stared at this for five minutes

This is just fluff!!! Inspired by 13.06.

The first time Castiel nudged Dean awake in a motel in Boise, he quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a gun with the silhouette of Dean’s ridiculous bedhead behind it. “Dean?” he raised both hands, mostly out of imitation since bullets meant nothing. He watched as Dean stared back and blinked the sleep from his eyes before groaning, “Shit. Sorry, Cas” and lowered his gun.

He’d already known that Dean had lightning-fast instincts, instincts he’d honed since he was a child and had to protect Sam all by himself. Later that morning, after his coffee, Dean looked a little sheepish and pink around the edges. Cas could only assure him that it was okay, filling Dean’s mug and kissing his cheek.

Cas eventually learned that Dean didn’t startle when they woke together, their limbs loosely tangled. That Dean just snuffled and pulled him closer, muttering, “Five more minutes” while Cas softly laughed. “Who’s making me coffee?” he always asked, already on his way to the kitchenette. It was rhetorical and Cas would merely huff, taking in his fill of Dean in his boxers.

Dean slept especially well when they turned in early to watch a movie, propped against the pillows. Dean used to talk a big game about drinking at bars - and Castiel knew that had once been his life - but these days, with their base at the bunker, Dean preferred to stay in unless they were on the road. He liked to rest his cheek on Cas’ shoulder, gesturing excitedly at the screen. He knew his trivia cold when it came to westerns and made Cas watch his favorites whenever he could. He didn’t mind persuading Cas with smiles and kisses, and Cas certainly didn’t mind being persuaded. Though that never stopped him from occasionally sighing and grumbling at the guns and tuberculosis.

He remembered passing through a town with a touristy gift shop, their route more leisurely after a hunt. He saw Dean linger at a rack of hats and asked Sam to distract him while he purchased two. The sound Dean made when Cas wore one that night was a memory he logged away with incredible smugness. It was worth Sam glaring at them the next morning, made worse by Dean’s innuendos about riding cowboys. Cas knew better than to step into the middle of it, but kept his hand on Dean’s knee underneath their table.

He knew what it meant to indulge Dean like this, to be so well-acquainted with someone and allow his entire world to revolve around him. He knew what Dean was like in the morning, at night, in between, and could sometimes predict the words he’d say before he said them. They would bicker and kiss and let their spaces overlap and Cas was all too happy to keep it that way.

So, now, when Jack turns to him and says, “He… really likes cowboys,” he just replies, “Yes, he does” while they both watch Dean examine the hotel room like a kid in the candy store. He wears the cowboy hat Dean hands him later and calls it “absurd” though he goes along with it, because if this is something that’ll make Dean smile, then that’s what truly matters. It’s been that way for years.

At one point, back at the hotel, Dean still in his getup - bolo tie and all - Cas is crowded gently against the wooden paneling with an armful of cowboy and playful green eyes. “Hey, there, handsome,” Dean quirks his lips, and Cas fights the laughter bubbling from his chest. “I’m a hunter and it’s ‘you’ season.”

Castiel laughs for real then. “Then catch me, cowboy.”

Then

Summary: A little drabble based on the song Then by Brad Paisley

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 854 with lyrics

Warnings: None. All fluff.

A/N: I’m trapped in parent conferences and getting sick, so I wrote this as an escape. I needed Dean today and maybe you do too.

Originally posted by atc74

Dean stood at the edge of the vast, overgrown field, staring into the rapidly darkening sky, watching as the blue was kissed by rays of pink and gold light. He let his mind wander as he waited and, as always, it wandered right back to you.

I remember, trying not to stare, the night that I first met you
You had me mesmerized
And three weeks later, in the front porch light
Taking forty-five minutes to kiss goodnight
I hadn’t told you yet
But I thought I loved you then


4 years ago

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Hold Onto That

Characters: Demon!Dean x Reader, Crowley

Word Count: 978

Warnings: Angst, Dean’s POV, this is demon!Dean so you know it’s already going to be angsty as hell

Request by @mina22: Hey girllll !Can I get a dean x reader where dean is a demon and he finally answers her call after so long and says “dean if this is you,I love you.Hold on to that”.You can decide what happens after

Summary: You won’t give up on Dean Winchester even if it’s the last thing you do. 

Author’s Note: If you want to be a Queen or a Dean Bean, let me know and I’ll add you to the lists!

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

Turning into a demon was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t have to carry all the heavy shit on my shoulders, I don’t have to worry about who likes me and who doesn’t and I especially don’t have to worry about others around me.

I do what I want and frankly, I don’t give a damn about who says anything different. I left the people I once called my family, Sam and Y/N. Ah, Y/N, she was once the love of my life but I gave up on that mess a long time ago.

She became another problem in my life so I left and I didn’t look back. That didn’t stop her and Sam to come looking for me but I was careful about what I did and if I left a trail or not. Crowley, on the other hand, knew where I was always and that annoying son of a bitch wouldn’t leave me alone.

All I want to do is live my life the way I want without anyone bothering me. Like now, I want to enjoy a few glasses of whiskey, take the bartender home and leave the town to jump into the next. All I wanted was peace.

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professaurus  asked:

a) Alyanette, coupons or b) Ladrien, origami

“What’s this?” Alya asked, looking at the scrap of paper Marinette had pushed into her hands. 

Marinette blushed. “Read it.”

Alya raised an eyebrow but did what she asked. “’Coupon for one date with your forgetful girlfriend’?” She laughed. “Marinette, you dork!”

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.” Marinette’s shoulders slumped, ashamed. “I’ve just been so busy with exams and my internship.”

Alya looked quizzical. ”What did you even forget?”

Marinette’s eyes widened as she stared at her girlfriend in disbelief. “Our anniversary!”

“Oh!” It was Alya’s turn to blush and look ashamed. “It’s May already? Damn, universary is killing me and i just… I’m sorry Mari!”

Marinette laughed. “It’s fine. Now I can be superior for at least remembering five minutes earlier.” 

Alya snorted as she leaned in to kiss Marinette. “We’ll have to use the coupon soon. Once we aren’t so busy.” 

After Tonights Ep

Dean and Castiel driving back to the bunker

Dean having all sorts of questions, his breath hitching in his throat every time Castiel catches Dean staring at him because he still can’t fully believe his angel is back

Castiel questioning if Dean is okay as he keeps catching Dean glancing at him every five seconds now

Dean playing it cool and brushing Castiel’s question off.

Castiel noticing minutes later the extra water in Dean’s eyes

Dean giving in, pulling over and sobbing how he’s not okay, how he’s missed Castiel and how destroyed he was after losing him, and his mother, in one night and how he can’t be sure Castiel is even real right now

Castiel comforting his hunter and showing that he is real and telling Dean how much he missed him and how happy he is to be alive and being able to hug Dean again

Castiel riding Dean in the backseat after they’ve caught up and had their fill on the emotional “chick-flick” moments in his cowboy boots, tie, and cowboy hat

today at denny’s i was being my usual 58 year old cis woman self and wearing my “i read about men beating up other men in a sexual context for my own enjoyment” shirt, yknow as i do

and there is this little girl in the line behind me, she was probably, like, nine, what a fucking scrub

and shes been staring at my shirt for the last five minutes so i say “do you have something to say to me you filthy fucking gremlin”

and she replies with “thats kinda weird”

a woman who i assume to be her mom suddenly squeezed up through the floorboards, still no idea how she did that, and said “fiction doesn’t affect reality jessica. as soon as we’re getting home you’re scrubbing the entire fucking house with a pencil eraser.”

the girl starts crying and her mom drags her out of the denny’s, but not before giving me the secret “i, too, love pretending gay men exist for my enjoyment” handshake. 

the entire restaurant starts slow-clapping it out for me. the cashier gave me free lunch and permission to fuck his wife whenever i want.

what a fantastic day.

i know that in canon magnus thinks he and lup didn’t hang out enough but like.., i absolutely cannot imagine a reality in which magnus and the twins did not get into Good and Goofy Hijinks™ almost immediately like i can only imagine them being introduced to make sure that the people they’re shooting into space in a tin can can tolerate each other and within five minutes lucretia staggers out of the room, smoking slightly and davenport is like “oh shit do they not get along”

and lucretia gives him this stare and says “no,” she says, “they get along TOO WELL”

cut to the room: magnus’ hair is on fire and he’s doing pushups with both taako and lup on his back while both of them egg him on loudly and unintelligibly. taako is chugging something, no one knows what. magnus puts his hand up for a high five and continues doing push-ups one handed and the resulting “AYYYYYY” of excitement is so loud that the building shakes

Once upon a time there was a beast and a curse and an enchantress, which I’m sure surprises nobody. Better put it this way: once upon a time a girl was locked in a castle, and she begged so hard not to be the sleeping princess that she became the beast. That’s more like it, anyway — fairytale logic. You get what you wish for, but it isn’t what you want.

“Don’t let it be a prince,” she begged, “don’t let it be a kiss I can’t see coming and can’t refuse.”

Enchantresses, wicked fairies, call them what you will — they’re all the same story in the end. No one will remember if this enchantress began the story by giving the princess a naming day gift of a hundred year sleep once the tale switches to another track. The point is that she didn’t mind granting this one favor. Maybe it was an issue of statistics. Maybe she thought finding a girl who would fall in love with a princess-beast would be harder than finding a prince to kiss her, make her curse harder to lift (considering the probabilities of who might wander onto the cursed castle grounds). As if girls who love girls don’t know they have to fight harder to begin with, as if they won’t cross miles for each other.

So maybe there was a spindle once, but now there is a rose, and a girl who wanders through a thorn maze unable to find her way. This is the wrong story, she thinks to herself, clutching her leather satchel tighter, but she doesn’t know what the right story is.

“Let me through?” She suggests to the roses that grow squeezed between their own thorns along the twisting hedges. “I’m looking for the love of my life. I’m in a hurry.”

She’s met only with the rustling of leaves and haughty scoffs. “No prince ever found his true love by being in a hurry.”

“I’m not a prince. I’m a shoemaker, and I’m lost. Can you let me through to the castle?” It rises dark and spindly overhead, but though it seems so close she can see no way out of the maze.

Laughter, echoing through the hedge corridors, and then something dark prowls around the corner and half-crouches there, hidden as much as possible under a hooded cloak. Shining talons dig into the earth under their feet.

The beast says, “A shoemaker? You really are in the wrong story.” Her voice is gravely and doesn’t match the laughter. That must have been the roses as well.

“I have glass shoes,” the girl says, staring at those claws. “Or I can make something sturdier, if you give me time.”

“I don’t have enough time of my own to be giving it away,” the beast says, bored, and gestures around them. Even now the hedges seem to be encroaching further into the maze’s corridors, the roses growing and multiplying. One day soon, the girl realizes, the maze will entirely fill in, and the castle will be blocked off.

She’s clever, and she’s brave, and those are the two most important things for a fairytale heroine to be — besides pretty, but that’s easy enough to fake with the right kind of smile. “Then don’t give it to me,” she says, “we can share.”

So the beast reaches out one arm, fingers tapering into knives that she curls so gently they don’t more than scratch the girl’s skin — and the shoemaker takes it with an earnest gravity, looking right under her cloak’s shadow and into her eyes.

The beast’s eyes are unnaturally big and inhumanly shaped, but they’re not cruel, and in fairytales the evil beasts always have cruel eyes. The girl bobs a polite curtsey, using the beast’s arm for balance, and sees those eyes narrow slightly with amusement.

They walk through the twists and turns of the maze to the castle, the beast bent slightly so as not to tower over her guest. “About those shoes,” she says, when they reach the front doors, golden light spilling from the entrance hall and shining through the delicately carved details in the ancient wood.

“In the morning,” the girl says, and because she clearly has not even entertained the thought that she might be argued with, the beast cannot summon an objection. She watches the girl follow an unfurling carpet along the floor to a dusty guest room with no hesitation, as if every dwelling should be as accommodating.

And in the way of fairytales, that’s enough to make the beast fall in love — a disregard for every unspoken rule, a smile that glimmers in the darkness. Should I tell you that the moment the girl arrives at breakfast the next morning the beast can barely look away from her for a moment, that she stays by the girl’s side as she produces leather and tools from nowhere and searches floor by floor for the perfect room to work in — or should I let you imagine for yourself?

Gradually the hood is pulled back, eventually the cloak discarded altogether; they sit in patches of sunlight together to eat lunch, staring down at the maze below. Roses and leaves devouring each other and everything in slow motion.

“If you stay too long you’ll be trapped here,” the beast warns, anxious when the girls shows no concern in her usual solemn air as she watches the maze devolve.

“I haven’t finished your shoes,” is all she says. Each new morning she promises that in return for this latest night of hospitality she is making the shoes more beautiful, and each evening that she has not finished she stays another night.

Sometimes when the girl has gone to bed the beast sneaks back into the workroom, in agony over whether to rip out the stitches or finish the work for her.

Leave before you are trapped here forever.

Stay here forever because I love you.

Each night she does not touch the shoes and returns to sleep herself, and in the morning the girl thanks her for letting her stay, as if the beast could ever turn her out, and promises to repay the night with even more beautiful shoes.

And each morning the beast says, “That’s fair,” and wishes she could find different words, the words she means to say.

The maze grows. The roses are larger than hands with fully spread fingers. The corridors are barely large enough for a small girl to squeeze through. In the dawn light it is lit gently and slightly pink, but the sight of it is painful. The wide window of the workroom shows the progress the maze had made alarmingly clearly, and it’s only then that the beast wonders if that was the appeal of this room over all the others.

The girl appears silently in the doorway as she has for the past week. “Thank you for letting me stay last night. I’ll repay you—”

“No,” the beast says, her voice alarmed and rough. “No. You are leaving now.”

“Now?”

“Before you can’t leave. You must go now.” Her throat is closing up and her voice growing thicker with each word. They’re not the words she wants to say.

The girl cocks her head, a curiously nonjudgmental silence. Finally she crosses the room to her worktable and picks up the shoes, turning them around and around again. They’re boots, really, and almost comically big in her hands. The beast cannot tell if they are as beautiful as she was promised, because the girl is smiling now and that eclipses all else.

“Are they finished?” She asks.

“Yes,” the beast says, unable to choke out anything more.

The girl leaves the boots on the table and swings her satchel, out of nowhere, across her shoulders. “Thank you for sharing your time,” she says. For a moment she holds the beast’s hand in both of hers, and then she’s gone. From the window the beast can watch her leave; for all her trouble getting there, she finds her way out with ease.

She leaves the workroom and doesn’t return all day.

Do beasts grieve? She hadn’t thought they could. She hadn’t grieved when the curse was settled on her; she hadn’t grieved at the idea that it might never lift once the maze finally knit itself together during the coming night. But the loneliness she feels now was different. The absence of the shoemaker is something worse. She’d had no choice in her fate, but she had told the girl to leave. This misery she’d brought on herself.

At night she wanders back into the workroom out of habit, sleepless and hopeless and refusing to glance out the window. Has it happened yet? Is she truly trapped now, or will it happen in five minutes, an hour, at dawn? She stares at the boots for an indeterminable amount of time before she thinks of putting them on.

She does so only because she thinks the girl wanted her to wear them; left to her own devices she might have destroyed them with as little thought as she now gives to slipping them on. They are big enough, and the fasteners are easy to close even with her unwieldy claws. Designs etched into the leather yet invisible in the darkness spiral and branch out beneath the thumb-pad she runs over them. Vines, she thinks. Roses.

A tear slips out, or three, as she stands in her beautiful new boots and smells leather and rotting roses. I want her back, she thinks, even as a wave of thankfulness rises up from the deepness in her, thankfulness that the shoemaker will never feel this trapped. I want to go to her, she revises. Since she doesn’t know how, she goes to leave the workroom instead.

One step and darkness is rushing past her. The rough scrap of stone walls, the rustle of leaves and the tearing of thorns, night air soft all around her. She has stepped not into the hallway but out of the castle, beyond the maze, into the star-dappled night.

“What did you do?” She asks, alarmed, almost before she sees the shoemaker sitting cross-legged on the grassy hill, as still as if she has been waiting all day and night. “What happened?”

“I found what I came for,” the girl says calmly. “And I made her shoes.”

Yuuri has a picture of Victor and him as his lockscreen and wallpaper, maybe from their day at the beach or a picture someone took during their pair skate or a picture from practice where they are both sweaty and laughing and so in love.

But Victor has (two different) pictures of just Yuuri and he changes them a lot (because he takes a lot of pictures of Yuuri and would like to use them as a wallpaper all at the same time), and every time he opens his phone he just forgets what he was about to do and stares at the picture for a full five minutes, marvelling at the beauty of his husband.

And one time, Yuuri uses Victor’s phone because his own is dead (when Victor is still in the shower or sth bc you know The Hair) and Victor’s lockscreen is a picture Yuuri didn’t even know existed of him looking out over the city lights of Saint-Petersburg with a small smile around his lips while he’s absentmindedly patting Makkachin, and his heart just swells until he can hardly breathe, and he figures out how to make your phone switch wallpapers every time you open them and takes a bunch of selfies where he blows kisses and makes funny faces and just smiles, but he leaves the lockscreen the way it is. And now every time Victor opens his phone, his heart stops beating for a moment and whenever one of the pictures appear Yuuri took, he immediately calls him if he’s not around to tell him how much he loves him and asks him to get married again.

DeanCas Coda to 13x04: The Big Empty

Unsurprisingly, the thrill of being on Earth fades after two days of relentless walking, bumming rides, and begging for bus money. Not that Castiel can’t appreciate the sunshine and flowers and corporeality of it all… but about one minute after standing up and taking in the warmth and smells and feel of the world around him, his thoughts immediately turned to the Winchesters. To Jack.

To Dean.

It’s Dean specifically whose name runs on a loop in his mind; whose memories have Castiel’s heart stuttering and blood racing in his veins. By the time he’s walking up to the Bunker door, Cas’s palms are slick with sweat and he’s exhausted despite his Grace, anxiety clawing under his skin. He re-adjusts his new coat and tie about fifteen times, and attempts to flatten his hair into some kind of order. He stares at the door for a good five minutes before gathering enough courage to knock.

It’s Dean who answers.

He’s thinner than the last time Castiel saw him, with dark bruises under his eyes and a paleness lurking beneath his skin that is frightening. He looks haggard, and defeated, and despite all of that Cas is still made breathless. Because he is standing in the doorway whole. Because they are both whole, and living. 

“Give it a rest, Mia. I ain’t buyin’ what you’re selling.”

The door is closed in his face.

It’s amazing, how one sentence can break a person. But no matter. Castiel  knows, logically, that Dean think’s he’s dead. Four days ago, he wouldn’t have been wrong. So, pushing those pesky, unrealistic fantasies of a romantic reunion aside, he swallows thickly, and knocks again. 

Dean answers with a glare this time. “Look, I get that we helped you, but following us all the way out here is just friggin’ creepy, okay?! And invasive! So leave us the hell alone before I decide to do something I regret.” Scoffing, he gives Castiel a cursory look up and down before shaking his head. “Some shifter you are,” he mutters. “You even got his clothes wrong.”

“Dean, wait.”

“I’m really not in the mood right now, okay? So just—”

“Dean, it’s me.”

Dean pauses. Shakes his head. Pauses again.

“You can test me,” Castiel says. “In fact, I insist. But don’t—don’t close the door again. Please, I just—it’s me. I swear it’s me.”

Green eyes play across his face, but if he’s searching for duplicity, he’ll find none. Staring back, Cas waits for Dean to come to a decision, finally muttering a “wait here”, before closing the door for a second time. Left alone, Cas feels his shoulders slump in relief. Dean will test him, and then he’ll know. He’ll know and Castiel will finally go home.

They do holy water first and iron first, saving silver for last. Even when both other tests have been completed, Dean hesitates at the third, looking at Cas’s big blue eyes and biting his lip. Castiel rolls up his sleeve and holds out his arm. “Please,” he murmurs. 

Dean quickly slices the silver blade in a shallow cut on Cas’s forearm, watching with wide eyes when the skin easily knits back together. 

The knife drops to the ground with an almighty clang. 

Dean’s hand comes up to shakily cover his mouth as his eyes, red-rimmed and shining, remain trained on Castiel’s. “No,” he murmurs. “Uh uh, I’m dreaming. I’m—I burned you. I’ve finally cracked, I—”

“No,” Castiel urges. “It’s me. It’s Cas.”

“I know who you are, dumbass.” Tears spill onto freckled cheeks as a huffed laugh is startled out of Dean’s chest. His hands twitch at his sides. “It’s really you.”

“Yes.”

They’re hugging. Dean has launched himself at Castiel’s person, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and cradling the back of his head. His shoulders shake as he buries his face in Cas’s neck, and of his part, Castiel holds on as tightly as he can without causing harm. He blinks rapidly in an effort to dispel his own tears and leans heavily into the warmth that now surrounds him from what feels like all sides. 

“Cas,” Dean mumbles, his voice thin and watery. “Cas. Castiel. Cas.

“Dean.” Castiel doesn’t mean to turn his head, just as he doesn’t mean to lean in when Dean pulls back to see what’s happening. He does, however, mean to kiss Dean Winchester within an inch of his life when it becomes clear that this is a thing he’s permitted to do.

So he does it.

Castiel kisses Dean thoroughly. Methodically. Pressing little demonstrations of love to his mouth before deepening it to something wanton and wet. Cas’s heart tumbles against his ribcage, and his cheeks heat, and Dean runs a hand through his hair in a way that is so different from that creature in the empty that Castiel almost sobs anew. He kisses Dean with everything he is, and Dean whimpers. Freckled hands cup Cas’s cheeks.

From the war room, Sam holds Jack’s shoulder, keeping him in place. “Just… wait a sec, okay?“ he says, staring up at the pair pressed together on the threshold. “They need this.”

“They love each other,” Jack observes.

"Yeah,” Sam nods. Blinking rapidly, he looks at the child beside him and smiles. “They do.”

TAGS: @musingsdeme @jdragon122 @zolaliz @patrcolvs @natmoose @casolantern @high-on-netflix @dramaqueenrolf @lanaserra (If you want to be tagged in my codas, please let me know!)

Bruises On Another (part one)

Originally posted by stydiaislove

Prompt: Steve doesn’t know where they come from, and he isn’t exactly sure why they’re there. All he knows is that his body is littered in bruises, and there’s something different about them. They aren’t just bruises, and they certainly didn’t come from a trip in a step or clumsiness. No, Steve knows there’s more behind the marks that litter his body. 

THIS IS A SERIES: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: marks, bruises, pain, physical abuse, etc.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently. 

P.S. This a soulmate AU.

Tag’s List: @slythergirlimagines
Want to be featured on the tag’s list? Message me letting me know!


His fingers danced over the marks that littered his skin, his brows furrowed in a questioning matter. Purple and blues dents in his skin, mainly on his upper arm and scratches along his chest. They didn’t hurt, rather they just existed and if Steve never looked, he’d never know they were there. This was new, Steve thought. He had no idea where these marks came from or even why they were there.

“Steve!” His father yelled and Steve was brought back to the reality of the world. Blinking, he let his eyes fall one final time on his bruised arm before standing up and slipping his backpack over his shoulders. He’s in his finale year of high school and the pressure is on more than it’d ever been before.

Sighing, Steve ran a hand through his hair before turning and exiting his room. He was met with the sight of his father at the bottom or the stairs, staring up at him with a shake of the head. “Aren’t you meant to pick up Nancy?” He asked, his hands on hips.

Steve nodded; “i’m heading there now.” 

With one final glance from his father, Steve made his way out the front door and towards his car. The bruises slipped to the back of his mind as he threw his keys in the air with pride, and caught them. Life was going great for Steve Harrington, and he couldn’t be more happy. After everything that had happened a year ago, he’d changed; for the better. And he had an amazing girlfriend to help him through the changes.

Steve had fallen in love with Nancy Wheeler, and there was no doubting that those who saw them thought they were meant to be. He was sure that she was the one and honestly, Steve felt like the luckiest man alive. 

With a wide grin, he opened the door to his car and slid in. His eyes fell to the rearview mirror for one final check on his hair and make sure it was at full volume length, and it was. With a satisfied click of his tongue, Steve pushed his keys into the ignition and turned them, hearing the satisfying hum of the car engine starting up. The drive to Nancy’s house took no time at all, and soon he found himself parked just before her driveway and the girl herself was walking down the steps with a smile on her lips.

Steve, being the gentleman he was, leaned over the passengers seat and opened the door up for his girlfriend. Nancy followed his lead, slipping into the car with her books in hand before setting them down on her lap. Steve expected her to say ‘good morning’ or something of the such, but the minute her eyes caught his, her smile turned into a frown.

Steve’s own face fell with confusion, furrowing his brows as one hand rested itself on top of his steering wheel. “Geez, good morning to you too, Nance.” Steve teased, still not quite sure what had caught her attention.

Though the girl only reached out one lithe arm and touched his face with a certain gentleness. Steve meant her eyes that were flooded with concern and snarled his lips in bafflement. “Really Nancy…” He started, reaching up to grasp her wrist gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Your face.” Nancy mumbled, her fingers dancing over Steve’s face, but specifically his left eye. “Your- Your eye, who did that to you?” 

Steve fumbled for a response before glancing back into his rearview mirror in question. What he found was definitely not what he expected, and now his own fingers danced over the new and fresh bruise marking his left eye. “What the…” He mumbled, scooting forward in his seat in utter bewilderment. Just like the marks on his arm, a purple and blue coating covered his left eye; somehow and somewhere he’d gotten a black eye.

He allowed his eyes to fall on Nancy for a moment, finding her just as concerned as he was but confused by his reaction.

Looking at the bruise one finale time, Steve blinked and leaned back; shaking his head. “O-Oh, that.” He tried to cover up his confusion, offering a small smile Nancy’s way. “When I was playing basketball… um, the ball came and hit me in the face. It was a stupid mistake, nothing to worry about.”

Nancy looked skeptical of his lie but let it slide; “well, just be more careful next time.” Steve nodded, situating himself back into his seat comfortably and turning back on the engine. Though his mood had shifted slightly from the particular mark now covering his eye, and he bit his lip in thought;

Where had that bruise come from?


“You can do this.” Your own eye met yours through the bathroom mirror, and you tried to swallow down the fear that consumed you. Eyeing your left eye, you glance at it one final time to make sure that it’d been fully covered by make up and let out a breath of relief when you found the marks underneath completely unnoticeable. “You can do this.”

With one final deep breath, you pushed yourself up from the bathroom sink and brushed down your hair. You met your own eye one last time before turning and heading for the exit. The second you opened the door, you stepped back in surprise when a flutter of kids your age walked by. Narrowly missing their bodies smacking your own, you tried to ignore the rapid beating of your heart.

“Room two-sixty-five. Room two-sixty-five.” You repeated in your head, glancing at the small sheet of paper the front office had given you. That was it, room two-sixty-five. Simple enough.

But as you stared at the littering figures of teenagers and the amount of classrooms with numbers a top of them, you knew that wasn’t true. Starting in a new high school was hard enough, but in the middle of your final year was even more difficult. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pulled your sleeves further down your arm, nodding your head and begun walking. You must of walked around for a good ten minutes before a bell rung, which you could only assumed meant the beginning of class. You cursed yourself and the fact that you were so bad at directions, looking around the wall for any signal of room two-sixty-five. No such luck.

As kids ran past you and all headed to class, you were left alone in the middle of the hallway, lost. It wasn’t until mostly all of the kids were gone did you start walking again, and as you did you found the figure of another. A girl probably your age, maybe even younger, with brown short hair; she seemed nice enough. You glanced down at the sheet of paper that had done you no good but tell you which classroom you were meant to go to and the girl who stood by her locker. You needed to go to class, no matter how nervous you were and your best bet was asking the girl.

So ignoring the sick feeling you felt well within you, you stepped up to the girl cautiously. “Um- hello?”

The girl spun in response to your voice, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Yes?”

“I’m new… and I was wondering if you could tell me where this room is?” Your voice was quiet, and you were sure the girl had noticed by her curious glances. And you saw her eyes flitter down your attire, every inch of your body except your hands and face were covered by a piece of clothing and it wasn’t particularly cold out. But despite that, she still accepted the piece of paper you’d offered her and smiled.

“Of course.” She nodded, her eyes glancing over the paper before she clicked her tongue in realization. “It’s just down the hall there, the second door to the left. You can’t miss it.” You nodded, offering a small smile in response and mumbled a thank you. Before you could turn the other way though, the girls hand fell on your shoulder; “I’m Nancy, by the way. If you ever need help…”

You nodded; “thank you.”

Then before she could say anything you turned and walked in the direction she’d pointed. You let out a breath of relief when you finally found room two-sixty-five, your english class and paused for a moment. Your hand fell to your left eye, hoping everything was still covered before raising your hand to knock. Soon enough the door opened and a teacher stepped through. You worried for a moment he’d yell at you for being late, but instead he just smiled; “ah- you must be Y/N, our new student.”

With wide eyes, you nodded, not meeting his eye. “Come in, come in.” You followed him within the classroom, and you felt yourself petrified as everyones eyes fell on you and only you. You nearly missed the teacher start speaking as you felt yourself stuck. “Class, this is our new student; Y/N. Y/N, i’m Mr. Jones.” You nodded slowly, turning to him with a pale face. “There’s an empty seat at the back.”

You wasted no time making your way to the back of the class, desperate for everyones eyes to come off of you. And as you sat, you let out a breath of relief when everyone focused back on Mr. Jones. But as you gazed around, you found one pair of eyes on your own; a boys. You had no idea why he was staring at you, but your eye met his and it was almost like time slowed down.

His left eye… a bruise exactly like your own.


Part 2?

Let me know below!

dating peter parker...

let me know if you liked this it’s tragically long i went overboard haha

  • first and foremost, peter would be the most loving/attentive/caring and overall best boyfriend to ever exist, ever 
  • he’s also a needy baby who likes attention 
    • “Y/N”
    • “Yes, Peter?”
    • “You haven’t kissed me in, like, five whole minutes” 
  • majority of the time you make peter very flustered so you’re usually the one to initiate the kisses because he’s a blushing mess 
  • he thinks you’re the most gorgeous person to ever walk the earth
  • he cannot believe you’re as in love with him as he is with you
    • “How’d I get so lucky”
    • “Peter stop it it’s not like I’m a magical princess I’m normal stoppp” 
    • “But are you sure about that”
  • he will adamantly deny that he likes staring at you but that’s all he does when you’re with him
  • he prefers to call it gazing because it sounds less creepy and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s a creep
  • he likes to tease you about the fact that you had a crush on him for most of your freshman year and it annoys you endlessly 
    • “That’s so cute Y/N how adorable”
    • “I will literally break up with you right now”
    • “What no no I’m sorry I love you don’t do that” 
  • the first time he told you that he loved you he stuttered for a solid ten minutes, almost cried because c’mon Peter just tell her you love her you idiot she’s gonna hate you if you keep stumbling over your words like a madman oh my god you haven’t said anything in five minutes no one has ever been silent this long
  • finally he closed his eyes and choked out the words and when he opened his eyes he swore that he had never seen anything as beautiful as the way you were smiling at him in that very moment 
  • after that he has no problem saying it to you whenever he can no matter where you are or what you’re doing
    • “Mr. Parker can you please share what you were just whispering to Ms. Y/L/N with the rest of the class?” 
    • “Oh yeah I was just telling her that I love her because I do and I need to make sure that she doesn’t forget” *cue adorable smile*
    • Oh my god Peter please be quiet I love you too you weirdo” 
  • he kind of lives for embarrassing for you, he thinks it’s the funniest thing 
  • you love Ned too and it kind of makes Peter jealous sometimes which is just hilarious to witness
    • “You’re spending an awful lot of time with Ned” 
    • “…………..I spend every waking moment with you and Ned hangs out with us dummy” 
    • “Just checking”
  • you’re the only person he tells about being Spider-Man because you’re you and he can’t keep something like that from the love of his life that’s just not how it works
  • when he sends Happy voicemails every day he makes sure to update him on how you’re doing and whatever thing you do that day that Peter found adorable
  • when Happy finally texts Peter back he doesn’t ask Peter how he’s doing he asks about you 
  • Peter introduces you to Tony with a proud smile on his face as he practically shoves you at him 
    • “Mr. Stark Mr. Stark Mr. Stark this is my girlfriend the one Happy told you about I wanted her to meet you isn’t she cool Mr. Stark”
    • “As long as she’s not as hyper as you are I think I’ll like her very much”
    • “Oh great ‘cause she’s very calm right Y/N?”
    • “Peter babe please stop yelling in my ear” 
    • “I like her already!”
  • he’s very big on calling you my love because it makes you get all shy and you turn away from him since you’re getting embarrassed
  • he proudly talks about you to anyone within earshot and everyone comes to love you because adorable, precious Peter Parker does too
  • Aunt May might love you more than Peter does 
  • sometimes Peter will come home to find you already sitting at the table with her sipping coffee out of his favorite mug and talking about your days and he just lights up with happiness 
  • you yell at him every time he loses yet another backpack 
    • “when will you learn your lesson about webbing your bag to the wall in dark alleys where thieves and probably murders hang out”
    • “that’d be a never” 
  • you kind of hate that he’s Spider-Man since the job is extremely dangerous and he literally almost died fighting Vulture
    • “are you sure you’re okay? i don’t want you dying on me”
    • “i would never leave you my love i promise” 
  • you yell at him whenever he comes back to his house with new bruises and injuries but he knows you’re just yelling because you care and so he takes the yelling and the angry crying from you and hugs you really tight and strokes your hair and tells you that he’s fine and it’s just a scratch and gives you the whole you should see the other guy spiel 
  • he draws engagement rings on your ring finger and swears he’ll make sure it’s a real one day and not just a shitty circle drawing because yeah he’s fifteen and so are you but who cares you’re the one for him and living without you is a life he doesn’t want to even imagine 
  • it’s just not an option and never will be
  • he gets anxiety whenever you have to ride the train out of Queens and back into Manhattan alone since that’s where you live
    • “but what if something happens and i’m not there and you get hurt i wouldn’t be able to live with myself”
  • he goes through metro cards like water in the summer when he doesn’t have his student one because he refuses to let you take the train alone 
  • he never lets go of your hand when you’re together… so basically he’s never once stopped holding hands with you unless absolutely necessary
  • you telling him to ask Tony to let you become an avenger
  • you want to be Black Widow 2.0 
  • or maybe Scarlet Witch but you don’t have powers like Wanda does so Black Widow 2.0
  • Tony actually says he’ll think about it because whenever he goes to see Peter or Peter comes to see him you tag along ( “we’re kind of a package deal Mr. Stark” ) and you’ve grown on him considerably 
  • after Peter meets the Avengers for the first time you plead with him to let you meet them too and when he finally relents you almost faint in front of Cap and have a heart attack in front of Natasha 
    • “Sorry she’s a little excited she’s not usually like this” 
    • “I think I need a glass of water or an oxygen tank”
    • “Mr. Stark do you have an oxygen tank”
    • “She didn’t faint in front of me I’m offended Y/N”
  • Cap offhandedly says you and Peter are cute kids and you almost die
  • Peter is definitely not jealous aT ALL
  • you reassure him that you love him more than Cap and always will
  • you would never want Peter to think for a second that anyone else could ever take you away from him you love him too much to think about that
  • he’s just ridiculously head over heels beautifully in love with you and he wears that love on his sleeve for the entire universe to see and doesn’t care if he’s called “whipped” because hell yeah he is 
  • he managed to become the boyfriend of the most divine person he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting
  • who wouldn’t be a lovestruck mess over you is the better question
  • at least in Peter’s humble opinion
arguments || t.h

Relationship: Tom Holland x reader

Summary: You and Tom get into a fight about how the media portrays you and you let secrets spill before Tom regrets ever getting in a fight with you and tries to make it up.

Warnings: S M U T (18+), slight angst

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: sad tom would be so cute lets be real


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anonymous asked:

I kind of developed this headcanon a few days ago where Eddie has a habit of taking notes on EVERYTHING in class, but the teacher changes slides too fast so he misses info sometimes and gets frustrated. Well Richie notices this because he sits right next to Eddie, and to help out he stops the teacher before he has time to change slides and asks a question, even if its a question he already knows the answer to. He stalls for awhile by keeping up convo while Eddie catches up.

“wait wait wait that’s how you spell photosynthesis? that’s so dumb”

“alright alright wait so humans don’t go through photosynthesis? why? what if i want to be lazy and not go out and get my own food and energy?”

“what the fuck do you mean plants aren’t actually green?” 

“the sun gives plants energy? how?” 

“what do you mean the equation for photosynthesis is respiration’s equation backwards?” 

“can you explain again how plants grow-”

“got it, richie”

“why have we been staring at this slide for five minutes? MOVE ON TEACHER DUDE”

Hit the Books

Summary: jealousy is no one’s friend || prof!//college au

Pairing: professor stan & evans // evanstan x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: flirting, sexual innuendos

A/N: uhhhh there might be a part 2? if y’all want it? let me know


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gaming antics [m]

summary: taeyong has been too distracted by his games lately so you decide to snap him out of it.

pairing: gamer!taeyong & reader insert

includes: smut (fingering, penetration, facial, oral)

wc: 6k

note: Im back! :’) With a new fic about my babe, Taeyong. Haha. I hope you guys like it!


Taeyong had always been an avid gamer.

He would spend hours on end smashing his thumbs all over the game controller while spitting curses to his frustrated friends through a small headset. Those hours sometimes ran into an entire day, and maybe he skipped out on catching a few winks of sleep—to put it short, he was in love with gaming. Since your friendship began with Taeyong you had known how much of a hardcore gamer he was—gaming was how the two of you bonded, so his love for the hobby never really bothered you to begin with.

Not until you started to date him a couple of months ago. He attempted to change his habits and shape himself into a decent boyfriend who could go on multiple dates with you whether they are small breakfast meetups or quick coffee runs. Those lasted for a good while, but he reverted to his original self soon afterwards, almost like the lively dates with you are not as fun as the silly shooter games he spends his life on. He reverted back to the game invested Taeyong—the one that spends more time staring at a flashing screen, furiously pressing on the loose buttons of his controler, than looking at his girlfriend.

You always attempted to talk to him while he took those short breaks. Usually he spent a good five to ten minutes getting water or catching a breath of fresh air outside, but he typically shrugged you off. This time you were going to take a different approach—a very distracting approach.

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