Let bad things happen to good people. Let your characters try and fail. And try again. And fail again. Let them be betrayed in the worst possible way. Let them betray others because they have no choice. Force them into situations that make them uncomfortable. Force them to argue or fight or bargain their way out. Drive them to the brink of insanity. Push them over the edge. Take everything away from them. Let them realize what they’ve lost.
Be kind to your characters.
Let faith and perseverance win out. Let love be enough. Let the Sun dry up the rain. Give them friends who will never leave. Let someone save them before the axe falls. Acquit them of false accusations. Give them the strength to stand up again. And again. When they’ve lost hope, give them something to believe in. Remind them there’s good in the world. Remind them there’s good in them, too. Surprise them. Make them laugh until they cry. Teach them that they can’t be broken.
Most importantly: balance.
Even the darkest tragedy has its moments of light; if your reader has no hope that things will get better, if your character doesn’t learn or become stronger for their suffering, the story becomes meaningless pain. Likewise, not only is it unrealistic for a character to go through life never encountering conflict or sadness, it’s boring. Not every conflict has to be life-or-death in order to be meaningful. Give your characters and your plots high points and lows; just make it real for them.
Summary: Dean and Reader are working a vampire case. When Dean decides to go in alone, things go a little differently than planned.
Word Count: 5204
Warnings: Swearing. Because I’m a fucking lady. Vampire gore and killing. Being tied up. Smut. Again, lady. Fingering. P in V sex.
A/N: This is for @luci-in-trenchcoats 2k Follower Challange. My prompt was “Wanna try that again like you mean it?”, which is bolded in the fic. Beta’d by the ever lovely @wheresthekillswitch. Thanks for helping me make what I had even better! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.
Tags at the bottom. If you want added/removed, let me know!
“Dammit, Dean, answer your phone.” You’re starting to get worried now.
This is the fourth time you’ve called him, and when his voice comes over the line telling you to leave a message, it’s the fourth time you’ve had to swallow down the fear so it doesn’t come through in your voice. “You were supposed to just watch him, Winchester. If you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again, so help me God, you’re going to pay.”
You end the call, tapping your phone against your palm as you try to think. You suck a breath in through your nose, hold it for 5 seconds, then release it. You need to clear your head, figure out your next step. He’s got the Impala, of course, so if you plan on finding the him you’re going to have to borrow a car for a bit. You grab your leather jacket off the chair back, swinging it over your shoulders, shoving your hands through the sleeves as you grab your room key and head for the door. You check your phone one more time before sliding it into your pocket, shutting the door behind you as you scan the parking lot of the motel, eyes squinted to the bright mid-day sun.
There aren’t many cars parked in the poorly paved lot, and the ones that are there aren’t ones you want to trouble yourself with. You jog over to the diner across the street, eyes hopping from one car to the next until you spot a nondescript compact sitting in the back row. Yahtzee.
It’s old enough you shouldn’t have to worry about a security system but still looks like it should get you where you’re going without worrying that it’s going to break down. You walk to the car with purpose, looking for all the world like you own it. You slow as you near, hand automatically reaching out to try the handle. It always amazes you how many people just leave their vehicles unlocked in these small towns. You curl your fingers under the handle and give a tug, and sure enough, the door opens right up. With a smirk, you slide in to hotwire it and get your ass moving.
a/n: i literally just wrote this in half and hour bc i was itching to write an imagine based on this beautiful gif^ (i don’t own it btw so credits to the owner). this is super short bc i need to go to sleep like right now so yeah excuse the shortness. and no this isn’t the imagine i was talking about in my 400 followers post but i’ll be posting that real soon hopefully! hope you guys like this :)
“That depends on if it’s working or not,” Tom replied with a lazy grin. He tilted his head and licked his lips a little nervously. “Is it?”
(Y/N) laughed softly sitting beside Tom on the couch. She couldn’t ignore the fluttery feeling in her stomach or the heat that had rushed to her cheeks. “Why don’t you decide?”
Tom grinned like a fool as she slowly leaned closer to him. The smell of his cologne wrapped around her like a blanket. She had never realised how good he smelt.
(Y/N) grabbed the collar of his silk pyjamas and pulled him towards her, the hands circling her waist not going unnoticed.
And then they kissed. Lips met lips. Flesh met flesh.
He kissed her slowly, sweetly and unhurriedly like he had all the time in the world to show her how much she meant to him. She smiled into the kiss and pulled away. She rested her forehead on his, his stylishly unkempt hair tickling her skin. Tom tried to lean in to steal another kiss but (Y/N) put her finger on his lips to stop him.
“Whoa there, cutie.” (Y/N) leaned back into the couch, head resting against the wall as she eyed him with a twinkle in her eye. “Wanna guess what my answer is?”
Tom’s slightly dazed look quickly faded and a smirk appeared on his lips. It was his turn to lean in close. The tips of your noses were touching and your eyes flickered down to his lips before fluttering shut.
Yeah, you all should have known this was coming… They don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing…
(This gif was made by my gorgeous friend Pam @saucynewf - and is being used with her permission)
Seriously, how much
is a girl supposed to take? You share rooms with these guys, watch
them walk around half-dressed, banter back and forth with them. You
take Dean’s suggestive, flirty comments and respond in kind,
telling yourself it’s all part of your friendship.
And then he does
Of all things, a
mechanical bull. You thought those things died out with Urban Cowboy.
But now, as you stand watching with your jaw clenched, and your nails
digging into your palms, and your thighs clamped together, Dean is
riding the fuck out of Larry, the centerpiece of the bar you went
into for the sole reason of grabbing some burgers.
You can’t tear
your eyes from him as his body sways, looking like he’s part of
that saddle. The muscles of his thighs are tight, holding firm, his
torso lean and lithe as he moves with it, sinuous and sexy as hell.
One arm waves above his head, giving him the balance he needs, the
other bicep bunched and bulging beneath the plaid shirt, unbuttoned
at the front to allow your eyes to cruise over where his t-shirt
clings to his pecs, his ribs, his belly.
“Do you know him?”
the waitress whispers, and you nod, your lips parted and your eyes
glued to Dean as the ride ends, and he slowly lowers himself back,
sprawled and smiling. “Lucky you,” she says, turning to go back
to work, and you blow out a breath, closing your mouth and lowering
request: Hiya! Love your blog! Maybe a jughead one where he is dating you but is more in love with Betty than he is with you. He tells you this and just a lot of angst. Thanks!!
warning: there’s a curse word in this, if anyone cares. also this is super depressing, yikes, sorry.
On that fateful day, there were three things you knew for certain.
The first, was that you were in love with Jughead Jones.
You really wish you could just say it was a stupid, teenage infatuation— a high school boyfriend that was nothing serious, but every time you looked at him you felt something that you couldn’t even place into words. Every time you saw his face in the hallways, pictures, down the street, in the distance, or up close— your heart would light up in some way. You remembered that looking at him when you first met felt like your heart was full of Christmas lights. You remembered very clearly, the feeling of sitting across from him at Pop’s, each of you doing your own thing, but sometimes you would look up at him and notice how beautiful he looked when he was concentrating: blue eyes reflecting computer screen colors, biting his soft lip harshly. Even worse, when he looked up at you and smiled.
You couldn’t help it: he was your first everything. Your first kiss, your first boyfriend, first everything. Sure, he was not the first person to call you beautiful, but he was the first person who made you believe it. He would often find you sitting on the roof of his tiny room at the drive-in, crying. You would always say it was because of the movie, but he would always know when it wasn’t. He would bring his hand up to your face, the pad of his thumb wiping a stray tear away. He gave you such a fierce look of sincerity in his eyes when he said it, “You’re so beautiful,” it was impossible not to believe him.
A/N: anyway the great animal cracker debate of the twenty-third century is my favorite part of this
You stared at the door and waited the polite amount of time.
Well, the polite amount of time for you— which was just the thirty seconds after you’d finished knocking.
You entered the code you’d memorized months ago against the control pad you used to struggle with when your friendship with Jim was new, and the door slid open easily. With a sigh and a clearing of your throat, you entered the dim quarters and replicated a cup of coffee for yourself— after all, his replicator was the best one on board.
Piping pastel yellow mug in hand, you took long steps to his bed. “Wakey, wakey, sunshine! Lights at fifty-percent,” you added, laughing when Jim groaned loudly and pulled his plain white comforter over his head as the lighting increased.
You pulled gently on the few strands of blonde hair that managed to peek out from above the edge of the comforter. You then tugged on the covers a bit, exposing everything above his nose. Your fingers moved from his hair to his high cheekbone, sweeping your thumb across his skin only to move a little lower to pinch the fleshier part of his cheek with force.
He hissed loudly and slapped your hand away, sitting up immediately. He placed his hand against the flushed skin and grimaced at you. “What the hell? It’s a day off!”
You hummed, holding out the cup of coffee to him. “Your voice is sexy when you’ve just woken up. All that rasp, that depth.”
“My voice is always sexy,” he mumbled, taking the cup and smirking as he brought the mug to his lips. Once he swallowed and gave the coffee back, he sighed to lean back against his headboard. “You better have a good reason for waking me up on a day I planned to sleep through.”
You bit down on your bottom lip and pushed up the sleeves of the black t-shirt you wore. “I do. So Chekov and I spent the whole night researching this television series from, like, the early twenty-first century. It’s about these residents at this one hospital, and they all tend to sleep with one another more than work on patients, and it’s so absurd,” you laughed, rolling your eyes to yourself. “Pash and I spent the whole night watching episode, after episode, after episode and it’s strangely addictive and I’m weirdly invested—”
“Is that my shirt?”
You hummed questioningly, looking down at yourself. “Oh. Yeah, it is. Anyway, the doctors—”
“Do you not own any clothes of your own?” His eyebrows were together, his head tilted, his lips fallen into a frown. His volume had increased by the time he stated with a scoff of frustration, “You don’t even ask anymore.”
Your own eyebrows came together. “Jim, —”
“It’s not like we’re having sex, or dating, or something,” he continued, shaking his head. “You should ask.”
“Okay,” you said, your eyebrows now raised. “I’ll ask from now on. I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I won’t do it anymore.”
He sighed loudly. “No, I want you to wear my shirts,” he told you, his volume still just as high.
“Is your goal to confuse me?”
He sighed again. “I want you to wear them after you sleep here, after you spend the night with me. I want you to wake me up as annoyingly as you do and I want it every single morning. I want all of that. Do you—” he sighed heavily. “Starlight, do you not see it?”
“Well, don’t yell at me about it,” you replied softly. You waited a few seconds before setting the coffee down onto the floor and kneeling on the bed.
You shifted so you were knelt before him, moving your knees to be on either side of him so you could straddle his lap. You pressed your lips to his briefly tasting coffee on him and sighing at the feeling of finally in your veins.
As you broke the kiss and he leaned forward to follow your lips, you offered him a small smile and placed a hand on his chest, drumming your fingers against the thin t-shirt he wore. “Ask me out nicely, don’t fight with me about it, and I might say yes.”
Summary: You (female reader) pine after Steve Rogers whilst Bucky is being a little shit. One night after an argument on the rooftop you wake up in each other’s bodies.
Pairing: Steve x Reader
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: Sexual content and swearing
A/N: I need you help guys - I’m torn between giving you shorter but more frequent updates on this story and wanting to make it a sizeable piece for you to read when it’s posted - what would you prefer?
You thought you were doing pretty well – there wasn’t much time for talking during the run. What you did find quite surprising is with what ease you managed to work up a really fast pace – easily keeping up with the Cap. Obviously, the super soldier serum must have enhanced Bucky’s body to a stage where normal physical exercise was not challenging any more. Steve lead with an unbelievably fast run, clearly in aim of actually giving you both a good workout. By the time you were finished, you must have run a marathon in less than an hour. At this point you were quite out of breath and welcomed your arrival at the Tower.
A/N: This is my first time writing for Peter Parker, and I hope I’ve done this request justice!! Feel free to send in more requests about this cutie pie!! Please don’t post this elsewhere without my permission!!
going, (Y/N)!” Sam hollers. “Get to the jet!”
hunker down behind a bench. From your vantage point, you can see Spiderman kicking
Sam and Bucky into a pane of safety glass. You duck your head to shield your
eyes, so you don’t actually see the windows explode. But you hear it. You feel
it, too. Those little shards of glass hurt
as they pelt onto bare arms and legs.
wish you’d thought to wear jeans.
go. You rise from behind your cover and sprint. Coach would be so proud, if he
could see you now.
“Your, mission, should you
choose to accept it, is to get through enemy territory, and hijack their jet.” So Captain America hadn’t
said it in those words exactly, but
the point he’d been trying to get across was essentially the same. Bucky and
Sam would keep you from having to engage anybody, leaving you free to slip over
to the Hangar and get the jet prepped and ready to go. You would have loved to
pilot a jet – say, maybe, after about ten
years of lessons, not after some hastily given instructions from ex-Agent
Barton – and had told Captain America as much. You only had a learner’s permit
for driving a car, not some fancy,
high-tech jet, but he was adamant on having you as the getaway driver.
if you were being honest, having Captain
America relying on you for help was pretty darn awesome.
warning comes too late. As you run onward and duck into a hallway, spandex-covered
arms embrace you from behind – one around your shoulders, one around your waist.
You put on an extra spurt of speed. The hands latch on. A shrill scream splits
the air. It sounds like you. But it’s a futile effort – Sam and Bucky are
securely trussed up, sticky webbing keeping them pinned to the floor. Even if
they wanted to help, they couldn’t.
“Let me go!” You demand, twisting and
kicking. “Let me go right this instant!”
the arms around you slacken; drop gracelessly back to their owner’s sides. You
scramble away, with wide and frightened eyes, until the small of your back hits
the concrete wall.
You stiffen. Oh, no. Please, no. The voice, though woolly and
quiet, is thoroughly familiar to you, from years of studying with him, talking to
him, being friends with him. “Oh,
God. Oh, God, why are you here?
(Y/n), you shouldn’t be here.”
You blurt out. “Peter, is that you?”
I’m not –” He’s nervously tripping over his words, trying to come up with a
suitable lie. “I’m Spiderman, not –”
lips twist up in a sad smile. “You’re a rotten liar, Peter.”
this time, he doesn’t try to deny it.
two of you had been best friends ever since the second grade, when your nanny had
forgotten to pack your lunch one day, and Peter had given you half of his tuna
and mayo sandwich. You’d shared every day, every moment … Every secret.
it would appear, not every secret.
… Spiderman, huh?” You manage, letting out a watery laugh that doesn’t hold
any real humor in it. Spiderman might have saved you once, but this side of
Peter is new and entirely foreign, much like the new and shiny suit that he’s
sporting. “You’ve – You’ve really been busy, huh?”
wonder when Peter was going to tell you; or if he was even planning to. Ever
since Uncle Ben had passed, Peter had been acting strange: Showing up to school
bruised and bloodied, cancelling days out together with only the flimsiest of excuses,
showing up late to the appointments he did
agree to go for …
now you finally, finally know why.
sorry, (Y/n),” Peter says miserably. Even under the mask, you know that his
forehead is creased and puckered up, warm chocolate eyes downcast. “I wanted to
tell you, but I didn’t – There was never a good time.”
Of course not.
what you’re really saying is: You don’t trust me.” It bursts out of you. You’ll
admit there’s a sour surge of satisfaction when Peter recoils, even though you
haven’t raised a hand to him. It comes out again, louder this time. “That’s what
it all boils down to, doesn’t it? I thought we were friends. I trusted you. I told you everything – the boys I liked, the
crushes I had. I thought –”
“Me?” Peter’s glumness turns into
irritation, and you realise your mistake. “I’m
not the only one keeping secrets! You
didn’t tell me that you’d be running around with Captain America and a bunch of
- Criminals. He doesn’t say it, but you know that’s what he
means. The word hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare at Peter, not moving,
not even blinking. A day ago, that wouldn’t have meant you. A day ago, you and Peter would have been in school. A day ago, the two of you would
have still been friends.
you had accepted Captain America’s request for help, you didn’t think that you’d
have to face off with your best friend in the process.
I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”
cracked something in you wide open. You stride away from the boy you once knew,
but you can’t leave yet.
“Fine,” You say, infusing the word
with venom. “Then arrest me. Take me
in. I’m just a criminal, right?”
voice rises in octaves, building up to a high crescendo. Your anger rises up, blooming
in your chest like a poisonous flower, and you focus on that, since it chases
away the chill that permeates deep into your bones. Blind now with a mingled
combination of hurt and anger, your hand lashes its way through the air in a
flicking motion, forcing the powers sleeping deep inside you to the surface.
Even though Peter’s standing motionless at least six feet away, he’s shoved up
into the air by an invisible force, slamming into the window behind you hard
enough to crush bones. He flies out the window with a shriek.
turn away from the remnants of shattered glass and a broken friendship, gloom already
gathering atop your shoulders to weigh you down. In another life, you might
have been fighting by his side, the
two of you working together as Avengers. Now you’ve become public
enemy number one.
Criminal, criminal. Your mind chants it over and
over again, in a sing-song, lilting voice, matching each syllable with your
racing pulse. I’m a criminal.
Here is a long ass fic to celebrate reaching 400 followers the other day! I adore each and every one of you, thank you for sticking with me and my crazy ass self.
You were never one to believe in the concept of fate, that was, until one Ignis Scientia stepped into your life one day when looking at a pastry.
Some say that repeated coincidences do not exist, that for
too many variables to combine means that whatever continues to occur must be
fate. Some said that it applied to everything; jobs, money, friendships. In
your experience, people had mainly applied the concept of fate to love, holding
the idea that, no matter who you were, there was some sort of a happy ending
You were slightly sceptical on the idea of fate yourself, in
every form. You had worked hard to be where you were in regards to your career,
your relationships with your friends, and so on. For someone to come along and
say that none of that mattered because you were going to end up there anyway?
Sod that, you believed that people determined their own destinies, took this so
called ‘fate’ into their own hands.
You marched toward your old bedroom – it was high time you cleared this up because how could Bucky be so casual about all this, yet you found it so antagonising? Why did it seem like a punishment to you, but he was casually strolling around the kitchen, smirking and flirting and being his usual ass-self? This was not fair, and you were on a mission to set things straight.
( hi! i saw this post with soulmate aus and there was one where whenever one half of the pair listens to a song or any music, the other half hears it as well, no matter the distance or whatever they are doing.. do you think you could use it with a michael x reader? it reminds me sm of him.. thanks! :) )
this is such a cute au like honestly you had me at soulmate au to begin with but then i was completely sold by the end of it
warnings: n o ne
There it was again. You weren’t familiar with the artist or the song this time, but half-way through your math test you were hit with whatever your soulmate was listening to. You were used to it - music coming on at the worst time sometimes, sometimes waking you up at the least expected times. But it was fine at times - the thought that you had a soulmate to share music with was warming, even with everything it came with. Normally, you’d have slipped your own headphones in if the song wasn’t good and turn on something else a little louder than your soulmate’s music. If they didn’t like it, they’d usually end up turning their music up a little louder, and eventually it’d be a little battle until one or the other turned off the music. But you were in the middle of a test and you didn’t need to fail it, so you let the song continue as you scratched out another answer.
Then it switched. They were playing something you actually enjoyed - probably because you played it after hearing it from your soulmate and sometimes it’d end up in the mix of songs they’d listen to. Your leg started to bounce slightly to the music, and you attention slipped from triangles into the lyrics. Damn it. You didn’t need this. You’d find your soulmate and punch them for all the times they played songs associated with memes when you were in the middle of a test.
Then there’s another change, half-way through the song. You frowned a little - it was just getting to the good part, what the fuck? - but look back to your test. Soon you’d be done and free for the afternoon. Soon.
There’s a pause.
You’re gonna punch your soulmate for rickrolling you again.
Frank Castle hasn’t been on a real date since the last time Hell’s Kitchen had a drive-in movie theatre. That was approximately a decade ago, if his math is right, but Christ only knows he isn’t great with numbers. Or dates. His general perception of time has begun to edge out of sync with reality, in all honesty.
So, apparently Natural Reader saves a wav file each time you use it. I just discovered this when I put all of the music on my phone on shuffle. One minute I was singing along to 90s pop music while folding laundry; the next my Google Home started reading a REALLY smutty scene from one of my WIP Rhink fics. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard your filthy words echoing from speakers throughout your house. I scrambled to turn it off, thinking maybe my husband hadn’t heard. Then, from across the house, he said, “Well, don’t leave me hanging. What did Rhett find when he lifted Link’s skirt?” 🙈
Said I’d write more of it and I did! It feels kinda rushed at a certain point and I am meh about that but hope the rest is good
Hot water spurt out of the faucet, raining down marvelously on the tiled floor. You smiled, holding your hand up to it and watching the mud, mostly dried now, run off your hand before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature would be heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders and your smile widened.
Note:Ahhh, I wrote this so long ago and I’m not sure if I still like it .But here! All revamped and made pretty for the masterlist so meh~
After standing alone in a unfamiliar living room for the last half hour, you were officially ready to kill Jung. It was no secret that you hated frat parties, favouring curling up in your second - hand (hey, it was cheap), worn chair with one of your favourite books or watching reruns to staying out late with drunk students. You could be quite shy around those you didn’t know, and hated being forced to down bitter tasting beer while drunk classmates would pull you into their sweaty embraces. Also, due to your dislike of alcohol, you were often the only sober person in the house, having to deal with your classmates drunk antics.
You would never forget that on the rare occasion that you went to a party, the boy who sat next to you in Art History had pinned you to a wall and tried to shove his tongue down your throat. Obviously he was too drunk to aim and ended up with a mouthful of hair rather than your lips, but it was enough to put you off parties even more than before. You hadn’t been able to look at him the next day, awkwardly nodding when he had apologised. However you did try to enjoy yourself on the weekends, earning it after the gruelling week. Sometimes you would invite some of your friends to your tiny dorm room provided by the school to go on a movie marathon. There had been a slight mix up with the rooms at the collage, meaning you didn’t have a roommate, and the school hadn’t assigned you one yet. However after a disastrous week, chock full of meetings and assignments due in, you were ready to get a pizza, hide in a mountain of blankets and fall asleep in front of the season finale of the crown. However when Jung had arrived at your door in the early evening, and almost broke down your door with her violent knocking, your plans had been thrown to the wind.