let's just close in on rob's face for an entire minute


A subtle reminder that Rob is the father in real life [for added effect]

anonymous asked:

Hi so I absolutely adore the fics you've posted so far for bmc. It really brings to light the emotions of the characters and it's so well done. If it grabs your fancy, would you consider writing one where Jeremy becomes so delirious (from getting sick or a headache from the squip or something) that he spills all the self-deprecating things the squip told him to say to Michael? It would make my world if that existed, especially in your style of writing. <3

“Is Jeremy here today?” 

“Jeremy’s always Heere.” Michael says automatically without looking up from his phone. Where he is currently texting Jeremy. He’s almost forgotten that there are people actually around him when someone hits him across the back of his head. “Ow what the hell, Rich!

“Don’t even try, you brought that on yourself,” Rich says and the lisp does nothing to diminish the glare he’s got fixed on Michael. 

“If anything you brought that pun on yourself!” When Rich looks like he’s going to hit Michael again, or possibly punch him in the throat for better reach, Michael decides the safest thing is probably to just tell him what’s up. “Alright, yeah no, Jeremy stayed home today. I texted him this morning and apparently he’s sick. I’m gonna go see if he needs anything after school so if there’s anything you wanna tell him I can pass the message along.”

“Nah, I was just wondering since I hadn’t seen him even though I’d seen you.” When Michael only looks confused Rich continues, “Dude. You’re pretty much attached at the hip as much as two people who aren’t actually attached at the hip can be.” 

“You’re over exaggerating.”

“Oh yeah? Is that right?” 

“Yeah that’s right,” Michael says, looking down at his phone again. 

“Just out of curiosity,” Rich says with a suspicious air of innocence, “who’s that you’ve been texting?” 


“This entire time since I came up to you-”

“I don’t appreciate-”

“and probably the entire day since you found out he won’t be he- at school?”

“Well I can’t just ignore him when he’s sick and miserable now can I?” 

Rich’s responding smirk tells him he definitely just rose to a very obvious bait and probably should have just kept his mouth shut. 

The thing is, Jeremy doesn’t do well when he’s sick. To start it off, he has no self-awareness or any clue at what warrants a sick day at home so it’s a miracle he actually didn’t come to school only to have Michael drag his sniffling and swaying ass home. Michael just assumes that Mr. Heere most likely was awake and forced Jeremy back to bed before taking off to his brand new job. 

Michael doesn’t bother with ringing the doorbell when he gets to Jeremy’s house. He knows the key is under the doormat out front, despite how many times he’s told Jeremy it’s the dumbest place in the world to put the house key (”Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you literally get murdered”, “Michael nobody even gets robbed this part of town!”, “Well there’s a first for everything!”). He unlocks the door, grumbling about safety and mostly lack thereof the entire time before he makes his way up the stairs to Jeremy’s bedroom. 

He hear the coughing before he’s even half-way up. He knocks on the door and shouts a quick “Don’t be naked,” purely out of curtesy, before barging in. 

“Hey Mich-” Jeremy’s raspy voice is cut-off by wet sounding coughs that tear through his body and forces him to turn over on his side so that he won’t choke. 

“Holy shit dude,” Michael says eloquently as he sits down on the bed next to Jeremy’s form. “I got you some cough drops,” he pauses as Jeremy’s cough takes over the conversation yet again, “but I honestly don’t think any cough drops in the world is gonna do shit for you right now.” 

“Ugh…” Jeremy looks up at Michael with wet eyes, “dad got me somethin’” he says and makes a gesture in the general direction of his bedside table where a bottle of something Michael presumes is medicine is residing. “It’s meant to like,” he makes a questionable gesture with his hand, “loosen up the crap in my throat, so that it doesn’t get stuck. Which is great and all but in turn means tha I’m coughing up slime every minute.” 


“Tell me about it.” Jeremy says with a sigh and rolls onto his back again. Michael reaches out and puts his hand on Jeremy’s sweaty forehead, just to check. He nearly snatches his hand back after half a second and the only thing that stops him is that Jeremy had closed his eyes the second Michael touched him and is now letting out a sigh as if he’s actually remembering to relax for the first time today. 

“Dude, you’re burning up.” He feel slightly concerned now. Jeremy had told him he was sick but this is… a lot more than he had let on while texting. 

“Mm-hm…” Jeremy says, his eyes are still closed and there’s no actual indication that he’s heard Michael at all. Michael strokes his hand across Jeremy’s forehead and ignores the disgusting feeling of sweat clinging to it. It must feel nice to get something cool touching his hot skin. 

“Hey Jeremy,” he says as he strokes his thumb up the bridge of Jeremy’s nose, “I’m gonna go get some damp towels so you can cool down a bit, yeah?” and so he can get rid of some of that gross-ass sweat currently covering Jeremy’s body as far as he can see. Jeremy seems to have tossed his blanket practically across the bedroom at some point to alleviate some of the heat but even in nothing but a tank-top and boxers he looks like he’s going to boil from the inside-out. When he comes back with four smaller towels and a bowl of cold water Jeremy hasn’t opened his eyes and Michael thinks he might’ve fallen asleep. He arranges one of the towels over Jeremy’s eyes and the latter lets out a sigh of immense relief. “Does your head hurt, Jer?”

“Why’re you being so nice…” Jeremy’s voice is weak and it sounds like it hurts to talk. Michael frowns at the words. 

“When am I ever mean to you?” He asks with a scoff.

“You’re just always nice even after what I did.” Michael has to swallow down an automatic feeling of dread. Any reminder of the Squip usually has that affect. 

“We’re past that, Jeremy.” He keeps his voice quiet so he still sounds calm and not at all like his heart is beating out of his chest.

“I still hear him sometimes.” The words are so simple, and said so softly but it still seems like Jeremy is screeching, as though he’s calling out for help. 

“What do you mean?” He desperately tries to keep his voice calm as he sits down next to Jeremy, he wishes he hadn’t put a towel over half of Jeremy’s face now, wishes he could see what’s going on with Jeremy’s facial expression.

“I keep trying to-” Jeremy has to pause for a second as his voice breaks, “I just want to be better than what he said I was.” 

“Jeremy whatever he said it-” Michael’s words are interrupted by Jeremy who seemingly isn’t done. 

“He would always tell me how terrible I was, how I was gross and how everyone else thought so too…” Michael grabs Jeremy’s hand and squeezes it, unsure what else to do. “Fuck he was right. He was always right.” 

“That’s not true…” Michael whispers shifting so that he’s sitting closer to Jeremy, still squeezing his hand tight. 

“I still hear him, and- and sometimes I forget I don’t have to listen anymore!” Jeremy’s voice is shaky and Michael knows he’s crying, “I keep forgetting I don’t have to say it too.”  

“What do you mean?” Michael doesn’t want to know, but if Jeremy needs to talk he’ll listen, he’ll always listen. 

“He’d make me say things-things about myself…” comes the delayed response and this time Michael listens to the urge that’s telling him to remove the towel from Jeremy’s eyes, his headache be damned. He won’t let Jeremy get so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t remember he isn’t alone. Jeremy blinks his eyes open, and Michael notices right away that he was right. Jeremy’s eyes are red and the second the towel is off his eyes start to water and he looks so frightened and so small that Michael wants nothing more than to take all of the bad, horrible things the Squip told him and make them disappear. He knows he can’t though, the best he can do is just sit there, and hold Jeremy’s hand. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly and brings Jeremy’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the sweaty palm, “but I’m here, okay? I’m right here, and I’m listening.” Michael can’t be sure if his words do any good as Jeremy only seems to cry harder, but Jeremy needs to know he’s not alone. It takes a few minutes but after a while Jeremy seems to calm down enough to continue.

“Everything about me makes me wanna die.” Jeremy sniffs and fresh tears spring to his eyes and all Michael can do is gather Jeremy up in his arms and hold him close. “He’d make me repeat that…” Jeremy continues, “and I didn’t- I felt it. He just took things I already thought and felt and made me- I want him gone!” Michael’s heart breaks as Jeremy’s ramble ends in a wail, “I want him gone I want him- he’s still- Michael!” Jeremy sobs and grabs at the front of Michael’s shirt. 

“I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. He can’t do shit anymore. He-it’s just a voice and it’s awful and I hate it but that’s all it is. it can’t do shit to you anymore.” Even as he says it he isn’t sure if it’s true. With Jeremy still sobbing in his arms, he feels powerless and wonders silently if the Squip isn’t already doing shit, or if he’s just done enough damage to last Jeremy a lifetime. 

He pushes the thought away and squeezes Jeremy tighter. 

paperweight | pcy

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

park chanyeol. reader-insert. 5,2k words. fluff/angst. au

—it couldn’t hold onto those letters forever. Neither could he hold onto her.

this one is for Liv @xiuminsm

Dear Chanyeol, 

I’m not quite sure whether to classify you as dumb or cute. Seriously, Park Chanyeol? You sent a ring along with a letter with the words “will you marry me?”and a doodle of yourself kneeling, I can’t believe you!

Oh, and PS: Yes, I will.

Love, ____.

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It’s April 26th, and it’s hot, unbearably hot. Harry feels like his insides are melting, about ready to ooze out of his body. He doesn’t remember it being this stifling the last time he was deployed; it’s like the heat is magnified, weighing him down, dragging him into the dirt. He’s trying to stay focused, he really is, but he has sweat dripping into his eyes and he’s miserably dehydrated and he feels off balance in every sense of the word. Liam asks if he’s feeling okay, and Harry nods slowly, furrowing his brows, wondering if he’s really that transparent. He feels pathetic, slightly, and weak for being the only one this affected by the 108 degree sun. He forces himself to keep up with Liam’s strides, his gear heavy, and by the time they catch up to Rob and Colin, Harry’s vision is spinning.

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Crayons Can Melt On Us

JILY CHALLENGE | @prongsno vs @alicelongbottom

summer tropes + you are drunk and rambling on about how nice the angle of my elbows are at this music festival but I can’t find your friends and I’ve lost mine, wanna spend the rest of the night getting drunk and dancing together??

(read on ao3)

Lily Evans blames Mary MacDonald. For everything.

It’s always Mary who’s getting her into trouble. Detentions, fights, blind dates…

But this time’s different.

This time they’re at the Leeds Festival, both completely hammered and belting out the words to One Direction’s ‘Kiss You’. She doesn’t even like them, but when Mary bought her drink number two and started spitting out the lyrics (literally the whole song, not even one word misplaced) to Outkast’s Hey Ya they somehow ended up on boy bands.

Now Mary’s arm is around her waist and they’re grasping onto their cups like it’s their life support. Lily hiccoughs and then suddenly Mary is crying.

Her boyfriend of ten months broke up with her last week. He’s been cheating on her for about two weeks and she only found out because she rang his phone and, of course, who should answer but this girl who says that said boyfriend is in the shower.

“D’ya know he rang asking for my forgiveness?” Mary sobs, gulping down another drink. “That rotten scumbag had the acidity to wait no… the - the adadcity?”

“Aud-acity. ‘Sjust think of the car.”

A group of people in flower crowns walk past at this moment, each biting into a hot dog or kebab or hamburger respectively.

When was the last time she ate?

Lily’s stomach churns at the thought but she’s got no idea if that’s out of hunger or nausea. She decides to sniff the air, the crisp wonderful and gross smell of barbecue and dripping fat with a portion of chips on the side sounds… amazing.

“Y’know what I need?” Her friend’s voice rings out in her ears. It’s a faint voice compared the noise of the festival around them, but being best mates for seven years means she’s now accustomed the soft song of Mary MacDonald.

“A nice juicy hamburger?”

“That too. But also a… a toe-curling and heart palpitating snog.” 

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AU where Geno and the pens are part of a secret organization that time travels to maintain the flow of historic events, and on one mission, Geno is tasked to go back to the 1820s to save a man (whose great-great grandson will eventually be key to a medical breakthrough that will change history) from a freak accident involving a horse carriage gone rogue. 

Anyways, the man is super thankful and insists on treating Geno to dinner, and Geno is hesitant because he’s really not supposed to interact this much with the subject but the man won’t hear a no. So Geno gets taken to this guy’s estate and meets Sidney, the man’s youngest son, who is beautiful and intelligent and basically Geno’s exact type. So right there and then Geno knows that he’s screwed. 

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Cassian x Reader, Part 1

Title: Whatever It Takes / AO3 
Part 2: tumblr
Part 3: tumblr
Length: 7.5k
Series rating: M for language and sexual content (contains some torture)
Summary: Reader and Cassian have kept their relationship a secret but when Reader is captured and tortured by the Empire, it’s obvious to all of Yavin 4 that Cassian will stop at nothing to get her back.
Author’s Note: A lovely anon requested this incredible idea and I immediately fell head over heels in love with it. Starts out pretty angsty but there will be fluff to make everything better, promise. :) Happy reading!! XOXO
Masterlist / WIP List 

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anonymous asked:

Can you write Aaron/Rob getting carried away, and Aaron gives Rob a massive love bite/hicky on his neck, and Robert doesn't realise till the morning and he's rushing for a meeting. Aaron has no regrets at all :)


Aaron groaned, shoving his face further into his pillow, figuring if he ignored his husband hard enough, Robert would just leave him be. He didn’t have to be up for another half an hour at least, forty five minutes if he just ate his breakfast in the car on the way to the yard, and yet Robert was still being a pest.


“What?” Aaron yelled back, voice croaky and hoarse with sleep.

So much for “being up and gone without even waking you” Aaron thought to himself, annoyed enough at Robert to contemplate just shoving his head under the duvet and pretending like he couldn’t hear him.

Robert stomped into their bedroom, half dressed in a suit, a furious expression on his face. “Look at my neck!” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly at his neck and shoulder, Aaron clearly missing something.

“It’s dark, can’t see,” Aaron mumbled, eyes half closed as he pretended to be interested in whatever meltdown Robert was having at 7:30am.

Robert slammed a hand against the lightswitch, flooding their room with light bright enough to give Aaron an instant headache.

“Turn the light off!” Aaron shoved his face into his pillow again, trying to escape the bright light.

“Not until you look at my bloody neck, Aaron!”

Aaron groaned, forcing himself into a sitting position, squinting at his husband. Taking a second to appreciate Robert’s half naked form, his suit trousers slung low on his hips, the waistband of a pair Aaron’s boxers clearly visible. He couldn’t help but be distracted by the familiar trail of hair on Robert’s stomach, pale skin that was oh-so inviting (even at this hour of the morning.)

Dragging his gaze up Robert’s body, Aaron noticed the gigantic hickey on Robert’s neck, the bruise blooming purple and black across Robert’s collarbone, positioned a little too high to be entirely covered by a shirt and tie.

“Sorry,” he snorted, unable to do anything except laugh (and admire his handiwork a little bit, if he was honest - it was an impressive size of a hickey.)

Robert glared at him, tie in hand, shirt hanging off his shoulders. “You’re not the slightest bit sorry, are you?”

Aaron laughed, sitting up a little more, pulling Robert in by his belt. “No,” he confirmed, easily buttoning up the familiar buttons of one of Robert’s pristine white shirts, the material pulled taut across his husbands body. “I’m not sorry.”

“I’ve got a major meeting, Aaron,” Robert sighed, hands hanging limply at his sides as he let Aaron do up his shirt, Aaron giving his arse an appreciative squeeze as he tucked Robert’s shirt into his trousers.

“You look very professional,” Aaron said, closing Robert’s belt, leather expensive under his fingertips. “Now, go and kick arse at this meeting, and I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

Robert’s grumpy expression eased slightly. “Yeah?’

“I’ll get dinner in, from that Thai place you like in Hotten,” Aaron promised, fingers knotted in Robert’s belt loops. “And I’ll let ya do whatever you want to me later.”

Robert relented, leaning down to press a kiss to Aaron’s lips. “I’m not sorry about waking you up, just for the record. And I want ice cream, you’ve got some serious making up to do, Mr Sugden.”

andreil: dust to dust, ashes to ashes

inspired by: this art of neil and renee

music: colors – halsey | brother – falling in reverse

“Andrew,” said Neil. “For fuck’s sake, Andrew, that’s enough.”

But Andrew had never listened to Neil a day in his life and that wasn’t about to change now, so he continued to pour another two spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee. Andrew wasn’t a coffee person (it was too bitter for him), but once in a blue moon he surprised Neil and drank it – each time, of course, with enough sugar to perhaps put someone else in a coma.

“Mind your own business,” Andrew said when he was satisfied with his sickly-sweet concoction and walked out of the kitchen without another word. Neil should have been used to this after so many years, but he would never understand how someone of Andrew’s size could consume so much sugar without becoming diabetic. So he picked up his own breakfast and followed Andrew’s footsteps to the coffee table and set down his plate of food and mug.

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Fic also available on AO3.

Shiro hangs the last of their damp winter clothes in front of the roaring fireplace to dry. On the floor behind him, Allura’s bundled up in a cocoon of soft blankets and pillows. Her white hair curls around her bare shoulders, like a veil, and her dark skin is glowing in the warmth of the fireplace. She smiles sleepily and reaches a hand out, playfully beckoning him over with the wriggling of her fingers. In this moment, she’s relaxed and unguarded, her walls completely down, all for him.

He takes a long moment to stand there in his sweatpants admiring just how soft and welcoming she looks—like home. Kneeling beside her, he takes her fingers between his own and kisses at her wrist, and then up her arm. Like a wing, Allura lifts the blanket up with ease to let him join her on the floor.

She traces delicate fingers along the scars on Shiro’s chest in the warm light and listens closely to his slowed breathing. His eyes sleepily blink open every minute or two to watch, a small grin pulling at his lips.

“Comfortable?” He yawns.

“Yes.” A laugh escapes Allura as she presses her hands against his chest. “Are you?”

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Pairing: You / Jaebum 

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,857

Summary:  You’re the owner of a jewelry store. Prone to working late, staying overnight and not worrying about your safety. Until one night you’re robbed. 

- admin shanna

r e q u e s t

Originally posted by got7kings

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anonymous asked:

Could you do a continuation of the last one where rob comes home to Ellen calling aaron Papa

a continuation of this drabble.

It had been the literal day from hell. Robert wasn’t even sure how he’d made it to the end of the day, if he was honest - he’d overslept, that morning, exhausted from the sleepless night Ellen had put down, and then he’d spent his entire day at a stupid business conference Nicola had forced him to go to, which had been less of a business conference, and more like an entire day of listening to stuck up idiots talk about how much money they were worth.

All he wanted - like, in the entire world - was to go home, get a cuddle off Ellen, and snog the face off his husband (like he didn’t get to do that morning), but even that wasn’t looking likely, not when he’d gotten stuck in a traffic jam in Leeds, and then got stuck behind a tractor on the road in from Hotten, making it well past Ellen’s bedtime now.

The universe, Robert decided as he switched off his ignition, the familiar outline of the Mill looking like heaven on earth to his bone tired limbs, was out to put him in absolutely foul humour.

Grabbing his briefcase, Robert headed for the house, happy to see the lights still on downstairs. At least Aaron would still be up, he supposed, hating that he’d have to make do with checking in on a sleeping Ellen.

He heard Aaron’s voice, as soon as he opened the front door, and Robert’s heart could have melted in his chest.

“Beans, you’ve got to go to sleep,” Aaron said, Ellen balanced on his hip as he paced circles around the kitchen, already in his own pyjamas. It was so ridiculously domestic, watching his husband try and lull their daughter to sleep, Aaron as sleep soft and messy looking as Ellen.

“Dada!” Ellen responded, shaking her head.

“I know, I wish he was home too,” Aaron admitted, pressing a kiss to the side of Ellen’s head. “But if we send you back to your mum tomorrow and you’re like a zombie, she won’t be too happy.”

Ellen pressed a hand to Aaron’s cheek, shaking her head. “Dada,” she repeated, Robert not quit believing his daughter was so adamant she wasn’t going to be until she had seen him.

“He’ll be home soon,” Aaron reassured, voice soft, and kind as he spoke. “I promise.”

“Love ‘oo papa.”

Robert paused, still half in, half out of the front door. Aaron had told him, she’d called him papa for the first time the previous Saturday, but Ellen had been her usual stubborn self, and had refused to say it again.

But he was hearing it now.

There had been a time where Robert had believed Ellen would be the breaking of them, of their marriage - a time when he’d wondered if they’d make it through, if he and Aaron would be able to survive the chaos Robert had caused, the hurt he’d caused.

They had though. They’d survived, and they were all the better for it, and Robert - well, Robert couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to get to have Aaron, and have Aaron want to raise the most gorgeous girl in the world with him.

“Love ‘oo, papa,” Ellen repeated, beaming at Aaron, who was returning the smile, his face practically splitting in two as she spoke.

“I think that’s my favourite sentence,” Aaron admitted, holding Ellen close to his chest. “After your dad telling me he loves me, of course. But I still think you might win out sometimes, you know?”

“Papa, play?” Ellen asked, hopeful.

“You’ve got to sleep,” Aaron shook his head, practically pleading with her now.

Robert decided this was his moment to step in, save Aaron from the roundabout circle of pleading he was stuck in with Ellen. “Honey, I’m home,” he joked, tossing his keys and bag onto the couch.

“Dada!” Ellen beamed, trying to wriggle out of Aaron’s arms instantly, Robert feeling his usual overwhelming love for her as she grinned at him, a near mirror image of himself at her age.

“Hiya love,” Robert scooped her into his arms happily, breathing in the family scent of the lavender shampoo they used, Ellen’s tiny arms slung around his neck. “What are you doing still up, eh? It’s way past your bedtime.”

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Strictly Professional (Part 1)

Summary: You’ve been Misha’s publicist and personal assistant for the past two years, and despite being in love with him, you have a strictly professional relationship with him. At least that’s what you tell yourself. (again, I’m the worst at summaries sry bout it)

Pairing: Misha x Publicist/PA!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k 

Warnings: language, kissing, maybe slight angst? ish? and a cliffhanger bc im the worst 0:-)


Strictly Professional Masterlist

Originally posted by timetraveldean

“Have you seen Misha?!” you demanded, out of breath from running around the entire damn hotel trying to find the one man you were responsible for.

The convention volunteer put her hands up in defense, the look on her face seeming to say ‘I have no idea, please don’t hurt me’.

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Welcome to the Family

Relationship: Jensen x Daughter

Words: 2,270

Summary: When the reader receives upsetting news from home at a Supernatural convention, Jensen steps in to save the day.

A/N: I realized after I wrote a bunch of this that 1) it doesn’t fit with actual convention stuff and 2) it’s totally and completely unrealistic but bear with me kids. Besides, even if it would never happen in real life, I think we all kinda wish it would, right?

Originally posted by dean-sam-winchesterbros

Your name: submit What is this?

There was an excited buzz about the convention hall. Any minute now, Louden Swain would come out on stage for the Saturday Night Special Concert, and you couldn’t wait. Your first convention had already been incredible so far, and you knew it could only get better. Sure, you might not have gotten an autograph or a photo op, or had the best ticket in the world. But just being around people you had something in common with and who loved Supernatural as much as you did made your first experience magical.

Suddenly, a roaring cheer erupted from the crowd as Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas filtered into the hall through the speakers. The noise level was so deafening you could hardly hear yourself think, and yet you sang along anyway. It felt as if everyone at the convention had joined together to jam out to the official unofficial theme song of Supernatural, and the thought made you smile.

Tumultuous applause rose from the fans as Richard, Rob, Matt, Mark, and the rest of Louden Swain came bounding up onto the stage. The boys hammed it up for the audience in between songs, and even brought out some special guests from the show to perform with the band. In your opinion, the best part was when Jensen came out and performed Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man.” Your smile never wavered the entire time, and you laughed and clapped along with everyone else.

You should have known it was too good to last.

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I’m A Lucky Girl

Title: I’m A Lucky Girl

Characters: Jensen and Reader

Word Count: 1034

Warning: Absolutely none

Request by @captainemwinchester said: I saw that your requests are open. May I request a Jensen x reader. The reader is an actress on supernatural and she’s at a convention with Jensen, and she is super nervous. He is just so sweet to her and super friendly.


“Huh?” Looking to the seat next to yours, Jensen was giving you his “I already know the answer” look. “Oh, yeah, just a bit.”

“You’ll be fine, Y/N. Jared and I will be right there the whole time.” Jensen gave your hand a quick squeeze before relaxing back into his seat. “Just a hum a little Metallica during the flight, it might help.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to try that.”

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back and your body relax a little. You’d just finished your first year on Supernatural and it was time for your first convention.

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sleepy sex

warnings: swearing, smut.

“Are you ok?”
“Do I look like I’m ok?!”
It was 1.30am and you were cuddled up with Dan in his bed, having just finished watching Spliced on his laptop.
Dan laughed and closed the computer.
“It wasn’t even THAT scary,” he teased as he got up to put it on charge at his desk.
“Yeah, ok, maybe not, but it was fucked up!” You exclaimed, pulling the duvet up over the lower half of your face so you could still shoot Dan disapproving glares from across the room.
“Yeah, it was pretty fucked up,” he agreed, climbing back into bed. He reached for you but you stopped him.
“What?” He asked.
“Why do you do this to me?” You continued with your glare.
“Do what?” He asked, incredulous.
“Make me watch horror movies before bed! Now I’m not going to be able to sleep! And I blame you entirely.”
He laughed at that.
“Oh, baby girl, it’s ok, don’t be scared, I’ll fight off the monsters for you,” he teased, holding your face and squishing your cheeks like a child.
“Don’t patronise me, you fucking spork. No, get off me. I don’t cuddle people who rob me of sleep. Daaaaannnnn,” you whined as his arms slid around your waist and he rolled you on top of him, hugging you to his chest.
“It’s ok baby girl, Daddy’s got you,” he teased.
“You’re not my Dad!” You imitated the meme and Dan laughed.
“Excuse me? Stop trying to take over my title as meme king, thanks. Besides,” his voice lowered but the smirk remained. “That’s not what you said the other night.”
You rolled your eyes at his obnoxious wink and punched him softly in the shoulder.
“Ow!” He complained.
“Oh please, it didn’t even hurt,” you rolled your eyes again.
“Yeah but it’s the thought that counts!” He replied, pretending to look hurt.
You just laughed and rolled off him again, before cuddling into his side. His long arms went around you automatically, and his lips pressed to your forehead in a tender kiss.
“I thought you said no cuddling-” you felt him smirk against your skin.
“Shut up, consider yourself lucky that I’m a charitable and forgiving person.”
The laughter made his chest rumble and you felt it hum against your own.
“I’d consider myself lucky even if you weren’t a forgiving person,” he murmured softly, the loving line making you smile.
“You know why?”
“Why?” You asked.
“Because nobody else can manage to trip over a crack in the cement, land in the bush by the sidewalk and somehow let go of your ice cream in the process and have it hit the window of a passing car.”
“I’m glad I am a constant source of amusement for you.” You mumbled sarcastically into his chest, but you could feel sleep creeping in, not enough to shut off your brain entirely, but enough to make you you close your eyes, and feel tired and warm and safe. And happy.
“You are incredibly amusing. My favourite time was probably at Peej’s party, with the lemon incident. Ooooh, maybe not, I think the time we went to buy the Halloween pumpkin, that’s a clear winner. Although-”
“Shh, I’m trying to sleep here.”
“How convenient.”
“Shut up.”
“Ok fine.”
You lay in silence for a while, drifting towards sleep but never quite getting there. The frustrating kind of dozing because you just want to sleep but can’t.
Eventually you sighed and checked the time. 3am. You groaned inwardly and snuggled back into Dan. He stirred.
“You ok?” He asked sleepily.
“Yeah, just can’t sleep,” you whispered tiredly.
“Hmm, me either.” He yawned, rubbing your arm affectionately.
You tilted your face up slightly and kissed the exposed skin by your mouth in reciprocation of his loving gesture. Except the area of skin was Dan’s throat.
A small sound of pleasure escaped him.
“Stop that, you,” he smirked down at you.
“Sorry, that wasn’t intentional,” you replied.
“Actually,” he continued with a little glint in his eyes, “that’s not a bad idea.”
“When is sex ever a bad idea?” You asked as he rolled on top of you this time.
“Never, not with you anyway,” he grinned, kissing you softly before tugging down the collar of your shirt so he could attach his lips to your collarbone. He continued moving down your body, tugging off your underwear and tossing it aside. He let out a barely audible groan at the sight of you, before spreading your thighs and ducking his head between them.
Dan was a very attentive lover, and he was always a giver. He loved going down on you, and would ask if he could, every time you got intimate. And he was exceptionally good with his mouth. You often teased that it was because he talked so much, but now, as he licked up your folds and sucked your clit into his mouth, you were forever grateful for his silver tongue. He knew exactly how to make you elicit the sounds he wanted to hear, how to make your fingers grip the sheets or his hair, how to make your thighs spasm and hips buck up into his mouth. He had unrestricted access to your control centre, and he could make you react however he wanted, just with his mouth. That was scary, and exciting, and right now, insanely pleasurable.
Dan could sense your orgasm approaching, and with a smirk, pulled away from between your legs. He pulled off his shirt and own underwear before reconnecting your lips. You could feel how much he wanted you, the precum dripping onto your stomach was more than enough of an indication. He reached into the drawer for a condom, rolled it on, and positioned his body over yours. He looked at you expectantly, albeit a little sleepy, and you nodded your consent.
Low, soft moans spilled from both of your lips as Dan slid into you, inch by inch, and he kissed you again. Your movements were slow and gentle, the rolling of hips, eyelids fluttering shut, lips parting to let out the occasional moan. There was no need to speed things up, not tonight, as you placed sleepy kisses along Dan’s shoulder and neck. It was a long and pleasurable session, a change to your usually more kinky sex, but this was a time to enjoy each other. You gazed at his face lovingly, admiring his cheekbones and lips and baby freckles, your fingers gliding slowly up his spine, making him shudder.
“What’s wrong?” He whispered, noticing how you were staring intently at his features, trying to memorise every freckle.
“I just love you a lot,” you whispered back. He smiled, and kissed your shoulder.
Minutes later he was bringing you undone, this time with soft caresses and gentle kisses and thrusts that made you both moan with each one. You watched Dan hit his own high, an experience you always felt you didn’t deserve to witness, because he glowed angelically, and the sounds he made were so desperately melodious, you felt as though your heart could explode in your chest from the gratitude of even having him in your life, let alone being in a relationship. As he disposed of the condom and collapsed next to you, he barely managed to whisper “I love you too” before he was asleep.

Love Inversion Theory III

Originally posted by dayaholics


Warnings: mentions of an anxiety attack, though nothing happens

Oh fuck.

Peter rubbed his mouth then his eyes. The screen of the computer didn’t change either way, no matter what he did. No matter how badly he wanted it to.

Any humor or security he’d been feeling shriveled up into a pit of anxiety. There was some noise at the door, the sound of it being unlocked, then you walked in.

Oh fuck. Peter recalled you saying you wouldn’t be out long and sure enough, you’d stuck to your word.

You came into the room unable to contain a smile. “Don’t stand up! Don’t talk! I just-I want to show you the surprise without crying,” you exclaimed, throwing one hand into the air to cease his unspoken words. Peter closed his mouth. You had one arm behind your back and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion and silent questioning.

“Oh, no,” you sighed, covering your eyes with your free hand. “I’m probably going to cry.” You took a deep breath and looked satisfied with the fill of oxygen. “Look!” You strode over and presented a thick stack of paper held together with heavy-duty binder clips.

Peter held the stack closer and peered down at the small typed title.


“They want to make a movie out of my book series!” you burst out with a high, excited squeal. Peter dropped the script and moved to envelop you into a tight hug. In the other world-his real world-you wanted to be an author. So the excitement and happiness he felt for you was genuine.

“That’s-That’s amazing!” he laughed, remembering to use the accent. You held his face and kissed him hard. “I owe it to you, Tom! You’ve always stood by me and encouraged me and you’re the one who coaxed me into publishing the book in the first place and-”

“Babe, breathe,” Peter reminded you.

“Right!” You paused to take another deep breath. “I signed all the contract forms and they called me up a few nights ago telling me to check my mail. So I had to call my mom and have her forward it to me, here, and-” You ceased your words with an eye crinkling smile that said ‘And now I’m telling you about it!’

Peter grabbed the script again and flipped through the pages. None of the characters names were familiar. He wondered if the other you-the one in Queens-had conjured the idea for such a book yet. He kept in mind to ask when he got back. If he got back.

“[Y/n], this is-this is amazing,” Peter said with pride. You clapped your hands, excited that Peter was excited. You let your hands fall to your sides. “Oh, how do you feel?” you asked. “Gosh, I’m so selfish. Today is supposed to be your day. Do you feel any better?”

Peter inwardly groaned. The big news served as temporary relief and distraction from the even bigger news- which is this Tom Holland nonsense.

“I feel…better,” he said warily. Is that how British people say ‘better?’ he wondered to himself. “Being nervous is no big deal. Maybe you should ring up Rob,” you suggested, grabbing the script again. Peter saw how you held it with extreme delicacy, as if you were afraid it would dissolve at the slightest of touches.

“‘Rob,’” Peter repeated. “Yes. I’ll do that,” he quickly said to cover up his previous tone of confusion. “I mean, I’m sure he’s busy too, right?” he said, taking a shot in the dark.

You shrugged then nodded, looking like you were considering some facts Peter didn’t know of. “Probably. But I’m sure he can take a few minutes to talk since you, after all, are the big star of the film. But in his mind I’m sure it’s called ‘Iron Man four,’” you laughed.

Iron Man Four?! As in four entire movies, is that what [Y/n] means? But then Peter didn’t really feel all that surprised, since Mr. Stark is crazy popular. And the name Rob did sort of strike a bell. Had he seen it while researching? Probably.

“I need to go call my agent,” you said, tucking the script underneath your arm and fishing for your cell phone in your bag. “Don’t you dare tweet or whatever about this, Thomas! I know you have a big mouth but I want the movie to be a surprise.” The curve of your mouth raised at one corner. He held up his hand. “Scouts’ honor,” he swore.

And he meant it, mostly because he had other things to think about. No offense to you, of course.

You were walking out before double taking the food plates on the table. “Don’t like the syrup?” you asked, gesturing to the plate of waffles.

Peter looked at his picked at food. There wasn’t a drop of syrup on his plate. Does Tom like syrup? He thought with horror. “Mmm, on second thought maybe you should be steering clear of the sugar today,” you said without noticing Peter’s nervousness. “You have a tendency to get hyper. Anyways, I’m going to go finish up some errands and then pick up my dress and your suit for tonight. Call Robert to help ease your nerves! Or Harrison! Or your mom! Or-”

“Okay, I will,” Peter cut you off and gave you a nudge out the door. “Bye, be careful, I love you.” And he shut the door.

He stared out the peephole and watched you walk off. He collapsed against the door and sucked in a deep breath.

Peter was left alone with his thoughts now. The anxiety had officially seeped into his bones and tipped off a searing hiss in his brain. The start of an anxiety attack? He thought with worry. I hope not.

He couldn’t afford that now. Peter shook himself into a forced state of calm by retracing his steps starting from last night after his date with you-the you who was at home. Peter couldn’t call that version the ‘real’ you since this version seemed to be nearly the exact same.

Same name. Same personality. Same…everything.

What happened last night, Peter, think. I came home…

And Peter walked himself through the events; he came home, spoke with his aunt (the thought of May made his heart sink since so far he hadn’t seen anything about her), then slunk off to his room for sleep.

Then he woke up…here. The possibility of it being a dream then crossed Peter’s mind. He pinched his cheeks and felt disappointed as the ache didn’t dull away for a food five minutes. Not a dream, he concluded.

So he was left with three options:

  1. Call Robert. Whoever Robert may be.
  2. Do more research on Tom Holland and the big event going on tonight
  3. Run away and never turn back.

Definitely not three, Peter chastised himself. His eyes wandered to the suitcases in the corner and he again mentally slapped himself. I said no.

Two options.

He went with option number two, conduct a bit more research. If he was going to face others beyond this room, beyond you, then he had to get this Tom character down. Perfectly. No risking getting himself caught.

Robert Downey Jr. came up in the searches, and Peter was dumbfounded to see that he was Tony Stark! Or. His face was Tony Stark. In fact, looking through images of Robert and Tony, Peter found he couldn’t really tell any difference…some of these could very well be ‘movie stills.’ He vaguely wondered if Robert was Mr. Stark.

They held the same attitudes-spoke the same during interviews, dressed the same.

Oh, well. Peter couldn’t bother himself with looking into details that would lead to dead ends.

Anyways, Robert Downey Jr. -more commonly referred to as RDJ- is mostly known for playing Tony Stark, a fictional character to this world. He’d done three solo movies and appeared often in Avengers films, as well as Captain America movies. And he had a role in Spider-Man: Homecoming as Iron Man-who else, after all?

Peter leaned back in his seat and allowed himself a second to process the information.

He searched the hotel room for the hotel room essentials, a notepad and pen. Peter scribbled onto them:

Tom Holland = Peter Parker

RDJ = Tony Stark

[Y/n] = [Y/n]

He tore that out and neatly folded it in half, then shoved the pen and the paper in his back pocket.

Peter sat back down in front of the laptop only to be interrupted with a small screen in the corner. A facetime call.

From Robert Downey fucking Junior.


@literallykaylenn@tomxhotland@@manyfandomstohandle@negasonicteenagemess@theweaknessstories @ruefulposts @roseytom@kent-mcfuller-is-life @t4rt-deco  @the-mormon-girl-in-the-books  @fly-like-a-grayson

anonymous asked:

FAHC!Gavin x his S/O for #8? [the one where your soulmate’s first words to you are written on your body] xx ❤

(It’s been a while since I wrote Gavin but I hope you enjoy xx soulmate aus are my fckn jam)

Living in Los Santos you’d expect nothing less from your tattoo. Honestly, it’d be more of a shock if the first words didn’t involve some sort of crime or violence. Yours, tattooed on your upper thigh, specifically read: c’mon, love - I’ll get you out of here.

A bank robbery? A hold up at a store? Granted it wasn’t the conventional way of meeting your soulmate but you were never one for convention. You told yourself you wouldn’t go seeking out areas of high crime (though all of Los Santos was an area of high crime), but it happened anyways.

The first time you ‘accidentally’ found yourself in the midst of the robbery you, unbeknownst to yourself, spent more time worrying about finding your soulmate than actually making sure you survive long enough to meet them. It wasn’t as if no one had told you how to survive a robbery - you had tried to educate yourself before moving here - and so, when a woman entered the bank, brandishing a gun and yelling indiscriminately, you instinctively ducked behind a counter.

The robbery seemed well rehearsed; as if the woman had done it many, many times before, and it seemed as though it was over much quicker than you’d expect. Several seconds after silence had encompassed the bank you huffed. So much for being a damsel in need of rescuing - apparently you could take care of yourself without being saved.

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Pyjama Cuddles

Rob Benedict x Reader (fluff)

Word Count: 2,776

Description: You turn up at Rob’s hotel door with hot cocoa. Cuddling ensues.

A/N: I pictured this being on the night before a Con starts.

This is my first RPF… I hope I have kept it as respectful and true-to-character as possible. Please give feedback - I love to hear what you think.

You stood outside Rob’s room door hesitating. In each hand you held a cardboard take-out cup full of hot cocoa and the warmth seeped through the corrugated sleeves into the skin of your palms.

You stared at the door.
Your first thought was ‘how the fuck am I gonna knock?’
Your second thought was 'What if I’ve misread this entire thing?’

You would obsessively re-check your phone for the message exchange, but you had no free hand to do so.

What had he said?

You sat down on the floor against the wall and carefully placed the cups down to get out your phone.

'I’m pretty tired. Think I’m just gonna chill with a movie.’

'Sounds like a good plan, I might do the same,’ you had said.

'Anyone who happened to stop by with cocoa would be a hero 😉’ he had added.

The wink face was what got you. That was definitely an invitation, right? Or at least an indication that you showing up in your pyjamas would be happily received.


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