short change heroes (watch you bleed) by mytay this fic is part of a group of ongoing works so i suggest you read the very first written first before you read this one BUT THIS FIC WAS…….. RLLY GOOD. I LOVED THE ENTIRE SERIES SO MUCH ………. SPACE COWBOY MERCENARIES KEITH AND LANCE … LIKE ………. BITCH …….
shades of blue by vaziah THIS IS THE WING FIC AU I FUCKING NEEDED !!!!!!!!!!! this fic was rlly cute and it starts off with a lance and shiro friendship i never knew i needed. <:3c this was just overall rlly cute and i cant wait for the next chapter !!!!!!
red skies by angstinspace real shit …….. this is actually my favourite fic rn …………………… just read it yall arent gonna regret it……… slaps my ass and dies
mermaid’s glow by kirinjaegeste ASIDE FROM RED SKIES THIS IS ALSO ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAVOURITES …….. keith gets bitten by a mermaid right .. and he turns into a mermaid ………… its rlly fucking good …………………..
thats all for right now but if you want more fics recs, check out my bookmarks on my ao3 @boys !!!!!!!! <:3c
There’s a lipstick stain on Adrien’s face, dusting the apple of his cheek, from her quick and quiet good morning on the rooftop before dashing off to school.
His skin had flushed a deep rosy red the moment her lips touched it, and with wide eyes and dazed smile, his fingers pressed over the mark she’d left. With a smile, she kissed Chat Noir again, this time on his lips, before flicking her fingers in a short, passable wave goodbye and took off for school.
When she arrives in class, there’s Adrien, sitting in the same seat as always, with a stupid smile on his face to complete that lovesick expression, with the Berry-Bomb! lipstick mark on his cheek.
She pauses in the doorway. “Marinette?” Adrien asks when he catches sight of her. “Are you alright?”
Summary: Shawn is a criminal mastermind and you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time….or was it the right place at the right time?
“Open the fuckin’ door, Shawn!” someone yells from the hallway. Shawn looks through the peephole and you can hear a string of swears from under his breath. Apparently he knew who it was. Thank god. He adjusts the gun in the back of his pants and flips the lock to open the door.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asks harshly of the person you can’t see. He doesn’t have the door open enough to let them in. Obviously it wasn’t someone he cared to talk to.
You hop off the counter and as you get closer you can make out that it’s a woman’s voice coming from beyond the door. “You think you can just replace me? You think bringing some naive little girl into your twisted little games is going to work out? Does she even know what you’ve done?”
“Should I go?” you ask softly as you approach the door.
Shawn looks over at you and holds his hand up to silence you. As much as you want to snap at him for shushing you, you hold your tongue. “Can you get out of here Lauren?” he asks and you can see he’s holding the door closed against her pushing, knuckles turning white against the dark wood. “I have work to do and I don’t need to deal with you right now.”
Five Ways To Wake Dean Winchester (Without Getting Shot)
Sometimes, Dean’s dreams are violent. They make him thrash in his sleep, tangling the bed sheets around his limbs and pushing the comforter to the floor. His fingers twitch towards the gun hidden under his pillow.
Castiel can only guess he’s dreaming of a hunt—though he never knows if it’s a fabrication or a memory. He can almost picture it: a nondescript graveyard with drooping willows and time-faded etchings on the stones; a damp back-alley of an urban metropolis, painted a variety of colors by the neon lights, and the silvery sphere of the low-hanging moon above. A spirit with its hands around Dean’s neck as he fumbles with his Zippo to throw onto the bones; a werewolf sniffing the air for his scent.
Dean moves like he’s hunting. He gasps as if he’s taken a blow to the gut. He kicks out like he’s running, and more often than not it causes black and blues to bloom on Castiel’s skin. He’s all jutting elbows and right hooks. A long time ago, Castiel gave up on flailing to hold down his legs and capture his arms accompanied by growls of Dean, Dean, wake up, it’s me!
a: you have your good arm around her torso, barrel shoved up under her chin and the magazine is an arm’s length away but you’re still careful, careful. she is steel beneath you and that’s when it hits, that’s when you picture your twitchy finger slipping and a bullet going straight through her skull, in and out before you can blink. the elevator door slides shut and you can’t pull away fast enough. (you are the most dangerous thing her hands have touched.)
q: what is heaven?
a: the world is collapsing around you but you have this, her warm skin pressed to yours and a quiet cocoon of space between you, enough, enough. you forget to breathe, then breathe all at once. you forget that anything exists outside of this moment. you forget -
she pulls away this time. go, go on, she tells you and you choke down your reply.
how? how -
a: painfully, teeth-bared, lungs aching as you haul yourself up the elevator shaft. your shoulder burns where her fingers grasped at it but the fire keeps you on your feet. she keeps you on your feet.)
q: what if you could stop fighting, what if you washed the war from your hands until the skin was soft again, what if you forgave yourself for wanting more?
Summary: Alec Lightwood is a low profile, high success assassin. He’s the son of two lawyers, notorious for flying in the face of justice for the love of money, who he retaliates against by taking on cases that require working outside the law to ensure justice is served. Magnus Bane is underworld royalty as the divergent son of a highly respected crime lord. He dissolves drug cartels, prostitution rings, and any other monopoly that threatens to poison his beloved Brooklyn. The two of them together are the perfect storm. When a new threat arises that combines the case of Alec’s new prospective client and a drug cartel Magnus has been keeping tabs on for years, the pair is out for blood.
How about a short fluff prompt to get the muse working: Mulder giving Scully a foot massage after she wore her high heels to chase a monster.
Ha, thank you! Though it’s not the lack of prompts that stifles me. It’s just plain old me. However, I decided I’m tired enough to not think and just write. This word vomit is the result.
Every step Scully takes is accompanied
by a groan. At first Mulder thinks it is an isolated incident; just a noise.
They are, after all, not the youngest anymore and little aches and pains are
common – he knows all too well. Of course Scully likes to remind him that she
is in fact three years his junior, in excellent health and form. Yeah, right.
Another step, another groan and Mulder wonders if she’s trying to tell him
something, somehow with these primal noises.
“Are we there
yet?” A groan with words is new. Mulder, not in the mood to voice his own
exhaustion, shakes his head.
“Where is the car,
“Right where we left
it.” He grumbles picking up the pace. It’s unfair, he knows it, but part
of him wants to hear Scully and pant and groan in shorter intervals. If Scully
knew, or even guessed at his thoughts, she’d kick his ass, pain or not, and
kick it good.
“Mulder, can we
just…” She trails off but Mulder doesn’t stop walking as he doesn’t expect
her to do it either. What does she want anyway? This is their job. Again.
Just because they’re in their 50s now doesn’t mean anything has changed. Except
that sometimes the criminals are faster. So much faster. If it hadn’t been for
the young police officer coming to help them…
“Can’t be that far,
Scully. I think-” It’s then that he notices the absence of her footsteps,
of her groans; of her. He stops, his eyes searching in confusion, until he sees
her in the distance sitting on a log, holding one of her feet. “What
happened?” He asks once he reaches her.
“Do you know what it’s
like to chase monsters in the forest, Mulder, when you’re wearing high
wasn’t even a monster, he almost reminds her; just a messed up kid.
“Exactly. My feet hurt
and I need a break. I’m not…” She trails off again as she massages her
anymore?” Mulder offers and her head shoots up like a rocket, her eyes
“Not used to it
anymore.” After two decades together Mulder knows this look she’s giving
him. Dutifully, he sits down next to her and motions for her to give him her
feet. She slips out of her second high heel and it falls to the muddy ground as
she puts her feet into Mulder’s lap.
“You’re so good at
this.” Scully moans and Mulder decides he likes this noise much, much more
than her earlier groans. They used to do this all the time back in the day.
Back when they were still more than whatever they are now. Never in a forest,
though. A smile creeps up on him; there’s a first time for everything, even
“You could stop
wearing high heels, you know.”
“And get a stiff neck
looking up at you? No, thank you. I just need to get used to it again.” He
nods in understanding and they fall quiet with only the gentle sounds and
rhythms of the forest surrounding them. Scully’s eyes drift close and he knows
what that means, too.
“Hey,” he says,
tickling her, “we need to get to the car. Get back to the hotel, write the
report.” To his greatest joy, Scully pouts; even if she won’t admit it
now, she loves when he massages her feet. Or at least she used to.
“I know.” She
says, misery in her voice.
“I have an idea.”
Mulder lets go of her feet and helps her get back into her shoes. There’s that
groan again and Mulder chuckles.
“It’s not funny.”
She tells him and he almost leans forward to kiss her. They’re almost there, he
thinks, but not quite yet. And not here. Instead, he offers her his hand, pulls
her up into a standing position.
“Get on my back.”
He tells her.
“Come on. I’ll carry
you.” He crouches down so that she can hop on. “Scully, come on. My
joints don’t appreciate this position.”
“Then get up. You’re
not giving me a piggy-back ride!”
turns to her, “I will carry you to the car one way or another. Either you
hop on or I’ll think of something else.” She thinks about it for a moment,
must realize that he’s serious, and finally gives in with a sigh.
“See? That wasn’t too
bad, was it?” Scully, despite her tiny form, feels heavy on his back and
he swallows his own groan. Tomorrow, he thinks as he puts on foot in front of
the other, she’ll have to give him a back massage in return. He can’t wait.
summary: you and steve have been friends for a while. after the party at tina’s , you’re worried that the veil of friendship might not be so strong, after all
pairing: steve x reader (fluff + a lil bit of angst)
word count: 1k
A/N: hello kids! this is my first fic ever and im super nervous abt it! let me know what u think! also this goes out to @sanjariti bc steve is our boy
You looked up at the front of the house with wary eyes, then back down to the smashed party goers who were milling about the lawn. There were definitely at least three people passed out in the bushes, and you had a second thought to just turn tail and get out of there.
However, you reasoned with the situation. This could be your token party for the rest of the year. You could use it as an excuse the next time Harrington was slumped against your locker practically begging for you to make an appearance.
Okay, so he didn’t really beg but, he would ferociously bother you until you gave in.
You liked Harrington, you did. You became friends over a shared hatred of Math in the eighth grade and tried to stay friends throughout highschool. But, things lead to other things. He was busy with swim and basketball, and his shitty friends that you really didn’t care for. And you had your job at the diner, and the extracurriculars that you had hoped would get you into a decent college.
Then came Nancy. You loved Nancy. She was everything that you secretly wished you could be. She was so sweet and so good for Steve. Also, she absolutely floored you with her style.
Steve had been practically in love with Nancy since sophomore year, a fact that he told you at least three times a week. And you were so happy that he finally was able to date the girl of his dreams. But sometimes you wished that was your hand he held, that he looked at you with stars in his eyes.
You sighed, suddenly overly conscious about the last minute cat ears situated on your head and the lowcut bodysuit that really didn’t hide much. Out front the new kid -Benny? - was shirtless, chugging out of a keg, with fans already cheering him on.
Sure, this would be fun.
Pushing into the throng of people, you search desperately for someone - anyone - that you knew. After a few minutes, you decide to wander into the kitchen, where you finally spy Nancy in a white top - or what looked to be a white top. The front was now a deep red, almost as red as her face.
“Woah there champ, let’s get you home, okay?” Consoling her was fine, but you needed to find someone who knew where she lived. You and her had only spoken a couple of times, but you couldn’t just leave her there.
Making sure she was awake and drinking water, you push through the crowd, searching for Steve or - boom! There was that kid Jonathan that she always hung out with, who coincidentally, also looked like he was looking for Nancy. You point toward the kitchen, encouraging him to take her home.
Jonathan walks to the kitchen and you’re relieved that she’d be getting home with someone she knew. After that, you maneuver out the back door, wanting to be anywhere but that crowded room. Hopping down to the back porch, you see the back of a familiar head of floppy hair.
Instinctively, your heart skips a beat. You tell yourself it’s nothing, act casual. Pulling your jacket closer, you take a seat next to him. He’s smoking, which you’ve never seen before. He makes a surprised noise at your appearance, but doesn’t take his eyes off his shoes.
“Yanno, that stuff will kill ya.” You chide, nudging him with a forced smile. Steve snorts, flicking the ash off and snuffing it with his boot.
He takes a hit, then hands it to you. “Didn’t think you liked parties that much.”
You take it, holding it before taking a drag, too. “I don’t, not usually. But what about you? Why aren’t ya in there with Na-”
Steve cuts you off, holding out a hand, “I’ll stop ya there.” You raise your eyebrows, glancing at how his sunglasses are slipping on his nose, and the way his lips form into a grim line. SIghing, you stand up, holding out your hand.
He had been your friend for almost five years, you couldn’t leave him to sulk on the footsteps of a party by himself. “Come on, Harrington. It’s weird not seeing you smile.”
You wonder what had happened, you figure it was something with Nancy. Putting the red shirt together and the streaks of tears on both of their faces, it wasn’t hard to figure out. But now wasn’t the time to ask. Not when you can see how red his eyes are - whether they’re red from the drug or crying you’re not sure.
You can tell he’s debating whether or not to grab your hand, because Steve was strong. He didn’t need pity. But, he needs something right now. RIght now he needs some reassurance that someone wants to be around him. He takes your hand, pulling himself up on wobbly legs.
“There we go. Look at you! You look like a fuckin tool. But, I kinda dig it.” You laugh, gesturing to his costume.
Steve scoffs good naturedly, brushing off his shoulders. He was honestly, the biggest dork you had ever seen. You two begin walking toward the street, your hands shoved in your pockets.
“What do you mean? I was the coolest guy in there!” Steve exclaims, to your amusement.
You glance up at him, squinting your eyes. “Oh yeah, for sure! Because all the cool guys wear their sunglasses at night!”
Shaking his head, Steve looks at you for a second too long to be constituted as just friends. Coughing, you break the eye contact.
Deciding on some middle ground, you stick out your hand again. Steve takes it, giving it a squeeze for good measure. You feel something change in your friendship at that moment. But it was good, for now. The buzz off the night’s delinquencies might have been dying down, but the feeling of Steve’s skin was electric.
Before I begin, I would like to tell every CSA victim that’s been triggered by all of this how sorry I am. I am horrified to realize that with my tone, word choice or the way I’ve defended myself, I’ve done the very things I stand against: I inadvertently steered the conversation away from real trauma victims. It wasn’t my intention by claiming my innocence to reopen wounds of any kind. Please be safe. Don’t feel guilty for not speaking up. Your mental health should never come before anyone else’s.
The time has come for me to leave Tumblr. My ask is permanently closed on and off anon. You can however message me in the tumblr chat, I don’t know how soon I’ll be able to read them. For the rest please, continue reading…
“I think it’s time for us to have a nice little chat about where you’re hiding that hard drive.” Root smiled encouragingly and prodded the whimpering man on the floor with the toe of her boot.
“I swear I don’t know anything!” Her new friend (She thought his name might be Roger? Or maybe Dennis? Oh well, wasn’t like it mattered anyway) wasn’t quite intimidated enough to spill his guts yet, figuratively speaking, but she figured threatening him with literally spilling his guts might help speed that along.
“My name is Frank.”
“We don’t have time for this, Roger. I’m on a bit of a schedule here, so I’m going to need you to tell me where you stashed that hard drive. This is me asking nicely.” She pulled a taser out of her coat pocket. “And trust me, you don’t want me to ask less nicely.”
“Okay! All I know is…”
A annoying little tune started blaring, cutting him off. Root made a face and fished around in another pocket.
“It’s nine already?” She silenced the alarm on her phone and shoved it back into her pocket. A little more digging around in yet another pocket produced a bundle of zip-ties.
“Okay, Dennis, I know you were about to tell me everything I needed to know, and I really do appreciate that, but we’re going to have to put that on hold for just a second.” She motioned at a nearby pole. “Put your arms around that and I’m going to tie your wrists.”
Her prisoner looked back and forth between her and the door out. Root sighed; she didn’t have time for this right now.
“If you make me take my gun out, then I get to shoot you with it. Those are the rules, Tony.”
He moved over and put his arms around the pole, sitting quietly while she secured his wrists.
“There. Much better. Now, let’s see…” Root fished around through the large pockets in her winter coat. She knew she’d put it somewhere in here.
“Oh, here we go.” She pulled a power bar out of the depths of one pocket and proudly held it up for her prisoner to admire. “I came prepared this time.”
The man whose name was probably Frank watched in utter confusion as she unwrapped the bar and started eating it.
“These things really aren’t that good. I should invest in better flavors.” She tilted her head to one side. “Is there a brand that tastes better?”
Root smiled condescendingly at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Probably-Frank didn’t comment further as she chewed on her snack. Very courteous of him. Maybe she wouldn’t tase him after all. Especially since the Machine had just informed her of an extremely important incoming call.
“Oh, she is? Of course I want to talk to her. Put her through. She can’t be upset. I’m eating right now!” She waited for the Machine to connect the call for her.
“Hey, sweetie. How’s it going over there?” She tapped her taser against her leg, absentmindedly.
“I’m eating right now. I set an alarm and everything.” She was very pleased with the alarm. She could have gotten the Machine to remind her, but having an alarm set on her phone was something she could show Shaw as actual proof.
“It’s a-” She looked at the wrapper. “-chocolate brownie energy bar? It’s not very good, but it’s definitely food.”
She saw a small movement out of the corner of one eye as she listened to Shaw’s response. She rounded on her prisoner, turning her taser on for just long enough to get his attention. He stopped fidgeting with the zip-ties, slumped in defeat, and glared at her.
“Sorry, Sameen. Ralph here was trying to escape. See, I’m in the middle of questioning him, but I still stopped to eat, because I told you I would, and I always keep my promises. To you, anyway.” Promises to anyone other than Shaw and the Machine didn’t count.
“My name is Frank.”
She gave an exasperated sigh and bent over to zap him once, very briefly.
“Stop interrupting, Fred. This is a very important call and you’re being rude.” She hadn’t gotten to talk to Shaw all day. She wasn’t going to let this idiot ruin it.
“I know it’s not a real dinner, but I’m out trying to track down that drive. I can’t carry around a four course meal in my pocket.”
She didn’t see what the problem was. She’d gotten the bar in some yuppie food store so it had to be healthy, right? “Well, once I’m done with George here, I’ll see if I can’t find somewhere still open to get a full meal, okay?”
On the floor, Probably-Frank was still quietly twitching.
“Is She sending you a daily update of my calorie intake?”
Honestly, they both fussed so much. It was kind of sweet.
“Is that gunfire? Did you call me from combat to make sure I’d eaten? That’s so adorable.”
Shaw’s offended response and subsequent termination of the call made her smile, but also made her ache to be back in New York. She only had two days left before she could leave, but it felt like a million years right now. Well, there was nothing she could do about that, so she might as well get on with the mission. She turned back to her new best buddy.
“Sorry about that, Roger, but I made a promise to a lady. Now-” She hunkered down and prodded him in the ribs with one finger. “-I need to get out of here in the next thirty minutes if I’m going to be able to find food with ‘acceptable nutritional value’ tonight. So, let’s talk about this hard drive.”
Happy birthday @the-nerd-book-reader . I hope you had an amazing time today! I decided to write something for you, and I truly hope you enjoy it. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and I can’t imagine how it would be without you. I’m so thankful for your friendship, and I truly hope our friendship is forever. Love you loads x.
pacing back and forth in their apartment. He was desperate for some news. He
loved the fact that his boyfriend was so passionate about his job as an Auror,
but he couldn’t help the stress that came with it. Always worrying about his
boyfriend’s well-being, scared for life that one of these days he might not
come back home… He had spent the past five hours calling Harry without getting
any answer. He then called the Ministry of Magic, to demand further
explanations, but was quickly shut down, since apparently Harry was working in
a top secret case, and they couldn’t reveal any information… They assured him
that they would get back to him if anything out of the ordinary happened, but
he hadn’t heard anything from them either. Harry was meant to come at 5 pm. It
was now 10 pm, and Draco was starting to feel physically sick. He just wanted
his boyfriend to be ok. It was all he needed.
Just as he
was crossing the hall for the 584th time, he heard someone fumbling
with keys. He lunged himself forward, immediately crashing against his
boyfriend that had barely made it through the door, almost sending them both to
the hell have you been, Harry?! I’ve been worried sick, I called so many times,
you can’t just do this!” Draco exclaimed, anger and worry filling his voice.
I’m so sorry. I got held up in a mission, and there wasn’t any way for me to
- “How is
it possible to not find a way to let me know you were caught up in a mission?!
I’m always in constant fear of what might happen to you every time you walk out
that door!” Draco yelled, tears starting to fill his eyes.
please be reasonable. You know the implications of being an Auror. I don’t just
get to decide where I go on a mission. Things can’t be like that.”
“I am perfectly aware of how your job works,
Harry, but I do hope you understand how I feel about all this. You’re my
boyfriend, and it pains me to think that something might happen to you, I’m
always waiting to hear a phone call from the Ministry reporting an injury, or…”
Draco started crying. He was highly sensitive; he had always been. And Harry
meant the world to him. Just the prospect of losing him made life unbearable.
“Draco, please…” Harry said, worryingly, while
placing his hands on Draco’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Harry” Draco backed out and ran
towards their bedroom.
Draco couldn’t stop crying. It was ludicrous.
He knew it. But he couldn’t stop. The War had left its toll on him, just like
everyone else. He didn’t mention it, not to Harry at least, because he wanted
to be perceived as strong. He didn’t want to be seen as the coward he’d been as
a child. But he knew how terrified he’d been for his family. He knew he’d do
anything to protect his family. And Harry was his family now. The idea of
losing him was unconceivable. He loved him with everything he had. The love had
started to blossom while they were still at Hogwarts, even though Draco only
realised it after the War. By then he had thought it was too late, so he decided
to move on. But then one night he saw Harry at some pub and it all came back. They
started talking, and Draco’s feelings resurfaced, almost as if he’d never tried
to push them away. They started spending a lot of time together, and Draco knew
he was in deep trouble. He realised that Harry was it for him, that there
wasn’t anyone else, only him. Four years later, and here they were.
Draco curled himself up in their bed, exhausted
from all the stress and the nerves. He knew he just needed to sleep in order to
calm down. He knew he was being dramatic, but he couldn’t help it. He would
talk to Harry in the morning.
Harry was a mess. He hated seeing his boyfriend
suffer for him. Draco liked to pretend he was insanely strong, but Harry knew
he wasn’t. He knew that Draco still had nightmares about the War. He himself
did too. They had both been through a lot.
He sat down on their sofa and rummaged through
the numerous things in his jacket until he felt something velvety under his
touch. He picked up the black box and stared at it for a while. He’d known that
this was what he wanted for his life after only a few dates with Draco. He fell
hard and fast for the Slytherin, and soon realised that he was in fact the love
of his life. The animosity between the two of them while at Hogwarts had always
felt off, but Harry hadn’t given it much thought. After reencountering Draco, he
realised what it all meant. And now he was sitting on their sofa, in their
apartment, holding the rings that meant a lifetime of bickering, arguments,
worry, but more importantly, love. He had planned to ask the question that
night, but his job got in the way, and now Draco was upset. He knew all Draco
needed was a proper night of sleep and they would be fine by the morning. With
the thought of his boyfriend on his mind, Harry leaned back and fell asleep.
The morning lights streamed through their bedroom
curtains, illuminating Draco’s face. He slowly opened his eyes, trying to
adjust them to the daylight. As soon as they were fully open, he looked at the
other side of the bed and realised it was empty. Panic coursed through him. He
remembered the previous night’s tantrum, and hoped that everything was alright.
As he got up, he heard some noise that seemed to come from the kitchen and
immediately smiled. His boyfriend always made breakfast for the two of them, he
was much better at cooking than he was. He freshened up before heading
downstairs. As he reached the kitchen, he saw Harry sitting on the kitchen
table, with a newspaper in his left hand, and a cup of half drunk coffee in his
right hand. He noticed there were eggs and toast on the table, and another cup
of coffee. He quietly sat down, and started eating. He could feel his
boyfriend’s eyes on him, but he chose to ignore it. As soon as he took a sip of
his coffee, he spat it out.
-“Merlin, Potter, this is cold! What is wrong
Harry immediately started laughing.
Draco raised his eyebrow, in his typical posh
pose. “What’s so funny?” He tried to hide the smile that was threatening to take
a hold of his whole face.
“It’s nothing really. It’s just… You only call
me Potter when you want to tease me.” Harry said, with a smug grin on his face.
“Are you still mad?”
“Merlin no, Harry! I’m so sorry for
overreacting yesterday, I just had had a tiring day, and I was so worried about
you that I let it get to me. I’m sorry.” Draco said, as he held his boyfriend
in a tightening hug.
“Good.” Harry said, against Draco’s neck.
“Because there’s something I want to ask you…”
Harry took a few steps back and dropped on his
knee, earning a gasp from Draco.
“Draco, we’ve been together for 4 years, and
these 4 years have been the most amazing years of my life. I already had
feelings for you when we were at Hogwarts, but you know me, I’m the definition
of oblivious, so I didn’t realise it at the time.” Draco laughed. “But then I
saw you at that pub, standing near the bar, looking as gorgeous as ever, and I
knew I was in trouble. You are the love of my life, Draco, I can’t really
imagine my life without you. You and I have been through a lot, and we’re both
still healing, but being with you has helped me in ways I don’t even
understand. You challenge me, you complete me. I’m not whole without you. And I
know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to continue arguing
with you about the silliest of things, I want to continue teasing you, I want
to continue helping you heal, but more importantly, I want to continue loving
you. Until the end of my days. Draco. Will you marry me?”
Draco was already in a sea of tears by the time
Harry had finished his speech.
“What does that mean?” Harry asked.
“It’s a yes, you prat, of course it’s a yes!”
Draco threw himself at Harry, wrapping his arms around him, as if he were
afraid of letting go. Draco wanted
nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with Harry. Have kids. Grow
old. That’s all he had ever wished for.
“Excuse me?” Sansa flushed, cheeks turning a bright red, as she tried desperately to hide her face from Jon.
“It would be more realistic,” Davos said. He swiveled in his chair until he was facing them both. “And people are more likely to let their guards down around a married couple.”
Jon leaned forward. “So you want us to pose as husband and wife?”
“Will that be a problem?”
“No, ‘course not,” Jon said, looking as nonchalant as if he was just agreeing to go for some frozen yogurt; it only angered her more. “How about you, Sans?”
“Don’t call me that,” she hissed back.
“Agent Stark,” Davos said sternly. “Will that be a problem?”
“No, sir,” Sansa said firmly. “Not a problem at all.”
Thirty-six hours, a plane and taxi ride later, it was most definitely a problem. Despite having worked with Jon Snow for the better half of her adult life, Sansa had never quite seen eye-to-eye with the broody git of a man. She was a practical person; she saw things logically and acted accordingly, but Jon – oh no, Mr Honour and Duty always found a way to directly disobey her orders and do things the way he saw fit, sometimes completely compromising their missions. It rankled her in a way that made her contemplate complete insubordination of her superiors and stabbing the man with a pair of dull scissors. Unfortunately, Sansa was a stickler for rules and it made her more anxious to go against her commanders than it did to work with Jon.
“After you, Mrs Jameson,” Jon said, a faint trace of a smirk twitching at his lips. Sansa resisted the urge to shoulder him roughly before entering their assigned house.
Art I was fortunate enough to do for @ibelieveinthelittletreetopper‘s incredible fic, The Walk. If you haven’t already, do yourselves a favor, and go read it. Go read it right this instant. I will personally never stop crying about this beautiful story.
Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir)
Title: Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir) Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairings/Characters: Gabriel, Adrien/Ladybug Rating: Teen Notes: mentions of sex
“Adrien, your photoshoot has been moved.” Gabriel pushes open the door to his son’s bedroom, eyes scanning the tablet in front of him. “Nathalie will send you your new schedule for—”
His gaze flickers up, locking on the blonde sitting on the edge of his bed as well as the red- and black-spotted heroine crouched in front of him. Her hands on his knees, spreading his legs wide, face mere inches from his crotch, her blue eyes are wide with fright. A bright red has stained Adrien’s face, from the tops of his ears to the nape of his neck. Neither make an effort to correct their precarious positions.
There’s a stillness that follows his arrival, and all occupants freeze as they realize the predicament they’ve found themselves in. Gabriel’s mouth drops open, questions he’s not sure he even wants answers to on the tip of his tongue, but he still feels the need to ask.
“Adrien,” he begins, “Why is there a superhero in your room?”