Taking the Horse to Water

Claire lets slip the fact that Cas can sense a person’s longing, which shocks and horrifies Dean.

“Better directions would have been beneficial,” Cas drawled as he bowed out of the passenger side of the Impala. Dean rose from the other side, Claire standing at the head of the hood in her typical mood of haughty petulance.

“I knew you’d find me,” she smiled. “I was thinking about you, so I figured it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

“That’s no excuse,” Cas scolded.

“You said it yourself you could sense my ‘longing.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “Why does it matter?”

“Wait, what?” Dean was confused.

“Because it’s one thing to know in what direction to head and quite another to navigate the streets that go there.” Cas didn’t look at Dean as he questioned, instead making a desperate attempt to breeze on past the subject. Unfortunately, governing conversation wasn’t one of his greatest strengths.

“Can’t you just fly around or something?”

“My wings are no longer functional, as you very well know.”

“Hold on, what’s this about 'longing?’”

“It’s nothing,” Cas finally looked to Dean. Because people who are lying don’t look others in the eyes, right? So he should make a blatant effort to stare at Dean.

“It’s something that Angel-Dad here uses to stalk me,” Claire rolled her eyes, completely oblivious to the tense expression Cas then threw her way. “I guess I don’t have to actually pray to get him to know where I am. If I’m even thinking about him or wanting to see him a little bit, he can find me.”

“You can?” Dean looked quickly to Cas, unsure what to make of this news. “Can you do that with everyone?”

“W-well…” Cas’s eye darted back and forth nervously. “Generally speaking, yes. If-if someone is thinking about me, or wants me around, it acts as a kind of indirect prayer.”

Dean’s lips tightened for a moment, as if he was processing this information, and Claire glanced between them curiously.

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Imagine Dean blatantly trying to avoid the fact that Sam knows he likes you...

“Would it kill you to just tell her?” Sam said as soon as he got in the car.

Sam knew Dean had liked you for a long time. In the past week he had begun to get sulky because you had left for a hunt a few states over and Sam was a little bored of getting the brunt of it.

“Hm, what was that, Sammy?” Dean said as he reached for the impala’s music controls. Within seconds a track by the darkness was beginning to play out over the speakers.

“You can’t keep avoiding it, you’re practically pining-” Sam was cut off as Dean blasted up the music and drowned him out.

“I can’t hear you!” Dean mouthed before sticking the key in the ignition and getting ready to move off.

“Y/N likes you too, idiot.” Sam muttered entirely inaudibly as the car began to move and he began to lose his hearing.

You’re Not Fine

You’re not fine~Syndisparklez College AU~Happy birthday communitymc you massive pile of nerd trash.

Plot: Jordan gets sick. He lies to his roommate about exactly how sick he is. Things happen.

Triggers: Tiny blood mention, and if you’re not a fan of colds you might not wanna read this.


“Hey dude, how’d your day go?” Tom asked, dropping his backpack onto the ground heavily and flopping down on the bed.

“Shitty as hell.” Jordan coughed, tossing a tissue into the trashcan by his bed. “I bailed out of my last lecture because my brain decided to pour itself out of my nose.”

Tom made a face. “Nice mental image there. Thanks dude.”

“No *cough* problem.” Jordan replied. “Glad I could help.”

“Forreal though, dude, are you okay?” Tom asked, his facial expression morphing into a serious one. “You sound absolutely awful.”

“It’s just a cold.” Jordan waved him off. “I’ll be fine.”

Tom eyed his dark-haired roommate doubtfully. “Dude, it doesn’t sound like just a cold. Do you need anything? Meds? Tea?”

“No offense dude, but why do you care?” Jordan asked, and Tom’s face flushed. “If I were you, I’d get the hell out of here before I got you sick.”

“Aww c’mon, I can’t leave my best… friend alone in the room, helpless.” Tom replied, even though his head was screaming at him liar! liar! massive fucking liar!

“I’m not helpless.” Jordan tried to protest, but he launched into a coughing fit. Well, Tom certainly wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to take care of Jordan, that’s for sure. Most times Tom had to be careful about hiding his sexuality around his peers, especially since their college was affiliated with the church. If he came out, it could jeopardize just about everything- the most importantly of which was his relationship with his roommate.

“C’mon, I’ll make you some tea. My mum’s favorite.”

“Fuck you, you idiotic Brit.” Jordan teased. “You and your damn tea.”

“You won’t be saying that when you feel ten times better afterwards.”


For the rest of the day, Tom messed around their room tending to Jordan in various ways. The American dutifully drank the tea and despite the faces he pulled, he thanked Tom. Tom was more than happy to take care of his roommate now that he had an excuse to spend time with him.

Tom never left the room for long that weekend, taking a few trips to the grocery store for some supplies or other various things he or Jordan needed. Tom watched his roommate with a close eye, trusting that if something started going pear-shaped, Jordan would let him know.

“Thanks dude.” Jordan said as Tom handed him yet another cup of tea. “I can’t get enough of this stuff apparently.”

“You’re pretty much an honorary Brit at this point.” Tom said. “You’ve drunk more tea than anything else for the past few days. Are you sure you’re ok going back to classes tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fine dude. Don’t worry.” Jordan assured him, sliding his headphones on over his ears. Tom had learned a while ago that that was a cue for him to stop bothering Jordan and to stop worrying. He’d learned not to take it personally, people needed their personal space sometimes.

Still, as he tried to fall asleep listening to Jordan’s muffled coughs that night, he couldn’t help but worry. He hadn’t been getting better despite having been sick for the better part of a week. Tom had proposed the idea of going to the doctor on Friday, but Jordan had dismissed it almost immediately.

If Tom had a dollar for every time Jordan had told him “I’m fine,” he’d have more than enough to pay off his student loans.


Sure enough, the next morning, Jordan didn’t seem any better. “Dude, I’ll cover for you. You can copy my notes. Just get some rest.” Tom tried to tell him. Jordan gave him a glare.

“Tom.” He said tiredly, and Tom stared back at him unapologetically. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for everything you’ve done, dude. I mean it.”

“Erm… you’re welcome?” Tom turned away slightly as a blush flooded his face. “It’s really the least I could do-”

“Normal roommates don’t do this much for each other. Thanks for being there for me dude. You’re a good guy.”

Tom muttered something about getting his stuff together and quickly ducked out of sight. His face was probably a violent shade of pink right now. Man, I am in way too deep. He mused. There’s no way in hell this could ever work out for me.

“If you need to bail, let me know.” Tom said cautiously as Jordan headed out the door. He could hear him coughing all the way down the hallways. That man will be the death of me.

The lecture was a long and boring one, and throughout the duration of the professor’s dronings Tom could hear Jordan trying to muffle his coughs in the back. Suddenly, Tom saw Jordan jolt to his feet and sprint out of the lecture hall. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed.

Tom exited the hall and witnessed Jordan disappear into the men’s bathroom. He followed, just in time to see Jordan cough up a disturbingly large amount of blood into the sink. He was oblivious to the fact that Tom was watching him with a shocked expression on his face until Tom spoke.

“What the fuck?” Tom exclaimed. Jordan nearly jumped a foot into the air.

“Jesus Christ! Oh, Tom. Hi.” His already-pale face blanched further.

“How long has this been going on?” Tom asked loudly, brow furrowing as his temper spiked.

“Um… not long? Today? Maybe longer? I dunno…” Jordan wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I thought I was fine. It was just a cold.”

“Just a cold my ass.” Tom snapped. “We’re taking my car right now. We’re going to the hospital.”

Jordan began to protest weakly, but Tom pushed past him and grabbed both their book bags from the hall before practically dragging his roommate behind him and forcing him into the passenger seat of his car. “Why did you try to hide it from me, you absolute idiot?” Tom demanded, angrily revving the car and peeling out of the parking lot.

“I didn’t want to miss class and… well… the doctor costs a lot. My family isn’t the wealthiest one out there, I didn’t want to pressure them further.”

“You’re a dumbass.” Tom muttered, turning the corner abruptly. The hospital wasn’t far, luckily. “A complete and total spoon.”

Jordan snorted weakly. “You’re a spoon.”

“Get your ass inside the emergency room. Now.” I can’t believe it. The idiot was coughing up blood and he just expected to recover normally?

“My family-“

“I’ll cover it. Calm your tits.”

“I can’t-“

“Jordan, if you’re coughing up blood, something in your body is fucked up. Get your ass inside right now or I’ll carry you.” Jordan flushed, but he agreed to Tom’s angry demands. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Tom muttered, pressing his fingers into his temples in frustration. “You said you were fine, and like a dumbass I fucking bought it.”

“Tom-“ Jordan started to protest again, but Tom dragged him up to the front desk without even pausing for a moment.

“My friend needs to see a doctor. He’s been having severe cold symptoms for a few days and just recently started coughing up blood.” Tom quickly gave the clerk the information he had managed to get out of Jordan. Jordan had to wait a few minutes before any doctors could see him, but Tom headed outside to try and clear his head for a moment.

“He said he was fine. I believed him. I’m such an idiot.” Tom groaned, running a hand through his short blue hair. “I’m so fucking stupid.”


“Mr. Maron has rather severe pneumonia.” The Doctor informed Tom, his face a mask of professional calmness. Tom’s heart dropped into his toes. On the other side of the glass, Jordan was sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed. Various tubes and machines were hooked up to him, and the stubble that had begun to grow on his face contrasted sharply with the white sheets and pale skin.

“Will he be alright?” He asked quietly. He’d stopped being angry several hours before, when he was told Jordan had been admitted into the ICU.

“He’ll be kept here for a few days, but he is expected to make a full recovery.”

“No lasting effects?”

“Not usually. He should be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I see dozens of patients with pneumonia every year, Mr. Cassell. He’ll be fine, I promise.”

Still Tom couldn’t help but worry as he watched his roommate (and crush) breathe in and out steadily. For the love of God, please don’t get worse than you are now.

Tom stayed overnight at the hospital one night before his other friends dragged him home. Still, even after that, he spent as much time in the hospital as he possibly could. On the second day, he was finally allowed to see Jordan again.

His roommate looked exhausted, lying in the hospital bed, but some color had returned to his cheeks at last.

“Hey dude.” Jordan murmured quietly.

“How are you feeling?” Tom asked, sitting down in the chair beside his bed.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, I feel like total shit.” Jordan replied, cracking a small smile.

“Glad we got beyond that.” Tom replied, rolling his eyes. “Dude, next time you get pneumonia, give me a little heads up ok?”

“The doctors said you’ve been hanging around here a lot.” Jordan said cautiously. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Tom said. “I needed to know you were okay.”

“Tom.” Jordan said. “Normal people don’t do that for their roommates.”

“I do.” Tom said. Jordan was giving him a look- one that he was not sure if he liked or not. “I care about my… friends.”

“Tom.” Jordan repeated. “Can I ask you a question?” His face was deadly serious, and Tom’s pulse increased dramatically.

“Sure dude. Shoot.” Tom replied nervously.

“Forgive me for asking this, but it’s been bothering me a bit. Are you gay?” Immediately, Tom’s heart stopped. He felt like ice water had been dumped over his head. Jordan’s eyes widened. "Dude, if you aren’t it’s cool I was just wondering-”

“No! I mean yes- wait, no… Fuck.” Tom jumped to his feet. “I dunno man I don’t-”

“Tom if you aren’t it’s fine it’s just you’ve been so good to me the last few days and I needed to know before my heart got broken any more.” Jordan rushed out, his hoarse voice quiet in the empty room.

Tom blinked. “What? I broke your heart?”

Jordan rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Tom, I’ve had a crush on you since the beginning of the year. I figured that after you took care of me these last few days I owed it to you to be honest for once.” He sighed. “You can leave if you want.”

“Are you contagious?” Tom asked, blinking like an idiot just standing there after he froze just as he was about to leave.

“Not anymore, why do you-” his sentence was abruptly cut off as Tom kissed him on the lips with sudden eagerness. “Oh.” He whispered after Tom pulled away.

“Jordan, if you get sick and tell me you’re ‘fine’ ever again I will hurt you.” Tom muttered. “Don’t you dare scare me like that ever again. Promise?”

Jordan smiled. “No more lies, I promise.”

For blanket-fictions​ who wanted the kids to each draw “something scary” as per Shino-sensei’s instructions

Shino-sensei frowned. “Inojin, I said to draw something you’re afraid of.”

Ino nodded.”I know.”

“…that’s your mother.”

“I know.”

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Slip of the Tongue

Ellana still can’t believe it. The nerve of him. Usually he’s respectful, even when he’s disagreeing with her, but today… 

She thought they were friends. (She wanted them to be… No, she can’t even consider it, it’s unprofessional and it’s foolish, and she needs to stop looking at him. She needs to stop looking at the way the sunlight glints off his hair, the breadth of his shoulders. She needs to stop thinking about the way her heart sinks when he talks about the withdrawals and flips in her chest when he smiles at her… No. Now is not the time. She’s beginning to realize that there will never be a time.)

She walks into his office without even bothering to knock, and then stands in front of his desk, glaring at him. He looks up once from the report he’s writing, then returns to it. “Inquisitor.”

“Don’t you dare - What was that mess in the war room?”

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Headcanon : Sasuke that I always think he'd be before Sarada.

Sasuke seems so cool, silent and distant outside even when he’s walking beside Sakura.

He doesn’t speak much, sometimes he just naturally holds her shoulder, bends over slightly to hear her better, puts a hand on her back to gesture her on something, puts a coat over her when it’s windy, holds the door or grocery bags for her. Everything mostly in silence, while Sakura doesn’t mind one bit and speaks cheerfully most of the time.

However when there are only two of them at home, Sasuke just sticks close to Sakura. He talks a little more, but still not much. His favourite is snuggling into her bosom or neck every possible second with big arms holding her tightly. Sometimes Sakura finds it a little difficult doing her housework with Sasuke being glued to her body.

Surprisingly, without any confirmation sound from him, Sakura comes to realise that Sasuke likes being spoiled by her. Like let her wash his hair, blow-dry it later (while still burying his head on her lap), hug him and stroke his back. He loves having her slender yet warm arms circling around his broad shoulders, her chin on the top of his head, while he slowly takes in her scent on her collar and fluffy chest where her heart lays.

He feels comfortable being surrounded by her, by her softness, her warmth and her peace. He feels protected, by something unseen, that he seems to forget for too long. Like it’s okay to relax, set loose to your usually tense muscles, it’s okay to be free from any worry or even thinking. You’re protected. She’s here covering for you. She won’t let anything hurt you, anymore. As much as how he’s gonna protect her with all his might once they’re out there.

But here, she’s his guardian instead. That’s why drowning in her warmth, snuggling to her heart and heat are so right to him. They all deliver to him the same message.

“It’s okay to be happy.”

She’s his happiness. He will never let go. Even if some days she decides to leave (that he knows is not gonna happen anyway), he won’t let her. He never let her. She’s his. Only his. His everything.

Without her, his world will fall down again.

That’s why he’s gonna cuddle in her lap like this anytime possible. Forever. This is his place and no one else can take it from him, even her.

Sasuke likes being spoiled by Sakura. And Sakura of course, like spoiling her Uchiha too.

He hardly says anything at all, but she understands everything he wants.

(Nevertheless, when Sarada is born, Sasuke surely has a hard time sharing his favourite spot.

But he compromises, when Sakura, blushing hard like a cute tomato, whispers to his ear, promises some “more attractive” treatments to him every night.)

Title: Waltz

Author: bluecoins

Length: Chaptered

Status: Complete

Rating: NC-17

Genre: Romance

Summary:  Baek Hyun has been getting relentless calls from a strange number at the strangest times and he decided to post the contact number on some gay dating website for the calls to stop. It was supposed to work, goddamnit.



anonymous asked:

I know that there are a few stories how Jane's family meeting Pike and you wrote about meeting with Walter. But maybe you can write about meeting with Pike as well.

Good Riddance
1, 341 words
A/N: Jane is a sassy bitch when dudes who are romantically linked to his wife show up…

She listened to Cho’s briefing with very little interest. It wasn’t the case that made her disinterested, though. Her eyes slid to him repeatedly, the awkward tension making her uncomfortable. This case had required the help of Art Theft Specialists from Washington, D.C, as the stolen art they were trying to recover was being sold to major museums and art exhibits all around the metropolitan area that had originated in Austin, Texas by a gang of very stealthy thieves.

Marcus Pike, now head of the division in Washington, had shown up here yesterday but avoided her as much as he could. She didn’t blame him. In fact, as honesty would have it, she was glad for his avoidance.

As the meeting was adjourned, she gathered her folder and made to exit the conference room. She felt him come up behind her before she heard him speak. Damn. Wasn’t quick enough, she thought as she turned around to face him, watching everyone else leave before either spoke again.

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Tony: [quietly] I just want to make you happy.

Bruce: [smiles sadly] You do make me happy.

Tony: No, I mean, I want to do something for you that will make you happy.

Bruce: … [puts his hand carefully on Tony’s chest]

Tony: [blinks] … Buddy?

Bruce: You are doing something.

Tony: What?

Bruce: [looks at him] Keep breathing, Tony. [smiles again]. That’s all I want. That will make me happy.

Tony: [flushes] Emotions, Bruce. Feelings. What did I say about feelings?

Bruce: You started it.

Clean Up on Aisle 3

[All my submissions have ended up being super domestic-y, is this the recurrent theme of my life haha, sorry guys]


Broccoli, onions, a few bananas…

It sounds sad really but you quite look forward to doing your weekly supermarket shop, or the odd dash in and out for a few essentials. Something about the nicely categorised system of aisles, all the coloured bottles and boxes, sachets and cans, Tetris-ed together and pulled right up to toe the line of the shelf edging. Something about it all is very satisfying. It’s clean, it’s tidy, and well lit. They play some quiet pop radio or some non-offensive ambient music, and you get to slowly amble up and down the aisles with your basket.

It’s not really a place you bump into people, and it’s not a place where shop staff pounce on you and ask if they can help – not that that’s a horrible thing to do, they’re just doing their job, the same way you do yours – but sometimes you want to wander around and be alone. Though you also don’t want to be alone-in-your-flat-on-a-weekend alone. So you’re here. Weaving up the bread aisle at half past eight on a Friday night, saluted by baguettes to your left and tortilla wraps on your right.

Peanut butter, self-raising flour…

Eight-thirty, nine-ish is a good time for this, this aimless wandering. Definitely past the 5pm post-work rush populated by men in stuffy shirts wiggling their ties looser, too soon after dinner to run into the last-minute-dessert-run crowd, and comfortably earlier than the late-night wave of giggling teenagers trying to see how many people they can fit into one trolley. Gives you space to think.

You’ll find yourself in here even if the pantry situation isn’t looking that dire, it’s nice to wander around if it’s been a rough week. Sitting in your flat alone can be more prison than refuge, the way the silence smothers everything and leaves you to your thoughts. If your roommate’s home it can be a bit exhausting after a bad day. She’s lovely – truly – but sometimes keeping lovely conversations going with lovely people can be too much to handle when you’re not feeling so lovely yourself.

Canned tomatoes, spaghetti… there was still some olive oil left, right?

This week hasn’t been so bad. Uni workload has plateaued to a tolerable level – nobody at the information seminars ever said anything about how writing your Masters thesis would feel so much like wading into the ocean and being left to tread water. Or at least how it would feel that way for the first half of the semester.

Work is okay, you’re juggling; your boss hasn’t been on your case too much lately. You made your rent this week, and you remembered to call your parents. The neighbours upstairs have at least temporarily stopped blaring Skrillex at 4am, and the sunshine lately means you’re up to speed with drying all your linens. So far, so good.

But despite all the okay-ness of things lately that should at least leave you halfway content with the world, you just feel a bit ‘blah.’ You’re in your twenties (oh God, like a real semi-adult?), fit and healthy (or at least the latter), intelligent (relatively). Surely this means that you should have some semblance of getting your shit together. Be doing something good, sorting out the whole proper-career-employment thing for when you graduate. Know what you want from life. Work hard for it.

All these things hang around your to-do list for life, but you just don’t quite feel grown up enough to do them yet.

Travel. Widely. Take photos. Eat well. Surround yourself with good people, something your grandparents used to always say to you. The gentle, pressing tone of your mother echoes in your head for this next one – and you kind of hate that this pops into your head at all – ‘find yourself a nice boy to settle down with.’ You snort and roll your eyes.

That’s it. Off to the frozen foods section with you. Having an existential crisis in the middle of the cereal aisle is really not on the agenda tonight. A good pint of ice cream should help with that. What was that thing earlier about eating well?

Your shopping basket thumps gently against your leg as you slowly make your way down the aisle, scanning each freezer cabinet carefully. Popsicle? Ice cream? Overpriced dairy-free gelato? In the interests of being a ‘proper adult,’ perhaps a dark chocolate something-or-other is in the cards. Or espresso. Maybe mint – mint is grown up, right? Like the ice cream version of those After Eight dark chocolate mint things you imagine middle-aged couples have after a glass of red and some classy cheese platter that involves cheeses from regions of France you didn’t even know existed. Work on your world geography, you can add that to the to-do pile.

Fuck it. Cookies and cream it is. It was always your favourite as a kid – still is. Your parents would take you to get ice cream every Sunday after swim practice, and after a few weeks, they stopped bothering to ask what flavour you wanted. Creature of habit, you are.

Only problem now is finding it. Where the hell did they put it? God, is it up there? Why in the actual hell is it up there? Why is it so far up? Do the supermarket execs not know that you have to put the World’s Best Flavour within easy reach for those of us who are a little more vertically challenged?

You open up the freezer cabinet door, tugging a bit to fight the suction on the fridge seal. You’re met with a cold mist and the promise of ice cream. You stretch up onto your tiptoes, fingertips barely brushing the cylindrical tub that somebody’s pushed back just a touch too far for you to get a good hold on. 

Is this some sadistic metaphor for my life? 

You sigh, tiptoeing again, fingers skimming the icy surface but only spinning the tub on its spot. Godfuckingdamnit, if it was just—

“Here, let me.”

You spin around, whipping your head around quickly and ending up with your nose way too close in somebody’s torso, the zip of their open jacket brushing your shoulder.

You clear your throat, “um—uh, thanks,” you mumble as you wait for them to step back far enough for it to not be quite so awkward.

You feel the rustle of a sleeve brush past your ear before you look up. Blue eyes meet yours briefly before darting back to the tub of ice cream jostling in his hands.

“Great choice,” he grins, handing it back to you, “Definitely worth the stretch.”

You huff out a small, embarrassed sound, staring at the ground and shaking your head disbelievingly, “I swear, it’s like they don’t want me to have ice cream or something.”

“Can’t be having that, that’s no way to live,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck, “You enjoy the ice cream – have a good night!”

You smile to yourself as you watch him walk away, down towards the neat rows of milk cartons and yoghurt pottles. Nice strangers can be such a mood lifter.


You grimace, rummaging through your bag for your wallet. Keys, headphones, old gas station receipt, far too many lipbalms. You should really clear out your bag once in a while. Pocket diary, fold-up umbrella, the last piece of gum in the pack, nopenopenope, none of this is what you’re after. Where is your wallet? Did you lose it on the way over? Is it in the car?

The cashier flashes you a tight smile, drumming his fingers on the side of the computer screen while he waits.

Shit. You know where it is. It’s at home. On the kitchen counter. Next to the phone and the post-it note with the dentist’s number that you were supposed to have called last week.

You burn red, “Shit, I’m so sorry, I think I left my wallet at home. I’ll uh—I’ll just, let me put these back for you, I’m so sorry—“

The same voice from earlier steps in, again before you can see him, “It’s alright, I’ve got it.”

You look up once more and get a proper look this time. Kind eyes smiling out from tortoiseshell glasses, a good—like really, really good—shadow of scruff sweeping across his jaw. Unruly dark hair peeks out from under a grey hood, waving about as he shakes his head and grins, sensing how mortified you are, “It’s fine, honestly, don’t worry about it. A couple tenners out of my retirement fund won’t kill me.”

You stand with your mouth agape, unsure how to react before yielding and stepping back a bit to give your supermarket stranger enough room to pile his groceries on top of yours and stack your baskets back into the pile. Your cheeks burn when you hear the lady at the till next to yours direct a small (amused? Pitying?) “aww, that’s so nice” in your direction.

You wander out a bit further towards the exit door, biting your nails and averting your gaze from the situation while he pays. You hear the beep of the number pad as he punches in his pin number, having a laugh with the cashier over a joke you don’t quite catch. There’s the rip of the receipt and a last minute exchange of words.

“Cool, thanks mate, have a good night,” he winks in salute, taking a plastic bag in each hand and making his way over to you.

“Thank you so much, and for before as well, I’m so so sorry, I swear I’m not usually some disorganised freeloader…” You trail off, pursing your lips and blushing profusely.

“Seriously, it’s no biggie. No trouble at all, hey, least you weren’t doing a big shop,” he jokes, pushing his hood off and giving his hair a ruffle.

You take your bag gratefully, hair falling in a curtain over your cheek as you bow your head in what you hope looks like gratitude.

After awkwardly parting ways in the carpark – him, trying to diffuse your embarrassment but just embarrassing you further with his reassurances that really, it’s fine; you, fumbling over your words trying to figure out how best to salvage your dignity – you flop into the driver’s seat, dumping your groceries onto the passenger seat and closing the door. You dig your head back into your seat, letting out a prolonged groan into the sealed silence of your car. So much for having your shit together.

Popping the keys in the ignition, you reach over to rummage through your things. He gave you the right bag, right?

Your fingers navigate through rustling plastic before meeting cold condensation. Cookies n’ cream. Yep, definitely yours.

You flip on the light, squinting at the receipt and scanning down the items, trying to gauge how much your stranger had to fork out to save your ass. Not too bad. At least that’s a mild comfort. You go to stuff the receipt back into the bag but something catches your eye amongst the neatly regimented lines of printing. A number, scrawled in blue.

I demand compensation in ice cream. Give me a call sometime.


anonymous asked:

Headcanons: Miles wearing Alex's clothes because he "accidentally" stayed the night yet again and he just never give Alex his clothes back

alex draws the line at miles stealing his favourite yellow shirt. he doesn’t even understand why miles would take it, given the number of times he’s decreed it to “look like a cheese slice” or called it “disgusting”, yet here he is. tucking it into his jeans like there’s no problem. 

“you can’t take that.” he says, and miles looks at him, hair still in a state from sleeping and belt hanging loose around his thighs. he looks gorgeous, but alex isn’t going to say so. doesn’t want to make his head big or anything. 

“why not?”

“why not? i’ve barely got any clothes left here!” he flops down and miles leers at him unabashedly. 

“not my problem.” he snickers, and reaches to slap him on the arse. 

alex scowls and kicks at him.

“what are you getting ready for, anyway? it’s 10am. on sunday.” he doesn’t mean to sound petty and whiny, but it comes out that way anyway.

miles sits on the edge of the bed and leans down to kiss him briefly. he’s all minty tasting and warm and alex wants him to stay. he slides a hand up his thigh, because he’s not above playing dirty if it gets him what he wants. 

infuriatingly, miles slaps his hand away. 

“not yet. i’m going to do a romantic gesture.”

alex pouts.

“more romantic than coming back to bed?”

“mhmm” miles replies, toeing on his shoes. “i’m going to get us breakfast from that wanky patisserie place.”

he calls it wanky, alex thinks, but actually loves it. he’d eaten a truly ungodly amount of miniature croissants the last time he’d been hungover. 

alex indulges him.

“how lovely.” he sits up and purposely lets the sheet pool low around his waist, feels the low burn of satisfaction when miles’ eyes follow it hungrily. 

“don’t try that, you tart.”


“no, see this way. i get to be romantic. and i come home, and i know you’ll still be naked because i’ve got all your clothes, and i get food, then i take you back to bed.”

alex snorts and rummages in the bedside draw for his cigarettes, but he’s going to give in. his stomach is grumbling too much for him not to.

“fine” he lights up, smoke pluming out of the corner of his mouth “but you’d better bring me back coffee too.”

“wouldn’t dream of not doing.” 

miles is grinning now, thrilled his plan has worked, probably. he pecks him again and alex is tempted to blow smoke into his mouth as petty vengeance. 

he pulls away too soon, though, and alex groans frustratedly. 

miles laughs as he swaggers out, cat that got the cream. 

(alex never did get around to telling him his hair was stuck up.)

anonymous asked:

Kingsman au where after Harry comes back from the dead he & Eggsy go a bit rouge for a few years and get some much needed TLC by sailing around the world together bc u kno Harry had got to know how to sail & they just experience all the things Eggsy had wished he could & they fall even more in love and just have an amazing adventure together out on the ocean or on land meeting new people or seeing different cultures and everyone is happy and no one is dead happy perfect spy husbands

This is the prompt I’d spent two hours replying to before it got deleted. So HOPEFULLY it works this time. I’ve switched computers. ANyways. I hope you’re ready because this is gonna be fab.

Merlin handed Harry a small stack of folders. “Just a few more reports to approve tonight, Arthur.”

Harry sighed. Just a few more reports, my arse. He flipped open the first file and looked at the report. The sooner he started, the sooner he would finish. The report was from Lancelot, so Harry just skimmed it over. It would no doubt be perfect as always.

“You know, Arthur,” Merlin always said Arthur like it was some sort of private joke between them, “Kingsman would survive just fine if you were gone for a few weeks. We did well enough for months without an Arthur while you were in a coma.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, Merlin?”

It was Merlin’s turn to sigh. “I’m merely saying that you could take some time off and no one would die.” After some consideration, he added. “Most likely, anyway.”

“But what if—”

“Then I’ll handle it. If I can’t, I’ll call Lancelot. She’s quite capable.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Harry grumbled. But he thought about it. He hadn’t felt like he was able to take any time off since he recovered because of how long it took to do so. V-Day happened over a year ago, but to Harry, it felt like only half that time had passed because of how long he’d been out cold to the world. After so long though, Harry started to feel restless. And Merlin was right; Kingsman would do just fine without him for a bit. “What about the agents?”

“What about them?” Merlin asked distractedly, his attention already focused elsewhere. He had probably already forgotten that they had been talking. 

“Well, how would Kingsman fare if… if uh, there was one less agent available to send on missions?”

Merlin smirked at Harry. “Oh, I’ve already accounted for that. We’re a bit slow right now, anyway. Finally going to make your move, eh?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Keep reading

faenris asked:

u know that one episode at the end of season 1 i think where they throw a party and dipper accidentally raises the dead? how about that's where everyone is older and they first meet bill with his human body and he's super drunk and grinding on everyone on the dance floor. he's drunk off his ass and is incredibly affectionate. nsfw is COOL

Fae every time I get a prompt from you it’s like a gift

((okay i changed this a little from the episode - lets pretend that the party wasnt until after the zombie attack - Also I made it so they already knew about Bill having a body but other than thAT i hope this is alright omg))

nsfw warning bc i cant help myself im trASH

Keep reading

Writing chapter 14 right now. I’ve been wanting to work in a West Wing reference for like… eons. Originally it was going to be a comment from Pamela, but that didn’t quite work out. Still… I finally managed it -

…[Oliver]’s not exactly planning on stopping for red lights.

I’m sort of absurdly happy about that. 

Title: Night Stands

Author: noonasofdarkness

Length: One Shot + Epilogue

Status: Complete

Rating: PG-15

Genre: Romance

Summary:  Baekhyun wonders how many ‘one-night stands’ he can have with the same person before it becomes something more.



anonymous asked:

Are we allowed to request Rev!Bill and Normal!Dipper? Because I'd just love to see something between those two. Romantic, or not, you choose!

I had to do some research into the Reverse AU in general to get the concept and I’m not completely sure that I can do this justice?? I’m gonna try omg it’s weird to think of Bill as anything other than an ass tho

triangle bill and william yeahyeahyeah

Keep reading


malec drabble
hope you like it :)

send in prompts, pairings, anything you want written!

note: all characters belonging to Cassandra Clare

Prompt: i snuck out but i forgot my key so i scaled the fire escape to crawl back through my window but i got the wrong apartment please don’t call the cops or my parents



After Magnus had lived through the first century of his life, he had stopped counting how much times his home was broken into.
After so many times, the fear of someone breaking in had worn off. There was always going to be someone mad at him for one reason or another, or someone attempting to steal his stuff, and, if he was honest with himself, he was just too careless to lock his doors. He practically invited deviants to intrude.
Which was why Magnus was only mildly surprised when a lean, dark shape crawled through his window and fell to the floor with an odd, soundless grace. Magnus looked over at the figure from where he sat on the sofa, letting his book fall into his lap. As the person stood up, Magnus could make out in the dimness that it was a male, tall and slender with broad shoulders.
A soft laugh escaped Magnus’s lips as the boy padded across the room and ran right into an end table.
“Shit,” the boy mumbled, awkwardly hopping on one leg while holding his knee.
All Magnus saw in the darkness was a gleam of eyes, searching the room.
“Jace?” The boy whispered, stumbling towards Magnus.
“Um,” Magnus said, waving his fingers and flicking on the lamp beside him. “No.”
Shit,” The boy said, backing away from Magnus and fisting his hands in his hair, his eyes wide.
Magnus sucked in a breath.
The boy had tangled black hair, sticking up in points between his splayed fingers. His sea-glass blue eyes were frantically darting around the room, teeth playing at his lower lip. Where his t-shirt rode up along his stomach it revealed a strip of ivory pale skin accented by curling black runes.
A Shadowhunter.
“By the Angel, I am so sorry. Please don’t…. Uh, call the other Shadowhunters on me?”
He stepped towards Magnus, his hands up like he was surrendering.
“I thought this was the institute.” Magnus raised his eyebrows.
“I would never live in a place as old fashioned as that drab building. It’s looks alone would keep my clients away.”
The boy flushed. “I might have, um, drank a little.” He said, looking down at his feet.
“Drinking and breaking into innocent Warlock’s homes,” Magnus said, smiling at the boy. “What a disgrace to the name of Shadowhunters.”
“Um, yeah. I’m usually not like this. It was just an odd night…” He said, turning back to the still-open windowsill and stepping up and out onto it and crouching, somehow easily balancing on the thin outcrop of stone.
“Sorry,” he said, peering at Magnus over his shoulder. His hair fell over his eyes, hiding his expression.
“Wait,” Magnus said, jumping to his feet, the book he had been reading falling to the floor with a soft thump. “What’s your name?”
The boy looked surprised to be asked. “Alec,” He said quietly, like it was a secret.
“Alec,” Magnus murmured, just to try the name out.
“I’m Magnus.”
“Well, thanks, then,” Said Alec, his cheeks bright with flush. “Magnus. For not telling anyone, I mean.”
“My pleasure, Alec.”
Alec smiled at him, a startling glimmer of white teeth and sharp cheekbones in the dim light, and then he dropped out of the window, as suddenly and soundlessly as he had come.