I’ve kind of had a craving for angry, jealous Dean lately…
Gator @salvachester - this one’s for you <3
You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down
self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and
even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.
“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe
you’re not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.
Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”
You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head
space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like
you’re used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more
glance and, looking like he’d like to eat someone, leads the way into
the police station.
You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and
flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he
can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch
of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean’s thunderous
frown. He’s been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad
one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost
zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might
“Is your superior officer around? Maybe the big boys should talk,”
he snaps, and the officer behind the desk stands up, all six feet and
at least four inches of him, maybe even a little taller than Sam.
“Listen, Agent Hetfield. We don’t take kindly to feds coming in and
throwing their weight around. If we can help, fine. But don’t go
making demands like we owe you. We work for a living around here,
You can almost feel Dean’s chest swelling, his temper ready to
blow, and you step forward, one hand on his arm as you push your way
in front of him. “Sorry, Officer – Thomas, is it? Please forgive
my partner, this case has him a little wired.” You turn to look up
at Dean, your lips tight as you speak to him in a pleasant voice,
aware that he will hear the anger beneath. “Agent Hetfield, Agent
Hammett, why don’t you go get that coffee we were talking about? I’ll
get what we need here and meet you outside.” You narrow your eyes
at him, the threat behind them clear.
“Yeah. Why don’t we just do that,” he grinds out, giving a curt
nod to the officer and turning on his heel to stalk to the door,
flinging it open without a pause. Sam smiles politely, then turns to
As you and the rest of The Avengers test your willpower in an unusual challenge, your attempts to remain Master of your Domain are complicated when James “Bucky” Barnes makes you his mission.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Chapter 7 continues with the slowest of builds, Lots of dirty talking, Smut to come, Fluff smut for now, Humour, Swearing, Flirting, Sweetness, Sexual tension, Teasing, Groping, Fingering, Language!, Nudity, NSFW, Stilettos, Romanian Vampires, Bucky Barnes
A/N: To everyone following along, thanks so much for your patience! The past 2 months have been crazy busy and it’s been hard to find the time to write. Hopefully I can get back on track for a bit :) I got a little carried away with this chapter and had to split it into two parts so another chapter has been added to this fic…you can blame Bucky.
To everyone sending me messages, feedback and requests to be tagged, THANK YOU! You are all so incredibly AWESOME! Tumblr continues to be a bitch with the tags so I’ve done these manually - I hope I haven’t missed anyone! Please send me a note if I’ve left you off by mistake.
And always, to my twitter babes: thanks for the support, love and smut ;)
Chapter 7: Face The Music
Walking into the common room, you’re met with the scene of Thor and Tony laying out a spread of snacks and drinks while Steve, Bruce and Bucky set up the equipment for the evening’s entertainment.
Hearing the click of your high heels on the polished floor and a low whistle from Tony, Bucky looks up and immediately freezes at the sight of you. Eyes widening in stunned surprise as they sweep over every inch of your body, he absentmindedly drops the speaker wire he’s holding in his hands.
Buoyed by his reaction, you toss your hair back and start to make your way towards him, swaying your hips for maximum effect. While you can’t help but feel sexy as the short hemline of your dress threatens to reveal the lace and garters underneath with every step, it’s the ravenous look in Bucky’s eyes that has the wetness pooling in a rush between your legs.
MAMA BLUE LION PART 4! PART 4! Pretty please? Love you 💜💜
The long awaited part four, my dears! :3
Blue, in all honesty, felt sick. The sludgy ocean wasn’t just water, it was poison. Oil, thick and choking, and she hated how it felt against her metal skin, her human body cringing at the cold slick pressing into her metal shell’s joints and choking her movements. Lance was asleep in the chair while she rummaged around for a blanket to cover him, since she was planning to turn off most of the heating in order to speed up the healing process to her damaged rockets.
She knew her sisters were close, but she didn’t know if they’d be able to dig her and her precious Paladin out of the icy sludge. The best she could do was at least swim up to the surface to make it easier for retrieval… but her leg had damaged the internal wiring and panels; if she so much as activated it, the sparks from the exposed wires could turn this oily planet into a ball of fire.
Being the Guardian of Water, there was no way she’d survive for long inside a fire planet, that was Red’s thing. She and Lance would burn to death, which was something she wanted to avoid.
She was broken out of her thoughts when her fingers brushed against something soft and slightly dusty. Aha! Perfect. She pulled the fluffy cerulean fabric from the survival cupboard, and hurried back over to Lance. Draping it over his body, she tucked him in securely before settling down on the floor, leaning against the pilot seat and shutting her eyes to concentrate on healing her Lion form and shutting down most of the heating, redirecting as much energy to healing as she dared.
She exhaled a breath of white, misty air not even thirty ticks later, the cabin having become significantly colder. Lance whined quietly in his sleep and curled into the blanket further, soft white clouds puffing up from his mouth and fading away. At this point, she was worried even more so than earlier. His breathing was shaky and a bit shallow. He’d lost too much blood. Black, big sister, please hurry. We cannot last much longer. She pressed her thoughts to her sibling almost desperately, she didn’t want to lose another child so soon, especially one so young.
She was attuned to the cold, but her Paladin had lived in a place of warmth and sunshine his whole life. He’d never even seen snow before. Ice, yes, but never a real heavy snowfall. Never a real winter. He wasn’t built to survive the cold like she was. She opened her eyes to the sound and feeling of someone entering the ocean of oil, and the comms crackled to life. Keith and Pidge appeared onscreen, Shiro’s face in the middle.
“Lance! We’re on our way in to get you. Blue, can you direct us towards your position?” Pidge asked, startling the Blue Paladin awake. “Wha’ huh?!?” He slurred, scrambling to sit up properly, Blue standing up next to him.
“Yes, I can direct you. Just follow the main current and break off when I say so. Careful, it’s colder than you would be used to on Earth. In fact, keep Red away from it Keith. Fire and oil is never a good combination, and I’d prefer not to be roasted alive.” Blue explained, Lance shuddering next to her. “I agree, dude. I think I like my skin not crispy, thanks. I’ve gotten burned once, never again. That shit hurts like a bitch!” Lance yelped, horror clearly reflected on his face at the memory.
Pidge actually snorted a short laugh. Shiro smiled slightly. “All right, we’re diving in now. No rockets.” He informed, Pidge nodding. “I’ll keep an eye out for any hostiles.” Keith called, before shutting off his comm link. “Found the main current! Woah!” Pidge yelped as her screen shuddered violently, Shiro following soon after. “Damn, this is stronger than I thought.” Shiro grunted, Lance leaning slightly closer to the screen in concern. Blue had closed her eyes to focus on the bodies on the current, humming lightly.
Her eyes snapped open. “Pull left and out now.” She commanded, the Green and Black Paladins gunning their Lion’s legs to swim faster in order to escape the rough current. “I think I see them!” Pidge barked, and Blue’s metal form shuddered not soon after.
Shiro grinned at Lance. “We got you now, guys. Hang on, we’ll pull you free soon.” Lance relaxed with a small smile, Blue purring happily next to him.
“Thank you, Shiro, Pidge.” He mumbled, before suddenly going limp.
Red liquid stained the ends of the blanket, the blotch of dark maroon slowly getting larger as Shiro frantically yelled for Lance to wake up.
*cackles in the dark safety of my room under a pile of blankets*
Suffer and wait for part 5, my dears ;3
(And yes I headcanon that Lance hasn’t seen a heavy snowfall before, shush.)
Omg I would love to read your take on the "I can hear you having mental breakdowns" AU because I can absolutely imagine Clarke being strung out with med school stress and Bell being a Mum and fretting over her
A|N: this got…. really, really long, so I’m just gonna apologize in advance and put it down as me being trash for neighbours!bellarke. Hope you like it!
It only occurs to him that he has a new neighbour when he wakes to the sound of a distinctly feminine voice cursing out someone.
And it’s not like Murphy was ever quiet or a remotely considerate neighbour or anything, but Bellamy’s pretty sure that he’s never woken him up at six in the morning with his yelling. Huffing, he shrugs on a shirt, shuffles over to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He has to be up in an hour for work anyway, so there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep.
He does, however, start feeling a little concerned when the muffled swearing grows progressively louder instead of abating. Maybe his new neighbour is actually hurt or something, and the increasingly profane swear words are her way of expressing her distress. It’s plausible, right? The nice, neighbourly thing to do would be to check up on her. Or at the very least, maybe pound on the wall and tell her, in no certain terms, to shut the fuck up.
As tempting as the latter option is, he finds himself edging out of the door anyway, crossing the hallway to knock at her door cautiously.
The door jerks open at the second knock, and he he has to hide his surprise at the figure standing by the doorway. She’s a lot tinier than he expected her to be, dressed in stained scrubs with her hair piled up into a messy bun, stray strands drifting over her collarbone distractingly.
She arches a brow over at him, the tilt of her chin challenging. “Yes?”
“Uh, hi. I live over at 5C? Just next to you?” He gestures over at his ajar apartment door, resisting the urge to make a snide remark about how thin the walls are in the complex. “And you just— I don’t know what’s happening, but you’ve been yelling for the past hour or so? I just wanted to make sure you’re not being murdered, like, five feet away from me.”
-map of public transit - these are the life blood of large cities, their hubs are liminal spaces, they take you to parks, gatherings, and supply stores, draw sigils on your map for safety and speedy travels
-pocket knife and zip lock bags- take city weeds home with you for your spells, knives are also good for scratching sigils and offerings as well as directing energy
-spool of black thread- turn razor wire into spirit traps if that’s your thing, tie it around your wrist for quick protective magic, use it to wrap up herbs you harvested
- library card- so many books and resources
- history museum pass- I used to leave pennys in front of statues to the Gods, but go for inspiration, the Getty had a huge exhibit on alchemy, there’s a history of magic exhibit in Philadelphia right now
-hand mirror- quick glamours and deflecting the stare of that creep on the bus
trimberly prompt: “seven minutes in heaven” (2.7k)
Kimberly is the first over the lip
of the chasm, collapsing to the ground once she reaches the top, coarse gravel
digging uncomfortably into her shoulder blades. She considers moving, but only
manages to lift her head instead, biting back a groan, watching as Jason climbs
out of the ravine, close behind. He splays on the quarry ground next to her,
reaching out to pinch weakly at her arm.
“Maybe it’s time we invest in a
rope,” he says, “or like a really long ladder.”
Trini is the next up, and she greets
them with a glare, tossing a handful of gravel halfheartedly in their
“Who made you the leader again?”
Zach hauls himself over the edge,
reaching back to pull Billy up behind him. “I think that was the giant
disembodied head,” he says. “If I remember correctly.”
Kimberly laughs and Jason mimes a
frown, swatting his hand vaguely in Zach’s direction. “It’s not my fault I have
the coolest color.”
Trini scoffs. “As if.”
“Yeah,” Kimberly says, snapping at
the elastic of her pink sports bra, the hem visible under her low-scooped tank,
“that would be me.”
If the motion draw Trini’s eyes,
Kimberly doesn’t notice.
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
Thinking about seaglass, try to describe it. Most of the time, sea glass is foggy. It is definitely smooth, being tumbled in the ocean among rocks and sand. It’s certainly been through a lot to look the way it does. Think about color too, and how this could impact any correspondences–is it blue, green, brown, white, clear? What does it make you think of when you hold it?
Some uses I can think of:
Foggy sea glass:
a curse to interfere with the target’s ability to think clearly.
a glamour that masks your intentions, or certain physical characteristics that you want to keep hidden.