we have important Auror business to attend to.”
The movie had been playing for at least half an hour now and you still had no idea what it was you were watching. But who could blame you when the most gorgeous man you had ever laid your eyes upon was sitting mere inches away from you? God, you could actually hear him breathing.
Your hands were balled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from fidgeting; you swore you hadn’t moved a muscle since Jason sat down beside you.
He never would have done so if there had been seats available elsewhere in the room you were sure, and you weren’t sure if that had been a blessing or a curse.
Either way you blamed Dick for it, seeing as he’d foregone his usual seat next to you to continue his earlier conversation with Tim.
It hadn’t bothered you until Jason walked in. Then you came to the realisation that your best friend had set up.
Taking a deep breath, you slowly shifted your eyes over to look at your crush. It was no surprise to see that he was almost as tense as you were, arms crossed firmly over his chest.
He always seemed uncomfortable when you got too close, always situated himself as far away as the room would allow. You’d always figured that he mustn’t like you, that he only made conversation with you to be polite. Maybe it was because you turned into a blubbering idiot the moment he walked into a room, you were sure he thought you had the brain power of a snail.
As you considered this you found yourself tracing the curves of his arms with your eyes, admiring the flex of muscle beneath skin with every slight shift Jason made. With a jolt, you became aware of what you were doing. You had been staring shamelessly at Jason’s arms for at least a few minutes now. God, had you even blinked? You didn’t think so.
Horrified, you slowly lifted your gaze to his face, praying that he’d been too absorbed in the movie to notice. You trailed slowly up over his strong jawline, his lips, his nose, until you reached his ocean blue eyes - that were staring curiously right back at you.
You were grateful that the lights were off, because instantly your whole face started turning red. A slow smirk spread over Jason’s face and you glanced away quickly, cheeks burning. You were so ashamed. God, he must think you were such a weirdo.
A few minutes later you glanced back over, wondering why he hadn’t moved further away. You found his eyes trained intensely on your face, an indecipherable emotion in their depths. When you caught him his eyes darted away quickly, and this time it was Jason’s turn to blush, his cheeks dusted red.
You tore your gaze away, confused and embarrassed. What did it mean?
“Dear god Jay,” Dick groaned from the corner, startling you. “Just hold her hand already, we’re missing the best part!” Tim added in complaint, and it was only then that you noticed that everyone was looking at you. Yep, you were going to die of embarrassment now.
You looked over to Jason, who was blushing even more now, but smiling sheepishly. You gave a timid smile back, and then Jason reached across and took your hand in his. You swore your heart stopped beating.
“Tsk, Finally,” Damian grumbled, followed by clapping and cheers from everyone else. Jason gave a small chuckle, and then you couldn’t contain a quiet laugh of your own. You guessed that meant he didn’t think you were a complete idiot then.
Everyone shut up when Tim hushed them, not wanting to miss his favourite scene. Jason gave your hand a gentle squeeze, and you glanced up to smile at him before resting your head on his shoulder.
a 5 times BokuAkaKuroTsuki where people had no idea they were a thing and there's misunderstandings and the 4 of them just screw with everyone for laughs + one time they came out and said they were daiting
Hey hey, I’m so sorry it took so long, but here you go!
“… and this is the bathroom attached to the bedroom Tetsurou and I share”, Kei said as he showed Sawamura and Sugawara around the apartment. They were standing in one of the two bedrooms; each came with its own bathroom.
Sugawara smiled as he looked around and praised, “I can’t believe how lucky the four of you are to have found such a wonderful place with such a low rent! And it worked out quite conveniently too that you and Kuroo didn’t need to find people you didn’t know to be your roommates.”
Kei opened his mouth almost reflexively, about to correct him, then shut it upon reconsideration. Just then, Sawamura, who had been staring at a spot on the queen-sized bed, piped up.
“Aren’t those Bokuto’s kneepads? Why are they here?”
Kei’s eyes widened slightly as he remembered the events of the previous night: the heat, the heaviness of the air in the room, the way four moans sounded so very different, and how overcrowded the bed was when four taller-than-average men dozed on it. And he fervently prayed his face did not betray any of those details as he struggled to answer the question.
“Oh, he asked me to repair it a bit; the material has worn out from the side and I’m the only one in the house with any experience in sewing and knitting.”
Sawamura nodded in understanding as if he was appreciative of the fact that Kei was helping out a flatmate, while Sugawara’s eyes were narrowed as he peered at his former underclassman. No more was said on the subject, however, and they moved to the living room, having finished seeing the entire house.
Later, when he shut the door behind him, Kei sighed with relief. At least they hadn’t noticed the four toothbrushes in the bathroom that only he and Tetsurou were supposed to share.
Once again, Virgil wakes up so, so slowly. He is cocooned in warmth, and he sighs contentedly, keeping his eyes closed, just enjoying the moment. Eventually, he realises there’s some sort of weight on him, and he opens his eyes. He blinks the sleep away and the first thing he sees is Roman’s arm, flung across his stomach. Then, he notices that Roman’s copy of the Wicked script is by his hip, and he smiles at the thought of Roman falling asleep reading it, the book eventually slipping out of his grasp.
Roman’s fingers twitch, and Virgil turns his head. He sees that Roman has given him all of the covers. He looks completely dead to the world, but Virgil can see that he’s starting to shiver, goosebumps running up his forearms. And, that won’t do at all. He tries to shift at least half of the covers over Roman, and Roman turns in his sleep, moving closer towards him.
“Hmm…flying…” he mumbles.
Virgil blinks. He waits a few seconds to determine that yes, that did just happen and yes, Roman does sleep-talk.
A Newt x Reader in the scorch. Happy Death Cure trailer day?? xD
Newt refused to talk to her. After the stunt she had pulled, he knew anything that would pass his lips would be vile, something which no ones ears were deserving of hearing. No matter how much he wanted to scream and cry right in front of her, show her just how much what she did had scared him, he knew he couldn’t. The Scorch was already an appalling enough of a place to be lost in. He didn’t need to add any extra discomfort for anyone.
“Newt, just say something to her. She did save your life.” Thomas sounded softly as he caught up with Newt who ambled through the deep sand as fast as he could with his limp. The blonde just looked ahead with disgust to the girl whose Y/H/C hair was seemingly glowing in the light of the fading sun.
“What do you bloody expect me to say?!” He snapped and pulled the straps of his pack even tighter. Thomas looked to his friend with disbelief.
“I know how much she means to you.” Thomas began, looking to Newt who’s eyes were still glued on the girl ahead. “And you can’t just shut her out because of what she did.”
Thomas had seen the whole thing, and he understood why Newt was upset with Y/N. They had just escaped the W.I.C.K.E.D. compound and were in an old abandoned mall. Cranks started crawling out of every crack and crevice and began chasing after them. Newt had gotten thrown to the floor by one who smashed straight through a window and Y/N was the first one to notice, at his side in a second. She threw herself at what used to be a human figure, taking it straight over a ten foot ledge.
Y/N was lucky enough to land right on the crank which broke her fall and she wasted no time in finishing it off. It’s inhuman wails of agony echoing through the desolate building. “GO! I’ll meet you outside!” She screamed up at Thomas who loomed over the edge. The girl waved her flashlight and disappeared into the dark. Thomas picked up Newt and forced him forwards with the others.
When they had finally made it out, they took refuge under some boulders which used to be pieces of the building. But, there was still no sign of Y/N. The entire night, the gladers sat quietly. Hoping, praying, that they might just get a trace of sound to signal she was alive. No one slept until sleep physically pulled them into it’s depths.
The instant the morning sun broke over the dunes in the distance, a small silhouette began to approach. “N-Newt!” Thomas croaked, smacking his friend in the ribs. “Get up!”
Squinting, the blonde recognized the approaching figure within seconds. “What the shuck! I looked all over for you!” Y/N exclaimed and accepted the hugs of Minho and Thomas in disbelief. She scoffed lightly when Newt finally came into view and stepped closer to him.
Newt just lowered his eyes to the ground resentfully and shoved past the girl, the unexpected force sending her into the ground. “Newt!” Minho cried and reached for her immediately.
“Lets go.” Newt demanded and Thomas could see the anger, confusion and doubt swelling within his friend.
“C’mon.” Thomas grabbed Y/N’s shoulder and gave her a weak smile. The boy couldn’t help but see this as the last thing they needed right now. Y/N and Newt worked together to keep everyone else moving forwards. But the moment they fell apart, he knew everyone else would too.
“Shut her out? Maybe that’s what I need to do, Tommy. I don’t want to be close to her if she’s going to get herself killed!” He stopped and turned to Thomas, clenching his jaw. An indescribable mess of emotions swelled in Newts eyes and Thomas could tell he was just about to boil over.
“You guys alright?!” Minho hollered back to the two boys who stood staring at each other, the disagreement very evident. Newt turned to see Y/N and Minho standing, staring at them, their silhouettes barely illuminated by the fading sun.
“We’re fine.” Thomas muttered back barely audibly over the wind which gust around them. Hesitantly, they all trudged forwards towards an old torn apart ship half buried in the sand.
The fire they had lit barely was able to stay ablaze, offering near to no warmth. Everyone sat in complete silence, the creaks and groans of the ship filling their ears. There was a foulness in the air which everyone could taste in their mouths, and they all knew it’s origin. The moment the girl lifted off of the ground and disappeared out into the dark, the gladers all looked to Newt with condescending glares. “Go talk to her or imma drag your pony lovin’ butt over there.” Minho grumbled.
Hesitantly, Newt rose because he knew he had no other option. He stumbled past the fire and cautiously shuffled in the direction that the girl had gone, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Sure enough, there she was, sitting up against a log staring out at the somber sky. “Hey…” Newt muttered, slumping down beside the girl.
“Hi…” She mumbled back, looking to him with a weak, sorry smile. “I’m really sorry for what I did. I-I just…”
“You could have died.”
Newt’s words hit her chest like daggers. “But I didn’t.” She stifled a laugh and prayed his face would show some sort of emotion.
“You don’t get it, Y/N. If you died, I-I don’t know… I can’t do this without you.” He admitted, rubbing his hands over his knees anxiously. The boy felt like his insides were burning, sitting in the silence right by her side.
Y/N stared at her friend in disbelief. She felt like her heart had been knocked right out. “What are you talking about? Yes you can.” She rotated her body to face his and he looked down to her, his brown eyes hardly illuminated by the moonlight.
“No, I can’t.” He scoffed and grabbed her hands in his, trying to warm them. “We’ve come a bloody long ways and have been through a whole bloody lot. If I lost you now, this whole fight would be pointless.”
Klance tries to bake shit and somehow they become boyfriends
Lance has no idea how Hunk does it.
The yellow paladin has a way of making culinary art look effortless–Lance, on the other hand, has a way of making his culinary efforts look artless.
“Are you sure you’re supposed to put that much in there?” Keith inquires with a dark brow raised.
Lance lets out a string of nonsensical sounds followed by, “You just let the master work and continue to seppuku those space strawberries.”
“You’re definitely not using that word correctly.” Keith rolls his eyes but goes back to carefully slicing the juicy blue alien fruits with the precise little strokes of his knife. Every piece is flawless, and Lance can’t help but stare at the cyan staining Keith’s pale fingertips and fantasizing about sucking the colour off of them–
Back to the matter at hand, Lance whisks the batter furiously and prays his face isn’t turning as red as it feels like it is.
“Should you be mixing like–”
“What did I say about letting the master work?!”
Keith’s lips twitch into a tiny frown.
“Okay, fine, destroy the cake then.”
“Hey! If you think you could do better then be my damn guest!”
“I don’t think your delicate pride could handle it, master!”
Their faces are so close Lance can feel each angry huff of air from Keith’s slightly parted lips, downturned in a scowl complete with his harshly slanted eyes and tight brow. Those lips are just slightly tinted purple from their shopping trip earlier that day, taste-testing random extraterrestrial produce until they found the closest match for strawberries.
Ugh, Lance can’t take it anymore. He launches himself forward, flinging the bowl of batter in the general direction of the counter and burying an Altean flour-substitute-coated hand in Keith’s hair. Keith responds just as hungrily, like they’re fighting a battle but the blows exchanged are between their mouths and not their fists. This suits Lance just fine as he eagerly kisses back, his other hand slipping up the hem of Keith’s shirt to fondle the soft skin covering his sculpted abs.
“We,” he swipes his tongue into Keith’s mouth, “are,” nips at his bottom lip, “gonna,” presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Keith’s neck, “make,” revels in the strangled involuntary moan that escapes Keith’s throat, “the,” noses at the back of Keith’s ear, “best,” drags his teeth along the red paladin’s earlobe, “damn,” traces the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue, “cake,” blows a short puff of air over Keith’s wet skin and savours the shiver that runs down his spine, “ever.”
Keith pulls away, pupils blown so wide they act as black holes consuming the purple irises Lance is used to staring into. His tongue darts out to chase the taste of Lance on his lips, and it gives Lance chills.
The cake is horrendously burnt. Lance and Keith grin madly at each other over their semi-successful second attempt, lopsided but painstakingly covered in the closest thing they could get to whipped cream with sliced space strawberries beautifully splayed across the top and sides like blooming flowers.
Pidge created the card that goes with the cake, a really colourful “Congratulations Hunk and Shay!” on paper that she found somewhere. They all signed with their best wishes for their friends’ relationship now that it was finally made official.
”Hunk has a girlfriend,” Lance sobs into Shiro’s shoulder as Keith balks and Pidge groans, bracing herself for the inevitable blowout.
“I’m right here, asshole,” Keith hisses.
Lance turns his face from Shiro’s sleeve, head still resting on their leader’s shoulder.
“Is this your way of confessing your undying love to me, mullet?”
“You wanna be my boyfriend?”
“Yeah–I mean, wait, you–what???”
“Great!” Lance snakes a sticky, batter-splattered arm around Keith’s equally sticky waist and presses a sloppy kiss onto his cheek. Keith turns so red so fast Lance can swear he can smell the batter cooking on Keith’s skin.
“So… can someone who’s not us please make us a congratulatory boyfriending cake too? Please?”
Hunk just shakes his head and laughs.
“Sure, buddy,” he concedes, eyes shining with happiness and gratitude as he crushes both Keith and Lance in a hug.
Lance grins brightly and nudges Hunk with an elbow. “Guess we’re both dating aliens now, huh, big guy?”
Happy Lance Month!! <3 I love these dumb dorks so much. Sorry for the pain a few days ago. Here, have this fluff.
CastielXReader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
Word Count: 2238 (Act
A/N: A five act
mini-series. The reader and Castiel must work together to solve the curious
case of the missing Winchesters. Fluff, smut, and a plot for kicks. It was originally
going to be three acts, then I got invested because Cas is adorable. Now it’s outlined
for five acts. I’m not sorry.
(not my GIF)
Nudge [verb] –
or gently encourage someone to do something.”
“Sam? Dean?” Your voice reverberated off the tiled walls of
the sprawling bunker, announcing your arrival, tone becoming tinny when they
failed to respond, “The door was unlocked. I let myself in.” Feet clanging on
the metal staircase, you endeavored to make your presence known - the last
thing you wanted to do was catch experienced well-equipped potentially
trigger-happy hunters off guard in their own home. You made your way over to the
map table, tossing your bag on a chair, eyes roaming the spacious room for any
signs of life, “Guys?” Silence greeted your ears. Grumbling a muffled
expletive, you dug the phone out of your pocket, scanning for any new messages,
scrolling back to confirm that Sam’s text yesterday did indeed ask you to meet
them here, in Lebanon, in the bunker, to ride back up on a big case. You owed
them more than you generally cared to acknowledge in their presence, and
dropped everything to show, no questions asked - and they had the audacity to be
somewhere else when you arrived. Breath puffing out your cheeks, you noted with
amused annoyance that you’d never been stood up by two men at the same time,
let alone brothers. You hastily typed a where-the-hell-are-you-it-better-not-be-buying-beer
text to Sam, muttering under your breath, “Freaking Winchesters.” Your finger hesitated
over the send button, soft footfalls heralding the approach of someone in the
hall. Shoving the phone back into your pocket, trembling adrenaline-fueled fingers
instinctively brushed the cool metal of the pistol tucked under your arm.
Releasing the safety, you withdrew the weapon, backing up to the stairs,
steadying your aim at the doorway, “Who’s there?”
Summary: In a world segregated by angelic powers; can a nephilim be more than they seem? Can an angel-born, be more than they’d always thought?
This is my submission for @angryschnauzer “If you go down to the woods today” writing challenge. I’ve not really done much in the AU arena, so here goes nothing!
Word Count: 2697
Warnings: Swearing, mentions of torture and death, mentions of blood, happy ending
A/N: Thank you to @writingwithadinosaur, who is always willing to help me. Even when I am unsure of myself, she is right there to reassure me, and help me out. She is a lovely person, and a fab writer!
The cuts on your hands were bleeding badly, but you didn’t dare take a moment to look at them; the being in front of you commanded your attention. As a nephilim, a child of angelic and human parents, you were below the angel in front of you; a fact that he never let you forget. You had no wings, therefore the power you wielded was weaker. You should have felt lucky, many nephilim were born powerless, no better than long-lived humans. But your power was the reason you were stood where you were; the reason for so much of your pain.
After the angel dismissed you, you quickly made your way down to the kitchens. The manor where you lived and worked had segregated places; places for the angels and places for everyone else. The kitchen should have been safe. So when you ran to the sink and began the painful process of cleaning your wounds, and pulling the splinters from your fingers, you didn’t hold in your hisses and cries. When two large hands covered your own and pulled them from the water, you were shocked. Not only by the hands themselves, which were odd enough; one metal and one flesh, but by the being whose hands they were. An angel.
You immediately tried to pull your hands away, but the angel gave no quarter. He held your hands in a firm but gentle grasp as you struggled.
“I won’t be able to help you if you keep fighting me,” he said calmly; his voice soft, and a little gravely.
You froze in shock, an angel, help you? “What are you talking about?” you asked in a meek voice.
Headcanon that Dazai likes gaming as seen in the Dark Era. However, as a busy Mafia executive, the poor boy doesn't get to play often. So whenever Chuuya gets the chance, he'd challenge Dazai to battle. Tho he never wins, seeing Dazai relax and enjoy, like a normal teenage human being, is enough to warm up Chuuya's young heart. Oh those rare Soukoku bonding times..
THIS IS SO GOOD? I can imagine them getting super into it - and Chuuya’s not the type to let Dazai win, either, so it’d be fun for both of them. They’d get competitive and start cussing each other and slugging each other on the arm like normal teenage boys and Dazai would go to bed with a smile on his face, praying they’ll be able to do it again soon.
One time Fry races into his and Bender’s apartment, sneakers skidding on the floor as he runs into the bathroom, and hastily opens the door only to almost pee himself (he’s already painfully held it in for hours now) as Bender shrieks and slams the door so harshly it falls off of it’s hinges at the top.
Neither of them make a sound for a moment, and after checking that he didn’t actually pee his pants, Fry tentatively opens the door. And there is Bender, trying to struggle out of one of his spare red jackets , wearing a similar face to the one he wears when the police are about to get him. Fry knows that face to usually mean he needs to run, but he doesn’t think he needs to run right now.
Bender looks up at Fry from between the buttons (which are askew) with wide optics and his arms tangled in the red sleeves over his head. They both pause, and Fry thinks that if Bender needed to breath he would have stopped then, either out of shock or want to die of embarrassment. Fry isn’t really sure what he should be feeling in this moment, but finds himself some place in-between really really happy to find Bender in his jacket for whatever reason and really really blushy. Also he really really has to pee.
He settles for praying that his face isn’t as red as his hair and slowly walking over to the still still - Ha, still still - robot, vaguely wondering if Bender could malfunction and if he’d have to carry him somewhere to get fixed. Fry honestly couldn’t carry Bender, he’d have to call Leela, she’s probably the only one that was strong enough, her biceps are huge. Fry wishes his biceps were that huge, then he could give Bender piggy back rides and hold him in his arms. Fry shakes his head, that was beside the point, whatever the point was.
Fry coughs awkwardly, looking at the dirty shower curtain behind them - Oh, there’s the pepperoni he thought fall in the drain when he was eating pizza in the shower, he’ll have to eat that later - as he gently pulls Bender’s arms down and idly rebuttons the shirt for him. His hands end up resting on Bender’s chest, fingers pitter-pattering in a nervous and stuttered rhythm. Fry hums, this feels nice.
Fry looks up to the mirror to find Bender looking intensely at him and jumps a little, pulls his hands back to rest by his sides. Fry doesn’t really know what’s he’s doing, but he never knows what he’s doing or supposed to be doing, so he doesn’t really care anyway.
Fry bounces on the balls of his feet and watches the lines of Bender’s mouth guard move listlessly, no sound coming out, and suddenly feels an urgent need to reassure Bender that they were cool.
Fry coughs again and steps back, one hand tangling in his bright hair and the other shoved deep into his pocket, fingers playing with the lint there. He looks away from Bender,
“You can, uh,” Fry scratches his head and tries again, says too loudly and too rushed, “Feel free to keep the jacket, Bender! I have, like, twenty hundred of them, so…”
Fry trails off, thinking that was probably a good point to end the conversation. He nods to himself in congratulations, happy he didn’t say anything weird or stupid, and reaches behind himself around to open the door behind him. He fumbles a bit with the doorknob, its a little lower then he’s used to with the door being off a hinge as it was, and looks over his shoulder to see Bender still has his optics locked on his. The robot still hasn’t made a sound.
“Um…” Fry’s breath catches a bit and he gives Bender a once over without thinking, eyes lingering over the way his jacket stretches over Bender’s round shoulders. They kind of makes Fry think of a trashcan, but an attractive one. Not that Bender’s a trashcan, or that Fry’s attracted to trashcans, because he’s not, Bender just- looks really good all the time. If he was a trashcan Fry’s sure he would be an attractive one, Bender could probably be an attractive anything if he tried. Again, not that Fry’s attracted to trashcans. Fry shakes his head and starts over,
“You look really good in it, too! The red really brings out your, uh, metal or something.”
Fry falters and turns back around quickly, hand rattling the doorknob, “Anyway, I’m just gonna-” he bolts before Bender can respond.
Fry groans as he runs, why did he have to go and say something weird? He was doing so good! Now he has to find somewhere else to pee before his bladder erupts.
Fry runs past the kitchen before skidding to a stop, turning around, and looks from the kitchen sink, to the direction of the bathroom, and back again… Are there laws in the future against peeing in the kitchen sink?