prompt fill

potterlockianegalitarian928  asked:

Regency: Sherlock is thrilled to be working with Dr. M. Hooper, a pathologist whose essays have made Sherlock a fan of their work. When Sherlock meets Dr. Hooper, he is both surprised and impressed that Dr. Hooper is a young woman. When he sees that she's as kind as she intelligent, he falls and falls hard for her.

The Science of Courtships Part 1 (there will be 2 parts to this prompt!)

thanks to @strangelock221b for beta reading! :)


Sherlock Holmes was on a rather large case concerning one ‘Jack the Ripper’ and was rather thrilled to be working with Doctor M. Hooper on it. He had been a longtime admirer of the doctor’s essays submitted to the various medical journals he read. Oh, it felt like Christmas to him.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes,” Mike Stamford greeted him. “Dr. Hooper has been waiting for you in the mortuary.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock nodded, venturing into the morgue. He looked around the formaldehyde scented room when his cerulean eyes landed upon a young woman.

“Mister Holmes, I presume. I was told we would be working together and—” Doctor Hooper turned to face the most handsome and distinguished man she had ever seen. She did her best to keep her heart beat under control.

“Doctor…Hooper?” he asked with uncertainty.

“Y-yes sir, that would be correct,” Doctor Hooper confirmed, dropping her scalpel. Sherlock bent down to retrieve it for her.

“I must say, I am quite impressed that a young woman such as yourself has such intriguing insight of the medical field,” Sherlock stated. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Hooper, as I have been a longtime admirer of your work.” He glanced at her hand quickly before meeting her eyes once more. “May I?” She nodded and he took her hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of it.

“I am glad to know you are not disappointed to find me to be a woman, Mr. Holmes,” Doctor Hooper remarked.

“Disappointed? No,” Sherlock told her. “If anything, I admire you all the more, Doctor Hooper.” She gave him a small smile.

“Thank you, Mister Holmes,” she nodded.

“Sherlock, please,” he said.

“Mister Holmes, we have hardly been acquainted,” Doctor Hooper pointed out. “We have already broken one societal rule; are you sure you want to break another?”

“I am quite sure, actually. You will learn that I am not one to follow societal normalities,” Sherlock informed her. “Of course, we will only keep it between ourselves but if you are not comfortable with the use of first names, I will cease my insistence upon it. I apologize, Doctor Hooper, if I have been intolerable.”

“It is quite alright, Mr. Holmes. Sherlock,” she replied, testing his name on her tongue. “Margaret is my name, but I prefer Molly.”

“Molly,” he repeated. “I quite like the sound of that, Molly Hooper.” A faint blush rose upon her cheeks. His rich baritone voice spoke her name as if it contained only the best letters of the alphabet.

“Yes, well, now that we have that out of the way, care to examine this cadaver with me?” Molly asked.

“Delighted,” Sherlock replied.

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Pride Is Not the Word I’m Looking For

For @artbylexie who’s got pneumonia! She requested:a Sherlolly case abroad, but it’s Molly who’s been invited, not Sherlock. He doesn’t handle it very well at first, but he’s super proud and supportive of her. 



“Think of it, Molly, an entire week!”

“In the South Downs, yes, it sounds lovely,” Moly agreed.

“Oh hang the location! But a locked door murder, that’s the thrill! Oh I do love my job!” he clasped her face in his hands, kissing her forehead. “Tea please!” and he flopped onto the couch.

She shook her head, reaching for the kettle anyway. “Fine, but you’ll pour out.”

“Of course,” he answered. She’d started requesting something in return when he made his demands of her, usually if he demanded access to the lab, she’d ask he open the door for her, and he did. Or if he asked for tea or hot chocolate, she asked that he be the one to pour it, and he did. Mary Watson said it took a Hooper to teach a Holmes, John said it was that he was finally seeing sense and returning all the thousands of favors he owed Molly. Molly knew deep down Sherlock was a good man, and that he was just plain old finally allowing himself to be that good person.

“Have you packed at all?” Molly asked, carrying the tray into the lounge, setting it on the coffee table.

“I will when I get in, I wanted to rush over to tell you,” he sat up, reaching for the pot of tea. Just then his phone buzzed.

“Might be Lestrade, better get that,” Molly said and picked up Toby, swaying back and forth.

He allowed himself to admire her, just for that moment. She was at ease, cuddling that ridiculously large cat, and looking rather charming, impatiently waiting for him to get off the phone.

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flabbergabst  asked:

Drabble prompt? Captain Canary + Lisa with the lines somewhat like, "A blonde? But blondes are never Lenny's type."

Okay, I got a very specific picture of this one and couldn’t shake it, so heads up: mentions of past (possibly one-sided, your choice) Coldflash.


Lisa raises an eyebrow at Leonard. “Didn’t think you were into blondes.”

Leonard glares at his sister. Sara’s lips twitch. “What’s his normal type?”

There’s mischief in Lisa’s expression, and she ignores a warning from her brother. “Well, Lenny likes them in tight leather, so you’ve got that much in common with his last fixation.”

“Sara’s more than a fixation,” Leonard snaps, relaxing as Sara presses a kiss to his cheek. “And Barry’s basically a friend at this point.”

Sara laughs, delighted. “You had a thing for the Flash?”

Leonard shrugs. “Then I met the White Canary and was hooked.”

8

Chapter 4 is up. Read it below:

Stand Inside Your Love (9058 words) by _Melodic_
Chapters: 4/20
Fandom: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Characters: Armitage Hux, Kylo Ren, Leia Organa, Rey (Star Wars), R2-D2 (Star Wars), Brendol Hux, Thanisson (Star Wars), Phasma (Star Wars), Maz Kanata, Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, Finn (Star Wars)
Additional Tags: Regency Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Aristocracy, Inspired By Tumblr, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, Tropes, POV Alternating, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Closeted Character
Summary: What began as two lonely souls finding a clever way out of their social and familial obligations soon turned into something else—something inexplicable, inevitable, and irrevocable.

Inspired by this softkinks prompt: Young rich/aristocratic hux and kylo are constantly pressured by their families to attend high society parties, balls etc.. they don’t know each other, but always see the other suffering through a tedious date. society is pressuring them into heterosexual ‘norms’ but after finally meeting/talking just once, sneaking out into a moonlit garden, they insist on only attending events with each other from then on, just to piss off the community at first, but then because they cant stand to be apart.

pragnificent  asked:

❝You wanna know why? Because I don’t trust myself with you.❞ Reba and Francis?

The silence in the room is palpable, or would be if the room was truly silent. Instead, Reba can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall and the rush of air from the heater. Beside her is the sound of D’s breathing, slightly faster than normal, and the scrape of skin over fabric.

“D… please answer my question. Why can’t we do this again?”

There is another pause, and this time Reba feels D shift, leaning towards her and then away, as though he can’t decide whether or not it’s safe to touch her.

“You want to know why?” He finally says, leaning close. She can feel his breath on her ear and the heat of his hand hovering over the base of her throat. “Because I don’t trust myself with you.”

Give me a sentence/pairing, get a drabble.

Shinichi <3

Kaito hung a ‘Under Maintenance’ sign on the rest room door and quickly slammed it shut. He had to rush or he’d miss boarding the airship. 

He placed the duffel bag Jii-chan had passed to him on the counter and zipped it open to examine the contents: a new disguise, his trusty makeup kit, a few of his tools and a set of instructions as to where the rest of the tools and his suit had been stashed on the ship. He quickly changed into the waiter’s outfit and removed his mask. He decided not to go for another mask and use only makeup to disguise his features. 

Soon, a new face stared back at him from the mirror. A naïve looking waiter who seemed like a nervous rookie. Perfect. As Kaito stuffed everything back in and got to cleaning the evidence, he noticed the Band-Aid on his elbow.

 Where- Oh right, Mouri-chan gave it when I grazed it catching the little lady

Kaito shook his head at his carelessness. Such things could blow his cover in no time. It was the details that make or break a disguise. He brought his arm forward to rip off the Band-Aid so he could cover the underlying graze with makeup as well. Held against the mirror, he noticed something written on the band aid. He squinted at the mirror to make out the reversed image

 Shinichi <3

the band aid proclaimed in a cute scrawl. Kaito blushed as he stared at the characters of his Meitantei’s given name adorning the Band-Aid.

 “Maybe…I’ll just…keep this on. Besides, it’s just a Band-Aid…on a waiter’s arm. No one’s going to notice…”


Prompted by: @brieflysteadysoul  at the Kaishin Discord chat~

@fatale-distraction thanks for this prompt!!! For @dadrunkwriting

TITLE: Free

PAIRING: Abelas x Merrill

It was odd. Not having a purpose. Not like he’d had before. Though Solas had reassigned him to do some important things there was a freedom that he’d never tasted before. He was free from guarding the Well of Sorrows, free from the service of Mythal and free to be himself. Though, he wasn’t quite sure who he really was anymore and after thousands of years spent in servitude, how did one simply “find” themselves.

The first thing he did after moving his belongings into his new home was to ride. And he rode for days, only taking time to give his Hart a break for it would be useless to him if it were run down to exhaustion. While he rode, he let down down his hood, letting the wind sift through his undone braid, his white-blonde locks trailing out behind him.

Solas had asked him if he wanted his vallaslin removed but after so many years, what was the point? He knew what they meant, he’d always known but he didn’t care. The more years that had passed by, the less Abelas cared—about anything really, except for the Well. But it was gone now.

Plains stretched out before him, as far as the eyes could see until rows of reeds turned into a field of lavender that swayed lazily in the light breeze. Abelas pulled on his hart to a halt and took off the light tunic that covered him. He’d retired his armor for days like today so he could just live life.

With his chest bared, he tipped his chin to the sun, letting the rays seep into his skin. But feeling the sun wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel more. He wanted the earth between his toes, the reeds in his hands, the scent of lavender in his nose and the sounds of the crows calling somewhere far away in his ears.

He lay down in the middle of the field and closed his eyes while the sun painted his lids in monochromatic orange. But just as he spread his arms out, he felt his fingers being crushed and his eyes shot open as he drew his hand to his chest.

“Oh! Oh no! I’m so sorry! How silly of me! I didn’t see you there! I’m so sorry!”

Abelas sat up and stared up at the raven haired beauty before him with bright green eyes and a kind face.

“It’s alright,” he said while shaking his fingers out. He hissed a little from the pain as she knelt down beside him.

“Are you hurt? Can I do something to help? I’m so sorry.”

Abelas frowned. “You don’t need to apologize so much. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m Merrill,” the girl said, tilting her head to get a better look at him.

“Abelas.”

Merrill seemed puzzled. “What are tou sorry for?”

It was his turn to be confused. They were stuck in a stalemate for a moment before it finally dawned on him why she was confused.

“My name is Abelas.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh!” Then her face broke into a smile.

“Well, I’m glad we’ve met.” She nodded. “Sorry about your hand. I really should be more careful.”

Abelas said, “likewise,” then stood as well. He noticed her eyes flick quickly to his chest then away but he suddenly felt warm and self conscious so he began making his way back to his hart.

Merrill followed after him. “Um, I’m sure you don’t want to spend time with the elf that nearly crushed your hand, but if you don’t have anywhere you need to be I’d like to make it up to you…”

Abelas smiled while shoving his arms into the lightweight tunic. “Actually, I’d like that. I haven’t traveled much of the world in some time so I’d be glad to have some company.”

He hauled himself onto the back of the hart and then offered her his hand. Merrill grinned and took it gladly while easing herself into place behind him. She placed her hands gently around his waist as he whistled, signaling the hart to move forward. It’d been countless years since Abelas had felt anyone’s touch but for some reason, it felt comforting as they rode across the plains.

He still wasn’t sure how to find himself but he felt alive and that’s all that mattered.

2

So there were these prompts… And I kinda escalated. Again.

Can anyone, ANYONE please make a fanfic with this? Like PRETTY PLEASE?!!!!!

I definitely need some mechanic-but-diva-at-heart Ryou Shirogane with big visions and no sense for budget handling in my life.

I mean… How awesome would that be?! He’d be such an extravagant, dramatic little shit just because he can. Because he’d be an awesome mechanic and engineer and the Garrison would have to take Ryous shit because they can’t afford to kick him out…

And he’d spent all their money on trash from the junkyard.

Damn…. and here comes another addition to my Kuro AU… Guess it’s now a Kuro & Ryou AU.

2tired2care  asked:

Pst hi I LOVE YOUR FICS you have no idea how much they give me life <3 <3 I came across this really cute (and frankly heartbreaking) AU: "[burgler gently wakes me] you live like this?" (stolen from a post I saw on fb) and I kinda just need Stiles to do everything he can to make Derek's life better? THANK YOU SO MUCH :D

It IS frankly heartbreaking… which means I’m totally into it.

(now also on AO3!)

***

Derek definitely went to sleep alone. He always does, these days. It doesn’t explain why he drifts awake in the middle of the night to the feeling of someone lightly poking his shoulder.

It’s probably not a good sign that when he opens his eyes and sees a gangly teenage boy in a red hoodie and grubby-looking black fingerless gloves standing over him, he doesn’t startle. His claws don’t come out; his eyes don’t flash. He just feels… resigned.

“You live like this?” the guy says, soft. Almost pitying. “I mean. You actually live here?”

That seems too obvious, not to mention too insulting, to merit a response. “What are you doing here?” Derek asks instead. His voice comes out low and rough. This is the first time in days he’s had any reason to say anything. “This is private property.”

The guy shifts on his feet and sticks his hands under his armpits uncomfortably. “Okay, straight to the awkward questions. I like that.”

Keep reading

pragnificent  asked:

❝It’s okay. You can laugh. I promise not to tell anyone.❞ Hannigram, ideally fluff?

Hannibal freezes with one foot over the threshold, his face completely blank. Will stays silent while he waits for Hannibal to find the emotion that he’s looking for. Thirty seconds later, he watches as the corner of Hannibal’s mouth makes the faintest of twitches and he finally makes his way completely onto the patio.

“It’s okay. You can laugh. I promise not to tell anyone.”

Will watches as Hannibal takes in his state - mud and bubbles and grass in his hair, the leash tangled around his legs, and a very excited dog wiggling on his chest.

“Cephy saw a squirrel while I was bathing her. I guess she’s going to need a few more lessons to train that out of her.”

Hannibal finally allows a full smile to cross his face and walks over to where Will is laying on the lawn.

“I’m sure if anyone can train her completely, it will be you.”

As Hannibal gently pulls a clump of leaves from Will’s hair, he thinks Cephy’s poor training might be worth it to see Hannibal’s genuine smile.

Give me a sentence/pairing, get a drabble.

Wrong Place, Right Time

This is a prompt fill from the lovely @raptorlily you are such an awesome supporter of my work and I must admit that every time I post something new on Ao3 I eagerly await your review, just as I do your fics.

I hope this fill meets your prompt, it’s only a little bit of pressure filling a prompt for one of your fave fanfic authors.

Summary:

Betty Cooper goes to the White Wyrm to confront Jughead and finds herself in hot water. Enter her knight in a black leather jacket.

Rating: M - there is some stuff ‘wink, wink’ going on but nothing graphic.

Also there is a ‘Keep Reading’ cut.


Betty took a deep breath and pulled her pony tail tighter before she walked through the door of the White Wyrm, if Jughead Jones thought that she could be dissuaded so easily he had another thing coming. The text message had been the last straw.

He had been putting distance between them for weeks. No longer coming to Pop’s, declining her invitations to meet at the Register to write. Even when she was with him he was distant, he no longer sought comfort in her touch, and she knew he was keeping secrets from her. It had all started as soon as he put that damn jacket on. She had been afraid for him, what it would mean for them once he was part of the Serpents. He had promised her that it was just undercover, that he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes that his father had, and she wanted so badly to believe him. She wanted to be his partner in this just as she had been there for Jason Blossom’s murder investigation and subsequent solving. Just as he had been there for her with Polly, the very start of their relationship.


She was determined that she was not going to lose him to the Southside, plus no-one, not even Jughead Jones was going to break up with her via text.

She could feel the atmosphere change as soon as she crossed over the threshold, suspicious eyes roving over her trying to figure out what one of ‘them’ was doing in a place like this.

“You are a very long way from home Blondie.” A leather clad man with a long beard, greyed with age sneered at her. She noticed from the corner of her eye another member, a teen around her age had made his way from the table where he was seated. She continued to make her way towards the bar, ignoring the furious beating of her heart and the shaking in her hands. But as more and more of the gang members moved to surround her she could feel her confidence starting to give way. She straightened herself pulling herself up to her full height and continued on.   

“Extremely far from the white picket fences of the Northside.” He continued to chuckled unkindly.

“Did the boys get too boring for you over there. Wanted something a little more dangerous.” The younger man said as he approached her his eyes roaming over her body, as she hugged her arms around herself suddenly self conscious of her tight sweater.

She turned around sharply looking for an escape but was now surrounded by the other patrons of the bar, other members of the notorious gang which currently was locked in a civil war with her own side. Well she was here now and there was no feasible escape so she might as well get what she came for.

“I’m looking for Jughead Jones.” She said cursing the slight waver in her voice as she tried to command authority in her voice.

“Well girlie, you found us instead.” The older man said as he placed an arm on her shoulder and as she moved to shrug him off he only gripped harder. Frightened she reached for the pepper spray that she had stolen from her mum’s bag, grateful that she had had the forethought to do so. “And we don’t take too kindly to your kind nosing around here.”

Just as her fingers clasped around the cannister a tall figure pulled the man away from her,  pressing him up against the bar, as she moved back stunned, free from his grasp.

“Back off Mongoose.” A rough familiar voice threatened, and recognition washed over her. A beanie-less, leather jacket wearing Jughead Jones, had the Serpent pinned to the bar, twisting his arm behind his back, his tall imposing figure had the other members who had initially gone to help take a wider berth as soon as he glared at them.

Her heart was now racing out of something more than fear, seeing her Jughead defending her honour sent a heat spreading through her body and a flush to her cheeks. His hair was wild, waves falling over his eyes, as he glared at those around him. He leant closer to the man’s ear whispering something that she couldn’t quite hear and noticed a widening of Mongoose’s eyes as he took in the information, before nodding eagerly.

Jughead released him and Betty watched as he nursed his arm as he moved to the back of the small crowd that had gathered when the commotion had started. None of the other serpents seemed to want to be near him as if he was tainted.

He turned to her next, his hand pushing back his hair from his face and his eyes captured hers with such an intensity that she felt her flush intensify, her sweater becoming too warm despite the coolness of the bar.

“You need to leave Betty.” . His face an expression of something that she had only seen a few times, when he was held back by the orderlies at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy and when someone had covered her locker in pigs blood spelling out their hatred for her. There was a roughness and authority in his voice that made her go weak in the knees. Her protector, always.

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Thank you @quizzys-left-arm for this prompt! For @dadrunkwriting

8. Warmed skin in the noonday sun

TITLE: The Best

PAIRING: Cullevelyan


Mae was wandering around Skyhold with a toasted cheese sandwich in her hand. She’d just met with some Duke from somewhere in Oralia that she couldn’t pronounce and she was starved. Of course she stopped in the kitchen and beg Larson to make her a sandwich. He obliged because she was the Inquisitor and simply irresistible. She pecked him on the cheek before heading out the door.

The taste of the warm sandwich combined with the noonday sun warming her skin brought a new spring in her step. She laughed at herself as gooey white cheese clung to her chin with another bite of the sandwich. She wiped the cheese off her face then licked it from her hands while she slipped up the staircase to the battlements.

If she was going to have the rest of the day off, she was going to spend it with Cullen. Surely, he needed a break too.

Within moments she was at the top of the stairs and stepping into the open door. He was poring over his desk per usual with a baffled brow.

“You alright Cullen?” Mae asked, perching herself on the end of the desk.

He looked up, running a hand through his hair. He studied her for a moment and a small smile slowly pulled at his lips.

“I am now that you’re here.”

She smiled. “Awww, aren’t you sweet.” Then Mae held out the other half of her sandwich to him. “Have you eaten anything yet? This sandwich is pretty tasty and I’m happy to share.”

She waggled it in front of his face while he crossed his arms over his chest while shaking his head.

“I have eaten actually, though I appreciate your offer.”

Mae shrugged. “Your loss. The cheese sandwiches are the best.”

“I’m not sure I’d say they’re the best.”

“Oh really?” She arched a quizzical brow. “Then what would you say is the best?” She set the sandwich aside and leaned over the desk to get closer to him.

“Well you of course,” he said with a devilish smirk that took Mae completely by surprise.

She was left fumbling for words and blushing while Cullen guffawed, clearly pleased with himself.

anonymous asked:

“You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” au sterek? <3

OK, I wrote you a quick little thing. :)

now also on ao3

*

When Derek shows up at Stiles’ back door that morning with a basket full of about three dozen cookies, all carefully iced to look like Batman and Spider-Man, Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just gets up from the kitchen table and opens the screen door, and then he looks down at the basket for a long, long moment, and then he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.

He looks kind of… unkempt. He’s wearing the same sweatpants and lacrosse hoodie he’d had on two days ago when Derek saw him at his mailbox, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, and it’s obvious he hasn’t shaved in a while because there’s some actual stubble there. Derek didn’t think Stiles was even capable of facial hair. It only adds to his attractiveness, but still, Derek can’t help but be concerned.

Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.

“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”

Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.

“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you. I mean, no one else in the neighborhood even talks to me.”

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hetaliankilljoy  asked:

Destiel, proposal, but minimalistic :)

Here you go :)

Dean shuts off the car engine, and they sit in silence for a moment. Darkness is pulling in, the sun setting behind the trees on the horizon, and a comfortable quiet has settled between them.

Cas moves to grip the door handle, with the intention of getting out of the Impala and no doubt heading in to the bunker to greet Sam, but Dean stops him with a hand on his wrist. His grip is gentle, and his fingers tremble. Cas turns to look at him in the soft orange glow of the sunset, and his blue eyes shimmer with curiosity. That gentle head tilt, the furrowing of brows. A wordless ‘are you all right?’ at his lips.

For a moment, the words won’t come. Dean studies Cas’ face, studies the fine lines and the smooth planes of his cheekbones, the five o’clock shadow, the gentle encouragement flaring in his eyes, and at that moment any fears he has die in his throat, and the words spill out with no faltering at all.

“Marry me, Cas.”

Silence stretches on, longer than Dean would have liked, but he isn’t worried. He can see Cas’ face snap in shock then, as his eyes glimmer with a combination of sunlight and unshed tears, he sees their whole history together flash across the angel’s face and can almost feel their first everything again. The first time they laid eyes on each other, their first argument, their first embrace, their first kiss. And his shoulder burns, fire igniting beneath his skin, and for the first time ever he swears he feels Cas in every atom of his body, the memory of being brought back to life at his fingertips, and he has to bite back a sob threatening to break loose. Cas still hasn’t spoken, is studying Dean with intense, brooding eyes, and Dean squeezes his hand in encouragement bordering on desperation.

Then Cas smiles in a way the hunter has never seen before, and the blue of his eyes is enhanced just for a second by a burst of celestial energy. He leans in and kisses Dean and it’s a blissful mimic of their first kiss in the Impala almost a decade ago. Time has changed them irreparably, and Dean would never wish to go back. He chokes on his breath, and Cas smiles against his lips.

“Of course, Dean. Yes.”

lariren-shadow  asked:

Reylo, Kylo going down on Rey and loving it

Rey has not known many soft things in her life. Her bed on Jakku was hard and her food was tough and the sand stung and gritted. The flowers were barbed to protect their soft water and the sun was blistering and searing and relentless.

Even her bony fingers, callused and blunted, were hard on her intimate flesh on those evenings when sleep could not find her so she sought a climax to grab its attention.

Sex is hard and Kylo Ren’s muscles are hard and the stones beneath her pallet on Ahch-To are hard.

But his mouth–he’s not used his wide, generous mouth before–it is soft. His mouth gives against her, even as he takes her pleasure inch by inch. It is the same surprise she felt when she was first kissed. Lips are pliant and yielding, and when pressed against another set of lips, the resulting touch was more formless and fluid than she expected.

But this–being kissed between her legs, where she can only take and take and take–it is a softness, a gentle that robs her of control. She is wet and hot and his mouth is wet and hot and she is suddenly soft all over. Soft tears on her cheeks, soft sighs, heavy lids over soft focused eyes. 

She tries to utter his name but “Kylo” is too biting, too sharp and jagged. She needs soft, now that she knows it. Now that he’s given it to her and showed her how hard the world is by comparison. She needs–

“Ben–”

The word is gentle enough to name the tenderness of this particular coupling. He’s making love to her and so she says the name given to him in love.

“Ben!”

His tongue is inside her and his lips are pressed to her and she’s evaporating into a fog not unlike what hangs low to the ground in the soft, soft morning. Before she has shattered. Before, she has broken and splintered and cracked. But she’s softer now, he’s softer now and she welcomes this floating sensation.

He hums against her, not giving her even the hard edge of formed words. Even that friction is too honed for what he gave and what she took.

When he moves, when he kisses her shoulder, then her neck, then her lips, his lips are hot and rubbed smooth and slick. Something hard will puncture this moment–either his goodbye or her giving him back the knife-edged name he arrived wearing–but for now, he only touches her lips to lips, soft to soft, and Rey thinks she might have known the Dark Side just as long as Kylo.

Because this feels like the first time she’s known Light.

accidental-rambler  asked:

“I’m in a bookshop and I really need to get that book but I'd rather get on my toes and jump at the shelf and do every single ridiculous thing to reach it than ask for your help, oh wait, you've read that book, let's have an aggressive in-depth discussion about it." for nessian au, pretty please :) (bc height difference and bookworm Nesta are life!)

(they really and truly are. Okay i had a go??) 

Azriel emerges from the backroom with a large box full of new books to put out onto the shelves. He and Cassian had agreed to watch Amren’s book store for a few hours while she ‘did things’, which was all the information either of them had gotten on the matter. Az doesn’t mind, he enjoys working in the shop. Cassian sets up at the front of house and talks to the customers and deals with that side of things, leaving him free to sort out the backroom which, inevitably, is always a mess. 

Glancing over at his brother as he begins to set up the display at the front of the till he notes the way he’s standing. Both elbows are braced on the desk in front of him, his chin propped on his hands, gazing across the room with unwavering focus. 

Azriel spots the girl who’s become the unfortunate object of Cassian’s attention and frowns. A few years younger than them, by the looks of it, petite, brown hair that turns golden when the light hits in the right way, a neat dress on. Pretty, he supposes, but not worth the intense focus Cassian is levelling her way.

“You’re staring,” he says pointedly, hoping this will direct Cass’ attention elsewhere. 

It doesn’t. He only gets an irritable wave of one of Cassian’s massive hands, he doesn’t even turn to look at him as he does so. “It’s a slow day,” he says, as though this explains anything, “She’s very entertaining.” 

Frowning, Az sets down his box and pads noiselessly over to the counter for a better look at the woman. She seems to have her eyes on one of the books on the top shelf but, coming in at just a little over five feet, she’s having some difficulty getting the one she wants. 

Az sighs, “Why don’t you go over there and help her?” he suggests, shaking his head. 

Cassian turns to him with a look on his face that implies he’s just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard in his entire life. “But this is much more fun,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. 

“She’s going to hurt herself,” Az says, casting a wary eye over her again, fearing for the straining muscles in her shoulders as she reaches for the book again. 

He makes to slide out from behind the counter but Cassian grabs his wrist. “We’re right here,” he says, that annoying smirk firmly back in place, “She can ask us for help any time she wants. You know Amren’s policy is not to bother the customers.” 

Azriel glowers, “I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to have to send a customer to hospital because you miraculously decided to start following the rules,” he comments drily. 

Cassian irritably flaps his hands again in a shushing motion, then gestures back towards the woman, now apparently looking around for something to stand on. Cassian slaps a ten pound note down on the table, “I give her five minutes before she’s over here begging for one of us to help her get her book.” 

Azriel eyes her again with an appraising look, then rummages in his own pocket and pulls out a ten pound note of his own, far less creased than Cassian’s and lays it neatly on top, “Not a chance,” he says simply. 

As predicted, Azriel is correct. Five minutes later he scoops up the money, Cassian grumbling irritably with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and the woman is still doing everything she can think of save simply asking for their help. When she gets to the stage of piling books out of her bag on top of one another to reach the shelf above, however, Azriel nudges Cassian in the ribs and orders him to go and help her. Now. 

Huffing, and throwing Az a vulgar gesture over his shoulder, Cassian moves towards her. 

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” Is how Cass chooses to open proceedings and Az groans, shaking his head. He resists burying his face in his hands only because he wants to fix this moment perfectly in his memory for the rest of his life. 

The woman gives him a truly withering glare that would have caused any man save Cassian to shrivel before it and then replies with forced, terse politeness that no, she does not need help from some overlarge, hulking busybody, thank you very much. 

Azriel’s eyebrows raise in approval even as he watches his brother cock his head at her, sizing her up, a new worthy opponent to distract him from the slow day they’re having. “By all means, knock yourself out, sweetheart,” he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping back to watch her struggle, smirking. 

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps at him, eyebrows narrowing. 

“Well if I knew your name, I wouldn’t have to resort to it…Sweetheart,” he replies with a casual smirk, laying a delicate emphasis on the petname. Azriel is thinking he should have started another bet before Cass left him, namely on how long he could pull this shit with her without having his head ripped off, which she looks altogether too capable of doing. 

She isn’t forthcoming with her name, she only turns away from him, as though he isn’t worth the breath it would take to spit out a scathing reply, and turns back to the bookshelf with renewed determination. 

Cassian simply watches as she climbs onto her teetering pile of books, reaches, stretches, jumps, snarls, and mutters a string of highly amusing curses that Azriel has never heard before in her attempts to reach the book. 

When, however, she actually starts climbing on the shelves in her bid to grab the damn thing however, Cassian starts forwards in alarm. Not a moment too soon, either, as a second later her foot slips and with a gasp she topples from the shelf, right into Cassian’s waiting arms. 

He sets her gently on her feet, looking a little shellshocked and she manages to grit out a stiff, “Thank you,” not looking at him. Before she can attempt any more dramatics in the pursuit of fine literature, Cass reaches up and tugs a copy of the book down, pressing it into her arms. 

Amazingly, she opens her mouth to snap at him but he cuts her off firmly, “You have good taste, sweetheart,” picking up her pile of books he carries them towards the counter, “Why don’t you go home and read it rather than ending up in hospital trying, okay?” 

She glowers at him but salvages her pride, lifts her chin, and marches towards Azriel. Cassian trails her like a lost puppy, watching her now with hungry eyes. He elbows Az out of the way to ring her up himself, studying the book she’d picked, “Let me know what you think of it when you’re done,” he says, “It’s a good read.” 

“I’ve already read it,” she says coolly, digging in her bag for her purse, having replaced the pile of books she’d attempted to use earlier as a footstool. Then she looks up at Cassian, eyes slightly narrowed, “You’ve read it too?” 

He grins almost wickedly, leaning casually against the counter, “Of course I have,” he smirks. When she further narrows her eyes, as though she doesn’t believe him, he launches into a debate about one of his favourite characters who was brutally killed off far too early, in his opinion. 

She fires up at once in response to this, seeing red and ranting at him about how necessary that death was, how it had to happen, how the story would have been flat and meaningless without it. After fifteen minutes of hot bickering back and forth, neither of them stopping long enough to breathe in between bouts, she catches sight of the clock behind the counter and jumps, blushing faintly. 

“I have to go,” she mumbles, pulling the book off of the counter and stuffing it into her bag. 

Daringly, in Az’s opinion, Cassian reaches across the table and takes her hand, staring straight into this beautiful blue-gray eyes, “I’m free at five,” he offers quietly, “There’s a nice little coffee shop just down the street we could continue this in.” Azriel isn’t sure if she catches it, but he can hear the hopeful note in his brother’s voice. 

She stares at him for a long moment, weighing, considering, then, “My name is Nesta,” is all she says, before turning and heading towards the door. 

The smile that spreads across Cassian’s face in answer might have implied that he’d just won the lottery, rather than potentially secured a date with a woman who seems just as likely to devour him as to get on with him. Az just claps him on the shoulder in a universal gesture that implies he’s going to need a lot of luck to get through this, then shuffles back down into the storeroom, leaving Cassian standing at the till and grinning from ear to ear. 

thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:

Newt has a big crush on Graves pass it on

Newton Artemis Fido Scamander most certainly did not have a crush on one Percival Graves, the Director of Magical Security - until he did, that is.

Newt hadn’t had a crush on anyone for years, in fact, until a good three months after the Grindelwald incident. A good three months after they found Graves. Newt had been brought in to consult on a trafficking ring that broke out during the chaos of cleaning up Grindelwald’s mess and MACUSA had instantly asked for his return. He had come back, knowing he’d probably end up meeting the man behind the face that Grindelwald had stolen -

Only to find out he was on sick leave, re-cooperating from the trauma of being held prisoner. What trauma specifically, be it psychological or physically, no one could say. Nor could they say how long he’d be gone.

So imagine Newt’s surprise when he’s knee deep in a raid - spells flying, creatures howling from their cages and panicking, lashing out through the bars and suddenly, he appears. He spots Graves entering the chamber from across the chaos and for a heart stopping second, Newt can’t move. His face is so familiar, and every moment he blinks, he can see Grindelwald’s exasperated expression as he sentenced him to death. But every time he opens his eyes, he see Percival Graves. And while the face is the same, nothing else is.

Grindelwald had moved like a peacock, strutting his power and the richness of Graves’ body like a man flaunting a pricey car. Graves moved like a panther; smooth, steadfast, assured of his capabilities but also cautious enough to know that didn’t ensure a painless fight. His eyes were deep and focused. He scanned the chaos at hand with a sheer, calm calculation that set Newt at ease. 

And when he announced his entrance finally to the group at large, it was not flashy or wasteful. He bound and gagged three criminals before the rest even realized he was attacking them at all. 

He attacked not just for himself, but for his flock. He cast spells that assisted those aurors that were struggling the most first - the outnumbered or exhausted or wounded. And once assured of their safety, then moved onto the rest. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t try to eliminate everyone on his own, although Newt had a small inkling that he could. Instead, he worked with his aurors. He attacked just as much as he defended, moving slow and precisely. It wasn’t a race, after all. The safety of his team was most important.

And so while it was a sluggish fight, it was predominantly a success, with minimal injuries occurring after the fact.

“Well done,” he said, his voice rough like whiskey and warming Newt’s chest just the same. Newt watched as he clapped a strong hand onto Abernathy’s shoulder and squeezed, encouraging, before turning to the room at large. “Everyone, begin transporting these men to headquarters. We’ve a long night of paperwork ahead of us.”

“Yes!”

“Of course, sir!”

“Right away!”

And then Graves turned to look at him.

Mr. Scamander, yes? I was informed you were assisting with this case. Are you alright?” Graves asked, approaching him all the while, and Newt couldn’t help but feel pinned beneath the wolfish focus of those eyes. He swallowed, about the speak, when Graves’ gaze slid suddenly over Newt’s shoulder. 

He received no more notice than that. Suddenly, Graves was in front of him, shoving him aside. Newt stumbled into a nearby table, off balance, then whirled to take in what had set Graves off. 

A nundu stood where Newt had once stood, blood on it’s claws. Were it not for the cruel muzzle the criminals had placed upon the creature’s snout, Graves would probably have been struck dead by the creature’s poisons. Newt, too. 

Graves had managed to back away somewhat, but Newt could see where the nundu had struck him - sleeve torn and muddled red at the forearm. Graves had both his hands out, both making him seem large while also giving the nundu sight of both his hands and what they were doing. 

Newt rose to his feet quickly, mouth open to direct Graves, when the man then turned his open palms to him and shook his head - shushing him with his eyes. It was then he realized the man must have already warned back his aurors, too, because they were frozen in a semi-ring around him, wands drawn but frozen as they watched.

The nundu was growling, it’s huge throat swollen in angry and its thorny mane bristling. Newt felt his heart constrict, torn between directing Graves regardless of the man’s request for silence and telling him not to harm the nundu.

But neither predator attacked, nor seemed to attend to - both just staring each other down. It was then, Newt realized, that Graves was gently easing a wandless spell through the air between them. It sunk into the creature gradually, easing it into a calm stupor incrementally instead of all at once lest the spell panic the beast. Newt watched, wide-eyed, as the director calmly eased the creature to the ground - falling into a kneel in time with the moment that the creature laid down, keeping eye contact until it was finally fully slack, eyes closed, restful and at peace. 

“Sir, that was amazing,” one of the aurors whispered, awed. 

“Yes it was,” Newt whispered.

Graves leaned forward, hands searching out the crevices of the muzzle, frowning as though displeased as Newt approached. The man looked up at him once before leaning back on his haunches and turning his attention back to the beast.

“My apologies, Mr. Scamander. I am well aware of your expertise, but I did not think warning you would give you enough time to react - I hope I did not hurt you.”

“N-no, I’m quite alright. You… Thank you for not harming him. Another man might have killed him without another thought if they were staring down a nundu.”

“It’s not the creature’s fault he’s here. A spell must have shattered the door to his cage. Spooked him. We got too close and he was acting on instinct. He didn’t advance any further after the initial swipe - he didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Graves said, eyes on the creature as he spoke. “Can hardly fault him for trying to protect himself. Far from home, surrounded by hostile people and then exposed to the fight that just happened. And then he was muzzled. I don’t strike a man if I have a knife and he doesn’t. Goes the same for creatures. Just doesn’t seem right.”

Newt blinked, stock-still in the face of the last words he had expected to hear.

“I wish we could loosen this,” Graves said, fingers trailing over the places where the muzzle bit cruelly into the creature’s jaws, “But until he’s somewhere more managable, I don’t think that’s an option - for all of our sake’s, his included. I apologize though, Mr. Scamander. I know you’re likely not comfortable with that.”

Newt jerked, shook himself of his daze and said, “N-No, not at all. You’re right, it’s best for all of us, the nundu included, until I can get him somewhere safe.”

And when Graves rose to his feet, they were suddenly so close. Newt felt his breath hitch. He watched as Graves ran a hand over his wound, sewing the ragged mess shut, before looking ever so slightly up to look at Newt.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Mr. Scamander?” Graves asked. “You look a little shell shocked.”

Newt nodded quickly, too quickly to be smooth.

“Good. We should start noting and moving these creatures somewhere safe, then. I’d be happy to lend you a hand, if you need the assistance,” Graves said, clapping Newt on the back as he had done the aurors. “The faster we get them somewhere more like home, the better - right?”

And when Graves smiled at him, Newt felt his breath catch in his lungs. Oh no, he thought. He’s perfect.

@lumenlight prompted me, “Sterek AU where Stiles tries to seduce Derek but Derek has the habit of only dating older people (Jennifer, Kate …). So he says no to Stiles and Stiles is really disappointed but by chance he keeps seeing Derek and with time Derek realizes that he may have made a mistake?”

Hope you like it!! 

~4000 words, rated M. (I don’t usually write smut, but I felt like this was that kind of prompt.)

on ao3

Stiles usually doesn’t venture as far out of town as the Preserve—there’s not much out here but trees—but today that’s kind of the point. If he’s going to start up a jogging regimen to prep for lacrosse in the fall, he’s sure as hell not going to do it in his own neighborhood, where all his neighbors can (and will) watch him flailing around looking stupid.

He doesn’t actually end up jogging at all, though, because before he finds the trail he’d marked on his map, his Jeep abruptly sputters and dies on him right in the middle of the road. That’s also about when it starts raining.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles groans, hitting his head on the steering wheel a few times.

He pulls out his phone to call someone—his dad, a tow truck, Scott—and there’s no signal. Right. Because he wanted isolated, and he got it.

There’s no sound at all except the drumming of the rain on the roof of the Jeep, coming down harder and harder, taunting him for being such a fucking idiot.

He thinks about waiting it out, but who knows how long that could take, and if he doesn’t make it back home in time for dinner or at least get somewhere where he can make a phone call, then his dad is probably going to think he got eaten by a mountain lion or something.

“Fuck it,” he mutters. He pockets his phone and keys, grits his teeth, and jumps out into the downpour.

*

He has to walk for about twenty minutes before he finds any sign of civilization. It’s a house, or at least part of one. It’s tucked away down a long dirt driveway on the edge of the Preserve and looks sketchy as hell. It’s been burned, badly, and even though it looks like maybe someone’s been fixing it up, it’s still not exactly what Stiles would call habitable. Part of the charred roof is caved in, and most of the windows on the second floor are shattered, their jagged glass gleaming ominously in the dim light and the rain.

Stiles would assume it’s abandoned, except that there’s a shiny black Camaro parked out front. That at least looks well cared for.

It’s that detail, plus the rather compelling fact that this is probably the only house for at least a mile and Stiles can feel his feet starting to rub raw in his wet tennis shoes, that finally gives him the courage he needs to squelch his way through the mud and onto the porch to knock on the door.

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ajspammin  asked:

Cafe au where Shiro doesn't really go to this cafe at and then Lance starts working there. Shiro becomes a regular just so he can talk to Lance because wow this guy is cute. One day, Lance just oh so casually writes his number on the cup because this guy has been flirting with him for weeks now, why not give him a way to flirt when he's not working? When Shiro notices it and looks at Lance, Lance just winks at him before going back to working. Shiro is a hyped boy.

this isn’t exaclty the prompt but it kind of ran away from me oops….


Shiro blinked, sleeping still clouding his vision. God, he didn’t even like coffee, but there was no way he was going to survive his 7 am exam after pulling an all-nighter without at least some caffeine flooding his system.

The line moved forward, and yes, finally, it was Shiro’s turn to order.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Chirped a voice that was far too enthusiastic for the morning. Shiro looked up, his eyes finally focusing, and wow this guy was cute. Bright blue eyes crinkled at the ends thanks to the large smile plastered on his face. His tan skin looked soft to the touch, and oh how Shiro wanted to touch it. His brown hair was messy, covered by the ridiculous baseball cap with the company logo the employees were required to wear. “Um?”

Shiro shook his head, eyeing the other man’s nametag, “Hi, sorry, a large caramel macchiato?”

Lance giggled, grabbing a cup. “Name?”

“Shiro.”

The barista nodded and copied the name down, rattling off the price while he did so. Shiro handed him two dollars and murmured for him to “keep the change.”

Shiro went to the other side of the bar and waited for his coffee, his head in his hands. He should have flirted. Then again, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep and was about to take an exam. He could just come back tomorrow, right?


Shiro went back two days later, finally having caught up on sleep, and ready to flirt, but the coffee shop was busy, and didn’t want to bother Lance when he was busy.

And so, a pattern formed. Shiro went to the coffee shop twice a week before his early class. Always, Lance was either too busy, or Shiro was too tired to flirt properly, although he had managed to slip in some flirtatious lines here and there, always making the other man blush briefly.

But the finally, one blessed day, Shiro finally had the opportunity and wit to impress Lance. He sauntered into the café, strode right up to the counter, where there had luckily been no line, and said, “I like my coffee how I like my men: hot and tan.”

Lance blinked, comprehending what Shiro had just said. A heartbeat passed, then another, then Lance tilted his head back and laughed, long and loud, drawing the attention from the other employees behind the counter making coffee.

“Oh, man. You’ve been here for weeks, and that’s the first non-coffee related thing you say to me?” He laughed.

Shiro blushed, “Uh, um, yes?” Oh god, how could he have been so stupid. Lance was probably not into guys, especially ones that hit on him while he’s working. He was so embarrassed. “Okay, sorry, nevermind. Just give me a medium caramel macchiato, please,” Shiro flung a few dollars onto the counter and bolted from the other man’s laughter.

Shiro sat down at a table and buried his head in his hands, mortified. He replayed the interaction in his head for the next few minutes until he heard the chair across from him move.

“I prefer my men like hazelnut coffee, personally,” Lance’s voice came from across the table, “strong and a little bit nutty.”

Shiro looked up to see the other man smiling shyly at him, holding a to-go cup for Shiro. Shiro blinked a few times, sure his eyes were playing tricks.

“I didn’t mind that though, but you may need to work on your delivery a bit. You can try again next time if you’d like?” Lance held out the coffee. Shiro took it, still silent in shock.

With one last smile, Lance went back to work, and Shiro pulled himself away from the table and headed to class. He looked down at the cup, ready to take a sip and saw black marks written on the cup.

I like the way you espresso yourself ;)
Call me sometime? xxx-xxx-xxxx
-Lance

anonymous asked:

Soulmate AU Prompt

I’m kind of a sucker for the soulmate AU where color starts to become more vibrant when soulmates meet and fall for each other!

I hope you like this :)

Vivid

Rating: G

Words: 830

Fandom: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Relationship: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Colors, Color Blindness, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Canon Compliant

Also on AO3!


The first time Yuuri saw blue, it was when he unrolled his very first poster of Victor.

He’d saved up for it with his allowance, and as he unfurled the roll, he was met by those aqua—is this what water looks like?—eyes. Startling: a hue he hadn’t seen before.

That confirmed it: Victor really was special.

Yuuri doesn’t learn until later that color is more than murky reds, yellows, and greens, and that seeing new colors all of the sudden is a little bit of a miracle. A soulmate kind of a miracle.

He doesn’t know why. He loves Victor’s skating, and he’s been starting to recognize more blue, but he and Victor? Soulmates? That’s impossible.

Victor is worlds above him. There’s no way.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to climb up and see for himself.

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