newborn deer

The One with the Giant Poking Device

Characters - Dean x Reader

Summary - An awkward moment while sharing a bed leads to an interesting morning.

Word Count - 5864

Warnings - Swearing (duh), injury (very slight),smut, oral sex/face riding (female), fingering, unsafe sex (remember irl to wrap it before you tap it)

A\N - This was written for mine and Jill’s Hubba Bubba Birthday writing challenge. Thank you to @sis-tafics for reading through and encouraging me. And a special thank you to @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog for betaing. You ladies are the absolute best!

Tags at the bottom

Originally posted by jessica-bones-winchester


Long, calloused fingers grip you tightly, digging into your soft curves as his hands pull you flush against his body. The heat spreads, radiating from him to sink into your bones, flowing through you to settle heavily in your center. The strength in the arms wrapping around you, the firmness of his chest against your full breasts, the gentleness of his hands as they caress you, all of it makes your breath slow, your heart race. You can’t hold back the low whine in your throat when you feel his hardening length pressing against your lower belly. He dips his head to nuzzle into your neck, his warm breath fanning over you. He nudges your head back further, the scruff on his jaw a delicious burn on your skin. Soft sighs catch in your throat as his lips glide over you and you can feel his cock twitch against you in response.

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okay but lets be real super innocent ‘yona is the only for me’ hak is completely canon okokok if yona kissed him his puny thunder beast legs would turn to a newborn deer the poor boy would probably explode

*drops mic*

I fell in love with this prompt the second I read it. (Modern AU) 

Enjolras tries to ignore the chatters of his friends while reviewing meeting notes, but they are too loud, too persistent, too worried.

Grantaire has been the topic of conversation for the last three days. The latter has been fussed over by the rest of the Les Amis on multiple occasions for being “sick”. His excuse is always the same: I’m fine, just stressed with loads to do.

The rest of the group don’t push the brunet; though, Enjolras can tell how much it’s killing Combeferre to not perform a full examination.

But, while the others worry for Grantaire in secret, Enjolras isn’t quite convinced, so when Grantaire stumbles into tonight’s meeting mumbling his typical excuse, Enjolras replies with a scoff.

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Dawning in Dust: Part VII

Prologue, Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI

Claire gradually fell into a doze in the early hours of the morning, waking fully to her inner nurse’s clock that told her there was work to be done. Jamie, who had himself finally succumbed to the restorative sleep his body needed, blinked listlessly at her as she woke him to redress his bandages.

There’s the bloody fever, she thought dispassionately, confirming her theory with the thermometer someone had brought in with the fresh bandages.

102.3. Need to watch that…

Jamie withstood the second cleaning with as much fortitude as the first. They’d done this in relative silence, whatever connection formed the night before overshadowed by shyness. The runnels of wounds were stark against his ruddy skin, but appeared to be doing rather well at this stage. After a brief squeeze of his shoulder, Claire left Jamie with Ian and Murtagh, muttering brief instructions to keep the patient as immobile as could be managed while they helped him wash and change.

The day dawned, fog pearling its tendrils through the trees and outbuildings of the unexpected haven Claire found herself in. She breathed in the crisp air, relaxing as the rising sun warmed her face and cast shadows through the courtyard. Sounds of livestock and the faint, raspy morning voices of their caretakers reached her ears, making her smile. It felt good to be amongst so much life again, however brief the time would be.

“Claire?”

Claire startled a little, but smiled at Ian as he sat down on the stairs beside her, groaning a little as he stretched out his right leg in front of him.

“Sorry about that. Didna meet to startle ye.”

“It’s alright,” Claire replied sincerely. “I was off somewhere else for a bit.” Claire gazed around the courtyard. “It’s really very peaceful here.”

Ian smiled, nodding. “Aye, it is.”

“How’s the patient?”

Ian’s face transformed into an interesting combination of a smirk and a grimace.

“He’ll do.”

Claire nodded, taking mental inventory of how much lidocaine she had left in her medical bag.

“Was this always a working farm? I mean, before..”

“In a way. The Fraser family kept it up as a tourist spot. ‘Travel to the past.’ That sort of thing. It’s been this way for generations now. Earned the place extra money for upkeep and allowed the tenants work so they could stay. We’ve always been fairly secluded out here so it wasna the complete end of the world for us when the Last War ended and everything went to hell. Thank God,” he said, looking around. “Without everyone here, we’d have all been dead long since.”

“Hmm,” Claire answered, the slight pull of her heart at the thought taking her aback. She cleared her throat. “Was Jamie in the service long then? He told me he’d just come back when the War… ended.” Claire shook her head and sighed. ‘Ended’. More like dissolved. Destroyed.

Claire could see Ian give her a quick, appraising look before he answered.

“Aye,” he said, nodding gravely. “We both joined around the same time. What about you?” he asked, turning back suddenly.

Claire blinked, but then smiled. “How did you guess?”

“Yer pack is military issue,” Ian replied, kind brown eyes alight. “I’d recognize medical personnel anywhere.”

You bloody would, Claire thought with a small jolt as Ian pulled his right pant leg up. It was well crafted, but clearly becoming the worse for wear. The artificial leg, having once been coated with the perfect finish of Ian’s natural skin color, was faded in places and scuffed in others. The mechanics still appeared to work though, Claire noted, seeing the foot move as Ian shifted for her to see.

“Lost it in France going on five years ago now,” Ian said conversationally. “Honing shot. I was lucky, but didna feel so at the time.”

“Does it bother you at all?” Claire asked. Then, realizing she may have sounded rude, clarified, “Discomfiture, I mean.”

“No, though it aches a wee bit at the end of the day.” Ian rubbed the flesh above the binding meditatively. “Ye wouldn’t have had training in medical robotics would ye?”

Claire grimaced regretfully. “I’m sorry, no. Just plain flesh and bone for me.”

Ian smiled kindly, waving it off in a 'think nothing of it’ gesture.

“It’s alright. I’m lucky the program is so simple. We’ve electricity and a few of the tenants know some programming. No’ much difference between my leg and the bale stacker apparently,” he said self deprecatingly.

Claire couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“I take it you are of the same opinion as Jamie when it comes to pain control?” she asked, nodding at his knee.

Ian snorted but tilted his head in acquiescence.

“Have you tried water pepper?”

“No,” he replied, looking curious. “How do you use it?”

“I’ll make some for you to try,” Claire offered, liking him. “I’ll show you how before I leave.”

“Thank ye, that’s verra kind.”

They smiled at each other, then sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes. The sun was almost above the trees now. A horse whinnied in the distance. As if on cue, Ian stood.

“I’d best be getting back. Take care of Jamie, aye?”

“Of course.”

Ian gave her a smile and a short bow, then turned toward the stables. Claire watched him go, only now noticing that he walked with a slight limp. She stood up to go inside, resolving to convince Ian to let her examine his leg to see what could be done.

Perhaps the artificial leg itself needed new padding…

The house was dim inside compared to the brightness of the morning. The smell of a simple breakfast wafted through the hallway, causing Claire’s mouth to water. In the excitement of the past two days, she’d forgotten all else but what was immediately urgent. Her stomach rumbled, informing her of its own opinion on where priorities stood. First though, she needed to check on Jamie.

Claire was almost to the doorway of the study when she heard a loud THUMP followed by semi stifled groans and muffled curses. She ran the last six steps to the door and barely managed to sidestep Jamie as she flew into the room.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” she gasped, dropping to the floor where Jamie apparently had fallen.

“I..”

“Oh be quiet, I need to take your pulse.”

Jamie exhaled shakily, clearly in no little pain. Ian or Murtagh must have opened the windows while they were there. The rare Scottish sun drifted through the room, lighting on Jamie’s hair and sending sparks of copper, auburn, and cinnamon through Claire’s vision. She was also seeing red, but for another reason.

“Congratulations, soldier, you’ve managed to reopen your back. I told you to stay put and rest and what do you do? Throw yourself off your cot and set yourself back again.”

“I didna throw myself off anything,” Jamie said through gritted teeth, with as much dignity as a large, injured Scot who has just fallen on his face could muster. Claire was so caught off guard by his tone of voice that she laughed. Jamie smiled weakly, his face pale but for the blush creeping up the back of his neck and into his face. Claire blew the stray wisps of curly hair out of her face.

“Alright. Let’s get you up.”

“Aye,” he grunted, placing his hands on the floor to push himself up.

Claire caught him under the arm, bracing him as he struggled to his feet like a newborn deer. The skin of his torso was hot and dry under her hands as she began to maneuver him toward the cot, taking care of his now partially bandaged back. Each movement Jamie made resulted in a slight grimace or a hiss of his breath. She noticed he was trying to take most of his own weight, despite how weak he obviously was.

Still fevered, then.

Someone had brought him a pair of dark blue sweatpants to replace his bloodied jeans. Claire turned him to face her, avoiding eye contact as she grasped his large, warm hands.

“Alright. Hang on to me and we’ll get you to the cot. Easy does it.”

She began shuffling backward, pulling Jamie gently with her, allowing him to try and do this under his own power. After three steps, he stumbled a bit. Claire’s heart lurched and, without thought or hesitation, she reacted.

She could feel his breath caress her ear, his cheek brushing her hair. His hands anchored at her waist as her own held him at his, the heat of his body causing her own pale skin to flush. Claire slowly raised her eyes, seeing the rapid pulse beat in his neck; his throat moving as he swallowed; his wide, soft mouth; blue eyes meeting hers.

“Sorry, a nighean,” Jamie whispered.

Claire licked her lower lip, breath catching as his eyes caught the movement. Her body felt like a tightened guitar string; as if the very air surrounding them vibrated with the tension of their connection. Claire swallowed, tightening her hold on him as she beckoned him to follow her again; a slow, awkward dance that only they shared, holding each other up.

Claire felt Jamie’s gaze as she helped him sit on the edge of the camp bed, then as she bustled about preparing to redress his back, trying to get a hold of her wits and pounding heart. Infatuation. This wasn’t the first time she’d experienced it. After all, she reasoned, Jamie was physically attractive. A fellow veteran. Obviously brave and intelligent. There were few things not to like in the little time she’d known him.

Except that damned stubbornness. Thinking he can walk about against orders, making me pick his sorry arse up off the…

“Why did ye not call for help?” Jamie asked quietly.

“What?” Claire startled, feeling like he had plucked her thoughts from her mind.

“When ye found me. Ye could have called for help. I would have gotten a tongue lashing into next Tuesday like it seems you want to give me right now but they would have gotten me off the floor. Ye didn’t. Why?”

Claire observed him, taking her time to formulate an answer. He sat straight and still, arms bracing his weight as his hands clutched the bed for support, eyes hesitant but direct. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, the lines of his body flowing smoothly from muscle to bone; an imposing figure to most despite his current circumstances. To Claire, though, he looked exhausted.

“You needed to help yourself,” she said simply. “That’s why you got up before you were supposed to. You needed to prove that you could do it. To yourself.”

His eyes bore into hers, simultaneously intense and gentle.

“Aye,” he responded softly.

“Who was I to take that from you?” she asked, trying to control the emotion in her voice. Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back on him again, continuing to prep bandages.

“Bloody hero,” she muttered.

breathe, my love, get high
hp au, marcus flint/oliver wood
8131 words
Marcus counts the days in the hours he can manage to get through, the hours he can spend avoiding floppy-haired, Scottish Gryffindors who try to follow him with their eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about something that will only leave them both burning and rotting in the end. Something that can never be kept safe. A flame that will only die out in the cold. He spends his nights in bed, whispering the name over and over to himself, the name he has kept hidden in his heart for so long and wants to etch all over his skin–– Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. 

notes: this may or may not be the most self-indulgent fic you will ever read in your life, and it’s probably completely ooc and unbelievable and wow i’m not selling this to anyone but yay for flintwood??? yes??? this is dedicated to yenna @owvlery​, erin @mxrcusflint​ and everyone else who makes the beautiful flintwood art/fics/everything that has dragged me into this 6ft hole of cute angsty quidditch boyfriends. (also i stole a line from lolita and managed to reference little mix’s ‘touch’ so u never know what ur going to get with me)(also sufjan stevens was my soundtrack writing this enjoy)

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Are You Drunk? || Tyler Down x Reader

I’ve legit had this idea in my head for days. Tyler getting drunk for the first time is my religion.

Word Count: 790

Warnings: Drunkenness

~


    When your parents had said they were going on vacation the week before your birthday, meaning you would have free reign of the house, you knew exactly what you were going to do; throw the party to end all parties.

    After nearly a month of planning, and one long night of shopping, everything had been put into place. Everyone who was remotely decent would be coming, no jerk-offs invited. Especially not Bryce, even though he offered to bring beer. You had very un-gently let him know that you had Jeff Atkins for that.

    So the night arrived and now here you were, cheering alongside a few other people who you had yet to learn the names of as a pair of girls started doing body shots.

    You felt a tap on your shoulder, and when you looked to see who it was you were greeted by the nervous face of Clay Jensen. He said something, but with the music blasting so loudly you couldn’t quite make it out. You gave him a confused look. He grabbed your shoulders, pointing you in the direction of the kitchen.

    Your eyes widened when you caught site of Tyler, who was half falling out of a bar stool, his face squished uncomfortably against the countertop. He had at least five bottles sprawled around his feet, and that was just what you could see.

    You gave Clay a pat on the shoulder and nodded, slipping through the crowd. Once you had made it to the kitchen you approached Tyler slowly, placing a hand on his lower back.

    “Ty,” you said softly. “You okay?”

    He groaned loudly, flexing his fingers. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, wobbling unsteadily, despite the fact that he was sitting down. He looked around, squinting at the party going on just in the other room. “Wha- I donnn’-” he slurred. “Heyy, babyy.”

    You resisted the urge to laugh. “Oh, okay. You’re one of those types of drunks.” You picked up one of the empty bottles, tossing it in the trash. “How many did you have?”

    He shrugged his shoulders sloppily, nearly toppling out of his chair. You caught him by the waist, comparing the way his long legs stumbled to a newborn deer trying to walk. “Prolly’ like, uhhh, ssseven,” he replied.

    “Seven?” you asked. “Come on. Let’s get you some water.”

    “No!” he snapped. His voice came out louder than even he was expecting, apparently, because he took a moment to recompose himself. “I havta tell you ssomethin’.”

    “You can tell me later,” you replied.

    He grunted, forcing himself out of the chair and onto his feet. You kept an arm around his waist, supporting him as he nearly tripped over his own two feet. When he tried to grab another beer from the fridge, you steered him away and towards the stairs.

    “Okay, sweetheart,” you said, guiding him carefully up each step. “I think you need to go lay down in my room.”

    “I havta tell youu,” he said again.

    You ignored him, pulling him down the hall and into your bedroom. You brought him towards your bed, chuckling as he fell backwards onto it. You untied his shoes and pulled them off, chucking them somewhere to the side.

    “Beer is grrreat,” he slurred as you pulled the blankets out from under him.

    “Mmhm,” you hummed.

    As you were fixing the pillows behind his head, he grabbed your wrist, pulling hard. You lost your balance, toppling over onto his chest. He rolled over, trapping you beneath himself. His lips found the crook of your neck easily, leaving a trail of careless, wet kisses.

    “Okay, time to move,” you gasped, squirming beneath him. “Tyler, come on.”

    His curly, disheveled hair tickled your cheek as he moved to your collarbone, his hands beginning to wander down. You pressed your palms flat against his chest, trying to push him off. The harder you tried, the heavier he seemed to become.

    “Ty,” you whispered.

    His hands found the hem of your shirt, not wasting a moment before pushing up underneath it, smoothing against the skin of your stomach. You bit back a pleased sigh, trying to find some other way to take control.

    You hated to admit that you were enjoying yourself. You couldn’t. Not like this, while he was drunk off of his ass.

    He stopped suddenly, collapsing onto his side. His breathing slowed from a pant to a steady rise and fall. Just when you thought he had fallen asleep, he motioned for you to come closer. You moved onto your knees, leaning in to listen.

    “I hadta tell youu that I, um, neverr had alcohaall beforre,” he murmured.

    You sighed, a smile itching at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, I figured.”

just-chats  asked:

Todoroki and Kageyama out on a skating date with their s/o but the guys can't skate very well and s/o teaches them. Please and thank you!

Here you go! I hope you like it! 


“Shouto-kun, I just don’t know how this is possible.”

Todoroki isn’t really listening to you at the moment. He knows it’s rude and doesn’t mean to ignore you, but the only thing he can focus on is his balance. You are skating along side of him with your hands behind your back, casually spinning and looping so you don’t get too far ahead of him. You make it look so damn easy. He tries to watch your feet.

“I mean half your Quirk is ice, so I just kind of assumed you knew how to skate.”

He doesn’t bat an eye at your lighthearted teasing. There is a reason why his boots have spikes in the soles. Ice Quirk or no, Todoroki is not a skater. You cover your mouth to hide your smile. He is adorable, wobbling on his skates like a newborn deer as he tries to hold the wall of the rink for support. He wanted to tell you that he couldn’t skate, but you were so excited when your proposed the idea of a skating date. And he didn’t want to disappoint you.

You take his hands, “Here. I’ll give you a lesson. No charge.”

Skating backwards, you lead him around the rink at a steady pace. He is still teetering and staring at your skates. You lift his chin so he is looking in your eyes. Todoroki squeezes your hand.

“Just look at me, Shouto-kun. I’m not going to let you fall.”


You laugh as Kageyama lands on his backside yet again. Gliding back to the scowling boy, you help him to his skates … yet again. Your little blueberry puffs air out of his nose as he flushes with embarrassment.

“I-It’s not funny!”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Tobio-chan,” you quell your laughter.

Kageyama clutches the wall, hardly moving from his spot. He honestly didn’t expect skating to be so hard. Even that little dumbass Hinata could skate. And it was that same idiot who recommended an ice rink date in the first place. Kageyama is definitely going to throttle that shrimp at Monday’s practice. You watch your boyfriend’s dark aura grow.

“Tobio-chan, calm down,” you chuckle, skating over to him, “Take my hand.”

He grabs your hand. You pull him from the wall, and you can see the unease rising within him. Guiding Kageyama around, you bring his knuckles to your lips and kiss them. His face erupts in a hot, red blush when you beam up at him.

“Like this, Tobio-chan, okay? One foot after the other. Real slow.”

Kageyama nods his head, following your instructions as best as he can. His hands are still slightly shaking, but he has steadied considerably. Kageyama grips your hands tightly, but you don’t let him slip when he stumbles slightly. You smile at his effort. However, the two of you probably wouldn’t be returning to the rink any time soon.

anonymous asked:

Okay this is kinda specific but au where one of them has wings but hides them and is super afraid that the other will leave if they find out

Ludwig was special.

You could counteract that he was just a teenage boy, a person who blended into the crowd, but when he got home he was different. At home he shredded his shirt and large wing ripped from his back, fluttering and painful cracking every hollow bone to make sure nothing was stiff.

He was apart of a special kind called Flighters, a special form of humans that have wings and are able to fly with them. Most Flighters ditched their prehistoric attitude and blended into society. They changed their hair, hid their wings, and dated humans.

Ludwig was no different.

He went to an all boy school and with the girl school a mile away and another mile was the carrier school. Nobody knew why they separated each gender so heavily, but the groups did end up mingling.

At school you would never dare to hang out with the other gender, but when it was over all the schools mixed.

Through Antonio, Ludwig met Lovino and through Lovino he met Feliciano, his twin brother. Feliciano was a great guy, he was beautiful with short auburn hair and bright eyes that sparkled whenever he was passionate about things.

The two have been dating around two months and Ludwig was terrified to actually tell Feliciano he was a Flighter. He was subjected as a child, before his kind went into hiding, that they were wrong and against humanity. He never knew the way Feliciano would subject the news.

So he kept quiet, very quiet. He never took off his shirt when things got heavy, when they made out, he held Feliciano’s hands away from his back. He had to do anything to keep his secret safe.

“Ludwig?” Feliciano asked in a sweet voice, taking the younger out of his day dream.

Most day dreams were of telling Feliciano and him snuggling into his arms and flying away.

“He’s gone,” Lovino muttered and sucked at his smoothie. They were at the mall, surprise, because Feliciano saw a sale for some store he shopped at and the twins brought along their boyfriends for the fun of it.

Antonio was a little pulled back from the group, he was holding all the bags.

“Are you okay?” Feliciano whined, “if you have something worrying you, you can tell me.”

Ludwig smiled pressing a kiss to the tan temple, “I’m fine, I promise, now what were you saying?”

“Oh, art!” He laughed awkwardly and bumped Lovino, “Miss. Hawk is making us draw wings, I tried drawing birds and those flight people-”

“They don’t exist,” Lovino snapped back, “Flighters were all killed, remember that lesson.”

Ludwig hated that lesson.

Feliciano nodded bitterly, “but I was looking at pictures online, wings are so hard to draw, I wish I could just see them up close!”

“We can go few some parrots at the pet store,” Lovino pointed at the sketchy pet store and the twins went in.

Ludwig’s heart clenched as he watched them leave, cursing how heavy his wings felt on his back.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It was a day after the mall trip, Ludwig and Feliciano were in his dorm room doing what most teenagers do and that’s make out.

The Flighter had conjured up a stupid lie that he was self conscious with his body so he had all the lights shut off and every blind closed so Feliciano couldn’t see shit. Maybe it was a bit overboard, but if Ludwig could protect his secret in the most intimate moment, it was better safe than sorry.

Tan hands felt every landscape of pale skin, expect the back, no where near his back and scars. It wasn’t until with the kissing and Feliciano finding his most pleasured zone, the pulse area on his lower groin, that triggered his wings.

Whenever Flighters were startled in human form their wings flung out, barely even ripping the skin from such forced. Poor Feliciano was right in the line of the pair of wings and was slammed in the face.

“My nose!” Feliciano cried, jumping back, Ludwig’s wings had never retracted faster and were gone when Feliciano flicked on the lamp. His nose was bleeding and Ludwig swore up and down that he hit him with his arm on accident.

Though, Feliciano had an odd feeling inside that it wasn’t just his boyfriend’s arm.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

“What are you doing?” Ludwig looked over Feliciano shoulder so see a book full of wing design and a little diagram of a Flighter.

The boy hummed finishing the paragraph before turning and offering him a seat, “just studying wing design off of this old Flighter book, they are so interesting!”

Ludwig felt his heart sink and cheeks grey when the word Flighter was passed across the table. “Why would you want to know about those guys,” he spat in mock annoyance, “they are a bunch nats who caused a war, I hate Flighters.”

“Oh,” was all Feliciano said as he viewed the book again out of the corner of his eye, “god, Ludwig, I never knew, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I think I should go.” Scrambling up with the grace of a newborn deer, Ludwig left the library with a bitter taste in his mouth and hot tears collecting in his eyes.

It felt like his whole entire life was just some charade to safe hide, and maybe that was okay when he first started doing it, but now with Feliciano constantly looking at wings it just hurt.

Somehow the old wound was being picked apart by maggots and he really never noticed. Without a trace he disappeared behind the library and shredded his shirt. From the old wing scars on his back, the gold wings ripped from the thin skin and fluttered roughly. Like cracking knuckles, he popped the bones in the wings that were around the size of a car and launched upwards.

In the air he felt free, like his whole act was put on intermission, yet in a few hours he was going to put back on his mask and dance around like nothing was going on.

The world was unbelievably cruel.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

After profusely apologizing about bringing up the topic, Feliciano dropped by his dorm for some peace and quiet. His room mate was loud and enjoyed drinking at half pass noon so he liked to hide in Ludwig’s dorm that didn’t have any roommate.

They didn’t talk, but the silence was good. Feliciano’s pencil was scribbling designs with the accompaniment of Ludwig’s laptop typing away an essay that was long over due to write.

“Hey, Luds, look at this,” Feliciano muttered picking up his sketch book to show him the designs.

But to all odds it was Ludwig, with wings. Some where it was pulled out, in flight, and even where he was in traditional Flighter clothing that he only wore on specific holidays when seeing his parents.

He looked up with wide eyes to see Feliciano sheepishly tapping the easer on his plush lips, “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, it’s just that I love drawing you and even if you do hate Flighters they will harm you.”

Ludwig started taking his shirt off.

“The picture was nice Ludwig, but that doesn’t mean we can have sex now.”

He paused, “no, Feliciano.”

With a grunt the wings burst from his back, ripping away the scarred flesh and stretching painfully. Feliciano’s face was shocked and confused, his pencil halfway down his throat as he viewed the glorious wings.

“You’re a- a - ah–”

“A Flighter,” Ludwig finished for him, “I’m sorry for hiding this from you, I just didn’t want you to leave me.”

“Leave you?” Feliciano questioned with a huge smile, a hand resting on one of the wild feathers, “no! I could never. This is amazing!”

“Really?”

Feliciano nodded, “Of course!”

He was pulled into a hug, the wings joining for an extra limb to encase the boy in warmth. Maybe he always had to play an act, but with Feliciano he was able to shed his mask and never be judged.

And that’s what was good.

There’s beauty in every stumble. He loves El when she struggles to find her balance in the snow like a newborn deer. She loves Mike when he’s showing his two left feet as they try to dance. He loves her when she struggles find the right words to express exactly what she means. She loves him when he bolts across the playground after school to see her and utterly faceplants after tripping over his shoelace. He loves her when she nearly burns the house down trying to make Eggo waffles at two in the morning. She loves him when they’re perched on a high branch of on a tree (thanks to her levitation) and he nearly falls backwards off of it as she kisses him softly on the lips. He loves her when she falters over her words as she excitedly asks him to the Snow Ball. She loves him when he gingerly takes her hands in his and has to take several deep breathes before saying “I love you”

Mother Knows Best.

Request: can you do a fic where reader is dating crowley and meets Rowena for the first time and can’t help but laugh when reader finds out his name is Fergus

Requested by: nonnie

Warnings: None really. Just fluff

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everyone always thinks Spock moves as gracefully as a cat but after the events of The Apple can you really say that??? He’s tall and lanky and awkward and probably too big for his body. I bet he falls all the time. I bet he trips up in the halls. he probably forgets the last step on a flight of stairs and collapses like a newborn deer. he jabs his thigh on the corners of tables and we all know that pain is so intense even Vulcans can’t hold back a whimper of pain

Sometimes he rolls right off his bed. I bet he slips in the shower. He probably can’t hold more than 4 things.

anonymous asked:

Hello how's it going? Uhmm I'd like to request some old!damian wayne please if it isn't much to ask I would love fluff and just super cute pleaseeee

he’s a teen in this!

The entertainment room is large, definitely bigger than any living room you’d ever been in, but Damian had seemed very casual when he sat down on the edge of the leather sofa. He crosses his legs and fumbles for the remote to his right, turning on the television, and it takes him a second to realize that you haven’t sat down. It’s not your first date, no, but it is your first one in the mansion, and you’re not sure how to carry yourself. 

Damian scoffs, patting the couch beside him. “What’s mine is your’s- there’s no need to feel awkward.” He kicks his feet up onto the table before crossing his ankles, reclining. When you sit next to him, his ears pink up- he hadn’t really put thought to reality. Thigh-to-thigh, he tries to distract himself from the way your head rested so well on his shoulder. “Anything you want to watch, specifically?”

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-drags hand down face- okay but…Mileven ice skating (along with Dustin who skates surprisingly gracefully, Lucas who has skills from playing hockey, and Will who owns protective knee and elbow pads just for this occasion) 

So I was explaining to my boyfriend (who only listens to screamo music) how you can tell what kind of music different alternative bands play entirely based on the promotional pictures they take as a band. Then my best friend realized that I had accidentally created scarily accurate depictions of each band.

So first, you have your “too cool to look at the camera” bands; they also have a tendency to put their photos in black and white. These bands are the bands that are more likely to sound like incoherent mumbling with a sick beat. If you can manage to make out the incoherent mumbling then the words will make little to no sense to you until you start to really think about them, and you realize that they’re actually the most profound words you’ve ever heard before in your life.

Example: the 1975; “oh my car smells like chocolate.”

Example: the Arctic Monkeys; pick any of their lyrics. Any of them.

The Arctic Monkeys overlap with another type of band known as the “We’re a hardcore alternative band” in which one member of the band looks (or in Alex Turner’s case tries to look) tough, and makes the entire band seem like it might be able to be a rock band, but then their music begins and you realize that they are not.

Example: the Neighbourhood; “we say fuck in our songs, so hardcore” -sweater weather begins- “hardcore.”

Next we have the “Homeless” clause where you cannot tell if the promotional picture is a PSA to bring awareness to the growing homeless population, or a photo of a band. These bands can tend to have a rougher and more aggressive sound, which is allowed since at least one of their members generally has a full beard.

Example: The Kongos

Example: Bear Hands

Which brings us to our next section, the strange promo pictures. Bands who have quirky promotional pictures most likely tend to have a more quirky, unique sound.

Example: Vampire Weekend; the band that consists of white suburban dads who don’t have any kids

Example: New Politics

Example: Neon Trees

Example: Foster the People

Which brings us to our final category: the awkward band pictures. These bands are the bands that sound amazing and you love with all of your heart, but the lead singers are awkward in the cutest ways that make your heart melt because they remind you of little newborn deer who don’t quite understand how to walk yet.

Example: Bastille; aka I’m Dan Smith and I’m a little bit too awkward to function so I’m just going to sit here and look adorable and maybe no one will notice.

Example: Imagine Dragons; aka “I’m Dan Reynolds and we’re just a cute little Mormon band, and oh my goodness you guys are the greatest thank you so much for coming to the show I love you you’re all the best, and I love you and thank you so much and wow.”