bring me pizza

A Couple That Games Together

Pairing: Stuart Twombly x Reader

Authors: @ninja-stiles & @mf-despair-queen

Words: 6551

Warnings: NSFW (18+), Oral (female receiving), Edging, Teasing, Stuart being a dick, Horrible video game references.

Author’s Note: Me and Mal co-wrote this (obviously) because Stuart is adorable and sexy af. We have also decided to enter this for Stuart Week ( @sarcasticallystilinski & @rememberstilinski )! This is pure filth and fluff and angst all in one. We make a good team! Lol.

Originally posted by dylanholyhellobrien

It all started in my freshman year of college. That’s when I first met him. The snarky, sarcastic, beanie-wearing cutie that is Stuart Twombly.

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Sì, ma tu, che mi dicevi:” Saremo amiche per sempre, niente ci dividerà.“, adesso, dove cazzo sei?
18 anni di risate, litigi, abbracci, compleanni, pizze con patatine e würstel, di sabati sera, estati al mare, dormite insieme, di sigarette fumate, segreti, promesse, viaggi. Tutto buttato nel cesso. Come se io ti avessi mai abbandonato per qualcuno.
E sti cazzi se sei troppo presa, troppo innamorata o troppo e basta.
Non puoi lasciarmi così, senza farti sentire per giorni. Una volta eravamo quelle che sembravano sorelle. No, eravamo sorelle. Ora siamo cugine di terzo grado, quelle che vedi solo a natale, forse.
All'inizio mi hai detto di capire, e ti giuro che c'ho provato. Te lo giuro.
Ma capire anche dopo un anno è troppo, troppo per tutti.
Sei troppo impegnata, dici.
Prima il tempo lo trovavamo entrambe, trovavamo anche una venticinquesima ora nella giornata per vederci.
Pensavo che l'ultimo anno l'avremmo passato insieme. Perché nessuno ci aveva mai diviso. Neanche una scuola diversa.
Arriva lui e il mondo si ribalta, non trovi neanche un secondo per scrivermi ‘hey’, neanche cinque minuti per un caffè.
Che cazzo, io pensavo che almeno le migliori amiche restassero.
Invece no.
Resto solo io.
—  bbringmethere

anonymous asked:

hello!! a prompt if you'd like: de-aged tony letting things slip about his childhood around the avengers whether it be how he was only close to his mom and jarvis or how bad howard's drinking was, and him only being comfortable with rhodey around (not romantic, just like, rhodey already Knew this and interacts with tony best even then?) idk if this makes any sense im just feeling sad about my own childhood & wish people wouldn't diminish neglect and such. thanks and have fun?? :)

(De-aged trope coming up. Sorry this took so long).

Tony really only likes the guy who tells him to call him Rhodey (even though Tony totally knows better than to call adults by their names, but Mr. Rhodey is very insistent). Mr. Rhodey doesn’t ask him questions he’s not supposed to answer.

“You sure you’re six?” Mr. Clint says.

“And two months and four days,” Tony clarifies, because it’s best to be precise.

“You’re awfully well behaved for a six year old.”

That’s from the big guy, the one who looks like Captain America even though Tony knows that Captain America is dead. “Thank you,” he says dutifully.

Mr. Rhodey clucks his tongue. “What I’m sure he’s trying to say,” he says, looking around the room. “Is that you can loosen up, kiddo.”

Tony’s not even sure what loosen up means. He doesn’t think there’s anything to loosen.

“Don’t you miss your parents?” Mr. Scott asks.

Mr. Rhodey gives him the look that Tony knows means Mr. Scott is in trouble. Tony shrugs, which he knows he’s not supposed to do, but he remembers it too late. “Dad’s gone again, he’s been gone since April. He’s in the Arctic lookin’ for Captain America. And Mom’ll come for me soon, right? Or Jarvis. Whoever’s got time.”

The big guy is looking at him again and Tony realizes he doesn’t even know his name, and his Mom would tell him that it’s rude not to know. His Mom always knows everyone’s names. Even at those stupid parties that Tony’s old enough to have to go to now, even when there’s hundreds of people, Mom knows every name and whispers it in Dad’s ear.

He doesn’t know how to ask, though.

“Your Dad…uh…go looking for Captain America a lot?” The guy asks.

Tony shrugs again. No one tells him to stop. “When it’s warm enough. He’s gonna find the plane, ‘cause Captain America is a hero an’ deserves to be…be treated with respect,” he dutifully parrots.

Mr. Rhodey wraps an arm around Tony. “Hey, Tones,” he says, and Tony blinks. No one calls him that. He thinks he likes it, though. “What’s your favorite food, bud?”

Tony thinks about it. Thinks there’s probably an answer he’s supposed to give, but thinks he can maybe tell Mr. Rhodey the truth. “Pizza,” he says quietly.

Mr. Rhodey snorts. “Always the same. You have a favorite place?”

Tony nods. “Uncle Obie brings me pizza sometimes. It’s good. But I don’t know where he gets it.”

Mr. Rhodey turns away. “That’s okay, kiddo,” he says. “I’ll find someplace.”

He pulls something out of his pocket, and Tony watches with fascination as he seems to call a pizza parlor with it. “Did my Dad make that?” He asks.

Mr. Rhodey just smiles. “Nah, kiddo. Someone ten times smarter than your Dad.”

“No one’s smarter than Dad,” Tony says stubbornly, and he’s not supposed to disagree with adults but adults aren’t supposed to make up stories, either.

Mr. Rhodey just ruffles his hair. “How long ‘til we get a hold of Strange?” He asks, which makes no sense to Tony.

“Not much longer,” the red-headed woman says. “Thor says he knows where to go.”

“Good,” Mr. Rhodey says. “Hey, Tones. Wanna tell us 'bout what you’re working on?”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m not working on anything,” he says. “Last time I…I did a bad job,” he admits.

“Aw, kid, what happened?” Mr. Scott asks.

“Dad said I was wastin’ time,” he admits. “I was, robot dogs aren’t useful to anyone. It was dumb. I’m dumb.”

“Now that’s a lie,” Mr. Rhodey says mildly. “You’re brilliant, Tones. And I bet'cha we can find materials to make a robot dog with, after dinner. Maybe you’d let me help?”

Tony stares at him, and thinks Mr. Rhodey’s being honest. “No one’s ever helped before,” he says.

He thinks the adults are all staring at him, and wonders if he said something wrong. He shrinks back in the couch, and Mr. Rhodey just rubs his shoulder.

“God, when’s the pizza getting here?” Mr. Clint asks.

The big guy who looks like Captain America looks like he accidentally soldered his hands. “When’s Strange getting here?” He asks.

Tony doesn’t really care about their concerns though, even if that’s rude. Because Mr. Rhodey’s asked him more about his robot dog, and he’s listening as Tony tells him all about it.

“See?” said Damian. “I told you I heard footsteps. He didn’t go to sleep.”
Which was impressive enough, honestly, given the amount of pain medication that Jason had literally seen Tim take— he should have been out for hours. But what was even more impressive was the mess he’d made of his room.
Tim’s walls were papered with pictures and notes. There was barely any blank wall left, but extra pages were still spilling out of Tim’s printer. He’d run a spool of yarn through a set of thumbtacks, movie style, until it crisscrossed around the entire space in a spiderweb of connections— Jason had to duck underneath it to fit inside the door.
Tim was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paper and rolls of tape. He didn’t seem to notice either one of them until Jason tapped on his corner.
“Hey. Everything okay in here?”
“Shut up,” Tim told him. “I’m working.”
“Oh, that’s what this is,” said Jason, gesturing to the walls, “Work. You sure about that?”
“Obviously.” Tim pulled a sheet of text from one of his piles and moved over to the wall, searching for a place to hang it. He settled on an empty bit of space and tacked it on— Jason was pretty sure he was leaving tiny holes in the paint. Alfred wouldn’t be happy. “I’m making a network.”
Jason pointed to the center of the mess. “This is a picture of a slice of pizza.”
“I was hungry.”
“It’s connected to a drawing of me.” At least, Jason assumed it was a drawing of him— in reality it was a stick figure wearing an oversized red helmet, complete with tiny guns and “pew pew” written out beneath it, but Jason was willing to be generous.
“I was asking you to bring me pizza.” Tim said, like it was obvious, and he looked around his room like he was hoping Jason had actually brought him one.
“Oh, okay. So instead of texting me like a normal person…” Jason trailed off, waving a hand in Tim’s direction— Tim frowned at him for a few seconds, clearly concentrating, before he sighed and walked back to his desk.
“You’re right. I can do that now, if I can find my phone. Where did I put my—” He started digging through his piles of notes, knocking stacks of them off the desk. After twenty seconds of silence, Damian tapped out a text on his own phone and followed the tone to Tim’s mini-fridge. He pulled open the door: an alarming selection of Red Bull products and Tim’s cell phone, laying across the shelf. He passed it over to Jason with his text still on the screen (Just when I thought you could sink no lower).
“I can’t believe he’s the one that survived,” Jason told him. He was pretty sure it violated natural law. “This is embarrassing. Hey, Tim? You don’t have to text me. I’m standing right here.”
Tim was busy straightening out his yarn, so he didn’t answer.
“Just out of curiosity, how many of these things do you drink every day?” Jason pulled an empty can from the carpet and tossed it at Tim— it bounced off his chest and fell back to the ground. “More than one?”
“One. Five. I don’t know.”
“You skipped a couple of numbers there.”
“Hm.” Tim dropped his voice into an imitation of a GPS. “Recalculating.”
“Oh my god.” Really, Bruce? Jason thought. You replaced me with this? Whatever. Didn’t matter.
“Pass me the post-it notes.”
“Fine.” Jason grabbed the stack off Tim’s desk, read the top, and handed them over. “What is ‘Theseus’ supposed to mean?”
“The Court of Owls has a labyrinth beneath the city.”
“Why didn’t you just write that?”
“Because it’s a code.” Tim stuck his post-it to the corner of the pizza slice and wandered back towards his desk. “I don’t want Damian to read my stuff.”
“Okay, Damian is also standing right here.” Jason pointed behind him. “See? Try to focus. I really don’t think you want to start a fight right now.” Damian didn’t look mad— more amused than anything— but who knew how long that would last? Jason was surprised Tim could walk at this point. He definitely couldn’t defend himself.
“Damian?” Tim asked. He looked shocked, like he really hadn’t seen Damian before Jason pointed him out.
“You’re alive?”
“Yes.” Damian raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction. “Really, Drake, try to— No. Drake no do NOT—” He tried to duck away, but he was too late; Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug.
For the first few seconds, Damian stood frozen in shock— mouth open, arms at his sides— and Jason was frozen too. Then he remembered that he was still holding Tim’s phone, so he snapped a picture and ran, out the door and down the hall, as fast as he could. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard a thud behind him (presumably Tim hitting the floor) and Damian’s steps on the landing.
But really, with that kind of lead, there was no way he could catch up.

for the anon that requested another round of Tim (very high) on pain meds