standing on the edge of noise

Jerome x reader smut
Word Count: 3501 
Warnings: masturbation, oral, sex, language, breath play, areas of dub/non con for touching, reader is definitely a murderer, threats galore.

I’m hungry for a fix. I’m hungry for the pace of the thrill and chase.

Your first night in Arkham. Still confused, still on edge at the idea of being surrounded by murderers. It’s his hands drifting over the skin of your ankles pulls you from sleep. A scream starts to build in your throat at the sight of him standing above you, but before you can even open your mouth, Jerome is chuckling.

“Whatever noise you make, nobody will come.” You stare at him, your heart pounding to the extent that you think your chest is moving with the force. It takes him a second to register your alarm. Jerome hits his forehead, chiding himself, before returning his gaze to you. “Wait. That made me sound crazy, didn’t it? Scratch that. I mean the guards don’t care about screaming murderers. It doesn’t matter either way. If anybody here is going to hurt you, it’s not me.”  

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(Shadows crook their fingers out to her, and she dances on the edge of existence.)

“They’re back again,” Reggie said, arms crossed over his chest as he stared out the window.

Concetta made a strangled noise of exasperation, stomping over to stand beside him. She put her hands on her hips, scowling fiercely. “Really? Don’t they have better things to be doing?”

“Guess not,” Reggie said with a bored voice, his expression blank in a way that she recognized from the ease of long practice— he had already lost interest. Reggie turned away and let the curtains fall back into place, dismissing the mob milling about outside. They had bright torches held in work-calloused hands, and they were using the light to peer through the clearing.

She imagined that they were staring right at her, and shivered. Concetta wished that she could have the same indifferent attitude as her housemate, but even now she could feel the fear creeping up on her.

Once, Jasmin had jokingly said that a person never forgot their first witch hunt. She didn’t know just how right she was. Or maybe she did. Jasmin was different, even among the settlers here.

Reggie’s hand settled lightly on her head, ruffling the short haircut. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

She stared up at him, expression deadpan. “That’s… actually not helpful. That’s almost the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear, congratulations.”

Reggie shrugged, unbothered by the criticism. “What does it even matter? Even if they do manage to get in here, nothing they do will stick. Jasmin made sure of that.”

“I know,” Concetta said, and her mind was flooded with images of flames licking her skirts and shadows peeling themselves off the ground. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.”

(Death is an old family friend, and she laughs when they come for her. Death laughs too, and takes her hand when she offers it. It hurts.)

“I wonder if they really even know,” Concetta said one day, eyeing the angry villagers that had once again begun to circle the mansion. “Are they aware of what this place really is?

“As aware as a bunch of half-blind mortals could be,” Jasmin answered, a bit distractedly. She was concentrating on the bright fabric in her hands, carefully cutting off each of the glittery buttons. “They know that there’s something here, something that raises goosebumps on their arms and blurs at the edge of their vision. But they can’t really see it. They’re only human, after all.”

Jasmin didn’t mean it maliciously, but when she said human like that, so full of pity and careless arrogance, Concetta couldn’t help but shy away.

Concetta wasn’t human, true, but she hadn’t known that for a long time. And though she may have hated many humans, she did not hate humanity. It was hard for many of her companions to say the same. She didn’t blame them, not really. Concetta knew just how hard it was to separate the vicious few from the indifferent majority.

Even she had difficulty with it, sometimes.

(Come to us, they whisper. Come to us, and never be lonely again.)

The morning was crisp and cool. Reggie had gone to bed a little under an hour ago, the door to his basement room shut tight in order to prevent any light from leaking in.

Concetta had no idea where Jasmin was. The older woman had likely wandered off into the forest somewhere. She might not return for several more hours— or weeks, depending on how long her good mood lasted.

Concetta was used to the silence, the distinct absence of any other living beings. Jasmin and Reggie were the only other permanent residents besides her, and they were both drifters, content to follow the wind and listen to the stories it had to give them.

She couldn’t speak with the wind. She had tried, once, but gave up almost immediately when the only answer she was given was the furious roaring of a hurricane in her ears.

Concetta wasn’t meant to speak with the wind. She wasn’t whimsical and blunt like Jasmine, or relentless and steady like Reggie. While the two of them weren’t exactly soft people, they carried a gentleness in their souls and hearts that broke themselves over and over again simply so that someone else could have a piece of it.

A witch-child is not soft or gentle; they are harsh and unforgiving and dance with fire nipping at their heels.

“I, uh, heard this place was safe,” the man said, an almost sheepish expression on his face. He avoided looking her in the eye, keeping his gaze fixed on somewhere over her right shoulder instead. “My name is William. Is it okay if I, uh, stay here?”

Concetta could do nothing but nod in agreement, pulling the door open fully to allow him inside. Just as Jasmin had done for her, that rainy night so many years ago.

(The shadows dance, they rip and chew up the earth with their long claws, and she is running running running—)

“And here is your room,” Concetta gestured towards one of the empty guest rooms, hoping that the Dryad who had stayed in there last had remembered to clear away any plant growth before she left.

“Uh, thanks,” William said, still looking slightly to the right of where she was actually standing. “Is there anything I should know about this place before I get settled in?”

Concetta thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “Nothing that I can teach you.”

“U-uh, wait…” William stammered, clearly even more nervous than before. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Concetta blinked, a bit unsure of what all the fuss was about. “There are a great many things in this place that even I cannot explain. It would be best for you to discover them yourself. That is why you’re here, right? Though I have to say, I’m a bit impressed. I’ve never seen a human manage to get this far before.”

“Oh, thank you—” William began, face flushing pleasantly at the praise, before he dramatically paled. “Wait, you know—”

“I know lots of things,” Concetta said amusedly, already turning to walk away. “Perhaps, at the end of this little venture, you will too. Have a wonderful stay, Mr. William.”

Behind her, she could hear him gulp. She felt a little bad for tormenting him, but not enough to actually stop. After all, she recognized this man.

The vicious few and the indifferent majority.

Weren’t both of them at fault, in the end?

(“Help me!” she cries, not to the shadows but to the people, the people who watch her with wide, pitying eyes. “Help me!

The people don’t answer, but the shadows do.)


Second one of the night, woohoo! I’m so tired, what the hell. Anyways, this is a fun one too! I definitely enjoyed writing it, so I’m satisfied! Another Caffeine Challenge, and they seem to get better every time. Cheers!!

A funky stim of mine...

Do any of my fellow autistic folks stim by rubbing your molars against each other? 

I don’t mean tooth grinding so hard it makes squeaky noises– I can’t stand that sensation anyway. It’s more like I let the edges of my upper and lower molars touch gently and then move my jaw so they rub smoothly over each other. I might do forwards / backwards, side to side and in small circles. The most noise it makes is faint clicks because it’s two hard surfaces touching. 

It’s almost unnoticeable from the outside. You might see my jaw muscles flex and that’s it. It’s one of my “all purpose” stims, so it can happen anytime, anywhere.

So, anyone else do this?

Standing, staring, waiting.
Closed, noises come from behind.
Who’s in there? Who?
The Blue door.

Wondering, wishing, wanting.
Locked, still sounds pass through.
My curiosity not quenched.
The Blue door.

On the stoop, on my toes, on edge.
I know, I feel you’re behind there.
Why are you so reclusive?
The Blue door.

Wait, what is that, is it opening?
Sadly no, it was just a stranger passing.
While I sat and waited by…
The Blue door.


“It’s still snowing.”

John doesn’t bother to look up from the book he’s reading.  “Well spotted.”

Sherlock makes an irritated noise from where he’s standing in front of the window, violin held limply at his side.  “Why is it still snowing?”

“Dunno,” John says, reaching for his tea.  “Phone Mycroft, ask him.  If anyone could control the weather it’s probably him.”

“Ha ha very funny.”

John smiles around the rim of his mug.  It was, in fact, still snowing, just as it had been for the past two days.  The edges of the windows are steadily filling up, fluffy white flakes forming small, peaked mountains.  It’s actually been a rather peaceful couple of days, to be honest.  There’s been time for talking, for reading, for dozing by the fire crackling in the grate, for a couple of lazy morning shags.  But peaceful isn’t something that’s known to last very long in Baker Street.  In fact, “peaceful” is usually a precursor to Sherlock blowing up the toaster.

“Stop that.”

John looks up this time to find Sherlock has turned around and is glaring at him.  “Stop what?”


John quirks an eyebrow.  “Is that supposed to be an order?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes.  “It’s boring, and I’m bored, and you’re not helping.”

John considers him for a moment.  Sherlock’s hair is in disarray, and his bathrobe is falling from one shoulder, and his bare feet tap angry little notes against the carpet.  His eyes have slitted back into their glare, and he’s aiming it at John as if he can control him just by staring long enough.  Ignoring the fact that he apparently can, John closes his book and sets it aside.  It seems blowing things up isn’t on Sherlock’s agenda today.

“You know, you don’t have to do that,” he says, making his voice as gentle as he can.

Sherlock’s feet go still.  “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re irritated with me.”

“I am irritated with you.”

John stands up.  “No, you’re irritated with yourself because you don’t know how to ask for what you want.”

The tense line of Sherlock’s shoulders tightens further.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

John gives him his best ‘you’re not fooling me for a minute’ look and walks over to where Sherlock is standing.  Sherlock stays still, and his eyes fall to where John’s hand slips into his own, their fingers intertwining.

“Stop being so difficult, you twit,” John says fondly, pulling him a bit closer.

Sherlock swallows.  “You wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t difficult.”

Love you,” John corrects, and Sherlock’s cheeks go pink as if it isn’t the hundredth time John has said it in the past few weeks, as if just that morning he hadn’t pressed the same hand he’s holding now back against the sheets as Sherlock gasped beneath him.

“Yes.  That,” Sherlock says, not meeting John’s eyes, and it’s a little bit heartbreaking, that.  So John presses up onto his toes and kisses him, soft but meaningful.

Sherlock is better with physical affection than he is with words, and he falls easily into the kiss, his hands sliding up to cup John’s face.  It’s still new.  John is still learning the shape of Sherlock’s mouth, the planes of his body, and, most importantly, the inner workings of his heart.  But John has experience with those things whereas Sherlock does not, and so John finds himself teaching his genius when he least expects it.

“Tell me what you want,” John says against his mouth, his hands sliding soothingly up and down Sherlock’s back, the silk of his dressing gown catching in his fingers.  “That’s how this works, remember?  Talk to me.”

Sherlock takes a shuddering breath and presses his forehead to John’s.  “You’ll think I’m ridiculous.”

John laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth.  “That ship sailed long ago, love.”

Sherlock pulls back and tries to glare again, but it falls flat, and he’s immediately back to looking endearingly anxious.  He clears his throat.  “I want you to sit on the sofa, and I want to put my head in your lap, and I want you to play with my hair.”  He pauses before tacking on a “Please.”

John has to press his lips together to keep from grinning.  “Is that all?”

Sherlock thinks for a moment.  “Yes.  You can read if you like.  While you’re doing it.”

“So what you’re saying is you want a cuddle?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes again.  “Don’t be tedious.”

John doesn’t hold his grin back this time, and he can’t stop himself from kissing Sherlock until the frown on his lips is well and truly forgotten.

“Cuddles are never tedious,” he says when he finally pulls back.

Sherlock looks a bit dazed, his lips kiss-swollen and his hair even more unruly than before.  “I think.  I think we should test that theory.”

John laughs, and they do exactly that.  John spends a lovely, relaxing hour with Sherlock’s head in his lap, his fingers pulling through those dark curls, scratching lightly at his scalp, pressing gently into the fragile bones of his skull. And Sherlock decides, firstly, that more experiments on the matter will have to be done, and, secondly, that perhaps cuddles with John are, in fact, never tedious.

Written for @lunalovegouda.  :)

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Ash needs Ash, nobody else. She’s known that for a while. She doesn’t need her distanced parents, she doesn’t need stupid Lance and she doesn’t need the theatre that has just flooded.

But staring at the old building, she felt…sad, maybe? She was starting to enjoy the place, its history and culture. But it cracked and splintered, dust escaping from the edges before the entire structure came down.

Despite her large attitude, Ash knew she was small. She was about a third of the size of Johnny standing next to her; outside of Mike (where did he go?), she was the smallest one in the competition. So when the very large building started to go, very small Ash didn’t know what to do.

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Hannibal: Top Five Moments I Went Holy Shit

–Inspired by existingcharactersdiehorribly gifset.  

  1. The cliff scene! They just murdered Francis, and they are standing close to the edge. I’m thinking oh no they are going to fall, nah Bryan would never do that…. and then they fall. I made dying animal noises.
  2. So the ending of Mizumono is pretty much one hell of a holy shit moment, but this scene had me sobbing the most. We find out Abigail is alive, only to have Hannibal slit her throat!!! 
  3. Bedelia fucking Du Maurier!!! We just saw everyone get slaughtered at Hanni’s, then Bedelia is on the plane fleeing the country with him…. what is going on? 
  4. “Is your social worker in that horse?” Epic… even Hanni was disgusted/ shocked when the social worker came crawling out. 
  5. Will Graham “killing” Freddie Lounds. When we first saw this scene we had no idea it was an act, and I was in shock that Mr. Will “Puppy” Graham went there.
The Other (Bucky x Reader) Part 3

Summary: Being a mutant with abilities is difficult enough, without having all this soulmate business to deal with in addition. Y/N meets hers in the least expectant place, but isn’t necessarily as thrilled as he’d hoped. However, a drastic turn of events require them to go to desperate measures to preserve what little they have.

Author’s Note: I do realise that this series hasn’t been very eventful so far, but I’d recommend to get on the wagon right now cos some exciting shit is gonna go down later on. 

Chapter List


Part Three

Five minutes later you had reached the correct grid, and you carefully pushed the grid down. Luckily, it didn’t make a noise. This entire ‘mission’ was only a string of coincidences that just happened to be in your favour. It was a very risky job, but it was the only one you could get. Well, for now.

“Cut the camera,” you breathed, and he sighed. You grabbed the edge of the vent and lowered yourself down silently, so as not to disturb the security guard who was standing almost two metres away. You started swinging yourself back and forth, before finally wrapping your legs around the man’s neck. You squeezed, and he slowly fell onto the ground with a thud.

You looked around at the safes around the room, counting the numbers that were stamped upon them.  You found the files you were looking for and fished a few wires out of your hoodie. You were about to stick them to the safe door, when the voice from the comm stopped you.  

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Better Together (Star Lord Reader Insert)

Sorry this took so long to come out but I’ve been really busy lately BUT HERE IT IS! ENJOY!


The time frame was fuzzy, probably between midnight and the early hours of the morning. Large rumbling sounds came from a somewhere else in the ship. You lied awake in your bunk, trying to ignore the noise and fall back asleep. Putting a pillow over your head, pulling your blanket up, and covering your ears with your hands are all the methods you attempted to block out the persistent sounds. Eventually, you gave up and swung your legs over the edge of your bunk.

Standing up, you stretched, yawned, and wiped the sleep out of your eyes. Releasing your hair out of its tight bun, you let it fall down your back and scratched your head. Sweeping you locks to one side, you actually started moving. You were only in a t-shirt and your panties but you didn’t care; the noise needed to stop. The ships’ floor was cold under your bare feet but the air above it was warm like a blanket. Your ears picked up the sound and you followed the noise throughout the ship.

You’d bump into a couple of things on the way; doors, tables, monitors. But you ears eventually guided you the the captains bunk. The closer you got, the more clear the racket became: it was groans and soft whines. Opening the door to the bunk itself, you noticed that Peter was tossing and turning, his sheets all disheveled from the movement. Walking around the side of his bed, you placed your hands on one of his arms and shook him. He moaned louder, still not waking up. In fact, he only became more agitated.

“Peter… Peter… Peter…” you called. You raised your voice a little more each time you called his name, shaking him harder and harder. Your stomach knotted a little, feeling worried for him. He must have really been having a bad dream, for he was getting even louder than before. His eyebrows were tightly knit and his eyes screwed shut as if he were in pain.

“Peter!” You grabbed his face, holding it gently but surely. His skin was damp from the sweating. You had to call his name 3 more times and shake him roughly before he actually woke up.

Inhaling sharply, his eyes shot open. Still holding his face, you noticed his breathing was still uneven. He looked at you, his face blanker than a sheet of paper.

“Shh, calm down. You’re okay, you just had a nightmare,” you spoke softly. Letting go of his face, he sat upright. His chest was still heaving and you hushed him, rubbing his arm gently.

Once Peter’s breathing returned to normal, he was still quiet. It was weird seeing him like this. Usually he couldn’t keep his mouth shut but now he was stone silent. You pulled him into an embrace to which he hugged you back tightly, burying his face in your shoulder like a small child. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with you petting his curly hair soothingly.

“Let me get you some water,” you whispered. He nodded silently and you made your way to the bathroom. Using one of the glasses on the countertop, you switched on the water a held the cup underneath. You yawned as the water filled almost to the brim, quickly shutting it off before it overflowed onto your hand.

As you reentered his bunk, Quill was gazing off into space. You held up the glass to him, having to snap him back into reality and he took it cautiously. His hand had brushed yours and you noticed they were still clammy. After watching him chug the whole glass down, you took it from him and set it down on a nearby table.

“Are you okay?” you asked. Moving back towards him, he nodded silently. You couldn’t think of anything to say, so you just let your mouth run. “Do you wanna talk about it?” You cocked your head to the side and he hesitated, but eventually shook his head no.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You cupped his face in your hands once more and kissed him on the cheek gently. He was still very shaken and didn’t have any reaction at all. You padded across the room to the exit, still feeling concerned for him.

“Can you stay with me?” Peter called after you. It was so unexpected that it took you a little bit to answer. You leaned against the door frame and ran your fingers through your hair, a debate ensuing in your mind.

On one hand, he’d just had a nightmare and, obviously, a bad one. You couldn’t leave him alone or he’d go crazy. But on the other hand, the thought of sleeping with Peter in his bed seemed a little strange. Would you cuddle with him? Would you both be on opposite sides of the bed? Still, you couldn’t just leave him. Whether it’s a 5 year old kid or a Guardian of the Galaxy, no one wants to be alone after a scary nightmare.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to…” Quill said shyly.

“Move over,” you instructed. His eyes lit up a little as he obediently scooted over a tiny bit. You lifted the covers and slid under, the air underneath them warm. Adjusting your pillow, you laid your head down. Turning on your side, you barely had time to close your eyes before Peter piped up.

“Get closer to me,” he demanded. You were too tired to think anything of it, so you slid back until you hit his warm body. He snaked his arm around your waist, feeling his muscles relaxing against your back. He moved your hair out of the way and nuzzled his chin into your neck. The last thing your remember was his light breath against your skin before you completely dozed off.

The next morning, you woke up with Peter knocked out. ‘Good,’ you thought, ‘at least he got some sleep.’ You must’ve switched positions in the night, because he was now laying on his back with your head on his chest. His arm enveloped you and you rested on of yours on his stomach. Yawning unexpectedly and, making a little too much noise, woke him up. He inhaled through his nose and you watched his eyes flutter open, immediately looking down at you.

“Hey,” he said groggily, wiping the sleeping out of his eyes.

“Hi,” you yawned again. “Sorry for waking you up.” He stretched his arms and shrugged.

“Eh, whatever. It’s not a big deal.” He looked down at you and squeezed you a little. “Thanks for staying with me.”

“Eh, whatever. It’s not a big deal,” you mimicked. Peter fake glared at you and you got up, forgetting you were only in your panties and a shirt. But it was too late. His eyes were already widening in surprise and a grin spread across his face.

“Grow up, Quill,” you instructed.

“What? I’m just enjoying the view.” You flipped him off while you exited the bunk, knowing he was staring at your ass the whole time. Even though he was being a dick now, to be honest, it was the best sleep you’d had in a while. You felt refreshed and not even remotely tired for the rest of the day.

Later that night, however, you heard him again. Repeating the night before, you woke him up, got him water, and crawled into bed with him. This went on for a while, with the two of you having these little sleepovers every so often. You’d come to learn that these recurring nightmares were about his mom, as Peter had eventually given in and told you about them. So instead of waiting for the actual nightmares to come, you’d began just going to bed with him almost every night.

It wasn’t romantic at all and, even though neither of you would ever admit it, you slept better together. You’d even figured out a schedule. Peter would have his nights alone a when he brought back women to the ship. But even then, you would feel him slip into your bed after his one-night stands fell asleep.

The others weren’t so accepting of your arrangement. Gamora would comment on how it’s not right, especially with someone like Quill. Drax said the two people who sleep together in the same bed almost every night can’t be “just friends”. Unsurprisingly, Rocket was constantly betting that the two of you were having crazy sex and that this whole thing was just a cover up. And the only words that ever came out of Groot’s mouth was “I am Groot”. You just ignored all of them. ‘What was the big deal? It’s just two FRIENDS that help each other get a little sleep.’ But you couldn’t help feeling possessive of Peter whenever he brought his affairs back to the ship. Even he would get a huge attitude with you when you brought your own heavy dates home. He wouldn’t talk to you for a whole day but then when night came around, he’d get under the covers with you and hold you even tighter than usual.

One time, after a night of drinking and dancing at the nearest bar, you and this guy named Dylan were making out in your bunk. About 30 minutes before, he had bought you a drink, made you almost pee laughing, and sweet talked his way back to your place. Now, you lied underneath him, lips locked. His shirt and your blouse were on the floor beside the bed. Running your fingers through his light brown hair, he started unbuckling his belt. That’s when you heard Peter clearing his throat, leaning against the door frame. He looked upset, but you didn’t care.

“Jesus Christ, Peter. Get out!” you cried. Even though you bra was still on, your hands covered your chest. Peter threw his head back, letting out a deep and sinister laugh.

“Are you serious? You’ve gone to bed with me in nothing but your panties for how many nights now?”

“What?” Dylan interjected.

“No, it’s not what it sounds like,” you tried, turning towards Dylan. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“It’s actually exactly what it sounds like,” Peter interrupted again.

“Can I talk to you in private?” you said, anger clear in your tone.

“Sure,” Peter said, smiling innocently.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Dylan, kissing him before getting up. You saw Peter roll his eyes and you dragged him by his arm into the hall. You shut the door behind you, crossed your arms under your chest, and taped your foot on the ground. He looked right back at you, unafraid. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied coolly.

“Peter, enough already. What is this about?”

“Look, we have our arrangement and DoucheFace in there is messing it up. I mean c’mon, wouldn’t you rather be with me?” You had a feeling he wasn’t talking about going to sleep anymore. However, your blood was still boiling.

“That is not fair! You can bring home someone anytime you like but when I do, you either get all pissy at me or you scare them off! What is your problem?!”

“Will you excuse me?” Peter moved around you. Before you could protest further he walked back into your bunk, gathering Dylan’s shoes, jacket, and shirt and shoving the pile in his arms. “Sorry to have you leave so soon, but she’s got other stuff to do,” Peter explained to your lover.

“Who the hell is this guy?!” Dylan called to you. Peter cut you off before you had time to answer.

“Sorry to have you leave so soon, but we’re gonna be too busying doing something else that I don’t have the energy to make up an excuse for.” Quill was now guiding Dylan towards the ships’ exit, holding him by his shoulders roughly. You eventually followed them but, by time you’d caught up, Peter was already shoving Dylan out the door and explaining how you won’t be calling him. He slammed the door shut and pushed past you, heading towards your bunk. You called after him several times, but again, he ignored you. Once both of you were in your bunk, he began removing his clothes.

“No way, uh uh, nope. You are not sleeping in here after that!” But he was already lying in your bed in his regular old t-shirt and boxers. Striding over next to the bed, you crossed your arms again and shot him a look. “Go,” you pointed towards the door. Peter sat up and placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer.

“Aww, are you mad because what’s-his-face didn’t fuck you?” he questioned. ‘What the hell?!’ You scoffed, feeling your jaw fall open. Quill stood up, his hands still heavy on your hips. He leaned down to kiss your neck and led a trail all the way up to your ear, nibbling on your lobe. You body heat shot to 1000 degrees, yet goosebumps still raised on your skin.

“How about I do it instead?” he spoke in a low, lustful tone. Your heart rate picked up as his soft lips finally collided with yours. His fingers hooked into the hem of your skirt and you cupped his face in your hands. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. Peter then pulled you down towards the bed, with him sitting on the edge and you in his lap. You balled your fists in the bottom of his shirt, ripping it off. He tore off your own shirt, breaking a few buttons in the process.

Your mind was totally clouded. What was happening still hadn’t fully set in, but it felt right for some reason. Maybe it was because you were so turned on. Or maybe you did have feelings for Quill. Either way, you went along with it.

Feeling his fingers unzip your skirt, you heard it fall to the floor with a soft thud. You let go of his face and placed your hands on his strong chest, shoving him down against the bed. Unhooking your bra and exposing your breasts, his eyes fogged up. You rocked yourself back and forth on his lap, feeling his erection growing. Leaning down, you gave him the same treatment you got. Except this time, you began sucking and biting.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” Peter moaned. You laughed a little and continued. He hooked his fingers in the hem of your underwear and slid them down your thighs. Then he rolled on top of you and removed his own undergarments. Both of you were exposed, no going back now.

You spread your legs, allowing him access to your intimate area. He stuck himself inside you and you felt your body become taut. Your toes curled as you inhaled slowly. His rhythm started and you bit your lip softly. His mouth attack your neck and collarbone again, leaving you a heaving mess. One of your hands was tangled in his hair while the other was gripping the sheets for dear life. Your core was burning with desire as he went faster and faster, low grunts escaping his mouth.

“Oh God, harder,” you moaned. And boy, did he go harder. You became wetter as he pounded into you. All your nerves were on end and shocks of electricity zapped your body. The two of you were sweaty and breathing heavy like a bunch of animals. On and on he went until one final cry was heard. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Sinking your teeth in his shoulder, you felt him growing inside you. Wave after wave crashed upon you and your body buzzed. Your ears were ringing as he came too, laying on top of you in a heaving slump.

A simultaneous sigh emitted from both of your mouths as he got off you and on to the bed. But just as quickly as he had rolled off of you, he was getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” you asked quietly. He threw on a shirt faster than any person you’d ever seen and was already walking out of the bunk before he answered.

“I got stuff to do,” he spoke quietly. BAM! He was gone. Anger flooded over you. Putting on some clothes, you got up and slammed the door and locked it after him. You felt stupid and you were angry at yourself for not believing the others. But no matter how angry and frustrated you were, that didn’t stop the tears from falling. You tried to be strong and remind yourself over and over that he was a piece of human garbage, but it didn’t help. Because you had fallen in love with Peter, even though you tried to deny it. All the late night talks, the way he’d make you laugh, his light breath on your skin when you were asleep, the way he’d hold you close, and the way his body felt came rushing back. The feelings hit you like a train. But you weren’t going to accept it. Nope. You were not going to feel anything for this asshole, so you had to lock up all your feelings in general.

That night you heard a knocking at your door. You didn’t answer, for you didn’t care who it was. The tapping was persistent, but you still didn’t answer.

Later the same night, you heard murmurs from the hall and automatically knew it was Peter. But this time, you didn’t get up to save him. He deserved whatever nightmare he was trapped in.

Everyday after that, you acted like nothing had ever happened. You ignored him and never went to sleep with him. Until one night, you heard a ticking at your door. Your eyes flew open, but your body stayed still. Once the door had eventually opened, you heard light footsteps coming towards you and felt and warm body slip into your bed. Knowing it was Peter, you immediately hopped right out and went to go sleep in one of the pilot chairs. Not even 5 minutes later, he followed you in.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice still groggy from sleep. You still weren’t having it, so you got out of the chair and went back to your bunk. Locking the door in his face before he could come in, you sat on the floor and leaned back against the door.

“Please,” he talked to you through the door, “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that.” He paused for a moment, waiting for you to answer. You didn’t speak, so he continued. “Look, I like you. A lot, in fact. And I just don’t know how to handle these feelings because I’ve never had them before,” he explained. “Please.” You thought for a moment, deciding whether or not to trust him. You didn’t want to turn out like all of his other conquests, yet you still had feelings for him. Against your better judgement, you opened the door and Peter immediately crashed his lips against yours. After a minute, you broke the kiss and turned away. But he grabbed your arms and held you in place.

“Please,” he begged once more. You shut him up by kissing him back, to which he happily accepted. And after a solid 20 minutes of making out in the doorway, you both went to sleep in your bed together. The last thing you heard before drifting off to sleep was a pleased sigh from Peter’s lips. And that night, you went to bed smiling.

DAMN this one was long!! I have another one coming out in like 3 days so get hype!!

The Night Kirkwall Fell

       After the battle with Meredith finally ended, Garrett and Anders retreated to Hawke estate, ahead of the rest of their friends. The tall, marble house was dark and silent, the only noises being the muted screams of mages being slaughtered outside and the constant, distant roar of flames as Kirkwall was eaten up. A thin layer of smoke and ash already seemed to coat the whole city, turning it a dusky gray.

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“ He doesn’t stop until he reaches the stern, practically crashing into the railing. He wraps his hands around the top bars and leans forward, pressing his weight against them… Suddenly hoping they’ll somehow give out and he’ll go plummeting off over the edge. The sound of the water splitting around the ship is almost deafening in contrast to the rest of the night’s sky being so calm. The only thing louder seems to be the noise in Bucky’s head.

Tears still rolling down his cheeks, he pants – still struggling for air that won’t come – and can’t tear his eyes from the ocean below him. He stands there and he thinks – he thinks, it’d just be so easy to…

God, but he can’t, he can’t, he fucking can’t– ”

Titanic, Chapter 1, by OhCaptainMyCaptain

Brain and Clown

Imagine a pocket-sized you peeking out from the side of your dollhouse door, scoping the area for any of the Bigs in the area. Once you conclude the coast is clear, you climb down from your house and land on a pin cushion to soften your fall. Scrambling towards the kitchen, you set your eyes on your one and only target: the cookie jar. You climb up the drawers of the cabinets and then sprint towards the white ceramic jar. Pushing the lid off to the side just enough for your body to squeeze through, you land on top of the cookie pile and begin to grab at the broken pieces.

As you chomp on your snack, you hear people entering the kitchen. Your chomping immediately pauses and all other movement stops. The noise goes away for a second until you hear a subtle moan come from just outside of the jar. You grab at the edge of the opening and pull yourself up just so that your eyes are showing above the jar. Your feet stand on the cookie pile carefully, just enough so you don’t break it and cause any noise.

The Namjoon’s back is the only thing you see, and you’re about to descend back into the jar until you realize that it sounded as if another person walked into the kitchen with him earlier. Another quiet moan comes from Namjoon’s direction, and you’re pretty sure that the person’s voice did NOT sound like him at all. That’s when you come to terms with the fact that you can’t see his arms, as they are surrounding another person’s arms, specifically Kim Taehyung’s. The position they are in is quite intimate, actually; Namjoon stands behind Taehyung as his arms squeeze the latter’s body. You whistle in a flirtatious tone, making sure that the two hear you. They both turn around at the same time and surprisingly, in the same position. Your entire torso is now out of the jar, and your elbow is leaning on the ceramic material with your chin on your palm.

“If you guys wanted some alone time, the kitchen isn’t the place to go.”

You leave it at that before descending back into the jar. Namjoon releases his arms, and Taehyung runs to lift the lid of the jar, screaming into it in the process.

“Hey! He was just helping me stretch, okay?! There is nothing romantic between us. Nothing. At. All.”

“Sure, Tae.”

because hermione granger doesn’t think all is well after the war

  • hermione searching through countless bookshops to find the most advanced book on locking spells and wards to cast them on her flat
  • hermione never putting her wand down until she’s turned on every light in her flat, checked behind doors and in large cupboards
  • always having some sort of light throughout her house at nighttime
  • panicking and locking her bedroom door when she hears any unfamiliar noise in her flat, having a death grip on her wand until she knows i’m safe…it’s okay
  • hermione feeling embarrassed and childish for shining her wand under her bed before she sleeps at night
  • hermione never standing by windows on the high floors of buildings, and staying as far away from the edge of heights as she can because even though she’s not as high up as she had been in the past, the open air reminded her too much of when they fled from gringotts
  • making sure to destroy her collections of films on video from when she was a teenager when she and her father loved to watch action and war movies before war became her reality
  • hermione trying to think of every practical way to stop her panic attacks that come way too often these days, but becoming more panicked and scared when she can’t stop her whole body from shaking
  • because while there isn’t a spell our hermione can’t do, there aren’t any spells to extinguish her fear and help her realise that she will be okay

Remus waking up in the middle of the night, not knowing why, rolling over to cuddle Sirius and try to get some more sleep but Sirius isn’t there. 

Remus sitting up quickly, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, pushing his feet into his ratty slippers and padding into the hall, wearing a faded, baggy band tee that belongs to Sirius and old grey boxer briefs. Seeing a light in the kitchen, rubbing his sandy eyes and standing at the door. 

Sirius sitting at the table, head in hands, half a mickey of vodka and an empty glass at his elbow. 

Remus whispering, his voice hoarse with sleep, “Nightmares again?" 

Sirius nodding, his shoulders shaking now.

Remus shuffling to the stove, putting a kettle on and pulling down the instant coffee - usually it’d be tea , but it’s 3 in the morning and it’s going to be a long day.

"Why wasn’t I there to save them…” Sirius’ voice low and private but Remus saying anyway, “Stop. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Sirius mumbling, “I deserve it.”

Remus slamming his hand on the counter, Sirius flinching, knocking the bottle of vodka over but nobody moving.

“Sorry,” he whispers at the table.

“Me too.” Remus answers but his voice his voice is hollow.

“Moony…” Sirius sounding pained, he regrets saying anything, Remus’ face is gaunt already, he doesn’t need more to worry about.

“I’m glad you weren’t there,” Remus says finally, quickly. “I’m glad. You’d be dead. So I’m glad.”

Sirius nodding. “Okay.”

The kettle whistling, Sirius and Remus both jumping, the latter pours the hot water over the instant coffee grounds, carrying the two mugs to the table, throwing a rag over the puddle of vodka and dropping heavily into the stiff wooden chair beside Sirius just as Harry is starting to cry.

Sirius gulping down his scalding black coffee, Remus sighing, Sirius muttering, “I got this.”

Remus putting his head down on the table and wondering how the three of them ended up here, so tired and broken. 

Remus eventually falling asleep and having muddled dreams of broken walls and old creaky houses and faces that are only in his head and on paper now. 

imagine harry with his hair up in a bun… messy from a full night of sleep - little strands falling down his cheek and neck. still groggy - rubbing the haziness from his eyes & reaching over and putting on a pair of glasses while a big yawn falls over his mouth. him sitting at the edge of the bed for a moment, long limbs still tangled in the blankets and his arms reaching above his head to stretch with a little high pitched noise of relief getting caught in the back of his throat. a low grumbled ‘good morning, love’ is heard before he stands up and grabs his robe to drape over his warm body. sleepily trudge into the kitchen to make tea for both of you before returning with two hot mugs and crawling back into the cozy warm bed you share with him. inching closer to you, legs pressed to yours, the heat beneath the covers encompassing your body and a warm drawn out kiss he places to your forehead makes it feel like you could stay there forever.

hurt/comfort, with a side of jealousy - holsom

Thank you so much to @justasleeplessnight for sending me this prompt! I had to restrain myself a bit from making it too angsty ngl, but I’m a sucker for happy ending. Hope you enjoy lovely!

If anyone else fancies sending a prompt my way (possibly based off this?), then please do!

WARNINGS: Description of a panic attack. Infidelity.

Ransom feels jittery, on edge and off balance.

They’d won and it was one of those games, sweet and glorious and beautiful, where everything clicked just right on the ice, and the other team just didn’t stand a chance. It’s his and Holster’s first win as captains—and really, they should be celebrating right now. The rest of the Haus is rammed full of people, all in fucking fantastic moods.  There’s a game of beer pong in the hall, Lardo’s celebratory shout clear above the noise of the crowds, and Bitty is in charge of the music: the heavy bass making everybody a little looser.

Chowder’s on the dance floor with Farmer, her back to his chest. Her arms are looped around his neck as they grind, and his mouth is on her neck, and okay, Chowder deserves it, alright, but this is more than enough of what Ransom needs to see of his goalie’s sex life. He turns away from the sight, his heart rate kicking up another notch. Ransom’s bad mood would make more sense if he was drunk - alcohol doesn’t usually get him down, but it’s been known to happen, especially in the run up to midterms, but tonight he’s still clutching the same can of beer Holster had pressed into his hand some two hours ago.

Before he had disappeared.

Okay, so maybe Ransom does know why he feels like shit.

And maybe it’s completely to do with how Holster’s tucked in a far corner, broad back and shoulders and bright head of hair unmistakable as he crowds another person into the wall. His expression is warm and bright, a smile stretching his mouth wide as he runs a hand along their side. Holster bends down to steal a kiss, and his hand is huge against their jaw. Their hands clasp at Holster’s back as they kiss back, turning it deeper and dirtier. Holster presses himself closer, goes with it, though he’s never been much for PDA in the past.

They’ve been like that for at least half an hour, and honestly, Ransom doesn’t have a problem with it. Or, at least, he shouldn’t.

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If there was one thing Hokulani could appreciate in her unchanging life, it was the ever changing sounds of music. It was progress, the ever changing world around her, that kept her going. Not that she could actually end her unending life- she had tried several times before -so she strived to make the best of things. That included frequenting every concert she could, at least by the musicians she enjoyed, and there were quite a few. 

She sat atop the edge of an office building, legs clad in a pair of jeans that made traffic stop, dangling over the edge. It was the venue across the street that held the concert, and while the music was muffled, she could hear it as clearly as if she were standing in front row. She could also hear the riot of noise the crowd was making, screaming, loving the music as much as she did. She could detect every thump of quickly beating hearts, fueled by the adrenaline the music produced within them. 

She could smell the excitement, the stench of sweat and drugs and alcohol mixing together. Humans were beautiful and disgusting. As the concert reached its end, Hoku slipped off the edge of the building, landing with a slight bend on the sidewalk five stories below, her scuffed boots making no noise on the dirty cement. It had been such a quick movement that the humans who lingered there, around midnight, did not notice. She wanted to get out of the area before the concert ended and the hundreds of humans inside filtered out into the night. 

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her worn leather jacket. Despite the coolness of the night- it had to be at least forty -the weather didn’t bother her. “Are you ready?” She murmured to her one companion, her only friend in the world. 

There was a meow in response, and a cat with sleek black fur emerged from the alleyway between two buildings, licking her chops. Her eyes were the same honey gold as her owner’s. Her long tail swayed in a sensual pattern. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s go." 

Both turned at the sametime, as if coordinated, and headed down the sidewalk as the concert let out, humans spilling into the night, unaware that there was potential danger lurking around every corner. 

Stop wasting your fucking time.

Prompt/Summary: ‘the fire alarm went off at 3am and now the cute guy from the apartment next door is standing next to me in his underwear’ AU

Main Pairing: Dean x Cas

Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Lisa Braeden, mention of Victor Henrikson, mention of Kevin Tran

Warnings: (none that I’m aware of)

AO3 Tags: fire alarm AU, alternate universe

Word Count: 2059

(Originally posted on AO3)

A blaring, piercing repetitive noise cut through Dean’s dream.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He groaned before dragging himself out of bed and stumbling into his brother’s bedroom.

Sam was lying on his stomach, an arm and a leg dangling over the edge of the bed, unruly mop of brown hair covering half his face, snoring away, completely unaware that the fire alarm had just gone off in their building for the third time this week. He threw the pillow he’d unknowingly dragged from his room at the sleeping form.

“Get up, Sasquatch! Can’t you hear that?”

“…It’s a false alarm, Dean. Go back to sleep.” Sam mumbled sleepily without opening his eyes. He rolled over onto his back and pulled the sheets up over himself to keep the chill out.

Dean walked to the end of his bed, grabbed the end of the sheet and pulled hard so it was on the floor and Sam was left spluttering in sweats, and that ugly, purple dog t-shirt Dean swore he would burn if he got his hands on it.

“Dean! What the hell?”

Dean held the sheets out of his reach so that Sam was forced to get out of bed.

“It’s a false alarm, Dean. You know it is.” The younger Winchester complained, dragging his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Just get your ass up and get dressed. We gotta be outta here five minutes ago.” Dean dumped the sheet back on the bed and stalked out of the room to pull on his boots and grab the apartment keys when Sam stumbled out of his room, forcing his arm through a brown hoodie.

They were both wearing sweats, with Dean in a t-shirt and Sam now in the hoodie, alarm still blaring.

“Come on, hurry it up man.” Dean’s hurrying was greeted by a dragged out, petulant I’m coming, as he held open the apartment door.

Fire alarms meant the elevator wouldn’t be a sensible idea; they’d have to use the stairs. They lived on the third floor and Dean had never used the stairs in their entire time living there.

He greeted Charlie on the way to the stairs. She was stood pressing the elevator button repeatedly as if it would make it come faster. The vibrant redhead lived on the same floor as them, sometimes Dean would go over for all night gaming sessions and movie marathons. And sometimes, she came over for Dean’s pie and discussed battle strategies for LARPing.

“I don’t think that’s gonna work. It’s better if you use the stairs.”

“Oh come on.” She whined. “I just finished a thirty six hour session with Kevin and that kid does not sleep.” She looked up at the ceiling as if praying to God. “What have I done to anger you O Great One?”

Dean laughed. “Come on. Stairs. Now.”

“Fine.” She grumbled as Dean coaxed her down the stairwell and she leaned into him tiredly as they walked.

“Well, at least one good thing will come of this.” She brightened suddenly after a few quiet moments.


"You get to see Blue-Eyes-And-Ridiculous-Sex-Hair.” She said smugly.

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The word was practically growled as the sun went down. Wilson was struggling to craft a torch as darkness enclosed him, and he heard the hiss of the shadow. He feared he’d be struck, but the torch lit and the noise vanished at his ear.

He shuddered before standing up.

Which way was his camp?

The scientist cursed again and wandered in a random direction. He’d explored around enough to be able to find his way back from very far distances, but that didn’t help when he couldn’t see five feet in front of him.

A long while passed as he walked blindly in the dark. He had another close call with the shadow creature, but not as close as the first. It still shook him greatly; just the hiss alone put his nerves on edge.

Eyes focused forward, Wilson saw something…strange. There was a soft glow in the distance. Intrigued, the man picked up his pace. He stopped short as he got closer, eyes wide as he realized what he’d found.

It was a camp.

A camp only a human could construct.

They could be dangerous, he concluded, taking cover in some bushes illuminated by the fire and putting his torch out.. They were clearly planted here by whoever made this camp.

“I’ll wait until morning and look around their camp. In and out, they won’t even notice,” he muttered.

Now he’d just have to wait.