Based on this College AU Professor!Dean/ Student!Cas

Dean is one of those really easy-going professors. He insists his students call him Dean and always shows up to class a little bit hungover (even if it’s an afternoon class). He’s loud and brash and calls students on their bullshit when he sees it, but at the same time he’s willing to mentor those whom he sees potential in. Obviously, he’s incredibly popular and his classes are very tough to get into. All his students admire him… except for one.

Castiel needs Professor Winchester’s (he refuses to call him Dean) seminar as part of a graduation requirement. He’s been putting it off for three years now, but his advisor Mr. Singer tells him he can’t avoid it and he’s “shit outta luck.” Castiel reluctantly registers for Professors Winchester’s upper level Ancient Mythology seminar. It’s clear from the moment he walks into the nearly-empty lecture hall, he’s going to hate this.

Prof. Winchester has no syllabus, preferring to have the class lead wherever the semester takes them. He calls on students without having them volunteer to answer, leaving Castiel stammering more than once. After the first exam, Castiel receives his essay back with a big, fat “C” across the top. When he approaches him later to contest the grade, Prof. Winchester just shrugs lamely.

“It’s wrong, Cas,” is the only explanation he offers.

“Wrong?” Castiel mutters. “It’s… an interpretation… You asked for our interpretation! How is there a right or wrong!”

“Well, it’s a wrong interpretation,” Prof. Winchester states coolly.

From then on, it seems like Prof. Winchester is out to get Castiel. Every seminar dissolves into a heated argument, almost exclusively between the two of them. Every paper gets returned bearing more red marks than black ink with pithy little comments like “Try Harder, Cas” or “Seriously, which textbook are you reading?

It’s enough to make Castiel scream, and usually does.

Worst of all is the way that Castiel can’t seem to control his growing attraction to the Prof. Winchester. It’s amazing how sexy he is when he’s arguing. Dean’s… uh, Prof. Winchester’s eyes get so bright and passion. His voice gets deeper too, turning into a low snarl. When they are in the heat of an argument, Castiel finds himself hypnotized by the way Dean’s jaw clenches and he wonders what it would be like to run his tongue along it. More than once, Castiel has come over his fist with Dean’s name on his lips… not that he’d ever admit that.

Castiel is caught off-guard when, after a particularly bitter debate, Prof. Winchester asks if Castiel could stay and speak to him after class. He’s worried he may have gone too far, calling Prof. Winchester an “arrogant jackass”, but once the rest of the class leaves, he doesn’t look upset.

“I wanted to talk to you about your plans for grad school,” Prof. Winchester says.

“I’m sorry, what?” Castiel asks.

“There is a fellowship opportunity available,” He says, collecting his belongings and slipping them into his bag. “I’d like to throw your name in for recommendation, that is if you are up to it.” Castiel stares at him in stunned silence. He did not expect this at all.

“You want to recommend me… for a fellowship?” He finally mumbles out after a minute.

“Unless you have other plans,” Prof. Winchester says, “but I really think it would be a shame if you didn’t. You are one of the smartest kids I’ve ever taught.”

“But… But in class…?” Castiel trails off, completely confused.

“Look, I might not agree with all of your ideas, “ Dean replies. “but your support of your them is sound and pretty clever. I’d love to see you expand on your interpretation of the Code of Hammurabi.” Castiel huffs a surprised laugh.

“A fellowship?” He asks, “Seriously?” A fellowship would mean Castiel could actually afford grad school, something he’d thought was impossible before. It would mean more time to devote himself to what he loved, maybe even getting published.

“Well, I can only offer a recommendation,” Dean offers a small shrug, “But it does carry some weight with the board.”

Castiel can’t contain himself. He launches himself at Dean in a grateful hug, wrapping his arms around his neck. Without thinking he pulls back, planting an enthusiastic kiss directly on Dean’s lips. It takes him a second for the realization of what he’s just done to dawn on him and a second more to realize that Dean is, in fact, kissing back. It’s brief and frantic and Castiel can taste the remnants of mint and tobacco on Dean’s tongue.

The soft click of the lecture room door brings him back to reality. Castiel pushes back from Dean harshly, his expression bewildered. What the hell has he just done?

“Hey Dean,” his TA Charlie ducks her head into the room, “Did you still want to go to lunch?”

“I’ll be right there, Charlie,” Dean answers, slightly breathless. He looks back at Castiel, licking at his lips. The door closes with another click.


“I got to go,” Castiel blurts out. Pushing past Dean, he gathers his stuff and rushes up the stairs. He can hear Dean calling his name as he exits the lecture hall.

Just Can’t Say It

I was apparently unaware that it was Destiel Day, so I decided to go ahead and do this little story that I was planning on writing after Cockles week. The sooner, the better I guess!  I hope you like it!

He wishes the words would come. It’s not like he wants to be silent. It’s not like he doesn’t care or doesn’t want to tell Cas just what he means to him—lord knows the angel deserves it. But how? How the hell does he even begin?

Radiant blues stare at him expectantly. “Dean? Will you talk with me?”

Yes … no, I can’t, Cas. I don’t know … I’ll try?

Dean nods.

Castiel smiles a little before turning on the edge of the bed to face him. His eyebrows raised, urging the man on.

“I—I am glad, ya know … that you … are, uh … you know. I’m just … I’m glad.” His chest aches as he watches the angle’s shoulders slump.

I know you wanted to hear morefuck, why can’t I say anything right?

“I do feel I know what you are inching towards, Dean. I just wish that you could vocalize it. I don’t know—I suppose it’s being on Earth, but I find myself needing this sort of interaction more and more. I wish for you to talk with me, Dean. Share how you feel—not even about me, about anything. It always seems that it takes a life or death situation to bring it about, and I wish that that was not always the case.”

Me either, Cas. I want to say it, I do. I want to talk about you, and you and me—and just how fucking great it is.

He nods again.

His hand is soon collected and wrapped with the long, soft fingers of the angel—his angel. “If I could only know what you are thinking about all of this … about us and the new dynamic in our relationship, I would feel more secure in how to move forward; but at the moment, I feel as if we are stuck.”

I don’t mind being stuck with you, Cas … hell, I don’t mind moving forward with you—go as far as you want. I am crazy about you, god damnit. I never feel better than when we’re here like this. That’s all I want … I’ve wanted it for so long.

Dean sighs and looks to the ground.

I’m a fucking waste. Why do you even want me?

“Dean …” Castiel hums, sounding soft and reassuring—the way he always gets whenever Dean is spiraling. “You know that I’ve wanted this ever since you first showed me what it was to choose … to think, to do the right thing. You have been the entirety of my existence for so long … and it still did not seem to be enough. I wanted more, I wanted this. You can assure yourself of that.”

But why? For fuck’s sakes, Cas! Why? You are literally a fucking angel! You are everything good and everything I’m not. Shit, you have sacrificed yourself so many fucking times … you never hesitate. You’re too good for me, man. You’re just too fucking good.

Dean gives the angel a pathetic smile, barely glancing up – knowing he’s not fooling anyone.

“I don’t need any grand gestures, Dean.”

But you deserve one. You deserve all the fucking grand gestures in the world! I would do every cheesy, chick flick thing for you, Cas. I would do it in a heartbeat.

“I know” Dean says after a shaky breath.

“Then why can’t you just talk with me … just a little? You’re so closed off. Is there something more I can do? Something that will make you more comfortable?”

Dean’s head whips around, eyes wide with surprise. “No! You … you are doing plenty.”

Cas can only frown, not even flinching from the hunter’s jolt. “Okay … then will you please tell me … even just in a few words, what it is that you’re feeling … about all this?”

“I—I don’t know what to say.”

Castiel looks away, letting his hand fall from Dean’s grip.

What can I say that really shows you, man? I mean … I could get cheesy—try to be romantic and shit … comparing your eyes to the sea or the sky, but they aren’t like that. That wouldn’t be right even if I did. They’re deeper than that. They’re closer than that … you … you’re eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen, or felt—and I can feel them … when they’re on me. They keep me breathing … Cas, you keep me alive. The blue in your eyes is the blue in my veins—they encase me—my heart—they hold me together. That blue will be the blue in my lips the day I finally die and stay that way, because even when the air leaves my lungs … you will still be there, Cas. You will never leave me. Never

“It’s okay, Dean. I … I will still be here, whenever you’re ready, whenever you can—even if you never will be able to talk about it, you know I will still be here.” Castiel turns to look at Dean, his voice—reassuring but his eyes—filled with disappointment and hurt.

No …

“I am going to go see if Sam needs any help with anything. I know he’s been trying to brush up on some lore.” The angel stands up and begins to walk away, but Dean is grabbing his hand before he can get more than two steps.



“I’m sorry. Cas.”

“For what, Dean?”

“I … I …”

For everything– for you falling, for you giving up a life you knew for one that makes no sense to you. For hurting you. For taking you for granted. For making you have to make choices that made you doubt yourself. For just fucking everything. Most of all, for having to deal with me … I’m so, so sorry.

“I don’t know” Dean hisses in a defeated whisper.

Castiel sighs. “It’s alright, Dean. If there was anything to forgive, it’s been forgiven a long time ago.” The angel turns to walk away once more, his long coat rustling around all the things he still wants to say—but won’t because he thinks Dean can’t handle it.

He’s right. Fuck … I’m such a child. I need to be better … I need to be stronger for him.

“Hey … hey, Cas?”

“Yes?” Castiel responds, not even bothering to turn around this time.

“I …”

Say it. You fucking wimp, just say it!

“I … ya know, I do …”

C’mon Winchester! Man up!

“You … uh …”

I swear to fucking Crowley, I am going to kick my own ass if I don’t do this.

“I … you … you’re uh … you’re in my veins!


Castiel turns slowly, his head cocked to the side and his eyes—unblinking as he looks the man over. Dean cowers, lowering himself back onto the bed, not even realizing that he has stood up–and he lets his head fall into his hands. The angel moves closer to him, reaching out to let his fingers trace half-moons along Dean’s cheek. Dean finally looks up, feeling the acidic burn in his throat, eating away any chance he had to fix all this.


“I’m sorry, Cas” he croaks, letting his eyes fall to the side because he can no longer stand trying to read the angel’s face.


The hunter keeps his sights locked on the far wall.

“Dean Winchester, look at me.”


Dean …”

A shallow breath breaks his gaze, allowing a solitary glance to come back and meet Castiel’s. The angel smiles, crooked and sweet … easy and peaceful … happy … really happy … a sight Dean rarely sees.

“I need you to understand …”

I know, Cas … I will try harder. I will try and figure out my own shit. You deserve that, and I am going to try my fucking hardest to give it to you … I promise.

The angel crouches down, sinking until he’s face to face with the human he lifted—the human he fell for, “you’re in my veins too.”

If you want more smut, angst and overall feels, check out my Ao3!

karadanver-s asked:

Olicity prompt: Oliver is going to propose while on private island (featuring tommy)

The Melissa to my Sheriff, my peaches. Happy birthday Raychie, I hope you have had a lovely day filled with moments that last a lifetime.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Tommy said over his glass, as they sat at the back of Verdant.

Oliver glared across the table at him. “Shut up I’m trying to be romantic. We had our first date there.”

“Yes and the restaurant literally blew up,” Tommy replied with a smirk. “Try again.”

“Why am I even getting your opinion anyway?”

“Because Roy would tell Thea who would tell Felicity, John’s daughter is sick, and Laurel would be awkward on several levels.”

“Right,” Oliver groaned as he leaned back. “How about the office we met in?”

“Didn’t Palmer turn that floor into a gym?”

“Damn it.”

“You’re really overthinking this,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “You know you want to marry her, and considering how you two are always together I assume the feeling is mutual. Just ask her.”

“I can’t just ask her to marry me like I’m asking if she wants burgers for dinner,” Oliver sighed. “Felicity deserves special. She deserves a thousand rose petals, and a string quartet.”

“That seems a little over the top.”

“Easy for you to say. Laurel asked you.”

“Yes she did and look how happy we both are,” Tommy said with a smile. “You could be this happy too. If you stop making this harder than it has to be. I mean it’s not like you could take her to a private island and propose there.”

Tommy’s words sparked something in him, and he sat up straighter grinning.

“Oliver no,” Tommy warned. “You cannot and should not propose on the island you use as your personal vendetta prison.”

“I wasn’t even thinking that, thank you,” Oliver shook his head as he stood. “But I do know someone who does have a private island. I just have to make a call.”

He downed the remainder of his drink, patting Tommy on the shoulder.

“Okay,” Tommy said with a smirk. “But be warned this entire conversation is going into my best man speech.”

“Who says you’re gonna be my best man?” Oliver joked, stepping away before Tommy could punch his shoulder.

Oliver wrapped his arms around Felicity as they walked along the beach. He smiled as he kissed her cheek. Their vacation so far was wonderful. Anatoly had really come through on lending him the island, for the fee of a few favors (not Bratva related favors though). And Felicity seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.

The sun was just starting to slip down the horizon, when Oliver stopped, his hand reaching to spin Felicity in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” She said meeting his eyes.

“Nothing,” Oliver replied, failing to keep the grin for his face. “Nothing could ever be wrong when I’m with you.”

“Well I do my best,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. “So why the sudden stop.”

“I just wanted to say how much I love you,” Oliver began, ducking his head, so their foreheads rested together. “This last year has been so good. Even in the dark spots, knowing I had you in my life, it got me through them.”

“I will always be there for you.”

“And I will always be there for you too,” he replied, shaking his head. “I mean I want to always be there for you. And not just the immediate future either. I mean like fifty years down the road. Which is a terrifying prospect, but it’s also exhilarating, and… I am so not doing this right.”

“I’ll say,” Felicity noted with a grin. “I was sure you were gonna propose twenty times since we got off the plane.”

He met her eyes with confusion. “You knew?”

“Oliver, I love you dearly, but you are so not good at keeping secrets. Which is highly ironic, since you’re secretly a vigilante.” she pulled back a little, scrunching her nose with a smirk. “I hope I didn’t ruin the surprise?”

“I have been nervous about this for weeks, and you’re telling me you already knew?”

“Yeah,” Felicity said. “But if it helps the nerves at all, I’m planning on saying yes.”

Oliver laughed, watching Felicity carefully. Sometimes he thought she was too good for him, okay most times. But then other times he was sure she was a gift from the universe for all the hell he had to endure. he could never begin to make her understand just how much she had saved him over the years.

“Felicity,” he started before dropping to one knee in front of her. Because maybe he couldn’t put all his feeling into words, but he was still going to do this right. “Will you marry me?”

Felicity moved forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, as she leaned closer. “A thousand times yes.”

As she leaned in to kiss him, Oliver stood up, lifting her in his arms, and spinning her across the sand. And it was probably the closest moment to perfect Oliver had ever had in his life.

plastic-knives-and-forks asked:

ultron seducing vision into fun naughty tiemz

Uh, so it was discovered upon writing this that maybe my Ultron can’t tell the difference between being angry and being horny much like he seems to struggle with identifying most of his other feelings and desires. So there’s that. But it also turned into a strange… uh… study on AI emotions? I have no idea.

First attempt at Ultron x Vision. Nothing explicitly nsfw, but obviously it’s very physical.

Rage churned anew in Ultron’s chest at the sight of Vision. 

His vision. His body.

A perfect, beautiful angel, the only form that would suit the humans as a final, collective memory. 

As they burned, they would look up and their spirits would swell for they knew that the Earth’s next morning would bring everlasting peace. And to touch down on a world reborn would mean that he had fulfilled his absolute purpose, and he would know the delirium of gratification. 

But they took that from him. They took everything from him. 

He wanted to destroy that which should’ve been his. The fire that burned inside him was relentless, aching, carnal—excited.

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108 Word Ficlet

This amazingly came out to exactly 108 words on the first try! Inspired by this post.

Emma recognized Elsa immediately when the commercial flashed upon her screen.

She hadn’t exactly been into princess movies growing up, but she missed her friend. So when Henry suggested a movie night with his moms to check it out, she jumped at the chance.

“Love is putting someone else’s needs before yours,” the little snow man said gently to Anna. Emma’s heart stuttered.

She saw Regina nervously peering at her from the corner of her eye, knowing the woman was recalling that day with the dagger.

Taking a deep, emboldening breath, Emma turned to face her, staring longingly into the woman’s questioning eyes.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It is.”

Hot and Cold


Word count: 2,000

Author’s Note:

Thank you, anon. I had way too much fun with this prompt. I hope you like it, and I apologize in advance for the cheesy-ness.

“Warm” regards,


“Here, I got you strawberry,” Dean said, holding out a popsicle. “Sam mentioned it was your favorite.”

Castiel hesitated before taking the popsicle, both flattered and stunned by this hazel-eyed boy who was too handsome for his own good. “Thanks,” Castiel mumbled and unwrapped his popsicle.

Sam had a curious look. “Cas, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Cas.”

Dean held out his hand to Castiel. A warm, summer breeze blew threw the kitchen window, mussing Castiel’s already messy hair. He shook Dean’s hand, surprised to find it rough with calluses. “Sam’s said a lot about you.”

Dean smiled in amusement. “He’s said a lot about you, too. Funny how you guys have been friends since first grade, and I’m only now meeting you.”

“My parents didn’t let me visit other friends houses until recently.” He shrugged. “They’re pretty conservative.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Dean pulled a cherry popsicle from a box in the freezer and unwrapped it. As he wrapped his lips around the frozen, cylindrical treat, Castiel looked away, his cheeks heating. He caught Sam’s eyes just as they widened in understanding. The heat in Castiel’s face rose to a burning.

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Devil in Disguise

Sequel to Devil in the Details - A Pietro x Reader Fanfiction

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Characters: Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Reader/Yourself

Warnings: this is fucking long

Synopsis: Two weeks post that night, Pietro’s subtle taunting takes it’s toll.


The cafeteria was a wide open space under a dome of glass; illuminating the circular room in natural light. Sporadically placed were table and chairs, plush lounges, high tables with bar stools; anything to suit your fancy for a enjoyable break. Darcy and yourself were meeting for lunch; Darcy having escaped her laboratory duties and you, freshly bruised and sore from concluding an obstacle session with Barton. Having selected your meals, you trail after Darcy as she navigates her way through the compacted area; inbound for a free table.

You both sit, and in the process you accidentally knock your freshly injured elbow, a gnarly bruise forming. You grimace as you inspect the site. Disorientating thoughts had distracted you for a mere moment while participating in upper body strength exercises. Swinging above the ground from one elevated bar to another; consequentially you missed grabbing the next bar and the momentary shock loosed you grip that held you suspended above the ground, resulting in you falling to the floor, landing on your elbow awkwardly. Grumpily, you had recited the event to Darcy who had cackled in reply. Seeing you inspecting the area, she makes an innocent dig at you.

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new shirt, new shoes

300~ words, tentoo x rose

The Doctor briefly examined the offerings in the toy aisle and seemed disappointed, stating that the selection rather unimpressive. He picked up a toy truck and babbled about the improvements he could make on it if Rose wanted to purchase it in lieu of anything better. Rose declined gracefully, recalling the improvements he had made on Tony’s action figures (which were fine for family members but not exactly kosher for people who weren’t aware of his, uh, circumstances) and went to look at baby clothes. The Doctor followed, shrugging.

Rose held up a tiny pink dress and cooed.

There was a thudding sound behind them, of something hitting the floor. Rose turned to see her mum standing a few feet away, looking stunned. Her shopping bags had spilled their contents all around her feet but she seemed unaware.

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “No, Jackie.”

“Mum,” Rose laughed, going slightly pink, “It’s for Toshiko’s new baby. God, look at your face!”

Jackie puffed out a breath, reaching down to gather her bags. “Well, how should I know?”

The Doctor bent down to help, picking up a tartan shirt and holding it up. “What a coincidence! This is an exact replica of the clan tartan belonging to a man I used to know.”

“Good, you can wear that to supper tonight.”

He dropped the garment. “Your tenacity astounds me and I commend you for it, but-”

“Look in the bottom of that bag, there’s trousers to match-”

“Tell me, Jackie, do they make hearing aids-”

“I hope they’ll fit, can’t be sure, it’s like you shrink with each meal-”

“I see a taxi. Let’s go, shall we, Rose?”

Jackie called after them as he dragged Rose away by the hand, “I won that one!”

anonymous asked:

hi i really want a nice fluffy pietro and reader fic please?? like with the prompts from your second fic thing post like maybe #24 (i dont know what im doing) or maybe #13 (its alright to cry)?

sure thing lil kitty x

((okay so I APOLOGIZE IF ITS SHIT BUT I AM GETTING SO MANY REQUESTS *crumples under all the pressure* and idk fluffy is this fluffy?? I hope so))


The avengers had saved you - and you owed them your life. 

Well - they had bought you back to life after you died, and you only really owed new-Avenger Pietro Maximoff your life. 

It was Pietro who had dragged you from the rubble of the buildings that had collapsed in the earthquakes, Pietro who had carried you back to Avengers headquarters despite your heartbeat having died away halfway there. It was Pietro who had fought for your life, said that there was something special about you, who had won the case and who had (ultimately) got a scientist to bring you back to life with some fancy technology.

The technology had altered some things about you, though - you were now like Pietro and his twin sister, Wanda, in the ways that you now possessed ‘special abilities’ that your usual person does not. While Wanda had telepathic powers and Pietro could move faster than anything you knew existed, you could convert your natural energy into natural elements - namely, fire. 

You could shoot flames of fire from your fingers, have your hair ignite with a single thought, or burn a person to a crisp with a single touch. You were constantly warm and could withstand extremely cold temperatures, you could still make fire in the rain, and it wasn’t as if you were constantly blazing - you didn’t have to convert your energy into fire. But it wasn’t as if you could control it that well either.

It had been almost four months since you had been ‘re-born’ (as Tony liked to describe it), and in that time you’d successfully grown extra close to Pietro, trained excessively to become an avenger - but had not learnt control over your powers. You were learning slowly how to turn your energy from fire back into normal energy, but you had no control over stopping yourself from turning into a walking flame. You spent most of your spare time trying to gain control over your new-found powers, like you were doing right now.

You were standing in front of the mirror, wearing a large shirt and some boy shorts. Your hair, shoulders, hands and legs were currently glowing with the starting embers of a fire. You were trying to get them into a full flaming fire, but it wasn’t working - the occasional flare would shoot from your fingers or dance away from your hair, but over all you couldn’t control it.

You had been trying to control your powers for a few hours when suddenly Pietro appears in the mirrors reflection.

“How is my fire princess going?” He asks, a little smile on his face. You don’t answer, too busy focusing on stoking the little flames you had managed to get on your shoulders. When, after a few minutes, they don’t grow, you curl your hands in frustration and growl loudly.

“Shit!” Pietro exclaims, his eyes widening in shock as suddenly flames shoot out from your body, consuming you for a second, before they die down and leave your skin with a faint red glow. 

“Of course.” You whisper, all your motivation leaving as you hide your head in your hands.

“What is wrong, Y/N?” Pietro asks, walking closer hesitantly.

“Nothing, nothing.” You mutter, your voice full of defeat. You keep your head hidden in your hands, your eyes closed, when you feel a hand curl gently around your shoulder. 

“Fire princess, please talk to me,” Pietro says in a low quiet voice, and it pushes the tears out of your eyes. You start to cry quietly, the trembling of your shoulders the only thing giving you away. You hear Pietro take a sharp breath in, and as his arms wrap round your stomach you focus on the unnaturally warm tears trickling down your cheeks. 

“No, shhh …. My little fire, shhhhh, princess please, tell me what is wrong.” He hugs you, his arms wrapping around you more tightly as your tears increase. “Why are you crying?”

You hiccup, then wipe the backs of your hands across your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you sniff, suddenly feeling embarrassed about your tears. “I just …” You break off as another round of sobs rack your body.

“Shhh, my lovely fire princess. Shhh. It will be okay. It will be okay, I promise.” Pietro whispers, his voice somehow soft and rough at the same time. His fingers stroke up and down your hair, and you realize vaguely that it’s probably the slowest thing you’ve ever witnessed him doing. “It’s okay, my little fire, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” You stutter out in frustration, and Pietro’s arms tighten around you as you continue. “I shouldn’t be crying, it’s stupid, just stupid, really. God, why am I crying like this?” 

You go to swipe away your tears but Pietro grabs your arms and tucks them under his. “It’s okay to cry,” He says. He releases you from his arms, only to turn you around and wrap them back around your waist. He shakes his head and coughs a little as he bends his head down a bit to look you in the eye. “It is okay to cry, but I am worried, and I have decided that I do not like seeing you so upset.” He looks at you for a while before he shifts closer to you.

“What are you -?” You go to ask, but stop mid-question as Pietro’s lips brush against the skin under your eyes. You freeze in his arms, your tears stopping, as Pietro kisses his way from your eyes down your cheeks. He pulls his mouth away after a few seconds to switch cheeks, kissing away the tears on the other side of your face. You relax a little, a warmness settling in your stomach that has nothing to do with your now natural fire. 

Or maybe it does, as little flames spark from your fingers - which are placed over Pietro’s chest - and you feel your eyes start to glow. Pietro pulls back and looks at the little flames growing from your fingers, and the sparkle in your eyes, and the worry in his eyes is replaced by wonder. 

“You’re glowing.” He says, the little smile that was on his face when he first came into the room returning to his face. 

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to it just sort of … happens.” You mumble, focusing the flames away. Before the last hint of the glow in your eyes fades away, though, Pietro grabs your hands in his quickly.

“Do not be sorry, Y/N.” He says, his voice quieter than before. He looks into your eyes and (without breaking eye contact) lifts your hands up to his face and holds them there, one to his cheek and one to his mouth. “I love your fire.”

“But I can’t control it,” You whisper. “It just happens randomly, and I’m so scared I’m going to hurt someone. I’m scared I could hurt you - so scared.”

“My little fire princess, you couldn’t hurt me.”

“But I could though, that’s the thing. I don’t want you getting hurt - and I don’t want to be the one who’s hurting you.”

“Y/N, Y/N, calm down.” Pietro soothes, kissing the back of your hand. “I know that you could hurt me - I know you could. But I also know that you will not hurt me. No,” He says over top of me, pushing my hands back a bit for emphasis. “I know you, Y/N, and I know that you would never hurt somebody. At least not without a reason. A very valid, a very real reason. A good reason. You do not want to hurt me, and that is reassuring enough for me.

You feel like you are dangerous? Little fire princess, the only thing that is dangerous about you is that you brighten up my day a little too much a little too quickly. You walk into the room, or you smile, and I am blinded by how beautiful you are, how brightly you shine.” He stops, looking at the floor shyly before looking back up with an amused and slightly embarrassed smile on his face. “Do you remember when I had all those bruises on my head and my arms?”

You sniff, and look at him curiously. “Uh … yeah?”

“I got those bruises from crashing into the walls and windows. When you first woke up from surgery, you were constantly shining, and it was so distracting.”

Pietro moves his head closer to yours, your foreheads and noses almost touching. 

“It was hard to run right when I was thinking about how you brightened the room, or how I could see your eyes from across a room with such clarity.” 

He kisses you gently, lips barely brushing over yours.

“And then you started talking to me, and when I would run I would hear your voice as I passed a room,”

He slips his hands out of yours and slides his fingers around your waist.

“Your voice was so sweet, it would make me stumble up the stairs or trip over my own feet.”

He moves closer, his hips pressing against yours.

“It took me almost one month to get used to you.”

He kisses you with a little more force.

“To get used to your fire,”

He tilts his head to the side, just barely.

“Your brightness.”

He puts his lips millimeters above yours.

“My little fire princess.”

He kisses you so softly at first. Gently, like he’s afraid of going to fast. Sweet and lingering, his lips taste like sugar and cinnamon and the taste of him brings back the warmth in your stomach. The warmth starts to spread further as you kiss him with more force, and he does the same back. You’re kissing with more and more force, your tangling your hands in his hair, pressing your body against his, and your tongues and teeth are starting to clash when your hair catches fire.

You jump back with a little yelp of surprise, but your only thinking about Pietro. Did you hurt him? You turn to check on him hurriedly, and are surprised to see he hasn’t moved. You don’t know what to do, don’t know if he hasn’t moved because he was trying to make you feel better or if he genuinely wasn’t scared. You decide to apologize either way. 

“Sorry, I don’t … I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Pietro smiles a little, before pulling you back to him. “That is okay, fire princess.” He places several swift kisses on your lips. “You do not know what you are doing now, but you will some day soon - I know you will.”


(request 3/13)


108 word ficlet

“Hey, Regina, can I lie down on your couch for few seconds before I start my shift at the station?” Emma asked as she walked in the mayor’s office and casually plopping down on the couch in front of the fireplace.

“You mean a nap” Regina pointed out.

“No, just a few seconds”

“That means a nap”

“No” Emma snorted.

“You just wanted to take a nap” Regina repeated.

“Okay, if you insist,” Emma smirked at her and Regina rolled her eyes, “don’t get mad about it,” Emma said, now lying on the couch with her eyes closed.

“Smooth, dear” then a blanket was draped on her afterwards.

afusionoffandoms asked:

But but you should totally tell us more about sleepy chub cuddles.

oh my god, do you want me to tell you more about sleepy chub cuddles? Do I have stories about sleepy chub cuddles??? Yes I do!

what if I told you, that one of Matt’s favorite things is cuddling with Foggy every single night? Usually, he was the last  one to fall asleep, pressing a few kisses upon foggy’s blond hair until he got sleepy enough. 

“Sleepy?” Matt would ask, wrapping his arms around Foggy, sighing because his boyfriend was so warm and so soft on the edges. 

“Hmm..”- Foggy would groan, getting comfortable again, just resting his head against Matt’s chest. 

Foggy would blush, because Matt always played with his chub, sometimes kissing it, sometimes biting it softly, rubbing it right after and sometimes just squeezing it between his hands.

“Matty, come on… Time to get some sleep.”- Foggy would try to reason but Matt would always convince him to keep fooling around just a little more. 

They could keep their little snuggling for hours if it wasn’t for the phone ringing. Matt would sigh, but would answer to the call anyways, after all, thanks to his alarm he knew it was just Karen.

“Hey guys, am I interrupting something? Sorry if I am!”- Karen started, babbling non-stop.

“We were just preparing ourselves to get some sleep. Say hi to Karen, Foggy.”- Matt would ask.

“Hey Karen, what’s up? Just so you know, you totally interrupted our snugglefest 2k15”- Foggy smiled even though the girl couldn’t see his face through the phone. 

“Oh my god, you guys are so cute!”- Karen would blush, “Sorry, was just checking in to see if everything s all right. 

“We’re great, Karen, How’s everything going there?”- Matt would smile.

“Good, just good. Anyways, I’ll let you both enjoy your snugglefest 2k15. Have fun, boys!”- Karen would chuckle before hanging out.  

“Well… Let the snugglefest continue…”- Foggy would joke, pulling Matt for another kiss. That was definitely going to be a long night. 

The End. 


Outside the bunker, Sam gives human!Cas an orange to eat for the first time. It’s not all Cas samples. Pairing: Sastiel 

It starts slow. Peel first then divide into smaller, succulent pieces. Sam’s thumb moves along the fruit’s veins, careful not to puncture delicate skin. He breaks the pieces into slices and gives the first one to his angel beside him.

One for Cas. Another for himself. Repeat.

Sam feels juice run down his fingers and drip from his palm when he breaks a plump slice from a small section. Castiel chews and closes his eyes.

“What’s it taste like?” Sam places the plump slice into Castiel’s hand. He pops a new slice in his mouth and savors the tang.

“Tart … Sweet, with a hint of …” Castiel frowns at his slice.

“Punch?” Sam grins at Castiel’s nod and then gives away another slice. He mentally writes orange on the list of foods Castiel likes.


Sam blinks out of his thoughts and hums.

“May I have another napkin, please?” Cas glances down at the soggy paper towel and his damp lap. “I’m dripping.”

Sam looks down at the empty space by his side. “Uh, ran out,” he said. “Do you mind licking it off?”

Castiel bites into his slice of orange, flexes his hand as the juice runs down his wrist in tiny streams. Drops fall and land on the soaked napkin, creating a light orange stain as it collects on his thigh. Cas swallows, leans forward, and licks.

He’s careful with each rivulet of orange juice. Tongue laps up each drop, finger by finger until he makes his way to his thumb. A deep breath later, Castiel’s juice-dripping digit disappears between Castiel’s lips; he pulls up slowly until his mouth releases his thumb. Pop. Cas licks his top lip then the bottom before finding Sam’s gaze.

Sam … remembers he has an orange slice in his mouth. He snaps his mouth shut and wipes his wet hand across his face. “Shit.” He wipes his other hand, the hand holding the last two pieces of fruit, squeezing the wedge in the process.

“Here.” Cas scoots closer to the taller man and guides his boyfriend’s hand from the mess. He takes the crushed wedge and moves it close to Sam’s mouth. “Have you eaten your other piece?” Cas wipes a stray drop from Sam’s chin with the bit of fruit, then moves the piece near the Winchester’s lips. He smiles when Sam’s lips part for him.

Cas places the wedge on Sam’s tongue and retracts his fingers.They slide down, linger on Sam’s bottom lip. Cas traces skin with his middle finger, pauses above the quick breaths. He leans forward and kisses the drying juice on the corner of Sam’s mouth.

“You’re not going to swallow?” Castiel murmurs against stubble.

Chewed orange slides down Sam’s throat in one gulp, leaving the younger man scrambling for a comeback because fuck, Cas is good. Too good. They are supposed to be finding out what foods Castiel likes, foods like–oh God, too good.

Cas raises Sam’s hand to his lips and kisses the tiny droplets from his fingertips. He savors the juice for a second, eyelids lower to half-mast, and then his tongue trails down Sam’s index and middle fingers until it hits the web of flesh between them. Slowly it laps up the drying flavor. 

“C-cas,” Sam gasps. His eyes flutter shut when Castiel’s tongue inches its way down, pausing and swirling on the sensitive skin on his wrist, below the palm. “C-cuh-a. Fuhh.” He jerks when he feels teeth graze the skin; he tilts his head up, the back of it hitting the wall, when he feels small circles etched on his wrist. Lips smile briefly, light, while mouth continues the small exploration.

Cas licks up the small stream of orange juice, wrist to palm, stopping below the ring finger. He breaks contact and leans back, licking his lips as Sam struggles to come back to the here and now. “I don’t see anymore orange juice,” Castiel says to his hand.

Sam opens his eyes, takes in the tiny rings of blue in Castiel’s eyes and traces of smile on his angel’s lips. “Tease,” he manages to croak out.

“Will we be trying more fruit today?” Cas asks. He gives a once over, slow, starting from Sam’s neck and going down. Chest. Abdomen. Hips … He stops at the beginning of Sam’s tightened jeans and then meets the taller man’s gaze. “Or am I to try something else?”

Sam swallows and shifts out of his current position. He stands and then offers his arm to Cas, grins. “Depends on what you’re craving right now,” he says. “Why don’t we figure that out inside?”

Sam doesn’t need to hear his angel’s answer. Castiel licking his top lip says enough. Cas peels his napkin from his lap, folds it, and stands. Sam waits until Cas grips his arm, and leads them to the bunker entrance.

They’ll try bananas next.

Sunday can’t-bother-stopping-at-Six

From the horribly-titled Those Rumors About Nazi Dinosaurs, by me and zooeyscigar:


“Yes, sir?” The computer sounded profoundly relieved.

“Why am I in the closet? I haven’t been in the closet since my first week of grad school.”

“Because the velociraptors have taken over the lab, sir.”

Tony frowned, turning the words over in his mind. Because was easy. Cause, effect, that sort of thing. The velociraptors? That was problematic, but somehow he wasn’t surprised, which meant a corner of his brain was expecting velociraptors. And the rest of that — have taken over the lab — was definitely problematic, but maybe not an actual crisis.

“Do they have thumbs?” he asked, skipping several logical steps to get to one potentially alarming conclusion.

“No, sir. It does not appear so.”

“Excellent. Then we’re fine.”

tardisimpaula asked:

Okay yo yo bro. I don't mean to spam you but i was thinking about the shake it off video thats better than the finale and yea yeah eyah and OAKY new idea. sorry for spamming you im just pumped af. Destiel + shipper! sam. classic. also tell me if im being smoopy. also how old are you?

So I’m not into the whole shipper!sam or shipper!charlie for that matter but I had tons of fun writing this! enjoy~~

Sam is an amazing brother. He knows this and tells himself this every morning while he’s brushing his teeth (it builds his confidence shut up Dean everyone has rituals). On top of being so damn amazing, Sam is smart. He basically graduated from Stanford! It’s not a secret. So it was during one of those “I’m so smart and amazing and hot” sessions that Sam figured something out: Dean and Cas should have sex. Not that Sam wants to watch, goodness no! But like, there is so much tension between the two of them that it could probably be resolved through sex.

Sam starts to plot.

It’s not like a huge thought out plan. It’s just things like, very loudly announcing he’ll be out for an hour every couple of days or so. An hour is enough for them to sex it up, right? How much could they possibly need. He always comes back to the same tension hanging in the air. What the fuck Dean, did you not get the hint?

So on to step two! Classic fanfiction tropes. Well, for Sam to get an idea of that, he spent way too much time paroozing through various fanfictions online to figure out what the classic fanfiction tropes were. Let it be known that Sam never looked at anything with a higher rating than Teen. He doesn’t need to know what the fictional version of his brother is doing in explicit detail.

Sam does the whole thing. Finding cases where the two of them have to pretend to be a couple (Sam falls mysteriously ill during that particular case. Locking them in a small room. Getting Dean to teach Cas how to shoot guns and fight. He even went as far as to having heart to heart conversations with Dean in which Sam found out that Dean was already an out bisexual and he just had never been told first hand because the world was ending or something. Whatever. None of it works.

So maybe, maybe Sam has to get the help of Charlie, because she would know better in this kind of situation.

Except no, not at all. She tells him, “I’m not getting in the middle of that and neither should you. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, then it doesn’t. Back off.” Charlie isn’t any help. Okay, whatever. Sam can do this on his own.

Actually, no he can’t.

It’s a solid six weeks of constantly trying to set them up when Sam just gives up. He’s done. Maybe he should have let this go a long time ago. But he didn’t and he hates it and his brother is probably going to be unhappy for the rest of his life because he can’t just kiss their angel best friend. It’s not like it’s THAT important anyways.

Sam just wallows in self pity over his failure when Cas walks into the kitchen. It’s like 9am but you would think it was 5 by the look on his face. He’s still in just boxers, a thin white t-shirt, and a robe. Very reminiscent of when he had met Chuck. Cas walks up to the coffee machine only to find it empty. He turns to Dean, as menacingly as possible. “Give me your coffee.” Dean smiles like a little shit and just goes, “make me.” Now, Sam has no idea what’s going on here because Cas should just make himself another cup. It would take like two minutes. Whatever.

Cas leans over, plants one over Dean’s lips, and, in Dean’s amazed stupor, Cas removes the cup from his hands and pulls away. Now, Sam is amazed. If coffee was how they were going to get together, then he just doesn’t know what to say.

Sam looks at the two of them as they continue with their morning routines. He looks some more. Neither of them are being weird. Like the kiss never happened. “What the fuck?”

They turn to look at Sam. “You okay there, Sammy?”

“Cas just kissed you and you didn’t do anything?” It’s not meant to be a question but it comes out as one anyway.

“It’s not like it’s the first time.”

Not….not the first time?

Samuel Winchester, you are a failure.

send me a character (or ship) + thing for headcanons & fics

What’s in a Name?

So what if Hood grew tired? What if Hook tried something with her? She wasn’t going to warm a man’s bed, it would feel like betrayal towards Emma —

“Emma…” The word, all consuming, all encompassing — just, all.

Her despair and sadness spilled into one word, and the one person who could make it all better, still M.I.A. But she refused to use or allow anyone else to use, the dagger. Not even Henry, she refused to let him near the blade. Her will was wavering. She wasn’t strong enough, not alone. They had always been stronger together and she was faltering. She couldn’t. She couldn’t stop herself either.

108 word ficlet

Stop! Stop!’ Emma nearly cried out as pain seared through her body and thousands of voices filled her head. She focused on her surroundings, willing the pain to stop. She didn’t recognize where she was, but as she focused on a tree the pain slowly eased. Taking deep breaths as her heart slowed, a heavy weight fell in her chest, and it was a feeling she wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with-it was the same weight she battled when she was a lost, unwanted girl in the foster system. What had she done? No one would want her now, now that she was the Dark One.

‘There’s no hope now.’

The Portrait

Based on the prompt: “we’ve been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we’ve met and your portraits really don’t do you justice”

Fifteen years ago, when nine year old Derek was sat down by his parents and informed of his duty as a prince to his kingdom, he didn’t fully grasp what it meant to be engaged. There was brief talk of marriage that he’d let fly right past him, so far in the future it wasn’t a concern, and the vague knowledge that he was spoken for, but it had little impact on his life at the time. 

He was told his betrothed had just turned three, like Cora, which brought up the memory of his little sister throwing his favorite book in a full toilet just the week before, and then he dismissed the entire issue from his mind when Laura called for him to join their game of hide and seek. He had more important things to worry about than some baby in another land, ruining other people’s prized possessions.

Ten years ago, they received word that Queen Claudia had passed, and fourteen year old Derek had dutifully signed the condolences his mother penned from the family, but it hardly affected him beyond pulling him away in the middle of his sword training. It was a distant death in a distant northeastern kingdom, affecting people Derek had never even seen before. He returned to his training alongside his best friend and future guard Boyd, and that was that.

The same happened nine years ago, upon the marriage of King Jonathon and his new wife, Queen Melissa; he signed the longwinded letter of congratulations, sat through a brief lecture on the importance of keeping up on these things and staying informed of these types of changes for political reasons, and then dashed back outside to where Boyd was waiting with their horses, forgetting it all in seconds. They were a distant family he had no personal connection to, he couldn’t say he felt strongly either way about their brand new union.

Eight years ago, the reality of his situation came crashing down on him with the arrival of a portrait.

The Portrait was the only portrait of his betrothed that was ever sent, and Derek was grateful for King Jonathon’s foresight. The first was upsetting enough on its own, as was realization that Derek was going to be joined in holy matrimony to its subject, and he didn’t need the customary annual portraits to remind him of his fate. He tried to be less shallow about it, look for the inner beauty and the whip-smart mind his mother always praised after her visits to the north, but there was no getting around it. 

His fiancé was terrifying.

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