it was really hard to narrow it down to just ten

Three’s Company (Ethan & Grayson)

Authors Note - I don’t know how I feel about this but it was highly requested and I forgot I finished it so here ya go. I probably won’t ever write something like this again FYI but I hope you like it anyways! 

⚤ - CONTAINS SMUT

You awoke to the sound of your alarm going off loudly in your ear. You squinted at your phone reading 9:00 A.M. You shut it off quickly in fear that you’d awake your sleeping boyfriend, Ethan, who laid snoring quietly beside you. You had intended to get up early and make breakfast for him and Grayson since they had the day off and they were sleeping in. You crept out of bed and padded down the hallway to the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients. You heard shuffling down the hallway and expected it to be Ethan but instead you were met with a nearly naked Grayson who stood in nothing but a towel. His body was still dripping wet from the shower you presumed he just got out of and you tried your best to tear your eyes away. Grayson had a banging body, it was a known fact, so you really couldn’t help yourself.

Keep reading

“Hey, Barold?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you dead?”

Barry’s head pokes into the dining room table, the Neverwinter Times folded into his hands. He looks down at himself, pokes his own nose. “I don’t think so? I don’t look dead.”

Lup looks him up and down, then says, “Yep, you really don’t.”

“Why?”

In response, Lup takes the package she’s been holding, grabs it by the ends, and turns it on its head. Letters - bundled into packs bound with black ropes, spare ones scratched on torn napkins, envelopes-within-envelopes written in deep dark ink - spill all over the table.

“What are these?”

“Consolation letters,” Lup says, grinning. She plucks the first one off the table, slits it with a brightly-painted red nail, and begins to read. “‘Dear Lup Taaco, my cult and I would like to express our condolences for your loss.’ Aww, that’s so sweet, they’re cult-bonding.”

Barry narrows his eyes. “Is that a necromantic cult or a religious one?”

“Dunno.” She tosses it aside, picks up another one. “‘Dear IPRE, sorry for your loss. We hope Barry feels better soon. We know most people don’t feel better after being dead but he’s done it before.’”

Barry drifts forward, looking at the stack in apprehension and slight awe. He picks one up at random, skims it, and turns white. “Why do these people think I’m dead?”

“Don’t know, but there’s definitely a consensus, babe,” Lup says. “Aww, someone sent a bunch of dead flowers! I’ll pass them onto Merle.”

“Lup, no, this is weird. This - this is weird.”

“Yeah, for sure,” she says, leafing through the next letters. The mound grows intimidatingly the more Barry looks at it. “What did you do?”

“I - I don’t know.”

“Huh. Maybe someone started a dumb rumor. You never know the kinda shit floating around Faerun these days.”

True? Okay. Okay, no, this is just another mystery. Maybe there are clues in the truly preposterous number of letters sitting on the table. Carefully, Barry picks the first one up, a letter wrapped in a satin ribbon and addressed in dark ink so black it almost looks tar. He tears it open gently and sets the envelope aside, then begins to read.

Dear Miss Lup,

I’m really really sorry your husband is dead. I want you to know that my mom and my dad love him too and that if you ever need someone to talk to because death is a really really bad thing then you can send us a letter any time. I’d give you my mom’s frequency but I don’t know it.

Love,

Carnila

Below is an address. It’s from the far east, a remote village that Barry only knows because he passed through there while hunting for Lup a couple of years into his search.

He’s not freaking out so much as very, very confused. He’s certain he’s alive. Pulse beating in his throat and everything. So why does everyone think he’s dead?

He goes through a couple more without finding any clues. Most are of the same vein - sorry for your loss, hope you’re doing better. A couple recommend Lup some therapists in Neverwinter. Two cite him as his inspiration for practicing necromancy. He’s gonna need to pay those fans a personal visit. Probably with his scythe.

“Barry?” Lup says after a little while. She’s set the letters down and is now looking at him strangely.

He opens another one. This one’s written in blue ink. All the others have been black. Really goes to show what kind of person picked Barold J. Bluejeans, lich and necromancer-turned-reaper extraordinaire, as their favorite of the seven birds. “Yes, dear?”

“When you died, you picked up your bodies, right?”

Barry freezes. He thinks back to those ten years on his own, dying repeatedly. He’d had a process - he’d freak out, flicker a little bit, and pull himself together - with admirable speed and courage, of course. Then he’d grab his jeans (can’t leave those behind), a couple hairs, a bunch of blood (which wasn’t typically too hard to collect), the coin, some supplies, and take off for Wave Echo Cave.

He’d leave the body, though. He didn’t need it.

“Barold J. Bluejeans,” she snaps, setting down her letter with a thwack on the table. “Did you leave your corpses strewn all around this continent?”

“I only needed a little blood to make a new body!” he yelps. “I was a lich, it wasn’t like I could pick up my body and carry it with me!”

“You managed to keep the same clothes for ten years!”

“I’ve had these jeans for a hundred years, they’re precious to me!”

“That’s fair,” Lup says, grinning too widely to be angry. “So you’re telling me, these people stumbled across your dead body and thought it was you?”

“Probably,” he replies sheepishly. “I mean, in my defense, I didn’t think anyone would find it. I kinda fell off a mountain range.”

“And you didn’t go collect them when you got an actual body?” she asks, gesturing toward him.

“I was a little busy creating your body.”

Lup sighs, exasperated. She throws an envelope at him. It drifts unimpressively down to the table. “This is it, Barold. This is what you get when you don’t show up at press conferences ever. People start to think you’re literally dead.”

“I hate them,” he mumbles. “Too many spotlights and reporters and questions. I get all sweaty.”

“You’re one of the seven birds, babe. People want to know your story.”

“They already do, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, but they want to hear it from you.” She glances over her shoulder at the Taako Time™ calendar hanging on their wall and grins. “Babe, there’s one tomorrow and you’re going.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whines. “Lup, they…they suck. All the reporters and the microphones and the spotlights….”

“No arguments, dear,” Lup says, standing and crossing her arms over his head to rest her cheek on his hair. “Lucretia hates them too and she goes.”

“She was the Director of the Bureau of Balance, she’s good at that shit now,” Barry grumbles. “Besides, Davenport doesn’t have to answer questions.”

“Davenport’s at sea, babe. Getting to interview him is like finding a Shiny.”

Barry groans, tugs on a strand of Lup’s hair. It’s dyed red toward the ends. “If you loved me you wouldn’t make me go.”

“I love you,” Lup affirms, “so I’m making you go.”

“Can I at least - ”

“No, you can’t wear your tuxedo T-shirt. You have to wear the sweater vest I bought you.”

Barry slumps his head toward the table. Lup slides down his neck to rest her chin on his shoulder. “Cycle forty or sixty-eight,” he asks, words muffled by the table.

“Forty,” she decides. “I won’t make you do sequins.”

“Thank the Queen.” He straightens. There’s ink on his forehead. Lup laughs, then licks a thumb and wipes it away. “Gross.”

The letters flare in the corner of his vision. Sighing, Barry tugs Lup onto his lap. She sits with a laugh, gleeful and teasing, and reaches reaching for a letter of her own. Leaning her temple against his, she slices open another letter, and begins to read.

“Wow, babe,” she says after a couple minutes. “You’re really an inspiration for some up-and-coming dark magic babies.”

“I know,” he sighs. She chuckles and ruffles his hair affectionately. “I’m gonna have to go talk to them.”

Lup’s counterproposal is cut off by her Stone of Farspeech buzzing against her collarbone. She picks up without looking and says “Heyo, Blupjeans household, whaddya want?”

Barold J. Bluejeans!” screeches her brother’s voice through the receiver. Barry jumps. “You wanna explain to me why my dining table is fuckin’ swamped with condolence letters?!

Lup and Barry turn to stare at each other in horror. Then, right on cue, Barry’s Stone rings. He checks it. It’s Magnus’s signal. They stare at it.

“Oh Gods,” Lup groans, and picks up.

Barry? Barry, are you okay?” comes Magnus’s voice. There are a couple of dogs barking in the background, as there always are when Magnus calls. “I heard you were dead, I know it sucks, like, serious ass to be without a body, I wanted to check in, and also tell you that I’ve got a ticket for Neverwinter on hold if you need me down there - ” he says.

Lup and Barry exchange glances. Barry begins to laugh.

The Kissing Booth

A SnowBaz fanfiction


Simon

Once a year, usually in the spring, Watford stages a carnival for the students.  It’s usually quite humble, mainly consisting of booths selling small magic trinkets, or snacks like cotton candy, sweets and other classic carnival fare.  There’s always the tiny petting zoo over near the Cloisters, and some years Watford even scrapes enough together to bring in a carousel.  Most of the booths are run by student volunteers, and though everything is by donation, all proceeds go to whichever charity the student body has voted on.

           I go every year, mostly for the caramel apples and sweet cider, but this is the first year I’ve been behind the scenes of the carnival and helped at a booth.

           In truth, I didn’t even sign up for it, but Agatha hadn’t had a break all day and needed some cotton candy of her own.

           I should have told her to find Penny, or Trixie or even Minty.  Anyone but me.

           It doesn’t take long for the word to spread that Simon Snow has taken over the Kissing Booth, and mortifyingly the line has doubled in length.  Mostly first or second-year girls, blushing and stammering or swaggering up to the counter with a pronounced sway in their step, with the odd boy interspersed through the line.

           It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me – that honour goes to the time in second year that Baz stumbled upon a spell that made my clothes slowly dissipate, garment by garment, in the middle of the dining hall – and after the first two or three quick, cold kisses I start to calm down, but I’m counting the minutes until Agatha comes back.  How she endured hours of this, I cannot comprehend.  That’s just Agatha, I guess.

           A redhead drops her donation into the tin and her eyes flit around, meeting me for only a split second at a time, her cheeks aflame.  I try to look as non-threatening as I can and lean forward enough that she can close the rest of the space.  She darts in with a kiss that’s no more than a peck before running over to a giggling pair of who must be her friends, a triumphant grin on her face. She must have been dared.  Poor girl.  I hope I wasn’t her first.

           “Well, well, well.”

           My stomach lurches at the cold drawl I know only too well.

           “What are you doing here, Baz?” I say in as civilized a tone as I can manage.

           He stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth in a twist that’s a bit too amused to be a sneer.  “When I heard that the Chosen One had taken over the Snogging Booth, I simply had to see it for myself.”

           “Well, now you’ve seen it, so now you can go.”

           “Saving the World of Mages one kiss at a time,” Baz murmurs with a chuckle.  “Not exactly what I was envisioning.”

           “I’m only covering for Agatha,” I retort, “she’ll be back in five minutes if you’re wanting her services.”

           He scoffs.  “I’d rather not snog your girlfriend, thank you very much.”

           “She’s not my – forget it,” I shake my head.  I’ve told him at least a dozen times, but it never stops him.

           “She must have been really desperate for a break to put you in charge,” Baz drawls on, his voice smooth like honey but with too much of a bite to be sweet.  “You’d think she’d at least pick someone attractive for the Kissing Booth.”

           It stings, but I don’t flinch.  “What, someone like you?” I spit back too fast.

           His eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise as I realize my mistake.  “You flatter me, Snow,” he purrs, and I feel my cheeks heat up, but I furrow my brow tighter and hope it passes for anger.

           “Is there a reason you’re still here?” I growl as the burning spreads from my cheeks to my ears.  

           “As a matter of fact, there is,” Baz says, and his gray eyes look cool enough to staunch the flames at the tips of my ears, but the more I glare into them the more the fire rages.  “I’m here to torment you.”

           “Great, well you’ve done that.”

           “I wanted to see what you’d do.”  He leans on the edge of the counter, bringing his face far too close to mine for comfort. “What would the Mage’s Heir do if his nemesis showed up at the Kissing Booth?”

           “You can torment me any time,” I shoot back, “you’re holding up the line.”

           “Oh, yes, well,” he feigns conern, “I wouldn’t want to keep anyone from their kiss.”

           “Then go away.”

           His eyes narrow and he pretends to think.  “Mmm, no.  I don’t think so.”

           “Baz, I’m warning you.”

           “Terrifying,” he drones, “but this is too much fun.  Besides,” his eyebrow flickers up, “don’t you owe me a kiss?”

           I flash him a smirk of my own.  “Aw, Baz. If you were so desperate for a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

           Baz, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye.  “You think of that comeback yourself?”

           “There’s a fee, you know,” I ignore him, barely having to raise my voice above a murmur for him to hear me, he’s so close.  “You haven’t paid the fee, so I don’t owe you anything.”

           He doesn’t drop his eyes from mine, and the cool gray takes on the spark of a challenge.  Out of my periphery I see him reach into his pocket, and there’s the clatter of coins dropping into the tin.

           I should punch him.

           I should spit in his face.

           I wanted to see what you’d do.

           I take him by the lapels and crush his mouth under mine.

           He makes a muffled sound of shock.  To be fair, so do I, but mine is more angry than it is surprised.  I kiss him hard and rough, and it’s a bit of a juxtaposition because his mouth is oddly soft.  A face like his, you’d expect his lips to be made of marble, cold and unmoving, but he’s the farthest thing from unmoving.  I can’t tell if he’s struggling or if he’s kissing me back but his lips are so, so soft and I want to bruise them, mark them, bite them…

           I only stop when a series of wolf whistles reminds me that there are at least ten people watching us.

           Trying to salvage the illusion of control, I break away harshly, still gripping him by his collar.  The cocky smirk has dropped from his smooth features and now his face mirrors mine, a matching scowl, like I’ve crossed a dangerous line.  I probably have.

           “Was that what you wanted?” I growl.

           He doesn’t answer, just holds my gaze another few seconds before pushing back from the table, his lapels slipping out of my hands, and stalking away.

*** 

I don’t see Baz at the carnival after that, and I stay as long as the booths are open, perusing the same counters and feigning interest even after having looked through their contents three times.  I keep Penny company where she mans the popcorn booth, drizzling caramel over every few cartons, and I even get bored enough to hang around Agatha back at the Kissing Booth for a little while, until one too many patrons have asked if I’m available for service.  When she and Penny are freed we pet the goats at the petting zoo, the ones that Ebb has graciously volunteered for the event, and take a few spins on the carousel.  Only once the light has begun to fade and the signs are being lowered from their booths do the three of us part ways.  Even then, I offer to help Ebb get her goats back safely.

           Basically, I’m doing anything I can to put off going back to the room, but eventually I can’t avoid it any longer.  I’ve wandered the grounds enough times that the sun has properly disappeared behind the distant hills and I can barely see the ground in front of me. Even then I’m tempted to consider crazy alternatives like spending the night at Ebb’s place, but I’m pretty sure that would be against school rules anyway, and besides, I’ll have to face Baz eventually.  There’s no undoing what’s happened.

           When I finally trudge back into the room, he’s staring out the window at the moat, presumably trying to intimidate the merwolves, but he turns at the sound of the door.  His expression, though I don’t see it for long before I look away, is hard to read. Wide eyes and a furrowed brow, like he’s still mad at me for my stunt earlier, but there’s a bit of a questioning edge there, too.  Almost a where were you edge.

           Normally I have to start any type of conversation, but tonight he wastes no time. “What the hell was that, Snow?”

           There’s no question as to what he’s referring, and I can’t help but get angry again.  “Me? You’re the one who had to start something!”

           “Well, you didn’t have to react so drastically,” he mutters, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall by the window, the moonlight casting its glow on his skin and making him even paler than usual, almost transparent.  I half expect fangs to slide out from his lips for no reason and complete the picture.

           His soft, soft lips.

           “You were egging me on,” I seethe, the memory igniting the rage that I’d felt in the fractured moment before kissing him, “it’s your fault anything happened.”

           “Proud little hero,” Baz says with the slightest smirk, “can’t back down from a challenge.”

           “You know I can’t, not in front of people.”

           “Wouldn’t want them to think the Heir is a coward.”

           I feel like a balloon in me is swelling and deflating at once.  “But that’s just it, Baz,” I insist, anger momentarily aside.  “If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?”

           He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second I think maybe he understands. I want so badly for him to understand.

           “No reason,” Baz eventually says, turning to look out the window again, “not with someone like you as the Chosen One.”

           I want to groan, to kick something, to shake him by the shoulders and make him look me in the eye and for once not fight me.  Have we ever in our lives made eye contact without there being some challenge between us?

           “Why did you have to get in that line?” I shake my head.  “There are so many other ways of tormenting me, lower-stakes ways.”

           “To be fair, I’ve already exhausted most of those,” Baz murmurs with a little shrug of his shoulders.

           “When have you ever been fair?”

           “Touché.”

           I’m tired of standing here at the door, so I kick off my shoes and sit down on my bed, trying not to think about how much closer I am to him now, still at the window, looking as vampiric as ever.  His gray eyes are positively silver in the moonlight, and the black of his hair looks silkier than ever, as if it’s soaking the rays directly into him. He almost glows.  I have to laugh a little, because more than once Baz has mockingly compared me, with my bronze curls and sky-blue eyes, to the sun, but he himself wears a halo of night.  If I am the sun, then Baz is most certainly the moon.  Distant, cold, mysterious, almost too pristine to touch.

           His gaze returns to me suddenly.  He raises an eyebrow in a wordless inquiry, and I realize I’ve been staring.

           “What exactly was it you expected me to do?”

           “At what point, Snow?” he gives a humourless laugh.  “You had more than one opportunity to react.”

           “When you paid the fee.”

           His tiny smile disappears.  “It doesn’t matter.”

           “It does.”

           “Drop it, Snow,” he says, the hardness returning to his eyes, and I know I’ve cornered him.  Drop it is Baz’s way of betraying himself, of saying there’s something that he doesn’t want to tell.

           “Was I supposed to kiss you?” I ask.  For some reason I have to know.

           “No.”

           “Then what?”

           “I don’t know, Snow, punch me.  Push me. Beat me to the ground.  Something.”

           My brow furrows in confusion.  “Wait. You wanted me to hit you?”

           He shrugs, more with his head than his shoulder.  “One of us has to get hurt, right?”

           I rise to my feet, and I’m face-to-face with him again, only his eyes are different this time.  Whereas at the booth he had betrayed no hint of doubt at our closeness, now there’s a flicker of something in the silver, something that feels a lot like the way my heart is racing in my chest, and it dawns on me.  He was putting on a show at the carnival, acting like nothing I could do would get to him, just as I had been.

           If they think I’m afraid, what reason do they have to hope?

           One of us has to get hurt, right?

           And suddenly it makes sense.

           There’s only a few inches between us, so it feels almost natural when I lean in and press the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

           He doesn’t kiss me back this time, but he doesn’t move away either.  “What was that for?” he asks when I draw back a second later.

           “You act like we’re so different,” I say wonderingly, “but we’re the same.”

           “How?”

           “What do you think we’d be if we didn’t have to fight each other?”

           I don’t miss the split second of longing in his eyes.  “Keep dreaming, Snow.”

           “Because I bet it would involve a lot more of this.”  I bring a hand up to his neck, my fingers instantly lost in the wavy tips of his hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks bathed in moonlight.

           Baz closes his eyes like he has to collect himself.  “You’re the hero.  I’m the villain.  What more do I have to say?”

           “Fuck that,” I chuckle, “we both know that’s not true.  You’re a boy, and I’m a boy.  That’s all.”

           “Tell that to the rest of the world.”

           “I don’t care about the rest of the world,” I shake my head adamantly, “I want to know what you think.”    

           “About what?”

           “If there was no act, no reputation, no role to play,” I murmur, “if we were just two boys, what would you do?”

           Baz returns my gaze a moment, searching my eyes.    

           Then his lashes close and he’s kissing me, and my eyes drift shut again like I’m sighing in relief.

           I let my fingers tangle higher up in his hair while my other hand grips the front of his shirt like earlier, only without the anger of the afternoon.  He angles his head further and guides the kiss deeper, his hands gently gripping my waist and pulling me closer.  I melt against him, my mouth moving with his, my head swimming with his citrusy scent, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my throat when he takes my bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle tug. Suddenly I’m floating, weightless, and Baz gives a muffled sound of surprise when I press back a little harder.

           When we finally break apart, both of us gasping and dizzy, I immediately want more, want to line his neck with my mouth, want to feel his breath hitch when I reach the base of his throat, want to hear my name in his sigh.  Would he sigh Snow or Simon?  I want to know.

           “Please,” I whisper, dotting a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “can’t we just be two boys?”

           When I meet his eyes, they’re full of more longing than ever.

           In response, he kisses a soft, slow triangle pattern on my cheek, and I recognize the pattern of the three moles by my eye, and I can’t help but smile.

“We can try.”

anonymous asked:

Hi love! What would you say the top ten sterek fics you've ever read are?

This was REALLY HARD. Mainly bc it’s hard to choose only 10. Because I’m leaving off some great fics (which is why there are more than 10 on here :3)! And some I get mixed up bc I read them so long ago and near each other. (You can always browse my fave fic list here) But I’ve narrowed it to this list. These are the fics that really left impressions on me. They’re all amazing and deserve to be read and loved!!! So…have a TOP 27 FAVE STEREK FICS list :DDDD

1. Cry Havoc by ladyblahblah

In Beacon Hills, the two-year war that’s been raging between werewolves and hunters has begun spilling over onto the civilian population. Meanwhile, in Boston, when the tattoo on Stiles Stilinski’s back is damaged on a late-night hunt he begins to have dreams that lead him across the country, drawn by an inexplicable conviction that he’s needed there. When he discovers that Derek Hale began the war after his mate was killed, Stiles finds himself being offered a strange deal: figure out how to bring the alpha’s mate back, and peace talks can begin.

2. Where the Inevitable Isn’t by Survivah

Stiles has a magical thingamajig that’s supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn’t in the same universe anymore.

“A part of Stiles had been thinking that he’d come home, and just go, ‘hey, Derek, are we mates and you just haven’t said anything about it?’ and Derek would reply, ‘now you mention it, we are indeed! Now come to my bedchamber, where we will have super hot sex and then cuddle after!’”

3. Pack Up; Don’t Stray by the_deep_magic

AU – Werewolves are an enslaved underclass, collared and tagged by human masters. Detective Stilinski’s on duty the night they bring in an untagged stray.

4. Our Memories Are Numbered by rufflefeather

Stiles’ Jeep grinds to a halt, he sees someone running through the rain, he’s not expecting it to be Derek. He’s not expecting a Derek without any memories either, or an Alpha pack that’s coming for all of them. He probably should’ve, because lately nothing goes the way he expects.

5. Ad Astra Per Tentaculum by morganoconner

Space contains a multitude of different species, and Derek has seen and helped a lot of them in his time taking down branches of the slave-trade organization. But this is the first time he’s seen an Aloshrivnik. It’s not the tentacles that draw him in; it’s the goddamn eyes that stare at him without backing down.

“Stiles,” it says to him. “My name is Stiles.”

6. Part of My Melody by hayesgeneration

Derek is a professional classical musician who has found himself lost without a muse, without goal and without even a hint of spark. He’s almost settled nearly contently (if not slightly unwillingly) on having to live his life as a recluse, when his sister finally grows tired of his antics, giving him a Christmas ultimatum.

7. Littlest Alpha by triedunture

Derek and Stiles have taken out the Alpha Pack and pretty much saved the world. Okay, the town. Okay, their remaining friends. But the Alphas left something behind: a baby. And this baby is an Alpha too. Derek is determined to take care of the abandoned child, and Stiles is stuck going along for the ride.

But Stiles doesn’t expect the ride to include seeing another side of Derek, or to find another way to say “family.”

8. Holding Your Own Weight by zjofierose

Stiles Stilinski is the best trapeze artist west of the Mississippi, but that doesn’t do him much good without a catcher. Enter one quiet roughneck who calls himself Derek and knows maybe a little too much about circus arts for someone who was hired to schlep tents. But Derek has his secrets, and so does the new girl, Allison. Who’s being hunted and who’s being haunted, and will Stiles ever be able to convince Derek to help him fly again?

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Watch Me Babygirl [pt.2]

A much requested part two! 

[previous part] [next part] [pt.4] [pt.5] [pt.6] [pt.7] [pt.8] [pt.9] [pt.10] [pt.11]  [pt.12] [pt.13] [pt.14]

Summary: Jungkook is your brother’s annoying best friend. You can’t stand him but he just can’t resist teasing you. How far will he actually go?

warnings: language


“Hey are you going to the game tonight?”

You slid farther down in your seat, doing your best to continue to ignore Jungkook. You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye all week. In fact, you’d even contemplated faking an illness to stay home from school just so you could avoid him. However, school was important to you and a small part of you didn’t want to give the Jungkook the satisfaction of knowing that he’d gotten to you. He had though, and he knew it.

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Writing is Hard, pt 9: Sexting

Summary: You send Dean some dirty pictures.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Warning: Smut, taking pictures during sex

Word Count: 2600ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO


You hold up the phone, then almost instantly put it down.

This is stupid.

No. This isn’t stupid. This will be hot. Just do it.

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Everything

Summary: AU. Reader rushes to her ex-boyfriend’s side when he’s in an accident.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,733

Warnings: language, angst, referenced car accident/motorcycle accident, hospital, doctors, injury, fluff, more angst, more fluff, drunk driving mention, nothing gory, I’m not a damn doctor okay? Shonda Rhimes taught me this shit.

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3

111. A (whispering): I really like you and want to kiss you a lot.
       B: What?
       A: I said you suck. 
+
107. Do you live on Elm Street, because you’re a nightmare.

(yas! tom holland omg imma tear up! *tears up*) Here you go, love!! :)

Growing up in a family of boxers, you were never the typical girl who played with dolls and thought everything in pink. For your ninth birthday your uncle and your father bought you your first set of throwing knives. 

Every day from your Summer holiday you practised with them on the targets they placed to you in the backyard of your house. And with every year you were getting better and better, but your heart wanted more.

Yes, by the age of eighteen you have already mastered the art of blades, but you didn’t stop there. Your soul was saturated with lust for adrenaline and you were always looking for more.

This got the attention of some very dangerous people. Your confidence got the best out of you when in one night - outnumbered one to ten, you pushed yourself to your very limits, knocking out seven of your opponents, but on the verge of your strenght you were about to lose your life…

If it was not for Steve Rogers, whose attention you managed to capture after seeing you fight in this dark alley. He saved you back then and helped you get a grip of your unstoppable desire for adrenaline.

With his guidings you became not even a better fighter, but a better version of yourself and he was also seeing this. So when he told you The Avengers wanted you to join them and become one of them you were on the Seventh sky.

Things were alright for a few months. Though a part of the team your strongest bond was still with Steve. Tony and Steve were the people you admired the most, while Natasha’s training made you acknowledge the fact that it’s better to fight elegantly, and smart, not full of aggression and violence.

But nothing that’s too good can last forever.

Today was the day. The Avengers were a team no more and today you were about to face them, fight them, maybe even hurt some of them. As much as it pained you to stand there - a few feet away from Clint and Tony and all the people you admire and have fought side by side; at the end of the day you had to pick a side.

Steve has been there for you from the very start and so you were about to return him the favor - ready to fight until the last drop of blood.

However you couldn’t help but notice the new addition to the family. “So that’s him the new guy. ” - you said, eyeing the guy in red suit, though you didn’t know that behind his mask he was checking you out as well. 

Like fully checking you out. “Earth to Peter” - Tony’s robotic voice brought the boy back to reality - “We’re about to do some serious shit, can’t have you checking girls out all day” - “Sorry, Mr. Stark, won’t happen again”

Tony couldn’t roll his eyes more than that. Fortunatelly for you, you didn’t hear any of their conversation, because boy, that would have made things very awkward.

“Just like we talked about it”- Steve told you with a nod of his head “Roger that!” and you bolted to the left. “Ah, Mr. Stark?” - “Don’t ask kid, go!”

And so it begun.

Steve knew Tony would be looking for someone new to take your place on his team and told you to keep the new one out of their way, when you were done you could go back and help with the rest.

Sprinting forward you felt yourself losing your balance and in the matter of a second you were now in the air “Oh, shit” - you cursed, looking up, just as your body got slammed against a truck. “I’m so sorry about that! Didn’t mean to hurt–” you pushed your body up and jumped back to your feet, landing a blow on him.

He bent over, using this chance you threw yourself at him, twirling your legs around his neck and knocked him out on thr ground. He grunted in pain, but you waited not a single second - throwing a set of three knives at him, but he leaped up, shooting his webs to the wall behind you.

“Damn it!”- you hissed, teeth clenched. He was fast, you would give him that. “Please – I – really – don’t want – to hurt you!!” - landing a series of kicks and blows on him, his words were just a white noise to you - “But I guess you leave me no choice” - the next time you tried to jump at him with a kick he swung his web at your leg, capturing it and bringing you to the ground.

Shocked, you weren’t quick enough to escape his next attack, but he just jumped over you - shooting away more of his web - trapping you to the ground. You glared at him - “I’m Peter Parker by the way” - he introduced himself an obvious smile in his voice. “You’re very pretty, we should go out sometimes –”

You used his little talk to pick up a knife from your left boot and cut off your restraints and then tossing it at him, but he dashed to the side and dodged off your attack. Just in time for you to thrust yourself in the air, spinning around and strike him with anoter hard hit. 

He fell, rolling on the ground, just as you landed on the cold cement gracefully.
 Approaching him, you heard him groan in pain heavily. You knelt down and pulled his mask up.

Eyes narrowed because of the sunlight that was caressing his face ”So now that we fought and stuff is it safe for me to admit I really like you and want to kiss you a lot” he mumbled, a pained smile on his face, but you didn’t really pay attention - too interested in observing his face “What?”- you asked nonchalantly.

He just tilted his head back in desperation, hitting the floor with it - “I said you suck, like girl do you live on Elm Street, because your hits are nightmare, God, for a girl you really hit hard”.

He was rubbing the back of hit head with one hand. You stood up chuckling and throwing his mask back at him - “Lakeview Drive, 8 o’clock” - you said putting your knife back in your boot.

He just made a very confused “huh?” sound and you turned back at him with a wink - “If you’re still up for that date, pretty boy.”

We Knew It!

Harry Potter Finally Owning up to Dating Draco Malfoy?

                Harry rolled his eyes at the latest cover of the Daily Prophet. Yes, he and Draco were seen a lot together but that was because they were friends. Friends. Nothing more.

                For years the media has been telling the whole wizarding world that there just had to be something more going on between the two of them. Despite the fact that since they have left school, nearly five years ago, both of them have had different partners.

                Thinking about the blonde always brought a smile to his face, they had made an unlikely friendship during their eighth year and it held strong since. Draco was honestly one of his best friends. The man had seen him through depression, breakups and many self-doubts.

                A whoosh in the distance let him know that someone was coming through his floo. He already knew that it would be Draco. The blonde was the only one who never bothered with niceties and being polite enough to give notice.

                Harry checked the time as a very disheveled Draco came into his kitchen. “Either your blind date when very well or very bad.”

                Draco glared weakly as he threw himself into a chair. “It was bloody awful. Worst date I have ever been on in my life.”

                The exaggeration had Harry rolling his eyes as he peered at his friend in curiosity. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

                “Oh, it was.” Draco argued as he closed his eyes and wished to vanish into thin air. “It went so awful that I have decided to become celibate and adopt hundreds of animals to appease my lonely, bitter heart.”

                “You hate animals.”

                Draco opened one eye. “Don’t ruin this for me.” He smiled when Harry let out a heavy sigh.

                “Tell me what happened.”          

                Despite it being a blatant demand, Draco sat up and admitted defeat. “It’s horribly embarrassing.” He warned.

                Harry smirked widely. “Good. I am in need of something to cheer me up.”

                “Why am I friends with you?” The question was worded as if Draco himself had no idea.

                “Merlin, I have no clue. I wonder that myself sometimes.”

                Draco rolled his eyes as he chose to ignore this completely. “Pansy is never to be trusted again when it comes to picking out someone of interest.”

                This wasn’t news to Harry. He himself had gone on a blind date the woman set up for him and that hadn’t been a good idea. Not at all. He was beginning to wonder if she did it on purpose.

                “The guy was decent looking enough.” The reluctance was thick. “That is if one is to ignore the blindingly bright smile that never left his face and the overly happy eyes.”

                Harry bit his lip to stop from laughing. Figures Draco would find a happy person undesirable.

                “I wasn’t really feeling the date too much but I was still willing to give it a chance. Even after he took me Marquis.”

                That had Harry wincing slightly. He knew that Draco abhorred that place. The blonde said it was a knock off of true ambiance. Somewhere only desperate people went to.

                “The conversation left much to be desired but I knew he would probably be somewhat decent in bed.” Harry snorted loudly.

                “But this all went to shite when our waitress recognized me.”

                Draco watched concern flitter across Harry’s face and he smiled softly in response. “Oh, not because of being an ex-Death Eater, mind you.” He paused to shake his head. “She recognized me as the ‘true love partner of Harry Potter’, that was a direct quote, by the way.”

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Ten Ways to Say “I love you” - Jim Kirk

Summary: There are a lot of ways to say something without actually saying it.

Warnings: language

A/N: a little long. also if jim kirk called me starlight, i’d probably cry n profess my love right then and there. forgive any n all typos. enjoy it and lemme know what you think! 


One

The absurdly bright lights lining the corridors of the Enterprise pricked your eyes— you were forced to squint as your legs carried you. The air pouring through the vents pinched any of your skin that remained unclothed. You flexed and contracted the oddly tired joints in your fingers— you could hear tiny pops and the soft sounds felt like battering rams against your eardrums.

You cursed yourself for two reasons: losing your left boot as the time-consuming search for it resulted in your inability to replicate a much needed mug of coffee, and drinking so much with Leonard the night before. While you accepted the former was entirely your doing, you split the blame on the latter— half of it was your fault, and half was Leonard’s. It’s those stupid puppy eyes, you told yourself.

You leant your shoulder against the transparent wall of the turbolift you solely occupied and crossed your arms over your chest. Your teeth were gritted— as if grinding your teeth to nubs would give you the day off and rid you of the heavy weight crushing your skull.

The doors slid open before your desired deck and you didn’t bother stifling a sigh that carried the weight of two starships. You dropped your gaze to glare at your scuffed boots rather than subject the new lift patron to your scowl and dagger eyes.

“Rough night?”

You lifted your head at the sound of his voice and met his eyes. You frowned immediately and nodded twice. “Bones and I had paperwork.”

“What would you say the ratio was this time?” he asked, his crossed arms rumpling the command gold fabric that was firmly stretched over his chest. He was smiling slightly in amusement as he took in your appearance— messy hair, half-zipped left boot, heavy lidded eyes.

You shrugged and eyed the ceramic mug in his hands. You could have moaned at the smell steaming out of it. “I’d say about two charts to one glass.”

“How many charts in total?”

“Fourteen each,” you winced at the revelation and took your eyes from Jim’s when the amusement painted his features red.

Seven glasses of whiskey in one sitting,” he said with a laugh. “No wonder you look like that.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How dare you! I look adorable— like a celebrity running errands.”

“‘Cept you’re about to start an eight-hour shift.”

You sighed so your shoulders slumped. “My rough night’s turning into a rough morning— I didn’t even have time to replicate coffee because of my stupid missing boot.”

Jim glanced down at his mug and thrust it in your direction without thinking twice. “Take mine.

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It Wasn’t Real (part five)

Summary: You’re part of the infamous Loser’s Club, and often asked, what are you afraid of? You reply, nothing, but what your friends don’t know is that your biggest fear is them.

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - finale

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

Pairing: Loser’s Club x Reader, slight Henry x Reader (you’ll see) Stan x Reader and slight Bill x Reader 

Warnings: force, bullying, depressing and sad tones, this is an AU.

Tag’s List: @chalatea - @darlingimafangirl - @chalatea - @myfriendmagislit -@frozenhealswrites - @fl0werb0nes18 - @emotionallyenterprised - @alec-lighwccd - @bellasett - @starshininginthedark - @tastefulcaring - @impulsivesuperrobin - @newtandthediamonds - @huge-waste-of-time - @jess-sxcks - @theoraekensnotsosecretlover - @moonageharry - @nieligator - @sufferingstilinski - @the-fantastic-fandom-dork - @horsiesandstuff - @arianamichelle04 - @alloffmyships - @darlingimawriter - @gcnnyweasleys - @redvelvet-cupcake - @almusanzug - @d0nt-g0-imagines - @brighter-thanthe-sky - @murphamy-minefeild - @celestesfairy - @fly-like-a-grayson - @emrysaaryn - @holy-minseok - @antiherojason - @multifandom-states - @mysticsthinking - @ladyfairenvale - @crazyinlovewithbatman - @shaniacboogara - @welcometoourcomputershow - @17marvelousfreak - @funtik2011 - @anon-leaning-against-a-trashbin - @terrashrone - @im-fandom-trash - @peachy-vixen - @negansgrimes - @my-fandomful-life
I will no longer be adding anyone!
bolded is who I couldn’t tag.


Originally posted by imultifandomstuff

“You’re- You’re not making any sense.”

You rolled your eyes; taking a step closer to Stan; “i’m making perfect sense.” You replied, shaking your head. You weren’t going to get anything figured out in the middle of the lunch room, you needed to go somewhere else. “What class do you have next?” 

Stan furrowed his brows, obviously confused by your sudden and random question. But nonetheless, he answered; “social. Why?” You don’t know what possessed you, or why you were being so forward. Any other time you’d been near Stan (or any of your ex-friends) you never knew what to say. They rarely acknowledged your presence, and if by chance they did, you found yourself at a loss for words

“Perfect.” Yet, this time it seemed different. Maybe it was the fact that Stan had searched you out, someone who hadn’t even made eye contact with you in three years. And in his own Stanley way, seemed concerned for you; it reminded you of what life use to be like. 

Reaching forward, you grabbed ahold of Stan’s wrist and began tugging him in the direction of the exit. You heard him sputter in confusion but didn’t fight the hand that pulled him. “Where are we going?” He asked, looking around him as you gained a few looks by your abrupt movement. You were lucky Henry decided not to come to school today. “Y/N, class starts in like five minutes!”

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Protégé [Part 6] (M)

Originally posted by jjks


[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3] - [Part 4] - Part 5]

Thirty-four hours.

It had been thirty-four hours since you’d yelled at Jungkook and he had left your office. It had been thirty-four hours since you’d collected yourself after shattering your phone set into pieces and ran out of your office looking for him. Jaebum told you with a dejected frown that Jungkook had left. Where to? His guess was just as good as yours, if not worse.

You ran out to your car, the chill of the night air biting against your bare arms and cheeks, but you’d be lying if you said you felt it. You went at a crawl through the streets, stomping down on the brakes and squinting to make out the face of each and every pedestrian you past who resembled Jungkook in any way. You had even called out to a few of them, earning you nothing more than odd stares or blatant ignorance. You didn’t believe he could have gotten very far, but after two hours of driving, there was no sign of him.

The hospital’s visiting hours were long over, which cut that out as an option. And it took a persuasive conversation and a few slow swipes of your tongue across your painted lips to convince the security guard of Jungkook’s apartment building to tell you that no one had come in or out since six that night. He’d left your building much later than that.

You returned to the building, your jaw aching from hours of clenching your teeth and your eyes downcast, staring at nothing in particular. Jaebum greeted you, and before he could get the chance to ask you what had happened, you held your hand up to him. You were tired of questions, you were tired of explaining things. But, mostly, you just didn’t want to relive the truth of the matter–this was entirely your fault.

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The Friendly Wager (Part 1)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,528

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, bad date, implied sexual situations (no smut)

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?” I think this will have at least seven parts, so Kait, please feel free to disregard it till it’s completed :)

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

Originally posted by talkinboutmyimagination

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Sunshine - Richie Tozier

Originally posted by mikestranger

word count: 11,179 
warnings: swearing, torture (sorta?), feels, pretty ffckin angsty 

[prompt 21: love is recognizing the value of the other person, and telling them  ]


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(s)he

This is that fic I was talking about the other day, the one I wasn’t sure I wanted to post. I ended up writing TWO similar but distinct fics (different POV, different ending) based on the premise of this fic because I just kept tinkering with it, so this is the second version. The first one… idk, maybe I’ll toss it or maybe I’ll post it later for the curious among you.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sterek high school AU, G, 1.7k words

Stiles thinks Scott is joking at first, mostly because he’s laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. “There’s a guy backstage asking for you by name. He’s got flowers.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to wiping the lipstick off his mouth. After four performances, he can get in and out of the dress and the wig in no time flat. He can even walk in heels without too much wobbling. But the lipstick? Bane of his existence. It still takes him a good five minutes of careful wiping and rubbing with petroleum jelly, and even then his mouth always has this odd orangish-coral tinge by the time he goes home for the night. By that point he’s usually too frustrated by the whole thing to even begin to bother with cleaning off the mascara.

Thank god this is closing night, and in a minute they can all go out for tacos and Stiles can set to work forgetting about lipstick for the rest of forever.

Scott’s still hovering at the door, anticipatory. “I think he likes you. Like, like-likes.”

“Ha ha,” Stiles says flatly. He tilts his head to the left and then to the right in front of the mirror, angling his face up into the lights. “Do you think I got it all?”

Scott gives him a careless glance. “Yeah, sure. Looks fine. But no, seriously, the girl who sells the tickets told me he’s shown up to every single performance.”

Scott isn’t joking. He’s laughing at Stiles (and okay, if their positions were reversed, Stiles would totally be laughing at Scott, too), but he isn’t joking. Fuck. Not even Stiles’ dad has come to every performance. 

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@requiemofkingssuper painful art got me thinking, and that’s never a good thing, so here’s the scene in question and there’s probably going to be a fic that comes out of this but honestly who knows with me, am i right? anyway this is almost 3k and probably the longest “short” fic I’ve written so yeah >_>


Andrew nudges Neil into their room and watches him shuffle inside, appearing a good bit drunk without a drop in him. “The next time you want to risk endangering the mission,” Andrew says once the door is closed and the lock has been slid home, “leave me out of it.” He arms their security system, the pocket-sized one that Renee insists gives them a perimeter of the room’s exact boundaries. Andrew believes her, but Neil is low-tech, so Andrew sets the far cheaper early-warning system of a string, a crowbar, and a bell as well before backing away from the door.

Neil scoffs, the drunk act dropped, and Andrew turns to find him already shucking off his tie, working out of his grey jacket. “Please. You’d be bored if I wasn’t constantly keeping you on your toes.” Neil finally discards the thin outerwear, and he’s left standing in just the black button-up and trousers. Andrew never liked the color on him.

“Bored but alive,” Andrew says, stepping forward to start undoing the buttons of Neil’s shirt. Inch by inch, scarred flesh opens up to him, ending too soon when Andrew tugs the shirt free of Neil’s waistband.

The soft hum that slips from Neil is just as soothing as the man’s fingers skimming Andrew’s throat before working at undoing his tie. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Andrew settles a glare on the idiot, but Neil doesn’t meet his gaze, focused on his own long fingers and the path they sear down Andrew’s front as they undo each button with an artist’s precision.

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anonymous asked:

I am astounded at how your brilliant observation skills make themselves known in a beautiful analysis. I hope this isn't too much for one ask, but what are your all-time favorite dan and phil moments (anything from tweet replies to live shows) from 2k16 ? This year was a momentous turning point in terms of the phandom, but please don't hold back your thoughts. Even if your answer is a novel's length long, I'll read it with delight.

there is just absolutely no way i could do this question justice so i thought a creative way to answer would be a post of the top ten screenshots of ~phan moments~ i took last year. that was fucking hard to narrow down but i steered towards moments from earlier in the year that have been overshadowed by all of the gross moments from october onwards. and also i’m crying now so .. here they are in roughly chronological order: 

1. their christmas gifts for each other and how excited they were about them and how unabashedly they shared them with us and how cute they were in the first place and also where are this years xmas gifts?!?? hello??? 

2. that time they went out to dinner to an italian restaurant in january and also all of their little date nights in january (to the magic show, the play, several movies, etc etc etc all one on one) and then their excitedly sharing the fact that they went together, and their not really caring if they ran into fans, as below: 

3. when they took 50 photos of themselves basically shoving their faces together and squishing each other and then sold them for charity 

4. when they took more photos of themselves sticking their faces together and sold them as merch 

5. the brits. fuck. the brits and how beautiful they were in the promo vids and the actual event and how in love they were and how proud of each other for getting hired to do such a high profile event three years in a row and how nostalgic and EVERYTHING about the brits

6. that time they didn’t care at all about blatantly sharing clothes. and blatantly matching. 

7. daddy. 

8. this iconic emoji usage by dan. also when 800 million people believed that dnp went on a romantic waterfall cruise for two instead of a grimy tourist boat with a million other people including drake the body guard. 

9. dan liking blatantly romantic phan art repeatedly. 

10. this. 

Payback (M)

Jimin x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, light choking, daddy kink, kinda public??, idk man it’s just filth

Word Count: 3,125

Summary:  Park fucking Jimin was sin incarnate, and he knew it too. You have had it with his extra ass on stage, he was always taking some article of clothing off and you were at your wits end. This means war.

A/N: This is my fic, I’m re-posting onto my sideblog.


Your jaw was on the floor after watching BTS’ new comeback stage. As if the low cut shirts, lip bites, sexual lyrics, and all around rudeness wasn’t enough, Jimin decided he needed to up the ante and undress on stage looking like sin itself. Fucker. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you decided he needed to be punished.

Dressing in all his favourites; your shorts, oversized sweater and thigh high socks that always got to him, you headed to the boys’ dorm for a movie night after making sure your coat covered everything. You arrived at the dorm quicker than anticipated, and after being let in by Hoseok and attacked by the boys with hugs, you learned that Jimin was still in the shower. Settling down on the couch you took your jacket off and got comfortable with a bowl of popcorn when you felt several pairs of eyes on you. Looking up, you saw the boys eying your outfit and you smiled to yourself, your plan already working. Jimin walked out of the shower with his hair still damp, wearing sweats and a loose t shirt. He looked around the room and noticed that all eyes were on you, a smile spreading on his face as he met your eyes, then he saw why they were staring and his face hardened.

Strike one.

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Sweet Gesture

Summary: Dean gets jealous when you go on a date and he tries to sabotage it.

Drabble Prompt: “Who the hell bought you flowers?”  

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Requested by: @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels


You’re half asleep, glaring at the clock as you shovel cinnamon oatmeal into your mouth. The grumpiness you’re feeling is still going strong, even though you’ve already consumed two cups of coffee.

The distant whistling from your roommate is getting closer as he pads down the hallway. Dean throws you a sleepy smile as he enters the kitchen and then pours himself a glass of OJ.

“Who the hell bought you flowers?” He gestures to the blue vase sitting on the kitchen counter, his cute face now contorted into a frown.

“Ryan.” You let out a disappointed sigh, instantly feeling shitty about it because he’s a nice guy. Unfortunately you hate the kind of flower that he picked but it’s the thought that counts. Right?

“He’s a dumb ass. You don’t even like those.” Dean scoffs back, fighting the urge to shove your flowers down into the garbage disposal.

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"You’re mister J’s new obsession, Sugar” 1/3- Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary : You have been married to Bruce for quite some years now, and you both knew it was inevitable that you’d get in danger one day…but you really never expected the Joker to start to be obsessed with you. CHAPTER 1/3. 

Warnings : mentions of sex, also, Bruce is “old” if that bothers you in any way…If your like me and have a thing for older guys, then carry on please.

PART TWO PART THREE

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

_______________________________________________________________________

Looking at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom, you groaned and turned around to glare at your husband that was taking a shower. He immediately felt that you were staring, but to his disappointment, it wasn’t for the reason he hoped for…

-Is something wrong dear ? 

-Yes Bruce, something’s wrong. How old are you ? 

-…What ? 

-Just answer my question honey. 

-…Hum, 46 ?

-Yes. 46. You’re 46 years old.  

At the way you were looking at him, mad as Hell, standing in the frame of the shower door that you just violently swung open, billionaire ex-playboy superhero Bruce Wayne got kinda worried. He was trying to figure out what he did that could have pissed you off that much, as you were really difficult to annoy, almost never getting angry…But boy when you were angry, it was scary. Apparently now though, you were more annoyed than mad. So he was trying to remember what he could have done. 

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