Derek didn’t become a deep sea fisherman to make friends, but somehow that’s exactly what’s happened. Assuming, of course, that friendship is what’s going on between him and the deeply irritating (and attractive) man he’s managed to save. Surely they can last the few days 'till landfall without annoying each other to death… or falling into bed together. Right?
Derek wasn’t entirely sure the survivor was alive when he heaved him aboard. Since spotting the lifeboat, Derek’s whole brain had been fully online, blasting panic, and even now the adrenaline made the world seem over-sharp. The man’s soft pink skin against the bright, plasticized red of his work suit seemed surreal; the length of his eyelashes jumped out, though they should have been unnoticable. The blood on his face didn’t seem to bode well for a happy ending. Neither did the way his head lolled on his neck, nor the uneven, shallow quality to his breathing.
“Let’s get you below deck,” Derek muttered at the stranger, his voice scratchy with disuse.
Stiles barely believed in soulmates, yet now he was presented with having his life saved by a black wolf. A black wolf that decides to then accompany Stiles on his journey to request help from the king for his father.
With the news that an Alpha wants Beacon Hills for their own, Derek and Stiles are forced to attend a couples retreat at a ski resort to learn their enemy’s identity. However, the threat is the least of Derek’s problems when he’s expected to fake a relationship, share a bed and suffer through candlelit dinners with the man he’s secretly been in love with for the past four years.
Since losing his family, Derek Hale never imagined that he would be caught up in anything even close to his current predicament. It wasn’t the whole “someone’s trying to kill me” part that had him feeling off. That just came with being a Hale. It was other stuff that he had never even fathomed having to deal with, especially considering the way his life typically worked out. Until lately, he never even let himself toy with the idea of actually having a pack – a legitimate group of friends – that he would not only figuratively die for, but literally die for too. A pack that he knew deep down would do the same for him. He also couldn’t believe the fact that if he went through with his plan - faking his death at the hands of their rival - he would actually have to convince his pack not to avenge his death… He had people who cared about him. People that wanted to fight for him, and along side of him. Friends who would actually be devastated if something bad were to happen to him. He had people who loved him. And even though the world currently seemed set on destroying him, he couldn’t help but feel whole and warm and good. He couldn’t help but share that love. It was a strange feeling, but a good one. Damn, was it a good one.
Derek had made reservations for them at the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in all of Beacon County over two months ago, reserving them a table for two in a private section. So, of course, the day of their reservation, Stiles gets hurt and ruins everything.
You know how you start writing one fic that you get stuck on and then start writing another that you’re weirdly insecure about and so on ‘til you end up with over 3000 words of Monastery!AU SilverFlint CrackFic? [nods]
Non-native speaker writing here. Notes: Zero research went into the making of this fic. Additional Notes: Thighs.
"send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it." Ok. So. Leia is the one who goes to Starkiller base, not Han.
“This is insanity,” Han spits out, stalking down the corridor after her. “You are the—the seven damned hells General of the Resistance, you cannot decide to go racing off on a suicide mission to the fucking—the fucking second generation of Death Star!” “I’m the self-appointed leader of a extrajudicial military body that claims to be defending a republic recently obliterated,” Leia says, squinting into the sunlight as she emerges onto the duracrete. “I can do whatever I damn like.”
“I’m going with you, then,” he says, stubbornly planting himself between her and her ship. Because it’s Han, and he is so very dear to her—still? yes, forever—she reaches up, cups his face. Holds him there for a moment, before she shouts for Lieutenant Lriss to come and escort Captain Solo to command.
“We’re talking about this when you get back,” he grumps over the comm-link as she’s prepping for take off. She can hear the bustling of the command center around him. “It isn’t even a little over, your worship.”
(He hasn’t called her that in twenty years, and it sends her stumbling. She has to grit her teeth against maybe I won’t come back, then; flip the comm with a shaking hand. “Get off my secure channel, Han Solo.”)
Finn keeps stumbling over “ma’am” like it’s an alien word—“What did you call your female superiors in the Order?” she asks, after he’s gritted his teeth and fallen silent again. “Sir,” he admits with a rueful smile. “It was supposed to be equalizing. Neutralizing.”
“Well, there’s nothing neutralizing about me,” she says primly. (she hates that tone of voice, and Han always brings it out of her, every damn time.) To her surprise, the stormtrooper boy called Finn laughs. “Yeah, ma’am, I figured.”
“We’ll use the Force!” Finn says, his eyes shining, and Leia almost wishes she had brought Han with, just so she could see his face at that pronouncement. But it’s just Leia here in the snow, a rucksack of explosives slung over her shoulder, and she is Luke Skywalker’s sister—the Force has never not answered, when they call. “Sounds good to me,” she says, hefting her blaster.
“You’re General Leia Organa,” the chrome stormtrooper says dreamily as she shuts down the shields. (Phasma—Finn had called her Phasma—has an impressively strong mind, it had taken Leia three tries to compel her through the Force.) “I thought you would be taller,” Phasma says after a moment.
Leia’s never had the pleasure of watching a stormtrooper blush. She resists the urge to laugh, because she suspects it’ll turn hysterical quickly. “Well, you’re much taller than my experience of stormtroopers, so we’ll call it even.”
She’s distracted, she knows, she can feel
[ the red flutter of a fetal heartbeat, the particular ozone-burning smell he always carried in his hair, his hair, dark, squirming on the edge of her bed as she plaited his hair, smudges like bruises beneath his eyes, too quiet then too loud, too much, and then too little, and then gone, all except that fluttering heartbeat that told her he was still alive, somewhere if not near her arms, dragging shadow and light through the Force and hers, her other poisoned gift to the galaxy ] him
“Ma’am?” Finn asks quietly. She shakes her head, swallowing. “We have to plant the explosives in the oscillator. Let’s go.”
(An unexpected aching stab at the way Finn and Rey fall into one another, and Leia is suddenly nineteen years old in the hangar on Yavin, pulling Luke into an embrace—desert farmboy Luke Skywalker in a borrowed flightsuit, eyes bright with the reflected fire of the Death Star in supernova—and feeling something spinning ropes of light between their hands like that old game of cat’s cradle, thinking dizzily, oh, oh, maybe this is enough, maybe this will fill me)
The sight of Ben— the sight of him— (Vader, standing over her, watching with that impassive mask, rasping breath in her ears as she screamed, sobbing, not begging never begging for she is an organa, organas do not beg for their lives, organas serve, organas die but biting her tongue bloody to stop herself) and this is her son this is her son, there is still good in him. There is.
She will make it, if she has to.
It takes her two tries to call out his name, and she is suddenly ashamed of how weak her voice sounds, how it breaks—she sounds like an old woman, wailing into the air.
“No,” he says, and even through the vocorder he sounds like her bewildered child (he’s so tall, how is he so tall, she held him in her arms and now she has to crane her neck, just to look at him) “No, it was supposed to be—no. No!”
Could you write something where Neil has "died" before like he flat-lined after getting shot but in the hospital their able to restart his heart and him and his mother run a couple days later and some how this comes up when the foxes are all kind of chilling and their like wtf
(this isn’t entirely what you asked for but here is something? A mess, actually.)
It knocks the breath out him, though he’s not exactly sure if it’s from surprise or pain. His vision stutters violently, tinged red and he reaches for anything to steady his tilting world. His fingertips scrape the dingy Detroit wall, clinging to the space between the rough bricks before slipping away. His knees hit the ground so hard he feels the bruises forming. That however, is the least of his worries.
Home, he thinks. He has to get home. He can feel the warmth that travels down his side. Logically, he knows it’s blood. He could touch it to see but he doesn’t want to acknowledge that just yet. He stumbles through alleyways, doing his best to avoid people. Even though this is Detriot, he can’t walk down the street covered in blood. They’ll find him again. They always do and he can’t lead them to his mother.
He takes alleyways, winding through buildings while his blood slips sluggishly through his fingers. His vest was supposed to protect him. But he moved at the last second. Had he moved any later, he would’ve been shot in the neck. Just thinking about bleeding all over a grimy alley, without his real name and at his father’s hands, makes him sick. He pauses to retch violently in an old trash can before continuing.
He doesn’t remember getting home, just remembers that he hurts. Just remembers that he’s losing so much blood. He knocks on the door, just barely. But his mother always listens carefully and within seconds, he hears the deadbolt slip back.
“William! What happened?” Mary reaches for him and he cringes backward. His alias doesn’t register for a moment. She reaches out again, gripping his arm and he groans loudly. The pain makes his head spin and he feels himself begin to fall again.
Mary drags him inside, pulls him onto the table and he feels her hands ripping his clothes away. She pokes and prods at the wound, flickers in and out of his line of sight. He hears her muttering to herself, hears supplies piling up next to his head. She fits something into his mouth. A wash cloth, he realizes. It sucks the moisture from his mouth.
“Bite down,” Mary says. He does and a moment later, the pain rips his mind into pieces.
“You’re the cute and quiet customer that frequents the coffee shop where I’m a barista and also where my rival barista works and we’re both fighting for your attention in increasingly creative and inconspicuous ways (making foam art, writing cheesy pick-up lines on your napkin etc. etc.)”
One-shot based off the above prompt, found on ‘onetruepairingideas’.
A/N: I’ve decided to do a 25 days of Christmas where I basically post a one shot a day, from the 1st December till Christmas. Here’s the first one, I hope you enjoy it!
The clock ticked eight o'clock in the morning and Phil’s head shot up, looking around excitedly. His eyes lit up when they landed on their new customer and he quickly got the coffee machine started.
He heard a curse coming from near him and smirked. There was no way that he was going to let Mark win today. Twice in a week had been more than enough. He was about to serve some of their homemade biscuits in a plate when he noticed that their customer was already munching on a muffin.
“What the hell?” he mumbled under his breath. He had only been distracted for a minute. Phil shook his head in disappointment and focused his efforts on making the best ever coffee. He should have known better than to allow himself to get distracted.
prequel to the Dallas imagine, this one is centered more on the Curtis family and Dallas, rather than the OC/Reader so it’s naturally a third pov *cringe* but the end sentence or two is first.
— anon : I slipped in the bit about dallas blowing smoke in tim’s face for ya, idek if you’re gonna read again but hey.
REQUESTS OPEN NOW
“That’s not what I’m saying, Dallas!” Sodapop yells after his buddy in an attempt to get him to turn around. “Will you wait, man!”
Dallas wheels around with clenched fists. Soft dirt clouds form at the sudden movement. “I told you Curtis, I don’t fucking know where she is!”
Soda jogs to his friend, running a hand through his greased hair. “I know you don’t, okay, Dallas? I’m just saying,” he looks at the ground and his light blue DX button-up flutters behind his toned figure. “She’s never been gone longer than three days before.”
“Calm yourself,” Dallas spits at the ground. “She’s been gone before. Probably off with that great boyfriend, huh? And you guys never cared, you know, when she started hanging ‘round Angela and those hoods, huh, Curtis? Ain’t that fucking right, man?”
“You oughta calm yourself, Dally. She don’t even know Angela Shepard! Only reason she’s been pulling these stunts is ‘cause you went 'n two-timed her!”
“Oh, you can’t blame me for that! She moved on quick enough, didn’t she? You can blame her new boyfriend!”
As Soda begins to explain to Dally that his sister’s boyfriend is more than reliable, Darrel throws open the front door.
He’s standing in the door with his hands in his pockets. “Stop going on about her! She’s safe, any time she does this she’s at her friend Mary-Ann’s. She’s a Soc girl. She’s a good kid.“
Dally’s walking away while Sodapop’s nodding. See, Dallas knows something that his buddy doesn’t. He knows Mary-Ann Manzi and Y/N stopped being friends lifetimes ago and Darry knows it, too. Hell, they ain’t never been close.
Dally knows that his buddies know that, too. Somewhere deep down inside of themselves they know she’s not at a friend’s. They know she’s never at her friend’s house. Not Mary-Ann’s, at least.
Angry, Dallas goes to The Dingo. He gets a ride from a friend. An ally, is the proper description of the boy, really.
He’s looking for a fight. He can feel angry and frustration circulating his body, it’s in his blood. His eyes are black and his hands are forming ready fists.
"Well, look who it is!” Tim Shepard cackles and Dallas finds it revolting. He nearly laughs seeing Sylvia clinging to his side.
Actually, he does laugh. He laughs loud and hard.
“This is cute, Shepard,” he shrugs and gives a convincing smile as he surveys the gang of boys around the curly-haired teenager. “Look, we oughta have ourselves a talk, alright?”
Tim smirks and dramatically gets up to walk in time with Dally. He puts a hand on his back. “What’s hanging, man? Been a while.”
Dally’s ready to cut to the chase and Tim can tell.
“You found the Curtis girl yet? I heard she’s been gone for a while,” Tim grins and watches Dally though his eyelashes. “That Randle kid was keepin’ Sodapop there from flippin’ his shit yesterday. I knew Darrel couldn’t keep 'im all together.”
When Dallas has had it with the kid, he slams him against the wall by his collar. “Where the fuck is she, man?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim doesn’t bother to move. “She ain’t my problem is she? Yours either, last time I checked.”
“She is your problem,” Dally yells. “Because it’s your fucking sister who got her hanging with a ton of fucking low-lifes!"
Tim is speechless for a few beats, but he recovers. "Angela ain’t on drugs, if that’s what your implyin’. She hangs out with good kids, I swear on it.”
Dallas snatches a cigarette from a random girl, making her day, and has a few puffs. “She was a good kid, man. I saw her hanging out with Angela and I know the kinds of things your kid sister gets into –”
“Just because you broke the bitch’s heart and you think she’s doing drugs now don’t give you any reason to throw —”
“It’s your fucking sister,” Dally screams, “that got her hanging 'round hoods!”
In response, Tim spits at the ground. And Dallas knows exactly what will set him off.
He’s not sure if he’s angry about Y/N or just itching for a fight. But he blows smoke directly in Timothy’s face creating a smoky curtain between the two. He hates when Dallas does that and Dally knows it.
“Do to me what you do to little Angie when she misbehaves,” Dally grins like a vicious, rabid rodent as Tim’s fist meets his face.
And that’s when the fight starts.
At the DX, Soda can barely focus on his work. Girls show up in groups in cars — fancy, stolen, or borrowed.
He searches them all for his sister and doesn’t find her in any. Not in the backseat, not driving in the front seat to tease him.
He pumps gas and fiddles with wrenches and metal and talks to Steve. And as he does it, he gets angry.
Sodapop isn’t angry often. But he’s angry now and so is Ponyboy. Ponyboy’s sitting on a stool with a book in his hand.
“Do you think she’s coming back, Soda?” He asks constantly. “I hate her for leaving us. I hate her.”
“Don’t say that,” Soda whines. “Please don’t say that, Ponyboy. She’s all we got — we’re all she has, we can’t abandon each other.”
Ponyboy bursts with angry passion, “then why would she abandon us!”
Angela Shepard runs a hand through her long blue-black hair. She leans against the cold brick wall of an unknown building, a few of her friends next to her.
Corvette, a blonde with a nickname she envies, goes through her last pack. Angela searches for Y/N and can’t find her.
“Where is Curtis, Rigsby?” She questions smoothly.
Her dark eyes meet a boy’s. He’s across the street and she recognizes him. He winks and she wrinkles her nose teasingly and laughs dryly.
“Rigsby?” She turns her attention back to the blonde. Next to her is Sara. “Gillan? Where’s Y/N Curtis?”
“Your little best friend?” Sara smirks and adjusts her skirt. “She went off with him. He looked real mad, hope she’s alright. Someone brought up Dallas. They sped off in his truck last I saw.”
Angela bites her lip. “Okay,” she says. Nothing about this is okay, and she knows it. “I know the boys have been pissed about him buggin’ them. That’s probably all. He’ll cool off.” Ihope he does. She knows exactly what happened the last time he was mad.
He has a house, and it’s all his own. I don’t know how he bought it but he did. It’s really pretty, I think about it a lot. It’s walls are full of secrets but on the outside it’s pretty. Isn’t that strange?
I try apologizing but it doesn’t work. Not that night, anyway.
INTRO: I don’t read a lot of HANNIBAL fic (and many of these are from the first season, I took a long hiatus while other things caught my attention) mostly because of time constraints but also because I waffle something terribly. One minute I want nothing but the most canon-compliant of fics or plotfic, the next I want all the a/b/o fic you can possibly give me and serve it up with some fluff. Then, after that, I want some murder husbands fic, then right back to canon-compliant fic to begin the cycle anew. So, my list is pretty ecclectic, I suppose!
I tend to prefer Hannibal/Will, but I’m good with genfic as well, and anything that the canon has gone for, I’m okay with. I like just about every single character on the show and that will be reflected (I hope!) in the fics I recommend.
sorry it took so long, i couldn’t write last night because i had my step sister in my room but here it is, i hope you like it!
I haven’t read toa yet so sorry if it’s a bit ooc!
prompt: “if you die, im going to kill you.”
Word count: 757
Will sat on his bunk, trying to
build up the courage to go over to the Hades’ cabin to say goodbye to Nico. The
young boy was going cross-country to help his sister with something he hadn’t
explained properly to Will. He stared down at the coffee cup in his hands
debating whether this was a good idea They had be getting along relatively well
since the Giant War, but still this was Nico, who wasn’t that keen on human
interaction, though he was getting better.
“Fuck it.” Will muttered to
himself, he was going to do it, he was going to have a conversation. He downed
the rest of his coffee but regretted it as soon as the boiling hot drink
scorched his mouth. “Shit!” He yelled hanging his tongue out of his mouth like
a dog and fanning his hand to try and cool it down.
After a cold glass of water he
fixed his hair, left his cabin and started walking only to turn around after he
realised he was going the wrong way. He marched to the Hades’ cabin and knocked
on the door with confidence before realising he had no idea what he was going
to say once Nico opened the door. He almost turned to run away when Nico opened