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Dangerous, part 3: Save Me (Barry Allen/The Flash Imagine)

I’m so sorry I haven’t did this part in a few days and fixed the links to the other two stories. I was sick for the past few days and any time I wanted to update, I’d procrastinate. 

Anyways, this is the last part to Dangerous, as a thank you present for 200+ beautiful people who have followed me. You guys are all amazing. 

The next imagine I’m doing is quite a different fandom that I haven’t wrote anything for yet… It’s a Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) imagine. I hope you guys will like that one. After I do that one, requests are going to be open. I promise. But I might not be able to do a lot of them all in one day. 

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Barry and the reader have had feelings for each other for so long now. The reader never came out and said anything concerning her feelings to him for she thought he was still in love with iris. When she is exposed to radiation, her meta human genes were activated. Along with her newfound abilities, she finds herself being used and manipulated by the Demon. Will her and Barry’s love be her strength to this fight? Or will her jealousy and rage be her downfall and leaves her Dangerous

Part 1

Part 2

Originally posted by zap2it

You didn’t know exactly where you were. But it was a dark and empty room. No one was there and the only thing you heard was the Demon’s voice screaming in your head. 

You shouldn’t have disobeyed!

You’re nothing to him! 

He would’ve killed you without a second thought. 

While the Demon had been punishing you for disobeying it, the Team were working on a way to save you. Caitlin held up a vial with a weird liquid inside it. “What the hell is this, Cisco?” She asked. It was a bluish liquid.

“I watched all these different shows and movies that dealt with demons and evil spirits. All their problems were solved with holy water.” Cisco answered, triumphantly. “Since evil (Y/N) calls herself the Demon, I figured it’s work a shot.” 

“Holy water is clear.” Barry pointed out. 

“I used some of that dampening serum that Harry made for Zoom. I altered it to attack the meta human cells that we found off of that glass shard.” Cisco explained. “Right now, compared to everything we found, which is nothing, this seems like the best solution.” 

“What if it kills her?” Caitlin asked. “She’s our friend. We can’t just lure her into some trap just to end her life.” She had glanced at Barry as she said this. No one saw his confession the previous night coming. 

“The most it will do is momentarily pause her powers, making it easier for Barry to fight her, if necessary, and she can’t just shadow-port away.” Cisco stated. “As for the holy water, it’s for the Demon. Now we just lure her out.” 

“I have an idea.” Barry said. “But it requires you to stab me.” 

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@single-pigeon: Hi hello I would like to see a fic about John thinking about how Paul’s eyes change color, pls ✨

Brown, thought John as he took in the sight of the young boy in front of him. The boy, who introduced himself as Paul, was a study in light and dark contrast: his hair an almost black blur to John’s shortsighted vision styled up and over like Elvis, his eyes round and huge and muddy in his smooth white face. Cow eyes, John thought with a private smirk, though he’d never seen a cow up close in his life. He studied Paul as he reached out his pale hand to borrow a guitar. The boy moved with confidence, almost a little bit of swagger, despite being surrounded by a group of unfamiliar, clearly older, clearly drunk Teds. His confident air never wavered once through his performance of Twenty Flight Rock, and when the song was over, he locked eyes with John and stared, his chin tilted up, defiant and looking for approval at the same time. Surprising himself, John smiled - not a derogatory smirk as he was wont to do, but a genuine, impressed, unaffected grin, and Paul smiled back.


Not brown; green, John thought with a jolt, taking in the sight of his friend’s drooping eyes as they slid open. He and Paul had been sleeping for a long time, crammed together in the single bed in their hotel room. The early afternoon sun streamed in weakly through a grimy window and lit on Paul’s cheek. From so close, their noses almost brushing against each other, John could pick out flecks of darker color in the irises, arranged in a small sunbursts around the pupils, but the predominant color was green, a gorgeous muted mix of olive green and the darker, shadowed green of a forest floor. Paul blinked drowsily, eyelashes sweeping, entirely oblivious to John’s concentration. The moment gone, John rolled over onto his back and stretched luxuriously. It was going to be a beautiful day.


“Hazel,” John said with a slight slur. He pronounced the word with derision, contempt for its ugly syllables dripping from every letter. John couldn’t stand it, the ordinary, dull way it slipped around from his lips like a whisper. He thought it utterly insufficient to describe the color he was seeing. The name for color this complex and beautiful should inhabit the mouth completely, should convey the fullness of itself in its syllables. Color like this should be shouted about, should form deep in the throat and emerge round and brimming with depth and intricacy.

“You wot?” Paul said. They were sitting nose to nose on the floor of Paul’s house in a haze of marijuana smoke. There was an afternoon storm brewing outside, and with his glasses on, John saw the way the storm outlined everything in sharp relief. The stormlight made Paul’s every eyelash stand out to John as they curled upward; he felt sure he could count them if he had the patience. But what the dim stormy day did that most fascinated John was the way it made Paul’s eye color change. They weren’t brown anymore, as they had been when they’d met; they weren’t really green either, though that was closer to the truth John was trying to get at. Shadows danced over Paul’s face, and John watched with delight and fascination as the colors of his eyes shifted with the shadows, turning more brown in the shade, glinting with more green and a hint of gold in the light. John also noticed for the first time a thin ring of dark grey-blue around the outside edges of the irises. He wanted to drown in that beautiful medley of color.

“Your eyes are not hazel,” John said.

Paul frowned. “They are, though,” he argued.

John shook his head. “They’re all different colors.”

Loving exasperation played over Paul’s face. “That’s what hazel means,” he replied with exaggerated patience.

Wrinkling his nose, John shook his head again. The pot clouded his mind, obscuring any explanation he could have come up with. He touched Paul’s cheek with the very tips of his fingers, watching with pleasure as a pink blush spread across Paul’s cheekbones and nose. Rain began to tap at the windows, first hesitantly, then in earnest, thunder rumbling low in the distance. Paul’s eyes were the colors of the storm, grey into green into brown into blue and changing all the time.

“Kaleidoscopic,” John said to Paul, and kissed him.

SuperCat Fanfic: How Art Thou

How Art Thou
by Pink Rabbit Productions
Show: Supergirl
Pairing: Cat/Kara
Summary: Lazy lovemaking and exploration between new lovers with possibly a tiny hint or two that might be foreshadowing.
Author’s Notes: Yes, I wrote sex or maybe Art Porn Part I, with Artier Porn Part II to…er…come. Remind me not to try and write sex again.

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“That’s the last of it,” Yachi says as she comes through the door to the kitchen with a full stack of paper plates and watermelon rinds in her arms. “The teams went back in to warm up before the afternoon matches.”

“Ah, thank you, Hitoka-chan.” Yachi looks up from the precarious balance of the plates and the remains of the fruit just as Shimizu steps around the edge of the counter and forward to take the weight from her. “You’ve been a big help today, we wouldn’t have finished nearly so quickly without you.”

“O-of course,” Yachi says, looking away from Shimizu’s smile – soft, sweet, how can anyone’s lips look so pink? – to the relatively safety of the rest of the empty kitchen. “Where are the rest of the managers?”
“They’re back in the gym,” Shimizu says. “They took a set of water bottles with them for our team while we finish up the last of the cleanup.”

“Right,” Yachi says, her heart going faster at the idea of the empty room, at the reality of being alone with Shimizu, with Shimizu’s hair tied up off the summer-warm flush on the back of her neck and her elegant fingers bracing against the counter and her–and there’s a touch at Yachi’s wrist, the warm drag of friction over her skin, and Yachi squeaks and jerks back before she can stall the motion. The stack of plates teeters, slides, and Yachi reaches to catch it without realizing that she needs both hands to hold the bottom of the stack. The entire tower drops from her hands, crashes to the floor all at once, and Yachi wails incoherent apology as the watermelon rinds crack and spill juice all over the floor.

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