Another YoI Rival!AU theory that no one asked for …
Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki are the two best skaters in
the world. They are very well known rivals, for years exchanging places on the
podium, one winning gold only to hand the title over to the other the next year
and vice versa, though they are always standing next to each other on the
podium. It’s a back and forth that fans watch rabidly. The rivalry is not
altogether unfriendly, but intense. The fans are super into it, as well as the media, the skating world split
between Team Yuuri and Team Victor (even if they weren’t your faves, if you are
a skating fan, you will be asked this question – although Yuri’s Angels are quickly
becoming a significant third party).
Eventually, as Victor gets closer and closer to the ripe old
age of thirty, talk of retirement inevitably comes up around both skaters.
Victor is rumored to be considering coaching and Yuuri mentioning here and
there that he’d like to further his education.
The media keeps hounding the two about whether or not this is
their last GPF, do they think they’ll retire at the same time? What will one do
without the other to challenge them if only one leaves the ice? Neither give definitive
answers (they’re not entirely sure themselves).
Then, there they are, Russia’s Legend and Japan’s Pride,
standing next to each other on the three step podium once again (to no one’s
surprise at this point). Pictures are being taken, the crowd is cheering, an obvious line drawn between Team Victor and Team Yuuri fans. Then the bronze medalist, Yuri Plizetsky, throws a barely-there smile at the
other two and quietly steps off the podium before the photographers are
finished and the crowd quiets a bit in confusion.
Yuuri looks after Yuri, about to ask where he was going, but a
hand touches his and the crowd has gone completely silent now. Victor Nikiforov
is tugging Yuuri Katsuki off the podium so they are both on even ground, on the
ice again, and he’s kneeling, a velvet box in his hand.
The crowd is caught in confused silence long enough for Victor
to murmur something and Yuuri to nod slowly, a little smile gracing his face.
But when Victor grins and slips the ring on Yuuri’s finger the place explodes.
They’ve been dating in secret since practically the day they
Title: The Promise (Mechanic!Dean x Reader, Best Friends AU). Part 1.
Summary: When Dean Winchester was a little kid, he met a girl that would change his life. So, he stood by her through thick and thin and every time people asked him what home was to him all he could think of was her beautiful smile and her big, bright eyes and the sound of her laughter. Because, like Melville used to say, his home was not down in any map. True places never are.
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Mary and John Winchester (mentioned), Sam Winchester, Benny Laffite, Leslie (OFC, only mentioned), Lisa Braeden
Word count: 7217 (I know, I know, it’s a monster fic but I hope it’s worth it)
Warnings: Language. Lots of fluff. Angst. Divorche, mentions of an almost-fatal car accident and drunk driving, death of a parent. Kid Dean (trust me that should be a warning). Lots of feels.
Author’s Notes: This is my submission for @luci-in-trenchcoats ‘s 2K Follower Challenge. Michelle, congratulations on your milestone, you deserve it so much!
Thank you for organizing this and for letting me participate. I had tons of fun writing this.
Now into the fic, my prompt was “
We’ll figure it out. We always do.” and it is included in the text below in bold. (This is an AU, written entirely from Dean’s POV and hopefully they’ll be more parts.)
Dean was five years old when he met the girl that would change his life.
Of course, he was too young to know it
then, but that didn’t stop Lady Luck from working her magic.
Everything started at the playground just a few blocks away from his
house. The little Y/H/C girl was there again that morning, just like the last
two times, jumping off the swing like she could fly, but Dean didn’t want to
leave his mum and his brother alone to go talk to her. So, he stayed away,
stealing glances every now and then, until another boy, older than him and
plainly mean, shoved her off the
swing and made her fall flat on her butt.
The girl gasped in surprise, her bottom lip wobbling and Dean knew he had to do something about it because he hated seeing girls cry; it reminded him
of that time his parents spent the entire night fighting, and of the next
morning, when his mother’s eyes were red and puffy and he had to hug her and
tell her that joke about the stick being brown and sticky to make her laugh.
So, the green-eyed boy walked to that annoying kid, told him to leave
her alone and when he didn’t listen and made fun of her again, Dean punched him
so hard that his stupid Pokemon hat
flew off and his whole face turned red.
A few seconds later, Stupid Hat
was leaving with his tail between his legs and Dean was turning towards the
girl that looked like a scared little bird, her big Y/E/C eyes wide open.
“Are you okay?” he implored, taking a step forward.
She nodded solemnly and looked down on the ground.
“Are you going to be mean to me like he was?” she asked.
Dean shook his head.
“No. He was an idiot. Here, give me your hand.” He said and she obeyed,
smiled shyly at him.
I’m listening to Christmas music in June because why not and I was thinking of H and had to share this.
I’ve always imagined living with Harry in this small apartment in London for as long as I can remember, and it’s a small and not that modern or fancy but it’s home. But what about on Christmas morning. When you wake up in the morning and the light is coming through the gap in the curtains, with diffused swirls of sun drifting through the air.
The bed would be warm, a contrast with the chilling air from outside the covers. But that would seem like a different world from the one you two are in, wrapped up together in the warmth your body heat has created. One of his legs would be in between yours, with your back to his stomach, and his arm draped over your
You’d wake up before him. It would be so peaceful, I can just picture it, where you could turn around and just see his face, free of any stress, any pressure, just a sleepy young man so vulnerable in front of you. But he’s so beautiful. You could notice all the little details about him. Like the freckles that adorned his cheeks and and crease that always seems to be between his eyebrows, and the way his skin looks in the light.
He’d wake when you started to stroke your finger tips across his skin. You’d start at his arm, following the curve of his shoulder and across his collar bone and up his neck. You’d know he had woken when a little smile crept onto his face, and his legs shifted a little between yours.
He wouldn’t say anything for a moment, just appreciating the two of you together.
“Mornin’” He’d say, voice thick with sleep, his arm pulling you into him. He just be so warm and so cosy, like home. You’d be able to feel his hair tickling against your neck and his hot breaths against your skin.
"Merry Christmas” Would be the first thing you’d whisper to him. The quietness seemed appropriate for the tone of the morning, matching the volume of the soft birds outside and the faint sound of a car every so often.
"Mmm” He’d him. You’d let out a squeal when his finger tightened on your waist and he flipped you around, a little grin gracing his face as he hovered on top of you.
He wouldn’t hesitate to kiss you. Lips brushing yours so lightly, yet they burnt against yours, until you lifted your chin up to connect them together. It was slow and soft, and the kind of kiss you could compare to the drizzle of honey.
His thumb would brush across your cheek when he lifted his hand up to your face and you wouldn’t be able to find any space between you two as you pulled him down by his shoulder blades. You could feel the beat of his heart against your chest and the movement of his back underneath your hands.
When he pulled away, he’d chuckle as your lips followed his as his head moved up.
Summary: Even after three years, Katniss Mellark still cannot resign herself to the death of her husband. When Peeta Mellark returns, she is willing to go to any lengths to keep him with her, even agreeing to abandon everything and embark on a journey that will change everything she believes about love, regret and the persistence of hope. A story in three parts.
I wiped down the last of the tables
just as the sun set beyond the mountains that were visible from the main
thoroughfare of District 12. Open only one year, Mellark’s Tea and Coffee
Shop was already considered a fundamental part of District 12’s downtown
culture. Some of it had to do with the clever nature of the shop, which doubled
as a used bookstore where people could read as they took their coffee or tea.
But I could not deny that the use of the already familiar Mellark family
name was also critical to its success.
A/N: This is all @mystic-biscuit fault…blame her. So if you’ve never seen the movie Death Proof watch this clip before you read so you understand what’s about to happen. Also this is another long one because apparently I don’t know how to write short fics anymore lol. So enjoy!
“This is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Dylan mumbles.
For the most part, Laurent seemed content to observe the
child from a distance—watching with interest, but no apparent desire to
participate, as Damen rocked and bounced and babbled at him. Damen had insisted
that Cassina, the nursemaid, bring little Augustos to their rooms twice each
“I’m sure Cassina is happy to do that,” Laurent
said, one day when Damen took the time to spoon thin gruel into the baby’s
“She is,” Damen said cheerfully, “and so am
I. Do you not have the saying in Vere, that if the steward feeds the king’s
dog, it is the steward’s dog?”
Laurent cocked his head. “No,” he said
thoughtfully. “I don’t believe we do.”
“You have enough experience of hounds and horses,
though, to know it’s the truth. I’ll choose a more personally relevant example,
though—did your brother not make time for your company?” Damen felt this
was still strange fragile territory between them, yet the point was worth
making. And make it he did, judging by the way Laurent’s head jerked back an
Damen, his gaze still on baby Gus as he tried to coax
another spoonful into his mouth, ventured onto ground more dangerous still.
“From what little you have said, I have assumed—and correct me if I do it
wrongly—that your father and perhaps even your mother were content to make sure
you were well cared for by others, but it was Auguste who took the time to do
“My mother,” Laurent said, and stopped a long
moment before finishing simply, “tried.”
A/N: This was an idea I got so I decided to write it down, idek what it is exactly but yeah. So enjoy(?)
You walked into your room, book in your hand, not paying attention to your surroundings. Until you saw something running across your room from the corner of your eyes. You slowly brought your book down from your face to see what it was, hoping it was not what you thought it to be.
However, in this case, hoping was useless.
There in front of you stood a giant ass spider, you felt your breath caught in your throat, you couldn’t scream as you stared at it, it staring back.
“S-Steve!” You shouted, calling for your best friend. No response. The spider moved slightly towards you and that’s when you screamed, running to a corner of your room, dropping your book in the process. “STEVE! OH MY FU- IF YOU DON’T GET HERE NOW I SWEAR TO GOD.”
You knew you were screaming like a mad woman but you didn’t care. Steve was your best friend and was always there for you, and now you really needed him.
Suddenly the door burst opened, and there stood your Prince Charming, in his spangled suit and his shield in his hand, looking around for threat.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Steve asked as you quickly ran to him and stood behind him as he lifted his shield in front of both of you. You peeked from behind his shoulder and pointed at that horrible beast. He stared at where you were pointing, silence hanging in the air before he burst out laughing. He bent over with laughter as you looked at the spider and back at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
“What? Go get rid of that beast,” you commanded as you scrunched up your nose in disgust. Steve wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head, chuckling now.
“You could take down aliens and Hydra armies but you can’t take down this puny spider?” He asked once he composed himself.
“…shut up,” you muttered as he chuckled again, walking towards the spider and cupping his hands around it before walking past you, making you jump out of the way.
Steve came back a minute later, dusting his hands. “Well that settles it, ma'am,” he said that with a grin.
“Oh thank you for saving my poor soul from that disgusting beast, my fair Prince,” you rolled your eyes, letting a little smile grace your face as you walked back into your room and picked up the book you had dropped.
“What? I don’t get a reward for saving the damsel?”
You turned to see him still standing at your doorway, with a small pout. You looked at him, your eyes trailing to his lips. Ah what the hell. You walked to him and grabbed his face, kissing him.
He froze a little at the sudden force but quickly warmed up to the kiss, his arms winding around your waist, pulling you closer.
You both pulled apart after a while, resting your foreheads together, both breathless from the kiss. You grinned at him, him doing the same.
“That’s one hell of a reward,” Steve whispered, giving you a small peck again.
Luke’s birthday was definitely one of your favourite times to spend with him. He didn’t like it – he always said he didn’t, anyway; never liked the fuss or being centre of attention, but every year the same little smirk graced his face like maybe he was having more fun than he let on. You loved it, though. Any excuse to remind him that his big, bad exterior didn’t make him exempt from dorky party hats and blowing out candles.
He always gave you a stern ‘no presents, Princess’ talk leading up to the day and you always promised to comply, but you never did. The first year you were together your present was just a recreation of the fort he once made you, a cake you’d spent all afternoon baking in the middle of all the blankets and pillows. He rolled his eyes when he walked in and found you there in his living room, cake between your legs, purple party hat atop your head and tiny streamers falling, tangled in his hair when you made your little party popper burst upon his arrival.