i'm going to be honest this really was just an excuse to stare at his face for a while

This kind of relationship

Title: This kind of relationship

Pairing: Crowley x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warning: angsty maybe, but fluffy happy ending

Summary: the reader sends Crowley off to find someone else to sleep with while she’s busy being sick. Only then Crowley realises the woman he considers his girlfriend has a totally wrong idea of what kind of relationship they’re having.

(A/n: I was sick a couple of weeks ago and I got the very strong need for fluffy reassurance || Maybe I should have edited this some more, the fluff still feels halting, but I’m too tired right now.)


“Are you free right now?”

“Nop. Busy.”

“How’s your day been?”

“Can’t right now. Sorry.”

“Kitten?”

“Nop. Can’t.”

There was a sudden noise in your bed room and despite everything your hunter instinct kicked in. In a heartbeat you had the gun you hid close, even while sleeping in the bunker, unclicked and pinned on the silhouette. Your room had been dark, so it was hard to make something out especially in your just woken up state.

“Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?”

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anonymous asked:

So a little birdie told me if I had an itch to scratch (a kastle prompt) you were the person to go to? So here's my shot in the dark. Karen & Frank are caught by some gangster or something and the bad guy is smart hurting Karen to get info outta frank (info frank actually doesn't have)

I’m sorry for the delay, anon! I do have something - I dug up something old and finished it just for you :) It’s more working with the prompt, rather than the direct scene itself - but I hope you still like it!

Frank finds Karen trussed up in the back of a van in Queens.

He doesn’t really remember much about how. There is skin crammed under his fingernails and blood slopped down his front. He is panting, braced somehow against the bumper with a knife in his hand but all he can see, all he remembers, is the expression on her pale, dirty face when he’d pulled open the door.

He hauls himself into the back. His left leg threatens to crumple beneath him, trembling and wobbly and weak as shit but he makes it in and he kneels himself before her, taking the knife to the zip ties.

He tries to go carefully, slow. He doesn’t know what they’ve done to her. He knows it only been a few hours, he knows that they’re dead; he knows that he slaughtered them but he doesn’t know what they’ve done and that thought lodges itself in that thick skull of his, and it scares him more than anything.

He tries to cut the zip ties, but his hands, they just won’t stop shaking.

She’s pushed herself up to meet him. She moves, presses against the knife, and she’s saying something, saying his name, he thinks – but then the ties around her ankles give and he has an armful of warm, alive, Karen Page.

It’s jarring, the sudden, intimate touch. Her head tucks beneath his chin, her arms like steel bands around his chest. He breathes her in, the smell of her shampoo and the dirt and the sweat and when he absorbs that through the haze of his heartbeat and the fear he drops the knife and holds her against him, tight.

“Frank,” he hears her saying, finally, through the storm in his head. “Frank. Frank.”

“You’re okay,” he mumbles, his hands following a pattern down her back. It’s automatic, familiar. He feels her shake in his arms, although whether she’s crying or laughing, he can’t really tell.

Eventually, after a second or a lifetime, she pulls away and tugs him from the van. They half-fall out of it and further into the alley, away from the bodies, her legs wobbly from restricted circulation. As he steadies her he can see the welts left around her wrists, the bruise just visible beneath the sleeve of her blouse. He seems to get stuck again on that, a moment.

There is a rushing sound in his ears. It’s blood, he thinks; it’s familiar, it’s his state of calm, the one that’s carried him through his wars and he needs it now, because this isn’t done, it isn’t close to fucking finished.

“…Frank.”

She’s asking him another question.

“…are you ok? Are you hurt?”

He looks back at her. She’s moved closer. She’s waiting for a response, he remembers.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” he manages, after a moment. “I’m fine. You, how are you? Did they-?”

“I can handle it.”

He finds himself laughing. She could, yeah, she had a way of dealing with shit even when it scared the hell out of her, when she should be running the other way. He’s fished her out of a van and the evidence of what he’s had to do is all around them and she’s still looking at him, trying to get a hold of his gaze.

She panting, still, and there’s blood blotched on her blouse - from him, he realises, and he’s got blood on her face too. She’s pale and trembling. Christ, she’s still here.

The itch is still there too. It’s growing stronger: it’s not finished, Frank. This is not finished.

He hears a groan from back towards the van. He’d left one of them alive; he’d forgotten that.

“Down the street,” he croaks, forcing the air through his throat. It feels like he hasn’t spoken in a week. She frowns at the non-sequitur, still trying to catch his eye, to read him, but he looks away. He nods down the street. She needs to get out of here. “Red truck, scratch down the left side. Lie low with a friend a while, alright?”

He swipes at his nose, fishing his keys from his pocket, and she doesn’t move.

“Without you?” she laughs, but it’s forced, hoarse, and her mouth tightens after it. “Frank,” she tries again. “It’s over. It’s-”

He cuts through her tumble of words. “Not over. I need – information. I’m going to get it.”

Her eyes flick back towards the van almost unwillingly, and her expression changes, a cycle of emotions that pass too fast to read. “Then I’ll stay until you get it. We’ll bring one of them with us. We’ll go through it together, but Frank-”

I don’t want to lose you again, she doesn’t say, but he hears it anyway.

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He starts to get it; she needs him now, needs him to be present, but he, he’s got to see this through, he needs to see it through.

“What do you think is going to happen here,” he states, and it’s not a question. She understands what he means. Of course she does. She hardly flinches, though, and he’s not sure if that’s new or not, or if that’s something that’s broken in her, that he helped take apart, all of those months ago in the woods.

Frank.” She says his name again. Without the excuses, the attempted reasoning: simple, honest emotion. “Please.”

He remembers the last time. His little girl, she asked him, she fastened herself to his hand and pulled him towards her room and she didn’t care that she wasn’t twelve anymore, she waved that book in his face and she begged him to come with her.

Regrets and almosts. He almost did it. Lisa almost made it. Karen Page almost didn’t.

He stares at Karen, dumbly, and his words fail him.

“You need to go.” He manages, eventually. He’s repeating himself. He doesn’t know what else to say.

She looks at him another long moment. There’s that multitude of emotion crossing her features – too many for him to read, but maybe something in his voice gets to her because she takes the keys from him with shaking fingers, and then she leaves.

She leaves.

He looks at his hands. He clenches them, watching the way the knuckles stretch the skin, before he fetches the knife and strides back to the alley mouth. He glances back down the street when he reaches it, checking, but Karen is gone from sight already. Good. That’s, good.

Another groan, weaker now. The survivor, half-slumped over the bumper with his hands pressed over his ribs and when Frank turns towards it the groan becomes that little more strained, that little more panicked. Good - he steps forward, he takes it slow, each step calm and precise. The survivor tries to scramble away. It’s one of the ones that had been in the back with her, that had got the knife and not the bullet. Frank feels that chill sink back into place.

The piece of shit was not going to last long. The man’s breathing is already a bit wet; he must’ve nicked his lung earlier, but they didn’t need much time, did they?

Frank’s at the van now and the man slip-slides onto the floor, squeaking as he lands – he has cracked ribs as well, Frank could use that. The man tries to pull a knife and he kicks it away and stomps on his sternum, feeling good when he hears the scream.

He presses his knee into the man’s chest and bends down, close enough to see the whites of his eyes reflected in the knife.

No, he doesn’t need much time at all. 

anonymous asked:

Hey! I'm so hyped I found your blog :) Please don't stress much over the assignments and rest up. You know your way about words, write those people whatever and you'll still be good :) Anyway, I was wondering if you could do a secret crush imagine? Like, MC is dating some other guy outside RFA, but our guys (+ Saeran and V) can't help but like her. What do you think would they do? Freak out and keep quiet? Be honest and tell her?

omg thank u for caring friend ;o; the only thing that’s been keeping me going are the rfa and v and saeran 

ALSO PLEASE FORGIVE ME THIS IS SO LATE

Yoosung

  • he really, really likes you, but when you admit in the messenger that you already have a boyfriend, he’s a bit heartbroken
  • though he is genuinely happy that you have someone by your side, he’s also sad that he couldn’t be that person by your side right now
  • he is an honest person and would speak out, but he feels like he’d just be intervening with your relationship with your current partner if he also confessed his feelings for you
  • and Yoosung doesn’t want to ruin things for you
  • so he just keeps his head held high for you and your current relationship
  • “I’m happy for you, MC! ^^”
  • there is a chance that seven might find out because he’s pretty good at reading Yoosung
  • he’d keep it a secret for his friend

Zen

  • he’s shook
  • you??? have a boyfriend???? shouldn’t your boyfriend be… none other than him???? Zen The Knight?
  • he’s internally conflicted because he’s been having true feelings for you more and more and to find out that you already have a boyfriend…
  • but he does respect your relationship, and hopes he doesn’t pose as a “threat” to you since he is so handsome and good looking
  • he tells you in the messenger that he’s happy for you that you’ve already found someone to love
  • “Be careful, though, because all men are wolves, MC! It’s in our DNA.”
  • you only laugh and thank him for the advice
  • deep down, he’s wishing one day that you’ll be available again because he’s never felt this way about someone before, despite how awful that sounds

Jaehee

  • slightly disappointed that you’re already taken
  • she tries to not let it bother her too much, but it was still lingering in the back of her mind from time to time
  • Jaehee’s never felt real feelings for someone before you, so to hear that you already have somone is a bit disheartening
  • she constatly keeps telling herself that dwelling on unrequited feelings will mess with her and her work, which she can’t afford to jeopordize
  • it’s not like you can’t talk anymore in the messenger, so she keeps her usual stoic mask on as a sisterly figure
  • it hurts her to think of you as a sister now rather than a potential significant other, but it’s the harsh truth that she now has to accept

Jumin

  • he’s upset, to say at the least
  • yet another unrequited love; yet another love he’s had for someone only to be taken by someone else
  • much like Zen, ironically, he’s grown very fond of you to the point of developing real feelings, but since you’re already taken, he can’t do anything about it except provide his utmost support
  • you probably wouldn’t be able to tell that he’s upset about it because of his usual calm demeanor
  • but he cuts his visit in the messenger rather short, using the excuse of having to take a call to leave
  • and when he does, he slams his fist on the table, causing Elizabeth the 3rd to silently pad over towards him, as if she can sense his sadness
  • he leans down to pet her on the head, then goes to his wine cabinet
  • Jumin pours himself a glass, rolling the liquid in his glass for a bit, then downs it, hoping to forget what happened tonight

707

  • it’s no surprise to him, really
  • he did hack into your phone, despite him telling himself that it was wrong
  • but he just had to know
  • and he found what he was looking for
  • he instantly leaves the chatroom without another word, which leaves the remaining members and you confused
  • seven stares at his phone for awhile before tears start pouring down his face and creating drops on his screen
  • why is he crying over something like unrequieted love? did he really feel like this way for you?
  • well, it didn’t matter anyway – you already have a boyfriend to make you happy
  • the next day when you’re in the chatroom, he puts on his usual silly facade and enters with his large cloud chat bubble and “Officer 7 0 7 reporting for duty!!!” and his “Hello!” emoji
  • you asked if he was okay from yesterday, but he claims that it was nothing
  • but behind that expressive and happy mask, a crying seven was behind it all, secretly wishing that he could have you
  • he then realizes that selfishness won’t get him anywhere

V

  • he tries to not let it get to him too much
  • he’s not even mad, but maybe… sad? it’s not like you guys can’t talk anymore, but…
  • even after recovering from a toxic relationship from before, he thought maybe you were the one
  • but it seems like you’ve already found yours
  • he doesn’t bring up his feelings because he feels like that would be really disrespectful towards you and your current relationship
  • but he still treats you with all the same kindness and positivty as he usually does
  • as you’re his other closest friend, he suggests that he meets your boyfriend in the future because he seems like a great guy and wouldn’t mind becoming friends with him

Saeran

  • the one person he’s come to have true feelings for… turns out to already have a boyfriend
  • he’s jealous really jealous
  • but he can’t do anything about it, and he’s not going to be some dick and break you guys up
  • because you seemed genuinely happy to be with him and he didn’t want to ruin your happiness
  • saeran wouldn’t forgive himself if he did that, so he kept quiet about it
  • he acted normal in the chatroom, but while he wasn’t in there, Seven was able to sense his brother’s feelings
  • “Is it about MC?”
  • “Shut up.”
  • “I figured it was.”
  • he holed himself up for a day and Seven pitied him
  • perhaps only in his dreams that you would be his
  • he clung to those dreams for a very long time
wonderstruck

prompt: all I can say is it was enchanting to meet you (part 2/7 for rucas fanfic week!)

alternatively known as: the one where riley falls into some other guy’s lap on the subway.

pairing: riley/lucas (w/ implied riley/charlie)
word count: 2,237


At four o’clock on a Friday afternoon, Riley Matthews was standing on the C train heading to Brooklyn. After two long weeks, she was finally getting the chance to see her boyfriend, and was not about to let the opportunity slip through her fingers. She had put on a new dress and a dash of her mother’s expensive perfume - the one that Charlie Gardner had once romantically proclaimed made her smell like royalty.

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When You Broke My Chest

Jily Week 2, Day 7 | Housework | Anything Goes

In which Lily hears something unfortunate and James hates himself. Songfic, kinda

Betas: Renata and Dee | (ff.net)

Shadows settle on the place, that you left.
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness.
Destroy the middle, it’s a waste of time.
From the perfect start to the finish line.

And if you’re still breathing, you’re the lucky ones.
‘Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.
Setting fire to our insides for fun
Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong
The lovers that went wrong.


'Lily,’ he said, taking a deep breath. She glanced up at the sound of his voice and flashed him a smile. His heart jumped but he ignored it.

'Give me a second, yeah? I’ve just got to finish this…’ She bent over the stack of papers she was poring over and James took the chance to just look at her. Bright hair that spilled down her back, fingers that tapped away at the desk when she was concentrating, lips that were soft, so soft under his—

But he couldn’t think of that right now. There was business to be done.

Your mother knows how to throw a party,’ Lily commented, surveying the ballroom with wide eyes. James let out a rueful chuckle.

Yeah, she does this every year.’

Every year? I reckon it would take a year to decorate to this standard.’

Nah, she Charms it all. It takes maybe a week.’

And then she just Vanishes it all away, I’m guessing.’

James grinned. 'Gone in an instant.’

Bloody wizards taking the shortcuts,’ she grumbled as she fixed her hair. He just laughed.

'Alright, what do you need?’ she asked, pushing the papers away. He swallowed and took a step closer to her. Her expression morphed into concern when he didn’t say anything. 'Are you alright? Did someone hurt—’

'No, I’m fine. Just… looking for the right words.’

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anonymous asked:

what draws you to the sebxchris dynamic if i may ask? =) do you ship them or do you just like their camaraderie as costars? i don't see much of them generally but there's a little fandom for them so there must be something ^^ i'm curious! i'm all about anthonyxsebastian but i would not be opposed to some more sebxchris loving at all ;)

FOR THE SAKE OF FULL DISCLOSURE i feel i must state that i’m platonically* madly in love with anthony mackie, like every other human on the planet including both sebastian stan and chris evans (*however their love, i feel, is not so platonic), so i want him in all the ships and fanworks &c ever. duh. ofc. obvsly you’re on the right track there.

now that that’s out of the way — i also feel i must clarify that i’m a v. easy shipper. if it’s queer, i ship it pretty much. so, are you kidding me, hell yeah i wanna fictionally extrapolate on chris evans and sebastian stan putting their mutually pouty pink mouths together and staring deep into one another’s baby blue eyes.

you raise a good point, buddy, about what this possible SOMETHING might be.

perhaps the stifling UST

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summernightsanddaisychains  asked:

Headcannon request- wolfstar baby it's cold outside (like the klaine one from glee!🙈) xx

Omg so cute!! I don’t think I can replicate the whole scene, but I’ll definitely try to do it justice. Hopefully you’ll like my spin on it! 

  • The Potters were kind enough to have invited Remus to stay for a few days over the break, much to Sirius’s delight.
  • (Although let’s be honest, he probably begged and pleaded with them to allow Remus to come, much to theirs and James’s amusement.)
  • It had been everything Sirius could have asked for, complete with warm snuggles by the fire while Remus tucked his hands into the sleeves of his oversized jumper and balanced a book on his knee and played with Sirius’s hair.
  • Sirius was a sucker for being pet, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, especially Remus. 
  • Shenanigans were had with snowball fights in the yard which even with James and Sirius teaming up against him Remus had still managed to win, and Remus had made quite the impression with Mrs. Potter by helping her bake cookies (snickerdoodles to be precise.) 
  • They stole kisses in secret and giggled when they would catch the other staring at them from across the room. 
  • Remus always had an adorable blush across the bridge of his nose that made Sirius want to take him by the cheeks and kisses him until his entire face was the same color pink. 
  • But sooner than either would have liked, Remus did have to leave. 
  • They stood in the parlor, just in front of the fireplace with Remus’s belongings at their feet. Sirius pouted and grabbed his hands in his own. 
  • “You have to?”
  • “Sirius, please. I’ll see you in just a week.” 
  • “I don’t think you should go.” 
  • Remus chuckled and stepped closer to him. His smile was warm, but it made Sirius shiver. 
  • “I really can’t stay.” 
  • “But baby it’s cold outside.” 
  • Another chuckle. 
  • “Those muggle Christmas songs have gotten to your head, my love.” Remus laughed softly, but Sirius looked at him expectantly. 
  • Then, a sigh of resignation. 
  • “I’ve got to go away.”
  • “But baby it’s cold outside.” 
  • Remus paused. Sirius was still eyeing him with the same encouraging look that made Remus swallow thickly and clear his throat. 
  • He sang. 
  • “This evening has been…so very nice.”
  • “Been hoping that you’d drop in…I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice.”
  • Sirius sang back and laced their fingers together as a huge grin spread across his face. His Moony really did have a nice voice. He was no rockstar, but Remus could at least carry a tune without dropping it every six seconds. 
  • “My mother will start to worry.”
  • “Beautiful, what’s your hurry?” 
  • Ah, that blush was back on Remus’s cheeks as soon as Sirius dropped the term of endearment. Really, he couldn’t get enough of that color on his perfectly marked features. 
  • “My father will be pacing the floor.”
  • “Listen to the fireplace roar.”
  • “So really I’d better scurry.”
  • “Beautiful please don’t hurry.”
  • The resolve began to melt from Remus’s face and Sirius wrapped his arms around him, pressing their bodies closer still. 
  • “Put some records on while I pour.” 
  • Remus rolled his eyes and Sirius winked and twirled away from him. He bounded from the room, barely acknowledging that James was standing at the other end of the hall with a curious look. 
  • “Where as you going? Is Moony still here?” 
  • Sirius quickly grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey that they had stashed in his trunk after their last visit to Hogsmead and spun back past him. 
  • “Getting a drink. Yes. Don’t come in.” 
  • With that he closed the door to the parlor, leaving James yelling at him from the other side, but he paid no mind. Instead he smirked, realizing that Remus has indeed put on a record in his absence. 
  • “You really don’t want to leave,” he teased and poured him a drink. As it offered it to him, Remus smiled. 
  • “Of course not you silly git. I have to.” 
  • Sirius poured himself a drink and sidled up to Remus, waggling his eyebrows at him. With a small sip and a bitter purse of his lips, Remus looked at him. 
  • “The Potters might think…” 
  • “Baby it’s bad out there.” 
  • Eyes narrowed, Remus looked in his glass. 
  • “Is this the firewhiskey you knicked from Hogsmead?
  • “That’s not how the song goes, Moony.”
  • “Fine, fine.”
  • Remus sang again, “I wish I knew how…”
  • “Your eyes are like starlight now.”
  • “But you’re the one with the star name.”
  • Sirius glared indignantly.
  • “Don’t ruin this for me.” Remus couldn’t help giggling the next line. 
  • “I ought to say no no no sir.”
  • “Mind if I move in closer?”
  • The tips of their noses touched and Remus instinctively nuzzled him, something that Sirius thought was absolutely adorable. 
  • “At least I’m gonna say that I tried.”
  • “What’s the sense in hurting my pride?”
  • “I really can’t stay.”
  • “Baby don’t hold out.” 
  • “Oh but it’s cold outside.” 
  • As they finished the last lyric they leaned in, kissing slowly. Sirius could taste the whiskey on Remus’s tongue, which gave it an extra spice that riled him up and sent goosebumps racing up his spine. 
  • In the end, Remus would stay another night, but it being cold outside had little to do with why he stayed, and his excuse would have to be much more believable than that. He was, after all, traveling by floo. 

elusivemuse89-deactivated201602  asked:

phlint- "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” It’s mumbled, what with the way Phil’s slung his arm over his face so he’s talking into the crook of his elbow, but Clint hears it all the same.

Lying next to him on the floor, surrounded by shirts and pants and shoes all discarded in an eager rush, Clint’s afterglow is pretty much banked by the comment, and all the happy-wiggly butterflies in his stomach suddenly leave him with the desperate urge to puke.

Where the fuck did he read this wrong? Phil was definitely into fucking him a few minutes ago. Hell, he was the one who started it! Well, technically Clint did, with the kissing and all. But Phil’s the one who went below the belt first! So he wanted it, wanted Clint. At least he did. Now, it seems, not so much.

Maybe Clint’s just really shitty at sex. That’s a fair possibility. Clint Barton: World’s Greatest Marksmen But Eternal Disappointment (In Bed). Yeah, that sounds about right.

Clint’s arms are heavy as he tries to move them into a position to push himself up; he’s not sure if that’s his darkening mood bringing him down or just post-coital exhaustion. He manages to turn onto his side, so he’s not facing Phil, at least. His back’s cold now, though. So’s the rest of him, come to think of it.

He reaches out a hand sluggishly for the nearest piece of clothing. It’s Phil’s dress shirt. He’s not really sure why he just freezes there, fingers clenched around the rumpled fabric, just staring at it, but still. He does.

“Clint? You okay?”

“Fine,” Clint manages to rasp out.

“Think you can help me up then? My back’s already killing me,” Phil groans, shifting around behind Clint.

“Huh?” Clint turns his head back to Phil, blinking in confusion.

Phil levels him with a stern glare; the sex-mussed hair kind of dampens the effect, though. “No more floor sex. Is that a thing for you? ‘Cause you can beg all you want, but never again. Next time we’re finding a bed.”

Twisting back around, Clint can’t keep the excited hope out of his voice when he asks, “Next time?”

Phil’s head falls back, dully thumping against the floor, as he sighs. “You gotta give me at least a few hours, babe.” And how sweet is it that the endearment rolls off Phil’s tongue so easily, like he’s been casually calling Clint babe since they met? “I am old.”

“You’re not old,” Clint insists, indignant of Phil’s behalf.

“Too old for sex on the floor, at least.”

“It’s not all that comfortable, yeah,” Clint admits with a huff of breath that might be considered a laugh under the right circumstances.

Thank you. Seriously though, if you don’t help me up in the next minute or so, you’re going to have to carry me to bed.”

Sliding over on the floor so that he can mold his front to Phil’s side, Clint mumbles. “I’m okay with that.” It could be a tease, but it’s actually not. Clint’s mostly just a sucker for any excuse to hold Phil.

“Fine. But I demand you throw me over your shoulder.” Phil raises his arms and flaps his hands in a get-on-with-it-already gesture.

Clint smirks as he climbs to his feet, cooing, “Aw, you don’t wanna be my Pretty, Pretty Princess, Phil?”

“No, that’s fine. We can do that later. But right now, I just want to ogle your ass.”

And indeed, once Clint has him hoisted over his shoulder, Phil brings his hands up to rest on the globes of Clint’s ass, squeezing them together appreciatively.

The laughing fit hits Clint right in the gut, and it’s a struggle to stay upright with Phil’s weight added into the mix. “Are you drunk?”

“It’s the endorphins. I’m sex-drunk.”

Snorting, Clint maneuvers them so that he can flop Phil onto the bed with minimal fuss. “Sounds like a fun party.”

“In my pants!” Phil giggles, an honest to God giggle, and Clint is so gone for this guy. Phil looks up at him, smile going dopey, and starts to pat the bed next to him in invitation before thinking better of it apparently, and patting his chest instead.

After-sex Phil is quickly moving into first place as far as Clint’s Favorite Faces of Phil are concerned. As a bonus, he doesn’t seem to have noticed that Clint was being an idiot for a while there, so it’s safe to bury that fleeting moment of shame and just crawl into bed to cuddle Phil.

Blind Date AU

Based loosely on the following prompt from notallbees‘s “We’re Bad at Dating” AUs: We’re both meant to be going on blind dates with other people but we sat down at the wrong table and got our hopes up


“I’m so sorry I’m late!”

Starting, James glanced up from where he’d been mindlessly disemboweling a breadstick to see a vision in blue breathlessly drop into the empty seat across from him.

“I swear, I’m usually punctual to a fault. But the orange line broke down again, and I had to walk for ages to find a transfer to the blue, and I bloody well knew I shouldn’t have worn heels, but Mary was all ‘It’s a date, Lil. You have to make a good impression!’ and, fuck, I’m botching this something horrible, aren’t I?” The girl grimaced, her pale cheeks flushing a dusky rose that clashed adorably with the dark red plait draped across her shoulder.

“Not at all,” James grinned as he tried to discreetly hide his decimated bread beneath a napkin. “It’s rather refreshing, actually. A woman dressed to the nines and cursing like a sailor.” He leaned forward conspiratorially, “And, for what it’s worth, Mary was right about the heels.”

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anonymous asked:

Can you do an imagine where you're pregnant with Dean's baby and you're trying to hide it from the boys but Sam catches on?

^Sure I can…Enjoy^ 

You weren’t that far along, and you had been meaning to tell Dean, but the right time just hadn’t come up yet. It was alright for the first 4 or 5 weeks, but after that, you started to get the normal symptoms of pregnancy. Every morning, you would wake up and rush to the bathroom and chuck your guts up.

You would get round to telling Dean eventually, you just didn’t really know how to bring it up into conversation and you defiantly didn’t know how he was going to react. Like, was he going to be happy, worried, scared, sad, all of the above? You were having an internal struggle with yourself over this one small thing.

You knew you would start showing soon though, and you had started to have these weird cravings that you had run out of excuses for. In some ways you were glad that Dean was quite ignorant to things like this, and in some ways you were pissed of that he could’t figure it out, you know, because it would save you the job of telling him. 

You were getting a little moody too, small things tended to set you off and when you needed Dean to be there for you he didn’t know that so he kind of just carried on with the hunt. You knew you would have to tell him soon. 

***

One morning when you had slipped out of bed and into the bathroom you hadn’t realised that someone had followed and was now stood in the doorway until you took a deep sigh and looked up. 

“Oh my god, Sam. What the hell?” You asked worried at how calm and collected he look stood there just kind of smirking down at you. You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“So, when are you planing to tell him?” He asked you. This threw you back a hell of a lot, you stood, a little too quickly and had to grab onto the sink to steady yourself. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, putting on your best serious/innocent face. All Sam did was sigh and lean off the doorframe and came in towards you a little. 

“I know you’re pregnant.” He whispered and sheer panic crossed your face. You knew Sam wouldn’t or hadn’t told Dean but this made it even more pressing that you told him yourself. How horrible would it be for Dean to find out that you were pregnant from his brother? You bit down on your lower lip hard and looked up into Sam’s face. 

“There hasn’t been a right time to tell him. I have tried, honest, but somethings alway shot in the way and well…what if he doesn’t want it?” You whispered the last bit, aiming your words at your feet. You heard Sam sigh. 

“I don’t think even he knows how much he wants it, but I think he’ll be overjoyed.” You looked up just in time to see Sam smile before he left you to your thoughts in the bathroom. It was nice now that someone else knew as well, it was like a small weight had been lifted off your shoulders. 

The rest would have to be lifted by you telling Dean. 

***

You kind of gave Sam a look that you hoped conveyed ‘I’m going to tell him, you mind leaving?’. It worked cause he grinned and nodded at you. 

“I’m going to get some food, be back later.” And then it was just you and Dean and you took a really deep claming breath and made your way over to sit next to him on the bed. 

“Hey, Dean? Can I talk to you for a moment?” He made a noise of recognition, not looking up from the laptop that rested in his lap, and you groaned. “No, I mean we need to talk.” You said seriously and he looked up at you surprised. “Good." 

This was it, the moment you had been dreading for as long as you could remember. Dean sat there, sensing that you needed a little time to get your thoughts together and you thanked him for that. After a moment, you looked up at him and he smiled sweetly at you and you smiled back, all worry suddenly running out of your body. 

"So, theres something I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite some time now.” You reached out and took his large, calloused hand in your small one and started to fiddle with his fingers, looking at them while you continued talking. “I was putting it off because I didn’t really know what your reaction would be, but then I remembered that I wouldn’t know until I told you…so, here goes…” You took another deep breath and looked back up into his eyes. 

“I’m pregnant." 

He was silent for a long time, just staring at you and you swallowed. Then, a smile broke out on his face and you smiled back widely. He took you in his arms, releasing your fingers and pulling your body close to his tightly. You smiled, tears of happiness threatening to spill out of your eyes as you pulled him close to you too. 

"H-How far along are you?” He asked pulling back to look down at your stomach for a moment, he then looked up into you face, his eyes mirroring the happiness and excitement that you were feeling. 

“About 7 weeks.” He shook his head grinning, his face not quite believing your words. He reached out and cradled your neck in his hand as he pulled you to him to kiss you full on the mouth. You let out a tear and you could taste his as you kissed him back. 

All in all, you had forgotten why you were so worried about telling him in the first place. 

^Thank you for the request, my dear…I hope it was what you wanted and that you liked it xo^

Are You Saying What I Think Your Saying, Because If Your Saying What I Think Your Saying. I'm Definitely Dreaming.

Submitted by: mystic-biscuit

Description: There’s silence for a while. But not an uncomfortable silence. One time her a Stiles were having a Quentin Tarantino marathon and a quote from Pulp Fiction stood out to her. She thought it perfectly described their friendship ‘That’s when you know you’ve found somebody really special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share silence.’ It was a rare occasion that Stiles was ever quite, so it was nice that they could share this.

Rating: T

Genre: Romance

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This drabble is dedicated to Amanda/ @infernalandmortal because she’s awesome and we developed this headcanon together! *-*

Also tagging these people because I think they deserve a mix of Bellarke fluff and angst: @bellamyblake @bellsqueen @crooked-queen @bellamysking @underbellamy (because this was sort of inspired by one of your fabulous headcanons)

Description: Two incidents invovling the car…

Darling you cannot pull me from Hell (because I won’t let you)

It starts with the first fallen leaves, with her finding him as he found her, hidden from the brutality of the world, biting his cheek and trying to swallow regrets that tastes of metal, of blood. If it hadn’t been for the radio, filling the room with soft tones, Clarke would have thought that her eyes must have been playing a cruel trick on her when they saw him walk in here. In the shadows, she sees him leaning up against the car, his face behind a book, and it briefly stops her in her tracks. Could he be reading the story of Orpheus and Eurydice? The one he’d written on her cheek, as he’d run his fingertips over it, making the words impossible to rinse off.

Since she returned, Clarke had been forced to watch Bellamy work himself to the bone every day, punishing himself while gritting his teeth. But what nearly shatters her heart is knowing that the weight of the world is carried on his back, bending his spine to its breaking point. There’s no limit to his bravery, his love, and that’s why he shouldn’t get so comfortable in the darkness: It will ruin him like it nearly ruined her, and if you think for one second that she is going to let that happen, you are certainly mistaken.

To her immense relief, when they get the option, Bellamy’s eyes shift from the words on the page, choosing her face. Nevertheless, the look on his all but sends her heart to the bottom of her gut: the sparks within his earth-colored gaze have died, his frown is deep, just like the color of the shadows underneath his eyes.

Clarke is, was an artist. She can paint his smile back on, but she knows that in order to do so, she has to convince him that he actually wants her to. Yes, there are many things, countless issues between them that they still need to sort out, but the least she can do is to try to make him feel better. Undoubtedly, he would do the same for her.

         ♬ I’ve been trying to do it right. I’ve been living a lonely life. I’ve been                             sleeping here instead, I’ve been sleeping in my bed ♬

Slowly, she takes the book from his hands, places it on the hood of the car.

“What? Why are you interrupting my reading?” In the attempt to hide his surprise, Bellamy fails to sound annoyed.

“But you weren’t reading,” she corrects him, “you were looking at me,” at that, he doesn’t break eye contact, only raises his eyebrow a little bit. Quickly, Clarke has searched for a translation of that specific look in her mind, and found it: ‘Seriously, get to the point.’

“This is a beautiful song,” remarking that, she watches his eyebrows fall, furrow, mostly in wonder she reckons, because he nods slowly, “ so let’s dance.”

“What?”

Teasingly Clarke rolls her eyes, her hands grabbing onto the fabric of his jacket and she spends a couple of moments shamelessly studying how it affects him, not much, but his palms move to the car for support. “Didn’t you ever dance on The Ark?” Frankly, she finds it difficult to imagine him dancing at all, ever, with anyone, but the truth surprises her: “Of course, but-“

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of,” Clarke declares, and shockingly as she pulls a little on his arm, he follows her willingly, most likely because that’s what he always does, no matter how crazy the scenario.

His jaw clenched, Bellamy places a hand to her waist, and as the wonderful warmth from it seeps through every layer of her skin, Clarke has to fight to urge her eyelids hold to close. To distract herself from the fact the he is touching her, she takes her hand in his, feels how the blood has worn them, as her own have been torn and controlled. Unsurprisingly, the mere thought of that creates a lump in her throat, which disappears as Bellamy’s other hand slowly moves to small of her back where it begins to pull her in.

      ♬ So show me family, all the blood that I will bleed. I don’t know where I                                   belong, I don’t know where I went wrong ♬

The tips of their noses graze as their breathes easily mingle, yet for a while their feet decide to not move. For them to do that, the world around them, the pain it brings, must be invisible. Someone must take the chance, must make the choice to begin the process, and surely, that person is Bellamy, because when the chorus commences, he squeezes her hand, and as he moves, she moves with him.

Honestly, Clarke doesn’t see the first spin coming, or the next, and even though she’s scared of being too far away from him, she falls right back into his arms every time he lets the space between them grow. At some point, through, after many happy returns, she decides to stay, as his hands against her spine, their hearts beating in synch and the smell of him, of the woods, of smoke, of gunpowder becomes equivalent with safety, with home. Ignoring the beat, together they sway, her face in the crook of his neck, his lips pressed into her hair.

        ♬ I belong with you, you belong with me. You’re my Sweetheart ♬


It ends when raindrops are replaced by snowflakes, with her begging that it’s the only thing bound to change. Sadly, it isn’t, because the rain reminded her of him, cleansing and refreshing, even if he more often than not caught her in his hurricanes. The snow is too icy, nothing like him, but still affects him, makes him colder. When he roars, her heart aches.

But at least he’s finally being honest: “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t leave again! There’s no way I’m letting you,” as he slams the car door shut, he looks at her, lightning striking with desperation in his eyes.

On her lips, she can taste the sweetness of his name. They part slightly to let it out, yet it doesn’t emerge. Instead, she stares at him, how the anger marks his features - well, at least she thinks it’s anger for a while, until he shouts again, his voice breaking from hurt: “Everyone hates me, Clarke! Even I hate me, but you –” At that, he pauses, unintentionally allowing a noise to escape his throat; it sounds terrifyingly close to a sob, “– You don’t! And I, I–”

“Bellamy…” Of course, when the name at last comes out, it’s too late. He’s too broken to see that this is breaking her.

No! I can’t lose you!”

Shut up! The words burn in her stomach, hurting just as much as the tears in her eyes. Right now, she can no longer question why he didn’t say all of this when they were standing at the gate months back, because the truth is close to bringing her to her knees. She let him down when she left him, and because he never told her that it tortured him, she could keep walking away.

No more.

Even though her lungs are already pleading for air, she kisses him, pours every ounce of her panic into it. She can’t lose him to the mercilessness of winter, when she wants him to love him like summer. At first, as he responds, his lips are bruising. His hands move to her waist, pushing her against the car door as hers tangle within the messy curls of his hair.

   ♬ Have you got color in your cheeks? Do you ever get the fear that you can’t             shift, the type that sticks around like something in your teeth? ♬

Shamelessly, she pulls at it when the tip of his tongue runs along the seam of her mouth, asking for an invitation. Honestly, he doesn’t really need to work for it, because he still holds her close like she is about to choose that godforsaken car over him. As she parts her lips further, his hand runs from her ribs to her waist, the touch igniting a burning trail. Clarke wonders if she can make him feel the same - therefore, she permits her blunt nails to explore his back, and sure enough, she hears him restraining a noise; not a sob this time - No, something entirely different, but this might scare her even more.

 ♬ So have you got the guts? Been wondering if your heart’s still open, and if                                       so I wanna know what time it shuts ♬

Now, his hand slips just underneath the hem of her shirt, and the sudden skin-to-skin contact does not only send shivers through her - it has him breaking the kiss to look at her; at how her chest is heaving, leaving her breath ragged. His hand doesn’t move as his eyes search hers, so soon enough, he presses their foreheads together. For a long minute, he stands there, only holding her while they continue to breathe the same air. And when finally kisses her, it’s so different that it causes her heart to ache a little: his lips are now soft, coaxing as they press to her neck which makes Clarke hold her next breath.

      ♬ The nights were mainly made for saying things that you can’t say                                                                    tomorrow day ♬

She know what he wants, what both of their hearts are screaming for, and you could think that after infinite times of falling back to him, she should feel more than ready to fall into his bed, but unfortunately that’s not the case.

That’s why she pushes him away, as gently as she can muster when she’s this frustrated with herself: “I’m sorry, I-“ As her lower lip wobbles and her hands shake, he moves back to her, placing a hand to her cheek, causing her to avert her gaze, “I can’t.”

At that she feels his fingers under her jaw, tilting her head so that her eyes tear from looking at the floor. Instead, she meets his eyes, painted with hurt. “Why do you keep running? Don’t you trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Frankly, the only reason why she hasn’t told him, is that she’s pretty sure he already knows why. After all, they read each other like open books.

But in case he hasn’t, she manages to croak, the bitter tears clogging her throat as well as her eyes: “I’m terrified, Bellamy,” as soon as his name has escaped her lips, the sobs take over her body, rolling in like waves and causing her to shake. Instead of asking questions, he pulls her into his chest, whispers into her hair: It’s okay. I understand - understand her fear is not of being hurt, but of being happy. Happy if they become one, if he pours any more of his love into her, because then she may start using it as a drug, which would be wrong.

He deserves better than that - better than her.

So with the press of his lips lingering on her forehead and tears staining her cheeks, she walks away again, for the hundredth time, the only difference this time being that she looks back, at his fake smile and his heart in pieces scattered all over the floor.

                             ♬ Do you want me crawling back to you? ♬