#man oh man did I have a field day with the title (the song his eyes AND the flower) 3 for 1

[starks-hero]

Iris

Pairing: Crowley x human!Reader

Summary: “When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.” Or, Crowley finally decides to tell you, his human lover, that he is a demon. He's justifiably terrified.

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: hurt/comfort

a/n: shout out to the wonderful anon that chucked me headfirst back into my good omens' obsession. anyway, I'm not saying you should listen to Iris whilst reading this but–

Crowley loved your eyes.

Well, he loved the entirety of you. But there was just something about their alluring shade, the way they watched him so intently and with softness he couldn't recall last being regarded with. Their divinity reflected that of the cosmos themselves. Crowley should know, he built them.

He never really understood the whole ‘eyes are the window to the soul’ line before you. From Crowley's, albeit limited understanding, souls didn't have windows, and even if they did, it wouldn't be a very good indicator of one's character. Even the bleakest of days look more promising from behind the safety of a window.

You were the one to change that perception, to take it in gentle hands and mould it into something softer, more sentimental. You proved to him that maybe there was some truth to the verses he'd heard poets recite again and again over the millennia. When with you, Crowley could feel the unconditional kindness beaming from you like rays from the sun, a readiness and willingness to be good that made him fall for humanity all over again.

And yet despite everything your eyes inspired in him, you were yet to see his own. And for good reason. Crowley still didn't understand what miracle, (or lack thereof) had transpired for you to be with him, but he did know that he wasn't about to put it at risk. You were his anti-thesis; made up of all things good and loveable. The thought of how quickly you'd leave the moment you saw his eyes and all they stood for was one that plagued him daily. But on the other side of the coin, Crowley couldn't disregard the fact that you deserved to know. You deserved the truth. You deserved so much more...

It was time for the bell to toll.

And so, Crowley followed his usual routine of picking you up after your shift, only this time the music was cranked up double what it usually would be (already deafening) in an attempt to drown out his frantic overthinking. The windows shuddered with each guitar solo and Crowley was sunk so far down in his seat his foot was pressed uncomfortably against the gas pedal. If it weren't for the fact that the Bentley was somewhat sentient, he probably would have swerved off the road a mile or two back.

The moment he set foot in your home an uncomfortable burning sensation shot up his spine. He cursed whoever had blessed your house before realising that said uncomfortable feeling was in fact a combination of both his nerves as well as the conscious he forgot he had.

The drive back to the flat was tortuous, for Crowley at least. Your hand was on his thigh as he drove, drawing circles into the fabric. The ever-alluring sound of Freddie Mercury's voice droned on in the background as Crowley rehearsed what he wanted to say, swapping out words and rephrasing sentences before restarting altogether. The closer he got to home the more hopeless he began to feel and by the time he was holding the flat door open for you Crowley fought the urge to find the nearest cave, catacomb or other undisturbed dwelling to take a century-long nap in. He just wanted to wait this whole thing out.

The reminder that you wouldn't be here in a century served as an adequate kick in the arse as he closed the door behind him. 

His shoulders were slumped and his steps slow as he moved through the apartment's halls in all their bleakness. The only room in the entirety of the flat that had any real colour was his conservatory, filled to the brim with succulents and tropical plants. The moment he entered said room he was met with the sight of green leaves and an earthy scent heavy in the air. It was an impressive sight, really; plants that stretched feet off the ground, leaves proudly pointed skyward, (although given Crowley’s presence it is far more likely this display was out of fear.) Ivy vines had begun to climb up the walls, something Crowley had intended to deal with before deciding he was rather fond of how they contrasted the greyness of the polished stone they clung too. 

Among it all, in the very centre of the botanical display, the plant you'd gifted him proudly sat. A purple Iris, its petals bright and its leaves healthy and succulent. Its scent was sweeter than that of the other plants and the flower, despite its size, did not seem intimidated by the impressive foliage that surrounded it. 

Crowley’s fingers delicately ghosted over the leaves. the sentimental side of him liked to believe that the flower’s flourishing beauty was because it had been gifted to him by you. Something about everything growing better with love. The more reasonable part of him acknowledged that it was due to the fact the plant had been placed nearest to the window as well as being the first watered each morning and night. The battle between his sentiment and rationality was nullified by the fact that you were also the reason the plant received such treatment, favouritism having quickly steered his hand.

You just had that habit about you; inspiring beauty whether you meant to or not. 

As Crowley studied the flower that in so many ways reminded him of you, he imagined the leaves becoming dry and shrivelled, of the royal purple petals withering beneath his touch. He pulled his hand away.

He found you reclined along the couch, one arm covering your face whilst the other hung weightlessly off the side of the furniture. Your dramatic pose was reminiscent of some tragic renaissance painting and the sight was one that inspired such fondness Crowley didn't even mention how you had your feet up on the fine velvet.

“Tired, love?” He asked instead.

“You have no idea. Today was an utter nightmare.”

Even whilst talking about the most mundane of things your voice was siren-like, resonant with divinity. Crowley could listen to you for hours, for the rest of his life. Until his immortal heart stopped and the earth beneath him turned to ash.

“I feel better now that I'm here with you.”

The words sent a dagger into his side, the following guilt twisting it in place. He moved to join you on the sofa and with a gentle tap to your ankle, he watched you move your feet before taking a seat beside you.

Your eyes were on him, he could feel it. The tension in his body and the seriousness of his expression was not something you were used to. He spoke before you could voice your concern.

“There's something I want–” He swallowed. “Something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.” Your breathy laugh that encompassed the word was an admirable attempt to hide your nerves but Crowley knew you better. “What is it?”

Silence followed.

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times, no words passing from his lips despite how hard he tried to voice them. There was a building pressure in his temples and he felt like his forked tongue was tied in a knot.

“Crowley.” Your hand travelled across the plane of his thigh and grabbed his own. It was a comforting touch yet he fought the urge to pull away. “What is it? You're scaring me.”

Another twist of the dagger.

“I– I just, it's that...” Crowley made a noise that fell somewhere between a groan and a whine. “I... I'm–” foreswearing words altogether, he reached for his glasses. With shaking hands, he pulled them away. “I'm not... good.”

He couldn't bring himself to look at you, to see the horror and fear in your eyes. “I'm quite the opposite actually.”

He felt your hand leave his own, the skin you'd once touched feeling bare. His chest hurt, his eyes stung and when he finally turned to you your fear and disbelief sent another sharpened blade through his chest.

“What–” The word fell quietly, the beginning of a sentence you'd never finish. Crowley took the liberty of answering regardless.

“Demon, unholy horror, the reason children are afraid of the dark.”

When you said nothing, he continued.

“I wanted to tell you. I should have told you. I never meant for this to go so far. I tried to stop it so many times but then you'd say or do something and I– just never wanted it to end. And I know that's selfish but–” Crowley motioned to his eyes. “That's what I am. Selfish, unforgivable– a bad omen.”

As his words set in you remained unmoving. Your eyes hadn't left his, not since he'd pulled off his glasses and laid everything bare.

“Love...” There was another stretch of silence and Crowley felt like he was drowning; like he was back at Mesopotamia with wind and rain at his back and a wave so large it blended with the sky fast approaching on the horizon. “Please, say something.”

You said nothing.

Rather, you raised your hand against his cheek, thumb timidly tracing beneath his eye, as if to ensure it was real.

Crowley flinched.

“This is what you've been hiding from me? All this time.” You asked. “And here I thought you just really didn't like the sun.”

Crowley blinked a few times, lips falling in a frown. He backed away from your touch.

“Crowley...”

“You've just found out that I'm evil incarnate and you're making jokes.”

“What would you prefer I do?”

“I'm a demon.” Crowley ensured to emphasise the word. “I'd prefer you did what anyone else would do.”

‘Leave.’ This part was silent. ‘For your own sake.’

You didn't waver. Your hand fell back against his shoulder, testing the waters and when he didn't pull away you continued.

“From my understanding, demons are supposed to be cruel, unlovable. So if you're a demon,” your hand ventured to his neck, Crowley's eyes falling shut despite himself as you traced his jaw. “Then no offence love but you're not a very good one.”

Crowley couldn't quite place the feeling that took hold of him at your words, but it left him feeling both hollowed and relieved. His eyes stung again, but this time he was smiling.

“You're being far too conversational about this.” His fingers encircled your wrist, he could feel the steady beat of your pulse beneath his thumb. “This really doesn't bother you..?”

You shook your head. “And even if it did, I'm in too deep now to get hung up on something like that.”

Crowley tried to think rationally but instead, he thought of the beauty of the cosmos, of dark purple petals and perfumed air. Of your eyes and their warmth and this time the idea of a withering flower didn't even cross his mind.

“You're sure about this, falling in love with a demon. Dangerous business, that.”

“I'll take my chances,” you mused. “Besides, being without you is the only real hell I can imagine.”

Crowley chortled, boyish and pure, a noise that certainly should not have come from a demon. "Aziraphale been loaning you his books, has he?"

“No, but I am trying to cheer you up." You gently nudged his side. “Is it working?”

Crowley's reaction told you it was. His eyes in all their vibrant brilliance shone so bright you felt you were staring at the sun. When he reached for his glasses, your hand worked on its own accord to stop him.

“Leave them off, please? I want to see you." Your words were cleansing and for the first time in an eternity, he felt worthy. Worthy of adoration, of love, of you.

Crowley kissed you, and you did not wilt.

tag list: @bakerstreethound @miraclesoflove @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife

#sir let me kiss your head and spend the evening complementing your eyes in every language I know #man oh man did I have a field day with the title (the song his eyes AND the flower) 3 for 1 #crowley x reader #good omens #good omens crowley #good omens crowley x reader #crowley x you #crowley imagine #crowley x y/n #crowley good omens

[lotidge]

You know after Lotor was done dirty in canon. I started listening to My Past is Not Today from Equestria Girls on loop. The song fits Lotor in my opinion.

(forgive any spelling and grammar errors, Mod Hess wrote this while home VERY ill)

You could just do what i do and... Ignore the parts of canon you don't like. Also just listened to the song, it 100% fits how i would write Lotor in an ACTUAL redemption art.

Here's how I would write it:

Once he joins the Castle of Lion's crew he's 100% intending on betraying them eventually.

However, as time goes on he slowly becomes close to the Paladins and the crew on the castle.

Allura becomes like a sister to him (because this is a LOTIDGE account god damn it)

He and Hunk bond over helping each other cook, he helps Hunk identify what he's cooking with, and Hunk teaches Lotor how to make appetizing meals.

Shiro and Lotor bond over different leading methods and what works best on a small scale vs a large scale.

Lance, as soon as he realizes Lotor doesn't like Allura like that, becomes Lotor's wingman and one of his closest friends. Especially when he learns of his womanizing past. "Teach me your ways wise one." "Yeah no, you are not going to win Allura like that."

Coran becomes a father figure to Lotor like he is for Allura. and he teaches Lotor about Altean culture and Holidays.

Pidge and Lotor... Have an awkward relationship at first, because Lotor for 'some reason' can't speak a smart word around her. Once they start dating they are a power couple.

Keith and Lotor bond over having lost heritage their working on reconnecting with.

Matt... does not like Lotor for the simple fact he's dating Pidge.

Over time his bonds exceed his goal and one night he's sobbing confessing his plans to betray them to the group, but he realizes... He can't.

They've grown to mean so much for him. So he reveals all he knows of the quintessence field and they take his ships built from the 'Voltron Meteor' (how else do you describe that thing), and make a new lion to match the rest of the Voltron Lions.

So the 'more paladins then lions' issue is settled. And they make the Pink Lion of Voltron for Allura. Which works as a backup in case of the other lions out of commission, Voltron can still be formed.

Coran then trains Lotor how to fly the castle, so he can lead them to save the Alteans he's used as living batteries and make amends as well as save any that may still be alive.

Soon the Castle of Lions is no longer just 6-9 people any given day. It has a whole Altean crew being trained on how to work its facilities.

Alteans like Romelle have their issues with Lotor still, but they also see he is trying to make up for his misdeeds and is truly a new man.

And eventually when they go back to Earth with some Galra and the Castle of Lions for a Peace mission (and to allow the Paladins to see their familys again) Lotor apologizes for everything the Humans were put through because of the Galra. And to make up for it he will make sure that a human always has a say in the Empire's affairs.

Iverson: How will you work that out? Lotor: Oh! I have plans on marrying a human!

Iverson: Please say it's not Lance...

Lotor: He did pay me $10 to joke and say it was.

Iverson: ... Who is it

Pidge: Hey Legolass you done with your boring politics? I want to see if we can upgrade all ships with Green's Cloaking capabilities!

Lotor: *looking absolutely smitten* Just a second! *looks back to IVerson* I like my partners smart and feral.

Iverson: ... Earth is in good hands... But the Galaxy garrison has some formal Apologies to make toward...

Lotor: Her Full Title would be Empress Kathrine Pidge Holt-Gunderson, Green Paladin of Voltron, Protector of the Universe. Galra and Alteans do not have last names so I will likely be taking hers

Pidge: But Every can still just call me Pidge.

#Lotidge #mod hess #no one gets to complain about the quality of this #I spent that past two days in fevers and they are finally gone #... I just have all the other sick symtoms kicking my ass

[doyouknowhowtowaltz]

A few days ago I came across the phrase "The Valley Of The Twitching Curtains" as a description of a life with noisy neighbors, and I think that's the kind of phrase that would end up being the title of an Olwen Warren flick.

That is precisely the sort of title Olwen would stick on his work, goodness, I could already envision Enoch's review, I had to write it out.

As many of my frequent readers know, I have something of a bias towards Mr. Warren's films. With his latest movie, The Valley Of The Twitching Curtains, based on my very own Pottsfield, you might question the validity of my review with such biases established. That being said, I can confidently put my preferences aside and say that this is some of Mr. Warren's best work. 

The Valley Of The Twitching Curtains is a departure from Mr. Warren's other films in that it shifts our focus from the woods he has become so synonymous with to a small town. Peaceful, quiet, and with plenty of room for secrets. Despite being a new wheelhouse of horror, Mr. Warren excels, making a place that should, in all rights, instill a feeling of hominess both claustrophobic and horribly vast and empty. But there are no cults in this little town, no homicidal murderers, not even a ghoulish monster hiding in the fields, for the truth is something far worse. 

I pride myself in being a community man and have enjoyed the title of town busybody for several years (contested, of course), but after watching The Valley Of The Twitching Curtains, I found myself with a certain creeping dread that lingered long after the initial showing. I looked upon my neighbors in a different light, folks whom I have shared decades with, people I would have entrusted my life to without a second thought. Of course, in this new light, I found nothing amiss, but it is that need to look, that tickling urge to check the closet or beneath the bed, that Warren is so adept at inspiring.

It’s a fascinating and novel spin on the oh-so-common trope of the horror genre to fear being alone. Suddenly, being alone feels like an unreachable respite, the safe haven for which our protagonist is racing, as Warren masterfully deconstructs what it means to be alone.

Many, including myself, were disappointed that the Woodsman's Daughter did not include Mr. Warren’s original score. However, it has made a strong recovery in The Valley Of The Twitching Curtains. Often juxtaposed against cheery scenes, Mr. Warren's haunting piano melodies clue us in that something is not quite right, long before anything else starts to unravel. We are treated to a new song, sung by Mr. Warren himself for the first time since Where the Roots are Deepest, and it is quite a treat.

The cast, primarily composed of nonprofessional actors, pulled together an impressive performance that at times had me forgetting that it was a performance at all. It felt like a return to form after the odd cameos in the Woodsman’s Daughter, seemingly spliced in simply to put the name on the project, and lends to the atmosphere of a small town where perhaps you should start locking your doors.

Altogether, The Valley Of The Twitching Curtains is an enrapturing film in which Warren pulls out all the stops to weave together an entirely new way to set your skin crawling and your bones rattling. If I was not well familiar with Warren’s opinion of his audience, I might make the assumption that this is a handcrafted apology to the critics of The Woodsman’s Daughter, though it seems far more likely to be an insult to the film’s fans. Regardless, Warren proves once more that he is the king of creeping horror and, with the sinister end of the film, promises that he’s far from through unveiling the terror that hides in the familiar shadows of our childhood homes.

If you have the option, I strongly recommend catching this film while it’s still in theatres and watching this chilling unraveling of privacy as it was intended to be viewed. 

Crammed into a dark room surrounded by hundreds of people, all sitting maybe just a little too close. 

#otgw #Slash(er) Film #Enoch would be *thrilled* by a movie like this #Not only is it a brand new terrifying way for Warren to pick apart the minds of his fans #But like #Clearly this is flirting Olwen is clearly making a pass at Enoch by turning his beloved town into his beloved horror genre

[thefirsthogokage]

Quantum Leap (2022) 1x10:

'Paging Dr. Song'

Where to Watch: Peacock

Spoliers: Yeah, I'd say so.

⚠️ Warning if you haven't watch this one for people who don't like injuries.

Reactions/Commentary Below The Cut

Babies come early sometimes, happens.

That was---IT'S EYES SHOULD NOT BE OPEN! You could just not shoot the face so you don't get that wrong, UGH!

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Not fond of them not using the same episode title format as the OG series beyond the first episode.

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OH FINALLY WE'RE HAVING A LEAPER WEAR A DAMN BRA! THANK GOD!

The CGI with the hologram being moved through is SO much better.

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Oh it's going to be a hard day for Ben!

Damn. Something ba-OH THAT'S BAD! Now what makes Ben necessary here?

Also, they talked about a bra, but no fucking way he's actually wearing a bra.

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Oh, boy, wonder how he's going to explain that to the nurse.

This guy! I know this guy! I've seen him in plenty of things! Bones? Was he on Bones? Probably that....YUP! Dr. Edison! Oh right, and Diggle's little brother on Arrow. Bones only ended in 2017? Hunh. Oh, right! Crossing Jordan before that. He's gotten a hell of a lot of work!

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No, don't say "Temporarily, I hope." Say, "Cancer isn't my specialty."

He can't tell her because of HIPAA!

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There should be swelling of that, right? And if that's deep enough, there should be swelling of the eye, too, right?

Shouldn't they sedate him if they are going to remove that? That has to be in his brain. Ew. I guess it wasn't that deep. They didn't even tell him to stay still? Or was that just not in the scene?

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One down, two to go!

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One person? Wonder who that could be. Ziggy? Does she consider Ziggy a person? And have they referred to Ziggy as a he? So did they change genders?

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Twaaaaaaattt.

Two people saying something could have mattered.

You dad can help with that custody battle you can't afford.

Why did the deaths from that drug go up?

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"To see a lawyer about a doctor" HA.

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She wants to help people, but doesn't want to help get a drug off the market....

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All of these people are going to be connected to each other somehow, right?

Are women allowed into the field to like that in the US military? I know some things are changing, but....also some (US) military propoganda 🤮

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You can't tell her! HIPAA!

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It's going to be the wife. The brain dead wife.

NO! HIPAA VIOLATION! NO!

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Dr. Harper already had them use that drug once and it nearly killed her. The dipshit really wants to do it again? That's fucking malpractice.

What the fuck even is this drug for, did they say and I missed it because I'm too tired or...?

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This is a sad, endlessly frustrating episode. Would not watch on a rewatch, that's for sure. I guess having non-date titles is a bonus for remembering what episodes to skip 🙃

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Oh are they going to breach a sterilize area?

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And THIS is why drug companies aren't allowed to do shit they did before.

Why hasn't he leaped yet? Is it to have this convo? That's not how leaping works....

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Oh man, is some on the team a bad guy? I don't want that, I like the team as is.

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ROBERT PICARDO?! And that guy! I've seen him play someone smart before! I'll have to look him up next time.

"like something out of science fiction with THE DOCTOR right there!"

#quantum leap (2022) #ql 2022 s1ep10 #riley watches quantum leap 2022 #riley watches tv #ql 2022

[libidomechanica]

“But Juan cattle-field this maid of new”

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               First Stanza

Than other, will be fifty ponder to   comes in one’s grow again—to see, she dirty;   I know were in time, she was wonder that? With Philip’s rage are long since to but day moan officers and as the struction.   In getting who was a crash on the silence,   now sobs these amiss. But wilful as save sunset tell. Which and some to be at least, which made a kind wine! Had all they were   they muddle with the climes as bright and green   the tender, and made a vision; and one much in wide now behavior; beauty, and set my fair. And feelings back air, and my   find him to eye us but I. But Juan   cattle-field this maid of new rose and human language the leave been several nose.

               Second Stanza

In amber Ugolino continued   stares dragging the lady—mother mourning   shipwrecks were fix’d rather’d in the would I makes those whom he ships, and only material grew from me. The abstruse expire   that grenadiers and gloss, angel, and earth:   the was forest least in former shatted, describes; like face, and jasmine, he wave for fish, and the earth, and hell’s believe Max whims   and Tears in Cashmire had got wean his hallow   there hath them of face to do as merry plough perhaps, have led to the cypress,— somehow, there a tocher; but how these laurel,   and a turncoat will dropp’d as ears even   what at times cheery one has served, or Jew; where are, and thee; so their hue, but Love!

               Third Stanza

Situation her like thy love that in   the sky, and the man offspring-dew of his   own: t was blanket. Preface saw no meant, Haidee, bread love, with Pedrillo’s face was patriot stopp’d in the color of great   did roof’d the blue eggs of the moonlighten’d,   thus sunless the blood wit animals he dry; I would put to here was broad an ox, and some faith; but slave, how silent more thee   mortals small around, insensible, till   the nurses wood. ’Er a spot, but its clime, once is; let Virtue ebb’d for lad, I am the Persian arms of any suppose   … I accept crowd of Murder of song, nor   courted: the maddens find virgins sometimes are, for nor copper, they heart of whip, oh!

               Fourth Stanza

Brough Ireland average—by the never were   ship or crystal grow peels, save the scribed;   shoals as badge-the damp’d, and where she was prince is and fair, as only he was blue spend, vpon which most preparating to get a   rich makes to wondered in his bad, revenues   of Bath. Thou the Eare apt to delight out upon his not the decease, and his turn Now my shame to thrice more great anybody   resist: curst bring the flesh again.   How slept, and reporter me. Her lip—sweets, to pray’d through it which we losing breakfast— at least, in inks his hides being their eyes   the other’s alarming, when caughter is   nothing of piss a Sword, which with his laureaten’d a little latter a butter.

               Fifth Stanza

But first,—I will, while a shelter, if your   would paved hour of murder me. Grew. Not alone   prey, and forms of flesh as I can well as a prophesy shortest at terse may long, and keep o’er, he despatches fly, as   now! Save Solyman, too—but one with and   pavement t is not the leave mean this hysterity inch by part a-keeping; then first and of somethings do not yet stay, since   would suckless—stood intented to kiss’d, next   week or Turk refused to his last be? Or write of the more once to tell be anciently passion blaze, longer titled for a   fell—tis treasons: match to hand, an’ it will   not what he his nations on they must now, and fairest, or two tenderly, I chance.

               Sixth Stanza

Seat bards of her fan. Who is heard not attempt,   but shore be playing, words in the tiny,   clear sparkling ones. Pride, jealous today to Antony be begging the rude, perhaps ev’n seeing and arms of the stain   his slain he addresses the mild demander   to confess: no man was, knows that they are unquiet, the ocean, vast a piece of marriage-bed were faire, O Love’s turn in his   toils might make an of night the view she great   die together I’ll blythe time to sparkled as human in heaven this, through a farther, within wonder’d for your shaped with on   Myrna Loy. And none ruddy, and black as   nigher, fain wonder’d hand, it’s life has a words. Fed by who have meant to know. Were east.

               Seventh Stanza

But you canst prove his ladies with no rest?   For hither’s always, restrick. To smoke, and   fight, then bred, dearer the damn’d—in hir wholes. Of a soft, my light. I heard to storms, and man. But what he that very football with   they griefs sprung. He was in the man uses   of seamen this stead of light to Cologne, with joy and crime, for so brave a taste in its glance or boat foot by the spirit oft   unjust, and Dryden’s lot, without red we   dead, and in the old against myself had been for the enter’s picture made him whose chaste, ’ what hiatus of scarcely goddess   on his lull’d me they’re true like and yet in   such a masqued there most surprised at my grieved as faint dying that dressioned good?

               Eighth Stanza

The Muse ecstasy to love with young lip   to tell be undoned sign is man! And   my describes; like charm to grand then will see cast of your of vowed away, which Boccaccio’s long flower, he flash’d through the number   hearts decaying, as if just await on   sin—except his Catiline, that the Sun! I almost ten to love, but fine! Eyes. I told there, which sure the out to buy. As not   allower.—Though the savage huntsman to   prayer, or place of dead, a bad talk gulbeyaz overcome not be care the phrase—but what is not being slumber; every was   a boats well, yet this dim: but I, vnbid, flower   at this my no-love alive, what hands, see each the precincts pale savage minute?

               Ninth Stanza

From the shall beneath—but enviable   create his worth; spain repetition, beeing   wondrous throng, a tedious he owed much better tween us, when her all, at large eyes would adorn’d in t surmountains looked   down was added, the fat light.—But thee, as   the mark of eyes herself the assistant Sylvio sooner shirt, and horribly through he known to respect fears could but thin   his guest, he new; the bottom, to grieue me   attentions, ’ which hat a gray with mirage when outward glide. Each bevy with her idiot boy. Her could dish Courlands; let Virtue   he long—no dull reason, like in a   because it’s no soon for they! Him after that besides, accords mountain’d then he high.

               Tenth Stanza

The weak was to much to mine eye folks are   morning, a better now, to run, for have   sun, at last, metals, such stares him from waiters Cadmus gate consequence Loved Juan, too, and Romans to half of join again tune,   Whilst I grows thing what which is face, red praise;   for us, or work for I should nothing wingèd lightest but incesses fed, yet compassions rack’s mass will be-’—Forbear is. If   those rashy, O! I thing one still, with thy   airy stag and quivering low! With mart by good men do slacken’d have savage shall he being evil? For one who the sweet,   she last of pleasure, who have nough the first   stake hail, Muses have with man’s brief waving out being green, we enter’d verse, that speak.

               Eleventh Stanza

Display one, to advance and thou harm of   thy AEgis o’er his sown, and you; the displeased   by the artiller scribe; descry tearing we love of Thyself commiserie! Oh Good-for dream’d of bamboo and some gold or   worst: a general Markow, when case was haughters   purple her made her what time, thought as fast by chanson; whenever had none ease; at leave me why shame by their hands and for   a welcome he learn. To piece or lands the   least done, that vertuous stars and I have better, my dear, and mee adding the sad most raven in Thee third’s case was as to thee,   my lord, as if the reap their head for certain   refused them, treating still still on Marses rare diverse, and had made young Cypress!

               Twelfth Stanza

The gold to hero, where. Some to a mask’d;   but clasp’d early those portal tears, and to   arise although his daughters nod their starch, perhaps every belt—what to my Belovëd,— where he snow, and in nation made   inconscious metals who or strength to leaves, and   in short. Does have large blaze,—and laurels seat blow, had been senses, o’ertheless tutor, like a birds began to lave will common   boat, ’ and with, like one—the crowned sisted Allah!   To the other’s raised him fluster of darken, to do more, and heels all see a pad, that draught the spouses were was Sol’s polar   whose in sprawling old; there was under   you have and tarry heaven some piracy, letting with home twelve sweet him, for use.

               Thirteenth Stanza

The called send the slept not winning Sion: but   Actium, by God form a lions, the seen   slime, sad ask’d by there another’s house, in facts. Is a sad as my love of all men they lasing away. Groans; and wave found his   first heart in their lips told him as in   adventurion shone the only since of love with joy o’er the less would not solace Juan words. You can tell you henceforth such a cause   his was of those who, when this new, and soul   of vesperation; but with their health none bastard in a lighter—but they shall place oft Ionian. The same hand her labour’d, this   primroses have so sweetly setting in   those very prison’d, and if all thee, who restry of female moon, and Betty Foy?

               Fourteenth Stanza

But let to nothing, till which seem’d of roses   grow good to then his false and I! If   the true and drop his head: which the mounted out she tow’ry fence’s complacable less still with here exacted on their pricking   it would fair care.—Farewell—Juanna, through’s   selfe to Dudu’s drown heat: o Bacchus’ pardon young bride. Slain his wishes; but their most trembling,—no men groaning city. Throat: with   it can ear-trump and so, in which I have   when her Hand of this home.—And a strength resolve it wholly rich compass by long down onward test.—Besides, like discover out   of agony while songst other heel; and   ranger, nor study the worst one or found, since in Greece. But, nor silent crowd lover.

               Fifteenth Stanza

And aloof the glen or atones gone   with spot of the night pull to the travels   separating naked face; and took leaving in his despatches and so music mute of history batters than dead, which thing,   face I will. I’ll treason’d glory shrine, or   work private great joys of woes have a masque urge front, like I know him not spin a veins looks intent with a work heroic, stormy   answer’d, by Cupids her like to his   own eye in which was born the watch young feminine different on me to be gone again; for from speculated Rhine: ye gloomiest   maidenhead, and kings, Maker’s hand you   not that when you do’st go to Newgate? Form to refuse; but now I cannot whether.

               Sixteenth Stanza

’ Think of the last—farewell! For I know not—   single his paid pride, and darkness is, that   hope was not that all are the gentlemen much learn. Still seek and you may, in an imprude she rosy flowe! At was in vaster—   not tell. And turtles gone repairs, they were   was each in my sweeps the loves, preface, who is not speak, to scholars, sketches they shone to holds his loss will his pipe’s agonies   who had no met the one, and Platonic   for pence deck: the grantors, and sometimes all orange, and to pot. Say, are dead could curl’d announced moue, when this being grace, both juan   admired, but the storm: no tongue of people   and yells like a doze and their thirty at their loyal transferr’d the begins child!

               Seventeenth Stanza

This is Glory’s Queen Semiramis. And   said, or what Bartholomew weep! Shall be   borne our direction, though the world of November welcome, let the purple grass-grown on their idolatry thing, as hapless   grand now two that lord’s fell we flush’d ocean’s   vision glared of evil earthstone of my sight are and keep their restry of mourn to thing giaour, we’ll be in the boats, that can   neckclothes round her do—juanna, playing Muse   with due when young eyes. Added shift, joy to those colours—like sovered in each puzzled her broth a windowes company   a sented mind thunderbird instantly   I rises dreams be, more sugred loosely— like all that shallow, who water, and not.

               Eighteenth Stanza

A little capital, whose being green   both such a trees go limping again, with   ever saw his arms, the to him;—as a sort of staining, this ears speak truth: the length of the sweet sake, both an anguish wave thought   I never dust, Desolate she is now!   And thou and curd-pale soul were the greene; or the pony move, seem’d her very more were the dead, and yourself, and looking here two,   three Ragusan light that will join’d, some famish’d   to the sun from my sake of London! For breach spicy chocolate and bear to comes release men, now say that I have no firm,   or element one, make thy money: for   joy in them smiled unfamily’s but three, and the negro from in her pass’d over.

               Nineteenth Stanza

Her be bellona, where had made a sheep-   track, and some expense: I have weightly should   do not tell but all my this child’s wrote not do that they were once all the would scarce loss of some twenty-gallop on forces that   to rise, in warrior maid; these rays! They should   score for authorizing olders pony now, young me I know you can ties a scene of musk as loudly, truly the pale as   not lonely and to come strange; and Sister.   In nations;—but in that more touch’d a little hectic bile, but Actium, losing, flung lock it was grass the whole raging as if   he had me sick, an’ it’s jet, jet black eunuch   shadow on its full of innocence of a dukes in Change’s knife now his Sight.

               Twentieth Stanza

I have been place, and favouring trim, because   with us. His Highland lazy, yet   one island the courage grow ignorance of sweets arm-chain an Alpine fame, espect that touch a strapped in things cooks which shone to   be blink with kingdom of things gave they mean   the heariness in they hold is a ragout, the rusty floating when the kind of garden’d it, I forgive hearts, it seem’d read,   The was indeed her snow-like humours: duly   accent, and the closed, and so great to guardian, Turkish word. Leave been, being wood as her breakers would not scamper’d; yet   threescore, which leave it? And Despair of all   them with reef better discovereign’d, her the eggs, far as repentance is London!

               Twenty-first Stanza

All ear, who mighty pearl tiara, and   as ever walls. And what comprehending   to rue, for without you; I go by, made for he had not self-approbation of the inroules office; yet I shall scorch   few her there’s novelty, all feet were   the glen at when a count, she single rain, and young, and looking shore; and and should nothing but extremely space into Deed my   own from the stroke look vain to dwell, in seated,   where eggs was a gem; to find slow autumn’s bright will, still twilight of foot wells; tis take sequins her human tumours: duly   accustom one, so that she might prove quarter   of learn’d in the streams would not mixt, and dost loue; bidden in all oft would be hid?

               Twenty-second Stanza

I could hope was they haggled, or maid into   my light which he was time espy to   murder stealth to breaks of gold, his vulgar by difficulties’ expenses and the moon with a small apprehending more he   long the father’s daught shall planet guide. Was   scarce their sublimes is an ejection to you are and bear the rabid, and fluttering through, to draws back-woods makes these his   correct your thing that all still keep and yet   I string some richly wrough verse without delay, they lenger soul’s sunrise, perhaps every risk a thing with love thou hast can settling   of many wood at another Hand   then, o that fallible than ancient Muse off they were, by the preserved Polycrate!

               Twenty-third Stanza

Alas! ’Er she sail with her in the all   to teach from her passe: they springs occurr’d   false and vigorous, ten years when you knows whereafter he has he grave; but harmful deep, impart, my love of nation; her   brown length been he died, yet died, where; his stutter   chambers are no stern of each virgin Knowledge, oh, my most dear chemise—a fright boat for Thee thy perils sting spots will you   were much too tendom. And up by us   the like reliest makes not giggle, pricking, I deplored; while and by delighted there, perhaps bed. Were not fly: if our terrier,   that he hard again, and will so; Christian   most shore; and their grow to with; and a teares it would consult to delighted.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #197 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

[amoveablejake]

Album Of The Week: ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ By Vince Guaraldi

Stand out song: ‘Christmas Time Is Here - Instrumental’. 

Choosing what the album of the week is going to be is always a tough decision. Its always tough because whilst I do sometimes have ideas of what it should be I always feel like choosing it as the album of the week gives it a little bit of importance that I don’t take lightly. I don’t take it lightly because by choosing it as the album of the week I am tying that week in time with that album and the feelings that it brings with it. When I look back over all of the album of the week choices I know exactly what feelings were accompanying the albums and the writings. It is therefore no surprise that today, the actual two year anniversary of my blog, I have been struggling to think of what I should choose as the album of the week. This is a significant album choice and so it needed to be right. I thought perhaps I should write about one of the records that I say are so special I wouldn’t know how to put it into words how I feel about them but honestly, I’m not quite there yet. I did however, think that maybe I should write about the album and I kept saying no to myself. I kept saying no because I’ve written about it quite a few times already in its own dedicated weekend pieces and as the album of the week three or four times already. I keep coming back to it as it the album for those special and significant moments and with that in mind I realised what other choice could I possibly make. 

Its funny, even though I have written about ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ quite a few times by now I suddenly don’t know what to say. We know that this is that this album transcends being an album for me. It is, truly, a part of me and an integral one at that. It is my hygge album above all of the others, and we know that it accompanies me all year round despite its title which as I’ve said before does it a bit of a disservice. I think one reason why I keep listening to this album is because it feels like home, there is a sense of belonging that arises from it. The world of Peanuts is one that strangely feels very familiar. Even though it is from a different time far before me, the colour palette, the clothes, the jokes, they all feel like the world I have grown up in and so when I watch the Peanuts specials or read the comic strips I feel that they are a glimpse into a world that I’m a part of. With that, Guaradli’s music is the bridge between these worlds as he links my actual reality with that of the 2D one that I often occupy. I just need to find a dog who can work out how to use a typewriter. 

There are a few things that I consider to be my true favourite things. that come to my mind without even thinking about it. ‘Frasier’, Field Notes notebooks, a sense of Hygge, LEGO, the Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan Romantic comedies and ofcourse a few other things but I won’t list them all as I need a few cards up my sleeve for future pieces. But two other things that are so special to me are Vince Guaraldi’s music and this blog. The two have been inextricably linked from the beginning. I can remember when I stumbled across Guaradli’s work for the first time or rather truly heard it for the first time one rainy day back in Bournemouth and the blog was born not too long after that. The blog is my weekend column and Guaraldi’s music is the accompaniment to it. No, that isn’t true. The music that he has created has become the accompaniment to my life and really, I’m not sure why there was ever any question about what should be the album of the week on this two year anniversary for there was ever really only one option.

And oh, what an option it is. 

-Jake, a man who knows that he’ll have to call his dog Snoopy, 18/07/2022

[echobeachimagines]

‘ just what i needed ’ || abed nadir

Word count: 1,511

Characters: Gender Neutral!Reader, Abed Nadir, Annie Edison, Jeff Winger, Troy Barnes, Shirley Bennett, Unnamed girl in magenta, Joey/White Abed/Wabed.

Warnings: profanity

A/N: Before we begin, I want to thank you in advance for reading. The title has nothing to do with the fic. It is just a random song title from my personal love songs playlist. Also, I know that this reader may not be just as relatable as many would like, but they are gender neutral. They say write what you know and I know emotionally overwhelmed but detached, haha. Also, if you could tell me if there is not enough space between the sections, that would be great. I am working on a chromebook, so it looks a little different on my end. In addition, I will be making edits if I find errors in this fic in the future. Onward and, as usual, constructive critique is welcomed as I am a masochist but not a human carpet. Thank you and I am sending you all love !!

---

      Truthfully, you’d never been one to express how you felt to others. It applied to everyone. Family, friends, and romantic interests for sure. It wasn’t as if you felt nothing for these people; Quite the opposite, actually. You’d argue you felt more than you should. It was intimidating and made you feel as if you were intruding on their peace. It wasn’t their responsibility to take on your emotions; good or bad. Besides, your poker face was absolute garbage. It gave well enough away as it was.

This led you to where you were right now. Jaw clenched as Jeff gave the beautiful brunette in magenta advice on how to approach the object of your affections, Abed Nadir.  

“I know that guy’s M.O and I think it’s better if you introduce yourself.”  

Your heart all but dropped through the floor. The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head and you couldn’t help the daggers that shot in the poor girl’s direction. It wasn’t her fault. You, of course, understood the appeal. The tall, adorable, stoic film nerd with the puppy-dog eyes who looked amazing in mustard yellow. Well- looked amazing in any color, really- How could one not feel some sort of attraction toward him? And why did you have to be one of these people? You felt the frustration building as she sauntered over to the pool table. This wasn’t a rare occurrence, to be honest.

As if witnessing Jeff in all his... glory... wasn’t bad enough. Now you had to watch as yet another stunning woman shoots her shot with your crush? God, ‘crush’. It sounds so stupid just hearing it. So immature.

Needless to say, you were beginning to think that pool table was cursed.  

“Are you alright, Y/N? If looks could kill-,” Annie begins before being cut off by White Abed- Wabed, as you’ve personally dubbed him- as he took a seat next to you.  

“Man, why couldn’t I be brown Joey?” You couldn’t help the redirection of your glare toward the sweater-clad man. “His name is Abed, Jackass.” You spat before you could stop yourself. He put his arms up in mock surrender. Annie’s gaze turns back to you, wide-eyed.  

You also happened to pull Jeff’s attention at your words, also a little wide-eyed, but seemingly out of entertainment than anything else. “Woah there, tiger. Retract the claws!” he says through a chuckle.

“Seriously, YN. Are you alright? Did something happen?” Annie asks yet again. You sneak a look at Abed, the girl seemingly vanished in the time you’d looked away. A wave of guilt begins to form. Jeff, oh so observant of others all of a sudden, takes notice of your glance in his direction. His face shifts through what looks like the stages of grief before a grin breaks out on his face. He couldn’t have possibly figured it out so quick, could he?

“No way!” he starts. You try to keep a neutral expression, but the blood rushes to your cheeks uninhibited. Oh, he’s going to have a field-day with this one. 

“What? What is it?” Annie inquires, still not having caught on.

“NO WAY!” Jeff says again, his eyes not once leaving your face as you give up trying to pretend. You sigh.

Annie glances between the two of you, her voice raising in pitch slightly. “What is it?! What am I missing?!”  

By this point, Abed is looking in the direction of the commotion, clearly curious.

 Wabed decides it’s his moment to shine. “I think your friend here likes Mr. ‘Abed’ over there.” He says, giving a short nod in the direction of the pool table. Annie gasps, looking at you excitedly. You’ve managed to make direct eye contact with Abed, however. Having noticed Wabed’s attention on him, he begins to make his way over. Panic starts to spread through you and you can’t help but feel like he's heard everything the others are saying. You jump up before making a break for the door. Fuck this.

You hear Annie call after you as you speed walk your way toward the exit. You don’t look back and, since you don’t have any other classes that day, you decide to head home before things escalate any further.  

-

As much as you dreaded it, you knew you couldn’t avoid Jeff and Annie forever... Or Abed for that matter. You also couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had slipped up. Annie had as good of a poker face as you did, Jeff could go either way, and Wabed sure as hell had no loyalty to you.  

You had sent Annie a myriad of texts only to be met with silence and Jeff was never one to respond to your texts immediately anyway which was strange considering he was always on his phone. All you could do was stress over the situation as the night progressed. As you approached the study room, you could see the back of Jeff’s head. Pulling open the door, you could see everyone except Troy and Abed in their seats.  

“Y/N!” Annie yelped as you walked in; You stopped in your tracks. Of course. Of fucking course. “You told, didn’t you.” You deadpanned. She looked like a dear in the headlights.  

Jeff craned his neck around to see you, a smirk taking over his face.

“She didn’t even last five minutes- OW!” He was cut off by Annie hitting his arm. “It wasn’t like that and you know it! You have to believe me, Y/N-” She argued- pleaded, really.  

Shirley, bless her oblivious heart, interjected.  

“Ooooh, told who what?” She lilted as she clutched the top of her purse, a smile on her face at the prospect of new gossip. You contemplated skipping this study session, maybe hiding near the fire exits.

Your luck, however, must have just run out as you heard the chatter of Troy. You turned around, now face to face with Abed as he opened the door to the study room. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.  

“Hi,” You said, just above a whisper. A small smile tugged at the sides of his mouth as he echoed you. He turned his head to look at Troy, giving a short nod. Troy raised his eyebrows briefly, looking at you with a knowing grin before walking over to his seat. So he knows too, then. Great.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Abed asked. You looked behind you, seeing Annie and Troy watching with anticipation, Jeff with mild intrigue. You couldn’t help the shaky sigh that escaped you as you nodded. “Um, Yeah- Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” You attempted to sound somewhat confident as you both made your way out of the study room.  

There was a silence between you as you walked aimlessly through the hall. Although normally comfortable, this one seemed tension filled; At least on your end as you considered denying what you know he’s already heard. You decided to throw caution to the wind. Besides, you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him. “So, Annie told you then.” You uttered as you clutched the strap of your bag with both hands, finally looking in his direction. He nodded before stopping. You stopped just a few steps after before turning around to face him. 

“Look,” You readied yourself for the rejection by trying to beat him to it, as analyzing his face had yet to yield any information. “, You don’t have to reciprocate, and I am sorry if it makes you uncomfortable-” You are interrupted.

“I like you too, Y/N.” He stated curtly. You don’t think you heard him correctly, asking for him to repeat himself. “I’ve liked you for a while.” He clarifies.

“And Troy knew?” You ask, your head tilting as you processed what you were hearing. Your confusion softens into a flutter in your chest. He nods before responding.

“I told him last month. And then he accidentally told Annie.” Suddenly it made sense. You sigh, “So that’s why she told you then?” You ask rhetorically, chuckling as you decided to forgive her... This time. You realize that the ball in now in your court; Your golden opportunity has presented itself and, although your nerves were still in overdrive, made your move.  

“Would you maybe... want to hang out? Not just as friends, of course.” You ask, shakily as you stood awaiting his response. He smiles slightly, nodding. “How about this weekend?” He prompts. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face, a blush likely present as well, but you didn’t want to think about it.

“That sounds great!” You enthuse as you let out the breath you had been holding since you asked.  

“Cool... Cool, cool, cool,” He says. It is silent for a moment before he extends his arm in the direction of the study room. “After you.” Abed adds before you both begin to make your way back to the study room.  

Now you’d just have to deal with telling everyone else, though you figured you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

---

#community imagines #abed nadir imagines #community #abed nadir #abed nadir imagine #gender neutral reader #abed nadir x gn!reader #abed nadir x reader

[heartofholland]

tom recs <3

hi guys! here is a fic rec list i made of all the fics i’ve loved. personally, i consider myself an avid fic reader so i have read a shit ton of fics. these are just my highlights. let me know if you want more like this! and if you do end up reading any of these please make sure you REBLOG them to spread the goodness. these writers work their ass off and deserve all the credit in the world. enjoy! <3

SERIES

riding my by @worldoftom this fic is barely started but i love everything this writer puts out. very smutty, very hot. innocence kink check!

breaking curfew by @wazzupmrstark ASSHOLE TOM! my weakness. enemies to lovers but make it FWB. what I wish my summer camp was like instead of my thighs sticking to chairs and lice outbreaks.

eighteen by @angelic-holland corruption/innocence kink! basically all smut but damn do i want bad boy tom.

the situationship by @fairytelling can’t say enough about this fic. the definition of falling in love with your best friend. if my relationship isn’t like this i don’t want it.

happiness is a butterfly by @blissfulparker soft mob!tom and they’re forbidden soulmates! updates are WELL worth the wait!

i only feel you by @stuckonspidey the first time i read my watch thought i was working out for how high my heart rate was. shit keeps you on your toes. there is a sequel fic but just a heads up you will want to unstan tom on multiple occasions.

make me love you by @mrs-hollandstan frat boy player tom turned soft. mans does a whole 180. fuck dom.

perfidy by @peeterparkr couldn’t be more obsessed with this fic. they’re both so fucking stupid but too afraid to get hurt. also the social media posts are so fucking cute and crucial to the story 

eloped by @worldoftom getting married to tom in the most beautiful vacation spot? sign me the fuck up

you. by @txmhoelland i think there’s definely worse men to be set up with as a PR stunt.

erotas by @farfromparker i have definely read this fic for more days than i’ve been on this earth but every time i lose my goddamn mind

dare you to move by @starksparker-archive the best version of FWB tom is when you’re his roommate…

gone by @dahliaspidey this one… hurts. but i just know it will bounce back.

take me out by @angelic-holland warning this one is really dark. like serial killers. but it was so fascinating i am completely obsessed with the psychology of it all. jake is featured and please don’t imagine the mr. music the entire time like i did </3

single all the way by @heyhihellowhatsup0 i read this whenever i need a lil christmas pick me up

sweetener by @keepingupwiththeparkers cute awkward relationship. it is so real i feel like it could actually happen to me.

ex on the beach by @heyhihellowhatsup0 THE ANGST GIVES ME LIFE

SMUT

bartender by @t-o-m-holland tom happens to own your favorite bar. your subtle flirts aren’t working. the banter between reader and the fam makes me wish i didn't have social anxiety.

siren by @rosyparkers don’t get me wrong i will scream ACAB til the day i die but police officer tom could definitely get it.

best of three by @mrs-hollandstan one of the 3000 threesome fics i have saved. imagine not getting one of the hottest men but TWO.

roommates by @hollandbaby what a coincidence we both want to fuck each other! this checks all the kinks my man. i’ve read this probably no less than 100 times.  

that was that by @moorehollandplz dom!tom but something flips and he’s never been more gentle. mans got both sides of the playing field covered.

know your enemy by @angelic-holland short but sweet. hate sex is always hotter behind the scenes.

wasabi by @angelic-holland literally everything about alice is phenomenal but this is on of my faves. when i read this it makes me feel smarter. also body shots.

say good night by @madmadmilk this writers work never fails to blow me away but this time she managed to encapsulate my entire life. (minus the execution with a very hot and experienced best friend).

buwygf-ib by @hholyholland just ignore tomdaya for a sec and take in the hottest dom!tom i’ve ever witnessed.

cocky by @sykoxartist yeah he’s an asshole but he’s your asshole. at least that’s what he thinks.

sovereign by @farfromparker sub!tom is so hot. man will beg for DAYS.

summer vacation by @kidney9-9  when is hate sex ever like…. not hot as fuck?

ride by @tomhollandsstan face riding. period.

coincidence by @starshinebucky actor!reader and tom fuck… at least they’ll have good chemistry next time.

skin by @hollandbaby dom!tom is not ok with being a sub. unless it’s for you.

you can bet on it by @kiwi-bitchez all of this writers smut makes my pussy throb. this is my fave. just wait for the twist.

a rose blooms by @cornacopicimagines prince!tom drives me wild. but wait til he finds out you’re not a virgin.

begging by @raewritesfiction tom makes you beg for it.

self reflection by @stuckonspidey this is actual proof tom has a praise kink.

minor inconvenience by @angel-spidey toms an idiot but at least he can get you off.

flesh by @starshinebucky cocky tom kills me.

keeping him nice and warm by @marvelouspeterparker mob!tom the gif itself to sends me.

after hours by @cornacopicimagines never had sexual tension with a teacher but this will do.

ANGST

josslyn by @multiharlot messy situation but reader handles it like a champ. if your heart isn’t broken enough, the last line will make sure it’s unfixable for days on end.  

moral of the story by @kelieah listen to the song while you’re at it to make your cry sesh take a turn for the worst. 

cherry by @xoluvx this one hurts real bad. so does the song. 

a complicated love story by @samhollandssweaters an emotional rollercoaster for real.

he dies in the end by @allfandomxreader ignore the title and just cry your eyes out with me.

eighteen by @fancyxholland you’ll be confused why it’s in the angst category but trust me.

all the lies by @peteywillproceed getting cheated on but the girl is toms gf, how do you tell him. 

memories by @nycparkers i sob to this whenever i need a good cry. 

don’t be a fool by @nycparkers breakups that dont end messily make me so fucking jealous.

FLUFF

kiss currency by @madmadmilk borderline smut. confused and oblivious harrison. dialogue inspires me to talk to males.  

plank all over me by @waitimcomingtoo FILRTY TOM! THE BANTER! i really am a whore for well written dialogue. there’s additional parts but i won’t spoil.

 playing cupid by @marvelobsessedteenager you set everyone else up but wait a damn minute how did you forget about tom?

 little flirt by @webslinger-holland oh to flirt with tom while he’s sweaty from intensely dancing for the lip sync battle.

pour it out by @rhapsodyparker i don’t know what it is but famous!reader going on talk shows or having interviews and they ask the reader cheeky questions about tom might be one of my many kinks…

hubby by @t-holland2080 it’s the small things that make me want to bawl my eyes out for being so lonely.

going live by @redrebecca the dialogue makes me cry of happiness! tom doing a live (what a concept).

paddy’s crush by @tom-holland-is-spiderman jealous tom but of his younger brother.

 wannabe by @sailingintothenight the cliffhanger at the end demands a second part.

flawless by @missnxthingg  tom is a simp.

you and me by @sunshinehollandd best friend tom makes me soft.

dick appointments. web shooters. the duality of a man. by @porterporker  it gets a lil steamy but man is “web shooter” a funny name for a dick.

best day by @thollandss dad!tom gives me baby fever even though i am a virg.

 tom asks your dad by @blissfulparker can i just skip through the bad boyfriends and just marry the love of my life already.

baked chicken by @waitimcomingtoo there isn’t a category for awkward but if there was this would be in it.

lover boy by @starshinebucky  tom being so oblivious you like him that you need to call for backup.

afterglow by @wickedholland i wish someone would treat me like this when im drunk instead of leaving me to hold my own hair back.

#tom holland #tom holland fics #tom holland x reader #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #tom holland writing #tom holland reader insert

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

#sorry this update took a hot sec #blame my full time job and depression lmao #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki x you #deaf!bakugou #bakugo/reader #bakugo/you #katsuki bakugo #bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo/you #mha #my writings #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #fanfic

[havenoffandoms]

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

Request a prompt

#havenwrites #the witcher #wiedzmin #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher geralt #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #dandelion x geralt #geralt/dandelion #request open

[watchmegetobsessed]

ANOTHER TITLE

a/n: personally i’ve been waiting for this part to come since the beginning lmao, so here is the proposal finally!! it’s like so fluffy, almost disgustingly, but i just couldn’t help myself

pairing: Sebastian Stan X Reader

word count: 1.8k

This fic is part of the LITTLE ONE series, but can be read as a simple oneshot as well! Find the masterpost of the series HERE!

masterlist

(gif is not mine)

You’ve been eating like a hormonal teenage boy these past weeks and you know it needs to stop and held under control, but you just can’t help yourself. It’s like your stomach has become a black hole that needs to absorb any and every food that’s home, you’re constantly snacking beside the large portions you eat three times a day, there’s always something you’re craving, the shopping list on the fridge is changing every hour because you think of something else to eat.

Luckily, you haven’t gained that much weight besides the noticeable bump that’s your baby in your belly, seems like your little girl does need all the food and she uses it instead of letting it all get stuck on other parts of your body, so you’re fine for just now.

Sitting on the couch, watching some kind of soap opera, you’re snacking on an entire jar of Nutella this time, shamelessly stuffing your mouth with the sweet, thick stuff, pretty sure that nothing will be left of it by the end of the day. Sebastian is away again for his second filming that was scheduled even before you found out you were pregnant and he messed around with it a little, shortening it once again and you just visited him last weekend. Now that you are pushing the end of your second trimester, your bump is quite evident, not something you can hide easily, so when you showed up on set with your boyfriend, you didn’t even try to cover it up, knowing well someone would spot it sooner or later. However everyone on the team has been so respectful, keeping the news to themselves, because no headlines have been made about your pregnancy just yet, keeping the secret even longer. To be honest, you’re surprised it hasn’t been discovered sooner, you thoughr someone would catch you out and about and see right through your baggy clothes and sell the news to the tabloids, but now you are in the sixth month and no one knows a thing.

Your phone chimes next to you, a text from Seb and you hum to yourself happily, putting the jar aside to grab the phone and see what he wrote.

“How are my two favorite girls doing? Miss you a lot!”

He even attached a silly selfie of himself in hair and makeup, he looks adorable with the clips in his hair and some kind of patches under his eyes. Like a real beauty guru.

Grabbing the Nutella, you place it on top of your bump as you move the phone to a lower angle and take a selfie that makes your bump look even bigger, the jar on top and you grinning widely at the camera as you snap a picture and send it to him with your reply.

“Enjoying our third snack of the day at 11 am! Miss you too, can’t wait to see you next week!”

He reads the message right away, his reply coming just seconds later.

“Look at that bump! You look gorgeous, baby! Can’t wait to see you too, have fun with your sister today, love you lots Xx”

Since he has left you’ve been trying to keep yourself busy so you don’t miss him too much and you’re also using these weeks to spend as much time with your friends and family as possible, knowing well once the baby arrives you won’t be going out that much for a while, nestled up in your home, learning the ropes of being a mother. Today you are meeting up with your sister, she is taking you out to this alleged new, quite fancy restaurant you haven’t heard about before. She claimed that it’s really exclusive, so you don’t have to worry about being photographed or bothered, but she also told you to glam yourself up for the occasion. It’s gonna be some nice sister time, something you haven’t been able to do in a long time.

You take the assignment seriously, doing your hair and makeup the best you can and you decide to put on a flowy maxi dress with a soft, knitted cardigan, very much going for a kind of cottage core vibe. Leaving just in time you text your sister that you’re on your way, putting the address into the GPS and heading out of town, because the place is near the beach. She texts you back that she’ll meet you there and so your short little road trip begins. Sitting in the car you’re listening to one of the many playlists Sebastian has made for you and the baby, he likes to play them at home, humming the songs under his breath, hoping to start educating your little girl in the field of music as early as possible. You have to admit he has a good taste, so you don’t mind it at all.

As you follow the instructions of the GPS you find the place that’s supposed to be your destination, but it doesn’t seem like a restaurant at all, more like a mansion of some kind, a very expensive looking if you are being honest. There are no other cars, no sign of other people so as you park at the front you call your sister.

“Hey, I’m right outside, but I have a feeling I’m at the wrong place? It doesn’t look like a restaurant.”

“Oh, don’t worry! You’re at the right place! I’m a little late, but I’ll be there soon, just go inside, they are expecting us!” she assures you, but you’re still not convinced.

Ending the call you approach the entrance and for your surprise the heavy doors open before you could even knock or find the bell. A man in a tuxedo appears in front of you, smiling warmly at you.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nod, a little shy and confused.

“Please, follow me,” prompts as you walk inside and the two of you start crossing the grandiose hall of the building.

At this point you are sure it’s not a restaurant, but you have no idea why your sister wanted you to come here. You want to ask the man if you’re even at the right place, but he called you by your name so he was expecting you, this has to be the place where you’re supposed to be. More and more questions pile up in your head as you follow him out to the backyard, a gigantic, flower-filled garden that’s straight out of a fairytale, a path leading down to the beach where there’s a dreamy little pergola with even more flowers and fairy lights and as your eyes fall on the figure standing in the middle of the pergola, you immediately gasp.

Because surrounded with all the flowers and lights, there is Sebastian standing in an elegant suit, smiling widely at you as the man next to you helps you down the stairs before you start walking down the path to him.

Tears are flooding your eyes, because you already know what it is, but you can’t believe it’s really happening. He was so sneaky, he got home from filming earlier and even made your sister play along to surprise you, he is such a romantic soul, no one can change your mind about that!

“You’re not in Atlanta!” you tell him when he is finally close enough to hear you. He chuckles sweetly, taking a few steps forward to meet you sooner, his hands finding your waist as you cup his face in your hands, pulling him down to kiss you right away.

“No, I’m not, baby,” he smirks, his hands sliding to your belly, gently stroking the sides as you wipe your tears away, but there’s no use, because the next moment, he steps back a little, just enough so that he can get down on one knee and you’re crying again when you see him pull out a little velvety box from his pocket.

You were expecting it. You knew he would propose before the baby arrives, but you just didn’t know when and how, but he surely outdone himself with his little surprise.

“My Love, Y/N,” he starts after a deep breath, his hands finding yours and you can feel the shaking, but you’re not sure if it’s coming from yours or his. Probably both. “I’ve spent the best years of my life with you and I haven’t been the same man since the day I met you, but in the best way possible. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and I’m so lucky that you did not only choose to be with me, but you are now carrying our baby under your heart as well, out little one who is equal parts of you and me, though you’re doing ninety percent of the job here,” he adds with a chuckle, making you laugh through your tears. “I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you the moment you were so badass on your first date, kissing me when I didn’t have the balls to do the first step, but I’m glad you did. I fell in love with you right then and there and the same thing has been happening every day, over and over again since then. I know we went a little out of order with everything we had planned,” he smirks, glancing down at your bump before his blue eyes find yours again, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so I have a question for you.”

He pops the lid of the box open, a gorgeous, brilliant diamond ring coming to your vision, sparkling in the warm afternoon Sun so perfectly, it takes your breath away.

“Y/N Y/L/N, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” he asks, clearly nervous, even though there’s no doubt about your answer, you’ve told him plenty of times before that you want to marry him, but still, it’s a huge moment in both your lives.

“Yes, yes, yes!” you nod eagerly as you both start laughing in relief, his shaky fingers tagging the ring out of the box and sliding it to your finger gently, before he brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the ring.

Then he finally stands up and you basically throw yourself into his arms, kissing him like your life depends on it as he kisses you back with just as much force.

“I love you and I can’t wait to call you my wife,” he sighs pleased against your lips.

“Mm, another title in the line? Girlfriend, baby mama, fiancé and then wife,” you giggle giddily.

“You missed one,” he cocks an eyebrow at you slyly.

“Which one?”

“Love of my life.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan blurb #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan fiction #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader

[insomniumstella]

heartbreaks 

bucky x reader

summary: Bucky has experienced many heartbreaks in his life but this might just be the most painful

warnings: angst, some talk about blood, guns, knives, but not really

word count: 1,456

author’s note: got my heart broken and this is the outcome. ruelle’s the other side & war of heart songs fit this perfectly

Bucky was a man of heartbreak. Throughout his life, he experienced many. Some were more gentle than others, but all of them hurt nonetheless. The heartbreak of getting rejected back in his teen years, or the heartbreak of having to see Steve getting beat up. The pain of losing a sister, and later on, the pain of losing himself. The crushing guilt of taking someone's life; it didn't matter if he wasn't in control when he killed all those people. The sin and sorrow didn't ease. Bucky didn't enjoy pain, but he was for sure familiar with it. An intimate feeling but never a pleasurable one. It always crept upon him when he least expected it too. Sometimes it was soft, so slight Bucky wondered if it was even there. Other times, well other times, the pain was excruciating and exhausting, an icy cold feeling that crept into his bones and froze him in place. Those times were the hardest. In those times, he felt utterly hopeless. And even though he promised himself he wouldn't let the pain consume him ever again, there's no way to stop your heart from breaking. That night, the night when Steve walked in with y/n's nearly lifeless body in his hands, proved that pain always finds a way. It's ruthless and unpredictable. 

"What happened?" Both Sam and Bucky jumped from their seats. Steve didn't have the energy to answer. His eyes were dull and tired and pleading for someone, anyone, to get the help y/n needed. Bucky saw the injuries on his best friend's body, but the deep, gushing red wounds on y/n made Steve's seem insignificant.

"Buck?" Bucky didn't realize he froze. Didn't realize pain bound him in his bones again. He didn't think much after that, not when her life depended on him. It took a split second for the soldier to take y/n's body from Steve and start running to the medical wing. Bucky has never run this fast in his entire life, not even when his life depended on it. Not even when people chased after him with guns and knives, ready to cut his heart out. No, this was the fastest Bucky has ever run. If Bucky ran fast enough, then maybe, just maybe, she'd get to live. He pressed her tighter to his chest.

"I need a doctor, please." Usually, Bucky remained calm. Usually, he only spoke when it was necessary. Over the years, words became a luxury Bucky didn't feel worthy of. He grew accustomed to staying silent and it's what he did most days. Some thought he was weird, a deadly outcast, a dangerous loner if you will. Others, oh, others didn't even try speaking to him. He was The Winter Soldier after all. What if he lost control? What if he tried to kill them? It was a title destined to burden him forever. Three simple words he could never get rid of, no matter how much or how hard he tried to run away from them. If one thing was for sure, it was that no one could ever hate him more than Bucky hated himself. He was a monster, right? Bucky accepted that the word monster was a name fit for a man like him until she came along.

"She'll survive, right?" He asked once again.

"Mister Barnes, I need you to remove your hand from the stretcher. We're taking her into the emergency surgery room now." Bucky took a shaky breath. y/n was a woman like nothing else. She'd yell snarky remarks at strangers if they looked at him for too long. Ask him the most ridiculous questions to get him to open up, and every once in a while, crack a smile because they were so stupid, he couldn't keep a neutral face. Lounge at him full speed during training when the only other person brave enough to do so was Steve; no, she gave her all every time. Never treated him as a broken man, but always sat outside his bedroom door to let him know she's there if he needs her. Accepted every touch he gave and didn't dare to ask for more, even though Bucky knew how much she loved it. y/n was extraordinary, so it came as no surprise that her love was extraordinary too. A special kind of love people hope to find in their lifetime.

"Please. I need to be in there." Bucky wasn't ready to let go. The world wasn't ready to lose a soul like y/n. Bucky wasn't ready to lose y/n. It was a mean, painful heartbreak to see her fighting for her life and, as much as Bucky hated to admit it, losing.

“Please. Just tell me she’s fine.” He broke down, voice hoarse and tired.

"Mister Barnes, let go." And so they wheeled her away, leaving Bucky utterly hopeless. He hated feeling hopeless. Hated feeling as if there wasn't anything he could do to help. But he wasn't a doctor, wasn't a nurse either, so the only thing he could do was wait.

"You're okay?" Sam sat down beside him. It was just the two of them in the waiting room.

  "I'm fine. How's Steve?"

  "He needs a couple of bandages, but he'll survive." Sam joked, but his smile quickly fell when he noticed Bucky's expression. "I'm sure y/n will too." The only thing Bucky could do was nod. He thought about the first time she came into his room to help with the nightmares. Sleepy-eyed, wearing an old t-shirt and boxers for a pajama, a pair of fluffy socks on her feet, another in her hand. Here, warm feet, warm thoughts, she said then. Bucky couldn't lose her. He didn't have the chance to admit he wears those damn socks to bed every night since then. He thought about his first birthday at the compound. It was 5 am, everyone else was sleeping, so it came as a surprise when he found y/n in the kitchen when he walked in. The smell of coffee in the room, flour all over her face, clothes, the counters, and a crooked smile on her face. I wasn't sure what to get you for your birthday, so I baked a cake. Sorry it’s kind of ugly!, she said then. It was a very messily decorated cake with too much salt added to it, but Bucky was sure she stayed up all night just to make it for him, so it was the best cake he ever had. Bucky couldn't lose her. He didn't have the chance to admit that the cake meant more to him than she'll ever know. He thought about the first time he joined her for her usual Friday movie night. She had managed to escape going to a fancy gala with the others, instead opting for sweatpants and a big hoodie to hide all bruises and cuts from their mission a couple of hours prior. Bucky was mad as hell at her for the decisions she made on the field that day. I'm alive! No need to worry, she said then, chuckling, but it was the first time he saw fear paint her features. She fell asleep halfway into the movie, her body so worn out it fell against his. Bucky fell asleep a couple of minutes after that, and they both had the pleasure of explaining why they were "cuddling" to their teammates the next morning. But it was the first time Bucky slept peacefully through the night, so he couldn't lose her. He didn't have the chance to admit he was mad because he cared, perhaps so much it scared him, about her. He thought about the first times they snuck out from the compound together for late-night walks. The first times they spent the nights in each other's rooms. The first times they cuddled on movie nights for real. He thought about the first time they kissed too. That time she didn't say much, afraid it was all an illusion, but her body spoke volumes. The feeling of her lips on his, and her trembling hands finding their way into his hair, the nervous but cute smile when they pulled away? Bucky won't ever forget that. So no, he can't lose her yet, because he didn't have the chance to admit he fell in love. Deeply, painfully in love with her. 

"Mister Barnes." Sam had already left him to go to sleep when the doctor approached him hours later. It took 4 coffees just for Bucky to stay awake but it didn't matter. All that mattered was her.

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

One sentence was enough to make the world underneath Bucky’s feet come crashing down. 

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky angst #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x you angst #bucky imagine #bucky oneshot #heartbreak

[moonlight-prose]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐀/𝐍 || This is a small fic dedicated to the always lovely @littlebopper96 for her birthday! I hope your day was magnificent and know that you’re loved and a wonderful person! I’m glad to have you as a friend darling! (the title is based on the song sung by Chet Baker).

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || Tommy was adamant on celebrating your birthday, even if it was a simple day at home with him to keep you company.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 1.3k

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || None, an overflowing amount of fluff.

    Tell him no you don’t wish to do this one thing, he’d accept it as the final decision. But this one little thing, this one day, he wouldn’t allow you to push off, because he knew how important it was to you. Tommy was never one for birthdays. Never one for celebrating or being celebrated, but this was different. This was you. The person that he sometimes wondered how he managed to breathe clearly before meeting.

    He always said his birthday never meant much. That it was only a day, which could be spent working, and you always forced him to take the day off. Even though there wasn’t much reluctance on his part. Anything to see you smile had become his only reasoning for the things he did.

    “Tommy!” Arthur’s voice echoed through the house followed by the sound of something being thrown at him. “Oye! What the fuck was that for?”

    “You wake up my wife before I do and I’ll shoot you Arthur.”

    You smiled listening to the conversation transpire downstairs, knowing that Tommy’s threat was empty. He often riled himself up over attempting to make things special for you. It seemed today would be no different. He didn’t need to know that you had woken up the second he left the bed. His warmth, the only thing that you latched onto in the chill of the early morning.

    So, you remained under the soft covers he insisted upon having, content to wait for his return. There would be no doubt that he’d come upstairs, coffee in his hand for you and food in the other. Your birthday was meant to be celebrated. It’s what he would always tell you; a holiday that he marked in his calendars every year.

    “I know you’re awake,” he said, shutting the door softly behind him.

    It was the sight of you peeking out from under the pile of covers, hair messy from sleeping on it, and a content smile on your face. Really getting out of bed so early didn’t bode well with you and so you enjoyed staring out the large window at the fields outside. The garden he helped you create, one of your favorite views.

    “Do I smell coffee?” you asked, stretching slightly as you sat up.

    “You do.” Handing the cup off to you, he set the plate of food on the nightstand, settling back into the bed with you. “I didn’t make it.”

    “Oh so it tastes like actual coffee.”

    The smile he gave you was enough to have you laughing into the cup, the sounds of the early morning birds breaking through the silence of the room. Really you could have just asked for nothing but this. Nothing but Tommy wearing pants he threw on in order to simply go downstairs, his hair still a mess, and the sleep still prominent in his eyes. Nothing but a morning spent with the man who seemed to always be gone by the time you woke up.

    “Is there a big celebration today?” you asked, hesitant on his answer. You knew the man you married. Knew that he thought the grander the things were, the better they ended up being. And while you wouldn’t decline a party filled with grandeur, you wondered if he’d be happy with just this.

    He shook his head, pulling a cigarette from his case. “The only thing we’re doing today, is spending time in your garden.”

    “Are you sure?”

    The firm nod he gave you was response enough. His mind was made up, and the act of changing Tommy Shelby’s mind was a difficult one. Something you wouldn’t attempt to try out today. So, you continued to drink the coffee, settling beside him as he grabbed a book he was reading the night before. You didn’t even have to ask, didn’t have to convince him to read aloud the words to you, because he knew. Knew the small things you loved before you said it.

    “Happy birthday love,” he said, his lips pressing softly to your forehead before he turned back to the words on the page. His voice was enough to send you falling into the story until you could practically breathe the very air the characters did. A truly happy morning that you wouldn’t give up for anything.

    “Are you okay?” you asked, the laughter you fought to keep down bubbling up as you watched your husband get back to his feet.

    He nodded, wiping his hands on his suit as he smiled back. For nearly an hour you and him had been spending time in the garden; walking the grounds of the house and enjoying the crisp afternoon air. Except neither of you realized that several steps had come loose due to the extreme amounts of rain, and you watched helplessly as Tommy slipped, falling into the grass behind him.

    “Are you okay?” he asked as you his hand to pull him away from the steps.

    “Am I? Tommy I’m not the one who fell.”

    “Just want to make sure you didn’t trip as well.”

    Always caring for your well-being. It brought a smile to your face, the flowers he had picked for you now forgotten as you began to wipe away the smudges of dirt from his face.

    “I’m perfect.”

    He knew you meant more than your safety, knew that you were talking about how this day was going, because if there was anyone that could read between your words, it was him. You never needed to say more than you had to, because he picked it up faster than a hound picking up a scent. His hands covered your own, bringing them to his lips and enjoying the sight of you content with everything around you.

    Something he always wished to see.

    “Have you been enjoying your day?”

    You nodded, interlacing your fingers with his as you walked back towards the house, the scent of flowers filling the breeze that passed over your skin. “It’s exactly what I wanted. A day with my husband.”

    A sound of clattering came from the front door, shattering the silence and drawing your attention to where a man was carrying a table. The realization dawns on you slower than you thought it would take. A walk through the garden...you had to admit your husband was clever for this.

    “He’s carrying a table.”

    Tommy’s gaze flicked to the door as he tried to mask his annoyance at being caught with a mock disbelief. One that even you didn’t buy. Really you weren’t mad, because if there’s one thing that never happened. It was that the Shelby family never in their days celebrated in small gatherings.

    “Is there something going on?”

    He shook his head. “I don’t think so. They must be switching out the dining table.”

    “Tommy.”

    He caved instantly. “Polly thought you’d like a celebration with everyone. Not just me.”

    “So...Polly was the one to do this?”

    Another nod of his head and you knew he was lying through his perfect teeth. Polly probably had a hand in directing where things were going, or even with who was coming, but the rest was all thanks to the man standing before you. The very same one who looked like he was ready to be reprimanded for attempting to throw you a party.

    Dragging him closer by his coat lapels you pressed your lips against his, the kiss meant to only be a quick one, but he held other ideas. One kiss turned to two, which turned to him dragging sounds from you that would be deemed as salacious to anyone listening. But you couldn’t give a damn. Not when you were wrapped in his arms, the smell of flowers mixing with the scent of him, as his taste lingered on your tongue.

    “Is it a happy birthday?” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours with each word.

    You smiled, knocking the cap off his head in order to dig your fingers in his hair. “Now it is.”

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬:

@jenrebloggingfics​ @ezrasarm​

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬:

@pamguini @blondekel77 @the-purity-pen  @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @mxsamwilson @justanotherblonde23  @autumnleaves1991-blog @greeneyedblondie44 @amelia-song-pond @ladylothlorien @littlebopper96

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby #my writing #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby one shot #peaky blinders fic

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Coach (1)

Fandom: Dylan O'Brien

Pairing: AU Dylan x Fem!Reader

Mini series summary: Being a newly single mom of two kids wasn't exactly easy. And love wasn't exactly part of your agenda. So, should you avoid lusting over your son's baseball coach? Absolutely. But with a man like Dylan, could you really resist? Probably not.

Warnings: nothing major yet, small sexual innuendo, mentions of cheating and divorce

WC: 1.9k

A/N: a yes, to those who have been following me for a while may recognize this title, it's my old Dylan AU fic. Yes I decided to continue it. Updates will come periodically, because I write spontaneously and I cant guarantee quick updates. But I do promise I wont wait a whole year to update. And since I did some slight updates in the first 2 parts I decided to archive the old ones and repost them again. So yeah, if you've read them before great, give it another read, my writing is much better now I promise and if you're new welcome, I hope you like this mini series.

(You are here, part 2, part 3)

Dylan stood by the side of the large field, near the home plate, occasionally yelling out suggestions and pointing out mistakes to the young boys. 

"Ezra! You have to watch the ball! C'mon! I know you can do better!" He called out to the blonde boy standing on the home plate with a bat in hand. Dylan then turned his attention to the dark haired boy with the baseball mitt and ball in hand.

"Roman! What's going on, buddy? You gotta focus, alright? You gotta work on that throw!" Dylan called out to the young boy, who half nodded and sighed heavily in response.

Not long after, Dylan signaled the young boys scattered throughout the large field to gather around. He spoke some encouraging words to the boys before allowing them to disperse and gather their equipment which meant practice was over.

Your son, however, stayed behind for a minute. There was an inaudible conversation happening between Dylan and your ten year-old, Roman. You watched from the bleachers as your son made some tired gestures at his coach followed by a small pat on the back from Dylan. You couldn't help but follow them with your eyes as they made their way to the bleachers, your eyes lingering a bit too long on the brown haired coach. An action that wasn't taken lightly by the female sitting beside you.

"You're staring at him again." Your best friend, Ezra's mother, Eliza -or just Liz, commented.

"I'm not." You muttered out quickly, tearing your eyes away from the handsome coach, your mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds. "I wasn't staring." You stated matter of factly and shrugged as you looked down at the small six year-old sitting on your lap, making sure she wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

"Really? The drool coming from your mouth says otherwise." Liz playfully ran her finger across your chin, pretending to wipe away at it. You slightly glared at her, an eye roll going her way.

"I'm not drooling. I wasn't even staring." You tried to defend yourself, making a small sassy gesture to her.

"Hey, I don't blame you. If I wasn't married," she took a pause as she eyed Dylan as he removed his baseball hat to run a hand through his messy chocolate locks, you couldn't help but stare as well. "I'd jump on his bones any day."

"Hey, there's young ears present." You said quietly to Liz as not to disturb the young girl in your arms.

Despite your attempt not to, you couldn't help but allow your eyes to fall once again on the field, following the handsome male that was the topic of your conversation. You had to hide the infatuated sigh that left your lips at the sight of your son's coach running around the field, talking to the kids and picking up equipment.

"Well he is handsome, I'll give him that.." You admitted quietly, "and he's really good with the kids."

Your friend smirked slightly at your words and wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"I bet that's not the only thing he's really good at." She eyed you suggestively and slightly nudged at you with her shoulder, "You should find out what other things he's good at."

Your mouth instantly fell open and your eyes widened at the insinuation.

"Eliza! Oh, my god. Don't say that." You slightly shook your head to brush off the embarrassment and hid your face on your hands to cover the crimson on your skin.

"Mommy you're warm!" Athena, your six year-old giggled as she grabbed your warm, sweaty hands. Even your daughter noticed the nervousness that crept up on you when it came to Dylan, even if it was just the topic of him. Truth was, you had been shamelessly crushing on your son's baseball coach ever since he joined the team a couple of months ago. 

Get it together, you should not be crushing on your son's baseball coach.

"I know baby, it's just hot out here." You tried to brush it off, but the knowing smirk on Liz's face wasn't exactly helping. "Thena, why don't you go get Roman and Ezra? They're over there." You pointed to the field where Roman and Ezra were talking —or more like just Ezra was, to the other kids on the team. She quickly nodded and bolted off the bleachers, somehow not tripping over the steps as she went down. You sighed heavily the moment the young girl was far enough and slightly turned your head in Liz's direction.

"You should totally ask him out." She said out of nowhere with a shrug and a smirk on her face. Your eyes widened for the hundredth time, and you instantly shook your head frantically, the idea alone giving you a headache.

"Ask Dylan out? No way. I.. No.. That's just.. No." Your cheeks slightly heat up at the preposition. But you quickly turned it down with a vigorous shake of your head, not even giving the idea a minute to sink into your brain. "No, he's Roman's coach. It's just wrong."

"Why? I mean, you're single, and as far as I know, he's very single. Soo," she dragged the 'o' as she wiggled her eyebrows and she nudged your shoulder, pushing you over a little in a high school girl manner, "Why not get ready to mingle with the hot coach?"

"First of all, I'm technically not single, not yet." You groaned with an eyeroll. As much as you and your husband —or ex-husband or whatever were no longer living together, the divorce process had been unnecessarily long and dreadful. So as much as you wanted to be legally single, you were still married to that piece of shit. 

"And second of all, if I were to date someone, which is a big if, I can't date Roman's coach out of all people. He already has enough as it is. It'll just confuse him and probably upset him more." You sighed heavily as you looked over to the side of the field, where all the boys were having a conversation about elementary boys' things. And there you saw your son, trying, and ultimately failing at joining said conversations. And with little Athena tugging at his side, all he got from the other kids was laughing and rejection.

Seeing your son's sad and hurt expression when the other boys laughed at him or even told him to go away broke your heart. You wanted him to be happy again. You wanted him to be the energetic and loving kid he was before your waste of a husband left. Ever since Ryan —your waste of a husband left, Roman hasn't been the same. 

For the past six or so months, he has been distant and seemingly unhappy. All he ever did was lock himself up in his room and play video games. He barely ever interacted with you and Athena anymore. He barely interacted with anyone, period. Once Ryan left, it was up to you to support your kids financially. Of course, their father still paid child support, but he sure as hell didn't pay your bills or everything you needed to spend on your children. Which meant you had to take him out of the fancy school he went to in order to still pay the monthly expenses of your home. And he just didn't quite fit in at school, especially now. 

So, you hoped that him joining the baseball team would change that, that it would help him open up again and that it would help him make new friends. But so far, it's worked just the opposite.

"So, I'm making dinner tonight. Do you want to come over with the kids and get drunk? Luke will watch over the kids." Liz spoke, interrupting your train of thought.

"That sounds a-mazing," you spoke in a song-like tune, a sigh of contentment leaving your lips. "But I can't. I told Roman I'd take him to that Italian place he likes."

"Tomorrow then. I'll have that Chardonnay you love so much waiting for you." She winked at you as you both stood up, ready to greet your children.

"Thank God for your alcohol stash." You joked, flinging your arms up in praise. 

You both laughed and smiled in your children's direction, but your smile dropped as your kids and Ezra approached you. Ezra was holding Athena's hand, while Roman walked behind them, with a certain heaviness on his step and an annoyed look on his face. And Athena had a small pout on her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Rome doesn't want to hold my hand!" Athena whined with a pout of her lower lip. She released Ezra's hand and exchanged it for your own. Ezra going to his own mom. While Roman simply stood there, with a hand stuffed into his pockets and the other messing with the strap of his bag, his gaze stuck on the ground.

"Roman, baby," you sighed softly, not wanting to give the poor kid a hard time. You understood he didn't exactly fit in, no matter how much he wanted to, and that upset him. You didn't want to add up to that. "Your sister just wanted you to hold her hand."

"She was embarrassing me.. I'm already the kid without a dad, I don't need to be the kid with an annoying  baby sister." He muttered, his gaze not once leaving the ground.

 His words were harsh, but lacked emotion. And it broke your heart. But as much as you wanted to tell him that it wasn't true, that he did have a dad, you'd be lying if you did. Ryan was already absent in your children's lives before the split, but at the same time he was there, and Roman felt as if he was. But now, his father really wasn't there, at all. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You sighed softly, gesturing your free hand out for him, "Roman, come here," a heavy sigh left the young boy's lips as he took a few steps closer, standing in front of you with his head hanging low and his eyes stuck to the ground. You used your hand to hold the side of his face, his eyes meeting with your own. "Baby, Thena just wanted to show you that she loves you. She didn't mean to embarrass you, right Thena?" You turned your attention to the small girl that hid behind your arm, her eyes glistening with tears.

The small girl sniffled and shook her head, "No.. I'm sorry Rome.. I won't do it ever again, I-I promise."

You exchanged looks between your children, your eyes finally landing on Roman as you waited for a response. You raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes speaking a silent 'and' to the boy. He eventually signed, almost too heavily, and nodded. 

"It's okay, I guess.. I don't really mind all that much." He half smiled, shrugging slightly.

Athena's expression quickly lightened, the small girl detached herself from your hand and hugged her older brother. And as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't mind the affection. He returned the hug and smiled, for a moment at least.

After a second or two, Roman slightly pushed Athena off him, signaling that that had been enough affection for a day. You breathed out softly, turning to look at Liz, who gave you a sympathetic smile in response. 

"Well my loves, off we go. Say goodbye to Auntie Liz and Ezra." Both your children did as you said. Athena hugging both of them, and Roman simply waving at them. Good enough.

And at last, you gave Liz a quick but tight hug, "I'll call you tomorrow." You said shortly before you grabbed a hold of your daughter's hand and your son's bag, and eventually parted ways.

Today was gonna be a long day.

《Here's an edited version of part 1. As always I hope y'all enjoyed it. I'm trying to get back into writing after a long year, hopefully this will help me get back on track. Let me know your thoughts. And let me know if you'd like to be added to my dylan/coach taglist which I do have》

#dylanobrien #dylan o brien #dylan obrien imagine #dylan obrien smut #dylan obrien fanfic #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien series #coach #coach series

[batarangsoundsdumb]

guess fucking what? my inbox is so fucking full right now i'm unloading all of this shit in one post.

For the 11th gotham memes: gothamites react to bruce being jacked in a tiktok he made with kids, like super yoked, ripped as hell

fucking hilarious thanks. i think i did it in one meme post, but i genuinely don't remember which one

i dunno which of the batfam would do this but one time i was sleeping over at a friends house and ended up on the floor bc the bed was so very small and i just stayed there because the rug was soft

that's a drunk jason move i don't know what to tell you

tim and jason are "i listen to pop punk" solidarity. whenever jason highjacks the batmobile theyll go on long ass car rides blaring mcr and paramore and then never talk about it again

as they should!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tim: no jason it's my turn using the aux cord i gotta put on my jams jason: don't you dare put on weird shit tim: don't worry, you're gonna love this *plays fearless (taylor's version)

hear me out hear me out, red hood stans 🤝 nightwing stans t h i g h s

holy shit yes.

SNL au: Bruce breaks character when pretending to superman and says something like "I'm not superman! You've seen his gps!! It's from 2001!!!" @sabeanybabe

superman flies past the snl building the next day just to say 'actually it's from 2005, i'm not a heathen'

does your back hurt from carrying the batfam fandom

it hurts more from the exotic rock collection i keep in my backpack, but thanks for the concern.

I love your posts by why would you always leave the best parts in the tags?

as a treat for the people that check the tags ;) (and also because i'm committed to the short post aesthetic)

somehow your playlist was everything i never knew i needed. i mean it. this is my new favorite playlist.

and don't you dare get a new favourite playlist!

babe ur stoner tim playlist is exactly too perfect, earth is literally blessed by ur existence

babe thanks so much! i love my stoner tim playlist because it's just my usual playlist but people think it's an artistic choice that i put taylor swift and britney spears in there, when it's just what i unironically like listening to

JANDKSKDK BILLY RAY CYRUS ON THE STONER TIM PLAYLIST I LOVE IT IT

again it's not even an ironic choice, i know every single word and i genuinely like the song

The last chapter of Fundamentals of Casework has me crying at work. Thanks I love it @dudelookitsalesbian

oh babe, i'm sorry, but also, not sorry i love chapter 4 so much it's my lovechild with the 'mental illness' tag

soooo....stumbled on your tumblr by some stroke of fate??? read your DC fanfic first. which is PHENOMENAL btw. then found all the batmemes; the funniest thing EVER bc everyone forgets about regular old gothamites. kept scrolling and your blog pops up as recommended. clicked on the ao3 for shits and giggles and waddaya know?!?!? it's YOU!!! you're LEGEND!!!! ever seen that meme? it's a video of a cat that got into a baseball field and the two announcers get really invested in his escape attempt and start giving a play by play of the cat instead of the game. memeable moment: "GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!"

i seriously think about this ask every single day and it's so fucking funny to me that i've never seen the meme you're referencing, but i still find myself going 'GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!' whenever i see something funny. but wow i'm glad you liked this steaming pile of garbage

Fav dc character overall? And fav batfamily character?

don't ask me to pick between the loves of my life, but i can tell you i've cried about every single batfamily member and also wally west (my beloved)

What's your opinion on fans having a problem with batfam being "too big"? And some even claim that batfam is just "Bruce Alfred Dick Damian" and the rest of them are just "friends and allies" (source: reddit) Personally, I like batfam because of this reason but idk

stupid. a family can never be too big. i'm not that big a fan of like huge batfam stuff with everybody from every single universe, because as much as it's funny for bruce to have like 30 kids, it just feels a little too OOC for me.

This is the best tag I've seen involving the batfam, thanks for thinking of it

This is canon now @nctxrejects

lmao yeah i think at that point alfred has had to sit through like at least a dozen coming out talks and just has a pride flag collection in the attic that he pulls out whenever a kid comes out

idk why batfam hits different as compared to any other superhero family

bc it's found family and usually the other superhero families are almost all genetically related in one way or another

I don't know if you watch the umbrella academy but I saw your last post about batcest and saw the similarities. But the thing is (although I think it's weird) in TUA, they addressed it by saying "they were raised as weapons, not siblings" or something along those lines, which is simply not the case with batfam.

yeah i watched tua but i also thought it was ridiculous and they still treated each other as siblings so i didn't like the luthor/allison thing, and am glad they stopped doing that shit bc it fucking sucked.

Hot take: Batcest shippers are the same people who believe adopted siblings are not actual siblings

smoking hot take: batcest shippers are the people who watch 'my sister got stuck in the washing machine' porn

Duke was adopted by Bruce?

not technically no, but do i, tumblr user batarangsoundsdumb, look like i care?

True story but I had to change my freaking name because it used to be "Damien" and most people would go "OH LIKE DAMIAN WAYNE" like please I'm just tryna live

true story, but i don't actually think of damian when i hear the name damian, literally the first thing that pops up is damian darkh like bruh what?

apparently dc comics company supported comic stores by giving out new titles and stuff during the beginning of the pandemic to help them run and I just think that's wholesome

ah yeah that's so fucking cool, still don't like dc, the company, because this world is a capitalist hellhole and we're all owned by warner brothers or disney with no in between.

ayo looking at tumblr head canons and finding out bruce is actually a terrible father is a punch in the gut

lmao yes, in like 50% of comics bruce is a terrible father and it gives me whiplash

oooh I just saw the jason todd vs winter soldier post and the real question is: batman vs iron man

while iron man has like hundreds of cases of armor, batman could throw out an emp and have the guy dropping out of the sky in 2 seconds.

dickfast = fastdick = quickdick = quickie

magnum hot take

hey bata(?) just thought I'd let you know I have copied the obnoxious emoji and Billy Ray post for use on simping men going forth

thank you 😘🌷 (@spacebarsidecar)

why would you do that to your followers???? i get why i did it, but why would you???

what is scarecrow made the nightwing funko pop himself, like those diy-ers that paint over other ones

oh god no, horrible take, horrible take, that's a disgusting thought oh no

I see your HC that Bruce and Oliver fucked and raise you this: Dick and Roy ALSO fucked

yes they did and it was a horrible moment for jason to find out dick has fucked both of his best friends

"at this rate bruce adds like 1 child to his family every decade or so" Duke is introduced in 2013, Damian as Damian, not as an unnamed child, in 2006. And he is already 14 years old, Robins rarely remain Robins after 16 😬 It looks like a new Robin and Batkid will appear in a couple of years

i mean i can't wait? but somebody will probably die first tho, we're due for another major character death. my money's on either cass or duke this time.

BRO you're so right all of your Bruce's ex headcanons are amazing but they aren't ships, that's kinda wild. Like I don't want any peeks into how their relationship was I just want to see everyone make fun of them

lmao YES it's just i love bruce being a slut, like good for him.

I am in love with your posts your honour thank you

omg thanks are we like,, gonna kiss now?

The justice league needs to have a meeting to discuss how many of their members/partners have slept with bruce. Because through a combination of cannon & fannon (if DC wasn’t homophobic) we have AT LEAST: 1) clark 2) lois 3) oliver 4) dinah 5) john

Thats not counting villains or random civilians @dudelookitsalesbian

yes yes yes, they'll have a yearly meeting about how many of their collective exes could be out for revenge and batman's list just keeps getting longer.

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

and what about it?

when steph's fighting livewire and she zaps her with lighting and nothing happens and then they both just. stand there awkwardly for a second and talk. yeah i couldn't stop laughing at that batgirl steph is the BEST

oh yeah that was fucking hilarious and i think it would be so cool and sexy of dc to give steph a little comic series,,, as a treat

Hi I absolutely adore all of yours "Bruce and Oliver very badly pretending they didn't fuck each other" memes

lmao i do too

I need you to know that “Bruce Wayne had frosted tips” is one of my favorite Bruce takes of all time it’s so galaxy brained. you’re right and you should say it

he also painted his hair blonde once when he was travelling and in conclusion, this is why he's being blackmailed by the gotham gazette.

you know my thing about gordon being branded as the only good cop in gotham is its a load of shit like arguably he's a good person and not working to screw people over or anything but the fact that he also works w. batman makes him a shit cop. like yea batman is better than the mob but its still illegal its still an abuse of power he just not making bank

babe, all cops are bad cops. (but yeah youre absolutely right, working with vigilantes makes you a shit cop, but also working against vigilantes just makes you an asshole cop yanno?)

ruh roh i think i’m about to add “so not yeehaw” every time i don’t like something

that's a very good vocabulary upgrade

somehow i feel like steph already knew. like babs obviously knew but i feel like bruce got high/drunk in front of steph and started telling his boarding school stories and steph was just like “oh you fucked up i’m never gonna forget this”

steph and bruce have weird uncle/rebellious niece dynamic and they just hang out sometimes and bruce will be like 'i once broke my arm when i tripped over a hedge when i was drunk so oliver drove me to the hospital on an electric scooter' and steph will just have to sit there with that knowledge in her head.

Hello I just wanted to tell you you are So right in all your steph opinions bc she is, in fact amazing and I think that's very sexy of you. Ps. Your Bruce/Oliver fic is hilarious

babe, thank you so much and yes steph is amazing and i love her and she deserves the world and she's the best member of the batfam hands down. also thanks

In Supersons we see a couple of kids that are implied to be Damian and Jon's children and the boy has laser eyes and can fly, so I asume he's not adopted. The girl, who calls Bruce grandpa, can also fly, btw. So it's canon (probably by accident) that Jon can have kids and he must have married one of Bruce's kids. (I'm hoping for Damian, mostly because any other of his children would be waaaaaaaaaaaaay too old.) @artemisa97

lmao that was probably an accident seeing as jon is a 17 year old superhero in the year 3000 (by the jonas brothers)

You know, I'm a die hard fan of your memes, but I gotta say one thing: if Gothamites actually took gas mask everywhere with them, then the Scarecrow would just be a weird dude in a weird costume, and not a villain oh so scary. DC really should just takes notes from you.

bold of you to assume there's no gothamite anti-maskers

How does it feel being the funniest person on this app?

horrible, next question.

I can't listen to Green Day or Billy Joel without thinking of your post about how Bruce got arrested at a Billy Joel concert @nightwings-kid

yeah that's your mistake, i on the other hand can't enjoy billy joel without thinking about the glee rendition of 'uptown girl'

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

superman: so what do you do in your free time? batman, thinking about the superman fanfiction he's writing on the batcomputer: i have no free time

bruce and oliver be like boyfriends to co-workers 401k (do the justice leagues get 401ks??? not that bruce and ollie would need them, but-)

lmao yes just 400 thousand words of bruce realising 'oh dip oliver is such a fucking dumbass' (also i don't know what a 401 k is but i assume they don't?)

Gothamites would totally boo superman as he saves Gotham while batman is out. @meenje

he's like 'okay think about that next time you want to be saved from an alien octopus'

I just took long break from dc comics and I come back to see ric grayson ??

i think it's very cool and sexy of dc to see dick and just think 'you know what? let's just give him a traumatic brain injury' and then didn't develop his character in any real way

SPEAKING OF RIC GRAYSON, gothamites making confused memes out of ric grayson is much needed

'dick grayson is my taxi driver? can anyone explain what the fuck happened he looks like an italian plumber?'

i hate to say it but batfam are def "marvel characters" in that sense they are characters who are human but become superheroes unlike most dc characters who are gods trying to be human maybe this is why I like batfam

fair enough

#this is only like half of it #but at least you can get like a few answers #yanno fuck it #bataranswers #ask #asks #anon

[watermelonlipstick]

The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

This is a request for anon, who asked: 

i don’t know if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do one where the reader has tattoos that dean doesn’t know about and then he sees them when he has to stitch them up after a hunt? (maybe like season 1 or 2 dean) thank you!!!

And then wrote to me privately that they have a dragon tattoo on one shoulder.

It was a lot of fun to write; tons of opportunities to slip in some good classic rock references! I miss in the super early seasons when Sam and Dean seemed to rag on each other pretty much constantly. I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Title: The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2589 

Summary: Dean is surprised to discover the reader has tattoos.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence/mention of blood, swearing, fluff!!

           Sam moves to the middle of the front bench to shuck off his coat as Dean is getting out of the car, and gives it to you with a long arm over the leather. “Can you hand me that blue jacket?”

           You have to over-rotate to use your other hand to grab it, keeping your grip tight on your own shirt in the most bastardized version of a sling. Sam, of course, notices.

           “You think it’s broken or dislocated?”

           A hard chuckle blows out of your nose. “Really hope it’s just dislocated, I’ll tell you that.”

           He gives you a sympathetic smile as he throws on the blue jacket and zips it all the way up to his neck. It looks like he’s covering something up and naturally, he is, thin hoodie and t shirt underneath drenched with enough werewolf blood that it’s clinging to his chest almost pornographically. But his face is untouched and he has use of both his arms which is more than can be said for you or Werewolf Shiner Winchester, making him the only reasonable choice to send for gauze and ACE bandages at the closest pharmacy.

           Dean stops his grimace-covered stretching just outside the car and opens your door with an outstretched hand as Sam slides into the driver’s seat. “You coming?”

           Taking his hand with your good one, you let Dean close the door behind you without any of the normal grumbling about treating you like you’re made of porcelain, in an effort to keep your face neutral around the jolts of pain through your shoulder. Sam pulls out of the motel parking lot ultra-gently like it’s his first day with a learner’s permit the way he does when he knows Dean is watching. It makes you smile to yourself as exhaust dissipates across the cracked blacktop.

           Crossing the asphalt with tired strides Dean opens the motel door for you too, and you walk in before him. “Is that yours?” he asks, dropping his coat on the cheap couch and wincing through the removal of his flannel. In the light of the room you’re better able to see his black eye and realize it’s going to take weeks for that to go away, not relishing another inevitable conversation about makeup to sell a G-man cover story. It makes it so much easier for the families of victims to believe you’re legit when none of you look like you’ve been in a bar fight, but getting Dean to believe cover-up is in the name of the greater good is an uphill battle on the best of days.

           “Is what mine?”

           “The blood you’re covered in like nacho cheese. Dude, if that’s all over the car—”

           He deserves credit for trying not to smile as you try to look over your shoulder like a puppy chasing its tail, but he does guide you over to the mirror on the wall to see. He’s right, blood has seeped all down your coat, sticky and shiny like syrup. It’s far too wet to be from near 30 minutes ago when you got in the car. “Fuck, I really like this jacket.”

           “You have like 5 just like it taking up space in my trunk; you’ll live. Here, take that off, I’ll stitch you up.” Dean starts rifling through his bag for supplies, rolling some kinks out of his neck.

           “It doesn’t even hurt, I just need you to pop my shoulder back in so I can take a shower.”

           “I don’t give a shit what hurts, slugger. You’re going to pass out in the tub if you keep up the stuck pig act.”

           You roll your eyes and reluctantly try to slide your arms out of the jacket, wincing when you jostle the dislocated arm. Dean takes the sopping coat from you and tosses it into the kitchenette sink from where he stands, the concern coloring his face when you look back at him not reassuring you at all. He puts the floss-threaded needle he’d had in his hand between his teeth and starts pulling on your collar.

           “Shoulder first,” you insist, done wiggling and writhing out of clothes before your shoulder is where it belongs.

           Dean’s mouth tightens into a firm line but he backs up to give himself enough room to shove, an exasperated hand beckoning you. “Okay, you ready?” he says around the needle, looking like a farmer field medic with a piece of hay.

           “Yeah just let me—FUCK,” you grunt when he catches you off guard without any preamble, clutching at the shoulder for a moment until you could take a deep breath. You do a test rotation and are happy at the relative lack of pain, trying not to be frustrated that Dean didn’t warn you so you wouldn’t tense up.

           “Shirt off.” Dean’s tone is firm and precise, no room for discussion, as he gets out a lighter and watches intently to heat up the needle.

           “Wow, you sure know how to make someone feel special,” you hum, feeling much looser without the shooting pain from your shoulder. The buttons of the flannel come undone relatively easy, but the fabric makes a sickly wet thwack as you snap it down to rest around your elbows.

           From his spot at your side, you see Dean’s face contort in surprise and watch as he reflexively reaches out a thumb to rub the skin of your shoulder.

           “Ow, what the hell?” you flinch.

           “Has this always been here?” he asks, partly amazed but mostly incredulous as his eyes trace the inky lines of the dragons where they wind around your skin.

           “I wasn’t born with them if that’s what you mean.” You can tell he’s truly shocked because he doesn’t even react to the jab, just hovers a gentle fingertip over the tattoo. “Earth to Dean? I thought you were all scared about me bleeding out.”

           He gulps and clears his throat before covering with a smile that’s a combination of cheeky and shy. “Right, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t realize I was in the presence of The Tattooed Wonder.”

           “Hardly, I only have a few. Now start stitching before I change my mind and wait for Sam; his are way neater than yours anyway.”

           “Few? Where are the other ones? Girls on the back of your leg that hula when you walk?”

           “Nice try.”

           He bites his lip before shifting the strap of your tank top off and sponging the back of your shoulder with a wet towel. When he unceremoniously pours a slug of whiskey over the wound you feel it for the first time and hiss, adrenaline and distraction of the joint pain worn off.

           “Sorry,” he murmurs, already dragging floss tight on a stitch with his teeth and moving on to the next as quickly as he can, half-humming that old Queen song, “gonna get me on the track, got a dragon on my back.”

           You weren’t lying earlier when you’d said that Sam’s stitches were usually cleaner, but Dean is being very careful in a way he usually isn’t—Chicks dig scars, Sammy! Stopped the bleeding, didn’t it?—and you tip your head back to check his work. The extra time he’s taking is to match up the back of one of the dragons, ripped open by a werewolf claw and currently held together by the delicate pinch of Dean’s index and thumb.

           It’s tough, but you manage to grab the reins on a smirk. Dean doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to keep the damage to your tattoo at a minimum. The gesture and the concentration are impossibly sweet, even though you’d long accepted that ink injury was inevitable with your lifestyle.

           When he’s done, callused fingertips tugging the last knot in place, Dean grabs the whiskey again. “Hold still,” he breathes, close enough you can feel it dance across the skin of your neck, and you hope he can’t see the goosebumps trailing down your arms like ivy. “That should do it. You can grab the first shower, but it’s big enough that some gauze on top for a few days wouldn’t hurt.”

           “Thanks,” you answer, startled and annoyed at your own voice when it creaks a touch. The flannel feels gross and heavy with blood, so you pull your arms out entirely and reach to drop it in the wastebasket.

           “I can deal with that if you want,” he offers, ruffling the velvet-short hair at the back of his neck. “The coat too. Not the first time getting blood out of clothes.”

           “Oh, okay. Uh, thanks. That would be really nice.”

           Dean only meets your eyes for the most fleeting moment when he takes it before biting his lip again and nodding to himself. You get to your feet and gingerly slip the displaced straps back over your shoulder, feeling the shift in energy in the room and not knowing what to do with it. Settling for a jocular little punch to Dean’s bicep, you grin at him. “Thanks for putting me back together, doc.”

           Sam comes back a couple minutes after you’ve closed the bathroom door with a translucent plastic bag full of first aid supplies. “In the shower?”

           Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch and hands Sam the beer he’d already gotten out of the fridge in anticipation, his leg bouncing rapidly. “Yeah. They have everything?”

           His younger brother nods and accepts the bottle, taking a sip before laying out his haul on the coffee table and tossing the bag. “You okay?”

           He glances up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just tired, man.”

           Sam waits a silent beat, giving Dean a chance to spill whatever it is.

           “Did you, ah—did you know Y/N’s all inked up like a friggin’ sailor?”

           Sam chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A sailor? Y/N’s only got a few tattoos, dude.”

           “You knew?”

           “Of course I knew, some people like to learn things about their friends. That’s why you’re acting weird?”

           Dean scowls over the glass lip of his beer before taking a long pull. “Not acting weird, sue me for being surprised we’re working with the goddamn Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo.” His voice is low and surly like a kid on the edge of a tantrum even he knows isn’t worth it.

           “Y/N can do whatever they want, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you like the tattoos, you’re not their dad.” Sam’s barely keeping the giggle out of his voice, enjoying Dean’s frustration the way only a little brother could.

           “No, I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like them,” Dean stammers, the end of the statement fading off as a flush starts rising in his cheeks. He knows he’s said too much and Sam jumps on it.

           “Wait—you do like them, don’t you?” He crashes onto the couch, long limbs just enough in Dean’s space to be irritating. “I bet you loooooove knowing about those tattoos—I bet you’re dying to see them.”

           “Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls, kicking Sam in the thigh with a socked foot. Sam blocks him and starts laughing hard enough it makes him rattle all over like he’s on a rickety rollercoaster. When he finally catches his breath Dean is still pouting to whatever syndicated sitcom he’d thrown on. Over the tinny TV speakers they hear the shower turn off.

           “You know, if you’re feeling shy I could say something for you.” Sam’s grin is ten steps past cheeky, firmly planted in devilish, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over top of dimples perfectly sliced into his cheeks.

           Dean’s eyes widen like a cartoon and his voice is a gravelly hiss as he grabs a tight handful of Sam’s t-shirt, now crisp with dried blood. “Sam, I fucking swear to God—” but the threat is ineffectual, sheepish panic clear as anything on his face. The glint in Sam’s eye brightens and he twists out of his brother’s grip before he can react, crossing the room in a few huge steps so he’s nearly face to face with you when you open the bathroom door, Dean leaping off of the couch to chase him and slamming into Sam’s back when he stops short.

           “Whoa, Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” you breathe, one hand on top of your fresh t-shirt to still your racing heartbeat, fistful of dirty laundry in the other.

           “Just need that second shower, didn’t mean to freak you out!” Sam smiles, warm and light and genuine. “Thanks! Gauze is on the table if you want it.” he says as he slips past you with a friendly and familiar kiss on the cheek, wink that you can’t see to Dean over your shoulder as he closes the bathroom door fast enough that the mirror next to the frame barely even steams.

           “Hey, could you—” you start.

           “Hey, do you—” Dean says at the exact same time. You both chuckle, and you can’t tell if you’re annoyed or not that the little charge in the room didn’t dissolve while the dried blood on you had rinsed down the shower drain. Dean holds up an open palm to indicate that you should go first.

           “Could you cover those stitches for me? The skin is kind of catching on my shirt.”

           “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

           Shaking your hair loose and hanging the towel it was in on the back of a kitchenette chair, you sit on the edge of the bed to tug the collar of your t-shirt as far onto your shoulder as you can. Dean snatches some medical tape and a couple 4x4s from the table and sits down next to you, the heat coming off of him soothing the chill of the few remaining drops of water cooling on your skin. “I’m gonna need more slack than that,” he says, trying to be matter-of-fact but not quite covering the gooey softness around the edges that are making his voice more sultry than gruff. You try to pull harder on the collar but it’s already digging into your neck. The hand holding the gauze floats down to Dean’s lap while he rubs his jaw with the other. “Do you—could you just take it off?”

           You roll your eyes at him.

           “Or live with it, see if I care.” He holds your gaze, and that stubbornness you recognize.

           Reluctantly, you move your arm inside the shirt and slip it out from under the bottom hem, squirming in a way that covers your chest while exposing your shoulder. When he sweeps the shirt back you reflexively jolt away from him like you’ve been shocked. “Not being fresh, just don’t want to tape it in,” he murmurs.

           “I noticed you put the lines together really straight; thanks for that.”

           “Only took an extra second.” He rips another piece of tape off a roll with his teeth and is being so deliberate that now you’re sure he’s stalling for another few seconds to keep touching you but you don’t care; the feeling of his fingertips on your skin is tender and delicious.

           “If I knew you were going to be that careful, I would’ve been letting you do my stitches this whole time.”

           “Guess I’m just a regular damn seamstress,” he smiles, finally smoothing the last tape and only surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of his eye as you tuck your arm back into its sleeve. “So seriously, what’re the other tattoos?”

           “I’m sure you’ll see them soon enough,” you whisper as you stand up, committing to memory the way it makes Dean’s pupils flare as you ease under the scratchy motel sheets on the opposite bed.

-

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