Staring Contest

A piece of Elriel fluff, from the Kiss prompt #19, where the kiss is meant to distract the other person from what they’re intently doing.  Thanks @rowanismybae for the prompt!  I did this one first because it’s @azrielsiphons birthday.

“You’re joking.”

“No,” Elain protested, “I’m telling you, I have never lost a staring contest.”

Azriel surveyed her skeptically as she sat on the kitchen counter, small feet kicking against the cabinets.  He was a bit bemused by the turn the conversation had taken.  He had been helping her repot some of the larger plants in the kitchen garden when a thunderstorm had popped up, sending them both scurrying for the door.  Their polite small talk about plants and Velaris’s weather patterns had fizzled out quickly, and the silence had been growing awkward before Elain had suddenly asked, “Do you have any secret talents that nobody knows about?  Not even your best friends?”

He had felt the blood rush to his cheeks.  He certainly had secret talents he would love to share with her in a most intimate setting, but he didn’t think she would want to hear about them.  An image of her arching her back and crying out in ecstasy flashed through his mind but he pushed it away mercilessly.  “You first,” he said, his voice a bit huskier than he would have liked.

That’s when she had told him solemnly that she was unbeatable in a staring contest.  He wanted to laugh at the idea that sweet, delicate, naive Elain was in essence challenging him.  Azriel had spent centuries perfecting his impassive expression and he had drawn secrets out of many enemies by his cold glare alone.  “Are you implying that you’d beat me?”

“Of course,” she proclaimed.  “Want to bet?”

He covered his mouth with his hand, smothering a smile.  “What do you want to bet?”

She pursed her lips as she thought about it.  “Whoever loses has to tell Nesta that her dress got ruined when it went to the laundress.”

He laughed at that.  “Did it?”

“No.  It got ruined when I spilled fertilizer on it.  But the laundress couldn’t get it out so…”

He thought about it for a minute.  Nesta honestly scared him a little; he still didn’t undetstand Cassian’s obsession with her; but he had absolutely no doubts he would win. “Okay, you’re on.”

“There are rules, though.”


“Obviously you can’t blink or look away.  If you talk or laugh or sneeze, you lose.  And we can’t poke or tickle each other.”

“Fair enough.  When do we start?”

She hopped off the counter and walked over to him, stopping a couple of feet away.  “On three,” she said, rolling her neck as she squared up to him.  

“One.”  He blinked several times and shifted a shoulder.  “Two.  Three.”

He concentrated on keeping his face expressionless as his eyes met hers.  Generally he won any dominance contest involving eye contact by thinking of something totally unrelated to the situation at hand, but she was so close to him that all he could smell was lilacs and rain.  Her clear brown eyes, flecked lightly with gold, were calm and knowing as they looked into his.  Those thick lashes nearly touched her brows.  It was an effort to keep his eyes from flicking down to her full expressive mouth, or her smooth throat below that, exposed as she lifted her chin to be able to hold his eye.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her color beginning to rise and he wondered desperately what she was thinking about.  She took a small step towards him, and he couldn’t tell if it was voluntary or not, but still her gaze did not falter.  His own eyes were starting to burn with the effort of keeping them open, but he could not lose.  Not to Elain,  his brothers would never let him live that down.  Elain shifted a little again and swallowed, the noise audible over the rain outside.  He dug his nails into his palms.

Suddenly, still holding her stare, Elain stood on her tip toes and brushed her lips against his.  He started back and blinked, then swore.  She erupted in peals of laughter, the sound playing like music through the kitchen.  A smile tugged at his own lips, at first reluctant, than spreading over his whole face, until he too was laughing helplessly.  They fell against each other, his arm wrapping around her shoulder, her cheek resting on his chest, until their laughter finally quieted.  She tilted her head back to look at him again, a smile still playing on those perfect lips, which he now knew were as soft as he had always imagined.

“Hey,” she said, light dancing in her eyes, “I never said I wouldn’t cheat.”

can we talk about how BEAUTIFUL touka’s eyes are? look at those thick lashes, she stares at you and it’s like boooooooooombshakalaka, my heart dies

All night

Originally posted by songsoftheheartless

Warnings: SMUTTTTTTTT, oral (both receiving), Alpha kink. 

pairing: Derek Hale x reader
A/N: This is my first smut so if I got a few things wrong I’m sorry. So… just dont be harsh please :)  

“I’m off to a pack meeting Y/N!” Derek shouted throughout the loft. “Have no fun without me pup”

“Hey, I used to be an alpha you know”

“Emphases on the term ‘used to’” He scowled,

“You love me really though Der”

“That’s true”.

 It’s been 20 minutes since Derek left. I have been getting a few ideas for what to do when Derek comes back. Then it hit me, this caused me smirk to myself.

“What are you smirking about shithead?”

“Shut up and listen, I need you to piss off for the night you piece of burned toast.”

“Why do I have to leave this is my loft too y’know?”

“Well unless you want to listen to your nephews moans all night I suggest you leave”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve heard you guys go at it” Peter scoffed.

“Listen hear toastie, you might be 4 times my age and supernatural but I can still beat your ass if it’s necessary”

“And how will you do that?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I will grab you by your unnecessarily long V-neck and choke you with it”

“Well use protection; we don’t want me being a grand uncle now do we, I’m already a terrible uncle”

“That’s for sure”.

“Princess, I’m home”. He threw his keys into the key bowl we left by the door and walked in further. As he got to the bottom step from the door. I covered his eyes with my hands. “You’re being arrested for being too sexy in that leather jacket” He chuckled. “Anything you say or do will be held against you in the court of law. And by court of law I mean our bedroom”. I nibbled at his earlobe and heard a growl from his throat. I could already see the tent forming in his pants. I lead him to the bedroom and sat him on the chair I specifically put there and straddled him. He opened his eyes to see me in front of him. He smirked.

 My lips attached to his hungrily, his hands began to slide up my thighs. I broke the kiss and held onto his hands that rested on my thighs. “Tut tut tut you can’t go any further than that babe”, “oh come on princess.” He huffed as I shook my head.

 I started to kiss along his jaw line, he tugged at the hem of my shirt I lifted up my arms as he took of my top and I repeated the same on him. I cupped his face and kissed him passionately. He licked my bottom lip for access, which I happily granted. Once we got to this stage I knew Derek had to have his hands on my ass. His hands gripped my ass roughly causing me to gasp. “Wanna take this to the room?” he whispered. I bit my bottom lip in response.

 I wrapped my legs around his waist and he walked into his room. He threw me onto the bed. He hovered over me and started to leave wet kisses down my neck to the valley of my breasts. “The clasp is in the front” I gasped. “Classy” he said between kisses, I giggled.

 I took my bra off while Derek unzipped my jeans and left me in my black lace thong. He started to kiss my stomach and leave a trail from my belly button down to the waistband of my underwear.  He kissed my inner thighs. “Stop being a tease Der”

“This is my revenge for earlier princess”. He rips my underwear off my body. “I literally just bought those yesterday and they were for you”. “Maybe you shouldn’t wear any” he looked at me through those gorgeous lashes. He kissed along my inner thighs, without warning, he flicked my clit with his wet tongue and cause me to moan. My finger automatically tangled with his hair. He started to suck on my clit and brought me closer and closer to the edge.

“Der… I’m gonna…”


 And with that hum the vibrations sent me over the edge, I arched my back in pleasure. Derek started to suck purple bruises on my hips and moved up to my boobs and took the right nipple into his mouth and massaging the other breast then swapping giving the left breast the same attention. As he made his way back up leaving hickeys on the way his lips finally reconnected with mine. I took all my strength to flip him over so that I would be on top, I started to do the same thing to him as he did to me. Kissing down to the waistband of his boxer. I pulled down his boxers letting his erection free.

 I licked the prominent vein along the shaft causing Derek to growl which made me smirk as I kissed his tip. “Fuck Y/N” he growled. I took as much as I could into my mouth and massaged his balls with my hand. “Fuck you’re so good at this!”.i hollowed my cheeks and bobbed my head to get as much as I could, his hands gripped my hair and started tugging on it. I hummed and felt his member twitch in my mouth.

“I’m close Princess”. I hummed again and his member twitched in my mouth releasing his load into my throat as I swallowed.

 I hovered over him kissing his jaw line. “Don’t be fool and wrap your tool babe” I whispered in to his ear and licked the shell of his ear while he put on the condom. Derek flipped us back over and whispered “Who am I?” while teasing me with his dick at my entrance. My breath hitched, “ You’re the Alpha” I gasped.


 I yelped when he thrusted into me. It started slow and passionate then he picked up the speed and became fast and rough. That’s the  way I liked, scrap that that’s the way I loved it.  He buried his head in my neck and started to suck more purple marks that for sure will not fade for weeks. “I’m close…alpha”, “Me too princess”. I take about 5 more thrusts until the knot in my stomach exploded. I screamed his name and the sound of his name leaving my lips Derek came into the condom.

 He flopped onto the bed beside me and started to kiss my shoulder. He wrapped his muscular hand around my waist and pulled me close so my back was against his chest. I turned my head to see the sunlight starting to dance through the window. I turned around so that our chests were against each other’s.

“Good morning Der”    


things that should be appreciated more:

Ianto’s eyelashes.

anonymous asked:

For your prompt request maybe a grunge or punk au for dear captain swan? Please?

*disclaimer* I know nothing about any kind of music so I did my best…

The place stank of cigarettes and broken dreams. But that was par the course for Hatters, especially Sundays: Open Mic Night.

Emma Swan pulled up to her usual spot- the one at the farthest end of the bar where she wouldn’t be bothered by any of the regular crowd of middle aged men who still thought they could pull off leather pants and the younger guys who thought there were the first to discover the pure pleasure of rock.

To be fair, Emma wasn’t the type you would expect to frequent a dive bar that specialised in heavy metal and grunge. Her days were spent in confining wool suits, defending questionable types in court as a partner at Gold and Son’s law firm. But that wasn’t who she was. She was much more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket, knocking back a couple of fingers of whiskey and letting the relentless bass of some Black Sabbath or Metallica hum through her veins. (And actually, she kinda liked having this secret side to her: her colleagues had no idea about her musical tastes, or the boxes full of vinyl she kept in her spare bedroom.)

She always liked Open Mic. There were, of course, always a few acts who were questionable in their talent, the bands who after ten years were still seeking that big break and the drunks who, well, usually didn’t make it though one chorus. Still it was all worth it, for that one moment when someone special took the stage with raw talent and emotion: that spark was something special, the first flickering of a flame that if given the right encouragement would grow into something unstoppable. Already in the five years she’d been coming, a few of the bands she’d seen at Hatters had gone on to gain national recognition and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that she had been there at the start.

Tonight, she was late. An early dinner with friends had overrun and she’d barely enough time to dash to her apartment and pull on some black skinny jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. Leroy, the bartender, had kept her seat and was already pouring her drink when the lights dimmed and the first act took the stage.

It was one person on a stool, guitar in his hands, amp at his feet. His head was down as the lights rose, his long hair brushing over his forehead and obscuring his face. He didn’t introduce himself as they normally did, instead he started playing.

Yeah, he was good. She watched mesmerised as his hands flew over the strings, picking out complicated chords as he built up to a crescendo and dipped his mouth the the headphone.

And dear god he could sing.

Emma ignored the drink in her hand, the condensation running down her fingers as she became lost in his words. She didn’t recognise the song which surprised her as she had a pretty extensive knowledge of music. It was a tale of woe and angst, of lost love and the pain of moving on when you don’t really want to. Towards the end, he stood, kicking back the stool, his body arching towards the microphone as the whoops and hollers began to fill the small club’s air. She felt her hair stand on end: this was that something special that kept drawing her back here, week after week.

A shiver ran down her spine as the last note hung in the air, his fingers poised above the body of the guitar as she finally lifted his head and nodded, whispering,‘Thank you’.

Craning to see him - see his face - above the crowd who were now stood, she latched her heels onto the stool and rested her palms onto the bar so she could raise herself higher. Heads booked in the way, raised fists in the air - both had her bobbing from side to side to catch a glimpse of this artist who seemed not to want to introduce himself.

And then there it was. A flash of recognition. Those steely eyes that she knew were blue even from this distance. That jaw, with more of a beard that she was familiar with but just as sharp. That face, of a man who had tormented her for months in more ways than one.

It was Killian goddamn Jones: a one time client charged with grand theft of some very expensive jewellery from a very rich widow who her boss had gotten off on a technicality. But not before she had spent countless hours preparing him for court, dealing with his innuendo, his cocky arrogance and his far too cavalier attitude about the whole damn situation.

Clutching her glass, Emma scowled. This was the last place she wanted to be if he was here - no matter how talented he was. He’d done a fine enough job of getting under her skin previously and he just knew how to press her buttons. (So much so that more than once, she’d almost kissed him. His taunting face almost begging her to: knowing that fraternising with a client was a dismissible offence. She was pretty sure he liked to wind her up on purpose, making her hot with his loaded looks and the flowering words he liked to bandy about.)

She downed her drink and tossed a note at Leroy who gave her a curious look. Not in the mood to explain, she shrugged and pointed at her phone. A second later she was stomping towards the door, whilst noticing she actually did have a text message, which she tried to read until she found herself stepping on someones foot.

“Shit, sorry-“ she muttered.

“My my my, Emma Swan, what the devil are you doing here?”

Yeah, of course it was him.

Her mouth went dry. He was too close for her to pretend she didn’t see him (or not realise how good he smelled…). She settled on a shrug.

“Cat got your tongue,” he drawled, taking a drag from the beer in his hand. She could see the beads of sweat on his forehead from the lights on the stage and his dark flannel shirt hung open, revealing the low v of his t-shirt and the hair beneath it. “Drink?” he asked, pointing to the bar.

She opened her mouth to say no and the bastard took a step closer, his slight height difference making her have to look up into those dark lashed eyes of his. “I never did get to thank you properly for all your work with my little problem.”

She raised her brows: she’d never heard grand larceny described as a ‘little problem’ before.

“I should go-“ she said. (Even though her heart was already racing a little and her body was saying ’stay, goddamnit’.)

“That’s a shame,” he replied, his face dropping a little and, fuck, she actually believed he meant it.

And then she saw the guitar sat by his table and and the plectrum threaded between the strings and the case behind it covered in ancient band stickers that she remembered from her own youth.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “Places to be.”

He nodded, his eyes lingering on her face. She was turning to the door, when she thought of something.

“The song - what’s it called.”

“Broken Heart.”

“Never heard of it before,” she shrugged.

“That’s because I wrote it,” he quipped.

She paused, confused and a little uncertain about his honesty. But she was pretty good at spotting liars.


He nodded.

She chewed on her bottom lip a little, before sighing. “One drink. And you have to explain where you learned to play like that.”

“As you wish,” he grinned, his face lighting up and slowly coaxing a smile from her in reply.

anonymous asked:


Thank you so much for your well wishes and your flattery >////< I know what you’re up to! I wish you all the best too, and may you be happy and satisfied with this upcoming year. :)

Here, have some chubs s/o Iwaizumi headcanons!

  • You can’t just grow up around people like Hanamaki, or Yahaba or Oikawa and be vain. Like, it’s just not spiritually possible. And Iwaizumi is really, really good at not being vain.
    • In fact, he just wants to get on with life, tbvh.
  • Soft? Sweet smiles and cheeky grins? He melts into a large puddle each time you shoot him one of those, glancing up from your height at his chin and looking out from under those lashes he can’t ever seem to see under.
    • He reaches out to hold you then- by the face, by your hands, by your waist- anything, as long as he can touch you because:
  • Iwaizumi is a very physical man. Don’t shoot him sly looks or knowing glances too much because he seriously has a lifetime supply being Oikawa’s neighbour. Just love him. Love him.

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