stan the man and mike fall in love and become an iconic power couple, sorry i don’t make the rules:
-they initially bond over their mutual fear of disappointing their fathers (or grandfather) and once the bond is made, it’s unbreakable
-stan will often come over and the two boys will just lie on the grass behind the barn and make up stories to take their minds off of whatever’s going on thats upsetting one or the other
-their first kiss is when they’re on the grass and stan is rambling off a story about an animal ghost town living among them, mocking their human ways, when mike put his hand in stan’s hair and leaned in
-stan was frozen for about five seconds and mike was just about to pull away when he felt a hand on his face and insistent lips on his own
-they become inseparable after that, and it doesn’t take too long for the rest of the losers to find out
-richie is the first to find out. he will go to his grave insisting that “his gaydar is the high quality shit” but really he saw them holding hands at one of the losers club movie nights
-eddie is next because “guys you have to let me tell eddie! he’s gonna be so psyched that we’re not the only couple in the group! please please plea-”
-they tell the rest of the club and no one is particularly surprised. everyones happy they’re happy
-they are definitely the Old Married Couple, everyone comes to them for advice
-stan brings out the snark in an otherwise quiet mike and mike brings out the soft in an otherwise rigid stan. the losers club is shook when they see how soft stan is around mike
-they’re just totally in love and fully respect and understand each other??
a/n: This is my gift to my best friend @eroticgropefest. Hope you appreciate my first (and maybe only) attempt at a snowbaz fic just for you, bruh! o// I figured since I’m helping turn you into as much of an h/c hoe as myself, you’d enjoy reading some of that as well (also I’m all out of ideas SORRY I TRIED). Enjoy your 26th aging up <3 :P
Snow is infuriating. I’m certain I’m not the only one who sees it: the way he shrugs at most questions, considering it to be enough of an answer; how he gets flustered and fumbles around looking for his words; how he has absolutely no control over his own immense powers; the way he follows the Mage around, like some kind of stray dog on a very short leash, awaiting his commands.
The most powerful magician alive.
I look at him across the room, once again failing at a spell. Bunce looks at him, exasperated, saying something I don’t care to hear. I glare some more at Snow’s ineptitude, feeling a fire deep inside me, something that tells me to shake some sense into him. How stupidly vulnerable he is! The dangers he puts himself in by his complete lack of control. How easy he’ll be to break under my hands when we inevitably have to face each other.
I can imagine myself marching over to him, pushing him up against a wall. I’d hold on to his neck and look right into those eyes, Snow’s unremarkable eyes, so ordinary and plain looking. I’d stare right at him (and I might choke him a little.) (Not too much, just a little. Just enough). He’d growl at me and it would smell of smoke and get unbearably warm. He’d be so close and alive and warm, I might have a taste. Bite a chunk right out of his neck in front of everyone. (or I might just snog the fuck out of him. Either one).
I don’t do any of that. Instead, I shake my head and then glare at him across the room, while Bunce continues to tell the absolute idiot what to do. Soon he seems to feel my stare and looks up at me. At first he seems confused, but his slow brain finally catches up. and he glares right back, closing his fist more strongly around his wand.
Simon Snow never stops driving me fucking crazy.
There are definitely some things people don’t tell you about sharing a room with the chosen one.
One of them is how once he’s put something on his mind, he’ll never drop it. Crowley, Snow might have won an award for most stubborn person ever if it existed (I’m convinced they should create one just for him at this point). He’s incredibly persistent about his moronic ideas, like his obsession with keeping the windows open. No matter how many times I close them, he’ll open them back up. I suspect he’s doing it out of principle at this point, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
There’s an infinite number of frustrating things about living with Snow (besides the irony of living with someone you’re supposed to kill, but instead stupidly caught feelings for) (I may be biased on that one though). From the pointless arguments to the loud nightmares he seems to have convinced himself I don’t know about (a good match to my own relentless night terrors). Or even the way he’s completely oblivious to every single redeeming quality I (debatably) possess. Or even the most cruel ones, like the way looks after he falls asleep, all soft angles and relaxed jaw. Or the unyielding sexual frustration of having him so close to the touch and so hopelessly unreachable.
Yet, no matter how bad those things are, they still feel like they’re almost worth the amount of private wanking I have to do in an attempt to get him off my mind (it never works) (why would it?) It still feels more than I deserve, to have him this close to me. It’s almost comforting (almost, when it isn’t absolutely infuriating).
The truly bad thing about sharing a room with the Chosen One that no one tells you about isn’t even the arguing and all the times he loses his patience and grabs me, manhandling me while I cooly remind him of the anathema. It isn’t even the fact that, while he does that, I just want to push him against the wall and kiss him hard.
The worst thing of all is when he just isn’t there. (and you don’t know where he is or what happened or if he’s safe.) (Why would you when he hates you?)
Oliver Queen admitting his feelings for you and kissing you after a near death experience.
••• Requested by Anon •••
Your fingers gently ran over the irritated skin surrounding the arrow wound that shot right through Oliver’s shoulder. It had been sewn shut, but by the way that he flinched at your touch told you that it still bothered him.
“I’m surprised you aren’t dead yet.” You said, gingerly moving the fabric of his hoody away as to get a better look. “It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been bested by one of those league arseholes.”
“She caught me by surprise.”
Biting you lip, you stopped yourself from throwing him a particularly nasty insult. Instead, you merely dabbed away the last of the wet blood from his shoulder before dumping the soaked tissues. You avoided his gaze as you tidied up the medical supplies you had laid out before he had stumbled to your aid, including the fresh needle and thread you had out.
You perked up at the words and turned towards him again, your breath getting could in your throat when you saw the genuinely apologetic look he was giving you. “What was that?”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I was reckless,” he said, “and I’m sorry that I risk my life every night and I’m sorry that you have to patch me up.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Don’t be difficult, (Y/N).”
He suddenly jumped of off the bench. That was when you found yourself cornered between the shelves and Oliver’s body. The hoody he was wearing was hanging off of his shoulder, revealing most of his bare chest and toned muscles. Your eyes dragged over his body in one swoop before coming up to his face. He was looking down at you with an almost predatory gaze, but his eyes weren’t looking into yours. They were far to focused on your lips.
“Are you going to kiss me, Mr. Queen?” You asked him, the corners of your mouth quirking upwards.