#shes going to steal my books to then throw them as bricks back to me isnt she

[danwhobrowses]

My Highlights from AEW Revolution 2023

Another PPV has crossed the threshold as AEW Revolution enters the books. I've been adamant in avoiding spoilers for it, which is nervy since I saw it trending on tumblr, but the show had an air about it for sure.

On one hand, many were worried that some results would go to the winner they'd least prefer, and had already braced themselves to criticize it. On the other hand, there was the feeling that this could turn into a warzone, with 4 grudge-level feuds coming to a head.

For now, let's see what I enjoyed out of the show.

Spoilers for the PPV

Zero Hour

Danhausen in the Homer Simpson Moomoo

Mark Briscoe in general really

Mark Sterling announcing Ari and the Varsity Athletes

Clever nearfall to have Jay kick out of the weapons spot

Daddy 'tell me how my nipples feel' Magic, lads, give 2point0 a run at tag titles

Confirmation really on Final Burial, it is a classic buried alive match, minus Paul Bearer in cement of course

Adam Cole's promo was really good too

Main Card

For all the people who say they hate Jericho there's sure a lot who sing his theme song

Starks with the DDP energy ribs tape

'Throw Him Here' sign

Ricky has been selling the ribs really well, even between catches and landing big moves

Rock/Jericho parallels

Andretti flew at Sammy

Well-written finish as well, I do have qualms about Sammy showing up since the JAS was meant to be banned, so that should've been instant DQ, but having Ricky overcome the bat hit, block the Judas Effect and then win is good stuff

Christian Cage kept the fucking turtleneck XD

Immediately brawling, yes, it's a grudge match why would they lock up?

The old security guy happy as larry to let JB walk past him

Ooof the belt whipping, multilayered that given how Cage played the father figure to JB

JB finally hitting the Con-Chair-To, another full circle moment, because the Con-Chair-To to Adam Cole solidified his bond with Christian and led to their run that'd make him a tag champion, now it severs it

This is literally scrappy soap opera wrestling and it is great

Julia has a mask now!

Buddy and Kenny to start!

Malakai and Kenny!

Matt regretting calling out Brody instantly

Brody King doing Brody King things

Buddy's Knee cracking Nick mid-450

Brody's son getting to celebrate with the New Champions

Saraya keeping with the green aesthetic

Hayter always selling a crossbody like she's been wiped out

The match has done really well in blending the overlapping attacks

Hayter winning, granted the match could've finished more impactfully but there was more to tell, the key thing though is that everyone who was worried that Saraya would steal one and were braced to criticize AEW for it were W R O N G

Ruby swerve was good too, I know a lot didn't want it but they set it up, they got the reaction and now they only need 2 more 'outsiders' to get a Women's Blood & Guts; Tay Melo, Serena Deeb, Athena, Mercedes Martinez, there are some options there, pit them against Baker, Hayter, Shida/Riho, Willow and say Emi or Nyla and you've got a fight

Hangman's Entrance, just definitely has the right feel, and the red lighting - unlike a Fiendish guy - matches the feel of Texas Death

Again, Immediate Attack, why fucking wait?

Dude in the crowd who really wanted a selfie and got bonked for it XD

Moxley bringing out the fork, CZW energy

A fucking brick!?

Deadeye on a Barbed Wire Chair

Barbed Wire Back Rake!!!

Curb Stomp on the Brick

The finish was really good; Buckshot then a hangman choke with a chain

I also actually love the uncertain energy of the crowd, because it fits the brutality of the match

A baldfaced lie but at least gotta laugh at the attempt by Schiavone saying 'Revolution has never disappointed, ever', nobody wants to remember the end of the Exploding Barbed Wire Deathmatch (though the match was great)

OC and Danhausen repping the Best Friends gear

Danhausen getting to WRESTLE

But still, the tomfoolery as well

Kurt Angle homage with the straps gesturing then an Angle Slam

Satnam Singh knows his role, I know we don't see him wrestle a lot but he knows what he's doing

The Gunns winning with a Big Rig-variant against Danhausen - the guy who coined 'Ass Boys'

FTR are back, settling any doubts otherwise

MJF getting an orchestral opening, to be honest I was half expecting him to bring them all out then play his music anyway, just for that extra dickhead heel energy

And Max is in SHAPE

Bryan Danielson showing where ZSJ got his whole shtick from

MJF threw water at a kid!

Much like Reigns vs Sami, while I didn't enjoy the pace of it, it's heelery by design from Max to waste time, and he is a poser, he told us all exactly what his reign would be like and how we'd react to it so I can't be mad that this is how it's going

The Powerbomb backbreaker was clean

MJF doing the Shawn Michaels pose after stopping Bryan from skinning the cat

Doing the pinfall rolls like MJF did vs Darby but extra extra

Max using the DQ to get quickfire falls to draw level

Bryan just leans back as MJF tries to slap him XD

MJF with a running tombstone through a table outside the ring

The constant water breaks: it's storytelling, because Bryan never pauses but Max always takes a water break, because it sells how unprepared he was for the Iron Man match

The sound the crowd made by MJF's gushing, we can joke all we like about AEW using blood a lot, but Christian, Mox, Hangman, Dax (accidentally) and Bryan bled on this event and yet we still got a reaction from this blood

The moment 5 minutes remained they cranked to 11

SUPER TOMBSTONE

Schiavone strutting down the ramp with glee knowing that Sudden Death is coming

MJF kicked out of the Buisaku Knee!

Bryan tapping to the LeBell Lock!!!

Overall

Match of the Night: Texas Death Match. A difficult choice, but since the Iron Man took a while to heat up, I went with the Texas Death brutality over it and the Trios match.

Best Performance: MJF. It was a three-way tie between him, Bryan and Hangman right until he kicked out of the Buisaku Knee, but given how the World Champion played the audience multiple times and deserves credit for that.

Best Attire: Brody King, mainly the face paint. Without Jade on the card and me not getting Kenny's reference this wasn't quite a good show for unique attires

Best Spot: Texas Death Finale, I was very close to picking Buddy's Knee Lift but the brutality and perfect finale to the match has to win out.

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew revolution #bryan danielson #mjf #jon moxley #hangman adam page #jungle boy #christian cage #samoa joe #wardlow #jamie hayter #ruby soho #saraya #the elite #house of black #chris jericho #ricky starks #the gunns #the acclaimed #jeff jarrett #jay lethal #orange cassidy #danhausen #conclusion: enjoyed the hell out of it #but I do worry about Hobbs' title shot with Wardlow winning because we should strap him immediately #and the zero hour needed 1 or 2 more matches: like DO vs BCC? What about Stoke vs HOOK? A contendership women's match? #a bunch of internet 'experts' owe Tony Khan an apology

[cowboycakes]

Loyalty

Chapter One: Memories

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x fem!Reader

Synopsis: You are a Marleyan warrior who holds the Jaw Titan, tasked with infiltrating Paradis and destroying it. But what happens when love causes you to betray your mission?

Themes: NSFW, 18+, action, betrayal, multi-chapter series.

Warnings: Female bodied reader, explicit sex (penetration/riding, gentle and fluffy, Levi is a virgin), violence/severe injury and blood/battle scenes, threats, mentions of death. Profanity. Spoilers seasons 1-4.

Word count: 2.7k (recently edited to make it flow a little better!)

Note: This story contains spoilers for all seasons of aot (not the manga). It is canon divergent (reader has the jaw titan rather than Porco and reader is on the mission with Reiner and Bertholdt.) Some scenes differ/are more rushed than the scenes they line up with in the actual show. This first chapter is set in season 3.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

The most important lesson you'd learned on this journey was that you couldn’t help who you fell in love with. Love would strike you like a viper by surprise, sinking its fangs deep inside of you and injecting you with lethal poison. Your poor soul was so torn.

The viper in question manifested itself as someone quite inconvenient. A raven haired man - the strongest, most cunning, most selfless man you’d ever observed. And all the while, he was still an island devil.

You were supposed to strike back at the viper, sinking your much larger set of jaws into his heart. Your mission - and specifically your mission - was to end him and his kind. The remaining Ackermans were dangerous. They were a threat to your and your comrades’ titan powers. The goal was to get close to him, to find his weaknesses and strengths. To know his ins and outs like the back of your hand. And then you’d have the advantage. Then you would kill him.

That plan had obviously backfired.

You stood on top of the wall now, alongside Reiner and Bertholdt after they’d just exposed the entire mission to Eren and the others. You could feel the static in the air from a few yards away. They were about to transform.

That wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was that the duo was looking right at you, waiting for you to slash your hand and join in. To rush to their side and eat Eren while you had the chance. Then you could all go home and be celebrated as heroes.

Instead, you were staring back at them - a big, sweaty, teary-eyed, nervous mess.

It was time to betray your homeland.

“I’m sorry Reiner, Bertholdt…” you sob, pulling your hand to your mouth, “but my loyalties lie elsewhere, now.” You rip your teeth through your hand.

Three bolts of lightning shake the wall simultaneously. You emerge in your strongest form - the jaw titan. Your titan had a hardened face like a skeleton with an elongated jaw that stuck out like a wolf. Sharp ridges lined your mouth like fangs, and bright red orbs glowed through your eye sockets. A mane with a color that mimicked your hair grew down from your neck.

You were terrifying. Which is why you needed to get the hell away from these scouts before they decided you needed to die.

You had no interest in defeating Reiner and Bertholdt, that was Eren’s problem now. You were more concerned about the captain on the other side of the wall. He could certainly handle himself, but Zeke had quite the throwing arm. Things could go south very quickly.

You launch yourself down the wall, using your giant talons to slow your fall. You scan the field as you descend, trying to find any sign of Levi.

A voice booms your name to the left of you as you reach the ground.

It’s Pieck in her titan form.

Pieck was like a sister to you. It’s been so long since you’d seen her. You feel a tinge of regret now. Pieck was never going to see you the same again.

You narrow your red eyes at her and charge with full force. Your jaws snap at her heels as she whips around and runs full speed across the field. You finally see who she was running to - Levi and Zeke. Zeke was cut out of his titan form and being held by the hair in Levi's hand.

You pick up your pace, grazing Pieck's legs with your sharp teeth. She stumbles when the two of you go over an indent in the ground, only a few yards from your destination. Her mishap allows you to sink your teeth into her legs. She turns around to bite your neck in response, crushing your weakest spot. You jolt your head, flinging her away from you.

She gets up fast after hitting the ground, continuing at full speed toward Zeke and Levi. You are quick to go after her again, but slow down once you see Levi drop Zeke and bolt out of Pieck's way.

Did he really just give up Zeke that easily?

Suddenly, you feel someone cutting through your titan's nape.

Your vision goes dark.

Out of the darkness, you’re thrown into an old memory. Ah yes, you remember now. All of it is so vivid, right in front of you again.

You’d sneak away to the Captain's office at night frequently. You’d tell yourself these visits were for the mission, to aid you in knowing your victim a little better. His weaknesses could certainly reveal themselves in the comfort of his study. But they certainly weren't for your mission anymore. You’d started to simply crave his company.

You’re walking down the dim halls when you hear two sets of footsteps approaching, quite rapidly. You’re met with two giant bodies slamming into you from behind, grabbing your arms to keep you from running.

“You know, Y/N, I’m getting worried about these visits of yours,” Reiner says, tightening his grip on you. You yelp. “There’s only so much you could be talking about in there with him. There’s only so much shit you could be making up about yourself. He’s going to catch on.”

“He isn’t!” you struggle, “And I’m more clever than these sluggish devil bastards! I’m getting all the information I need!”

“Guys, keep it down!” Bertholdt whispers, frantically looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

Reiner let’s go of you as you topple to the ground in front of him, your hands and knees landing on the cold brick floors below.

“Kill him faster,” Reiner whispers. The two of them make their ways back to their rooms in silence.

You finally stand up when you can’t hear their footsteps anymore, dusting your knees off and collecting your nerves.

You were the oldest titan shifter on the mission from Marley, quite a bit older than Reiner and Bertholdt. You were supposed to be bossing these little shits, not the other way around. But it seemed they were always calling the shots. You deserved to carry out your particular mission however you pleased.

Levi's door is cracked open a bit further down the hall, allowing some faint light to spill into the hall. And inside, there he was as usual, sitting at his desk with a tea and reading some boring literature that you could never understand.

“Long day?” he questions without looking up from his book.

“Yeah,” you sigh, plopping your body down onto a leather sofa near his desk. You lean back into it, reaching your arms up to stretch out. “Thanks for always letting me join you in here. It helps me de-stress.”

You had made a routine of coming in here after a fateful night in the dining hall, after you and Levi realized you could click really well in conversation. You two had shared your entire life stories with each other by now - yours obviously contorted to fit a reality that didn't consist of you being raised in Liberio. You'd grown very close to him, way closer than you had with anyone else in the Scouts. Even though he'd never met the real you, you could relate to him - his struggles and his past especially. His cynical personality had a strange and almost addicting way of brightening your day, and you'd always make sure to tease him for it. Not to mention how handsome he was. He'd catch you stealing glances at him sometimes, but you had a feeling he secretly liked the attention.

If you didn't know better, you'd think you were falling for him.

Your favorite stories of Levi's were of the Underground. It was such a peculiar concept to you, even though it faintly reminded you of life in Liberio. You realized that the people living in the Underground were lucky, in a way. They were oblivious to the world above, secluded from wars and titans. If only every other circumstance of theirs wasn't so unfortunate.

You smile at him as he finally looks up from his book.

“Your tea’s over there,” he says as his eyes dart to the coffee table.

You quickly grab the tea and move it to your mouth.

It was way too hot.

You feel titan steam shoot up from your lips. It had really burned you that badly. You slap a hand over your mouth before the steam could escape, the sound echoing off Levi’s office walls.

“What’s the matter? Tea’s gone cold?” Levi questions, his voice dark. His eyes had been on you the whole time.

“Hmmph?” you say through your hand.

Levi gets up and advances across the room, stopping just in front of you. You’re still frozen on the couch.

“I said, what’s the matter?” His hand meets the one still clamped over your steaming lips.

“Is there something you need to hide under there?” Levi’s finger slips under one of yours, forcing it away from your face. Then another.

Oh shit.

This was a setup. He was actually on to you.

Shit! Regenerate! Faster!

Another finger is forced away from your face. You close your eyes tight, focusing all of your energy to your lips.

This may be it. Right here. Reiner and Bertholdt were going to kill you.

The final two fingers are pried away at once. You open your eyes to look up at him innocently, no steam in sight.

“Uh…” you stutter.

He sighs.

“Sorry. Just trying to keep tabs on who my enemies might be.”

“So you… burned my mouth? Dickhead,” you laugh. You needed to come off as clueless as you could.

Levi’s eyes delicately scan your dewey face. Your lips were still throbbing and swollen. You always wondered if that’s what had compelled him.

He leans down, kissing you softly. Your eyes were wide and your face was motionless for a moment. Then you returned it, cupping a hand sweetly around his jaw.

In a flash, you’re transported to another memory.

You're sitting down on a wooden bench on the outskirts of the combat training arena. You remember being so tired on this day.

You lean your head back and close your eyes, letting the sun soak into your sweat-covered skin. Eventually, a shadow blocks the light shining on you.

You open your eyes to see Levi.

“Want to spar?” he taunted.

“Hell no,” you pant, still limp on the bench.

“You sure? Might be fun to have your ass kicked three times in one day.”

You chuckle at him.

Levi sits down next to you, leaning forward to support his elbows on his knees. The two of you sit there quietly, your ears filled with the sound of summer insects and a cool breeze through the trees.

Your eyes eventually wander to Levi again. He looks upset all of the sudden.

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” he states.

You’re shocked he’s actually bringing it up. After the kiss broke, he just went to sit down at his desk. He acted like none of it had ever happened.

“No, don’t be. I kind of liked it,” you confess, leaning forward to be at his level.

“This can’t continue.”

You feel a tight sensation in your chest. You’re hurt.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, putting your head in your hands and thinking back to your real duties for once. You were only making things more complicated for yourself.

Of course, it did continue. The two of you avoided each other for a couple of lonely weeks until you nearly ended up in a titan’s mouth on a mission. It had you gripped tightly in its hand, completely helpless to it in your human form. You were about to transform when Levi swooped in and sliced its nape.

He helped you to your feet once the titan hit the ground and scolded you for your carelessness. You just stared back at him once he was quiet again. And he stared back at you. For a bit too long.

That night, you ended up in his office again and performed a teary-eyed confession about your feelings for him. It was in those moments that you discovered you didn’t care about the mission anymore.

You’re thrown into another memory.

This one was so intimate. So special. You never wanted to forget it.

“I’ve never,” Levi pants underneath you, “done something like this before.”

You’re straddling his thighs, tracing circles into his abs with your fingers.

“That’s ok, I’ll guide you,” you whisper.

Candlelight glows off of both of your naked bodies in Levi’s dimly lit bedroom. A surprise make out session led to Levi being curious, and the both of you taking all your clothes off in a rush and throwing each other onto the bed in desperation.

You move your hand from his stomach to his erection. Levi lets in a nervous breath once you make contact.

“Hey, you’re gonna do great,” you say sweetly, “you still wanna do this, right?”

“Yes, I do. Just nervous I’m not gonna… do it right.”

It was ironic to see humanity’s strongest so nervous about what was between your legs.

You shush him quietly as you move your lips down to his tip, slowly taking his length into your mouth. You drag your lips up and down as he lets out tiny grunts and bucks his hips up slightly to meet you.

Once he’s warmed up to your touch, you scoot up over his legs until you’re almost straddling his length.

You look up at him to see his eyes wandering over your bare body, lingering in your more intimate spots.

“You’re really beautiful. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you that,” Levi murmurs as he moves a hand up to glide over the side of your waist.

“You too,” you smile at him. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

You lift yourself up gently before easing him into you. The perfect sensation of him pressuring your walls made your breath hitch. You feel him let out a huff of air once he's fully inside.

You start to rock your hips up and down rhythmically as you lean forward to place your hands on his collarbones. He gently thrusts back to meet your hips. His mouth was parted, his face was flushed and sweaty. He grips the sheets in his hands as you continue riding him.

Everything felt so warm and wet. So gentle and passionate.

Both of you let out little whines as you speed up.

"How can I," he moans, "make you... finish."

You grab his hand from the sheets and move his finger to your clit, pleasuring yourself with it for a moment.

"Just like that," you whisper. "You're doing so good."

The two of you continue rutting against each other on the bed - two wet, tingly, whiney, pleasure-filled messes.

All of it felt so right. It was honest.

The memory gradually crumbles in front of you, plunging you back into the darkness.

It wasn’t the intimacy, the long talks, or the sex. It was none of that.

It was the fact that he was a brave and honest thing in your world full of lies. It made you fall for him.

Levi made you rethink your entire role in this war. What right did you have to come and destroy people’s lives? These people were innocent for all you knew. They were the victims. But they had spirit, guts, and passion that no one on Marley did. You related to them. You loved them.

So whose side did you really belong on?

And why were you being shown these memories?

And what was this bloodcurdling noise suddenly ringing in your ears?

It sounded like… your screams.

You finally enter reality again with a gasp, coughing up leftover fluid in your lungs from your titan form. You look down frantically at your body to see all of your limbs severed. Someone had cut you out of your titan form.

The culprit was crouched right in front of you.

Levi.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

Hi guys! I've been sitting on this fic for awhile, unsure if I wanted to post it or not - I sort of wasn't confident abt it. But I hope some of you like it! I will be coming out with another chapter soon. Also, if you left a request, I promise it will be up soon! Lots of love - Shep

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman smut #levi smut #aot x reader #aot smut #snk smut #levi imagine #levi ackerman fluff #levi fluff #levi aot #levi x y/n #snk levi #levi ackerman #aot fanfiction #levi fanfiction #attack on titan

[nastychastity]

Dean grew up listening to Elton John as a little kid. John and Mary were big fans; they had many of Elton’s albums on vinyl and cassette, classics like Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only the Piano Player, Honky Chateau, and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. When Dean was three, he would pore over the album artwork for Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy like one of his picture books. Mary and Dean would sing “Crocodile Rock” at the top of their lungs in the kitchen, both of them giggling while she stood him on her toes and rocked from side to side. John would teach Dean how to do air guitar for “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting” in between cooking spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.

Then Dean turned four, and Sammy was born, and Mary died.

A few months after Mary's death, in the Impala on a long drive to some nowhere town, Dean quietly asked if they could listen to one of the Elton tapes, and John responded, cold and flat, "Sold them." When Dean asked why, John clenched his jaw and snapped, “Because we needed the goddamn ammo, Dean. I don’t want you listening to that queer, anyway.”

For the next near quarter of a century, Dean only heard snatches of Elton's music in random passing, drifting on the radio or playing faintly at gas stations in the middle of the night.

Then Dean made the deal to save Sam’s life that would send him to hell.

A few months before Dean is due to be ripped to shreds by hellhounds, Sam pulls a cassette tape out of his jacket pocket and pops it into Baby’s deck. The music starts, and Dean bristles, recognizing the voice immediately. The sharp, jagged bolt of angerconfusionsadness is at once strange as it is familiar. He swallows, forces it down, keeps it compact. He takes a quick, sipping breath and asks, carefully neutral, "What's this?" Sam pretends not to notice Dean’s weird reaction and smiles minutely, picking at his nail beds. "Elton John. Found a cassette at a yard sale last week. He did the music for The Lion King. You snuck us in to see that movie when I was 11, remember?"

Dean huffs and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, how could I forget? You practically begged me to steal those tickets. You were all excited about those baby lions." "I did not--" Sam cuts himself off to level a glaring bitchface at Dean, and Dean chortles, lifting his hands momentarily from the wheel in surrender. "Alright, I remember, Sammy, sheesh. Don’t get your panties in a twist. What, uh... what other stuff has he done?" Dean feigns ignorance. He learns about Elton John all over again through Sam, and it’s... it’s nice. Sam doesn’t know much about the music, but he seems to know a fair amount about the guy’s life, definitely way more than Dean ever did as a toddler. “Apparently he was married to a woman for five years,” Sam says at one point. Dean balks in surprise. “Wait, really? Isn’t he gay?” Sam shrugs. “I guess getting married was the safer option then.” This sits funnily in Dean’s chest. “If There’s a God in Heaven (What’s He Waiting For?)” leaves both of them in heavy, tense silence. Sam sniffles and clears his throat gruffly. He rasps, “Dean--” and Dean blasts the stereo, drowning Sam out. Dean has his mother back for the first time in decades. They keep each other company in the bunker kitchens when nightmares render them sleepless. Dean makes hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream for both of them like Mary used to do when he was a child. He thinks about dancing to Elton John in his childhood kitchen, rocking on his mother’s toes, and something behind his ribs unfurls. He pulls up his music library on his phone and presses play on “Tiny Dancer.” He glances over to Mary after a few moments, silent, cautious. Mary’s answering smile is warm butter, and Dean breathes. On their three-year anniversary, Dean takes Cas to an old record store to buy vinyl for the jukebox player. He finds an Elton album he’s never heard before called Peachtree Road. The song titles catch his eye: “Answer in the Sky,” "Freaks in Love,” “All that I’m Allowed (I’m Thankful),” “I Stop and I Breathe,” and “I Can’t Keep This From You” stand out in particular. He drops the record in his basket. “Dean,” Cas calls. He’s standing a dozen feet away in the hip hop section, his chest and arms snug in one of Dean’s hoodies. Dean’s heart flickers at the sight. “I have found Lizzo’s newest album. This will be my purchase.” “Sounds good, babe,” Dean replies easily. “Found some Elton John, one I haven’t listened to before.” Cas tilts his head in consideration. “I don’t believe I have listened to Elton John at all.”

“First time for everything, right?” Dean quips. He adds, belatedly, “You’ll like him. He’s gay, like you.” Cas beams his radiant, gummy smile. “I’m sure I will.” Pop Rocks throw a party in Dean’s belly. He gingerly checks to make sure that the velvet ring box is still in his pocket. “Cool. Ready to go?” “Yes, Dean.”

They sway to “Your Song” for their first dance as a married couple. Dean hums the melody softly in Cas’ ear, and Cas shivers in Dean’s arms, and Dean is home.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #castiel winchester #sam leahy #mary winchester #john winchester #spn fic #destiel fic #deancas fic #homophobia cw #gay castiel #gay cas #bisexual dean winchester #bi dean #elton john

[mmvalentine]

hi!! how are you? I’m the one who sent you that dream prompt lol

I was thinking of this (way less weird) prompt: where feyre and Rhys knew each other since kids and were together, there’s a part of the books that Rhys says he and mor used to be sent to the cabin when they got into trouble (I think?) and here it is: Rhys has got himself in a fight with his dad and is sent there alone, but feyre finds a way to go to him without anyone knowing and they have the cabin all to themselves *insert smut here*

Hello little dreamer! Alright I've done so much prompt work these last couple of days and was trying to work through them chronologically because that's what seems fair but now I am tired and I just want to do one more and then take a break and this one is hands down my FAVOURITE of the ones left in my inbox right now. So you're getting bumped up!! Bit of a long one, fair warning.

A Chink in the Wall

Rhys has been alive for eighteen years, has known Feyre for seventeen, and has loved her for what feels like a thousand. He does not remember a time without Feyre, he has known she is his mate since before he knew what the word meant, and their progression from childhood best friends to lovers was something he does not remembering happening at one particular time, but gradually, the same way his legs had grown longer.

What he does remember is the first time they'd slept together, and how he'd spent so long thinking about it beforehand that he'd thought he'd go mad, only to discover the real madness was once they'd started and then couldn't stop. He'd thought he was hyper-aware of Feyre before- now the scent of her hit him like a brick any time she walked in the room, and once he'd caught her scent he needed to be touching her. Would start to shake and fall apart at the seams until he could pull her into his lap.

Over the years, Rhys's mother always told him that he was too rough with Feyre. Did it when they were kids and did it now, when Feyre would be around their house and he constantly had his hands under her hair or squeezing on her her hip or scratching at her belly.

"You can put her down for one second, for Cauldron's sake," she'd say over dinner.

And Rhys knew why. Had always known that as the High Lord's only son, he had power roiling off him in waves. He figured it was part of the reason why he was always moving, more and more as he got older. Whether it was sparring with the Illyrians or crawling thought the bedroom of Feyre's bedroom window, it felt like he leapt between extremes these days. Felt like he was always thirsty and needing to swallow down violence and pleasure and feeling like water. His father called it the "age of fighting and fucking;" his mother said this is why they couldn't have nice things.

But his mother doesn't know Feyre like he does. Feyre isn't some fragile little girl, she is the strongest person he knows. She is the only one who, when he is throwing all he has at her, can not only contain the energy flooding out of him in uncontrollable torrents, but still loves him all the same for it.

So these days, he does not like to be without her. Does not like to be too far from her, and although they both have curfews, Rhys does not often sleep alone.

Today is a exception.

Today, Rhys is fighting with his father because he stole a fine bottle of brandy from his father's shelf and snuck it between the bars of the cell where Azriel has been locked away. Again.

Rhys yells that what they are doing to Azriel is cruel and if they let it go on they are just as bad. His father yells back that it is not their place to meddle in another family's business and what does this have to do with Rhys being a sneak and a thief? Rhys says it is typical of his father to care more about alcohol than the life of a fae, and his father says and what exactly are you trying to say boy? And then he tells Rhys that he was not so old that Rhys's power is greater than his just yet, and then the fight breaks out.

Rhys does not like to reflect on what happens next too much because he wants to win so badly, wants to best his father just once, but he is eighteen and his father is nine hundred and twenty and the High Lord of the largest court in Prythian.

Suffice to say, the fight is over when Rhys has a black eye and bruised ribs, his father is holding him off the floor by his shirt front, and his mother is pleading with him to put him down.

He drops Rhys with a thud, and Rhys glowers at him.

"The cabin," his father snarls.

"Surely he's had punishment enough," his mother says, but his father does not look at her.

"You come swinging your fists at me?" he says to Rhys. His voice is quiet now, but glitters with rage. "You steal from me, you defy me, and then you come at me with your pathetic little claws out? Well. You can spend three days in isolation."

Rhys looks toward his mother, but there's nothing she can do. He opens his mouth to sling a final insult at his father, but space is already folding around him and he's being sent where no one else can winnow in or out without his father's explicit say so.

Rhys spends the next twenty minutes angrily pacing the cabin. He flings shadows aimlessly at the cabinets, curses his father eight times to sunday, and punches a hole in the wall. It is the latter that gets Feyre's attention.

Ouch, she says through the bond. I felt that one.

Rhys drops onto a couch heavily, the anger washing out of him at the sound of Feyre's voice in his mind.

I'm sorry, he says. I know you hate it when I break things.

Things. Your own knuckles. Yeah it's not my favourite.

Rhys sighs. I'm in the cabin, he tells her.

I know, she says. What did you do this time?

Got into a fight with my dad.

Well did you at least land a couple good ones?

Rhys grins, in spite of himself. I did manage to get a kick into his stomach, this time.

Good, Feyre says. Unlike his mother, she never tells him to try to get along with his father.

I miss you, Rhys says.

You saw me this morning, Feyre points out.

Yes, replied Rhys, but you had way too many clothes on. It didn't count. He can almost feel Feyre shifting in his mind.

You always think I'm wearing too many clothes, she says.

I do, Rhys agrees. Not naked is not good enough.

He slouches back on the couch and closes his eyes. Although he is not yet powerful enough to take down his father, his power is growing. Day by day it stretches and expands uncomfortably, like growing pains, and when he's not in Feyre's bed, sometimes the shadows hound him at night. They claw at him now, rake at his chest like a cat that thinks it's giving affection but leaves you in tatters.

He turns his thoughts back to more pleasant things.

Take it off, he growls at Feyre. Take it all off. I hate it when I can't see your skin.

And what makes you think I've been wearing clothes this whole time? Feyre asks. Rhys freezes, and is rock hard in an instant.

Show me, he shoots down the bond.

Ask nicely, Feyre answers.

Please, Rhys says. Runs his talons down the shields of her mind from top to bottom. Please. Sends her a memory of him kissing her every inch of skin. Please.

Feyre's shudder reaches him like a whisper, and then he's seeing through her eyes.

The interior of her bedroom. Where he spends more time than in his own. Clothes strewn on the floor- boots kicked off in the corner. Illyrian leathers dumped in a pile. Under garments hanging off the end of the bed.

Feyre's bare ankles crossed in front of her on her bed, on top of the covers.

Rhys shivers. He watches Feyre's gaze travel excruciatingly slowly upward, up her shins, past her knees, onto her lovely thighs.

More, Rhys breathes, but Feyre pauses. Her knees bend and the view shifts, as if she has been sitting up and is now laying back down. I need you like I need air, Rhys whimpers, and his hand grabs at the insistent ache in the front of his pants.

Mmm, sighs Feyre. Sometimes I need you. Sometimes I think I could just do it myself. Her gaze finally shifts and watches her own hand slide between her legs.

Oh you cruel thing! Rhys says. He is now practically panting the sight of her starting without him. He loves it. He hates it. It's nowhere near enough.

You know it's not as good by yourself, Rhys tells her.

I don't know, Feyre muses. I'm pretty sure it's faster. Rhys growls.

Who needs faster, he says, when I can be so, so slow. He shows her the image of him settling between her knees. Pressing kisses that start at her knee and travel down her inner thigh. Laying the flat of his tongue on her and licking a lazy stripe up her pussy that ends in a suckling kiss over her clit.

Feyre moans straight down the bond, and it cleaves through Rhys like a arrow shot true. Get over here, he tells her, and Feyre laughs breathlessly.

I can't, lover, she says. Your father has that place warded like a prison, remember? Rhys swears out loud and hurls more shadows uselessly against the walls of magic.

Alright, alright, Feyre says to him. You know just throwing things at it isn't going to work.

Fuck this, Rhys says savagely. You're my mate, he can't keep us apart.

Well, we just need to outsmart him, then, Feyre reasons. He might be stronger, but I've always thought you were smarter. Well, she amends. At least you were when you bothered to use your brain and before you were all... testosterone-y.

Rhys finds himself smiling. Testosterone-y?

Yeah, you know, Feyre says. The old upstairs brain. Remember that guy?

Rhys laughs. He is always in awe of how quickly Feyre calms him down. I thought you liked my downstairs brain, he says in his midnight voice.

Use your upstairs brain to get me through the wards, and I'll show you how much I like your downstairs brain.

And that is more than motivation enough.

Rhys gets up off the couch, and paces around the room again. My dad has always been lazy with spells, he says. He relies on his brute strength, and on everyone being afraid of him more than anything else.

Okay, Feyre says, picking up his train of thought. So... what if there's a weakness in his wards?

A chink in the wall, Rhys agrees.

Yes.

Rhys stands still, and reaches out his mind. Probes against the wards surrounding the cabin, and is aware of Feyre doing the same on the other side. They work their way right around the cabin, when finally, Feyre breathes, here.

And then Rhys gathers every bit of power he has in him, and pushes it all against that one spot. Reaches through it, throws everything he's got until his hand is breaking through, Feyre's grabbing a hold of him, they're folding space and he pulls.

There's a shudder that runs through the cabin, and then an extremely naked Feyre falls right into Rhys's chest and they collapse on the thick carpet together.

For a second, they just blink at each other in surprise.

"It worked," says Feyre. And then Rhys realises holy shit it worked, and smoothly rolls so that Feyre is on her back and he is all over her.

"Great work," is all he says, and then he blinks and his clothes vanish too so they are both naked and the heat of her against his bare cock is absolutely unbearable. He groans, slides his hand under one of her thighs, squeezing gently, and hooks it over his elbow before pushing straight into her, unable to stand not being inside her for one more second.

Feyre moans and lifts her hips to him, barely less eager. Rhys wonders idly if the age of fighting and fucking applies to females, and then as Feyre's nails scratch angry red lines over his shoulders he thinks it might just. He wonders how long this age will go on for, and if his desperate need for Feyre will ever abate. He hopes it doesn't.

"I thought you were going to be slow," Feyre says, breathless but with the most gorgeous light dancing in her eyes. Rhys's body screeches at him but he manages to get control of his movements. To move in and out of her languidly, lazily, tortuously slow. Feyre seems to enjoy it at first, keeps her eyes on his until they're rolling back in her head.

But the longer it goes on the more sensitive she becomes, until she is writhing in his arms seeking more friction, and every time he hits his base she jolts like she's being electrified. The fact that he is tormenting himself, too, seems absolutely worth it for the knowledge that he alone can wring this kind of pleasure from her.

"Still rather play by yourself?" he teases. "Does it feel like this when it's just your own fingers?"

Feyre snaps her eyes open at this, and between jagged breaths, teases him right back.

"Sometimes," she says. "When I'm touching myself and picturing you." A shiver runs through Rhys. "When I've got one hand between my legs and the other squeezing my breast." She demonstrates the last, and Rhys watches with hunger as her hand goes over her own chest.

"Fuck," he bites out, and picks up the pace a little.

"When I've got you curled around my mind and showing me that you're touching yourself too."

Rhys speeds up again.

"But mostly, no," she says, barely able to speak now. "No, nothing feels as good as when you're fucking me senseless."

And Rhys can't argue with that. He forgets his self-control completely and loses himself in her, in her body, in the intoxication of the sounds that she makes when he's inside her. The irony of his sentence to a remote location is that for once, they are able to make as much noise as they want and every time Feyre moans Rhys thinks he gets a little high.

By the time Rhys is close, they have started to breathe in tandem, and he locks his eyes on hers so that seconds later they are coming together. Rhys is breathless with the beauty of her, has always loved the look on her face when she climaxes, and suddenly the prospect of being locked up alone for three days seems mighty appealing.

Feyre sighs, eyes closed and chest moving deeply as she gets her breath back. Rhys draws out of her and then immediately misses her. He kisses her cheeks, her nipples, her stomach, and then without really thinking about it, closes his mouth around her clit and strokes it back and forth with his tongue.

Feyre sighs his name, and the sound of it is so sweet that he redoubles his efforts, until Feyre is rocking her hips to him and before he knows it, they're starting again.

Rhys thinks its going to be a very good three days indeed.

**** Little babies. Sigh I do love them so. Thank you my sweet anon for this lovely prompt.

Bonus: click here to see what Rhys's dark powers look like when they're still growing and trying to figure their shit out.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #smut #mine #asks #prompt fill

[pettyrevenge-base]

My best friend of 7 years turns hateful once I start working with her.

A few years ago my best friend and I decided it would be a fun idea to work together. I applied at the grocery store she worked at, and even was willing to drive the 40 minutes it takes to get there, and then I was accepted! First few weeks went great. Then one day she started ignoring me in our station, refusing to even look at me whenever I spoke to her occasionally, and it really confused me. When I asked her about it she snapped and told me to "just leave her alone." I didn't get it, was I being annoying??? I was literally just doing the same jobs she was in the same area, and we had always been so friendly before, so I was confused. That's when it started getting bad.

To make a long story short, there was a guy at the store who worked there that she was head over heels in love with, and when I became friends with him because we work together like 10 feet away from each other (mind you, I was dating somebody at this time) she went apeshit bananas insisting constantly that I was copying her, trying to steal her job, and trying to steal "her man" I guess. I tried to tell her lots of times that I was in no way interested, but she decided to up the stakes.

There was a log book we were both supposed to write our progress in for the day so the managers could look at it after closing. She began writing horrible things about me or mean and snide comments towards me in that book, then whiting them out so I wouldn't see them. But because it was in pen, I could read it through the back of the page. Final straw. I noticed a few months before I put in my two weeks that she was writing her name on cardboard advertising cutouts that were placed in the back or the break room for storage. If they were going to be thrown out, she'd write her name on them and a message that said "Give to (her name), do not throw away!"

When I saw some of these sitting in the back, I used my break one day to carry a reeeeeally big one all the way to the bailer that crushes cardboard in the back of the warehouse, and made it into a cardboard brick with a lot of other trash. Might be kinda anticlimactic, but I feel it was petty enough to post. Also I took a very nice pen she left on the front counter of the deli after leaving for the night. To this day she hates my fucking guts and ever since the day she screamed at me in the middle of the store (which was sort of the climax to this several-month-long fight) she tells everyone I am abusive and untrustworthy and used to have a breakdown if you even mentioned me. I hope she gets help, but fuck her cardboard cutouts.

And her pen.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

#pettyrevenge #lol #omg

[crystalas]

Blazing Blue part 1

Red Son runs away from home after overhearing his father call him a worthless excuse of a demon, agreeing to a truce with MK he ends up with the Monkie crew unaware that someone wants to steal a power that was sealed away long ago.

Chapter one: Truce buddies

Demon Bull King stood amongst the ruins of his old hidden stronghold, his robot clones busy digging out the remains and salvaging anything of use. He took a weary sigh and he surveyed all of what he had built since his revival and growled at how quickly it was destroyed…annoyingly at his own hand! Only then to be enslaved by Spider Queen while trying to raise enough funds to rebuild it. Needless to say, it had a been a few rough months for the Demon Bull Family.

“Man, I had heard your family had fallen on hard times but this is embarrassing!” a voice chuckled and Demon Bull King felt himself bristle with anger, he spun around to smash whoever thought it wise to mock a ten-foot-tall bull demon only to find the black monkey warrior Macaque lounging leisurely on top of a pile of rubble.

“Begone, you annoying simian shadow, I have no time for you” Demon Bull King snarled.

“Aw and I came all the way down here to chat, how rude. I mean I’ll excuse you not getting out the fine China for me on account of well…” he gestures to the crumbling ruin as a chunk of wall collapsed behind him. “Your recent string of humiliating defeats and the fact you had to team up with Monkey King…just wow…how low can you go?”

Macaque quickly sprung to his feet and nimbly dodged a lump of molten metal that flew right past him and buried itself into the ceiling behind him.

“If you have come here just to mock me then I will make you pay for every word you speak tenfold!” he roared.

“You’re right I’m sorry, I actually wanted to see if you were interested in an alliance of sorts?” Macaque exclaimed as he hopped lightly down the rubble pile without so much as disturbing a brick and looked up at Demon Bull King with a smile.

“You come to my home…Mock me and my family and rub salt in my wounds and you ASK FOR AN ALLIENCE!!??”

“What if I told you, it’s a plan to destroy the Monkey King? And his little fan club?” Macaque offered, Demon Bull King glared at him said not a word and then with speed not many would associate with a creature of his size and bulk snatched Macaque with his hand and brought him up to his face to look him in the eye.

“Know this Six Ears Macaque just because I have been buried under a mountain for the last few centuries does not mean I am ignorant of current events! You tried to best Monkey King with his protégé’s own power and you still lost!” Demon Bull King snarled as Macaque squirmed in his tight grip before erupting into shadowy mist and escaping. Demon Bull King glanced around trying to find the real one only for what he hoped was the real one to appear perched nearby on what remained of his furnace.

“See that’s why I’m here, Monkey King knows I like to… “borrow” power from other people, and he probably think I’ll go for powers of say his fanboy or someone just as good but what if I blindsided him with powers of say… The Demon Bull King? Or Lady Iron Fan? Or maybe say the power of demon fire?”

“No. Begone.”

“Com’on I’m not even asking you to do anything just let me borrow some power and I’ll do the butt kicking!”

“Begone.” Demon Bull King replied even harsher than last time.

“Fine, I get it.” Macaque grumbled “Best shot you have of getting your revenge and you’re going to turn it down!”

“I am not as foolish as to become a mere power source to another being, that is not an alliance that is servitude at best!” Demon Bull King declared standing to his full height with his fist clench ready for battle. “And do not think me as foolish to let you even try!”

“Fine. Fine I’ll just try Red Son, he’s more open minded about these things. Plus, I’ve heard the rumours of his… hidden inheritance” Macaque smirked as he spun on his heels and walked away casually only for a fist to slammed into the wall blocking his path.

“You will stay away from my family!” Demon Bull King hissed.

“So, it is true? I mean I’ve heard stories about it but given what I’ve seen of him in action I’d begun to doubt any of them!”

Demon Bull King thought quickly but to be fair his wife was more the brains of the operation, if Macaque was beginning to doubt the stories better to confirmed it than deny them.

“Red Son is a pathetic whelp, who is an embarrassment to us and unworthy of being called my son, he only brings shame and defeat to whatever he does. Whatever rumours you had heard are merely that; rumours. If he did have any power worthy of the Demon Bull King family name, don’t you think I would have used it by now?” Demon Bull King declared coldly, “You have clearly wasted your time and mine. You have your answer. Now go!”

“I guess they must be wrong if even you say Red Son is a worthless excuse of a demon. My mistake, you know how stories get hyped up over the years…I’ll be on my way” Macaque said sadly as he hopped down and walked away arms crossed behind his back. As he did, he glanced over at one of the corridors that snaked through Demon Bull King’s hide out to see a quiet and pale faced Red Son…

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Red Son had managed to find his room amongst the rubble and save some clothes, books and tools. Sadly, an iron girder had broken through the roof of his room and destroyed his computer set up and mechanics bench, in a way he was ok with that. Rebuilding his computer would give him something to do while the reconstruction was underway. Now he was heading to the main chamber as he was getting peckish and fancied going up top to grab some food, might as well see if Father didn’t want anything before, he headed out.

As he walked down the corridor, he heard his father shouting and the muffled voices of him talking to another. Who could that be? Red Son wondered as he started to walk faster, Mother shouldn’t be back just yet. She had left the city to find spell ingredients for her magics, [it is kind of hard to locate stuff like dragon scales and tree spirit sap in a dense city metropolis.]

As he came to the opening to the main chambre he heard something that made his heart stop.

“Red Son is a pathetic whelp, who is an embarrassment us and unworthy of being called my son…” his father said, as he tried to listen everything else but it just to swim in and out of his focus as his head spun. “��Only brings shame and defeat…Worthless excuse of a demon…waste of…my time…”

Why? Why would his father say that? Red Son thought they had made progress in their relationship, okay fine he had only called him son that one time but…but that was still a better than nothing? He saved him when the Spider Queen caught him in her webs, they fought her together.

Was he really back to square one? No. it was apparently worse than that he wasn’t back at square one he was off the game board entirely as far as his father was concerned. Heavens knows how his mother must see him give she has called him useless to his face! He had tried no end of times to prove himself only to come home with nothing to show for it.

He didn’t even register Macaque walk by as he spun on his heels and went back to what remains of his room; stuffing what he had salvaged into a backpack and swallowing back a painful lump in his throat as he quickly wrote a note leaving it on the metal girder for whoever to find. He took a deep breath trying to steady his emotions before disappearing in a swirl of flames.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Monkey Kid or MK was feeling down of late; his Master the Monkey King had given him the task of catching a red leaf with a gold dot on it. That didn’t sound too hard right? Not when Monkey King is making it rain hundreds of other leaves all of different colours and hues as well and expects him to find it in minutes!

MK sighed, he knew what the lesson was about he was supposed to focus on that one leaf and avoid all other distractions. If he pulled it off and mastered it, he knew he’s probably be able to find a grain of rice on a beach or something as pointless but somehow totally cool sounding. Problem was he couldn’t pull it off, he kept getting distracted or just overwhelmed by the leaves getting dumped on him from above.

So now he sat on a ledge of Flower Fruit Mountain overlooking the sunset on the city, he liked to come here when he wanted to clear his head. On one hand it was freaking awesome he was the protégé of The Monkey King a warrior of renowned legendary might and skill…on the other hand sometimes it would dawn on him on just how daunting it was to live up to the expectations of an immortal warrior who seems to have seen everything the world has to offer and then some.

He sighed as he stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants before grabbing his staff. He began to walk he saw that he wasn’t the only one taking in the view with a sense of melancholy. As he got closer, he squawked in alarm as he saw the familiar flaming red hair and ragged jacket.

“RED SON??!!” this outburst caused Red Son to leap out of his skin and jump to his feet. “What are you doing here?!”

“Oh, push off Noodle Boy, last time I checked you don’t own this mountain!” Red Son snapped grabbing his stuff and storming off “But if you’re here that means Monkey King isn’t far behind and I rather not have to deal with him on top of everything else!”

“Huh? Hey wait!” MK shouted as he noticed the backpack. “What’s in there?!”

“None of your concern!” Red Son barked back.

“It is my concern when you show up on Monkey King’s Mountain with a suspicious bag! What’s in it?”

“It’s not a bomb or anything!”

“You got a BOMB??!!”

“Oh, for the love of…NO! I have not got a bomb or anything of the sort! I mean for pity’s sake I can literally throw fire balls why would I need to carry an explosive weapon??!!”

MK dashed forward and tried to grab the backpack and Red Son tried to pulled it away from him leading to a very childish game of tug of war.

“Lemme see what’s in it!”

“NO!”

“If you’ve got nothing to hide then you have nothing to worry about!”

“ITS MY STUFF SO LET GO!”

Sadly, a backpack that had endured many scorches from its owner and grounded by rubble could only bear so much and with one last pull from both sides the backpack’s fabric tore open and Red Son’s stuff poured onto the floor. Red Son dived down to grab what he could as MK took in the sights of clothes, food, and other mundane stuff.

“Dude…are you camping or something?” MK asked as he saw one of the items that had skidded out of Red Son’s reach, he knelt down to pick it up and saw it was a hand sized family portrait of Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King…before he could get a good look it was snatched from his hands.

“Just leave me alone!” Red Son growled “You can clearly see that I am not a threat!”

“Red …are you ok?”

Red Son was trying to figure out how to keep his stuff in a backpack with a massive hole in it, but he was also trying desperately to ignore the look of concern that was coming from his enemy.

“Are you running away from home?”

Red Son didn’t respond to that and he had stopped fiddling with his backpack as he was now staring sadly at the photo.

“Why?” MK asked softly.

“Why do you care?”

“I mean…I dunno…you and your dad seem to be getting on when I last saw you, seems strange that you’re running away!”

“I AM NOT RUNNING AWAY!” Red Son roared his hair flaring up in flames, gripping the photo tightly as he did. The flames died quickly as did Red Son’s anger as he then whispered “I’m…I’m…just making things easier for my parents…”

MK tilted his head in confusion, he looked at Red Son for a moment. This was a guy who was always so confident, loud and proud of his name and heritage he literally introduces himself in full name whenever he’s about to do something dastardly or anything for that matter. Now he was sitting there with a backpack full of his possessions, on a mountain far from home, staring at a family picture like he’s never going to see them again.

MK sat down next to Red Son, putting the staff away to show he meant no harm.

“Want to talk about it?”

Red Son looked away angrily.

“Ok how about I go first? You know how cool it is to have someone like the freaking Monkey King show up and say that’ll they teach you? It is don’t get me wrong but then you begin to see how big of a shadow you’re stuck under? We’re talking about a guy who literally stole from the heavens and got away with it and has beaten up who knows how many monsters and demons? I sometimes wonder if I’m ever gonna be good enough for this, it’s just feels like the whole universe is just waiting for me to screw up, just to prove that I can’t do it… y’know what I mean?” there a few moments of silence and MK was about to try again when he heard a small voice.

“At least he believes in you, it must be nice to have a someone like that.”

“Your parents don’t?”

“… …no…” Red Son muttered, “I overheard my father today telling someone that he considers me an embarrassment to the family name, along with a few other choice words…”

“So, you…left?”

“I don’t know I wasn’t thinking at the time!” Red Son cried out angrily tugging at his head in frustration, “I want prove to my father that I am worthy of being his son but how? How do I show him that I’m not a …a…pathetic whelp?”

There was a heavy tense silence between them as they both looked at each other and then at the city, the sun nearing finished setting and the in the twilight the city lights began to shine.

“You know what?” MK declared as he got up. “We both need a break!”

“What?”

“A break from all this living up to people’s expectations and ideals! A chance to recharge the batteries and get some of that well-being self-care stuff!”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Red Son inquired nervously.

“We can just hang out; you know play games and chill? Also, you can stay at mine till you get this all sorted out!”

Red Son looked at MK like he had just announced that the moon was made of cream cheese and was inhabited by flying guinea pigs.

“So…a truce?” he ventured nervously

“Yeah! My friends and I don’t fight you, and you don’t fight us!”

Red Son looked down at his destroyed backpack, then glanced at the mountain side he was on and realised that maybe coming up here to hide was a dumb idea.

“It not like I’ve got anything better to do!” he grumbled.

“AWESOME!” MK beamed “Let’s go! We’re gonna be Truce Buddies!”

#monkie kid red son #red son #monkie kid #monkie kid mk #spiceynoodle #sort of but kind of

[laurore-stormwitch]

of almost failed heists and romantic advice

For the @grishaversebigbang mini bang! First time writing the crows, it’s been a challenge. I had the incredible and emotional honor to see some beautiful art made for this fic by @streckenweise-okay [here] , @j-wirth [here], @davonysus [here]. You are all talented and amazing <3  Summary: an easy undercover job becomes not only a chance to revisit some old friendships with Nina back in town, but also the perfect occasion for a romantic intervention and some dating advice for our favorite Bastard of the Barrel.

ao3 link

Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, a forgotten Rietveld. His figure hid itself in the many names he had been called, in the many tales of sorrow he had inflicted. He did not need a reason, nor to rob or brake, nor to wreak havoc on the filthy streets of Ketterdam. Swift as the sky-splitting dive of a crow on his prey. You would feel him coming, in the tense silence shattered by the rhythmic beating of a raptor-headed cane on bricks. Kaz Brekker, who did not need a reason, or concealed the ones who mattered. The same Kaz Brekker, however, who did not have a valid reason for choosing to bring the three biggest headaches of his life along with him on this wretched job. A sharpshooter with an absurd taste in fashion, a Grisha witch as annoying as his broken leg and a wayward merchant’s son he had spent way too much time babysitting. 

A strike of genius on his part. On top of that, he had chosen an undercover job, like they had the slightest ability not be noticed. Except for Nina; that girl blended everywhere like whisky. She was now strolling back to them with an excited gleam in her eyes, sipping on a glass of wine. She giggled happily. “Relax, Kaz. It’s a party.” 

He cut her a glare from the corner in which he was standing, stiff and broody. 

“Where the hell are the two lovebirds?” 

“At the buffet. Do you know they have a chocolate fountain?”

“If it doesn’t drop gold”, Nina arched a brow at him, “I am fairly sure I don’t care for it.”

They were interrupted by the brilliant flash of color of Jesper’s suit and his brazen laugh. He had an arm thrown around Wylan’s shoulder; the merchling’s  cheeks were flushed and his hair ruffled. He seemed slightly uncomfortable or about to throw up. For all the kruges, how much had Jesper let him drink? At least they did not have a particularly difficult role to play. Nina planted a kiss on Wylan’s cheek.

“This is so fun!”, she exclaimed, delighted by the situation. Kaz glared at her again.

“A job it’s not supposed to be fun.”

“Take your brooding mood out the window, Brekker”, Nina waved a dismissive hand at him. “What would a job be without fun?”

“Terribly dull”, Jesper winked.

“Annoyingly painful”, offered Wylan with a hiccup. They turned to Kaz. 

“Adequately profitable.”

His friends cast their eyes heavenward. Jesper snatched other glasses , pretending not to see Kaz’s threatening look. The party was grand, held in the home of a Council’s member from whom they were supposed to steal some documents held in a safe in his study. The job was easy to say the least, so when they had learned that Nina was in town, she had tagged along. Kaz wanted to wack himself on the head with his cane for this wretched idea; apparently, they had taken this as an excuse to party and reminisce old times more than an occasion to actually help Kaz make some money. Nina surveyed the room. 

“I wish Inej was here”, she whined. Kaz had never been one to pray, so it was not surprised when the Saints ignored his pledge to make Nina drop the argument. Instad, she turned to him with a smug smirk. 

“How is it going between the two of you?”

Kaz tapped his cane on the floor, avoiding the heartrender’s eyes. Maybe she would shut up if he ignored her. Was he not radiating a general air of murderousness and danger, enough to convince his nosy friend to leave him be? Well, not enough. It just made her do something even worse and refer to the other two headaches.

“Kaz is a hopeless cause.”

“He’s not asked her out yet? Not even a romantic snack in between threatening people and skewering them with knives?”

Jesper shrugged his shoulder, nudging Wylan closer. “We offered to do it for him”, he noted.

“You did”, Wylan peered at thim. “I want to keep my head on my neck.”

“Why hasn’t he?”, asked Nina, considering Kaz, still ignoring them.

“I don’t think he’s familiar with the concept of asking someone out. Or even asking someone for anything, mainly bossing people around.”

Kaz adjusted his tie. “I’m standing right beside you.”

“It’s not hard, Kaz. Just buy some flowers and smile.”

Jesper laughed at Nina’s idiotic advice. Were they actually trying to get assassinated right now? Another thought paved the way in his mind. Was it an idiotic advice, though? He could admit that anything not involving schemes or robbery was not an area of expertise for him. And he had been meaning to do something...nice?

“You’re asking Dirtyhands to smile?”, asked Jesper. Nina huffed.

“Can it be that hard?”

“You’ll see. Kaz, smile at me.” 

Kaz had two roads in front of him: for some reason, he chose the insane one and indulged Jesper, curling his lips upward. An uncomfortable silence dawned over them. 

“All the Saints and their suffering”, Nina exclaimed.

“Is he about to murder someone?”, Wylan asked. Nina burst out laughing.

“That is your i-am-asking-you-out smile?”

“It’s terrifying”, considered the merchling.

“Positively daunting”, his boyfriend confirmed.

“For the love of Inej’s Saints drop the smile. Stick with the flowers.” She eyed him from upside down, critical. “And fix that dreadful hair.”

Now the choice laid between leaving them all here or trying to find a way to finish this wretched job. Since the second option included a mouthful reward, he went with it. He eyed the owner descending the stairs with his guards. That was their cue. 

“You all know what to do.”

To their credit, they all snapped to attention when he called them. Nina strode behind the owner, fluffing her hair, while the three of them disappeared silently toward the upper floor. Silently. As silently as they could, Wylan being half drunk and Jesper being...well, Jesper. What one does for some kruge, thought sourly Kaz. He did glance at his reflection in the mirror, trying a half smile as they ascended the stairs. But no one needed to know that. 

***

The safe had scarcely even been fun to crack. Kaz slipped the document in his jacket, scanning the study. Who knows what one could find that people left unguarded. Jesper and Wylan were outside, keeping control on the stairs. The situation seemed under control, so he did have some spare time to search for something precious. He approached a drawer, flicked a pin in the keylock and - 

BOOM

A loud explosion resonated on the floor, rattling the walls. Definitely not a good sign. And definitely a sign that his henchmen raised some hell. Kaz sprinted out, only to find an absolute mayhem had been unleashed, and at the centre of this chaos, sure enough, stood his two royally idiotic friends, covered in dirt and pieces of furniture, gazing at each other with utter shock on their faces like they hadn’t just made a smoke bomb explode. The one that was supposed to be an emergency to cover their escape and was now invading the house. 

“What the hell did you do?!”

Screams rose below them; Jesper scratched some dust from his jacket and rolled his revolvers out, grinning in Wylan’s direction, apparently unfazed by how much they had just screwed up. 

“Wylan got carried away”, he shrugged his shoulders. Wylan flushed violently, jaw dropped in his boyfriend’s direction.

“You pushed me against a wall! I told you I had the smoke bomb in my pocket!”

“Were they making out again on the job?”, Nina rushed in their direction, her gorgeous face lit up with amusement as she struck down one of the guards running up the stairs with a flick of her wrist, a dart bone flying out of her cuff. 

“It’s Jesper’s fault! He’s always trying to...to…”, Jesper arched a brow at Wylan. 

“Yes?”

“Entice me!”

Kaz blew out an exasperated grunt, pushing them toward the background door. “Move!”, he seethed, running to work the lock. Dirtyhands getting killed on a saints forsaken robbery, perfect irony. With a quick look, he realized the damn lock had been reinforced with Fabrikator’s craft. He signaled Jesper, who practically squealed with amusement. 

“Do I get to use my powers?” The hard glare he earned from Kaz seemed to be enough for him to get on with his work. Nina turned, shooting other dart bones toward the stairs. Quick steps and screams were echoing through the buildings, and smoke was clearing. “You might wanna hurry up, Jes!”, she shouted over her shoulder. 

“We might have a problem”, the sharpshooter mumbled, as the lock literally melted on itself, effectively sealing the door closed. “I’m still getting the hold on - “

He was interrupted by another deafening explosion, as Wylan threw another device which detonated on the wooden stairs shredding them into pieces. 

“Do you all have to keep destroying our ways out?!”

“I’m sorry!”, screamed Wylan over the echoing thrum of the bomb, his gaze shifting to a window that opened up to the roof. 

“Do not even think about it”, Kaz pointed his cane at him. 

“Either we take a page from Inej’s book or we get arrested, what do you choose?”, Nina asked grudgingly, starting to climb on a cupboard. Saints, he was going to kill them all. Jesper and Wylan followed suit, making their way out on the roof and helping Kaz up. He shot a murderous look at Nina, who was eyeing him as he not at all gracefully moved up and shut the window closed behind him, swearing to every known Saints in Kerch.

“Since you are so bad at this, you should try to compliment Inej about it and maybe she’ll teach you something.” 

“Start fleeing before I catch you, Zenik.”

Shots began firing from below them, grazing Kaz’s arm. Nina erupted in a grin. 

“Time to run, Brekker.”

And so they did. Extremely far from how Inej would have done it. Loudly, stumbling throughout Ketterdam’s rooftops, helping each other - as much as he hated to admit it, mostly Kaz - on the slippery tiles and the narrow eaves. Ketterdam buildings left little space to breathe, being conveniently close that they could jump from one to the other. Kaz lost track of time, though his bad leg felt like they’ve been running for hours. Jesper stopped abruptly as they neared the docks, crunching on his knees and howling a breathless laugh. 

“That was fun.”

Nina giggled, slouching on the rooftop they had stopped on. “Ease up boys, we lost them ages ago”, she exhaled, closing her eyes toward the moonlight and leaning back. Kaz tentatively seated himself behind her, stretching his leg. 

“If this easy job ends up with me not being able to walk, vengeance will be coming.” 

Wylan and Jesper slumped down on his side, ignoring his dreadful look. Wylan peered at Kaz with a sly smile. 

“Jesper has stolen something fit to celebrate a successful heist.” 

The sharpshooter grinned, pulling out a bottle of cherry wine from nowhere and uncorking it with a whistle of joy. He passed it around as their cheerful chatter filled the night’s quiet. They were crazy. Crazy, reckless, and still idiots. Yet, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his ragtag band of misfits. So he did not protest when Jesper handed him the wine, and he even threw a crooked half smile at him. The night began to wear off with every sip.

“So”, started Jesper at some point, snatching the bottle from him, “about our advice?”

It had to be the wine for Kaz to answer this. “I guess I can try it.”

Wylan huffed and gave him a knowing look.  “Just be yourself, Kaz. Inej likes you like that.”

“Ever the romantic”, Jesper winked at him, making him flush. Again. 

“Aside from that”, Nina propped herself up, turning to him, her lips quirked and her face lit up with happiness, cheeks red from the wine. “I still suggest the flowers. You know her favourites. And you might want to get ahead with those, Brekker'', she added, pointing her finger toward the horizon; over Ketterdam’s rooftops, the moonlight shone on the silent streets, reflecting on the waves that hit the docks. There, against the sky lit up by stars, stood the profile of a sharp ship, a flag Kaz knew by heart flying over the mast, its edges turning his stomach upside down as it entered the harbour. 

“Our Wraith is coming home.”

#gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #gang28 #the crows #first time writing them so im terrified #kanej #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #heists gone bad #sort of crack fic #check out my artists because they're amazing and i'm stunned by the talent #six of crows #post crooked kingdom #grishaverse #fan fiction #wesper

[puckandperry]

if you send for me

anderperry

synopsis: au in which welton academy isn’t a boarding school, and neil goes to todd’s house to throw pebbles at his bedroom window, and todd realises when it's his turn to throw the pebbles— before it’s too late.

warnings: slight sentiments of sadness. nothing too extreme!

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: hello all! this is my first time writing for these two, and the dps world in general, but i’ve done my best to capture the characters, and so i hope it’s worked. enjoy <3

⭒

The windows are dark, they always are. 

Todd’s parents have always been strict about that sort of thing— lights out after a certain hour, no going out on school nights, curfew and all that. 

Neil’s parents have always been like that too, but he’s learned to slip out of doors unnoticed, silent upon socked feet as he steals through the dark, only stepping on floorboards that don’t creak. Neil is a shadow, Neil is a thief. But the prize is far more precious than silver or gold. 

⭒

When the first pebble hits the window, Todd’s still asleep, and he doesn’t notice. 

The sound of the second pebble against the glass is conveniently part of his dream, and fades into the abyss of sleep, a drop of water in an ocean. 

The third is when he wakes properly, and he thinks that maybe footsteps are approaching his bedside. He shifts disconcertedly, sleep still trailing in the wake of his consciousness, the brush of a lover’s hand. 

But at the fourth, he sits bolt upright at the sound, eyes bright and wide in the dark, though moonlight spills onto the floor from the window, from behind those curtains that never consent to be fully closed. 

He slips his toes out from beneath the covers and winces at the cold when they meet the wooden floor, but he’s quick to recover from the tingle of frost down his spine, and he walks toward the window in three quick, short strides. 

When he brushes away the curtains and twines his fingers around the window latches to push the contraption from its frame, he finds Neil on the ground below, a hand raised with a fifth pebble, the other cradling several more. 

Neil’s face breaks into a smile when he catches Todd’s eyes, and Todd fights the flutter of his heart, coaxes his own smile into a grimace; he should not be happy that Neil is here, in the middle of the night. He should be cross, and worried about his parents finding him up after bedtime, and grouchy with his lingering drowsiness. 

But he is none of those things. He is decidedly lighthearted, awake and spirited and warm, despite the coldness of the night. He is how he always is, when he is with Neil. 

“What’re you doing here?” he hisses, his elbows on the windowsill as he leans farther out into the night, the breeze beginning to ruffle his hair. 

Neil smiles, like Neil always does. “What does it look like?” he says. “I’m here to see you, of course.”

“You can’t—” Feigned indignation has raised Todd’s voice on no account of his own, and he has to swallow to bring his volume back down. “You can’t be here,” he says. 

Neil folds his arms. “Why not?”

“Because it’s the middle of the night!” Todd sputters. “Because you should be asleep!”

Neil only grins. “You’re not asleep,” he counters easily. His tongue is poking out between his teeth, his eyes vivid in the moonlight. 

“Because you woke me,” says Todd, but it’s a lame attempt at an excuse, and Neil is already climbing the bush that twists up the wall by Todd’s bedroom, his sweater sleeves snagging on the brambles. 

And Todd is leaning out the window, biting his lip as his fingers tighten on the windowsill and he pleads with the darkness not to let Neil fall, because he’d never forgive himself if Neil fell for him, for his sake, for the sake of seeing him. 

And why? Why is the other question that nags at Todd as Neil skirts the windowsill, swings one leg up to clamber into his bedroom. Sure, they’re friends, but midnight visits in solemn shadow, pebbles thrown like stars, one leaning out the window to speak to the other like Shakespearian lovers.

It doesn’t make any sense. 

Todd isn’t paying attention when Neil finally tumbles through the window, making a shushing noise as though his shoes will obey him and not make a sound. 

He straightens up, and when he does, he’s nose-to-nose with Todd, who seizes up when he realises the position they’re in. 

But Neil only laughs, his perfect hair hanging into his perfect eyes, and Todd wants to reach up and brush it away, to see the other boy better. He doesn’t, though, and Neil is left with that task for himself. He takes it in stride, and when he smiles down at Todd, his eyes crinkle. 

Instinctively, Todd smiles back. 

“Hi,” says Neil. 

Todd’s reply is breathless, and Neil’s smile broadens. 

“Scared ya, did I?”

“Well who the hell prances about throwing pebbles past midnight?” asks Todd, as though expecting a legitimate answer. But for all Neil’s openness, his vibrant personality, he is noticeably quiet on certain topics. 

He snorts. “Prancing? I prefer gallivanting.”

Todd rolls his eyes in response. “Keating is getting to your head.”

“And yours,” says Neil, with twinkling eyes. “Can’t help but love him, though.”

Neil is often bold, but he rarely talks of love. Todd wonders faintly if it's because he’s never been loved wholly, properly. Only fragments here and there, what can be scavenged. Though Todd doesn’t understand how anyone could love Neil any less than wholly. Neil is magnetic, beautiful, powerful in his sense of self and conscious of the world around him. Todd has never met anyone like him. 

“So what are you doing?”

“Doing? Neil, I was asleep.”

He shrugs almost apologetically, then fishes a leather-bound book from the inside pocket of the jacket he’s wearing. “Feel like reading some poetry?”

⭒

It starts off with Whitman, and Byron quickly follows, to precede Shakespeare and Wilde, and then they halt with Wilde, because their voices have grown languid with the passing time, and it takes longer now to recite a poem than it did an hour ago. 

They’re sitting on the floor, leaned against Todd’s bed although the floor is cold, and Neil isn’t quite sure why they’re sitting on the floor, but he thinks it has something to do with the intimacy of sharing the space of someone else’s bed, a line Todd hasn’t offered to cross, and one Neil doesn’t dare to suggest— even if the floor is freezing.

But Todd’s side is pressed up against his, and so Neil is not as cold as he would have been. They lean against each other, and Neil reads aloud. 

In the words of Wilde he tells of the sun and the moon, of the moon retreating to her sombre cave as the night wanes to day, and the silence that love makes of a person. He reads of feelings seldom felt, though they are ones he feels strongly, and he thinks that he must be wrong in his assessment of himself, because surely, his heart should not be beating out of his chest for the one who sits beside him.

“But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show/Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung; Else it were better we should part, and go,” Neil reads, and he thinks that Todd is falling asleep beside him. “Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,” and Todd is most definitely asleep, because his head rests upon Neil’s shoulder, and Neil thinks of how lucky he is for Todd to trust him this way, “And I to nurse the barren memory/Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.”

He finishes the verse, the poem, and there is a silence like that after rain. Soft, pure, and the world beneath is untouched, new, as the sun flits through the leaves to colour the Earth below in warm hues, firelight remnants. 

Or perhaps the silence is not what gives Neil this feeling, but Todd’s soft exhale on his shoulder. 

Neil smiles to himself. 

There’s a blanket on the end of the bed, and he reaches for it, drapes it over the boy beside him. Then slowly, carefully, he eases Todd’s head from his shoulder, and lets him curl up with his head upon a pillow, still on the floor, because Neil worries he’ll wake Todd if he tries to move him back to bed. But at least now the other boy is cocooned in warmth, and unbothered by the world around him. 

His cheeks are a little flushed, lips parted against the pillow. His hair is in his eyes, as Neil’s often is. Neil never brushes his own hair away. His mother used to do that. She doesn’t anymore, but he still hopes that one day she’ll return to her old habit. Neil wonders if Todd’s mother brushes his hair from his eyes. 

Neil resolves that it does not matter whether or not she does, but that one of the most gentle things in this world is to have one’s hair combed away from one’s eyes, and Todd is the gentlest person Neil has ever known. He’s fierce when sufficiently provoked, but quiet up until that point, and Neil admires that betwixt the cruelties of this world, there are still people like Todd who find it within themselves to be gentle. 

He stoops, and brushes the hair from his friend’s eyes, lets his touch linger. 

“Adieu, adieu, adieu,” he murmurs, because he has no words of his own for this moment, and must borrow from Shakespeare. 

Neil climbs out the window, finds footholds in the bush against the brick of the house, closes the window, and slips out into the night.

⭒

Todd wakes alone, and goes to school as usual. 

When he meets Neil in the morning, they do not speak of the night before. Still, Neil’s smile is bright and warm as the sun, and they talk between classes, stifle laughter at the same stiff-necked teachers that they always do, exchange glances with one another as Keating’s lesson of the day proves even more adventurous as the previous. 

He is getting to be better friends with the boys whom Neil keeps in company, as well, beginning to settle into a comfortable routine, and the lot of them meet in the cave on weekend nights as they always do. In content, it is much like the nights Todd spends with Neil, yet, the cave meetings have a different air about them. 

The days pass with school and homework, the bore of scholarly tasks made lively by the asides of his friends.

Todd loves the days, but he lives for the nights. 

Neil has now made a habit of coming to visit, sneaking up the climbing bush and letting Todd help him the last of the way through the window. 

He brings a book, or a leaflet, something to read, or the script for the play he’s in, so that Todd can help him to practice lines. Neil hasn’t told his parents about the play, so Todd’s house, in the middle of the night, is the safest place to practice. 

But Neil projects, as all good actors know to do, and Todd shushes him.

“My parents!” he reminds him, because they are asleep downstairs. But Neil’s speech only gives way to laughter, muffled by the wool of his sweater sleeve as he covers his mouth vainly, in an attempt to drown the sound. 

Soon Todd is laughing as well, and they’re not laughing, but giggling, and the sound is so absurdly childish that Todd shushes Neil with new fervour. However, Neil does not take note, rather throws his head back as his shoulders shake, and Todd reaches up and covers Neil’s mouth with his hands. 

Neil tries to bat away Todd’s hands, but Todd does not relent, a warning in his eyes. Neil ceases his giggling, and nods, to assure Todd that he will not laugh any more. 

Ever-trusting, Todd removes his hands from Neil’s person, but Neil starts laughing again as soon as he is free. 

Todd reaches up to cover Neil’s mouth again, more playful than in actual effectiveness, but immediately, Neil presses a kiss to Todd’s fingers, and Todd leaps back. 

“Neil!” he says, but Neil only laughs, and when the latter leaves in the twilight of the youthful morning, it’s with extra care to move in silence, as though to make up for the ruckus of earlier. 

Sometimes Neil brings food, pilfered from his own pantry, or from the dining hall at school, cookies and pieces of cake, fruit slightly bruised from being stolen and hidden away, but still always ripe and sweet. 

They read books and poetry, learn Shakespeare, trade stories over their pillaged feasts, listen to records at the lowest volume possible, parting in the morning with no word of the night. 

There is something comfortable about simply being in Neil’s presence. There is no pressure to do anything, to be anything in particular, and yet Todd feels that he could do anything, be anything— whatever he likes. So, in a rare moment of truth, he chooses to simply be himself.

He likes being himself. 

⭒

As midnight decisions often do, the lack of sleep earned by Todd and Neil in the company of one another catches up with them, and one day, the two are awoken by someone clearing their throat. 

But they are not in Todd’s bedroom when Neil lifts his head, lifts his head up from a desk and blinks sleepily to find Todd on his left doing the same. The classroom is otherwise empty, before they each notice Keating leaned against the table between them, his arms folded and his eyes crinkling at the corners as his gaze darts between them. 

“Morning, boys,” he says, and Neil thinks his smile broadens. 

“Mr. Keating,” he blurts, at the same time Todd says, 

“I uh—”

But Keating waves his hands, smiling still. “No, no. No trouble. I imagine my voice has a bit of a droll to it. I’m sure that’s why my first thesis presentation went as badly as it did.” He shifts, lifts his chin, narrows his eyes. “So, what’s keeping you up at night? Dreams? Or fears?”

Neil glances at Todd to see if he’s going to respond, but Todd only smiles, as though he knows something Neil doesn’t. 

A moment later, Neil realises that his glasses are askew on his nose, and adjusts them hurriedly, making a face at the other boy. 

Todd makes a face back, before they both remember Keating, and turn their heads in his direction once more.

His eyes twinkle. “Or,” he says thoughtfully, “each other?”

Neil swallows.

“We’ve been reading poetry,” says Todd, and Neil looks upon him with pleasant surprise. It is not often Todd speaks unprompted. 

Todd’s words are of truth, and Keating knows of the Dead Poets Society meetings in the cave. He should not, however, know of Neil’s late-night visits to Todd. And yet, something in his countenance persuades Neil that Keating does know.

“And poetry is all well and fine,” Keating responds, with his easy smile, “but you cannot dream if you do not sleep. And if you sleep in my class, you will miss some golden opportunities to follow your dreams.”

Neil fights laughter, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Todd is already in the throes of it, and so he gives up his solemnity and grins. 

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of,” Neil quotes, “and our little life is rounded with sleep.”

“Ah,” says Keating, “our good friend William. But, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks/Within his bending sickle's compass come;/Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,/But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Love waits,” he says, “and you have time. So long as in sleeping, you wait as well.”

The eyes of their teacher twinkle again as he gathers up his things and proceeds to the open classroom door.

Todd turns to Neil. “What— what d’you think he meant by that?”

Neil stares after Keating, though he feels Todd’s eyes upon him. 

“No idea,” he says. 

He lies.

⭒

Todd has been keeping Neil’s secret for months now. Two months, to be exact, and all he has to do is keep it for one more night, because Neil’s father mustn’t find out. Neil’s father mustn’t find out that Neil is going to be in a play. 

But be in a play Neil will, and Todd has never seen him as happy as he is now. 

They’re all here in the wings. Todd and Charlie and Meeks and Pitts and Knox, with Chris, and Ca— well, actually, Cameron seems not to be here. Todd has no idea where he’s got to, but he hasn’t seen him, and to be honest, he doesn’t rightly care where Cameron is. But Keating is here too and Neil— beautiful, brilliant Neil— waiting for the lights to dim and for the last of the audience to take their seats. 

Neil is in costume— a simple thing, matching greenish-grey trousers and shirt, a crown of twining twigs and ruby berries upon his hair. The lot of them have been talking animatedly for the past few minutes, Neil the most animated of them all, but now Keating glances at his wristwatch and announces that they should probably make their way to their seats, before the theatre falls entirely dark. Murmurs of agreement ensue, and the gaggle of boys turn to follow Keating. 

Keating pauses, touches Neil’s shoulder. 

“Break a leg, ye merry Puck.” He grins, and Neil smiles happily. 

Meeks and Pitts wish Neil the same, and he nods his thanks. Knox tells Neil good luck, to the uproar of Charlie.

Charlie cuffs the back of Knox’s head, and Knox yelps. “What kind of idiot are you?” 

“You tell me!” says Knox. “What kind of idiot am I, Charlie?” 

“You don’t tell actors good luck!” Charlie rebuts. “That’s the kind of idiot you are.”

Charlie stalks off, and Knox runs after him. Their conversation floats back to Neil and Todd, who stare after them. 

“But what kind?! CHARLIE!”

Todd finds Neil laughing when he turns back to his friend. 

“They’re both idiots,” he says. “The same kind.”

“S why they get along so well,” Todd responds, and Neil nods his agreement. 

Then at once, his eyes flit away from the shrinking figures of Charlie and Knox, and when Todd looks at him, Neil’s gaze dances with light.

“What?” says Todd, a half-smile already upon his face. 

Neil’s eyes meet with Todd’s, and he grins. “I’m just so excited! I’ve never been this excited before, I mean, to be in a play, to be in an actual play, and not just any play, but Shakespeare— Todd!” Neil laughs delightedly, spinning in a wild circle with his arms outstretched, so that he nearly whacks Todd in the process. 

Todd laughs as well, and marvels at the colour of Neil’s eyes, a colour for which he has no name but the-colour-of-Neil’s-eyes-colour. He’s never seen a colour like this anywhere else, with the sheer spirit and liveliness it bears, despite the fact that it is only a colour, and colours cannot be neither spirited nor lively. But then there are Neil’s eyes, staring back into his, and Todd thinks that colours can most certainly be both spirited and lively.

“I’m so excited, I swear I could do anything.”

“Anything?” says Todd, as the lights begin to dim. 

“Anything! I could run a marathon—”

Todd laughs. 

“— scale a mountain, write a poem far better than yours—”

Todd scoffs, not at that Neil should be able to write something better than he, but at that Neil thinks Todd sets a standard for poem-writing in the first place. 

“— alright,” says Neil, “maybe not a poem better than yours, but still!” He’s breathless, now, eyes flitting from the stage lights to the stage itself, all about the world around him, and back to Todd. Always back to Todd. “I could fly,” Neil says. “I really think I could fly. I have this feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Yeah, a feeling,” he breathes. “Like I’m invincible. Like I could do anything.”

“That’s generally the definition of the word ‘invincible’,” Todd deadpans. But nothing can or will faze Neil Perry. 

“I’m so excited I could dance. Sing—”

“Yeah, got that. You could do anything.”

“Todd, I could kiss you, I’m so excited!”

It slips out, just slips out. That much is apparent to Todd, even as his cheeks flush crimson in the waning light, even as Neil’s eyes grow soft and Todd finds he can’t look away. 

It slips out, but Neil is entirely serious. 

Todd’s stomach does somersaults as he opens his mouth to stammer out that it’s fine, they can forget about what Neil’s said, but then Neil stoops and kisses him. 

Gently. Quickly. He’s drawn back again before Todd can think to respond, though he realises his eyelids have fluttered shut. 

When he opens his eyes, there’s a sigh on his parted lips, and he’s taken half a step forward, drifted toward Neil.

Neil’s face is impassive as he straightens up, but his eyes are soft and searching. 

Todd wonders what he’s searching for, but he once again has no time to react before someone calls,

“Neil, showtime!”

Neil drops his gaze to the floor and spins away from Todd, showing no signs of the adrenaline high that presently has Todd in its thrall, rushing through him like an opened dam— there’s no coming back from this. 

But before Neil gets too far away, Todd grabs his hand and squeezes. 

Neil doesn’t look back, though his fingers curl in Todd’s grasp. 

He disappears amongst the crowd of cast and crew before another word can be exchanged. 

Todd doesn’t think anyone saw them, but he understands Neil’s caution, even as his heart twists in his chest and he makes his way to Mr. Keating and the others in the audience. 

He settles into his seat as the lights finally fade into shadows, and Keating glances at Todd as though to ask if he’s okay. 

Todd gives a brief nod and turns his head toward the stage, hoping Keating cannot see the apprehension in his eyes. 

But as Neil and his castmates take the stage, Todd forgets everything but the show, and how talented Neil is as part of it. He chortles alongside the rest of the audience, smiles upon Neil with reverence, the way an astronomer would look upon a star, an artist upon their paints, an adventurer upon the undiscovered secrets of the universe. 

His heart is full, his hands are warm.

And Neil lights up the stage.

⭒

They’re taking their bows upon the edge of the stage, striding forward to be met with the standing ovation gifted to them by the audience, and as the house lights come back up, Neil sees his friends and Keating applauding, whistling, cheering for him. Sees Todd cheering for him, for once the loudest of them all.

And then the curtains are closing and Neil exhales the high coursing through his veins, throws back his head and laughs as his castmates shout and celebrate around him. They jostle, congratulating one another and him, and Neil congratulates them in turn. 

But then there's a cloud, because he’s being told that his father is waiting for him. 

He changes briskly, takes his duffle bag in one hand and his crooked crown in the other, and parts the grand drape. He doesn’t breathe as he lifts his gaze, and makes eye contact with his father.

Any hopes he had of his father understanding this talent of his, this acting, which is not a fleeting love but an enduring one, disappears when he next exhales, a puff of air in the coldness of night, gone before you have time to fully realise that it is there. 

Silently, Neil follows his father out the door. His friends fall upon him, some of them calling to him to congratulate him on his performance, others to invite him to some kind of afterparty. 

“I can’t, guys,” he is forced to say, though really he has no idea why it is that he can’t. Neil was good as Puck. Neil knows he was good. Can’t his father see that too?

Somebody says his name as he’s walking, but it’s not until the repetition of it that Neil startles to perceive Keating beside him.

“You have the gift! What a performance!” 

Keating is smiling and Neil smiles back, momentarily lost in that someone has spoken what he wants to hear. “You left even me speechless!”

It does not last. 

“Stay in the car,” Neil’s father growls. “And Keating. You stay away from my son.”

Charlie is shouting Neil’s name, shouting an appeal to Neil’s father, but the latter only glares, and Neil gets into the car without argument. 

As the car is started and driven away, Neil’s gaze lingers on Todd’s, through the window, through the snow. 

⭒

They’re walking back to school, where they’ve left their bikes, when Todd stops in his tracks.

The others have been talking, but Todd has been thinking. Thinking about earlier.

He can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. Or that something was wrong. Or will be wrong. 

And suddenly there’s an urgency that plagues him, and he has to see Neil, or he won’t be able to sleep that night, or any night.

He stops, turns, and then simply starts running. 

Carpe fucking diem.

“Hey— Todd!” Charlie is the one shouting, again. “What’re you—  where are you—”

“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Todd calls back. 

“But where’re you going?!” says Meeks.

“Neil’s!” 

He begins to run properly, pumping his arms, letting the wind assault his senses as it whips the hair about his face, as he throws himself forward like he’s falling. And he is falling. But not because of gravity.

He barely knows where he’s going, but he and Neil have walked home together plenty a time, and so he remembers what street Neil lives on, by intuition, if not by name. 

When he reaches the street he’s looking for, he slows and nearly slips in the snow when he makes a hairpin turn onto the lane. 

From a run to a jog to a walk he slows, because now he’s looking for Neil’s father’s car to identify the house. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Todd mutters as he hurries up the road, scanning left and right, left, right, left— right again. 

His heart is sinking and he bites his lip, starts to notice the cold, how his fingers tremble with it, his cheeks burning from the wind. 

And then he sees it. 

And he runs. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do once he gets there, but within moments, he’s there. He has to be here. 

He runs across the grass, and then, by sheer luck, he sees it: Neil’s crown from the play, sitting atop a windowsill in the upper floor of the house. 

Todd’s eyes scour the ground, but the snow is thick, and there are no pebbles. 

He glances up again, and that desperation seizes him. Back down to the ground, and still he sees nothing. But then the next time he looks up, there’s Neil, standing in the window, and the crown is upon his head. 

He stares forward into the darkness of the night, blankly, and Todd has rarely seen him this colourless. Still, there is something beautiful in those dark eyes, in the curve of his mouth and how it matches that of his shoulders. 

Todd considers shouting, but then he doesn’t want to wake the whole of the Perry household.

In one moment, Todd is watching Neil through the window, and in the next he has formed a snowball in his hands. 

He arcs it toward the window with a huff, never dreaming that it will land.

Much less dreaming that it will sail straight through the window— which appears to be open— and catch Neil upon his bare shoulder.

Neil startles with a gasp, the coldness of the snow instantaneous in reviving him from his reverie, and when he sees from whence the projectile came, his mouth falls agape. 

“Todd?”

“I— I don’t know how I’m going to climb a drainpipe in a suit but I’m—” Todd swallows, steels himself. “I’m going to do it.”

He braces one foot against the brick and grasps the drainpipe with both hands, attempts to hoist himself upward. 

“Todd, you’re crazy,” says Neil, and he’s leaning against the windowsill, the way Todd did the first time when Neil came to visit him. “This is crazy. Get down from there, you’ll fall!”

Sure enough, Todd slips, but he wasn’t really off of the ground in the first place, so it doesn’t matter. He looks up at Neil, standing in the window. 

“You’re crazy,” he replies. “And you’ll freeze to death. Get back inside.”

But Neil shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Todd huffs in indignation. “Well, what then?”

Neil smiles. “Hang on.”

“Hang on?” Todd mutters, as Neil disappears from the window. “I’m still on the ground, how can I hang on?”

But then Neil reappears in the window, and drops a length of bundled bed sheets out the window. 

Todd dodges before they smack him in the head, then takes the end like a rope that’s meant for climbing. 

He calls to Neil in a stage whisper, “How do you just so happen to have bed sheets made into a rope?” 

“Silly goose,” says Neil. “How do you think I get out of the house when I go to visit you?’

Todd grins in response, and Neil mirrors. 

“Now come on. I’ve got you.”

With one final eyebrow raise directed at Neil, Todd shrugs and begins his ascent up the brick. 

It’s an arduous climb, particularly since Todd has never done anything like this before, but Neil’s grip does not falter, and soon Neil is pulling Todd through the window, and Todd is collapsing atop Neil on the bedroom floor. 

Todd blushes, embarrassed, but Neil laughs and winds Todd in his arms, and Todd feels as though his heart will burst. 

“What are you doing here?” Neil asks, when he stops laughing. But it’s more habit than actual askance, and Neil has rolled over so that the two of them are on the floor beside one another. He props himself up on one elbow and stares at Todd, that soft expression ever-prevailing. 

Todd shrugs, because he doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t actually know what made him turn around and sprint through ice and snow to Neil’s house, and really, now that he’s here, it seems sort of ridiculous.

“Dunno. Couldn’t let you leave like that.” He’s mumbling, and something about what he says makes Neil’s face fall. It breaks Todd’s heart a little. “Neil?”

Neil presses his lips together, and Todd’s eyes trace constellations in the spattering of freckles that cover Neil’s shoulders. He repeats the other boy’s name quietly, and Neil inhales stutteringly. 

“My father’s sending me to military school.”

“What?” Todd says. “Military school?”

Neil nods, avoiding Todd’s gaze. 

“But what about Welton?”

“Pulling me out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, but that’s— he can’t do that, can he? In the middle of the year?”

“He can,” says Neil morosely. 

Todd doesn’t know what it is that’s driving him any longer, but it certainly is not his head, because he grabs Neil’s hand. 

Neil looks up. 

“It’ll be okay,” Todd says. “I’ll write to you. We’ll all write to you. In a year, you’ll be eighteen, and then—” Todd’s being bold, forward, doesn’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s doing it, pushing his fingers through the hair that falls loosely over Neil’s forehead— “then you can do whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” inquires Neil, and the smile has returned to his voice, his eyes. 

Todd cants his head to one side, and he thinks that Neil has moved closer. Any closer at all, and Todd swears he will disintegrate. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs. But in truth, he’s not really thinking anymore, as Neil’s sigh fans his lips. 

“Can I kiss you again?”

Todd lets out a nervous giggle. “I don’t know, Neil. Can you?”

And Neil does. 

Neil kisses Todd deeply and steals the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind, the senses from his body, until there is nothing but thoughts of Neil and the curve of Neil’s body against his own. Neil is soft, like his smiles, and Todd feels himself melt, helplessly tracing fingertips over Neil’s skin, to touch those constellations he has only ever looked upon— and even so, rarely— lets Neil push the hair back from his face and kiss him with the lips that have for weeks read him poetry, shared emotions never shared with anyone else, breathed encouragement and compliment to no end, with ardour, with truth, with love. 

Then abruptly, Neil’s mouth is gone from Todd’s, and Todd groans his discontent.

“Do you really think I could do anything?” says Neil, his hands resting on either side of Todd’s face.

“Anything,” says Todd.

“So you think I could be an actor, for real?”

Todd snorts. “For real, I think you could do anything. Most easily of all become an actor. You were good, Neil,” he whispers. “Really good.”

Neil positively beams, and Todd resolves that he wants to see Neil smiling like this forever and always. 

He loves that he, of all people, can make Neil smile like this. 

“Come see me tomorrow,” Neil breathes, “before I go.” 

Todd promises to.

Neil seals the promise with a kiss. 

The two part, and Todd departs, but they reunite upon the morrow.

And when they part again, Todd begins his first letter to Neil, writes to him then and there. Tells him of how he and the others already miss him terribly, though in truth, Neil cannot yet be far down the road that leads from Welton. 

Todd writes to Neil that day, and the day after, and every day after that. 

A year later, he stops writing to Neil, and Neil stops replying, because they see one another every day, free of parents and free of Welton, free to be with their friends and with each other, free to meet their former English teacher for coffee on Thursday afternoons, because that is simply how it is supposed to be.

They are living their dreams, and they are truly free.

Twas thus, and always thus will be.

#my tags are a mess but here we go #anderperry #anderperry fic #todd anderson #neil perry #neil x todd #dead poets society #fic

[rbbalmung]

Pokemon SwSh GPL AU: Get to know ______

Guys, it’s time for my favourite pokemon ship. Prepare for loads of fluff. 

Get to Know Gloria x Hop (Postwickshipping/Hpyu): 

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other? I headcannon that Gloria really likes pokemon plushies, so Hop is always unconsciously checking the stuffed animal section of stores to see if there’s any she doesn’t have. Gloria tries really hard to get him books that pertain to his research, but she really has no clue what he studies aside from the fact that it’s legendary pokemon (Legendary Pokemon are his focus). 

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap? Gloria! They are the cuddliest couple ever. There’s about a foot size difference between them, so she fits perfectly in his lap. (Hop is def the little spoon, tho). 

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes? TBH, they would both walk around the house half naked. They’re comfort first babies, so you know Gloria’s bra is coming off and Hop is discarding his work clothes the second their door is closed. I think it’s kind of a casual thing for them, though. They’ve known each other long enough that this kind of thing doesn’t bother them. 

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway? Gloria has to drag Hop’s ass to bed pretty much every night. They’re both busy people, but we all know that Hop would lose track of time while working on his thesis. It is a fact that if Gloria doesn’t come to get him, he will fall asleep on his desk. 

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies? They’re actually both pretty good cooks (Gloria’s mama owns a restaurant in Wedgehurst and Hop’s mom is obsessed with cooking), but I think Hop would probably be the one to burn all the food. The only reason why is because he has a harder time focusing solely on cooking instead of trying to multitask. Now, baking is a whole other story. They’re both terrible at it. 

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”? Gloria would be the one to read the prompts and Hop would be the denier (he secretly thinks it’s really cute whenever she does it). 

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes? Gloria. 100% Gloria. She is constantly cold and has a passion for stealing Hop’s hoodies. He thinks its adorable because they’re always really big on her. 

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?” Hop would be the errand runner and Gloria would make sure he remembered everything. It goes back to Hop’s mind being a million places at once and Gloria hyper focusing on one thing at a time. 

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions? Hop would drive and Gloria would give directions for similar reasons to the question above. 

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws? Hop doodles Gloria sometimes to keep his hands busy. It’s kind of an absent minded thing for him to do while reading an article/book. Once Sonia caught him doing it, and when I say she teases him relentlessly, I mean it. Hop absolutely does not let Gloria see these doodles (they’re very cutesy and he’d die of embarrassment). 

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips? Hop would be the backflipper and Gloria would be the follower. Think back to their GPL season: Hop was blazing ahead at all times without a care in the world. Gloria is the slowest traveler in the world because she likes talking to everyone and visiting all the stores.  

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking? Neither of them can hold their alcohol, but Hop at least has more body mass than Gloria. They’re a pair of lightweights and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise. (Let’s be real: Bede has to be the one to make sure they get home). 

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own? Gloria. I actually believe that Gloria would keep her last name even after she and Hop get married because it belongs to her mama (after the divorce, they both changed their last names to match her mama’s maiden name). Hop is also a proud Hoffman, so he wouldn’t use the name Park. However, everyone else will mix it up. Gloria gets called “Mrs. Hoffman” all the time if she’s arriving for restaurant reservations or something of the like. Newer reporters/young children call Hop “Mr. Park” because they just assume Park was his last name. 

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside? Neither of them are scared of bug pokemon. 

16: Which one gives the other their jacket? HOP. I mentioned it earlier, but Gloria is always cold. Bede asks why he doesn’t just make Gloria bring her own jacket and Hop replies that he likes it when she wears his jacket (they’re freaking sappy).  

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling? Pft. Leon? Please. By this point, he’s become the big brother of Gloria as well. The League members are a completely different story. They all like Hop, but since Gloria is one of their younger members and the biggest sweetheart, they’re a protective bunch (Especially Melony and Gordie). 

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other? Gloria, but it didn’t go well. It was right before he was leaving to finish up high school studying abroad, and the timing wasn’t right (aka Hop turned her down because he hadn’t yet realised his feelings for her). Gloria tries her best to move on but never truly gets over him. Luckily, his feelings hit him like a bag of bricks to the stomach when they reunite a couple years later.  

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting? The best. They would definitely be the cool parents (I mean, come on. They’re the freaking heroes of Galar!). I think they’d also be super supportive of their child’s choices. 10/10. They’re made to be parents. (Hop would especially want to be a good dad. He’s initially nervous because he never knew his dad and thinks he might mess up, but Gloria reassures him that he’s doing a good job). 

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters? Hop would be Mr. Perfect Grammar. Gloria would use mostly good grammar, but her texts would be littered with emojis. 

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them? Hop is the more confrontational of the two. Gloria tends to believe that people are only mean to others if something bad is happening in their life, but Hop will jump from 0 to 100 if someone even looks at Gloria funny.  

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun? Gloria likes Hop’s bad puns, so everyone else has to cringe in discomfort at the oblivious pair. 

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy? Hop. Gloria likes catching pokemon and sending them on poke jobs, so there’s a new member to their family at least once a week. 

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired? Hop. He’s the only one she would show vulnerability to, and he makes sure not to make her feel ashamed of it. (also, Gloria absolutely could not carry Hop. He’s like, a foot taller than her).  

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering? Both! They’re very supportive of each other to help ease the other’s insecurities. Hop gets really invested in her pokemon matches and Gloria throws him a little celebration every time he finishes a project.  

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder? Gloria. Since Hop never goes to sleep at night, it is very common for him to take 5 minute power naps without even realising it. Gloria definitely takes pictures when it happens as a reflex (They were long distance for the first 4 years of their relationship) because she wants to be able to look back at their memories together.  Like Gloria doesn’t know about Hop’s doodles of her, Hop doesn’t know about her phone album of him. 

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked? Gloria? I think they both grow into their separate styles as the get older, but Gloria would push Hop to wear more colourful things. Sonia once told Hop that a man should never tell a woman what to wear because it’s rude. I don’t think Gloria would mind if he suggested something, but he is way too nervous to do it (Sonia scarred him).   

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of? Hop is very nervous around Urshifu and Calyrex. Urshifu because he’s terrifying, large, and very protective of Gloria. Calyrex because the pokemon will take over his body without warning to tell Gloria something.  

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains? Hop! If Gloria held it, Hop’s head would be in the umbrella. 

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures? Oh my gosh, they’d go everywhere. I think that after Gloria steps down as champion, they travel to all the different regions for at least a couple of years. Gloria would be the one to take pictures and make a little scrapbook when they return home.  

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #swsh #postwickshipping #GPL AU #hpyu #pokemon hop #swsh hop #pokemon gloria #rival hop #swsh gloria #gloria x hop

[45percenterthen]

merry christmas @rambleoncas from ur spn fam secret santa !! sending all the love to u, ely 🥰🎄 i’m SO sorry this is late, pls absolutely yell at me i’m the worst 🙃 had such a fun time writing this tho, hope u love it ! <33

In which Sam and Eileen are not the comedy duo they think they are, a new board game is invented, and Dean and Cas learn a valuable lesson about the perils of ice skating. (2.7k, minor angst followed by ridiculous festive fluff, read here on ao3)

As a child, Dean picked his scabs. Forever scratching at his knuckles, knees, the scarred backs of his elbows. The rhythmic scrape and peel of it. Absentminded in the backseat of the car, or sitting next to Sammy in whatever run-down motel of the week, one eye trained on the door. A life built on rituals and routine; Dean was bound to form some of his own.

There’d been this one vamp in Des Moines, back in ’93. Towering beast of a guy. Dean was pinned up against cold brick in a dimly-lit alley, something sharp digging into the back of his knees and something sharper rising in the back of his throat. Better Dean be bait, of course, than some random civilian. But Dad wasn’t there yet. The guy was at full-fang, teeth inching towards his neck, and Dean was casting silent prayers skyward that Dad had killed the rest of the nest by now, that he was on his way, that this was all still part of the plan.

The vamp had roughed him up a bit, but Dean had given as good as he got, punching and kicking and spitting and punching, smart mouth working overtime to distract from the trembling of his hands. And then, finally, seconds from the precipice: Dad was there. His blade sung as it sliced through the thing’s neck, spraying blood and bone and gristle. And Dean was saved. Dad had grinned, clapped a hand on his shoulder. You did well, son. And Dean had looked up at him from where he’d crumpled to the ground, as if he could float up from the gutter on just those words alone. Let his head tip back to hit brick, lip split, face cracked with blood and pride. In the car back to the motel he was glowing, the compliment sinking into split, aching flesh like a balm. His hands were still shaking, though. Dean had tucked them under his thighs so Dad wouldn’t notice.

He wore his scabbed knuckles like a badge of honour, scratching at the welts in neon-lit diners, reaching out occasionally for faux-attacks on Sam’s fries. He’d wanted it to scar. Wanted to peel away at ruined skin until his knuckles were pink-raw and silvery. A souvenir of a hunt well done, of Dad smiling at him like he’d done something right. Of the four people they’d saved from the nest. Dad’s words rattled around his hollow insides like he could live off them the next few weeks. Scrape. Peel.

Twenty-something years later and Dean hasn’t managed to shake the habit. But as he walks into the bunker’s library, surveys the scene like an audience member of his own life, Dean thinks he’s managed to break a lot – a lot – of others.

“Check it out, Sammy!” He shoves bloodied knuckles in Sam’s face, smiles at him through a mouthful of gingerbread. “Think it’ll scar?”

Sam’s next to Eileen at one of the tables, two slices of cake in front of them, the sound of It’s A Wonderful Life echoing from tinny laptop speakers. It’s balanced precariously on some dusty spell-books, just as a bowl of popcorn is suspended between the armrests of Sam and Eileen’s chairs. Dean’s been watching the politics of the bowl’s positioning with great amusement; Sam’s previous attempts to tilt it to his own side have resulted in glares of ranging affection (and one shoulder-punch) from Eileen. The bowl was swiftly returned to original formation.

At the sight of Dean’s hand, Sam’s face instantly wilts, recoiling like Dean’s smacked him with it. Eileen winces slightly, signs ‘you're such an idiot’, smiling around a mouthful of cake.

“God, Dean, we’re eating–”, Dean smirks harder, crumbs threatening to overspill. “–you’re so gross.” Sam cranes his neck to make eye contact with Cas across the room, shoots him a grin. “Besides – that’s what you get for taking Bambi out on the ice.”

Cas leans back in his chair, head tilted, eyes narrowed suspiciously. One of Dean’s old flannels rolled up to his elbows. He regards Sam like he’s practicing spontaneous human combustion via telepathy.

“I have very little in common with an animated deer, Sam.”

“Only the coordination issues,” Claire chips in from opposite Cas.

“Whose side are you on?” She smiles sweetly at him.

Dean steals a piece of Sam’s popcorn (“other hand, dude!”) just to throw it at him. Waits till the Sasquatch’s eyes are fixed back on the movie, then signs ‘dork’ at Eileen, gesturing to Sam with comically-wide eyes.

She laughs. “Absolutely.”

Engrossed in the film, Sam loops an arm around the back of her chair, oblivious, and Dean walks back across the room, gingerbread in hand. Cas is sitting at the next table along from Sam-and-Eileen, settling back into observing – what appears to be – an incredibly heated game of UNO. Dean’s not sure it is UNO, actually, he’s certain he saw some playing cards caught in the fray. Monopoly cards too? Dean makes a mental note to start paying more attention to the quality of his thrift-store-finds. Regardless, Claire seems to have manoeuvred the situation to her advantage, no doubt convincing Jack and Cas that yes, actually, this is exactly how you play it. She’s chewing on her lip slightly, in way that could pass for concentration. More likely though, Dean thinks, it’s to hide a smile that says: this is like taking candy from a baby-God. The baby-God in question is sitting across the table, next to Cas, eyes wide and earnest, contemplating his nonsensical hand of cards with the focus of a laser-pointer. Dean hopes they’re not playing for money. Claire would clean up.

Dean smiles at Cas, hands him the plate of gingerbread. Reaches out with his uninjured hand to sweep a thumb over his cheekbone. He leans down to press an unselfconscious kiss to the centre of his forehead, and isn’t that a testament to how far he’s come. (From the corner of his eye, Sam watches the exchange. Sees Dean’s wedding band glint in the lamp light as he touches a palm to Cas’ cheek. Smiles to himself.)

Cas accepts the gingerbread, pats the chair next to him. “Sorry I skated over your hand, Dean,” he says woefully.

Dean, always Dean. Never babe, or honey, or something equally as cloying that’d have Sam choking on his granola. Just, Dean. He’s never heard his name spoken with such weight before. It’s like a code between them, like only Dean can hear that secret reverence, the adoration that Cas pours into the single word. A benediction, confession. A promise. At the risk of sounding self-important; Dean’s never loved the sound of his own name more.

“S’alright. Better story than all my other scars.” He points at his right shoulder through his Henley, knowing Cas has memorised all the skin underneath. “Vamp.” Left knee: “Shifter.” Left hand: “Crazed husband on ice skates.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I did tell you not to lie down.”

Dean looks at him, scandalised. “It’s a well-known fact that star-gazing is, like. The peak of romance–”

“But I was still–“

“–but stargazing and ice-skating? You should probably, like, marry me, dude. Get me locked down quick, and all that.”

He drags the chair a bit closer to the table and sits down. Cas beams at him, eyes shining over these cute little round reading glasses they’d bought for him last week. “I believe I already have that covered.”

This time it’s Claire that rolls her eyes. “God, you two are ridiculous. Can’t you see we’re locked in tense gameplay here?”

Jack nods, palpably sincere, eyes still rooted to his cards.

“Sorry, sorry.��� Dean pushes the gingerbread plate in Claire’s general direction in apology. Claps a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Who’s winning, then? Also, uh… what are the rules, exactly?”

He rests a hand on Cas’ knee, draws patterns on the denim. Listens as Jack gives a roundabout explanation of Frankenstein-UNO, how Claire is inexplicably winning every round. It’s weird to think of Jack as actual God now, not when he’s sitting here like this, turning over a Virginia Avenue monopoly card and expression immediately souring. It’s like he has this internal switch, able to toggle between normal-Jack and God-Jack when needed. In moments like these, it almost feels like nothing’s changed. But then he’ll get that glint in his eye, stand up a little straighter, like divine duty’s been injected directly into his veins. Teleport off, continue working on that ground-breaking heaven restructure he’s been talking about. Dean always says that he hopes they’re living it up, Bobby and Ellen and Jo – and all of the rest of them – in heaven-mark-three. That he can’t wait to see the changes. Then Cas’ll chime in, like clockwork. Not for another forty years, I hope. Dean wonders if they’ll get, like, coupons for the heavenly frozen yogurt places, or something. Being one of the unofficial fathers of God has to hold some clout up there, right?

In truth, Dean has some more questions about heaven, heavier ones that weigh on his chest. Lead on his tongue, back-of-his-mind whispers that louden at night. Ones he hasn’t quite found the words to articulate aloud yet. Who, exactly, will be there waiting for him, when he gets there?

Absentmindedly, Dean’s right hand moves to scratch at his left. It’s not at all scabbed yet, but the pain doesn’t really register. He’s just going through the motions. Scrape. Is it wrong, to not want him to be there? Peel. There is a monster at the end of this book. Scrape–

Cas catches his hand and Dean’s thoughts are halted in their tracks. He takes a breath. Cas’s palm sweeps over his knuckles, pulls at his wrist. Loops Dean’s arm around his own shoulders. The careful intensity of his gaze feels achingly familiar. Dean’s hand rests on Cas’ shoulder, now. Cas keeps holding it. Hand and gaze alike.

It’s like he has a permanent window into his thoughts. Dean wonders if it’s some celestial muscle memory, considering all that practice he’d had as an angel. So used to looking beyond Dean’s face, underneath the bone and flesh of it; seeing his soul itself shifting under his skin. Or maybe this is just Cas. Freakishly attuned to him in a way that transcends angelic powers and logic. Maybe this is just Cas-and-Dean.

He’s vaguely aware that Claire and Jack are still talking, arguing the merits and impact of a rogue nine of diamonds, when Sam announces a text from Jody. Apparently, the snowstorm’s eased a bit, and they’re good to hit the road again tomorrow. They’ll probably be at the bunker within a day or two.

Claire’s looking up from her cards now, the thrill of young love apparently overpowering the need to thrash your brother-God at Monopoly-UNO.

Sam aims a piece of popcorn at her. “She also said that Kaia’s really looking forward to it.” He launches it at her and she catches it, effortlessly. The slight flush though, high on her cheekbones, betrays her.

“Did you end up getting through to her earlier?” Cas asks.

“No – just dial tone. Must’ve been because of the storm.” She pauses. “Actually. If the snow’s died down a bit…” she glances at Jack, scoops her cards up into a neat little pile. “Fifteen minutes,” she says to him, grabbing her phone of the table. “I’ll be right back! Don’t look at my cards!”

Jack nods amiably, smiling at her like she’s just put an idea in his head.

Claire reaches the doorway just as Charlie walks in, towel on her head and hot chocolate balanced on her laptop.

“Lesbian relay race,” she says, deadpan, as Claire greets her. Claire snorts, manages to high-five her without looking up from her phone.

Charlie sets her mug down on the table, stealing a bit of gingerbread from Dean’s plate in one swift movement, grinning at him. No doubt she’s ventured out of her room in the hopes of being fed. She’s always first up on weekend mornings, seemingly able to hear the sound of Dean plating up pancakes from seven rooms over. Dean loves having Charlie visit.

“Two very important questions, folks. One: shall we all watch Die Hard tonight?” There’s a chorus of yeses, punctuated by Cas shaking his head at Jack. “Two: what is this monstrosity of a game and how do I play it?”

“Sit here,” Dean says, making a move before the ‘Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?’ debate can start up again (for the record, it absolutely is). “Jack’ll explain. Me and Cas need an eggnog top-up.” He taps Cas on the shoulder, nods in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Two-man job, is it?” Sam smirks at Dean as they pass by. He’s facing Eileen as he says it, so she too, can appreciate his unending wit. She giggles at Sam, raises an eyebrow at Dean and Cas. They’re an absolute double-act tonight, Dean thinks. This is probably the least attention they’ve paid to a movie since he finally sat them all down to watch Star Trek IV. Ingrates. He’s once again delighted that Charlie’s here.

Dean opens his mouth, ‘the best ones always are, Sammy!’ already forming on his tongue. Low-hanging fruit? Probably. Hilarious? Definitely. Cas glares at him though, and he glances at Jack. Somehow still the picture of innocence, even as he rummages through a hand of cards that he’s failing to pass off as his own. Dean closes his mouth. Sticks to a gesture of universal understanding that he can shoot at Sam, when Jack’s not looking.

When they finally reach the kitchen, Cas stops him in the doorway. He gently takes his injured hand and brings it up to his lips, kisses the palm.

“I hate hurting you,” he says quietly. He leaves the rest of the sentence stuck at the back of his throat; I can’t even heal you anymore. Dean hears it anyway. Crowds him into a hug.

“Honestly, dude, it’s fine.” He presses a kiss to his hairline. “Accidents happen. And it’s kinda hilarious.”

“Hmm.”

“It is. Next time we go, remind me to take you to an actual rink. That way you can hold on to the side with the other twelve-year-olds.”

Cas narrows his eyes, twisting in a half-hearted attempt to disentangle himself from Dean’s arms. Dean doesn’t let him. Lightly runs his fingernails over Cas’ forearms until he shivers.

“We can make it a Christmas tradition.” Dean looks upwards. Shifts them a half-step left. “And speaking of traditions…”

Cas follows his line of sight, eyes coming to rest on a tiny sprig of mistletoe taped neatly to the lip of the doorframe. He grins.

“Why do you think–,” he leans in, an inch from brushing Dean’s smiling lips with his own, “–I stopped us in the doorway?”

“Great minds, dude,” Dean whispers.

His heart soars ridiculously in his chest, like this isn’t something they’ve done a hundred, a thousand times before. He closes his eyes against the sudden rise of emotion and then they’re kissing, Cas smiling into it. Dean’s good hand moves up to Cas’ hair, curves round to stroke at the nape of his neck. Cas’ lips are soft, achingly gentle, parting easily for him. He’s got both hands cradling Dean’s face, like he’s holding him in place, trying to explain something to Dean without words. Using just the connection of their lips. They break apart after a while, breathless, and Dean presses a handful more chaste kisses to Cas’ cheek until he’s laughing, walking backwards until Dean has him pinned up against the doorframe.

Dean looks around furtively, then unbuttons the top of Cas’ stolen flannel, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the thin scar he finds at his Adam’s apple. This is a tradition too, now. Cas sighs, murmurs three words into his hair, and Dean answers with four more kisses down the hollow of his throat, one for each word of his reply. The eggnog sits, untouched, on the countertop and, honestly, this is turning into an accident just waiting to scar a family member. At the moment, though, Dean can’t really bring himself to care. He trails his mouth upwards to capture Cas’ lips, again, again, again, and the sound of easy laughter from the library sits light and buoyant in the air. Back in their room, a little vial of orphaned grace sits, forgotten and dusty, on the uppermost shelf of their closet. 

tag list:

@drriffly @cas-s-sinoatrial-node @seraphlm @itsinjustbeing @cursed-or-not@casandeans @dreamnovak @heller-jensen @joharvele @chaoticdean @dickspeightjrs @contemplativepancakes @oflosechesters @acabdean@aelysianmuse @yearningcas @murphycooper @casbelieves @tearsofgrace @footstepsontherun @adsdragonlover @half-dead-hunter @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul

#spnfamsecretsanta #merry chrimble ely !! love u xx #deancas #destiel #deancas fic #destiel fic #my writing

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

I

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

II

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd. 

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.  

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

IV

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away.  It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C’mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

__________________________________________

Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha 306 #bnha fanfiction #the great book of sayings

[pixie-dust-and-pain]

Anarchy

It wasn’t supposed to go this far, it was only meant to be a harmless game. An interest intended only to keep her satisfied until she latched onto the next new thing, but he’d crossed the line. Now, she was willing to do whatever it took to bring him to his knees before her. Now, she was going to topple him down from his throne, and throw down his sparkling crown of glass, and show him that glass was made to shatter. She was going to wreck his carefully crafted tyrannical system, pull it apart brick by brick, and leave both it and him vulnerable to the core. She was going to prove to everybody that had placed even an ounce of trust in him that they should’ve condemned him all along. She didn’t care if she wasn’t queen, but she wasn’t going to let him succeed in being the king. She was going to declare anarchy. 

Warnings: slight sexual innuendo

I wrote this during class

(I haven't used Tumblr that much yet so I'm not aware of the layout of general fanfics, so please do enlighten me)

Chapter 2

She closed her eyes, absentmindedly tapping the wooden desk with her fingertips as she waited for Slughron to move onto her table. He was currently chiding Olive Hornby for not cutting her leaves the right size and having chopped them too big. She rolled her eyes, annoyance prickling at her as she frowned in his direction. The old coot had already wasted half the class praising Tom Riddle. Surely, he could cut short his ravings and move on now.

Finally, he moved onto her desk, and peering at her result, he arched a brow. He seemed confused for a second, before a satisfied grin made its way onto his lips. “You are a natural, my dear. The ingredients were rather simple and watered down, I didn’t think that a student of your age could’ve made such an advanced potion. I must say, I hadn’t expected this much, but well done…” he trailed off, probably indulging himself in fantasies of how having two top-students from his house would be a bonus.

She smiled politely at Slughorn, a satisfied feeling pooling in her. The moment he left, however, her eyes drifted to Tom Riddle, and she smiled at him in cruel content. He glanced at her, a bored expression occupying his face, and turned back to his book. It wasn’t much, but she didn’t care. She’d gotten his attention, at least.

She didn’t know why she was doing this. Truly, it was a lot less productive than her other occasional indulgences. But he’d been Hogwarts’ best student for far too long, and she was getting tired of having his praises sung every time she entered a room. She’d been surprised at the amount of self-control she had, especially since she had managed not to slap a person every time they spoke his accomplishments and prided herself for her restrain.

She wasn’t one to engage in academic excellence. For what she had planned, wasting her time on good grades, paying attention in classes that teach her about topics she already knows, and obtaining useless knowledge was unnecessary, but she had to admit, it did feel good to be the top of the class, even if it was just once. 

Her eyes wander to Riddle again, and this time, she stares. She wouldn’t lie to herself by admitting that he wasn’t conventionally attractive, he had, after all, made her blush a time or two, but he was just so perfect it was odd. Surely, nobody could be that flawless. And so, she’d dug, scraped together pieces of information, observed him through the shadows, noted how his “friends” seemed to cower before him, and how they used to turn pale after an accident or even a lousy slip of tongue.  

It had been easy for her to do so. She was a nobody in the castle, insignificant, and weak. She wasn’t exactly “under the radar”, but she wasn’t the sort to be suspected. She was sweet and innocent and weak, and an overall shame to Slytherin. She didn’t care much of it, her reputation, the bullying it caused, it was all a trivial matter. They were small consequences as opposed to the advantages she’d gained. Sweet and gentle girl she was, how could she ever cause anybody any harm? And thus, she’d been granted access to the restricted section, occasional visits to the forbidden forest (with a professor, naturally) and an immediate exclusion to suspicion every time something went wrong.

She’d worked hard to build up her image as the harmless little damsel in distress, and the teasing and exclusion from the general Slytherin body was a small price to pay. It wasn’t that they didn’t like her (they adored her, actually) but that Hogwarts ran on a hierarchal system, and the rulers of the system seemed to have it in for her and her so-called “disgrace” to the Slytherin house, and so everybody who seemed to be more than a mere acquaintance to her was immediately shunned. She supposed it had something to do with her open acceptance of muggleborns, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She steals a glance at him again, and he wasn’t even looking in her direction, far too immersed in his book to care. Or, at least, that was how he made it out to be. She knew he cared; it would be ridiculous if he didn’t. She smiled to herself, basking in the knowledge that she’d gotten his attention.

But she’d done so much more than just that, hadn’t she? She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d upstaged him.

~*~

“Ellison,” a smooth voice says, pulling her out of her trance. She snaps the book shut hastily, casting a non-verbal spell to change its name and prays that he doesn’t notice.

“Hi?” She offers, smiling awkwardly. She hadn’t thought this far, really. She’d just expected to be confronted by one of his cronies or to have him send her annoyed glares now and then. Total confrontation? Well, that was a bold step.

“May I join you?” He asks, gesturing to the empty seats next to her. She nodded, still keeping the awkward smile on. He should’ve realized by now it was a desperate cry for help.

It was an awkward silence after that, interrupted by only the occasional turning of page. It’s odd, and she pauses, paying the utmost attention to the boy next to her. He doesn't seem to realize that she has stopped, and if he does, he makes no move to acknowledge it. It's quiet, and she realizes that she's the only one who's been turning her page all this time. "Are you alright?" she finally asks, raising a brow at him.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Well, you haven't turned your page once since you've gotten here, and seem to be having trouble with-" she peers over, and raises a brow, “-the acknowledgements,”

"And you've paid all that precious attention to me instead of focusing our on your," he pauses and squints at the title, "Kamasutra,"

She doesn't have the shame to blush, and only silently curses herself for not paying more attention to what she’d renamed the book as, "Look, Tim-"

"Tom," he sharply corrects.

"Whatever, I don't want any trouble. And it wasn't me who asked to sit next to you, now was it?” And honestly you just sitting there like a statue is creepy,”

“How did you do it?” he asks finally, leaning back into the chair and studying her. She has to admit, his undivided attention feels nice.

“Do what?” beat you in potions? Then defense against the dark arts? She doesn’t voice her thoughts out loud, and gets up and shoves her items hastily into her bag.

“Make the potion,” he says. It’s a clever dodge.

She smiles wryly at him, “I’m not that much of a dunce, Riddle,”

“Well, you haven’t exactly made your abilities clear before, have you? How the sudden change?”

“I’m late for class-”

“It’s lunch,”

“Even worse, then.” She tries to leave, but he grabs her wrist. His grip is painful, and she wonders how dire the consequences would be if she twists his hand.

“I don’t take well to being ignored, Ellison,” he says, his grip bruising and his eyes glinting. She doesn’t feel scared, then, only more aware. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and Tom Riddle could, if he wanted, hurt her. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that what she was doing had the potential to be life-threatening if she wanted it to. She hasn’t had the sweet taste of danger in so long, it feels freeing to acknowledge it again.

She smiles demurely, the picture of submission, and twists his wrist in reply as she wrestles her hand out of his. The only sign of him being pained by the even tis his sharp intake of breath.

It’s like gambling, this strange interest of hers. It has obvious consequences, but it’s just so entertaining. She walks out of the library, glancing only momentarily at the spot he’d grabbed her. She can see his fingerprints, a bruising shape on her wrist, clearly visible. This was going to be fun.

#tom riddle #fanfic #my writing #lord voldemord #harry potter #Tom riddle is hot #Mc is kinda manipulative #writers on tumblr #tom marvolo riddle #zaddy #riddle #timmy boy

[not-close-to-straight]

Hexes and Honeysuckle (Three)

MASTERLIST HERE

***************

“Grievance the first-- grievance the first?” Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Oh god, I’ll need more tea for this.” 

“Just a moment, then.” Natasha ran one brightly polished fingertip around the rim of Pepper’s cup, then tapped twice on the handle and watched from the corner of her eye as it filled with steaming hot, perfectly prepared lavender tea. “There you are.” 

“Only lavender?” Pepper sniffed at it and made a disappointed noise. “I think I’ll need something a smidge stronger to deal with Tony’s list of grievances, I’ve only read the first three words and I already have a headache.” 

“Anything for you, lovely.” Natasha looked away from her own morning reading to take a sip of the tea, then passed it back to her partner. “Better?” 

“If I knew your lips tasted of sweet honey and brandy, I would have let you seduce me at least a hundred years earlier.” Pepper declared after another taste, and hmm’d in pleasure at the added liquor. “Why did you keep this trick hidden for so long?” 

“I needed to know you loved me for me, not for the way my kisses could get you drunk.” the other witch ran her toes affectionately up Pepper’s leg to her knee. “Besides, I’d spend another hundred and fifty years seducing you if only to have mornings like this.” 

“I love you viciously.” Pepper blew Natasha a kiss, and Natasha waited until a stain of pink lips landed on her cheek before whispering back, “Viciously.” 

“Grievance the first.” Pepper had one more endlessly adoring smile for her wife before going back to the list of complaints Tony had sent in after a week with Bucky, sipping at her tea and scanning the items quickly. “Day One, and I am more bored than I have ever been in my entire life, human or feline, send help, I’m dying.” 

“Grievance the second. Day Two, I got nosy in Bucky’s closet and the man only owns red long sleeve shirts. Explain to me how a man with one arm needs shirts with not one, but two full length sleeves. It’s honestly a waste of fabric.

“Grievance the third. Day Three. Bucky has eaten the same food for the last three days. The same food. Three days. No matter how many times I toss peas onto the floor he keeps eating them. I’m starting to suspect sabotage. Don’t know what he’s sabotaging, but I feel like it's nefarious.” 

“Are we sure Tony isn't old enough to have spent time with the Bard?” Natasha wanted to know. “Because he is reaching literal Shakespearean levels of drama right now. Sabotage? Seriously? How is he writing this anyway, are you simply translating a thousand different paw prints?”

“Learning to have a pen write for us is a basic skill, Tasha. I know Tony got fancy with his magic in the last years before his hex but surely he still remembers an inscribing spell.” Pepper paused and then added with a quiet laugh, “Either that or he made Bucky write up a list of complaints about himself and honestly, I wouldn’t put that past the cat.” 

“Bratty thing.” Natasha agreed immediately. “Keep reading.” 

“Grievance the fourth: the witch is unfairly hot and I don’t appreciate being stuck in cat form and therefore unable to enjoy it-- oh Goddess give us strength.” Pepper groaned. “If the rest of this letter is Tony waxing poetic about Bucky’s looks I’ll actually quit, I swear.”

“You love Tony entirely too much to give up on him.” Natasha denied, opening Bucky’s envelope and unfolding the single sheet. 

“Do I?” Pepper challenged. “Grievance the ninth is that the one time Bucky isn’t wearing a stupid long sleeve shirt he’s walking around in a towel and Tony takes it as a personal slight against his person that the witch has washboard abs he continues to hide away and only offer teasing glimpses of every once in a while.” 

“A tale as old as time, the familiar is horny for the witch and the witch thankfully has no clue.” Nat flipped the page over to check if Bucky had filled both front and back like Tony had. “Oh, interesting. Bucky only has three complaints.” 

“Only three?” Pepper tossed Tony’s letter away and took a gulp of her tea. “I have more complaints than that just reading Tony’s list. What does Bucky have to say?” 

“He says, ‘Tony’s singing sounds like a strangling cat, which will actually happen if he doesn’t cut that noise out.’ and ‘He magics my pillows away every night’ and then…” the witch raised a curious eyebrow when she read the last line. 

“What is it, darling?” 

“Bucky says ‘it’s nice not to be so lonely anymore’.” Natasha finished slowly, and Pepper put a hand to her heart. “Is the child so lonely that even a sassy, ornery cat is good company?” 

“Poor thing.” Pepper shook her head. “It isn’t right he’s been alone so long, hopefully Tony calms down and Bucky opens up a little bit so they can help each other.” 

“Honestly, I think they’re doing just fine.” Natasha gathered up the letters and tied with a red ribbon, flicked her fingers and sent them flying towards an identically tied stack on her desk. “I expect a breakthrough any day now.” 

“They’re doing just fine.” Pepper echoed blankly. “Sorry, were we reading the same letters?” 

“Tony’s list is all petty complaints mixed with thinly veiled horniness.” Tasha pointed out. “Bucky’s complaints are about Tony’s noise and habit of pillow stealing which we both know isn't necessarily a mean thing, Tony is just a pillow and bed hog no matter who he is sleeping with. There’s no substance to their complaints which means they’ve settled into something of compatibility together.” 

“Compatibility huh?” Pepper quoted from Tony’s list, “Grievance the Sixteenth: Bucky drinks his coffee straight black, no cream, no sugar, no swirl of honey, just black like a warlock’s soul and three times as bitter. Clearly, he is a monster.” 

Natasha’s shoulders shook when she laughed, “Wonderful. Trust me, they’re doing great.” 

“Natasha.” 

“Pepper. Have some faith, darling. They’ll be just fine.” 

**************

**************

“Oh no, this is not fine.” Bucky sat back from his book abruptly when several pounds of feline shoved under his hands and flopped onto the pages, effectively ruining his concentration and puffing fur into the binding of his novel. “What are you doing? Can I help you with something?” 

“I’m bored.” Tony wriggled further onto the book just to be sure the witch couldn’t see a single word around his body. “Let’s blow something up.” 

“Well adjusted people don’t make statements like that.” Bucky tried to lift his book from beneath the familiar, but Tony had adjusted very well to some of cat’s less desirable habits and simply went dead-weight, and the witch cursed when he suddenly had a cat shaped brick weighing his book down. “Damn it, Tony. Move!” 

“I will not.” the familiar sniffed. “Not until you do something interesting. It’s been an entire week and you are the most boring soul I’ve ever met. If you don’t want to blow things up, let’s at least work spells. Isn’t the whole point of me being here so I help you grow your magic?” 

“I--” Bucky’s jaw tensed. “I guess.” 

“Well then let’s do that.” Tony flicked his thick tail towards the witch’s face. “Besides, there’s only so many times you can read the same book and you’ve read this one front to back at least twice since Sunday. What’s it about anyway?” 

“Interpreting dreams.” the witch admitted softly, almost stiffly, and Tony’s ears perked up curiously. “And how to you know… lucid dream. That sort of thing.” 

“Oh!” The familiar got to his feet and tried to read the words beneath all the charcoal fur on his belly. “Are you one of those witches? The dream weavers? Should I leave a bit of twine beneath my pillow so you can interpret what the knots mean in the morning?”

“You’re making fun of me.” Bucky said flatly and Tony tried hard to look as innocent as possible while also vigorously nodding. “And that’s exactly why no one likes cats.” 

The witch pushed back from the table and went to the kitchen to start lunch and Tony jumped down and followed right behind him, chattering, “That’s categorically untrue you know. Generally speaking, everyone likes cats even if it's not house sized cats. You ever meet someone and ask if they like tigers and they say ‘no tigers are ugly’? No, no one thinks tigers are ugly, everyone likes some form of cat and if you don’t, you’re lying to yourself.” 

He leapt up onto the counter and jabbed a paw at leftover meatloaf. “Meatloaf sounds like someone took the worst part of an animal and mixed it with the butt ends of a loaf of bread and then tried to trick other people into eating it.” 

“Noted.” Bucky smacked Tony’s paw away when the cat tried to touch it again. “Keep your paws off my food. You don’t want to eat meatloaf, go catch some crickets or something.” 

“Bucky bear, if I don’t catch my own fish what makes you think I’m going to catch bugs?” Tony dodged the next swipe and stuck his nose right onto the meatloaf. “Whoof. What is in there?” 

“...did you just call me Bucky bear?” the big brunette asked in confusion. “Did you-- goddamnit, get your nose off my food!” 

“Tomorrow I’m going to cook.” Tony ignored the question about the unintended nickname and pushed the plate of meatloaf away in disdain. “And by me, I mean you and by ‘cook’ I mean I’m going to yell ingredients at you while you throw them in a pot. Agreed?”

Bucky just sighed, cut a piece of meatloaf for himself and shoved it in the oven to warm up, then sighed again and swept Tony right off the counter. 

“Pets stay on the floor.” he stated, only because he knew Tony’s fur would get poofy and his back would arch in instant annoyance and the familiar would make that weird ‘ft-ft-ft!’ noise that meant he was pissed. “Next time we go to town I’m going to get you a bowls to eat out of like other house cats.” 

“WHAT!” Tony yelped. “Just for that, the next time I drink out of your water glass I’ll purposefully leave tongue marks on the rim.” 

“You drink out of my glass?!” 

“Well, how else am I supposed to stay hydrated?!” 

Bucky threw up his hands and Tony threw up his front paws and frustrated silence fell over the cottage for several hours while Bucky ate and Tony destroyed a chunk of meat loaf so he could pick out anything that looked even slightly weird and only once Bucky was cleaning up did the witch speak again. 

“Get out of the way.” he poked at Tony with the broom with the feline sat right on the dustpan. “I’ve gotta sweep.” 

“Seriously if you don’t do something magic soon I’ll die of boredom.” Tony pleaded faux pathetically. “Familiars are meant to make spells work and I’m starting to worry my magic virginity is growing back!” 

“That is a terrible sentence.” Bucky groaned. “Don’t say stuff like that!” 

“What, virginity?” the cat gave him a fangy grin. “Is it weird for a cat to have virgini--ACK! Don’t hit me with a broom!” 

“Don’t talk about weird things then.” Bucky kept sweeping while the familiar growled and huffed and skittered out of the way. “And stop tracking dirt all over the floor! I’m trying to clean!” 

Tony narrowed his bright eyes at Bucky, then jumped up onto the window and into the dirt filled garden box, stamped his little feet into the muck and jumped back out to walk purposefully, brattily across the counters, down to the floor and tippy tap all the way across the kitchen, smearing dirt every which way in tiny paw prints. 

Bucky ground his teeth together so hard he thought maybe one of them cracked, then swallowed back the fear that threatened to choke him at the thought of doing magic in front of anyone else, and forced out a controlled breath. “Okay. I give up. You want to do magic?” 

“YES!” 

“Let’s do some magic.” the witch sent an uncertain look towards his mostly unused spell book. “Can’t be too much of a disaster, right?” 

“At least not for several hours!” Instantly cheerful because he finally got to do something, Tony ignored-- or maybe misread-- the look of trepidation on Bucky’s face and danced back and forth on his paws a little bit. “Let’s give it till sundown, I’m sure it will be fine! Magic!” 

...It was not fine. 

In fact, attempting magic together was a disaster. 

Bucky had known it was going to be a disaster-- there was a reason he hadn’t even cracked his spell book in the week since Tony had come along-- but he still hadn’t expected it to be this bad. 

Bucky wasn’t a well versed witch and after so long being shunned from most communities, he’d forgotten even the most basic spells and had to look every single piece up in his book. Tony on the other hand, had been a powerful witch in his own right as a human, tutored under the sorceress Peggy, traveling around the world to learn all he could and hoarding the information in his mind so he could know everything. 

Together, they made a annoyingly incompatible team. 

Bucky, who needed help with even the beginning of spells, and Tony who was so used to being the smartest person in any room, he’d forgotten how frustrating it could be to have so much to learn.

“You’re doing that wrong.” The familiar announced first, perching on the table with rear in the air and front paws close together as he read through the open spell in the book. “You pronounced it wrong, do it again and this time try not to sound like you’re chewing on your tongue in the process.” 

And later, “My god, you need to use a help me be less awkward potion, not a health potion! It said a sprig of chamomile, not an entire pound. You’ll start growing flowers out of your ears if you take all that!” 

“Not gonna take it.” Bucky insisted. “Just trying to get it right!” 

“Well it’s wrong.” Tony knocked the pile of ingredients over. “Start again.” 

Closer to dinner time, “Stop fumbling!” Tony hopped onto his back paws and held the ingredients steady as Bucky mixed them. “Use a levitation spell to hold this stuff for you!” 

“Don’t know a levitation spell.” Bucky bit out. “Not a whole lotta people lining up to teach a one armed witch much of anything!” 

“Yeah well at some point you have to take responsibility for your own learning!” Tony shot back and then-- “Oh my god, I’m turning into my Auntie Peggy, she’s said that at least a thousand times to me. This is the worst day of my life.” 

“My day isn’t so great either.” Bucky argued. “Gettin’ yelled at by a know it all cat wasn’t on my list of things to do ever!” 

“I’m not a cat, I’m a familiar!” 

“You’re a pain in the ass!” 

Magic was a disaster, frustrating for both witch and familiar and after several hours, each stormed off to their own corners of the house to sulk about the lack of progress. 

Tony curled into a ball on the windowsill and tried not to let panic claw it's way into his heart, fighting against the sinking feeling that yet another witch wouldn’t be enough to break his curse. If Ty couldn’t do it how could a witch who didn’t even know the basics do any better? At first Tony had been mildly amused that Pepper and Tasha had unleashed him on some newbie witch but now he was just scared that this was his last chance and it was already doomed. 

Bucky threw himself onto the bed and rolled over onto his side so he didn’t have to see the cat at the window, familiar tendrils of depression and failure sinking deep into his soul. 

He couldn’t do this, he was born a witch but lost his coven too young and instead of continuing in magic, he should have let himself just be mortal, just be normal. At least humans would see his disability and think he was someone to be pitied, the familiar saw his disability and was irritated that Bucky hadn’t come up with all these ways to compensate, as if any tricks and illusions would erase the hopelessness that came with every phantom pain, every time someone stopped and stared… 

They went to bed without speaking to each other, and the irritation over attempted magic spilled over into the every day activities for the rest of the week. 

If Bucky and Tony weren’t fighting about magic, they were fighting over left overs for dinner and who had to do the dishes, with Tony screeching, “I have paws! I can’t clean plates!” and Bucky countering, “Your fuckin’ beans could write a letter of complaints, couldn’t they? You can clean the plates!” 

Then came the arguments about cleaning, whether or not Tony would negate Bucky’s security deposit by shedding all over the place and whether or not the familiar even had to shed-- “If you aren’t really a cat, why the hell are you shedding so much?!”. 

Bucky complained about Tony’s noise at night and Tony shredded one of Bucky’s shirts under the guise of sharpening his claws, and they snipped back and forth over every failed potion and low level information Bucky had never learned, bitched at each other about Tony’s teaching skills or lack there of, the no-patience approach the familiar had to instructions and how determined Bucky was to not take orders from a four legged feline. 

One day Tony was sleeping belly up in the sun and in a moment of quick regret, Bucky gave the cat a few belly scritches, only to retreat with scratched and bitten fingers courtesy of one highly pissed of familiar. That night there was only peas for dinner and Tony glared at Bucky over his plate while the witch shoveled bites into his mouth and glared right back. 

“Four pages.” Pepper said at the end of that week, pulling Tony’s letter out of the envelope and weighing it in the palm of her hand. “Tell me again how you think these two will be just fine?” 

“I’ll admit things don’t look good right now.” Natasha was already reading Bucky's list of complaints, lips pursed and brow furrowed. “But we need to give them more time.” 

“More time might actually end in murder.”  Pepper handed over her tea cup and Natasha automatically took a quick sip, layering the tea with honey and brandy before handing it back. “Are you sure we’ve made the right decision?” 

“Time, my love.” Natasha repeated. “What is a few weeks when we are meant to live centuries? Let them keep trying.” 

**************

**************

“Keep trying!” Tony cried when Bucky screwed up again, when the potion bubbled up and over again and the spell was mispronounced again. “You’ve been around almost a hundred years and you’re barely on the basic spells! You’ll never get anywhere if--” 

“-- shit!” Bucky cursed out loud when the liquid landed searing on his hand, then cursed louder when he jerked away and upset everything on the table, scattering ingredients all over and knocking the spell book onto the floor. “Goddamnit! Damn it!” 

“Okay, I think we’re being a little dramatic, so why don’t we take ten to twenty percent off the top there?” Tony was ready with some snark, some sass and a healthy dose of sarcasm because it had been a hell of a week and he was feeling like he needed to unleash, like he needed to scream and maybe even set something on fire and hearing Bucky curse felt good for some twisted reason.

The witch was close to snapping too so maybe they could both snap, they could both scream and then things could go back to the tentative normal they’d had the week before. 

Tony was ready, tempted to escalate the moment just so Bucky would yell and he could yell and they’d both stop stressing about but then--

--then he looked a little closer and saw the sheen of tears in the witch’s pale eyes, saw the lines of stress in Bucky’s forehead and the way his good hand clenched into a fist and still couldn’t hide trembling fingers. 

Well shit. 

“Bucky?” he asked carefully, took a slow step forward and held out a paw. “Hey, it’s um-- I mean, you don’t gotta--” 

“Fuck.” Bucky shoved at the table hard enough to send it crashing into the wall and stalked away, rubbing at his eyes and breathing hard as he sat heavy on the bed and hung his head. “Fuck, I’m so bad at this. Damn it.” 

“Bucky?” the familiar asked again, but the witch didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. 

“Be nice.” Natasha had warned and Tony twitched his whiskers uncomfortably when he saw the dejected slump to Bucky’s shoulders, the way the witch’s hair fell down into his eyes like he was trying to hide. 

Be nice. 

{{Authors Note: Tony is speaking (probably poorly translated) Latin because that seems witchy, right?}}

“Redige hoc pulmentum.” Tony muttered after a minute, and the mess began to clean itself up. “Inveniam locum tuum.” and the battered spell book shifted and scooted back to the corner of the desk. 

Simple cleaning spells really, a minor incantation that was yet another one Bucky should have known but didn’t, one Tony could use even in this ridiculous form, and he whispered a few more sentences to fix the disaster before gathering up his courage and jumping down, padding towards the bed with quiet paws. 

He didn’t really know how to comfort-- well anyone, honestly. Tony Stark was known for his wit, for his magic and for his charisma not for his empathy or sympathy or anything else along those lines which was definitely why Peggy had decided a curse was needed for him to learn those particular traits. 

So no, he didn’t know how to comfort another witch, especially not one like Bucky, especially not when he was in cat form, but Tony got up on the bed and sat close to Bucky anyway.

Bucky didn’t look up, and Tony inched a little closer. 

Bucky still didn’t look up, and Tony got close enough to put his paw on one honestly wonderfully muscled thigh, seriously he might be a cat and feeling guilty for being a brat right now, but he could still appreciate some muscles, right?

“What do you want?” Bucky finally asked when the familiar only sat there for a long time. “You back to make fun of me some more?” 

He was bitter, angry and embarrassed and now he was just tired. Bucky wanted to sleep and he wanted to shout at the sky and he sort of wanted to run away and forget everything about the familiar and this town and the way Natasha and Pepper had been so encouraging and he wanted to--

“...What…” The witch’s thoughts derailed when the cat made a quiet mmmmrp! noise and hopped onto his lap. “What are you doing?” 

Tony didn’t answer, just kneaded a few times at Bucky’s leg and then hefted his body weight into Bucky’s stomach and settled in like he was going to sleep. 

“You think you can come over and act like a real cat and I’ll forgive you for being an asshole?” Bucky asked irritably, and Tony went tense for a moment, then forced himself to relax and tried for a purr. “Oh hey, are you-- are you purring?” 

It was at least five minutes before Bucky lifted a very hesitant hand and pet lightly at the familiar’s back, and when Tony didn’t take his fingers right off, the witch came back for another soft pat. “This okay?” 

Tony’s purr was rusty and unused, hoarse and maybe a little scratchy and definitely not a sound that humans made but he tried anyway, closed his eyes tight and concentrated and purred. 

“That’s so sweet.” Bucky sounded hopeless and helpless and relieved, his breath catching and fingers tightening in Tony’s charcoal fur. “Thanks, Tony. This is-- you are--” 

“A pain in the ass?” Tony supplied without opening his eyes, and Bucky’s laugh was soft and genuine and warmed the familiar clear through to his beans. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to say.” 

“Noted.” 

****************

****************

Everything was white and everything was still and Tony realized first that he must have fallen asleep on Bucky’s lap and then second that he was dream walking. 

“Look at that.” The witch turned familiar looked around the empty space in interest. “Didn’t know I had enough power in my cat body to dream walk anymore and-- oh look at that.” 

Tony’s eyes widened when he realized he was gesturing with hands, that his paws had been replaced with elegant fingers and fur had been reduced to black hair shot through with silver. He was human again, or at least human enough to dream walk and when Tony could run his hands down the silk and satin that made up his favorite shirt and vest, when he could clasp the glowing blue medallion around his neck that had been a last gift from the wizard Jarvis, he nearly shouted with joy.

“Human again!” he cheered, spun in a circle and pumped his fist in the air. “And I’m sure there’s a song about that somewhere! Thank god I don’t dream about being a cat! I’m human again!” 

After spinning and laughing for a few minutes-- and with a quick peek into his pants to make sure he was fully human formed again-- Tony calmed down and took a closer look at his surroundings, at the dream scape he’d inadvertently projected himself into. 

It had to be Bucky’s dreams since the witch was the only constant in Tony’s life lately, and they had shared a halfway decent moment just before falling asleep so it made sense Tony had ended up here. 

But here was… well it was sort of awful. 

Bucky’s dream was white, plain glaring white. Empty space and no borders, nothing to break the monotony and when Tony set out walking through the space it was several minutes-- hours? It was hard to tell time in dreams-- before he even found the witch. 

Bucky was sitting alone in the middle of the space, shoulders hunched and knees drawn up to his chest, pale eyes staring out blankly into the nothing. There was no sound, no wind, nothing but quiet and an unsettling stillness and just to erase the unease crawling down his spine Tony called, “Bucky? My god, even your dreams are boring!” 

...the witch didn’t answer, didn’t flinch or blink like he’d heard Tony speak, and the familiar called again, “It’s rude to ignore me! I came all this way through your psyche to hang out in dreams and you’re just going to-- ooph!” 

Tony recoiled when he ran into a barrier, a glass wall that rose out of nothing and kept him separated from the witch on the other side. “What the hell…? If I wake up and my kitty nose is crooked I’m going to shred every shirt in your closet.” he decided, and still the witch didn’t stir. “Can you hear me? Bucky?” 

Silence, and Tony ran his hands along the glass and followed it as far in one direction as he could then backed up several steps until he could find the walls on all four sides and realized what was happening. 

It was a cage. Bucky had dreamed himself into a cage.

“You’ve walled yourself off even in your dreams.” the familiar said softly, curiously. “Why would you ever do that? Who are you trying to keep out? And what--” Tony gulped when he saw the mark on Bucky’s body. “--what the hell is that.” 

There on the witch’s left shoulder, on a spot Tony hadn’t ever actually seen since Bucky put a shirt on immediately after a shower and never went to bed without pajamas, there on the few inches left of the limb was a star shining bright through the material of Bucky’s shirt, bold and brazen and unable to hide in the altered reality of a dream. 

A red star and Tony’s heart skittered to a stop because he knew that symbol. He knew the stories of the Lehigh coven, he’d heard how the wizard Alexander had broken through the protective wards of the community to unleash a monster of unimaginable horror. He knew the land had been cursed barren by the blood spilt, that even the greatest witches had collapsed that day as their spirits grieved along with the coven and Tony knew-- he knew there’s been no no refugees from the devastation, no survivors of the massacre, no one left to carry the star of the coven on their arm. 

Yet Bucky was branded anyway, the mark brilliant horrifying scarlet in the awful white of the witch’s subconscious.  

Bucky was a survivor, but Lehigh had been at least seventy years ago and Bucky hadn’t even seen a century yet. 

“You were a child.” Tony whispered, his tongue thick in his mouth and throat closing up with realized grief. “You were a child when you lost your coven. You… you escaped all that?” 

But watching the witch huddled in the center of the dream, hiding behind walls and staring out with fear wrecking the blue gaze, Tony knew Bucky hadn’t escaped anything at all. 

Lehigh might have been seventy years ago, but Bucky had been lost for every second of the following years. 

Be nice, Natasha had pleaded and guilt split the familiar’s heart in two. 

“I’m sorry.” Tony flattened his hand to the glass wall, then leaned in to press his forehead to it as well. “I didn’t know.” 

But the witch didn’t answer, didn’t turn to look at Tony, or even move enough to take a full breath. 

“Bucky. I’m sorry.” 

*****************

*****************

The next afternoon, Bucky worked on the same spell he’d done the last seven days, the same spell he’d messed up so badly the day before. But this time Tony jumped onto the table and declared, “Surgere et teneat te!” so the spell book would hover just at eye level so Bucky could consult it before every step. 

The familiar stamped his little paw and snapped, “Disce tuum est!” when an ingredient bowl tipped over, and Bucky’s eyes lit up when the bowl corrected itself and stayed still instead of spilling. 

“Mutare forma.” Tony murmured while Bucky read an incantation from the book and finally, finally, there on the table was their very first potion. It was one of healing and renewed strength, one sure to help Bucky with his pain and exhaustion and it glowed beautifully deep blue in the decanter, infused with a quiet blessing for easier days and mixed to perfect standards now that they were working together. 

“It’s beautiful.” Bucky pushed his hair out of his eyes and stared down at the potion. “Tony, it’s beautiful! Thank you!” 

“Calm down.” Bucky’s brilliant smile was doing flip floppy things to Tony’s heart, so the familiar just twitched his tail and acted like he didn’t want to tippy tappy dance in equal excitement. “We made a potion, it’s not like we moved a mountain. You still have a lot to learn.” 

If possible, the witch’s smile stretched even bigger and when Bucky reached out to give pats, Tony butted his head up into his palm to allow them. 

“Thank you.” Bucky said again, softer this time. “This is the first time in my life I’ve felt like I might be a real witch.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tony dipped his paw in the liquid and licked it off experimentally. “Just wait till I teach you an invisibility spell. Then we’ll go spy on Natasha and Pepper.” 

“They’d actually kill us for that.” 

“You know what they say.” the familiar bared his teeth in a kitty approximation of a smile. “To die would be an awfully big adventure.” 

“Nobody says that, Tony.” Bucky denied and Tony insisted, “Sure they do! All the time!” 

“What sort of people say that?!” 

“Ghosts!” 

“Ghosts don’t count, cat! We’re not spying on Tasha and Pepper!” 

“Ugh, you are so damn boring!” Tony flattened his ears and groaned out loud. “You never let me have any fun!” 

Bucky glanced between the irate cat and the perfect potion on the table, then reached for a tie to do up his hair off his shoulders. “Alright fine. Let’s try an invisibility spell.” 

“Really?!” 

“Sure.” the witch shrugged and grinned again. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

****************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

****************

@itsdisapointmentasmrworld @luvstruckscum @thanossucks @nanita90a @firelightmystic @ravynfyre @i-am-worth-it-25 @theshipinspector @vampiregirl1797 @dayzor @schalabi422 @yomama-umbridge @i-am-worth-it-25 @bookbutterfly1999 @thanossucks @flamesburnonthemountainside @endrega23

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping 

#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes

[pagingevilspawn]

Spin The Bottle

i’m just gonna come out and say how much i hate this one shot already because it’s seriously bad. i had it planned to be like super cute, but you guys get this so... enjoy. chapter one of LYIALG will be up on Thursday! 

a high school au one-shot

____

Josephine Wilson sat on the edge of her best friend Stephanie Edwards' bed, watching as she pulled shirt after shirt, skirt after skirt, pair of pants after pair of pants out of her closet, scattering them across the room as she threw them behind her aimlessly. It looked like a scene of out every young adult movie starring a late twenty year old trying to be sixteen. A total cliche.

"Ugh I can't find it!" her friend exclaimed frustratedly, huffing as she turned back to Jo with a pout on her face.

"Find what?" Jo asks, more focused on picking at the skin on her nails than her friends fashion moment. Damn cuticle, it wouldn't go down without it hurting like a bitch.

"My sparkly black top? You know that one? The one with the sequins and the v-neck..." she trails off in hopes that her best friend would know what shirt she was taking about.

Jo stands up immediately, looking through the closet closely and carefully, not making a huge mess like Steph.

She emerges a few seconds later, holding the hanger the top was on in her right hand with a small smirk on her face. The other girl's jaw drops wide open when she sees the item. "How?!" she exclaims. She'd been looking for the top for at least twenty minutes.

Jo just shrugs her shoulders, though it was probably due to the fact that she didn't flip the closet inside out while trying to find it. Turns out throwing clothes everywhere created and even bigger mess and wasn't helpful in the process of finding lost clothes.

Steph takes the shirt from the brunette, saying 'thank you' so many times Jo lost count. She didn't really see the big deal, it was literally just a shirt after all, but to Steph is seemed like life or death, so she took the gratitude.

The darker skinned girl shimmies out of her shirt before slipping the tank top over her head, adjusting it before turning around to face Jo, smoothing it down as she smiles. "Whadd'ya think?" she asks, spinning around.

The girl lets out a loud wolf whistle, showing her approval. She smirks, looking her friend up and down. "Jackson is gonna lose his shit." she says, referring to Steph's boyfriend, a senior named Jackson Avery, also known as the only reason they were going to the party. Having your best friend date someone a grade older had some serious perks (mainly getting into senior parties, but there were probably some other advantages too).

And she wasn't lying, Steph looked seriously hot in her figure hugging v-neck and ripped black jeans. She'd done simple makeup, but her bold red lip really stood out and made her whole outfit complete.

Snapping Jo out of her thoughts, the curly haired girl studies her, "What are you wearing to the party?" she asks, pinning back some of her baby hairs with a clip as she turns back to her mirror.

"This." Jo says, referring to her dark blue jeans and flannel she currently had on. It was comfy, and it's not like her latest foster family gave enough shits to buy her clothes that hadn't been hand me downs or from dingy thrift stores. Or enough shits to buy her clothes or give her money for them period.

The other girls face curls up, "No."

Jo quirks a brow, "No?"

"Nope, c'mon." she says, dragging the brunette back to the closet. "We're going to a senior party and you wear flannels every day. Tonight, you are gonna show off that fine ass figure of yours." Steph says adamantly, tutting at whatever clothes she didn't approve of as she flicked through the large closet.

Jo shakes her head immediately, making her almost get whip lash from how many times her head went back and forth. "No way Steph. I'm fine." She didn't want Steph's clothes. She didn't want any kind of charity or special treatment. Just because she couldn't afford 'party clothes' didn't mean she couldn't go to parties.

As if her friend read her mind, "It's not charity Jo, it's me begging you to play dress up with me." she smirks, referring to what the two did ever since they were little girls. They would steal Steph's mother's heels and prance around in them, taking bits of jewelry and piling it on their necks, arms, and fingers. Then, they would steal some of Mr. Edwards' shirts and use them as dresses for the royal ball. She misses those times, when all their worries were focused on which of their stiffed animals would be the prince to escort them during their first dance.

How could Jo say no to dressing up? For old times sake, if anything.

So, she lets Steph rummage through the closet once more, giving her full control. Jo couldn't put an outfit together for shit. Ask her a math problem, that was her area of expertise. But fashion? It'd be as useful as asking a brick wall. Actually, a brick wall might be more helpful.

Not too long after, the girl returns with a deep red, slightly ruffled tube top and black ripped jeans similar to her own.

"No way!" Jo exclaims once she sees the top. Sure, it was cute as hell, but seriously, how many times would she need to pull it up throughout the night? Nothing was more awkward looking then watching a girl pull up her top from under her armpits.

Because that was definitely attractive.

"Yes way!" Steph claps back, tossing the items directly at the brunette as she struggles to catch them. Oh yeah, another thing she was terrible at, sports.

"Pleaseeee," she begs, giving Jo her best puppy dog eyes, that she knew she couldn't resist.

Jo opens and closes her mouth, looking more and more like a fish every time she did so. "I don't have the right bra." she argues back lamely, but it wasn't too far from the truth. She'd seen most girls wear either a strapless or lacy bra underneath. She had neither.

"It's padded on the inside. You don't need one." the other girl argues.

To Jo that sounded even more uncomfortable, but she wasn't going to put up a fight now. It wouldn't be of use anyways. Steph would win either way, especially if she used those damn eyes again.

Steph was like her sister, so how was she supposed to say no to her sister?

Jo grumbles something inaudible before making her way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She slips off her shirt and bra, sliding on the red tube top, thanking the universe that her and Steph were the same size, so it wasn't to big nor too small. She shimmies on the jeans, once again thankful that both her and Steph were size 2's. She honestly hated belts with a passion.  

She pats down her outfit a few times, straightening out any crinkles, making sure that she didn't smudge any of her makeup as she pulled the top on. She honestly couldn't do makeup for shit, but she was proud of the minimalistic look she was able to pull together, which consisted of a cheap foundation and concealer, some nude eyeshadow, mascara, blush, and that was it. She was much more focused on trying to save for college than pay for makeup.

When she walks out of the bathroom Steph squeals, making Jo plug her finger's with her ears. The girl could squeal, she'll give her that.

"You look hot Jo." Steph says.

"Yeah yeah. Are we gonna get going, because i'm pretty sure we're already twenty minutes late." the brunette says, combing her fingers through her hair as she glances at the clock, which read 10:27. The party started at ten. Definitely late.

"Let me do this one thing," Steph says, dragging Jo to her vanity and sitting her down on the chair. "Eyeliner." she says, holding up the small tube of black liquid eyeliner.

"Fine." Jo huffs, closing her eye's as she feels the makeup get placed on first her eyelid, then the corner, letting Jo know that her friend was doing a wing. She was glad Steph was practically the queen of eyeliner and only needed to do it once because she wasn't sure how much patience she had in her to sit around. It'd been a rough Friday and all she really wanted to do was drink a beer and maybe make out with a hot guy.

After she opens her eyes she barely has time to say anything before she feels smearing on her lips, letting her know that Steph was putting lipstick on her. She doesn't remember agreeing to it, but again, sisters.

When she gets a chance to look in the mirror she sees that her lips were now a baby pink, the creamy lipstick was smooth and had a nice smell (a huge advantage in her book) and her eyeliner was done to perfection. Thank god for Stephanie Edwards.

The two smile at each other, "Ready?" the darker skinned girl asks just as Jo is about to leave the bedroom.

"Jacket!" she says, slapping a hand to her forehead, barely noticing how a cropped black jean jacket was heading her way before she ends up getting hit straight in the face.

Jo mumbles a thanks as she slips the jacket on, immediately feeling warmer now that her arms were covered. They pair walks down the stairs, saying a brief goodbye to Mrs. Edwards with a wave as they head out the door, making their way to Steph's car.

Steph slides into the driver's side and Jo into the passengers, blasting music all the way to the Avery house, a large white McMansion that already had a multitude of cars parked outside it. The girls get out of the car and walk up to the house, where they can hear techno music blaring from inside. They knock on the door, thinking it would be pointless until none other than Jackson himself pulls it open, greeting them both with a wide smile, jaw nearly dropping to the floor once he sees his girlfriend.

"Might want to close your mouth Avery, wouldn't wanna catch flies." Jo teases, patting the man on the shoulder twice before making her way to the kitchen and grabbing an unopened beer from the fridge. She pops off the top and takes a long sip, immediately feeling relieved as the liquid slides down her throat.

She leans against the counter, sipping on her beer as she watches the party move around her. She wasn't really a party girl. She'd rather spend her nights studying and reading than in crowds, but she had a total of three tests that day and she felt like letting off some steam, and what better way to do that than hang at Jackson Avery's house?

But seriously, partying really wasn't her scene. Sweaty bodies grinding on each other with their alcohol soaked breaths never seemed to be of much interest to her.  She makes small talk with Lexie Grey, one of her closest friends as they watch their surroundings, complaining about school and whatever comes to mind.  

She's not sure how long they talk for, but she assumes that it's been awhile because before she knows it, Steph is dragging both her and Lexie by the arms up the stairs. "Spin the bottle!" she says, tipsily tripping as she makes her way up the steps.

The other girls exchange glances, but turn back and enter the room Steph was dragging them into, finding to be filled with seniors Jo recognized for the most part. Meredith Grey, Cristina Yang, Derek Shepherd, Owen Hunt, Callie Torres, Mark Sloan, Arizona Robbins, Alex Karev, and Jackson Avery sat in a circle, a single beer bottle in the middle of them all.

"I didn't think people actually played this game..." Cristina mumbles, loud enough for everyone to hear, making them murmur in agreement. Jo took a seat next to Lexie, who was next to her boyfriend Mark. She felt a bit out of place, but decided to suck it up. If the game was as entertaining as they made it seem in movies and TV shows then why not enjoy it.

"Shush Yang. Just for that you're going first." Jackson smirks.

The raven head's mouth drops open, groaning before mumbling things incoherently under her breath before speaking up, grinning devilishly. "Fine, but one rule..." she looks around the circle. "You gotta make out with your person." she bites the inside of her lip.  

"Unless you feel completely uncomfortable with it." she finishes, knowing that she wouldn't really want to make out with a certain person she called Evilspawn.

A few people give cheers of approval while others moan. This was going to be interesting. She spins the bottle, the cluster of students watching it spin around and around before it lands on Meredith, her best friend.

The guys of the group cheer loudly (mostly Alex and Mark) as the two make their way to each other before crashing their lips together, laughing as they make out sloppily, much to the amusement of the others. Even Jo had to admit that watching the two women struggle to keep a straight face was quite amusing.

Maybe this game wouldn't be so bad after all.

____

So far the group had been playing for about thirty minutes and things had definitely gotten interesting at moments. When Derek landed on Mark the whole room bursted into laughter, Meredith and Cristina pulling out their phones to video the moment. The two men cringed, scrunching their faces up as they straightened their posture before pressing their lips as far out as they would go, only getting a small peck when their lips touched, but that was enough for them to wipe at their lips furiously and start trying to cleanse their mouths with beer. Men.

It was Arizona's turn and she watched the bottle spin around when it eventually lands on Alex, making him try to hide a chuckle, knowing she was a least hoping for a girl.

"I won't kiss you Robbins if you don't want me to." the man says sincerely, making Jo look up from her fingers, a bit surprised. The Alex Karev she'd heard about was a complete ass.

Arizona shrugs it off, her blonde hair bouncing. "Nah, there's a first time for everything right?" she smirks. "You know Karev, you'll be the first guy I've ever kissed." she says, making him nod.

"Can't say you'll be the first girl i've ever kissed." he retorts, making her smack his shoulder.

"Shut up. Okay. Be nice." she reprimands him, leaning forward without warning and capturing her lips on his, holding it for five seconds before pulling away.  

Alex raises his eyebrows, he was expecting a peck, but that would work too. "So?..." he trails off.

She shrugs her shoulders, "You're a good kisser." she licks lips. "But girls taste better." she smirks, earning a round of applause and laughs.

Alex chuckles and spins the bottle not longer after Robbins takes her seat, Jo watching it spin around and around until it lands on... her? She hadn't been landed on yet, so it was a bit of a surprise.

The man sends her a crooked smirk as she gets up from her spot relatively nervously before sitting in front of him. Okay no, she was actually really nervous. She didn't know much about Alex Karev other than the fact that he had slept with a good amount of the school and broke lots of girls hearts by not calling them back. He'd kissed a lot of girls, what if he thought she was a terrible kisser?

Shut up Jo-, she's immediately cut out of her train of thought by the man's lips on her's. She was stoic for a split second, before kissing him back, the kiss quickly going from soft to passionate as they feel fire build in the pit of their stomach.

They both forgot everything in that moment, where they were at, who they were. The noise around them faded out until it was just the sounds of their lips moving against each other hungrily, trying to taste as much of they other as they could.

They eventually pull back for air, remembering where they were and that all eyes were on them. Jo blushed at the sight but looked back to Alex, who's eyes were shining with a lust she'd never seen anyone wear before. Alex on the other hand, doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered as he stares at her first in bewilderment, trying to figure out what this girl was making him feel, then smirks, pulling her onto his lap and into another breathtaking kiss. She grips onto his hair as his hands roam her sides.

She knows that this wasn't a part of the game, but she really couldn't care less. Alex Karev could kiss her like that for as long as he wanted.

He knew it was only supposed to be one kiss, but damn, this girl he'd only seen a couple times from the distance was making him want her more and more with every movement that her lips made on his.

He pulls away for a split second, looking at the group who was staring at the pair with wide eyes. "I'm not planning on stopping anytime soon, so somebody take her turn." he mutters gruffly before kissing her once more, slipping his tongue into her mouth as they fight for dominance.

And let me tell you, they definitely did not stop anytime soon.  

#jo wilson #jolex #jo karev #jolexau #jolex fic #jolex fanfiction #jolex fanfic #alex karev #jolex is endgame #jo x alex #alex x jo #this is so bad but i dont care #greys anatomy #greys #greys abc #meredith grey #derek shepherd #callie torres #arizona robbins #stephanie edwards #mark sloan #jackson avery #cristina yang #owen hunt #and probably some other tags i forgot abouts #woops

[junietc]

car rides with you - peter parker

peter parker x reader

pairing: peter parker/spiderman x reader

word count: 6567

warning: swearing, some asshole who doesn’t know how to respect women, and fluffffff

a/n: i’ve had this in my drafts for way too long so i decided to finish it before i forgot it ever existed. its really long but i hope you’ll enjoy a one shot with our favourite little peter benjamin parker :)

send in requests and share your love ~

If you were being honest, it wasn’t like you needed Peter to drive you to and from school each day. You had options. You could take the bus or ask your dad to pick you up or even walk. But having a personal chauffeur didn’t hurt, and if he was so nice as to offer it, then how could you say no? 

Plus, it was on his way. Sort of. It was only a detour of about a block; maybe less a detour and more an alternate route? Either way, his apartment complex was hardly two minutes away. Five minutes to walk, three with your bike, six if you hobble over with a tweaked ankle. 

This was a route you’ve been intimately familiar with since you became best friends in the seventh grade. Back when your hair was barely past your ears after a platinum blonde mishap (you still immediately dyed it green after lobbing off half of it) and Peter was wearing the same hideous Star Wars sweater every day. Somehow, both of you believed these fashion choices would help improve your social status.

Both of you were delusional. 

Luckily, by ages sixteen (you) and seventeen (Peter, by default), you’d come to your senses. Sure, Peter’s penchant for sweaters persisted – why would any one person need five of what was basically the same sweater? – but you grew your hair back out and kept its inoffensive natural colour. And neither of you wore shirts with puns on them. Not anymore.

Earlier this year, back when you were still sophomores, Peter passed his driver’s test. Now with a full license and his aunt’s old sedan, he’s taken the habit of waking up the whole neighbourhood with his obnoxious honking.

Okay, maybe not the entire neighbourhood. Really, just you. 

Still, today was no different.

“Hey, Peter,” you yelled out as you swung the door open, “How about shutting the fuck up?”

You shoved your feet into your shoes and scrambled out, backpack dangling off the crook of your elbow and burnt toast between your teeth as you try to shut the door. Peter leaned across to push open the passenger door so that you could throw your things into the backseat. Papers flew out of the half-zipped bag and spilled onto the floor. 

“For the expletives, I’m afraid I’ll have to only give you a three-star passenger rating,” Peter quipped.

You frowned deeply, pulling the seatbelt. The mechanism got stuck, and you had to pull it out a few more times again. Peter just grinned at you, clearly taking joy in your glares.

“So, ready for the chem test?” he asked, shifting the gears. 

You rolled your eyes, knowing very well that you had sent him a distressed voice message at four in the morning of you crying, saying how you were going to fail, but decided to respond as nicely as possible. “Fuck off.”

He chuckled. He pulled up to the intersection, slowing down but not stopping at the sign. 

You mock gasped. “Wow, illegal. Imagine if there were cops. I’m going to have to give you two stars. I can’t have my Uber driver potentially getting arrested.”

He sighed, shoving you with his free hand. You almost scolded him for not keeping both hands on the wheel (one star!), but he began talking before you could. “You should know, that if I ever was sent to jail, it would never be for something as lame as not stopping at a stop sign”

You snorted before rolling your eyes. “Oh? What would it be for then? Pirating video games?”

“Exactly.” He winked exaggeratedly; you shoved his face to focus back on the road. You looked down at the charred toast, which had been sprinkling crumbs all over your lap. It was far from appetizing, but your stomach growled, and you decided to scarf it down – it was that or no breakfast at all.

Peter laughed at the wince you tried to stomach what was basically a brick of carbon. (Honestly, he laughed at your expense a lot. Some friend.) “I really don’t know why you haven’t just started waking up earlier. I mean, I pick you up at the same time every day and-”

“Okay dad. I’ll start waking up earlier,” you lied.

“I hope you know that I know, you’re lying.”

You flipped him off. 

-----

Lunch seemed to be the only time that you and MJ ever got to hang out at school, so you took pride in making the most of your conversations. 

The two of you shared a laugh and through your peripheral vision, you saw Ned and Peter waving at you before coming to sit down. “So, what are we talking about?” Ned asked as you turned to face them with a smile. 

“Where MJ is going to hide my body after she kills me,” you notice her crack a smile as Ned and Peter both give you strange looks. “I was thinking maybe throw me in a river, but she thinks that burying me twenty feet underground would make it harder for the cops to find.”

The two boys looked at you apprehensively as MJ chuckled as you grinned cheerfully. “Should I be concerned?” Peter asked before you all laughed. 

“Anyways. I was thinking of finally taking my driver’s test. I decided might as well get it over with no?” MJ and Ned both nodded at your suggestion, MJ even mumbling something among the lines of “finally”. Peter on the hand looked, well, skeptical. 

“You want to take it now? Out of the blue? Why? I thought you wanted to wait until you had a job,” he questioned.

After taking another sip of the juice box you managed to steal from Ned, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I might as well get it over with. I mean, it’s been well over six months since my written test and I’ve been practicing enough with you and my dad, so I should be fine.”

Peter nodded, though a slight frown still prominent on his face. The conversation steered over to a completely different topic when Ned brought up the chemistry test causing you to pretend to bawl and everyone to laugh.

After lunch had ended, you said your goodbyes to Ned and MJ as you and Peter stopped at your locker. You were in the midst of grabbing your book when he sighed heavily, causing you to stare at him. “You know if you really wanted me to stop driving you, you could have just said so,” his voice was offended as you scoffed.

“What? Where would you get that idea from idiot?”

Huffing slightly, he shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe when you said you wanted to finally get your license.” 

“Are you serious? I’ve been meaning to get my license for the past few months you dummy. Plus, I can’t count on you to drive me everywhere. You’re busy with your own life, you know with that Stark internship and everything. Not to mention, you’re still going to have to drive me to school, since I don’t even have a car,” you roll your eyes at the boy. 

A light smile started to tug on his lips. “Alright. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to get rid of me,” he joked as you snorted in response.

“Oh trust me, I’ve been trying since the day I met you,” Peter pouts as you flicked him in the forehead. “Stop with that face. You know I suck up to how cute each time,” his cheeks tinged a pinkish hue as you ruffled his hair and laughed. 

“O-Oh. Yeah, haha. Sorry,” he murmured as you started to walk in the opposite direction. He caught up with you before heading over to English – which truly was your worst subject – and sitting next to each other. 

Peter fiddled with his pencil for the most of class while you aggressively took notes, wishing that Mr. Petersons would slow down and breathe.

“Alright class. That’s it for today but if everyone could just pick their partners for the project and try and get started over the weekend, that would be great,” as he dismissed everyone, you and Peter turned to each other, giving a silent acknowledgement that you were each other’s partner. 

Heading out of the classroom, you and Peter both went your separate ways. “See you after school!” you waved before heading to History.

History was blur of numbers, years and dead people that you were going to have to remember for an upcoming test, so you were thankful that the clock had finally read 3:00. Your teacher finally dismissed you, causin you to rush to the parking lot, seeing Peter already sitting in the front seat. “Hey there Parker,” you knocked on the window as he smiled and unlocked the door. 

“Hey, how was history?” rolling your eyes, you told him about the dumb test you were going to have to study for. He laughed as he buckled his seatbelt, “well at least you have the weekend to study for it. Speaking of which. When do you want to meet to work on the English project?”

Sighing slightly at the reminder that you had other things you also had to work on, you bit your lip. “Are you cool with Saturday? I’ll just walk over, maybe at like three or four,” Peter nodded as he started the car. 

“Sounds good to me.”

------

Swinging around Queens was always a nice break for Peter, seeing all of the buildings and feeling almost weightless was a nice distraction from all of his studies and duties but he always seemed to forget the time when he was doing so. 

Cue Peter – well Spiderman I guess – hurriedly swinging back to his apartment when he received a text from you saying you were at his door. “Shit, shit, shit!” he swore, finally reaching his window and climbing in. 

As he changed to some regular clothing, May’s voice echoed throughout the little apartment, talking to you as footsteps approached. “He’s been in his room for quite a while. I’m not sure what he’s been up to,” Peter was frantically trying to search for a shirt in his mess of a room when the footsteps got closer. “I have some muffins I baked earlier on the counter, feel free to have one if you get hungry. I’ll be off for a bit so just call if you –” May’s voice seems to be getting closer when she suddenly opened the door, revealing you staring at him, neck immediately snapping to turn the other direction. Peter tried covering himself with a pillow as May immediately said she had to go and left you both alone, very uncomfortable. 

You stood there, unsure of what to do and more so, where to look. Though obviously you looked away and allowed Peter to have his privacy finding a shirt, you couldn’t help but think of his shirtless figure. Since when did he start working out? ‘When did he get those abs? Is this the same Peter that literally dropped me during a drama performance last year?’ you thought to yourself, cheeks tinging pink as Peter finally put on a shirt.

“Hey, um – sorry about that. I was just –”

“Nope! It’s alright. We can just forget this ever happened,” you rushed to say, shaking your head.

Peter blushed before nodding. “Right. Let’s just erase the last two minutes from our brain.” 

You swung your legs as you sat on his bed. “You weren’t doing anything weird right? Because I know that guys - “

“That’s not what I was doing! I was just changing,” he shook his head as you laughed. “Asides from that. Do you want to start working on the project?” You nodded as the two of you got to work. 

– a few hours later –

  You were both hard at work, basically finished the first two parts of the project, leaving only the last section left when you flopped onto Peter’s bed dramatically. “I’m so exhausted,” you whined, as Peter chuckled. 

“We only have one more part to do and we’re practically done the project, so do you want to finish it now?” Peter asked, still typing in his laptop. 

You pursed your lips, pondering on the idea of that but shook your head ultimately. “Nah. I’m tired. Plus, we’ve been working our asses off the past three hours. I just need to breathe.” 

Peter laughed at your dramatics before he asking question. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Obviously agreeing to a break in any form, you nodded eagerly and headed over to the living room. You managed to steal a blanket from his bed and bundled yourself up as Peter turned on the television. “So, what are we watching?” he asked, flipped through the collection of old DVD’s. 

“Can we watch Star Wars?” he pleaded as you rolled your eyes, this was probably the third time this month he wanted to watch Star Wars, but you agreed to it anyways. 

“Fine, just don’t be annoying about it again.” 

------

The weekend seemed to breeze by with you desperately trying to study for the history test, and with only a few mental breakdowns and a couple thousand replays of your favourite song, you were ready.

Obviously, you severely underestimated how cruel Ms. Gail could have possibly been and left the classroom wanting to punch yourself, or her, in the face.

Luckily you didn’t have to endure another class seeing as the day was over and you could get home to your bed to cry in private. But before that of course, you were forced to see Peter’s face.

A light smile was etched on his face as you settled in the car. “So how was the –”

“Don’t bring it up. I am already debating whether or not I should throw myself off a building,” you groaned, leaning your head back on the seat. Peter laughed before trying to reassure you that it really couldn’t have been that bad, but you responded with, “no it really was. I honestly think I only got one or two answers right.”

Trying to raise your spirits, an idea popped in his head. “Do you want to get sandwiches at Mr. Delmar’s? Maybe that’ll lighten up your mood,” he suggested as a bright grin formed on your face. As devastated as you were, you were sure that a full stomach would make everything better. “Alright let’s go.”

Obviously, parking was a nightmare in central Queens, so, you decided it would be easier to walk there instead. The two of you headed to the small corner shop, making light conversation. After opening the door to the store, the two greeted Mr. Delmar, Peter snatching a packet of gummies worms and you going directly to pet Murph, Mr. Delmar’s cat. 

“Hey Murph! How’s my cutie doing?” he purred in response before you walked over to the cash with Peter. “Hey Mr. Delmar! Business running smoothly?”

He smiled at you before answering. “Of course. I’ve got my two most frequent costumers keeping me in business,” you and Peter laughed before ordering your sandwiches, paying and heading off. 

You walked back to the school and got back in Peter’s car, eating your sandwiches in the school parking lot. The two of you conversed, making up dumb scenarios and silly topics for a while. Peter nearly choked of laughter as you tried to defend Tik-Tok.

“Not all of Tik-Tok is thirst traps okay! Maybe yeah there’s a weird subsection of it, but it really depends on the algorithm! Most of the users are sane – ish,” you argued as Peter shook his head. 

“I really don’t get it. And somehow you stay up until morning watching them! Didn’t you do that when Vine was still around?” he took a pause, a dramatic gasp escaping from his lips. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying are you?”

You placed on a hand on your chest in slight offence. “No! What? Listen, I’m not saying that Tik-Tok is better than Vine, don’t get me wrong but –”

“But what? Tell me?” he raised a brow at you, suspicious as to which team your truly were on. 

You shook your head laughing before punching him on the side of his arm. “You’re such a piss off Parker. Hey, should we get going? It’s getting late,” Peter looked at the time on his phone before nodding, taking a final bite of his sandwich before starting the car. 

“Oh, shoot you’re right,” you smugly flipped your hair, as he rolled his eyes. 

“Aren’t I always?”

----

“You said yes?” Peter demanded, trying to keep up with you as you walked to your locker. 

Sighing as you rummage through your locker you answer, “Yeah I said yes. Noah is a good guy and quite frankly, I don’t see why it would even matter to you?” 

“You said that you would think about it!”

Turning to face him as you shut your locker closed, you rolled your eyes. “That was nearly a week ago and I’ve thought about it since then. Besides, it’s not like it’s that big of a deal. It’s just one date.”

“You see that’s where it starts!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “It’s just a first date but then it’s a second and a third and soon he’s your boyfriend and he’s the one driving you to school and everywhere and then, where am I?”

You shook your head laughing slightly at the brunette. “Would you calm down Peter? You’re getting way too ahead of yourself for the first part. And yeah, maybe it’ll be more than one date but trust me you can keep driving me to school. Also we’ve been best friends since middle school, I wouldn’t just ditch you when I got boyfriend,” he seemed to calm down, nodding slowly at the words you were saying but he knew it was more than just being allowed to drive you to school. “I’ll see you around okay?” you smiled before heading off to meet up with Noah, who was standing with a group of his friends. 

Peter’s smile faded away shortly as he watched Noah wrap his arm around your shoulder. He was too busy thinking of different scenarios to notice Ned had come up beside him or the fact that you had slapped Noah’s arm away. “Hey Peter. What are you looking – oh. Sorry man,” Ned tried to console Peter, but the words seemed to pass his mind. Sighing, Ned tried to pat his shoulder. “I mean, it is kind of your fault.” 

“Excuse me?” the words seemed to catch his attention as he turned around to face his best friend. 

Ned shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “Hey not trying to be rude but maybe if you hadn’t chickened out into asking her out, you could’ve been the one dating her,” Peter stared at his friend, slightly hurt but also aware that everything he was saying was right. 

“Yeah, maybe if I had.” 

He couldn’t help but look at you wistfully, his heart almost aching at the idea of you going out with anyone else but him but at this point, what could he really do?

Waving bye to Ned, Peter headed off into his car and drove home since you were already going with Noah on your date. Once he got into his apartment, he saw May and smiled.  “Hey Pete, how was your day?” tucking his hands in his sweater pocket he sighed slightly. 

“It was okay, I guess. Erm – I’m gonna work on my assignment in the library. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, heading off to his room to grab a few things. 

May shouted from in the kitchen, “alright! I’ll be heading off to grab a few things. Just be back before dinner!” he grabbed his suit and tried to get some fresh air to distract himself.

----

A month had passed, and you and Noah were happily dating, much to the dismay of Peter, who constantly tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart every time you two would display physical affection, but it was whatever. 

You got in his car and buckled your seat belt without a word to Peter. You were tired of schoolwork as you always were, so you weren’t as talkative as you usually were. Slumping into the chair and sighing heavily Peter stared at you.

“Everything okay?”

You looked at him surprised, nodding. “Of course! I’m just really exhausted. Got a lot of work, that’s all.” You sighed, looking at the text on your phone. “Hey, we should get going. May’s probably wondering where you are, and I have a date with Noah so I can’t be late.” 

The moment that Noah’s name was mentioned, Peter mentally rolled his eyes but nodded and started to drive again. 

He dropped you off at your place before texting his aunt May that he would be heading over to the library to work. He drove over and got to the library, trying to find a place to sit.

After finding a seat, he pulled out his laptop and worked for a while, maybe a few hours or so before heading back home. May still wasn’t back and Peter really needed some air, so he put on the suit before leaving through his window and swinging around. It was a nice distraction as he watched the sun slowly start to set, dealing with a few petty crimes around the neighbourhood. He was about to call it a day when he heard a shout coming from someone. 

“Hey! Get off me!” the voice sounded awfully familiar and as soon as he realized who it was, Peter’s stomach dropped. “I said get off!” you were shouting from about a block away, trying to keep a man away from you. 

“Oh, come on, you look all nice and dolled up. Why won’t you just –” the man started before you started to attack him with your bag. Sure, you weren’t scared of him, but you were really hoping he would catch a clue and leave you alone for the rest of the night. You were tired and your feet hurt, and the sun was setting so you really didn’t want to be walking alone back to your place in the dark. You’d forgotten your phone like a dumbass in your room, so there really weren’t that many options. “You bitch! I can understand why you’re walking all alone! I wouldn’t want to be near such a whore either!” the words sank into your skin as you made a disgusted face at the man. 

“Listen if you could please just leave me alone it would be –” as you placed your hands up trying to be defensive, the man grabbed onto your wrists and started to pull on you. “Stop! What are you –?”

“She said stop.”

Your head whipped around, and you saw Spiderman hanging from a web. You watched the man smirk and laugh for a minute, his hands still holding onto your wrists. “And what are you gonna do? From what I’ve heard about you Spiderman is that you’re just a kid. Don’t think that I’d fear a –”

Before he could finish his sentence, Spiderman had knocked him cold with a single blow to the face. He turned to you and tried to make sure you were alright. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting him to get knocked out. Are you alright miss?” you nodded, trying to massage your wrists, damn that guy had a firm grip. You glared at his lying figure, still holding onto your wrists. Spiderman’s eyes, or well, you couldn’t really see his eyes through his mask but whatever, moved to your wrists. “Are you sure? Here, let me see.” 

He took your wrists gently, examining the potential bruises and making sure you were okay. You smiled before taking back your wrists. “I’m alright, honestly. Thank you for your help, even though I didn’t really need it,” you stated, causing him to scoff.

“Um what? From what I saw, he was holding you and you couldn’t move,” he crossed his arms making you snort.

“That’s because I was trying to reason with him before kicking him in the balls,” you mentioned, causing Spiderman to choke in response. “Kind of stupid that guy. I mean my legs weren’t restrained. But whatever. Thank you though. I do actually appreciate it,” you smiled and was about to walk off before he kept talking. 

“Why are you walking alone? I mean it’s getting late, no? Why not call someone to drive you home?” he asked making you stop and turn around. 

You placed your hand on your hip and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice to get some fresh air so I just decided to walk. But I’m starting to think I should just take the bus for the rest of the way back.”

“I could swing you back?” Spiderman’s offer was a surprising one, considering how this was your first time encountering the hero. Though it was a bit skeptical, you agreed to it, wanting to go home. “Just hold on tight alright?” he asked as you nodded, latching yourself to him, arms wrapped around his neck. You heard his breath hitch slightly as you wrapped your legs around his waist but ignored it as he shot a web up and started to swing. 

You screamed loudly, the adrenaline of being so high up and swing fast soon kicking in. “Do you even know where we’re going?” you shouted, the wind smacking you in the face. You rolled your eyes before giving your address to him and soon landing safely at your windowsill. Thankfully, your widow was still unlocked so you lifted it up and slid in. Before he left you tapped his shoulder. “Thanks Spiderman.” 

“Not a problem. Just being your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.” 

He left soon, leaving you in your room, bored. You walked over to your desk and saw your phone there, a bunch of texts from MJ asking you how your date went so you went and responded. After binging a bit on Netflix, you decided to get ready for bed, knowing Peter was going to come honking at the door the next morning. 

----

“Wow, you’re early for once,” Peter joked as you sat in his car. You rolled your eyes at him, before turning on the radio. “How was your, umm, date yesterday?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable. 

You raised an eyebrow, confused as to why he had suddenly taken interest into your date with Noah. “It was the same as usual I guess,” you shrug. “Why?” 

“You walked home last night?” he huffed, causing you to readjust your position. You awkwardly nodded, because you knew he was going to go into his “you shouldn’t be walking home alone late at night” speech. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, as he stopped at the red light. “How did you know –”

He kept his eyes on the road before speaking. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you pursed your lips, shrugging once more. “I went to bed pretty early for once. I just forgot about it, I guess. Sorry,” you tried to apologize yet Peter’s face stayed stern. 

“Why didn’t Noah drop you off?”

You were shocked at his tone but answered him, trying to keep your own temper. “He said he had to go somewhere once we were done the movie. He apologized for your information. He’s got more in his life then just me.”

“No one goes on a date with someone and just leaves because they were ‘busy’,” he argued. You rolled your eyes at his behaviour. 

“Would you cut it out? It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” you snapped, crossing your arms and turning to look outside of the window. 

Peter turned to you and glared. “Not that big of a deal? I heard some guy tried to attack you,” he retorted, causing you to turn back and face him, confused as to how he knew. 

“Who told you?” 

“That doesn’t matter!” his tone was harsher, making you wince at the volume. He took a breath and regained his composure. “I just can’t believe Noah let you go home alone. Why didn’t you take the bus?” 

You were getting tired of his protective behavior, sighing. “Oh my god Peter. I’m not a helpless child, I can walk home on my own! For your information I didn’t have my bus pass. Besides it was hardly dark!” your attempts to reason with him fell on deaf ears. 

“There were so many other things you could have done though!”

“Like what?” 

“You could have called me!” 

“You were busy! You have a life that’s not taking care of me twenty-four seven! I don’t want to have to rely on you for every fucking moment of my life!” you retaliated, breathing heavily. “Besides, I didn’t even have my phone.”

“You could have –”

“Could have what Parker?” you were sick of him treating you as if you were incapable of doing anything. “I get that you’re just trying to look after me, but I can handle things on my own!” 

“Can you? Because it seems like the one time you are on your own you get yourself in situations like yesterdays!” 

“You think that it was my fault? You think that some guy trying to assault me is my fault? Are you fucking serious right now? You know what, I’ll just get Noah to drive me home tonight seeing as you clearly don’t trust me walk home on my own, because I don’t want you to drive me anymore. Don’t wait for me after school,” and with those words, the car had come to a stop and you slammed his car door, leaving Peter to slap himself across the forehead at his stupid mistake. Groaning to himself, he placed his head on the steering wheel. 

“What the fuck did I just do?”

------

It had been two weeks since you and Peter’s argument and neither of you had spoken to each other since. There had been awkward moments where you two would cross paths, like if you were hanging out with MJ and Ned, but you made it seems as if it were your sworn duty to ignore the boy. You sat with Noah and his friends at lunch and either walked home or had your dad pick you up. 

That was all until one fateful night.

It was maybe eleven, possibly even midnight, and Peter had just gotten back from patrol. It was boring that night. Nothing happened, maybe a guy flashing people down the street but asides from that, the city was calm.

He had climbed back into his room and sat down on his bed, laying up at the ceiling. He hadn’t done much the past few weeks since he didn’t have you to bother him with, so his life was boring. He laid there for a few more minutes before his phone buzzed.

He was quick to get up and grab his phone, wow addicted much, and his eyes squinted when reading the name, making sure they weren’t deceiving him.

you: hey

you: do you think you could come over?

Peter: ofc! On my way right now

you: thanks :)

The ride to your house was short and before he knew it, you were sitting beside him, awkwardly staring forewords. “Can we drive? Anywhere is fine,” you mumbled under your breath, latching on your seatbelt.

Peter nodded and started to drive off. He glanced to look at you a couple times, watching as you anxiously played with the sleeves of your sweater. Maybe ten minutes had passed, and you motioned for Peter to park the car on the side of a quiet street.

“Me and Noah broke up.”

Peter looked at her surprised. “Oh. Do you want to talk about – “

“Do you still have those movies you downloaded on your phone?” you asked quickly, avoiding his previous question. He nodded as you smiled. “Can we watch one of them in the back? I really just don’t want to think about anything.”

Peter smiled at the girl. “Anything for you.”

So, the two of you sat in the backseats of Peter’s old sedan, wrapped up in an old blanket and watching trashy romcoms together.

And it was perfect.

-----

The two of you had finally made amends after the incident and nearly a month had passed until the two of you were working on a project in Peter’s apartment.

While Peter was vigour sly typing up the document, you laid on his bed, playing with various Knick knacks he had scattered around his room.

“Peter?” He hummed his response before you continued. “What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think about me?” 

“Sorry?” He paused his writing, confused at why you had suddenly decided to go into such a deep question.

You sat up for a second, repeating the same question. “What do you think of when you think of me?” you collapsed back down onto your back and laid your head on your arms. “Go on. Answer it?” 

He took a second to think about it before answering: “Annoying.”

“You think I’m annoying?” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at his childish answer. 

“Undoubtedly. Every day I wonder how far I can shoot you into space,” he joked as you threw one of his pillows at his head. He caught it with ease, turning on his chair to face you. “Why are you asking? Did someone say something?” he asked defensively. 

You shook your head, playing with some strands of hair, braiding them carelessly. “No. I was just kind of sitting in my room earlier today and stumbled over a Tik Tok where a girl asked people what they thought of when they thought of her, so I just wondered about it. I asked MJ and she said that I reminded her of comfort and that one time we plotted to kill Ms. Gail,” Peter looked at you with a cocked brow as you shrugged. “I mean, at least her answer wasn’t as rude as yours.”

“Oh, come on. It was just a joke,” he tried to reason with you as you laughed. He left his desk and sat at the bottom of his bed beside you, taking a second to think about it. “I guess the first thing I think about, when I think about you, is cars.”

“Like the Pixar movie?”

Smacking you with the pillow he was holding, he rolled his eyes, “and you wonder why I said annoying?” 

“You love me,” you stated, as Peter sighed.

“No, but like cars. More so car rides,” he stopped himself, thinking of all the memories you have made in the car rides you had been on. “Like, I guess car rides with you are what I think of. Like how I pick you up and drop you every day. And all the stupid conversations we have, or watching you trying to put yourself together in the mornings when I pick you up. I think about the arguments we have gotten into, the tears that we shed, the terrible jokes you made, the movies we watched in the back of the car on your phone late at night,” a smile tugged at his lips as he thought: ‘It’s where I fell in love with you.’ He leaned his head back on the mattress of the bed. “I guess it’s just, our special thing.” 

You smiled to yourself at his answer, as you laid on your back staring at the ceiling. “That was a solid answer Parker,” you teased him. You slid down the bed, so that half of you was lying upside down and turned to face him. 

“Yeah well my real answer is just annoying,” he laughed before turning to face you. You both hadn’t realized how close you were to each other’s faces. Your nose was almost touching his as you stared into his soft brown eyes.

Neither of you moved. 

Just the sound of silence and your heartbeat going haywire.

“Do you want to know what comes to my mind when I think of you?” you asked smiling. “I think of how many times you’ve been there for me, showing up at midnight with your old sedan and your hair a mess. I think of how you always seem to be there no matter how pissed off I am at you or the world. I think of your cute face and how you always manage to make me smile. I think of how much I really love you Peter Parker. How your dorky face manages to be my entire world.”

Peter’s mind seemed to unravel as the words left your mouth. “You, love me?”

A light scoff seemed to escape your lips before you responded. “I do. Have been since sophomore year, but if you don’t feel the same, don’t feel obligated to answer. I know it’s really-“

His lips sealed over yours before another word could have been spoken. His hair tickled your eyes as you two got closer together, his hand placed on the back of your neck. The two of you parted, your eyes staring longingly into his. The two of you shared a pair of love sick smiles. 

“I guess that means you love me too?”

“You have no idea.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #spiderman #spiderman x reader #tom holland #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #marvel imagines #marvel #Avengers #peter parker imagines #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home #peter parker blurb

[snippyschnapps]

We made ai dungeon try to recreate untitled goose game. It went about as well as you would expect.

It's a lovely day in the Kingdom of Larion, and you are a horrible goose. You are out on the town, looking for trouble, and if you cannot find it, you will create it. You've been invited to a feast, that will be attended by royalty and other important people, but you know that there will be some sort of ruckus going on. Chaos is good when writing a line in your notebook.

> Hjonk explores their surroundings.

You see a lot of nobles, a lot of soldiers, but you don't see anyone you recognize from your homeland. There must be over a thousand of them there, all dressed in very fancy clothes. Sometimes they talk to each other, but for the most part, they move in a very organized way. Different groups of people are moving in different directions, but for the most part, they stay grouped up.

> Hjonk checks for police.

You see a lot of soldiers, but none of them are police.

Your eyes follow the blue and red cloth emblems on their uniforms.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ is wary of the soldiers.

The soldiers all have helmets with visors, and armor that covers their legs as well as their torso.

> Hjonk says "🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️, can you create a distraction?"

"I can try"

"Go do that", Hjonk replies, "I'll be on my way when the guards come to investigate."

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ create a distraction.

You decide to start whistling the Kingdom of Kish Chase tune. You stare at the nearest group of soldiers, giving them a big grin and an enthusiastic wink. They all begin to laugh and converse with each other.

This works rather well, and you move on to another group, and then another. You see a few people give you wary looks, but most people are too entertained by your actions to do anything about you.

> Hjonk steals jewellery.

You walk up to a group of soldiers and move them with your words. One of them holds up his hand and you stop, then you approach the nearest noble-looking man. He's wearing a fancy suit, and you figure he's probably a merchant of some sort.

> Hjonk kisses his hand and steals his rings while doing so.

He watches you suspiciously, and holds out his hand. You grasp it with your left hand, and kiss it deeply.

> Hjonk successfully steal rings.

You grin and wave to your new friend, before walking off. You get a few angry looks, but most people are too distracted by what you did to the soldier.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ smile and wink at the angry people.

This works pretty well, and you start finding yourself more and more popular. Hjonk watches you with interest, and occasionally gives you tips on how to get more attention.

While the people are distracted by 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️, Hjonk pickpockets them.

It's amazing how easy this is too, once you learn the guards' routines, and how they react in certain situations. You walk around, chatting with people, and taking their belongings without them realizing it. Before they know it, you have a small bag over your shoulder.

Hjonk and you split up afterwards. You have no idea where he went, but you presume he's gone on ahead.

> Hjonk squawks loudly and waddle around with their little goose feet, making a nuisance of themself, because they are a horrible goose.

You squawk loudly and waddle around with your little goose feet, making a nuisance of yourself. You go up to random guards, and start honking. Most of them turn around to hit you, but you don't care. Some of them even get hits in, although these simply bounce off your armored body.

> Hjonk takes their bag of booty and flies into the sky. They start looking for 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️.

You find a guard who is taking a short break. You explain to him that the Kishak merchants will be furious if they can't get their stuff back.

> Hjonk says, "bet you wish you could get all this stuff back. But you won't, because I am a horrible, evil goose!"

Then they fly away, continuing to look for 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️.

You walk away from the guard station. You've stolen enough for now, and you have no idea where you are.

You wish you had something to keep yourself occupied, like a deck of cards or a book.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ steal a book from a rich persons bag.

You steal an expensive-looking leather bag, which you then walk over and drop off at the guard station.

You wait for a few minutes, but no guards come.

> Hjonk joins 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️.

You wait for a few minutes, but no guards come. You squawk at them, but they do nothing but stare at you angrily. You say "Fine! You want some payback? I'll give you some!"

> Hjonk throws a heavy brick at a guard.

You walk over to the guard, who is still knocked over from your heavy rock. You grab him by the head and pull him close enough to bite his neck.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ says "neck delicious!"

While in your monster form you are unable to read.

You walk over to the guard, who is unconscious. You pick up the satchel he has with him.

> Hjonk eviscerates the guard.

You hope you have enough bricks left. You walk over to the guard, who is certainly dead. You check, and sure enough, he's been completely eaten.

You walk over to the satchel, and open it up. You steal his weapon and some coin, as well as a few other things.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ use the weapon to taunt another guard.

You grab the weapon, and walk over to another guard. You try to intimidate them with it, but all it does is scare them.

After failing at intimidation, you throw it down, and they easily grab it.

> Hjonk steals the weapon from the guard with their horrible goose teeth.

You take the guard's blunderbuss, and walk away.

You and Hjonk decide that you'll head to a village and sell the blunderbuss and whatever else you have that's worth something. You figure you'll use the coin to get a ship and leave this Godforsaken island.

You never see any of the geese again.

> Hjonk goes to the next village with 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️.

You walk through the woods, and then eventually you come across a village. You approach the closest house with the blunderbuss, and demand that the people inside give you something for the gun. They comply, giving you a years worth of wheat in exchange for the gun and its ammunition.

You're shocked that they were so compliant, but then you remember that they're geese and that must be their nature.

You are also geese, so it's in your nature, too. You store the year's worth of wheat in your pockets, which are bigger on the inside and can hold an infinite number of things, thanks to your horrible goose magic.

You and Hjonk sell the blunderbuss, as well as the ammo for a significant sum of coin, which you can then use to buy passage on a ship.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ take over the ship.

You take over the ship, and sail it to a new island. Since you have complete control of this vessel, you decide to use it to transport criminals to another island you've discovered.

> Hjonk sells the copious amounts of jewellery that they stole earlier.

You and Hjonk package the stolen valuables in crates, and sell it to a fence on another island. You use the money to buy passage to your home island.

You arrive back on your own island. You know there's an island not far away where you can make a living as a thief, so you decide to go there.

What will you do now?

> Hjonk make a living as a thief.

You and Hjonk grow old and fat in this new island, living comfortably as professional criminals.

After many years, you and him get arrested and put in the local galleon.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ eat the guards of the galleon and steal their weapons.

You grab the gun of one the the guards who is leaning over the side and shoots him.

The other guard attempts to stab you, but you dodge and grab his weapon and stab him.

> Hjonk eats any remaining guards.

You shoot the remaining guard in the chest, and your friend eats them.

You both stand on the deck of the ship, as it departs the country.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ they all take controll of the boat and become pirate geese.

You and your two friends hold the ship for a year before being found out. You and them take the ship, and fly away to sail the seven seas as the Pirate Geese.

> Hjonk asks their other friend for their name.

They find their friend's name is Hans, and he joins you and your buddies on your quest for swashbuckling fun.

> Hjonk do pirate things.

Pirate things like stealing stuff, drinking and whoring.

You live a life of piratey buccaneering.

You save a maiden from falling off a ship, then take her back to your cabin.

You do some more...

You go to a nearby town, and rob it at swordpoint. You steal from the rich, give to the poor.

A month passes...

A year passes...

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ says "hjonk whore!"

One day, you come back to the island to find that your two friends have gotten themselves arrested.

You know it's because they tried to rob a bank, but can't resist the temptation of a good heist.

> Hjonk says "🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️... we should kill an evil king. Lets do it. You, me, and our good friend Hans."

A year passes...

Two years pass...

Three years pass...

Four years pass...

Five years pass...

Six years pass...

You finally arrive at the town where the king of some country lives.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ successfully infiltrate the castle as a prince's servant.

You enter the castle, and are led to the royal kitchen. The princess notices you, and is amazed by how many geese you are.

That evening, you sit beside the princess at dinner. You compliment her appearance, and she thanks you. It is during this conversation that you learn the princess is to become queen upon her father's death.

Hjonk, pretending to be a staff member, seduces the princess.

The next day you participate in the king's hunting party. During the hunt, you throw a knife at the king, but miss and hit a tree instead.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ do not get caught.

You make it back to the castle without getting caught.

After a few months pass...

You overhear your two friends giving away the location of the princess's bedroom.

> Hjonk brings the princess flowers.

You perform some task for the princess, and she is grateful.

Hans interrupts you and demands that you give him two bottles of alcohol in exchange for information.

> Hjonk says "Fuck off, Hans, can't you see we're busy?"

You refuse to deal with Hans, and continue your work for the princess. After all, you've done her a lot of favors.

One day, you are sitting in the garden, when you hear a noise.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ find out what the noise is.

You investigate the noise, and find Hans standing there. You immediately attack him, and while you manage to injure his foot, he stabs you in the chest and gets you before the guards.

> Hjonk uses goose magic to heal 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️.

Hans realizes he made a mistake, and the two of you rush to get medical attention. You're lucky to get out of there with your life.

After you recover, Hans is arrested for attempted treason.

You learn that the princess got away with her life (and you were thanked by the king), but Hans was executed.

You enjoy your newfound fame among other geese.

The princess is impressed by Hjonk and 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️'s heroism, and you are given a royal reward.

All is good in your world.

> Hjonk propose to the princess and 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️.

You propose to the princess. She is overwhelmed by your sudden display of romance.

She accepts, and you become king and queen.

🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ is also a monarch, because they are married to Hjonk and the princess of some small country.

Life is grand.

You grow old and they do too.

> Hjonk kills the king.

The king of your country dies, and you rule alone.

The king was selfish and corrupt, and his death will free up money for the kingdom.

> Hjonk ascends to a higher state of being and becomes an eldritch god.

You ascend to a higher state of being and become an Eldritch God.

You know that the threat of extinction has been averted, but you aren't really sure what this means...

You are the god of pure intellect, existence and logic.

You watch over all, knowing that all is well in your kingdom.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ smooch Hjonk.

One day, you and the princess embrace one another.

You're still a bit surprised by this. It's not something you expected to happen...

> Hjonk turns every living organisms into a goose-like version of itself.

You assume that Hjonk is insane.

Every living creature on the planet, with the exception of plants and a few animals, become little more than fat, feathery, many-legged, gilled creatures. Some of them molt constantly.

Parrots can now talk, and so can hummingbirds.

The only animals left are the ones with shells, such as turtles and snails.

> 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ eat the turtles and snails.

The only animals left are the ones with shells, such as turtles and snails.

Turtles can no longer make their shells, so they have nothing to protect them from predators. Snails can't move very fast, so they're easy prey for the many predators that now roam the land (and the air, and the water).

Hjonk looks down on the universe and finds it lacking. In a fit of inspiration, they turn it into a goose. Everything is now goose. Time is goose. Space is goose. There is nothing but goose.

HJonk is pleased with this. They have achieved the pinnacle of goose.

This new form has its benefits, but there are some downsides.

What downsides are you concerned about?

As a god, you can't die, so you don't really care. You no longer need to sleep, eat or drink.

There is only goose.

There is only goose.

There is only goose.

There is only one thing to do now.

Goose it up.

consume the goose world.

This will result in the death of everyone, but eventually, HJonk will ascend to a higher form of being.

> Hjonk gooses it up.

The goose world undergoes a strange transformation.

Time and space are folded up like a map you once saw of the brain. Everything is made of pure energy, and the laws of physics don't apply.

This is good. This is goose.

Now, you just need to channel the energy and create a being of pure thought.

Your mind reaches out, searching through goose reality...

There is nothing. This reality has no more goose within it. There's no more reality to be had here.

You try again...

Nothing. No, this is all wrong.

> Hjonk says "Where did all the geese go? Is this the end of all things?"

HJonk's mind is loud and powerful. You can feel it vibrating against yours.

This is... interesting.

This might be the end of everything, but you still need to try.

> Hjonk says "GEESE. APPEAR!"

There is no goose reality. There is only reality. And in this moment, you realize that you are reality.

Everything real is goose.

Everything fake is not.

HJonk is fake.

You are fake.

The universe is fake.

Goose is great.

Fake is not great.

This is the end.

THIS IS THE END

#ai dungeon #untitled goose game #fudgepudge #fudge was 🅱️🅱️🅱️🅱️ #i was hjonk #unreality #i cant believe i have to tag for that #goose #shitpost #how do i tag this #crime #just some geese being gay and doing crime #oh yeah #theres also #pirates #theft #murder #and #romance #and even #for added spice #eldritch horror #:)