okay i know i just sent a prompt you don't have to write both if you don't want BUT "pulling away from a kiss to look at each other, then smiling as you dive in for another kiss"
send me a prompt from this (or this!) list
It had been a long time since they’d been on a night out like this. It didn’t make them boring – no matter what Chimney said. No, it was just that a lot had changed, in the last year or two, and they had less time to go to their favourite badge and ladder joint and get white girl wasted (Chimney’s words, not Eddie’s).
Chimney was a dad now, first of all, and Eddie knew from experience how that fundamentally changed your priorities in life, even when you claimed it wouldn’t. Hen and Karen had their own busy household to contend with, Denny and two foster placements taking up their time (and rightfully so) and then there was Eddie – and Buck, because though they had long since been referred to as a pair, it made perfect sense to refer to them as BuckandEddie in the same breath now they were dating.
Dating somehow felt like too small a word to describe the way Eddie’s world had flipped on its axis the night Buck kissed him for the first time, and the way it had settled, the morning after, the certainty Buck had been pleading with Eddie to take the most life-affirming kind of love Eddie had ever experienced.
Life was different, was all – they had less time for nights like this, but Eddie felt like maybe the rarity of these nights made them all the sweeter, these days. They’d ordered too much food, and they’d laughed, as Buck got sauce right to his elbows as he tore into a bowl of chicken wings, and they’d teased Ravi about the girl behind the bar who was flirting with him pretty aggressively, and Hen had cooed, at Eddie, when Eddie had wrapped a hand around Buck’s thigh, keeping his boyfriend close as Buck had talked animatedly to Ravi about a weird call they’d taken during Buck’s probationary year.
It was a good night, was all. When Eddie first moved to Los Angeles, he’d never imagined finding a life like this. Christopher was at Bobby and Athena’s, their captain and his wife offering to host him and Denny for a sleepover, and Eddie, who refused to let Christopher out of his sight, those first few months in LA, was fine with it. He’d gone from being an overbearing helicopter dad, a single dad, to having this whole support network around him, people he trusted to take care of his son with the same love and attention Eddie himself gave Chris.
And then there was Buck. Evan Buckley, the greatest surprise of his life – when Eddie had met him, that first day, he’d had images of getting through a painful probationary year and requesting a station transfer one he became a fully fledged firefighter, Buck had been so standoffish that day. Except – Buck had surprised him, and within a few weeks, Eddie had a friend of his own. Not a parent-friend, one he’d met at the school gate and someone he exchanged numbers with for the sake of their kids, sitting through awkward coffees as their kids played. No, Buck was Eddie’s friend, and a good friend, at that.
He was a damn good boyfriend, too.
Loving Buck came as easy as breathing. They didn’t have to fight for it, not anymore – not now they were finally on the same page. They co-existed in a way that should have made Eddie nervous, because it was so easy and so certain, but it was comforting, more than anything else.
That wasn’t to say they’d skipped the honeymoon phase and headed straight for the old married couple phase of their relationship. No, Eddie barely swallowed his smirk in time as he looked across the bar at Buck, who was ordering around round at the counter, kind as always as he indulged the drunken conversation of the group next to him. Things like that – Eddie had wondered, if things like that would bother him. He was self-aware enough to admit he was a slightly possessive guy, but he watched a girl put a hand on Buck’s elbow and giggle flirtatiously, and Eddie found he didn’t care. Why would he, when he got to go home with Buck every night for the rest of his life?
Buck gave the girl an awkward smile, easing his way through the crowd with a tray of drinks and a level of skill that could only be the result of years spent bartending his way across America (north and south), setting the tray down carefully.
Eddie waited, until Buck had passed out the drinks, before he stood up, tugging on Buck’s wrist gently. “Dance with me,” he said, and it wasn’t really a question – it was one of the first, if not the first, time they had been out like this as boyfriends, and Eddie wanted to drag Buck into the heaving throng of the makeshift dancefloor and dance with him to the cheesy selection of music that was pumping out over the speakers.
Buck let himself be led, Eddie tugging the younger man closer, their bodies flush together as they moved, a little awkwardly at first, Buck always too self-conscious to really let go and dance, in public at least. Buck wasn’t a good dancer, by any stretch of the imagination – but Eddie could be the dancer of the family for the both of them.
“Imagining how this all might have gone if I’d met you in a bar like this?” Buck inquired, arms slung around Eddie’s shoulders, finally relaxing enough that Eddie could guide them a little, their movements vaguely in time with the trashy pop song blasting over the speakers.
“Mm, maybe,” Eddie shrugged, flashing Buck a grin. “How hard would you make me work to take you home with me?”
“Eddie,” Buck sighed, a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes as he pulled at the hair at the back of Eddie’s neck, making Eddie tilt his head a little. Eddie couldn’t help but open his mouth, a little, knowing Buck well enough to know a kiss was about to follow. “You know I’m a sure thing when it comes to you.”
And God – if Eddie wasn’t already gone on this man, he would be now, as Buck pressed his mouth against Eddie’s, kissing him long and slow, in that way Eddie swore he could always feel right down to his toes, every nerve in his body set alight with delight as he got to lick his way into the corners of Buck’s mouth, feel the contented hum Buck let out against Eddie’s tongue as they kissed.
“You’re a sure thing?” Eddie inquired, pulling back just a little, enough to be able to see the way Buck was grinning, the expression sloppy and happy and put there by Eddie.
“Mm,” Buck nodded, diving in for another kiss, and another, as the song changed to an even more upbeat tune, the bass rumbling beneath their feet. “So - are you going to take me home, or what?”
Eddie kissed him again, the embrace barely a kiss this time, the two of them smiling too hard, too widely for it to be anything more than a brief press of their lips together. “Home,” he reassured. “I’m taking you home.”
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If ur still up for a kissing prompt can i request 1L Jaskier/Eskel?
Thanks for your patience, Anon, I hope you like it :)
kisses drawing prompts
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hot chocolate disaster with pairing of your choice?
Prompt: hot chocolate disaster
Prompt from @frostbeees advent calender prompt here
Send me a prompt!
Word count: 470
Ship: Jack Hughes/Ty Smith
Other: I have a lot of feelings about the Hughes family and cute hot chocolate shenanigans.
“Are you sure you know how to do this?”
“Of course I do, what do you take me for, a savage?”
Ty rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you as Jack Hughes, who doesn’t even know how to cook broccoli.”
“I know now,” Jack humphed. “It’s not like they showed us how to cook veggies in the dev.”
“Okay, so why should I believe you about the cocoa?”
Jack’s smile was soft, the genuine one Ty had noticed he only used when thinking of his family. He’d spent many nights wishing Jack would smile like that about him.
“My brothers and I didn’t get a lot of time together.” Jack’s smile turned a little bittersweet. “Hockey isn’t known for its family bonding time. But we’d get a break around Christmas, obviously, and my dad always made us hot chocolate the first night we were all together. Eventually he taught us all how to make it. Whenever -” Jack cleared his throat and looked down at his feet like looking in Ty’s eyes was difficult. “Whenever I get homesick I drink hot chocolate.”
“Well, then,” Ty said, reaching out a hand to touch Jack’s elbow gently. “Better figure out how to make your special hot cocoa before we have two Hughes bros to please.”
That was the perfect thing to say - Jack’s grin could light up all of New Jersey.
“No, no, no,” Jack groaned. “You’re going to burn the chocolate! Keep stirring!”
“I’m trying!” Ty yelled. “Why do you have to put actual chocolate in it - the things I do for you, Hughes, I swear to God.”
Instead of letting Ty continue, Jack turned off the stove and moved the pot off the burner.
“What - it wasn’t that bad -” Before Ty could continue complaining, because it wasn’t that bad, Jack was pressing their lips together. It was gentle and tasted of the chocolate Jack had been stealing.
When they parted, Ty felt like he’d run a race instead of just pressed his lips against Jack’s for five seconds. “This isn’t because of my amazing hot chocolate skills, right?” Because Ty was an idiot and had to ruin moments, of course.
Jack laughed brightly like he was charmed instead of annoyed, which didn’t happen often. “No, Ty. It’s not because of the hot chocolate.”
Ty nodded dumbly. “Please do it again.”
Jack laughed again. “How polite.”
“You know me, Canadian politeness all the way.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.”
Before Jack kissed him again, he smiled softly. It was -
Oh. It was the smile reserved for his family, the smile Ty had been so desperate to see directed towards him. It was small, but up close it was blinding, and it tasted even more beautiful than he could have begun to imagine.
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"I called you at 2am because I need you" for Sherlolly? (There's just so many prompts that are perfect for them it's hard to choose gaaaaah)
Thanks for sending this one! I hope you like what I did with it. ☺️ I’ll also link to AO3…
Molly blinked into consciousness, seeing the light on her phone screen and hearing the buzzing on her nightstand. She quietly bolted upright and grabbed her phone, shifting out of the bed while the blankets as little as possible. Hurrying out to the kitchen, she hit the answer button, speaking in a hushed voice.
“Ah, good, you’re home.”
Molly frowned to herself at the lightness in his voice, rubbing her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be home at— wait, what’s going on? Why are you calling?”
“Because I need you.”
She sighed deeply, leaning against her kitchen island. “That doesn’t explain things specifically, Sherlock. It’s 2am!”
There was a noticeable pause before he answered, as if the time truly hadn’t occurred to him until that moment. “Then…I called you at 2am because I need you.”
“Sherlock,” she hissed. “This isn’t funny!”
“Alright, alright! I’m missing a few things and I believe you have them,” he finally explained. “Did you take the items from my flat that I listed for you before I left?”
A lightbulb flicked on in her groggy brain. “Oh right. Yes, I’ve got a box in my hallway cupboard.”
“Excellent. Coming back from the dead is proving to be a far greater feat than dying, and I’m eager to make sure things are back to the way they were before. My flat plays a part in that of course. Must have things in their proper place if I’m to get back to work. I’ll need to get that box from you as soon as possible.”
Molly hesitated, glancing down the hallway in the direction of her bedroom and hearing the soft snoring.
“Actually…I could just get it to you now.”
“I don’t mind dropping by if that’s-“
“No, no, I’ll meet you,” she quickly interjected, already opening the cupboard to collect the box and grab a coat. “I’ll be outside Bart’s in about a half hour.”
Molly had learned over the past year that Tom was a deep sleeper. Not only was she able to creep around and get herself out of the flat, but she was very sure that she’d be able to return and climb back into bed next to him, without him ever being the wiser. She assured herself that she wasn’t trying to be dishonest. She simply wasn’t ready to either fully explain Sherlock to Tom or explain Tom to Sherlock. It was just simpler this way.
About a half hour later Molly’s Uber pulled up to Bart’s, and she saw the recognizable outline of Sherlock’s coat. She told the driver to wait, and as she got out and approached, he turned, illuminated by the street lamps. One corner of his lips lifted.
“Hi.” She gave him a quick smile over the top of the box before handing it over. “I think this is everything. There’s the case files and the false identifications and the books, and a few other things as well. Let me know if anything is missing.”
He tucked the box easily under one arm. “I appreciate you keeping everything. And thank you for meeting me.” Appearing to hesitate for a moment, he added, “Apologies if I woke you.”
Molly laughed a little. “It’s ok. I don’t have an early morning shift so… Oh! Any word from John since he saw you a few days ago?”
Sherlock pressed his lips together in a tight smile, shaking his head.
“I’m sure things will get better,” Molly reassured him. “He just needs time. And I’ve met his fiancé Mary, and she seems lovely. I texted her yesterday to congratulate them and she mentioned you, y’know, turning up. She seems to like you. That should help with John’s feelings.”
“Perhaps,” he replied simply.
Molly absentmindedly glanced at her watch, instantly regretting that she did, because of Sherlock’s reaction.
“I don’t want to keep you.” His gaze shifted slightly, his eyes flashing with the level of perception that she knew he possessed. “You may…need to get back.”
Swallowing thickly, Molly gave him a little smile, tucking some hair behind her ear. She could have sworn that Sherlock’s eyes darted to that left hand as she did so.
Guilt instantly followed the feeling of relief that her ring was at home.
But perhaps Sherlock already knew. Maybe he had already deduced that she was wearing underwear that a man would buy for her as opposed to what she’d normally choose for herself. He might have noticed that she had thrown on Tom’s deodorant in a pinch before bed that night instead of hers. There were probably a half dozen other reasons that wouldn’t even occur to her that could tip Sherlock off to this enormous change in her life. Regardless…she just wasn’t ready to face it. So she chose to keep things vague.
“I suppose I should try to get back to bed and get some more sleep,” she replied softly. “See you soon?”
“Yes, I’ll be in touch.”
Sherlock disappeared into the darkness almost as soon as she’d shut the door of the Uber, and then Molly rode back home, deep in conflicted thought.
It was less than two days later that Sherlock texted her to come to Baker St, wanting to see her. And that time, she was brave enough to wear her ring, promising herself that by the end of the day she’d also be brave enough to take off her gloves.
He already knew, she was almost certain. In fact, when looking back on those early days of his return, she couldn’t help but see it as a sign of his respect and care for her that he waited to state the obvious.
It was as if he waited to say it until she showed him that he could.
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“Let me help you.” - for whimpered prompts
oh this one grabbed me and shook me by the shoulders
tw: blood (leg caught in a trap), feral Anakin, Nyanakin
credit to whoever started the Nyanakin trope, I'm hopping onboard because it's too cute to resist
"Let me help you," Obi-Wan frowns, reaching out with the Force once more. The strange young man snarls at the Jedi, tugging against the metal teeth of the trap that holds him captive. His growls grower lower in pitch as Obi-Wan gets closer but the General isn't frightened of this one strange, and very injured man. "Alright, settle down. I'm going to free you and then I'm going to tend your wound."
Obi-Wan glances up, surprised. "You speak Basic?"
"Well then you need to calm down so that I can get your leg free from this thing. The more you pull on it the more damage you're doing to the muscle."
"No," the man growls again. The sound is predatory and dangerous, but the Jedi ignores his instincts the way he's been taught; this man cannot hurt him so long as he is careful with the Force. "Don't touch me."
This seems to get the strange man's attention. This is also when Obi-Wan notices the two triangular ears sticking up from the top of his head; they twitch in the Jedi's direction, the tips almost seeming to vibrate slightly. Behind him, a bronze-colored tail swishes and flicks.
"I'm allowed to touch, now?"
"Only to help," the man half-frowns, half-pouts. Obi-Wan suppresses a fond smile.
"Only to help, I promise. My name is Obi-Wan, by the way."
"That's a lovely name," Obi-Wan flinches as he removes the trap - partially from the way Anakin's pain echoes through the Force and partially from the way Anakin's nails dig into the meat of his bicep as the springs release. "How did you get into this mess, anyway?"
"Ah," Obi-Wan hides a smile at his patient's matter-of-fact tone.
"I was hunting. Didn't get it. Got hunted."
"That seems to be the case. Is there anywhere you can get stitches?"
Obi-Wan sighs and lifts the strange man into his arms. His ears twitch and flicker cutely, his tail wrapping around his rescuer's waist for added security. "I'm taking you back to my ship so that I can properly heal you, is that okay Anakin?"
The man nods and leans into the Jedi's embrace. They're halfway back to the ship before Obi-Wan realizes that Anakin has been purring ever since he picked him up.
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Well, I think I technically missed Friday, but that's okay. Here is my contribution to this week's FINAL @gleefanfictionfriday prompt. Can you believe it???
This story features a lot of books, a lot of love, and a few mentions of Kurt's ass. Because how could it not?
Title: What Brings You Joy
Word Count: 3505
Summary: Blaine's mom has decided he should follow Marie Kondo's organizing methods in his apartment—even with his books. So, when he takes some of his precious books to a nearby bookshop to sell, he meets a cute boy who only wants to know one thing: do his books bring him joy?
AO3 or FF.net
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Bucky follows Wanda into Westview, in hopes to see Steve, even if conjured from Wanda's mind.
Based on another brilliant prompt by anon
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Prompt: People now know that Danny Fenton is a ghost/half-ghost, but not that he’s Phantom. People assume that Danny is a fairly weak ghost. People are about to be proven very, very wrong.
"So," asked Mikey, "have you ever been to the Ghost Zone?"
"We've all been to the Ghost Zone," said Danny, raising an eyebrow. "The whole town was sucked in, remember?"
"That doesn't count," said Mikey. "We stayed in town the whole time. We didn't go anywhere."
Danny sighed and put down his sandwich. This was going to be another Q&A session. "Yes, I've been to the Ghost Zone."
"Is it scary there?" asked Star, leaning in.
Danny leaned back, and Sam and Tucker nudged him with their elbows, a silent promise to back him up if he wanted to run for it. He'd been outed as a half-ghost a week ago, thanks to one of his parents' inventions, not long enough for the novelty to wear off. He wasn't, quite, popular, but by some strange alchemy of social pressures and the local fascination with ghosts, he wasn't a complete outcast anymore, either.
"I mean, it is full of ghosts and there are some dangerous spots, but... Not really. It can actually be calming to float there."
"You can float?" asked Mikey, eagerly.
"Yes...?" said Danny.
"Do you have any friends there?" asked Star.
"Yeah!" said Danny, distracted from Mikey apparently not knowing he could fly. "A bunch! Most of the ghosts that come here are the really aggressive ones who are looking for a fight. But most ghosts in the GZ just want to be left alone to do their own thing, really, just like humans."
"What are they like?" asked Star. "Have you met any cool people?"
"Hah!" shouted Dash, who was passing by. "Fenton couldn't meet cool people if it killed him!"
"Wow," drawled Danny, resting his cheek on his fist. "What does that say about you, I wonder?"
"Never change, Dash?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The bell rang. Danny sighed. Time for class, he supposed. He shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.
"That's gross, Danny," said Sam.
Danny shrugged in response, mouth too full to properly respond. They walked out into the courtyard.
Then Danny's ghost sense went off, an interesting sensation with a full mouth. He swallowed.
"Great," he said. "Hey, everyone! There's about to be a ghost attack! Or, at least, a ghost will be here. Soon."
"Wait, is that how you always run off right before there's a ghost attack?" asked Mikey.
"I'm not exactly running off-"
"Alright, everyone evacuate!" said Mr. Lancer, who had been the lunch monitor today. "You know your plans! And you can come with us for once, Mr. Fenton."
"But I've got to fight the ghost?" said Danny gesturing.
"I know you have a few special abilities from your condition, but this really isn't the time," said Mr. Lancer.
Danny stared as other students ran from the courtyard. "Okay, what? I feel like we're missing something here. A few powers?"
"Today will be the day, whelp!"
Shaking off the strangeness, Danny turned to his enemy. And transformed. Because why not? Everyone knew he was half-ghost, now.
"Are you seriously telling me that no one knew I was Phantom? It's been a week."
"We know," said Principal Ishiyama, tiredly.
"And you're telling me the school was okay with me being half-ghost, but they're drawing the line at me being Phantom."
"Well, we obviously had a very different conception of what half-ghost meant," said Principal Ishiyama, rubbing her temples, "and you aren't expelled or suspended or anything. Just. We feel like it would be better for you to go home early today. For us all to... process. Besides, your... life? Your life was threatened by a dangerous ghost today."
"He does that once a week," said Danny, unamused.
"Still. You can come back on Monday. Please."
The office door slammed open, revealing Jack and Maddie.
"How did you guys also miss that?"
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for the writing prompts: geraskier + 100! <3
Thank you so much for the prompt, my friend!! I had a lot of fun with this. I hope you like it! <3
100: "I'm yours."
Edit: also on Ao3!
Geralt sits in a room in a backwater tavern somewhere in Lyria, preparing for bed. He is alone. He has just finished an unusually long hunt, and Jaskier seems to have taken advantage of the time spent in one town to have an affair with the baker’s daughter. Geralt does not expect Jaskier to be back tonight. He thinks idly that he shouldn’t have bothered to pay for a room with two beds.
Then he hears clumsy footsteps thumping up to the door, and the object of his thoughts stumbles into the room.
“Geralt! You’re back!” says Jaskier, obviously drunk.
“I got back this afternoon. You saw me then,” says Geralt, amused. “Where’s your lady friend?”
“She left me,” says Jaskier earnestly. “Said she doesn’t wanna see me anymore.”
He stares morosely at the wall behind Geralt for a moment, then suddenly bursts into tears.
Geralt stands, startled. He helps Jaskier to his bed, sits him down, and awkwardly pats him on the shoulder.
“I’m… sorry?” he tries.
“She left me!” Jaskier cries, looking mournfully up at Geralt. “I loved her an’ she left me. Why do they all leave, Geralt?”
Geralt’s heart clenches a little, because he knows Jaskier did love the baker’s daughter, in his own way. He loves almost everyone he meets, wholly and genuinely. It isn’t his fault that he isn’t good at sticking around — if anything, it’s Geralt’s for traveling so much.
“‘S just… I wanna have someone be mine, y’ know?” Jaskier slurs. “It’s always me bein’ someone else’s. I say I’m theirs ‘n they never say it back. They don’t want me f’r long.”
It’s strange to see Jaskier so openly distressed. Usually, the bard is content to hide his more melancholy feelings behind a wall of speech and smiles. Geralt thinks he is either very upset or very drunk. Or both.
“I’m sorry,” Geralt says again, not sure what to do.
Jaskier flops backwards onto the bed and stares at the ceiling.
“Nobody’s mine,” he says sadly, and closes his eyes. He falls asleep almost immediately.
Geralt looks at him for a long moment, watching his chest rise and fall thinking about what he’s just heard. It’s strange to think of Jaskier feeling sad or lonely. He hadn’t thought the bard could ever feel that way, living surrounded by people and laughter as he always does.
Thinking about it makes Geralt feel strangely unhappy.
Slowly, Geralt finishes taking off his armour and gets into his own bed. He tries not to think about it He needs to rest. They’re leaving in the morning. He rolls over so his back is to Jaskier, and does his best to ignore the emotions.
Sleep, despite his best efforts, is a long time coming.
Days later, Geralt watches Jaskier from across the tavern. He is performing as usual, dancing about the tavern with all the joy and elegance of an otter in the ocean. He’s radiant like this, in his element even amongst farmers and blacksmiths in some backwater town he may never see again. He knows just how to read the room, just what to do to ensure that he and Geralt get what they need and his audience leaves with smiles on their faces.
Geralt looks at him, and he thinks of that night in Lyria. He cannot understand how someone like Jaskier could ever feel overlooked.
Days later, Geralt watches Jaskier from across the marketplace. He is haggling with a shopkeeper selling cheese, all eloquent hands and loud exclamations. His strategy seems to be to overwhelm the poor cheesemonger with a constant barrage of words until the man relents. He hasn’t noticed that Geralt is looking, and Geralt is content to keep it that way for the moment. The bard’s antics are far too amusing to interrupt.
Then Jaskier turns around, just for a moment, and Geralt can see the exact moment the bard spots him. His face lights up in a blinding grin, as though he’s trying to send a beam of pure joy across the square and into Geralt. Before Geralt can respond, Jaskier has turned around and returned to arguing with the cheesemonger as though nothing has happened. It feels a little bit like the sun has gone behind a cloud.
Geralt looks at him, thinks of that night in Lyria, and doesn’t know how Jaskier could possibly feel unwanted.
Days later, Geralt watches Jaskier from across the path. The bard is rambling on about a sheep he saw in Kaedwen, of all things. He is neither singing nor performing, simply talking and walking and being. There’s a certain trust to it, a vulnerability, that Geralt doesn’t know what to do with. Jaskier isn’t putting on a show, as he almost always does. He doesn’t even know for sure that Geralt is listening. On the surface it’s similar to all of Jaskier’s chattering, but Geralt can feel the difference. It’s more open, more unguarded than Jaskier ever gets with people he doesn’t trust.
Geralt looks at him, thinks of that night in Lyria, and cannot understand how anyone could have this without understanding its worth.
Days later, Geralt watches Jaskier from across the campfire. The bard is quiet, entirely focused on whatever he is writing in his notebook. Even now, he is not still. One of his crossed legs bouncing as rapidly as his thoughts are presumably moving, and he occasionally twiddles with his quill. His face is lit by the warm, flickering light. He almost glows against the darkness of the forest behind him. He looks almost magical like this, like a being from another world. A being of motion and music and light.
Geralt looks at him, thinks of that night in Lyria, and cannot conceive how someone could see him like this without letting him steal their affections. Without giving him their heart.
Geralt thinks he might be in love.
They are in a tavern again. It’s quite similar to that one in Lyria, mostly because there is only so much variation to be had among backwater taverns in quiet towns. Jaskier is downstairs, singing, but Geralt thinks the bard will join him in their room before long.
True to his guess, Jaskier throws open the door to their room barely fifteen minutes later. He’s still flushed and smiling from his performance, chattering rapidly about something or other, full of excess energy. He’s happy, but Geralt keeps thinking of the last time they were in an inn like this. He wonders how much sadness Jaskier is burying beneath his good cheer.
He thinks of Jaskier, lonely in a crowd. He thinks of Jaskier, longing for someone who wants to be his, not knowing that he holds Geralt’s heart in his nimble, lute-calloused hands. He thinks Jaskier deserves to know.
Nobody is mine, he remembers Jaskier saying.
“I am,” Geralt says.
Jaskier cuts off his stream of words and looks at Geralt in confusion. “What?”
“That night in Lyria. You were drunk.”
Jaskier is amused. “I know you’re trying, darling, but I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate a bit,” he says with a smile.
“I— you said— hmm.” Geralt huffs, frustrated. He can’t figure out how to get the words to make sense.
“Yes?” Jaskier prompts, sounding fond.
“You were sad,” he tries. “Because of the baker’s daughter. You said… you said you wished someone would be yours.”
Jaskier is still and silent, suddenly, all of his attention focused on Geralt. Geralt can hear the nervous, birdlike fluttering of his heart.
“I am,” he says, looking away from those too-bright, spellbinding eyes. “Yours.”
Jaskier doesn't make a sound. Geralt can’t bring himself to look at him.
Maybe Jaskier didn’t want to hear that, not from him. Maybe Geralt has only made it worse. Maybe Jaskier feels betrayed by someone he thought was just a friend. Maybe Geralt has ruined everything. Maybe—
Geralt is almost knocked back by the sudden force of a bard launching himself at his chest. Strong arms wrap around him. Geralt’s own arms come up instinctually, half simply to keep one of them from falling. They are, he realizes belatedly, hugging.
And Jaskier is crying into his shoulder.
“Jaskier?” he says hesitantly. He’s not sure what’s happening.
“Don’t,” Jaskier chokes out. “Don’t you dare ‘Jaskier’ me after you’ve just said the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt says again, and the bard laughs wetly. “Are you… all right?”
“Am I all right, he asks. Gods, Geralt. Do you know what you just did? I’m… I’m in shock. I’m dancing in the clouds. I’m cartwheeling through roses. I’m making no sense. I’m fucking amazing.”
Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays silent.
Then Jaskier pulls away, suddenly serious. “Did you mean it?”
“Yes.” Geralt is sure of that now.
“Oh,” Jaskier says, and a grin spreads slowly across his face. “Oh.”
He buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder.
“Me too,” he says, muffled but perfectly intelligible to Geralt. “I’ve been yours for years, Geralt.”
That brings Geralt up short. “What?”
Jaskier laughs again. “Silly witcher. I’ve followed you around the Continent for decades. Did you think I’d do that for anyone?”
Geralt stops, thinks for a moment, and realizes that, in all the ways that matter, Jaskier has been with him longer than anyone else.
“Oh,” he says, feeling slightly stupid, and Jaskier laughs again.
“Yes, oh, you big oaf. Now shut up and kiss me.”
And Geralt did.
Days later, Geralt looks at Jaskier. They are tangled together in Jaskier’s bedroll. There is no empty space between them, only warm skin and gentle touches. Jaskier’s eyes are closed, but his breathing has not quite evened out into slumber. He is snug and calm and happy, here in Geralt’s arms, and it’s the most beautiful thing Geralt has ever seen.
Geralt looks at him, and he thinks of that night in Lyria, and he thinks that perhaps he is lucky that no one else thought to tell Jaskier they are his. Now, after all, he has the bard to himself.
He shifts the small amount required to place a soft kiss on Jaskier’s forward.
Jaskier makes a quiet, happy noise, nestles his head into the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt smiles softly.
“I’m yours,” he whispers again, into the quiet night air.
And he falls asleep with a smile on his face.
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‘13) things you said at the kitchen table’ because love is stored in the kitchen <33
It drives Eddie crazy how Buck leaves every kitchen cabinet open while drying and stacking the dishes, despite Buck’s argument that it’s the most efficient way to clean, and it drives Buck crazy how Eddie washes the plates and cups first and not the big pots and pans. So they compromise, leaving Eddie as the resident dish-dryer and Buck as the dish-washer. Scrub, rinse, hand it off. Scrub, rinse, hand it off.
Buck’s sleeve begins to slide as he scrubs the saucepan, and Eddie pulls it back up before it can reach the water, letting his hands linger at the crook of his elbow. Their eyes meet, but neither says a word. Buck hands over the saucepan, eyes still kept, and the only reason Eddie breaks away is because the pans are stacked in the bottom cabinet.
Scrub, rinse, hand it off.
A cup meets his hand that he only vaguely recognizes. It’s tall, plastic, and the graphic on the front is mostly faded, but he can just barely make out the word Zoo, with Hershey, Pennsylvania scrawled just beneath. The cup, at least ten years old, probably more, managed to stay in Buck’s life and cross the barrier into Eddie’s.
It’s followed by a tupperware with Maddie’s handwriting scribbled on top, nearly faded, almost gone, labeling whatever was once stored in the container.
Then comes the mug, which Eddie is certain he never bought, but it’s somehow become his favorite; obnoxiously large and easy to hold, perfectly shaping his hand.
The kitchen did as kitchens do best: handed him a bit of truth that could be found nowhere else.
Cups, dishes, chipped bowls and plates; there’s a bit of Buck in every corner of the kitchen. All around the house they’ve grown to call home, there’s remnants of a life that’s become indescribably theirs. Buck takes his key and lets himself in, shoes fitting perfectly on the bottom shelf of the shoe rack. He hangs his keys beside Eddie’s, and leaves his jacket by the door. Buck walks inside and steps over the darkest floor panel because he knows that’s the one that always creaks, and Chris is already asleep. There’s rings on the dining table, three to be exact, and magnets on the fridge Eddie never bought, holding up photos Eddie didn’t take.
Nothing is ever certain, but Eddie’s confident that Buck is a sure thing. Not just his work partner or best friend, but the only person he can imagine by his side year after year, time and time again. Because when Buck’s hand brushes against his, he feels light and, for the first time, Eddie believes that love can be freeing.
It shouldn’t be this big of a deal, he sees Buck every day.
He sees Buck at work, by his side on every call. He sees him holding the shopping list when they go to buy groceries together. He wakes up and finds Buck still sleeping on the couch, feet poking out from beneath the covers and hanging over the armrest. As he sleeps, he pulls his hoodie around his face, trying to block the slivers of sunlight peeking in from behind the curtains, dancing around his face. When Chris wakes up he taps Buck’s head until his eyes peel open, smiling when he discovers the culprit is his favorite kid in the world.
(Eddie prefers to let him sleep just a few minutes longer).
On the days where he wakes up alone, Eddie is greeted by blue eyes sometime in the afternoon when Buck comes home from a shift.
It’s been weeks since the shooting, and Eddie doesn’t need help with reaching the top cabinets or carrying the laundry anymore, but Buck still hasn’t left. Eddie would never ask him to leave, secretly relishing in the extra moments spent by his side, and Buck always creates some new excuse for staying an extra night.
“Albert just got back from his shift, I don’t want to wake him up,” or, “There’s construction on the upper floors and the sound is driving me crazy,” or, “I took the sheets off my bed to wash them, but I never actually got around to it.”
Eventually he stops making excuses, and Eddie no longer has to ask him to stay.
“Buck,” Eddie whispers, his name a revelation in itself. He’s still holding the mug, his favorite mug, the one from Buck’s apartment that’s somehow become his.
He’s about to hand the cutlery over to Eddie, but leaves it in the sink instead. Buck turns to Eddie, slowly, carefully, letting his gaze travel up and down, before settling on his eyes.
“Hmm?” Buck hums.
“This is your mug.”
“Oh,” he sighs, taking hold of the handle with soapy hands. “I must’ve left it here. I’ll take it back to the loft later.”
“No,” he cuts in, too fast.
The mug dangles precariously from Buck’s fingers, hooked around his middle and ring finger. A few drops of water fall to the floor, but they’ll dry fast enough. He knows Buck won’t let it fall, but still, he’s on edge watching the mug hang.
“It’s a good mug,” Eddie says. It’s not too heavy, not too light. He can microwave it without the handle burning too hot. The inside is big enough to hold an unreasonable amount of coffee and tea, though the only time he’s drank tea from the mug are the days Buck brewed it for him. It’s a good mug. My favorite.
“It’s yours if you want it.”
He shakes his head, smiles just slightly. “But it’s not mine.” Buck scrunches his face, trying to piece together an odd conversation.
“So is it my mug or your mug?”
He nods, slow, still confused. “So I should put it in the cabinet?”
“No,” he says. Yes, he means to say, what’s mine is yours.
And that’s really it, isn’t it? Eddie hasn’t had a ‘mine’ in a long time. It’s an ‘us’ or a ‘we’ or an ‘ours’. Buck orders packages to his house and picks up his mail and drives Chris to school, Eddie right beside him in the passenger seat. They share a pantry and a sink and a stack of take out menus stashed beside the fridge, their favorite orders circled with flare pens, colored pencils, sharpies, whatever they can find. The pizza menu is pinned to the fridge with a magnet, though they never need to check the menu, it’s the same every time.
(It’s as simple as a pizza order. Yes, it’s cheap and covered in grease, but Buck picks all of Eddie’s favorite toppings. They take turns pulling slices, washing it all away with whatever beer they found in the fridge, and he notices Buck counting in his head, trying to ensure they’ve both taken their share of the pie. They’re fed and content and Buck tries to be sly when he slides his extra crust onto Eddie’s plate, the thick crust with the garlic seasoning.
Eddie knows Buck prefers the thin crust, but orders the thick ones anyways. Eddie never mentions it to him, but he smiles as he takes his first bite into the bread.)
“You’re doing the dishes,” he says.
“Should I stop?” The water is no longer dripping from his hands and the soap is dry against his palms.
“And sometimes you do the laundry, and you used to have your own drawer in my dresser but it’s all so mixed up that I’m pretty sure I’m wearing your shirt right now.”
“You are,” Buck points out. “But I don’t mind. But if you mind—”
“I don’t mind. That’s my whole point.” He shakes his head, trying to sort the ideas in his mind. “I don’t mind. And my shoulder is fine and I don’t need you staying here anymore.”
“Oh,” Buck says, his expression dropping. He finally sets the mug aside, suddenly more focused on the knives in the sink than on Eddie’s words.
“But I want it,” Eddie quickly amends. “I want you to stay.”
It’s as close as he can get to a confession without saying the words. They’re standing, opposite sides of the same line, teetering back and forth, and Eddie so desperately wants to take Buck’s hand and pull him to the other side.
He slides closer to the sink, within Buck’s reach, but not holding on.
“For how long?” Buck asks, “Because I can’t sleep on your couch forever.”
“No, you can’t,” he agrees. He moves slowly at first, uncertain, unsteady. Buck’s hands are sticky in his, dried soap pressing against clean skin. It smells like lavender and leaves his palms tacky. It’s uncomfortable and itchy but he can’t pull away. “But I’ve got a pretty nice bed.”
“I don’t think anything purchased from IKEA can be considered ‘pretty nice’.”
“It does the job.”
“‘Does the job’ and ‘pretty nice’ are two very different things. And I’ve slept in that bed before, the mattress is stiff. And your sheets—”
“—Will you move in with me or not?” he asks, finally asks. They’re standing toe to toe, hand in hand. From this close, Eddie has to tilt his chin up to meet Buck’s eye. He stands in his shadow, a few inches below him, and feeling small has never felt so warm.
Buck laughs, a little nervous, looking all over Eddie’s face, anywhere but his eyes. “Usually you don’t move in until after the first date. Several months after.”
“And I usually don’t kiss before the first date either...” All hesitations fade after that, a subtle confirmation that they feel the same way.
“I’ll make an exception,” Eddie says, pulling one hand away to cradle Buck’s jaw. No hesitations, no more waiting, what’s mine is yours. He kisses Buck, pulls closer, closer, closer until there’s no telling where one body ends, leaning against the counter, and where another begins, stuck between soap covered hands.
You’re always the exception, he presses into each kiss, each touch against his waist, each graze against his teeth. The hem of his shirt is wet from spilled water on the counter. Buck holds on, firm hands that steady his bones and leave him settled. It’s never ending and needy and somehow they both forget to breathe, but there will be time for breathing later, for terminating leases and reorganizing their dishes and arguing for pantry space.
For now, Eddie kisses him until it hurts, then kisses him again, promising forever.
(how will the world end?)
(it’s genuinely not something i think too much about. there are people to love and dishes to do in the meantime.)
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SO BABY PULL ME CLOSER
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Poorly timed confession and stranded due to inclement weather? For Geraskier
hello, darling! here it comes...
"G-G-Geralt," Jaskier whines, his voice as shaky as his chilled body. "It's f-freezing, come closer and lend me some of your Witchery warmth."
"Hmm." Geralt shakes his head. "Can't."
"It's still out there, hunting us. Hunting you rather, you damned fool."
Jaskier's answering silence is the only thing that makes the Witcher turn around and check on him. Instead of glaring up at Geralt in defiance or muttering curses under his breath, the bard is staring straight into the flames of their miniscule fire with soulless eyes. His shoulders are hunched forward, not to keep warm against the sudden blizzard that has them trapped in the stupid cave, but to keep himself hidden from Geralt.
The Witcher's heart aches strangely and he rubs at his chest to relieve the pain.
It doesn't work.
The snow comes down harder, blurring their trail from the monster's eyes (and the Witcher's) and giving effectively masking their location. Jaskier stays quiet as the storm rages on, shivering like a leaf with only a thin blanket around his shoulders for warmth, and Geralt's chest hurts more.
"Wha-?" Jaskier's head jerks up. Geralt crosses the small distance and sits, pulling the bard into his lap. Jaskier is freezing, his hands so pale and frigid that he hisses when Geralt holds them near the fire. "Ow!"
"Fuck," the Witcher snarls. "They're going to get frostbitten if you don't let me warm them up."
"I'll be far less annoying if I can't play the lute, you know," Jaskier laughs humorlessly. "Just let them freeze."
"I would miss your music," Geralt admits unthinkingly. Jaskier blinks up at him.
Geralt realizes that there's no real reason to hide at this point, he's already gone and given himself away. "Very much."
Jaskier leans against him, soaking in his unnatural warmth and basking in it like a cat near an open window. One of the bard's chilled hands squeezes his fingers, "And if I were eaten by a monster?"
Geralt leans forward, their mouths nearly touching. "I would never let anything get close enough to eat you."
And then, in the firelight, near-frozen but alive, Jaskier kisses his Geralt...
And his Geralt kisses him back.
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💤Damiano X reader
NSFW🔥 smutty sexy dirrty talkin times with swearing & drinking
°Damiano David & female reader insert ✨ cameos by Victoria & Ethan
°🎶I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I've had a couple drinks and... oh my God! Last night- Damn, you were in my sex dreams || Damiano corners you to ask why you've been behaving so strangely towards him all day
°requested by @lifeofa-fangirl & their pick from this list of smutty dialogue prompts. They selected 96: “I had this dream and- fuck- you couldn’t keep your hands off me.” & added fuel to thefire by specifying: Reader and Dami being friends and one of them saying this to the other, which leads to… stuff? - stuff you shall have my dear💋 ask & it shall be given-- requests are open!
°title/some of the dialogue stolen from Lady Gaga
"What did I do?"
You were startled out of your thoughts, feeling a body invading your personal space. Your hand slipped on the tray full of ice you had been trying to wrangle out of the freezer and it finally came free, onto the ground in front of Damiano's feet.
"Shit." You had been in the process of making yourself another drink, hoping that would help you act a bit more normal.
Poor timing and a lack of spatial awareness had you bending down, almost mirroring his movements. Your heads collided and you groaned, while he laughed. You put a hand to your forehead as you straightened up.
"Go sit down, I'll get it." He offered, crouched down in front of the upturned plastic tray. "You were having Fireball, right?"
"Yeah, but I can-"
"Shut up, I know how to make your favourite drink." He said and pointed to the kitchen counter. "Sit."
You did as you were told, even though this was exactly what you had been avoiding for the whole night. Somehow, in a house full of people, you had found yourself in an empty room, the only room that the party hadn't reached.
You were seated on the countertop, pushing your sweaty palms over your jeans in an effort to dry them. There was a strange lump in your throat and you weren't used to feeling this way around him. He was one of your oldest friends, usually you couldn't shut up when hanging out with him, the two of you could talk for hours, laughing at jokes that everyone else had long since grown tired of.
"So what did I do?" He reiterated.
"Huh?" You were looking at the glass that he had found a couple of ice cubes to drop into.
"You have been avoiding me all night and you didn't send me a Snap back, we're gonna lose our streak and you're my longest streak."
You thought of having his face pop up onto your phone every single morning for well over one hundred mornings in a row - no matter what he was doing, or where in the world he was. Sometimes it was a dumb filter, altering his features. Other times it was just the top of his face with the word streak typed over it.
You curled some hair behind your ear. "You're mine, too. You're the only person I've ever gotten to three digits with…" You pulled your phone out of your pocket and tapped on the yellow Snapchat icon.
"You had better be sending me a Snap right now."
"I am, I am." You took a photo of your shoe, not a single witty caption coming into your mind. You clicked through to the next screen, selecting the one and only recipient as Dorkus, his screen name - your nickname from him was the matching end of that insult, Malorkus.
He had selected a larger cup than what you had been drinking from all night, confidentially pouring in the whiskey. Then he added in the vanilla vodka. He looked up at you as he unscrewed the cap of the apple juice. "What is wrong? Oh…" His face fell. "Is it your nonna? How is she in the retirement home, it's been how long now, almost a month, right?"
You were surprised, feeling your earlier frostiness melting away. "She's doing well. I should get to see her soon, like, by the end of the month."
He knew that your widowed grandmother had been moved from her home, into a facility where she would be taken care of, amongst people in the same age bracket - you had been getting coffee with him when you had gotten the call from your mum. He had held your hand and consoled you that it was okay to cry.
And then he remembered it, despite how much was going on for him - he was still there for you as an empathetic friend. But you had been avoiding him all night, imposing a distance that wasn't natural given your years of companionship.
"You didn't do anything. It's not- nothing's wrong."
He handed the glass to you and stood directly in front of your knees, his eyes piercing straight through your defences. "Well, what's going on? Where is your head at right now?"
"I…" You looked down at the drink and found yourself laughing, nervous, already embarrassed. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I've had more than a couple of these and…" You laughed again, remembering and reliving that rush of endorphins you had woken into this morning. "Oh my God…"
"Oh my God, why can't you ever just enjoy something?" Victoria's voice came into the kitchen first, her face was missing her usual smile. She stalked toward the fridge. "You have to dissect everything until none of us can have fun with it anymore. Can't we-"
"It puts us back." Ethan had come in after her. "We can't let people outside the community think that it's okay and it's funny to joke about your gender being an inanimate object. Then they turn around and use shit like that to invalidate everyone's gender identity." You felt Damiano grab your hand and when you looked at him, he jerked his head to the exit of this room. "Why did she have to say it?"
"It was a joke. It was so obviously a joke." She snapped, removing the cap from a bottle of beer.
You slid off of the counter, bowing your head before either of the bickering friends could pull you into their discussion. You held onto Damiano's hand, following him to the doorway.
Ethan continued talking, seemingly not noticing. "Is it a particularly witty joke, to say that you identify as a Tony award? Is that really the best she…"
"That could take a while." You said quietly to Damiano.
"Yeah, let's talk in here…" He had found one of the guest rooms of Victoria's new home. Switching the light on, it was uninhabited. "Somewhere quiet."
You slowly stepped over the threshold, eyeing the bed that was the only piece of furniture in the room. You took a sip of your drink for courage as he shut the door. He sat down on the bed, looking at you - completely oblivious.
"What's up, baby girl?"
You had another sip. "Well, last night I…" You trailed off, feeling your cheeks growing hotter. "I had this dream, and- fuck, you couldn't keep your hands off of me. And maybe, in the dream, I didn't stop you and it got… uh, it got kinda nasty and I…" He was smiling, he looked positively thrilled. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."
"Wait, wait, wait. This is huge. I have to know everything."
"Has this ever happened before?"
"No, you've always had girlfriends and I guess, even in my subconscious, I respected that… Except…"
He was sitting forward, getting close to the edge of his seat. "Except?"
"Look, I'm a human being with functioning eyes and a beating heart so I think this is a natural reaction. But when you did that routine on the pole. That was just…" You cleared your throat uncomfortably. "That was a nice thing to watch and maybe I watched it a few times- actually, I watched all of the X Factor performances a lot, you guys are my friends and I was really excited for all of you and…"
He had gotten up from the bed, walking toward you. "How many times did you watch that one?"
"That was years ago, I don't remember…"
"A guess, then? If you had to guess."
You clung to your drink, unable to remember exactly how many you had already consumed since arriving. "I… it was so long ago…"
"Okay, something fresh in your mind then- tell me about your sex dream from last night." He had placed himself in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne and see the creases in the makeup under his eyes.
"Dami…" You attempted to stall by taking another sip, filling your mouth.
"I've had them about you before." He said with a casual shrug of his shoulder.
You almost choked on the liquid that was passing down your throat. "What?"
"Yeah, not heaps, but I dunno, like, seven times I guess, spread out over the years."
You exhaled shakily. "Oh. You've just had dirty dreams about me, more than five of them, sure, okay."
"What's the big deal? They're just dreams. One time I had a dream that I was adopting cats from George Bush- yeah, the former president of the United States. Do I think of him while I'm awake? No. Did I wake up feeling suddenly different about him? Also no." He said. "Dreams are weird and they only have meaning if we give them meaning."
"So what's going on here? You're kinda holding onto this dream."
He licked his lips. "Was I better this time?" Your eyes grew wide. "You know, better than after Kiss This?"
You burst out laughing. "What are you saying?"
"Come on, it was clearly good enough to remember. Indulge me, darling. You kinda owe me a proper explanation, you really had me worried when you were avoiding me all day." He said. "Plus, I made you that drink."
You pushed your shoulders back slightly. "Why do you wanna know so bad?" He paused and you kept going, there was potential in you getting to turn the tables. "You're being such a perv’ right now. Why can't you drop this?"
"We've never lined up like this before - you're single, I'm single. Why can't we just have a bit of a nasty talk? You should get it out of your system…"
"Right, get it out of my system…"
He took the glass from you, helping himself to the last of your drink as he walked back over to the bed. You had thought about an alternate reality wherein you had met at the right time, what it could be like if you dated one of your best friends. Strangers had mistaken you for a couple more than once, which you would always laugh off. But he was attractive and there were times when you would catch yourself looking at him a bit too long, acknowledging how handsome he was.
He sat down on the bed, crossing his legs and looking at you with that devilish smile. "Or we can talk about something else? I think I can hear Ethan's voice, let's get him in here and he can explain whatever he was talking about before, that sounded real interesting and he's great at making his points quickly."
You laughed. "No, no, not necessary." You realised what his angle was - this was just like all of the times you had played truth or dare with him. He wanted to play and you didn't want to seem like a coward. You sat down next to him. "What do you wanna know, perv’?"
He turned to face you, crossing his legs in the space between you and leaning keenly forward. "How did it start?"
You looked skywards, as if trying to recall the perfect starting point. "Well… we had just apparated into the Slytherin dormitories and then…" You trailed off, unable to keep yourself from laughing at the genuine reaction on his face. "I'm kidding. I think we were in your old apartment, the one that just had the piano in there when you moved in."
"Aw, I loved that house. You got high for the first time in that house."
You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, what an amazing night that was - you and Tom laughing at me and throwing gummy worms at me while I just stared at the ceiling fan. Then I ate those gummy worms and every other gummy worm within walking distance and was violently ill the entire next day. That was a fuckin' scream."
"So how did it start, how did I seduce you? Did I use a killer line? Or did I maybe just give you a look and put my hand on your knee?" He asked, placing his hand on your knee. "And you just knew that you had to have me…"
This was beginning to feel less like a joke or a laugh between two friends at a party. But you were feeling the same rush of endorphins and the look on his face was only empowering you to keep talking.
"Actually we were just, like, chilling on your couch and showing each other shit on our phone - you know, as we do…"
"As we do." He repositioned, placing his back against the headboard and pulling on your arm, dragging you over to sit beside him. "Like this."
Your sides were pressed together now, the images from the dream were still so vivid. "Just like this. And I guess it was night 'cause the room was dark…"
"Like this?" He asked, stretching one arm out to switch the light off.
The darkness wanted to take over, but elements of the party continued to impose itself into the room. Although muffled by the shut door, the music could still be heard (an eighties pop song) and the fairy-lights strung up in the backyard could be viewed through the thin curtains. His face was mostly lost to the shadows now, but you knew him well enough that you could probably guess at his expressions.
"Yeah, but we could still kinda see 'cause of our phones and the tv was on, it was the blue screensaver or whatever."
"Ooh, mood lighting, very nice." He said.
You licked your lips. "Yeah, so we were hanging out and then you did your little trick of undoing my bra, 'cause you always do that."
"Probably 'cause I was trying to get your attention…" You felt the warmth of his hand as his fingers explored the back of your shirt. "'Cause it always gets your attention." Within seconds, you felt the elastic around your torso relax. "Did it work?"
It was a move of pure reflex as you pushed the fallen strap of your bra back onto your shoulder. "Yes, it did. And I went to tell you off, you know, like I do…"
"Like you do." He said, his voice soft and all you could think about was how his arm was still around you.
"But I didn't… um, I didn't get to say anything 'cause right then- in the dream, you kissed me." You laughed breathlessly. "And that pretty much shut me up, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"I think I could imagine." He had rested his forehead against yours and you were glad to not have to see how his eyes were undoubtedly staring straight into your soul right now. "It was probably an open-mouthed kind of kiss, right?" His fingers moved to your chin. "And it'd be the kind of kiss that you can't help but keep going. I would imagine…"
"Yeah." You whispered.
His hand slid up your face, caressing your cheek before moving so much closer. All that you could smell was the cinnamon whiskey.
His lips met yours and you instantly kissed him back, experiencing how your bottom lip could fit so well between both of his. His lips were soft and warm, soothing even as your heart started to race.
You had stopped thinking about the dream - the only thing that mattered was right here, finally being kissed by Damiano.
He adjusted his arm around you, properly holding you. You put your hand to the leather strap around his neck, grasping it as a silent invitation to go on. Your legs were getting tangled with his.
His tongue tasted your lips, which parted in response, your excitement ready to bubble over. His tongue glided into your mouth, making you moan and hold onto the top of his body harness firmer. You felt his tongue rake across the roof of your mouth and you put your other arm around his shoulders. You were pressing your chest into his more-and-more - this was definitely no longer a joke, it was also no longer something you could walk away from.
One of his hands played with your hair, making you melt all the more as you tilted your head to give him the ideal angle. His tongue massaged against your own and you were getting so weak - all of these sensations flying to your head, which was already buzzing pleasantly due to the alcohol.
You sighed heavily when his mouth left yours, but he continued to hold you close, keeping you where you felt so secure.
"Did it go something like that, in the dream?" He asked.
"Mm-hmm, something like that…" Your hand had moved lower on the body harness and now you held the strap that ran directly down the centre of his chest. You pushed your fingers down, then back up and slowly down again.
"What did I do next?" He asked, kissing you quickly. "Did I keep kissing you? Or did I take your clothes off so I could see that beautiful body?"
"We took our clothes off."
"What a fuckin' amazing idea." He let go of you and you heard the zipper of his pink pants being pulled down. You discarded your top and the already-unhooked bra. You had just put your hands to your belt, when he covered them with his own. "Let me."
You released your hands. "Yes Daddy."
"Tell me more about your dream, darling." His breath was hot on your face as he undid your belt, then your jeans.
"You were kissing down my neck…"
"Spettacolare." He sounded relieved.
He put his lips to your neck, pressing harder than he had at your mouth. You lifted your ass briefly, allowing him to tug the jeans down, getting them to beneath your knees. You felt his lips dragging over your neck, his tongue sporadically surprising you with some quick swipes.
Your panties were wet with the warm arousal you had been developing. His hands moved over your exposed skin, fingers touching light enough to cause a pleasant tickle.
"Did you lock the door?" You asked.
"Is it- this is Vic's housewarming party, is it, like, trashy if we…"
He raised his head, finishing your sentence. "If we fuck in her house before she gets the chance to?"
"But we're not at Vic's new house, we're in my old apartment, remember? It's just you and me and we're gonna fuck on my couch. Unless you…"
"Yes. I mean, no- I mean, yes." You laughed with him. "I mean, I wanna keep going. I didn't wake up before the good bit, so I think we kinda need to keep going, right?"
"Right." He pushed back into you, your lips meeting in a breathless kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, needing all of his body against yours. "How did I fuck you in your dream? Did I make you come?"
"Yes, yes, you did."
"God, I wanna make you come."
You kissed him again, the two of you finding a synergy that made you feel like you were flying. It was so effortless - one movement leading to the next as if this wasn't the first time, as if his body already knew what yours needed.
"Do you have protection?" You asked.
"Yes. In my wallet-y phone case thingy, which is in my pants, which are…" He trailed off, looking down trying to spot the shorts in the darkness. "Ah, right here."
"Are you gonna keep that on?" You asked, giving the Gucci body harness a tug.
"Do you want me to?"
You smiled, your cheeks getting hotter. "Kinda, yeah."
"Then it stays on." He said, his hands going to your hips. "How did I fuck you? Were you on top, 'cause I've definitely had dreams about that before."
"That sounds really good, but I'm more of a bottom- a power bottom. And we were- you, like, took advantage of the fact that we were on the couch and we were sitting up, chest-to-chest."
"Oh, that sounds good." His hot skin pressed against yours as he kneeled in front of you. "Something like this, baby girl?" He put his hand to your hair, pushing his fingers through the length before grabbing some of it in his hand. He pulled on it, forcing your chin up so you could look at his shadowy face. "Is this how I fucked you?"
He kissed you and you instantly put your arms around him tightly because you couldn't stand having him break away again. This time there wasn't anything but heat, the intensity stealing all of the air from your lungs. His hands explored down your back, grasping and trying to find the best spot to hold you.
When his tongue entered your mouth, it came with such purpose that you felt excitement flood your pussy. Your hips swung up to collide with him as he massaged the roof of your mouth. You moved your hand up to the nape of his neck, your fingers scratching against his scalp. Then you secured some of his hair between your fingers, it was beginning to get long enough to be played with properly. You had teased him that he looked like a dweeb after he'd cut his hair the shortest it had ever been - you had played it off as a joke, but there had been real disappointment. But now, there was enough to tug on.
His lips left yours again, making your head spin as he kissed along your neck. You held onto his shoulder, feeling the hungry quality of these kisses and you wanted more - as much as possible. You craved him with every beat of your heart, scratching into his scalp when you felt him suck on your neck. You wanted him to leave marks, that was something that couldn't be accomplished in your dream.
His hands moved down to your breasts, appreciating each of them as your nipples grew harder. His eyes met yours before his mouth opened, the heat engulfing one of your nipples. Then his tongue pushed across the nub and you exhaled shakily. He took you into his mouth, lips creating suction and sending a delicious pressure into your chest. You curled your hand into a fist around his hair, feeling some of the styling product slide onto your fingers.
His lips were soon at your other nipple, covering it in his saliva and bringing all the sensitive nerves here to life. His hand caressed down your back, slowly, tracing your spine. He was so generous, bringing you a smorgasbord of different sensations - an intoxicating combination of his lips and tongue and the lightest grazes from his teeth.
He left your breasts aching for more, lifting back up to kiss you on the lips. But before you could draw him in for something deeper, he had ducked down again - leaving you to lick his taste from your lips. His hand moved down the front of your body, pushing you gently until you reclined - too excited to lie down entirely.
He had shifted down, onto the carpet, on his knees. Your legs drifted apart as you bit into your bottom lip and hoped the shadows in the room would keep him from seeing the way you trembled. Your excitement had reached a fever pitch and you could feel so much heat pooling in your cunt, which was so ready for his attention.
Your throat clenched and your knees locked at the first touch of his mouth on your cunt - so confident, so curious, maybe he was just as excited as you. His lips laid upon your labia majora, an affectionate kiss to the scorching hot skin. You were already holding your breath, you could only hope that the music would be loud enough to drown out any of the sounds you could feel yourself wanting to release for him.
He chose to ignore your throbbing clit, instead placing his lips to the left, cradling one of your folds between them. You sank your teeth into your lip all the more when you felt him sucking on the fold. He worked it over, the skin here loosening as you felt blood rushing there in a way you had never known before.
He released the lip, a heavy exhale delivering his hot breath all over your cunt as he repositioned. He sucked the opposite labia into his mouth, a tender pressure applied to this area, enough to make you squirm. You were being lulled, the rhythm was so decadent, so thorough.
You were surprised by him suddenly moving, his tongue tasting your cunt as he drew a zig-zagging line up from between your separated labia. He was toying with it all, starting at your entrance and coming up to your clit. You could feel yourself weeping for him, getting ready to give him all of you.
He pulled his mouth back, but kept your pussy warm with his hand as he started to sit up again. With some effort, you were able to lift your head to find him wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You didn't say anything about this in your dream, but I… I took the initiative." He sounded proud of himself. "I just had to know what you tasted like, kitten."
You felt your soul being lit aflame, a name that you had never been called before. He'd had a lot of nicknames for you over the years, but this one was an immediate favourite. You wanted to do whatever it took to get him to keep calling you that.
"And to the surprise of no one- you taste amazing." He was smiling and you could smell your arousal on his breath as he leant back into you.
You lifted yourself up to put your arms around his neck, drawing him in for more kisses. He tasted different and he kissed differently, deeper, with more urgency. You tilted your head, your lips parting and you could feel that he was taking this all the more seriously now.
"Chest-to-chest?" He asked softly.
You nodded, arching your back so that you could press against him more. "Chest-to-chest."
He stole a few more kisses from you, settling in as he perfectly fit in between your legs. He caressed your tensed thigh. "I like this, 'cause then I can watch you while I fuck you…" He raised himself up a bit more, more of his skin on yours as you noticed his erection and how close to you it was getting. "'Cause I wanna know, I wanna know that you like it, I wanna know that you're feeling all of it." His lips ghosted over yours and you edged forward a little more. "I wanna watch this gorgeous face as I make your dreams come true…"
You shivered, holding him tighter still. "Yes, please Daddy."
He moaned into your mouth as your lips collided again. But this time was more than a kiss and he was using his strong hands to pull you forward, bringing you to where his tip could begin to line up with your slit. Your mouth fell slack and you rocked your hips against his a little, seeking friction.
You whimpered at the feeling of him burying into you. Your walls fluttered as more of his length was eased into you. Despite how weak you were feeling, you raised your legs to wrap around him.
"Fuckin' Hell…" You sighed, clinging to him tighter than you had anyone before. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"
"I don't…" He said quietly, his voice was wavering. He planted a hand by your ass, his hand curling into a fist as he braced himself. "I don't know… I just don't- what were we thinking?"
"We were thinking stupid things. But we don't need to think anymore. We can just feel."
"Yes, please." He said onto your mouth before covering it with more kisses.
You were so sensitive to him, feeling every inch that filled you. Your lips moved slowly as you surrendered happily to him, not having to question anything, just following one movement after the other. This rhythm was so easy to fall into, and you knew that you would be taken care of.
He started into a tender pace, finding the right way to swing up into you. You rolled your hips into his, your bodies working together and spreading the fire that you wanted to be consumed by.
He drew in a sharp inhale as he picked up speed, causing you to spasm around him. You were whining from deep in your throat as you kissed him, his mouth muffling the sounds of you trying to not become overwhelmed too fast.
You felt him throbbing inside of you and he fell away from your mouth, sighing out your name. He tilted his head back, seeming to get lost in the building momentum. You let your thighs squeeze around him as you kissed across the skin on his throat, currently pulled so taut. You felt his pulse on your lips, racing as he rocked into you with more determination.
"Oh, fuck me…" He whispered, getting faster and almost pushing you over.
You let your movements become erratic as powerful trembles radiated out from your pussy, swarming your whole body. Your hips slammed into his and he was soon groaning from the effort.
Your lips moved lazily across his skin, your breathing laboured. You slid your hand up to grab a handful of his hair, your head spinning as you listened to these brand new noises being drawn from him.
"God, yes, oh yes. Give it to me, Daddy. Oh please, give it… ah, give it to me. I've needed this for so, so, so fuckin' long…"
He readjusted the way he was holding you and you looked up at him. He put one hand to the side of your face, watching your reactions as his moves devolved away from any smoothness. He was jerking into where your hips stuttered, one desperate buck after another.
You became daunted by the way he was looking into your eyes, so enraptured, making you think he was trying to commit all of this to memory. You wanted to shy away, to hide your face and keep him from seeing the uncontrolled expressions that would come from your climax. This was what you usually did during sex, a pre-emptive move to avoid embarrassment.
But you didn't this time, even as the friction took you to a higher level. You kept your eyes on him even as you felt yourself pushed to the edge.
"Oh God, oh yes…" Heat gripped you around your hips as your energy failed you. "Dami- fuck, Damiano, yes, yes!”
You collapsed back, your body quaking as the climax powered through you. Your cunt continued to clench greedily around him as he worked himself through to his own release, still on his knees in front of you.
He applied his hips into long and focused thrusts, stroking inside of you as he started to unravel. You put your hand out, wrapping it around the strap of his body harness. You pushed down against him, wrecked by the passion but powerless to stop all the same.
"Fuckin' yes, yes, yes, oh yes." Each collision into you was marked by these building chants and you could feel him hitting so deep within you. "Yes, ye-ess-ah… un, fuck."
His body landed on top of yours, his sweaty skin covering yours. Your hands reached out and found his, immediately grasping them. This kept you connected to him, even after he had pulled out.
“We can stay here for a while, right?” He asked, gasping for air and you squeezed his hands. “No one’s missing us out there.”
“Out where?” You asked. “We aren’t at Vic’s housewarming party, remember? ‘Cause we’re at your old apartment.”
“Right.” He looked up at you, smiling.
“Do you remember that first New Years Eve in that house- you guys were going through your nerf gun phase. And Thomas was the first one to pass out and we jammed two of the foam bullets up his nostrils.”
He laughed. “Of course I remember that, Tom doesn’t, but I do. We made so many blanket forts in that house.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a gigantic dork just pretending to be a grown-up. In fact, you are, as we say in Latin, a dorkus malorkus.”
“Takes one to know one.” He said, climbing up onto the bed alongside you and pulling you into his arms. You savoured the smell of him and how it felt to have him so close, to have your bodies fit together so perfectly. “I wonder if the people who have lived there since have managed to get all the glitter out of the carpet…”
“I sincerely doubt that. That was where we always got ready to go out the most. And, if I remember correctly, you had salt shakers full of loose glitter.”
“Oh yeah, I think I lost those in one of the moves.” He said. “Okay, but do you remember the first Halloween in that house?” He raised one arm and started to sing. “This is…” On the next word he brought his arm down in an aggressive swing. “...Halloween.” He raised his arm again. “This is… Halloween.”
You laughed as you joined him, mimicking the actions you had made on that night. “This is… Halloween.”
And it was like you were back there, laughing so hard that your ribs hurt as the two of you chucked pieces of candy way down from his balcony, to the people walking around in the common area below. He had gotten so annoyed when no trick-or-treaters had come to his door, up on the tenth floor - which you had warned him would happen. He wanted to share the abundance of candy anyway, deciding that throwing was a suitable way of spreading the cheer of the yearly holiday.
You had sung as you pegged one piece of candy after another. One of his neighbours had gotten mad enough to start yelling blasphemies at you, a scary amount of conviction in his voice. You had thought Damiano might kiss you that night and you had wanted him to, but neither of you had made the move. Instead falling asleep on the couch together after watching The Simpsons Halloween specials.
“Thank you for telling me about your dream.” He said, leaning in close to you again.
You trailed off from your giggles, but kept grinning as he kissed you. “I’m feeling like this won’t be the last. I mean, now I have all of this extra material for my brain to incorporate next time…”
--- ** ---
If you like my writing, feel free to tip me. I am open to both commissions & requests, commissions get priority & the most input
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Wangxian arranged marriage au where wwx isn't kicked out of the Cloud Recesses for punching Jin Zixuan, but some other guest disciple is.
When the elders first asked Lan Wangji if he would consider a marriage alliance after coming of age, he refused.
But the marriage was necessary, they said, crucial to protect their clan from the growing threat of Qishan--so when Xiongzhang asked why he was so reluctant to make a match out of duty, Lan Wangji confessed that he would rather wed another man than a woman. He thought that would be the end of it, certain that no clan would waste a high-ranking young master (of which there were only a paltry ten or so, within the five great clans) on a barren marriage.
And then Lan Xichen brought him a letter from the sect master of Yunmeng Jiang, avowing that Jiang Fengmian’s ward Wei Ying was accomplished, handsome, good-tempered beyond reproof, and had no objections to a union with Lan Wangji.
The betrothal was settled that very week, and when Lan Wangji finally met Wei Ying, he fell in love at first sight.
It was no wonder then that his first impulse when Wei Ying announced his intent to beat Jin Zixuan into jelly was to step between them, afraid that the elders might hear of Wei Ying’s unruliness and cancel the engagement. He could bear any hurt for Wei Ying’s sake, conceal all proof that this altercation ever happened, if only it meant that the two of them would still have the chance to be together--for Wei Ying is as earth and heaven to him already, bound up into his future like the marrow bound into his bones, and if they should ever be separated--
But despite his readiness to take the blow, Wei Ying’s fists never get anywhere near Jin Zixuan.
Because Jiang Wanyin gets there first.
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uhh could I request a wanda x reader doing something really reckless (like stealing the car for a 3 am drive) and Carol and Nat (who are like their mother figures - and also are in a relationship) scolding them for it!!
ps: I don't know if scolding is even a word but I guess you know what I mean hahahah
a/n: I am absolutely in love with this prompt and I had a lot of fun writing it :) hope you enjoy!
Warnings: none just some cursing and some underage drinking.
Word Count: 2,680
It was around 3:30 in the morning when you felt someone nudge your shoulder. Groaning, you pulled your blanket further over your head.
"Leave me alone," you grumbled under your breath.
It was only when a strand of red magic surrounded the edge of the blanket and jerked it off your body, did you awaken. You gasped at the sudden assault of cold air and shot up. Wanda stood over you in a Black Sabbath hoodie and ripped jeans with a far too pleased smirk on her face.
"What the hell, Wanda?" You hissed, rubbing your bleary eyes.
"Put some clothes on; I want to show you something."
"The sun isn't rising for another 2 hours, Wan. I want to go back to bed," you complained, grasping for the blanket once more.
Wanda pulled the blanket fully off your shared bed and looked at you pleadingly, "Come on, please? I promise it will be worth it," her eyes were wide as she looked at you hopefully. At this time of night- or morning, you supposed - her accent was thicker than it would be during the day. You cursed your weak resolve and slunk out of bed.
"Fine, but I'm stealing one of your hoodies," you grumbled.
She chuckled, "You are already hoarding at least half of them," she pointed out as you stepped out of your pajama pants. You rolled your eyes playfully and pulled on black yoga pants and an Iron Maiden sweatshirt you had been keeping on your side of the closet for at least a month now. Wanda gasped and slapped your arm lightly, "I have been looking for that everywhere, Y/n. I thought I lost it!"
"Your hoodies are comfier," you reasoned with a shrug. "Anyways, how are we supposed to get past mother hen one and two?" You gestured towards the direction of Natasha and Carol's room.
Wanda pondered this for a moment, "Just be fast and quiet, you go out and wait in the car, and I will grab the drinks."
You raised an eyebrow, "Natasha's a world-class assassin, and Carol wakes up whenever Nat does; this won't work. Also, we're going to drink at 3 in the morning?"
Wanda huffed, "It will be fine. You worry too much, Y/n. Plus, when have we ever drank irresponsibly?"
Narrowing your eyes, you stuffed your hands in your pockets, "Do you really want me to answer that."
Wanda pushed you towards the door, "Go outside and wait in the car." You snickered and carefully opened the bedroom door, wincing when the hinges squealed slightly. It wasn't a matter of not being caught as much as it was a matter of being long gone before Natasha and Carol decided to go after them. Regardless of how sneaky they thought they were being, Natasha- if not both her and Carol - was bound to hear them. Ever so carefully, you wedged the front door open and slipped through it.
You had moved in with Carol, Nat, and Wanda a year into your relationship with her. Having graduated college with a nearly nonexistent relationship with your parents, you needed a place to live. Your girlfriend and the women who practically made sure you didn't starve throughout college seemed like the most reasonable choice. You had met Wanda on campus, and it had taken three weeks of being her friend until you realized she was an Avenger. Shortly after that, Wanda introduced you to the rest of her team. At first, your only interaction with the married couple was them giving you the "shovel talk" when Wanda first introduced you as her girlfriend. However, after working with them as a hacker for SHIELD, they quickly took you under their wing as well.
Smiling slightly at the memory, you opened the passenger door to Natasha's black Corvette Stingray. It took all of three minutes for Wanda to come running out the door, a bottle of apple cinnamon whiskey in hand. She threw the door open and shoved the bottle into your hand before pushing the key into the ignition and gunning it down the street. Your eyes bugged as your fumbled to get your seatbelt fastened. You clutched at your chest as the two of you went 45 in a neighborhood.
"Wanda, what the fuck!" you yelped, gripping the neck of the whiskey bottle tightly.
"I'm sorry, I heard their door open, and I panicked!" She cried, grasping blindly for her seatbelt. The two of you slowed down slightly as you gained distance from the house.
"They're totally going to notice the whiskey's gone, Wan. We're both 19; we can't legally drink yet!"
"Relax, Y/n they won't notice one drink is missing out of a whole cabinet filled with alcohol," Wanda reasoned, turning onto a gravel road.
You raised an eyebrow at your girlfriend, "How many times do I have to point out that Nat is the world's top assassin and Carol was trained by both the US military and the Kree?"
"I promise it will be worth it," Wanda insisted, grabbing your hand from across the middle console. You sighed and leaned down to kiss the top of her hand.
"You're lucky I love you."
Wanda grinned and shot a wink at you, "I know." With that, she pulled off the dirt road and into the middle of a grassy clearing. You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached down to grab the whiskey, which had rolled under the seat during your escape out of the neighborhood. Wanda stepped out of the car and went around the back to grab a large black and red checkered blanket. You followed her as she smoothed out the blanket atop the grass and pointed up at the sky. A small gasp escaped your lips as you saw streaks of light blaze across the sky.
"I didn't know there was going to be a meteor shower tonight," you whispered, eyes never leaving the sky. Wanda grinned and unscrewed the bottle. She took a hearty drink from it and passed it over to you.
"I was hoping to surprise you," she explained, laying down on the blanket.
You followed suit and took a large drink of your own. "Why did we need alcohol for this, exactly?"
The corner of Wanda's lips quirked upward as she turned her head to look at you. "Make it a bit more...colorful, I suppose. I considered whether edibles would be better, but Nat and Carol would definitely skin us alive when they found out about that."
You giggled; the apple cinnamon whiskey had settled in your stomach, warming your body against the early morning breeze. Your head felt fuzzier as you leaned over to place a kiss on Wanda's cheek. "This is perfect, Wan. Thank you." Wanda placed a cinnamon-flavored kiss on the corner of your mouth. "How much do you want to bet Wanda and Carol are waiting by the door for us right now?"
Your girlfriend let out a drunken laugh and set the now half-empty bottle aside. "10 dollars that they left the house to find us."
"You're on." The two of you dissolved into hysterical giggles that lasted so long your stomach started to cramp. The blazes of white-hot light lit up the sky as your vision turned blissfully hazy. Clumsily, you crawled towards Wanda and placed your head atop her stomach. "Mmm, you're warm," you hummed, a goofy smile cracking through your lips. The witch placed her hands against the side of your head and started stroking them through the locks of your hair.
Just as your eyes started to slip shut at the attention, your felt her hands halt. "Y/n?" You let out a quiet 'mhm' in response. "How're we gonna get home?" Her voice was slurred and thick with her Sokovian accent.
Your eyes snapped open, and you shot up. "Shit, we can walk, maybe?" Wanda gave you a blank look in response as she gestured to the expanse of nothingness around you. You sighed, "We have to call Carol and Nat."
Wanda groaned and covered her face with her hands. Her chipped black nails scrubbed at her eyes and cheeks, leaving red lines all over her face. "Do we have to?"
"Well, we can't drive Wanda, and by the time we're sober enough, it'll be nearly 7:30!"
"They're going to kill us," she complained, burying her face in her hoodie. "Just get it over with."
You fished your phone from your pant pocket and hesitantly pressed Natasha's contact. The phone barely got through with its first ring before the older woman picked up.
"Where the hell did you two go?" her raspy voice was nearly brimming with anger. You almost dropped your phone at the venom lacing her words.
" 'M sorry, 'Tasha," you winced at the heavy slur in your words before continuing. "We thought it'd be fun."
You heard someone grab the phone, "Are you two drunk?" Carol demanded.
"No..." you trailed off pathetically. Wanda glared at you and lightly kicked your foot.
"Y/n try to say Natasha's full name, right now," you straightened slightly at Carol's military voice.
"N'tasha 'Manoff," your tongue felt too big for your mouth as you attempted to form the words. "...Okay, maybe a little bit."
"Where are you? We're coming to get you," Nat insisted. You heard footsteps from the other end of the line and someone pulling the hallway closet open.
"Wan, where are we?" you asked, glancing around the fields of overgrown grass and wheat.
Wanda winced and bit the tip of her finger, "Uhhh.."
"You don't know?" Natasha and Carol shouted. Wanda pursed her lips and looked down at her lap.
"I didn't have a specific route planned out beforehand," she admitted.
"Turn the location tracker in your phone settings on," Natasha ordered.
"Yes, ma'am," you both grumbled in unison, feeling akin to a scolded child.
"When we get there, you two better hope you have a better excuse than the ones we heard over the phone," Carol warned.
"You took my Corvette?" Natasha complained.
"It was either that or Carol's truck, and Wanda isn't used to driving stick yet," you insisted. "Her car's still in the shop from last month." A speeding car had rear-ended Wanda's car on the highway.
We will talk about this when we get there, do not touch the Corvette any more than you already have," with that, Natasha hung up.
"Well, apple cinnamon whiskey isn't a terrible last meal," you reasoned as Wanda folded the blanket and set it in the backseat.
"Y/n, we haven't eaten since dinner time. Whiskey is hardly a meal," Wanda grumbled, shutting the door.
"Babe, I'm trying to be optimistic."
"Captain Marvel and Black Widow are on their way to kick our asses into the moon," Wanda replied, leaning back against the Corvette. You sighed and rested your head against her shoulder. "Sorry this night was a bust," she mumbled, eyes staring down at her boots dejectedly.
You smiled and leaned in to press your lips against hers. Wrapping an arm around her waist, you pulled away and rested your forehead against hers. "This is one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me, Wanda. Thank you." Wanda grinned sheepishly and buried her face in your shoulder.
A few dreadful minutes later, you saw the headlights of Carol's truck speed down the gravel road. The truck lurched to a stop as the two superheroes jumped out of the car.
"Are you two alright?" Natasha demanded, half-running to the two of you.
"We're fine, I can protect myself, and Y/n was with me the whole time," Wanda reasoned. "We went out to watch a meteor shower, not go clubbing.
"I can protect myself just fine," you whined.
Carol raised an eyebrow, "Your hands were built for hacking and reading, not punching." You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. Wanda offered you a sympathetic smile but did not say anything to counter the older woman's claim. Rude.
"Wanda, get in the Corvette, Y/n get your ass in the truck," Natasha ordered. She was wearing a black leather jacket over her red silk pajama set. Carol was in basketball shorts and a tank top with a brown leather bomber jacket pulled over it. You quickly shuffled over to the truck and slid in.
Your foot nervously tapped against the floor of the car as you watched Carol grab the nearly empty bottle of whiskey and made her way over to the truck. Shutting the door, she set the bottle of whiskey on the open seat between you two and turned the keys in the ignition. As the pickup truck rumbled to life, she turned to face you. "Kid, you two nearly downed that bottle in a single night. What were you thinking?" You burrowed further into Wanda's sweatshirt as if to protect from her stern gaze.
"You're really mad at us, huh?" you mumbled, fidgeting with your hands.
Carol sighed and followed behind Natasha down the road, "You scared the shit out of us, kid. We didn't know where you had gone, why you left, plus it's nearly pitch black out here."
"But, we're adults just like you and Nat," you insisted weakly.
"You're still teenagers; we're in our 30's. Millions of things could have gone wrong; some creep could have taken you before Wanda could get to you, you could have crashed had you chosen to drive home, your phones could have died, or you could have gotten lost."
You shrunk further into your sweater, "Sorry..."
Carol sighed and looked over at you as she turned into the neighborhood. "Listen, kid. We really care about you two a lot. Nat and I have to resist the urge to duct tape you to the kitchen chairs to keep you two from leaving for missions. We know you can take care of yourselves, but a heads up in the future would be nice, and also more reasonable hours for your plans."
You grinned sheepishly, "Yeah, that seems fair."
Carol smiled and pulled into the driveway. Natasha and Wanda were waiting on the doorstep when you two got out. The latter looked thoroughly chastised as she burrowed her mouth and nose into her hoodie. When the four of you got inside, Natasha sighed and checked the clock on her phone.
"Well, we might as well watch a movie or something since it's nearly sunrise." You and Wanda settled on the couch, with Natasha to your left and Carol to Wanda's right acting as bookends. The assassin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to rest your head in the crook of her neck. You saw Wanda lay her head in Carol's lap as the older woman pulled up Netflix. Natasha was idly threading her fingers through your hair, causing your already drunk and lethargic mind to grow hazier. Your eyes started to slip shut as you felt yourself being guided to lay your head in Nat's lap. You jerked slightly, attempting to fight the drowsiness from taking hold. Forcing your eyes open, you tried to sit up. However, the battle for consciousness was quickly lost when Nat started using her nails to gently massage your scalp.
"Carol," the assassin whispered to her wife. The blonde stopped her search for a good movie as she glanced over at Natasha.
"What is-" her question was quickly cut off by her wife quietly shushing her. Nat gestured down to the younger women currently lying in each of their laps. Carol glanced down to find Wanda's face hidden against the sleeve of her hoodie as she let out soft snores.
"Well, guess the movie idea's a bust," she whispered.
Natasha nodded, "You grab Wan, and I'll get Y/n."
Carefully, the heroes scooped the younger women into their arms and carried them to your shared bedroom. Natasha gently set you onto the bed beside your girlfriend and pulled the blanket- which was lying on the floor for whatever reason - to cover the two of you. Ever so cautiously, the couple crept out of the room.
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Retired ol' man brings lunch for his hardworking BFF and his hardly working BF.
Based on Prompt by Anon. I know it isn't exactly what you wanted. I apologize.
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Prompt: Danny is going through eldrict abomination puberty
“It’s a ghost thing, right?” he asked as he worried at his cuticles. “It has to be.”
Frostbite stared at him. “No,” he said, finally. “Not a normal one in any case.”
“Oh,” he said, dejected. “Are you sure?”
“Great One,” said Frostbite, seriously, “I am sorry to tell you this, but while ghosts may forget their names, the effect does not to extend to others. Much less other ghosts.”
“I remember my name just fine,” he said, looking back down at his hands. His cuticles were gone. He flexed his hands and started counting knuckles. “It’s other people who are having trouble. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker haven’t even forgotten it, they’re just having... trouble.” Fifty was too big a number, and ten was too small. Nevertheless, he reached both numbers at the same time.
"Some of the other... symptoms," said Frostbite, "are normal for a ghost of your age or a ghost of your general power level. The rest are... not."
"Not even the dreams?"
"Most ghosts don't dream."
Danny's tentacles waved dejected until he realized he wasn't supposed to have those, and they turned into wings instead, then shadows. The dreams, after the name thing, had been the most prominent symptom.
"So, I'm definitely sick, then?"
Frostbite didn't answer.
"There is," said Frostbite, "another option. I just hadn't thought it could be..." He turned to Danny with a haunted expression. "Real."
That wasn't encouraging.
"Okay, well. I mean, I'm a half ghost, I'm kind of weird and unbelievable to begin with."
"You... well, yes. I suppose you have a point there. This may be somewhat startling for you to hear, however."
"I'm ready for it," decided Danny. "Can't be worse than not knowing."
"You could be becoming a god."
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my dearest stina, eel of my heart, I have a silly prompt for you: Geraskier pre-relationship, but both are secretly pining for the other: and it happens, an accidental kiss. Maybe they get drunk and when they go to bed (in seperate rooms) they kiss goodbye, but they've never done that before. So both have this moment of "wait a minute" and look at each other in shock? thank you! <3
Thank you my sweet, beloved Ellie!! I used this to break out of my weeks-long slump. I'm back, possibly? lol. I hope you like it!
Thanks @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for spitballing ideas, and @lohrendrell for beta’ing!
Modern AU, roommates to -- it's fluff, I don't think any warnings apply. 1,895 words
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Geralt cracked a beer and passed it to Jaskier, who was sitting beside him on the couch, before opening his own and taking a sip.
“Ok, work’s been kicking your ass this week, you can pick tonight,” Geralt said.
Jaskier took a gulp of beer, then turned to Geralt with a tentative smile and raised brows.
Geralt smirked. “Sure. Do your worst.”
“Ever After!” Jaskier announced with no hesitation.
“But we just—” Geralt cut himself off when he saw the pouty doe-eyes his roommate was giving him. “Ok, Ever After.”
Jaskier grinned in triumph, slouching back into the couch. Geralt rolled his eyes then pushed off the couch to retrieve the DVD and pop it into the machine. As the familiar scene started, Geralt looked over at the man beside him. Jaskier had been coming home from work frustrated and exhausted all week, and Geralt hated to see it. He’d made sure he ate well every night, even packed him a couple lunches, but there wasn’t much more he could do, aside from daydream about ripping his roommate’s boss a new one. He was glad it was Friday, and Jaskier could relax. While the movie wasn’t what he would have chosen, especially as Jaskier had insisted they watch it just last month, it was worth it to see his roommate properly relax and enjoy himself for the first time in days
Geralt was finding he would do more and more lately in order to make his friend happy. His feelings had grown for the man over the three years they had lived together, but he wasn’t sure what to do about them. Jaskier never seemed to stop himself from expressing his feelings boldly, and so Geralt figured if he was interested, he would have made it known. Besides, they got on remarkably well as roommates, which had surprised everyone around them, most of all himself. While Jaskier’s noise and energy had been quite an adjustment to get used to, he now found it comforting. When he was in a funk, Jaskier was usually able to cajole him out of it. He looked forward to going home. To seeing him. He smiled more. He didn’t want to risk ruining that. He was perfectly content to stay friends and roommates: at least that’s what he was trying to convince himself.
Jaskier crowed when Danielle hoisted the prince over her shoulders, as if he were seeing it for the first time, and Geralt watched him fondly. Jaskier turned to look at him and he quickly schooled his expression to something neutral.
“I bet I could do that,” Jaskier said with a grin.
“What? Be carried over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes? I agree.” Geralt smirked at him.
Jaskier smacked him on the arm. “No! If you needed rescuing, I would carry you off to safety!”
Geralt choked on his beer. “If I what?” he laughed. “I doubt that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
Jaskier sat forward, looking affronted. “You doubt me?! Pause the movie, and let’s see!”
“Stop laughing, you rude man! Pause it and stand up, over there.” He gestured past the couch with his hand and stood up.
“Jaskier, please, I’m sorry. I’m sure I could count on you in a dire situation, alright? Sit down and enjoy your movie.”
“No! You’ve hurt my pride, and now I must prove myself! Up!” Jaskier grabbed the remote and paused the movie, then tugged at Geralt’s arm. Geralt sighed and let himself be pulled up to standing.
“Jask, really, you’re exhausted, and—”
“I’m perfectly fine! Let’s go!” He pushed Geralt past the coffee table to stand by the end of the couch. He then assessed his considerably built roommate and moved his arms around, miming holds as he tried to decide how to grab him in order to pick him up.
“Jask, really, I believe you, ok? But neither of us really needs a trip to the ER tonight.”
“Oh, ye of little faith!!” Jaskier seemed to come to some sort of decision and lunged forwards, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist. He tried to heave Geralt over his shoulder, but hadn’t lifted him much off the floor before he started stumbling backwards. They landed in a tangled heap on the couch, and after a stunned moment of silence, both burst out laughing. “Alright, maybe tonight isn’t the best night for that,” Jaskier admitted, gasping for breath from underneath Geralt.
“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. He pushed back to his knees and offered Jaskier a hand. “Come on, sit up and we’ll start the movie back up.”
“Can’t, I live here now,” Jaskier replied.
Geralt chuckled. “Come on!” He grabbed Jaskier’s arm and started to tug, but Jaskier resisted.
“No! I can’t. You can’t make me.”
“Jask, there’s no room for me like this,” Geralt laughed.
“You’ll have to sort it out.” Jaskier grinned up at him, then dug his heel into the couch to push himself further along so he was more properly situated along the length of the couch, then yanked Geralt back down on top of himself. A huff of air escaped him as Geralt’s weight fell on him, then he squirmed a bit to get more comfortable before settling with his arm across Geralt’s lower back. “There. We’re set.”
Geralt snorted. “I’m crushing you. This is ridiculous.”
“Nothing of the sort, I’m quite comfortable. I have my own, personal, heated weighted blanket. Be a dear and put the movie back on, would you?”
Geralt looked sceptical but did as he was asked before slowly relaxing, settling in, his weight into the back of the couch and draped over Jaskier, his head resting on Jaskier’s gently rising and falling chest. By the time the credits started rolling, Geralt was drowsy, his eyes half open, and Jaskier was lightly snoring beneath him. Geralt carefully crawled off of him and took a moment to look at him, his face lax with sleep, hair tousled. He was beautiful. Geralt was tempted to leave him there, he looked so peaceful, but knew the man would grumble about his sore neck or back when he woke up, so he shook his shoulder gently.
“Jask, wake up, the movie’s over. Time for bed.”
“Mmm. ‘Nother minute.”
“Come on, you’ll be happier once you’re in bed. Up.”
Jaskier grumbled but accepted the offered hand with bleary eyes, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He shuffled up the stairs towards their rooms, and Geralt followed. They paused in the hallway outside Jaskier’s room, and Jaskier turned to Geralt.
“Thanks, that was nice,” he said with a sleepy smile.
Jaskier leaned in and pecked him on the lips. “Night, Geralt.”
“Uh, goodnight, Jask.”
Jaskier went into his room and shut the door behind himself. Geralt stood staring at the closed door, stunned. What just happened?!
Jaskier leaned against his closed bedroom door. What did he just do?! He suddenly felt very awake. He had snuggled his roommate on the couch (not that he heard any complaints), while watching a sappy rom com, and in a half-asleep daze he had kissed him goodnight. On the lips. Jaskier groaned and knocked his head back against the door. Fuck. And he’d been doing so well at concealing his feelings, he’d thought. He’d buggered that right up. Should he go to bed and pretend nothing had happened? Should he go back out and apologize? Maybe he should just crawl through the window. Maybe Valdo would let him stay the night. Or week. Maybe—
Fuck. He pushed away from the door and started to open it.
“Geralt, I’m so sorry, I was half-asleep, must have been dreaming, won’t happen again…” he petered off as he opened his door and watched Geralt’s face fall. Was he disappointed? “I mean…unless…”
Geralt looked up at him. He looked a bit like a sad puppy, which was entirely unfair.
“I mean, unless you…” Jaskier took a step forward, and Geralt matched him.
“Unless I…?” Geralt murmured.
“Unless you’d like me to…” Jaskier took another step forwards, and Geralt reached out, resting his hands lightly on Jaskier’s hips.
“And if I would…?” He squeezed Jaskier’s hips lightly.
“Well…” Jaskier whispered, leaning in close, but stopping when his lips hovered over Geralt’s, giving him a chance to pull away before closing the distance and pressing their lips together softly. Geralt hummed a pleased sound into the kiss, and a shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine. Jaskier leaned in closer, pressing his hips into Geralt’s, and Geralt’s grip on him tightened. The kiss deepened and Jaskier melted into Geralt’s strong arms, sighing happily when they parted for breath.
“How long?” Jaskier whispered.
“How long has that been allowed for?” Jaskier asked, rubbing his nose lightly against Geralt’s. “Because I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
“You...what? How long?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, but, you just said…”
Jaskier chuckled. “I asked first.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt pleaded.
“How long have we been living together?”
“About three years? Why? … No,” Geralt gave a disbelieving shake of his head, and Jaskier laughed again. “Then why did you never…?”
“Why did you never?” Jaskier countered.
“I didn’t want to ruin this.”
“This?” Jaskier whispered.
“Roommates. Friendship. ...You make me happy,” Geralt breathed, as if he were divulging a deep dark secret.
Jaskier grinned and kissed him again. “Well, I have no plan on stopping that…”
“Jask, I can’t…”
Jaskier frowned at him, but waited silently for him to continue.
“I can’t do this if it doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me.”
“What does it mean to you?” Jaskier asked softly. Geralt looked away.
“It means...I want...I don’t just want a night with you, or a...friends with benefits thing… I can’t have you and then go back to just being friends.”
“Oh, love,” Jaskier said, wrapping his arms tightly around Geralt’s waist. “You sweet, silly man. I left the idea of being only your friend hopelessly behind ages ago. I just didn’t think you wanted that, with me.”
“What?” Geralt asked dumbly.
“I’m quite in love with you,” Jaskier murmured. “Just try and get rid of me.”
“Well, I have no intention of doing that,” Geralt said, a grin tugging at his lips.
“What do you intend?”
“Hmm. What do you say to a date?”
“Yeah, you heard of them?” Geralt smirked.
“Hmm, in passing, yes,” Jaskier smiled back. “A dried fruit, right?” Geralt pinched his side and he broke into laughter. “You plan to romance me, Mr. Rivia?” he asked cheekily.
“Mmm. I’ll even pick you up,” Geralt said, and they both laughed that time.
“Sounds lovely,” Jaskier murmured. “Would you, um…”
Jaskier stifled a yawn. “It’s just, I am actually rather tired. I was just wondering if you’d, maybe, want to, join me?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. “Just to sleep!” Jaskier added in a rush.
“That sounds nice,” Geralt said, thumbs rubbing lightly at Jaskier’s sides.
A few minutes later, cuddled up in bed, Jaskier wrapped around Geralt like a koala, Geralt spoke as Jaskier was drifting off.
“Me too,” he murmured.
“I love you too.”
Jaskier burrowed his face into Geralt’s neck and hummed happily. “Good,” he said into his skin.
Jaskier had the best sleep he’d had in weeks.
- - -
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Hi friend! How bout " jesus... what have they done to you... " Or "it's okay... I'm here now" for the drawing prompt thing :)
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CHRYSAAA!!! If you're still taking those rare word prompts, then how about "gigil" for geraskier? Just if you feel like it! We love a little harmless cuteness aggression 😌💖
(Love, Hannah <3)
ahhh thanks for the prompt my dear!! this is truly harmless even i can't make it angsty you made a good choice 😌 also i want an award for this word count. hope you enjoy!! 💜
gigil – the urge to pinch of squeeze something that is so unbearably cute
"Melitele help me, I'm being attacked by a snowner!"
Jaskier yelps as a snowball hits him on the back of his head and quite gracefully slips inside his coat and the girl behind him giggles loudly. At this point, he's drenched to the bone. Geralt hides his face inside his hand, regretting his hearing ability if it is for witnessing terrible puns.
The square is beautiful. Covered by a thick white veil, so warm in its coldness, like a blanket used to wrap around a loved one. The snow is falling slowly. Swirling around like petals, or like nymphs that escaped the woods to dance among people and rest on their hair for warmth. And people welcome them, laughing and running around, snowballs flying across the square in a dangerous speed and Geralt ducks once more, already feeling his clothes sticking on him, freezing. He thinks, a burning fire would be ideal after this.
"Geralt." He turns around to see Jaskier running up to him, a wide grin spread on his lips, arms wrapped around himself. "You good?"
Geralt raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Bold question from someone who's shivering."
"I'm not–" Jaskier's voice quivers in his throat and he huffs a small laugh, tilts his head. The warmth in his stare is enough for Geralt to melt in it. "Maybe I am a bit. What do you say," he tilts his head, a playful look in his eyes, "let's head back?"
With a deep sigh, as though letting cold air run through him, reassure himself it's not a dream, Geralt looks around, one last look at the violent magic of winter, and nods. "I think it's time."
Jaskier smiles and starts walking up the cobbled street to the academy, leaving deep footsteps on the snow. And as though he's unable to avert his look, he continues staring at Geralt. His smile becomes wider.
Really, Geralt can't blame him. He's staring back anyway.
He's beautiful like that, he thinks. Thick snowflakes are tangled in his hair, a caress, and it's like the stars descended from the sky to rest on his shoulders to bask in the light of a brighter sun. A deep, adorable blush paints his cheeks and nose pink and as Geralt's eyes dart on his lips, they're red from the cold.
Jaskier squints at him. "What?"
A pause. Geralt gazes at him with a smile, shakes his head. "Nothing." As though instinctively, his steps slow down, come to a stop. Jaskier stands beside him.
It suits him, the cold. Geralt's hands trail gently upon his cheeks, hold him like he's the rarest flower, and Jaskier leans into the warmth of the touch. Then, as though hesitantly, he feels Geralt's fingers moving slightly. And a squeeze.
"Geralt." Another squeeze. He bites his lips in an attempt to hold back laughter, looks up at him in. "Are you squishing my cheeks?"
Geralt tilts his head, smile wider. "Maybe."
Giggling. Their breaths form clouds on the air, mingle with each other. "How's that working out for you?"
"I'd never stop if I could," Geralt mutters so as not to confess that he wants to squeeze him to death. Instead. Jaskier's hand rests upon his, cold under his gloves and yet, it's enough to make his heart flutter. Something gentler then, he decides. "I love you."
Jaskier huffs, his blush seeming to redden even more. A snowflake floats between them, twirls, and softly rests on his lower lip. Geralt feels his knees giving in.
Slowly, like a ritual, his thumb brushes over his lips and they're cold, just like he thought they'd be. Jaskier shivers.
He leans, and presses their lips together. Lingering, and warm, and one of them chuckles but they're too lost to understand who it is.
It's warm and the fire of a hearth couldn't ever compete the heat of the sun glowing between them.
It's warm, and Geralt knows he could hold Jaskier's face inside his hands forever.
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