#Obviously he'd raise his voice if you like... snuck up on him or something

[14dayswithyou]

when’s a time ren/redacted would accidentally snap at angel and they get upset

✦゜ANSWERED: I've spoken about this topic a few times in the past, but Ren honestly has the patience of a saint!! He is extremely tolerant, determined, and has a lot of self-control -- so he will never lash out at Angel, no matter how upset or angry he is. The last thing they'd want to do is scare you away, too. ^^;

[ladylilithprime]

Day 9: Moon

('18. THE MOON--Hidden enemies, danger, calumny, darkness, terror, deception, occult forces, error. Reversed: Instability, inconstancy, silence, lesser degrees of deception and error." --A. E. Waite

This is eventually going to be chapter one of a much larger work, which will be posted on AO3.)

IN THE WAKE of the fire at the apartment just outside Stanford and the near-death of Jessica Moore due to demon interference, Sam Winchester had needed to pull his brother aside and explain, slowly and carefully and with an eye to the exits, exactly why he didn't just think he could - shouldn't - go back on the road hunting and chasing down their missing father. Contrary to what Dean had obviously thought, it wasn't because Sam was bound and determined to have a normal life. It really was, as he had said, about trying to be safe. Not safe from monsters, though-- safe from hunters. And keeping everyone else safe from him.

"It happened when I was on the way out here the first time," Sam had explained in a low voice as he tried not to be obvious about watching for when his brother would catch on and pull either his gun or the silver knife. "Without a car and with not much money, I was hitchhiking my way across state lines, and had to trade a couple favors for bus fare the last bit. Turns out, one of those favors had a little extra going on and didn't think to warn me until the condom broke."

"Extra... what, like AIDS?" Dean had asked, frowning as concern broke through the clear discomfort and unhappiness at the subject of how Sam had paid his way with no money or support from him or their Dad.

"Like lycanthropy," Sam had corrected quietly. Seeing Dean tensing, he had hurried on to add, "Once he realized what had happened, which didn't take long, he was very apologetic and took the time to explain about himself and what was going to happen to me. When he found out I was coming to Stanford, he helped me get in touch with both the local pack and the local coven of natural witches so I would have a support system. They weren't too thrilled when they found out I'm a Winchester, no real surprise there, but they helped me sort myself out to keep myself and everyone else safe."

Dean had sat silent for a long moment, and Sam had let him. He hadn't relaxed at all, but Dean hadn't pulled a weapon, either. At length, Dean had taken a deep breath and let it out very slowly before nodding. "Okay, little brother. Tell me what you need and how I can help."

Jess had been the one to out herself to Dean as a natural witch and one of the coven members, sitting up against the raised back of the hospital bed with bandages around her stomach. She had also identified her and Sam's friend Brady as the one with a bodysnatching spiritual hijacker-- one who had gotten real chatty in his irritation that he'd had to wait so long to get to someone close to Sam to set this up because of "her" wards.

"Damned demon thought I was the reason your apartment was the magical equivalent of Fort Knox," Jess had huffed tiredly, her voice still rough from smoke inhalation. "Good news is the demons don't know about your monthlies. Bad news is, he was definitely trying to kill me to send a message to you, something about your mom. Makes me wish I'd snuck a look at my Aunt Jenna's off-limits books so I might've known how to fight him off...."

Sam hadn't liked it, but couldn't argue with both Jess and Dean that a targeted attack like that on the anniversary of their mother's death was a pretty good sign that Sam should get away from Stanford for a while. Jess had kissed him on the cheek, then given him a fired and glazed ceramic pendant strung on an adjustable braided leather cord with a pentacle surrounded by sun rays on one side and a spiral of runes and sigils on the other. She had explained the purpose of the pendant and the symbols, the large one that guarded against possession because Brady hadn't been the only person she had noticed feeling itchy and reeking of sulfur, and the runes inscribing a spell of concealment that would prevent anyone and anything who didn't know what he was from ever noticing anything strange about him in either form.

"Get yourself a nice little aluminum dog tag to go on there with it and you won't have to take it off when you shift," she had said with a wink, which had made Sam blush brightly and Dean howl with laughter.

He threw a pillow at Dean's head when his brother had brought him the engraved heart-shaped tag a week later when they reached Blackwater Ridge, but he'd put it on the cord with the pendant that was working exactly as Jess promised.

THE THING ABOUT being a werewolf, aside from the strength and speed and newfound appreciation for flea collars, was that changing species hadn't actually changed anything about Sam. He still preferred salads to burgers, even if he privately conceded the dietary requirements of more protein, iron and fat. He still hated the violence and killing parts of hunting while excelling at the research and interviews portion-- if anything, his extra senses made him even better at sussing out secrets and comforting upset witnesses. He still ordered stupid fancy coffee with cream and vanilla and cinnamon even if he would drink whatever black and unsweetened gas station diner swill Dean handed to him with barely a grimace of complaint.

He still had psychic powers that gave him visions of the probable future.

"I dreamed about the fire well before it actually happened," he admitted to Dean quietly over a beer, the meeting with and revelations from Missouri Moseley still fresh. "I always dismissed it because why would Jess even be in my apartment in the first place under normal circumstances? Best friend, sure, but she didn't live with me! The only reason she was there when you broke in was because she had too much to drink at the Halloween party earlier and trusted me to take care of her without taking advantage!"

"Gotta admit, though, from the outside it looked a lot like she was your girlfriend," Dean pointed out, a bit uncomfortably. "'Specially when I said Dad was on a hunting trip and you didn't excuse us from her presence 'cause she already knew about that."

"So demons are making the same assumptions about me as my brother?" Sam snorted. The humor faded quickly as he stared at the beer in the bottle. "Whatever the demons want with me... it feels like it's connected to these visions, or at least these powers. Which means it's probably not just me being targeted."

"Bunch'a kids with psychic powers all on some demons' shit list?" Dean grimaced and downed the rest of his beer. "Welp, our job's saving people from supernatural crazy shit. Can't get much crazier than that, right?"

"Let's hope," Sam sighed, draining his own beer before excusing himself to go down to Missouri's basement for moonrise. Dean waited all of half an hour after the moon was up before taking a second beer and sneaking down to the basement after his brother to find a massive dark brown and gray wolf flopped over on his side on the basement floor. The wolf's ears and nose twitched and he whined softly, but didn't move or even lift his head until Dean had sat down on the basement steps.

"We'll figure this out, Sammy," Dean murmured. "Even if it comes down to you and me against the world."

The tentatively wagging tail was the only response Sammy could give him, but it was enough. Dean stayed on the steps all night, even past moonset and Sam's return to human form. Their lives were weird and dangerous and all kinds of fucked up, but Dean absolutely believed that there wasn't anything that Earth or Hell or even fucking Heaven could throw at them that they couldn't handle together.

The alternative was unacceptable.

[nolanhollogay]

'your secret is safe with me' — for your choice!

hehe

+

Despite his usual company, Mikey wasn't really a party guy. He much preferred to hang in someone's basement or living room and smoke instead of going to a rager with every other teen in Kildare.

But he was at a rager regardless, because he was trying to get back into his friend's good graces.

That didn't mean he was having fun, however.

It was too loud, and everyone was too much, too drunk to care about the people around them. Nova and Kie had some poor schmuck between them as they argued about something mundane and definitely not worth arguing over. The guy looked ready to off himself, which as someone who had been present for a few Nova vs Kie arguments, Mikey knew it probably wasn't an overreaction. John B was nursing a beer, smiling to himself, lost in thought. Mikey's heart still skipped at the sight of him and he forced his gaze away. Pope was talking to some guy with a buzzcut, gesturing wildly with his hands, completely unaware of the fact that the guy was ready to eat him whole.

And JJ was nowhere to be seen, which was never a good sign.

Sighing and getting to his feet, Mikey knew he would have to be the one to find him. If he didn't, who knows what could happen?

He stood there for a moment, trying to think of the most likely places for a wild JJ Maybank to be.

His first thought – at the keg – was a bust, as he glanced over and didn't see anyone except Mindy Parker who he'd made out with once at the end of freshman year and really didn't want a repeat of.

Sighing again, he knew what he had to do.

"Yo, JB!" He called, walking over to him. John B looked up, mid swig, and greeted him with a raised eyebrow. "You seen JJ?"

John B set down his beer, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed as he thought. "No, not since we came in. But he's JJ, he's probably, like, hooking up with some girl somewhere. He'll show up."

Mikey wrinkled his nose. He wished he could have that same faith in JJ that he had. It wasn't that he didn't trust JJ, he just.. He was a loose cannon and anything could happen when he was unaccounted for. Honestly, even when he was accounted for.

"'M gonna go try and find him," he said, tapping John B on the shoulder. As he turned, John B grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. It was a gentle hold, nothing like the hands he'd had wrapped around him as of late.

He turned back to face him, and John B let go, sending him an easy smile. "You good, Mike?"

Mikey tried to match his easy affection. "Yeah. 'M good."

"Good." John B smiled again. "Let me know if you find him, and if you need to hide a body or something."

Mikey laughed, sending him a nod.

He turned again, walking away for real this time. If John B was right and JJ was hooking up with someone, they would probably have snuck off to be alone. There was a smattering of trees around them, cosplaying as the woods, which is probably where he would go if he was hooking up with someone.

With a burst of determination, he marched into the trees.

+

He found three separate couples in various stages of hooking up before he heard JJ's familiar voice.

"Has anyone told you that you're beautiful?"

And, wow, that wasn't something Mikey thought he'd ever hear from JJ? JJ who called girls "chicks" and bragged about banging them – Though Mikey had never actually seen any proof of this, if he was being honest – wasn't the kind of guy who called girls beautiful.

"You're so.. greasy."

And that's probably because he wasn't talking to a girl.

He saw the back of JJ's head, squinting into the incoming darkness, and sure enough, there he was. Church Boy, wrapped in JJ's arms. He was giggling as JJ kissed him, obviously lovestruck. It was cute. Or he was cute, Mikey didn't really feel the same affection for JJ.

JJ's mouth traveled down his jaw to his neck and Edgar's entire body loosened, his eyes fluttering closed.

Mikey felt a splash of panic, like water to the face. He wasn't about to be the weirdo who watched his friends make out. That was crossing a huge line.

He stepped back, turning to leave, crushing a stick under his heel. Fuck.

Edgar's eyes flew open, and JJ jumped away from him.

"Uh, hey guys?"

Without so much as another word, JJ booked it out of the trees, leaving Mikey and Edgar in silence.

"Oh, no," Edgar said, frowning.

Mikey's body locked up as he floundered for something to say. "I.. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to, like, ruin your moment. I was just looking for JJ and, uh, I found him! And– Oh my God, I'm sorry, dude."

Edgar ran a hand through his hair (which, regrettably, made Mikey's panicked brain go HotHotHot) and picked up JJ's phone from the ground. "We should head back."

Mikey didn't argue, following him back to the party, praying the ground would eat him the entire time.

+

He somehow managed to make the party even worse for himself, which was sort of impressive.

Now he had to deal with people and their drunkenness and John B existing in his vicinity and feeling like shit because Edgar and JJ were staying fifty feet away from each other.

He was having a rough night.

Edgar walked over to him, holding an unopened can of soda and JJ's stuff. "Can you, uh, give these to him? He's probably gonna be skittish for the rest of the night."

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek, but nodded, accepting JJ's things. "Yeah." Dropping the phone into his pocket with his own, he said, "I'm sorry, by the way. Like genuinely. I know.. I know that it's hard to get those moments alone and I didn't mean to take one from you."

Edgar shrugged. "Es aqua pasada," He waved him off, "Water under the bridge."

It didn't feel like it, but Mikey wasn't about to argue with him. "Well, you know, your secret is safe with me."

Edgar smiled, bumping their shoulders together. "Thanks."

Mikey nodded, nudging him back. "No problem, man."

"Mikey!" John B shouted, walking up to them with JJ under his arm. "Look who I found!"

[little-pondhead]

Damian was once reminded of a quote.

God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.

The saying held no meaning for him, but it slipped out of his mouth once when his mind was wandering and hazy, and his self-control was null.

The boy sitting beside him huffed, a flicker of amusement flashing across his face. The most emotion either of them has been able to express for a while now.

"That line is bullshit," the boy whispered. His voice was hoarse and raw. Damian had to strain to hear him. "I've met many gods, and they would rather sacrifice their soldiers if it meant their own survival."

Damian's head lolled to one side, contemplating his words. "Indeed," he croaked. "I've met my fair share of gods as well. They were, how do you put it..."

"Wimpy? Disappointing? Underwhelming?" The boy offered. The conversation wasn't the most cheery subject to talk about, but it served to fight off the medicine that was attacking their minds.

"Soft-bodied bitches." Damian let out an uncharacteristic snicker. The boy broke out into giggles, that soon transformed into violent coughs. Thick blood was spat onto the ground, and the temporary joy dissipated from the air.

No jokes could cover up the fact that they were trapped.

Well, not trapped. They'd been captured. And caged. Like fucking animals. It was humiliating and terrifying at the same time.

When Damian first landed in this dimension, he immediately knew something was off. He paid no mind to the empty streets of a half-destroyed town nor the strange graffiti and green fog that reminded him of Fear Gas. Blast marks made his footsteps dirty, but he barely even noticed. What was truly unsettling to him was the immediate pull he felt toward a certain direction. His very soul was crying out desperately for something, and it was all Damian could do to follow the urge.

He walked for what felt like hours. Glowing eyes peeked at him from the shadows, scattering when he approached. The fog got thicker, dragging at his bones and making his heartbeat feel slower. The silence was mind-numbing, and he didn't dare make a peep.

As he got to (what he assumed) the center of town, Damian noticed a thick, rotting stench replacing the fog within the span of a few blocks. Glowing red flowers lined the sidewalks and streets, sometimes sitting in piles in the mouth of alleyways or arranged in a line across the doorway of a shop. Like how one would salt their home to ward off evil. When he tried to get a closer look and possibly a sample, his body physically recoiled from the flowers as if stung. The mere presence of them made him feel sick.

So he ignored them for now. Damian continued to trudge along in a straight line, following his instincts. As the fog lifted even more, sound returned to the world as well. The town was truly abandoned, then. No sirens or car horns were going off. No one was running through the streets, panicked about the fight that had obviously taken place.

What Damian did hear was two voices raised in anger, a third in fear, and the sound of concentrated explosions happening nearby. He broke into a run. The fight that brought him here had done some decent damage to his outfit and person. His mask was barely clinging on, his armor was digging into his skin strangely, and he'd lost his weapons, but as soon as Damian had heard that third voice, he just had to run.

Damian knew he was going against all his training by rushing into the situation. Logically, he should have backed out as soon as he heard the commotion. Maybe retreated completely or at least snuck around to assess the situation first. But no, here he was, barely keeping his secret identity intact, bolting towards a group of unknowns like his life depended on it. His mind screamed at him that it did.

He finally rounded a corner and nearly tripped on the excessive rubble. He'd made it to the town square. There were more red flowers and blast marks. A pair of adults, one impossibly large man and a smaller, lithe woman in hazmat suits, were standing back to back, glowing guns raised as they searched the sky and ground around them. He stepped behind a chunk of concrete to hide himself better.

"Show yourself, Phantom!" The woman screamed. She was so full of rage. "There are blood blossoms surrounding this whole area; I know you can't leave!"

There was a slight shift in the rubble to Damian's right. Without hesitation, the man spun around and shot the pile. Damian didn't have time to move, so he just crouched and covered his head while a blast of green light destroyed the pile and surrounding debris. When the light cleared, Damian was distantly horrified to find that his cover had taken on the brunt of the rebound blast and had been reduced to pebbles. His cover was gone.

The man immediately noticed him.

"Oh, look, Mads! Another one!"

The woman whipped around to study his tiny figure, still curled up to protect himself. Damian knew these were dangerous people. Why couldn't he get up and run? The woman grinned awfully and hiked up her gun-more like a bazooka-to aim at Damian.

"How wonderful, Jack!" She crowed. "Phantom would never leave one of his kind behind. And this one is so human-shaped! It looks just like Danny."

"Using the pest as bait? I'm so glad I married you, Maddie." The man gushed, slipping his goggles and hood off to gaze lovingly at his wife.

Damian's heart stopped. He couldn't take his eyes off the evil, terrible look on the man's face.

"Father?" He mouthed.

The couple didn't notice. The woman just took aim, and for the life of him, Damian couldn't force himself to move.

That was his father. That was Bruce Wayne in a hazmat suit, shooting up a city without regard for human life. That was Batman, who was pointing a gun at his face, no recognition showing in his eyes whatsoever.

The bazooka went off first.

"NO!" Someone cried, coming out of nowhere and slamming into Damian's frozen form. His head bounced off the ground, and the last thing he saw was his own eyes staring back at him.

---

Damian came back to himself slowly. It was unnaturally bright where ever he was. His limbs were stretched far straighter than he would have liked them, and the feeling of dried glue on his face told him that someone had captured him, stripped him, and tied him to a table.

This time, though, his training did kick in. As soon as he was aware of himself, he regulated his breathing so it would appear he was still asleep. The air still smelled of rot and concrete dust, but there was a sharp tinge of chemicals in there, too. It was chilly despite no nearby AC vent going. A lab? Underground, perhaps? He dared not open his eyes, but he could feel something familiar laying on his left.

A door hissed open, and the voices of the couple from earlier entered, arguing with a third party.

"-said we got to start the dissections first!" The woman, Maddie, demanded. "That was our deal! If we handed Phantom and any other specimens over to you, the lab would let us have the first go for the experiments!"

"Yeah!" Added in Bru-Jack's voice. "We could learn so much from a powerful specimen like Phantom, and he's been a pest to us much longer than he has been to the GIW. We can put him back together for the rest of your scientists if you really want."

The third-party spoke, sounding irritated and exhausted from arguing. "Listen," they stressed, flipping through papers. "I'm not saying you can't partake in the agreed-upon experiments. I'm saying that you failed to fulfill a crucial part of the contract and cannot even look at a scalpel until you complete your part of the job!"

"WHAT?!" Maddie screeched. There was a flurry of paper sounds, so Damian assumed she'd snatched a pile of them from the third person's hands. There was a moment of silence while she read, and then, "Oh, fudge cake! Jack, the contract states we have to provide a minimum number of specimens plus Phantom in order to be let into the labs. We'll have to go out and round up as many as we can before we start dissecting."

Jack grumbled. "Fudgin' lawyers and their tricky tongues."

The third person tsked them and snatched the papers back. "No lawyer trickery was used here, Mr. Fenton. We prepared this document in good faith, seeing as we're already business partners. It's not our fault you signed before reading. Now, I heard that the Manson house has been a well-known haunting spot ever since the family moved out. Perhaps you should start there?"

Jack and Maddie grumbled some more but agreed and left the room, with the third person sighing and following them. The door locked shut with a click that echoed in Damian's ears. He waited for a breath. Then two. Once he was sure the party was gone, he cracked open his eyes and looked to his left, where his soul was still trying to reach.

There was a boy staring back at him.

Strapped to a table, just like Damian, a thin and lanky boy around his own age seemed just as surprised as him when they locked eyes and something clicked in their brains. Damian realized that while the boy was obviously not human, with his floating white hair and dim green eyes, he did share the exact same face with Damian, if not extremely paler. In fact, the boy's skin was deathly, almost taking on a mottled blue-green tinge he'd seen dead bodies develop.

The boy got over his surprise first. He grinned at Damian, clearly exhausted but obviously trying to make the situation seem less dire than it actually was. "Why, hello, stranger," he quipped. "What a good looking face you have there."

"Of course you would say that." Damian snapped automatically.

The boy just chuckled, unfazed by his attitude. "Chill out, my guy, I'm just joking. If I had to guess, you're from another dimension, right?"

Damian stiffened up, straining against his restraints. "How did you know that?" He hissed, glaring.

The boy sighed. He suddenly looked much older than either of them had any right to be. "You reek of the Deep Zone, dude. It's not something humans can smell easily, but with a little practice, you should pick it up quick."

"What makes you say I'm not human? And why-"

"Why did you feel a connection?" The boy turned his head back to the ceiling, eyes unfocused. He looked and sounded very sad. "I'm pretty sure we're alternate versions of each other, my dude. I've met a few other versions of myself, mostly from other timelines, but you're the first one who is so obviously different and so similar at the same time. It's weird."

Damian's heart dropped.

"...Alternate versions of each other?"

The boy nodded. He was refusing to look at Damian's reaction. Scared of rejection. "Yeah. And every version of me has died and come back in some way at least once, so by the time we're a preteen, we no longer identify as strictly human. Although," his voice grew bitter. "We do get pretty good at blending in, according to others."

Damian examined the boy more closely. His outfit was falling apart from whatever he'd gone through, but it was very clearly an old hazmat suit with a logo on the chest. Scars, both new and old, littered his skin, some of them matching the scars on Damian's own body. His eyes weren't dim originally, it seemed. They had swirled and glowed brighter when the boy had spoken, and his whole demeanor screamed exhaustion. Thinking back on everything he learned since being dropped in the middle of the street, Damian put two and two together quite easily.

"You're a hero." Damian pointed out. "An undead hero." The boy flinched but nodded.

"Was. The key word there. Not many people enjoyed having a ghost around to save their asses, even when it was from other ghosts." He held no resentment in his voice, just genuinely upset and betrayed that the people he had protected for so long and loved so much had turned on him, and abandoned him in his time of need.

"And, these people don't think the undead are...human?"

"Not in the slightest. We're apparently unfeeling monsters with no sentience but are driven by a single goal to destroy anything living."

"So now we are to be dissected? For what? The ghosts I know don't have physical bodies. What use would this be?"

The boy scrunched his nose. "Damn, your universe must really be out in the sticks if your ghosts aren't solid." Somehow, Damian felt offended. "Don't give me that attitude; I can feel you judging me. Anyway, the ectoplasm here is much thicker than other universes, so most other ghosts can walk around and act just like humans if they want to. They just usually don't because we are technically a different species. It's like asking a dog to act like a cat."

"Hmm. I'm starting to understand."

"That's great!" The smile returned, and the boy turned his head a little too far to make proper eye contact once more. "By the way, I never got your name. Do we share the same one?"

"Perhaps. I go by Damian Wayne. What is your name?"

The boy gave him a shark-toothed grin, one that was barely familiar. It reminded Damian of his grandfather. "Oh, my ghost name is Phantom, but my living name is Danny Fenton."

---

[that's all I got in me, but anyone is free to take this and keep going. Like a baton race at track meets. Go win us gold!]

Ooooh I just came up with an idea

You know all of this fics where Danny is an alternate universe version of like Bruce or Jason? What if it was with Damian

There could be some kind of ritual that sends Damian into Danny’s universe only they both get caught by the GIW and Everything Goes Wrong

By that I mean both of them get vivisected. And the Fentons should do at least some of it, and that Jack looks just like Bruce for extra ✨trauma✨

They both go on the Road Trip of Hell while escaping and Danny’s just working on building a temporary portal to the Ghost Zone/Damian’s home dimension.

I want Danny to lean out of a car with like a mcguivered bazooka or something to try and drive off the GIW for a while with some kind of crazy/stressed smile back at Damian.

I want little moments where they’re bonding/teaching each other how to fight (Because Damian knows formal fighting, and if we go with Danny knowing some self defense from his mom he’s not completely horrible at it, but Danny knows how to fight like a feral raccoon. It’s effective and Damian DOES like animals right?)

I want them to finally get to Damian’s dimension and when they finally finally gets to the bats and Bruce reaches out to help his son Damian flinches

And then I want it to get into the fluff/healing/trauma dumping part where the newly dubbed twins (who get along scarily well and everyone is pretty sure are trauma bonded) are healing while simultaneously causing the other bats to become more and more distressed (it may or may not be on purpose)

It would also be pretty cool if their habits and mannerisms rubbed off on one another, so they can be uncannily similar one moment then completely different the next

I also had the idea of them being literally the same soul- like, the soul that originally formed was completely identical when they were babies but diverged due to different experiences, so it’s literally a ‘same soul two bodies’ thing. I just think it would be neat, even if it’s not even really mentioned, but just like, Implied you know?

[livinginmystars]

L.O.V - Their s/o wearing an oversized sweater

A small reaction where they find their small s/o wearing a sweater that is way too big on them~

y/n -> your name e/c -> eye color h/c -> hair color

≺⋅⋅⋅≻

Dabi

Dabi would legit love seeing you with this type of clothes

If anything, once he spots the sweater, he strongly hopes prays that you are either wearing shorts underneath it or no pants at all

After a while, you'd notice how his eyes would not leave your body when actually do

This man would be openly staring at your legs with no shame and if anything, he'd brag about how hot you and how you're his

Whenever you decide to go to him during the night so you two would share his bed (which happens so often it's almost every night) you'd always dress up with an oversized sweater so you can be comfortable. This night would be no exception as you snuck into his room while making sure to meet as few people as possible. He was about to try and sleep when he'd hear the sound of the door, raising his head to check who it is. A pleased smile comes onto his lips when he sees it's you.

"Oh? Does someone want some heat to keep warm?" He asks, knowing very well that even just the heat of his body makes sleeping with him the most comfortable experience, especially when it's cold.

"Hm, not just heat. You too." You'd respond before slipping under the covers next to him. "I want to make sure I have the best pillow to sleep with."

Dabi would scoff at your answer and roll his eyes as he calls you a flirt. He'd feel how you move around to settle against his body as much as you can. Feeling in a mood to cuddle him a much a possible, you'd hook your leg a little high around his waist, nuzzling your face into his neck. It's when his hand lands on your thigh that he lets out another pleased sound, feeling your bare skin under his fingers.

"So, I even get a bonus tonight." He jokes around, placing one hand on your thigh while the other goes under your oversized sweater. "If I can't fall asleep now it'll be your fault." He whispers right in your ear, voice low and gravely.

"How about you keep it in your pants for one night?" You tease, deciding to simply settle for the night, ready to go to sleep.

Dabi would chuckle, his hand gently rubbing your stomach while using his quirk a little in order to keep you warm. In the end, he'd only hold you close, leaning his head onto yours with a satisfied smile. Neither you or him would move at all, way too comfortable to try and get away from each other. And even if you wanted to, your tangled limbs would make it complicated to do so.

Tomura Shigaraki

As someone who also wears sweaters every once in a while, he definitely understands why you'd like them

Shigaraki would know you wear them when you want to be comfortable so he'd never complain

However, if he spots you with an oversized sweater, he's most likely to want you as a pillow because in those big clothes, you'd look like a big fluffy pillow.

He'd probably be coming back either from a training or something else, looking more tired than usual. Obviously, he'd come straight to you, only wanting to get some alone time with his significant other. He'd ask the other members of the League where you are and Toga would be quick to tell him you're in his own room but not without that smirk that says she believes there is more to it.

"You really have to do something with that mind of yours." He'd complain to her and leave the room, not sparing a glance at her and instead heading towards his own.

He'd obviously hear the teenager complain to him, not that it would stop him and he'd do his best to ignore the noise. Shigaraki would end up in his room in a minute or two, starting to look for you right away. It wouldn't be too complicated considering that you'd be laying on his bed, holding his pillow in your arms and only dressed with an oversized sweater. Understanding that you're napping, Shigaraki wouldn't say anything, simply walking closer to the bed, a small smile coming onto his face.

However, as stupid as it sounds, he frown at how you look like you're cuddling his pillow and the man would immediately want to replace it. He'd slowly but surely grab onto the pillow and pull it away from your grip. Once certain that it's out of your reach, he puts it down as you stir a little, being pulled away from your sleep. One of your eyes would be half open as Shigaraki comes to lay down next to you, placing his head onto your stomach.

"Hm?" You'd let out a confused noise, feeling the weight on your body as well as the grip around you. "Shiggy...?"

"It's me." He mumbles, letting out a sigh when your hands slip into his hair and his eyes close, feeling a wave of calming go through his body. "You can go back to sleep. I'm not moving any time soon."

A confused noise would pass your lips but as you're still half asleep and you feel his body closely laid against yours. The contact and warmth lulls back into a peaceful slumber in the matter of seconds as you close your eyes again. Shigaraki, on the other hand would nuzzle his face against the fabric of your sweater, finding comfort in your presence and somehow also in the touch of the clothes. And no matter how great you looked in normal outfits, he definitely loves the way you feel and look so comfy in these big oversized sweaters.

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Rated T for 1,107 words of EdWin FWP (Fluff Without Plot)

Summary: Edward would never read romance novels...in front of other people. He and Winry get into an argument over romance novels and somehow end up kissing. Except that they've never kissed before. So they're terrified. But then, what better to ward off terror than the need to avoid losing an argument?

A/N: Based on this prompt list of common misquoted idioms I made

Alphonse thought he'd settle in with his copy of Specialized and Little-Known Transmutations, 10th edition on the living room couch. After all, some light reading was in order that afternoon. What he did not expect to come across was a copy of Wrench to My Heart. What he expected even less was seeing it in his brother's hands. Surely there was no harm in inquiring about Edward's reading materials.

"What are you reading, Brother?"

Ed leaped out of his skin and hastily shoved the book into the seat cushion behind his back. "Nothing! Why do you think I was reading? I can't read!"

Al stared at him with a raised eyebrow until he realized his blunder.

"I mean. I only read alchemic texts. Most other stuff is just too boring. Except for comic books, maybe." Ed suddenly found everything in the room fascinating except Alphonse.

"So you're telling me that 'Wrench to my Heart' is an alchemic text."

"It's," Ed choked, "It's encoded! I was deciphering it!"

"Ed, I'm pretty sure that's definitely just a romance novel."

"Shut up!"

Their squabble was cut short when Winry came in, wiping her hands on her apron.

"What's going on in here?" she asked.

"Nothing!" was quickly followed by a gleeful "Ed's reading a romance novel."

"Oh! Well, that's unexpected."

"Was not!" Ed protested.

"What's wrong with romance novels?"

"They're. They're too sappy," Ed said curtly. "Besides, it's an alchemy book I was decoding. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I wouldn't, now? Let me see the author, then. Romance is a very misrepresented genre, and some of it is very good writing," said Winry.

Ed handed over the book sulkily. Winry examined the book and said, "This is actually a really well-known author, Ed. I doubt it's actually an alchemy book. It's a good choice, though. I've read some other books by that author, and I really like how her main characters tend to be in unconventional careers. If you weren't reading it seriously before, I'd highly recommend it. There's nothing wrong with a guy liking romance novels."

"But Winry—!"

Al chimed in with a smirk, "He skips to the kissing scenes!"

"NO I FREAKING DON'T, AL!" Ed howled. Winry crossed her arms and pointedly focused her eyes on the painting over the couch. "Well, what's so bad about kissing, Ed?" she shot back.

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong with it, it's just—"

"Then prove it." Winry challenged with a steely gaze.

Al snuck out of the room as the two glared at each other. The room was nearly sizzling with nerves, but Edward stood and strode up to Winry.

"Fine, if you want me to prove it, I'll prove it," he said with her face terrifyingly close to his own.

"Fine with me," she retorted unconvincingly.

Ed's breath was shaky as he leaned in to press his lips to Winry's. It seemed as though the walls and floor had shifted. As though everything had become fuzzy except for the feeling on their lips. After several seconds, he remembered that his lips were actually supposed to move. Winry's hands darted to his shoulders, giving him just enough courage to cradle her face as delicately as if it would break. She attempted to encourage him, but she ended up with his wet lips halfway to her nose. Her face scrunched in distaste.

Ed tilted his head back and scrutinized the situation. Winry bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. Then, without warning, he fitted his lips against hers again, kissing her agonizingly slowly. Agonizing, but far better in every possible way. A new wave of confidence surged through him.

Ed broke the kiss for a moment with wide eyes.

"Is that apple pie?" he asked, then dove back in.

"Are you going to—" Winry was interrupted by another kiss. "let me—" Another kiss. "answer your stupid question?" Ed answered by smirking and continuing to kiss her.

Winry shoved him away, gasping for air. Her face was beet red. Her eyes searched for something, anything to land on other than Ed. "The apple pie's in the kitchen—on the kitchen counter," she stuttered. "Go grab a slice."

Ed hummed and stepped forward, slipping an arm around her waist. His voice lowered to an almost gravelly pitch as he traced a shaking finger along her jawline. "Tastes better like this."

Winry inhaled sharply as he snatched up her lips with a hunger that was far deeper than a yearning for apple pie. Ed's hand tightened around her waist reflexively, and she melted into him. She threaded a hand into his hair, and he couldn't help but whine a little, startling her slightly. Taking Winry's distraction as an opportunity to breathe, Ed kissed her with a renewed vigor. He gripped her toned arm as if it would somehow bring their bodies closer together. As if it was the only thing that kept him grounded to the floor.

Then the floor echoed with footsteps.

Ed jumped away, if reluctantly, and pushed Winry an arm's length away just as Alphonse strolled into the room with an innocent smile.

"Did you see that Winry made apple pie, Brother? You should really try some."

Edward floundered for words. "I already—I mean, yeah, so people seem to love telling me. I should...go get some." He took a couple steps, then stumbled on air before sprinting into the kitchen, red-faced.

After a moment, Winry stammered, "I should, uh, make sure Ed doesn't eat all of the apple pie." She fled in the same direction.

A slice of apple pie sat on the kitchen counter. Ed cut a second slice and handed Winry the plate. "I thought I'd get one for you, too, since you made it." They stood in silence for a minute, eating their pie.

Then Ed burst out, "I don't know what happened to me, I just couldn't stop kissing you like some...lips-obsessed monster or something. I'm sorry. I should have had better control of myself. I should have made sure you actually wanted to. I know what made me do it, obviously. It's hormones. Just a bunch of chemicals. But that's no excuse for—" Winry lightly touched his shoulder, and whatever words he had fizzled out on his tongue.

"Ed. It's...it's okay." She fought to meet his eyes, summoning the courage to speak. "More than okay. Actually, um...do you want to...do it again sometime?"

Edward's jaw dropped, and he was certain his blush could be seen from a mile away.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Alphonse walked over to the book Ed had abandoned. "Hm, a kissing scene," he noted smugly. "What do you know."

*

*

*

A/N: I could not think of a title for Ed's novel for the life of me, so I had to come up with a place holder and brainstorm more. Rest in peace, Ooh La La Womance and Grease-Stained Embrace.

[boxofbadaddiction]

Not According to Plan

George Weasley x Reader

This story is inspired from a request of my F.R.I.E.N.D.S Themed Prompt List.

Prompts: 4 & 11

"Hi I'm [Y/N or Character] I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable."

"Ah, Humour based on my pain. Aha-ha-ha."

Warnings: Swearing

If you thought about it, had the teachers really cared about students roaming the castle at night, they'd certainly have worked harder to ensure breaking curfew wasn't so easy.

Night was when the castle was most fun, after all.

Running from Filch. Stealing food from the kitchens. Star gazing from the balcony of the North Tower. All far too tantalising to resist.

For [Y/N] in particular.

Exploring the ancient building in the late hours of the night had become somewhat of a habit for her. Sneaking out of her dormitory while her room-mates slept peacefully in their beds she relished in the feeling of freedom which enveloped her every sense in the cool night air.

Her favourite activity by far had to be antagonising Peeves in the Dungeons before stargazing with a hot chocolate held firm between her freezing palms.

Tonight however didn't quite go to plan.

Screwing with the prankster Poltergeist took an unforeseen turn resulting in her currently hauling ass from the doom and gloom of the Dungeons.

Apparently her weekly routine had become far too predictable as Peeves had been waiting for her tonight. Hell bent on revenge he was accompanied by none other than one Severus Snape. Not what she was expecting as she casually rounded the corner, safe to say her feet had never changed direction so fast. Nearly falling over herself as she ran.

"THERE!" Peeves bellowed seeing her sprinting form disappear from the corridor.

The sound of Snape shouting, hot on her heels willed her legs to carry her faster. To pump her arms harder as she bounded up a flight of stairs in a hidden passage which led directly to the third floor.

She fell against a large stone pillar, hand on her side trying to dull the aching cramp that'd formed in her ribs and swallowing thickly to ease the burning of her now dry throat.

Content that she had put enough distance between herself and the fuming Head of Slytherin House, [Y/N] composed herself. Strolling leisurely down the hall with a relieved chuckle coming from her throbbing throat, heading toward the kitchens, she could really use that drink now.

But tonights surprises didn't end there.

Mind too fixed on her narrow escape [Y/N] failed to register the rapidly approaching sound of footsteps barrelling down the adjoining hallway. Next thing she knew she had collided with someone and fell hard to the floor.

"Ah, fuck" a pained voice groaned near her.

[Y/N]s body had never felt as heavy as it did in that moment. Laying face down on the ground her arms moved to lift herself. Shaking her head to clear her blurred vision and dull the ringing in her ears that echoed in her mind from the sudden collision.

[Y/N] squinted toward the source of her injury but could only just make out a figure.

A boy laid sprawled on his back, one knee in the air with an arm slung across his abdomen. Given the difficulty in which he tried to pull himself upright and the way his other hand massaged the back of his head [Y/N] gathered he was in an equal amount of pain.

The flaming red hair was a dead give away, although she already had her suspicions in who the likely culprit was. Only two other people in this school seemed to share her affinity for breaking curfew. The Weasley Twins. Until now however she never had the pleasure of making either pranksters acquaintance. She was, after all, a year below the pair and from another House.

"Are you alright?" The boy asked. He had managed to roll himself onto his side propped up by his elbow he eyed the girl concernedly. She was now resting on her knees, hands supporting her while her body hung heavy like dead weight making her arms quake under the pressure.

"Peachy" her voice sounded as if she'd been winded during the fall, "I've always wondered what the Castle floors taste like. Now I know...they taste like shit."

The redhead laughed at her sarcasm, "Glad I could help clear that up for you then." With a groan he rose to his feet, quickly peering back around the corner from which he came before holding his hand out for the stranger to take. Accepting gladly she used his strength to pull herself from the cold ground.

"Talk about ways to take a girls breath away." She muttered to herself but given the cocked expression on his face the boy had heard. She wasn't sure if he were amused or not.

Taking her hand from his [Y/N] placed both of hers on her lower back and stretched her aching muscles while the joints in her spine cracked in several places. Moaning lightly at the tension it relieved.

"If I were to hazzard a guess, I'd say you were running from Filch."

"That'd be a pretty good guess" he smiled shyly as if unsure how she were about to react.

Lifting her gaze to meet his she found the expression to be one of unease and awkwardness. It looked out of place on the face of one half of the notorious Weasley Twins.

"The rumours are true, Weasley's really do know how to knock a girl off their feet."

His face contorted into a mixture of confusion and amusement. Given the circumstances he'd been awaiting a lecture or to be scolded for his recklessness which ended up rather painful for the both of them. Humour was not something he expected to come from her. An impressed grin snuck it's way onto his lips, the Twins always admired a person who could make light of a tense situation.

The silence and look on his face spoke differently to [Y/N], she felt she must have said the wrong thing. The whole encounter was far too awkward for her liking. Bouncing on the balls of her feet she let out a long breath through mostly closed lips as she gently punched her palm contemplating her next words. She had to think of something...anything to say that could recover.

"Hi, I'm [Y/N] I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable." She reached her hand out to shake his. To her great relief he laughed while taking it. "George" he answered simply.

"What's a girl like you doing out at a time like this?" Raising his brow with a cheeky grin he placed his hands in his pockets.

"Same as you it'd appear."

"Running from Filch?"

"Snape actually." George's eyes went wide at the words.

"You dare tempt to best the Devil?" Silent laughter radiated through his body as he smiled in shock.

"Well to be totally honest, he wasn't in my plans. But Peeves got the better of me."

"Peeves?"

"Annoying him has become somewhat of a hobby of mine", [Y/N] shrugged, "guess he finally had enough. He had Snape waiting for me."

"The little snitch." The two laughed.

For two people who had just met, in a rather abrupt and unpleasant manner, they were surprised at how easily conversation flowed between them.

Leaning casually against the corridor wall they spoke a little back and forth while George relayed his evenings events and how he suddenly found himself unaccompanied by his brother. It wouldn't have stopped there, had it not been for the arrival of Mrs Norris and the sound of Filchs voice carrying down the hall putting a stopper in their laughter.

Staring wide eyes from the cat back to one another they took off in a sprint. George made to turn down the passage [Y/N] ascended previously before she grabbed his hand "Not there. That's where I ditched Snape he'll be down there for sure!"

Thinking quickly George took the lead, hand still clasped firmly in hers. Dragging [Y/N] close behind him they ran through the courtyard to the Trophy room.

Hiding beside an old cabinet [Y/N] and George fought hard to recapture their breaths dropping each others hand, [Y/N]s clutched her chest as George steadied himself against the wall.

"That's...the second time" [Y/N] strained to speak through burning breaths, "second time you've left me breathless tonight." She chuckled swallowing hard afterwards. "That's so corny" George coughed feeling like his lungs were full of sand.

When their ability to speak without pain finally returned the two soon found they had a lot in common. George was in awe of how [Y/N] could make light of any situation. She seemed to ooze positively and, much like he and his brother, always tried to make people laugh because, in her words, "What's life without laughter? Fucking boring." He could feel himself falling as he hung from her every word. Every giggle. Every smile. He couldn't take his eyes off her, till a blinding light from over her shoulder appeared pulling his attention. A teacher. He couldn't stand to see her end up in detention so, panicking, he did the only thing he could think of. Cutting [Y/N] off mid sentence he shoved her into the hidden compartment he knew lay behind the cabinet. He and Fred had used it many times before, though it wasn't exactly spacious it served it's purpose as a temporary refuge from angry teachers or prefects.

Eliciting a sudden squeal from [Y/N] as she had remained blissfully unaware of the approaching punishment he closed the cabinet behind her, leaning against it in a casual way just as the teacher turned into the hall.

"WEASLEY!" They yelled. Snape. Of course it'd be Snape he thought.

"PROFESSOR!" he mockingly yelled back with an innocent smile he straightened himself off the cabinet.

"Mind explaining as to why you are roaming the castle well past curfew?"

"Just fancied paying the trophies a visit sir." The familiar creak of wood sounded through the space as [Y/N] had obviously pressed against the other size of the cupboard, turning both men's attention. Georges eyes were wide as Snapes brows furrowed in confusion.

"Haven't seen them in so long you see. Thought they must have been missing me." He shouted slightly leaning all his weight back against the wood to stop it moving and to draw Snapes attention back to him.

"Mhmm. Where's your brother?" The Slytherin asked with a stern expression.

"Bed I imagine." a light tapping noise began to sound coming from the direction of the cabinet once again. George shifted his position so as to strum his fingertips against the old wood to compensate.

"A likely story."

"Sir, it is quite late you realise?"

"I'm aware." Snape was growing tired of the redheads cheek "50 points will be taken from Gryffindor and, seeing as you're so taken by them, detention this weekend shall be served polishing every last trophy in this room. Should give you plenty of time to be...reacquainted." the greasy haired man smirked triumphantly.

"You're too kind, sir" George forced a smile.

"Return to your house immediately and, should you run into him, before I do, drag your dimwitted other half with you." With a nod and two finger saltue George glared at his potions teacher, watching him stride away dramatically.

He was still glaring when he heard a loud knock come from the hiding place.

"Oh right" he fumbled upright opening the way slowly. He peered in to see [Y/N] leant back against the wall with arms folded and a much more playful glare than the one George was sporting moments ago. "Ah, come to let me out have you?" She jested.

"I'm sorry, Severus came waltzing by and-"

"Oh, I know."

"You know?"

"He always patrols the trophy room at 12pm Thursday nights."

"Well why the bloody hell didn't you tell me!?"

"Same reason I kept tapping on the back of the cabinet...I wanted to make things difficult for you." The girl grinned wickedly.

Georges mouth fell open. "To think, I was trying to save you from detention." He laughed.

"Yes I did hear that part actually. Be sure to put your elbows into it, some of these old cups are quite tarnished." She ran her finger over the glass of the neighbour display as she walked out past him.

"Ah, humour based on my pain. Aha-ha-ha."

[Y/N]s head dropped as she laughed at his sarcasm before turning to him while he leant back against the cabinet to close it's hiding place. Looking down at her [Y/N] blushed under the weight of his stare, biting her lip to restrain the giddy smile trying to break through.

"Want to go to Hogsmead with me this weekend?"

The question took her by surprise. The butterflies in her stomach making her uncomfortable.

"Ah, You have detention." She reminded him.

"So?"

"How do you plan on getting out of the Castle?"

"I have my ways." He shrugged with a smug look on his face.

[Y/N]s tongues traced her lips before pulling her bottom one through her teeth, the experience was calling to her like breaking curfew. She did love to break the rules.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He seemed astonished by her answer, and brought himself off the cabinet.

"Yeah, okay. I'd love too." [Y/N] was smiling brightly now at the prospect of spending more time with George.

"Great! Meet me here at 10 on Saturday?"

She nodded the only reply she seemed capable of giving as the butterflies in her stomach took over her whole body.

"Great. Well I better go find my 'dimwitted other half' let him know that Snapes after us." He joked "I'll see you then." He placed a quick kiss to her cheek.

Her hand came to the place where his lips had met her skin as the familiar warmth of a blush spread over her face. She turned to watch him leave, he must have expected her to as he looked over his shoulder shooting her a wink before leaving around the corner.

Tonight was surprising to say the least. And not a thing had gone to plan. But [Y/N] wouldn't have changed a second of it for the world.

[mewhenleg]

sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ

sʜɪᴘ:

ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ x ᴘɪᴇᴛʀᴏ ᴍᴀxɪᴍᴏғғ

ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ:

ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ / ᴀᴠᴇɴɢᴇʀs

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ:

ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ's ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ғɪɴᴇsᴛ sᴏ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ᴀ sᴛᴏʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴊᴜᴅɢᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴏɴ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ ɪ ʙᴇɢ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs:

sᴍᴜᴛ (18+)

ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ: @goshdangitjay

A brother and a sister had been invited to stay at the Avengers Towers; Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, AKA The Scarlet Witch and QuickSilver.

Peter hadn't paid much attention to them when they first arrived. Of course, he introduced himself and smiled a lot or whatever, but really all he'd wanted to do was go back to being curled up under a blanket and watching shitty crime dramas while he cried until his head felt empty over nothing in particular.

It had been about two weeks since they had arrived, though, and Peter really hadn't gotten to know them very well. Just as he was thinking about this, (right as he was in the middle of watching "Cops in NY") none other than the silver haired speed-demon himself came sauntering in through the door. He looked up from his blanket nest and smiled softly.

"I figured I wouldn't see you outside of your room, so I came to say hi." Pietro said, coming to sit down next to him on the couch at the front of his rooms. Peter muted the TV.

"Uh- Hi. Mr, uh- Mr. Maximoff." Peter greeted, stumbling over his words as the man sat a little closer than what would be considered normal to him. His throat bobbed.

"Are you okay?" Pietro asked quietly, and it was only then that Peter realised his face was probably still red from the salty tears that had been falling down his cheeks earlier. He quickly looked away and wiped at his face- to no avail. He shoved the blankets off of himself, the room suddenly too hot and the walls too close. He clenched his hands into fists. Deep breaths.

Peter felt a hand graze his arm for a moment and turned around, but Pietro was just sitting back with that slightly-bored looking grace he always held himself with plastered across his beautiful features. He could've sworn he imagined the touch, but at least now he wasn't thinking about things that would inevitably lead to him breaking down in front of the other man. Pietro raised a brow.

"Oh- right. Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Totally- totally fine." Peter got quieter and quieter towards the end of his sentence, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. Pietro didn't seem to buy it. He couldn't blame him, to be honest.

"What troubles you?" He asked, his Russian accent like a purr against his skin. Peter swallowed thickly.

"Nothing, really, Mr. Maximoff. I've got all this stuff here and- and I'm not unhealthy or anything... and Mr. Stark pays me so much I could live for ten years on the moon if I wanted to." Peter justified, splaying his hands out in front of him as if it would make his point clearer.

"That doesn't mean you have no troubles." Pietro said with furrowed brows. Peter shrugged.

"Look at me- I've got a beautiful face, the perfect body, lots of money and a wonderful place to live in. And still, I am unhappy sometimes. I have troubles." Peter snorted at the oh-so-casual vanity that Pietro displayed.

"Like what? You can't stop checking yourself out?" Peter said before he could think twice. He immediately slammed his hands over his mouth and looked down, only taking them away to apologise quickly. Pietro laughed; a loud, booming sound that made heat rise to Peter's face.

"That is a constant battle I fight in, yes." Pietro supplied, clasping his hands over Peter's wrists and removing his hands from his face before leaning back again. All the colour on his cheeks from before increased tenfold, his face a glaring red. Pietro seemed unaffected and unfazed, perhaps a bit smug, if he was honest. Peter fell silent.

"You do not want to talk about it?" Pietro sort-of asked, more of an observation, really. Peter shrugged.

"I just want it all to go away for a while. I need a distraction." Peter looked up at Pietro when he spoke that last word - 'distraction' - and he wasn't entirely sure why. Pietro threw him a small smirk and leaned forwards, Peter only now noticing how much bigger the male was than him. A firm hand gripped his chin and forced his head up to look at him, Pietro's peppermint-and-honey scent stuffing itself up his nose. He felt lightheaded; drunk on it.

"Let me be a distraction." He said huskily, his voice lower than the farthest reaches of the ocean, a rusty purr that trailed sensuous hands over his body. Peter gulped.

"M-Mr. Maximoff, I- I don't think we should-" Peter protested, but before he could even finish, Pietro was at the door, waving goodbye before leaving. Peter was stunned into silence, his mind racing, heart beating out of his chest.

"You didn't think I'd actually leave, right?" A voice sounded from behind him. He jumped and almost fell off the couch, somehow landing in a pair of strong arms that hoisted him up against a firm chest instead of back onto the couch cushions. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment as he breathed in his scent, his eyes almost rolling backwards. Almost. He shot his eyes open as soon as he realised what he was doing.

"Mr. Maximoff- We shouldn't- I don't- what if-" Peter spluttered, but Pietro silenced him by dragging his hand along his ribcage and along the top of his thigh in a long, sensuous touch.

"Stop talking." Pietro whispered. His throat bobbed as he refrained from sighing in contentment. It took Pietro less than a second to take him to his room halfway across the tower, quickly laying the boy down on the bed and looming above him with his hands propped next to either side of his head.

"I can tell that you like it, Peter." Pietro's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and yet it was still so beautifully deep and enticing. It made his toes curl, something he hoped Pietro didn't see, but he obviously did, setting off a dangerous smirk on the man's lips.

"You want more, don't you?" He carried on, his deft fingers now playing with the hem of his shirt, tracing over the sliver of skin beneath. Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking away from Pietro's face as he continued to tease him, the older man tracing featherlight touches near but not quite where Peter wanted him. He fought back against the bulge forming in his pants, a battle he only half-won as his pants didn't tent, but instead only strained a little bit. It was enough for Pietro, apparently.

"See how it affects you?" He murmured, his hands brushing lightly across the small bulge forming. Peter bit back on a moan, no noise escaping him other than his uneven breathing. The battle he'd been having with himself was quickly lost, his trousers almost instantly tenting.

"How it makes you want more." He continued, his fingers creeping up his shirt now, ghostly touches trailing all over his chest, his stomach, his sides.

"How you react so beautifully to the slightest," Pietro paused and laid his hand flat against his sides, dragging it upwards and then down again. Peter arched his back almost imperceptibly, eyes squeezing shut, "Touch." Pietro finished.

"What would happen, Peter," Pietro mused, his fingers moving to tweak his nipples under his shirt. Peter sucked both his lips into his mouth and bit down on them to keep from moaning, "if I were to touch you in all the right places?"

Peter still hadn't made a noise, but it was clear how much this was affecting him by his heavy breathing and slight reactions, excluding the fact that his dick was painfully hard as well. Pietro smirked and reached a hand down to slip just past the hem of his baggy pants, making Peter swallow his own gasp.

"What would you do," He began again, his other hand gripping the back of Peter's head and threading through his hair, forcing him to look him in the eyes for a moment, "if I made you cum for me in a heartbeat?"

Pietro released his grip on the boy's hair. "And what if I touched you as fast as I could?" He asked, tapping different places all over Peter's body and eliciting all sorts of different reactions; lip bites, eye-shutting, toe-curling and fist-clenching being the mildest of them all. "What if you loved it?"

Peter looked up at Pietro with an expression cloudy with lust, then quickly snapped his eyes shut as he saw the expression on his face. He didn't think he could handle that amount of sheer hunger that shone on Pietro's face.

"What would happen, if I touched you so quickly," Pietro indeed dragged his deft fingers all over Peter's chest so fast that it felt like he was being touched everywhere all at once, "everywhere you wanted me to," his hand snuck past the hem of his pants and swiped once over his bulge, making Peter gulp audibly as he tried to stop himself from bucking his hips, "and made you cum in seconds?"

Peter's face was aflame, his heart pounding out of his chest and breathing ragged like a worn-out dog. He refused to look at Pietro, turning his head away defiantly.

"Why aren't you speaking, Peter?" He crooned, brushing the hair out of the boy's eyes with his slender fingers and tucking it behind his ears. Peter shifted his eyes to Pietro, and quickly looked away as the sheer power of his stare hit him like a brick to the face. Scratch that, he knew what that felt like, and it didn't even come close.

"Do I scare you?" Pietro asked, his voice coated with a hint of unease. Peter shook his head, somehow still managing to stay facing away from him.

"Didn't you say you wanted a distraction?" He asked, his hands now stroking idle circles on Peter's thighs. Higher than that. "I could distract you... I could distract you for a long, long time if you wanted me to." Pietro purred, his eyes boring into the side of Peter's head.

"I- I'm not used to- to these sorts of th-things..." Peter mumbled shakily, his eyes focused on the floor. Pietro slid his hand around to cup Peter's cheek, pushing his head sideways so he had to look at Pietro. He leaned down until their faces were barely an inch apart, meaning Peter was now trapped between closing his eyes and risking whatever Pietro would surely do to him - not that he entirely minded -, looking down and risk seeing the beautiful body pressing against his, or meeting his crushing stare. "Let me be your first." Pietro whispered and, like an idiot, Peter chose the first option, squeezing his eyes tight shut.

Before he even knew what was happening, Peter was being heaved up and pinned against a wall, his chest flush against the hard surface and ass sticking out slightly towards the tall, muscled man behind him. He'd almost forgotten about his ability to travel faster than the speed of light, and shoved the thoughts of the other things he could do with that sort of speed firmly out of his head.

Pietro held Peter against the wall by his back and wrists, his groin pressed firmly against Peter's ass. He blushed a dark crimson when he realised that Pietro was as hard as he was- if not moreso.

"You're so pretty, Peter," Pietro cooed, his hands trailing over the curve of Peter's ass. Peter bit the flesh of the arm he was leaning his forehead on, a strangled groan escaping him as Pietro slipped his fingers further down until he was tracing circles over the lump in Peter's pants, "I saw you when I first came here, smiling so forcefully as you greeted us," he went on, his hand now lazily palming him through his trousers. He stopped any noises he would've made this time by biting down on his tongue, "I wanted to know why you looked so upset when nobody was looking," he whispered, groping the top of Peter's dick through his jeans, "is it because there's nobody to pleasure you?" Pietro asked, but Peter knew it wasn't really a question.

"Is it because the people who do pleasure you are not good enough?" Pietro's voice became more growl-like as he spoke about the "people who did pleasure him". Nonexistent people.

"Talk to me, Peter. Your voice is so beautiful." Pietro purred, his hand stroking a long stripe down his spine. Peter gulped.

"I- I don't- I don't know-" Peter admitted in a whine, earning a low chuckle from Pietro.

"I can help you find out." Pietro returned, his hand again trailing down Peter's body and ghosting over his clothed erection. Peter bit down harshly on his bottom lip, but didn't quite stop the low whine that escaped him in time.

"You sound so pretty," Pietro whispered, "why do you hold your noises back from me?" Peter somehow turned impossibly redder, his ears the colour of Hawaiian red fruit punch. He still kept his mouth firmly clamped shut, maybe because he was too afraid of letting go, or maybe he was scared to admit that what Pietro was doing affected him. Peter wasn't entirely sure himself.

"Do you want me to pleasure you, Peter Parker?" Pietro purred, his hand stuffing up Peter's shirt and touching him so quickly, so lightly that he thought he might explode. It took more effort than he'd like to admit to tone down his loud moan to tight whimper. Pietro's hand stilled and Peter cursed his body for betraying him as he whined and tried to get Pietro to touch him again. Pietro chuckled, hardly a huff of breath from his nose.

"Is that a yes, sweet thing?" He purred, sliding his hands over Peter's front again, slower this time. Peter nodded slightly, a firm dip of his head.

"I need to hear you say it." He murmured. Peter drew in a shaky breath.

"P-please touch me, Mr. Maximoff." Peter whimpered, not entirely catching the look of pure lust that shone in his eyes at what Peter called him. Pietro's hands instantly tugged his shirt off, the clothing discarded on the floor before Peter could so much as blink, and then his beautifully smooth hands were on Peter's back, his chest, his sides. He stifled a cry by shoving his knuckle into his mouth, but Pietro slowed down and came to a stop.

"I want to hear your pretty noises, sweet thing." Pietro said, his hand reaching round and removing the knuckle Peter and stuffed into his mouth. Peter whimpered ever so quietly and shook his head.

"Don't- don't wanna. Avengers- the avengers will hear." Peter squeaked out, only a half truth.

"I can take us somewhere far away from them," Pietro whispered into Peter's ear, earning a gulp from the boy, "then you can scream my name all you like."

Peter shivered and nodded his head, and in an instant they were both in a fairly large room in what Peter could only assume was an apartment downtown. He flicked his eyes up to Pietro, worry shining in them.

"It's my apartment, don't worry." Pietro murmured, setting Peter down on the floor and immediately backing him into the wall, the two of them in the same position they had been in at the Towers. Peter pushed himself ever so slightly against Pietro, the man taking it as a signal and snaking his hands over Peter's exposed torso. He started slowly, massaging Peter's back and chest with his hands, then sped up, tweaking his nipples every now and again, and still, Peter held back his noises. No sound passed his lips aside from the occasional intake of a sharp breath when Pietro attacked his nipples with more force than usual.

"Are you holding back, sweet thing? Or does it not feel good enough?" He whispered the last part straight into Peter's ear, the promise of more pleasure dangling in front of his face. He gulped.

"N-no, I just- I don't-" Peter looked down at the floor, "I'm so new to- to all of this and- and I don't wanna mess it up by- I don't know..." Peter mumbled it all in one breath, but assumed that Pietro heard him when the touching started up again, only slightly slower than before.

"You are perfect, sweet thing. Just let go, let me hear your voice." Pietro said soothingly, his hands perhaps not aiming to please, but to soothe, to calm. At least for now. Peter nodded weakly and released a shaky breath, Pietro's fingers grazing over his nipples. His breathing hitched at the slight contact. The taller man ran his hands over the sensitive buds again, circling them lazily before pinching his fingers over them. Peter yelped in surprise, eyes widening.

"You like that?" Pietro asked in a purr, repeating the action and rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers. Peter nodded with a whine, craving more of Pietro's touch. "Good." He murmured, trailing one of his hands down to Peter's clothed erection, slowly palming him through the fabric. Peter groaned and pressed himself against Pietro's hand, desperately asking for him to go faster.

"P-Pietro-" He whined as Pietro sped up, his hand slipping between the fabric of his boxers and his bare skin, stroking him leisurely.

"Mmm?" Pietro hummed in question, his movements quickening.

"Fe-feels good." Peter moaned, Pietro tearing his jeans and boxers off in a second. The taller male wrapped his hand around Peter's cock and pumped relentlessly, not even half as fast as he could be going. Peter whined and moaned, bucking his hips ever so slightly.

"Want me to speed up, sweet thing?" Pietro crooned, slowing down until he got his answer.

"God- yes-" Peter moaned, and Pietro instantly obliged, his hands quickening their brutal pace, maddeningly quick as he stroked Peter's cock.

"Oh- oh- oh- God- gonna-" was all Peter managed before he spilled all over Pietro's hand, paining the walls with white stripes of his cum. He panted like a dog, his teeth clenched and face flushed, the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground in a heap was Pietro's arm around his waist.

"You okay, my sweet boy?" Pietro asked, and Peter almost trembled at his use of the word 'my'. He nodded as his eyes fluttered shut again, Pietro hoisting him into the bed and slipping in beside him.

"You owe me." Pietro murmured against the crook of Peter's neck.

"Get fucked." Peter grumbled his response.

"That's the idea."