schmoop week

Clack Week Day 6: Diary

Cloud loved the quiet moments like these. He loved the other times too, of course; the satisfaction that came after a good hard training session, laughter and goofing around with his friends, laughter and goofing around and kisses with Zack. He loved getting the chance to explore more of the world than he ever could have imagined in Nibelheim, whether it was in the depths of the whole different world beneath the Plate or missions to obscure, far-flung cities.

But he loved a quiet night in as well. Especially a quiet night in with his boyfriend.

They’d thrown a meal together earlier, eating on the sofa while ignoring a random show on the TV in favour of telling each other the little details about their days. Zack had hugged Cloud from behind while he tried to wash up, and Cloud flicked him with water in retaliation. They had showered together – there had been kisses, a few teasing touches and heatedly murmured compliments about Cloud’s ass, but also a silent mutual agreement that the day had been too long to start fooling around. Just being close to each other was enough.

The whole thing was disgusting domestic. Cloud may technically not have moved in with Zack (yet), but he might as well have given the amount of stuff he had there. Towels, toothbrushes, pyjamas, plenty of spare clothes. Books, files, games, a bunch of random knick-knacks. He had a designated side of the bed, which he gladly burrowed into.

They ended up curled together in the bed. Zack had his laptop out, resting it on his outstretched legs while a tiny crew of pixelated characters ran around collecting and building things in the middle of an asteroid. Cloud had a notebook out, and leaned against side while he wrote in it.

“Whatcha doin’?” Zack asked. He slung his arm over Cloud’s shoulder, nuzzling into Cloud’s hair as he leaned over. “Ooooh. Is that a diary?”

Cloud snorted. “I mean, I guess I’m using a diary. I’m just entering my weights and reps from today’s training though. It’s not very exciting.”

“Are you suuuure? What about if you go back to the hidden pages.”

“More weights. Sometimes calories when I’ve been trying to put on muscle, some missions worth noting. That’s it.”

Zack pouted. “Aww. You’re not writing about how amazing and hot your awesome boyfriend is?”

Cloud hid his smile. “I’ll be writing about what an attention-seeking narcissist he is if you’re not careful,” he teased.

“Cloud!” Zack said in mock offence. His eyes narrowed and he reached down to tickle Cloud. Cloud screeched and hit him with a pillow. The battle was short-lived, ending with soft kisses and laughter instead.

“Gimme that,” Zack said, taking the diary and pen from Cloud. He placed the end of the pen to his lips as he considered what to write.

“Zack,” Cloud complained, though he still sounded far too amused for it to count as a proper protest. “I do actually use that to track my progress and shit, don’t do anything weird with it.”

Zack shushed him. “Alright, here’s what I think should be in here. ‘Dear diary’,” he said, writing as he narrated himself. “’Today I had training and stuff, whatever. But in the evening I went to see my incredible boyfriend, the fantastic Zack Fair. He is so hot. I couldn’t take my eyes off his ass while we cooked dinner—’”


“I totally caught you staring.” Zack winked at Cloud before continuing, “’and then we showered together and I was utterly enrapt with the way the water ran down those deliciously toned abs to his thick, tasty di—’”

“Zack!” Cloud was starting to sound a little flustered now. “Even if I did write a diary, it would not sound like a terrible erotica novel! Give me that back.”

Zack laughed and handed the book over. “Aww, I thought it would’ve been at least a passably tasteful erotica novel.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Zack kissed Cloud’s forehead and returned to his game, a secretive grin on his face.

Cloud rolled his eyes and flicked back to the page where Zack had been writing. He needed to see if he could salvage his diary page for that day. There was Zack’s scribbles all over the page, but… oh. He hadn’t been writing what he’d been saying. Which was a relief, to start with, but what he had written…

It was a list, titled ‘Reasons Why Cloud Strife Is Awesome’, accompanied by a series of smiley faces. He skimmed the entries; ‘determined & courageous’, ‘fiercely loyal’, ‘sassy little shit’. ‘Regularly lifting nearly twice his bodyweight?!’ was accompanied by an arrow to where Cloud had previously been filling in his training for the day. Cloud snorted at that.

He skimmed over the rest of the list to the very bottom.

‘I love you, Cloud,’ it said.

Zack was watching him read, a small smile on his face. “How’s that for your diary entry, huh?”

Cloud just shook his head. “I love you too, you absolute dork.”

Zack was still grinning when Cloud leaned in and kissed him.

but by the grace of god go we

( Kandreil fic for @knox-moreau‘s contest! set post-canon, all schmoop. also available on ao3. )

( also please check out the sweet turn out for this contest. great ship fics galore. )

The first time Kevin kissed Neil was after Neil told Kevin that their performance in the Spring Championships upped their national ranking from the worst Class I team to the fourth best. Kevin dropped his gym bag, grabbed Neil by the shoulders, and reeled him in for a cruising, albeit closed-lip, kiss.

It was a tinsy bit shocking.

Though a gesture that would have sent a fourteen year old him stumbling in delight, now that he knew what Kevin Day was really like off a filmed stage, it made him question Kevin’s health. Once Kevin leaned away - not smiling in a soft, happy way, but grinning, like in victory, like in delight, like a crocodile at an unaware gazelle’s approach -, Neil bluntly asked, “Are you ill?”

Kevin did not take that well.

Keep reading

Spoon, Spacedogs appreciation week day 2

I was prompted by an anon with a very enthusiastic “SPOONS!” And this was the result of it. Thank you dear anon, I hope you enjoy it.

Nigel couldn’t take much more of this, Adam and him had only begun to spend the night and sleep together only a week ago, which wasn’t the problem exactly. The problem was that every time they settled down to sleep and Nigel would spoon up to Adam and wrapped his arms around him, Adam would tense up and begin to squirm until he finally settled down enough to sleep. At first Nigel had thought that Adam was not used to sleeping with someone and only needed time to get into a routine with him, but the longer he let it go on the more it didn’t quite feel like that.
“Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Adam turned over to look at him.
“What do you mean Nigel? Nothing is wrong.”
“Well there’s gotta be fucking something wrong. Every time I put my arms around you, you get so fucking tense it’s like sleeping with a two by four.”
Adams lowered his eyes and worried his bottom lip with his teeth, a sure sign he was keeping something in.
“I’m sorry Nigel, I really tried not to let it bother me—”
“What is it darling? I can’t read that beautiful mind of yours, you have to tell me what you want.”
Adam fidgeted some more and bit at his nails, mumbling something quietly.
“What was that darling? Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
“I like being the big spoon!” Adam blurted.
Nigel blinked at him slowly making Adam feel the need to explain further.
“I do like being held but when I sleep I prefer being the big spoon.”
Without saying anything Nigel turned over and faced away from him, making Adams brows pucker and worry his lip again. He was sure that he had somehow upset Nigel, because of course a man a big and strong as his Nigel wouldn’t want to be the little spoon. That was until Nigel looked over his shoulder at him.
“Well darling? Are you coming?”
Nigel laughed softly as Adams face lit up and immediately scoot up behind him, pressing his entire body to Nigel’s and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. Adam nuzzled into Nigel’s neck, humming happily.
“Thank you Nigel.”
“Anything for you Adam, anything.”

anonymous asked:

ahhhhhh well it didn't end up going so much with the teasing but here you go!

You thought you'd outgrown cooties.

But no. Apparently not. Cooties makes your skin crawl, makes you shiver and blush, makes you talk endlessly about that one /kid/, makes you laugh a little too long in class, makes you go home grumpy. You, Dean Winchester, don't like it. Not one bit. And, at freaking twelve years old, it's already hard enough to live with yourself. There's acne. There's the deepening of the voice and the thickening of the muscles. There are those awkward moments when you wake up and your groin is suddenly painful and you have to rush to the bathroom for some quick help before your mom stumbles in to wake you up and it's incredibly awkward.

And it's worst of all because you know that it's because of those /dreams/ and that those dreams are about /him/, and every time you see him at school it's like the blood comes rushing to your head again, but you push it down and away and hope to make it through just one more class with one more laugh and one more shit-eating grin on your face.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

Cas sits at the front of the class. You're in the back. You can see his straight shoulders and his classic tan jacket, his hair that /should/ be straight and parted down the middle but instead is just the slightest bit tousled. You can see the smooth, downy line of his neck and you rub at your own freckled nose, blink your green eyes closed, because if you look again you'll miss the entire lecture on fraction busting and there's a quiz tomorrow and you can't afford to fail that, not with your dad expecting what he does.

So instead, you look down at your paper, grip your pencil, and hold on for a little longer until recess. It comes none too soon. Cas stays close to the doors, in the shadow of the school's building, even though it's a beautiful day and the sun's out and yes, okay, it's far too bright and you don't have sunscreen on and chances are you'll freckle even more, especially if you decide to play on the skins team for basketball, but Cas is there, alone. And you feel, you don't know, amused. Confused, confused as /shit/, but he's looking down with his wrinkled frown and suddenly the laugh escapes your lips and you can't help it, you pull yourself away from the basketball game and you walk over, chin lifted, head high, hands in pockets. Yeah. You've got swag.

And then, two paces from him, you realize two things. One -- that you've never talked to him before. That the only time you've heard his voice -- deeper than yours, the premature fucker -- is in class, when he's answering the teacher in his disaffected deadpan. Then two -- that you want to hear him say your name. That you want to know that he knows who you are, that he recognizes your face, your voice, your eyes, how they brighten in the sun. And suddenly, no matter what your first intentions were, you find yourself extending a hand. It's got your stomach in knots. Because you don't do this, do you, Dean Winchester? You're not polite. You go in and you take what you want, because that's how it's always done. Cas, though, he makes you want to feel better.

"Hey," you tell him, and your voice comes out rough, hewed. "Uh, I'm Dean. What's up with you, all by your lonesome?"

Cas jerks, looks up. Frowns, like he's unsure of why the fuck you'd spend any second of your precious time talking to him. He looks down at your hand. Doesn't take it. Probably thinks you have fucking cooties. Your arm drops down. Fine, then. Whatever. Didn't need him anyways, didn't need his blue eyes and brown hair and cute little frow --


You cough. "Yeah, I know."

He tilts his head to one side and you find you do the same, like a puppy looking into a mirror. If you're into that sort of shit metaphor, which, apparently, you are. "So …" His glance shoots over your shoulder to the basketball game, where Sam's kicking ass and taking names. "No game today?"

You laugh, nervous, but you play it off. "Nah, man, figured I'd talk to you."

"Are we friends?"

And there it is, the question, innocent in the asking, but breathtaking in its candor. No, you're not friends. You're the slacker in the back, he's the teacher's pet. Or isn't that what everyone tells you? Blunt, literal Castiel. He's not like the rest of you.

"No," you finally respond. "Guess not."

He cocks his head again. "So why are you talking to me?"

"Shit!" There it is -- the explosion that'll get you a detention for sure, and you whip your head around to reassure yourself that none of the supervisors heard you. "I don't know, I just -- I was just wanting to see what was up, okay?"

Then, just the slightest tilt of a head and his eyes meet yours and your gut twists the way it does when you dream, right before you wake up. And it's not a smile, but it's almost, almost a laugh. "We could be friends. I wouldn't mind."

You blink. "Yeah?"

Cas shrugs. "Yeah."

And then it breaks out, for real, the smile, the lightest hint of a curling upper lip, the dimple in his cheek, the crinkle of ocean blue eyes, and it's the best day of your life. Cooties or not.





Watch on

Soul Sister-SPN

So this is what my Follow Friday is going to look like.

I didn’t realize it was tuesday until I was basically finished with it.

Blame Ari, she told me she was thinking about hers and etc. and I just assumed today was the day to make follow fridays. 

I will have a prettier version too hopefully by friday.

And names will be on it… yes, that’s probably important right?