#flangst: au

[kaylasficrecs]

stupidly yours | miguel o'hara

you found your roommate stupidly annoying, from the girls he brought home, to the way he never cleans up. so why, all of a sudden, was he trying to get into your good graces? (this is a horrible summary, i didn’t really know how to explain this one.)

college roommate!miguel au. he could still be spider-man 2099 in this, but it doesn’t pertain to the plot of the fic. 

note: this was technically a request, but i think i deleted it before i knew i was going to start posting fics. sorry anon! this one's for you! also i didn't use too much spanish except for a couple of words because i hardly know any of the language (i know waaayy more french).

tw: talks of Miguel’s toxic family, language (pls let me know if there are others) 

wc: 2k 

It’s not that you didn’t mind your roommate Miguel, but you thought about throttling him regularly. 

Between the girls he brought home and his sometimes too-brutal of honesty, you’ve thought about packing your stuff and sleeping under a bridge (not that there were many bridges in Neuvea York) instead of dealing with O’Hara on a daily. 

But instead, you got your shit together and just retaliated in other ways. 

You stopped cleaning up his shit, because sometimes he was indeed a college guy, and you were tired of being that nice of a person to do his dishes, vacuum, dust, and clean his stuff. You stopped buying groceries and making meals for both of you. Whenever he brought a girl over to his room while you were in the apartment, you blasted the High School Musical soundtracks. Yes, all three of them. You had heard doors and slam and groans of frustration in lieu of this, but Miguel never argued with you about it. 

Because that was the thing, he knew he was being a prick, but it didn’t ever seem to occur to him that it would affect the people in his life. Or that he should apologize for it. 

The last part of your ‘Miguel must be put in his place’ plan was if he was ever extra rude to you during a conversation, you would just stop talking to him. At first, it annoyed the hell out of him, he couldn’t seem to figure out why you had simply stopped talking to him at the moment. He would get even more frustrated, his brown eyes seemly burning red. But he was smart (smarter than you probably) and put it all together pretty fast. So now when those moments happen, he would apologize softly. Which in turn, surprised you. You never thought you would hear a “sorry” muttered from his lips. 

After enough apologies from O’Hara, you decided to let up on some of the parts of your plan. You stopped playing music loudly unless they were being extra loud during sex. You started cleaning up again because honestly, it was starting to bother you too. But what surprised you the most, was that Miguel met you halfway: brought over fewer girls, - and when he did, he kept it quiet - helped you with dishes, and started taking out the trash all of the time. Miguel even started cooking for the both of you. When both of you were home for dinner, you would sit on the floor in front of the small living room TV, and eat and watch a show together. 

More time spent together meant getting to know each other better. You told him about your family, and he told you about his fucked up one. You discussed likes and dislikes, learning that he couldn’t stand trashy Mexican food from fast-food places; making you swear you would never bring home Taco Bell again. 

You started to maybe feel things for him after you fell asleep on him during one of your dinner-and-a-movie nights. And it wasn't the fact that you fell asleep that made butterflies form in your gut, but that you woke up in your bed the following day. It had taken you a few minutes to piece it together through the drowsiness, but you realized he had carried you from the couch to your bed. You had been pouring yourself coffee when you came to that realization. Let’s just say most of the coffee didn’t go into the mug. 

The next time you started to blush after thoughts of Miguel was when he came from work to drive you home in the rain. After living together for so long, you got used to each other schedules, even before you started spending all this time together. So when it was raining Wednesday night after coming from the library, you weren’t nervous about Miguel knowing where you were, more just shocked. The library on campus wasn’t too far from where you guys lived, so you always walked. But you would have at least brought an umbrella if you were expecting rain. The downpour opening the doors outside made you face the fact that you would likely catch a cold. 

To the left of the doors though was Miguel's fancy sports car; rolling down a window, yelling at you to get in. 

As you shut the door, setting your backpack on the floor, you asked, “How… Why are you here?” 

“I got off work a little early. And seeing it rain, I decided picking you up on my way home was way easier than dealing with you with a cold for the next few days.” 

You looked at him aghast. Of course, he was a bit of a jerk about it, but the actual gesture made you pause. A few months ago, you would have never thought he would do this. Even now, you had never known Miguel to be this generous to anyone. 

You tried to hide your small smile as he started the drive home, but you don’t think it worked because you saw one on his face too.  

But the worst part for you was that he kept on picking you up. Week after week, Miguel would text you after he was done with work and pick you up to take you home from the library on campus (even though it really wasn’t that far of a walk). Soon after, he started dropping you off on his way to work too. 

Miguel kept up the niceties till Christmas: carrying all the groceries (now that you were back to paying for them since he cooked for you both now almost on a daily), letting you fall asleep on him, not bringing girls around, buying you coffees, opening doors, and letting you pick movies for your dinner nights. 

He made it really hard not to fall for him. 

Then Christmas time rolled around. You knew it was hard for everyone that didn’t have the best family relationships, especially in Miguel’s case where he didn’t really have anyone left that was a good human being. Finals must have also rubbed off on him, he was snappy and rude to you for the weeks leading up to the holiday. He didn’t cook and barely ate for himself. 

You gave him a pass this time, mostly because you owed it to him for being so nice to you, but also because maybe you liked him. Just a little bit. 

So you tried to cook, were patient with him, let him pick the movie, and hopefully cheered him up some days with one of your sarcastic jokes. You didn’t want to leave him alone. But come December 23rd, and you had to go home for the holidays. 

You had your suitcase all packed for the coming week, ready to say goodbye to Miguel, when he hugged you. He hugged you. He was a massive person but felt so small wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your shoulder. It felt like an atonement for all the bad things he has said or done the past few days. You wrapped your arms around his neck in gratitude, threading a hand through his hair, whispering in his ear, “Please call me. If you need anything.” 

When he finally let go, Miguel’s arms still slung loosely around your waist, you met his eyes, and reached up to smooth out the worry lines on his forehead. He leaned into your touch, so you pushed a little further and kissed his jaw, “I’ll be back after New Year’s.” 

His hands tightened around you, eyes closed, and let out a shaky breath. You couldn’t think of what more to say in the moment and didn’t want to ruin the soft glow that surrounded you both. You slowly pulled away, taking quiet breaths as you left the apartment. You desperately tried to forget about him while you were home. 

But that wasn’t going to happen, as Miguel showed up at your parents’ front door three days later. Thank goodness it was you who answered the knocking late one night, as your parents were getting ready for bed, your siblings nowhere near the door. 

“Miguel, what-” you backtracked, “are you okay?” 

“I was going to call bella. Prometo. But I just needed to see your eyes. Just for a few seconds.” 

You didn’t know what to do with that. You bit your lip and twiddled your fingers, wanting to help Miguel, truly, but you were nervous about how your parents would react to you bringing a 6’ 6” man into the home randomly. And at night. 

“I-”

He didn’t even let you get a word in, “I apologize bella, I should not have sprung upon you like this. I will just see you at the apartment in a few days.”

Before he could fully turn around, you grabbed his wrist, caressing his hand as you slotted your fingers in between. Yes, it would be hell to talk to your parents about Miguel staying, but you knew you didn’t want him to leave. “Wait just… come inside.” You pulled him in, staring up into his eyes as you reached around to close and lock the door, “Stay right here and let me…  uhh… discuss with my parents, okay? But please, don’t leave, we’ll figure something out.” You gave him your best reassuring smile as you gently slid your hand from his, walking toward the back of the house where your parents were. 

Though it was one of the most awkward conversations of your life, your parents agreed to let Miguel stay the night, they could all discuss details in the morning, and formally meet him when they were wide awake. 

You were going to let Miguel sleep on your bed and you take the couch, as your house didn’t have a guest room, and he was too big for said couch, but he insisted you could share your full-sized bed, and you really didn’t want to upset him more by arguing with him at this time of night. 

You asked no questions about why he showed up at your house, just got ready for bed. He already showed up in more relaxed clothes so he could just hop right into bed. He was sound asleep by the time you got done with your shower and face care routine. Slowly slipping under the covers, you studied his face; still seeing the grimace he always wore, even in his sleep. It made you worry and smile at the same time, you wished you could ease whatever pain had caused him to come to see you in such a state. Clearly needing comfort, you brushed some hair back from his face, “Sweet dreams, Miguel.” 

Sometime during the night, you swore you felt that same softness again, his arms cradling you, his breath softly blowing your hair. But when you woke up, the side he slept on was only faintly warm, a sign that he had been gone for just only a little while; a note laid on your nightstand:

Thank you for everything last night. I just needed to escape to you from these past few days. I can explain everything when you come home. I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful I’m sorry I left. Tell your parents I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to meet them, but thank them for letting me stay in their home with their precious daughter. Happy New Year bella,

Miguel

If it weren’t for your stupid family you would rush to the apartment, or home, as Miguel had put it. 

With those words, he had confirmed it, you were stupidly in love with him. His stupidly warm eyes, his stupidly thoughtful actions, stupid full lips, stupid words (stupidly round ass), and most of all, his stupidly wonderful soul. He could pretend to be a hardass, mean, rude man to everyone but you. 

And January 2nd couldn’t come soon enough, for your stupid brain could only think about Miguel’s arms holding you tightly once again. 

©kaylaficrecs 2023

thanks for reading <3 

note: i think i might do a sequel to this one, let me know if you are interested! 

#miguel o'hara x reader #spiderverse #atsv #mcu #imagine #flangst #comfort #fluff #fanfic #my writing #writing #request #fem!reader #reader insert #au #roommate!miguel

[omgrachwrites]

The Night We Met (Chapter One)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Potter!Reader

Summary: Over the summer you connected with the boy who is quite literally your twin's mortal enemy. Things start to fall apart in the darkness of the autumn.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, everyone lives au, takes place in 6th year

A/N: Soooooooo, I'm back!! I'm so sorry for being away so long guys! This is the shortest chapter ever so I'm v sorry, I also didn't really know how to write Mattheo 100% as he is complete fanfiction! I hope you guys enjoy anyway and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

Chapter One

Harry Potter was worried about his twin, she’d been so secretive recently, ever since the first week of summer. Harry knew they weren’t kids anymore but Y/N was his best friend and they used to tell each other everything. James and Sirius knew that something was up when Harry mooched into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” his godfather laughed as he drank his tea.

“Where’s, Y/N?” he directed the question at his dad, ignoring Sirius. James shrugged as he leaned back in the kitchen chair.

“She’s off playing Quidditch in the woods, you know how she gets when she wants to be alone.”

Harry nodded, he did know but he was still a bit miffed that she hadn’t asked him for a match, “she’s supposed to come with me to Ron’s for tea,” he muttered.

At that moment, Lily walked into the kitchen and kissed her son on the cheek, “well, she’ll be back by that time.”

Harry nodded, forcing a smile for his mum’s benefit, but he just knew that something was going on with her. And, he was worried about her.

You cursed beneath your breath as you all but ran home, you had nearly lost track of time, you had nearly forgotten that you were having tea at the Weasley’s tonight. As you walked through the front door Harry was coming down the stairs.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled and you felt your guilt begin to brew in your stomach, “have fun playing Quidditch?” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You could tell he was hurt but he’d never admit it, he’d never understand either and you hated doing this to him, “well, I would have asked you to join me but I know how busy you must be pining over Ginny Weasley.”

Harry scoffed as he pushed his glasses up his nose, “you’re my sister, and my best friend, I’m never too busy for you.”

You smiled, “thanks, Harry. I’m just gonna get ready and then we can go to Ron’s,” you traipsed upstairs without waiting for a reply. On the way to your room, you passed your dad, “why did you tell Harry that I was playing Quidditch?” you sighed.

James frowned, “what in Merlin’s name was I supposed to say, Y/N?” he continued when you shrugged, “you are your brother’s best friend and I know he’s yours but you need to tell him before he finds out for himself. Now, I don’t approve but you’re not a little kid anymore.”

“See you later, dad,” you sighed as you walked into your room to get ready.

As you and Harry were leaving the cottage and were walking up the path, Harry groaned out in dismay.

“What’s the matter?” you laughed but Harry didn’t reply or look at you, he kept staring ahead with a scowl on his face.

You followed your brother’s gaze and saw that Malfoy was passing by with his friend Mattheo Riddle, as soon as Malfoy saw Harry, his face lit up with malice, “alright, Scarhead?”

You glared over at Malfoy before glancing at Riddle who was smirking at you, you scowled at him, keeping your eyes on him long enough to see him raise his eyebrow, a smug look forming on his face. “C’mon, Harry just ignore them,” you glared at the Slytherin boys as you pulled Harry away, Riddles smug face in the back of your mind.

Dinner at the Weasley’s was always something to look forward to, Mrs Weasley’s cooking was amazing and you always had a laugh with the big family. However, this year it was different, it was almost awkward, you had to watch your brother try – and fail – to flirt with Ginny. Ron and Hermione were also starting to fall for each other, though they were the only ones who couldn’t see it. You had managed to keep your embarrassment in check until it was time to sit down for dinner.

“So, Y’N, dear,” Molly started, “are you in love yet?”

Ron snorted into his food as your eyes widened and you felt a flush creep up your neck, you shook your head as you looked up at Molly, “no, I’m not.”

“I think Y/N is trying to get onto the national Quidditch team with how much she’s been playing it this summer,” you forced a smile at your brother but said nothing more, and your love life wasn’t brought up again.

After dinner, you decided to leave early and without Harry, usually you and Harry would stay for as long as you could but the guilt in your stomach hadn’t settled yet. It made it virtually impossible for you to be around your friends when you felt like that. It was when you were getting ready for bed that the knock on your patio door came and startled you.

You sighed when you saw the handsome Slytherin boy standing out on your balcony, you padded over and opened the patio door, quickly ushering him inside.

“Mattheo,” you hissed, “what are you doing here?”

He smiled and cupped your cheek with a warm hand, “I wanted to see you before I head back home, I feel like I haven’t seen you as much recently.”

You scoffed and looked away from him, crossing your arms over your chest, “you literally saw me today.”

“For like an hour,” Mattheo sighed and kissed you softly. Your fingers delved into his thick curls as you briefly kissed him back before you pushed him away, “what’s the matter?” he asked, resting his forehead against yours.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, you couldn’t see how this relationship – if that was even what it was – would work at Hogwarts, it was too much sneaking around and you had to keep a lot more secrets at school than you did at home. Also, you didn’t have the heart to tell him your relationship had an expiry date. It really seemed like you were lying to everyone.

“Y/N,” Mattheo started, biting his lip, in that moment he looked so vulnerable as he stared at you with wide eyes, and you almost forgot who he was. Almost. “Can I stay here tonight? I don’t want to go back to Draco’s, you know he’ll be there.”

“Mattheo,” you sighed but he interrupted you before you could say anything further.

“Please, Y/N? I promise I’ll be gone before your parents wake up.”

You cupped his cheeks and fought back tears, “you have to go, everyone is in danger if you’re here.”

Mattheo looked like he’d been gut punched and he pulled away from you so quickly it was like you’d burned him, “right,” he hissed with a nod, “the scum can’t put the perfect Potter’s in danger.”

“I never said that!”

Mattheo sniffed as he wrenched open your patio door, “you didn’t have to. Goodnight, Y/N,” he climbed down your balcony and disappeared into the night.

“Goodbye, Mattheo,” you sighed as you watched him go.

The next morning was an early start and you almost immediately regretted promising that you would meet Ron and Hermione for an early lunch. You could barely keep your eyes open as you shuffled into the kitchen. You had been awake for most of the night half wishing that you had let Mattheo stay. You yawned as you spread butter onto your toast.

“You’re quiet this morning, Y/N,” James glanced at you from the other end of the table.

Harry snickered as he walked into the kitchen, “you say that like it’s a bad thing, dad.”

You scowled at your twin, “fuck you, Potter.”

“Language, Y/N!” Lily gasped but you couldn’t miss the laughter in her voice. Your mum narrowed her green eyes at you, “did you have a friend over last night? I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone.”

You shook your head, refusing to look at your dad, though you could feel him looking at you from where he sat, “I didn’t have anyone over last night, mum,” you mumbled. Lily nodded but continued to regard you suspiciously.

In no time at all, you were meeting Ron and Hermione outside of the ice cream parlour in the blazing sun.

“Hello again,” Hermione laughed as she pulled you into a hug, you grinned as you hugged her back and over her shoulder you waved at Ron.

“Sorry about my mum last night, that must have been embarrassing,” Ron almost winced as you laughed and shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it!” you sat at the table and smiled over at Hermione, “thanks for getting my fave,” you blew her a kiss as you a sip from your iced Butterbeer.

“Ugh, incoming,” Hermione rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her own drink, you could tell by the venom in her voice that it was Malfoy and his band of Slytherins. You didn’t even turn to look until Ron spoke up.

“Bloody hell, look at Riddle’s face.”

You glanced over your shoulder and was filled with horror by what you saw, Mattheo had been badly beaten, he had a black eye and a huge gash in his lip, almost like it had been split open. He looked at you with wounded eyes as he walked past but he said nothing. Neither did Malfoy.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter imagine #everyone lives au #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #potter!reader #fluff #angst #flangst #harry potter #lily potter #james potter #sirius black #draco malfoy #ron weasley #hermione granger

[theluckywizard]

hiiiii Lucky what if something Fade heist to rescue Hawke related + "No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world" and/or "Well, did you miss me?" from the Florence prompts?? 👀 Happy Friday and have fun!!

So this started for @dadrunkwriting Friday two weeks ago and then I got SUPER INVESTED and have been working on it ever since. I've popped an ambient song link in for effect! Illustration by me :)

Summary: The nightmares Rose had of Hawke following Adamant prompted her to develop a recurring dream with Solas, one she's had hundreds of times. It's safe. It's always the same. But something isn't right this time. And the dream will never be the same again. (Flangst, extra angst)

Characters: Rose Trevelyan, Garrett Hawke

WC: (buckle up!) 5075

Rating/CW: Explicit, sex!

Ambient Music - Olafur Arnalds - Dalur (loop it for full effect)

The intense clarity that the Anchor gave my dreams had always been tolerable– at least until Hawke stayed behind in the Fade. I could only live through so many iterations of watching the man I love get impaled and crushed by the Nightmare. So many dreams replaying the moment I left him behind. Listening to Hawke tell me in a dozen different ways that I’d abandoned and betrayed him, that he never actually loved me. Watching him end his own life out of hopelessness. In my grief and desperation I begged Solas to teach me some manner of control.

My subconscious had become unbearable and I needed to master it.

So he and I crafted a dream I could safely retreat to each night, a prison, or fortress of sorts to keep me safe from such intrusions. He’d asked me to choose a familiar place, where each detail was etched deeply into my memory. He had me choose activities to pursue within the safety of the setting, something to pass the time until I returned to consciousness, where my darkest thoughts were under stricter control.

I’ve dreamt of my quarters at home at the estate hundreds of times. It’s my refuge. Jigsaw puzzles and knitting. Playing my lute in my pillows piled high by the window. It gives a sense of peace I could never hope to find in Skyhold, where I’m haunted by ghosts of my decisions and the cost of war. Haunted by memories of Hawke. 

The wards Solas taught me to set keep all of that out. 

I pick at my lute, singing a tune in Antivan as rain rolls in from the Waking Sea and washes down my window. My voice is always sweet in my dreams, never needing warming up or clearing. My velvet pillows hug me while I lounge back into them. Everything is in its right place. 

But there’s something strange across my room. 

Something that doesn’t belong.

On the center of my bed is a yellow cactus flower. 

My lute slips and clatters in a twang of strings on the floor as I’m assaulted by the memories, how a yellow bloom would grace my cot each evening in the Western Approach. I stand and approach the flower with the caution its alien nature merits. 

“Maker’s breath,” I mutter, crawling onto the bed and picking it up. I spin the fragile bloom against my nose, the petals like satin, the fragrance familiar, flooding my chest with warmth. If I’m losing my grip on my recurring dream, at the very least this is a welcome intrusion.

But I check the wards to make sure I’ve activated them properly before slipping into the safety of my dream. The wards are live. I examine the flower, brushing it over my lips, attempting to divine meaning from it. It’s a fond memory of a different time, of a great love I didn’t understand or appreciate. But the warmth gives way to torment, as considering the flower cleaves my heart, the grief falling like a greataxe as I recall how I’d failed to tell him how deeply I’d felt before being scooped around the waist by Alistair and flung back through the rift. 

And then I wake myself, because Maker, I can’t do this all over again.

The next night I’m welcomed by a platter of too many cheeses, partially picked over with all together too much fruit for a proper cheese deity. It sits precariously on the edge of my nightstand. And this time I laugh when the tear sneaks out the corner of my eye. No amount of grief could sully the ridiculousness of that memory.

After that it’s a book of Antivan smut on my window seat, The Fires of Satinalia, open to a picture of the Contessa and Signore della Verga canoodling in a dark alley. I’d given it away after we’d collected it from his effects, the thought of looking at it without him there to incite my blushes and horrified snorts unsupportable at the time. It prompts a wistful smile now.

It goes on for weeks, mementos of Hawke tucked around my room. I learn to look for them, like my own mind is pranking me elaborately. A bronze statuette inside my lute case. A purple bathrobe draped over my breakfast chair. A bottle of Garbolg’s Backcountry Reserve and two cobweb covered glasses on my nightstand. A scarlet scarf in rose imprinted damask with a tattered fringe on my dressing table. A wild sketch of quaking undead imprisoned in a livestock wagon on my desk. 

I don’t know how or why it’s happening. But the joy it provokes has me awakening with tears in my eyes. 

Perhaps I no longer need my prison of a dream.

Tonight when I arrive in my bedroom there’s nothing. I search everywhere for the treat, combing the room in an ever increasing state of agitation. I’ve gone blithely straight to sleep for weeks to see what happy little treasure I’d find next. Disappointment sets in, aching behind my sternum as I sit on the edge of my bed bent over my knees, hugging my head in my arms. The rims of my eyes gather up my tears as I realize how much I’d come to depend upon the trinkets, on the whimsy of my own tenacious subconsciousness to muddle through the day.

Ambient music - Slow Meadow - Hurricane

There’s a sound competing with the insistent drum of the rain on my window, the sound of wooden puzzle pieces clicking into place on the table behind me. I straighten, my breath frozen in my lungs. Peering anxiously over my shoulder I see a giant of a man hunched over my table on an elbow, pushing puzzle pieces around and sorting them, his hair tied up in a familiar, darling little tail like it used to be.

“Hawke?” I inquire, guarded, bracing myself for some horror or other when he responds. He pushes back from the desk to stand, the rolling chair sliding a little farther than he means it to and turns to me. The last time he’d fixed his gaze upon me, he’d held me tightly between him and his shield and fearlessly pronounced his love as the Nightmare drifted closer. He’d instructed me to go– to stop Corypheus. He’d pressed his lips to mine in a final desperate kiss. I consider all the twisted dreams I’d had of his face, this beautiful face and how they had crippled me with sorrow and guilt. 

And yet this feels strangely real. 

The brightness of his eyes pierce me, his lips turned slightly at one corner in a subdued little smirk, waiting for my reaction. 

And as for that, I am tear-streaked astonishment, my eyes hazy and overwhelmed, my mouth agape. Closing the distance between us in a few steps, I pick up his hand with a determined curiosity, assessing the weight of it, the thickness of his palm, the way his fingers are too big to thread completely between mine.

His arming doublet is ragged and frayed over an equally tired linen shirt, and he's got a scruffy beard that looks as though it’s been maintained with a dull dagger. I reach up and feel his lips with my fingers, and they're as soft and full as they ought to be. I trace the lines across his forehead, then his brows and cheekbones.  Hawke clutches my face gently, his thumbs brushing over each of my cheeks in that delicate way of his, like I’m a freshly plucked cactus flower he might accidentally crush.

“Well did you miss me?” he asks quietly, his gaze, deep as a summer sky, joined to mine with customary intensity. I collapse against him, shoving my arms under his unfastened doublet to wrap them tightly around him, letting his shirt catch all of my tears as they fall, failing to restrain the jerk of my sobs in my ribs. I feel his lips pressed firmly against the top of my head as he folds me into the thickness of his arms. 

It feels too real. I’ve become too adept at this dreaming business.

“Uh– Rose?” he inquires, his voice perturbed. I glance through the glare of my tears to realize that my bedroom is dissolving around us, my carefully constructed dream slipping away under the weight of my own overwhelm. Everything gives way to a hazy amber light that holds us gently, like the golden glow of an emergent sunrise, promising another chance. There’s nothing but us.

I tighten my hold on his middle, afraid that if I let go the dream will collapse completely, leaving me alone to be followed by the unlimited void of his absence. Perhaps I could unburden myself of the feelings I’ve held close for months– the ones I’d barely understood until confronted with the prospect of losing him forever.

“I know it doesn’t matter now,” I start, speaking with my ear pressed against his chest, “but I was a monumental idiot.” I hear a laugh escape through his nose softly above me, lips buried in my hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how deeply I felt. I didn’t know until it was too bloody late.”

“That’s all right,” he says, a surprisingly soft, humorless response, kissing his way to my forehead, his hold tightening. 

“It’s not all right,” I argue with more intensity than I mean to. “It’s not. I pushed you away because how much I felt terrified me. And then– and now– you’re gone.”

“I’m right here,” he says firmly, gripping me by the shoulders, bearing down on me with a determined gaze. “I’m here. I’m alive.” I look at him, shaking my head at the tricks my mind is playing on me, wishing that I’d been able to keep a grip on this bloody dream of mine. Wishing Solas was around to help me fix it.

Hawke bends and kisses me forcefully, like he’s out to prove something, a sturdy kiss that I could never doubt. He pulls back and looks at me again as if the gesture should signify something. 

But a kiss from Hawke is in keeping with everything else I’d let into my dream lately.

“Do you know how hard it was to break into this blazing cage of yours?” he asks, clearly annoyed with me, his fingers weaving in my hair. “Maker, Rose. I thought you’d know right away.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, stupified by the line of questioning.

“I found a way back to you, just as you asked. I– broke into your dreams to find you. Maker, I’ve wandered into the dreams of so many– but they won’t bloody well listen! And yours is the only one locked down like a proper vault. And you know how awful I am at lockpicking!”

His words force a flinch out of me as I grapple with it.

“You’re my subconscious,” I whisper past him as if I’m alone. He just shakes his head, exasperated. “You’re everything I’ve desperately wished for.” Hawke looks like he’s going to argue more but then holds back.

“Everything?” he asks with a sheepish smile. “I thought you knew better than to say things like that to me, Rose.”

“I’d like nothing more than for you to actually be here.”

“I am here. Rose– the trinkets I’ve been leaving– I was trying to prove to you that someone was tinkering with your blazing dream. That it wasn’t your mind. That it was me. I’m here. I’m alive in the Fade,” he says and then picks up my hand gently, stroking his fingers over the glow at the center of my palm. “And I need this beautiful hand of yours to escape.”

“Hawke–”

“I didn’t think it would be such a blazing chore to convince you.” He pulls a hand from my cheek to run it back into his hair in frustration, scratching his forehead as if to think of a new plan.

“It’s– you?” I ask, doubt still tugging at my mind in every direction.

“Maker, yes. And I’ve been looking forward to this for ages, you goose. Seeing you. Holding you.” 

“How?” I ask, but Hawke bends to kiss me again gently, grazing his lips across my face until they catch mine and linger, the question in my mouth evaporating. Basking in the warmth of breath, in the give of each other’s hungry mouths, desire awakens within me, rapidly filling every interstitial space inside of me until it spills forth. We can’t be close enough, not like this. 

In the time I’ve gone without him I’ve nearly forgotten the little details: his scent– peppermint salve and leather and sweat– the squash of his embrace, the energy and rhythm of our kiss. Hawke’s gentleness belies his fervor, but I can feel it in the intrepid way his hands tour over the curves of my body. He draws my knee up outside his hip with a hand under my thigh, sliding a leg between mine, his eager length pressed against the heat growing in my core. But there’s nowhere to go– my room has melted away into this lovely, yet shockingly inadequate stew of light and feeling around us.

“Could you perhaps dream us up a bed? A desk? A wheelbarrow?” he asks, beaming, bending to nudge his nose against mine. “Or perhaps that delightful window seat of yours?” 

I’ve never lost the dream before though– and I’m not sure I can retrieve it.

“Couldn’t whatever is beneath our feet suffice?” I ask, a little desperate. He looks down at the amber nothingness and chuckles, because gravity is still fixing us to some manner of floor and then regards me like I’m mad or I’m giving up too quickly. 

I close my eyes, attempting to journey again and draw the details from memory– the deep bench by my window with dozens of pillows. The velvet cushions. The lambswool blanket I always tuck around me to keep away the familiar creep of cold through the window. The rain streaming down the panes of glass. The evergreen forest emerging from a bank of fog. 

Hawke laughs in wonderment as it all materializes before him.

“That’ll do,” he says, lifting me lightly across the partially imagined room to the window seat, a facsimile of the very place I’d first become acquainted with the Champion. Where I’d read the polished, scrappy account of him carving a place for himself and his family out of the unforgiving black cliffs of Kirkwall. 

Rapturous, he eases carefully onto the window seat, scooting us over so my knees have somewhere to settle and he kicks his feet up. Astride him, my face is just above level and even beholding him at this distance, I’m still unsure if he’s real or not. The Fade is still a foreign place to me even after two trips. But my desire to make love to him, to tangle up our limbs and breath, to be filled by him is as real as anything, and I push his frayed doublet off his shoulders which he wrestles out of and then tosses into the amber ether.

“Ah, shit. I’m never getting that back, am I?” he says with a cheeky smile, but he’s too preoccupied by me to be bothered. I bend to sweep my open mouth against his, the steel of his erection against me stirring an arousal that aches with over a year of longing. I slide all ten fingers over the fine hairs across the center of his abdomen and then the coarser hairs of his chest under his shirt and he obliges me by stripping it away.

His right side is marred by a ragged scar I’ve never seen and I'm not sure that I would have conjured it up. It hooks around from the back like the rake of a talon, though it’s been long healed and I follow it with an inquisitive fingertip. He slides his hands up under the comfortable nightgown I’m always wearing in my dreams, grazing up the length of my thigh, his thumb finding the inside of it, pressing into it.

“It was a terror. Got me without my armor on. You know how they can be, jumping out of the ground like a bloody nuisance,” he explains, prompting the full weight of the revelation to fall into place like an impossible comfort.

“It’s really you,” I whisper, holding Hawke’s face as the astonishment takes hold.

He nods and dives in for another kiss, deep and unbridled. His gentle hand continues over the rise of my hip bone and onward until it lingers at the swell of my breast and then the hardened tip, our breath catching simultaneously. He gathers and lifts the sheer gauze of my nightgown up over my head and I lean back so he can exalt my skin, every curve with his mouth, his beard sending chills tickling through me as it grazes across my flesh. He pauses to wrap a lock of hair around his finger and tugs lightly.

“You cut your hair,” he says in a playful callback. I glance down at it, my hair now only reaching just past my breast. 

“Only a little. You grew yours out,” I point out.

“No sense cutting it in this cursed place. Easier to tie it back.”

“I always liked it longish,” I tell him, leaning in to delve into his grinning mouth again. We grind this way, his hard into my soft, gasps and moans alternating and crisscrossing as we remember the shape of each other. Separating briefly to rid ourselves of the last remaining barriers between us, we converge again, Hawke sliding into my silken depths like a missing puzzle piece. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him like this, his breath bathing the skin of my cheek and neck in warmth while he's sheathed to my very limits. I tuck my fingers into his tied up hair to clasp his head against me and whisper ‘I love you’ against his ear. He pulls back with a smile.

“Say it again,” he says, insisting we look at one another. I feel a little timid under such direct scrutiny, but I lift my gaze to oblige him, restraining my smile.

“I love you.”

“From the depths of your soul?”

“Well let’s not be hasty,” I laugh against his mouth. He looks at me from an inch away. 

“You’re a horrible wretch.” The banter feels like sparks inside me. “And I love you. From the depths of my soul.” We take a moment to drink each other in, his survival and return relaxing the knot in my heart that’s been there since that unspeakable day. Hawke smirks again, that glimmer of ever brewing mischief gracing his smolder. Maker, how I missed this man.

“Can we get to it?” I ask with a saucy glance.

“Oh, are we not? I have to inform you that you are at least seventy five percent in charge right now, Rose.” I tilt my head to scold him with a nip on his nose and then grip him tightly within me, drawing myself off of him languorously, sinking down again. We fall into a rolling cadence, consecrating my treasured window seat with the force of our yearning. 

It feels like another first time, a better one.

He handles my hip on my right and gently works his hand over my breast on the left as our pace gains intensity, rocking and churning in euphoric tandem. I drop my head back so he can press his lips to the underside of my jaw, leaning back to feel his full length pressed against my front, my pleasure gathering like a shimmer at the edges of my vision. Grasping me by the chin, Hawke fixes his eyes to mine, glossy and bright with unspilled tears, raw with emotion. Whatever he’s gone through, he’s been alone in the Fade for months, and if what he says is true, everyone else he’s encountered in dreams has ignored and dismissed him. I cradle his face in my hands to kiss him sweetly, earnestly, hoping the gesture adequately expresses my trust in him. 

He clasps me against him, gasping and panting against the line of my shoulder, muttering my name, raking his teeth over my skin. We grow tacky and then slick with emergent sweat as we toil, clinging, claiming one another all over again.

My cries are practically bucked out of me and by his smolder and his breathless smile, I can see he’s waiting for me to trip over the edge of my climax before he allows himself to follow. As I lose control, my thrusts grow longer and sloppier, a tide of pleasure washing me away, overpowering my nerves until I fall limply back. Hawke catches me and pulls me to him, cursing as he shudders into me again and again, his fingers digging deep into my flesh until they suddenly relax and he draws me back into my mountain of pillows, a gorgeous pile of mush beneath me. 

“Let’s do that again. Backward and inside out,” he gasps, his glazed eyes smiling ecstatically into mine. 

“Backward, inside out and in a wheelbarrow,” I add, covering his face in kisses and then nestling down against him, reminded of the divinity of his cuddle. Soft and satisfied, he slips out of me and I fall to his side to settle into the crook of his arm with my leg draped over him lazily. 

“Feels like we’re trapped in a glass of Cabot’s finest,” he says glancing about, then returning his look to me. He presses his lips into a sheepish smile as he stares up into the amber brume above us. “I was a little worried you’d forgotten about me to be honest.” His eyes are gently inquiring, and I catch his meaning.

“I could never.”

“What about–”

“It didn’t take. Not for long.”

“After all my hard work?” he teases me. I glance away, recalling how the Well of Sorrows had been the fracture that ultimately drove Cullen and I apart, how painful it had been in the aftermath desperately trying to retrieve something from the tatters of our relationship. How it’s muddling along as a stiff working relationship, our friendship still drifting somewhere outside our grasp, lingering feelings and history complicating our attempts to reclaim it. Hawke notices the slight withdrawal and presses his lips to my forehead.

“I suppose you read that ridiculous emergency love letter I wrote you.”

“It was ridiculous. And perfect,” I tell him.

“It was slapdash at best.”

“Addie thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever read.”

“Maker, you let other people read it?”

“Well, you were dead. I didn’t think it mattered!”

“I’ll have my revenge eventually, you monster,” he threatens me with a mischievous look, stroking my shoulder. The letter remains folded around his scrap of scarf in my desk in Skyhold where it sat while the heaviest revelation gnawed at me daily.

“Did you really dream of me all those years ago? Pulling you from the dark?” I ask. Hawke looks down at our laced fingers, shockingly timid again and then back at me. 

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“It would have seemed like an absolute ploy to get you into bed!” he protests. I wobble my head, acknowledging it. “Or worse, shockingly creepy.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “So are you going to tell me about it?” He lets out a long exhale like I’m in for a story and pulls me back on top of his chest again. 

“I dreamed that I sat at the bottom of an abyss, hopeless and miserable. And you came down to me, that hair of yours drifting behind you, hand blazing with a green glow I didn’t understand at the time. I felt impossible lightness in that moment. So much that I chased it in all the years that followed.”

“And this is why you have a thing for redheads!?” I poke, tickling his sides in playful shock. He wrestles me under control with a smug look.

“Well I had a thing for you but I didn’t know how to find you except by your bloody hair. Nobody’s hand lit up like this. I didn’t even know you were real really. Imagine my reaction when I heard rumors that a woman stumbled out of the Fade with a hand marked by the Maker. And then again when Varric starts sending me the details.”

“But you didn’t come to Haven.”

“They would have made me Inquisitor! You know this. So I waited. And I had other reasons to come of course, but the burning curiosity I had about you had me rushing to Skyhold.”

“That whole time,” I snort to myself, “you knew something I didn’t.”

“I may have wanted you for years, but it was only in the abstract sense. It felt like a ridiculous fantasy. And then I met you,” he says. I ride his falling chest down as he sighs wistfully.

“Well it certainly explains some of your Maker forsaken brazenness,” I tease him, remembering his dogged and ultimately successful attempts to win my affections. Hawke grins and squishes my cheeks between his hands and draws me down for a smooch.

“You did save me, you know. You prodded me right out of that festering hole I’d been hanging around in for years. Like the dream– better than the dream,” he says. “But now I think it may have been more literal. I think you’re meant to come to the Fade to find me.”

The thought is overwhelming, but I pull myself together. “All right. Tell me how.”

“I will– but there are things I need to tell you first.” 

“I have things to tell you too.”

“I know about Corypheus. We can have matching tankards engraved. ‘I killed Corypheus and all I got was this lousy mug.’”

“Do you remember the bargain I made with Flemeth?” I ask him and he perks up, tensing slightly.

“To drink. So… you drank? But what?”

“I drank from the Well of Sorrows. It made me– well I wouldn’t call myself a pawn exactly, but I’m subject to the will of Mythal. Of Flemeth.” “And I thought I got a raw deal with that witch. Maker. She’s– Mythal?” he processes momentarily and then looks at me again. “Are you all right?”

“It was another bargain. I was able to call upon her dragon to fight Corypheus at least. But who knows when she’ll call in more favors.”

“That’s not what I asked– are you all right?”

“Well, I hear a lot of voices now.”

“Rose,” he breathes, worry and sympathy and shock commingled.

“But I don’t understand them, so there’s that at least,” I add. He turns onto his side to face me and holds me tightly against him.

“Maker, what’s becoming of us,” he whispers, the lines in forehead deepening with distress. I burrow up against him, wishing we could simply merge. It would be easier that way. 

“What did you want to tell me?”

“Might be easiest to show you,” he says, though he looks strangely anxious, like I might push him away again. Hawke releases my hand and holds it above us, snapping his fingers so that a flame the size of a lit candle manifests above his fingertips. 

“Maker, Hawke. You're a mage now?” I ask. He waves it away again. He concentrates on the same hand and incants softly and the blue-green shimmer of a barrier flickers into being around us.

“Being in the raw Fade for a prolonged period has its effects. I learned a fair bit from the spirits in here. And I knew some from my father and Bethany. It’s surprisingly intuitive. At least the basics,” he says. “Not that I didn’t burn myself once or twice. But lucky for me, basic healing spells are easy to learn.” My finger finds the scar from the terror again and he catches my drift. “Yes, I healed that one myself. There’s a reason it’s rather monstrous.”

“Well it’s certainly the most interesting one,” I remark, brushing my fingers over it. I let slip a sigh I’ve been holding since Adamant, reality scratching from the background. “I wish I could just stay here.” Hawke scolds me with a look.

“If you stay here, I’ll be stuck in this odious place forever,” he says. “But I’ll come each night and we’ll make a plan. You’ll have to memorize the pieces and write them down when you wake. And you’ll have to find the others I contact. I’ll go to Bethany next since she’s already at Skyhold. And Varric doesn’t even dream so that will be on you to convince him.”

“Of course.” I press my face against his chest, relaxing into the cushion of his muscles and the safety of our complete intimacy. He’ll return. I lift my face again to confirm it.

“So you’ll be back?”

“If you’ll have me,” he says with a surprising degree of trepidation. I smack his chest and kiss him because it’s absurd. “I mean it Rose. There’s one last thing I have to tell you and you might change your mind.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Every love has its limits,” he says, his eyes lingering on me, the weight of whatever he’s about to tell me bearing down.

“Hawke. You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m nervous,” he says. “I’ve had to– I’ve had to do things. To survive in here. To contact you.”

“Do things?” My insides tense into a knot that claims me whole and then it tightens when he looks away, swallowing.

“Well. I’ve changed,” he says, frowning. I shake my head at his vague explanation. He’d already said he’d become a mage. 

“I don’t care. All that matters is that you’re here.”

“It’s not just me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not alone,” he says, and the meaning twists inside me again, prompting me to look. He couldn’t possibly mean–

But when I search his eyes more deeply, beyond the sky blue devotion, I feel it. The gaze of a perfect stranger staring back. The gaze of something that isn’t him.

Hawke is an abomination.

And I wake myself, because Maker, I’m not sure I can do this again.

#hawquisitor #Hawke x Trevelyan #Garrett Hawke #Hawke in Fade #Fade Rescue AU #Rose Trevelyan #Theluckywizard #In the Shattering of Things #Purple Hawke #Blue-Purple Hawke #Warrior Hawke #Dragon Age Fan Fiction #Hawke x Inquisitor #Flangst #They really missed each other

[process-pending]

If Jaskier had to describe the pain he would say unbearable, but Jaskier can’t speak. Bile dribbling from his lips as his body is forced to withstand an intolerable agony.

Take Me Back (Chapter 36)

#Witcher #Modern AU #Biker AU #Hurt Jaskier #Disabled Jaskier #Chronic Pain #Hurt/Comfort #Geraskier #I hope you've got your Flangst bingo card #Because we are hitting some of those squares hard this chapter #I may also have scratched out the BINGO and replaced it with UH-OH #Take Me Back

[dawnleaf37]

the horrors of writers block

#please read tags actually /silly #i wanna write but I DONT WANNA WRITE PLEASE NO #i!!! i cant even write the genre i wanna write!!!!! #im a sucker for angst n gore n shit but like if i write that with any character someones gonna find me and yell at me and i hate being+ #+yelled at :(((( #i cant write fluff because. god i dont even have any ideas for what i could do there. it would just become flangst #i should know cause i tried it once and it just fucking :((( #and. you already know. NO SHIPS #i could........ try to write an au......? ive never really made an au by myself before #the last one i remember was an ii pokemon au. i think for b&w2. i think #no wait it was a different one. well. #actually i could write that one. its not too bad of angst maybe people would like it #oh im fucking sure ev would like it LOL the main character is suitcase :) #id just have to figure out how to start it yk.......... #i could get an ao3 acc or dig up my old wattpad. or put on google docs. OR JUST WRITE IT ON TUMBLR #idk. send an ask or smth if i should write that suitcase pokemon thing because it sure was a thing lol

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ghost masterlist

(Ghost art by Coruja3571/Twitter)

I Never Missed You {Bodyguard AU. Romance, smut, light angst, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | He must be trained to be so calm, but you're not. You're used to making men a little stupid and flustered. You're used to men eating out of your hand. He's not behaving at all like he's supposed to... Simon Riley is just a mountain without emotion.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Anhedonia {Smut, hurt/comfort, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | You would lick that blade clean if he asked gently, but he's not gentle. You'd flatten your tongue on his thighs too, if he asked nicely, if there was a chance he might pet your hair while you do it – but Ghost doesn't take pets. He only has soldiers. Subordinates.

Part 1 (5.5 k) | Part 2 (4.4 k)

Ghost stories {Smut, angst, Ghost POV, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FMedic!Reader | It's only work that awaits him. From dawn till dusk, with hungry arms and a cold, dead cunt.

Refugee (6.5 k) | Lazarus (5.7 k) | Immortal (5.5 k)

Man-sized {Romance, flangst, smut, 18+}

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC | Not only did he contact her, he sent her a picture of himself looking like… like war. The tired eyes stared at her from inside what looked like the top of a human skull attached to a black balaclava. He wasn't a foot soldier, or a mercenary, he wasn't even working for the UK version of a SWAT team. He was something else.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Love is a Heavy Weapon (sequel to Man-sized on Ao3)

On Sarah & Simon's wedding How did the shibari class go? Will they ever have kids? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Drabbles & headcanons [18+]

Ghost x Virgin!Reader (2.9 k) This is not a Drill (2.2 k, size difference) Wildflowers Grow in Ruins (5 k, Reader tries to break up with Ghost) Couldn't Love You More (3.7 k, breeding kink)

Random headcanons Getting into a relationship with Ghost What would it take to win Ghost's heart?

#simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc

[1000roughdrafts]

Dean Winchester X Reader Masterlist

Some of my works are 18+, which I'll write as such here, but please heed the warnings on the individual posts as well - All under the cut :)

One Shots xx

Angst

💙 Us - request: Can you do a deanxreader songfic to the song us by Regina spektor

💙Goodbye ~ After Dean takes on the mark, his relationship with Y/N starts to fall through the cracks. She’s had enough of him taking out his stress on her, and after years of silencing her pain, she finally lets him know why  it’s time to say goodbye.

💙How Do I Become Enough ~Reader and Dean right about her doubts, she feels somewhat isolated and annoyed. No cheating, necessarily, but think along the lines of Dolly Parton’s Jolene  

💙Intrusive Thoughts ~Dean was supposed to visit Y/N while she was at work, but when he didn’t show, she got worried. After finally getting ahold of him, she was relieved to know that he was alive. But when another full day passes by without a word, her mind goes into overdrive about what could have happened to him.

💙Voicemails ~ this is a small, angsty thing, and it is 100000% self indulging so please feel free to just ignore it.

💙 Illicit Affairs - Request from anon based on Taylor Swift’s song Illicit Affairs &lt;3

💙  Promise Me This Is Forever -  this is for @allywritesblog and #allyswriting event, and im using the quote "promise me this is forever" :)

Fluff

💙 Phone Calls With Dean ~ just a random thing I wrote for a story that didn’t pan out, no real plot to this.

💙Shooting With Dean ~ Dean takes you out for target practice, but something else is on his mind.

💙Time ~Soulmate AU, Y/N has had the ability to pause and unpause time for likely her whole life, believing she was the only person with such a power. One day, she learns that not only is that not true, but the other person is her soulmate. 

💙 Salted Baseball Bat - Anon Request: "'They said that gluing salt to a baseball bat to fight ghosts was a stupid idea, but who's laughing now?' you say as you whack the ghost again."

💙 Criminal - DeanxReader request from @rileynicole1967 based on the song Criminal by Britney Spears

💙 Cat-astrophe Written for @spnfanficpond​‘s unfic challenge with the prompt “I may have accidentally sort of adopted 5 cats.”fluff, stern!Dean, 

💙  Baby Winchester 2021 - Reader finds out she's pregnant, and tells Dean in a cute, fluffy way.

💙  Just Another Day - Fluffy Dean x female!reader Valentine's Day post

Flangst

💙 We're Gonna Get You Through This - reader is triggered back to a horrible memory and explains to Dean why waiting to have sex is best for her. 

💙Currently untitled ~ Request: could you do a deanxreader fic where she goes out on a date (maybe to a bar) for drinks with a guy and towards the end of the night, the guy (you pick the name) starts being rough with her cause he’s drunk and hurts her, then dean finds out somehow and comes over to kick his ass then admits his feelings for her?

💙 A Boring Holy Cross Tattoo - A Fic inspired by Cards Against Supernatural with the cards “Dean has 99 problems but ____ ain’t one.” and “A boring holy cross tattoo”.

💙 Amnesia - Request from @rileynicole1967​ : Deanxreader one shot or series ;) based off the song “amnesia” by 5 seconds of summer but in the readers pov and at the end he comes back for her and it’s all fluffy and cute.

💙 Half a Man - Follow up to the Amnesia request from @rileynicole1967​ - this one takes place the same night as Amnesia, but in Dean’s perspective and based on the song Half a Man.

18 + / Smut One Shots

💙Downtime ~ 18+, smut; After weeks of hunting the same witch, you and Dean decide to take a weekend break, but you didn’t expect what was in store for that weekend.

💙Punishment ~ 18+, smut; After embarrassing Dean at an important dinner, he punishes you with a cold shower.

💙 Size Matters - 18+ Smut DeanxReader request from anon, where reader has a size kink

💙 Poison  -  DeanxReader request from @kaitlaitlaitl​ based on the song Poison by Alice Cooper

Mini Series xx

💙 Movie Monsters Part One | Part Two ~ You’re teamed up with Dean, a man you’ve always found obnoxious, to find out the path of a new monster. Of course, things don’t always go as planned. (Complete)

💙 Never Have I Ever Part One | Part Two  ~ Part Two is pure smut; College!AU - Dean gets jealous of the attention he thinks you’re receiving from Cas during a small party at your house and doesn’t know what to do with it, so he leaves the room to keep drinking. 

💙 Hope is a Dangerous Thing... Part One | Part Two ~ The renowned author of a best-selling crime novel, Y/N Y/L/N, was thrown into a whole new world after her parents were brutally murdered. Their killer never found, Y/N took things into her own hands, meeting the Winchesters in her journey for justice. Even years later, she struggles to let anyone close in fear they’d leave or worse.

💙  i hate u, i love u (1) Slowburn au/Y/N has been in a relationship with Nick for the last 5 years. They’ve had a rough go. There’s been good and bad times, but she finally realizes that the man she thought she loved has been abusing her. Dean offers her a safe haven when she feared she had nothing else. (this may be abandoned, but we will see)

💙Reverse Supernatural  ~ request; “Hi!! I have been tossing an idea around for a bit… What if… Now hear me out… What if the Reader was the experienced hunter and she/he has to save Dean and/or Sam who have never known the supernatural existed…?” (only part one is out right now / ongoing / might also become abandoned)

Series xx

💙Family Secrets ~ 18+ ; Your uncle Bobby, and adoptive father Rufus, had a secret. A secret they never wanted the Winchester’s to find out. They had done a good job of keeping you from crossing their path, but now that they've both passed away there is nothing they can do about the brothers finding out their secret; you. (ongoing BUT I really want to and am seriously considering taking it down to rewrite it - this was the first thing I ever wrote and it's... it shows lol) 2/22/24 A/N: I want to return to this series, but since it was pretty much my first fic ever, I really want to rewrite some of the episodes and make it pace better. I understand that that might not be the best solution, however, so maybe I’ll just add inbetweeners or something. Just know I want to come back to finish it and may change some things along the way 😊

#supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x reader smut #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester x reader angst #dean winchester x reader flangst #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fan fiction

[trashogram]

More fluff/angst (flangst?) AU stuff for HCY:

• Imagining Lucifer can only contact Reader by phone and the signal is usually wonky so it’s a crapshoot but he and Charlie look forward to hearing her voice whenever they can (which can be once a week to twice a year or longer depending, even if they try to reach her every day). Reader sings lullabies and asks about Charlie’s day and she and Lucifer find the tiniest bit of solace pretending that Reader is just on a very long, far-off trip and they’ll all reunite someday — even though as time goes by and Lucifer’s depression worsens and Charlie gets older, the contact becomes few and far between and eventually stops altogether for a while, giving Charlie the dream to hear her mom again by getting into Heaven somehow.

#HCY

[vagabond-umlaut]

[fics]

▸ reader is gn! unless specified otherwise (either in warnings or in tags) ▸ please don't spam like and reblog! enjoy reading! <3 ▸ masterlist

⁕ skew lines a pair of lines which neither intersect nor run parallel to each other (gojo satoru x fem!reader; reincarnation (soulmates) au; angst with happy ending)

⁕ we're the summer to our winter rain [series] (gojo satoru x reader) note: each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :))

⁕ Physalis peruviana Neither too sweet. Nor too sour. An unusual blend of tangy-sour and swirly-sweet is what you need at times to find your lost taste of life. (gojo satoru x fem!reader; reunion fic; angst with a happy ending; manga ch. 221 spoilers)

⁕ tang! (gojo satoru x fem!reader; yakuza au; uni au; TIMESKIP; dad!satoru x mom!reader) note: each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :))

⁕ One Day, Three Autumns [series] (Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Flangst; CanonCompliant; Non-Linear Narrative) note: each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :))

⁕ Husband Satoru SMAU 💝 Fem!Reader; Domestic Fluff; Humor; Gojo Satoru THE BEST HUSBAND EVER!! 💝

⁕ functio laesa Gojo x Fem!Reader; Geto & Reader [platonic]; Canon Divergent AU; Isekai. Fluff & Angst & Drama & Humor; Reincarnation; Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies; Incredibly Self-Indulgent; Eventual Happy Ending; Eventual Friendships & Romance.

⁕ you make my heart flutter and fibrillate [series] (gojo satoru x reader) note: each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :))

⁕ wreaths of asphodel [series] (gojo satoru x reader) note: each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :))

⁕ synchronise [multi-chapter] gojo satoru x fem!reader; time travel fix-it; canon divergent au; everyone's alive here :)

⁕ my 'toru works that will never be finished— one

⁕ mine? yes, mine. (trueform!sukuna x wife!reader) note: each fic in this series is connected, but can be read as a stand-alone too! :))

⁕ For Love's Sake Only... Or Is It? Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; Victorian AU; Epistolary. Fluff, Angst, Drama & Romance; Arranged Marriage; Marriage of Convenience; Love at First Sight; Slow Burn; Letters; Secret Identity.

⁕ Lights! Camera! And... CUT!!! special grade sorcerer sukuna x cursed spirit fem!reader; fluff, angst, drama, humor; eventual romance; unrequited hatred[?] to requited love[?]; grumpy x sunshine trope

⁕ Inverse Function (ryomen sukuna x fem!reader) The inverse function of a function f is a function that 'undoes' the operation of f.

⁕ JJK Historical AU ✨✨

#only i can reblog this. thanks! <3 #kit lists her fics 📃

[gimme-gimme-georgie-weasley]

elle's masterlist 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

about me [ updated: 21/7/23 ]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

° for all my george girlies ᰔᩚ

george weasley ༘⋆

Are You Lonely? [Fluff]

Festive Dreams of Corduroy [Fluff]

One, two, three (Imagine) [Fluff]

The Wrong Twin [Angst to kinda fluff]

O Children [Fluff]

Flight of The Love Letters [Fluff with very brief angst]

That Cold, Wintry Night [Angst. Deadass just angst]

Even After all Those Years (Sequel to: “That Cold, Wintry Night”) [Angst then fluff-ish happy ending!!]

That Fateful Potions Lesson [Fluff]

Georgie’s Little Secret [Fluff, a bit of spicy stuff but nothing too spicy, just some light snogging!!]

Through the Eyes of a Photographer [Fluff, so many affectionate words omg....]

Over [Angst, blurb]

Weasley Mix-Up [Angst to fluff]

The Moon is Beautiful, Isn’t it? [Blurb]

A Winter Persimmon. [Fluff??????]

Owl Love you Forever [Fluff with speckles of angst]

for you. [Angst, blurb]

my wintry man [Angst, blurb]

isn't she lovely? [Blurb]

lover? [Blurb]

drunk [Blurb]

meadow [Poem?]

pining ‘til the end of time [Blurb]

earlessly bloody. [Flangst?]

i finally found you. [soulmates]

i remember [blurb, george pov]

Letters to G. Weasley. [I don't even know what to label this as ]

so how can my day be bad? [ blurb ]

no longer mine. [Angst]

love. [flangst]

The Weasley and his Cafe [cafe au, pining]

Truly Madly Deeply [fluff]

sodding map. [fluff, George being a smitten idiot]

My darling. [blurb, angst, post war mourning, not happily ever after]

her rhinestones, they shine endlessly [fluff kinda]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Series (The Boy and The Magpie) [G.W. x Metamorphmagus!reader] *Discontinued*

The Boy and The Magpie(1) “Magpie Down”

The Boy and The Magpie(2) “Nargles In Your Hair”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[___] With George: A Collection of Headcanons

Slow Dancing with George

Studying with George

Rainy Mornings with George

Christmas Eve with George

Cuddles with George

That Time of the Month with George

Cloud-gazing with George

Sketching with George

Makeover with George 

A Picnic with George

Pets with George

Fever with George

Hogsmeade with George

Spring-cleaning with George 

Reminiscing with George 

Jamming with George

Confessing with George

Cafes with George

Walks with George

Kisses with George

---------

George Weasley but ... [headcanons]

George Weasley but [1]

George Weasley but [2]

---------

Stray George headcanons [the plot bunnies I catch and boil alive]

george comforting you in the middle of the night

george braiding your hair

george going through it with you

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

fred weasley ᥫ᭡

what’s wrong, my little firework?

#george weasley masterlist #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley oneshot #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #harry potter masterlist #george weasley imagine #george weasley fluff #george weasley headcanon #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley angst #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Since it seems like we are generally trying to a) curse you and b) drag you into tumblr's favorite fandoms....

Have you ever heard of Homestuck?

I have not, in fact, heard of Homestuck. Is this a cabin fever kind of situation??? Are we talking home invasion? Are we talking forced proximity gay AO3 405K enemies to lovers domestic flangst AU?

#good omens mascot #homestuck #hs #what #homestuck fandom #what is this maggots #weirdly the prophet #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots

[kaylasficrecs]

invisible | anakin skywalker

you had confessed your feelings, whoops. and now you can't stand to even look at anakin. how are you supposed to loose your best friend to another girl and act like it's all okay? guess you're just supposed to be invisible.

this is a modern au, and the girl in the beginning could be interpreted as padmé, but i love her character that i didn’t want to necessarily put her into this story when the reader is supposed to be the love interest. 

note: so i initially wrote this little story in 2020 and have now repurposed it into a fanfic. while rereading it, it just felt so anakin skywalker-coded, so that’s who i ended up writing this about. i hope you all enjoy it. feel free to leave some feedback because i don’t know how to feel about this one. 

tw: none (i think)

wc: 1.4k 

Y/n stood in line at her favorite coffee shop on 2nd Street trying not to stare. They were being painfully apparent about their relationship. She had gone a good two weeks avoiding them. But hopefully, he won’t notice her, keep your head down and stay invisible, is what she told herself.

It’s not that Y/n and Anakin ever dated per se, but Y/n had finally worked up the courage to tell him that she had just the tiniest of crushes on him, and he had rejected her. Not rudely, Anakin could never be rude to her, but he told her he was in love with another. Another who can’t see the way his eyes light up when he laughs; a light that shines through when he’s happiest; the beautiful miracle of a person he is. But he gazed at this girl like she was the only one he wanted, the only person in the world. 

Since then, it’s like there’s a cloak of invisibility over each other. They try not to acknowledge one another. Which is hard when you’ve been best friends for many years. It’s only been a few weeks, but Y/n is dying inside. She missed the guy that could make her laugh, the one who go her jokes, ate her food (even when it wasn’t great), and provided comfort whenever she needed it. Y/n could get over her crush, but she just can’t let go of her best friend. She just wanted to speak to him. Alone. Which was hard when he seemed to always be with his new girlfriend. 

Which is why now, she needed to keep low like a villain in hiding. Y/n didn’t want to talk to him, she needed time to form her words, string together the need to just have him near. For him to see her as a friend, his best friend. 

Anakin was too focused on his girlfriend to see her walk in. Trying to daydream of the happiness before a few weeks ago, before the brunet in front of him said, “Hey, isn’t your friend that told you she loved you?” The girlfriend tried to hide the disgust in her voice, but Anakin could see it in her eyes looking over his shoulder. He resisted the urge to turn around and see Y/n for the first time in days. 

Her, who used to be his best friend; her, who used to sit with him at this cafe; her, who told him that she had fallen for him, like stars in the sky they used to gaze at during sleepless nights.

He missed her lovely eyes, seeing the smile that made him feel lucky to be alive. But he knew he had caused her pain. That he would not see her happy, she would not smile at him. That. That made him hesitate more than anything. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, Y/n could tell that she’d been spotted from the way his shoulders tensed. He was suddenly sitting up straighter. She tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t resist longing to stare at his hair. Oh, those coveted locks that Anakin never let anyone touch. She never did, afraid running her hands through his hair would give her away. 

Thank goodness she was able to look away as she was called up to order.  

Anakin was trying to hold it together. It was hard not to just get up and hug her. Take back all the things he didn’t say. He didn’t look at her directly, but Anakin could tell she was nervous, her nails were digging into her palms. A habit he always chastised her for. Her heel was also bouncing, wanting to turn out the doors as soon as the cup touched her hand. He wanted to rub her back, ease the pain that was clear in her stance. 

The second that the drink hit Y/n’s hand, she was walking briskly towards the door. Not taking a glimpse of him, not daring to risk staring into a fire. She walked so quickly to her car with tears in her eyes that she didn’t even realize that his eyes were begging. Begging for her stop, to come over and sit like nothing was wrong.

When the door shut, it was like his heart stopped beating for a moment. He closed his eyes at the sudden pain in his chest. He couldn’t take it anymore, denying that his heart was praying for him to follow Y/n.

“Just go Ani.” His neck snapped up to who he was supposed to be paying attention to. “You're clearly not into this date right now, so I’m going to save you the pain of pinning for the next few weeks and just break up with you now. I enjoyed our few months together, but once Y/n confessed to you, a switch flipped in your brain.”  

“I’m sorry th-”

“There’s no point in apologizing Anakin. I’ll be okay. But you are clearly not fine. And Y/n looked like she’s taken a beating, so please, save each other. I surely don’t need pity from you Anakin.” He guessed who was his ex-girlfriend now stood up from their table and grabbed her purse, “I had fun while it lasted Ani. Don’t waste a chance like this.” 

Anakin was left there, processing the overload of feeling rushing through his system. After a few minutes, he dashed out the door. Set on seeing your eyes, hoping to erase the tears that he caused.  

Y/n had held it in till she got home, breaking down once she felt the lock slide into place. Seeing them out like that, so casual, so in love, had finally broken her all the way. Her chance of loving Anakin the way she knew she could was out of reach. Her heart felt like it had fallen down the deepest well and she didn’t have the strength to pull it back up. Y/n fell onto her couch, curled up with a blanket, and hoped to cry herself to a dreamless slumber. 

But just 20 minutes later, she heard a desperate knock on her door. Not many knew where she lived, so Y/n assumed the worst: could he be here? That thought drowned her mind down the same well where her heart lay. His heart belongs to another, so she needed to settle with that fact. She wanted time to drift away, to sit in her well of sorrow. So as she unlocked the door, her mind went blank, not ready for the face she’s been waiting to see again for so long. 

As she opened the door slowly, the first thing Anakin looked at was her eyes, devoid of any hope, any shine. His star had gone out, her feelings left floating in a vast space. 

Though Y/n was prepared for Anakin, she was still left breathless at who was standing on her porch right now. Though it scared her, she took a glance at his eyes. Oh, those sweet golden eyes like the sun on the warmest summer day. Gazed at her with a sadness she had never seen them hold. Y/n’s eyes gathered with tears, she was scared of the conversation about to happen, but she was standing in front of her best friend, relishing in his presence. Feelings or not, her favorite person was here, and she wanted to feel his arms wrap around her. 

And it was like Anakin read her mind; he cautiously stepped inside and hugged her. Whispering, “I’m sorry,” into her hair over and over, kissing the top of her head. Y/n fell apart for what felt like the 13th time that day, but this time in her safest place. 

He slowly walked her back over to her living room, settling into a corner of the couch and pulling her into him. Anakin just continued to hold her, trying to atone for all his mistakes. 

As he continued to cuddle her, Anakin could feel her relax into him, exhausted from her emotions. “We’ll talk in the morning. You need to rest.” 

“Ani, I-”

He smiled at the nickname and spoke softly, “No. Sh-sh-sh-shush. I promise we’ll talk in a few hours. I’m also tired darling, so let’s just rest.”

Once she heard that he was tired too, she was convinced and snuggled into Anakin even more, “Okay. Sleep well Ani.”

“Dream well, my star.” And only when he felt her breathing slow and her body completely releases all the tension, did he start to drift off. “I love you Y/n.” 

©kaylasficrecs 2023 

thx for reading <3

#anakin skywalker x reader #imagine #flangst #comfort #star wars #my writing #writing #fanfic #au #reader insert #fem!reader

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Feels Like Tonight

Summary: You finally gain the courage to leave you narcissistic husband and fall into the hands of Tony Stark.

Word Count: 853

Warnings: mentions of abuse, gaslighting, running away, mafia au, rape, flangst, murder, smut, mafia au

“Yeah, that’s right, baby girl, just like daddy taught you,” Brock moans as he pushes deeper into your mouth, wallowing in the warmth that it brings around his cock. “Gods, you're so good to me.”

You try your absolute hardest not to cry as you can hardly breath at this point, your nostrils nearly coming in contact with his body the deeper he pushes himself.

Within minutes, your eyes were nearly impossibly blind as tears brimmed your vision, making you wish that your torture would end sooner rather than later. As he forced himself deeper down your throat, instinctively you scraped your teeth against him, causing him to lash out at you, forcing himself away from your attack.

“:You bitch! What did you just do?!” he glared down at himself, running his hand along the drips of blood. “I’m going to kill you for that!”

You had only moments to react as he lunged at you onto the bed. Luckily, you managed to roll away from him one second faster. Grabbing the lamp next to you on the table, you managed to crack the item against his temple, causing him to stumble back onto the bed in a daze. Taking the chance to leave, you grabbed your purse and jolted out of the bedroom. Fishing for your car keys as you ran into the garage, you kept a close ear out to listen to any noise that indicated your husband’s tread. 

You hardly started the engine before your car door was ripped open, the only thought in your head was your final breath as you gazed into the eyes of your once endearing husband, Frank Castle Brown, eyes full of hatred meeting your own fearful gaze as his hand squeezed your throat tightly. 

Waking up, you noticed the bedsheets were warm. The sun was beaming through the slits in the curtains. Wiping away the sleep from your eyes, you gazed next to you to see your husband asleep next to you, his face scratched up and scabbed over. Hardly remembering the struggles of the night before, you leaned over and swiped a soft kiss to his forehead, watching as his eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment, the soft expression of longing rested on his cheeks before the devil took hold of his bearings.

Flinging himself out of bed, he marched out of the bedroom, leaving you to ponder in your own thoughts. Memories swarmed back into your mind as you curled in on yourself, pulling your blanket wrapped legs close to your body.

You knew you had to get out of the house safely, without him suspecting anything. You knew you had to survive. Frank held friends and acquaintances all over the acuity; surely someone would know someone who would know another person that could help you escape the never ending nightmare that was your relationship.

You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts, you didnt notice Frank had reentered the room with a bowl of cereal for you. Nudging you with his elbow,you met his now soft gaze before he leaned over and kissed the top of your head. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” he mumbled against your hair before patting your cheek lightly, causing you to flinch. 

Frowning, he sat next to you, never taking his gaze away from you. “Are you okay?”

Knowing what’d happen if you mentioned the happenings of the night previous, you swallowed your fear and nodded, carefully taking a bite of cereal. You knew you had to find help as soon as possible. Noting that your cell phone was on your bedside table on the charger,  you reached over for it before placing your thumb on the security tab. Trying to remain casual, you humed a small tune , knowing that he was watching every move you made.

“I’ve sent one of the boys to replace the lamp,” he leaned his elbow on the bed, his straw burning every inch of your skin. “I’m sorry about my reaction that last; the pain was unbearable.”

“I’m sorry for biting you,” you mumbled, barely glancing up at him.

“What do you say we go out for a morning stroll, hm?” He asked gently, gliding his fingertips against the outline of your thigh on the blanket before leaning over and kissing you.

“You stink like sex,” you tried to joke with him, not knowing that would cause a chuckle out of him in agreement.

“I’ll take a shower and you can get dressed, hmm?” He kissed your knee once more. “How does that sound to you?”

Nodding in agreement, you watched tensely as he pushed himself away from the bed and marched over to the connecting bathroom and closed the door, leaving an inch.

Looking around desperately, you quickly put a pair of jeans and a shirt on before locating your sneakers. Tiptoeing out the door, you quickly and silently made your way to the garage and slid into your car. Hardly waiting for the vehicle to warm up, you sped out of the garage.

Recklessly, you swerved in and out of traffic, hardly avoiding several collisions in your attempt to get away as fast as you could. The pain of the abused from the previous night started spreading through your panicked body. All of the abuse, the gloating, the gaslighting, you knew today was your last effort to find freedom. You knew you had to find solace soon, anywhere. Stopping desperately on the side of a busy city road, you rested your head back, not noticing the frantic vibrations of your cellphone that sat in the cup holder. 

You’d hardly noticed you’d fallen asleep until you heard a light tapping on you car window. Jump;ing in fright, you turned your head, only to be met with a worried man’s face in your view. Rolling down the window, you apologized and explained you were exhausted and you’d be on your way.

“You’re Rumlow broad, ain't you?” the man asked, eyes flitting over your features. “What’s he got you doin’ out on the streets by yourself, sleepin’, eh?”

“Excuse me?” You asked, fear filling your heart at the mention of your husband's name. “Do I know you?”

“Sorry, my apologies, ma’am,” he reached into the car window and held out his hand.” Name’s Parker, Peter Parker. I work for the man that runs the slums down here, ma’am.”

“You’re one of Stark’s crew?” You asked, a rush of panic flooding your body. You certainly didnt notice you’d fled into the enemy’s territory.

“Yes, ma’am, is everything okay?” He asked. “You look really shaken up. Is everything-” He became quiet when he heard his own cell phone blaring out. Never taking his eyes away from you, he answered his phone. “Boss, you know about Rumlow broad getting attacked by one of your own? She’s pretty shaken up and looks rough.” A moment of silence. “A’ight, I’ll bring her in.”

Feeling your eyes grow wide in realization, you shook your head as PArker opened the door for you before extending an inviting hand out to you. “This looks like a serious matter, ma’am, and you’d have to be a lunatic to come into Stark’s territory lookin like that, ma’am. He’d like to ask you some questions.”

“I can’t- my- my - Brock would kill me.”

“Ma’am.” He urged, nearly grabbing ahold of your arm to prove the urgency of the matter. Without seeing a way out, you grabbed your cell phone and followed PArker out of your car. Following him into a small shop, you turned to face the ground, desperate to not make eye contact with anyone in your sight. You’d be in deeper shit if Rumlow’s gang knew where you'd l;anded yourself.

Following the young man to the back of the shop, you noticed an entirely different atmosphere in the air; cigar smoke and soft music blared out. Taking a chance to gather your surroundings, you’d notice you’d landed yourself in the small den of your husband’s greatest enemy; Anthony Stark.

What the hell have I done?

You followed Parker further back into the place where you walked through another door, this time, the air smelled of clean laundry. You noticed the silence in the room immediately as you followed the young man in front of you.

“Boss,” Peter introduced as he stood to the side, extending an arm to the man himself. Not expecting the warmth of the facial expressions of the bearded goatee in front of you, you squirmed on your feet. “This seems to be Rumlowe’s broad, looks shaken up. See the marks on her neck there?”

Quickly looking down to hide the abuse, you shuffled on your feet, desperate to get the atten tiomn away from you. Instinctively, you flinched as Stark stood away from his chair, ushering the younger man out of the room.

“You need a shower,” he observed. “And a nice meal.”

“No thank you, Mister Stark.” you mumbled, shaking uncontrollably, knowing that it had only been the pair of you present.

“I’m not asking,” he urged gently. “Whatever Rumlow had done to you, I will make him pay back tenfold. I don’t care that you're broad. You deserve the decency of a loving husband.”

“Stark, you’re his ultimate enemy,” you argued with him. “The pair of you never got along. It’s always been on sight with the pair of you. I Can't let you threaten my husband this way. Are you out of your mind?”

“Takes one to know one,” he pointed out. “We’ve had a long history before you stepped into the picture, Y/N,” hearing him say your name caused a shiver to crawl down your spine. “I don’t care that we’re enemies; you need a good clean up and whatever it seems that he does to you in private cannot just be for entertainment purposes.”

“Stark, I shouldn’t be here,'' you swallowed a lump for fear.

“Are you hungry at all?” He asked, soft voice a mysterious concept to your ears. Shaking your head, you pouted. “Well I’m going to ask one of my girls to assist in bathing you and getting medicine for those wounds.”

Great, you thought, another demanding man. But you couldn’t argue. You’d been suffering pain for far too long in the relationship. You knew you’d help. You knew you’d be well taken care of in his care, not even knowing how you’d know that for a factual statement. 

Hours pass by and you’d notice how relaxed you’d been in Stark’s care. You’d been fed a wealthy lunch, listened to the softest of classical music, even spent time with his henchmen playing board games and watching a movie or two. You’d come to realize that you’d been on the wrong side of the war all along. You’d realize that the freedom you held in this moment was worth it.

But still, you couldn’t help but to feel as though Stark wanted something more from you. For fuck’s sake, the man brought you back to his own home, allowed you to bathe in his own personal jacuzzi bathtub, and met so many of his maids and butlers, you’d hardly remembered their names by the end of ther night. 

It was over a week that you’d finally seen Stark once more in his own barracks, dressed in finely pressed checkered suits and a hat to match. He’d appeared in your bedroom doorway, leaning on the wooden arch, looking as pleasant as ever. 

“Mister Stark,” you greeted, immediately standing out of bed and walking over to him. “I’d like to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“There’s no need, Y/N,” his featured dorned a sly smile. “Your presence in my graces have been a pleasant surprise.”

“I’d like to thank you for all you’ve done for me, if I must?” You asked, pulling at his belt buckle, not knowing the outcome. The last time you’d taken a man first, he’d wound up smacking you across the face in a heated moment. 

“Nonsense!” He grabbed your wrist and brought it to his lips, his gaze never leaving your own as his lips swiped the palm of your hand. “You will never again be subjected to the torture and punishment at the hands of your husband again, my dear.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked.

With a merciful smirk, Tony clicked his fingers and a moment later, a man walked into the room, holding photographs in his hand. 

“Now before you take a glance at these photos, I should warn you, they’re gruesome.”

Nodding, you took the photos in your hands and shuffled through them; emotions flowing through you with each passing photograph. Bloodied clothes sprawl out onto what was once your wedding bed, the disfigured face of your husband glared out from another photo. Blood poured over another photo. Blinking up in disbelief, you felt a relieved smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as you lunged at Tony, only to throw your arms around his neck in gratefulness. 

#brock rumlow x reader #tony stark x reader

[kickingitwithkirk]

Snow Globes and Forgiveness

Summary: Even though Chucks no longer creating the narrative, it’s not a Winchester Christmas till something goes wrong.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 3194

Warnings: wincest, cursing, m/m kissing, frottage, my attempt at flangst

For: @thepromiscuousduck @spnfanficpond Secret Santa exchange 2023

A/N: set after 15.19 & in this AU 15.20 doesn’t happen

A/N II: Apologies to all other participants for taking so long. Between a last minute switch, couldn’t rewrite until after new year & had a rebound of a bad respiratory virus that’s keep me mostly offline last few weeks.

A/N III: once again, brevity doesn’t exist in my vocabulary

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*gif credit to creator

Sam Winchester has never been big on the holidays.

Let’s start with a specific Halloween party and his disastrous bobbing for apples incident involving a girl he liked. Then there was that one Thanksgiving he’d been invited to by another girl who turned out to have hands like an octopus and spent the whole dinner, as his brother so eloquently put it, playing footsie with brace-face, not three feet from her dad.

Not to mention, others celebrated, or not, Winchester style; his dad either missed it entirely or showed up with a bucket of extra crispy from the colonel and passed out on a couch. The best was that one Christmas before Dean went to hell a few months later.

But this year was going to be different.

They’d been adjusting to normality reasonably well. Okay, so Dean is the one adjusting better in some respects and said since it’s the brothers' first non-Chuck Christmas, they had to make it extra special. Sam knows this was Dean’s way of trying to make up for all the shitty holidays during their childhood. And knowing his brother, he’s envisioning emulating Mrs. Butters, the wood nymph they accidentally released in the bunker, Jam Packed holiday extravaganza she’d done those few weeks before leaving.

While Dean was getting the tree (Sam would’ve bet more likely grabbing the first one he saw before hitting the liquor store), he sent Sam to pick out ornaments. Sam was trying to make an effort and found himself standing in the middle of a smaller retail chain store's Christmas section, overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices and feeling like a freak for not knowing what to get outside lights and colorful balls.

“First Christmas together?”

Sam’s head swiveled around, “Umm, I’m sorry?” The person who spoke said, “You’ve got that whole I’ve got no freaking idea what I’m doing look, so I took a guess it’s your first Christmas with your girlfriend…wife?”

“Uh, no, no girlfriend or wife.”

“Ahh, boyfriend.” Sam was about to correct their assumption when they continued, “That can be trickery,” and gave him the once over. “I’m guessing he’s not into frills and bows. You should head to the Christmas Market two blocks south of here. There are always booths selling unique or vintage items for the Holiday. Probably find something more appealing than this mass-produced crap.”

After one more glance, Sam thanked them and texted Dean where to meet up with him later, then headed out of the storefront and strolled down the street. He soon hears jolly holiday music and smells enticing scents wafting before entering the colorfully illuminated European style Market and is hit with the sense he’d been here before.

Sam shook his head, feeling ridiculous. Of course, he’d never been here before, but something about this place kept nagging at his memories of familiarity when the irresistible scent of hot, minty chocolate beckoned. After indulging in a creamy, decadent drink decorated with a soft peppermint stick, he walked around, taking in the wares for sale.

At one booth, he found strands of original bubble lights and instantly knew they’d appeal to Dean and his oft-denied inner child; another yielded hand-strung garlands and got popcorn and cranberry ones with instructions on storing them for future use. Sometime later, Sam is laden with so many packages and bags that even his long arms are having trouble juggling them when he sees an elderly woman seated by a table with a simple stand of lights.

The hunter in him was always looking for anything unusual which fit the bill. Smiling politely at the woman when approaching, Sam studied the few antique-looking items and decided they seemed innocuous and relaxed. He spotted an old snow globe, picked it up, and sardonically smiled at how it looked diminutive in his large hand and began examining it.

Sam took time to appreciate its craftsmanship. Its base was silver with hand-worked engravings and an inscription in a language he didn’t recognize. Giving it a shake, Sam watched the artificial snow gently drift over a scene of a log cabin snugly ensconced among evergreens and bare-limbed trees. He got that feeling again. Impulsively, he asked how much he was surprised not to have to haggle over the price.

Carefully taking the globe in her gnarled hands, the woman told Sam that it was crafted in the country of her birth but didn’t specify where. She carefully inserted it into an equally old wooden box, telling him it was explicitly constructed to house the globe to keep it safe during its travels. Sam hears rumbling and glances around, spotting an old pickup parking not far off, and turns back to find the woman has disappeared.

Frowning, he placed the box in a bag, gathered up the rest of his purchases, walked to the waiting vehicle, deposited the items in the crowded truck bed, and then climbed in noticed Dean peering through the cab's back window, “Couldn’t find any more stuff, Sam?” “Couldn’t find a bigger tree, Dean?” His brother says nothing while backing the truck up, “Good thing I got all that to decorate it with then.”

Dean grunted as he set his end into the tree stand and, catching his breath, huffed out, “This would’ve been the time to use some of those witchy tricks, Sam.”

“Or maybe a good time to start working out more and cut back on the burgers and pie?” Sam shot back. “Wadda you talking about?” Dean snapped defensively, “I’m in great shape!” Sam gives him bitchface and says, “Keep telling yourself that Dean.“

Squatting down to affix the supports to the tree, Sam continues. ”You got winded just carrying this down the stairs. We have to face it: neither of us is getting any younger. We had this conversation not long after dealing with Chuck. Yes, we’ll enjoy the everyday things we couldn’t before. But if we’re doing something or on a hunt and get seriously injured, Cas isn’t here to help. And you know Jack is hands-off, so we’ve ….”

“Whatever, Sam.” Dean interrupted, unsuccessfully tamping down his that hurt but not gonna acknowledge it look. “I’m going to take my out-of-shape self and get the rest of the stuff from the car. Unless you’re worried I might, I don’t know, fall and break a hip.”

“Dean, that’s not what I,” but his brother just left, and Sam sighed, knowing he’d put his foot in it again, trying not to express his true feelings. Since they got their freedom from the manipulations of heaven, hell, and all the other things that went bump in the night, the feelings he’d buried and thought were over had come back.

Before he said yes to Lucifer, Dean acknowledged Sam was an adult, and he needed to stop being overprotective. But there is a part, deep down, in both Winchesters that is psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent. That part in Sam is one hundred percent positive that if Dean found out, he’d be so disgusted by what a perverted freak he indeed was forcing Dean would cut him out of his life forever.

The bunker's door banged shut, and at the bottom of the stairs, Sam paused on the last tread, watching the scene playing out before him in the war room.

“Oh, come on,” Dean grumbles at an ornament, refusing to stay on a branch of the mostly decorated tree. He lets it go, and it begins coming off again. “That’s it, I’m getting my gun.”

Sam couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. “Maybe I should’ve gotten some floaters and air fresheners instead?” He can see Dean mulling over that memory, “They were great.” Peering over at his brother, he asks, “Where did you disappear to? Thought you were going to help.”

Sam held up a grocery bag, “A peace offering? I know you aren’t going to change your habits, but I'm hoping we can compromise, at least when we’re not hunting. It’s 90% lean beef, and the pie,” Dean's whole face lit up, “Is made with almond flour and natural sourced sugar.”

Trading the wayward ornament for the bag, Dean states, “You deal with this,” Sam shakes his head when he hears, “Meatman coming to town” and sets about finishing the tree.

After cleaning up, the brothers sit in the library, drinking beer and watching an old Christmas movie playing on a laptop, when Dean casually inquires, “So what’s with the box?” Sam frowned before realizing he meant and remembered leaving the item sitting by the displayed swords. “It’s ahh, well,” Sam stammers as he retrieves the box, sets it on the table, and lifts the wooden lid. Dean raised an eyebrow at the contents, “Something you need to tell me, Samantha?” he snarks, removing the snow globe.

“I’m not sure why, but I'm drawn to it.” Dean frowned at his brothers' words and took a closer look. “What’s the saying?” He asked, pointing to an inscription on the base. “Not sure. I think it's a form of an older Germanic dialect. I was going to translate it later.”

Since nothing is screaming cursed object, Dean shakes it, making the snow swirl before setting it on the table, picking up his beer, and resuming watching the movie. He could feel Sam suspiciously eyeballing him asks, “What, Sam?” But Sam simply sighed, knowing his brother wouldn’t let it go. And sure enough…

“Did Santa ask if you were a good boy this year?”

Sam glances around trying to figure out where he’s at since a moment ago he was in the laundry and now starting at his decades younger self reclining against a headboard reading he hears his, their, name and watches himself huff in displeasure and getting up proceeds to trip over his own feet.

Following himself down a wood-paneled hallway, they enter a shabbily furnished living room, and spots his brother watching his younger self standing by a wood-burning kitchen stove. “Dean?” Turning, green eyes boggle, seeing Sam standing next to his own younger visage.

“What the hell you’d do, Sam?” Dean’s gravelly voice snapped and got Sam’s back up. “What makes you think I had anything to do with this?!” Dean looks at their younger doppelgängers arguing about something when young Sam stomps to a rickety kitchen table, plopping down on an equally rickety chair, crossing his arms, and glaring at its sacred top.

“Man, I forgot how bad your emoing could get,” Dean offhandedly commented, returning his attention to his brother, eyes hooded. “You were working in the library, so it's not hard to deduce you deciphered some curse cause now,” chucking his thumb toward the window, “We’re in the damn snow globe!”

Sam shot off bitchface #37, “It’s not a curse! I determined the words are an idiom. Слова не воробьи, как только они улетели, их уже не поймать.”

“Can you put that in English for those who don’t speak geek?”

“Words are not sparrows; once they have flown they cannot be recaptured.”

Dean got his running it over in my brain expression, “Yeah, I got nothing.” Sam concurred, “It didn’t make sense to me at first. But then I found a maker's mark hidden in the engravings. The records said they were a tradesman and spiritual alchemist.”

“What do idiot words have to do with Nicolas Flamel?” Sam's lips pursed, “Idiom Dean. And you know who Nicholas Flamel was?”

“Yeah, college boy, he created the philosopher's stone, turning metal into gold and some immortality elixir.” Sam waited. “He was in that Harry Potter movie, alright? What does that have to do with why we were here?”

“Okay, hear me out. Spiritual alchemy believers follow various paths to achieve the same goal, believing that, like metal, one’s soul can be transformed through stages of purification.” Sam began explaining the stages, and by the third, Dean heard enough.

“You're saying all the crap we’ve dealt with from heaven to hell has done some kinda colonic on our souls.” Sam began to speak, “Shut up, I’m on a role here. And if we take that idiom literally, one or both of us said something wrong and the idiom-alchy-snow globe Ghost of Christmas Past us to complete this whatever stage with an apology?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Great! Let’s figure out where here is, get to apologizing and the hell outta this glass ball.” Spying a discarded newspaper Dean tries picking up found he isn’t corporal. “Seriously?” Tipping his head sideways, he says, “Okay, December 22, 1999. We’re in Michigan..or Wisconsin?”

“Dean, what if it's something so bad there’s no way we can ask for forgiveness?”

That response made Dean's eyes narrow. “Sam, you need to tell me something?” His brother shook his head, but every warning signal in Dean was blaring like the bunker klaxon. He’d bet his entire collection of Busty Asian Beauties that Sam knew why that damn snow globe sent them here, but he was keeping it to himself for reasons.

Dean decided to hold his cards and play ignorant for a while longer. “Dude, what haven’t we done and forgiven each other for?”

Turning his attention to their younger selves made Dean feel a sense of nostalgia, missing how less complicated their lives seemed, even with the daily dose of Sam Winchester teen angst, which he always made up for.

Like now, offering to buy hot chocolate and giant pretzels triggered a memory, and the next moment, Dean was among a crowd wandering through the lighted tunnel entrance, following the loop by the salute to the armed forces towards the live reindeer exhibit.

“I remember this!” Dean exclaimed, “Dad left us in Somerset, Wisconsin, and were you all pissy ‘cause I kept giving you crap about this place’s name- Sam’s Christmas Village.”

“What else do you remember, Dean?”

They make a pit stop at the concessions, and while Sam is paying, Dean pulls out his flask, adding a double dollop to Sam’s. The kid needed to loosen up, then exchanged the cup for a pretzel with a smirk.

“This was the first time we got drunk together. Man, you were hilarious! Kept bugging me to go sledding,” Deans said, “And you fell off halfway down and laid there trying to catch snowflakes on your tongue.” Surrounded by softly falling snow tinted in hues of blues, greens, and reds, the brothers experience a memory trace of what happened that night.

Laughter fills the air as Dean staggers over, flopping on his back next to Sam, smiling at him when Sam’s expression changes and Sam leans over, his eyes' kaleidoscope colors disappearing into thin rings around dilated dark pupils as his fingertips caress the smooth, cinnamon-freckled skin and plush lips he was aching for when Dean pulled him tightly against him, noticing an unmistakable hard bulge pressing into his upper thigh as Sam instinctively started rocking his hips, seeking friction for his growing hard-on.

Dean feels his cock straining inside his jeans, slides one arm around Sam’s waist, another reaching behind him to cradle the back of his skull, angles his mouth up so he can drive his tongue into Sam’s mouth, feeling him suck on it with a sharp pull that shoots straight to his cock when wolf whistles from sledders passing by startled them caused Dean to bolt upright and dump Sam onto his butt.

Abruptly getting up, Dean grabbed the ropes of both sleds and dragged them downhill, leaving his brother perplexed. Scrambling to his feet, Sam rushes after, inquiring what happened, but Dean only responds that they need to head out before the roads ice over too much. The silent intensity of the drive back is broken only by music playing through the Impala’s speakers. Sam initially thinks Dean is concentrating on the road due to his intoxication. But Dean’s chewing his bottom lip signals he’s upset, and the knot in Sam’s stomach tells him to stay quiet.

Shutting the cabin door, Sam opens his mouth to speak, but Dean beats him to it, saying he overstepped boundaries that shouldn’t have been and won’t let it happen again. In a panic, Sam blurts out how his strange feelings for years were crystal clear.

“I love you, Dean, and want us to be together…like together together.” Dean shakes his head, “It’s the whiskey making you talk nonsense.” Sam’s stubborn streak surfaces, infuriating Dean, who shoves him back against the door and shouts in his face.

“Stop acting like a freak and go sleep it off!”

Sam feels like an ice pick is entering the base of his skull, and his stomach twists, knowing he’s the reason the person he cares most about in the entire world; he cares about more than himself is reacting like this, watching Dean disappear down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door shut. He fucked up royally, and suddenly his life was a mess when it seemed all was about to align an hour ago, making Sam wants to scream, to throw up.

Moving on autopilot, Sam shuts his room door, grabs his duffel, and haphazardly throws his belongings into it. Then, opening the window, he slips out and trudges back to town, heading for the bus station. By the time he arrives, his feet are so numb he shuffles across the linoleum flooring to the counter, setting most of his hoarded money down asked for the furthest distinction it’ll take him.

A short time later, the bus pulls out onto the main highway heading west as Sam leans against his window, wondering how everything outside seems so normal when his world has imploded. Dean turns his attention from the younger visage before him to the mature man beside him.

“This is why you ran away to Flagstaff.”

“You were right about me being a freak all along.”

Dean shakes his head, “No, Sam, it was my fault. I tried so hard to keep what I felt hidden, but that night..,” Sam's burst of laughter made Dean bark, “You think that’s funny?”

Eyes that never settled their color, hardened by the decades of horrors they’d lived through, were now gazing at him with unworldliness a thirteen-year-old Dean, after confirming everything in their dad’s journal was true, helplessly watched flame out like dying embers.

“No, Dean. The snow globe brought us back for the dissolution stage, dissolving false beliefs. We’ve been at cross purposes all these years for the same reason, each of us thinking we are the problem and the only way out is to no longer deny our feelings.”

Lifting his hand, Sam hesitated to let his fingertips explore the older, but still, so much loved, freckled skin again when Dean shifted, reaching his still-strong hand to cradle the back of his brother’s skull, angling his mouth up and breathed out against his lips.

“Sammy, we’re good.”

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

#spnfanficpond #secret santa exchange #2023 #dean winchester x sam winchester #wincest #spn au #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #jensen ackles #jared padalecki

[process-pending]

The tension and panic were braiding a noose inside Jaskier.

Take Me Back (Chapter 35)

#Witcher #Modern AU #Biker AU #Hurt Jaskier #Geraskier #Disabled Jaskier #Chronic Pain #Hurt/Comfort #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #That clicking noise...that's just us creaking up the flangst roller coaster #Better check that safety bar

[lumosatnight]

Lani's Birthday Oneshots: 2023 Edition!

So, today is my birthday (SCREAMING!), and as a continuation of last year's tradition, I present a ONESHOT REC LIST to celebrate 🥳! Here are 15 oneshots, all under 10k words, one for each day in June leading up to my birthday. Lots of genres, lots of tropes, ordered by ship (kinda).

🌼 - fluff | 💔 - angst | 🔥 - smut | 👀 - mind the tags

—

1. Potter's Got a Tiny Dick (that I can't stop thinking about swallowing whole) by @vukovich [Draco/Harry, E, 4.1k] 🔥🤣 This is crack. Hilarious and filthy crack with bff Ginny, nasty car sex, and unhinged Draco wanting "Just a little nom of a cock."

2. Boy Wonder by @maesterchill [Draco/Harry/Ron, E, 6.1k] 🔥🎹 Established in love Rarry with Draco returned from abroad! Wonderful Ron characterization, witty snappy dialogue, and dacryphilia!!!

3. A Saving People Problem by @the-francakes [Draco/James, E, 5.9k] 🔥🏍️ Draco living at Grimmauld place, and James can't keep his eyes off of him. Oh heck yeah! Surprisingly sweet for such a hot cross-gen pairing. Also poor Harry lol.

4. Gray Eyes (Tell No Lies) by @danpuff-ao3 [Sirius/Draco, E, 3.7k] 🔥🍏 Draco with a lingerie kink! Sirius with a one-way magic mirror! So hot, so delectable. Throw in a praise kink too, and I'm drooling.

5. A Sight to Behold by @lumoslyra [Sirius/Luna, T, 2.5k] 🌼🥐 Luna and Sirius dancing around each other. Hermione watching it all and Harry is just confused. Super cute and sweet.

6. in rivulets, in waves by @dulosis [Bellatrix/Luna, M, 2.0k] 💔👀 Dark and deceptive. I couldn't put this fic down. What happens if Bellatrix survives the war? What if Luna takes her in?

7. Catch Me As I Fall by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters [Bellatrix/Lily, T, 5.8k] 🌼💔 This fic is a wonderful AU of Lily befriending Bellatrix at Hogwarts. How she slowly changes, how she still is roped into the war. Just spectacular!

8. (give me) the first taste by @iamsiriuslyriddikulus [Narcissa/Lily, M, 4.4k] 💔🌿 Narcissa and Lily as hot moms smoking weed!!! Yes!! This Muggle AU is so well thought-out. The characters are so memorable. (Also I'm a sucker for flangst).

9. Love in a Hopeless Place by @dragonsandotters-dh [Remus/Narcissa, T, 4.6k] 💔🐺 So much hurt but also so much comfort. Draco gets bitten by Greyback. A heart-wrenching and hopeful look into the aftermath.

10. Male Bonding by musigneus [Remus/Severus, E, 9.8k] 🔥👀 This is angsty fuck-or-die to the max. Trapped in a cellar before the full moon. But it's SO GOOD and a somewhat hopeful ending.

11. Open a Vault For Me by Sevanna_OHera [Charity/Severus, M, 3.4k] 💔🧪 I found this pairing recently, and the angst level is off the charts. So much hope and longing in this fic and also a canon-compliant ending.

12. Table for One by @littlesixxwrites [Dean/Blaise, T, 3.2k] 🌼🎄 I LOVE THIS SHIP. Bean is the cutest. This fic has instantly smitten Blaise and equally enamored Dean. Lovely fluffy fic that made me squeal with happiness.

13. Maybe This Time (alternatively: once more, with feeling!) by @wanderingdonut [Regulus, G, 4.6k] 🤣👻 THIS FIC!! I died laughing from this fic, then I came back to life cackling and died all over again. Ghost Regulus is perfect. Snarky and entitled and wallowing in death lol.

14. toxicology by @batmansymbol [Hermione, G, 2.9k] 💔💌 A fascinating dive into the possible implication of Harry being a horcrux for so many years. I love how we view everything through Hermione's unreliable narration.

15. just a few sweaters by Prettything_uglylie [Molly, G, 2.4k] 🌼🧶 This story is a cup of hot cocoa in front of the fire. Warm and sweet and content. I adore it with my whole heart.

BONUS FIC (>10k): Tiny Dancer by @rainchance [Neville/Pansy, M, 12.4k] 🌼🩰 A super sweet Panville fic with ballet dancer Pansy and film student Neville. Wonderful background characters and mutual pining.

—

Want more fics to read?

Try my rec tag: #lumosinthelibrary

Bday Oneshots 2022, 22 Fic Recs 2022, WLW Library

#lani's birthday oneshots #hp fic rec #rec list #lumosinthelibrary #birthday #2023