It was perfect, utterly perfect, and Neil felt at once inspired and horrified by the sight of it. How could he possibly play here? He closed his eyes and breathed in, breathed out, imagining the way bodies sounded as they crashed into each other on the court, the way the announcer’s voice would only come through in muffled, scattered bursts, the roar of sixty-five thousand people reacting to a goal. He knew he didn’t deserve this, knew beyond a doubt he wasn’t good enough to play on this court, but he wanted and needed it so badly he ached all over.
… He’d made the right decision. The risks didn’t matter; the consequences would be worth it. He had to be here. He had to play on this court at least once. He had to know if the crowd screamed loud enough to blow the roof off. He had to smell the sweat and overpriced stadium food. He needed to hear the buzzer sound as a ball slammed inside the white goal lines and lit the walls up red.
request: Can you do a peter parker imagine where you wear glasses and peter teases you and its cute and fluff
A/n i know you wanted cute but this actually turned out angsty. The reader is kind of bitch towards the end. I’m sorry.
‘Here goes nothing’ you thought to yourself before you knocked on Peters door. Over the weekend you had gotten glasses because your eyesight. You mentally kicked yourself for not taking what your mom said seriously because now you had to wear glasses. “It’s about time you showed-” peter stopped mid sentence when he noticed your glasses. “Aww don’t you look precious” Peter squeezed your cheeks together and made the top of your glasses touch your forehead.
Notp. I’m normally all about rivals or enemies to lovers, but I just can’t see it going well with their canon relationship. Aside from the bullying, Bakugou has the emotional capability of a walnut when it comes to understanding Midoriya’s feelings, and Deku doesn’t really understand how Bakugou feels either. Bakugou feels like Deku is always looking down on him, while all Deku is doing is trying to help. Their relationship is slowly getting better, but while their feelings have finally been expressed properly to each other (in the 117-120 fight), there hasn’t been a drastic enough change to put them in the spot for romance with each other. Bakugou still feels inferior, and mixing that in with his self-confident and proud personality just doesn’t really make for a good relationship.
Also, I see Deku as someone who would need an obvious positive emotional connection in a relationship, which is definitely not something Bakugou could easily give. Even when Bakugou (kind of) compliments Deku, its backhanded. While Deku is an incredibly persistent character, I don’t see him being able to take that all in stride.
Bakugou and Deku make an incredible rival match, which is my preferred relationship for them. They push each other to be the best they can be, albeit unknowingly. Deku forces Bakugou to confront his own self-reliance and pride, and in turn, Bakugou gives Deku a level of achievement that he can strive for without idolizing like All-Might and really helps show just how limitless Deku’s optimism is.
(Although I can get behind this ship in some really well done fics. May I Take Your Order, Dipshit is a pizza delivery AU that takes away their hero rivalry and childhood relationship, which definitely changes the way that their actions and emotions can be perceived, while still staying in character and true to Bakugou’s rather antagonistic nature. Also, How IKEA Sells All Their Beds. It takes place in canon, but honestly its just so fucking funny and light-hearted.)
Henry look at my
suspiciously excited expression. He knows I’m up to something. We always have
movie night. Watching movies together is something we like to do. But due to
him been famous is hard to go to movie theater, so we watch at home instead.
“What movie did you
pick?” He asks going to the kitchen to grab beer.
“Is an old movie I
wanted to watch for a long now. I finally found it,” I say smiling at him.
“What’s the title?” He
asks this time raise his eyebrows at me.
“It’s 2003; I Capture
the Castle, starring one of my favorites actor ever.” He roll the eye at my
Anon Submission On Arophobia and What Alloromantics Can Do
So on the recent things with Jughead and the erasure of his aromanticism, as an aroace who’s been hurt by this, I kinda wanted to, discuss the general issue? Aromantic erasure, throwing aros under the bus, those are things that aren’t rare, even in the ace community.
Edit Notes: title added and under read more for length concerns.
Summary: You put the Winchesters in danger and you do whatever you have to in order to keep them safe… even if that means saying goodbye.
Warnings: none really but except like language i guess
once i started writing this i couldn’t stop and wow this is kinda long but whatever
Salty tears streamed down your cheeks in uneven lines. The heavy droplets either rolled onto your neck or fell off your chin, splashing on the collar of your shirt and subsequently staining the material. It was strange; crying was something you rarely did and right now you couldn’t seem to stop.
“You would have to leave soon.”
“I don’t think you will be able to return.”
“Sam and Dean would be safer.”
That last one stuck in your head. Cas was right, you were endangering the Winchesters and it would’ve been selfish of you to stay and get them killed. You couldn’t bear to watch them get ripped to shreds because of your stupidity. The worst part was you didn’t even get to say goodbye.
You still couldn’t believe you let that damn demon get away. The three of you had trapped two demons a house where they were planning to collect their due way too early from a man who’d sold his soul over for his wife. While you managed to get the family out, the demons needed a soul and they didn’t care whose it was. So a showdown ensued.
Having the upper hand, you held the knife to its throat as it spat out unshakably cruel threats. The demon had possessed a young man around your age and you would’ve made a nice slice in its jugular if Dean wasn’t calling out your name. He sounded as if he were in pain and your heart sank, for he was your weakness.
“Who’s it gonna be? Me or your little boyfriend over there?” the demon goaded. As you debated within yourself, your grip weakened and you were rapidly flung across the room into a table. It broke underneath your weight and you groaned at the aching pain that washed over your back, but quickly recovered and rushed to the living room.
They were currently getting the crap beaten out of them by a demonic soccer mom. Sam was passed out in the corner, bloodied nose and bruised, and Dean was being choked against the wall by another black-eyed bastard.
“You’re little whore can’t save you now,” the demon said evilly, obviously unbeknownst to your presence.
“Think again, bitch,” Dean grunted. That was your cue to drive the blade right into its spine. Electricity crackled as the body went limp and lifeless on the floor. Dean coughed and inhaled sharply.
“You okay?” you asked, worried he may have been pushed a little too hard this time. But before he could answer, an arm locked around your neck and cut off your air supply. The knife fell to the floor with a clang and the demon kicked the weapon across the hardwood floor. You writhed and thrashed but, fuck, this thing was strong.
“Let her go, you son of a bitch,” Dean gritted through his teeth.
“Why don’t you go join your brother over there, huh?” With a flick of the wrist, Dean was swept away into a wall and fell in a slump on top of Sam.
“Stop it!” you yelled, kicking more and more like a small child throwing a tantrum.
“Or what? Are you gonna cry?” the demon laugh as it flexed its bicep, choking you further. Your vision was blurring and you were surely going to pass out soon, so you dug your heel into the instep of its foot. A loud grunt was heard and the demon stumbled backwards, releasing you from its clutches. As you were let go, your knees gave out and you dropped to the floor. Quickly retrieving your weapon, you spun around to see the demon smiling wickedly and held the knife to its throat once more.
“Just you wait, little missy. I’m gonna come back with 20 demons and the first thing I’m gonna do is peel the skin off of your darling little Winchesters with that very knife. With Sam, I think I’ll cut him open slowly, letting his blood make a nice little puddle on the floor. Then, I’m gonna rip out Dean’s precious little heart. And guess what? I’m gonna make you watch the whole thing. Everyone you love, I’m gonna murder personally. Mark my words.” The speech had stunned you completely and, during this state of paralysis, the demon fled its vessel in a trail of onyx smoke, guarantying its words.
“Fuck me,” you muttered to yourself, you anxiety at an all-time high.
Once you were finally able to recoup yourself, you roused Dean and Sam and got them back to the Impala before anymore damage was done. On the drive back to the bunker, you bit your nails nervously, a bad habit you’d had since you were young. The words replayed through your mind over and over like the world’s most fucked up cassette tape. Your stomach twisted and knotted on every repeat.
“(Y/N)!” Dean called from the front seat, pulling you out of your trance. You jumped at the surprise and met his green eyes in the rearview mirror. “You good, sweetheart?”
“Mhmm,” you lied. As soon as you turned into the garage, you jumped out and announced you were going on a walk. It was a little late for one, around 8:00 at night, but you fibbed again and said you were just getting some air and you promised to be careful. However in reality, you needed to talk to Castiel in private.
The night air was cold against your skin and you hugged your thick flannel closer to yourself. Looking up at the sky, it was clear, dark, and beautifully littered with stars.
“Cas? It’s me… I need your help.” Minutes passed without a single word and, eventually, you hopelessly gave up. But the second you turned around, you were met with that iconic tan trench coat. You jumped back, a hand over your heavily beating heart. “Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Are you alright? What’s going on?” he asked, his eyebrows knit together. You gave him the low-down of the situation. You rambled on and were grateful that Cas was so willing to listen. Once you were finished, he hummed thoughtfully.
“This is not good… I may not be able to protect them against multiple demons.” That made your heart sink. You were sort of hoping Cas would be able to help out by liquefying the bastards, but he was right. No one could take 20 demons on at once.
“What else can I do?” you whined. “It’s not like I can just make everything disappear!” you cried, throwing your hands up in defeat. You were right, you couldn’t make the problems go away. But you could.
What if you were to leave? Then the demons wouldn’t have any reasons to come after Sam and Dean and they would be safe. Mentioning the idea to Cas, he helped you weigh the pros and cons. You wouldn’t be able to return, for they’d be waiting for you the moment you came back to the Winchesters. However, they’d be safe, and that was more important than your childish feelings. Especially the one of adoration you felt towards the older Winchester.
You’d never expressed your intimate feelings to Dean, for it was unprofessional and the fear of rejection overtook you. He treated you like a little sister anyways, so there was no point. And maybe this ‘escape’ was going to be better for you so you may be able to get over this juvenile pining. But God, you’d miss those green eyes, that cocky smirk, his masculine scent. He was going to be the death of you, but you would also literally be the death of him if you didn’t do something.
So you snuck out in the middle of the night, taking with you the small amount of possessions you owned and stole one of the bunkers cars. It’d crossed your mind several times to leave a note or something for your sake, but that’d only make it harder. And, to be honest, you wouldn’t have even known what to say. They definitely didn’t make cards at Hallmark saying ‘sorry I’m a danger to your livelihood, gotta go!’
Padding down the hallway, you stopped in front of Dean’s door. It was cracked open slightly and you saw the light of the television casted over his sleeping, yet godly face. You pushed the door open slowly so the creaking wouldn’t wake him. Years of intense hunting had caused him to be a light sleeper, so the faintest sound could trigger him. Tip-toeing over to the side of his bed, you leaned down and left a soft, yet lingering kiss on his plump lips. He stirred slightly and you left before you fully awoke him. You stopped in Sam’s room too and moved his long hair away from his forehead to leave a kiss in its place. Once you’d said your silent goodbyes, you took one of the older Men of Letters’ cars and pulled out of the garage in a flash.
Now, driving down the poorly illuminated highway, your grip on the steering wheel was tight. You’d managed to stop the waterworks and control your heart rate with a few deep breaths.
Rapidly swerving the vehicle, you yelled obscenities as you shifted back into the right lane before you came into a full on collision with a delivery truck. Bringing the car to a halt on the shoulder of the road, you smacked the angel right in his trench coat-clad shoulder roughly. “Ow,” he said in his monotone voice.
“Damn it, Cas, don’t do that,” you exhaled.
“My apologies… do you have a plan?”
“Get away. I’ll go over a few states and hunt solo like before.” Before. Was there even a ‘before’ before Sam and Dean? Lonely nights and harder days, but you still got by..
“You do realize that they will try to come searching for you,” Cas interjected. “What do you propose we do about that?” You ran your finger through your hair as you racked your brain for some form of an idea. Telling them that you just left wouldn’t work, they wouldn’t believe it for a second. If that were the case, you would’ve told them where you were going and why. Plus, knowing them, they wouldn’t have it. The next thought arrived shortly after and, though it wasn’t ideal, it just might work.
“What if you told them I died?” The angel paused, pondering the idea himself. “I mean, think about it: they would have a reason to look for me and I can get away easier,” you explained. “And do not let them try to make any deals.” You never really understood why the Winchesters were always so ready to sell their souls.
“It may work, but what would be your cause of death?”
“Just tell them I went out to get some supplies and died in a car accident or something.” It would explain why one of the cars were missing.
“What about your body?
“There was an explosion.”
“You know, Cas, I’ve never really planned out my fake death before! Make something up!” you shouted. His eyes got wider, exposing more of his sapphire-colored irises. He resembled an innocent puppy and you immediately felt like a piece of shit. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that this situation is so fucked. Sam’s like a brother to me and-”
“Your endearing fondness of Dean,” Cas added. You felt your cheeks turn crimson at the mention of your crush. Sam would always make fun of your for it but, Jesus, was it so obvious that even Cas picked it up?
“How do you- whatever. And it really sucks that I have to lose them both because of how stupid I was.” Feeling the tears welling up again, you rested your forehead on the steering wheel. You really had fucked up this time. A cold, heavy hand rubbed awkwardly up and down your back.
“There, there,” he tried. You almost laughed at his bad attempt to be comforting. Taking another deep breath, you wiped your eyes and started up the car.
Cas was nice enough to stay with you most of the ride, keeping you awake with tales of long ago. But when he left to tend to “angel business” with a flap of the wings, you were once again alone. Terrible thoughts started to manifest in your brain and you anxiously flicked on the radio in order to subdue them. An instrument that sounded like bongo drums filled the cars’ stereo and you recognized the song as the first six words were sung.
Please allow me to introduce myself…
Sympathy for the Devil, by the Rolling Stones. Dean always liked this song, for he had a good taste in music that had rubbed off on you. Singing along to the lyrics didn’t make you feel as sad anymore.
The sun peaked over the horizon as the sign for Utah passed overhead. The first streams of light splaying all over the dark asphalt, indicating that you’d been driving all night. Multiple gas stations had offered coffee, so you were a caffeine machine and your intake was maxed out. The radio clock said 7:27 am. They’d be waking up soon, but you still had a little bit of time before they really started wondering where you were.
A faint buzzing emitted from your jacket pocket in the passenger seat.
Maybe you didn’t have as much time as you thought…
It was, in fact, Dean’s name on the illuminated screen. It took a great amount of willpower not to accept the call, even just to hear his dazed “hello?”. You waited till it stop ringing and listen his voicemail.
(Y/N)? It’s me. Where are you? Call me back. His voice was groggy but his tone was serious.
By 5:00 pm, you’d received a thousand more from, not only Dean, but Sam and Charlie as well. You thought about calling Charlie and maybe she could keep a secret, but the demons would probably go after her too and you couldn’t risk it.
Is this what the rest of your life would consist of? Fear of having a relationship with anyone because those bastards would most likely kill them? You prayed not.
Stopping at a gas station to get more fuel, you listened to the latest voicemail from Dean. His voice was angry and irritated this time.
Damn it, (Y/N), where the hell are you?! It’s been hours and you haven’t been returning any of my calls! Did you go on a hunt by yourself?! I swear if- Please just call me back and let me know you’re safe.
On the last sentence, his voice went weak and your heart broke. You didn’t want to do this to him, but it’s better than him being dead. That’s what you reminded yourself, at least.
Once you were back on the road, your phone rang again for what seemed like the millionth time. You couldn’t stand it anymore, so you rolled down the window and tossed your phone out. A distant bang was heard as it hit the dusty road. If you were going to do this, you had to do it for real. That meant no more Sam or Dean or Charlie ever again. The sound of your heart breaking was almost audible.
Hours later, you were in Washington and you could bear to be in the car anymore. The Sunrise Motel seemed good enough, it’s fluorescent vacancy sign almost blinding. You pulled into their lot and went to get a room for the night.
You threw your bag on the kitchenette table and crawled into bed, too exhausted to even remove your clothes.
The room itself was fine, but there was something missing. Dean immediately flopping down on the bed and Sam not shutting up about plans for the hunt. The closest thing you’d had to a family and-
Stop it, you thought to yourself. You’d literally kill yourself thinking about them constantly like this. You were fine before without them and you’ll be fine now. Dear God, you hoped that was true.
11 months later****
“This is fucking horrible and I wanna die.”
“That’s exactly what’s gonna happen if you don’t shut the hell up and help me dig.”
You laughed a little. Even though Matt was the equivalent of a whiny baby, he was good company. He hopped down into the already half dug grave and helped you heave out more dirt.
“So, be honest with me: am I gonna get like super buff after this or what?” Matt grunted as he threw more earth behind his shoulder. “I mean, more than I already am. Cause I don’t wanna get too ripped.”
“Remind me to use you as bait next time,” you warned nonchalantly. He gasped loudly, clutching his chest as if you’d stabbed him in the heart.
“Feelings have never been more hurt,” he cried. You rolled your eyes, but smiled at him and his immaturity. Honestly, how did this guy ever become a hunter?
A loud bang had notified the both of you that you’d finally reached the casket. You pushed Matt back so he wouldn’t get in the way of your shovel slamming. Swinging the metal tool high above your head, you smashed it against the frail wood of the old coffin, cracking it open on the first try.
“It never fails to amaze me how easily you can Hulk out like that,” Matt commented from above ground. Once you kicked away the excess wood to expose the bones and climbed out of the grave, you clapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re such a dork,” you sighed. Your hand was moist when you removed it from his body and you wiped it back on his shirt. “Make that a sweaty dork.”
“It’s manly sweat so it’s okay,” he excused.
“I bet. You got the salt?”
“I thought you-”
“Go get the salt, Matt.” He groaned loudly as he trotted off back to the car to retrieve the one thing you’d specifically reminded him to bring. He was a constant eye roll, but you’d be dead without him.
You’d met Matt on a case in California a few months back. You’d found him in the house of the ghoul you were hunting, looking as clueless as a dim bulb. He was a hunter too, but not a very good one. You’d finished the case together as an okay team and, because you felt bad for the poor guy, you let him come along with you on the next one. And the next one. And the next one, until his stuff was packed in the back of your car and you were forced to listen to him sing along to his terrible CDs.
Resting your hand on your hip and the other one on the handle of the shovel, you threw your head back and embraced the cool night air. You’d even closed your eyes and relaxed for a second before your heard the clicking of guns.
“FBI. Put your hands up,” a husky voice called from behind. You literally could not get a break.
“And by the way, it was- whoa,” Matt stopped, dropping the salt on the ground like an idiot. It spilled all over the grass, resembling snow on a cold winters day. Like you said, a constant eye roll.
“Stand next to her with your hands up,” the FBI agent ordered. Matt shuffled closer to you and held his hands up. “Now you, turn around slowly.”
Complying with them because they’d be assholes if you didn’t, you twisted around to face not one, but two men. And they weren’t just any two men.
The green eyes that used to make you melt, short and spiky light brown hair. And, as if God himself were torturing you, he was wearing that flannel that made you want to rip his clothes off. Memories flooded back as you were hit with a blast from the past.
“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, face contorted in not only obvious confusion, but it pain as well. You inhaled slowly, knowing you were in trouble. Sam’s face was just as confused as his brother’s and they both lowered their guns simultaneously. Apologies and explanations tried crawling up your throat but, in the end, all you could get out was one single word.
Mayu and 8 please! (I ship AkaMayu (OTP), KuroMayu, and literally just anything bottom!Mayu ... but ... um ... whoever you ship him with ... um I don't what to put here ... at all ... um ... I adore your art ... ) I'm sorry.
Hi anon! Thank youu~ >w<! And since I also ship Mayu with those two, I said to myself, “why not ot3?” So here you have~ (Although I don’t know if this counts as AkaMayuKuro ‘cause I failed at trying to think in bottom!Mayu outside the nsfw/lol).
• Special thanks to strangulated-harlot!! She was the one who gave me this idea along with lots of other amazing headcanons of these three~♥ *hugs tight*