not very happy with this!!! but sigh

A Rosy Thorn In My Side

This is a Royal/hidden identity/ forced proximity drabble series I’ve concocted for the lovely @kickassfu on her birthday today! She’s working so she won’t see this until much later but when she does I hope she’s pleased with what I’ve done. And if you have not wished her a happy birthday yet please do! With special thanks to the awesome @austennerdita2533! You’ve been a eonderful support.

*Big tones of fluff and surly natures*

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The Prelude:

Caroline felt the sheets tug as she propelled her body over the side of the castle’s window with a deep reliving sigh only to inhale the smell of the red hair dye that had caused her troubles this afternoon. Not two days back from America and she was done with them all, the rules, etiquette and worse marriage proposals. She had just graduated from Brown and felt very much independent in her own right so coming back here felt like a step backward, it was just hair.

She felt her arms burn with strain as she lugged her body down the side careful to keep away from the windows and lights lest the guards see her. Guards, she was done with the whole lot of them, following her practically into the bathroom. Why? Who knows? Her knee hit the brick exterior making her wince as she dropped the last few feet to the ground with a thump sound of her hitting the soft grass.

The Princess thought about just lying there in commiseration, why was she even out here but to blow off steam, soon someone would see her walking the grounds alone. Her eyebrows rose at the thought of someone calling her mother out here and she felt a new wind strike her as she lifted herself up and off of the ground brushing off the bruised grass from her leather jacket and tight black jeans she wasn’t allowed to wear anymore.

Caroline barely had time to garner a look around the grounds when she heard rustling over where the rose bushes seemed to hide beneath her bedroom and an arm manifested pulling her behind it. Her first impulse was to scream when a large hand set itself over her mouth muffling the sound that tried to escape her. Her eyelids opened settling on the most gorgeous tidal wave blue eyes she’d ever encountered.

Klaus heard his heart beating in his ears as another deep set of footsteps crossed the walkway mere feet from where they stood as he set this stranger against the wall in their sequestered area. He had hoped that the Princess would have been keeping most of them busy now that she was back allowing him to escape but clearly he had been wrong. Mikael had made the day a horrendous experience already plotting how the Princess’s arrival could benefit him in some way and yet all Klaus could thing about was the most gorgeous emerald eyes he’d ever seen looking back at him,

“And who are you,” his British lit whispered as if just as mesmerized as she was causing Caroline to both sigh in relief and buzz with awareness.

She blinked in misunderstanding, was he not here to kidnap her or had he truly no idea who she was, “I’m Car,” she stumbled as his leg bumped her bruised knee, “I’m Princess Caroline’s friend from America,” she answered with a lie.

He paused as if suspecting of her, Caroline was rewarded with a dimpled grin instead of an inquisition, “No name?” he probed his grin forming a devilish smirk that did things to Caroline as he pushed off of her, “I promise lovely, I’m not a serial killer.”

His hands slid off of her arms as she shook her head that she wouldn’t give one with an albeit flirty smirk of her own, “Fine,” he conceded with a lift and tilt of his chin, “You can call me Klaus.”

Klaus felt something stirring in his chest at the sight of her rumpled waves and the leather jacket that fit her as if it were well and truly made for her body, “Where is the princess?” he inquired when he too realized that they were alone.

It seemed to Klaus that she couldn’t scramble for a reply fast enough as she replied, “She couldn’t,” her voice trailing off as he took a lingering step backwards to tempt her.

“I see,” he paused in step, “Well, just as well, you and I can have our own fun,” he responded in a conspiring tone as he stepped out of the hidden area behind the roses.

Her face was priceless as she followed him out, not that he showed his delight, “Sneaking out of the castle is crazy impossible,” she retorted in a half-whispered tone that has him smirking in the dark, “Even for me.”

Klaus did a spin facing her only to realize how quickly she had caught up with him as they once again fell into each other, “Now, who said anything about sneaking?” he countered when they were steady.

Caroline followed his line of vision over to the old stable that had been converted into a garage when she was younger, “How do you know where to get the keys to a car,” she reacted in amazement.

Klaus reached for her hand pulling her in the direction of the garage, “I grew up here while the princess was away in America,” he told her easily as they treaded carefully through the courtyard.

“Are you related to one of the Dukes she’ll have to marry one day,” she questioned in monotone as they kept to the wall in order to avoid the cameras at the entrance.

He winced, “You could say that,” he replied darkly as they made their way around one of the SUVs and he let go of her hand in order to slide over to the key box.

“Where are you going,” she questioned as she hunched down in the shadows careful not to be discovered as she followed his path between the automobiles.

Klaus showed her the keys to what looked like an older model lacking an alarm that would set off warning bells in the castle, “Tell me, do you like dancing,” he queried.

“You dance,” she asked in disbelief as he quietly led her to an older model, a silver truck by the looks of it she realized as he let her into the passenger side.

“Since I was four,” he responded with a wink as he moved to shut the door behind her swaggering over to the driver side slipping inside.

“Slacker, I was three,” Caroline continued with their repartee as he strapped on his seat belt and she followed suit excited at the prospect of getting out of here.

“I was probably dancing before you,” Klaus retorted with an inquisitive grin, “How old are you?” he queried as he pulled the truck into drive and maneuvered carefully out of the garage.

“You’re not supposed to ask a girl that,” she rebuffed as she watched him pull away from the garage into the back entrance that lead them through the wooded areas surrounding the castle.

Caroline was always amazed by how the city had grown up around the woods in this area its rare beauty growing up had been unsurpassed. The last eight years in America had changed her quite a bit, puberty doing its best to fill her out as her schooling in tested her intellect. Living like a normal teenager had done much in grounding her only child complex and her literal princess one.

Klaus shook his head noticing her drifting gaze, “Maybe not the Princess, but you,” he countered pulling her attention back towards him.

“I’m twenty,” she stated with a blush she hoped he hadn’t noticed in the dim lit truck as the city began to grow around them much like she had remembered.

“So no drinking for you then,” he joked as he turned a corner watching as she nearly jumped from her seat to reply, a beautiful coloring filling her cheeks.

“Hey,” she whined as she swatted his arm drawing his eyes from the road to her glittering eyes as they passed down the street lights.

“Kidding love,” he articulated looking back at her from time to time as he switched lanes heading deeper into the city feeling the need to really impress her. Know her.

“How old are you?” Caroline inquired as she sat forward to see the city, even as a child she hadn’t been allowed to come through here unless there was a parade.

“Twenty-two, but hopefully you won’t hold it against me,” he murmured making Caroline look back at him with a soft tilt of her brow, “Unless you want to.” He said with a wink.

Caroline looked down briefly, “Eyes on the road,” she simpered as she looked back to the city buildings trying not to think of the nights she spent in the woods of Mystic Falls with boys her age or older.

He chuckled in reply, “If you insist.”

Keep reading

Viktor Nikiforov is the dork we love.

My favourite Viktor moments are when he is an adorable idiot.

I love exploring Viktor’s character because despite being the most senior character among the skaters and being seen as the one to chase and look up to, this boy truly does a lot of stupid things. To be fair, 27 is still quite young. It’s a shitty age when everyone plus their dog seems to think you know what you are doing except you. I can tell you all the weird decisions and unnecessary drama people have and get into at 27, but then this post will never end.

Now, we know about the whole banquet fiasco and the whole impulsively flying to Japan arms open, dick out thing, not to mention the whole car park “let’s shatter his heart” shenanigans, but I also have these screencaps stewing for maybe a month in my phone because I remember I was rewatching the show and these just made me go, “Oh, Viktor.”

Okay, so we know Hot Springs on Ice all started with Viktor’s idea…

…to which Yurio gamely accepts the challenge and issues his own (while Yuuri adorably panics in the background like the puppy he is)…

…which Viktor also accepts.

Look at him all excited.

Here, though, is where Viktor gets himself in trouble:

He’s been riling Yurio up the entire morning that the kid just up and threw a tantrum and demanded this prize. But then, no problem, since it’s not like Viktor had to accept or anything–

Yuuri’s face when Viktor agreed, though.

*sigh* Same, Yuuri. Same.

It seems that it’s not until later that Viktor realises the trouble he put himself in. At this point, we didn’t know yet just how invested Viktor was in Yuuri Katsuki (i.e., very invested and nursing a weird kind of crush, probably) and how important it is that he doesn’t coach just anyone, but Yuuri Katsuki only. How ever good Yuuri could potentially be, however, there was still a big chance that he could actually lose to Yurio. Yuuri sometimes choked during competition. Yurio, on the other hand, was the juniors gold medallist. There was a very real possibility that Yurio would win and Viktor to have to go back to Russia.

Having realised this, Viktor then began to sport this face:

Yeah, tell me about it.

This is Viktor during Yurio’s performance:

At this point, Viktor didn’t know yet that Yuuri had a breakthrough on his Eros performance. As far as he knew, Yurio was the one who found his Agape. While Yurio’s performance was not perfect, he was doing well enough. But Viktor does not want to go back to Russia. He wants to stay in Japan and get to know Yuuri Katsuki. He can choreograph for another skater, sure, but he does NOT want to be Yuri Plisetsky’s coach.

That, right there, is what Viktor Nikiforov looks like when he knows he is in very deep shit.

What’s interesting though is that these expressions were not really blatantly pointed out in the show. No one notices this, and Viktor just stands in his corner looking like that. With what knowledge we had at episode 3, we don’t know, maybe he just looks thoughtful because Viktor Nikiforov is just a mysterious character. Lol, but rewatching this after season 1 is over?

Yeah, Viktor. Because of you, for about an entire episode, we were in danger of never having the events that would lead to the kiss at the Cup of China, the exchange of rings in Barcelona, and the glorious masterpiece that is Yuuri’s record-breaking free skate. Viktor, Viktor, Viktor… sometimes just… *facepalm*

Thankfully, Yuuri DID find his Eros at the last minute, wins the competition, and consequently saves Viktor’s gorgeous but impulsive arse and gives us the wonderful events of season 1. Thank you, Yuuri! ♡

Lol, look at how happy and relieved this dork is:

There he is, ladies and gentlemen, our Viktor Nikiforov - king of impulsive decisions. For a long time we thought he was such a mysterious character. Now, we just… wtf, we know him better and we love him very much, but sometimes

Viktor, no. For fuck’s sake.

*sigh* Same, Yuuri. Same.

Bonus: Viktor during Yuuri’s Eros performance. He probably realised he’s safe at this point, and I bet he was enthralled again, and possibly getting turned on by Yuuri Katsuki falling in love again.

Oh, Viktor.

In the aftermath of it all, Catarina can’t find it in herself to be mad anymore.

At the start, after Magnus had portaled home, staggering and hurt and halfway to death with this boy leaning against him, asking that she help this Shadowhunter first… she remembers healing him – Alexander – and feeling rage. With runes stark on his skin and blood on his knuckles, he had been every inch a Nephilim. The Nephilim who had stolen Magnus’s heart.

She remembers the way she’d frowned at his unconscious face, comparing him to the strip of photographs Magnus left on his desk. Watching him lying there on a makeshift cot in the living room, suffering from the shock of blood loss and broken bones, she couldn’t imagine him making funny faces, couldn’t imagine him looking at Magnus with soft, sweet eyes. Couldn’t imagine that he’d want Magnus’s touch, that he would smile that boyish, lopsided smile with her best friend’s arms looped around him.

She remembers thinking, you don’t deserve him. This Shadowhunter, this lying Head of the New York Institute, didn’t deserve Magnus and his love. Magnus, who had started sleeping exclusively on the right side of the bed, who looked at Madzie with something wistful in his gaze every time she ran toward him, who always protected his people at the expense of his own happiness.

He’s too good for you, she had thought as she glared daggers at the boy in front of her, with his angel blood and penchant for prejudice. But she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t rolled him down the stairs, and had gone to help Magnus instead; her best friend, drained of magic and still stubbornly trying to heal himself. She’d gone to the balcony afterwards to clear her mind for a minute, to rest her hands, and now, as she turns around to check in on Magnus…

The Shadowhunter is missing from his cot. Classic. Rolling her eyes, she opens the door to the master bedroom.

They’re lying in Magnus’s bed together, Magnus’s head pillowed on Alec Lightwood’s chest, nearly asleep as he slowly heals from the wounds of battle. His body still lies stiff from the aches of demon venom coursing through his blood, skin paler than its usual golden hue, bruises littered everywhere, yet his arm is still curled possessively around the Shadowhunter’s waist in a familiar motion.

And the Shadowhunter…

He’s looking at Magnus like he’s a miracle.

His eyes never leave Magnus’s and his face is soft and warm and content, like he’s holding onto something he thought he’d lost forever. He looks young like this, the way he smiles and whispers secrets into Magnus’s ear, the way his fingers trace patterns on his bare shoulder, the way he readjusts the red silk blanket so that it’s tucked carefully under Magnus’s chin.

Magnus can’t see it, with his face buried into the Shadowhunter’s shirt, but from the doorway, Catarina can. This boy… he’s truthfully, honestly, painfully in love. The type of love Catarina hasn’t seen Magnus receive in too long, the type that’s as helpless and natural as the sky is blue. And a part of her still wants to be angry, to shake Alec Lightwood until his teeth click in his skull, to tell him, don’t you ever hurt him, but from the way he’s staring down at Magnus with his heart in his eyes, she thinks he already knows.

Catarina starts to turn around, when unexpectedly Alec Lightwood’s eyes dart up to meet hers at the sound of her loafers swishing faintly against the rug. They stare, frozen for an awkward moment, and she nearly laughs at loud at the way his cheeks go rosy pink. She opens her mouth to say something, to make fun of him maybe, or tell him to let Magnus sleep, but right then Magnus shifts, groaning low in his throat, and the Shadowhunter breaks his gaze, mumbling something into Magnus’s hair that makes her friend smile gently.

Wordlessly, Catarina magics the door closed, staring at the smooth black wood as Magnus and Alec fade from view. In the kitchen, she makes herself a cup of chamomile tea, hands wrapped around the soothing, fragrant heat as she sighs in exhaustion. The two of them… they don’t make sense to her, not at all. They shouldn’t work. But Magnus is Magnus, and he’s never done anything by halves. If his happiness comes in the form of a too-tall Shadowhunter with gentle eyes and a cautious smile, then Catarina will be the very last person in this dimension to tell him no.

Pairing: Dean/Cas
Length: 2.5k
Tags: Fluff, Mild Angst, Pining, First Kiss, Canon Divergent
 
Read on AO3

A special thank you to @braezenkitty for being my awesome beta <3

“You just gotta get laid,” Dean said, reseating the burger beside the pile of fries on his plate, this time with a big bite missing. “Or a decent kiss, at least.”

He crumbled a napkin between greasy fingers, tossed it to the middle of the table. Shoved his shirtsleeves up one more time as he tucked his black fed tie under the table ledge and away from the plate. “It’d loosen you up, buddy. And maybe you’d quit tryna live vicariously through horny eighteen-year-olds.”

This was because of the door-to-door canvas. The couple at the park who’d been all over each other, that Castiel hadn’t been able to stop looking at—even after the old, blue-haired lady at 512 Bakersfield Court had made a comment. “Your partner likes to stare…” like she’d never in her seventy-five years of life seen someone curious about such a thing.

If only that was the first time I heard it, too,” Dean’d smiled back from her stoop, the sharp sun cooking them both in the stuffy Tennessee heat. A marked jab to Cas’ ribs, and a walk to the nearest pub later, and Dean was bringing it up again, because, of course he was. Why talk about the case?

“I only glanced at the couple in the park,” Cas sighed. “It’s not a recurring issue. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean laughed, lipped his beer bottle, and took a stout drink. “Sure,” he said. “Glanced at them. Glanced at those girls holding hands last week—though, I’ll give ya that one. I gave ‘em a couple once-overs too.”

“Dean—”

“Point is, it ain’t the first time, and you’re a damn liar.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “My being, or not being with people has nothing to do with anything—”

“Has everything to do with everything when you’re touch-starved.”

“I’m not starved. I’ve been… touched.”

Dean scoffed, swirled his beer bottle. “Sure, if you wanna count Reaper-Fools-Day.”

“I’ve kissed more people than April,” Cas bristled back. “How about we talk about what you know of touch starved instead?”

Dean snapped shut, cocked his head as a follow-up comment seemed to slip from his mouth quick. He replaced the words with a couple fries and averted eyes. “Fine,” he relented around the bite. “And?”

“And… What?”

He looked back up, eyebrows jumping. “Were they any good?”

“Who? The people?”

“The kissing, idiot. Was the kissing any good?”

Cas’ heart flopped. He slipped a hand down his beer bottle, and then back up again nervously. The motion pulled Dean’s attention in a glance, so Cas tucked the rogue thing back onto his lap instead. Fingers lacing together under the shelter of the slick waxed top where no one could see. “I don’t know. Yes?” he offered carefully.

“Are you tellin’ me, or askin’ me right now?”

“No—I mean… ” Cas cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and listened to the wood slats groan. “They were fine. They were… wet.”

“Wet?” Dean repeated. “Cas, wet is how you describe a swimming pool… Oregon in the winter, maybe… Not a kiss. Never a good kiss.”

“Then how should I describe it?”

“No, I mean… if they were wet, then they were wet—”

“No, please. You tell me.”

Dean’s face suddenly fell wide in mock innocence. “What? You want me to describe a good kiss to you right now? In the middle of a restaurant.”

“If wet is insufficient—”

“Oh, yeah. It’s like, miles of not-sufficient-ness, dude.”

Cas chewed a smile down and gestured Dean’s way. Crossed his arms, and sat back. He watched Dean waffle before finally sliding back in his chair to think. He splayed wide, elbows up on the armrests and knees hugging the corners. His face caught the dim overhead lights, and the sun-kissed healthy pink of his skin shone back like warm earth.

He had white in the creases beside his eyes where his smile lines had shaded him from the harsh afternoon sun. A little cut of tan at the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sat after he’d gotten sick of squinting through the reflections of every bright midday door.

“Okay, it’s like this,” he said finally, tapping an erratic finger on the neck of his bottle, and pausing to worry his lip. “A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, til it ain’t. If you’re with the right person, then the tension between you’s gonna be thick enough to cut. It’s gonna feel like you’ve got a firecracker in your gut, and that other person’s just flicking the Bic. The minute the two of you kiss, the fuse lights. That bastard explosive rips up through your chest, and pops behind your eyes, and I’m talking—screw seeing colors at that point—you’ll be so wrecked, you’ll know what they sound like.

Castiel smiled as Dean came back in with a languid look, and a tongue tip between his teeth. He peeled forward, hovering over the table, so much closer than before, that there was only the dragging smell of his burger all tangled up in his woody cologne for Cas to breathe.

“That’s a good kiss,” he said slowly, and maybe it was Castiel’s imagination, but the sun kiss on Dean’s cheeks had spread to his ears now. “Sounds good, don’t it?”

“It sounds very good,” Castiel agreed. “Very surreal.”

Dean let a long, animated sigh into the room and it mixed happy with the gentle murmur of the busy forks and glasses around them. “Oh, it’s very real,” he said. “Just not very common.”

He poked absently at the pile of cooling fries, and sucked the salt from the end of his finger. The gorgeous smacking sound it made curled red ribbons in Cas’ stomach. “Still, you find someone who’ll give you that, and it’s the kinda thing that’ll right some wrongs. Know what I mean?”

Cas took a long drink, smile falling as the carbonation from his beer prickled reality back into his tongue. “Sure,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Dean’s mouth thinned, and his eyes ping-ponged away uneasy. He tailed and tacked down the waitress, kept locked on her as she floated behind the counter poking something into the mounted LED screen beside the register. “Doesn’t that rub you, though?” he asked, “not knowing for yourself. Don’t you… want that with somebody?”

Cas puffed surprised, and his mouth went dry. Try as he might, the beer wouldn’t wet it. “I mean, yes…” he said earnestly, and the admission ate holes in his stomach.

“Then… how come you ignore all the waitresses I send your way? You’re never gonna get it if you don’t even try.”

Cas was suddenly, and shamefully aware of his attention at Dean’s lips, and when Dean snagged a glance at him, Cas tore his eyes away, shoved them onto the table instead. Focused everything he had on the bleed of condensation below the cool, brown bottle to his left.

“Those people wouldn’t change anything,” he said to the ring. “Colors were never meant to make sounds for some.”

Dean fidgeted the fries again, finally pushed them aside, and brushed the salt off his hand this time instead of eating it. “I guess we better head out,” he said, flagging the waitress. “Sam’s waiting.”


They paid, and headed back out into the melty summer heat. It was sunset, but the air was still laying in the city thick as a wool blanket. Shadows stretched through the streets like plastic-capped Halloween fingers, crowding up in the alleyways and turns, painting the dingy brick walls black.

Cas flared his coat to check his back pocket for his wallet as they passed a couple people with hungry eyes, but just as quickly remembered that he’d dropped his last twenty for the meal, and let the impulse to feed them drift out. Still, he welcomed the brief breeze it gave him, and he wondered if maybe it was getting time to rethink the coat. Grace or not, he seemed to be touchier to the temperatures these days, and it was starting to seem like wardrobe was becoming more important—practically speaking.

Dean shed his own suit coat as if he’d just read Castiel’s mind, and slung it over his shoulder with a hooked finger. His shirtsleeves were still shoved up to his elbows under the blazer, as if he’d put it on after dinner, distracted. “Nothing fancy,” he murmured to his feet.

“Pardon?”

“Hmm—?” He looked over quick, eyes wide, before blinking them back down. “What?”

“I just didn’t catch what you said.”

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t—” But when Cas frowned, opened his mouth to contest, Dean relented. “Oh, you mean the, uh, thing I said out loud…” He cleared his throat, added “apparently” under his breath, and slowed down for some oncoming foot traffic.

“I was just thinking about the, uh, Nichols’ story,” he said, temporarily falling in line behind Cas as a group of people passed. He touched the small of Cas’ back out of nowhere, and kept his hand there. Cas’ chest snagged. “The alibi Brent was peddling didn’t feel right.” His voice was soft in Cas’ ear, almost breathy—but brief, and when he pulled up beside Cas again, sidewalk clear, Cas grabbed a shaky glance, but Dean wasn’t watching.

“You, uh, think they have something to do with the black magic we’re seeing?” Cas asked, and his voice managed to pour out level, despite his stomach coming off that quick rollercoaster dip.

“I mean, the house was a little much for a twenty-hour a week gas-slinging gig at the local area Gas n’ Sip, don’t you think?”

It was the most they’d talked about the case all day.

“Fancy,” Cas reiterated, then, “I certainly never would’ve been able to afford that place when I worked there.” For some reason, the comment pulled Dean tight at the joints. “But I couldn’t even afford hourly motels.”

“Well… the hourlies charge more.”

Cas frowned again, started to ask why when Dean squirmed past it. “But, you’re right,” he said. “Doesn’t add up no matter how you flip the numbers.”

“So, do you suspect they’re the source of the black magic, or victims of it?”

They hopped down the curb, checking the way for traffic, and ended up on the grassy side of Spring Street, just down from their motel. Dean popped a piece of gum in his mouth, balled the wrapper, and stuck it back in his pocket instead of tossing it away.

“I suspect there’s something screwy going on,” he said, “and that’s as far as I’ve got.”

He plucked the gum from his mouth a moment later, and flicked it to the bushes, ran a hand down his face. “Sam’s doing backgrounds as we speak. Here’s hoping there’s a smoking gun in there somewhere. But, ‘til we get that, we’re pulling straws.”

The streetlamps kicked on, buzzing like fireflies in the thick night, the light falling on the street in goldweave strings as they hustled past a defunct sporting goods store—hollow bones brick and mortar now. No one missing what used to be inside.

Dean scanned the streets, watched another few strings of dusk foot traffic pass on the left while he chewed his cheeks.

“Did Sam find anything at the morgue?” Cas pressed, because the silence seemed oddly unnerving.

“No—I mean, uh, I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”

“I thought we were meeting him.”

Dean’s attention caught up in a little alcove at the end of the street and he gripped his jacket tighter, tucked his chin and let a heavy breath out. “We are,” he said quietly.

“Not at the morgue?”

“Um, no, he’s at the motel,” Dean said, and he sounded nervous. “Waiting to take us.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll find a hex bag, or—”

Dean suddenly shoved Cas’ sideways, off the street and into the alcove, shadows tangling up in the corners of it, all those long witch fingers bleeding to flat black. Castiel grunted, surprised. “What’re you—” and his throat went dry as Dean pushed him into the stuccoed brick backside of a closed Chinese restaurant, hands curling up on both sides of Cas’ jaw, but fingers combing a soft arc “—doing?”

“Nothin’, if you don’t want me to,” Dean whispered, conviction skippy at best. His body was hot against Cas. Heavy and hard. Nothing like April’s… Meg’s… Hannah’s…

The question—and it was a question—coiled in Cas’ belly like a fever dream, but an answer never had a chance of bubbling back out. Because a response would’ve been moot before it ever left his lips. Castiel’s pause was too long to be a no, and his fingers had already found their way to Dean’s waist. They were making note of the way his blue button down clung to his sides, like the tee underneath had been soaking in all that sudden, nervous heat since before they’d ever even left the bar.

And so, Dean brushed their lips together, not a hesitation so much as dipping a toe, and a rush of butterflies went right to Cas’ head without mercy. Cas whimpered without meaning to, and Dean landed the meat of the kiss, hands falling down Cas’ neck and dragging that unruly sensation through. His lips were soft and his cheeks, five o’clock gritty. He worked Cas’ mouth open with a roll of his jaw, and a flirty burst of mint graced Cas with the pass of Dean’s tongue.

Castiel melted into it, fingers curling around the back of Dean’s head as he tried desperately to get a handhold on something. Their hips rolled together. Cas stole himself a handful of Dean’s ass. Felt Dean hard against him as he moved against Cas’ thigh.

Dean’s breath went rocky, like he was fighting some kind of tightrope walk of heavy and thin, and the sound he made was dirty enough to sin. Castiel nosed him, combed fingers through his hair as Dean pulled back. His eyes fell hot on Cas’ mouth. The shadows ate the flush from his face, but not the burning heat of it.

“Now tell me again,” he whispered, voice licking at Cas ear and coming out like gravy. “Tell me again what a kiss feels like.”

Castiel huffed, tried to catch his running brain. He couldn’t help himself, hands still at Dean’s waist, he held him there. The both of them were hard, and neither of them were in a hurry to do anything about it. “I would say… green makes a helluva sound,” he whispered back.

He watched a wicked smile crawl through Dean’s face. “There it is,” Dean hummed, dragging a chill with his thumb from the skin he’d bared at Cas’ side, and chasing it to Cas’ neck with a soft breath, a kiss. “An’ I’m just getting started too.”

Then, he pulled away, the absence of his sticky heat leaving Cas bare. The gravel chewed under Dean’s heels as he headed for the street, pausing only to stoop for the jacket he’d shed at some point on the way. He shook it off, straightened his tie. “Let’s go! We’re late!”

Castiel swallowed, hand to his stomach, and peeled himself from the brick.

pretty boy ☾ peter parker

summary : you think peter is very pretty, and your duty as his girlfriend is to tell him every chance you get.

wc : 1.4k 

  Peter Parker has freckles. They’re countless in amount and infinitesimal in size, but they’re spread across his sloped nose, his cheeks, and some of them are scattered across his shoulders from the days he spends at Rockaway Beach in the summertime sun not because he likes the beach, but because you do and you drag him there almost every day throughout July. He doesn’t mind. He can’t have you taking the train there alone, and he’d rather spend time with you in the sweltering heat than leave you by yourself. If you’re sitting close enough, the way you are right in this moment, you can count each one of those stars on his cheeks and play connect the dots with a ballpoint pen, if he’d let you. He most likely would. Peter would let you get away with anything. If you were to try to kiss each individual freckle that was settled there on his skin you’d be pressing your lips to his cheeks for hours on end. He’d like to see you try such a thing. 

   Peter Parker also has the sweetest brown eyes you’ve ever had the pleasure of gazing into. They were warm and kind and they felt like home whenever he turned them on you in that loving way he held. You love the way he looks at you, often and bright with happiness. You haven’t stopped looking at him since you started all those months ago, you couldn’t anticipate a time when you would. He doesn’t mind the permanent way his eyes settle on you, but it’s the way you’re always looking at him that makes him blush and turn his face away. He’s not much to look at, in his opinion. 

    He whines a little when he catches your eye again, trained on him like a reflex once again. His face glows a red the color of a ripe strawberry as he spins around in his chair and stares at the peeling cover of his science notebook. “What’s wrong, pretty boy?” You grinned when he flushed a deeper shade of crimson, still evading the smile that crept across your face. 

   “Y/N,” he whines once more, the heat creeping up toward the tips of his ears. He turns toward you, holding his cheek in his hand and keeping his elbow propped up on the swivel chair. “You know I get all,” he squirmed around in his chair, “flustered when you call me that.” The admittance came with a great reluctancy on his part, but it only made you smile more as you walked across the room and cleared away the clutter of his desk, taking a seat there so you could continue your study in Peter Parker. “I’m not pretty.” 

    “Shhh,” you chastised, using your foot to spin him back around. “You’re very pretty, Peter.” He stretches out his hand, waiting for you to grab it and hold it as careful as always. He presses a kiss to your knuckles whenever you hold his hand, he knows you think it’s the sweetest thing ever and that every single time he does it, you swoon like it’s your first date all over again. He’s big on holding hands. It’s intimate without being too much, and the teachers can’t really scold him for holding your hand the way they can for kissing you against the lockers when you both think no one is around. Still, he kisses your hand, and you close your eyes, smiling shyly. Then, you say, “How’d I get the sweetest, prettiest boy in the universe to be mine?” 

   “Oh, god,” he takes his hand out of yours and covers his cheeks with them, feeling the warmth of his skin against his palms and squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t believe what you’ve made him. A blushing mess undone the moment you call him pretty, sweet, yours. “Feel my cheek,” he demanded, grabbing your wrist and pressing your palm to his face. You laugh. 

   “You’re burning up, babe,” you say, patting his cheek. “I can’t help it. I have to compliment you. All the time. Every hour of every day.” You tap a finger against his cute nose. 

   “I would compliment you but every time I try you swoop in and render my speech incoherent with that little nickname you have for me,” he kept his fist against his cheek as he stared up at you, your legs dangling off his desk as you extend your hands out for him. He takes them, presses them to his cheek. 

   “What nickname?” You question innocently. “Oh, oh, oh, I know which one. Pretty boy.” You held his scrunched up in embarrassment face in your hands, squishing his cheeks. “So pretty.” 

    “I’m gonna spontaneously combust.” The words came out muffled because of the position his face was in, but if he were being honest, he could feel himself light up every time you said he was pretty, as amusing as the word was to him. Even if he doesn’t think he’s much- anything, really- to be fond of, he’s happy, so happy, that you disagree. 

   You call him pretty boy every chance you get. You seize the opportunity with pride, throwing a wink his direction when you can because he has the dopiest little smile on his face for the rest of the day even if he feigns irritation in the moment. 

     You greet him every morning outside his apartment building with a cup of coffee in your outstretched hand and a sweet smile curling at your lips and a, “Morning, my pretty boy,” and Peter starts his school day with a blush, his arm around the shoulders of the girl that he loves. You lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He’s invincible. 

    Then, you see him in chemistry class, goggles strapped to your face and a stupid apron around your neck. His heart still stops when he sees you. You slide in the seat between him and Ned, pulling at his goggle strap before it snaps back to his head as gentle as you can manage. “Did you finish the lab conclusion, pretty boy? I’m stuck on the last sent- Ned what happened to him?” You turned to the other boy, eyebrows raised in confusion because Peter is motionless and the redness is spreading all over his neck. 

   “You called him pretty again,” Ned replied, stretching his hand across the table and waving it in front of Peter’s face. “He’s probably just offended that you didn’t greet me with a compliment.” 

   “C’mon, Ned, you know I think you’re gorgeous.” 

   “I’m actually not deaf, guys.” Peter nudged you playfully, rubbing his cheeks with the sleeves of his gray sweater. You ruffle his honey hair. 

  “We know,” you answered. “Ned’s stunning, obviously-” Ned grins at this- “but you’re forever the only pretty boy for me.” Peter scrunches his nose up. Then, he takes off his goggles, placing them next to the looseleaf paper that has his neatly compiled lab report scrawled over the page. He leans forward, scooting his chair close to you so he can remove your goggles, too. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you quick. He’d put more passion into it if the teacher wasn’t standing across the room, looking for any excuse to separate the two of you. Every teacher was the same. He pulls back after a second, his hands lingering on your cheeks when he gazes at you. 

   “I love you, you beautiful and lovely and wonderful girl of mine.” Triumphantly, he removes his hands and places them back down on the desk. He catches it before you turn away toward Ned, and for a brief and fleeting moment, it’s there on your cheeks. “Oh, oh, what’s that I see? Is that a blush?” He jumps around to Ned’s spot, a stupid, prideful grin on his face as he savors the moment for himself, commits the pretty sight to memory. “Pretty girl, are you blushing?” He pressed his hands to against your face, pinching your cheek gently, lovingly. You punched him in the arm, a warning behind your eyes, but Peter didn’t care in the slightest. 

   “Yes, you big idiot,” you mumbled. “Happy now?” 

   “Oh, I’m very happy.” 

   “I hate you.” 

   “Do you really?” Peter raised his eyebrows, resting his palms against your shoulders and rubbing his thumb along the place where your collarbone peeked out of your shirt. 

   “Of course not,” you said, a grumble in your tone. “I love you and your pretty boy face, sweet little freckles and all.” You poked a couple of his freckles and kissed the one by his mouth. Peter sighed, still smiling brightly because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pretend to be annoyed at you when you called him that name. He’d wear it with like a badge of honor, grateful for it. He had an effortlessly gorgeous love that thought he was the prettiest thing she had ever laid her eyes on, so what more could he ask for? 

For you, @drsallysparrow, several months late.


“Georgie,” Fred whispered, arching a brow and digging his elbow into his brother’s ribs as soon as they poured out of Filch’s office. “Have a look.”

“Well then,” George remarked, eyeing the worn piece of parchment in his twin’s hand. “A whole drawer of confiscated items and you thought the blank bit of parchment was probably best?” He reached for it, giving it a skeptical once-over. “For this I wasted a dungbomb?” 

“A dungbomb at the inconvenience of Filch is never a dungbomb wasted,” Fred told him smartly. “Anyway, considering the drawer, there’s obviously more to it. Unlike you,” he added, nudging him. “Who possess nothing beneath your stunningly handsome facade.”

“A handsomeness that I wear better, by the way,” George assured his twin, not looking up. “Hm,” he murmured to himself. “If it were me, I would- ”

He stopped, frowning in thought.

“Oh good,” Fred said, fighting a yawn. “I was hoping you’d come to an abrupt stop.” He leaned against the wall, kicking one leg out to cross it over the other. “Frankly, if it weren’t for your unerring mystery, I’d have run off a long time ago.”

George raised his wand and tapped it against the parchment. “Revelio,” he muttered, and then watched as a series of words began to spread across the page.

No, it said. Don’t feel like it.

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That’s him, that’s the Doctor.

say you won’t let go | 01

 part 01 | part 02 [final] 

Summary: You’ve been eighteen years old for ten years when Jungkook first moves in.
Pairing: Jungkook | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst; Roommate/Soulmate AU (In which you stop aging when you turn 18 until you meet your soulmate)
Word Count: 12,038
Author’s Note: I was going to wait and upload the whole thing in one giant oneshot but for the stake of everyone’s sanity, it’ll be split into two parts. props to @minsvga for always being down to beta! 

.

The morning comes like clockwork, obviously, but sometimes you wish it didn’t. Sometimes, the morning is like an unexpected gust of wind, blowing away the present and the comfort and leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts and the disappointing feeling akin to the sensation of something missing from your life. Which, considering everything the world and the fates and the bonds that connect individuals together and all the shit like that, is not too far off from a relevant problem in your life.

The days seem to blend together, time slipping between your fingers but leaving you with no opportunity or way to stop it or prolong it. You certainly feel different, older somehow and probably wiser, and you’re sure it shows in your eyes, in the curl of your lips, in the longing touch of your smile.

But you crawl out of bed in the morning, feet landing like a gentle sigh on the carpet, following the hall down to your bathroom until you’re situated in front of the sink and taking a long glance at your reflection. You don’t know why you insist to yourself to always look at the mirror, because it’s not like anything would have changed overnight, nothing ever really does. You take in your expression, the skin of your face and the darkness of your eyes, a harsh contrast to the youth of your face, the curve of your nose and the sharpness of your jawline—you: fresh, and young and not a day over eighteen-years-old, just as you have been for ten years.

This has been the way of human life since its creation, a science with no explanation and a connection that cannot be seen or heard or even felt. It’s a different kind of connection, moreso the type of link that brings two people together, two people whoever has a hand in predetermination believe would be the best fit for each other. A soulmate, an individual meant to compliment you in every aspect, someone gifted to you from unidentifiable figures; figures you would not even believe existed if not for the world they created and built, a world you now inhabited.

In theory, the unspoken rules of the whole soulmate business seemed easy: a case in which the aging process stops at the eighteen until one’s soulmate came along, done so in order for the pair of them to gain the ability to grow old together, experience life together, be there for each other during the true ups and downs of college and jobs and family. Every single person you’ve ever stumbled upon each has their own story, their own tales of their relationship. You’ve met people in a relationship that never grew, friends who realized they were each other’s everything, individuals who went through years upon years upon years of life with a soulmate fresh out of the gate—always a variety, never a wrong answer or a right one. Yet, they all seem happy, no matter where the path of life seems to take them.

But now that you’ve been eighteen for a solid ten years, you’re ready to call major bullshit on every single individual who dared to look you in the eye and tell you that they don’t care about the unwinding of fate.

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Suga Daddy: Part 7

Suga Daddy: Part 7

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Words: 9.6k

Genre: Smut, angst, dirty talk, dom!Yoongi

There is another gif in the story that describes the moment I was portraying. Ignore Namjoon’s name on it, lol. Anyway, enjoy :) 

Parts:  one | two | three | four | five | six 

You had never been more excited to get out of dance practice. Yugyeom had been making fun of you the entire time because you were so out of it. You were trying to hide that from Jane because you were slightly messing up. “Shut up,” you pushed Yugyeom with a laugh, “Some of us are trying to focus.”

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little tattoos part ii

this is part two to little tattoos! 

you can read part one here

thank you guys sososoosos much for all the love on this fic. it was tbh a shower thought that evolved into so much more. im so very proud of this fic and i plaN to write another part, maybe two.

so YEAH 

thank you guys so much. it makes me so happy to see that people like my writing. i hope you all enjoy part two of little tattoos <3

summary: a soulmate au where everyone has a tattoo exactly like their soulmate

pairing: eddie and richie

words:  2085


Eddie sighed, approaching his house. He really wasn’t in the mood to convince his mom to let him go to Bill’s. He had gone over there seemingly a thousand times over the course of the past three years, but he still had to argue with his mother for at least twenty minutes before she’d let him leave.

His mom still, daily, tried to convince him that he did indeed have an illness; but he knew better.

Eddie’s mother nearly pounced on him when he opened the front door. “Eddie dear, come on, take your pills! You need them!” She said, so shrill it sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him.

He shook his head and got out of her grip easily, backing away and up the stairs. Eddie ignored his mother’s pleas until he shut his bedroom door and couldn’t hear her anymore. The small boy threw his backpack on his bed and threw his jacket into his closet, not bothering to hang it up. Eddie pushed back the door of his closet, finding a reflection of himself staring back. He frowned a little, looking his small figure up and down disapprovingly. Eddie bit his lip, slowly pulling his shirt up and over his head. His eyes scoured every millimeter of his bare chest and back. He thought that maybe one day the universe would decide to give him a tattoo, a soulmate, but there was never anything.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing on his body, and he hated it.

Why him? Why did he have to have no soulmate? It’s not fair.

Eddie angrily slammed the door shut completely, causing the mirror to fall off the door. It hit the wood floor of his bedroom and shattered into millions of tiny pieces.

“Oh God, oh fuck” He grumbled, going out into the hall closet to grab a broom and dustpan. He cleaned up what he could, which was most of it, praying his mother hadn’t heard anything. If she did, he’d be in the ER before he could even protest or explain what had happened. He went to pick up the last piece and as he stood up to put it in the trash, he clumsily dropped it. Eddie hissed at the sharp pain that went through his hand. A small gash started to bleed on his right knuckle, right under a circular, blotchy birthmark. He swore quietly to himself, going to the bathroom and easily disinfecting the cut. He put a small piece of gauze and a bandage on it, deciding that was alright for now.

Eddie grabbed his shirt and threw it over his head, heading down the stairs quickly. His mother sat in her usual spot in front of the TV. She glanced up and upon seeing her son, she tried to get up as quickly as a woman like her could. By the time she got up and ran out onto the porch, he was gone. Eddie was too fast. He was already outside and on his bike, half a block away. After years of evading her, he learned to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

He arrived at Bill’s about five minutes later, hopping off his bike and propping it up against the side of the house. Eddie strode up to the door and knocked, waiting patiently. Stan answered the door, looking disheveled. His hair was a mess. It was usually a mess, but not like this. His lips were a bit puffy and red.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Glad to know I’ll be the cockblock this evening.” He joked, walking inside the house and kicking off his shoes near Bill’s bedroom door.

Bill chuckled a bit, and Stan shot Eddie a look. Eddie smiled innocently, walking in and sitting down on a beanbag on the floor.

“Eddie!” Georgie yelled, nearly tackling the small boy off the beanbag in a hug. Bill’s little brother was the sweetest kid, and Eddie loved him. The whole Loser’s Club loved him.

“Hey, Georgie! How are you, buddy?” He asked, Georgie, sitting down next to him.

“I’m good! What about you?” Georgie asked brightly.

Eddie nodded. “I’m good,” he said casually.

Georgie looked at Bill and Stan across the room, both of them deep into a conversation about what movie to watch. He glanced at Eddie before giggling. “Billy and Stan think you like Richie.”

Eddie’s heart nearly stopped. Was it that obvious?

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the little boy. “Why do they think that?”

Georgie giggled again and whispered, “It’s a secret.” before running out of the room, still giggling.

Bill and Stan decided on Buffy the Vampire Slayer after about five solid minutes of arguing. They popped the VHS tape and started to watch. About halfway through, Eddie noticed that Bill kept sneaking glances at him. He turned his head and saw Bill looking at him once again. “Is something wrong?” He asked, reaching over and pausing the movie with the remote. Stan looked at Bill and nodded, clearly knowing something Eddie didn’t.

“We know you like Richie.” Stan deadpanned, and Bill smacked his arm.

Eddie frowned. “I do not like Trashmouth! Plus, even if I did, which I don’t, he has a soulmate. It wouldn’t work.”

Bill shook his head. “Y-You don’t know that, E-E-Eddie.”

Eddie stood up. “Yes, I do! I’ve had a crush on that damn boy for years! I know I have no soulmate, I know I have no chance, and I want to stop talking about him so I can get over him.”

Stan looked at Bill. “Told you he’d crack.”

Eddie sighed, sitting back down on the beanbag. He ran a hand through his hair, blowing out air through his nose slowly.

“Y-Y-Y-You should tell him,” Bill stated, glancing at Eddie, who immediately shook his head.

“There is no way in hell I am telling him. Nu uh, no.” Eddie said, shaking his head again.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Just tell him, Eddie! You never know.”

After ten minutes of debate, Eddie finally gave in. He walked into school the next day absolutely petrified. Bill and Stan had convinced him to confess his feelings to Richie and he said he’d do it today. But now that he was actually at school, he couldn’t do it. He found himself reaching for his invisible fanny pack for his inhaler until he realized he didn’t need it.

Eddie walked up to his locker, entering the combo and getting his books out. He felt an arm fall around his shoulder.

“Hey, Eds!” Richie said brightly, pinching his cheek. Eddie slapped his hand off and shoved his arm off of his frame. The smile slipped off Richie’s face, but he managed to keep a small one. “What’s wrong, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Stop calling me that,” Eddie grumbled, shutting his locker and turning the combination lock to 0.

Richie followed behind Eddie as he walked off, watching as he strode into his English class without a goodbye, and Richie couldn’t understand why Eddie was so upset. He never intended to upset him, if he did, but half the time Richie didn’t even realize he upset anyone.

The rest of that day, Eddie tried his best to avoid Richie. He took different routes to his classes in the hallways, he ate in the library at lunch, and the only place he couldn’t avoid Richie in was gym class. The gym teacher was very adamant about changing into gym clothes and then changing back into the clothes you were wearing. Eddie hated it, especially today, but he did it anyway. He waited until no one was in the locker room, or he thought no one was in the locker room to change back into his normal clothing. He avoided Richie during their class-wide game of soccer and he thought he was home free; he wasn’t.

The locker room door slammed shut and momentarily, Eddie panicked, thinking it was the Bower’s gang. But he panicked even more with the realization that Richie had shut the door.

“Richie, please-”

“No, Eds! I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what I did.” Richie said sternly as if he was scolding him.

“You didn’t do anything, Richie, let me leave, please.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Eddie shook his head, trying to get past Richie. He repeated his question but Eddie still shook his head.

Richie was getting annoyed. “If it’s not me, then what the fuck was it? Did Henry do something? Did your mom do something? Other than me last night, of course.”

Eddie tried to get past Richie again and he got pushed back.

Eddie groaned in annoyance. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled, wringing his hands together in a vain attempt to calm himself down.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t!” Eddie argued, gripping his hands together tightly. His knuckles were turning white. “I can’t!”

Richie was getting mad too. “Yes, you fucking can!”

“Goddammit, I’m in love with you, Richie!” Eddie hissed, feeling his hands start to shake from anger and fear and everything in between. “I’m so in love with you, but guess what? You have a soulmate, I don’t, and I don’t need to intentionally break my own heart!” Eddie ran out past a shell-shocked Richie, knocking into him with his shoulder on the way out. Richie didn’t move a muscle. His eyes were watering and he tried to wipe the water away as quick as he could, but they soon became to be too many tears. Eddie was sobbing. His chest hurt in a way he could never describe. It felt like his heart had literally broken. His chest physically hurt as he collapsed on the pavement outside the school. He grabbed the light blue inhaler that was in his back pocket and took two puffs. His breathing was normal, but he knew he had to leave. Eddie got on his bike and rode home.

Eddie went inside the back door, trying to be as quiet as possible so he could sneak up to his room. He turned the corner and dashed up the stairs, closing his door and propping a chair up under the door handle. He didn’t wanna deal with his mother right now, or anytime at all for that matter. He fell back onto his bed, sighing. Eddie held his hand over his head, studying the cut he got from the broken mirror. It was healing properly and wasn’t infected.

After about thirty minutes of off and on crying, Eddie heard an inconsistent tapping on his window. He tried to ignore it but after five minutes of it, he had had enough. He opened the window with force, just to get hit in the cheek with a small pebble. Eddie narrowed his eyes at Richie, who said “sorry” and put down the few rocks he had in his hand. “Listen, Eds-”

“Leave me alone, Richie. I don’t want your sympathy, I don’t want your pity, I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

“Just hear me ou-”

“No! I will not hear you out! You’ll climb up here, say you’re sorry and that you don’t feel the same way and that you want to stay friends. I won’t do that. I won’t. Leave me the fuck alone.” Eddie stated, slamming his window shut and drawing the navy blue curtains. The tapping stopped, and he hoped Richie walked away. He laid back down on his bed, glancing over at the wall beside him. Polaroids of him and Richie scattered the wall, along with pictures of the rest of the Loser’s club from a campfire last summer.

“Richie, don’t be an idiot! You are going to burn yourself!” Eddie scolded, getting up to shove him backward away from the fire.

“I’m not an idiot, Eds, I’m a genius in disguise.” Richie retorted, plopping back down onto the grass beside Eddie.

Beverly had taken a picture at that moment and that was Eddie’s favorite polaroid he had tacked to his wall. To this day, Richie still insisted that he was “a genius in disguise.”

Then Eddie remembered what had happened. He felt his eyes water with tears and his vision blurred as he cried softly, eventually running out of energy and falling asleep, face streaked with tears.

Richie had taken a long way home, trying to clear his head. By the time he got back to his house, he had a plan.

But he needed help from the Losers.


HELLo YEs

thank you so much for reading part two

would y’all like a part three? 

im so down to write it i haVE SO MANY IDEAS

masterlist

request to be on the tag list/talk to me

thank you for reading <3

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Fuel to Fire (intro)

Stucky x reader

Notes: fluff, tattooing, some angst, smut (m/m and m/m/f) 

Summary: Living their dream, Bucky and Steve run their tattoo shop ‘American Ink’ together, happily married for several years and business is going well. When a girl walks into their shop and inevitably into their lives right after they’ve received some exciting news, they have no idea how their lives are about to change with some harmless but straight-forward flirting. 

A/N: This is the introduction to the tattoo-shop AU, a Stucky x reader story that could be compared to my earlier series: Savages. I have no idea where this is going or how long it’s gonna be. I’m just gonna see where it takes me. 

“Buck-.. you think we’re gettin’ boring?” Steve muses, his arms behind his head, relaxing against his pillow as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Steve” Bucky groans, popping up somewhere below Steve’s belt, pushing his hair away from his eyes. “m’Tryin’ to suck your dick here, you mind?”

“I don’t, actually” Steve grins. “I was just thinkin’”

“Yeah. I know” Bucky shuts him up, pinching his husband’s side, earning a yelp in turn. “Stop it and let me suck your pretty cock”

“Baby, c’mon, hold on a minute, okay?” Steve pleads, putting on his best pouting face and big blue eyes.

Bucky groans, rolls off his husband, “Okay, okay. Stop with the eyes already. What’s on your mind?”

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honorary-penderwicks  asked:

Here's a thing I just re-watched civil war and when tony says "you're done stay down" peter starts to get up and then grabs the side of his chest the same way I do when I go a little overboard while binding. I bet before that fight he had never done so much physically and I also bet that the suit didn't have a binder in it yet because tony didn't know so he wore it without thinking about the exertion. Anyways just another trans peter thought I had thanks

peter doesn’t usually like binding bc his breasts are small enough that if he wears a oversized shirts and enough layers you can hardly tell he isn’t totally flat chested, but he still brings his binder with him to berlin just in case.

and he wasn’t going to bind during the fight bc his homemade suit is super baggy, but then tony makes him such an awesome suit…. but it’s skin tight. but it’s so COOL. and he knows it’s dumb, he KNOWS that, but he decides to bind. he reasons it’ll be okay because of his advanced healing factor, and besides — he’s spider-man!! he’s like 100 percent sure that he’s gonna kick captain america’s butt without even trying, let alone enough to feel the effects of his binder. 97 percent sure.

but hours later he’s laying on the tarmac of the airport, tony has just flown off effectively benching him from the fight, and he can’t move. everytime he tries to sit up his ribs feel like they’re gonna crack, if they haven’t already. and suddenly he’s aware of how lightheaded he is. he’s going to pass out. shit, how did he not notice this before?? it must have been all the adrenaline?? he didn’t know, didn’t have the energy to even think about it. he tried to sit up one more time, and that’s what caused his vision to spot up and go black.

he wakes up in his hotel room, momentarily confused about his surroundings. but then he remembers he’s in berlin and he relaxes back into the bed. but then he remembers the fight, that giant ant dude (hah, oxymoron), he remembers mr. stark flying off, he remembers not being able to breathe. but he can breathe now…

he tries to bolt upright but a sharp pain in his side makes him hiss and fall back to the bed.

“well, good morning, moron. or should i say good afternoon,” tony says, sitting in the chair on the other end of the room. he looks bored, scrolling through his phone. he also looks way more beaten up than he did when peter last saw him.

“how long have i been out?” peter says. he wants to cry. tony has to know. he has to. he wonders how many others know.

“several hours. oxygen deprivation and two cracked ribs can sometimes have that effect. but don’t worry, your healing factor is off the charts, almost on par with caps. you’ll be all healed by morning, if not sooner.” he sounds kinda of interested, and in any other situation peter would be tripping over himself to talk science about all the mutations he got from the spider bite, but right now all he can think about is his chest.

“who found me?”

“natasha.”

“black widow?”

tony chuckles. “i forget that’s what she calls herself. how pretentious.”

peter laughs humorlessly and ends up coughing because it hurts. “she’s pretentious? have you met yourself?”

tony looks up from his phone then mumbles, “you and pepper would get along.”

“where is it?” peter says, looking up to the ceiling. he feels himself starting to cry, he hates it.

“where’s what? oh you mean that thing that was on your chest? that had to be cut off.”

and peter feels himself choke on a sob before he can stop himself, it sends a shooting pain up his side. “that was my only binder.”

tony whistles and peter looks to him blearily through the tears welling up in his eyes. once they make eye contact tony gestures to the table next to peter’s bed. confused, peter moves his head only to have his eyes widen. some tears overflow against his will.

on the table are four high quality binders, each a different color, two of them are short binders and the other two are modeled more like tank tops.

tony stands up and walks over to the end of peter’s bed. “natasha knows, just natasha and i. sorry about that, but it couldn’t really be helped. but if it makes you feel any better natasha couldn’t care less, and even if she did she wouldn’t tell anyone.” he rolls his eyes and scowls. “she’s good at keeping information to herself.”

peter’s kind of dazed. he didn’t expect this.

“do you care?”

tony shrugs. “i don’t care that you’re trans, what i do care about is your health. you can’t wear your binders when you fight, peter. c'mon you’re a smart kid, you have to know that.”

peter sighs, kind of relieved, kind of stunned, kind of happy, kind of sad, and very tired. “i don’t fight in binders, i only did it this time because of the new suit. it’s so tight… they would have seen.”

tony makes a “hmmm” noise as he thinks, then he abruptly claps his hands together and moves towards the door. “i’ll sort that out. but right now i have places to be. happy is right next door if you need anything, and even though your healing factor is incredible i still wouldn’t over exert yourself. good job out there, kid.”

peter says thanks, but tony is already making his way out the door. everything feels kind of surreal. he looks at the binders and smiles.

Summer Camp

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 4800

Prompt: 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Not helping me with the table or being a dick to me the last month?” Y/N snaps, grabbing a fist full of his shirt.

Harry presses his lips in a line, he’s trying his hardest not to laugh. Y/N didn’t seem like the type to swear and she looked cute when she got mad. Her nose would flare in anger and she would let out an annoyed sigh. Her hand moved from his shirt to his arm and she gripped it tightly (and Harry felt like maybe, just maybe, it was supposed to hurt him).

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” Harry chuckles.

“And you’re cute when you’re not a fucking asshole,” Y/N retorts.

Harry laughs, his grip on her tighten slightly as he lets out a huge and loud laugh, “oi! What was that for?” he asks when he feels a sting on his arm.

“For being mean to me the last month, what did I do?” Y/N asks.

“Yeh did nothing,” Harry says, and he feels Y/N’s hand smack his arm again, “okay-fuck, you’re strong for such a little thing,” he grumbles, “I heard you talking about me to the rest, laughing, saying you would never date me-oi! That’s the last one you get, next one, I leave you here and you can hop all the way up the path on your own.”

or 

Harry works at a summer camp where he really hates kids and people, but Y/N is an exception.


Harry hated people.

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Handyman

Handyman (m)

Word count: 9.4k

Genre/Warnings: smut, angst, sub!Jimin, dirty talk

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary: Jimin is your landlord’s son. After one stressful day he comes to fix your shower for you. You find yourself constantly thinking about him. Could he be the perfect submissive? (here’s some lovely Jimin moans for the occasion: credit to owner)

I’ve been working on this for forever so i’m excited about it! :)

Parts:  one | two | three 

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The Oscars mix up was frigging hilarious.  (No, really. It was.) But it was quite touching how classy and polite and dignified everyone involved handled things.

*dude gives a long speech thanking everyone he loves, including his wife and kids*

*someone whispers something in his ear*  

“Well, I thought he deserved the award anyway! I’m happy to give it to him.”

And the Moonlight people are clearly a bit astounded but still hugged the La La Land people.  

And Kimmel sadly sighing at the end: “It’s me. Something had to go wrong.”

It was very human.  One of the few Oscar moments that was quite sweet.

Coffee

“Why are you looking so disgustingly happy?” Draco muttered as he saw his boyfriend stare at him from where he was seated on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t a rarity for him to wake up to Harry staring at him, but something seemed different now. He frowned.

“Nothing.” Harry said quickly, and he cast his eyes to the ground. Or rather the bed. “It’s just…” Harry seemed to contemplate if he wanted to risk speaking, which was a very dangerous activity when Draco hadn’t had his morning coffee yet. Eventually the messy haired man spoke up.

“You’re just so terribly adorable when you’re asleep, or when you just wake up, and looking at you then just makes me realise how lucky I am.” Harry had a goofy grin on his face now. Draco groaned and turned around, hiding the blush on his face.

“You, Harry James Potter, are the most sappy person I know.” He grumbled into the pillow. “And Malfoy’s are not adorable, thank you very much.”

“But Potter’s are.” Harry muttered in Draco’s ear after bending over him. “Maybe you should become one.”

“I’m not saying yes to your proposal until I have my coffee.” Draco announced as he lifted his sleepy bedhead from his pillow, where he indeed saw the real reason Harry had looked so happy before. A delicate silver ring on a blue velvet pillow, resting in Harry’s rough lovable working hands.

“Seriously Draco?” Harry pouted, and Draco glared.

“If you want to wake up to this grumpy as hell man every day for the rest of your life then yes.” And with a tired sigh he curled up in bed again.

“You’re terrible.” Harry muttered.

“And yet you’re still proposing to me. Must be my great ass.”

“You are indeed a great ass.” Harry shot back as he hit Draco over the head with a pillow. “But fine, I’ll get your sodding coffee.”

Harry stomped out of the room, and Draco smiled under Harry’s recently thrown pillow. “Don’t forget the milk, Potter!” He yelled after Harry’s damn fine ass as it walked out of the room.

“Don’t forget to be a decent human being, soon to be Potter!” Harry yelled back.

Draco chuckled.

All was well.

Mystic Messenger Guys Pregnancy Series - Finding Out #1

Jumin Han

Being the wife of the executive director of the C & R International was never an easy thing to do. Yes, Jumin made you feel as if you were the only girl in the world. He was always showering yo with love and affection…and as much as you hate to admit it…he always showered you with gifts. He spoiled you rotten but you never let it go to your head. Yes,being his wife was a blessing and you could not be any more grateful. However, being his wife, also made it impossible to be out of the public eye. Everywhere you went, someone was there taking pictures, Everything you did was already on the news. And honestly it was making you sick, physically sick. You woke up one morning to immediately rushing to the nearest bathroom and throwing up. You groaned as you finally got the chance to breathe. You thought for a moment before widening your eyes. You quickly stood up and rushed to lock the door  before searching the cupboards for a pregnancy test. You always had one in case one of your nights with Jumin got a tad reckless. You waited anxiously as the test began to work its magic..and there it was…a blue cross. 

Yoosung
To you, you and Yoosung had the perfect fairy-tale life. After the whole big bang that happened during that first 12 days when you first joined the RFA, you and Yoosung finally managed to meet. After many dates, game nights of LOLOL and a very awkward marriage proposal that involved him spilling spaghetti on you and you chocking on a piece of cake, the two of you were finally married. He had finally stop playing LOLOL as much as he used to and  became a veterinarian, to everyone’s surprise, but not to you, to you he was the hardest working guy ever. Everything was perfect…until a few days ago. You had began to feel just downright awful. You had headaches,stomach pains and had been sick quite a lot. Yoosung, being the worrywart he was, fretted lover as if you were dying. You promised him that you were fine and that you booked a doctors appointment. After calming him down and convincing him to go to work, You got dressed and headed towards the doctors where they examined you. You waited patiently for the doctor to come back and when he did, he uttered a sentence that almost made you faint
“Congrats Ms.Kim, you are pregnant”
707
You and Saeyoung were not married. Yet. And wanna guess why? He had his heart set on marrying you in a space station. Yes , a space station.You were completely fine with it. I mean how long have you known him for? You knew that he was absolutely crazy and had the wildest ideas. But you still loved him, and he loved you., The kisses, the hugs, the late night conversations, the all day gaming sessions, all those moments were so precious to you and the same to him. Everything would be perfect. Only if your parents would like Saeyoung. However, it was quite the opposite. They hated him. They thought he was too loud, too irresponsible, a criminal, a shady guy. They wanted you to have nothing to do with him. And it broke your heart, and Saeyoungs too. Enough to get him into another mental breakdown, but you helped him out of it. It was you and him against the world. However, you did still love your parents. But they basically disowned you when you rejected their request for you to break up with Saeyoung. But..How would they react when that afternoon, on the toilet seat.. that you were pregnant with Saeyoung’s Child?
Zen
Zen had been on a stage tour recently and , lets be honest, you have never felt as lonely as you were now. You missed his presence, his cheesy pick up lines, his kisses, his hugs, his muscles and oh the list just goes on and on. Its like that saying ‘ absence make the heart grow fonder’. You just missed him desperately. Before he had left, you both had a memorable night, just so that the two of you left on a high note. You had been married for a few months now and the fans gladly accepted you. Well…Echo girl and her fans still held a bit of a grudge. But you never paid much attention to them. Recently you had been feeling sick. You had a fever and was throwing up quite a lot. You took the day of work and called Zen, who immediately started panicking and began to already plan his way home. You stopped him and said that you were fine before laughing. You suddenly froze and it was as if the cogs in your mind had began turning. Sexy night + Fever + Throwing up. You face-palmed and began to laugh hard. To the point tears were coming out of your eyes. You even forgot that Zen was still on the phone very confused. You sighed as you picked up the phone and said in between giggleS
“Ohh Don’t worry sweetie, i think im just pregnant!”
“…..”
“WHAT?!”
Saeran
You and saeran were far from being the perfect married couple, but you were both happy. He still had mental breakdowns and he still was quite isolate and reclusive, but could anyone blame him? After all the crap with Rika, the mystic eye, His mother, His father ,V and his brother, you would be worried if he wasn’t affected in some way. But he trusted you. He let you into his heart. You offered him the love he was deprived from for so long.You stayed by his side no matter what he did or said to you. But honestly, it was not easy. Sometimes the hurtful words he said to you, really hit you hard. You knew that he would never actually mean it. You knew he was not being his real self. But you couldn’t help but fee a tiny bit hurt. And this was one of these times. You had been throwing uo for the past few days and it had finally made him snap. 
“WHAT THE F*** S WRONG WITH YOU, YOU STUPID LITTLE COW”. He screamed out. And you just accepted it. Because you loved him. You knew he didn’t mean it. But, the tears on your face came down even harder. This time hurt much more than the others. This was because..
You were pregnant with his child.


V
V treated you as if you were his queen. He loved you so much and you loved him back. You were not married nor engaged. Just boyfriend and girlfriend living happily together in his apartment. You loved him, you really did , with all your heart. But you feared that he did not love you as much as you wished. And that was because of her. You glanced at the small photo V kept on his desk. You glared cold at it. Rika. The woman who injured V so horridly. Who hurt Yoosung, Saeyoung, Saeran and Jumin emotionally. You could not understand how V could still love her for such a long time. He finally broke up with her once Zen and Yoosung sent her to a mental health rehab centre. And that is when he began to develop feelings for you. You were so happy with him, but you couldn’t not help feeling just a bit hurt that he was still in love with her. But, what could you do, they were engaged after all. Anyone would be hurt by that. And he was still refusing the eye surgery and time was running out. He was not listening to anyone, not you, Jumin, anyone. And it was worrying you. But perhaps..Perhaps you being pregnant could change everything? Surely, SURELY, he would consider having the eye surgery if it meant possibly never having the chance to see his own son or daughter…


AHHHH I DID IT! Okay i really wanted to start a pregnancy series with mystic messenger cause lets all be serious…its what we all need. AND THANK YOU FOR A 100 FOLLOWERS AGDWEFBJEIOFIEJFOIZ. I was so happy but yeah! do you like this idea?if so please like reblog follow and request for more!!