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#nicky hemming
mykelneedssleep · 4 months
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Hear me out on this… Dan Wilds in a muscle tank top
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honeyedlashton · 7 months
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OMG FINALLY!!! MY WELL DESERVED LASHTON NOTICES!! 🤗
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fandom · 1 year
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Solo Acts
The crooners, the boomers, the zoomers, and Taylor.
Taylor Swift
Harry Styles
Louis Tomlinson +1
Lana Del Rey +5
Megan Thee Stallion +3
Mitski +9
Lil Nas X -4
Rihanna +3
Britney Spears -3
Paul McCartney +18
Hozier +2
Kai +9
Beyoncé +10
Nayeon
Doja Cat +5
John Lennon +13
Ariana Grande -10
Lizzo
George Harrison +17
Key +6
Kanye West
Travis Scott
Wonho +4
Luke Hemmings +7
Lady Gaga +10
Drake
Fiona Apple
Onew
Shawn Mendes -15
Dua Lipa -5
ASAP Rocky
Billie Eilish -8
Normani
The Weeknd -2
Niall Horan -13
David Bowie +1
Frank Ocean +13
Nicki Minaj +2
Halsey -21
Janelle Monáe
Taeyeon
Cardi B +4
Kendrick Lamar
Tyler The Creator
Hayley Kiyoko
Sunmi -7
Justin Bieber -5
Orville Peck
Miley Cyrus -11
Zayn Malik -17
The number in italics indicates how many spots a name moved up or down from the previous year. Bolded names weren’t on the list last year.
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otdiaftg · 8 days
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Neil is content to tag along until he realizes they are going to the library. Nicky said last fall Andrew avoided the library at all costs. Neil had only seen Andrew in it once, when Andrew collected him for practice this past January.
He may have asked what they were doing, but Andrew speaks first. He is only four steps up the staircase to the second floor when he rounds on Neil. "Take these or I'll use them," he says, holding out his hands. Neil stares at his empty palms, mystified, then reaches under the hems of Andrew's long sleeves and catches the edges of Andrew's bands. He knows there are sheathes in Andrew's bands and has handled them before, but the weight still catches him off-guard. He tucks the bands and their hidden weapons into his backpack. Andrew watches until Neil's bag is zipped closed and slung over his shoulder again before turning away.
Day: Thursday, March 21st / 22nd* Time: 1:50 PM EST
*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.
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peri-helia · 3 months
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Take it easy with me, please
In lieu of the New Year drabble I haven't finished, here is a Joe x Nicky slice of life drabble where the title inexplicably comes from ABBA. Taken from this prompt list: cooking together
“I love you more than life itself, but fuck off”
Joe snorted on a laugh, a hand coming up to cover one of Nicky’s that is cradling his face. It’s a line he’s heard from his beloved’s mouth so many times before. He remembers it from the first argument, proper argument, that they’d had since they’d become lovers. And so many others since. Probably none more than this.
“But I want to help” he insists.
Nicky’s lovely eyes kindle warmly, mouth ticking up in one corner the way it does when he’s trying not to laugh. Joe knows no map better than he does Nicolo di Genova’s face.
“I know you do, hayati. And I love you for that. But this,” Nicky gestures behind them, “is not what one would call helping”
Joe plays along, mouth dropping into an enquiring ‘o’, eyebrows raising. “What would ‘one’ call it, tesoro?”
“Getting in my fucking way”
Joe can’t hold back anymore, he ruptures into laughter. Abandons the pots and pans he'd been starting to wash to pull Nicky into a soapy kiss. They both get lost in it a little, while the others are in the other room. They pull at each other, hair and shirts. Nicky bites at Joe’s plush lower lip, the way he’s wont to. Joe’s hands slip under Nicky’s t-shirt, the hem pulled free from the constricting ties of his apron up to press at Nicky’s shoulder blades, leave marks that will fade a split second after they’re made.
Nicolo is a tolerant man but if there is one thing he cannot stand, it is someone trying to help him cook.
Joe pulls away first, delighting in the way Nicky chases his mouth, at having made him forget the holds of life, beyond love and desire. Many a pot has bubbled over because of Joe and he holds each time a personal success.
“Should I disappear from your sight?” Joe asks with a contented sigh, patting Nicky on the chest, smoothing a non-existent rumple from the fabric of his t-shirt.
Nicky smiles, that gorgeous, rakish grin that Joe loves best. “Another hour would be perfect”
When Nicky is in the kitchen, it is to be himself, his ingredients and the battered old radio crooning terrible love songs The rest of them are expected to involve themselves only if they want a glass of water or to have a spoon shoved under their nose to check the seasoning.
“I’ll just-“ Joe reaches over to the corner of the worktop, where his hoodie sits beside the eggs and the other groceries not yet put away, “get out of your way”
He winces when he hears the tiny crackle of the bag of Doritos under the fabric, even as he carefully off-sets the weight of the jar of salsa in the right hand inner pocket. Joe was so the wrong person for this job. He knew he should have gone with paper over scissors. 
He’d be sent to do recon, because they were, with all the love in the world, starving. Another hour. Quynh already had Domino’s on speed dial. It’s not that they won’t eat what Nicky’s so lovingly cooking – he always relishes his turn to cook – especially now that they are all together once more. They will savour it. It’s just that like so many things with immortality; their healing, refractory periods, hair growth – they burn a lot of calories and coming back to life is hungry work. They put Hobbits to shame with the size of their second breakfasts and elevenses. Brunch as well as lunch, supper after dinner.
Hence the crisps and dip. Nile had pleaded. Begged.
Joe holds his breath as he looks up from under his lashes at Nicky. His beloved is singing away under his breath, swaying his shoulders as he bangs the wooden spoon on the lip of the saucepan.
He gathers the hoodie tighter, to stop the bag falling out by a loose corner. Another treacherous crinkle of the paper. Fuck. What did they make these bags of anyway?
Turning as nonchalantly as he can, Joe starts to walk towards the door. Then, as it comes over the radio he sings along, "Take your time, make it slow"
Nicky remains, a smile slipping over his face as he stands by the stove, as he too sings along under his breath. Joe can barely believe it when he gets away with it, slipping out and just as casually pushing the kitchen door to before haring up the rickety stairs as quickly as his feet can carry him.
“Make your fingers soft and light,” Nicky huffs on a laugh as he stirs the casserole, listening to Yusuf make off with ill-gotten gains, reaching into the pocket of his apron. “Let your body be the velvet of the night,” the half eaten brownie he’d cut from the tray is a little squashed from being in his pocket when Joe embraced him, but Nicky wouldn’t have it any other way. “Touch my soul, you know how” he warbles, savouring the gooey chocolate, “Andante, Andante Andante, Andante, go slowly with me now”  
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lovelytsunoda · 11 months
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super bass // yuki tsunoda
summary: its media day in miami, and y/n's boyfriend can hardly say he's wearing a shirt . . . unfortunately, there's no time to slip away, so she's biding her time until they get back to the hotel and her lover can take his time with her. inspired by this post
pairing: yuki tsunoda x female reader
warnings: this is actual filth i am so so sorry (no im not, the softer fic is in the drafts and coming whenever i have the time or energy to work on it.)
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she was ready before he was, so while yuki was in the shower, y/n ran out to mcdonalds to grab breakfast for both of them
no time to cook on media day
and when she comes back, he's out of the shower, in the living room of the hotel suite with his baseball cap on backwards, low-rise board shorts and matching hawaiian shirt. completely undone
it has her choking on her morning apple juice
it's not that she hasn't seen this side of yuki before, it just takes her by surprise sometimes.
like now
"please tell me that you're at least going to button up that shirt."
"don't tell me you're jealous, pretty girl. you know you're the only one who gets to touch this." he says with a grin, gesturing to his impressive six pack
"jealous?" she scoffs. "I'm not jealous. i just can't be held accountable for the thoughts that i'm having right now, and will continue to have until you do that atrocious shirt up."
"atrocious? baby, we both know you have hawaiian shirts with patterns worse than this one." yuki hums, abandoning his egg mcmuffin and pulling her closer, his hands exploring the skin underneath the hem of her denim shorts, breath warm as he whispered in her ear
"i bet this turns you on, doesn't it? i never had you pegged as the type who was into the douchey florida frat boy look."
"no, spending five minutes in a room with logan was enough to kill the florida frat boy fascination." y/n jokes, her laugh turning into a gasp as his cold hands slip up her shorts, palming at her ass "but, god, babe, you wear it so fucking well."
she pulls him closer by the collar of his shirt, lips tangling with his as he grabs and squeezes at her skin
her feather-light moans swallowed by his kiss
but as she runs her hand down his bare chest, he pulls away.
"sweetheart, we don't have time right now. i want to take my time with you, treat you right."
she just wanted him, wanted to be ruined before they left for the paddock
but instead she spends the entire afternoon in the hard rock arena, where he still hasn't done up that stupid fucking shirt, and she can't hide how turned on she is
even when the alphatauri media team invites her to join in on the fun and games
which, don't get her wrong, she thoroughly enjoys
but she would enjoy being under her boyfriend so much more when he's out there looking like that
finally, media day ends and they're back in the hotel suite
about to spend the next few hours fucking like rabbits
she's backed up against the wall, one leg hooked over his waist as he grinds into her
the kisses are sloppy, needy
almost as needy as her hands, grasping onto any part of him that she can as yuki's needy fingers push up her cute little crochet top to play with her nipples through the thin lace of her non-padded bra
she's whining into his mouth when his lips start to move from hers up to the lobe of her ear, gently biting down before she jumps up and wraps both legs around him
he can feel how soaked her panties are as she presses her core against his crotch
"god, sweetheart, you're so wet for me already." he groans, kissing her neck
"only for you." she whines breathlessly, hands clawing to push the shambles of his shirt off his frame. "please, baby, please."
"please, what, pretty girl?" he grins, cocky as ever as he sheds the shirt. "use your words, sweet girl. tell me what you want."
because he knows she's shy and she's not going to want to say it out loud
he likes watching how flushed she gets when she finally stutters out: "please, baby, please fuck me. i need your cock."
and who is he to say no?
against all odds, they make it to the bedroom, her skirt flung over the dresser, skimpy lace panties practically ripped apart with the promise to buy her a newer, more expensive pair
he needs to taste her, kissing her folds gently, the rough fabric of his snapback scratching at the soft skin on her upper inner thighs
he tongue fucks her softly, making sure that she's definitely ready to take him
"are you ready for me, pretty girl? i'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk in the morning. now, get your legs on my shoulders so i can treat you like the goddess you are."
she's almost certain that sex with yuki has never been this filthy (although it has come close before).
hes fully naked aside from the silver chain and that fucking neon pink baseball cap, still sitting backwards on his head
she's practically folded in half, legs on yuki's shoulders and he's leaning in so close that she can almost feel the stretch in her legs
but that's an afterthought from the way that his hips are snapping into hers, the room filled with pants and gasps and moans and the sound of his skin smacking into her ass
"fucking hell, pretty girl." yuki groans, thrusting his cock deeper inside her. "you take my fucking cock so well."
"yes, yes, i love your cock, baby."
if he had known that all he needed to do to reduce his lover to a beautiful, moaning mess was fuck her while he was wearing a baseball cap backwards and a silver chain, he would have done it sooner
gently kissing her calves sucking hickeys into her lower thigh
"god, baby, you feel so good." she whines, bucking her hips into his
the lace on her bra is pulled down, her tits spilling out as she uses one hand to tweak and toy with her hardened nipple
he's clutching at the bedsheets as he continues to thrust into her, feeling his orgasm quickly approaching
"touch yourself for me, princess. make yourself feel good, yeah? i want you to let go for me, cum on my fucking cock."
her hand moves from her nipple to her clit, fingers moving quickly as yuki straightens, hands clutching her legs and knees on his shoulders, her legs pressed flush against his chest as he watched the combination of his cock thrusting in and out of her tight center and her fingers toying with her clit.
she moans, downright pornographic as she arches her back, head thrown against the pillows as she moans his name.
"tell me who makes you feel this good." yuki grunts, thrusts picking up the pace. "who does this pussy belong to?"
"you, yuki." she moans. "only you, baby. i-i think i'm going to cum-"
"cum for me, pretty girl. i've got you, i'm right here. cum on my cock, darling."
she comes with a moan that's downright sinful, and so loud that she's almost sure that the other drivers occupying that floor of the hard rock hotel can also hear her.
"where do you want me to finish, baby?" he moans out, already feeling himself begin to crumble (it was the feeling of her walls pulsing around him that pushed him off the edge).
"inside me, baby. please."
and yuki didn't need to be told twice, head tilted back as he emptied his load into her, fingers gripping her legs hard enough to bruise as his hips stuttered to a stop.
they knew they should get up to shower, to use the bathroom at the very least
but they're so exhausted, so wiped out, that all they can do is lie next to each other, sweaty and panting, without the covers because the room is suddenly far too hot for the duvet
"so what i'm hearing," yuki begins, finally taking the baseball hat off. "is that i need to buy more tacky shirts and not do up the buttons."
she rolls over, fixing her bra before she kisses him softly, a gentle smile on her face. "we'll get matching ones if it means we get more nights like this."
"we can do that." he laughs, kissing her again before wrapping his arms around her. "i love you."
"love you more." she hums, nuzzling into his chest.
TAGS:
@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @scuderiamh @starsanova @unluckyhoneybee @micksfilms
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drewsbuzzcut · 5 months
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So Scarlet
nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg
a so it goes blurb
warnings: alcohol consumption and them both being shirtless
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Dallas’ hands are holding onto Nick’s cheeks, her lips glued to his. The soft hums coming from the both of them pairs well with the rhythm of Taylor Swift’s ‘False God’ playing.
Nick pulls Dallas closer to him, his hands splayed over the small of her back as she straddles him. He plays with the hem of his shirt that she’s wearing, his fingertips gliding over her bare skin. Her entire body breaks out in goosebumps even though his hands are nothing but warm. His tongue flicks at her bottom lip, slowly pushing into her mouth. Dallas reluctantly pulls away, biting her lip as she watches Nick’s face contort in bliss. His eyes are closed and his chest heaves, but he’s never looked so beautiful. She pulls off her shirt, revealing her bare chest. A deep red settles on Nick’s cheeks, his flush spreading down his chest. She slightly tugs the chain around his neck, pulling his lips back to hers.
They sit there on her bed for a while, making out and talking while indulging in a bottle of red wine. Each time Dallas pulls away from their kiss, he chases after her lips and she thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.
Dallas reaches for the bottle of wine, taking small sips as Nick starts to kiss her neck down to her chest. They both may be shirtless, but their actions aren’t just sexual. They’re intimate and comforting after the long week they’ve had.
After her last sip, she leans more into his body, chest to chest and starts kissing him again. She nibbles at his lip, sucking a very faint bruise on his bottom lip. She eventually moves her kisses to the side of his face where his scar resides, paying extra attention to the raised skin. Her hands roam the expanse of his abdomen, her nails digging into his skin. Angry red lines being left behind that will earn him chirps in the locker room, he doesn’t care, though.
Now, it’s his turn to pull away. Dallas leans her forehead on his collarbones, hands still resting on his stomach. He brings his hands to card through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She finally looks at him, grinning with her eyes glazed over.
“I love your lips,” she whispers.
He looks down, suddenly growing shy, so he hides his face in her neck.
“Don’t hide. In all seriousness, though, your lips are so perfect. They’re full and they get so red when we kiss, or when you kiss all over my body. They get red when you bite on them when you’re nervous. You’re so perfect, Nicky baby,” she tells him, her eyes boring into his.
He doesn’t say anything, only smiling in response. He pulls her against his chest, rearranging their bodies so that they’re laying down facing each other.
“You’re my favorite shade of red,” he finally speaks, referring to how often her cheeks grow red at every compliment (big or little) he gives her, or how her sensitive skin turns red at the touch of his lips.
a/n: Enjoy!!!
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jamneuromain · 6 months
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Join the Mile High Club
Nick Gant x You
Warning: Mile High Club (writer's choice); p in v sex, dirty talk, breeding kink but only a little?
Summary: Trying to be quiet while Nick pounds into you.
A/N: My ninth entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty. And uhhhh... my filthy brain and my filthy dream. Blame them. (Finally managed for a 400-word drabble instead of a one-shot...)
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"Don't- Don't." You rasp under his frantic touch, "These stay on."
Stilling his hand which was about to tear the collar of your dress open, you unbuttoned his jeans with a single yank - his belt would hold it up anyway.
Nick shoves you into turning the other direction, facing the mirror. He remembered to place his arm around your hips so that the firm edge of the sink wouldn't dig into your pelvic bone.
"Smell so good, baby." He buries his nose into the back of your hairline, inhaling deeply, gathering a tiny whiff of your shampoo that lingered.
His hard cock pressed against your panties. He flips the hem of your dress and seeks your clothed slit with a few harsh rubs.
You let out a sound between a whimper and a whine, pushing your hips backwards for what your dripping pussy has been craving, "Nicky, please."
He doesn't bother pulling your panties down, merely crooking a finger to slide it sideways, and fumbles with his zipper to bury himself in your wet heat in a single thrust.
"Fuck-" You take a sharp breath. The small, confined lavatory adds to the humidity and secrecy of this endorphin rush. As soft thuds on the carpet outside of the lavatory door approach, you place his hand on top of your mouth to silence your moan.
Probably the stewardess, but who cares at this point.
You can feel his cock in your tight walls. Snapping into you with full force.
Hard. Fast. Wild.
"Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, baby." He whispers by your ear, his hot breath hitting your earlobe makes your shudder, "Stuff it so full that others will think you're pregnant."
His thick head reaches your cervix, hitting the right spot that will make you see stars.
Squealing. Whimpering. Biting your lips with his hand over your mouth. Your throat dry like the Sahara Desert. Clutching his arm as he thrusts into you. Out of breath. Blurred with tears.
"I'm close." He babbles, finding your clit and pinching it between his fingers, "Cum with me, baby. Cum with me."
A muffled shout. Collapsing into his arms. Panting.
His cock pumping cum into your pussy. He grunts into your neck. Heavy breaths seeping into your skin with his uneven exhale.
You come back to reality after a few seconds. He crouches down on his knees, having some difficulties lowering himself but eventually managed, cleaning your sensitive parts with tissues.
He tosses the used tissues aside and rearrange your panties back in place. Spinning you around slowly, kissing you soft and gentle. Kissing you with a hint of unresolved hunger.
"Welcome to the Mile High club, baby." He grins into the kiss, whispering while pecking the corner of your lips.
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Find my The Slumber Party Present Bingo Challenge here 👈
Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂
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dvrcos · 6 days
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Fuck it, what piercings I think aftg characters have
Aaron: one lip piercing (like Luke Hemmings old one idk the name) that’s a silver hoop, first lobes that are little black studs, left eyebrow piercing (also silver)
Andrew: septum, double lobe and a double helix on the left (all black jewelry), right eyebrow piercing
Neil: first lobe, he switches them to little Exy racket studs when they’re healed andrew got them for him
Renee: first lobe but she used to have an industrial and her nostril pierced but took them out
Allison: triple lobe that she is constantly changing to various cute earrings, double nostril piercing on the same side and she does double hoops
Nicky: only has his nostril, he cried and swore to never get another piercing ever again
Kevin: got one nipple pierced when he was drunk and they were out in Columbia and Nicky somehow convinced Andrew they should all go get piercings
Dan: first lobe and she wears little gold fox paw print earrings, a nostril piercing with a gold hoop
Matt: stretched first lobe piercings
Jeremy: eyebrow !!!!
Jean: daith with a silver star hoop (he gets migraines and wanted to see if it helped)
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silas-222 · 5 months
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Everytime— Softwilly x fem!reader
Back to you, back to you, back to you
Back to you, back to you, back to you
I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime
A girl with relatively short hair sat in a restaurant, a solum look on her face. Her black floor length dress decored with white pearls, the waiter coming back to her table. "Ma'am I'm afraid you're going to have to give up your table." The teenager sympathized with the older woman. Y/n nodded and placed a twenty on the table before grabbing her purse and leaving the restaurant.
I get tired of your no-shows
You get tired of my control (Yuh)
They keep telling me to let go
She got into her '55 Chrysler Windsor and drove to the shared apartment, where her boyfriend laid on the couch after 'working' for hours. His barbwire and inner forearm tattoo visible due to him wearing a muscle shirt and gym shorts. 
 She slammed the door close as he jumped and looked at her, an 'oh shit' expression covering his face as she immediately started asking him questions. 
"Nick what the fuck!? Where were you?!" She asked him as he got up from the couch. "I was here! You didn't tell me we had a date!" 
"YES I DID!"
"NO YOU FUCKING DIDNT!"
They went back and forth until she finally grabbed him by his shirt and tossed him out of the apartment. "LEAVE!" She cried as he scrambled to get up from the floor, almost making it before she slammed the door in his face. 
But I don't really let go when I say so (Yuh, yuh)
I keep giving people blank stares (Yeah)
I'm so different when you're not there (Yuh) 
It's like something out of Shakespeare
Because I'm really not here when you're not there
"Y/n get your ass up! Come on, we have to get you to do something." Her friend tried to convince her. The girl had red curly hair, her dark skin tone complimenting the black leather dress she was wearing. 
She rolled her eyes at her friend, "what's so different about Nick that you'll stay inside?" She asked only to get no response, "...whatever. I'm done." She said before walking out of the girl's apartment. 
I've tried to fight our energy
But everytime I think I'm free (Yeah)
Y/n laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about nothing as her phone went off. Grabbing it she looked at the message from Nick. 
'New message from Nicky🤍'
Nicky🤍 
Baby I'm sorry, please forgive me..
I, in no way at all, intentionally ever wanted to make you feel that way. Seriously when I don't text you you're always the only thing on my mind. I love you so much. And I never want you to think that I'm ignoring you. Because I never do. I love talking to you. You're the only person that I love talking to. And I never want to lose you. And beside the arguing, I've never had a person treat me so good like you do and someone that respects me like you do. And I don't want to lose that. I can't lose that. Because if I ever lost you idk if I'd ever be able to be with anyone else. Because no matter what you think of yourself, you're perfect to me. Everything about you is perfect. I absolutely love everything about you.And I still can't get over the fact that I have you. I love you.
(Read 11:50 pm)
Typing...
Come over. 
Please..
Nicky🤍
Be there in fifteen. 🤍 
🤍
(Read 11:51 pm) 
You get high and call on the regular
I get weak and fall like a teenager
Why, oh why does God keep bringing me
Back to you?
Nick showed up to her apartment and knocked, the smell of weed still strong on him. Y/n opened the door, taking in his appearance, she's not dumb to the smell of weed. But when he pulled out the bouquet of  sunflowers, lilies and roses, a large smile grew on her face. 
"Hi baby." He smiled as she hugged him tightly. He picked her up and closed the door to the apartment, she kissed him softly. He walked over to the room, laying her down on the bed gently and slowly moving the kiss down to her neck. Soft moans coming out of her mouth as he grabbed the hem of her shirt and took it off. 
I get drunk, pretend that I'm over it
Self-destruct, show up like an idiot
Why, oh why does God keep bringing me
Back to you?
Nick could taste the alcohol in her mouth, not that he minded. He liked the fact that she drank, she was a funny and emotional drunk when they were together. Now he's not so sure what type of drunk she is. 
Y/n took off his shirt and looked at him before kissing him again, this time more rough than the last. His hands on her waist while her's were on his shoulders. Both of their bodies pushed against each other. Nick pulled back from the kiss and smiled at her as she smiled back, a confirmation for what was going to happen. 
I go back to you, back to you, back to you
Back to you, back to you, back to you
I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime
Y/n stood in a room with a projector lighting up the room, it was displaying pictures and videos of Nick and her either arguing or actually being a happy couple. She started singing and dancing towards the camera as the music continued. 
The room was in a pink light, the singer wearing a black body suit along with baggy pants and a baggy zip up jacket. 
Just when I get on a new wave (Yuh)
Boy, you look at me and I slip outta my lace
They keep calling me a head-case
'Cause I can't make a good case why we can't change
Nick stood behind of y/n in that same room she was in, the two dancing as she laughed while he wore a bright smile. He pulled her close and kissed her softly. 
The color of the room was now a light purple, the two wearing matching clothes. Nick wearing a black muscle tank, black shorts with white lining, a black hat along with some white shoes. Y/n wearing a black bra, booty shorts lined with white lining, and a 'black panda' dunks. 
She wrapped her arms around his neck as they smiled at each other. Y/n singing to Nick, "I've tried to fight our energy but everytime I think I'm free.." Nick mouthing a small 'yeah' as the music continued. 
You get high and call on the regular
I get weak and fall like a teenager
Why, oh why does God keep bringing me
Back to you? (Back to you, baby)
The video switched to the 'couple' fighting again as they shoved each other. Y/n was crying as Nick shouted at her. 
"God why are you so fucking clingy!?" 
"I'm clingy because I know WHO THE FUCK YOU ARE!" Her voice raised near the end of her sentence as she sized him up. 
Puffing his chest and glaring down at her before shaking his head and shoving her onto the couch. "I'm done with your psycho ass." He grumbled only for y/n to stand on the couch and push him. "Fuck you mean you're done?!" She yelled as he turned to her. 
"I mean I'm fucking done y/n IM DONE WITH EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU." He said before walking out of the apartment. 
The door slammed as y/n growled and threw a picture at the door then broke down on the couch. 
I get drunk, pretend that I'm over it
Self-destruct, show up like an idiot
Why, oh why does God keep bringing me
Back to you?
Y/n sat on her couch, letting Nick have their old apartment as she now had a significantly bigger one. She was watching tv in a black lingerie set, her phone going off with the name 'Nick🤍'  causing her to look at it. She sighed softly and opened his messages. 
Nick🤍
Y/n 
Baby
Take me back. 
I fucked up. 
My friends say I'm boring and all I do is cry over you, let me come backZ 
 I'll be better for you. 
y/n 🩷
You've said that a lot. 
I used to believe that. 
Nick we need to stop this, going back and forth. 
You need to be happier and I'm not the cause for that.
Nick🤍
Fine. You're a bitch anyways. 
🖕🏻
😪 
y/n🩷
Okay Nick.
Read 2:40 AM
I go back to you, back to you, back to you (I go back to you)
Back to you, back to you, back to you (Back to you)
A couple years later
Nick sat at a bar for some social event with the rest of the groupchat. They were all off doing their own stuff, he drank a small white claw and watched as Issac and Yumi danced in a ridiculous manner. 
Eventually he noticed a girl sitting at a table with longer hair. It might've been the alcohol talking but he could've sworn it was y/n. 
She looked good, healthier actually. Her hair was longer yet nicely put in a messy bun, a nose piercing, long nails, her face looked fuller, lips a bit more thicker, just overall healthy. 
The guilt filled him up as she walked over, not noticing him yet. She ordered a vodka tonic and smiled sweetly at the female bartender. Looking around and eyes landing on Nick. 
I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime
I go back to you, back to you, back to you
The two had started talking about three hours ago, they left the bar around hour one. Y/n had been talking about her growth in singing and modeling while Nick spoke of his growth with streaming and videos. 
The two were at a in-n-out, standing out greatly due to the pair wearing obvious clubbing outfits. Also their loud laughs that boomed over the other people in the restaurant.  
Letting out a small sigh Nick looked at y/n. "I like this..." he admitted. She looked at him confused before he explained further. "Us being this comfortable. Not to be rude but when's the last time me and you actually had a decent conversation like this?"
A awkward quiet covered the two "we'll at least you can still make a conversation awkward." She joked and took a sip out of her milkshake. 
She stood up and laid a twenty on the table, "well here to pay you back." She grabbed her purse and handed him back his jacket. 
Nick watched as she left, quickly following behind her "y/n!" He said before stopping her and kissing her softly.
Her hand raised to slap him before melting into the kiss, hand falling on his shoulder with the other one limply pulling him closer.
They pulled away and chuckled softly, both eyes closed still until they kissed again. 
I go back to you, back to you, back to you every time
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babygirlyusuf · 9 months
Text
j/n fluff with some immortal family feels for @ournextdoorneighbor who deserves all the fluff in the world!!! <333
Nicky hefts the laundry basket higher in his arms and wanders past the kitchen, breathing in deep as the spices Joe is cooking with drift out into the hallway. 
He means to walk to the living room and set the basket down, but the sight of Joe stirring at a pan in front of the stove stops Nicky in his tracks. 
Joe is wearing what would look like a randomly cozy assortment of clothing if Nicky didn’t know better. The gray oversized hoodie, hem hanging down past his hips and sleeves scrunched up to his elbows is Booker’s. The sweat-shorts are most certainly Andy’s, recognizable by the fraying at the bottom where Andy had taken a pair of scissors to them the last time they were all at this house.
Joe must’ve dug through Andy and Booker’s closets for them, which means he’s missing them more than he’s let on. They’ve all been apart for 6 months now, and though they’ve gone much longer without seeing each other, Joe had taken it hard when neither Andy nor Booker had been eager to set a reunion date. Nicky understands— neither of them have handled long periods apart as well as they did before Quynh. 
He doesn’t seem too upset right now though, a slight sway in his hips as he moves to the tune he’s humming. Nicky’s heart beats a little faster, watching the evening sun glint through his curls and the muscles shift in his thighs. 
Nicky sets the basket down by the kitchen door. “Do you need any help, my heart?”
“Hm?” Joe clicks the burner off and turns, smiling when he sees Nicky. “Oh, yes please, Nicolò. Will you come taste this?”
Nicky smiles back instinctively. “Of course.”
But when Nicky comes up to take a bite of the baby carrot he’s offering, Joe’s smile turns mischievous and he quickly takes the bite himself, holding the carrot between his teeth with one end sticking out.
Joe tilts his head expectantly, smirking around the carrot. 
Nicky huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Joe only has to pout dramatically for a second before Nicky relents, and leans in to take a bite. As soon as he’s close enough, Joe’s hands find their ways to Nicky’s hips, tugging him close for a messy, closed-mouth kiss. 
They’re both smiling too much for it to be much of a kiss at all but Nicky leans into it, slipping his hands under Joe’s sweater, just happy to have Joe warm, playful, and close. Eventually, they each take half of the carrot for themselves and Joe leans back, chewing his bite with a twinkle in his eye. 
“Good?” 
Nicky finishes chewing too. He tastes the warmth of cumin, the bite of chillies, and the familiar sweetness of Joe’s lips. He brushes their noses together, then kisses the freckle that adorns the apple of Joe’s cheek. “Good.”
Mischievous expression softening, Joe smiles then hugs Nicky close, rubbing his nose against Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky holds him as tightly as he can, rucking up his hoodie as he strokes the warm skin of Joe’s back. 
“Will you get the plates, darling?”
Nicky nuzzles his cheek against Joe’s curls. “Of course.”
They separate and set the table in tandem, comfortable silence filling in the empty space of the room. By the time they sit down, the sun has sunk heavy and low, dark enough that they have to turn the dining room lights on. 
Their meal is silent too, just the clink of silverware on their plates, their glasses knocking against the wood of the table. The stir-fry and jasmine rice that Joe had whipped up is perfect for this kind of night. Flavourful, filling and comforting. 
Though they don’t speak, they wordlessly move their chairs closer together so that their knees stay pressed together throughout the meal. Nicky can’t help but be watchful of Joe’s expressions, of his body language, vigilant for a turn for the melancholy but it never comes. Joe’s soft smiles remain whenever he catches Nicky’s eye and he even has second helpings.
When they’ve cleaned up as much as either of them are willing to on a quiet night like this, Joe pulls out his little basket of crochet materials and Nicky pulls out a book he’s been finding dense but compelling. 
They settle in on the couch for the evening with their respective entertainment but, as it has been true for hundreds of years, Nicky soon finds himself distracted by Joe. Distracted by Joe’s hands, specifically: the quick, nimble movements of his elegant fingers, the graceful turn of his wrist as he loops the thread into an easy pattern. Joe makes it look easy anyway.
Nicky gives up on the book completely, leaning against Joe’s shoulder instead and indulging in a favorite past-time: staring at Joe. He’s soothed by Joe’s repetitive movement and the warm press of Joe’s body against his. 
Without ceasing his crocheting, Joe twists his head to drop a sweet, smacking kiss on Nicky’s head. 
Nicky turns his face into Joe’s arm, breathing in the scent of mothballs and Booker’s preferred cigarettes clinging to the borrowed sweater.
“What are you making?”
“A scarf. For Andromache.”
Nicky lifts in an eyebrow. “Bright purple?”
“That part is for me.” Joe says, “I like to see her in color.”
Nicky snuggles in a little closer and hums in agreement.
“She told me once,” Joe continues, taking on that particular storytelling cadence that sends Nicky back to cold dusty night, spent around a fire when they were still learning each other, “that even though she thinks all of her earliest memories must be dreams by this point, that she trusts her touch-memories the most. One of those earliest ones is mending and weaving fabric.” The fondness Joe reserves for their little family is present in his tone, in the soft expression gracing his handsome features. His hands never stop moving.  “She remembers it being impossibly soft. She didn’t say the material — maybe wool?— but it made me want to make her something soft, as well.”
Nicky’s heart aches with love— for his sweet, thoughtful Yusuf, for their family, for this small moment right here. He reaches out to touch one of the finished parts of the scarf as gently as he can. The threads are plush and downy. “It is soft. Impossibly so.”
Joe’s hands stop moving. He turns to face Nicky. The hint of vulnerability in those big, brown eyes makes Nicky’s heart skip a beat.
“Will she like it, Nicolo?”
“I know she will.” He waits until Joe’s smile returns and starts crocheting again before adding, “What color is Booker’s going to be?”
“Who said I’m making Booker one?” Nicky waits him out, hiding his own smile against Joe’s arm. Only a few moments pass before Joe gives in, “I was thinking of a forest green. What do you think?”
“Hm. I think that’s perfect, my heart.” Nicky closes his eyes, letting the whisper of looping yarn lull him. “Perfect.”
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andydrysdalerogers · 9 months
Text
The ABCs of Nick Vaughn ~ "X"
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Pairing: Reader x Nick Vaughn (Before We Go)
Summary: Children its time to learn your ABCs. And Nick Vaughn is here to teach you the lessons. 26 glimpses in the world of you and Nick Vaughn
Warnings: S-M-U-T!!!! (under 18 please leave the chat!) descriptions of sexual activity including some themes of BDSM, loss of virginity, fluffy bits, pet name etc...
The new upload will probably be Sundays. Have fun kittens! Also, the tag list is open!
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated
Divider by @firefly-graphics
Previous: W - Wet
ABC Masterlist - Main Masterlist
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X – X-rated 
“This is a terrible idea.”  
“No, it’s a hot idea.”  
“You’re a man. Of course, you would think it’s hot.”  
“You put it on the list.  You’ve taken some really naughty photos and yet you are making me the pervert.”  
“I did not call you a pervert.”  
“Tomato, toe-mah- to.”  
“Don’t you use that sexy Boston accent on me, Nicholas Vaughn.”  
“So, you think I’m sexy,” a smirk graced Nick’s face.  
“That would be what you took from that,” you replied with a shy smile.  It faded after a moment. “You really want to have sex on camera?”  
“Only if you’re comfortable. If it’s really a hard no, then I will leave my phone in the living room and make love to you.” He kissed you softly. “But the idea of getting to watch your face when you cum, when you’re away from me and I can watch.” He moaned a little. “So hot.” He moves down to your neck, toying with the strap of your nightgown. “Or maybe I can take some photos of us.  You know, for me to keep.”  
“You chewed on your lip. You had done the photos before, how would this be different? “Ok, maybe start with the photos...” 
He gave a wide smile.  “Lay back on the bed for me, gorgeous.” You scoot back onto your bed, the hem of your night gown riding up.  “Stop,” he orders.  The gown is barely covering the top of your legs, just an inch more and your pussy is exposed.  “Fuck, so sexy,” he groans.  He pulls his phone and snaps a photo.  Your nipples are straining against the silk of your gown.  
“Nick,” you moan.  “Please touch me.”  
“I will, but not yet. Lay down for me.” You hesitate and Nick growls. “Lay. Down.”  
You roll your eyes but comply. “Nicky, this is supposed to be romantic.”  
“No, its supposed to be erotic. X Rated. And I want photos of my perfect girl and her perfect pussy.” Nick crawls on the bed and pulls the gown up higher, exposing your cunt to the cooler air. “I love when she’s all wet and warm.” He kisses the inside of your thighs as he plants your legs, knees bent, on the bed.  
“There she is, hmm, look how aroused you are already. So wet,” he ran a finger up and down your slit, causing you to tilt your hips up. He snapped a photo of your glistening pussy, then another with his finger on your clit.  
You whimper as he puts down his phone and begins to eat you like it's his last fucking meal. Moving between licking your arousal and sucking on that little pearl of nerves to get more wetness to leak out. Without warning, two fingers are in your pussy, and you cry out.  
“Fuck, taking my fingers so well, sucking me back in.  Fuck you look good.” Another photo taken. Nick doesn’t stop fingering you, making sure to rub his thumb over your clit.  
“Video,” you gasped.  
“What?” 
“Take a video. You can listen to how wet my pussy is for you,” you groan.   
He doesn’t stop pumping his thick fingers into your heat as he grabs his phone and begins to record. The sounds of your sopping wet cunt being finger fucked to hell along with your symphony of moans are recorded for his future pleasure, the video of your face twisted in ecstasy for future reference. “God, baby, you look so fucking good, fucking goddess in my bed.”  
“Gonna cum,” you wail.  
“Do it,” he ordered.  Your body sang for him as you crested the peak.  You were gone, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.  Nick helped bring your down before he teased the tip of his cock through your folds. Click, another picture. Video as he pushed his amazing cock through your entrance, watching as it was swallowed by your pussy.  
Another picture, another memory of him seated deep within you. “Hang on baby.” He clipped the phone to the holder that was placed there earlier. He could see that it was pointed right where you both were joined together. He wrapped your legs around his waist, and he began to pump, thrust, in and out, letting every ridge hit your walls.  
Your tits bounced as he fucked you. It was better than porn because it would be with you and him, this moment of intimacy captured forever.  
His thumb drew small circles of your clit as he continued.  “Nicky,” you moan, “almost there.”  
“Yeah, feels good baby.  So gorgeous, taking my cock so well. I can feel you fluttering. Cum for me YN.  Be a good girl and cum.”  
That was it.  Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and detonate, squeezing his cock so hard that he groaned and filled you with his warmth.  So much so that his cum leaked from between your pussy and his cock.  
“Shit, wanna see this,” Nick mumbled.  His took his phone and filmed as he withdrew, watching as his cum leaked out and dripped onto the bed below. “Fuck, that is so hot,” he said. He took a photo and shut his phone off, turning his attention back to you.  
“Asleep,” he whispered as he saw you with your eyes closed and breathing deeply. He smirked a little. Fucked her to sleep was something he should have put on the list but now that he’s accomplished it, it was unnecessary.  
He saved all the photos and videos into a protected folder before getting up and getting a soft cloth to clean you up.  He looked at the clock. Almost lunchtime. He would get up and make you something to eat before continuing with their Sunday. She was a star now, and he would treat her like one today.  
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juicegremlin · 2 years
Text
Hugs (5+1)
~4~
TW: a bit o’ spice :)
Andrew’s hand is on Neil’s thigh. He’s tracing his thumb along the inner seam of Neil’s jeans, letting the touch taper just before things get to be... too much.
Eden’s isn’t terribly crowded tonight. The lights are bright as ever, music pulsing and familiar. Nicky and Aaron have situated themselves on the dance floor. Kevin disappeared a handful of minutes ago with someone from the bar, and Andrew can’t imagine he’ll be back anytime soon.
Andrew doesn’t mind in the slightest. He’s content to sit here, reveling in Neil’s company and closeness. He’s squeezing the muscles in Neil’s thigh and wondering how he managed to live long enough for his hand to earn a place there.
“More drinks?” Neil asks, close enough to Andrew’s ear to send a shiver racing down his spine.
“No,” Andrew says, and Neil’s lips quirk.
There’s been something weighty about Neil’s gaze all night—something Andrew’s not entirely sure he knows how to confront. He’s used to Neil’s biting sarcasm, his harsh, personal brand of concern. He knows how to handle both.
But Neil has always been less overt with his desire. Andrew can recognize it in bed, when they’re already primed and ready to deal with it, but every once in a while he’ll catch Neil’s eyes lingering on the line of his shoulders at breakfast, the curl of his arms at the gym.
And Andrew is no stranger to attraction, but it’s… different, from Neil. Blink-and-you-miss-it poignant. The intensity is unlike anything Andrew has ever felt before, and it is sweltering. Part of him wishes Neil could tone it down, but the larger, louder part has only one thing to say, and that’s touch me.
Neil’s got his arm slung over Andrew’s shoulders. His fingers are tracing Andrew’s collarbone through the fabric of his shirt, and Andrew wants them on his bare skin.
He won’t lie and say he didn’t put a little extra effort in tonight, just to see what would happen. He forewent his usual combination of rips and buckles for something a little sleeker—more classic. He selected a tight black shirt that’s just long enough to tuck into his waistband, and his best pair of skinny jeans. His boots give him an added bit of height, though Neil is still the proud and smug owner of two more inches.
Andrew doesn’t know if it’s the clothes that did it, or the extra effort at practice. Neither, both—and it’s the not knowing that drives him up the wall. He wants to know how to elicit this side of Neil whenever, wherever. He wants the keys to all Neil’s locks.
The mere press of Neil against his side, however, is enough to remind him that it’s never that simple. No single person comes with an in-depth instruction manual.
He’ll just have to take what he can get.
“You’ve barely had any,” Neil says, and it’s true.
Andrew pinches his thigh. “I am obviously very, very drunk.”
“Oh, sure,” Neil nods in faux-earnest. “How embarrassing.”
“You should probably take me home.”
“So you can continue to embarrass yourself in private?”
“Not necessarily the activity I had in mind.”
Neil’s grin falters in favor of something darker, half-lidded. His fingers slip under the collar of Andrew’s shirt and trace his collarbone again, only this time it’s skin against skin.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, let’s go.”
***
After dispatching the buffoons to their respective corners of the house, Andrew locks himself and Neil in the bedroom. He keeps it dark, opens the window to let the light of the streetlamp shine through. When he turns back to the bed, he finds Neil sitting at the edge of it.
“I want to say something,” he says. “I want to touch you while I do it. Yes or no?”
Andrew considers. His body is loose, relaxed. He nods his assent and crosses to Neil, allowing himself to be pulled into the space between Neil’s knees.
“Where?” Neil asks.
“Hips and up.”
“Okay.”
Neil reaches out, lightly splaying a hand below Andrew’s ribs. The other reaches for the hem of Andrew’s shirt, tugging it carefully free from his waistband. He pinches the fabric between two fingers as if assessing the quality.
“I like this shirt,” he says.
Andrew’s throat bobs. “Jealous that I know how to dress myself?”
“Jealous? No,” Neil pulls him closer. “Just lucky I get to look at you.”
The hand pinching Andrew’s shirt moves to slide up under it, Neil meeting Andrew’s gaze in a silent question.
Andrew grips his wrist and pulls it until Neil’s palm makes contact. “I said hips and up.”
“Just checking,” Neil’s hand passes over Andrew’s sternum. “We haven’t really done anything like this before.”
“Like this.”
“Me, talking to you. Talking in general.”
“You talk to me all the time. In fact, you never shut up.”
“Fuck you, you know what I mean,” a pause. “It’s okay, though? You like this?”
“I never told you to stop.”
A sigh parts Neil’s lips. He rucks Andrew’s shirt up above his ribs—slowly, slowly. Andrew feels a bit of his soul leave his body.
“You’re so strong,” Neil says, breath fanning over Andrew’s exposed navel. “I’ve always thought so. Like you could carry me through anything.”
And before Andrew can break in with a shut the fuck up, Neil presses a kiss to his stomach and everything in Andrew short-fucking-circuits.
Distantly, he’s aware that his hands have moved to grip at Neil’s shoulders, that he might have stopped breathing, a little bit. It’s very possible that Neil is the only thing keeping him upright at the moment, and isn’t that ironic?
Neil’s lips trail over every inch of skin he’s been made privy to. He’s saying things—terrible, wonderful things—arms sliding around Andrew’s waist.
“Can I show you?” Neil murmurs. “Can I show you how beautiful you are?”
Andrew could die. He could fucking die, right fucking now.
“Yes,” he whispers, because what a way to go.
-
-
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | +1
The beginning of Neil’s journey as the Dirty-Talk King. Thanks for reading!! <33
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sheafrotherdon · 2 years
Text
The laundromat is almost empty by the time Joe takes the last load of clothes out of the dryer. It’s dark outside, and there are almost no cars on the strip. It suits him.  He tumbles warm shirts and jeans and hoodies into one of the rolling carts, and pushes it to a folding table, humming under his breath.
 He’s tired—tired in his mind as well as his body. They’ve been safe in this non-descript town for just long enough that the ache in his bones, the terrible pressure in his head tells Joe his body is done running for now.  He’s tired, but for all that his joints feel sharp and his thinking slow, he’s glad to not adrenaline’s lack
Joe picks up a t-shirt and shakes it out, deftly folds it and sets it to one side. A hoodie next, one of Nicky’s—soft and grey, frayed at the wrists, and Joe smiles to think that they’ve had time enough for their clothes to fray instead of being torn apart by whatever fresh violence someone wants to visit on them. He smooths the fabric with care, pats the hoodie with one hand.  Jeans—one pair with a hole at the knee—and two button-down shirts, underwear, socks. There is, he realizes, as he folds and sorts everything, a whole life here—grass stains removed from a t-shirt, dirt from the hem of Nicky’s jeans, tomato sauce from the front of a Henley. The grease on his own jeans, from messing with the car, is mostly lifted, and there’s a tiny hole under the arm of one of his shirts that he makes a note to repair.  He folds and sorts and folds again, and places everything carefully inside the trash-bag-made-laundry-hamper he brought with him two hours ago.
He walks back to the house, and more than once he closes his eyes and pulls in a slow breath, relishing the scent of cut grass and damp earth and the faint lingering scent of laundry soap.
“Thank you,” Nicky says when Joe walks in, and Joe lifts the bag as if to say ‘cheers’ and wanders to their bedroom. He stows everything, closes the drawers and balls up the trash bag, sits on the end of the bed.
“Do you feel better?” Nicky asks, standing in the doorway.
Joe huffs a breath of laughter. “I do.” 
Nicky crosses the room to sit beside him, bumps their shoulders together gently. “Can you sleep now?”
Joe makes a soft sound of contemplation. “I think so.” He turns his head to squint at the bedside clock. “Almost midnight. I didn’t realize it was so late.”  He turns his head again when Nicky grazes his jaw with the back of his fingers; turns to find Nicky half-smiling at him, looking at him with such love that it makes all Joe’s words back up in his throat.
“You are a good man,” Nicky says, and leans in to kiss his forehead.
Joe closes his eyes beneath Nicky’s touch. “Hmmm,” he answers, swaying toward Nicky’s body heat.
Nicky pulls back and watches him, expression fond, and he rubs the pad of his thumb over Joe’s bottom lip. “Amore mio,” he says quietly, and Joe leans against him, and they sit a while longer, quiet and still.
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doctorhelena · 8 months
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Steggy Fic: A Stutter in Time, Chapter 17
I’ve created something for every day of Steggy Week 2023 over at @steggyfanevents! This is for Day 7 (Free Day). Previous Days: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6
Summary: 1945 Peggy Carter appears in Tony Stark’s lab, and immediately throws a wrench into everything.
Rating: PG
Read Chapter 17
Read from the beginning
Excerpt:
“And did they ever actually return your research?” Peggy asked Jane, taking a sip of her virgin mojito and then setting it down on the coffee table in front of her with an envious look at Jane's gin and tonic. All seemed well so far, Pepper thought, casting her gaze around the lounge.
Following Peggy’s request that Pepper please not fuss over her too much, the decorations were fairly minimal - mostly a few subtle sparkly accents and some Union Jack and Stars and Stripes balloons that had made Peggy laugh. Those had been Tony’s suggestion, and Pepper congratulated herself for allowing him to wear her down. The refreshment table along one wall held a selection of sweet and savoury hors d'oeuvres, a fruit plate, a cheese plate, a bowl of fruit punch, and a cake from Pepper’s favourite bakery with a congratulatory message that had, for security reasons, been added after its arrival at the Tower.
Sif was examining the food offerings with interest, gesturing at a decoratively carved pineapple as she asked a question that Sharon seemed to be doing her best to answer. The bar was self-serve but well stocked, and JARVIS was happy to provide instructions for making particular cocktails. Natasha seemed to be enjoying mixing drinks, handing one to Nicki with a raised eyebrow as if challenging her to find fault in it. Pepper suspected that, given Black Widow’s reputation, Nicki was likely to keep any complaints to herself despite the fact that she lived with a SHIELD agent.
Peggy had put her foot down at wearing a ‘Bride to Be’ sash or a veil, but she’d given Pepper free reign over the music and - with some trepidation - the activities. Although nothing she was wearing specifically designated her as the bride, she was radiantly beautiful in a pleated green dress that she and Pepper had acquired on their shopping trip a few weeks ago. The pleats, running from neckline to hem, were meant to subtly give her room to grow later on but, Pepper thought, also made her look a little like a Greek goddess, poised and powerful.
God, Peggy had really been at half strength, or maybe even less, for the first weeks Pepper had known her. She could easily see how this woman had defied all opposition to found and direct SHIELD, back when the odds had been even further stacked against her than they would have been if she'd tried it in the present day.
Read the rest of the chapter on A03
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butternuggets-blog · 18 days
Text
FOR WANT OF A NAIL
@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba @dogblessyoutascha
Part Fourty-Two
Summary:  Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a  lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of  mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to  irritate him every other century.
Also on AO3
The house on Drury Lane lay to its south, on the intersection between Wych Street and the rest of London. It had its back to the river and open fields on all sides, hemmed in by high brick walls to keep out prying eyes. There was an apple orchard and herb gardens, and Martin had built a series of interconnected streams and ponds full of fish and other wild animals to provide food and entertainment.
Martin was observing one of the ponds now; a family of otters had moved in and were scampering happily along their new home, climbing over rocks and flinging themselves into the water with a loud splash.
'Are you not concerned that they will eat everything?' asked Fernando. He happened to be passing through the neighbourhood that afternoon and had, on a whim, decided to come calling.
‘They are small creatures, they will not eat everything’ Martin dismissed him with a wave.
‘They may surprise you yet.’
‘If that becomes the case, I assure you you will hear of it first.’
‘I will,’ Fernando agreed, pointing. One of the smallest babies, a fuzzy little fluffball with slightly lopsided ears, was hauling the biggest fish it had probably ever seen in its life out of the water, squeaking indignantly as its siblings tried to grab its prize from its grasp.
‘Ambitious thief’ Martin said, laughing.
The faint sound of a racing carriage interrupted the moment, growing louder as it got closer to the house.
‘Should we go and see who that is?’ asked Fernando. Martin nodded and got to his feet, walking quickly. They reached the front door at the same time as the carriage pulled up and a pale-faced Matthew emerged, clutching a crumpled piece of parchment.
‘The Knights Templar-’ Matthew’s hand squeezed the parchment tighter for a moment. ‘-We are being rounded up and arrested. On King Philip’s orders.’
****
They managed to stop Fernando charging off long enough to leave instructions with the servants and then they were off, tearing across the city to the docks, and a boat waiting with an anxious Gallowglass behind the oars.
‘Could you not have found us a sailing ship?’
‘At this time of year? In this weather?’ Gallowglass swept a hand expressively towards the wild October sky. In the short time it had taken them to reach the Thames the sun had been covered by heavy black rainclouds, the wind whipping impressively fast through the streets.
‘A fair point,’ Fernando conceded. He hopped down into the front of the boat and took up a second set of oars while Matthew and Martin sat in the middle. ‘I will row too, the better to get us to France faster.’
And to Hugh.
They hadn’t said anything at all really on their way to the dock, too wrapped up in their own thoughts. Martin had asked Matthew where Philipe was; his stepfather and Ysabeau were out of the country, leaving his sisters in charge of Sept Tours while they were away.
‘Where are Baldwin and Godfrey?’ Martin asked.
‘With Ysabeau and Philipe,’ said Matthew.
‘Is Hugh at home?’
‘No,’ said Fernando, grimly. ‘He is in Paris.’
Martin and Matthew shared a look as Gallowglass pushed them off the dock wall. Paris was a month’s trip from London, even with favourable weather and fast horses.
This is going to be close…
________________________________________________________________
The crossing was choppy, but with everyone working in pairs to row they made good time.
Hugh's plans had succeeded beyond anybody's wildest expectations; the Templars paid no taxes, could move troops without issue throughout Europe, and were the rulers, or directly supported the rulers, of at least one country. King Philip IV of France, on the other hand, had inherited a kingdom crippled by loans his father had taken out to finance his war in Aragon, on top of Philip's personal debt to both the Templars and the Jews.
'He rid himself of one problem and now he is mopping up the other.' Fernando muttered, darkly. Philip had expelled the Jews from France in July the previous year, and collected their assets for his coffers in August.
Martin nodded, staring sightlessly into the water.
Perhaps that should have been a sign...
‘I can see the shore,’ Matthew said sharply, pointing. Gallowglass followed his uncle’s finger and helped Martin to row the boat into the bustling port of Calais, drawing alongside Stasia who had stopped pacing up and down the dock and was frantically waving them down.
‘What are you doing here?!’ Matthew and Gallowglass exclaimed, at the same moment that Martin and Fernando leapt out of the boat and asked ‘Have you any news of Hugh?’.
‘I am so, so sorry,’ Stasia sniffed back the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. ‘Hugh was arrested. He was being held in Chinon, and we tried to rescue him, but he was too well-guarded and nothing could be done-’
Her voice broke a little on the last word; she took a breath and gathered herself. ‘He is back in Paris now.’
‘Who betrayed him?’ Fernando was clenching his hands so tightly into fists it looked painful.
‘Guillaume de Nogaret.’
‘The keeper. of the. fucking seal.’ Martin growled. Fernando grabbed one of the oars from the boat and squeezed its handle to splinters.
________________________________________________________________
Dawn raced them across the countryside.
They had rarely ate and barely slept since setting foot in France, only pausing long enough to feed and water the horses before carrying on. What discreet enquiries they had managed to make on their travels had built into a kaleidoscope of confusing misinformation, so by the time the first twist of the Seine was in sight they still weren’t sure if Hugh was alive or dead.
They slipped into the city with the morning crowd, heads down, buried in simple cloaks. Martin had died his hair black and would normally have been the subject of intense teasing from somebody if the situation hadn’t been so tense.
‘Where is he?’ Fernando muttered, mostly to himself. Matthew closed the distance between them and pointed to a town crier standing at a crossroads up ahead. Silently, the group advanced.
‘What news of the Templars, good sir?’ Martin asked, when he realised that he had been shuffled to the front. ‘Is the trial done?’
‘Aye tis done, I am afraid.’ The man raised a hand and pointed to a distant speck in the middle of the Seine. ‘They executed them over yonder, upon Île aux Javiaux.’
All Martin could hear was the sudden wild beating of his heart and Fernando’s laboured breathing in his ear that had skipped on “executed”.
‘And who has been killed thus far?’ Matthew prompted, first being prompted himself into asking by a pallid Stasia.
‘Jacques de Molay, Geoffroi de Charney, Godefroi de Gonneville, and Hugh de Clermont,’ said the crier.
It was only Martin’s fingers wrapping around his wrist that kept Fernando from ripping out the crier’s throat with his bare hands. His other hand was busy propping up Gallowglass, who had gone chalk white and was swaying ever so slightly.
________________________________________________________________
The smart thing to do would have been to wait until nightfall, but none of them were in the mood to do the smart thing.
Martin didn't trust the oars in anyone else's hands so he rowed the boat from the riverbank to the shore of the island. Gallowglass and Fernando were holding hands and weeping, Gallowglass's face buried in the crook of his father's neck.
Stasia was crying too, head bowed beside her brother as Matthew worked his way silently through his rosary. Martin moored the boat as gently as he could, giving everyone a moment before he broke the silence.
'Someone else is here.'
The heartbeat he had heard resolved itself into a young boy. The fourteen-year-old was knelt in the dirt beside a burnt circle, head bowed, hands clasped around a rosary of his own. His monk's habit swamped him; when Martin deliberately sent a small stone skittering along the ground the boy started, tried to jump up, caught his feet in the folds of his robe and stumbled.
'You are not supposed to be here.'
'I..I am aware, m'lord,' the boy righted himself, and bowed, red-faced. He gestured feebly towards the circle. 'I..I wanted to pray for them. Someone should.'
Martin swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
'There should be ashes.' Fernando had started to pace the burnt ground and stopped, staring. 'There is nothing. Where are their ashes?'
'They were taken away.' The boy flinched under the intensity of their gaze. 'They...their ashes were collected and taken to various shrines and churches through the city. I-I know not where.'
Gallowglass shut down, stomping back to the boat and sitting heavily beside it. Fernando nodded once and held out a shaking hand; Matthew took it and helped his brother-in-law to walk back to the shore.
________________________________________________________________
'So this is where you betrayed my husband.'
Guillaume de Nogaret shot up from his desk, gripping a short sword in his hand. 'I was following orders.'
'Orders you poured like poison into the King's ear.' Fernando glared at him, eyes flashing. Behind him in the corridor Guillaume could see his guards lying dead or dying, gore splattered across the carpet and up the walls. Distant screams echoed up from the depths of the house.
'The Templars owned the world! They had too much power!'
Author’s Notes
'ENOUGH!' Fernando roared. He gripped the desk and flipped it, sending it crashing into the wall.
Guillaume lunged, stabbing forward. Fernando blocked him and he swapped hands, swinging behind him, his left hand gripping his sword as he spun.
Fernando blocked again. He grabbed his wrist and his upper arm; Guillaume shrieked at an ungodly pitch as he twisted both in the opposite direction.
Guillaume collapsed into a heap, clutching his ruined arm. Fernando stood over him; he looked up as Gallowglass appeared in the doorway, dripping with viscera from head to foot, Martin at his heels.
'Help- help me!' Guillaume moaned.
Gallowglass stepped up beside his father, looming over the shivering lawyer as Martin turned away, locking the door behind him.
There was a mansion built on Drury Lane, but Drury House was owned and built by Suffolk barrister Sir Robert Drury, circa 1500. It passed into the hands of the Earl of Craven, became turned into the public house The Queen of Bohemia, and then was finally demolished along with the small houses built over its former gardens in 19809.
Otters don't hibernate! I thought they did. There are over ten species of otters; the ones in Martin's garden would be Eurasian otter (Lutra lutra), the only wild species found in the UK.
London in October has an average temperature of 15ºC, with a lot of rain and wind competing with sunshine to make the weather very interesting.
According to Wikipedia "...King Philip IV of France mistrusted the Templars. The Teutonic Knights ruled Prussia under charters issued by the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor as a sovereign monastic state. He was concerned that the Templars in the Languedoc of southeastern France were planning the same thing.
In 1306, the Templars had supported a coup on the island of Cyprus, which had forced King Henry II of Cyprus to abdicate his throne in favor of his brother, Amalric of Tyre. Philip had inherited land in the region of Champagne, France, which was the Templars' headquarters. The Templars were already a "state within a state", were institutionally wealthy, paid no taxes, and had a large standing army which by papal decree could move freely through all European borders.
However, this army no longer had a presence in the Holy Land, leaving it with no battlefield. Philip had also inherited an impoverished kingdom from his father and was already deeply in debt to the Templars. However, recent studies emphasize the political and religious motivations of the French king. It seems that, with the "discovery" and repression of the "Templars' heresy," the Capetian monarchy claimed for itself the mystic foundations of the papal theocracy.
The Temple case was the last step of a process of appropriating these foundations, which had begun with the Franco-papal rift at the time of Boniface VIII. Being the ultimate defender of the Catholic faith, the Capetian king was invested with a Christlike function that put him above the pope : what was at stake in the Templars' trial, then, was the establishment of a "royal theocracy"."
Jacques de Molay, the last Grand Master of the Knights Templar, was arrested on Friday, 13th October 1307, but he wasn't put to death until sometime between 11 - 18 March 1314. I sped things up because having a shorter window of opportunity to rescue Hugh made his demise make more sense in my mind.
Guillaume de Nogaret was the keeper of the seal of King Philip IV of France, not the Knights Templar (sorry for the confusion but the title sounded snappy). He was a lawyer, a statesman and a councilor, and was an active participant in the arrest and torture of the Knights Templar. After the trial, he went on to be involved with the trial of Guichard, Bishop of Troyes, on various charges including witchcraft, and was making plans to go on crusade and pilgrimage when he died in April 1313.
Now known by the moniker Île Louviers, the Île aux Javiaux "...is a former island in the Seine in the centre of Paris, just upstream of the present Île Saint-Louis and of a similar size. Never built up, it was connected with the north bank of the river in 1843. Just before it ceased to be an island it had a surface area of 33,638m². In modern Paris the former island lies between the quai Henri IV and the boulevard Morland." (Wikipedia).
The remains of the Knights Templars burnt on Île Louviers were collected and delivered to various churches around Paris.
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