the way bones said 'mind if i come in' really sounded like a pick up line

Devoid Of Color - Smut

Originally posted by multihxe

Author: @dumbass-stilinski
Rating: NSFW 18+
Pairing: Dylan O’Brien/Reader
Words: 4,170
AN: This was an anon request for a Soulmate AU where you didn’t see colors until you met your soulmate. I hope I did this justice because Soulmate AU’s are my FAVORITE. Love ya’ll, let me know what you think!

Title taken from Halsey’s Colors. The Veselka and Space Billiards are real places in NYC. You’re welcome.


If there was anything you wanted more in life, it was to meet your soulmate. As strange as it sounds, meeting your soulmate was a top priority in everyone’s life, because you needed to meet them in order to see color. The world was just a drab mixture of blacks and greys before that. Your mother had explained it to you once when you were small, that color would wash over your vision slowly, dull and drab, but still there. It was only when you got to know them more that the colors would become brighter, streaks of red and blue and yellow lighting up the world in full HD.

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it hurts until it doesn’t pt. 1

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Genre: Angst, smut

Word Count: 5.5k

Originally posted by talk-me-down-troye

part 1 part 2

You could feel your phone start to vibrate deep in the pocket of your coat as you fumbled with your keys and trying to balance your grocery bags in your hands. “Fuck.” You mumbled as the sounds of a bag ripping echoes through the hallway. By the time you managed to save your bananas and unlock your front door your phone had stopped.

The game of phone tag had been going on since Yoongi left for his work trip the week before and you hoped that when you called him back that he would still be on the other line. But your heart sank when the line kept ringing, only to have him pick up at the last second.

“Hey babe.” He said flatly. The syllables running off his tongue as if his thoughts were on autopilot.

You sank down in your chair, preparing for another conversation where neither of you actually say how you’re really feeling. Speaking in empty words to continue to pretend that things were still going strong between the two of you. “How is the album coming along?” You asked as you always do when Yoongi is away for work.

Yoongi sighed through the line and you could almost see him running his fingers through his messy hair, “The album is done. I’m just wrapping up the last of the mixing. I’m catching a flight home tomorrow”

Even through all the awkwardness your heart still skipped a beat at the mention of the word home. “Do you want me to pick you up?” You asked, trying to mask the hopefulness in your voice.

He paused, and you held your breath hoping that maybe he would have changed his mind, “No, it’s okay. My flight won’t be getting in until late and I don’t want you to have to take the train by yourself. I’ll just catch a cab home”

You couldn’t remember the last time he let you pick him up from the airport. You remembered how your heart used to race when he would text you that he landed. Even if Yoongi was only gone for a few days seeing him come down the escalators was enough to send your heart into a tailspin, “Oh, okay. Will you let me know when you’ve boarded and when you get in? Just to make sure you’re safe”

Yoongi’s yawn echoed through the phone, “I will. But I should get back to work. I love you”

“I love you too” were the only words that escaped your lips before the line on the other end went dead.

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A Brush With Death - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Prompt: Yayy! Can you do an imagine where the batfamily (and batmom) are going to this charity event the boys & bruce patrol bc of a looming threat? And then when they leave batmom gets shot near her heart & almost dies and they seek revenge (requested by @imagination-factory)

“Shit.” You swore under your breath as you danced with your husband. Over his shoulder you spied the bat symbol burning brightly in the overcast night sky.  

“It just turned on didn’t it?” Bruce asked so that only you could hear, not bothering to look over his shoulder at what he already knew was there.

“You betcha.” You said.  Bruce dropped his head and let out a quiet sigh into your hair.

“I have to go.” He said, full of regret.

“Go. I’ll handle your speech.” You reassured. “Go save the world.” You encouraged shooing him away from the dancefloor. He smiled gratefully towards you and pulled his phone out of his pocket to take a ‘phone call’ as he hurried out of the party.

You made your way over to the MC to let him know the change to the program and that your husband had to leave early for a ‘business emergency’. He looked a little annoyed by the sudden change but out of respect for the amount of money the Waynes donate to this program he made the wise decision not to complain to your face.

One by one you watched as each of your boys slipped out of the party and snuck off to help their father fight god knows what. You were flying solo tonight.

“…  Ladies and gentlemen it is my highest honor to welcome Mrs. [Y/N] Wayne to the stage.” The announcer said, giving your cue to ascend to the podium. As you smiled a bright friendly smile to the cameras and guests you couldn’t help but to think thank god for teleprompters. You greeted the microphone with a lighthearted joke about your workaholic husband and how he regrets that he had to bow out early.

“As you all are well aware, tonight is a very important night for this foundation. Not only because of the generosity of the donors tonight but also because by the end of tonight each and every one of you will be able to say you made a difference … In Gotham nonetheless!” You said cheerfully the crowd laughed politely at the speechwriter’s attempt at a joke. “Now it is my utmost honor to announce that the proceeds tonight will go directly to building an orphanage for Gotham’s most disenfranchised children. Every child needs a place to call home and with your generous donations we here at the Wayne foundation seek to make that ideal a reality. Thank you.” You said before handing the mic back over to the host of the evening.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ever so enchanting Mrs. Wayne.” He praised as you stepped off the stage. A round of applause erupted and you gave a small gracious bow to the audience.

‘Shit. I should be a politician with the amount of ass kissing I’m giving and receiving tonight.’ You thought to yourself behind your charming smile.

The celebratory atmosphere was quickly sliced through when the sound of gunshots rang out through the crowd. Just as quick as you heard the shots, a stab of pain ripped through your chest. It’s funny you’d think that your life would have flashed before your eyes or you would have thought about the people you love but all you could focus on was the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Each heartbeat growing weaker than the last.

/N] … Mrs. Wayne! Focus on the sound of my voice. Help’s coming alright? Just listen to me ok? God damn it!  Aren’t any of you overstuffed peacocks a doctor?” A murky voice called out to you. Spots danced across your eyes and your vision blurred obscuring the crowd of doctors and paramedics surrounding you.  

Your vision went completely black and you were certain that you were never going to wake up again but the next thing you knew you were slowly coming to in a bright sterile hospital room. The obnoxious beeping pierced through your head like ice picks being shoved into an angry hornet’s nest.

“Fuck me.” You croaked, squinting at the harsh lighting.  Every part of your body hurt. Either someone needed to pump you with more drugs or put a bullet in your brain to finish the job.

“Hey.” Bruce whispered gently sitting up from chair he had been sitting in to stand by your side. He gently brushed your hair away from your face.

“What the hell happened, Bruce?” You asked.

“You were shot [Y/N]. It was supposed to be me up there but you were put in their line of fire instead. I’m so sorry. I swear I’m going to make whoever’s responsible pay.” Bruce promised, his tone darkening with his promise.

“Where are the boys?”

“Hunting.” He said simply. “We’re all angry about what happened, [Y/N].”

“Any chance you can rein in the cavalry? All I want right now is all of my boys to be here. Almost dying puts shit into perspective, you know?” You said weakly. Bruce’s hand moved to firmly grasp yours.

“I’ll make the call, Darling. But you know they’re all going to be restless until someone is thrown into Blackgate with broken bones and a life sentence.” Bruce replied gently.

“I know.” You smiled weakly. “I just really want to see my boys right now, Bruce.” You said, your voice quivering slightly with the tears that were threatening to overtake you.

“I know, love, I know. They’ll be on their way soon.” Bruce hushed, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. Your family would be with you soon enough and all would be right in the world. Coming so close to death, you had half a mind never to let them go again.

Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off (Sebastian Stan x Reader) Pt. 5

A/N: hello lovelies! part 5 is finally here! This chap gets hella angsty AND steamy! ;) I hope you guys like it! ENJOY! - Delilah

Warnings: Angst. Sexual pictures. NSFW. Online relationships. Swearing. There is a very graphic picture at the end so beware lol!

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Coda to 12x11– Regarding Dean. Destiel.

Sam calls Cas as soon as they’re safely back at the bunker. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Cas growls at Sam, stalking across the kitchen to where Dean is nursing a beer. He asks Dean, “How are you feeling?” with some leftover animosity, but Dean recognizes it for what it is: concern. 

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Day Two: Failure/Insecurity

Day two of @vldangstweek. I decided to focus on the insecurity bit of this day. I’m really happy with the positive feedback on day one, thanks everyone! Under a cut for length. 


“Keith? You okay? You seemed a little…off…during that workout.”

“I’m fine, Hunk. Thanks for asking. I’ll be out to dinner in a second.”

There was a long pause, and Keith waited with baited breath until he heard the sound of Hunk’s footsteps moving down the hallway towards the dining hall. He sighed with relief and gingerly peeled off his jacket, fingerless gloves coming off after it. With a deep breath, he lifted his shirt up and over his head, the fabric drenched in sweat from training, and tossed it into the laundry chute.

When Keith turned back to the mirror, he couldn’t help but flinch. He lifted a hand and ran it over the skin of his stomach, over the faint lilac color that had been steadily stretching outwards ever since his encounter with The Blade of Marmora. It covered nearly his entire torso at this point, dipping just below the waistband of his jeans and curling up around his collar bone, over his biceps. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it for much longer, but keeping it covered, keeping it hidden from the others….

It made him feel less like a villain, less like a failure as a teammate, because since he was Galra, he was partially to blame for the death of Coran and Allura’s planet, partially to blame for Shiro’s disappearance, for everything.

He swallowed and dragged a hand through his hair, watching as the strands glistened a deep purple color in the light of the bathroom. That was the hardest to hide, but luckily for him, it seemed to be staying a darker shade rather than becoming the pale lavender he had grown so used to seeing on the Galra. It blended in with his hair, except in certain lighting, so for the most part it wasn’t visible.

Keith sighed and hunched over the sink, taking a shaky breath and turning the tap on. He splashed a bit of cold water into his face, letting it drip down over his chin and down his neck, the coldness replenishing his energy and making it easier for him to relax about this whole damn predicament.

A knocking at the door. “One sec, Hunk.”

“It’s not Hunk. Dude, you okay?”

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Human Shield - A SuperCorp fic

I don’t always have time to make complete comics. I work. A LOT. But this was a really interesting idea I wanted to explore. And @luthoring​ encouraged me, sooooo… here you go.

Beyond the cut is the result, expanding on this comic. Written entirely from Lena’s perspective.

Fair warning: there is violence, injury, and angst. 

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Jensen’s Salon

It didn’t take Jensen long to realize certain things about Misha Collins—the guy is very smart, a little quirky, and absolutely, one hundred percent incapable of styling his own hair. It was bad enough that the show’s stylists always made the guy look so like he just danced on a train’s third rail, but Jensen soon discovered that Misha wasn’t any better with it, and it’s little things like that that tend to drive Jensen crazy.

He loves his friends and he wants them to be happy, and he knows that people feel happier when they look sharp. So Jensen will often lend a helping hand. It’s why he’s given Richard certain scarves—so that all his outfits can pop; and it’s why Jared started wearing beanies all the time—because Jensen knew how well they framed his face. And it’s not like Jensen thinks any of his buddies look bad without these little adjustments, but why not help them spice things up a bit? Why not make sure that they’re always putting their best foot forward? Appearances certainly aren’t everything but they do count for something, and that’s why Jensen wants to ensure that all his buddies look their best.

So after the third week in a row where Misha showed up to set looking like a cow had just treated his head as an ice cream cone, Jensen became determined to do something about it.

“We’re friends, right?” he asks suddenly, catching Misha by surprise.

Misha cracks a wary smile but then nods. “I would like to think we are.”

“Okay good” Jensen sighs, finally grabbing Misha by the arm and yanking him in the direction of his trailer, “because we need to do something about all—” he makes a floppy gesture towards the top of the other man’s head, “this.”

Misha’s hand shoots up to touch is own hair, and then he squints at Jensen. “What?”

Your hair, dude. This …” he gestures again, “this is not a look.”

Misha eventually drops his hand and shrugs. “I don’t really have a look. It’s not worth my time.”

“Looking your best isn’t worth your time?” Jensen counters, stopping in his tracks while sounding slightly offended by that idea.

Misha shrugs once more. “Who am I trying to impress?”

“You’re a public figure! You’re trying to impress practically everyone!”

After the third shrug, Jensen gives up on the speeches and continues to drag Misha up the steps to his trailer. “Well, if you don’t care then you won’t care if I try to make that mess on your head look a little better.”

“Go for it” Misha laughs, still sounding completely unimpressed by any of this.

Once inside, Jensen sits Misha down onto one of the stools by the kitchen peninsula and tells him to wait there, and then he goes to the back to grab all of his combs and hair products from his bathroom. By the time he returns, Misha’s eyes are wide as he looks at all the things filling Jensen’s arms.

“I don’t think I have enough hair for all of that” the man mutters, obviously second guessing his agreement to let Jensen style him. “Come to think of it—how do you have enough hair for all of that?”

Jensen rolls his eyes as he sets everything down on the counter. “I’m not going to use all of it, but I don’t know what I’ll need until I get in there.”

“It’s hair, not brain surgery, Jensen.”

Hey—hair can be complicated. Just ask your poor scalp. You must torture that thing!”

Misha frowns and then scratches at his head with concern. “Does it really look that bad?”

Jensen frowns some too. “Nah, man – look, you just need to know how to handle it. It’s not horrible … just … messy.”

“Isn’t messy all the rage these days?”

“Not a good rage” Jensen grunts, lining up the mousses and gels in order of hold. Once everything is ready, he smiles and claps his hands together. “Alright—here we go!”

“You’re way too excited about this” Misha mutters, spinning back around on the stool as Jensen comes around the counter to stand in front of him.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks” Jensen admits, already reaching out for Misha’s head to get started.

“Really?”

It’s only then that Jensen realizes what he’d said, and it makes him blush a little. “Heh—uh, yeah, well … I just had some ideas of how I could help, ya know? Make all this look better.”

Misha stares up at him curiously but Jensen continues to avoid direct eye contact, choosing instead to focus on running his hands through the man’s hair, seeing which way it naturally wants to go.

“Well …” he says after a minute, “at least it doesn’t feel too coarse. Do you condition it?”

Misha makes an unsure sound before shrugging again. “I just use whatever my wife uses.”

Jensen nods, thinking about how much that makes sense. A guy who doesn’t really care about his appearance, probably wouldn’t go spending money on extra products just for him. “Alright, well—whatever she gets is pretty good.” Jensen pushes his hands across Misha’s scalp one more time, just feeling and playing with the strands. “Okay—so it seems like your hair naturally wants to pull to the left, so that’s what we’ll go with.”

“Usually things on me want to pull to the right” Misha laughs while looking up to catch Jensen’s eye. He then gives him a slow wink, quickly flicking his gaze downwards to try and emphasize his point.

Jensen groans. “Stop movin’ your head and be quiet, will ya? I’m trying to work my magic.”

Misha corrects his posture and sits up straight. “Take it away, Magic Man. I’m in your hands.”

Jensen groans again, but he soon focuses all his attention on the top of his friend’s head, trying to figure out which mousse to start with. After a second more, he reaches for the one with medium hold and extra volume, thinking that some lift might just create the image that Jensen has in his mind. And as soon as he has a generous amount of foam in his hand, he begins to work it through the dark locks of Misha’s hair—massaging here and twisting there, trying to make the tendrils clump together just right.

“How’s it goin’ up there, boss?” Misha asks, peeking at Jensen from the tops of his eyes.

Jensen steps back a bit before answering, pivoting in the middle to try and see his masterpiece from every angle. “I’m … not sure yet.”

“That’s a good sign” Misha hums dryly.

Jensen glares at him and then scoots up close once more. “Shut up—I just started.”

“Well, please, take your time. After all, I’m just here to help you get through beauty school. Are we practicing highlights next? Doing my nails?” Misha brings up his hands to his face and begins picking at his fingers. “I know my cuticles have been a hot mess lately.”

Jesus” Jensen moans, wondering why he expected Misha to be at all cooperative throughout this experience.

“We should get Jared in here too—you can braid his hair, or put it in a bun … no! Shave half of it.”

That makes Jensen finally crack a smile. “Dude, he won’t let me anywhere near his hair! He’s so protective.”

Misha grimaces as Jensen tugs some of the strands just a bit too hard. “Yeah—I’m starting to see why.”

“Oh shut it, ya wimp!”

After that, Misha smiles but he stays quiet, letting Jensen play hairdresser without any protest. So Jensen pulls the locks every which way, twisting and combing, running his fingers through it all and then starting over when it all refuses to work. And before he knows it, nearly twenty minutes have passed and Misha is starting to slump in his seat. “Are we—ya know, close to being done yet? It has been a long day.”

Jensen sighs before pulling over the other stool and sitting himself down as well, immediately going back to his work once he’s settled. “I just can’t … it’s not doing …” he bites his lip a moment. “It’s just not doing what I want it to.”

Misha laughs. “Now do you see why I never bother?”

Jensen grumbles but he doesn’t want to give up yet. With a determined breath, he runs his index finger across Misha’s hairline, tracing the edges of each strand—as if mapping it all out will help somehow. But just as he slips down over the man’s ear, Misha drops his chin a little, so Jensen moves his other hand over to lift it up again. He then sits back, finally taking in all of Misha’s face at eye level, thinking that it may help him figure out where he’s going wrong. While gazing at his hair, Jensen’s eyes drop down some—and he notes the man’s high cheek bones and strong jaw as well—and the way his large eyes tilt down slightly at the ends. He stares at the rough stubble covering Misha’s chin and upper lip, framing his mouth in a way that makes his lips seem impossibly pink. Jensen then looks at the man’s nose, realizing how it’s not the usual type of nose that would work on someone—but on Misha, it looks good. It fits his face—and his face overall, is a nice one to look at.

“Everything where it should be?” Misha asks, and Jensen suddenly realizes that he’s long since stopped playing with the man’s hair, and is now just staring at all his features while his fingers play lightly at the base of his neck.

“Oh—uh …”

Misha chuckles a little before quirking an eyebrow. “Do I look super sexy now?”

Jensen blushes again, finally glancing back at the man’s hair, which he has somehow—made worse. “Well, actually …”

He doesn’t let him finish, and with a wide grin, Misha stands up, eventually lifting his hands back to his hair and running them through with a few quick swipes. Then, with the tips of his fingers, he combs the strands over to the left, doing soft little twists once he gets to the ends. After his hair is parted just so, he flattens his palms and smooths down the sides behind his ears, giving his head a quick shake when it’s all said and done; and that makes everything bounce and lift—like the mousse was supposed to.

Jensen gawks up at him in shock, because after only a minute and a few blind, flicks of his wrist, Misha’s hair looks perfect, a beautiful example of “intentionally messy” and exactly what Jensen had been going for. “But … how?” he whispers, standing slowly to reach for Misha’s head.

But the man only smacks his hand away, wearing a smirk that would put the devil to shame. “I said it wasn’t worth the effort—I never said I didn’t know how to do it.” And with that, Misha grins, stepping around Jensen and smacking him on the ass before heading out the door. “Thanks for the head massage though!” he calls out, just as the door slams shut behind him; and Jensen would flip him off, but he’s still just too damned stunned to even try.

Please hang up and try again

(ao3)


Clarke is mildly annoyed to see her phone light up with the hospital’s number, buzzing incessantly against the couch. She hates getting called in when she’s actually on-call. Getting called in on her day off, when she’s already eight episodes deep into a Prison Break binge, is even worse.

She’s pretty sure Maya is on shift tonight, and since Maya is the kind of friend Clarke can threaten with bodily harm without any love lost between them, she swipes to answer and sighs, “Whatever huge emergency I’m getting called in on my day off to deal with, it better be able to wait because I’m in my pajamas and there are hardly any trains running at this time of night.”

There’s an unexpected pause on the line.

“Clarke?”

“Yeah, did you not mean to call me?” She asks hopefully. “Does this mean I don’t have to come in?”

“No, uh–” Maya stutters. “I mean– We don’t need you here but… you might still want to come in? There’s a patient in the ER who gave us your number for his emergency contact.”

Clarke frowns. “Who is it?”

“I can’t really understand him, he’s slurring pretty bad,” says Maya, sounding as exasperated as Clarke has ever heard her. “It sounds like he’s saying his name is Baloney but I’m honestly just not willing to accept that. Even with the way people name their kids these days.”

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Chamber of Secrets - Part 23

Originally posted by robertsdowneystark

Pairing: Bucky x Reader 

Summary: After the Avenger’s falling out, you were put in charge of putting Bucky together. Under King T’Challa’s orders, you were given a month’s time to create a new arm while simultaneously figure out how to get the triggering memories of his past out of his mind. As the time goes by, you found yourself confiding in him, despite his frozen state.

A/N: Sorry for the wait! This was a long and difficult one to write, phew! 

Series Masterlist


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Oh My, My, My - IV (Bucky Barnes AU)

OH MY MY MY MASTER LIST


SUMMARY: A love story from start to finish.

WARNINGS: a little bit of angst and language… and like fluff for 5 seconds.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: soooo…. i hit 50 users on my tag list but I did get additional people asking me to be on it… so I’m opening up 50 more spaces. yayyyyyyyy!!! lol 
again, PLEASE let me know if you want to be tagged.

Enjoy!


Days passed since the incident with Bucky at Tony’s house and you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out of it. Your mom pressed for details that night and morning after but you weren’t going to tell her you were madly in love with Bucky Barnes.

“So, how’d the party go?” Natasha sipped on her Starbucks drink.

“Shit. It was shit. My God, I hate myself. I still want to die just thinking about it.” Your hand came to palm you in the face.

“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Natasha chuckled.

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Hold On (Jace x Reader)

A/N: Sorry for the two sad imagines in a row with Jace. I didn’t even notice until I went to post.

Request: Do a sad imagine where Jace won’t listen and his sister pays for it later on or something? Idk even know please? Maybe with the song hold on?


 “Why do you treat me like I’m a kid?” You yelled out at Jace. You two were fighting again. Yes sibling fight but you two seemed to put a different meaning to it lately. You guys couldn’t even breath the same air without an argument breaking out.

“Because you’re a kid Y/N”

“I’m only a year younger then you Jace” You huffed out, crossing your arms. Jace rolled his eyes at your action. Jace may be the older sibling but he always acted like the youngest especially now with that Fray girl in the picture.

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Phan: Degradation

Summary: Phil calls Dan a slut during sex and Dan doesn’t like it. 

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut
Warning: degradation, dub-con
Wordcount: 1.8k
A/N: I decided it’s time to finally start working on the prompts in my inbox. I have no idea how old this one is, I’m sorry it took me so long. 

If someone would ask Dan how his sex life was, he’d confidently reply that it was great. Him and Phil, they had plenty of sex. In the bedroom. In the living room. In the kitchen. In the shower. And not only did they have plenty of sex, they also had good sex. Mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex that made you come so hard that you’d feel boneless afterwards, needing a minute or two to catch your breath again.

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even underneath the waves, i’ll be holding on to you

aftg zombie au, “i want to go back for you”. warning: very long
basically, what would happen if neil and andrew were separated during an apocalypic situation.


The news says it first.

The world is ending and everything has gone to shit.

Nowhere is safe and nothing is okay anymore.

Nothing was ever okay, but they make it sound new, like this is something nobody expected to happen. Not here, never here.

It started with a virus. It was like the flu in every other way; the fever that kept people bedridden for days, the sickness and the headaches. It was like the flu in every other way but one: it slowly ate away at people’s insides, made living people into nothing but hollow hosts. Nobody would have expected a kindergarten teacher from the West to lash out her students but it was even worse when she bit one, and then he bit his mother three weeks later and she bit her boss. Like that, the vicious cycle continued. Everywhere there was panic, there was a disaster, there was death.

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Hi. I’m not sure if you write SuperCat, but I sure need Cat Grant to get herself back to National City, or at least be involved from afar. Could you please write something where it’s Cat who comforts Kara after Homecoming? Many thanks.

^^ prompt above from @statuepuppie. Refers to this fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9122290/chapters/21551657

Maggie called Cat Grant when Livewire was on the loose, because her girlfriend’s kid sister needed her then. And she’s calling Cat Grant again now, because Kara needs her now.

She hadn’t expected the Queen of All Media to save her number, but Cat picks up on the first ring and addresses Maggie by name.

“Detective Sawyer, tell me she’s fine and that you’re simply wasting my very precious time for the sake of a social call.”

Her voice is clipped and just on this side of professional, but Maggie easily detects the concern underneath it.

“She’s fine, Ms. Grant, she’s fine.”

She hears Cat sigh and she bites her lip. “Then what, pray tell, are you calling me for?”

“She’s fine, Ms. Grant, but she… she needs you.”

She doesn’t specify who: Kara or Supergirl. She knows she doesn’t need to.

There’s a long pause, and Maggie is about to ask if she’s still there.

“What happened?” Cat asks before she can, and her voice is thick.

“Best for her to tell you details, but the short of it, Alex’s father came back from the dead only to sort of… well, betray everyone. And she’s in this new relationship that she thinks is going to make her feel at least something, and – “

“I’m getting the next flight out. Thank you, Detective Sawyer.”

Maggie expects that to be it, but Cat’s still on the line. A brief pause. Then:

“Alex. Kara’s sister. Your girlfriend, correct? Is she alright? She… from my experiences with her, she’s a brave woman. And Kara idolizes her. You’re taking good care of her, too, I trust?”

Maggie smiles softly. “I’m doing my best with both Danvers girls, ma’am, but I think Kara could use a more familiar face than mine.”

“Well, as I said, I’ll arrange for a sitter for Carter and be on the next flight out. Thank you, Detective. For taking care of those girls. Don’t forget to be good to yourself, too.”

This time, the line does disconnect before Maggie can say any more.

But she smiles, because Cat Grant is on her way to Kara.

She makes sure Alex knows to keep Mon-El away from Kara’s apartment that night. J’onn invents work for him, gladly.

They don’t need a body to be dropped in Kara’s apartment by one Cat Grant.

The paperwork alone would be more trouble than it’d be worth.

The sharp rap on the door makes Kara think of Maggie, so she doesn’t bother checking with her x-ray vision, doesn’t even bother untangling from her blankets or putting down her pint of mint chocolate chip.

“It’s open,” she calls heartlessly, wondering if Maggie is looking for Alex or if she’s looking for another round of speed stacking to take Kara’s mind off things.

“Well, Keira, I have to say, I expected your apartment to be an explosion of millennial mess and absurd color, but I have to admit, it has a certain charm to it.”

The ice cream scatters and Kara falls ungracefully off the couch in a tangled mess of blankets with a series of loud shrieks.

If Cat is at all surprised, she hides it well, but the sparkle in her eyes and the smile tugging at her lips give her away the moment before she springs into action.

“Are you alright?” she rushes forward, just in time for Kara to unravel herself from the blanket and spring to her feet.

She has to remind herself strongly of earth physics as, pretenses and professionalism be damned, she wraps Cat it a full-bodied hug.

“Ms. Grant,” she breathes over her shoulder, and Cat freezes for only a moment before fully returning the embrace, fingers grasping for dear life onto the back of Kara’s shirt.

Cat is the first to pull back, and she wonders if her own tears are reflected in Kara’s blue eyes. She wonders how she ever forgot quite how crystalline they are.

“I hear you’re having a rough time, Kiera, and if the pint of – is that mint chocolate chip? – is any indication, my source is quite correct – “

“Snapper’s been calling you about me? But he’s been liking my work, he – “

Cat is tsking, now, and moving around the living room, collecting the ice cream and spoon and blanket, rearranging everything into its former semi-order.

“Not Snapper, dear. Your sister’s girlfriend. Seems to think you would benefit from my presence.”

Kara stiffens and her eyes widen and Cat remembers how much she’s missed watching Kara adjust her glasses like this. “Ms. Grant, you didn’t need to come all this way, I – “

“Oh nonsense, Keira. What have I told you? You need to learn, competent and efficient and brilliant as you are, when to ask for help. You’re entitled to do so, you know. And you’re entitled to receive it.”

Tears swim in Kara’s steady eyes, and she’s forgotten how to form words.

Ms. Grant, back in National City. Ms. Grant, in her apartment. Ms. Grant, seeing her be a complete and utter wreck.

“Ms. Grant, really, I – “ She tries to object, just once more, but she can’t even get that far. Because her voice cracks and her knees give out and she collapses back onto the couch, hugging herself because she’s completely lost sense of what is real.

“Oh, Kara,” Cat breathes, and the sound of her name on Cat’s lips works its way into her skin, through her muscles, into her bones, into her bloodstream. Into her heart.

“I’m here, Kara. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Kara chokes, and Cat just nods, sitting softly and putting a hesitant hand on Kara’s knee. Kara takes it immediately, and a soft smile flits over Cat’s face.

They don’t talk about Jeremiah, and they don’t talk about Mon-El.

They talk about CatCo and they talk about Carter and Cat’s mother and Alex and Maggie and Kara cries without words and Cat comforts without words and Kara sits up straighter and cries less and less throughout the night.

Cat even shares a spoonful of her ice cream, and it’s this, more than anything, that makes Kara smile. That makes Kara feel so, so loved.

To make Kara remember what it was like when her life was like this.

To make her realize what she has to do to get back to that.

She makes a note to thank Maggie in the morning, but for now, sitting on her couch with Cat Grant and laughing about Snapper, she doesn’t want the morning to come. Not just yet.

Title: Sex Drunk

Pairing: Wincestiel

Rating: Explicit

Wordcout: 1,994

Notes: just a little cheer up quickie for @hornsonmysoul, because ily, be nice to yourself (loosely based off what I remember of the episode ‘99 problems’ with the whore of babylon, I know this doesn’t really work with the timeline of it but anyway)

-

“What’s with the angel passed out on the bed?”

Dean pulled his jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair, eyeing Cas spread out on one bed on top of the comforter, trench coat and shoes still on.

“He showed up drunk.”

On the small couch, hunched over an old book, Sam didn’t even bother to look up at Dean.

“What, seriously? He can even get drunk?”

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair and finally sat back, looking at Dean. “He said he drank a whole liquor store. I think he might have meant that literally.”

Dean pulled a dingy glass down from a kitchenette cupboard and filled it with tap water. “Man, what is up with him.”

“He called me stupid when I asked if he was ok.”

“I mean, it’s kind of obvious he’s not.”

Setting the water down on the table, Dean moved to root through a duffel bag at the end of the couch, pulling out a bottle of aspirin.

“Where’s Padre?”

“Taking a minute to get his head on.”

Passing the couch, Dean patted Sam on the arm and his brother leaned into it before settling back quietly over his book. Picking up the water, Dean took the aspirin over to the bed and sat down hard, bouncing the mattress.

Cas was dead to the world.

“Maybe you should let him sleep,” Sam said.

“Maybe you should mind your business.”

The bitch face he got for that was reassuring. Things’d be fine between them. Always were.

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Voltron Whump Week Day One: Fever

Summary: Pidge goes hiking with the squad even though she’s not feeling well. Not one of her brightest ideas, but nobody really thinks coherently when they’ve got a raging fever. For @hastalalaterkeith7152 because it’s pretty much a given now I tag you in everything you wanted some sick Pidge and also you give me consistent feedback on all my writing. thank you friend. She/her pronouns are used for pidge in this fic.


“We’re here,” Lance announced, much too joyful for six o’clock in the morning and much too loudly for Pidge’s ears. What were her friends even doing here, anyway? Oh, right. The boys had planned a hiking trip. Lance, Hunk, Keith, and Shiro all filtered into her house.

“I’ve got food,” Hunk stated, setting a picnic basket on the kitchen table. He began to rummage through its contents, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. “Okay, let’ see, carrot sticks, celery, cheese, crackers, protein bars, juice boxes, and of course, peanut butter sandwiches.” He pumped a fist in the air.

“Hunk, this isn’t a fourth grade field trip,” Lance said, “we’re all grown–oohh, you didn’t tell me they’re animal crackers!”

“Moving on,” Shiro gave Lance an uncertain glance, “I’ve got plenty of water, a compass, first aid kit, extra band-aids, because Lance is a klutz–” 

“Hey!”

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Someday

request:  can you do number 83 from the most recent requests thing you reblogged? thank you love

hello loves! trust me, part two to Shattered is coming! i’m going in order of my requests, so it will be up on sunday. sorry that it’s a week away, but it’ll be worth it, or at least I hope it will be! anyways, keep sending in requests from this writing list or whatever you want! hope you enjoy!


For as long as you can remember, you always wanted to be a mom.

When you were younger, you would play house with your baby dolls. As you entered your primary years, you switched to Barbie dolls, and were there mom in Barbie form. You loved the idea of being a mother.

When you met Harry, you saw that future with him. It wasn’t immediate, but after about four months of dating, you knew this man would be around for a long time. Now, two years later, you have had that talk several times. Usually when you had these talks was when you were just laying on the couch, your bed, or wherever you ended up, just laying in each others arms.

Harry was the first one to bring it up. You had thought about it, of course, but were to scared that he didn’t feel the same way. But of course Harry felt the same way.

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anonymous asked:

and you're naked.okay. plss

Request 06: “And you’re naked. Okay.”

Warnings: a bit of fluff i guess????

You can request a blurb to be made from this list, or anything you’d wish for me to write. xx.


Tonight was the night. That much you were sure of. You had this one rule, this one promise you’d made yourself. You wouldn’t have sex on the first date. Or the third, for that matter. Basically, you weren’t going to sleep with a guy just because he bought you a nice dinner and called you beautiful.

Although, you knew from the first second you laid eyes on Harry after he knocked on your door and brought you flowers on the first date, that you wanted to sleep with this man. He was charm and charisma personified. He made you laugh, like really laugh. You’d be seeing each other for a month now, and besides some intense hand action, he still hadn’t pushed you to have sex. So, that’s how you knew that tonight was the night.

You’d called him over for a night in: take out and a rom-com, Nicky Spee, perhaps? “As long as I get to be Rachel McAdams,” he joked.

The take out was great and the movie gave you the same fuzzy feeling just as it always did… even if you had seen it fifty times. Harry and you dubbed lines. Sometimes he was Rachel McAdams, but sometimes he’d be Ryan Gosling, too. Either way, that boy knew that movie by heart.

“Hey, I’m gonna run upstairs real quick. Would you mind putting the dishes up?” you asked, your heart thumping in your chest.

“Sure,” Harry obliged, flicking his eyes from the rolling credits on the screen.

You smiled and took the stairs two at a time, trying not to sound too eager as you shut your bedroom door. Once it was closed, you sprang into action.

Harry was a rockstar for God’s sake. He’d had models, actresses, fans. You were an ordinary girl, so you couldn’t just be ordinary sex too. You ran to the bathroom and touched up your makeup, making sure that your skin was free of any stand-out blemishes. You combed your hair and brushed your teeth; you even flossed and used mouthwash. You slathered lotion on every exposed part of skin and checked for any signs of hair popping up where it shouldn’t. 

Finally, after grooming yourself down to the bone, you stood in front of your bed in nothing but your robe. You could hear Harry coming up the steps, and you were happy that your plan was working. He was falling right into your trap and he didn’t even know it.

“Hey, Y/N? Yeh okay?” Harry asked through the door. When you didn’t answer, Harry turned the doorknob and you dropped your robe. 

He stepped through and looked up, his eyes widening, but then relaxing. His lips turned up into a smirk. “And you’re naked. Okay.”

“I’m ready,” you said as confidently as possible, trying to hide your trembling hands. You could count all the people on one hand that had seen you fully exposed, and one of them was your best friend.

Harry stepped forward and picked up your robe from the floor, draping it around your shoulders. Your heart sunk. “I don’ wanna do this if yeh feel like ’m pressurin’ yeh,” Harry said earnestly.

You moved to drop your robe again. “You’re not,” you assured him. “You’ve been so patient. I really want this. I had it all planned out.”

Harry searched your eyes. “Yeh sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Your outspoken consent was enough to make Harry get his bearings. He kissed you gently, his hands roaming your body. He was a gentleman, taking his time, and never prying for what you didn’t give him.

Your one rule turned out not to be that bad, you thought.