and his perfectly manicured nails

"Mom, Dad... I'm Adopted."

“Mom, Dad… I’m adopted.”

My parents ceased their activities. My mother, adorned in a pearl necklace and earrings to match stood upright. Upon both hands she word oven mitts and a matching apron. Her teal sundress really did bring out the blue in her eyes. She closed the oven and removed the mitts, revealing perfectly manicured nails.

My father sat his pipe on the end table and closed his book. His hair, just a touch of gray, was immaculate as ever. He wore a plaid shirt and a soft, tan cardigan. He removed his reading glasses to look me in the face.

Almost in unison they asked

“Why Dear?” “What makes you say that, son?”

Before them I stood. Pressed khaki pants, tucked in button down shirt and my matching belt and shoes. I felt both at one with, and detached from the people before me.

“I just…. know,” I tried to sound confident, but at the time, my confidence was lost to pubescence. “Don’t be ridiculous,” My father stood in the light of our perfectly lit kitchen. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes, “You’re our boy, and we love you.”

I studied the lines of his face seeking no, pleading for a lie, but there was none. “Sit dear,” my mother interjected opening the stove, “Dinner is nearly ready.”

I sat at our polished wooden table and placed my napkin in my lap, an old habit from etiquette school. I felt my eyes moisten.

“Are you sure?” I was able to ask, staring at the blank place on the table where my food would soon be.

My mother placed prepared plates before my father and I. He said a brief grace for the table and began eating the roast and potatoes my mother had so delicately prepared.

“Positive,” he said, savoring his bite and wiping his lip.

My mother sat last with her plate on the other side of the table to my left and took my hand. “You’re our baby,” She said, looking me in the eye and assuring me I was her offspring, “Now, let’s talk about something else! You haven’t said hello to our guest.

My eyes and face were wet and red. I stared across the table. The woman before me was tied to her chair. Ropes ran from her throat to her feet keeping her from any free movement. Across her mouth was tightly wound duct tape and her head had slumped forward.

The only appendage not tied down was her right arm. It was not a kindness extended, but rather unneeded. Her right arm was severed below the shoulder. Blood was still actively pouring from the poor bandaging and soaking her side deep red. Her eyes had rolled back into her head in a loss of consciousness from the extreme pain she had just endured. My parents shared a laugh over it being seasoned so well.

I took all this in again and cried out in a whisper,

“Please, tell me I’m adopted.”

|| how to fall in love ||

{summary: “i wonder if you’ll laugh at my mere existence?”}

here’s a completely fluffy and safe peter parker story that i promised. i’ll admit to being inspired by one of my favorite deviantart writers when i wrote this and hope to write as well as they do one day [♥]

also, this is dedicated to @rvnclawss , because she wrote a cute tom holland drabble for me [♥]

tags [permanent + peter parker]: @ghostedwolf , @psychicwitchphilosopher , @pharaohkiller , @moonlight53 , @tmrhollandkay , @pepcvina , @nekonerdxox , @lokigirl18 , @fangeekkk , @kylielo22 , @wavy-ley , @lghockey , @buckysendoftheline , @1022bridgetp , @potterjamesharry

warnings: none

**please don’t plagiarize/repost this story. reblogs are fine.**

——

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anonymous asked:

I saw this headcannon and was really hoping you'd write a fic? simon gets hit with a curse that makes everyone fall in love with him except for jace, simon thinks its because jace’s disregard for him is so strong not even MAGIC can effect it but really its because jace’s regular life involves him keeping his feelings for simon under control so this is just another day for him.

based off of @neonlightwood‘s hc!! thank you anon for taking my waffling desire to write one of those ideas and pretty much motivating me to DO IT

love by any other name || jace/simon, 4k+, love spell au || read on ao3

“I see Jace wasn’t hit.” Magnus says, his tone light even as he waves a hand and freezes Clary in mid-lunge towards Simon. He waves a hand over Alec and Izzy and they become similarly frozen; Simon nearly cries in relief.

“Yeah, no.” Jace says, curiously moving to poke at Alec’s outstretched, still hand, and then pouting as Simon slaps his hand away. “It hit me too, but since I - “ He freezes mid-pout, his eyes going comically wide, and then he turns away, facing Magnus and running a hand through his hair. “I just wasn’t affected.” He finishes, his voice curiously blank.

What? How could Jace not have been affected if he was directly hit by it? It’s a love spell, it should automatically make everyone fall in love with Simon, unless -


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It’s 2010 bitch!!!

written also with @spacetaemin, @5hineesback, @choitaemins and @sabakunocasali  (and probably many others)

“Minho shoot the ball” yelled super jock Kim Jonghyun as he ran down the footballl field. Minho, baseball in hand, hit the soccer ball so hard it become a touchdown. Everyone in the audience cheered but especially Taemin, long haired bb child innocent my son,,,doesn’t know a damn thing about anything. Evry1 thinks hes a girl but rly hes just feminine and cute and clueless!

Sitting next to Taemin was his best-friend-but-also-pseudo-mother, Kim Kibum, better known as “Key Umma.”

“I did it I got a homerun!!!” Choi Minho, the coolest jock in school, yelled as he ran on the track. He locked eyes w/ his super beautiful girlfriend, Yuri. She was so hot and he wsa really heterosexual and straight. Nothing would ever change that!!!!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Could you write an AU where Jughead's the new kid and Veronica and Cheryl compete for his attention but he remains oblivious 'cause he's attracted to Betty

Ohhhh feisty.
******
He had never been popular.

There really was nothing spectacular about him, sure he was mysterious and maybe he had the whole tall dark and handsome thing going on, but that was all heresay.

So when he started his new high school, the excessive amount of attention he was receiving was enough to have him confused as all hell.

He was never interested in girls but apparently riverdale girls, were interested in him.

Veronica lodge was the first girl to make her attraction known, approaching him at Pop Tate’s.

The perfectly manicured nails reached out in front of his laptop.

“Veronica lodge, it’s so good to not be the newest riverdale teen. Can I just tell you you have the most amazing eyes”

Jughead was far too focused on the beautiful blonde hanging behind.
Catching her eye she offered him a small smile,and he couldn’t help but return it.

Soon enough a snap in his face brought his attention back.

“Well?”
He brought his eyes back to the raven haired girl who was looking at him in irritation.

“thanks.” He said before turning back to his laptop.

Veronica huffed and walked back to the booth she had previously been occupying.

Rolling his eyes he stayed trained on his computer, until he heard the soft voice of the blonde in front of him.

“Betty Cooper, nice to meet you.”

He looked up and took in the soft features and almost glowy presence of the girl, her eyes the brightest green he had ever seen. Instantly he felt a weird stirring in his stomach.

“Jughead jones.”

She giggled at the silly name.

“I like that , jughead .” She tried it out on her tongue

He smirked it sounded good coming from her lips.

“Betty Cooper, got a nickname?”

She smiled back

“Nope just Betty.”

“I like bets, you mind?”

She blushed

“No, bets works.”

“BETTY”

They both broke apart from there staring contest to look back at Veronica calling Betty.

“I better go” she said sheepishly. Turning to leave .

“I’ll see you around Bets.”

She turned back and took his breath away with her shiny white smile.

“See you around juggie.”

****

School was the same everywhere.

Cliques, asshole jocks and conceited cheerleaders with complexes.

So when he dropped his tray at lunch he couldn’t help but be disappointed at not seeing the green eyed blonde at all.

He’d definitely seen her friend Veronica around a lot.
She was constantly winking at him and staring at him with the weirdest looking eyes.

While his mind was on the gorgeous girl next door another girl with the brightest red hair he had ever seen appeared in front of his table.

“Hello handsome, Cheryl blossom.”

He looked up, stared for a second before glancing back at the field, searching for the girl on his mind.

“I’m sorry, did you not hear me? I said I’m Cheryl blossom?”

The ginger haired girl looked miffed before trying to catch his eyes.

“Back off Satan, he’s not interested.”
He knew that voice, it was Veronica lodge.

He also know that wherever Veronica was, Betty was sure to be close behind.
He turned around quickly immediately locking eyes with the blonde who was smiling at him.

“Hey juggie” , she said softly.

He patted the space next to him and raised a brow. She quickly took the space next to him her two friends sitting across. The boy with the two of them waved at him and he nodded.

The red head spoke up again.

“Oh so you’ve already got your claws into him have you? Well Ronnie, we’ll see about that , wouldn’t you rather be higher up on the social ladder?”

He lazily looked up at Cheryl

“I’m good.”

She immediately dropped the friendly persona when Veronica smirked.

“Well none the less, you’re invited to my house party. I hope to see you there bring a date, or be my date, I’m only Asking once.”

She quirked a brow.

Veronica laughed

“Get real Cheryl bombshell, I’m sure he’d be much more comfortable with me.”

Both of them looked at jughead expectantly.

He glanced at the blonde next to him who was staring down at the table playing with an apple .

“What do you say bets? Wanna go?”

She snapped her head up wide eyed and smiling at him

“I’d love too.”

anonymous asked:

:D Hello there! Thank you for your lovely blog <3 May I please request some headcanons or drabbles (your choice!) for bros with a high maintenance fem s/o. Not in the overbearing or mean way, just loves to look pretty with makeup and nail-polish. Wears nice clothes and high heels and doesn't like to touch dirty things.

Sooo, I am terribly clueless on this front so please excuse my ignorance that will clearly come through when I write this up LMAO! I don’t use make-up and I just throw on whatever I can get my hands on in the morning (which is usually smart casual work clothing I’ve ironed the weekend prior to the work week or pyjamas for weekends). Anyways, these should be a nice break from the onslaught of recent angst I’ve been posting xD Thanks for sending in a light hearted request and for enjoying my blog- you are so sweet <3

Tagging: @rubyphilomela, @blindbae, @itshaejinju, @thechocoboexpress and @hypaalicious <3 If anyone wants to be tagged in future posts, let me know via asks/PM and I’ll compile a list LOL :D


Noctis: Noctis doesn’t understand why you are so pre-occupied with your looks. He’s seen you without makeup on more than one occasion and he thinks that the stuff you wear on your face doesn’t really do your natural features justice. But you like experimenting with new foundations, blushes, eye-liners and the like, so because it makes you happy, Noctis doesn’t really express any negativity towards your makeup habit. He is a little wary about your obsession with nail polish only because he absolutely sucks at applying it for you. And because he sucks at applying nail polish, you usually end up using his as your own guinea pig to practice new nail polish art on his own nails. Noctis actually doesn’t mind that you paint his nails, but there have been many incidents where he’s walked into the high council room only to realise he still had little cute sheep painted perfectly onto his strangely perfect manicured nails. His father still laughs about those incidents until this day and you are secretly proud of amusing the King of Lucis to that extent for such an extended period of time.

When you had accompanies Noctis out on his adventure after the fall of Insomnia from the Hunter’s Outpost, Noctis was gobsmacked by how stylishly you dressed even in crisis. Black skinny jeans and a silvery grey loose tank top styled with a studded leather jacket and heeled leather boots with golden buckles. Sure, you looked good but… when Ignis pointed out the impracticality of your outfit, you had argued with Noctis’ advisor to the point that Ignis had to pop a few asprins and Noctis was simply exasperated by your passion for fashion. Noctis admittedly laughed rather loudly when your precious boots got dirtied by a copious amount of basilisk droppings. You were very mad at him for not understanding your distress regarding the matter, but Noctis had made it up to you by pushing aside his princely status and scrubbing at your boots early in the morning, despite his strong reputation as a groggy morning person, as an apology for his insensitivity.

“Hey… you didn’t have to do that.” You whisper quietly, mindful of the other sleeping boys in the tent. Noctis shrugs his shoulders shyly and continues scrubbing.

“I just want you to be happy. I didn’t like it when you cried last night about the boots. I felt like a shitty boyfriend. I’m sorry, y/n.” You accepted his apology with a tender kiss to his cheek. You knew you were high maintenance, but you were eternally grateful that your Noctis was so accommodating to you.


Prompto: Prompto always tells you that you look absolutely adorable without makeup. In fact, he thinks you look prettier without it. You simply shoot him a rather harsh glare and question whether he even appreciates the time and effort you take to look pretty and presentable for him. This admittedly hurts Prompto’s feelings- that’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant at all! But he doesn’t say a word. He just lets you vent, like the sweet sunshine child he is, and then apologises after you’ve gotten it all out of your system.

Sometimes you use your foundation on Prompto’s freckles, just to see what he would look like without them. He looks way too different and you immediately wipe the makeup off his face and press a kiss to his nose, telling him that he looks perfect the way he is naturally. When he reflects the compliment back to you, you simply avert your gaze and softly deny his words. Prompto knows now to fight you on this. He doesn’t want you to get upset with him. So he simply presses a few kisses to your skin and smiles against your lips, inviting you to make out with him.

One time, Prompto spilled your favourite tub of nail polish all over your carpet floor in your bedroom. That resulted in a rather tense argument which ended in you absolutely seething about his clumsiness on other regards and aspects of life. You stopped venting immediately as soon as you saw the first of his tears fall. You felt terrible. And so, while you never really asked him to handle your nail polish personally, you practiced your nail art on his fingers. Prompto actually likes to help you out in this regard and is happy to take pictures of both your nails and his nails so that you can update your beauty blog with your new creation. He has pretty fingers, and you end up getting more likes for his pictures that for your own! But what makes you happiest is the fact that Prompto likes to spend time with you painting nails and discussing colour and pattern schemes.

Prompto absolutely loathes going shopping with you though. He doesn’t like crowded places, and you always drag him to sales and the like. He’s always stuck holding all your bags too. He doesn’t ever say anything to you in complaint, but you usually figure it out way too late at the end of the day after all the excitement is gone and you and Prompto are finally leaving the shopping mall. His face is clammy and pale and he can’t seem to speak proper sentences because he’s so tired. So you end up taking the bags from your boyfriend before leading him home and taking care of him until he feels more energetic.

Prompto usually ends up taking you on hikes with him, which he adores. You like to spend time with him but hiking always ruins your clothes. You always end up screeching about a grass stain of a really deep dirt stain on your stylish clothes. This usually ends up making Prompto smirk and then bring up the shopping mall incidents, which immediately shuts you up. You go through with the whole hiking thing, and even take a few pictures with Prompto for the memories, but the moment you two get back to your home, you are the first in the shower, much to the amusement of your sunshine boyfriend.

Despite the clashes the two of you have occasionally, you two compromise well and absolutely adore one another. Prompto finds your high-maintenance self both quirky and extremely loveable. And you adore your clumsy, shy boyfriend.


Gladio: Gladio has straight up told you to get rid of the ‘shit’ that you’ve caked onto your face. This occasional statement usually ends in tears on your part, which results in bear hugs from the guilty party (i.e., Gladiolus Amicitia). Gladio always goes on spiels about how you are beautiful in your natural form and how makeup is not good for your skin in the long term. Whenever you state that you’re using foundation to cover up blemishes, Gladio rightfully advises you that maybe the makeup is contributing to your breakouts. You ignore this tidbit of information from your health nut boyfriend and continue to use your makeup because it makes you feel comfortable. Gladio realises that you like to use makeup every day because it boosts your confidence, but he still doesn’t quite understand why you need the confidence boost- he thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous!

Gladio runs for the hills when he spies nail polish bottles. First of all, he doesn’t like the smell of nail polish, it makes him sneeze. Secondly, he always ends up smearing your creations all over his face and skin and even furniture because he always forgets to stay still and let the coats dry off before doing his own thing. You have learned to just Gladio do his own thing as you develop your nail art skills yourself.

Gladio enjoys your sexy fashion sense immensely, but sometimes he grows agitated when you continue to dress rather provocatively out on the field. You become a little bit of a distraction with your low cut tops and your short leather skirts. Sure, you were boy shorts under the skirts, but you’re still showing a lot of skin. You personally feel like the clothes are both fashionable, cute and practical, but Gladio doesn’t like the way he’s caught Noctis, Prompto and EVEN IGNIS (*le gasp Iggy whut?!*) staring at your long legs at the end of a fight.

But that frustration is usually quelled when you end up screaming about getting blood and guts all over yourself. He finds your reactions to grime and dirt extremely amusing, much to your own chagrin. He teases you a lot about your aversion to uncleanliness, even going as far as hugging you every moment he gets when he hasn’t showered in days. You usually just tough it out, despite hating the smell and the grime, and hug him back.

Just because he’s being an ass about it all, doesn’t mean that you don’t love him and want to smother him with affection, after all.


Ignis: Ignis likes that you take care of you appearance- he thinks that it’s a good sign of vigilance and self-care- but there are times when he thinks that you take it a little too far.

Like the time when you spent TWO HOURS getting ready for a casual dinner with friends at the local diner. Ignis had almost sent you back to your room, demanding you change your over the top cocktail dress for a simple ensemble of jeans and a tshirt, but he stopped himself just in time when he realised just how radiant and confident you looked in your outfit. He’d held his tongue then and just sighed, gesturing for the door and watching you saunter out in your killer red heels, your hips swaying confidently as you walked.

And that other time when you painted his nails while he was asleep. He had rubbed at his cheek, feeling a little itchy, only to have smeared hot pink and bright orange nail polish on his skin. You had found it hilarious, but Ignis just looked incredibly tired. Ignis, however, was surprisingly good at painting your nails. So after some trial and error, you and Ignis had decided that Wednesday evenings would be your nail art day, where Ignis would fool around with your nail paints and make your nails look adorable and pretty for the rest of the coming week. Like his cooking, his nail art skills were AMAZING. He even managers to draw the Lucian crest onto your nails during one of your Wednesday sessions, which was impressing considering he only used a very sharp toothpick to make the designs on your finger nails.

Ignis doesn’t like that you aren’t very practical with your clothing on the field. Sure, he likes that you want to look well-presented wherever you go, but the blazer jacket and pencil skirt you insisted on wearing with nude stockings was absolutely not ideal at all out on the field. In fact, the moment you had ended up ripping your skirt and stockings while you were trying to run from a rather angry nest of Hundlegs, Ignis had refused to patch them up for you when you had arrived to camp. Instead, he handed you a pair of black leggings, some protective knee pads and a dark green tunic top with tribal patterns on the sleeves.

“I am NOT wearing that Iggy.”

“Then continue to wear your impractical threads- it is of little concern to me. I like the rugged look on you, it’s different.” You catch the humour in his tone and you huff in defeat, snatching the new clothes from Ignis and changing into them behind some shrubbery. When you emerge yet again, you pout and wrap your arms around Ignis’ waist.

“You’re mean.” You whine.

“Only because I love you. And I want you to be both comfortable and safe.”

You sigh and press a kiss onto his freckled neck.

“Fine. You win. Love you too, Iggy.”

- Think about young Victor who liked painting his nails
- And he likes doing it by himself just fine but…he always kind of wished he had friends to do it with too. He could paint their nails and they could paint his nails and it would be fun!
- But he was kind of a lonely kid, had a hard time making friends
- Loads of people wanted to be around him because he was this amazing prodigy, but few people actually cared about him as a person, not just the rising star athlete
- He wasn’t really close to Chris at this point, and even later when they did become good friends, they weren’t often in the same place
- Switzerland is far away from St Petersburg
- So Victor doesn’t have anyone to paint nails with
- But he’s got Makkachin! And Makkachin is a good doggo and sits still and lets Victor paint his nails sometimes!
- ‘Look, Makkachin! We match!’
- It’s not exactly what he wanted but it’s okay. Makkachin is a good friend for a lonely kiddo.
- But then Victor grows up and stops painting his nails as much
- He still keeps his hands perfectly manicured and all
- But he’s trying for a more mature image and painting your nails with bright fuchsia polish or glittery stuff or little rainbows maybe doesn’t look so mature.
- So he kind of gives it up, along with his daydream of sharing that hobby with someone.
- Until Yuuri comes into his life!
- And they fall in love and move in together and everything is great
- And when they’re both needing some relaxation time, Victor suggests a Deluxe At Home Spa Day!
- Which includes taking a nice hot bath together with bath salts or bubble bath or bath bombs or whatever they want
- (Victor is ridiculously well stocked on pampering products)
- And then face masks! Massages!
- And to finish off, a mani-pedi!
- Victor only had clear polish the first time they did this, but the Yuuri suggested in passing that it might be fun to do different colors sometimes
- So of course Victor goes out and buys pretty much every color and variety of nail polish known to man
- The next time they do it, he gets to show off his old skills
- He’s a little rusty, but he still remembers how to do cool stuff like gradient nails!
- He loves touching Yuuri’s hands. And he loves having Yuuri touch his hands, loves watching Yuuri make that adorable face when he’s concentrating on doing Victor’s nails, loves the casual intimacy of it.
- It’s even better than he ever daydreamed about.

Five Reasons to Say “I Love You” (Chapter III)

Originally posted by fandomediiits

Reason: They Are Always By Your Side

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader, feat. Tony Stark

Warning: Cursing

Summary: Peter and Y/n are best friends and have been ever since they were in kindergarten. Due to their close friendship, Peter has never said how he loved Y/n since they were children. But, as Y/n and Peter get older and Peter starts to have stronger feelings for Y/n, he can’t keep the words on the tip of his tongue.

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This is the third part of my new Peter Parker series. There’s three more coming soon.

Masterlist Request a Prompt


Peter was worried. He was worried about whether or not his hand was sweating as it sat in Y/n’s. He was worried about whether or not she truly wanted her perfectly manicured nails and soft hands tangled in his calloused and scarred fingers. He was especially worried on whether or not he had crossed a line by bringing Y/n with him to meet with Tony Stark, but he didn’t want to keep going on with his superhero business without Y/n involved in it.

Y/n had only taken Peter’s hand out of habit, or at least, that was what he had told himself. Since they were children, Y/n would intertwine her fingers with Peter’s when they took the train or walked the crowded sidewalks of the city streets in fear that Y/n would be separated from Peter or lost in the seas of people. Y/n had never let it be known to Peter, but she was never in her little life scared of being lost, she just wanted nothing more than to innocently hold Peter’s hand.

“Good to see you again, kid.” Tony’s voice removed both Peter and Y/n from their own separate thoughts. “I see you’ve brought a friend.”

It was then that Y/n removed her hand from Peter’s and allowed it to drop to her side and left Peter to feel and odd emptiness in his chest and hand.

“H-hello, Mr. Stark. This is my friend, Y/n.” Peter replied and motioned toward Y/n.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, smiled and shook hands with Tony. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. Peter’s told me a lot about what you’ve done for him.”

“It’s a pleasure, Y/n. I’ve heard about you as well. When we worked on the spider suit, the kid wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Oh, really?” Y/n asked with a light laugh. “I hope it was all good.”

Peter could feel his cheeks heat up as Y/n’s eyes glanced over his form.  “Mr. Stark, I came to get some repairs on my suit and webshooters.”

Y/n’s laugh once again rang soft and sweet in Peter’s ears as he figured out that she had seen through his ruse. She was clever and smart, sometimes too much for her own good, but Peter had admired the way she was. She was, in all cheesy romantic reality, everything Peter had ever wanted.

“Well, then we will get that fixed. You and Y/n can help me so you may learn how to fix this on your own.” Tony replied. “You learn work in the gray area and you learn to do your own fixing. Deal?”

Peter nodded. “Deal.”

Peter watched in silence as Y/n and Tony conversed. He could feel himself memorizing the way she laughed when Tony told her something she found hilarious and he was not surprised to see Tony leaning in close to hear what Y/n had to say. Most people would think that Tony was hard of hearing because he had to lean in to hear Y/n, but Peter knew better. He knew it was one of the many tricks Y/n had to make people like her because the close proximity she held people in was one of the oldest tricks in the book.

Y/n was a special girl, even Tony saw it. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was that made her special, what made her stand out from the rest. She didn’t have powers, or at least, he didn’t think she did and she was most definitely not special because of the crush Peter had on her that didn’t seem to weigh her down as it would with most girls who seemed to know of those kinds of things. No, that wasn’t it. The young girl walked on air, spoke in a soft and crisp voice that Tony found was something you wanted to hear, not just because she always had something important to say, but that her voice sounded like the innocence of a girl and the strength of a woman.

As they walked into the lab, Tony along with Peter watched as the lines of Y/n’s face contorted into a look of happiness to a look of curiosity and wonder.

“This place is amazing, Tony.” Y/n said breathlessly. “It’s a marvel.”

Tony chuckled. “Why thank you, Y/n. You can have a look around if you want.” He said proudly, as if the approval of a teenager was all he’s ever wanted.

Peter was surprised about the causal nature of Y/n and Tony’s relationship due to the fact that Peter and Tony were not that casual with one another. He was also surprised at the hold Y/n seemed to hold on Tony in the short time they had met.

But then again, maybe that was what was so special about her, her ability to create relationships in such little time and maintain a sense of respect.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, Peter! Tony said he’d start on fixing your stuff while we take a look around.” Y/n said and bumped shoulders with Peter before she slipped her hand into his.

Peter’s eyes trailed from around the lab to his and Y/n’s hands before he looked up at Y/n, who was already starting to drag him along. Peter felt a laugh escaped from his lips as he watched Y/n look around while he attempted to not trip over his own feet.

“Bug, slow down, you’re gonna trip me!” Peter laughed.

Y/n stopped and looked back at Peter with a shy smile. “Sorry, Petey. I’m just really excited. Tony said he might let me hang around here sometime. We discussed the makeup of his suit and he thinks I bring good ideas to the table.”

Peter rose a brow as he refrained from allowing his jaw to drop. “Really? That’s amazing, bug! Maybe one day we’ll work alongside each other.”

“Or maybe one day you’ll get all the glory and I’ll be doing all the work behind the scenes.” Y/n joked, referring to the ongoing joke between them of how all Peter does is go out and fight crime while Y/n worked on helping him train and get him patched up.

Peter rolled his eyes in a playful manner. “Oh, shut up.”

Y/n shrugged with a smile and a laugh. She turned on her heel, her hair swinging over her shoulder in a way that framed her face and made her look more charming that Peter could have ever imagined. She was more beautiful than the way she looked on her blind date or homecoming and her cousin’s wedding combined. It was the mix between her intelligence, wonder and natural beauty that bewitched Peter in that moment where he watched her work the room.

“God, I love-” Peter paused for a second, as if his use of the word “love” never happened. “I love how excited you are about all this.”

Covetous Crimson (M)

WORD COUNT: 2,060

DESCRIPTION: boiling envy turns into lust showing taehyung a side to you he’s never encountered before.

WARNINGS: bondage, slight violence, bad language, explicit content duh?

AUTHORS NOTE: this actually fully killed me sub!taehyung is a must -allyxx

REQUEST: Can I request a smut of Kim taehyung please!!😅 like him telling you to touch him under the table when you eating dinner with the guys😏 hope you understand😁

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I Do (James x Reader)

Sooo this is a thing. It’s super rushed cuz I wanted to get something out to you guys, so thank you for being patient!

Summary: Five times you’ve said ‘I do’ to James, and the one time you didn’t. (Wow I actually made a summary)

Words: 1959

Tags: Cursing, minor mention of cheating, angst


1.

You were an inquisitive kid, running around, poking things with a stick, asking questions far too soon for someone your age. The adults just shoved you away towards other kids, and they in turn would push you away for knowing too much and trying to help when it wasn’t appreciated.

It was one such occasion when you met him. You were busily working in the sandbox, intently working on digging a hole. A shadow fell over the hole, and you glanced up, lifting your shovel to block the sun.

“Hello?” A shy, quiet voice asked. You squinted against the glare, and found a boy slightly older-looking than you, but about the same size. He shifted on his feet, unsure.

“Hello! Are you new?” You cheerfully asked. He nodded, and wrung his hands. You frowned.

“What’s wrong?” He shrugged and kicked at the ground.

“The others kinda shoved me away. They said they didn’t wanna play.” He looked at you through his lashes shyly and gestured towards the ground besides you. “Do you have space for me?” He braced himself for rejection. In your little, 5-year-old heart, you knew you were sticking by his side for a long time.

“I do.” You grinned at him, and he smiled back. It was a great smile.

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Taken (Part Two)

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader
Summary: When Sam, the reader’s fiancee, is kidnapped with no explanation, the reader uses the help of Dean to find her lost love.  However, many unforeseen things happen on the journey to find Sam. How will Dean and the reader deal with developing feelings for one another?
Reader Gender: Female
Word Count: 2,358
Tags: canon-level gore/violence, tied up victim, situational angst, eventual Dean x Reader
A/N: Excited to explore with this new fic! Let me know what you think!

TAKEN MASTERLIST

Excerpt:

With a startled gasp, Sam’s eyes flew open and he jerked back into consciousness.

Immediately, he was harassed with a mind numbing pain that brought the taste of bile to the back of his tongue.  He guessed there were about three deep stripes etched down his back as well as a collection of smaller cuts across his chest and face.

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Masquerade

Reverse Falls with some dipifica. Loose ties to Summerween. At this point Pacifica has no clue that Dipper has a crush on her. And to some extent neither does Dipper. There is snark ahead. And DANCING! *flails arms*

Xxx

If Pacifica hadn’t been accustomed to extravagance and splendour, the sight of the ballroom before her would have taken her breath away. A grand crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The lights adorning it were set dim and covered in a sheen of red glass, to help people remember which holiday they were celebrating. The tile floors were bathed in a deep crimson red, along with the dark walls. The room was like something out of a gothic Victorian castle. Rich velvet curtains covered the windows, allowing no outside light to filter in. Bodies, draped in fine silks of dark reds, blues, greens and blacks, spun around the room in a graceful waltz. Everyone wore a mask, but Pacifica could tell they were all around her age. It was a shock to the system, since she couldn’t imagine why kids her age would want to be at a ballroom dance instead of going to an actual fun party. Though it definitely wasn’t surprising that the Pines Twins would throw something like this.

Pacifica wandered around the edges of the ballroom, scanning for any kind of buffet table. There had to be a place where they would put the candy. It would be stupid to have a Summerween party without candy. Even if this was more of a 18th century Ball than a party.

“Looking for something Northwest?” a silvery voice asked from behind her, in his usual bored drawl.

Pacifica suppressed to urge to groan in frustration, as she slowly turned to face one of the hosts of the party. It wasn’t at all shocking that he managed to find her. She stood before him in a snow white angel costume that made her stand out like a sore thumb. The dress was floor length and shimmering in the little light that the ball room had. If she had known that everyone would be wearing such dark colours, she wouldn’t have worn white.

Dipper was wearing red. Which was super weird because Pacifica had only ever seen him in blue, black or green. His costume wasn’t actually that different from his usual stage attire. He still had his silky black dress shirt and black slacks. Only now his floor length cape and button down Victorian style vest were a deep crimson instead of turquoise or blue. His amulet gleamed at the apex of his collar, the sea green contrasting horribly with the red. Though it was doubtful Dipper even cared about that. He would rather flay his own skin than be parted from that amulet. The mask he wore was red and decorated with black glittering flames on the surface. The top corners of the mask were shaped into curled demon horns.

“The Devil huh,” Pacifica said as soon as she took in his appearance. “How fitting.”

“And an angel costume,” Dipper answered back with a snarl. “How pretentious.”

Pacifica couldn’t help the flare of anger that sparked in her eyes. Nor could she control the down turn of her lips.

“Do you usually insult your guests?” Pacifica asked with her arms crossed. “No wonder the turnout is so low.”

“Only the most tolerable of our so called peers were invited to this party,” Dipper shot back, his cool voice traced with petulance. “And I believe you weren’t on that list.”

Pacifica offered him the most mocking pout and shrug she could muster. A thin scowl appeared on his lips and she could see his eyes narrowing beneath his mask. She smiled to herself, for being capable of shifting his carefully crafted mask of indifference into a look with echoes of fury.

“Gideon sends his regrets for being unable to attend,” Pacifica stated in her stuck up formal tone that took years to perfect.

Dipper’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath through his nose. It was no secret that he loathed his sister’s affection towards Gideon. He genuinely despised Gideon (along with everyone else at the Mystery Shack) and hated that his own flesh and blood would willingly associate with them. Not only that, but Mabel’s infatuation always ended up restraining his hand when he had a plan to steal the journal. He was quick to hide his rage and replace it with his usual placid and bored expression. God forbid he actually show hints of emotion.

“Mabel invited Gideon,” he sighed with a frown of his lips. Clearly he hadn’t been aware that his twin had sent Gido an invitation to their Summerween masque. Not until then at least. Annoyance at his sister’s antics flickered across his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Of course she did.”

“He wasn’t feeling up to it,” Pacifica explained with a shrug. “So I took the invite in his place.”

“And why is that, I wonder?” Dipper asked as he took a threatening step towards her. She stopped herself from flinching backwards and strengthened her stance. As he circled her like a vulture, invading precious personal space, she made sure to cast him a deadly glare through her lace mask. “Why would you enter the dwelling of your enemies, when you know how dangerous it would be. Unless you have a death wish.”

“Nobody says ‘dwelling’ anymore Pines,” Pacifica stated with an eye roll. She locked eyes with him and glared “And it’s none of your business why I’m here. So you can go terrorize your other guests.”

She turned away from him with a huff, determined to look for that stupid candy. No need to waste her time engaging in a verbal battle of barbs and insults when her life was on the line. Just as she started walking away as quickly as her heels would allow, Dipper glided in front of her. His arm was outstretched and he offered her his open palm. Two of his fingers beckoned her forward in one sharp movement, that seemed more like a demand.

“Dance with me.”

Pacifica stared at him in shock for a few fleeting seconds. She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. What on earth had possessed him to say that? Dipper wasn’t the type to ask his sworn enemies to dance. In fact she couldn’t imagine him asking anyone to dance. Did the guy even know how to dance? Didn’t he only know how to skulk in dark corners?

“As fun as that sounds,” she said with an intentional lack of enthusiasm. She smiled at him with her most sickeningly sweet smile, which would hopefully drive him away. “My dance card is full.”

The magician didn’t seem deterred. His green eyes flashed in the light and the vicious grin of a blood thirsty wolf curled at his lips. That alone was enough to send her heart pounding like a jackhammer in fear. But his next words made her throat close, terror burning in her lungs. “How long do you think it would take for me to crush a man’s skull with my amulet?” he asked casually, pulling his hand back to examine the shape of his perfectly manicured nails. “I’m thinking 45 seconds.”

Pacifica knew Dipper Pines well enough to know that it wasn’t an actual question. It was without a doubt a threat. He never took no as answer, no matter the demand. Of course he would resort to threatening her, even if it was the dumbest request she had heard him make in a while. She clenched her fists at her sides, and jutted her chin out defiantly. “You wouldn’t.”

“It is my party,” he shrugged in response, that arrogant smirk still on his stupid face. “And it’s not as if you’re willing to take the chance.”

Pacifica wanted nothing more in that moment than to break his nose. Her fingers twitched with anticipation at her side, and she had to grip the silk of her dress in order to stop herself from lunging at him. If she didn’t want anyone to get hurt, she was going to have to keep her temper in check. Why couldn’t he just be a normal pompous jerk instead of a pompous jerk with mystical powers? She grit her teeth together and begrudgingly accepted his offer with a sneer.

“Excellent,” Dipper said, his voice betraying none of the smugness that she knew he was feeling.

Without another word, he strode across the dance floor, winding his way through the maze of twirling bodies with ease. Pacifica debated on just leaving him to dance by himself and continue on her search. But the backlash of that decision might be a bit bloody. So for the sake of everyone in that room, she followed him. It would be easier to make sure he wasn’t causing any trouble if she was there to distract him. Marching through the crowd of waltzing teenagers, who were strangely coordinated, was more difficult than Dipper made it seem. She almost knocked someone over three times before she caught up with him. But none of them stopped in their effortless dance, all of them keeping perfectly in time with the music and each other. Which was super sketchy.

She was just able to make it in front of Dipper as the music reached its final notes. The waltz that had continued without pause around them slowed and ended with a low dip. Every single person moving at matching speed at matching times. Pacifica stared at all of the dancers suspiciously. He had to have something to do with the people at this party acting strangely.

Another song began only seconds after the last song had stopped, giving Pacifica barely enough time to gather her thoughts before every male partner in the room fell forward into a deep bow. Dipper was included in this, bending in perfect match with the other boys in the room, but he didn’t bend down nearly as low and kept his eye contact with her. It might have been the heavy conditioning she had received during her ballroom dancing lessons, or it could have simply been the desire to not look stupid in front of so many people, but she did end up lowering into a curtsy. Every other girl in the room followed exactly half a second behind her. Pacifica shot Dipper a furious scowl, knowing now for certain that something was going on here.

He didn’t respond with anything but a wry smile as he stepped towards her.

With one fluid motion, Dipper slipped his hand into hers and placed the other on her waist, catching her off guard. She forced herself not to shiver under the chill of his touch. It was like he was made of ice. It took all her concentration to stop from stumbling as he started leading her backwards with quick, graceful steps. She allowed him to lead her in the dance as he kept in step with everyone else’s waltz.

Though Pacifica didn’t recognize the dance, she did her best to keep up with Dipper’s pace, watching her feet intently. They spun around the room, in precise synchronization with all the other guests. The hand on her waist dropped and she was twirled three times with the fluctuations of the melody, the ends of her dress fluttering at her feet. A squeak of breath escaped her breath when she was guided back into Dipper’s grasp.

“Having trouble keeping up Northwest?” His smooth voice didn’t even break as they floated across the floor. Well he floated, Pacifica was more or less dragged.

“No,” she snapped back without looking up at him. If she did, she would lose her place. “How is everyone doing this? Was there a rehearsal ball or something?”

Right in time with the music again, Dipper let go of her hand and gripped her hips with both hands. He lifted her up of the ground and did a half spin. She gasped in surprise and again when the movement was repeated. One wouldn’t think he had it in him, considering his arms were basically noodles. Pacifica looked up into his eyes in astonishment to find him smirking down at her. She isn’t sure what causes her to notice it, but she can see speckles of brown within the sea green of his irises.

“I will tell you my secret if you tell me yours,” Dipper stated with a tilt of his head. The hand on the small of her back pushed her flush against him. “It would be a shame if you were left in the dark.”

Pacifica bit her lip as she realized they’re proximity. With any other boy, her face would be on fire and the colour of tomatoes. But since this was Dipper Pines, she was thoroughly repulsed. Her eyes didn’t dart back to the floor in order to avoid his, they stayed on him. Sure it took all her will power, but she managed to keep looking at him with the same pissed off expression.

“Do you want the long story or the short one?” she asked breathlessly as he picked up the speed and spun them around faster and faster. She was staring to get dizzy from all this twirling. At this rate she would definitely lose what was left of her footing. It would be mortifying to be knocked off her feet in front of Pines, she would never hear the end of it.

“Let’s start with the short story,” Dipper replied casually, completely unaffected by their constant movement. He even had the nerve to look down at her in condescending amusement.

“I need five hundred pieces of candy,” she said curtly, no longer willing to put up with him anymore. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been forced to converse with people she didn’t like before. But at least she didn’t have to stay trapped in a seemingly endless waltz with them. What made it worse was that he was clearly much better at this than her. Even with the sophisticated lessons she had taken since she was a child, along with the dancing Granny Carla had been teaching her as of late, she was still struggling.

Dipper went silent, which was a nice relief, and his lips tipped into a slight frown. He stared at her expectantly as they continued to move. Their steps were a bit slower now and much easier for Pacifica to keep track of.

“Five hundred pieces of candy,” he repeated.

“Yep.”

He let out an indignant scoff and gazed at her with a look that was the closest to disbelief he could probably get to. “Why on earth would you need five hundred pieces of candy?”

“That’s part of the long story,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Then tell me the long story,” Dipper demanded, speaking like he was dealing with a child. Well good. She hoped she was giving him a hard time. The jerk deserved it.

“I pissed off the Summerween trickster because I didn’t give him any candy,” she explained rapidly, taking a brief pause when he swiftly twirled her several times. “He said that if I didn’t get him five hundred pieces of candy, he was going to eat me, along with Melody, Gideon, long hair, and puppet hands.”

“Couldn’t you just go to a store,” Dipper suggested in a dry tone, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Gee Pines, I didn’t think of that,” Pacifica said as sarcastically as possible. “None of the stores are open, genius. The town takes this holiday way too seriously.”

Dipper nodded as if he was contemplating what she said with great thought. “So you came here in hopes that we would have free candy on display, so that you can pay off the monster who is threatening you,” he concluded. He regarded her curiously for a moment. “Do you know what type of creature this Summerween Trickster is?”

“It’s not anywhere in the journal,” she answered, a bit uneasy. If Dipper didn’t know about this thing then it wasn’t in his journal either. He knew all the details of that book from front to back.

“You mean it’s not in you’re journal,” he corrected, with the simple objective of getting under her skin.

“Oh I’m sorry, all knowing one,” she sneered in response. “Does your journal say anything about it?”

“Perhaps the first journal has the information,” Dipper purposefully avoided her question, calmly lifting her from the ground again.

Pacifica snorted in derision. “Lot of good that’s going to do me,” she muttered. Regaining her focus, she glared back up at him. “Now tell me what you did to these people.”

“It’s just a spell,” Dipper drawled, as if it was the least interesting thing in the world.

Pacifica’s eyes widened into saucers and she gaped at him. Though she knew she shouldn’t be shocked at his horrible lack of morality. “You cast a spell on everyone here!” she hissed.

“Technically no,” he clarified. “I cast a spell on the room. Anyone who steps onto the dance floor will be forced to participate in the choreography that Mabel created for each song. Since my sister and I cast the spell, we’re not affected. We are simply well versed in the steps.” He paused before looking her over with a cool gaze. “You’re obviously immune as well.”

His hand slowly ran up her arm to her collar bone, leaving behind a cold trail. His long fingers idly plucked at the string around her neck that held the red and black crystal tucked under her dress. The bloodstone that served as her only protection. The only thing that kept him from controlling her, mentally and physically. And apparently the reason she was the only one who was completely lost in this stupid waltz.

“How long will they be forced to be like this?” Pacifica asked in concern. It was horrible that the Pines Twins were forcing these kids to dance for hours on end. Her mind automatically filtered to a fairytale where a girl wore a pair of shoes that had forced her to dance until her feet bled. She shivered at the thought.

Dipper didn’t look up from the necklace and he didn’t answer her question either. She could practically see that computer brain processing and calculating, though she could only guess would he was thinking about. Icy fingers whispered across the skin of her arm, causing her breath to hitch. His stare didn’t leave her neck until their hands were rejoined. Only then did he look back up at her face. His face was vacant, but his eyes were searching, as if he was picking her apart.

“The spell fades away at midnight,” he finally answered. “Everyone will leave the party unscathed. On my part. I’m not sure what Mabel is up to.”

Pacifica didn’t have any other choice than to trust him at that moment. She could figure out how to stop the spell after she took care of the trickster. Gideon was counting on her to get that candy. She couldn’t afford to disappoint him twice in the same night.

“So, candy,” she started, a new determination. To save her loved ones and everyone that surrounded her. “Yay or nay?”

“I suppose I could help you,” he hummed, his voice lowering. “For a price.”

Pacifica already knew what he would want from her, and gave him the answer before he could ask. “I don’t have the journal on me,” she stated with a deadpan stare. “And my friends are watching it.”

Xxx

“You don’t need to keep staring at the book when you’re holding it Melody.”

“I’m like a hawk.”

xxxx

“Your bloodstone then,” Dipper suggested, his eyes darting down to her neck and lingering there for a moment before looking back up at her with a smirk. “I’m willing to settle for it.”

“Even if I did give you the stone,” Pacifica said with a roll of her blue and violet eyes. “I still have others hidden throughout the shack.”

“Well I could simply force you to get rid of them, along with your hex bags.” He twirled her away from him and then back into his arms.

“Gideon has his own bloodstones and his own hex bags hidden in the Shack,” she smirked back at him, knowing that there was no way for him to win this one. “Not even I know where he put them. So you’re out of luck there.”

Dipper smiles something that is disturbingly close to genuine fondness. “Clever girl.”

The praise throws her off and causes hints of warning to rise up from the depths of her stomach. But she crushes her discomfort down by focusing on being furious that he called her girl like she was a child or a dog. Before she could express her anger, the music picked up in volume and speed. They waltzed across the ballroom at a pace that was so fast that it forced her to concentrate on the movements. Twirl, step, step, step, lift, step, step, step, twirl out. She was getting a good hang of the music and the dancing now, if anything good came from this dance. As the song drew to a uproarious close, every male in the room dropped their partner into a low dip.

Dipper leaned heavily over her, the expression on his face wasn’t placid, nor was it readable. His arm, wrapped solidly around her waist, was the only thing that kept her from falling to the floor. The fabric at the ends of her dress were splayed on the crimson floor. Pacifica wasn’t sure where to put her hands, so she placed them on Dipper’s shoulders to give her a sense of balance. Looking up at his eyes, she stared at those warm flecks of brown, drowning in eerie sea green.

“God,” he sighed in irritation, as if he had been given the wrong dish at a five star restaurant. His voice was so soft and quiet, it almost threw her off. “That is so inconvenient.”

“What is,” she whispered, unable to comprehend what he meant by that. He kind of said it out of nowhere.

His lost expression shifted to a face stone in the blink of an eye. He quickly pulled her up from her position and pulled his hands away and clasped them behind his back.

“Nothing,” he asserted indifferently. His face was back to his usual look of disinterest. He stared at the spot above her head as he continued to speak. “We may not have five hundred pieces of candy. But I suppose if you’re desperate, you can count them yourself.”

Pacifica rose a questioning eyebrow. Was he just going to give her the candy that could save her life (what a weird phrase)? It seemed uncharacteristically generous. He turned from her sharply walked away from her with long strides, forcing her to run to catch up with him. These weird traces of actual emotion in Pines were starting to get creepy. She was starting to regret coming to this party.

“What about the price?” Pacifica panted when she ran up beside him. “You don’t want one of my fingers or my blood or any other freaky thing.”

He turned his head ever so slightly to give her a small smirk. At least that was more like Dipper. “I’ll think something up.”

Xxx

I watched way too many ballroom dancing videos while making this. Not so subtle reference to Love Actually in there. Dipper realizes he’s got feelings. And damn is it ever inconvenient.

Finally chose what Pacifica’s helpful spell blocking crystal was. Bloodstone, the name sounded super cool so I decided to use it. The actual stone (known as heliotrope) can be used as a grounding and protecting stone that keeps out undesirable influences. I’m pretty sure it can be found in the United States, so why not have a supply in Gravity Falls that blocks off magic and spells. As long as Pacifica has it on her, Dipper can’t use his amulet or his mind control on her. Nor can she be affected by magic room spells that force you to dance.

More MadaTobi drabble!

The Great Hokage Debate
Words: ~1,700
-
Sypnosis: In which the fight for the Hokage hat goes not in the way that’s expected and Madara is more whipped than whipped cream. Set in IzunaIsAlive!AU.


-

It should have cued him that a disaster was heading his way when his little brother with his recuperating kneecap, quite the lazy and unrepentant abuser of other people’s sympathetic goodwill towards the injured, Madara might add, stands up in an abrupt manner that shook the cutlery of their breakfast, and excuses himself out of their dining room.

“I, uh, gotta go,” Izuna mumbles. “Left something in the office. Later, brother.”

Madara hums in goodbye as Izuna hobbles towards the exit, too immersed in reviewing the new insurance proposals to notice his little brother tripping over air, and righting himself, before muttering a hasty greeting to the figure that passes him by the door.

He’s not usually this inattentive to his brother’s odd behaviours. Izuna’s panicked chicken dance has been a reliable indicator of when trouble comes crashing in the past (probably because he’s been the cause of numeral of said trouble), but ever since Hashirama’s recent health scare his work load has tripled, the stack stretching all the way to the top of the Hokage mountains. More than ever, Madara has been doused with requests from the Nara, the Yamanaka, the Aburame, the civilian sector - almost every aspect of the village has been crowing and demanding his attention.

Except for the Hyūga. The Hyūga clan hasn’t asked him for a thing. For once, Madara is glad for the huffy rivalry between their two clans, he’d like to keep his paperwork to a minimum, thank you very much.

It’s no wonder Mito enforces Hashirama’s sick leave with a fist of steel. Not even a man with the most steadfast constitution that rivals mountains or the regenerative powers of twelve lizards combined could handle this much stress. The fact that Hashirama whines, and begs her to let him come back shows how much of an insane fool Hashirama is.

Every particle in his body starts buzzing with warmth. “Senju,” Madara greets, surprised but pleased upon sensing his partner’s comforting chakra patterns. Madara shifts the glasses framing the pronounced lines creasing along his nose, and shuffles his paper back onto the table.  “Didn’t expect to see you before lunch.” He smiles as Tobirama makes his way around his dining table to where he kneels.

Tobirama is holding something behind his back, clad in his signature blue armour. He smiles in return, his right dimple adding a wholesome layer to an otherwise frighteningly fierce face. “Close your eyes, Uchiha. I have a surprise for you.”

In hindsight, Madara should’ve jumped through their screen door like his robes were on fire, and reverse-summoned himself to the hills. Tobirama never smiles before his second kettlepot of tea. The last ‘surprise’ he had for Madara involved his screen door ripped into shreds, a leopard with familiarly white colouring lounging on their patio, and a half-assed apology note stuck between his teeth.

But being the lovesick fool that he is – and he shakes his fists daily at how far he’s fallen –Madara humours him. Madara humours him because he went from a man that spikes fear with a single glance to a man melting to goo at one look from Tobirama. It’s White Day today, Madara thinks half-wittedly, and Tobirama might brighten his day with a much needed kiss. Tobirama might even spoil him with some chocolate out of pity. It’s not even nine o clock yet and he was just wishing for a break from all this paperwork when Tobirama arrived. It’s like a higher deity from up above is looking out to him, listening to his wishes and conjuring them true.

Unfortunately, a higher deity is not listening from above. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Off in their shared study room, Izuna is snickering his butt off.

With his eyes closed, Madara feels something lodge on top of his head and Madara figures out that it’s a hat. He opens his eyes and Tobirama is sitting cross legged in front of him with a small mirror. Tired, black eyes shift to the mirror, and widens in alarm.

On top of his reflection is a diamond red hat, trimmed in white, with a white diamond centred on his forehead. Right above his eyes, emblazoned in burning red, is the Kanji for fire.

“Surprise,” Tobirama congratulates.

Madara hisses like a frying skillet, grabs the hat on his head, and tosses the hat on to the table. 

“What the fuck?” Madara seethes. “Senju, you’re supposed to give me chocolate back on White Day, not a fucking heart attack!” His heart is pounding, cold sweat starts breaking. Just the thought of becoming Hokage is enough to scare him into a coma, he doesn’t even want to think about following his best friend’s footsteps and ending up in an actual coma.

“I’m giving you the gift of forewarning.” Unblemished by Madara’s shrieking rage, Tobirama neatly seals the mirror into a storage scroll with a dainty and regal composure – why he needs a mirror for his daily activities, Madara will never know - before cocking his head towards Madara in a stern look. “Not to mention the gift of instilling the next generation with the Will of Fire. Some would consider it a great honour to be bestowed the title of Hokage.”

“And some,” Madara bites back, “would prefer to live past their forties and not keel over from stress-induced illness. Why are we being hasty here? Your brother is still the Hokage, he’s just on sick leave.”

Tobirama shuts his mouth. Instant dread crawls up his back, and the bottom of his stomach falls through the floor. “No,” he whimpers in horror.

A Tobirama without a snarky quip is a troubling Tobirama. Troubling for Madara, that is.

“It turns out brother’s sick leave is quickly developing into more of a…permanent leave,” Tobirama informs him, eyes flickering to read the blatant longing in Madara’s face as he eyes the screen door. He shifts his body, becoming a formidable obstacle between Madara and his freedom. “In any case, you are next in line so it’s only in due time.”

“I thought you were next in line for Hokage,” begs Madara desperately.

“Sadly, I was not,” lies Tobirama, trying to inject a sincere – fake – amount of sympathy instead of the devious smirk that Madara can see was threatening to twitch his beautiful – punchable – face. “Also, overseeing the Academy and conducting research takes up the majority of my time.”

Tobirama isn’t a heavy man, Madara considers. He’s sculpted with muscle – he admits he’s leering a bit – but isn’t considerably heavy. With a boost of chakra in his system, and a lack of caffeine in Tobirama’s system, he could-

“Don’t even think about it.”

Madara curses, but he’s desperate enough to keep reaching. “What about that cousin of yours? She’s scary enough.”

“Tōka is on a self-assigned infiltration mission taking place in the Land of Wind which will last for another month at least,” Tobirama reiterates with a bland tone. “She wishes you, and I quote, to have ‘a fun time burning in hell, that poor bastard’.”

“Mito?”

“Mito says that a woman with a delicate constitution, such as herself, should not be placed in such a distressing position.”

The pure incredulity of that statement leaves his mouth gaping. Delicate? As if that woman hadn’t seal a twenty foot, raging, chakra beast into her coils and flourished. That cackling witch.

Madara considers his next statement, fully aware he might get slapped in the face for even suggesting such a thing. “…Izuna?”

Tobirama gives him a long look filled with such deep rebuke that Madara feels downright shameful.

As the damning walls of responsibility and duty close in around him, Madara feels a pulse of rebellion thrumming in throat. Impetuous, petty, rebellion. “Damn it,” Madara swears. “Why can’t you be Nidaime? The elders have always preferred you anyway, nagging airy sack of bones.”

He is not pouting. Pouting is not the adult thing to do in this situation and Madara is one hundred percent a pure, grown adult reacting in a reasonable manner that adults are prone to do. Madara is an adult, so very adult.

Tobirama gives a sigh that rumbles the whole of his chest. “I suppose I can become the Nidaime…”

The seeds of hope are sprouting tiny leaves. Madara holds his breath.

“…but between leading the village, supervising my students and my research projects,” Tobirama takes his time to inspect his nails on one perfectly manicured hand, “I might not have any time to spare organising the move from my house to yours.”

All breath rushes out in fury, making him splutter. “…. you ruthless – bastard.”

“It’s shameful really,” Tobirama continues despite Madara’s increasingly red face. “How tired, and exhausted I might be at the end of the day. How I might just prefer to collapse in the comfort of my own bed, alone, instead of a thinning futon occupied by another person.”

Madara is making inscrutable squeals of anger, hands itching to hurl his stack of paper at Tobirama’s adorably smug – not adorable, shut upbrain – face, before bunching his shoulders in a tense explosion of frustration, and settling into a glare.

Tobirama meets his glare with a pointed look. Below his faceplate, he raises one tidy eyebrow.

A standoff.

He is a fool, Madara repeats to himself in a fervent haze. He is the biggest fool in all of Konoha. He is a lovesick fool for reaching out on to the table, grabbing the Hokage hat and plopping it on his grudging head.

It settles in neatly like a rope around his neck, and Madara knows that for anything concerning Tobirama, he is an even bigger fool than Hashirama will ever be.

“You look very handsome with the hat on. You don’t even look half as dead on the inside as you usually do,” Tobirama consoles, or at least tries to, it’s a futile effort since he can’t stop his lips from twitching. “It’s fitting that an Uchiha becomes the next Hokage, don’t you think?”

Madara’s face twists until he’s definitely pouting. Pouting and glowering, the whole sullen firework.

The foul mood that blankets him worsens as Tobirama smothers his laughter. It doesn’t improve when Tobirama takes his jaw in his hand and trails kisses on it in compensation - because it’s weak, and pathetic compensation for such an underhanded tactic, Madara decides, especially when Tobirama breaks off into snickers every time he takes a look at his sulky face.

And goddamn it, Madara scowls, it should be illegal for a man to make whipping noises when he’s the cause of it.

Protective [a Kyle Spencer imagine]

Request: can you please do a Kyle Spencer one where Madison is being a jerk and is trying to steal Kyle away from you and he’s super protective of you and it’s super fluffy? thanks :) love your acc :))

a/n: fuckin hate Madison…this is a lil short

WARNING: harassment

You left him for not even five minutes and she’s already climbing on top of him. His face is scrunched up, turned to the side, clearly uncomfortable. Madison doesn’t pay attention to his whines of protests; still forcing herself on him.

“Shut up, you little bitch!” She whisper-screams at him, digging her perfectly manicured nails into his tan skin under his black sweater. He whimpers, trying to use his arms to push her off his body; he doesn’t know if she’s super strong or he’s weak. “Don’t act like you don’t want this!” She shouts, pinning him to the bed.

Slamming the cloud colored door open, you stomp into your room. “Madison, get the fuck off him!” You fume, pulling at her shoulder. “Can’t you see he obviously doesn’t like that, or you?!” You shout, pushing her off the queen sized bed. Kyle lets out a heavy sigh, tears leaking from his dark eyes.

Madison stands up, crossing her arms over her black #selfie crop top. She rolls her eyes, chuckling almost evilly. “What? And I guess he wants you? As if!” She scoffs, cocking her hip out, her short skirt riding up even further. Kyle growls, sitting up. “What caveman?” She jokes, smirking at the blond.

Another growl comes from him as he gets off the plush mattress. He stares daggers at her, wrapping his arms around you, standing at your side. His pointer finger juts out at her, then to the door.

You smirk, holding his hand that’s on your waist. “Kyle wants you to leave, bitch.” You grin, watching her storm out. The former frat boy grunts again, nuzzling his head in your shoulder with a sniffle. “It’s okay, I won’t leave you alone anymore…” You comfort, petting his head with a dramatic sigh.

Kyle points to the bed, holding you tighter. He wants to cuddle. Nodding, you drag him by his arm to the bed, laying down. His arm falls over you protectively, pulling you in his chest. You are the only thing Kyle feels safe with. He needs you.

Nursey is low-key the best at breaking gender norms.

Shitty’s super vocal about it and that’s great, like he helped educate some of the hausmates who weren’t totally aware of the imperialist and arbitrary notions of gender but Nursey. Nursey, I’m-a-chill-guy Nursey, has known this shit since he was twelve, and has been doing it since he was able to walk.

He’s a cis guy, maybe; if anyone actually asked him what his gender was, that’s the answer he’d give. He’s not actually totally sure that he identifies with a gender in particular, has thought that maybe he might be genderfluid or agender, but since he’s comfortable with his pronouns for the most part and is questioning he doesn’t tend to mention it to people.

So he throws comments into conversations when necessary, raises his eyebrows at any comments he thinks border on ignorant, and generally acts like a chill, educated guy who’s spent a lot of his time in the Village.

When he lived in the Haus, Shitty wore a lot of florals. Some really pretty stuff that Nursey could appreciate, objectively, but also some garish shirts that were offensive to the eye. Nursey doesn’t really do florals. He likes flowers, though, spent days in his teenage years carefully lacing his curls with daisies, tucking daffodils into his shirt pockets in the spring and roses in the summer. He owns a couple of cute skirts that he generally only wears in his room, lounging on his bed with his bare legs crossed and comfortable. He shaves them, sometimes, if only to enjoy the feeling of smooth skin rubbing together.

One thing he always does is paint his nails. Most people don’t notice since he uses clear polish more often than not. He carries a nail file in his bag wherever he goes, and has perfected the ‘sitting back casually whilst filing nails and looking unimpressed’ look. After he becomes relaxed enough about the team being accepting, he starts to do it in the Haus. When Ransom gets a look at Nursey’s perfectly self-manicured nails he asks Nursey to do his. By the time they get to the playoffs, all of the SMH have beautiful nails painted an array of different colors. (Holster might have a small freak-out when he notices Ransom’s are painted for bi-pride. Ransom might have a small freak-out when he sees that Holster’s are too.)

Nursey takes care of his appearance even if he doesn’t think it hugely important. He likes to maintain his musculature, enjoys smirking every time he catches Dex staring at his arms in a sleeveless top. His skin care routine could rival Lardo’s, and he barely goes more than two days without shaving before and after playoffs. He owns several lip balms and a couple of really nice lipsticks that he likes to wear in New York on occasion. After a couple of years at Samwell he decides he’d like to wear them there, too.

His choices always make him look gentle and warm, devastatingly handsome and soft around the edges. In winter he wears his navy peacoat with a pale blue scarf bundled around his neck, bright gold nails hidden beneath gloves. One day Dex gives him a lily broach, and he pins it on his slouchy beanie where it catches the pale light under cloud cover. He and Bitty have long discussions about the benefits of short-shorts and crop tops, and when the weather’s warmer they can be seen strolling across the quad and turning every head as they go.

Nursey’s the only one who knows about Bitty’s secret Louboutin collection after Nursey lets slip he has a couple of pairs in his room in the brownstone. They sit on Bitty’s bed with hot chocolate and pie, appreciating the several pairs Bitty takes out and shows off proudly, comparing their taste. Bitty’s a pro with his heels, can dance and strut in them like nobody’s business (he’s practiced), but Nursey gives him tips about posture and matching clothes with each particular shoe.

(When Jack and Bitty come out to their friends, Nursey sends a wink Jack’s way and compliments him on his shoes. For a moment he just looks confused, glancing down at his worn sneakers in bemusement, but when Bitty giggles comprehension crosses his face and he goes bright red before grinning fondly.)

Just, Nursey being a non-binary pansexual hockey playing poet who wears skirts and make up and makes The Swallow’s ’50 Most Beautiful’ list four years running.

“No! You cannot choose Robin Hood as a companion!” Charlie challenged. “He was barely there for an episode, and Clara was still a companion.”

“Yes, I can pick him. I can do whatever the hell I want,” Dorothy replied glibly, and Dean couldn’t help his smirk at the exasperated huff Charlie let out. He didn’t have to look up from his physics book to know that the girlfriends were glaring each other down. Well, Charlie was glaring; Dorothy was probably wearing that overly fond look, the one that said ‘You’re acting like an idiot right now but I’ll let it slide since I’m in love with you.’

Dean flipped another page in his textbook, sighing as he glanced at the page number in the upper corner. He was barely halfway through the assignment, and he’d been sitting here for over an hour. Then again, maybe the bustling student union wasn’t the best place to do homework.

He jolted when Charlie suddenly kicked at his foot. He shot her a glare and a terse “what?” She jerked her head toward the front doors.

“Lover boy at three o'clock.”

Dean’s eyes flickered over toward the doors, his gaze automatically honing in on the dark-haired man who was currently scanning the area like he was looking for someone. His eyes landed on them, and Dean managed a tremulous smile and a little half-wave. Cas blushed and waved back.

Charlie motioned him over and he nodded as he began to pick his way over to their sofas.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean hissed, and Charlie just smiled sweetly.

“I may or may not have invited him to our study session,” she explained innocently.

“Why?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of watching you two idiots dance around each other. It was one drunken New Year’s Eve kiss, Dean!”

“Yeah, and—”

Charlie cut him off. “A kiss that you both thoroughly enjoyed.”

“You can’t know that,” Dean argued.

“Yes, I can! He was giving you heart eyes for ages before you kissed him, and now it’s been almost a full month and you’re still acting like a complete dumbass. You need to either man up and ask him out or at least start acting like a decent human being. I miss having him along on our adventures, and until you make things right, he won’t come with us.”

Dean would have said more, but then Cas was standing in front of them, smiling hesitantly. “Thanks for inviting me, guys. I’m kinda completely lost on this chapter,” he admitted as he settled down next to Dean and pulled out his book.

“Absolutely!” Charlie assured him, shooting Dean a warning look over his head. Her smile was back in place when Cas straightened back up with his book in hand.

“So how have you been?” She asked, her tone nothing but cheerful.

“Pretty good. Busy,” Cas said as he flipped open to the chapter they were working on in class.

“I bet! I mean, I’ve barely seen you since we’ve been back,” she said.

Cas cast a quick sidelong glance at Dean, his cheeks heating. “I know. I’m sorry about that.”

Dean suddenly got the impression that he was apologizing for more than just his absence, and that hurt more than Dean wanted to admit. He finally managed a peek at the other man, only to find that Cas had already looked away. Dean quickly looked back down at his own book, not wanting to get caught staring himself.

As they began to review over the material, Dean repeatedly found himself getting distracted by the stupidest things, like the way Cas’s fingers curled around his pen, or the way Cas’s teeth pulled at his lower lip when he was lost in thought, or the little furrow that deepened between Cas’s eyebrows. The further they got into the hour, the more Dean found himself wishing that Cas would look at him at least one time. But the other man seemed determined to avoid his gaze.

He’d just about had enough of it. He was about to ask Cas a question, if for no other reason than to catch his eye, when a group of giggling girls wandered up. They were all dressed in identical powder blue polos with some Greek letters stitched into the fabric. Even if they hadn’t had the matching polos, Dean would’ve recognized them as frat girls from their matching lip-gloss smiles.

“Hey, Cas,” the one in the middle murmured. Cas glanced up from his book, a kind smile plastered on his face.

“Hello, Hael.”

She smiled flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes. “Are you going to be there tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Cas promised.

“Good,” she praised, one perfectly manicured nail coming to tap under his chin.

Dean almost looked away, but when Cas pulled away from the touch, he felt a swell of triumph fill his chest, triumph mixed with relief.

“Come find me,” Hael commanded before she spun and strode away, the other girls in tow.

“Who was that?” Charlie asked, her eyes following the group.

Cas sighed wearily and shook his head. “One of Anna’s sorority sisters.”

“She’s pretty,” Dorothy offered inanely.

“You should ask her out!” Charlie suggested. Dean glared at them from behind Cas. What the hell were they doing?

Cas blushed and glanced down at his book. “Sure, maybe,” he muttered. Dean felt panic flood his chest. Cas wouldn’t actually ask her out, right? He didn’t like her like that; he liked Dean, and Dean liked him. Cas couldn’t ask her out, not without Dean telling him at least once.

Cas looked relieved when his phone dinged, giving him an excuse to look away. He pulled it out of his pocket long enough to glance at the screen, a tiny frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. “Guys, I gotta run.”

“Aw, why?” Charlie moaned. “We were having so much fun!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, shrugging. “Anna needs me to go pick up some beer for her party.”

“Party?” Dorothy’s gaze lifted from her book. “Where?”

“Kappa,” Cas replied as he stood and gathered his things. “You should stop by.”

“Maybe. Won’t you be busy with Hael?” Charlie teased. Cas just rolled his eyes as he turned away.

Dean almost let him leave like that, almost let him walk back out. But at the last moment, he called out, “See you tonight, Cas.”

Cas hesitated for the briefest of moments, his back tensing under Dean’s stare before he called back, “See you tonight, Dean.”

——————

Dean wove through the crowd of party-goers, his eyes roving, searching for that head of dark, unruly hair he’d imagined running his fingers through so many times. He caught sight of Charlie and Dorothy dancing out on the floor, smiling and giggling. He couldn’t help his fond smile; their fights never lasted long.

He turned away to resume his search when someone suddenly rammed into him. He glanced down to find Anna stumbling against his chest, giggling drunkenly.

“Dean! You came!” She squealed, throwing her arms around him. She pulled away enough to beam up at him. “Oh my god, Cas is going to be so excited!”

“He is?” He uttered, arching an eyebrow.

She let out another high-pitched giggle. “Oh my god! You’re so funny. Like you didn’t know,” she whacked him on the arm. “He’s in the kitchen.”

“Oh, uh…thanks,” Dean murmured, disentangling himself from her hold. “Is that…”

“Straight through there,” she pointed him through an open doorway.

Dean stumbled away, smiling apologetically at those he bumped up against. When he stepped into the kitchen, he immediately felt the rise in temperature. He glanced around, trying to find Cas, when he spotted him in the corner.

Cas was backed up into the corner, his eyes wide as the dark-haired girl from earlier that afternoon tried to carry on a conversation with him. She kept bending forward into his space, and every time Cas moved a little further back, despite already being practically flush against the wall. His eyes flickered up then, and for the briefest of moments, their gazes locked.

Dean felt his heart stutter to a stop, and he offered a hesitant smile. Cas’s eyes pleaded for escape, and who was Dean to deny? He strode forward, stepping around Hael to slide right up against Cas’s side.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he murmured, bending to press a quick peck to Cas’s cheek.

“Hey,” Cas whispered back, smiling tremulously up at him. Dean reached over to take his hand, slowly tangling their fingers together.

“Sorry I’m late; traffic was a bitch,” he explained. He looked at Hael then, his smile tight and uninviting. “And who is this?”

“Dean, this is Hael. She’s one of Anna’s frat sisters,” Cas explained, like they hadn’t just talked about it earlier.

Hael still remembered it, though. Her eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you with him at the Student Union earlier?”

“Yes, I was,” Dean confirmed.

Hael’s eyes shifted between them then back down to their joined hands where Dean’s thumb rubbed over the back of Cas’s hand.

“You weren’t acting…couply then,” she accused.

Dean shrugged. “We were saving it all up for later… Which is right about now. If you’ll excuse us,” he pulled Cas away from the wall.

“Thank you,” Cas leaned up to whisper as Dean tugged him back toward the living room.

Dean grinned down at him. “My pleasure.”

As they stepped into the living room, Dean’s eyes scanned for a seat. He only found one available seat, a plush leather armchair. He smirked and tugged Cas toward it, settling into the deep cushion before pulling Cas down to sit across his lap.

“Dean…” Cas protested even as his body settled against Dean’s chest.

Dean shook his head. “We gotta sell it, right?”

Cas smiled softly. “I suppose.” His eyes dipped to Dean’s mouth. “So you said that we were saving it up for later…” He reminded.

Dean chuckled. “That I did, and if I recall right, I also said it was right about now.”

“Well then, we better get going,” Cas murmured as he leaned into Dean, smiling eagerly.

Dean’s hand came up to cup his cheek, his thumb stroking along the smooth skin there. His eyes dropped to Cas’s plush mouth as he ducked in. He paused for the briefest of moments, their mouths just a hair’s breadth away, savoring the anticipation. It had been so long since New Year’s, so very long since he’d had Cas’s mouth on his, and he wanted to savor it.

But then Cas was pushing their mouths together, and he realized that the anticipation wasn’t nearly as sweet as having Cas’s mouth on his again. Cas’s hands slid up into his hair, tugging him even closer as their lips brushed together, opening up to each other for hungry exploration.

Dean and Cas were so lost in their kisses, neither noticed the small group standing in the corner. Anna slipped an arm around Hael’s neck, pulling her in for a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You were brilliant!”

Hael smirked as both Charlie and Dorothy fist bumped her in turn. She knew that switching her major to performance studies had been the right choice.

The third ‘M’

I’m stuck with this idea running a marathon over my braincells, so I kinda couldn’t resist writing this for one of my bebs, Ice’s Bday, soooo… HAPPY BIRTHDAY my cause of depression @illustraice who don’t let me marry her food (mean bastard). For you just to know that I love you with all the skype times and your crazy explaining skills bc you sure are wonderful! Have fun with this one and I hope you’ll like it!

There’s always been two things that interested him: music and messing with poeple. Now Natsu - the saxophonist - may found the third thing that could make him an addict.

1953, New Orleans
 
Long fingers were running along the pipe, pushing buttons over and over, the heaving of his chest giving captivating sight. The shadows of his eyelashes stretched to his cheekbones in the dim lights, his rosé coloured hair ruffled and totally not in the best shape as the strands stuck to every possible direction of the compass rose.
 
However the saxophonist had no mind over it as he blew out the best melodies of his instrument that Lucy had ever heard in her life.
 
She studied his attire, a somewhat white shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows, battered, black-shoed foot tapping with the rhythm of his solo.
 
She hummed in delight, imperceptibly nibbling on her lower lip, clearly interested in his skills.
 
Lucy studied the thin sheen of sweat over his forehead, how the deep valleys seemed engraved in his skin in concentration, how he bent his body in an arch just to be able to make those sounds became music and it blended with all the other instruments. His improvisation was immensely good!
 
Tapping her perfectly manicured nails to the beat, she continued on with watching the man with the interesting hair colour, unable not to think about the legends she heard from her maids: saxophonist being the biggest swindlers of all time!
 
Hah!
 
She was hardly able to hold back a snort. No way that someone so focused, and enthusiastic about music could be a bad ma—! “…ucy! Miss Lucy!”
 
Besides, businessmen were far more the worst.
 
Taking a deep breath, she was able to calm her vigorously beating heart as she slowly turned back to her dinner partners, her father with a snobbish and menacing expression over his face, and other businessmen, in suits and with their usual Havannan cigar in place. Some of them were already smoking like chimneys in the winter night.

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Thrill Me (1/?)

Title: Thrill Me (1/?) [The series]

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x reader

Warnings: Slight Sexual Content, this series is rated NSFW, gore and blood involved 


This is a vampire AU, I’m going to write for Halloween🎃||A few terms you have to know, or you might get confused in this series.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Part 6

The Apatite Rings: {It’s a vampire’s protection from sunlight, one thing you need to know, in this series, the vampire’s won’t sparkle under the sun, they burn}

Blood Rampage: {This happens every half a century{50 years} to vampires or so, they won’t be able to control themselves with human blood💋, they need to find a human whose bloodline involved the supernatural species, mate with them, bite/mark them, and finally turn them}

Summary: When the coven goes through what they call a blood rampage where all they can do is feed and mark their mate whom they have chosen. And it’s a must, that a vampire must turn their mate into one of them by the first twenty-four hours, else the mate will die. Who will Bucky choose? And how does Steve fit into all of this?

Originally posted by secretly-buckybarnes



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She’s beauty, she’s grace ; Theo Raeken // Part V

[masterlist]

| part one | part two | part three | part four |

Originally posted by eu-nasciassim

warnings: idek what to warn you about anymore. angst, fluff, loTS OF FLUFF, READER X LIAM MOMENT, READER X THEO MOMENT I COULD DIE WRITING THIS aND THIS IS KINDA SHORT AS COMPARED TO THE OTHER PARTS BUT I SWEAR IT’S HELPING THIS PROGRESS

requested?: YES YES YES YES YES

She watches in annoyance as Corey sits still in his seat as Lydia treats the wound that had already healed. She let Scott, Malia and Mason go off to the Water Treatment Plant to look for Liam and Hayden. She decided to stay behind, knowing she wouldn’t be able to have herself anywhere near composed if they found them and Liam was harmed in any way.

“It healed, didn’t it?” Corey asks as nicely as possible. But they all knew that he was still disgusted at the fact that Scott had almost killed him just to find Liam. Lydia nods, pressing her lips together. 

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