thrill electric

Seven Minutes (Adrienette)

This is for @sinnian (aka the wonderful @lunian) based on their steamy steamy art that you should all be checking out. And because the world needs more trope-y Adrienette sin ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

(Big thanks to @insanitysscribblings and @breeeliss for helping me fill in some major chunks you guys are the BOMB)

(ao3 link)


Marinette was going to kill Alya for talking her into this situation. Slowly, and in a very personal way.

It was one thing for Alya to weasel out Marinette’s guilty fantasies surrounding Adrien- a.k.a. cute crush turned irresistible beefcake in the span of only five years. It was quite another for Alya to then force those sexy daydreams (that were never meant to see the light of day!) to actually happen in real life. 

In public, no less!

It was third, even more unfathomable thing for her to shove Marinette face-first into a closet with said irresistible beefcake, the click of the lock and her manic, half-drunk laugh echoing through the tiny space as Marinette stood there like an idiot. A tipsy, dressed-scantily-for-a-party idiot radiating nothing short of pure want for the young man sandwiched in there with her.

Keep reading

suspension of disbelief

@khorazir prompted: The boys watch some episodes of The X-Files together.


 Sherlock looked up from the microscope, blinked. John looked back at him, his face expectant.

 Clearly, he’d been speaking. Clearly, a response of some kind was required.

 "Of course,“ he tried.

 John raised his brows, looked both pleased and surprised. This—this did not bode well. Perhaps he should have asked John to repeat himself, but he did so loathe repetition.

 "Go on, then,” John said. He stepped over towards the fridge, perused the menus with a little frown of concentration.

 Sherlock hesitated. Go on?

 Judging by John’s preoccupation with the menus, he thought perhaps he may have agreed to dinner plans. Except, if that was all, then what was he meant to go on with?

 He stood up from the table, took a cautious step towards the sitting room. John had left the telly on. It was cycling through a DVD menu of some kind, eerie whistling music backed by piano. He frowned, looked back.

 John glanced up from the menus, made a shooing motion with his hand. Ah. It appeared that he’d committed to watching a film or—he paused, looked at the screen—a television series.

 He sighed, aimed a longing glance in the direction of his abandoned microscope, and settled himself on the sofa. He took up a bit more space than entirely necessary.

 The menu looped, started again. Piano. Whistling.

 John paced around the kitchen, phone to his ear, ordering the takeaway. Sherlock glanced at the menus, now rearranged on the front of the fridge. Chinese.

 He looked back at the television. Opened his mouth to speak.

 "I’m betting you missed this entirely, yeah?“ John said, sitting down on the sofa next to him. The cushions dipped, and Sherlock found himself wanting to lean closer, to blame the motion on his shifted balance—but no, best not.

 "Missed–?”

 "The X-Files.“ John said with a nod at the screen. "FBI agents, government conspiracies, aliens…? Kind of a big deal in the 90s. Ringing any bells at all?”

 Sherlock scoffed, looked away. “I had other things on my mind in the 90s.”

 John cleared his throat, looked down.

 The menu continued to loop.

 "Right,“ John said, after a long moment. He reached for the remote. "Food will be here in about twenty minutes.”

 He pressed play.

 *

 "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?“ asked the man on the screen. He was being altogether too dramatic about the whole thing, in Sherlock’s opinion.

 "Logically, I would have to say no,” his recently-assigned partner countered.

 "Actually—" Sherlock said.

 John picked up the remote, pressed pause. Stared at him.

 "Never mind,“ Sherlock said.

 *

 "Time can’t just disappear,” said the woman on the screen. “It’s a universal invariant.”

 "No it isn’t,“ Sherlock said.

 "Shush,” John said.

 "But she read physics at university, she would know that—"

 "Sherlock,“ John said.

 *

 For some reason, the woman had decided to bathe by candlelight. She had only just begun to disrobe when something frightened her and sent her rushing through the rain into the arms of her male coworker.

 Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes. Looked back towards the kitchen, where his microscope beckoned.

 "Just watch,” John said, through a mouthful of lo mein.

 The scene did not play out the way he’d expected.

 *

 "Another,“ he said when it was over.

 "What, really?” John’s voice was incredulous.

 He wrestled the remote out of John’s hand.

 *

 "It’s really not that easy to break into a secret government base.“

 "Er,” John said. “Yes, actually, it is. We’ve done it.”

 "We had the proper credentials.“

 "Faked credentials.”

 "Still. It wasn’t as simple as ducking under a chain link fence for God’s sake.“

 John chuckled, leaned back against the sofa cushions. At some point he had migrated closer, his arm warm where it brushed against Sherlock’s.

 "Now he’s gone and gotten himself drugged,” Sherlock protested, looking away. “That didn’t happen to me.”

 "No, it happened to me,“ John said, and swatted at him. "Arsehole.”

 "Another,“ he said, when it was over.

 *

 "I’m expected to believe that this man sleeps in a nest of newspapers and bile and emerges precisely every thirty years to consume five human livers?”

 "It’s not really so much believing as it is suspension of disbelief, yeah?“

 "No,” Sherlock said. “The dichotomy between the two main characters—”

 "Wasn’t talking about them,“ John said. His voice had grown sleepy. "Was talking about us.”

 "What, precisely, are we meant to be suspending disbelief over?“

 "The livers,” John said, gesturing vaguely towards the screen. “The bile.”

 "The lack of a romantic entanglement in spite of the clear attraction and the fact that both main characters clearly have no one else in their lives of similar importance?“

 "That too,” John said. A faint smile flickered on his face.

 *

 "Another.“

 "Sherlock, I need to go to sleep.”

 "Mm,“ Sherlock said, distracted. He slid over on the couch to give John more room. The loss of John’s warm comfortable weight against his side was jarring.

 He reached over, snatched up the throw pillow from the coffee table. Held it up for a moment, weighing his options. He thought about the warmth of John’s arm, pressed against his own, the way his chest rose and fell with each measured breath.

 He set the pillow in his lap. Waited.

 John hesitated for a long moment, studying him, his face difficult to read in the blueish light from the television screen. Then he carefully, slowly arranged himself so that his head was on the pillow, resting on Sherlock’s lap. He held himself quite stiffly, his shoulders tense, his movements unsure.

 "Suspension of disbelief,” Sherlock said. He spoke in a low, quiet voice, dipping his head down. John’s face was very close, in the dark.

 "What, exactly, are you trying to say?“ John asked. His voice was little more than a whisper. He shifted, the leather squeaking under his frame.

 "Lack of romantic entanglement in spite of clear attraction. And—” he stopped, swallowed. Could no longer bear to look at John’s profile in the dark. Turned his head towards the window. “No one else in my life of similar importance.”

 "Clear attraction?“ John asked, his voice sleepy, fond.

 "Well,” Sherlock said, his throat suddenly dry. “Yes?”

 John chuckled, shifted again, rolling over onto his side. He reached up a hand, cupped Sherlock’s cheek.

 He could not say with any certainty who moved in first. But his lips were pressed against John’s, warm and soft and utterly thrilling, sending electric shocks of sensation down his spine. His eyes slipped shut and he sighed, breath puffing against John’s face.

 "All right?“ John asked, quiet, pulling back. He no longer looked drowsy.

 Sherlock stared at him, at his eyes, gleaming bright in the television glow. At his face, expressive and endearing and so very dear to him. How? he wondered, and not for the first time. How had this happened?

 "Sherlock?” John asked again, his voice low, careful. He left his hand cradled against Sherlock’s face.

 Sherlock smiled. “Another,” he said, and leaned in.

politicalmamaduck  asked:

I am always here for Padme Amidala headcanons.

  • She doesn’t remember much of the election season—she was only thirteen, and it was a blur of hands shaking hers, holodroids recording as she sweated through heavy gowns; her campaign manager saying, smile, naberrie, don’t you want to be a queen?
  • It’s a good question. She’s not sure how she would have answered it, if she’d known what she was getting into.
  • Her mother is an astrophysicist and her father owns Naboo’s largest interworld shipping yard; if it hadn’t been for Senator Palpatine, politics would never have occurred to her. But the Senator had noticed her, plucked her from the Young Leaders of the Naboo during their visit to Theed. He had taken an interest, suggested a stylist and a campaign manager, introduced her to the ‘right’ people.  (Padme was never entirely clear what the criterion was, for these determinations. In hindsight, she probably should have asked.) 
    • On the night of the election, he had taken her by the shoulders, and said, congratulations, your majesty, and Padme Naberrie had been so overwhelmed she wept, there on his shoulder.
  • She has a panic attack, just before her coronation. It’s not something she’s aware of, at the time, but the moment they fit the ceremonial death’s mask over her face she is gone, she is far away—she watches the proceedings from outside herself, as Padmé Naberrie dies on her knees, as Queen Amidala rises up in her place. 
    • Padmé thinks, my gods, that unfortunate wretch, that queen amidala. I pity her.
  • She does like her handmaids, though. The first year of her reign is occupied by training, a thousand things that must be learned—including hand-to-hand combat, the art of weapons, and the geopolitical landscape of the galaxy. She is not from a traditional noble family; she has not had the kind of education most queens receive from birth. Instead, she has herself, a dozen girls who could pass for her twin (if you weren’t quite sure what Queen Amidala looked like) and a furious determination not to make a fool of herself.
  • Sabé took her place for most of the blockade, the negotiations. Padmé was so angry she couldn’t speak to the Trade Federation without shaking. Once, she lost her temper completely and threw an ornamental vase at their representative—they stopped sending representatives, switched to holos. Choked off the food supply to Theed until Padmé apologized, clenching her teeth so tightly she was afraid her jaw might break with it.
    • Later, after, she is viciously glad when Palpatine comes to her, tugging on the heavy livery collar that marks him Galactic Chancellor. (Nervously, she thinks then. Like a beast playing with a fresh kill, she revises later, in light of new information.) 
    • Padmé is in her nightdress, and she is still viciously glad when she says, “Make them pay, for daring to touch my world,” and Palpatine smiles, all teeth.
  • Once upon a time, there is a Queen, and she is good, and frightened, and mostly tries, tries very hard. Keeps trying. Wakes up the morning after trying, and lets her handmaids adorn her, and tries again.
  • Nevertheless, she spends the last seven and a half months of her reign desperately counting the moments until it’s over, until she will be free. There is talk of making her senator, but she dismisses it as gossip at every turn, rejects it even when Queen Jamillia offers Padmé the role. 
  • She has a hundred thousand plans—sitting in a restaurant with no one and nothing to interrupt her; catching up on the holodramas she loved; walking her sister to school; listening to her father complain about managers and her mother complain about apprentices and all she wants, she thinks, is to even just a glance at what normality might look like.
  • (She thinks.)
  • There are some journeys you cannot come back from, and queenship is one of them. At thirteen, the Lake District was the whole galaxy, but has fought a war, plead for her people on the floor of the Senate, gone to the furthest reaches of the Outer Rim and met Jedi, ratified treaties, almost died a hundred times over. (She goes swimming in the mornings, and cannot keep herself from thinking, this is everything? this is all? for the rest of my life?)
    • Her mother thinks she should found a school. Her father thinks she should be enjoying herself, perhaps meeting her future partner. Her sister is largely quiet, perhaps because they are virtual strangers to one another. (Padmé has not been back to the house of her birth for—too many years, when Sola was a happy child and not a sullen adolescent. She’s skipped so much of the middle of her family’s life, she doesn’t know how to make up for it.)
    • She’s not used to how desperately, horribly impotent she feels, shunted to the sidelines of her world. After a few weeks, her mother begins hiding all their datapads so Padmé can’t scroll through the morning holos and spend the day working herself into a rage over galactic affairs and idiot political decisions. Padmé writes passionate transmits to her many old colleagues, advising on courses of action, but their replies are cool, a formality. (She is not Queen Amidala anymore, they do not have to listen to her.)
    • Jamillia passes an edict that Padmé had spent months ensuring would be stillborn and without support, and Padmé is so furious that she unearths her old handmaiden training blaster, and spends the afternoon blasting holes in a garden statute.
      • (“You grandmother gave us that, as a wedding present,” her mother sighs, when Padmé eventually makes her way back. “It was horrible and ugly,” Padmé says in her most airy queen-like voice, and her mother laughs.)
  • She is so starved for substance that when Palpatine sends a transmission asking if she would like to meet him for dinner—the Senate is in recess, he has retreated to the Lake District to escape the miasma of Theed—Padmé jumps at the opportunity.
  • He still smiles with his teeth and not his eyes. Padmé was not aware how much she missed that—or rather, how much she missed the danger of it. To sit and talk in smooth, wide circles and have a conversation in the unsaid spaces was a thrill, electric and missed.
  • (She is not Queen Amidala anymore; she is just Padmé. But she has missed politics, all the same.)
  • “I know you would not consider it, when our queen—” he says ‘our queen’ with the faintest trace of irony in his voice, and Padmé bites down a delighted laugh at how pleasantly obvious he’s being, like a joke, just between them, “—offered you the mantle of senator.”
  • “I was hoping you might consider it now,” Palpatine says. “I think we could do…great things, you and I. We could change the galaxy.”




    ………..what is Padmé Amidala to do, but say yes?
3

A/N: I said I would do it… and now I’ve done it! ;-) Here’s my first Jonathan Pine Imagine. There will be more with him for sure! Have fun!

2nd October: Wicked seduction. 🍸 | feat. Jonathan Pine

Words: 3166
Warnings: smut

Keep reading

The importance of stealth and biscuits

Despite his reputation as a ‘blunt instrument’, Bond is well acquainted with stealth. He knows how to blend into the surroundings or lurk, hidden just out of sight, in dark corners, ready to spend hours without moving a muscle.

He’s ready now, concealed well and patiently waiting for his perfect opportunity to come by. His muscles tense in anticipation when his target approaches; Bond watches him slip into the small room, rummage in the cupboards, take what’s needed, put everything together and then leave.

Soundlessly, Bond slips out of his hiding and follows his mark, smooth and quiet like a ghost, keeping carefully out of the line of sight. He maintains just the right distance and moves quickly, aware that every second counts before the security guards absentmindedly staring at CCTV feeds realise he’s not supposed to be heading down this corridor.

Bond knows all about stealth. Knows the difference a split second can make, knows how to walk quickly yet without making a sound, and he knows how to spot the right moment to pounce-

“Chri-ist!” the minion shrieks and jumps, barely avoiding spilling the steaming hot tea from the mug clutched in his hand. “007… what- why-”

Bond smiles, sharp like a shark, and crowds the minion, smoothly backing him up until the keycard in his lab coat pocket beeps against the scanner and the irritatingly secure door to R&D slides open.

“I’ll take it from here,” Bond says and gently lifts the precious mug out of the minion’s hand.

“B-but… the Quartermaster said you can’t-”

“That’s for me to worry about,” Bond says and saunters triumphantly in, leaving the minion squirming undecidedly behind.

R&D is always bustling with life, the electric thrill of genius and innovation always crackling in the air as ideas spark and whirl and develop all across the various sections of the vast yet cluttered space. Minor (and occasionally major) explosions and incidents can and do happen at any minute, and the fire extinguisher is in urgent use at least twice a day. Bond enjoys R&D tremendously, and therefore is quite put out whenever Q throws him out for fiddling with one too many hazardous prototypes. Apparently, warming the Quartermaster’s bed can get one only so much special treatment.

Still, sneaking his way back in is always good fun.

He locates Q almost immediately and assumes his swankiest gait as he strolls over to where he’s busy with the skeleton of a brand new motorcycle he’s working on. He’s also deliciously focused, slightly ruffled, and sporting a grease stain on his cheek. Bond wants to ruffle him even more.

Q purses his lips when he sees him.

“I thought I’d got rid of you,” he says in lieu of a loving greeting.

Bond produces his most charming smile.

“I come bearing gifts,” he offers the tea.

Q huffs but accepts the mug, peering at it snootily.

“Stolen gifts, at that.”

Bond blinks and tries to remember how to look innocent.

“Stolen?” going by the unimpressed look on Q’s face, he’s less than successful.

“I can see Marvin traumatised over there by the door. And you can’t make proper tea for shit, you coffee-drinking heathen.”

“I still brought you a gift,” Bond smiles, taking half a step closer, hands in his trouser pockets, head cocked a little to the side. Q watches him closely over the brim of the mug, and Bond rather likes his chances of being forgiven this time.

“Hmm,” Q says nothing and blows on the tea so as not to appear too yielding.

Bond waits, patient, while Q takes a tentative sip, careful not to burn his lips; Bond knows the soft midnight blue suit he’s wearing is one of Q’s favourites on him, so standing there and looking pretty seems like a good strategy. It pays off - mollified, as always, by having his tea, Q makes a sound in his throat, licks his lips as he puts the mug down on a chair (the only surface near him not cluttered with tools, wires and blueprints), and turns a slightly playful gaze on Bond. Expectant, Bond smiles just a little bit, trying to look especially charming.

“Get me some biscuits and I’ll see about letting you back in,” Q says with the air of an emperor caught on a particularly generous day.

Bond smirks victoriously and says nothing, but sends Q a very meaningful look before he turns around and sashays back out of R&D, lifting the keycard off one of the minions on his way out.

Twenty-nine minutes later he’s on his way back to R&D, carrying an elegantly wrapped box and having made truly spectacular time getting to and back from a nearby bakery Q is quite fond of. So he allows himself to look particularly smug when he re-enters R&D and marches towards Q to make a gourmet biscuit delivery.

Q pretends not to notice him, focused on some intricacies of the wiring, so Bond clears his throat, standing behind him and more than happily eyeing that pert arse presented so well on display as Q leans over the tangle of wires.

“Oh, there you are,” Q also pretends not to be impressed by the box, but Bond doesn’t miss the way his eyes brighten up. “Well,” his eyebrows twitch when he takes the box and peers inside; he’s teasingly prim and composed as always, but there’s a hint of a smile on his normally downward-dipped lips. “These might even get you permission to touch a thing or two around here.”

“Oh?” Bond flawlessly reacts to the nonchalantly dropped innuendo, smirking and smoothly moving into Q’s personal space.

“Mm,” Q puts the box down next to his tea - refilled in Bond’s absence and steaming. Then he reaches out, takes hold of Bond’s tie, and pulls him into a kiss that’s thrillingly demanding.

Bond responds immediately, settling his hands on Q’s hips and squeezing just a little when Q licks deep into his mouth. It’s not often they engage in public displays of affection, especially not around Q’s minions who already gossip enough, but every now and then Q likes to be workplace-inappropriate in front of an audience. Bond always relishes those moments.

(Q enjoys being workplace-inappropriate in private as well, especially in his office with the glass walls blacked out so no one can see them half-undressed and shagging over Q’s desk… but that’s another thing entirely.)

Q ends the kiss as demandingly as he’d initiated it and smirks at Bond, eyes glowing and full of intent behind his glasses as he smooths Bond’s tie back into place.

“Go and don’t make yourself a nuisance,” he says in his best, haughtiest Quartrmaster voice that always sends a tingle of interest right into Bond’s groin. “I’m busy. If you behave, we’ll go home early when I’m done.”

Bond’s eyes gleam.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Bond is well acquainted with patience - when it suits him.


This started as a drabble for the 15 minute challenge by @mi6-cafe but then I liked how it turned out and decided to write more :) The prompt was ‘honey’ by the lovely @castillon02 - the prompt gave me this idea which somehow does not feature honey in any shape or form :D

Halloween Countdown: 1

Warning: mentions of blood, violence and sexual situations.

Vampire!AU

Summary: A chilling little series to countdown to Halloween. Each fated meeting with nine mysterious men leads you that much closer to your dark future…or rather, your end.


987654321Finale



Someone’s singing.

Your eyes flutter. The lovely voice is making you sleepy again, but curiosity makes you push yourself up. 

You open your door cautiously to find a man leaning over the railings next to the staircase, singing.

Keep reading

Chocolate Kisses - Drake x MC (PG-13)

Total fluff based on last week’s TRR chapter. Written on my lunch break…on my phone. Please forgive any errors! Tagging @justfanficticious who always cheers me on and cheers me up. 💜

Originally posted by stimmystuffs

With Maxwell’s fate decided, Drake stands and starts walking away from the table.

“I’m going to clean myself up. Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder. He wanders down a hall at the back of the shop until he finds a men’s washroom and steps inside.

He’s just wiping down his face with a wet paper towel when the door behind him opens. His eyes flick up to the mirror and widen.

“Tennant! What are you are you doing in here?”

Louisa doesn’t say a word. She just walks right up, captures his face in her hands, and pulls him down into a deep, heated kiss. Drake’s mind goes blank as her lips move fervently over his. He doesn’t even have a chance to kiss her back before she pulls away breathless. For a long moment, he just blinks slowly at her. His mind struggling to catch up after that kiss.

“What in the hell was that for?” he asks hoarsely when he finds his voice.

Louisa shrugs nonchalantly, as though her deep pink lipstick isn’t smeared all over her lips, and probably his.

“I haven’t kissed you all night,” she says with a coy smile, “and you were telling cute little stories about your childhood and like I told you on our date…you can’t say things like that without me falling for you even more and just wanting to kiss the living daylights out of you, Drake Walker.”

Drake feels a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“It was just a story.”

“It was a part of you, your life, and so I loved it, because I love…” she stutters for a moment, suddenly shy.

“I love every story you tell,” she finally says and Drake sighs internally. If she was about to say what he thinks she was going to say, he’s glad she stopped. He wants to hear her say those things, but not until they’re free to be together, not until their times together are more than sneaking around in bathrooms.

“The others are going to miss you,” Drake says out loud.

“Maxwell is trying to convince Hana that chocolate cake counts as a breakfast food. I think we’ll be okay for a while. Besides,” she flashes him a mischievous little grin that sends an sudden electric thrill through Drake, “I thought you could use some help cleaning up.”

“You know, I think I can handle it,” Drake chuckles nervously.

“I’m not so sure. Looks like you already missed a spot.”

Louisa darts close to him and licks a wide, wet swath along his neck before beginning to suck gently on his pulse point.

“Oh fuck,” Drake whispers and grips the counter behind him as his knee buckle at the feeling of her mouth on the sensitive skin of his neck. His eyes slide shut, focusing on the her and the feeling of her stepping close and wrapping her arms his waist, hands grasping at the back of his shirt.

“God, Lou…” he groans huskily and feels her smile against the skin of his neck. She ceases sucking on his neck and kisses the spot gently.

“There. That’s much better,” she murmurs and then kisses her way up his neck until she reaches his mouth.

He leans into this kiss, tasting the chocolate on her tongue. He enfolds her in a tight embrace and is rewarded with her giving a soft, contented sigh.

“I’ve missed you,” she says when he leans back

“Missed you too,” he says, aching with just how much he has missed her, “but we really should get back out there.”

“Oh fine,” she huffs, but he catches the slight smile on her face as leans around him to look in the mirror and attempts to clean up her lipstick. “I’ll go first. You follow in a few minutes.”

She gives him a quick peck on the cheek before stepping away and somehow that little, casual brush of her lips feels infinitely more intimate than the passionate kisses they’d share just a moments before.

“Wait,” he says and grasps her arm, pulling her close again. He registers a look of surprise on her face before he leans down and kisses her. Not hot and hurried, but slow, sweet, and gentle.

When he releases her, it’s Louisa’s turn to look dazed, eyes unfocused for a moment. He grins.

“Okay, you can go now.”

She blinks up at him and then shakes her her head as though clearing her thoughts.

“You are so mean, Drake Walker.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

“God, help me, I do,” she smiles at him with such tender affection that his heart lurches in his chest, “I really do.”

She sticks her tongue out at him as she leaves and he laughs.

In the privacy of this room, Drake allows himself to grin at what just happened and when it comes time to follow Louisa out, he thinks to himself that he’d follow her almost anywhere these days.

Jughead Jones x Reader: Never Enough

Request:

Could I get a Jug x reader with the prompt: “I stopped trying when I realized I wasn’t enough for you”?. Pleaassee???

 

A/N: This is my shortest imagine, I hope you like it. I don’t know if I lived up to the requestor’s vision, but when I read the request this was instantly eating up my mind I had to go with it. I thoroughly enjoyed this one even if its my shortest one, I’m so proud of this one.

Words: 738

Summary: Reader and the gang graduate Riverdale High. Sadly Jughead breaks it off with you. Time goes by and you are reminiscing over the time you and Jughead finally talked about your breakup after plenty of years.

Spoilers: Not a happy ending

Warnings: Some curse words.

This was it you were finally a senior. You just got accepted to 6 colleges and were finally going to leave Riverdale. Graduation and Prom were so close.

Although your happiness came tumbling down when your high school sweetheart Jughead Jones decided to call your relationship quits. You were devastated because you had actually planned to attend the same university as him so you wouldn’t have to deal with a long distance relationship.

Time went by, last you heard of Jughead he was a best-selling author on a book tour and you started your own foster care homes across the United States and were busier than ever.  

Flashback:

Suddenly you had a break from work and you felt sick, homesick you packed some things and went to visit Riverdale. Much to your surprise you ran into the person you never thought you’d ever see again.

He was sitting his same old booth typing away and for a moment you felt you were back in high school and he was boyfriend and all was well in the world.

You stood there like an idiot watching as he typed away so carefully, until you worked up the courage to go inside.

Although one glance your way made you lose it and you ran out of there.

You wish you would have stayed and finally asked him why he ended things.

Seems as if the universe heard you because he stepped out and grabbed you the wrist, this simple action sent a thrill of electricity over your body. This one movement and it made you alive, not just living. It was as if your body knew the hand that touched you and you missed the familiarity missing it as he removed it and you stared at each other. Those blue-green eyes and that dark luscious hair covered by the infamous grey beanie that looked like a crown. And tears escaped your eyes as if he had you under his spell, and you never knew how to break it.

“Why didn’t you stay?” you finally asked

There was a pause, you both remained silent.

“Just tell me this” you broke it with the thought that were eating you up “tell me that I meant something to you, that you were at least happy when you were with me” you sobbed and you hated that you were sobbing because you practiced those words for so long in your head and they came out as weak instead of strong.

Jughead finally spoke up.

“I- I wasn’t good enough for you, you- you deserve the universe and I’m just a star.”

You grew angry at his words.

“You left because you thought you weren’t good enough” you hissed.

“You don’t get to decide that Jug. You asshole. How dare you? I- I loved you” you shot back at his somber face and a tear finally escaped his eye and you wish you saw him cry no matter how selfish that sounded, you wanted him to feel the pain and agony you went through without knowing he did, he was just better at hiding it.  

He moved closer to you and you hugged each other for what felt like an eternity and you were fine with it because you were finally home.

“I will always love you.” He spoke in your ear and pulled apart from you.

“I knew that if we separated you would blossom into this great women and you did. I know if we stuck together you would try to plan our lives together not caring much for your plans. That’s what’s amazing about you, but I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I dragged you down. I was happiest with you. I had to get out of the picture (Y/N). You turned out amazing I’m sorry if what I did seemed wrong, I did it for you.” He concluded as much as you wanted to fire back you knew he was right, you’d do anything for him even give up your dreams.

“You will always be enough” you concluded because it was all that could come out of your mouth.

You bid farewells and went back to your regular life and hoped that one day if the universe cared you two would come back together. And so you kept on waiting and waiting, wishing on every shooting star, but none seemed to grant you the only thing you wanted in life.



Tag: @sgarrett49 @oharchiekinz

Another Needed Conversation

Also available on: AO3 | FF.net

I recently finished this so I thought I’d wait until Gruvia Day to post it. :^)

It had taken longer than Gray liked for him to get Juvia alone so they could talk. First there was a spontaneous victory celebration in Hargeon for all of the mages present there. Then there was the journey back to Magnolia - they’d been lucky to find enough animals and carriages to carry all of the assembled mages home, since the train tracks were too torn up to risk using. As the group of Fairy Tail mages was making their way through the partially wrecked town towards the guild, Gray took a hold of one of Juvia’s wrists, causing her to stop and turn to him. “Come with me,” he asked of her, and when she nodded, he started leading her away from the others.

Keep reading

Defended

I had this request from anon: “Could you write a nsfw liam x mc fic where Liam becomes protective over mc? Pleeeeaseee”

This probably isn’t exactly what they had in mind, but this is what popped into my head. It’s more about MC (Beatrice) and Liam defending and being protective of each other. I really hope I did Liam justice. He’s too wonderful and I’d hate to let him or any of his fans down. 

I’ve kept this mostly rated PG, but after the break there is a little NSFW scene for those of you who like that sort of thing. ;-)

Special thanks to everyone who encouraged me when I voiced my fears about writing my first Liam fic: @ladyashtonofcordonia @kittenmusicals @acohan08 @violetflipflops @misha726author @karapowell @vanillaxlovex @mariathechoices @everythingchoices and @thatocladyplayschoices

Originally posted by urlasenzavoce

Camera flashes burst and flare in the pressroom of the Cordonian palace. A small army of television cameras line the walls, their own bright lights making the room unbearably hot and stuffy.

Lady Beatrice Lindstrom flinches as one of the lights nearby flashes in her eyes as she and Liam face the Cordonian press for the first time as an engaged couple.

At Liam’s request, the palace had released a statement regarding their engagement and asked that the press give the couple a few days of peace before this - their first official press conference as the king and future queen of Cordonia.

It’s been three days since the the coronation ball, three days since Liam choose her out of all the beautiful, talented women of the court to be his queen. Beatrice still feels at times that she’s living a fairytale. Free of the constraints of the court and the barriers placed between them by propriety and decorum, she and Liam had been able to finally, truly be together. Hidden away in their own wing of the palace, Liam had spent their days and nights together the showing Bea in word and deed just how much he loves her and she had reciprocated in kind. There was no doubt in her mind that she and Liam belonged together.

Now, it was time to face the press and the people of Cordonia and Bea found herself unprepared for the chaotic scene at the press conference. A cacophony of voices call out questions for them.

Prince Liam, you are absolutely sure about your choice?

Lady Beatrice, you’re not Cordonian. Do you really you have any right to be queen?

You’re hardly qualified, Lady Beatrice. How do you expect to lead a people you know nothing about?

As much as the people like her, you and Lady Beatrice can’t have very much in common. Surely this is just an infatuation, Prince Liam!

Do you really expect this marriage to last?

Taken aback by the harsh questions, Beatrice tries to keep her features schooled into a calm smile as she grips Liam’s hand tightly. She honestly thought she had won over the press in the last few months, but upon leaving their happy little bubble, they had found the press to be nothing short of vicious in their questioning of Beatrice, her abilities, and appropriateness of Liam choosing her. Apparently, there was a difference between a mysterious American competing for the prince’s hand and a mysterious American woman actually becoming queen.

As the questions continue to fly from around the room, Beatrice looks up at Liam and finds him to be uncharacteristically quiet. Cocking her head to the side, she stares into her beloved’s face, wondering what he’s thinking. At first, she wonders if maybe he’s just as overwhelmed by the rapid-fire questions as she is. It would be unusual for him, but perhaps unsurprising. But then she sees it. Liam isn’t overwhelmed or upset. He’s furious. The hand she’s holding has begun shaking and his eyes are darkened with a defensive anger. Beatrice’s stomach clenches at the sight. Liam is not easily riled. In fact, she’s found him to be a very calm and easygoing person considering he carries the weight of an entire country and it’s people on his kingly shoulders. What’s she’s also learned about Liam is that is fiercely protective of the people he loves and there’s nothing he won’t do to defend the people he holds dear. And understanding now just how much Liam loves her, she knows she has to take action before Liam says something he’ll regret. Swallowing hard, Beatrice steps forward and to address the reporters.

“I may not be Cordonian by blood,” Beatrice starts, voice shaking just slightly, as the press quiets to capture her words, “but I have found the people of Cordonia to be extraordinarily warm and welcoming. In their kindness and acceptance, I have found a place to truly call home. In fact, I consider Cordonia to be my home more than anywhere else I’ve ever lived.”

Beatrice takes a breath, eyes glancing across the room as she speaks to the cameras and the people of her new country, “I know I may not have the qualifications of the other esteemed ladies of the court, but I’m quick learner and I’m eager to prove myself as the queen Cordonia deserves. As for our marriage…”

Beatrice pauses and looks back at Liam. The anger in his eyes has faded and they’ve returned to the warm chocolate brown that she loves so much. He gives her a tender look as he takes her hand and presses a soft kiss to the back of it.

“As for our marriage,” Liam picks up where she left off as he turns to the crowd, “we believe wholeheartedly in the commitment we are making to each other. I believe, as does Beatrice, that we will be together ‘until death do us part.’ Our histories may be diverse, but we have found that our spirits, our souls are echoed in each other. Beatrice is not what I expected when I began this journey to find my wife. She took me utterly by surprise.”

Beatrice laughs softly and Liam turns to smile at her for a moment before speaking again, “And I expect she will continue to surprise and delight me more with each day. She is what I want and, more than that, she is what I need in my life. She is the woman I love. The woman I have chosen, as your king, to be your queen.”

Liam’s voice takes on a more commanding tone as he finishes, the sudden power in it sending an electric thrill down Beatrice’s spine, “I expect these questions to be laid to rest because I know that Lady Beatrice will do as she says and prove herself to a wonderful queen.”

Voices ring out with more questions, but Liam simply lifts his hand in a farewell and says, “Thank you, all.”

Taking Beatrice’s hand, they walk hand in hand out of the press room. As the door shuts behind the, Beatrice picks up her pace and leads Liam down the hall at a near run.

“Bea? What are you doing?” Liam asks with a laugh as he strides along behind her.

“Come on,” she says looking back and forth into the rooms that line the long hallway.

Finally, they reach the library. Well, one of the libraries. In a turn that made her feel as much like a Disney princess as she ever would, she found out there are actually three libraries in the palace including one in the wing that she and Liam will share as king and queen.

Beatrice makes a sharp turn into the room and yanks Liam in behind her so hard that he stumbles slightly, laughing at her enthusiasm. She quickly throws the door shut behind before turning back to her fiancee.

“Bea, what on earth…” Liam’s words are muffled suddenly as Beatrice reaches up and pulls him into a deep kiss. Liam moans and kisses her back immediately, pressing his lips hard against hers for a long moment.

“Thank you for saying all that.” she whispers against his lips. 

“Oh, Bea, my love,” he says, cuddling her against his chest. “I should be thanking you. You knew just what to say and just how to keep me from…”

“Flying off the handle?” she teases.

“To say the least,” he chuckles. Bea smiles at the feeling of his laughter rumbling in his chest against her ear.

“I really thought they press was on my side,” she sighs disappointedly.

“Unfortunately, the press is on their own side,” Liam says, running his hands along her back comfortingly. “You made for good news during the competition, but now they’re doing what they always do and riling things up. I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it.”

Bea sighs again. She’s not worried about marrying Liam. She knows deep in her heart, her bones, her very soul, that she loves this man and she is meant to be his wife and partner in life. Accepting his proposal was the easiest decision she’d ever made. But still worry nags at her mind about being queen, about the pressure and the challenges that it will bring and if she’s actually up to the task.

“Do you really believe I can do this, Liam?” she whispers. “Can I be queen, a real queen for your people?”

Liam places a hand under her chin and tilts her head up to meet his eyes. His gaze is intense as he speaks, “Our people, Bea. Our people. I believe with all my heart that you will be a wonderful queen. You care so deeply about people, about helping them, about creating positive change. It won’t take long for everyone to see what I do.”

Bea’s heart melts at his kind words. How does he always do that? Make her feel precious and important and like she can do absolutely anything.

“And remember,” Liam continues, “you won’t be alone in this. I will be right along side. We’re in this together and you can do anything, Bea. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Tears tingle at the back of her eyes and Bea lean up to press a tender kiss to Liam’s soft, full lips. She doesn’t know how she’s been so lucky, so blessed to have met this man.

“I love you, Liam,” she whispers, unable to find any other words.

“And I love you, Beatrice. I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”

Keep reading

I’ve Made a Mistake (Ch. 4)

Ieyasu/ MC

It’s back! Special thanks to coffee for making this all possible <3 Couldn’t do it without the caffeine. 

I hope you like this chapter, it is definitely silly and light-hearted, which is what I wanted.


His lips seemed unnaturally warm and MC really didn’t understand why she didn’t pull away, honestly she should have right? But she didn’t.

A beat passed and then another.

Ieyasu’s hands rested on her hips, holding her in place against him. MC couldn’t the thrill of electricity that passed through her at his touch.

Finally it hit her. What was she doing? She should not be doing this.

She yanked away, staring at him with wide eyes.

“What the hell, Ieyasu?” Her delivery was not near as indignant as she hoped it would be, coming off much more breathy and interested than she had planned.

His lips had felt…so good. MC cursed her own weakness. She knew better than this. He was her douchebag roommate, dammit! She couldn’t just kiss him, or let him kiss her or-

Oh, he was kissing her again. This time MC could help trailing her hands into his hair, pressing herself against him. She might as well enjoy this opportunity while it lasted, right? It was not every day that an attractive, vaguely evil genius was actively trying to kiss her.

He nipped her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth. His tongue sought hers in a battle that she wasn’t willing to lose in.

Finally when the problem of breathing arose they pulled apart. She stared at him, eyes wide and panting. What the hell. He was watching her, his copper eyes drawing her back to his face, to his lips.

He was a better kisser than she expected.

“Oh jeez.” She breathed. “What are we doing?”

“What does it look like?” His cheeks were tinted pink. Cute “Unless you’re telling me that you are so ignorant of the world, stupid girl.”

“Don’t you think it is rude to call a girl you just kissed stupid, what does it say about you?” Her comment was nonchalant, lazy almost. Like she wasn’t as concerned about his response as she should have been. 

“It says I’m bored, but you’ll do.”  His eyes were cool, and MC pulled away, glaring at him. Her blood ran hot and then cold. 

So he was using her. 

Of course it could never be easy.

Pride would not allow that slight.

“Well then.” She gripped his arms, going to tug them off of her thighs,noting the look of surprise that crossed his face. “If you’re bored, and that’s the only reason. You can find someone else to make out with.”

“MC-” He stared, but she only shook her head, slamming the door to her room behind her.

Who did he think he was, talking to her like that? 

She rested her head on the cool surface of her desk.

He was too good of a kisser for that attitude. 


“Things are…tense.”  MC massaged her temples, glancing over at her companion. “But really, can you blame me?”  She relaxed on the worn couch, looking up at the ceiling. “What do you think about all this? I could use another opinion.”

“I think it is stupid.” The stoic voice cut through her thoughts. She leaned her head over to look at her companion. “And you need to focus on more important things.”

“Aw, Hanbei, you always give me such good advice.”  MC let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Such a ball of sunshine.”

“Hanbei is our ball of sunshine.” as if on cue, Hideyoshi appeared, plopping on the couch by MC. “But you sound like you’re in a predicament.”

“Oh hideyoshi, you have no idea.” MC cried, falling back against him. “It’s just…so weird.”

“Is he being weird, or are you being weird?”

“What?” MC was brought to pause. Was Ieyasu being weird? He was the same cold-hearted person as ever, perhaps a little less talkative, but he hadn’t seemed vengeful, or even passive aggressive. If anything he was giving her space.

Now about herself, she had barely been home, and when she was she was in her room, or escaping the living room when he walked in.

Oh goodness.

She was the one being weird.

“Oh no, Hideyooooshi.” She groaned. “Its me, I am being weird.”

“Sorry dear, you are being weird.” He tugged on MC’s cheek, a grin on his face. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

“Umm…” MC frowned. What was she going to do about it? “I guess I should go home and….talk to him?”

“There we go! That is a good idea.” He winked at her ash she pushed his shoulder.

“You’re so lame Hideyoshi.”

“At least I’m not the weird one here.”

“Whatever!” MC hopped up, walking to the door. “If you see the puppy, tell him I stopped by.”

“I’ll see him” Hideyoshi’s voice was sing song. “I’ll tell him to call you later, okay?”

“Perfect.”


How to make it up to Ieyasu.

MC pouted, looking around the empty apartment. He wouldn’t get out of his clinicals for another hour or two so…what now?

The house was already clean, so she couldn’t do that. Not that she was a particularly tidy person anyways.

She really was only truly good at one domestic task.

Cooking.

But how to get him to eat her food?

After that first night she rarely stepping into the kitchen to cook if he was around.

But she was going to make him something, and he was going to eat it.

Suddenly, an idea. A grin spread across her face. A good idea.

She grabbed a bag, gathering up all of his health food.

How to get a prickly person like him to try her food? Give him no other option!


When Ieyasu returned home, the most obvious difference was the scent, a delicious aroma wafted in from his kitchen, it made his stomach growl, which only made him irritable.

That stupid woman was probably making a mess. HIs eyes sought her out, surprise on his face for only a moment when she turned and grinned at him.

“Ah, you’re back Ieyasu?” She turned, shrugging her shoulders. “I made dinner.”

“I thought I already told you that I wasn’t going to eat any of your unhealthy junk.”

“But this is apology unhealthy junk, it’s yummy.” She wheedled, pushing a plate at him. “And it is done.” MC had worked really hard, she wasn’t going to lie, and he was going to eat it.

Whether he liked it or not.

He stared at her, shaking his head before stepping past her.

“Stupid wretch.” He grumbled. “As if I’d eat your half-poisoned food as a peace offering.” MC shook her head, tutting her tongue as he was opening the cabinet. Wait. He looked into the empty space for a long time. There was nothing there.

“MC.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Where is all of my food.”  Another cabinet, the refrigerator. All empty.

When he turned on his heels she was standing by the door, a large bag in her arms. Filled with his food obviously. When her hand hit the handle he spoke.

“Don’t you dare. If you do it, I’ll kill you with my own hands.” She blinked, flinging the door open.

“I’m sorry, Ieyasu, but I have to do this. I promise I’ll restock as soon as you try it”

“I’m not going to eat it!’

“Well then. I’m sorry, but this is the way it has to be” and she sprinted out of his house, the bag of food still secure in her arms.


MC knew that she didn’t have much time, he was faster than her, and this bag of food was heavy, not to mention that she was running up stairs. Still, she had a mission to accomplish.

When she turned her head, she saw him, and before she even realized she was doing it she reached into the bag, pulled out an apple and threw it at him. He dodged and it splattered against the wall.

Dammit.

She nearly knocked a girl to her feet sprinting up the stairs, uttering a quick apology and tossing a vegetable at Ieyasu.

But she knew that it was…

Fruitless.

Her own giggling slowed her down and finally he caught her, all but dragging her against his chest. She was panting and laughing even as he glared at her.

“Ie-ya-su. She took a breath between syllables, holding the food against her.   “Just try my food!”

Ieyasu didn’t even seem winded, he just stared at her.

“Are you even worth my time?” He finally said, shaking his head and letting her go. “I’d just as soon get new food, since you touched all of this.”

“Please.” MC set the food down, grabbing his arm. “Look. here.” She leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll agree to the kissing deal…but only if you eat my food.”

“What sort of freudian complex do you have?’ He demanded, a sharp blush on his cheeks. She was sure it was mirrored on her own definitely red face.

Jeez, why was this so hard?

“Is that a yes?” Ieyasu picked up the bag, going back down the stairs as though she wasn’t even talking to him. “Ieyasu, is it a yes?”

“Fine, but only to humor you, you kitchen wench.”

“Yes!” MC all but cheered, following him down the stairs. When they reached the foot, he turned, shooting her an icy glare.

“If you ever do anything so foolish as this again, consider yourself evicted.”

“Y-Yessir.”

_________

MC watched him expectantly, as he raised the fish up to his lips with his chopsticks. She wasn’t going to lie, she’d made the same thing she’d made him the first time.

Just so show him  what he had thrown away.  It was her own recipe, and it was damn good.

He took the bite.

He took another bite, yes!

And then another, sullenly eating the food.

“Do you like it?” MC tapped the table with her fingers, a nervous habit.

“Its food.” He kept his face devoid of emotion. “I have no opinions.”

“None?” She sighed. What had she expected? “Okay.” She trailed over to the bag of food and began unpacked.

She had tried and she had failed. Her gambit had been for nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning up my mess.” She reached up to tuck a can on the shelf. “I’m uh…sorry.”

“For what.” He had finished the plate, eyeing the rest of the food on the counter.

“For failing to please your sense of taste.” She grabbed the food, stepping over to the garbage.  His hand shot out, all but grabbing the plate from her. “E-eh?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to eat it.” Ieyasu’s blush was back, his tone rushed. MC stared at him, a smile creeping on her face.

“Does that mean I can cook for you more often?”

“What kind of dungbeetle wants to do MORE chores?”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

This really was a win-win.

Ieyasu ate her food, she got to kiss Ieyasu. Nothing was weird….well that was up to each person, really. 

But MC wasn’t weird.

Right?

This was all totally normal. 

Plus he ate all the food she cooked. 

So she had obviously won this round.


Tagging: @tokugawalady @jemchew @frywen-babbles @singokumaiden @cottonballwithmustache @held-hostage-and-happy @sengoku-drifter @pasunny 

Morgan Rielly - Part Thirteen

I brood in the car as Morgan takes us farther downtown to the shopping district. My arms are tight across my chest and I can feel my lower lip jutting out in a firm pout. I may look like a small child who was recently reprimanded but at the moment, I just don’t care.

               Morgan thinks it’s hilarious. He looks at me more than he looks at the road but I refuse to acknowledge him.

Keep reading

Welcome Home - Pentagon Yuto Smut Scenario

The first thing you did when you got off the plane after your long flight was take a huge breath of the air, unwinding in the familiar smells of the city you’d lived in for the past three years. After spending the past month visiting family in Toronto, you were glad to at last be on home turf, in a city you could easily recognise and navigate. Travelling to foreign places could be stressful, and being home meant you could finally relax.

The next thing you did was wait. And wait. And wait.

The airport was far from a peaceful and empty place that afternoon. Families, couples and solo travellers swarmed the terminal, weaving around each other in an unofficial rhythm that had left you bruised and confused after trying to follow it. There seemed to be more people about than tiles in the floor, and the crush of bodies at the luggage collection bay had you standing and waiting for the most part of an hour for it to clear.

Your phone beeped. An incoming text, most likely, from the boyfriend you were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago. Sure enough, you unlocked your phone and there was a message from Yuto.

Yuto 💕: where are you??

You smiled, knowing you weren’t the only one missing the long cuddles and numerous tiny kisses that had been a regular evening occurrence. Your fingers were a blur as they tapped out your answer.

Y/N: the luggage area is really busy right now :/ you might have to wait a little longer

Barely a minute passed before two more texts came through.

Yuto 💕: I miss you though

Yuto 💕: I don’t want to wait

You found the messages to be rather sweet, nearly giggling aloud in flattered amusement. It was rare that Yuto allowed himself to appear cute in this way; he preferred to maintain a ‘cooler’ persona around you, despite you knowing already that deep down he was really just a huge cuddle bug.

The crowd around the luggage collection area finally began to dissolve, the lull between arrivals when no large flights were landing. You clicked off your phone and slid it into your pocket, darting between people. Yuto may have wanted an immediate response, but he’d have to suck it up and wait if he wanted you home sooner over later.

With your luggage now recovered, you followed the signs to the exit, rushing for the taxi bay. Admittedly, you were rather eager to get home to your apartment. But of course, the taxi bay was busy too. It looked like there’d be another long wait in store.

Sighing in defeat, you fetched your phone back out of your pocket, shooting back a couple of texts to Yuto while you started the second round of standing and doing nothing.

Y/N: you should’ve come to pick me up if you wanted to see me sooner

Y/N: taxis are busy too, don’t expect me home any time in the next hour at this rate

Yuto 💕: but I need you now :( it’s been so long since I got to touch you

Oh. Of course, he wasn’t just flirting. The tone of his comment, though written and not spoken, sent evil tingles wandering through your stomach. No innocence was featured in his words. Or, at least, you hoped it was that way.

Thirty minutes and forty rounds of Angry Birds later, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were hardly surprised to see Yuto standing behind you.

“Hi,” he smiled, taking in your interesting fashion choices. You’d barely had time to get ready before your flight that morning, so your outfit was a mishmash of whatever you’d picked up first. You feigned nonchalance, shrugging to hide your embarrassment.

“Hi,” you said back, twinkling your fingers in a gentle wave. There was a short silence, as neither of you knew what to say, and then he leant down and kissed you.It was only for a moment, but the brief contact had you biting your lip to restrain yourself as he pulled back. He winked at you, but immediately busied himself with scooping up your luggage from where it rested on the filthy concrete at your feet.

“I’ve come to take you home,” he said. An arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his side, and he led you away, never once dropped his easy grin. It was more casual than you expected, the action telling you nothing more than a simple ‘I’m glad to see you’.

You started to doubt your original thoughts of his intentions. Perhaps he’d just been missing you, and that was all. You’d probably imagined the sexual tension in your text conversation earlier, and he only wanted to see you.

The uncertainty continued to cycle through your mind the whole journey home, leaving you with nothing to say and a silent car ride. Every few minutes, Yuto would glance over at you with that same smile he’d had since the airport, but he didn’t seem to pick up on your quiet mood. He seemed more focused on the outline of your figure, but you hardly noticed, staring sullenly out of the front window.

The apartment block loomed ahead, and you sighed in relief, glad to finally have an opportunity to escape the uneasy atmosphere of the car. Yuto still remained oblivious to your current feelings, blinded by his happiness at being near you again. Before the car even stopped, you were reaching for the handle, and once you were free you stormed to the trunk to pull out your bags. You strode away, not really sure why you were rushing, or even why you were upset, but figured it was just that you were tired.

It was only now that Yuto realised you weren’t particularly happy with him, and he almost forgot to lock the car in his hurry to catch up to you. The smile had vanished by now, replaced by a concerned frown, as he drew level with you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, gently taking your wrist to stop you.

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I think I’m just tired.”

He nodded in understanding. “Let me take you to bed, then.”

You blushed furiously, wondering if he’d caught his own innuendo. He showed no sign of such, instead kissing your forehead softly and leading you away to the apartment with his arm once more around your waist. It felt like his hand was lower this time though, and you wondered if this was intentional.

He brought you inside, taking your bags from your hands and dropping them on the couch. You barely had a moment to breathe before he whisked you into the bedroom, laying you down on the covers. But as he moved to stand and leave, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him down so your faces were mere millimetres apart.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you growled, the tone sending an electric thrill through the air between you both. You hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but seeing the way Yuto’s eyes flashed in response, you felt yourself lifting towards him against your will, like someone else had control of your movements. But whether it was you or a foreign being directing your body, you still ended with your back arching upwards and mouth pressed to him.

For the first few seconds, the kiss was little more than a meeting of lips; that brief moment of indecision before the self-restraint snaps. Then Yuto nearly fell on top of you, trying to taste every square inch of your mouth as you opened up to him. You lay back, smirking. This is what you had wanted. You knew that now.

Two strong hands held your face as he hovered over you, propped up on his elbows. The kiss seemed to get deeper and deeper by the instant, intense to the point where it nearly hurt. You didn’t care for the pain though, in fact, it made the whole experience that much better.

Normally, he’d be taking it slower, but today Yuto was all over you, sitting back on his knees so he could wrench off your jacket, nearly tearing your shirt as it followed suit. There was a hesitation as he gasped for air, staring at your half-exposed chest with swollen lips parted, before he dove onto you again, swiping hair from your face as he joined your mouths again. Teeth clashed; it should’ve felt awkward, but really it just didn’t feel like enough. You needed more.

Yuto seemed to agree, pausing again but only to pull his own coat and shirt over his head. Again and again he attacked your lips with brutal kisses, the feeling made greater by the way his hips kept accidentally brushing against yours. He was too close, yet never close enough, and there was only one way to get him fix that.

You bucked your hips up into his, creating that special friction you craved. The noise he made then was something akin to a shriek, so surprised yet satisfied was he by your sudden courage. He read the movement as what it was – an invitation – and returned the favour, grinding smoothly against you with quiet gasps.

“I thought you were tired,” he smirked, stopping to catch his breath. You looked into his eyes, at the dilated pupils, and shrugged.

“Not if you’re sleeping with me,” you winked in response, using the moment of separation to reach between you and pull at his jeans. He didn’t stop you, groaning as you flipped him over to slide them off. He was in nothing but boxers now, panting as he gazed up at you. This was it, the moment before you lost control of yourselves; whatever happened from now couldn’t be stopped.

Swinging your leg up and over him, you unclasped your bra, throwing it to the floor with zero care for where it landed. Nothing else mattered but you, Yuto and the way he touched your bare breasts. You ground into him heavily in response, marvelling at the way he looked with his eyes scrunched shut and mouth flung open in a strangled moan.

And the only thing going through your mind was that you needed these clothes gone.

A minute of anxious fumbling later, your wish was fulfilled. You were silent for a moment then, forgetting to take the initiative because all you could see was him and he just looked so beautiful. Impatient, Yuto took hold of your hips and flipped you back over again, hovering over you like before, but now it felt even more intimate. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for his next action.

The first thrust was the most gentle, as he allowed you to adjust, and the second was only a little rougher, but after that it was like he gave up holding back, and it was push after push of violent indulgence. It didn’t matter how exhausted your body was from your trip; you’d missed Yuto and his warmth since your departure. You couldn’t believe you’d survived so long without him.

His breaths were laboured as he drove into you over and again. With every thrust, he repeated the words “I missed you”, but you could barely hear him over the cresting waves of pleasure washing through every nerve in your body. For such a long buildup, you could almost taste the end already.

Your vision flashed white as every fibre of your body gave in to the heat, toes curling and hips rising in the explosion. Your climax triggered Yuto’s own, and you both fell apart in the same moment, sighing as the energy left your body in that last burst of pleasure.

Now I’m tired.”


—–

- Ellie ♡

anonymous asked:

maybe reaper using his tendrils on his fem s/o. nsfw please, ty!

Okay…I shall try

“I’m just saying, Gabe, that this is by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever done!” you growled under your breath as you sat there at the table with your other talon members. No one heard you though, as the other four were occupied with talking about the tasks they had gone through that day.

Now, what you were talking about was the fact that despite being surrounded by other people, and other tables..your lover Reaper was doing some pretty explicit things under the table. Despite being seated at a table on the other side of the room, your boyfriend had some strange powers that allowed him to become a shadow itself and ghost around, as well as what seemed to be these tendrils of darkness that wisps around his feet most days.

Instead though, today you felt one brush against your ankle. At first you thought it was just a rush of cold air, as you tried to take a bite of your salad. But then, it had felt like a cold, velvety caress that tenderly brushed up your leg.

Instantly you had looked around and when your eyes landed on him, you realized that Reaper was staring hard at you. He sat at a table with Sombra and Widowmaker, two of the other top elite Talon members.

You knew instantly from the hungry gaze that was fixated on you what his thoughts were. Unfortunately for you, despite Reaper having a nasty reputation with most and the fact that your boyfriend was possessive of you…he also seemed to have a bit of an kink. One that involved you getting stuck in risque situations, like the one you were in now, where people could find out that you were sexing it up around the corner or worse…at the table.

The tendril slowly smoothed its way up your inner thigh. If you reached down, your fingers just brushed through cold air but it felt so real against your leg. The caresses were soft and sent little electric thrills through you.

No, not here. You didn’t want them to find out. And god damn it, it was supper time.

But from the steady gaze, it was clear as he crossed his arms that Reaper wasn’t about to stop, and it wasn’t like you could just get up and ask him. Not in front of everyone else.

“Hey, y/n! How did your day go?” Asked one of the girls, grinning as she fixed up her jacket and rested her chin in her hand. Instantly all the attention was on you at the table and you felt your face heat up.

Blushing furiously, you looked a bit embarrassed. “Uh, it was good…i spent the day in the control room and-” you suddenly let out a squeak as the tendril shifted up your inner thigh and brushed against the thin material of your lacy undies. God damn him. Damn him to hell.

“Are you okay?” asked another girl with a frown, eyeing you. “You look really flushed. Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

Trying to collect yourself, you struggled to ignore the soft strokes of the tendril as it brushes repeatedly across your panties. You could feel the current of excitement zipping through you. As much as you didn’t want to get caught, your body really wasn’t on the same side as your brain and couldn’t help getting aroused by his touches.

“N-no. I mean, yes! I’m fine. Just, ah, a bit tired,” you say quickly, shooting Reaper a brief glare when the girls exchange a glance.

As if for punishment, your fingers dig into the table sheet when you feel the tendrils slip beneath your underwear and stroke the lips of your sex. Oh god oh god oh god, you thought fast and let out the barest groan as the tendril brushed your clit.

God, you were just getting hornier by the second. Your instincts demanded that you get a thorough fucking but your sanity pleaded that this end, especially as you realized the girls were staring at you in shock.

“S-sorry, my leg is cramping really bad,” you said, trying to make a cover. They must have believed it because instantly all of them looked sympathetic, even as your breath became a tad more ragged and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the moment.

The tendril didn’t stop its stroking, the ominous air seeming to move slow and with agonizing care between your legs. The pleasure was started to build in you, a liquid heat ready to overflow. Your muscles were clenched and without thought, you opened your legs a bit wider. God, he had better finish what he started.

And the moment that thought entered your mind, the tendril started to slip away. It disappeared, leaving your panties wet and your body almost on the edge of release. Immediate disappointment and annoyance filled you, and you couldn’t help slamming your hand on the table as you stood.

“Are you fucking serious?” You half yelled at him.

It took you a moment for your brain to fully realize what you’d done, and that everyone was staring at you. Sombra giggled a bit as your face turned red and the girls at the table were staring at you with mouth hanging wide open.

Widowmaker just raised an eyebrow, tilting her head to look at Reaper. “Anything you wish to say to that?” she asked, her accent thick with amusement as she spread a thin layer of butter across her bread.

Sitting down, you ducked down your head and glared at him through your lashes, pouting slightly. There was no way you were going to live this one down.

“Serious, yes. Fucking? Not yet,” Reaper rumbled, voice deep and husky through his mask, receiving a small kick from Sombra, though the spanish hacker only looked amused.

Oh, was he so in for it tonight.

Say You Love Me

So, I wasn’t actually planning to write something for ChoicesCreates Round #16 (“Don’t ask me to say I don’t love you.”), but this popped into my head today and I needed to write it. This is an AU fic for Jake x MC (Lanie). I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks to @texanhusker and @hollyashton!

Update: Part 2 Here

Originally posted by perfectfeelings

Jake unlocks the front door of the apartment. This had been a longer trip than most. He tries to not spend more than a few days away from home, but this time he’d spent nearly a week shuttling folks across the US. His charter flight business is finally doing well and he’s proud of what he’s created, but he’s ready to be home with his princess.

As he opens the door, a voice yells from the living room, “Daddy! You’re home!”

A tiny blonde blur runs down the hall and into his arms. Jake lifts her up and hugs Olivia tight, breathing in the sweet smell of her strawberry shampoo. He peppers her face with kisses and she dissolves into giggles.

“I missed you, Princess Livia!”

“I missed you too, Daddy! Wanna see what me and Lanie made for you?”

“You bet,” Jake says as he set his daughter down. She grabs his hand and pulls him into the apartment.

Turning into the kitchen, Jake sees Livia’s nanny, Lanie, leaning over a cake with a piping bag.

“You’re early, Top Gun,” she says without looking up. He can hear the smile in her voice and he grins.

“I can leave again if you want and come back later,” he offers teasingly.

“Don’t you dare,” she commands him with a smirk.

Straightening up, she tilts the cake in his direction. It’s frosted light blue with  what he thinks is supposed to be an airplane on it. That’d be Olivia’s contribution. In flowing frosting script, it says Welcome Home.

“Do you like it, Daddy?” Livia asks, tugging at his hand.

“I love it. Thank you, ladies.”

“We’re not ladies!” Livia cries in offense.

“Hey, speak for yourself, little one!” Lanie says as she begins cutting the cake.

“We’re not ladies ‘cause we’re princesses!” Livia clarifies for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jake apologizes. “Thank you, princesses.”

Lanie curtsies as she hands him a plate. The three of them sit down at kitchen island and catch up on last week’s events. Jake tries to stop his eyes from drifting to Lanie too often, but as usual it’s a losing battle.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

There's been a lot of top!Link around lately and I've just been needing subby bottom!Link like I need air~~ what are your thoughts? (I like switch!Rhink as much as the next guy, I just want to balance things out!)

Hi oh my gosh anon, you have come to the right place, because if there’s any hill I will die on, it’s the Link-Neal-is-a-submissive-little-puppy (sometimes featuring actual puppy play, if that’s your thing) hill. I love and respect all the viewpoints of all the various beasts and I will always support the production of more porn, whether it be mike up puffed he or not, but oh man, anon. Oh man. Link is such a sub.

I just think it’s impossible for someone to be as high strung and anxious as he is, and to crave control as much as he does, without needing to just give it all up when he’s in private with someone he trusts as much as Rhett. Control freaks who need to be controlled is my fucking JAM and Link is like the poster boy for that kink. And Rhett is such a level-headed and doting guy, there’s really no one better to take Link apart until he’s crying into his pillow and then bundle him up and kiss him all over and hold his water glass for him and support his weight in the shower and scrub his hair when he’s too tired and out of it to do it himself. (Seriously, give me ALL the aftercare, because you fucking know Rhett is amazing at it.)

Just imagine the relief Link would feel after a day of writing and stressing and trying to delegate and failing because he doesn’t trust anyone to do things perfectly, when Rhett gently takes his phone out of his hand and leads him to bed, slowly and methodically ties him up until Link can barely even squirm, and edges him until he’s crying into the pillows. The whole day’s weight would just lift up off his shoulders until there’s nothing but Rhett’s mouth and hands and his deep, even voice, whispering soft commands and even softer praise.

And don’t even get me started on the pain kink we all know he has, because nothing goes better with submission than a little pain kink. They’ve probably had to take out a separate insurance policy on their toy chest, they’ve poured so much money into it. Because Link is not opposed to a bare hand on his ass, but why limit himself to that when there are heavy floggers when he wants a nice dull thud, sharp whips for a sting, violet wands for when he just needs that thrill of electricity, and spreader bars to keep his legs spread wide when Rhett lets the riding crop just barely graze his balls? The possibilities are endless, and we all know how much Rhett likes to shop. New toy day is Link’s favourite day. They’ve got cuffs, they’ve got ropes, there’s whips and paddles and wands and even whips that attach to the wands (affectionately known as “whippy-shocky”), and yet Rhett is still finding new things for them to play with. (Link tries hard not to think about how much each thing costs.)

I didn’t mean for this post to be this long but I am passionate about this subject, okay. Thanks for the ask, anon, I hope I… delivered? If it’s relevant to you, @santamonicayachtclub and I are working on a longer fic set in an a/b/o universe that we’re hoping to post the first part of soon…ish. We’re slow, but it’s a labour of love.

Speaking of labour, how about that breeding kink Link has, huh?

Curse of Shadows: Part 1

Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean

Pairing: None yet, reader pining for Sam

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1224

TW: Canon typical violence, fairies (scary, I know)

Summary: The boys call in the reader for assistance on an atypical hunt, which does not fall in their favor.

A/N: This is for @sisterhoodofsam ‘s Rejects of Supernatural challenge! It was such a unique challenge, and I am so happy to be a part of it. We were asked to pick a monster that has not yet been a MotW and use them in a story that featured our favorite Sam. I hope I did this justice! The spell in the story is a typical exorcism that I translated over to Gaelic/Goidelic which I felt to be more appropriate for my monster since it originates from Scottish and Irish lore.

The jagged rock contorted the sole of your shoe, causing you to shift precariously with each step. Misty air hung around your face, a thin fog wrapping around the overgrown landscape the three of you found yourselves slipping through.

“What is this thing called again?” You asked, trying to get as much information as possible from the brothers. A last minute phone call for backup had pulled you from a dying lead a few towns over. You knew though, that you would have run to their aid no matter where you were. They had saved your ass too many times that you couldn’t leave them without.

“It’s a Fir Lea, or The Grey Man-”

“It’s a damn fairy, man. How the hell did we get involved in this again?” Dean interjected, annoyance evident across his face. He pushed forward, an iron hammer resting upon his shoulder as he continued into the forest.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring the older man as he moved closer to you. The overwhelming scent of coffee and peppermint encircled you as he neared. He was intoxicating, and you knew you would be lying if you were to say that you hadn’t found yourself hoping for Sam to always be this close. You knew, though, this was no time for your intrusive thoughts to get in the way.

“They’re an omen of sorts,” he continued, oblivious to your ridiculous internal struggle, “according to the lore they use the fog they bring in as their weapon.” You scanned the natural surroundings of the state forest, the light fog bathing everything in sight.

“Any fog?” You felt yourself slip into a heightened state of awareness. The thought of not having any way of judging this thing’s approach made you hesitant.

“Not necessarily, it tends to be a thick fog, something you wouldn’t be able to see through. Most accounts describe him as a shadow within the fog.”

“Well, that’s just perfect.” A soft chuckle escaped Sam, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Yeah, kinda like looking for a needle in a pile of needles.” He glanced down, chestnut hair falling around his face. You took a moment to actually look at the hunter beside you. Exhaustion was evident upon his face, light purple bruising brushed beneath his usually sharp eyes. A fog clouded his face, and you found yourself questioning when the last time he even got a few minutes of rest.

“Hey, Sam.” You reached out, barely brushing against the skin of his hand. The contact sent a thrill of electricity through you, your hand quickly retracting at the feeling. Peering down at you, hazel eyes scanning your face, you felt small under his gaze. “Sam, are you okay?”

A quizzical expression ghosted across his features, his brows drawing close before speaking. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me.” Tightening his grip upon the worn metal of his crowbar, he pushed farther ahead.

The air hung heavy, the comfortable yet tense silent that always pooled around you when working with the Winchesters. You were all on edge, a deadly cocktail of exhaustion and determination flowed through you. Each step echoed in your ears, the sounds of snapping twigs, dead leaves, and loose rocks sounded from beneath you.

“Hold up.” Dean’s hand shot out, instructing you to stop. “Look.”

Before you stood a wall of trees, much the same of what you had been hiking through. The dreary weather hung thick along the trail, the air damp and suffocating. That’s when you noticed it. Low on the forest floor, like the signalling of a fire, a thick carpet of fog rolled across the mossy ground. The bright emeralds that the forest normally held seemed choked by the soupy fog quickly encircling your ankles.

“You all ready?” Dean called out, the three of you fanning out and dropping into your familiar stances.

“Good,” you called out, pulling the small leather tome from the inner pocket of your jacket. The book was old, worn with age and use. You knew the spells inside were the only chance you all had against creatures akin to the one advancing upon you.

“Ready,” Sam answered, his crowbar swayed before him, sliding through the air with purpose as his posture sank, ready to strike.

“Come out, come out, you son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, the echo of his call falling silent as the fog grew thicker. The typical chorus of the forest was gone, as if every insect and animal had disappeared in a mere instant. Quickly skimming across the vapour, you looked for any discoloration, anything that may signify the location of the fae.

Sam stood before you, his tall frame and broad shoulders barely visible through the murkiness. He was spinning slowly, scanning for the same clues you were desperately searching for. Slowly, you noticed a dark patch bloom over Sam’s head. It was thin, tall, and barely humanoid.

“Sam!” You howled, hoping your voice would carry. His head shot up, staring straight at you. “Behind you!”

Swinging wildly, he connected with the smoke as it reached out towards him, banishing it for the moment.

“Y/N!” Dean, shouted, his voice just barely detectable, but you knew what you had to do.

“Tabharfaimid orainn duit, gach spiorad impure.” The gaelic fell from the lips with ease, having read the spells too many times during longs nights of study. The air around you grew thicker, a strong musty odor evading your senses, as if your sinuses were full of earth.

“Gach chumhacht satanach, gach imréiteach ar an ngéarchéim intinne,” you continued, hardly able to hear yourself over the dampening effects of the fog. Glancing up you watched intently as the brothers traded blows with the weapons, swinging through the misty air at the darting shadow.

“Gach legion, gach pobal agus sect diabolical.” The pages in your fingers grew damp, the thickening gloom affecting the tome. In the back of your mind you could sense the light around you dimming, but you knew you had a job to do. You could not focus on the growing shadow, or the air growing thicker, growing harder to breath. You had to finish the spell.

“Dá bhrí sin, deamhan mallasta, féadfaidh tú d'Eaglais a bheith,” you shouted, hoping that the spell drawing to a close would weaken the hold of the shadow, but you knew the hope was baseless. Your lungs felt heavy, drowning in the wall of fog.

“Sábháilte chun freastal ort go saori.” Each word burned as it passed your lips, your world spinning as you chanted the banishment, praying for the shadow’s hold to cease. You knew you did not have much left to recite, but you knew you did not have much time left to do so.

“Arraimid ort, éisteacht orainn.” The words were faint, pulling from you with every last ounce of strength you had, water gurgling in your chest, pouring down your chin. You could feel the cold, wet streams flowing down your face as you concluded the mantra. The fog diminished around you, giving you a single glance at the panicked eyes of the hunters before you. Their arms raised in mid-swing, iron weapons poised for attack.

“Y/n?!” Sam called, worry lacing his face, and with that, blackness filled your vision as you teetered to the moss covered earth.


TAGS

@thinkwritexpress-official @frankiea1998 @moonlitskinwalker @thisgingerlikescoffee

It’s one thing when someone can pleasure you. But it’s an entirely new and unknown thing when someone can thrill you, can send electricity down your spine with a single touch. It is an eye opening and refreshing,and exciting feeling that cannot be compared to anything else.
—  s.w.