goods (all in your head)

⛓🖤⛓

  • fanfic writer: *writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
  • fic: *witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
  • fanfic writer: Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
  • fanfic writer: Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
  • fandom: Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
  • fanfic writer: :/
  • * * *
  • same fanfic writer: *writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
  • fanfic writer: LOL *post*
  • fandom: OMG THIS IS THE BEST THING YOU HAVE EVER GRANTED US WITH, WHERE HAS THIS BEEN ALL MY LIFE, OMG, I NEED A SEQUEL IMMEDIATELY, PLEASE. WHAT THE. I'M NOT EVEN WORTHY. *kudosrebloglikereccomment*
  • fanfic writer: *sigh*

Some doodles I did on the side yesterday night ( @blesstale drew Zunde that there ) including Dreby taking his first steps. I saw this kid screaming “NOOOO!” at some meat in a grocery store before running to his mom, so there we go ✌️

What you asked for: “Shiro/Keith, Shiro/Allura, or Shiro/Ulaz.”
What I heard:  “GIVE SHIRO THE LOVE HE DESERVES”

Well @wolviecat​, I was your secret gift person for the Voltron Positivity Exchange.  Bless you for giving me the opportunity to draw such a happy Shiro.  I hope you like it!

my dudes.. not to brag or anything buuuuut… dis sum hot shance if i do say so myself. 

The Second Mission: Cold and Codependent by angel_deux

Everyone thinks the Rogue One crew is codependent, and it’s starting to bother Jyn, especially since she thinks they might be right. Leia sending them to freeze on Hoth as a trial run for a more permanent base isn’t helping.

This is part four of the amazing series Won’t You Let Us Wander, which you should totally read from the start! (Here’s a link to this part of the story as well.)

Inktober 15 - Butterfly.

Me and Mary are doing Inktober half and half! (Check out Day 14)

@fellswap-gold fanart.

BTS’s reaction to their s/o having a PDA addiction:

💌 requested by @pastelxxwitch (your English isn’t bad at all, sweetie!)

A/N: As I mentioned before, I don’t write NSFW, but hopefully I was able to do this request justice. I made it super fluffy. Hope you enjoy it, loves~ 💖


Jin: You have a problem, you know you do. It’s too much - you always go too far. But when you get the urge to cuddle your boyfriend over a respectable family dinner, it’s not something you can easily dismiss. He’s looking so handsome, serving stew to his mother, sleeves rolled up, shirt damp with sweat and kitchen steam - less like a boyfriend, more like a husband. A husband that needs a barrage of hugging and kissing as punishment for being so drop-dead gorgeous.

As he sits down opposite, you give him a look – the look – to let him know what’s up. He doesn’t get the hint at first, so you inch your toes across the wooden flood until you find his shape under the table, and give his leg a nudge with your foot.

His eyes flicker to yours, brows raised in amusement. You’ve been together long enough to understand what his silent signals mean. Translation: “So, playing footsie is a thing we do now?”

You rub your foot up and down the inside of his calf, smiling at him through half-lidded eyes. Translation: “Yes, it’s a thing we do. Starting now.”

Jin looks you up and down, totally distracted now. You’re winning. Just a little more, and he’ll bend to your will. With one last brush of your toe against his trouser leg he stands up, displacing his glass of water, so that a few drops spot the table. “I just remembered that there’s a bottle of wine I forgot to open. Y/N, come and help me get the wine glasses.”

That’s your cue to leave, following him to the kitchen for an emergency make-out session:

“Was there a reason you desperately needed to disrupt our family dinner?”

“You were looking unfairly handsome,” you reply, “You needed to be punished.”

“With kisses?”

“The worst type of punishment.” You kiss him to prove you mean it.

Originally posted by jinmini


Yoongi: Well, this is new.

Normally, you have to beg Yoongi for hugs in public – pulling on his sweater sleeves, pulling on his hair, pulling on his ragged ends with pleas of “Please, Yoongi. Please.” Then he’d roll his eyes, shuffle closer and drape you in his warmth, with an arm around your shoulder while he mumbled about how embarrassing you are.

But today - today is different. And you certainly aren’t complaining.

Pressing his nose into your neck, pulling you closer, his hands fall around your waist, reaching down until they find leverage in the back pockets of your jeans. Without you asking; without him kicking and screaming and making a fuss about it.

You have to pull back a fraction to check his cheeks, which burn pink, just to make sure this is definitely your boyfriend and not some weird, alien replacement.

“What?” he demands.

You shake your head, and curl your arms around his neck. “Nothing… I just though you didn’t like cuddling in public.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what do you call this?”

He burrows deeper, pressing his face into the fabric of your shirt. “I call this an emergency.”

“Emergency?”

He nods. “I was running low on hugs.”

Originally posted by leojuseyo


Hoseok: You fidget anxiously. It’s been three hours, fifteen minutes and nine seconds since your last cuddle with Hoseok, and you’re beginning to feel cold already – what you need right now is a hug, or a hand in your hand, anything really, you’re not picky. But in the middle of the supermarket, mid weekly shop, isn’t the best place or time to tackle your boyfriend. Still, his back is looking exceptionally inviting underneath that tight-fitting t-shirt, just asking for you to snatch him up as he stretches up to reach a cereal box on the highest shelf.

As he turns back to toss the box in the shopping trolley, he pauses, eyeing you up and down, and that’s when you realise you’ve been biting your lip all this time, making heart-eyes his way. Not so subtle.

“What?” he asks, although he knows exactly ‘what’.

You press your palms onto the trolley’s handle and push it in his direction so the metal frame bumps against him. “Don’t ‘what?’ me.”

His response is a chuckle. “Is it that bad? You need me that much?”

You nod, and he licks his lips, before glancing up and down the aisle. There’s no one about. A motion of his hand is all the invitation you need to dive into his arms, and drown him in kisses, hidden by the shelves of biscuits and crisps.

Originally posted by itsrapmonster


Namjoon: “Namjoon, I need a hug.” You hold your arms out to your boyfriend.

“What why? Are you feeling okay?” As usual, Namjoon’s brain is spinning with possible reasons for this sudden request. Are you down? Depressed? Feeling lonely or anxious? Whatever it is, Namjoon’s ready to hug it away, even if you are in the middle of the main street.

You just shake your head at his concern, your smile stretching fondly. “Nothing’s wrong. I just love you. And I want a hug.”

That’s all you need to say. Namjoon’s face relaxes, his shoulders sag, and he breathes a sigh of relief. A hug for love’s sake. Of course. In one step, he’s by your side, wrapping his arms around your waist – not because it’s raining in your heart, or the sky above you is crumbling down, or the very fabric of the Earth is fraying. But just because you wanted it.

And you also – “Was that the first time you said that you love me?” he asks.

“I think it was.”

“Well. I love you too.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Originally posted by bangthebae


Jimin: You have a new hobby: embarrassing your boyfriend in front of his friends.

Jimin, who’s normally more snuggly than your bed on a rainy Monday morning, forgets all about your habitual cuddling when he’s with his group, keeping his distance instead, and getting jumpy when you brush against him.

Now that you’ve figured out how much power you possess – with him pleading “please – not so much PDA while I’m around my friends, I need to keep some semblance of my masculinity”, and you cooing back “sure thing, my squishy mochi” – it’s time to wreak some havoc.

The next time you’re at Taehyung’s house, you decide to put your plan in motion, pouncing on Jimin and tackling him to the couch. This should be fun.

“What are you doing?” His cheeks rise a couple of shades of red.

“Just cuddling like we normally do, mochi-wochi,” you purr, settling yourself in his lap.

The other boys burst out laughing at your actions, while Jimin squirms underneath you, trying to wriggle free. But it’s no use. Cuddling is serious business to you, and there’s no way you’re letting him go.

Sighing, he surrenders, and with his masculinity in shreds, he kisses your cheek as a form of peace-keeping. “Alright you win,” he mumbles, “Just, please, no more ‘mochi-wochi’.”

Originally posted by minblush


Taehyung: You and Taehyung are tied together by the heartstrings. You have a connection that you can’t quite explain, and somehow, you both seem to know exactly when the other’s craving touch - feelings so in sync, Taehyung needs you exactly when you need him.

Today is no exception. You’re sitting in a café with Taehyung, smiling stupidly-in-love over ice-cream sundaes, when all of a sudden you need – need – to cuddle with him, or your heart might seize up.

Without a word, without warning, you slip out of your seat, and rounding the table to Taehyung’s side, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He twists his neck to gaze up at you, brown eyes blinking. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I just really needed a hug, all of a sudden.”

“Good, me too.” He grins, and you duck your head down for a kiss on his unsuspecting lips.

With a smooth motion, he slides his chair back, making room for you to sit on his lap, which you’re more than happy to accept, and from this perch you have easy access to his triple-chocolate knickerbocker glory.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Taehyung scoffs, as you lick chocolate sauce off his spoon, “You only like me for my desserts?”

“Opps. Exposed,” you laugh, and Taehyung leans in to peck a stray speck of chocolate from your chin.

When you kiss back again, he shivers below you, body responding before he can control it. Forgetting the café around you, the hustle and bustle of baristas and customers, you and Taehyung melt into each other like the ice-cream in your bowl.

Originally posted by buisually-appealing


Jungkook: Jungkook doesn’t like cuddling in public. It’s something you learnt about him a long time ago, on your first date in fact, sharing secrets with a game of ’20 questions’ - when he said ‘I’m embarrassed to touch in public’ you had almost ended the relationship then and there. How were you – one of the clingiest, touchy-feeliest people on the planet – going to cope with a guy who melted into a blushing pile of mush any time you so much as brushed fingers in public. Even when you got him to hold your hand, murmuring ‘Look, see? No one minds, no one’s looking,’ he’d still stay as stiff as steel, and snap your fingers apart when anyone so much as glanced in your general direction.

Thankfully, you had discovered a way to combat the problem, crafting the perfect date for you and your boyfriend – a public place where you could touch to your heart’s content, without Jungkook shying away from the eyes of disapproving grannies and curious children: a magical place called the cinema.

Seated in the back row, you can share a bag of popcorn and as many kisses as you want, without fear of being watched. With everyone else transfixed on the film, you and Jungkook can devote yourselves to each other. As the movie heroes strike out on quests to discover new lands, you explore new parts of Jungkook, acquainting yourself with every centimetre of exposed skin: cheeks, neck, knuckles, the inside of his wrists, any part he gives. He relaxes in your arms, and watching him unfurl for you is better than any film – he is your masterpiece, better directed that Steven Spielberg. In the dark of the cinema, you fall in love.

Originally posted by aestheticvbts


! I did not make the gifs !

5

“Crane is not a good guy. I think it comes from serious, deep issues from a very young age. I think he’s got a serious inferiority complex, although he’s brilliant at the same time. And the Scarecrow incarnation—well, aren’t all of these villains a little whacked out? I think it’s much more interesting when there’s a distinction between the two sides of the character because when you put on a mask you want to justify it. The freedom the mask allows someone is to live all those fantasies in your head, good or bad, without revealing yourself.”–Cillian Murphy

Jealous - Jughead Jones

Anonymous said:

Hi! Could I possibly get a Jughead imagine where he’s really close to the reader, they practically seem like they’re in a relationship. But he gets jealous when the reader gets asked out on a date by a guy she used to have a crush on and she accepts. (mainly because she had never been on an official date before and she thinks it’ll be nice.)

Originally posted by fyeahriverdale


I’m sorry it’s so short but I promise it’s real sweet!!!

Y/F/C/N - Your First Crush Name

It was pointless really, to argue with Jughead. He was so stubborn, he would just roll his eyes at whatever you had said and change the subject. This very thing happened when you mentioned that Y/F/C/N had shyly asked you out on a date. You were expecting a, “Be safe and use protection,” line, but what you got was pure anger.

“Why him, Y/N, I thought you had better taste!” You felt your face flush at his words as you looked around the near-empty diner to see if anyone heard. “What’s wrong with you, Jughead,” you whispered, “I just thought it would be nice!” He cocked an eyebrow at you, staring into your face. “Nice? You’re expecting nice from Y/F/C/N?!” You almost couldn’t believe him, if it wasn’t for your strong friendship you wouldn’t have been prepared for this type of reaction. You leaned over the table, peering into his eyes, “Why do you even care?”

“Are you serious Y/N?!” His voice was in a whisper, but you could still hear the hostility. “I care because you’re, you’re my friend,” the hesitation in his voice almost broke your heart. You thought of all the times you’d hang out with Jughead; in school where you would assuredly squeeze his hand when Reggie and his friends would walk past. The numerous times you stayed over at his house, luring yourselves to sleep by talking about everything and anything. One morning, you woke up before him and saw that, during the night, you had moved closer to him and his arm was wrapped around your waist. You felt tears stinging in your eyes as you thought of it all, because at the current moment, it felt like all of those good times were in your head.

“You sure, Jughead? That didn’t sound very convincing,” You pushed away from the table and out of the booth. You walked out of the diner and didn’t look back.


As it turned out, Jughead was right. Y/F/C/N was a jerk, not even remotely nice. The date itself started out okay, but when you arrived at the restaurant, their attitude changed. They acted as if they didn’t even want to be there. Towards the end of the date, they came clean and said that they only asked you out because of a bet with their friends. “Date the freak’s counterpart, that was the deal.” After that, you just stormed out, leaving them in the dust. Now, you were walking home, through the narrow streets of Riverdale. The night sky was covered in stars, not a cloud in sight. It reminded you of the time you and Jughead snuck up on his roof and made up fake constellations.

“That one is obviously Archie’s eyebrow,” Jughead said, pointing up at the sky. You had let out a giggle, “It is!” He turned to you and smiled, staring into your eyes. It grew quiet all of the sudden and the tension built further. “I could say something really stupid right now,” Jughead whispered, his voice weak as if he were nervous. You swallowed, still staring into his blue eyes. “Then say it,” you whispered back, “your kind of stupid is my favorite.” He smiled once more, mouth opening to say something when he was interrupted by his mom yelling. “What are you two doing up there?!”

You smiled at the memory, feeling your heart sink in your chest. You needed to talk to him, if not over the phone tonight, then at school tomorrow. You turned on the small bit of sidewalk that lead up to your house and almost started to laugh. You had auto piloted to Jughead’s house. You walked up the steps of the porch to the door and before you could even knock, it opened. Jughead stood in the doorway, staring at your face. You didn’t saw a word and you leaned in and wrapped your arms around his torso. He placed his arms at your waist, pulling you inside and out of the cold. Neither of you said a word as you walked quietly up to his room. You shed your jacket and placed it on his chair, walking over to his bed to lay down. He carefully shut his door, trying hard not to make a sound and walked over to you. He climbed on his bed, laying on his side to face you. You just stared at each other for a while, until Jughead spoke up. “It didn’t go well?” He asked and you just smiled. “What do you think?” He brushed some hair out of your face and he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”  he whispered, and you just shook your head. “I should’ve listened to you, I wasted my first date on that nincompoop.” He let out a breathy chuckle and then he face grew serious. “That was your first date?” You nodded, but he just stared at you. “That only justifies how jealous I was,” he whispered and you raised your eyebrow at him.

“Jealous?” You asked, scooting close to him. He rolled his eyes, “I mean, come on Y/N, you’re it.” You let out a fake, quiet laugh and rolled your eyes. Jughead suddenly sat up, “You don’t believe it?” You sat up alongside him and shook your head, “Whatever it is, I’m not it. It sounds like unimaginable greatness.”

“That’s what you are,” he said, trying to keep quiet, “you’re great, but the best part is…” He leaned towards you, staring into your eyes, “…you’re real.”

It grew quiet as your cheeks blushed when Jughead reached a hand up to your face. Your faces shifted closer until your foreheads rested against each other. You closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. “Let me take you on a real first date,” Jughead whispered and you felt your heart flutter. You opened your eyes to find his darting between your gaze and your lips. “Yes,” you whispered back, and you leaned in, brushing your lips to his. He pressed towards you, kissing you for the first time. He had been wanting to do this all along you realized, and that night on the roof was as close as he got until right now. You pulled away, a smile gracing your lips, as well as his. “You were so jealous.”

My take on the “Neil dies in Baltimore” au:

Here’s a list of reasons why Andrew is considering death-by-FBI-agent-who-won’t-shut-up:

  1. Neil is dead.
  2. Neil obviously knew he was going to die, since he made sure to break his contract with Andrew.
  3. He didn’t catch the strain in Neil’s voice when he said “You were amazing” until later, when it was too late.
  4. Now that it’s too late, he can’t stop hearing it. That little waver, like it meant more than it was saying, which now he knows it was but he was too fucking dense to realize it.
  5. Even after the disappearance, even after hours of nothing and then the FBI call and Kevin’s stupid confession and stupid throat (which he fully intends to come back to crushing later), Neil was alive.
  6. But not long enough for them to reach the hospital.

And now here they are, in the hospital lobby, being talked down to by an idiot in a suit trying to make excuses for why the FBI needs his body.

“He is ours,” Dan growls. Actually growls. “You said his father is dead now, and his mother’s been dead for years, so that means we’re his closest family.”

But all Agent Dick dous is raise an eyebrow. “How do you know that Mary Wesninski is dead?” It has the clearly desired effect of shutting Dan up. There are a thousand innocent answers to that question, but they’re Foxes. Nobody ever gives them the benefit of the doubt.

“We need to conduct a full autopsy, get a clearer picture of what was done to him. We’ll hand him over to you post-cremation.”

Matt shakes his head. “Not good enough.”

“You all need to get this into your heads: Neil Josten isn’t real and never was. He was a halfway decent cover that, honestly, probably would’ve been passable if he hadn’t thrown caution to the wind time and again over the past year. He was playing a part, and now he’s dead, and those are the facts.”

Andrew is aware that they’re talking about a corpse, but that complete disregard for who Neil was makes him want to rip out the man’s throat. Anger colors his vision red, but it’s better this way. Because as soon as the red leaves, the gray will settle in, and it will never, ever go away.

“Here’s another fact,” Agent Dick continues. “People don’t spend months in close company of others without letting something slip. So I’m going to need all of you to come in and te—”

“That’s enough, Agent Browning,” a new voice calls to them. A second later, a woman appears next to the agent, towering over him by a good half a foot. “Say another word to them and I’ll personally make sure that anything they say becomes inadmissible in court.” She turns to the Foxes. “Hi, sorry, I’m Ms. Waters. I was — still is, technically — Nathaniel’s lawyer.”

Kevin’s face goes ashy, likely imagining the worst. “He was here for six hours before dying. Why the hell would he need a lawyer?”

Ms. Waters pulls out several small white envelopes by way of response. “Because he didn’t trust Agent Chucklehead over hear to not open these before you recieved them.” She hands each Fox their own envelope, with their name written on the front in Neil’s familiar scrawl. Wymack doesn’t get an envelope.

It makes Andrew’s chest ache and his heart boil, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He knows what’s inside that letter: a sequel and an epilogue. All of Neil’s bullshit sap wrapped in a promise that he’ll never have it again. He doesn’t even know wether he wants to read it or tear it into a million pieces. Probably both.

“—two requests,” it takes Andrew a second to register that Ms. Waters is talking again. “That you read your letters in private, and that you destroy them after reading. Preferably with fire.” She smiles at their confused stares and nods at Agent Dick. “Browning here is a man of many words, but he spends very few eandearing himself to others. Nathaniel was likely afraid that he would try to read them.

“In any case, I’ll be in touch soon. Nathaniel left a great deal behind, and while the FBI can scramble over his past, it’s my job to sort out his present, and that means you.” She gives Wymack a teal business card. “In case you need me urgently, in the case I don’t contact you first. Now run along, you were all injured and in need of rest.”


The bus ride back to Palmetto is silent, but nobody is asleep. Like Andrew, they all sit on their individual benches, staring at their letters, trying to decide wether they wan’t to know or not. Is it an explanation? Apology? Questions too big for the heart to ask or recieve an answer to.

In the end, it’s Nicky who breaks the silence. “I know he said to read them alone, but… anybody want to open their’s with me? I just. I can’t. Not alone. Not on this.”

There’s silence again, but then Renee comes to sit next to Nicky, and then Allison, and the next thing he knows he, Kevin, and Aaron are the only ones not crowded together in a massive group hug. There’s sniffling, then a countdown from three, and the sound of several envelopes tearing and pages unfolding. And then silence again.

And then.

And then.

Dan’s been captain of the Foxes for years, but Andrew doesn’t think he’s ever heard her yell that loudly as her ARE YOU SHITTING ME vibrates throughout the bus. The rest of the Foxes are quick to follow with their own sounds of anger and disbelief.

It’s when Nicky starts laughing hysterically that Andrew finally succumbs to his curiousity and opens the letter, skimming over the words.

Andrew is going to fucking kill that boy when he gets his hands on him.
Cherry Bomb (Taeyong x Reader)

Rating: M

(A/N) OOPS! I DID IT AGAIN!!!! I GAVE YOU A SMUT, I WROTE ANOTHER ONE…OH BABY, BABY! Anyway, here’s some yummy retro Taeyong smutty goodness. A little short and sweet, but definitely gets its point across if you know what mean :^)))))))))) Enjoy!

Originally posted by jonqins

It felt weird walking into an arcade, having not visited one since when you were younger. The welcoming sounds of heavily synthesized music, trigger clicks, and the smacking of big plastic buttons brought back a wave of nostalgia and made you smile as you peered over the shoulders of people playing. There were no kids in sight though, just people around your age who laughed and joked, drank, reminiscing in their childhood. You’d been coerced into going to a twenty one and older event at the local vintage arcade that had just opened down the street from your apartment. People were going bananas of the shiny restored arcade machines, vintage interior, and nostalgic music.

Keep reading

You are the one I want in my bed with me at 2 am even though cuddling isn’t my favorite. You are the one I think of when I stare at the ocean or when I see posts about making out with someone. You’re the one I want to adventure with, watch the sunsets with, watch the stars and talk about space with, push against the wall. Even though I refrain from doing so, you’re the one I want to tell about my day. Even more so it is your day I want to hear about even if you think it’s boring, I want to beg you to tell me the thoughts going through your head, good and bad. I know for all the happiness you emulate there is sadness in there too. I want to know about your family dynamic and your favorite time of year and your favorite place to go when you’ve had a long day. I want to be the person you can call crying at 4 am because life doesn’t make sense, or at 2 am cause you just got home and youre high as hell. I want to be the one you want to hug, hold hands with, hear the voice of. I want to be the person you turn to when your day is extremely good or just as bad. I want to be the one you drunkingly call at 2:45 am on your way home because you know I want to know you’re safe, and you want to hear my voice even them. I want to be the one you think about not just when you’re bored but when you’re busy with life. I want your little heart to be so obsessed with me. But that’s just it, pity party aside, the reality of the situation is life has led me to believe that anyone worth my time would never want this; would never want me enough to want all of this with me. I do not require constant reassurance, but sometimes I need your voice in my ear telling me you want me just as bad as I want you because the scars from everyone I’ve ever loved are telling me you don’t.
—  I want.
Request: Sharp Objects

Request: HI I love your fics!! could you do a deanxreader where dean broke his right hand on a hunt and can’t shave himself so the reader, with hidden feelings for dean, does it for him with lots of fluff please

Word Count: 1,270

Thank you<3

“Ouch! Jesus Christ, that’s a bitch.” The muffled cursing comes from behind the bathroom door, then followed by the clinking sound of something falling into the ceramic sink, and finally a, “Son of a bitch!”

Despite the laundry pile you’re carrying, you swerve across towards the door and knock a couple of times with your free hand, “Dean? Everything alright in there?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a short reply, “Fine.”

He’s obviously frustrated – a tone you’ve quickly become accustomed to hearing after dragging him home from the hospital a few days ago. He’d landed badly after being catapulted across the room by an overzealous ghost and broken a hand, whereas Sam had gotten off with a concussion and you’d somehow managed to slip away injury-free – which had inevitably resulted in you skivvying around to cater to their every whim.

While Sam had managed to get over himself somewhat and take it easy while the hellish egg on his head goes down, Dean has been trying to do everything as normal. He hates being laid up like this, and trying to get everything done for himself has just resulted in more hurt and hindrance than help.

You still linger outside the door for a few moments, “Can I help at all?”

He hesitates, and for a long moment you wonder if he’s actually going to accept, “I could use a clean towel.”

“Got one here. Mind opening the door?” You ask, after trying to get in and finding the door locked. Again, a hesitation, but then the door opens, Dean fumbling with his good hand for a few moments to get it undone.

You pride yourself on being able to keep a poker face. Sometimes giving the enemy no indication of your emotions could mean the difference between life and death – sometimes it’s imperative that a victim doesn’t know what you’re thinking. But this time, when it’s important that you don’t make a sound so Dean doesn’t slam the door in your face, you just can’t seem to freaking manage it.

“I know, alright?” He huffs as you sidle into the bathroom and begin draping the towels from the pile over the towel rack, trying desperately not to laugh. It’s not your fault – he’s covered in shaving cream – it’s smudged over his nose and there are even splatters in his eyebrows. It’s all white, apart from a trail of crimson blood slipping down the side of his face.

“You can’t shave left-handed?” You guess, taking note of the razor left in the sink and the cast immobilising his right hand. He sighs wearily, and then nods.

“Nope. I’ve never had to try before, and I was starting to look even more homeless than Sam.” He complains, taking a towel from you when you offer one to him.

“Dean, for crying out loud, you shattered your hand. I think you’re allowed to look homeless for a little while.” You reassure him, balancing the rest of the laundry – mostly jeans and a handful of flannels – on the countertop, “If you really want it sorted, I’ll do it for you.”

As soon as the offer has left your mouth, you regret it – the very idea of managing to get so close to him without blushing like a five year old, or completely losing your breath… impossible. And yet, he nods, smiling ruefully.

“Would you mind? I just… can’t.” He shrugs, and you smile back, nodding and shooing him off towards the closed toilet seat.

“Go on then, sit down.” You instruct, picking up the razor and running the warm tap to clear it off. You let the tap run for a little while, filling the basin, and then approach Dean carefully, “You have to promise to stay still. Usually when I’m so close to someone with something this sharp it doesn’t end very well for them.”

He laughs, leaning back with the force of it, “That’s not encouraging, Y/N.”

“I said I’d do it. I never said I’d do it well.” You remind him with a smile – humour: humour is how you get through this without making a complete idiot of yourself.

“Much appreciated, beautiful.” He winks, and it’s all you can do to force out a snort and place your fingers beneath his chin to tilt his head up a little.

“Mm, whatever you say,” Sometimes it’s difficult not to take his words too seriously, and you have to remind yourself that Dean Winchester can and will flirt with anything that moves – you’re not special to him beyond being good friends and hunting buddies.

“Well, the closer you get, the more I’m thinking it.” He mumbles, remaining still as stone as you skin the razor over his skin smoothly – you’re painstakingly careful, starting on the opposite side to the cut on his lower cheek. He chuckles when you lean back to dunk the razor in the sink, then move back over to him.

“I’ll stay well back, then.” You wink in response, but contradict your own statement by leaning close enough to him that his breath ghosts over your face. His eyes remain trained on your face, watching every movement as you press your lips together, squinting in concentration. You try your best to ignore it, being as careful and steady as your humanly can manage while you get to work.

His eyes don’t leave you until you’re finished, patting down his face with a towel and then handing it to him – only then does he force himself to look away, watching as you clear up and set everything back in its place.

When he finally manages to open his mouth, he’s expecting the words that come out to be ‘thanks, Y/N’ – instead, they’re, “When you’re concentrating, your nose does this funny little thing.”

You turn slowly, quirking an eyebrow in a manner he can only describe as adorable, “Excuse me?”

“It kinda… wrinkles. But just at the tip. Right here.” He taps his own nose, a small smile playing on his lips, “And you blink a lot. I just… never noticed before.” Dean confesses, giving a nonchalant shrug and trying to ask as if he isn’t mortified by the words.

Rather than make a comment, you give a smile, wiping your hands off and stepping back, “I suppose I’m not the kind of person people pay a whole lot of attention to.” It’s not meant to be self-deprecating, but Dean takes it that way nonetheless.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He rolls his eyes, standing up and poking at the cast as if his hand would be magically healed, “Y/N, you turn heads everywhere you go.”

“Yeah, right, of course.”

“Hey, look at me,” He takes your wrist in his hand, turning you to face him properly, “You’re beautiful. Really, truly beautiful. And smart, and kind, and funny. And people notice that. I notice that.”

That’s when your heart really does skip a beat – his eyes are on yours, emeralds glinting in the harsh white light of the bunker’s main bathroom.

“Dean, I-“

“You don’t need to reply to that. Didn’t mean to back you into a corner. Sorry.” Dean smiles sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck with his good hand – but you shake your head, stepping forward with all of the boldness you can muster.

“I want to.” You assure him, taking his good hand and squeezing it gently, “I don’t care about anyone else noticing. Just you.”

He hesitates, then glances sideways, at the door, “Can I kiss you?” He blurts, flushing red like an embarrassed teenager.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”  

Sweet Tooth (Intro)

Summary: Your best friend is Natasha Romanoff, and she’s known to break hearts of many admirers in her wake. When you start working at a local bakery with a blue-eyed baker who has fallen for her, you do what it takes to make sure they both get the sugary-filled romance they deserve. However, things get a little complicated when your own feelings get in the way.  

Pairing: Baker!Bucky Barnes x Reader AU

Word Count: 1,470

A/N: Oh boy, I guess I’m really writing again haha. This is for @theassetseyeliner’s writing challenge for the prompt “You’re always sitting alone and you’re cute, so I came to sit next to you.” I got inspiration for this story from the anime series Ore Monogatari (My Love Story). I hope you guys enjoy it :)

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid

This is it. You’re going to finally ask your crush out.

During the past semester, the both of you have grown close and your feelings for him blossomed from the first moment you met in your math class. Now, this is your chance to finally reveal your feelings, to finally take your relationship with him to the next level.

Running over to the student center, you walk up the stairs to the campus cafe to meet with him. As you enter the vicinity though, you see him and your best friend, Natasha talking near the entryway. The brunet doesn’t even notice you walking inside as he lets the next words fall from his lips.

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That Awkward Moment When – Part 2

John Laurens x Reader

Words: 4,007

Warnings: NSFW, SWEARING AND FLUFFY SMUT OKAY

Tag: @lookaroundlookaroundhowlucky @dorkyfeminist @katelynsamaisnotonfire

A/N: WELL HERE IT IS. THE WAIT IS FINALLY OVER, DON’T GET TOO CRAZY KIDS. Okay but forrealthis might be a piece of trash come yell at me I’m all ears. I hope this doesn’t disappoint, I’m sorry, YOU ALL ARE SO SO AMAZING. ENJOY.

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Have you ever

laid on your bed at night & just cried?
Cried because you’re ugly. Because you’re not good enough. You counted all your flaws from head to toe to punish & feel worse about yourself. Cried because the comments people blurt out, actually hurt your feelings. Cried because your family is dysfunctional, but you’re just a kid who can’t do shit about it. They tell you to stop complaining, that you have it much better than the kids in Africa. You don’t want to be a burden, so you bottle it all up. Around people, you’re the happiest ray of sunshine. But nobody knows, that at night when you’re alone, you break down & just cry.

hidden away || dylan o’brien (smut)

word count: 5226

warnings: mentions of cheating, oral (both receiving), daddy kink, unprotected sex, angst

request: how about an obrien imagine where it starts w yn in her room w her boyfriend and theyre talking and shes obviously bored and then she tells him shes gonna take a nap and shes feeling kinda sick so he leaves and then she watches out the window as he drives away and then dylan comes out of the closet saying “ugh finally that prick was taking forever to get outta here” or something like that and then it gets all smutty and stuffy thankssss

author’s note: this is my attempt at getting out of the funk i was in for a couple weeks! i hope you enjoy, thank you so much lau @thelittlestkitsune for being so supportive and helping past things for a couple days! she’s my sweet muffin and i love her! also part two? let me know what y’all think!

pairing: dylan o’brien / reader

masterlist

coming soon

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