you can see a little bit of tension in his face still

Main 6 and Their Favorite Ways to Cuddle

Asra - They definitely treasure intimacy, so they want to hold you face to face, chest to chest, hips to hips. They love being as close to you as possible and the urge to cuddle will strike them spontaneously, but they will always wait for a quiet moment so they can really relish the moment and make it last as long as possible. They will call you over to pull you close, or sidle up if you’re the one laying down first, and immediately tangle their legs with yours. Next they’ll grasp one of your hand in theirs, and their free hand will roam over you almost reverently. Stroking through your hair, trailing down to run their thumb over your jaw, your throat, down your arm and to finally squeeze your hip before beginning the return journey back upward. They will press their forehead to yours and it’s like the weight or the world suddenly disappears from their shoulders, and you can guarantee a mind blowing kiss is right around the corner. When you bring your free hand up to brush your thumb over their cheeks or lips, their eyes light up like stars, and there’s something unreadable yet still understood behind them.

Julian - He adores laying between your legs with his head on your chest. You’d think his height would make this difficult but he’s had his entire adult life to figure out how to make it work. He’ll approach slowly and you’d be able to tell what he was after by his body language, and he’d slowly crawl up to you, nudging your legs open just enough so there’s room for him. He’d settle in shyly, getting comfortable and ask if you were okay once he got settled, and if you weren’t he’d adjust as much as possible until you were both as comfy as could be. He’d just melt into you if you wrapped your arms around him and kissed his forehead or the top of his head. He doesn’t get those kinds of kisses often because of how tall he is. Not many people can reach those points, so that kind of affection really gives him the warm fuzzies. He’ll return your affections by idly stroking your arms or thighs, his pale hands almost ghost-like with how barely there the touches are. He’s most likely going to fall asleep during cuddle time, but it’s okay, he needs the rest.

Nadia - The Countess is a busy woman, so when she manages to make time to curl up with you she’s going to go all out. She absolutely adores having you curled up into her side with your head on her shoulder. She’ll beckon you in with that ‘come hither’ look and hold her arm out to you, and you definitely won’t be able to resist. She’ll get you nice and settled in, and like the cherry on top of a sundae, she’ll lean her cheek against your temple and allow herself to relax. You’ll be able to feel the tension leave her body once she’s got you where she wants you, and she won’t be shy about showering you with affection once you’re settled. Prepare to be spoiled rotten with temple kisses and gentle squeezes to your shoulder, and don’t be surprised if she breathes a sweet nothing or two into your ear. If you decide to take her by surprise and plant a kiss or two of your own along her jaw, well you might just get the privilege of seeing a bit of a rosy hue grace her cheeks as she smiles indulgently down at you.

Portia - Little lady loves to snuggle that’s for sure! Her all time favorite way to cuddle up with you is to just straddle your lap and bury her face in your neck. She’ll spring it on you by surprise, but she’ll always be conscious of what you’re doing, waiting for an opportune moment to slide in and throw her thigh over your lap. Her arms will immediately go around your shoulders and start toying with the hair at the nape of your neck or lightly scratch at your scalp with her nails. This position allows both of you to nuzzle into each other’s necks, which is always a plus if you’re a hardcore snugglebug like she is. She will giggle and give you nose rubs and cheek kisses, and isn’t afraid to spend this time telling you about her day. Cuddle time doesn’t have to be quiet time with her, and she’ll urge you to join in and tell you about your day as well. She loves it when you start returning her playful smooches, it will make her flush from her cheeks to her chest and she’ll squeeze your hips with her thighs. She craves playful affection and she just glows when her cravings are indulged.

Muriel - Having you on top of him is a big comfort. This mountain man is literally a mountain of a man, and he won’t often seek out cuddles for himself, so when he does it’s a real treat. He’ll motion you over toward him, whether he’s on the bed or lounging in front of the fire, with his arms open and inviting. Once you’re within the circle of his burly arms he’ll lay back slowly, making sure you’re comfortable the whole time, and just lay back with you sprawled over him. He’ll let you move about and find a comfortable position, and once you’re cozy his arms he’ll drape them across you fully, locking you into place with their comforting weight. He’ll become a blushy mess if you start trailing your fingers idly over his chest, but he loves it all the same. Sometimes he’ll feel bold enough to trail his hands up and down your arms or back, and he’ll silently marvel about how for once, the concern of accidentally hurting you isn’t really much of a concern for the time being.

Lucio - The man loves to be pampered, so of course his favorite place to lay is head is in your lap. He’ll start off with his usual swagger and confidence,  sitting next to you and schmoozing his way closer and closer to you, until ultimately his head is firmly in your lap and he’s all but forced your focus on him. The more time he spends there though, the more that bold and bratty image starts to slip away. The smirk melts off, the confident quirk of his eyebrow relaxes. Eventually you have a relatively calm and quiet Count on your hands, and the only thing he’ll do is lay there while you play with his hair. It’s on his top ten list of favorite things, getting his hair played with. Lightly scratch your nails along his scalp, tuck locks behind his ears, brush little stray bits off his forehead, he’ll lay there for hours under your ministrations if you let him. The only time he’ll stop you is to plant kisses along your hand, from fingertip to wrist. He may be a brat, but even he deserves to be spoiled like this once in a while.

Rough Corridors
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When you joined Shawn on tour, this is not what you expected.

You expected traveling the world with the love of your life. You expected fun adventures seeing different monuments. Late night diner crashes during a trip to a new state. Fun plane rides to each country.

But what you got? It was the exact opposite.

You got traveling with the band on a separate flight because Shawn was booked for a last minute interview. You got, passing out in the bunk alone while Shawn was out celebrating with the band. You got, not seeing him at all on performance days (which you totally understood) but still ignored even after the show.

It was tiring for you, trying to fit yourself in his schedule. You spoke more to him through text than you did in person. 

And when you did speak in person? It was usually some sort of fight. 

He’d blame it on being tired, and not wanting to take you somewhere on a day off.

This last fight, that you had in the arena’s greenroom before leaving was a bad one. 

Now you sit on the bus, cramped with him and the team, driving to the next arena with no where to really hide from him.

He sits next to you at the table in the little kitchen area, on his phone, posting his annual after show ‘thank you’ and commenting on tweets about the show.

You sigh, letting your head hit the window as you watch the dark scenery pass by in a blur. 

Keep reading

Pennywise headcannons (fluff)

I’ve been feeling a bit down recently so I figured I’d try and do some fluff ones this time as a way of cheering myself up. I did NSFW ones last time if you wanna check them out. Forgive me if these seem a bit flat. Emotionally the past few days haven’t been the best for me and I feel like that might come off as gloominess in my writing. •Given he’s at least a foot taller than your average human. He would always have to bend down to kiss you. •Sometimes you’d wake up to see a creepy little smiley face drawn into the frost on your window. Meaning he’d dropped by last night to check on you. Just his little way of reminding you he’s always watching out for you.

• On days where you feel nervous or anxious you’d notice a familiar looking off-white and red bird following you around.

•If you’d had a bad day you would head straight to the Neibolt house. You’d always want to be near him when you’re feeling depressed but not really wanting to talk a lot. Hearing you so quiet would worry him and he would always try to make you crack a smile or laugh.

•You’d explain different Halloween traditions to him excitedly because it’s the one day of the year you could go out as a couple in public.  And his first reaction is “So you’re telling me kiddies just walk right up to your door, looking for a scare. Well, thats fucking great. Easy feed right there.”  “Umm, I think you’re missing the point.”

•You’d get a very dramatic eye roll when you did show up on Halloween wearing your best attempt at his costume and makeup with a pile of red balloons.

•sassing him and him glaring at you when you do do that.

•“I can’t believe that stupid fucking kid called my house a crack house”. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry tho, I like your crack house.”

•Both of you sitting on the porch of the Neibolt house when a storm is rolling in. Talking about whatever was on your mind. You’d have your legs splayed out underneath you and an arm outstretched into the rain, enjoying the familiar smell it brings.

•You’d tell him you don’t mind the sewers at all. Its the people up top that scare you more.

•Telling him you want to spend the whole summer with him.

•Carrying one of his little bells around as a good luck charm.

•Doing your best to copy his maniacal clown laugh.

•Because you keep tripping or walking into things down in the dark sewers, you decide to set up some candles down there so you can see better. Pennywise isn’t too impressed now that his liar os scented and has mood lighting.

•Because your starting to spend more and more time down in the Neibolt house with him you end up moving some go your belongings there. Books, cassette tapes, maybe a favorite pillow. You accidentally left your sketchbook there once, only for him to find a few drawings of him inside. You, of course, would be embarrassed. But he would find it endearing and make you beg him to give the book back while he held it above you, just out of your reach.

•He’d pick you up and spin you around at random moments.

•When you were younger you got beat up a lot, Derry isn’t a very open-minded place. You eventually gain the reputation of being the girl you do not fuck with. Even before you knew Pennywise had his eye on you, bad things always seemed to happen to the people who mess with you. It was only later you figured out it was him. Your his precious, little human and no one is allowed to hurt you.

•There was one time on your way home a bunch of girls from school got the jump on you. One of them grabs onto your long hair, yanking it to keep you from running away. The self-proclaimed leader of the group starts kneeing you in the gut, while the rest chant insults at you. You fall to the ground which causes the tension on your scale to only get worst. Out of instinct, you’d try your best to curl up and use your arms to cover your head in order to block some of the blows. Despite your best efforts most of them would still hit their mark. Pennywise would come crawling out of the sewer at lightning speed, fangs fully exposed, causing your attackers to scatter. He managed to grab the girl that was kicking you by her neck, lifting her and making the most inhuman snarling noise. His mouth hanging open, teeth fully splayed and drool flooding past his lips. You’d never seen him look so terrifying. After that, he’d take you straight back down to the sewers. He’d feel bad seeing you sniffling back tears and whipping the blood from your busted lip onto your sleeve. He tries to comfort you by telling you he’d pick them off slowly, one by one so they knew what was coming before hugging you tightly. He wouldn’t let you leave the sewers for the next due to him being overly worried about you.

•He’d really like holding your hand. He thinks its really cute that your hand is so much smaller than his and that he basically wrap your hand up in his.

•If you’re doing something like reading where you sitting still than he’d constantly be sitting you in his lap. Because he’s so much taller than you, he would be able to rest his head on top of yours and just look down at whatever it is you’re doing.

•The first time he saw you cry, he would feel a bit awkward and not really know what to do. Eventually, he gets the hang of it tho. He’d pick you up and pull you on his lap. Wrapping his long arms around your smaller frame, rocking you back and forth and nuzzling his face against the side of yours until you calmed down and started breathing normally again. Pennywise doesn’t have a real physical heart. He would be fascinated by the sound of your heart beating. Similar to how he can smell when someone near him is afraid, he might be able to pick up when someone around him has an erratic, panicked heartbeat ( maybe our adrenaline causes something in him to react ). But he’s never just heard the steady, rhythmic thumping of a regular heartbeat. That small little organ, the thing that he generally eats is the reason you’re his. He would probably try and get either his head or his hand near your chest when you’re asleep so he can feel or hear it beating

anonymous asked:

Do you think on the ride home Dean took off his flannel and made Cas put it on to replace his bloody shirt?

“I really am alright, Dean. You don’t need to sit back here with me.”

Dean ignores Castiel’s reassurances, just like he has been ignoring them for the last fifteen minutes.

Dean?

“Cork it, Cas! Mom’s drivin’, Sam’s shotgun, and I’m back here with you, makin’ sure you’re really holdin’ it together. That’s just the way it’s gonna be so stop tryin’ to fight me on it!”

Both Mary and Sam give each other wide-eyed looks, but stay quiet—knowing that Dean is still processing everything that had happened back in the barn. He’s still drowning in the feeling of being out of control, and it’s driving him absolutely nuts.

“Here, Ma” Dean grunts, shoving the Impala’s keys at the woman and then turning back to tend to his angel.

She swiftly nods and takes the keys before ushering her other son around the far side of the car—and then, all at once, they climb in to join Castiel, who has already been carefully placed in the backseat by Dean’s steady hands.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” Dean asks—slightly calmer now but his voice still has a rattle to it.

“No, Dean. I’m feeling fine—just like I said before.”

“Well, you don’t look fine. You’re kinda pale. Sam, doesn’t he look pale to you?”

Sam turns around and gives Cas a sympathetic look before shrugging silently at his older brother, knowing that his opinion doesn’t really matter right now anyway.

“Yeah, see—Sam thinks so. You should lean back a bit.”

“These seats don’t recline, Dean.”

Dean frowns at him. “Then scoot down a little! Jesus, Cas … I’m just tryin’ to make sure you’re okay!”

“I am okay … I have already told you—”

“Scoot down, Castiel!” Mary grits  firmly from the front of the car—glaring at him through the rearview mirror, eyes flicking back and forth between the angel and her eldest son.

He wants to protest again, but then Castiel nods, finally understanding that the only one not fine right now, is Dean, and doing what he asks—no matter how pointless it is, will make him feel a little better … a little more useful. Cas scoots down in his seat.

Dean smiles, happy that his friend is finally listening to him. “Alright then … better?”

Castiel stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Yes … better.”

The proud smirk that immediately graces Dean’s face seems to trim away the tension in the car—until the moment that the folds of Cas’s coat fall away, exposing the dirty, blood-stained white button up beneath. “Oh … shit, man! That looks bad!” the man yelps as soon as he sees it.

Castiel squints and cocks his head to the side, finally following Dean’s eyes down to where the usually clean looking garment, is now a tattered mess strewn about his body. “Oh. Yes, well … I can just—” Cas begins, already lifting his hand to will the mess away, but he stops mid motion—cutting the magic short because the man beside him is starting to fidget in his seat. “Dean? What are you …”

Dean teeters back and forth, wriggling from side to side in the confined space until he finally manages to free one of his arms from the black coat and plaid overshirt that he’s wearing.

“Hold on … almost …” Dean soon rocks all the way over until his head is practically in Cas’s lap—but he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s too focused on freeing his other hand. “There!” he yelps victoriously, finally holding up the plaid shirt for everyone in the car to see.

Sam nods and Mary holds back a chuckle, and Cas just continues to stare at the man—confused and slightly annoyed by everything that he’s doing.

“Okay, Cas. Your turn” Dean says after another moment, eventually turning happy eyes back on the angel.

“My turn?” Cas asks, feeling suddenly nervous about what he’s expected to do.

“Yep” Dean chirps, looking Castiel up and down with a long pull. “Strip and put this on.” He holds the flannel out towards him, but he doesn’t hand it to the angel just yet, as if he’s planning on dressing him himself … and at this point, Cas wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what Dean had in mind.

“Dean …” Castiel grumbles again, now—rolling his eyes for all to see. “You realize that I can fix this, don’t you?”

Dean only grips the shirt tighter in his hand.

“I am an angel … I have the power to—”

“Just put on the damn shirt!” All three Winchesters bark in unison.

And that makes the angel finally throw up his hands in defeat. “Alright!” he exclaims, quickly sitting straight and leaning forward so that he can work his body free from his coat. But before he can completely shimmy it off, Dean’s hands are on him, fiddling with the buttons of Cas’s dirty white shirt. “Um … what are you doing?”

Helping” Dean snaps, but his cheeks are turning red and his hands are starting to shake against the angel’s chest.

Cas stares at him a moment, and then up to the front of the car where Sam and Mary are vehemently avoiding eye contact with anything but the road. So he turns back, just as Dean undoes the final button and pushes the cloth aside, displaying every inch of Castiel’s unmarred skin.

The man then stills for some time—never looking away and holding his breath until the second Castiel is finally able to speak.

You see, Dean … I’m all healed.”

Dean quirks up the side of his mouth, but his face quickly falls flat again, while his eyes bounce away and back several times, seeming torn as to where to look now.

After that, it only takes another minute for Cas to slip out of the ruddy, old shirt and into Dean’s flannel—and for the first time since they left the barn, Dean doesn’t interfere, nor do Mary and Sam act like anything is happening just behind their heads. In fact, the frenzied tone of their drive has seemed to mellow, and even Dean appears to have settled down; although, his hands still twitch with the need for something to do … which doesn’t go unnoticed by the angel at his side.

Castiel sighs, flicking his eyes down towards the soft plaid that’s now draped over his own shoulders—the fabric is warm and smells like Dean; so just as he begins to fasten the last two buttons, he purposely skips one—so the thing is now bunching up across his stomach. “There” he confirms, drawing Dean’s focus back to the task at hand, and of course—Dean notices the mistake instantly.

“Ah—jeez, Cas … you’re helpless, ya know that?” Dean mutters with a smile, reaching over eagerly to straighten out the buttons and get them all in the right order.

But Castiel just smiles too, taking the moment to take in the worried Winchester—his charge, his family … a man that he loves—and he nods. “You’re right. What would I do without you?”

Obliviate // Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: After the summer away from Draco you are beyond excited to see him again. Except once you two are reunited you notice something is off about him. When you confront him about it you learn of the darkness that rests within him, terrifying you.

Word Count: 1,928

Warning(s): None

A/N: AHHH finally a Draco imagine!!!

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Disclaimer(s): Not my gif credit to owner


You’re gleaming with excitement as you walk through Kings’ Cross Station, you can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts. All summer you had been counting down the days until you were going to see all your friends again. You had especially been waiting until you were going to see Draco Malfoy, your long-term boyfriend, again. You were meant to stay with him for the last bit of summer before sixth year begins, but he said something came up with his family and they weren’t in the right position to hold company.

When you reach Platform 9 ¾ you barely bid your family goodbye before dashing through the barrier. You had gotten there extra early, one so your parents could say goodbye before they had to leave for work and two so you could see Draco sooner. You set your trunk and other belongings in the train and step back out onto the platform to wait for Draco.

When the distinct platinum blond hair comes into view, which can belong to none other than your boyfriend, you are not surprised to see him going at it with Potter. You just chuckle and roll your eyes, this ongoing feud was almost becoming comical. You watch the two, unable to tell if Draco lunges at Potter to taunt him or actually fight him. Though, you can tell that Potter lunged to fight before being pulled back by Weasley.

If you lay one hand on my boy Draco will be the least of you problems, Potter. You laugh at the thought of you actually causing harm to someone. Though, you never know what you’ll do for Draco. You always manage to surprise yourself.

Draco brushes off his tailored, black suit before looking forward again.

He seems a little off, even from a distance. He’s always been pale but at the moment he looks completely flushed; you can tell that he’s stressed from the tension in his muscles and the worry lines you can see from where you’re standing.

You catch his eye, him managing to stare deep into your eyes from meters away. He lets a smile take over his usual scowl when his grey eyes meet your Y/E/C ones. His smile makes your heart flutter as usual, for you know how you are one of the few people, or things, which can actually get Draco Malfoy to show a real smile. He shuffles along to you and you tilt your head, confused as to where his typical strut had gone. Draco Malfoy doesn’t shuffle he struts, everyone knows that. Something must really be off.

“Hi, love,” he quietly speaks, smiling down at you. He grabs you by your elbows, his normally firm grip turned feeble. He places a light kiss on your lips, you can still feel the passion but the power is nowhere near how it usually is when you’ve been apart for this long. "How was your summer?“ His voice is so quiet and frail, what happened to him?

"I think I may need you to answer that first,” you say while taking both his hands in yours. “Are you okay? You seem a little… off.” You just want to get straight to the point, if something is wrong with Draco you want to know now and fix it fast.

His eyes leave yours and he gazes off to the side and his smile recedes from his face, “I may have left some things out of the letters I sent you.” He sighs, “We need to talk,” he looks to the ground, then back to you. “Alone.”

“Okay,” you nod with a sympathetic voice, you give him a small, encouraging smile.

He struggles to smile back before taking one of your hands and leading you onto the train. You tell him the compartment you had previously left your belongings in and he takes you there, relieved to see no one else is in it or its surrounding compartments. You take a seat and he turns to close the doors tightly. He stands there for a second, hands gripping the handles of the door so hard his knuckles turn white, his back faced to you, he seems to be gathering his thoughts.

In a blink of an eye he sharply turns one hundred eighty degrees and rushes to sit across from you. He sits still for a moment before he looks down at his lap and starts to rub his palms up and down his thighs. What could he be so nervous to tell you?

You place a hand on his knee and only his eyes move up to look at you. “Draco,” you say in a small voice. “It’s going to be okay,” you give him yet another encouraging smile. At that tears start to form in his eyes. Was it something you said? What’s going on with him? “Dray, you’re beginning to worry me,” you voice is soft almost a whisper, you take one of his hands in yours and rub circles on the back of his with your thumb.

“I’m scared,” he whispers. “I’m scared,” he repeats letting a single tear fall.

“What are you scared of baby?” You sweetly ask while placing a hand on his cheek.

He melts into your palm, placing the hand not currently being held by yours and places it over top the one on his cheek. You feel his tears start to collect in your hand and you try to wipe them away as they fall with your thumb. He lets out a few whimpers and you know to give him time to get out what he needs to say.

“I’m scared of everything,” his voice is barely a whisper now. “I’m scared of what I’ve become, what I’ve been told to do. What will happen if I do it and what will happen if I don’t. I’m scared I’m going to lose everything,” he sniffles. He looks up, reconnecting his eyes to yours. “I’m so scared I’m going to lose you.”

“Dray, you’ll never lose-”

“You don’t know what I did,” he cuts you off. “And what I’m set to do.” His gaze leaves yours once more. His face turns deeply solemn and you can see the pain twinging in his eyes. He removes your hands from him, breaking all contact and sits up. Tears continue to roll down his cheeks when he speaks, "And I think it may be better, safer for you if you were to just break up with me and forget we ever existed.“

"Draco, don’t say that,” you sharply remark, tears now filling your eyes. “Don’t ever say that,” your voice breaks. “Whatever you did,” you grab his hand. “We’ll get through it together.”

His eyes meet yours and he slowly shakes his head. “If you stay with me, if he knows how important you are to me,” he swallows hard. “He’ll hurt you. He’ll torture you to make sure I do what he wants.”

“Who?” You ask so quietly you’re unsure Draco could even hear you.

He looks down at his forearm. Your breath gets caught up in your throat. You hope that it’s not what you think. Then, he begins to roll up his sleeve and you see it. Evil rests inked into his skin forever.

He has become a Death Eater.

“No,” you shake your head, tears falling furiously from your eyes. “No,” you place your head in your hands. “This can’t be happening,” you sob.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “But I had no choice.”

You look up at him, barely being able to see through the tears in your eyes. You know for a fact he really didn’t have a choice, but he’s still done it and you know you can’t be with him anymore. It’s an internal battle, you know he’s right and it’ll be safer for you if you leave him but you can’t let him go through this alone. He’s going to lose everyone at school if they find out, you can’t let him lose the one that is most important to him.

“I-I don’t- I don’t know what to do,” you say. “It will be safer for me if I leave you,” he winces at your words. “But I can’t, I won’t.” You see a bit of hope gleam in his eyes. “Draco,” you take both his hands in yours again. “I know this is scary, you’re going to need me now more than ever. I’m not on his side but I’m not going to let you deal with being one of them alone.”

The hope in his eyes falters and is replaced with remorse. “You don’t want this,” he shakes his head. “You can say it all you want that you want to help me through this but you don’t. You want to runaway from it and I don’t blame you for that I really don’t,” he squeezes your hands. “I know you’ll never admit it and you won’t leave my side knowing what we once were.”

“Once were?” You question.

Draco knows you better than anyone and he knows the sheer terror that rang through you the second you saw the fatal flaw on his arm. He knows that you’ll stand by him through it and that eventually it will all become too much for you. Even once you reach your inner turmoil, he knows you will still stand by him. He knows the love you have for him is so strong that even once every bit of your soul is lost to terror you will still be at his side.

All of this is why he knows what he has to do.

“I’m so sorry,” he says and you give him a confused look. He kisses you once more, with more passion and desire than all of your past kisses combined. Tears roll down his cheeks as he knows this will be the last time he’ll ever feel your lips pressed against his. The last time he’ll ever feel that you two are one.

“I love you,” he whispers after pulling away, his face only centimeters away.

You don’t know what is going on in his head but that doesn’t stop you from responding, “I love you, too.”

Draco lets out a sob when the words leave your mouth. It’ll be the last time you ever say those words to him.

He does his best to pull out his wand without you noticing. You are both staring deep into each other’s eyes. You don’t notice him moving his wand close to your temple. He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath before uttering the most painful word.

“Obliviate.”

He erases the memories of you two from your mind. He leaves a few behind from first and second year when you two only spoke when one needed help in class. He knew even with being obliviated you would question why you had seemingly never spoken to him.

When the memory charm is completed he quickly gets up and exits the compartment while you are still in a daze. He stands in the corridor for a moment, breathing heavily with his back faced to your compartment. He peers over his shoulder and gets a last look at you. His heart can’t take it, he immediately begins to shake with vicious sobs. He runs down the corridor to an empty compartment, sits in the corner, pulls his knees to his chest in attempts to become as small as possible and sobs until he runs out of tears.

“What’ve I done?” He repeats countlessly. 

anonymous asked:

I love drunk Poe! Can you switch it up and have Poe take care of a drunk reader??

oops this is long! some bar fights and drunk kisses!

You’re on your sixth drink when punches are thrown.

The night is off to a bad start – you didn’t care when Rapier Squadron’s Captain had dissed your ‘piece of junk x-wing’. You hammered back your drink instead. You didn’t care when he made a snide comment about your lack of piloting skills. No, you didn’t even bat an eyelash when he mocked your rank. You just kept your head down and drank, taking Poe’s advice to just ignore him and that he wasn’t worth it.

Poe can see the tension in your eyes – enough that he sits a little closer, lets his hand squeeze your knee under the table. Poe turns, eyes darting to the Captain in question across the cantina.

“Why don’t you stuff it, Berkins.”

“Sure thing, Poe. Once you’re little princess over there is ready to prove her worth.”

Keep reading

Romantic Getaway (Reader x Gwil x Ben smut)

Pairing: Reader x Gwilym Lee x Ben Hardy
Summary: The boys spend an entire week getting you sexually frustrated, and after the tennis match a couple of weeks later, they have an idea you can´t refuse. 
Warnings: SMUT (18+), threesome, teasing, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, dom!Gwilym, some sub!Ben and featuring a tiny bit of jealous!Joe
Word count: 11K

Masterlist

This is pure filth and you are not allowed to read it if you´re under 18. I will block you if I catch minors interacting with this story.

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Did You See?
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Author’s Note: lord i am so glad someone requested Jongin fluff so i could make up for the torture that is Mourning Air. this is a gift for @kpopandlock and i hope hope hope i have done this justice. romance comes very hard for me unless theres chapters of tension and build up, so i hope this makes every Nini stan swoon just a tiny bit <3 enjoy loves!

Pairing: Kai x Reader

Summary: every day, you fall a little bit more in love with your best friend, Jongin. everyday, you ache for him. everyday, you miss all the signs of something he’s been trying to tell you.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,068


Nini[2:06 AM]: you up?

Y/N[2:08 AM]: yeah why

Nini[2:08 AM]: are you hungry?

Y/N[2:10 AM]: !!! diner run? :)

Nini[2:11 AM]: i have a better idea ;)

Y/N[2:12 AM]: better than 2AM waffles?? D:

Nini[2:13 AM]: promise to keep an open mind

Y/N[2:14 AM]: nini it’s too early…or late idk to be open minded~~

Nini[2:15 AM]: ok then be spontaneous

Y/N[2:16 AM]: what are you suggesting

Nini[2:18 AM]: cheesesteaks

Y/N[2:18 AM]: im not fucking cooking at 2 in the morning, are you high

Nini[2:20 AM]: nooo let’s go GET them i know an amazing food truck in philly

Y/N[2:21 AM]: are you driving?

Nini[2:21 AM]: as long as you DJ

Y/N[2:22 AM]: come pick me up~~ <3

Nini[2:23 AM]: that’s my girl! be there in 10

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[T/L] Matenro CD Drama Track 1
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Jakurai: Oh well, time to decide on the members. There’s totally nobody that interests me. (sighs)

[Opens Something] [Chair]

Jakurai: Unlike people with skills, people who interests me are still nowhere to be found.

[Door opens]

Nurse: Doctor, it’s time to start today’s appointments. I’m going to let the patient in.

Jukurai: Ah yes, please.  

[Sighs]

Jukurai: Doppo-kun, you’re here again? Are you still having insomnia because of anxiety towards the future?

Doppo: No, thanks to you doctor, I am less anxious about the future now.

Jakurai: Wonderful. Then, what seems to be the matter today?

Doppo: Right, excuse me. But, as you are, Doctor, I’ve a favor to ask.

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Bad Boi | Lee Know (m)
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Summary:

She was an innocent girl, until bad boy Lee Know moved in next door. She was told to stay away, that Lee Know was bad news. But she couldn’t stay away and Lee Know used everything in his power to ruin her. He would claim every last bit of her innocence all for himself.’

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Lee Know x Female Reader

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: lots of sexual tension, fingering, unprotected sex, mentions of masturbation.

A/N: FINALLY! I finished this. After walking away from it for over a month and half. I came back it and was all to finish it. I edited this one myself the best I could. So I apologize now if there are any grammar issues. I’m still a work in progress.

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Night Out: Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor Imagine

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Originally posted by totallyperfectluminary

A/N: 1924 words. M-rated with some light smut but nothing fully explicit. Lots of flirting and sexual tension, with some fluff at the end. This is the first imagine I’ve written in a long time so I hope you guys enjoy it, if you have any writing requests my ask box is always open!

•~•~•~•~•

God, what the hell am I doing here?

It wasn’t every night you found yourself in a bar, much less in a bar alone. Your best friend was out of town and you had originally planned to stay in and have a cup of tea, but work had been so stressful that you needed something a little stronger than that. Still, the vodka tonic you were drinking hadn’t quite kicked in yet, and you felt a little silly sitting all alone while others drank and danced in groups to the music of some local band.

You sighed. It was always so much easier when your best friend was there. It wasn’t that you weren’t a good conversationalist, you were perfectly fine around friends, but she was such an extrovert that you didn’t have to worry about having to introduce yourself to new people or think of discussion topics. She would always handle that for you. It had been so long since you’d gone to the bar without her, you’d forgotten your inability to make conversation with strangers.

You took another sip of your drink, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Maybe I should just go home. Was there really any point staying if you had nobody to speak to? You felt pathetic and awkward, sitting alone at the bar in a short skirt and heels. I could just pick up a bottle of wine, head back to the flat…

“Hey, could I get a whiskey on the rocks, mate?”

You turned around abruptly at the sound of a voice coming from right behind you, and your heart stopped as you looked right up into a face you knew very, very well.

Holy shit, that’s Roger Taylor.

His blue eyes met yours, and the eye contact sent a shiver down your spine. Why is he here? Holy shit. That’s really him. While your thoughts raced, trying to process the situation, you thought you noticed him look you up and down. A half-smile formed on his lips, and before you knew it, he was sitting at the barstool next to you.

“D’you come here often, love?”

It was hard to hear over the loud music from the stage, and it took you a moment to realize he was speaking to you. Determined to keep your cool, you took another sip of your drink before replying, “Not particularly.”

A glass of whiskey was placed before him, and he nodded at the bartender before picking it up. “Makes sense,” he said, looking up into your eyes, “I would have remembered you.”

His gaze was electric, and you felt a sudden warmth in the pit of your stomach that hadn’t been there before. It could have been the alcohol, but you knew that there was something more than that behind it.

“Would you?” you asked, feeling a bit more confident as you finished your drink. “I have reasons to think you see enough girls to blur your memory.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. There was a silent acknowledgment that you recognized him. “Listen, love, if I say that I would have remembered you, I mean it,” he said, leaning into you ever so slightly. There was something almost rehearsed about it, and you knew he had used this tactic before. An idea popped into your head.

“Hmm, I’m not impressed,” you remarked, a sly smile forming on your face as you set your glass down on the bar. “You could try saying something you don’t say to every other girl you meet in a bar.”

He looked at you curiously, seemingly taken off guard by your playing hard to get. “Can I buy you a drink?” he finally asked, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Only if you can think up a better pick-up line,” you smiled, having no idea whatsoever where this sudden burst of confidence was coming from, but enjoying the way it was making him react.

He put his glass down and thought for a moment, giving you ample opportunity to look him over. God, he was attractive. You knew you couldn’t be too overbearing, and he seemed to be enjoying the hard time you were giving him.

“Okay,” he finally said, face breaking into a grin. “I’ve got it.”

“It better be a good one, because I really would like another drink.”

He looked up into your eyes, his face settling into a serious expression. “Are you my drum set? Because I plan on sitting with you all night, having a few drinks, and figuring out the best way to approach playing you right.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. He really did go for it, and just the fact that he actually compared you to his drums was enough of a compliment. “Okay, hotshot, you win. Go ahead and buy me that drink.”

Triumphant, he called the bartender over and ordered for the both of you. Once you got your drinks, you commented, “Honestly, as soon as you mentioned your drums, I thought for sure there would be some kind of pun about banging me.”

“Not now,” he smirked, sipping his whiskey. “Maybe later.”

As the night went on, he continued buying you drinks, and you felt yourselves moving closer and closer together, your knee brushing his, his breath against your cheek as you talked. He answered the questions you had about Queen, and you answered the questions he had about you. You tried to focus on the conversation, but you could now smell his musky cologne mingling with the scents of whiskey and cigarette smoke, and it was almost disgustingly sexy. Your facade of playing hard to get began to melt away as he spoke to you in a low, husky voice, his deep blue eyes fixated on yours.

It was long past midnight and somewhere over six drinks later that he asked you to dance, to which you agreed almost too enthusiastically. The drinks he had bought you and his proximity to your body were intoxicating, and you could feel the room get warmer as he led you to the dimly lit dance floor, where the local band was playing a rock ballad.

You began to dance, swaying your hips and feeling your confidence rise as he stepped closer to you, a low mmm escaping his lips. His fingers brushed your waist, and your skin lit up at his touch. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you brought yourself even closer to him, feeling your heartbeat increase as his hands begin to trace up and down your sides, down to your hips, fingers making circular motions across the thin fabric separating him from your skin. He wants me.

You felt both invisible in the crowd and hyper-aware of Roger’s eyes on you and the building tension between you both as your eye contact deepened and the distance between you grew smaller. His hands landed firmly on your hips, guiding you closer towards him, not once breaking the eye contact, and the world around you disappeared as you realized your lips were mere inches away from his.

His touch was electrifying and you could feel it, a longing, a need, burning inside you, aching for him to move his head just those few inches down, to taste those pink lips of his… and just when you felt you were going to burst with need, he captured your lips with his, and your heart burst.

He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes, and in that moment there had never been anything more delicious. The kiss started slow and sensual, but grew passionate and messy, his hands sliding to your ass as you buried your hands in his wavy blonde hair, causing both of you to groan involuntarily. You couldn’t get enough of each other, grabbing anywhere and everywhere, as if you were racing to see who could cover more ground in the same amount of time.

You broke the kiss, the two of you breathless as you shared a look that said the same thing. “My place or yours?” you asked, suddenly aware that all of that had taken place in the middle of a dance floor. “Doesn’t matter, as long as we get out of here,” Roger said, a hungry look in his eyes that gave you the shivers, leaning in and kissing your neck.

“I live a block away,” you breathed, hardly able to control yourself. “God, perfect,” he mumbled against your neck. “Lead the way.”

You managed to stumble out of the bar despite the thoughts clouding your mind, and pulled him towards your flat, almost forgetting where you lived in your haze of lust.

You burst into the building, knowing how disheveled the two of you must look, but not giving a damn whatsoever. As soon as you got into the elevator, he had you pressed against the wall, kissing you as if his life depended on it. His arms, strong from all the drumming, held your arms firmly above your head, and you felt yourself melt into his kiss, losing yourself completely.

The doors opened and you and Roger practically fell out of the elevator, trying somehow to get to your apartment while simultaneously pulling off each other’s jackets and undoing buttons. Once the door was unlocked, you pulled him into your flat as fast as possible, not caring how fast the door slammed behind you, as long as you two could be alone for the rest of the night.

•~•~•~•~•

You awoke the next morning to those same strong arms wrapped around your torso as Roger spooned you, warm and comforting. Despite the ringing in your head and the number of drinks you’d had, you still remembered everything, and wouldn’t change it for the world. You hesitated to say anything, unsure if he was even awake, let alone if he actually wanted to stay here with you.

“Good morning,” you finally whispered, despite your nervousness. You wanted desperately to hear his voice.

“G’morning,” Roger mumbled, still half-asleep. You could tell he was feeling the hangover as much as you were, and for a moment you panicked. What if he forgot what really happened last night?

Those thoughts all dissipated when he squeezed you tighter, murmuring, “Last night was fantastic.”

Relief washed over you, and you couldn’t hold back a smile, turning around to look at him. “You weren’t so bad yourself,” you teased. “I think I’ll have these bruises on my hips for weeks.”

“That’s what you get for shagging a drummer,” he smirked, pulling you closer.

“I guess so,” you laughed, snuggling back into him, then remembering that he was in a world-famous band and that he might have other obligations. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

“S’ too early to think about that. Let’s go back to sleep, yeah?” he half whispered, closing his eyes again as you rested your head on his chest. “I’d rather stay here for now,” he added, a hint of tenderness in his voice that truthfully surprised you.

You couldn’t hold back your smile, heart swelling with joy at his desire to stay there with you and the gentleness of his tone. “Fine by me.” you said finally, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

The two of you lay there together, intertwined and content to simply stay with each other for at least a bit longer. As Roger fell back asleep, holding you in his arms, you felt confident that this wouldn’t be the last time. Your heart felt whole, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! I’m planning on writing more, so let me know what you think and if you have any requests! Check out my other writing here! xoxo

anonymous asked:

ceo!au + enemies to lovers + is that the best you can do. Please thank you

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“You have a real mean way about you.”

Click. Click. Click. The lighter refuses to do its job; Lena finally just places the unlit cigarette between her lips and inwardly bemoans her luck. What are the odds—a pissed off Kara Danvers, a lighter that won’t light, and to top it all off, the faint bass from inside sounds suspiciously like the electronic music she’d told the DJ not to play.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lena says dryly. “How did you get past security?”

Kara comes up beside her; Lena tracks her in the corner of her eye. “Your security isn’t very good,” she replies simply.

“Figures.” Lena turns, then, and leans as lightly as she can against the metal railing. “Your manners aren’t very good either. No hello?”

“We don’t say hello to each other.” Kara looks more disheveled than Lena has ever seen her. Tie undone, white shirt wrinkled where it tucks into her pants, bun of hair unkempt. For a moment she says nothing more; Lena watches as she rests her elbows against the railing, shoulders taut with tension. “I’m tired,” she declares suddenly. “Of fighting with you.”

Lena sighs, rolls her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger and wishes it were lit. “That’s all we do,” she says. “We fight each other. You cause trouble for me, I cause trouble for you…” 

“You stole my merger with Edge.” Kara’s voice is quiet, but as bitter as expected. She asks no questions, makes no probing inquiry, just states the fact hollowly.

“I did you a favor,” Lena says flippantly. “He would have severely underpaid you.”

“So you decided to—what, exactly? Make sure he paid you more?” Now there is anger sharpening at the edges of Kara’s words, but not a dangerous kind of anger. It is a muted kind, one more self-directed.

A weariness makes itself known in Lena’s chest, heavy and confusing. “Yes,” she says. She has no qualms of stealing mergers from anyone, but somehow this time…this time, she feels a bit of pity. “He was making a fool out of you, Kara.  I stepped in, blackmailed him a little, and then he doubled his offer. That’s how business works. You wouldn’t know it because you’re too naive, but—”

“Oh, I’m naive?” Kara laughs, but unkindly. Her expression is pinched; she makes a move to run her fingers through her hair, but it’s still somewhat upright, so she settles for clenching her hand into a fist. “Forgive me for trying to be a good person and not a cutthroat bitch.”

“There is no place for good people in our line of work.” Lena has long since mastered an impressive poker face, and she tries her best to remain impassive when she adds, “I suggest you get used to it. And while you’re at it, you can make your way out of my house.” That seems to spark some kind of guilt—Kara slumps against the railing with a low, empty sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Kara apologizes lowly. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a bitch at all.”

“I’ve heard worse.” Lena, in order to not see the look on Kara’s face, tries the lighter again. This time a flame emerges, flickering in the wind, thin and shaking. But it lights her cigarette all the same. “Do you smoke?” Only then does her gaze lift, and she sees Kara watching, now straightened to her full height.

“No.” Kara places her hands in her pockets, shifts sideways slightly. She is taller than Lena, and Lena inwardly berates herself for not wearing heels tonight. “Why?”

“Well I was going to offer you a cigarette, but I guess I won’t.” Lena takes a slow drag, feels her body warm with it. Smoking is a habit she can’t seem to quit, and it’s her one vice she’s actually ashamed about. “Unless you want one anyway.”

Kara shakes her head. “No, I’d probably choke,” she declines. “It wouldn’t be very attractive.” The wind picks up; a few tendrils of hair that have escaped from her bun brush over her forehead, and she makes no move to tuck them away. “Knowing you, you would use that as blackmail for me next.”

Lena inhales smoke and sighs. “I already have enough blackmail material on you, Kara Danvers,” she says. This, too, is a fact.

“You do? Like what?”

“Like…I know you took over your cousin’s company because of a kidnapping scandal involving your nephew.” Lena takes immense pleasure in the way Kara’s eyes darken dangerously; she has always suspected there was some steel under that goody-goody exterior. “Clark Kent must have paid a pretty penny to the press to keep his little boy out of the papers.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Kara says sharply.

Lena shrugs. “It’s not bad blackmail material,” she points out. “Everyone loves a good sacrifice story. It would make you look heroic if it came to light.”

“It would put Clark and his family in danger.” Kara’s face twists into the harshest kind of disgust—the kind Lena expects. 

“Then you better hope I never have a reason to use it against you,” Lena says airily, stubbing her cigarette out; even smoking can’t bring her joy right now. Something about the way Kara stares at her—disappointedly—makes her skin crawl.

Kara takes a step towards Lena. They’ve gravitated close already, but this is deliberate. Her eyes, blue and sharp, are locked entirely on Lena’s. “Right,” she says. “Is that the best you can do? Threaten my family?”

Lena tilts her head up to meet her gaze head-on. “That’s just the surface of the knowledge I have on you,” she warns, and she leans in now, tugging at the undone knot of Kara’s tie. Kara comes when she is pulled, though she swallows hard enough that it’s audible.

“What else?” Kara asks. She breathes in tune with Lena now, their faces mere inches from each other.

“I also know…” Lena has more details about Kara Danvers. She does. But right now there’s one glaring fact right in front of her—one that is all too delicious to pass up. “I know that you want to kiss me right now.”

Kara stiffens; Lena feels it in the resistance of her tie. She jerks away a beat later, cheeks red and jaw clenched, to put some distance between them. “That’s,” she breathes out. “That is—” She can’t seem to be able to string her words together. “There you go again, with the mean streak. It’s not nice.”

“I thought we established I’m not nice,” Lena reminds her, an odd pang settles in the bottom of her stomach. “At least, not to anyone who poses a threat to Luthor Corp.”

“I’m not a threat to you or your company.”

“It’s not personal, Kara,” Lena says, and wishes she hadn’t put out her cigarette. “I have appearances to keep. You understand—it’s politics, all of it. Business politics.”

“So you hate me because I’m your competition?” Kara frowns. “Just like that?”

“I don’t hate you.” And as she confesses it, Lena realizes that it’s true. That maybe—maybe for once—she is also tired of fighting. “Even though I would like to, I don’t.”

“You want to hate me?” Something in Kara’s voice is raw, hopeful, and it hurts to hear. “Why?”

“I’m Lena Luthor. I’m supposed to be selfish and self-centered, remember? That’s the image everyone wants.” Fuck it; Lena reaches for her lighter again. But before she can, Kara’s hand covers hers.

“For the record,” Kara says, “I don’t hate you either.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Lena quips, casting an uncomfortable glance towards the balcony doors. Inside the party rages on, and no one is witnessing this show of weakness, but it doesn’t feel right. Lena feels exposed; there is no coming back from this,

Kara smiles and it’s faint, but a smile nonetheless. And for all her shortcomings—the messy state of her evening wear, the stubborn shade of blue of her eyes—Lena has to suck in a breath when Kara leans in. Her hand rests on Lena’s cheek, her skin frozen and her touch overwhelmingly gentle.

“You were right,” Kara says quietly. “I did want to kiss you tonight.” Her thumb traces a slow, steady path down Lena’s jaw, and Lena feels her heart hiccup. Then Kara surprises her—she leans in enough to brush a kiss to Lena’s cheek softly, cold breath exhaling against her skin. “You can add that to your blackmail list, too,” she says, stepping away, and when she places her hands in her pockets this time it’s with a sense of finality.

Lena almost lets her leave. But her heart thumps loudly in her ears and clouds her judgement entirely; she pulls Kara back, says “Wait—” and not much else, because then Kara is kissing her properly. Or maybe she is kissing Kara, winding her arms around Kara’s neck and squeezing her close because she fears the moment she will have to let go.

Kara is the first to break away. For a moment all she does is gaze down at Lena, bewildered, and says nothing. Then: “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react.”

Lena bites her lip. “You could exploit this,” she says, “and use it as blackmail against me.”

“Right…or?”

“Or,” and Lena smooths out the collar of Kara’s shirt, which seems to be stained with some kind of liquor. “You could kiss me again.”

“Well, blackmail does sound fun.” And then Kara is smiling, soft and ridiculously wide, and Lena knows everything has changed.

“You have a real mean way about you.”

Click. Click. Click. The lighter refuses to do its job; Lena finally just places the unlit cigarette between her lips and inwardly bemoans her luck. What are the odds—a pissed off Kara Danvers, a lighter that won’t light, and to top it all off, the faint bass from inside sounds suspiciously like the electronic music she’d told the DJ not to play.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lena says dryly. “How did you get past security?”

Kara comes up beside her; Lena tracks her in the corner of her eye. “Your security isn’t very good,” she replies simply.

“Figures.” Lena turns, then, and leans as lightly as she can against the metal railing. “Your manners aren’t very good either. No hello?”

“We don’t say hello to each other.” Kara looks more disheveled than Lena has ever seen her. Tie undone, white shirt wrinkled where it tucks into her pants, bun of hair unkempt. For a moment she says nothing more; Lena watches as she rests her elbows against the railing, shoulders taut with tension. “I’m tired,” she declares suddenly. “Of fighting with you.”

Lena sighs, rolls her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger and wishes it were lit. “That’s all we do,” she says. “We fight each other. You cause trouble for me, I cause trouble for you…” 

“You stole my merger with Edge.” Kara’s voice is quiet, but as bitter as expected. She asks no questions, makes no probing inquiry, just states the fact hollowly.

“I did you a favor,” Lena says flippantly. “He would have severely underpaid you.”

“So you decided to—what, exactly? Make sure he paid you more?” Now there is anger sharpening at the edges of Kara’s words, but not a dangerous kind of anger. It is a muted kind, one more self-directed.

A weariness makes itself known in Lena’s chest, heavy and confusing. “Yes,” she says. She has no qualms of stealing mergers from anyone, but somehow this time…this time, she feels a bit of pity. “He was making a fool out of you, Kara.  I stepped in, blackmailed him a little, and then he doubled his offer. That’s how business works. You wouldn’t know it because you’re too naive, but—”

“Oh, I’m naive?” Kara laughs, but unkindly. Her expression is pinched; she makes a move to run her fingers through her hair, but it’s still somewhat upright, so she settles for clenching her hand into a fist. “Forgive me for trying to be a good person and not a cutthroat bitch.”

“There is no place for good people in our line of work.” Lena has long since mastered an impressive poker face, and she tries her best to remain impassive when she adds, “I suggest you get used to it. And while you’re at it, you can make your way out of my house.” That seems to spark some kind of guilt—Kara slumps against the railing with a low, empty sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Kara apologizes lowly. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a bitch at all.”

“I’ve heard worse.” Lena, in order to not see the look on Kara’s face, tries the lighter again. This time a flame emerges, flickering in the wind, thin and shaking. But it lights her cigarette all the same. “Do you smoke?” Only then does her gaze lift, and she sees Kara watching, now straightened to her full height.

“No.” Kara places her hands in her pockets, shifts sideways slightly. She is taller than Lena, and Lena inwardly berates herself for not wearing heels tonight. “Why?”

“Well I was going to offer you a cigarette, but I guess I won’t.” Lena takes a slow drag, feels her body warm with it. Smoking is a habit she can’t seem to quit, and it’s her one vice she’s actually ashamed about. “Unless you want one anyway.”

Kara shakes her head. “No, I’d probably choke,” she declines. “It wouldn’t be very attractive.” The wind picks up; a few tendrils of hair that have escaped from her bun brush over her forehead, and she makes no move to tuck them away. “Knowing you, you would use that as blackmail for me next.”

Lena inhales smoke and sighs. “I already have enough blackmail material on you, Kara Danvers,” she says. This, too, is a fact.

“You do? Like what?”

“Like…I know you took over your cousin’s company because of a kidnapping scandal involving your nephew.” Lena takes immense pleasure in the way Kara’s eyes darken dangerously; she has always suspected there was some steel under that goody-goody exterior. “Clark Kent must have paid a pretty penny to the press to keep his little boy out of the papers.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Kara says sharply.

Lena shrugs. “It’s not bad blackmail material,” she points out. “Everyone loves a good sacrifice story. It would make you look heroic if it came to light.”

“It would put Clark and his family in danger.” Kara’s face twists into the harshest kind of disgust—the kind Lena expects. 

“Then you better hope I never have a reason to use it against you,” Lena says airily, stubbing her cigarette out; even smoking can’t bring her joy right now. Something about the way Kara stares at her—disappointedly—makes her skin crawl.

Kara takes a step towards Lena. They’ve gravitated close already, but this is deliberate. Her eyes, blue and sharp, are locked entirely on Lena’s. “Right,” she says. “Is that the best you can do? Threaten my family?”

Lena tilts her head up to meet her gaze head-on. “That’s just the surface of the knowledge I have on you,” she warns, and she leans in now, tugging at the undone knot of Kara’s tie. Kara comes when she is pulled, though she swallows hard enough that it’s audible.

“What else?” Kara asks. She breathes in tune with Lena now, their faces mere inches from each other.

“I also know…” Lena has more details about Kara Danvers. She does. But right now there’s one glaring fact right in front of her—one that is all too delicious to pass up. “I know that you want to kiss me right now.”

Kara stiffens; Lena feels it in the resistance of her tie. She jerks away a beat later, cheeks red and jaw clenched, to put some distance between them. “That’s,” she breathes out. “That is—” She can’t seem to be able to string her words together. “There you go again, with the mean streak. It’s not nice.”

“I thought we established I’m not nice,” Lena reminds her, an odd pang settles in the bottom of her stomach. “At least, not to anyone who poses a threat to Luthor Corp.”

“I’m not a threat to you or your company.”

“It’s not personal, Kara,” Lena says, and wishes she hadn’t put out her cigarette. “I have appearances to keep. You understand—it’s politics, all of it. Business politics.”

“So you hate me because I’m your competition?” Kara frowns. “Just like that?”

“I don’t hate you.” And as she confesses it, Lena realizes that it’s true. That maybe—maybe for once—she is also tired of fighting. “Even though I would like to, I don’t.”

“You want to hate me?” Something in Kara’s voice is raw, hopeful, and it hurts to hear. “Why?”

“I’m Lena Luthor. I’m supposed to be selfish and self-centered, remember? That’s the image everyone wants.” Fuck it; Lena reaches for her lighter again. But before she can, Kara’s hand covers hers.

“For the record,” Kara says, “I don’t hate you either.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Lena quips, casting an uncomfortable glance towards the balcony doors. Inside the party rages on, and no one is witnessing this show of weakness, but it doesn’t feel right. Lena feels exposed; there is no coming back from this,

Kara smiles and it’s faint, but a smile nonetheless. And for all her shortcomings—the messy state of her evening wear, the stubborn shade of blue of her eyes—Lena has to suck in a breath when Kara leans in. Her hand rests on Lena’s cheek, her skin frozen and her touch overwhelmingly gentle.

“You were right,” Kara says quietly. “I did want to kiss you tonight.” Her thumb traces a slow, steady path down Lena’s jaw, and Lena feels her heart hiccup. Then Kara surprises her—she leans in enough to brush a kiss to Lena’s cheek softly, cold breath exhaling against her skin. “You can add that to your blackmail list, too,” she says, stepping away, and when she places her hands in her pockets this time it’s with a sense of finality.

Lena almost lets her leave. But her heart thumps loudly in her ears and clouds her judgement entirely; she pulls Kara back, says “Wait—” and not much else, because then Kara is kissing her properly. Or maybe she is kissing Kara, winding her arms around Kara’s neck and squeezing her close because she fears the moment she will have to let go.

Kara is the first to break away. For a moment all she does is gaze down at Lena, bewildered, and says nothing. Then: “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react.”

Lena bites her lip. “You could exploit this,” she says, “and use it as blackmail against me.”

“Right…or?”

“Or,” and Lena smooths out the collar of Kara’s shirt, which seems to be stained with some kind of liquor. “You could kiss me again.”

“Well, blackmail does sound fun.” And then Kara is smiling, soft and ridiculously wide, and Lena knows everything has changed.

“You have a real mean way about you.”

Click. Click. Click. The lighter refuses to do its job; Lena finally just places the unlit cigarette between her lips and inwardly bemoans her luck. What are the odds—a pissed off Kara Danvers, a lighter that won’t light, and to top it all off, the faint bass from inside sounds suspiciously like the electronic music she’d told the DJ not to play.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lena says dryly. “How did you get past security?”

Kara comes up beside her; Lena tracks her in the corner of her eye. “Your security isn’t very good,” she replies simply.

“Figures.” Lena turns, then, and leans as lightly as she can against the metal railing. “Your manners aren’t very good either. No hello?”

“We don’t say hello to each other.” Kara looks more disheveled than Lena has ever seen her. Tie undone, white shirt wrinkled where it tucks into her pants, bun of hair unkempt. For a moment she says nothing more; Lena watches as she rests her elbows against the railing, shoulders taut with tension. “I’m tired,” she declares suddenly. “Of fighting with you.”

Lena sighs, rolls her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger and wishes it were lit. “That’s all we do,” she says. “We fight each other. You cause trouble for me, I cause trouble for you…” 

“You stole my merger with Edge.” Kara’s voice is quiet, but as bitter as expected. She asks no questions, makes no probing inquiry, just states the fact hollowly.

“I did you a favor,” Lena says flippantly. “He would have severely underpaid you.”

“So you decided to—what, exactly? Make sure he paid you more?” Now there is anger sharpening at the edges of Kara’s words, but not a dangerous kind of anger. It is a muted kind, one more self-directed.

A weariness makes itself known in Lena’s chest, heavy and confusing. “Yes,” she says. She has no qualms of stealing mergers from anyone, but somehow this time…this time, she feels a bit of pity. “He was making a fool out of you, Kara.  I stepped in, blackmailed him a little, and then he doubled his offer. That’s how business works. You wouldn’t know it because you’re too naive, but—”

“Oh, I’m naive?” Kara laughs, but unkindly. Her expression is pinched; she makes a move to run her fingers through her hair, but it’s still somewhat upright, so she settles for clenching her hand into a fist. “Forgive me for trying to be a good person and not a cutthroat bitch.”

“There is no place for good people in our line of work.” Lena has long since mastered an impressive poker face, and she tries her best to remain impassive when she adds, “I suggest you get used to it. And while you’re at it, you can make your way out of my house.” That seems to spark some kind of guilt—Kara slumps against the railing with a low, empty sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Kara apologizes lowly. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a bitch at all.”

“I’ve heard worse.” Lena, in order to not see the look on Kara’s face, tries the lighter again. This time a flame emerges, flickering in the wind, thin and shaking. But it lights her cigarette all the same. “Do you smoke?” Only then does her gaze lift, and she sees Kara watching, now straightened to her full height.

“No.” Kara places her hands in her pockets, shifts sideways slightly. She is taller than Lena, and Lena inwardly berates herself for not wearing heels tonight. “Why?”

“Well I was going to offer you a cigarette, but I guess I won’t.” Lena takes a slow drag, feels her body warm with it. Smoking is a habit she can’t seem to quit, and it’s her one vice she’s actually ashamed about. “Unless you want one anyway.”

Kara shakes her head. “No, I’d probably choke,” she declines. “It wouldn’t be very attractive.” The wind picks up; a few tendrils of hair that have escaped from her bun brush over her forehead, and she makes no move to tuck them away. “Knowing you, you would use that as blackmail for me next.”

Lena inhales smoke and sighs. “I already have enough blackmail material on you, Kara Danvers,” she says. This, too, is a fact.

“You do? Like what?”

“Like…I know you took over your cousin’s company because of a kidnapping scandal involving your nephew.” Lena takes immense pleasure in the way Kara’s eyes darken dangerously; she has always suspected there was some steel under that goody-goody exterior. “Clark Kent must have paid a pretty penny to the press to keep his little boy out of the papers.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Kara says sharply.

Lena shrugs. “It’s not bad blackmail material,” she points out. “Everyone loves a good sacrifice story. It would make you look heroic if it came to light.”

“It would put Clark and his family in danger.” Kara’s face twists into the harshest kind of disgust—the kind Lena expects. 

“Then you better hope I never have a reason to use it against you,” Lena says airily, stubbing her cigarette out; even smoking can’t bring her joy right now. Something about the way Kara stares at her—disappointedly—makes her skin crawl.

Kara takes a step towards Lena. They’ve gravitated close already, but this is deliberate. Her eyes, blue and sharp, are locked entirely on Lena’s. “Right,” she says. “Is that the best you can do? Threaten my family?”

Lena tilts her head up to meet her gaze head-on. “That’s just the surface of the knowledge I have on you,” she warns, and she leans in now, tugging at the undone knot of Kara’s tie. Kara comes when she is pulled, though she swallows hard enough that it’s audible.

“What else?” Kara asks. She breathes in tune with Lena now, their faces mere inches from each other.

“I also know…” Lena has more details about Kara Danvers. She does. But right now there’s one glaring fact right in front of her—one that is all too delicious to pass up. “I know that you want to kiss me right now.”

Kara stiffens; Lena feels it in the resistance of her tie. She jerks away a beat later, cheeks red and jaw clenched, to put some distance between them. “That’s,” she breathes out. “That is—” She can’t seem to be able to string her words together. “There you go again, with the mean streak. It’s not nice.”

“I thought we established I’m not nice,” Lena reminds her, an odd pang settles in the bottom of her stomach. “At least, not to anyone who poses a threat to Luthor Corp.”

“I’m not a threat to you or your company.”

“It’s not personal, Kara,” Lena says, and wishes she hadn’t put out her cigarette. “I have appearances to keep. You understand—it’s politics, all of it. Business politics.”

“So you hate me because I’m your competition?” Kara frowns. “Just like that?”

“I don’t hate you.” And as she confesses it, Lena realizes that it’s true. That maybe—maybe for once—she is also tired of fighting. “Even though I would like to, I don’t.”

“You want to hate me?” Something in Kara’s voice is raw, hopeful, and it hurts to hear. “Why?”

“I’m Lena Luthor. I’m supposed to be selfish and self-centered, remember? That’s the image everyone wants.” Fuck it; Lena reaches for her lighter again. But before she can, Kara’s hand covers hers.

“For the record,” Kara says, “I don’t hate you either.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Lena quips, casting an uncomfortable glance towards the balcony doors. Inside the party rages on, and no one is witnessing this show of weakness, but it doesn’t feel right. Lena feels exposed; there is no coming back from this,

Kara smiles and it’s faint, but a smile nonetheless. And for all her shortcomings—the messy state of her evening wear, the stubborn shade of blue of her eyes—Lena has to suck in a breath when Kara leans in. Her hand rests on Lena’s cheek, her skin frozen and her touch overwhelmingly gentle.

“You were right,” Kara says quietly. “I did want to kiss you tonight.” Her thumb traces a slow, steady path down Lena’s jaw, and Lena feels her heart hiccup. Then Kara surprises her—she leans in enough to brush a kiss to Lena’s cheek softly, cold breath exhaling against her skin. “You can add that to your blackmail list, too,” she says, stepping away, and when she places her hands in her pockets this time it’s with a sense of finality.

Lena almost lets her leave. But her heart thumps loudly in her ears and clouds her judgement entirely; she pulls Kara back, says “Wait—” and not much else, because then Kara is kissing her properly. Or maybe she is kissing Kara, winding her arms around Kara’s neck and squeezing her close because she fears the moment she will have to let go.

Kara is the first to break away. For a moment all she does is gaze down at Lena, bewildered, and says nothing. Then: “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react.”

Lena bites her lip. “You could exploit this,” she says, “and use it as blackmail against me.”

“Right…or?”

“Or,” and Lena smooths out the collar of Kara’s shirt, which seems to be stained with some kind of liquor. “You could kiss me again.”

“Well, blackmail does sound fun.” And then Kara is smiling, soft and ridiculously wide, and Lena knows everything has changed.

Do You Still Hate Me (Yuta Smut)

Summary: Something about Yuta rubbed you the wrong way. So is that why both of you are alone in a classroom, his hands forcing you to rub against his thigh?

Genre: Smut (filthy!!!)

Warnings/tags: Dom!Yuta, College!AU, unprotected sex, thigh riding, oral, fingering, creampie, edging, lowkey voyeurism. ROUGH SMUT Y’ALL

Word count: 2.5K

Note: I’ve been gone from Tumblr for like a year because of school yikes. To make up for it, enjoy this smut that’s earning me a spot in hell! (-: I appreciate comments and like freaking out in tags or reblogs btw hehe

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Originally posted by wangtaeil

“Y/N, princess. Late are we?” Yuta questioned, smugly.

You couldn’t bother to acknowledge him, choosing to roll your eyes and speed up. What a terrible start to the day. You woke up late and literally flew to school, only to realize that you didn’t bring your assignment. Now, bumping into someone you weren’t a fan off as you rushed to get your assignment printed, made it just a little bit worse.

“Woah woah, slow down, what’s the rush?” He asks, catching up with you.

You glare at the boy, “If you’re planning on skipping class, you could just not come at all.”

He smirks at you, “Babygirl, if I skip class, how will I ever see you?”

Keep reading

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Adrien fidgeted in his seat, getting increasingly nervous as Nino stalled, pacing around the room and messing with things. Their apartment was uncharacteristically clean for a change since they had had guests recently, but Nino was still finding things to touch or move or dust, or anything at all to prolong the horrible tension. He was breaking the sacred rule of not leaving someone hanging on the “Can we talk?” text for hours on end, and by this point Adrien was nearly ready to rip his hair out.

He was about to demand that Nino just spit it out when he suddenly took a deep breath, turning to face him and slowly moving to a seat across from him.

He sat heavily, not saying anything right away and the silence hanging thick. Adrien squirmed again and was still working through a list of reasons that they might break up right now, because this is what it had to be right? It was so tense, and Nino wouldn’t even look at him directly. What had he done?? 

He was ready to start begging pre-preemptively when Nino finally spoke, his hands twisting together in his lap.

“Okay,” he said abruptly, pushing the word out. He was still looking away. “I know I’ve been letting you sit forever and thats not cool and I want to start by saying that we are SO good, we’re so okay.” He looked him in the eye for the first time, trying to get the genuineness across but Adrien still looked nervous. “This is not a fight thing or a problem thing at all this is just- this is just me, being a nervous loser and having no idea how to phrase what I want at all. So i’m just gonna try and say it? So please please just stick with me, please. Literally, I don’t want this to be a big deal or to hurt us at all, one word and I’ll drop it entirely.”

Adrien waited, realizing after a moment of prolonged silence that Nino expected a response, so he just said, “Go ahead,” and gave him a nod. He was feeling a little better, but not really. This was still so strange. 

Nino looked a bit frozen, his mouth sealed shut and his expression like he was trying to work up the courage to swallow a frog or something. He took another deep breath, which wasn’t really helping, and started again. 

“Okay so… forever, you have been so cool, and so gracious and kind about our relationship, but… but also about my relationship with Cat Noir.”

Adrien stiffened a little, not expecting this exact turn.

“You’ve assured me a thousand times that it was okay, and that our relationship was not hurt or lessened because I was seeing him, we were open about it from the beginning and you’ve been more kind then I’ve ever deserved, seriously. You knew I cared about him too and allowed it to happen, but its gone on for too long and I hate keeping everything so separate. Like i have my real life with you but sometimes i still see him at night and that seems unfair but you’ve promised its not but like-…” he groaned a little, looking frustrated. Adriens discomfort continued to mount, Plagg’s movement in his pocket like a silent slap. “We’ve always been transparent but, it’s been bothering me so much and I’ve realized its because I love both of you so much and think so insanely highly of both of you that I hate that two people who are so important to me have nothing to do with each other. You guys have never even met, and yet you’re both totally cool with me being with both of you and it drives me nuts, you both matter too much!”

Nino was looking away, so he failed to notice how insanely panicked Adrien was trying not to look. The rapid internal monologue of ‘I’m an idiot I kept it going for too long I’m such a moron how far did I think I was going to get this is insane what do I do-’ was too fast to calm, and Plagg, though silent, was feeling incredibly smug. 

Nino was continuing to talk, delving into how its come to bother him that Cat Noir and Adrien have never interacted but they are both okay with an open relationship with specifically this one other person, and meanwhile Adrien was devolving into madness. He was insane! It had started so small, a fun excuse to romance Nino all over again but its been going for months and needed to stop and it was so stupid and Plagg SAID this would happen. The plan was to date him and make it romantic and intimate and then use it as a way to FINALLY tell him the truth, after years of fighting for the right to tell him. But then he was having too much fun and he kept sneaking back as Cat Noir and then bothered to set up and excuse for himself and now it was so out of hand, and Nino was still talking, and he was so fucked. 

“And it’s come to this thing, in my head,” Nino continued, rubbing his neck, looking suddenly… embarrassed. “It’s this image that I can’t shake, and I like the idea of it… but not just for me! It’s not just a me thing, thats what I mean! Ugh, I’m making no sense.” He briefly dropped his face in his hands but sat up again to press on, his face redder than ever. “It’s not just about me! Like, I’ve realized I want you guys to know each other because you’re both so amazing! And I have this great feeling with both of you and I ust- I know you guys can have that too.”

Adrien was frozen, Nino peeking to check and realizing that his expression looked pretty insanely confused, so he rushed to clarify.

“I mean hell, crap I’m not trying to push you into anything I don’t even know if you’re into the idea but, I think, that maybe if you guys just talked, you’d really hit it off. I mean, he’s open to that stuff and so are you, at least with me you were! And I just, I like the idea of maybe you getting to have that feeling too, because I just know you guys would like each other so much. If you gave it a shot then maybe, you guys could start talking too. And like, it would have to just be a me thing, it can be for you guys too, and then we can all be… uh…”

Adrien, pale as a ghost and his voice so distant it was barely audible, managed to squeak,” …together?”

Nino watched him carefully, nodding slowly with a flushed face. 

Adrien was slow to process, his pocket on the verge of manic laughter. And he muttered slowly, “Us. The three of…us… together.” 

“If you wanted to,” Nino clarified again, “and if you hated the idea, I wont ever bring it up again but, I just… I started imagining it and… I knew that you guys would get along you’re so much alike.” 

Nino thought he heard a noise like a snort but shrugged it off, too focused on Adrien leaning on one hand in the arm chair, staring at the wall. 

“All three of us, … wow… um.”

“I haven’t mentioned this to him, but I thought maybe, if you guys would want to meet up and just chat a little, that maybe you would get along way better than you think. And that maybe… I dunno. You know?”

Nino smiled at him weakly, still so nervous with the proposition. 

And Adrien, already 600 feet deep in this problem with a shovel ready in his hands, weakly said,

“Sure.”


‘I will die in this hole I have made’


@edendaphne

The Chat Room 2
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Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: language, various kinks, breeding, domination, praise kink, masturbation, online chat style text

Synopsis: You never know who you’re talking to online.

A/N: Remember, you all asked for this.

Read Part One of The Chat Room

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It had been a week since he’d been back on the site and Steve’s suspicions of you faded as the days went on. You didn’t act any differently towards him, even though he was jumpy and suspicious as hell those first few days. But as time went on and he thought about it more there was no way it was you he was talking to. 

What were the odds that you were even the same person he was talking to? Slim. Very very slim. 

That site had around ninety thousand users; he was just being paranoid. Still, when he logged onto the site he was both surprised and relieved to see URDoll logged in.

It wasn’t possible for the user to be you now. 

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anonymous asked:

"You cannot begin to fathom the amount of fucks I don't give " #1 Dad David Wymack protecting his foxes ! Xx

He’s watching tapes from their last game with one sweating hand flat on the desk, the other prodding the rewind button over and over again until the loops stop being anything but cheering and colour. Their lines are sloppier with more people in them. He can see where they’re stretched too thin and where the strikers are overcompensating.

He can see the tension in their ranks even though they’re trying to pull together, like they’re slapping a bandaid on a broken leg.

“Knock knock.”

Wymack looks up to find Abby hefting food through the doorway like some sort of dream. She unpacks armfuls of it onto the table and gives him a private smile when he catches her eye over the wavering paused TV.

“That for me?”

“Well this would be a hell of a show if it weren’t,” she laughs, piling a wrapped burger on top of a plastic container of caesar salad.

“Didn’t want to assume,” he grumbles, reaching for one of the burgers. She slaps his hand away.

“Wash your grubby hands first.”

He raises both hands in surrender, muttering, “you let the kids eat finger food with blood on their hands but I can’t hold a burger without scrubbing down—“

“David,” Abby interrupts pointedly. “The faster you clean the faster you eat.”

He rolls his eyes on the way to the bathroom and then rolls them all the way back to his office, keeping his affection in a headlock. Abby’s sitting with her legs crossed and her food unwrapped when he gets back, and he spies two ketchup packets lined up beside his burger, just how he likes it. He’s biting on a smile when his phone rings.

Abby startles, Wymack fumbles in his pocket, Neil’s name blinks up at him.

“Can’t you eat lunch at noon like a normal person, Josten?”

There’s a shifting noise, like paper sliding over the receiver, and then Neil says, “Coach?”

Wymack frowns at Abby across the room. She gives a little questioning head shake with her eyebrows raised, perfectly poised to be upset. He hates that they’re always bracing for fucking heartbreak around here.

“Yeah, Neil. Talk to me.”

“Uh, yeah, listen. Andrew might have killed someone.”

Wymack closes his eyes. Breathes in for three long beats, holds his hand up when he hears Abby shifting to her feet. “What do you mean might have? And think about the words you’re about to say to me, Neil, because if you try to cover Andrew’s ass I’ll get real impatient real fast, understand?”

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carrollshelbys  asked:

"What's in it for me?" with Doctor Strange. Please, please, Hope, I'm begging you

You’d know Stephen since clinical – and though you hadn’t been the biggest fan of him then, the ex-neurosurgeon had started to grow on you in recent months. 

After his accident, you’d replaced him at Metro-General earning you a few drunk, hate-filled voicemails. Christine had insisted it was misplaced anger, that he didn’t really mean it, but when those two finally had their falling out it seemed as though she shared the same disdain towards the lanky surgeon as you.

And then, he’d fallen through the portal into the broom closet looking like a damn wizard, and you and her had done emergency surgery on him while he battled some other wizard in an invisible realm. It was… a lot. Even for you. And you’d been raised on Harry Potter.

And so began a weird friendship… though, you were hesitant to call it that. 

It was more… sexually tense than you’d consider any normal friendship, and even Christine recognized it with a palpable smirk. Stephen and her had shifted from exes to friends, and you couldn’t but feel like you’d earned yourself a wing-man out of the ER doctor. 

And here Stephen is, fiddling with some medallion as you hike yourself up the elaborate stairwell of 177A Bleecker Street. He looks out of place in slacks and a button down – in fact, you’d almost expected him to be dawning his usual cape. 

Instead, the red velvet trails behind you both eagerly – a little bit like a pet dog.

“So, the master of mystic arts, huh?”

Stephen laughs – more of a chuckle than anything, and you watch that familiar smirk sweep across his face as he leans against the banister.

“Glad you’ve decided to stop calling me a wizard, then.”

“Woah,” you raise you hands, pushing past him to admire a case of enchanted… boots? “I never said I’d stop calling you a wizard.”

Stephen, though years ago he would have never admitted it, has always found you interesting. Endearing even. During clinical, you’d been nothing but kind to him, even when he’d disrespected you, muscled over you, and doubted you. You were adept at killing him with kindness, and he found himself a little obsessed with the way you’d groan out his name.

Though, purely out of frustration, it was nice to hear.

“I’m not Harry Potter.”

“Maybe more of Dumbledore?”

He laughs again, and his cape tugs on your jacket a little bit. It likes you.

“You know I can open a portal and drop you into the Sahara, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare, Lord Voldemort,” you chide, a playful grin beating down on him like the sun. It makes him feel a little warm. He towers over you, and still in moments like these he feels so small compared to your glowing personality.

“What’s in it for me?” Stephen’s voice dips a little, hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he eyes you curiously. Your scrubs might be plain, but you are anything but. He tries to ignore the fact you’re beautiful; perfectly so. 

You’re tempted to shy away, to roll your eyes and scoff and move along, but the tension is thick and it’s got you in it’s hold like quicksand. You don’t fight it, and instead step closer to the taller master of the mystic arts.

Your fingers dart across his collar, smoothing a stray wrinkle. You see his Adam apple bob.

“I think you’d miss me a little too much,” you prod, “And, with me gone, who’d perform emergency hemorrhagic heart surgery on you with little to no notice?”

“Christine, maybe,” he prods right back, tilting his head and squinting, “Though, I suppose I’ve run out of favor with her.”

“A little bit.”

“Yeah, a little bit.”

You both share a smile, you both share a fleeting thought about closing the gap and cutting the tension, but both of you opt to grin and bear it. In due time. Things will build and rise and bubble and for now the game of tiptoe continues.

Stephen’s cloak deflates.

soft and not painful things that i love so, so much about 1917: 

  • the absurd and delightful size difference between the two privates who find scho dragging blake’s body and the fact that the little one is in charge while the bigger one is just a gentle giant (and the way that they watch scho passing with captain smith once they’re already sitting back in their truck, like they’re still quietly worried about him) 
  • the fact that the idiot who thought it was tuesday saying his little “sorry, sir” wasn’t in the script 
  • cooke giving the finger to the driver, like that boy is just so completely feral
  • the way kilgour kinda happily dozes into his scarf while leslie’s talking to scho and blake and looks up with the most startled, softest little :o when leslie tells him to fetch the flare gun
  • scho not taking his hand off blake’s shoulder for like 30 seconds after they get away from the soldiers yelling at him, and staring at him the whole time until he tries to break the tension with “it’s bloody quiet”
  • the fact scho could have been mean and petty and told blake it was his fault when he asks “your hand alright?”, but he instead just says he put it through an effing german. he doesn’t want to make blake feel guilty because he knows it wasn’t his fault he was scared by the face in the mud, and he knows there’s no point placing blame, and he wants to protect him
  • “welcome aboard the night bus to fuck knows where”
  • “you could do with a new set” 
  • how deeply jondolar cares for scho. like, he sees him and he’s just immediately “i am going to protect this boy. i am going to make sure he is okay” 
  • the way jondolar picks on and singles out rossi the most out of all the men he’s with, like they’re clearly close and i’m soft i love it 
  • scho’s bunny face. that thing he does with his mouth where only his top row of teeth show. the soft bashful little bunny smile when he tells blake he can eat bosch dog meat because oh that’s such a cheeky thing to say i’m the devil incarnate. the face he does when he hurts his hand and when he’s pushing the truck. that face
  • the fact you can hear the dog barking for a little while before scho and blake even get to the frontline, and for a little while afterwards - that dog was so well-behaved and sweet to sit through 50 takes and i love the realism of him/her still… existing even after the camera has moved on
  • the yorks were probably cheering and laughing and jumping all over each other and celebrating back in the trenches when they saw the flare - it would have been the highest point of their lives in months and a symbol of hope
  • the colonel’s driver when he asks if he can drive around the tree now - “no, sir.” he’s so tired. he’s been putting up with the colonel for months. we truly do love to see it.
  • “they at least could have retreated with a bit of grace, BASTARDS
  • scho’s frightened flailing when he says “i can’t, i can’t see!!” it’s the most freely and uncontrolled we ever see him move and he’s just so heartbreakingly soft 
  • sirthatlandisheldbythegermans
  • “friend. i’m a friend”
  • “a girl?” 
  • “for you and the child”
  • blake wiping his sleeve across his face when he slides down into the crater and waits for scho to lead the way from the barbed wire
  • blake reacting to every single dead body they come across in no man’s land with the same amount of disgust and horror and grief every single time because he isn’t used to all the senseless death yet while schofield doesn’t give any of them a second look, no wait that’s sad
  • “chil-dren? you?”
  • scho’s tiny smile when he’s talking to the baby and the way he brushes his thumb in circles over her fingers
  • scho’s eyes never leaving lauri’s in that one bit where it would have been a kiss in any other film or where his eyes would have at least gone to her lips. he respects her. he admires her. he wants her to feel safe and cared for. his thank you is genuine. she’s what his daughters/nieces could grow up to be
  • the fact that they chose a balletic score to go over the night window sequence. like, ballet-esque music in a war film. it’s beautiful and so brave. and the way the surreal, liquid shapes perfectly capture what scho is experiencing with his concussion. 
  • the way scho walks to the german by the burning church because in his concussed state, he honestly goes “friend? that man is my friend?”
  • joe’s first instinct to try and make scho feel better and comforted is food, same as blake
  • what?” *squint* 
  • “what the HELL are you doing, lance corporal?”
  • scho’s horrible, panicked sobs when he realises he’s just touched a body in the water, and the way they grow when he realises they’re everywhere and he has to go over them. wait no that’s sad too
  • “well he’s not one of ours”
  • “well done, lad”
  • the way the singing soldier sounds so much like blake that schofield probably thinks he has come to greet him in heaven
Caught in the Chat

This was based on @yuumi0035 art

Summary: Sunglasses and a black outfit are probably not the best disguise Adrien could have worn to keep a low profile in public. Certainly not when he bumps into Marinette and she recognises him … as Chat Noir.

AO3

She had to hurry, had to hurry, had to—

“Marinette, look out!”

Too late. Her foot connected with something, slipped, and then everything in her stomach jumped for her throat and she was falling backwards. There was no time to pull some slapdash ninja stunt. (Even if she tried, the kitten heels she had chosen to wear and the pain throbbing through her ankle would not let it end well.)

This was going to hurt.

Hands latched onto her from behind, stopping her descent with breath-snatching abruptness. “Got you,” her saviour said.

She blinked up at him. Not that she could make out much of his face. His hood was pulled down low, messy strands of blond peeping out. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes and most of the upper part of his features, but there was something about his jaw and the grin curving his lips … something that whispered of flirty hand kisses and moonlit conversations, especially since he was wearing all black.

“Chat Noir?” she blurted.

Keep reading

femur-reaper  asked:

Okay, simple request: Hanzo/Genji/Reaper see their s/o trip and fall face first into some dirt. (It happens sometimes!) How is their reaction (initially and immediately following)? Gratze!

Hanzo

  • His initial reaction is just like
  • “Wait, what just happened”
  • Just for a very brief second but it’s still there
  • Grumbles short curses and lightheartedly petty comments while kneeling down to make sure you’re okay
  • (ex. “What the hell just happened?” “Pay attention to your surroundings; you look like a toddler playing in the dirt.”)
  • Lowkey just irritated that his instincts didn’t kick in fast enough to catch you
  • Gives you a good look over after you’ve sat up
  • Helps you brush off most of the dirt out of the scrapes you now have, then uses his shirt to clean off the more difficult bits
  • Almost considers even tearing off a piece of said shirt to cover up the scrapes on your hands
  • Presses gentle kisses near the scraped up skin, then gives you another couple smooches for good measure
  • After he’s sure you’re okay and the tension has been resolved, he probably chuckles out of relief and maybe even makes a corny joke because if Hanzo’s corny around anyone it’s gonna be his s/o
  • “I thought you had already fallen for me, yet here you are doing so again.”
  • Han, s t o p
  • After helping you up, gives you a few more smooches just to make you feel better and maybe to get you to giggle
  • Takes you to the nearest shop with a bathroom and bandages so he can help you properly clean up, then the two of you can continue on your outing

Genji

  • Might actually let out a little shriek
  • Or it might be a quick outburst in Japanese
  • Just out of surprise because “oh god they’re falling!!”
  • Probably tries to catch you but the initial shock slowed him for a hot second
  • Quickly kneels down next to you to help you sit up
  • Looks you over for injuries and helps you brush the dirt off your limbs and face and out of your hair
  • Overall just fussing over you
  • Gives you masked smooches (i.e. boops with his face plate) wherever you got scraped up, such as your hands and cheeks
  • Bonus points: The cool metal probably feels soothing on said scrapes
  • Makes sure you’re alright to stand before helping you up
  • Promises to help you clean up and get bandaged properly once the two of you get home
  • Offers his arm for you to hold the rest of the journey, which is now to home or the nearest drugstore
  • Buys you one of your favorite treats to help you feel better

Reaper

  • Lets out a curse that starts in Spanish and fades into English when he realizes he’s caught you
  • You might almost hit the dirt
  • Thus causing your nose to maybe get a bit of a scrape
  • But before you can completely crash and burn, you’re caught on a bed of semi-solid black smoke, courtesy of your cursed partner (via pure instinct of protecting you)
  • He quickly helps you back up and wraps his arms around you
  • Tells you that you scared him and maybe even lets out a relieved laugh
  • Then gives you a peck on the nose just above the small scrape you still gained
  • Asks you if you’re alright and still gives you a look over, just in case
  • Once you’ve steadied yourself and both of your heartbeats are back to normal, the two of you carry on your outing
  • He’s probably holding your hand a bit tighter than he was before
  • Maybe also keeping a closer eye on the ground as the two of you walk