shut it creep

middle earth gothic

there are rolling hills of grass in the shire and doors where lives once stood. you hear murmuring on the wind. they say it is the water of the brandywine but you know better. a girl sings a song and the bones of flowers rattle beneath her feet as she hangs wash to a clothesline.

when you find rivendell, it is quiet. the bruinen has cracked its way through the rocks, and moss covers the stacks of books. a bookcase rattles and screams when you come close to it. you put the parchment back. you put the syllabus back. a daughter makes her choice, and chooses rushing tides over the stillness of time. you hunt for a mother’s bone. there are none, there are none, there are none.

moria is a hollow cave and a hollow darkness and a hollow tunnel. there are dead ones wherever you look. a tomb screams of old friends and lost relatives. we cannot get out scrawled in spit tears and blood. when the ancient flame comes, you know your hands will let go and you will not be able to stop the screaming of wind through your bones.

when you enter lothlorien, the trees crackle and whisper and sigh. a witch lives here you hear them say. you do not find a way out, and the trees blindfold you to find the way: you are lost, but you catch glimpses of dead dreams in a pool of hissing water.

fangorn is a forest made of sinew and muscle and bone. the trees throb with poetry that lasts centuries. there is the body of an orc trapped in vines, and it smiles at you with sharp teeth rotting. you understand, for a moment, that death is nothing but the beginning, and then the darkness falls again. you smell water and wood and life. when the trees stare back at you, you do not think you feel safe. 

rohan gallops through time like bristling horses. a white lady looms, pale, behind shut windows as snakes creep over her uncle’s body like worms feasting upon dead flesh. her hands are marked with red, her eyes are empty pools. in all her dreams she drowns.

the white city looms like a stack of old bones. there are charred robes at the bottom of the valley where a grieving father once jumped to his death. at night the dead come walking, their eyes hollow, their hands clutching the heads of those they lost. there is the carcass of a fell beast on the planes before the city of kings and the children play with her bones.

the grey havens smell of saltwater and burning ships. the goodbyes here are final, and bitter, and made by the dead. the ghosts are quiet, for once. to the west, the sun sinks and kisses the sea. you think you hear laughter: you know it is only the wind.

anonymous asked:

SupremeChancellor Obiwan ask! How would the first public assasination attempt (by Palpatine's... paid bounty hunters? Maybe?) go?

I love that you specified that with “first”, because clearly there’s not going to just be the one attempt at assassination. Oh no. Hahahah!

So uh, I didn’t plan for this to get as long or as… uh… violent.. as it did. But then Palpatine happened.


This was just supposed to be funny. DAMN YOU, PALPATINE.

Sheev Palpatine allows the rage to flood through his body and spark in the Force. Here on Naboo there’s no risk some blasted Jedi will feel it and come investigate.

How dares Senator Mandai interrupt his plans? While she certainly can’t have known it’s still what she’s doing. To dare call him incompetent? Turn the majority of the Senate against him? Ensure that that blasted scum-sucking always-in-the-way of an absolute horror of a Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi elected in his stead?!

Palpatine would rip her head off her shoulders if it wasn’t for the fact that her murder would most likely make all eyes turn on him with scrutiny.

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also fuck all y’all blaming max making billy repeat after her because ~that’s what his abusive father does to him and she’s probably seen it~ when the first actual conversation we see max and billy have is when billy tries to force her to take blame for them moving to hawkins by driving recklessly and threatening to hit mike, lucas, and dustin. y’all lames really gotta do better.

so like my brother is 11 years old and my parents and relatives call him handsome a lot bc he has good face structure and whatever and theres nothing wrong with that bc it’s, you know, an innocent compliment, of course they dont mean it in a sexual way, they’re just saying that the kid is cute

in the same regard theres nothing wrong with saying that like millie bobby brown is pretty or finn wolfhard is handsome because it’s a completely innocent thing to say, there’s literally no sexual intent there, people say it to their kids or nieces or nephews all the time, they’re cute kids, etc like nobody is saying you cant compliment them

but there IS a MASSIVE different between saying something like that and then saying something like “WOW can’t wait til these kids are 18 unf daddy”…. like one is an innocent, almost parental compliment with literally 0 sexual nature and the other is blatant sexualization and harrassment. it’s kind of similar logic to catcalling, there’s an obvious difference between offhand telling a stranger “oh i love your outfit!” and then yelling at them abt how their pants make their ass look.

basically if you try to justify sexualizing these kids by saying “its just a compliment” then you clearly lack any sort of critical thinking skills or contextual awareness and probably shouldnt be allowed near children and thats the tea for today

You can called a very screwed up  rite of passage as a South Park fan artist in the SP fandom. You get a ask from former living meme Ric122 or whatever he is calling himself these days for his now infamous Can you draw adult Stendy and Kybe with kids? Reply with hilarious comebacks like posting drawings of the ships he hates. Yes, it is cringe worth to see those creepy asks in your ask box as his url or under anon. 

take off your shoes, come in the room (and baby, let’s try not to argue)

part 2 of i’m in love with a girl i hate (she enjoys, pointing out every bad thing about me) AKA drama club AU part 1 is here!! yeah i know i said that i’d only start writing during the weekend but here i am, several days early,, it’s scary the things validation makes me do


Jake’s pacing back and forth in front of the front door anxiously- they’ve agreed on meeting today, for the first time, and Amy’s supposed to reach at three in the afternoon.

To say Jake feels nervous would be the understatement of the century. The moment he got home, he took a shower, using all the fancy soaps they had, which means he combined Fresh And Flirty Rose! with (an extremely old) Head To Toes Babies. He also put on some suspicious looking cologne that might’ve been left behind by one of his mom’s exes.

Not that he’s trying to impress Amy, or anything, but if he were to smell bad he wouldn’t be able to blame it on some other dude’s B.O. or the stank-iness of the room in general. And he doesn’t want Amy telling the whole world that he reeks, right?

After his long shower, Jake stretched out on his bed, leaving the door open so he could hear Amy ring the door bell.

But then a thought occurred to him- what if she doesn’t notice the doorbell, and chooses to knock on the door, but he’s too far away to hear? Does their doorbell even work anymore? Do they even have a doorbell?

He raced out of his room to check, (and after conducting five tests) relieved to know it worked, but he still couldn’t quite quell the bundle of nerves that refused to stop making his heart jump.

Perhaps it was best for him to wait at the front door until Amy arrived, the clock and door taking turns to be the subject of Jake’s glares.

This brings us to Jake’s current state- he’s been ambling back and forth for close to ten minutes now, and Amy should be here soon.

Unless she’s late- which Jake doesn’t expect her to be because Amy’s never late, but at the same time, their meeting is unofficial and could be something she doesn’t care about being punctual for, right?

But then- what if she’s early? A possibility that dwindles with each passing second, yet something Jake can’t help but think about because the alternative would be to think about how crazy this arrangement is.

Because it is crazy! Amy’s literally coming over to his (empty) house so they can practice kissing. Why did he think this was a good idea? Why did he suggest this? And why did Amy Santiago, known for her rationality, agree?

At the same time, if Amy doesn’t come soon Jake might just combust, and he can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s a combination of fear and uncertainty and unwillingness, like something bad you want to happen quickly so you can get it over and done with, because waiting in anticipation of it feels worse than actually having to do the bad thing.

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lab partners (peter parker x reader)

request:  ‘can i request a Classic lab partners fic with peter please’

summary: when you and peter are partnered up for a science experiment, something goes wrong and his sweater catches fire

word count: 1.3k

i could not for the life of me think of a more creative title but here we go

The labs were awful. They always reeked of chemicals as if the walls had absorbed the smell over time, and the lights were so bright that they hurt your eyes. To make matters worse, they didn’t have heating so they were beyond freezing in the mornings, and some sort of black mould was growing on the ceiling.

You were already ten minutes late when you stumbled into class, your backpack unusually light after the fence you climbed over that morning tore a hole in the bottom and lost your books to a muddy puddle. You hoped you didn’t need your book today as you approached the teacher’s desk with a late slip in your hand, holding it out to the old woman. She looked up at you over her glasses that were sitting on the tip of her nose, snatching the paper out of your hands and looking at it.

“Is there a reason you’re late, Y/N?” She asked, clearly annoyed. Her grey hair was pulled back in a tight, slick bun and you could see the oil on her skin from where you were standing. You pushed your hands into your pockets and hesitated before simply mumbling a gentle,

“Sorry, Miss.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped through a messy binder with pages and coloured post-it notes sticking out. She stopped at one filled with names of students. Running a bony finger down the page, she muttered under her breath before stopping and nodding her head.

“Peter Parker.” She said, slamming the binder shut. Your eyebrows knitted together.

“What?” You asked, confused.

She grunted and looked up at you, unimpressed. “Your partner. Go take a seat.”

You nodded in sudden understanding and made your way over to the bench where Peter sat, a boy with neatly parted hair and nervous eyes. You flashed a polite smile at him and sat in the empty seat, drumming your fingertips on the benchtop.

“Hi,” He greeted, his book opened in front of him to a page full of notes, a doodle of a cat and a smiley spider in the corner. He covered it with his arm and scratched the back of his head.  “We’re doing an experiment-observation type thing, I have the directions written down but my handwriting is kind of messy, I didn’t know if you were at school or not so I didn’t- “

“It’s okay,” You assured him, slightly amused. “Why don’t you just tell me what we need to do?”

He blinked at you a little blankly before snapping back into it and stuttering, “Okay, well…” he started, looking at his book and fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Basically, all we need to do is fill a balloon with gas, and… tape it to a hockey stick? I wrote it down really complicated, but that’s pretty much…pretty much it. Then we’re going to all come together with our different gas-filled balloons and apply heat to them, to see what happens.” He said, looking up at you through his eyelashes nervously. “Basically.”

You gave him a close-mouthed smile in attempt of reassurance.

“Okay, great.” You spoke rather quietly, as if raising your voice any louder than his would frighten him.

Relief of some sort washed over his face when you smiled at him, and he began setting out the equipment you needed. You scraped all of your hair into a ponytail by the base of your neck and pulled a few pieces out to frame your face, only to tuck them behind your ears anyway. He watched you do this with his apricot lips parted, his hands still working busily to set everything up. You noticed this out the corner of your eye, and he quickly looked away when he realised you caught him staring. His ears were glowing bright red.  

“A-Alright.” He said, voice wavering and he rubbed the back of his neck, “Let’s uh… let’s get started then?”

He was incredibly easy to talk to, once he got semi-comfortable. You discussed your favourite movies while picking which colour balloon you wanted, (Which took far longer than it should have. You both settled on purple.) and your favourite songs as you filled it with gas. He told you about the pack of gummy worms he bought on his way to school that morning and how excited he was to eat them as he drew a face on the balloon with marker and named it ‘Gilbert’, your fingers pinching the opening closed.

Peter blushed really easily. You noticed this when his hand brushed yours as you helped him tape the balloon to a worn hockey stick from the back of the sport shed, after struggling for nearly 10 minutes just to tie the damn thing shut. The pink flush would creep up his neck and stain his cheeks.

Once you had finished, the class gathered around the teacher’s desk with their own gas-filled balloons, everyone accidentally bumping each other with their hockey sticks and laughing apologies. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and blinked slowly, taking a barbeque lighter from a drawer under her desk and clicking the switch on it a few times.

“I expect you all followed the instructions correctly. I’ll now apply heat to all the balloons, filled with different gasses, and you will make your observations. You know how it goes, let’s just get on with it.” She said flatly, sounding so bored that you were worried she’d fall asleep right there, with the lighter in her hand.

Everybody else seemed excited, though, grinning and hitting their friends in the head with their balloons. Peter smiled at you and waved yours around. The face on it had a wide, smiling mouth and round eyes. You let out a giggle, and the two of you watched as each pair in the class took turns holding the lighter to their balloons and observing what happened, some of them popping loudly, others not. When it came to yours and Peter’s turn, he took the lighter in his hands and you stood back, grip on the hockey stick. ‘Gilbert’ was as far away as possible from you, and Peter held the lighter far away from himself as he flicked the flame on, scrunching his face up and awaiting the reaction. For a moment, nothing happened, and everyone’s tense shoulders dropped with an underwhelmed disappointment. Until suddenly, there was a loud bang as the purple balloon bursted, spitting out smoke and sparks and everyone let out surprised shrieks. At first, Peter’s eyebrows shot up, though he laughed anyway, stumbling backward. That was before he noticed the spark on the arm of his sweater that spread into a small, flickering flame.

Peter!” The teacher hollered, eyes wild with panic and she ran for the extinguisher, squeezing the nozzle. Though she aimed for just his arm, Peter ended up with the white, bubbly foam over his entire sweater, some getting in his hair and on his face (Though everyone was sure that was at least a little bit on purpose.). Once the fire was out, there was a second of silence amongst everybody in the room, before they all broke out into laughter. Peter stood there with his arms out by his sides, the foam dropping onto the floor and his shoes from his sleeves. You lowered the hockey stick you were still holding, your eyes wide and lips slightly agape before the corners turned up into a relieved smile. He looked over at you, everybody’s laughs blurring into background noise and he flashed you a shy, sheepish grin.

Maybe the labs weren’t so awful after all.

The Boy Next Door (14)

Summary: You didn’t used to hate the boy next door.

Word Count: 1051

Warnings:  Angst (is there angst in this part? idk), swearing

A/N: i honestly have no idea how much longer this is gonna last. also if you’re interested i have a writing challenge i’m doing you can join if you wanna

Part 13 | Masterlist 

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Jetlag || Joe Sugg

Originally posted by luminescent-jaspar

Requests are currently [ OPEN ]

Masterlist can be found [ HERE ]

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: it’s been a little while and for that i apologise but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy this lil fluffy imagine that i wrote this evening after realising how long it’d been since i posted. enjoy!!xo

The first day of VidCon, in your opinion, was always the most eventful. From the confusion as to whose hotel rooms were located where, to the mess of YouTuber’s crowding the hallways of the building, all huddled into little groups, catching up with their friends and not realizing the delay they were causing.

You’d arrived a little later than everyone else, seeing as you had prior arrangements at home that made it impossible for you to be in America for the first day of the event; which, honestly, wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just meant you missed out on all of the chaos.

You arrived at the hotel, avoiding any form of human contact until you’d managed to get your room key and take a shower, an absolute must after a long haul flight. You’d planned ahead, unlike the majority of your friends, and had booked your hotel room way in advance; which gave you the opportunity to choose what style, the size, and the floor that you’d be staying on.

And so, overjoyed with your single room that was the perfect fit for you, you flop down onto the bed, wiping a bead of sweat away from your eyebrow and staring up at the ceiling, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you thought about how many of your friends you’d finally be able to catch up with over the weekend.

Rolling onto your stomach, you pick up your phone from the spot on the bed where you’d discarded it the moment you walked through the door, forcing yourself to focus on unpacking and washing up before you’d let anything else distract you.

Taking to Twitter, you decide that your first priority was to let your fans know that you’d landed safely and had arrived back at your hotel, a small tradition you had with them. You send out the tweet, amusing yourself and managing to disgust everyone else at the unnecessary amount of emoji’s you used, and proceed to get lost in your timeline, mindlessly scrolling and not even thinking about the fact that you perhaps should’ve been tracking down your friends and spending every moment you could with them before you inevitably had to leave once again.

It was only when you rolled over once again and your eyes landed on the digital alarm clock, did the amount of time that you’d spent mindlessly browsing your social media apps sink in. You groan, throwing your head back against the sheets and locking your screen, tossing the device to your side and clenching your eyes shut. The jetlag was creeping up on you from every direction, and as much as you forced yourself to deny it, the way your limbs ached and your eyes burned were a dead giveaway.

It was already almost ten pm, and given, you’d landed quite late into the evening and hadn’t expected to be able to do that much with your time, and only really mentally prepared yourself for seeing a few of your friends before retiring to your room and sleeping for as long as humanly possible in a bid to relieve yourself of the horrendous achy feeling that came hand in hand with flying for over twelve hours at a time.

You contemplated your options, really only having a few. Number one, you could just risk it and message everyone whom may have been around the hotel, and then have a small reunion. But you were way too exhausted for that. Second, you could just fall asleep now, and brace the wrath of your friends in the morning, blaming the fact that you hadn’t even said hello to one of them on your insane jetlag.

The third option was tempting, and sounded so much more pleasing than the others. You purse your lips before sitting up, tucking your legs underneath your body and picking up your phone, chewing on your bottom lip and pulling up the text log of the one boy in particular whom you’d been desperate to see for a bloody long time.

The short text message you crafted included your room number, and a few more kisses than normal, but you were so excited to finally be able to see him again. You sit on your legs, nervously shuffling around and waiting for a response, staring down at your screen and watching in anticipation as the ‘delivered’ symbol changed to ‘read’.

The message you received back no more than two seconds later, made you smile widely. It was short and straight to the point, telling you that he’d be there in two minutes and he’d bring snacks. The idea of food made you moan in happiness, suddenly thinking back to the last time you’d actually eaten properly, which for sure hadn’t been on the plane.

The plane food incident was a story in itself.

Time flew by, and before you knew it, there were three knocks on the door, and you stared at it for a moment, before hearing a foot bash against the bottom, causing you to unstiffen and grin widely. You stumble up from your position on the bed, running over to the door and swinging it open, throwing yourself into his arms without a second of hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tighter than you thought was humanly possible.

He swoops you off of your feet, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he hugged you to his chest, only placing you back onto your feet when you’d done a full three-sixty spin in the air. Eyes wide, you look up into his eyes, only managing to do so for a few seconds before you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your cheek against his cotton muscle top and mumbling incoherently.

He chuckles, pushing one hand through the length of your hair and using the other to trace random patterns into your arm as you remained pressed up against his chest. “You wanna have some traditional jet-lag cuddles and eat some junk food and then sleep for twelve hours?” He asks, his voice soft as he looks down at you, a small smile on his face.

You pull your head away from his chest, looking up at him sleepily and nodding. “Mhm; yes please.”

“C'mon then, princess.” He mumbles quietly, throwing his arm around your shoulders and tugging you into the hotel room, kicking the door shut and proceeding to spend the rest of the night with his body entwined with yours, his chin resting on the top of your head as you slept.

The way his lips had brushed against yours meant a conversation would be in order; but after a pregnant pause, and your eyes had interlocked with his, in that moment, words weren’t needed. Instead, you sunk back into his arms, and fell asleep within a matter of minutes, mutually deciding that the discussion would wait until the morning.


This is a Spencer x reader requested by @lets-imagine-fanfics. Fair warning, Im pretty sure I wrote this at about 2 in the morning so if there are parts that I failed to edit and remain slightly incoherent, I apologize in advance.

You have to face the unsub that had made you his victim as a child, except none of the team knows that you had been his victim.

Originally posted by toyboxboy

“Damn TV.” Spencer muttered, tugging angrily at his own hair, pacing back and forth and watching helplessly from behind the glass, “Y/N wouldn’t even be in this position if I hadn’t insisted on leaving her the liaison job.” 

“It’s not your fault, Spencer. He would have found her either way.” Rossi tried to reason. He really tried, but Spencer Reid for the first time in his life was beyond reason. He was beyond civility and really all he wanted was to go in there and punch the unsub that had once hurt you and scarred you and left you broken square in the mouth (but that was unethical a voice told him in the back of his mind and he internally grunted in opposition). 

They watched unsub sneer at you from beyond the glass, and even worse they watched you very nearly squirm beneath the interrogative headlights of childhood memories that scar and tore at the pieces and parts of your brain. 

Spencer balls his fist tightly, release, and repeats in an angry cycle, furious with himself and furious at the man that would forever haunt and now taunt his girlfriend. 

“We knew that his last victim had survived! I live with y/n! How the hell did I miss it?” Spencer grated, trying carefully (and failing) to keep his voice from rising.

“There was nothing you could have done to know, Spence,” Emily said from behind him (nobody had seen her approach the room, but Emily had a habit of doing that and nobody even spared her a second glance).

“Emily’s right.” Hotch says, carefully eying Spencer, “We have to trust y/n’s skills as an agent. She’s the only one he’ll talk to.”

Spencer grunted a rough and frustrated I hate this under his breath, and the other agents pretended not to notice.

They all watched with encroaching anxiety as the unsub spoke again, an unsettling chortle. They watched you freeze and repress a shudder and oh god did Spencer and Rossi and Emily and Hotch and Morgan and yes, even sweet-faced JJ want to barge in there and rough up the bastard of an unsub until his teeth were nothing but blood and his morals were flipped on its head (though that all seemed quite unlikely and even moreso unethical). 

All they could do was watch you shiver at the grating sound of the unsub’s voice.

They watched in suspense as the unsub began to lean against the table, a categorical smirk biting at his lips, “I know who you are.” He said, his voice a quivering sing-song falsetto.

Spencer just barely fights that urge again.

You attempt to nonchalantly lean away because there’s not a thing in the world that you hate more than the man that had once strung you up and taught you what the word fear really meant and now that very same man was tainting and chuckling in your direction as if he was impervious to chains and consequences and you refused to let him win.

The unsub’s smirk expanded to reveal characteristically rotten teeth and a rainbow of decay that evaporated into a bone-melbowing laugh, “I’ll never forget you, y/n. Never.”

And that was a very thinly veiled threat that quite blatantly caused Spencer to snap.

In a single bound, Spencer was ripping doors open and flinging his body around in a fervor of fury.

“You shut up, you worthless creep!” Spencer shrieked, word flying like a shield that nobody had expected (and frankly you hadn’t asked for, there had been a reason they expected you to handle the interview, You we’re strong despite everything and this was nothing but a display of Spencer’s seeming lack of confidence)

The unsub didn’t bother to even act threatened, he just laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed until Spencer couldn’t take it anymore and flesh met flesh as Spencer’s fist exploded into the unsub’s cheek.

The room froze, suspended because this was not allowed, but Spencer’s fury was impermeable.

The unsub shrunk a little and so did Spencer as he wordlessly escaped the room.

Spencer would have been in immediate trouble if the unsub hadn’t began to immediately spill his guts to you.

Hotch turned darkly toward Spencer, “We’ll have things to discuss at home, Reid,” He frowned.

Spencer couldn’t really deny anything, “Of course, Hotch,” He said, then he turned and watched you achieve vengeance upon the man that had ripped the innocence of your childhood to absolute shreds.


Originally posted by justonetae

Originally posted by a-court-of-feels-and-pain

She was one of my first tmnt fanfictions and headcanons and to see her notice me has made my life. I love her work so much. Thank you so much.

I know to some a simple reblog may not mean much, and she might be a little creeped out by this but its okay because I love her.

Originally posted by roobascooba

Skin Deep [M]

Taehyung x Reader
Fluff/SMUT/Slight Angst
Word Count: 5,800 
{Request Filled}


Blank whiteness glared up at me through the blank page of unanswered math equations that reflected my empty mind with each second. Math never failed to show me just how stupid I thought I was. The numbers just wouldn’t come easily, scrambling together and switching places as I tried over and over to understand them. Thankfully I had a distraction.

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Chamber of Secrets - Part 8

Originally posted by marvelheroes

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After the Avenger’s falling out, you were put in charge of putting Bucky together. Under King T’Challa’s orders, you were given a month’s time to create a new arm while simultaneously figure out how to get the triggering memories of his past out of his mind. As the time goes by, you found yourself confiding in him, despite his frozen state.

A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters to date, this was really fun to write!

(Sentences in brackets are in Russian)

Previous Part 


You woke up early and energized, eager to start the day. After spending most of your morning preparing, you and the rest of the team regroup in the meeting room and went over yesterday’s discussion.

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sunnyrae20  asked:

Boyf riends "I know its 3 in the morning but I cant find my cat"

Michael clicked the tv off, plunging the basement into thick darkness. He had spent the past countless hours playing a first-person shooter game. After positively annihilating his opponents for the twenty-fifth time, Michael decided that it was about time to call it quits. He had messaged a couple quick good-byes to his buddies, ignoring their requests for him to stay and play “just one round more.” 

He pulled out his phone, blinking at the bright light. Almost 3 AM. Fabulous. At least, tomorrow–wait, scratch that. At least, today was Saturday, so he could sleep as long as he wanted. Michael stuffed his phone back into his pocket and felt against the wall as he made his way upstairs, out of the basement.

Michael pressed a fist to his mouth as he yawned, shutting the door to the stairs that led to the basement. Once it had snicked shut, Michael began to creep to his room. His parents generally didn’t give a crap about his whereabouts, but the last time he had been caught up after midnight, his father had flipped out and–

Well, that was neither here nor there. 

Michael just wouldn’t get caught. Simple as that.

He eased the door shut to his bedroom, cringing as it clicked shut, obscenely loud in the silence. Michael froze for a moment, anxiously waiting for that familiar grumble and the creaking of the hallway. Nothing. He was safe. Michael sighed in relief, intending to collapse into bed and sleep the rest of the weekend away.

A sharp tapping at his window derailed that train of thought.

Michael turned quickly to the window. Jeremy waved at him, gesturing to open the window. He smiled crookedly, cocking his head as he waited for Michael to acquiesce. Michael wanted to say that he was surprised, except, who else would be at his window at–Michael checked his alarm clock–3:04 in the morning

Jeremy rapped the glass again, harder this time. Michael rushed over, yanking the window open. “Be quiet,” he hissed. “If my father hears you, we’re both dead.”

“Hi, Michael,” Jeremy greeted, tumbling through the open window and onto the floor. He hit the ground with a loud thump that had Michael jerking towards the direction of his bedroom door and just praying that– “I missed you.”

“Are you… drunk?” Michael asked, his nose wrinkling at the scent of alcohol that seemed to seep off of Jeremy’s clothes.

Jeremy frowned at him. “I missed you, Michael. Do… Do you not miss me?”

Michael rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. It was three in the goddamn morning. “I did miss you, Jeremy, but I would have much preferred for this conversation to take place when the sun was up.” Michael punctuated his comment by gesturing to the stars that still glittered outside.

Jeremy followed Michael’s gesture, leaning against the window frame. “Yeahhhh… But the stars are just so pretty, aren’t they? I wish I could just have one for my own. Just one.” Jeremy started to reach for a star, Michael supposed, and began to tilt out of the window dangerously. Michael grabbed Jeremy’s shirt before he could fall to his untimely death (though, Michael was just about exasperated enough to shove Jeremy out and deal with all of this in the morning) and shut the window before Jeremy could accidentally–or not so accidentally, depending on how fed up Michael became–tumbled to the ground.

“That’s nice, Jeremy, but what in the world are you doing here?”

“Oh. I can’t find my cat.”

Michael stared at Jeremy, wondering if he had misheard his best friend. “Your cat?”

“Yeah, my cat. It’s orange. I think. Huh, I can’t remember now.”

“That’s… Jeremy, you don’t have a cat,” Michael explained.

Jeremy grinned. “Well, that would explain why I couldn’t find it!”

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. He loved his best friend, he truly did. But, he just couldn’t deal with a drunk Jeremy right now. “Okay, we solved that mystery. You’ve got to get home.”

Jeremy’s forehead crinkled. “You… you want me to leave?” he asked, almost pitifully.

“No, Jeremy… Well, yes, I do, but not because–”

It was too late. Jeremy had begun to cry.

Michael really just wanted to pound his head against the wall, but that would really wake up his father. He hadn’t realized that Jeremy was so… emotional when drunk. “B-but, Michael,” Jeremy was blubbering, “I–I don’t want to g-go. I want to stay here with you!” Jeremy grabbed Michael’s waist, pulling him onto the bed.

“That’s, uh, nice, but, Jeremy, I really need to get you home.” 

“Don’t you love me?” Jeremy wailed.

Michael clapped a hand over Jeremy’s mouth. “Be quiet,” Michael hissed. “You’ll wake my father.” Once Jeremy had quieted down, except for the constant mournful sniffs, Michael removed his hand. “Okay, okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to drive you home and help you settle down and, after you’re asleep, I’ll leave. Does that sound okay?”

Jeremy nodded slowly. “W-we’re still friends?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, we’re still friends. Even though it’s…” Michael glanced at the clock, sighing. “Even though it’s 3:19 in the morning. You owe me sushi.” Michael helped Jeremy to his feet, before pausing. There wasn’t really any good way to get Jeremy out of the house. Going out the window could very well lead to Jeremy falling to his death. And going through the house would involve creeping past his parents’ room and Michael didn’t trust Jeremy to be quiet enough. Which meant…

“Um, change of plans,” Michael decided. “You’ll stay here and I’ll just set my phone alarm so that we can get up before my father gets up.” Michael figured that he could stash Jeremy in his closet or something and then pretend to be asleep when his father would, inevitably, check on him in the morning. That would have to work. If Michael had thought it had hurt when his father had caught him up after midnight, getting caught with a boy in his room would be indescribably painful.

“Okay,” Jeremy said, laying down on Michael’s bed and pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I knew you loved me.”

Michael sighed, quickly setting an alarm on his phone and praying that he would wake up to it this time. “Yeah, yeah,” Michael agreed, slipping under the covers. Jeremy immediately latched onto him, cuddling against his shoulder. Michael stiffened for a moment, before relaxing. “Yeah, Jeremy, of course, I love you.”

How Could I Not Have A Crush On You?

Marvel (X-Men) One Shot

Characters: [FEMALE] Reader x Raven Darkhölme + Charles Xavier, Erik Lensherr, Hank McCoy, Sean Cassidy, Darwin, Angel Salvadore & Alex Summers

Warnings: mild swearing ish 

Request: “One-shot: can you write something based on “ imagine revealing to the X-Men that you’re a nymph ” please?” - anonymous

Word Count: 2,086

A/N: Related gif imagine is here [x]. hope you don’t mind me centring it around Raven. and tbh i don’t even really know what a nymph is i had to do some research so sorry if this isn’t accurate !! i kinda threw in the whole controlling nature power stuff because i read a lot of stuff which related nature to nymphs. okay i’m rambling, hope you like it!!

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A Little Piece of Heaven

bathing together seems like a very nice idea in writing but is probably terrible in practice. so here’s MCxJumin bathing together. i wanted to write pure fluff with jumin and this is what my brain thought of. enjoy.

You breathe a sigh of relief as soon as the door to the penthouse closed behind you. The comforting sight, the familiar smell, the pleasant silence that you’ve grown used to - it was home. And you were just awfully glad to be home.

After a long, gruelling day, all you wanted to do was get out of your clothes, jump into a warm bath and head to bed. The pounding headache and the soreness of your whole body only egged you on to do so. You were dying to just melt into the clean, crisp sheets of your bed and sleep the rest of the day away.

Usually, you would have gone around the penthouse to look for Elizabeth but today would be an exception. The occasional scuttling of her tiny little paws were sure enough proof that she was around. You dropped your bags to the floor with a resounding thud that filled up the quiet penthouse, shoulders way too tired and stiff from carrying them the whole day. Maybe you should have agreed to the bodyguard’s offer of carrying them for you.

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| Warnings: Smut, daddy kink. |


[Authors Note: This is a birthday fic for my friend, Sarah, happy birthday!! ]





The constant tapping noises on his window were all he could hear in the dead silence of night.

He writhed in his small twin bed, not wanting to get up but wanting to stop the constant tapping.

He stood, scratching his bed head as he walked to the window, unlatching it and lifting.


“Shh.” She put her index finger to her lips as she crawled in his brown coloured room.

“What are you doing here?” Dan asked as he stood in his boxers, arms wrapped around [Y/N].

She stood up on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against Dan’s ear. “I’m horny.” She could’ve swore she could hear him smirk.

He lifted her body and laid her on his bed. “You’re gonna hate me so much.” He whimpered as he started kissing her neck, avoiding sucking on it as he knew she disliked hickeys. His hands traveled down her body, rubbing this, squeezing that, removing her shirt as he did.

She moaned underneath him, wrapping her arms around his tan shoulders, as he moved down from her neck to her collarbone, leaving kisses on it as he worked on her pants, unbuttoning and slipping them off, sliding her underwear off with them.

He ran his finger down her slit, barely touching it, but making enough contact to send shivers down her spine. He pushed his index finger inside her, and slowly thrusted it, keeping eye contact with [Y/N] the whole time.

Suddenly, Dan got an idea, and he removed his finger from her, causing a groan to escape her lips. He grabbed one of his school uniform ties, and tied up her hands. “Oh babygirl, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.” [Y/N] looked at him confusedly.

He slipped off his underwear, letting them fall to his ankles, and took his member in his hands. She leaned up as much as she could without using her hands. He stroked himself, eyes closed and head lulled back in pleasure. He stroked faster, the tip of his member dripping precum, he was quickly coming undone by his own touch. “Dan Howell don’t you dare.” She whined out, fear of what he would do lacing her voice.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she loved when Dan teased her like this. And seeing him touching himself and in so much pleasure right in front of her sent chills down her spine. “Dan.” She stuttered out. “Please just cum in my mouth, please.” He ignored her, and almost immediately after she spoke, he came, shooting his cum on her stomach.

“I’m sorry babygirl.” Dan smirked, looking down at her helpless figure.

He crawled onto the bed on top of her, tracing a finger from her belly button up to her lips, gently pushing his finger in her mouth for her to taste him. She sucked on his finger until he pulled it out, repeating the process.

“Stop being such a tease.” She mumbled, his finger still in her mouth.

“But I enjoy teasing you, babygirl.”

He pulled his finger out of her mouth, and slid his body down, his head level with her stomach.

He began licking his cum off of her, like a kitten, licking it up and then kissing her harshly, the taste of himself lingering on both of their lips.

Her lips ghosted away from his, just enough for her to speak.

“Fuck me, daddy.”

Dan, who was already hard again, lifted her legs and rested them on his hips, roughly sliding himself into her.

He pounded into her roughly, his hand found his way to her throat, grabbing it harshly, but not enough to hurt her.

[Y/N] moaned loudly, and Dan moved his large hand from her throat to her mouth. “Keep it down.”

His thrusts became faster, and harder. The sound of skin on skin filled the room.

[Y/N] mumbled against Dan’s hand, he moved it away from her mouth and she spoke.

“I’m close.”

“Cum for me, kitten.”

He sped up his thrusts, and kissed her slightly sore lips gently.

She came, and Dan rode out her orgasm, holding her body close to his.

“I let you cum, now suck me off.”

[Y/N] leaned up, getting on her knees. He stood, his hand around his member, rubbing the head against her swollen lips.

“Open.” He commanded, one hand around his member, the other tangled in her hair.

She opened her mouth, and he slid himself in, slowly fucking her mouth.

She looked up at him with somber eyes, and he fucked her mouth a bit faster, his thrusts already becoming erratic.

He lulled his head back once more, eyes shut and moans escaping his plump lips.

He came in her mouth, she sealed her eyes shut, tears creeping out of the corners. She swallowed his salty juices, licking her lips once he removed himself from her.

“Proud of you.” He forced out, his throat dry and his voice husky.

He cupped her cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb against it.

He laid back down on the bed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down with him then throwing the duvet over them.

They drifted off to comfortable sleep, until [Y/N] woke up in the night to run back home, completely sticky.

She blamed Dan for the 3 showers she had to take before school, but deep down, she didn’t really mind.

But just to get revenge, she dumped a can of soda on his lap at lunch.