#fic under 1k

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

I have a sickfic prompt for you!

Okay, so imagine Peter sick in bed. Tony babysitting because May has to work. Before May leaves she mentions to Tony, “Can you grab his pjs out of the laundry? He always wants a particular pair when he’s feeling sick-“

And Tony doesn’t think anything of it. So he goes to grab Peter’s clothes and sees the pjs…

Are a tourist shirt and Hello Kitty pants

This ask came in all the way back in March. It was a fun idea so I held into, hoping to eventually turn it into a mini-fic. Well, friends. Today is the day. Have a big dose of soft, guilty Tony and sick, cuddly-warm Peter.

Hello Kitty Pajamas - 826 Words

“May! May, I’m here!” Tony called as he let himself into the Parkers’ apartment. He’d received a message an hour prior requesting his presence. Specifically, so he could babysit a significantly ill spider-baby while his aunt went in for a mandatory shift. He’d hesitated at first because was he really the best choice? May had assured him there was no one else. And that even if there were, she was sure Peter wouldn’t want anyone but him. An unfamiliar warmth had bloomed in his chest, prompting him to obtain his keys.

“Sorry!” May called from down the hall. “I'm sorry! He sweat right through his clothes. I was changing the sheets, so you didn’t have to.”

Tony pulled a face without meaning to. A slight laugh escaped May’s lips as a result.

“He’s in the shower now. That should help with a lot of the congestion.” she paused, sighed and twisted her lip between her teeth. “I know he’s old enough to take care of himself. I just- with his fever going up and down so rapidly I didn’t want him to be here alone. Just in case.”

“It’s fine, May. You know I don’t mind spending time with him,” he said, keeping his voice as steady and nonchalant as possible. “Thanks for changing the sheets, though. Housekeeping isn’t really my thing.” They both knew, without a doubt, that he’d do it again if needed. But neither of them commented on it.

"Shoot! How did it get so late? I really need to get going.” He watched May scramble to find her purse and keys. “His favorite pajamas are in the dryer. Can you grab those for him?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks again, Tony,” May said, already halfway out the door. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

Tony smiled and waved to her toward the hall. “Any time, May. You know that.”

Once she was gone, he located the laundry area and opened the dryer. Inside was a heap of towels of varying sizes. Among them, he managed to stop a white shirt and some pink fuzzy pants. Although it wasn’t until he hauled them out that he realized what they were. Hello Kitty was patterned across the bottoms, and the top was the over-sized tourist shirt. He suddenly realized it was the outfit he’d purchased the kid directly after their first argument. He blew out a breath as an image of Peter, wearing that exact outfit with tears running down his cheeks popped into his head. Guilt began to swirl in his gut. He dug around in the dryer hoping to find different pajamas. He couldn’t fathom how those could possibly be Peter’s favorite. Unsuccessful, he clutched the shirt and pants tightly in his fist and carried them to the restroom door.

“Pete?” he called. “I’m putting your PJ’s outside the door.”

“Thanks,” Peter rasped, coughing harshly after. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time, Bud. No rush.”

Tony sat down on the couch. His leg bounced and his fingers tapped on his knee as he thought more about that decidedly horrible day. The whole thing has been his fault, really. If he’d just told the kid he’d called the FBI… He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand down his face. God, he’d been a jerk. He shouldn't have shouted in the kid’s face and really shouldn't have taken the suit. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the bathroom door creak open.

“Hey,” Peter said as he rounded the corner. “Sorry, May made you come.”

Tony swallowed with difficulty. The sight of the pajamas making his stomach churn. “I-”

“Are you okay?” Peter interjected.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” Tony quipped. Peter continued to frown. “I’m fine. Just- thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Definitely,” Tony agreed, then sucked in a breath. “May said those are your favorite pajamas.”

Peter hummed positively and dropped down onto the couch. “They’re comfortable.”

Tony's brow furrowed. “They don’t make you think about that day?”

“Sometimes,” Peter shrugged. “But mostly they make me think about you.”

A warm wet head landed on Tony’s shoulder. Water soaked through his shirt. He found he didn’t really mind. “I’m so sorry, Kid,” he whispered. “I really didn’t handle that situation very well. I didn’t communicate with you the way I should have, I lost my temper when that backfired, then I took it all out on you. I shouldn't have done that. Forgive me?”

“Already did,” Peter yawned. “Like- a long time ago.”

It shouldn’t have been that easy, Tony thought to himself. But Peter is such a good kid… he leaned his cheek against the top of Peter’s head and sighed. “Tired?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t feel so good.”

“Well, let’s get you into your bed, hmm? May changed the sheets and everything.”

Peter nodded and started toward his bedroom. Tony followed behind, smiling softly as the kid exhaustedly crawled under the covers. Astonishingly, the sight of the pajamas didn’t bother him so much anymore. He traversed the room and ran his fingers through his kid’s hair.

“Sleep well, Kiddo,” he murmured. “I’ll be out there if you need me.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

distraction

words: 400

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming

“no, it’s fine.” you sigh, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you pout at rafe, his skin illuminated by the lamp placed on his desk, casting the room in warm light. “you don’t love me anymore, whatever.”

rafes fingers pause their flying over the keyboard as he finally looks over to you, chair swiveling as he faces where you are perched on the edge of his desk. “baby.” he says firmly, a warning in his voice.

“no, no, it’s alright.” you wave your hand like its dispelling his warning. “you don’t love me. you won’t let me sit on your cock. it’s fine.” “princess.” rafe reaches for your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “it’s just that i’m busy, darling. i really have to get this done.”

“i’ll sit super still until you’re finished, won’t be a distraction, i swear.” you promise, shifting your hand so you can wrap your pinky around rafes, shaking it to prove your point.

rafe sighs before using your interlocked fingers to pull you closer as you squeal with happiness of finally getting your way. you straddle rafes lap, having already taken your underwear off from under your skirt before entering rafes office, knowing exactly what you wanted from him.

“you’re already hard.” you giggle, reaching between your bodies to undo rafes pants, his bulge clearly straining.

“i got hard the second you walked in the room, bunny.” rafe sighs, leaning back and lifting his hips to let you tug his pants and underwear down to expose his stiff cock.

“then why didn’t you let me ride you?” you whine.

“work.” rafe gestures vaguely towards the computer, not wanting to explain what he has to get done, not when you are lining yourself up with his cock and sinking down with a moan.

“fuck.” rafe groans, one hand coming to grip your ass as you settle against his lap, arms wrapping around him as you lean in, resting your head against his shoulder.

“thank you.” you press a kiss to his neck. “love you.”

“love you too baby.” rafe says, moving his chair back in so he can continue to type. “be still for me, yeah? fuck you after i finish.”

“mhm.” you mumble into his neck, satisfied that you've got rafe stretching your insides, satisfying your craving. you know you won’t be sitting still for long, it’s just a matter of who breaks first, you or rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk

[overtake]

if you’re still doing prompts: ⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

Car mechanic Daniel, driver Max.

Daniel’s brain pulses inside his head, kissing the fragile walls of his skull with every second he’s awake. His nose simultaneously runs out of one nostril and is stuffed up in the other. Even through his slightly blocked hearing, he knows his breathing sounds wheezy and congested.

He props himself up onto a shaky elbow and almost collapses with the motion. His whole body aches. There’s spine-chilling shivers sent through his bones one second and hot flashes the next. Groaning, he finally adjusts himself to a seated position and takes a second to regroup.

Reluctantly, he reaches for his phone to turn off do not disturb. He hates to call out of work, made worse by how nice Cyril always is about it. The garage is a lot for the two of them to handle, let alone Cyril by himself.

Daniel blinks when he realizes he has six missed calls from the garage. He’s definitely running a bit behind his usual schedule, but Cyril doesn’t set specific hours for him so long as Daniel gets his work done. There must be some emergency, which is fucking great. He’ll be taking medicine and going after all.

He sees spots when he stands to his feet, but he grabs his bedside table and manages to stay upright. He puts the phone on speaker and drops it on the bed while he pulls on the first respectably clean items of clothing he can find. Not like it matters, really. He’ll sweat through them within five minutes of working through this fever, and grease always seems to permeate their coveralls no matter what they do.

Cyril picks up in a state of panic — which, for him, still sounds remarkably calm and stable.

“We have an emergency repair,” he informs Daniel. “It’s going to take me all day, probably. I need you to cover everything else so I can get this done.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Daniel promises, trying his absolute best to sound as if he’s not deathly ill. Cyril is too caught up in frantically relaying this emergency to Daniel, who has entirely tuned him out in pursuit of getting on pants without passing out and splitting his head open. He probably ends the call rather rudely into Cyril’s story, but he needs to focus all his attention on driving into work without a dizzy spell.

Cyril takes one look at him and tries to send him straight back home.

“No,” Daniel protests. “I’m good. I’ll go home if it’s still bad by midday, but I’m alright. You have that emergency repair for someone important.”

The reminder of this seemingly VIP client perks Cyril right up. “You would not believe who is in our office right now,” he says, dropping his voice to a low whisper.

Daniel shrugs. He probably can guess. A tiny auto repair shop on the outskirts of Perth doesn’t exactly attract high profile visitors. At best, it’s probably some dickhead politician or half-famous musician. They definitely have money, based on the nice ass car Cyril was working on when Daniel walked in.

“Go and look,” Cyril says excitedly, shoving Daniel toward the door that leads into the office space.

This mystery guy has his back to Daniel, bent over on his phone. Daniel sees broad shoulders and scruffy hair in that nebulous area between blond and brown.

It’s only when the guy turns around that he realizes he’s looking at Max Verstappen.

Daniel hasn’t paid actual attention to F1 in years. He did his time in Italy, tried to prove himself worthy of a real shot. He got it, too. He did races with HRT, made it two races with Toro Rosso, and then collapsed in the paddock before quali and was diagnosed with a heart condition. Manageable, they said. Shouldn’t affect his length or quality of life, so long as he took medication and stopped putting his body through the enormous strain of racing.

He’d considered saying fuck it and racing anyway. It felt more important to him than anything else at that time. To a 22-year-old with his dreams at his fingertips, he figured there was no quality of life without F1.

His mum, though — it would have destroyed her. He returned to Perth and laid uselessly in bed for two months, then found the closest job to cars he could stomach without driving himself mental over what he’d lost.

“Everything okay?” Max asks, twisting and facing his body toward Daniel when he hears the door open. His blue eyes widen when they take in Daniel, probably looking just as spooked as Daniel’s do right now. Daniel knows he’s sick, but he didn’t realize he looked atrocious enough to scare people.

“Hi,” Daniel says. His words come out phlegmy, and he tries for a casual cough to clear it. He can feel it’s not successful, but forges on. “Uh, I don’t know if Cyril mentioned it, but your repair is going to probably be an all-day thing. You don’t have to sit in here.” Then, panicked that he sounds as if he’s kicking Max out, he hastily clarifies. “Obviously, you can stay if you want. There’s just probably more exciting things to do.”

Max looks at him drily. “I don’t have a car.”

“Right,” Daniel says. “Like, no offense, but I think you’ve got the money to rent a new one.”

Max doesn’t look remotely offended. He laughs, something genuine and higher-pitched than Daniel expected.

“I’ve done all the tourist things anyway. I leave tomorrow. I don’t really mind just sitting here.”

“Alright, well. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Max says. He has a nice smile, Daniel thinks, and admires the pink shape of it before Max turns back to his phone.

It takes his hazy brain ages to realize he never told Max his name.

Max hunches over his screen, shooting the odd glance at the door to make sure no one’s about to bust back through. He types in the Instagram handle he’s visited countless times over the years. Daniel Ricciardo, who shook his hand at a karting event with a big grin and imprinted himself permanently on Max’s psyche.

Max had spent ages on his dad’s computer after that collapse, refreshing the search over and over until a news article confirmed that Daniel was alive.

Daniel had faded in and out of Max’s memory in the years since, but he never left completely. Every so often, Max would look at his social media and watch the profile picture change with the times. Those pixels on a locked-down profile were the only documentation he had that Daniel was still out in the world somewhere and doing okay.

He didn’t come to Perth for Daniel. He didn’t even know if Daniel still lived here, for one. Plus, it would be incredibly creepy to track him down based on the foggy memory of a decade old karting event.

Max had watched back Daniel’s limited races, breathless at the raw potential. He’d wondered a few times what it would’ve been like if Daniel stayed and fought his way into Red Bull long enough for Max to race beside him.

Even still, he didn’t pick his vacation spot for Daniel. Subconsciously, maybe it influenced his choice, but he had two spare weeks after Melbourne and an ache to see something besides his white bedroom walls.

Fate, not Max, made his ludicrously expensive rental car break down in the Perth suburbs and brought him to Daniel’s garage.

He looks down at Daniel’s profile. 32 posts. A profile picture of him in a colourful bucket hat sipping a drink. No mutual followers, despite the countless people that connect them. Daniel didn’t make this page until he was out of F1, and Max assumes he blocked out that world entirely.

He hovers his finger over the follow button, then exits the app before he can make that kind of bad decision. Instead, he stands, pats his jeans to check for his wallet, and marches out the door toward the cafe a few doors down.

He thinks of Daniel’s raspy voice and ruddy, fever-red cheeks and hopes he likes soup.

[iinryer]

If you might still be taking suggestions for your prompts 1. touching foreheads with 🥾🌲😭

a little scene prompt game to get me writing!

[🥾🌲😭 + 1: touching foreheads]

—

The tension is starting to get to him.

All of this beautiful relaxing nature, the fresh air, the sights and sounds of the late afternoon familiar hike. And yet, the tightness in Buck’s chest that he’s been trying to dodge for the past 72—give or take—hours, prevails.

He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his own skin.

But he’s holding on. Yeah. He can wait. He can. And he has! He’s waiting. Even if he’s not entirely sure when he’ll get to stop waiting. He’s waiting because he’s a good person and he will respect the wishes of the people around him.

He can wait.

“Hey,” just ahead of him on the path, Eddie gestures up towards a trail sign. He turns back over his shoulder, the perfect picture of composure and nonchalance, and asks, “did you want to take a water break at the next lookout?”

And Buck feels his hold on himself slip like a misstep on a rocky path.

He can’t wait.

“Can—Can we talk about it yet?” he blurts out in a rush, tripping over his own words, tumbling and skittering like gravel down the incline, “I—I know you don’t want to but it’s—Eddie. I really think we need to talk about it,”

Eddie goes completely still.

Buck feels like his ears are ringing, he doesn’t know if this is the right call, but he’s—he can’t hold onto it anymore. It’s making him feel crazy.

He watches Eddie’s face in profile. Suddenly neutral in the way he gets when he’s trying to put a wall between himself and what’s happening around him. Buck hates it. Hates to be on the other side of that shell.

“Please?” Buck tries, sounding desperate even to his own ears.

There’s another beat, and then Eddie deflates with a heaving exhale. He closes his eyes, gives a stilted nod, and then turns to keep walking.

Buck is confused for a moment, scrambling to follow—always, always following—but then Eddie takes the split in the path towards the lookout marker he’d pointed out. He’s not running, Buck realizes with relief, he’s just leading them off of the trail.

Buck pauses when Eddie sits on the bench at the ledge, his back to Buck, facing the landscape below them. He’s still holding himself stiffly, but there’s a line of resignation in the curve of his shoulders that makes Buck’s heart ache.

He gives Eddie a second to breathe before making his way over to the bench, sure to telegraph his approach with footsteps that can be heard. For all that he’s been vibrating out of his skin wanting to talk, he finds himself moving slowly. Deliberate and measured. He’s cracked open the brittle shell, but there’s still something very fragile inside. There’s still a risk of hurt, if he’s not careful with it.

Buck stands in front of the bench for a moment, hands tucked away in his jacket pockets, looking out at the beginnings of sunset colors over the trees. Breathes deep and sits down. Leaves space between himself and Eddie, even though it makes him itch.

They don’t say anything for a while.

A bird calls. Then another.

Eventually, words from days ago, said in parting at his front door, return to the forefront of his mind—

Hey, um. Before I go…

“You told me you loved me,” Buck murmurs. As if he needs the reminder.

I love you. Just so you know.

As if he hasn’t been replaying the words in his head on a loop for days.

We don’t need to talk about it, but I just…

“You—,” Buck furrows his brow and chews his lip. Breathing in, then out, “You said—,”

I’m in love with you—and it’s important to me. That you know that.

Buck looks over at him for the first time since sitting down, “And then you left,”

I’ll see you on shift, okay?

There’s silence. And then,

“Yeah,” Eddie swallows harshly, “I did,”

“Why d—,” Buck starts, stops, huffs. Goes to try again, but he doesn’t even know what he wants to ask. Why do you love me? Why did you say it? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you leave? All of them? None of them? He’s not sure.

Eddie purses his lips and shrugs, still not meeting Buck’s eye. But he picks an unsaid why, maybe at random, and replies, “You told me you didn’t think it was in the cards for you. And I couldn’t let you believe that was true,”

Buck’s brain stutter-steps. Rewinds to earlier in that day—before the life-changing farewell at the door took over his entire field of view—back to when he’d been telling Eddie how app dating was starting to feel hopeless, even with the newly-doubled pool size. How he’d laughed and said he felt like maybe he’d run out of chances. Maybe he’d gotten too complicated.

He feels scrambled, searching for words, “I don’t—so you just—,”

“You’re easy, Buck,” Eddie cuts him off, his voice fervent even where it cracks, no room for argument, “you’re so easy to love, it scares me sometimes,”

The wave of adrenaline and shock and overwhelming adoration that sweep over Buck makes him feel tingly and lightheaded.

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, feeling on the verge of tears as he scoots himself closer, “Eddie, look at me, please,”

Eddie’s eyes flicker to him, then down and away, but back again. Meeting Buck, just because he’d asked. Steeling himself. But brave. So, so brave.

“You don’t have to feel the same,” Eddie says, quietly, voice thick and resigned. A flash of a sad, unsure smile, “it’s okay, it’s just mine to hold onto,”

“You asshole,” Buck chokes out a laugh, folding forward to press their foreheads together, eyes closing, noses bumping, hand finding Eddie’s elbow and holding on tight, “You’re such a martyr,”

Eddie lets out a surprised snort, but he’s still shaking in Buck’s grip when he weakly teases back, “Look who’s talking,”

“Of course I feel the same,” Buck whispers into the space between them, barreling past the teasing and back to the heart of it, “of course I love you. How could I not?”

Inevitable, inevitable, inevitable.

He feels more than he hears the shuddering breath that Eddie takes, before he says, so softly it’s barely anything, “You do?”

Buck nods against him, frantic and with furrowed brows, “You—You didn’t want us to talk about it a-and then you didn’t let me say anything back before you left, you jerk—so please, just,” pressing even closer, feeling a hand on his shoulder, fingers against his jaw. Says, “let me,” feels a wetness on his cheek and he’s not sure whose eyes it came from, says again, “let me, please—please, let me love you—,”

Anything else he says is lost between the press of lips and the soft breeze.

[now on ao3!]

[nomazee]

enough to make me cry

blade is your only roommate, your only friend, and your only way home from this terrible party you found yourself in.

blade x gn reader — 3.3k — college & roommates au!, very americanized college experiences, frat parties, mentions of drinking & vomiting, could be read as platonic but there are definitely romantic undertones, feelings of inadequacy/being out of place, hurt/comfort, social anxiety, blade is probably ooc i'm gonna be so honest, mild kafka & reader friendship, erggg im probably missing something

notes: no i have to be so honest blade is probably completely out of character i have not played a single side quest with him in it but i just think he has reluctant roommate-to-best friend potential and i wanted to pour that into a fic,,, this is mostly unintelligible but i did proofread! love you all

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, and the first thing that you think is Blade’s hands are supposed to be cold.

It’s really pathetic. You’re somewhere in a stupid frat house, the thrumming of music around you. There’s the flashing colors and sounds of Mario Kart on the TV, the smell of puke (probably yours) and corona lite, and a hand on your shoulders that you’ve discerned is not your roommate, Blade’s. 

Looking to the side, you follow the hand (painted, manicured nails, definitely still not Blade’s), and it leads up to an arm up to a shoulder up to a face, and—oh. 

“You’re—” you pause, getting your words in order before you puke them up, “you’re Blade’s pretty lady friend?” It’s supposed to come out as a statement, but leans more to a question. She looks down, a bit of a teasing grin on her face, but her eyes are a little soft so you trust her. 

“Is that what he calls me?” she jokes.

“No, I’m— I came up with that.” If you had any dignity left in you, you’d be embarrassed to admit that to her. Unfortunately, you’re pretty sure that Kafka (the pretty lady friend in question) just held your hair back and wiped your face as you puked into a frat-house toilet, flushing your dignity away with your dinner. Your eyes burn with tears and mortification, and you pray that only Kafka saw your embarrassing mishaps.

“I called him to pick you up,” she tells you, already looking away from you and scanning the room as if looking for something, or someone. “I would take you home myself, but I’ve got some things to take care of. And I’m assuming you didn't bring your keys with you?” 

A quick pat-down of your pockets confirms that, yes, you somehow managed to leave your keys at home, the one personal necessity that you were supposed to bring besides your phone. Which, thankfully, you do at least have.

“Umm, the…” you mutter, tongue tangling uselessly as you try to find a way out of here without facing the impending doom of Blade’s aggravated scolding and his I told you so’s. 

A week ago, you went to him with an invite to this frat party and begged him to come with you, saying something like You don’t go out much, this is your chance! He’d adamantly refused, calling it a bad idea and rolling his eyes whenever you brought it up. But you were stubborn, and you wanted to have a fun college experience, so you forced him to drive you to the party with the promise of paying for his next gas payment and getting your own ride back home at the end of the night. 

“I can go,” you finally tell Kafka, mind stringing along memories and thoughts and alarm bells of get your ass home before you have to sit in an awful car ride with Blade, “It’s, like, a fifteen minute walk, don’t call him.” 

“It’s a little too late for that, kid,” Kafka drawls, amusement in her words. She’s smiling down at you, and you’re reminded of how small you feel. “He’s already on the way.” 

“No!” you protest, a little too loudly, but not loud enough to be heard over the thumping of music and bodies and voices. “It’s— Kafka, please, just tell him to turn around, I really don’t want him to deal with me today.” 

If you knew her even less, you’d misinterpret the twitch in her expression as concern—but you’re not too dumb, so you read it as amusement. “Trust me, he’s not going to have a problem with that. You’ll be fine.” 

Whatever that means. Kafka’s too cryptic for your liking, but you won’t complain. She wiped up your vomit from the dirty bathroom tiles and stayed with you to make sure you didn't get trampled, and she didn't complain about any of that. In a week, when you have enough strength to face her again, you’ll treat her to a good, expensive, flaky pastry. She seems like the kind of person who would love those. 

Her phone buzzes with a text notification, and she clicks her tongue, standing up and pulling you with her. Her hand is still warm, seeping through the sleeve of your shirt as she takes you by the forearm, gentle but guiding. Your stomach churns at the thought of seeing Blade, the thought of him seeing you like this. Freshly-puked-out with a nasty stomachache all because of a party that he told you not to go to. 

You hold back your protests as Kafka leads you through the still-crowded frat house. What time is it? Has nobody gotten bored yet, seriously? At least you didn't kill the mood by running to the bathroom and weeping into the toilet. It seems like nobody noticed, except for Kafka, and you don’t know if that should make you feel comforted or just more upset. 

The cool air of the night hits you as you step through the front door, eyes tracking your feet as you walk down the concrete steps. You see the silhouette of Blade’s ugly blue car in your peripheral vision, but you don’t want to look up in fear of seeing the disappointment on his face so soon. He’s going to rip you a new one, and then call you a slob and kick you out of the apartment and say I can’t have a party fiend living with me even though this was your first party ever, honest. 

You barely register that you’ve reached the passenger side of Blade’s car, only coming back to awareness when Kafka opens the door for you and starts nudging you into the seat. A really pathetic part of you wants to grab onto her arm and cry hard enough that she just relents and lets you walk home, but you’re already half into the passenger seat, looking everywhere but Blade. 

“Take care of them, won’t you, Bladie?” Kafka commands lightly, her hand leaving your arm as you get situated and buckled up in the car. Blade lets out a little huff in response and your stomach sinks. He’s already annoyed. 

The car ride to your apartment is only five minutes at this time of night. You just have to survive five minutes in silence and pray that he doesn’t tear into you and scold you like a disappointed parent. A glance at the clock on the car’s console confirms that it’s half past midnight. What the fuck. What were you even doing at the party for that long, besides vomiting and crying? 

The car rumbles, exhaust sputtering a little bit as Blade pulls out from the side of the street and drives slowly, carefully, as if not to rattle you, and you really just want him to speed up and throttle the car around so you feel more guilty about waking him up in the middle of the night to come pick you up. Blade goes to bed at eleven, the latest. You can’t imagine why Kafka thought it would be a good idea to call him, of all people, but then you remember that you kind of don’t have any other friends on campus. Your chest tightens at the thought. 

Blade makes some kind of sniffling noise, his way of trying to initiate some kind of conversation. There’s not even any music playing, because he always drives in dead silence because he’s abnormal, and on any other day you’d tease him about it like you always do. You see him turn his head to you in the corner of your eye, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You wish he’d just start scolding you, yelling at you or something. 

Tears prickle behind your eyes, painfully so, but your hands tighten around each other in your lap as you will yourself to not cry like a baby in front of your roommate. He lets out another sigh, but it doesn’t sound angry, just tired, and somehow that makes you feel worse. 

“What were you guys even drinking?” is his question of voice, and it’s the one question you didn't want him to ask, and you can’t help it when the tears spill over and you bring your hand up to wipe them away frantically, hiccuping a little bit as your gut churns. 

“What—” Blade stutters, and he never stutters, and you see him whip his head around to look at you, crying into your hands over a simple question, and you just want to leave the car and walk home like you told Kafka you would do. He pulls over to the side of some residential street. There’s a dog barking in a yard and wind chimes clinking together, and you think of your handmade bottle cap wind chime hung in the balcony of yours and Blade’s apartment, and it just makes you cry more. 

The car comes to a full stop. Blade puts it in park and turns completely to you. You spare a quick glance at him through the gaps between your fingers, and there’s something like worry on his face, which you’ve never seen before. His face is pinched, lips parted as if wanting to say something, but he can’t. He’s waiting for you. 

“I didn't drink anything, Blade,” you sob, feeling miserable at the state of yourself, at how you went to a frat party with nobody you knew and just walked around like a lost child, too scared to drink or talk to anyone, too anxious to say a word. “Not even a shot, or a sip, nothing from the fridge. It was so stupid, you were right, okay? It was a stupid idea, and I shouldn’t have gone.” Your breath catches in your throat, and the car is dead quiet as Blade lets your words sink in. 

You try not to make so much noise when you cry, but you’re sniveling and wiping your face and wishing that he would just stop looking at you like that. You can still see the ruby-red of his eyes even when you can’t bear to look up at him, and it makes you so viscerally upset. 

Blade is beautiful, really, and it makes you so upset that he looks better than you right now despite him being dragged right out of bed by Kafka’s phone call with a request to pick you up just minutes ago. You, who spent hours selecting an outfit, just to feel inadequate and wholly ugly the minute you walked through the door. It felt like you were back in middle school, spending hours with your parents picking out an outfit to a school dance, looking through ties and pants and shoes, just to show up and feel both overdressed and underdressed, feel like a fool, feel like you just can’t look the way everyone else does. Like something is always a little wrong. 

“Kafka said that you got sick. You didn't drink anything? You’re sure?” 

“No,”  you confirm pitifully, wanting him to just drop the topic and drive the rest of the way home and never talk about this again. “I was just anxious, and I puked like an idiot. Kafka helped me, she was the only one that I knew at the party. I don’t know. I don’t remember anymore. I was just anxious.” 

He says your name, not unkindly, but with a prying tone that just makes a fresh wave of tears stream down your face in rivulets. “Why would you go if you didn't know anyone?” 

“I don't know!” you shout, heated with embarrassment. You’re acting like a child, throwing a tantrum and crying and shouting in Blade’s car. The seatbelt is too tight on you. You fiddle with it, pulling it from the juncture of your neck and shoulder and loosening it, scratching your bitten nails against the scratchy cloth and looking out of the car window so that you can avoid Blade’s awful, terrible, intrusive gaze. 

“I just wanted to be normal, or something. I don’t know anybody from any of my classes. I don’t talk to anyone from my major. And then I got the invite for the party somehow and I just thought it would be fun. I don’t know, Blade, I know I should’ve listened to you, I’m sorry.” 

“Stop,” he says firmly, fully turned to you now, as if he wants you to look back at him, to listen to whatever he’s going to say, and that’s the one thing you don’t want to do. You hate that he’s being kind. You wish he’d be sarcastic and mean and cruel, bite into you and feed off your self-pity. But he’s being nice, nice in the same way that he’s nice when he buys the right brand of milk for you (because the others make you sick, and the taste is different), or when he drives you places in his car when it’s raining so that you don’t have to take the buses everywhere, or when he comes home with your ridiculous coffee order that costs a hellacious amount of money with all of your substitutions and additions and flavorings. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says resolutely, leaving no room for argument, “Just— I didn't know you were feeling like that. I would’ve gone with you if you told me you needed someone. I assumed you were going with a friend.” 

You don’t respond with I don’t have any friends, because you’re pretty sure that’s clear enough by now, and you don’t want to confirm what’s already been confirmed a million times over just from the way you act. The way you cling to yours and Blade’s apartment, the way you never spend a second longer than you need to in any of your classes, the way that sometimes, when Blade goes out for class or work, you sit on the couch in silence with your laptop out, doing your work for the week and checking the clock and taking naps so that you don’t have to feel so alone for so long. 

“You didn't want to go,” you say instead, “I wasn’t going to make you just because I’m— I don’t know.” 

“I would’ve gone for you,” he tells you, really tells you, with a force in his words, like he wants to drive the point into you with a stake, driven right through your heart. “I would do a lot of things if you asked. You just need to ask.” 

You don’t— you really don’t want to think about what that means. What he means. You rip your eyes away from the car window and turn to face him. He’s not too close. You almost wish he could be closer, but you would suffocate under the pressure in your stomach and behind your eyes. 

He shouldn’t say things like that, things like You just need to ask, because you’d ask for a lot if given the chance. You’d ask for him to come to parties with you, stay by your side, let you put a hand on his shoulder and guide him around another disgusting frat house as if you know what you’re doing. You’d ask him to sleep in the same bed as you some nights, just a foot away from each other, backs turned to each other but still close enough that you can feel the unnatural coldness that radiates off of Blade. 

You’d ask him to introduce you to Kafka and that other girl they hang out with, to say something stupid and funny like This is my abhorrent roommate, be nice to them, and that way you’d have more contacts in your phone that aren't just Blade and your parents and two old high school friends who you haven’t spoken to in a year. You’d ask him to be a lot more than just a plus-one to a party full of people you’ve never met. 

“I just want to go home,” you breathe out, a guilty confession burning your gums and leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying sorry,” he asserts for the second time tonight, making your lungs squeeze as you puff out a tired exhale. Blade turns back in his seat, taking the car out of park and heading back onto the road—driving slowly, yet again, avoiding cracks and potholes in the road. “You need to eat something. You’ll wake up with a hellish headache if you go to bed dehydrated.” 

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“I said it, so it’s true,” he says petulantly, turning the car down into a road that’s definitely not in the direction of your apartment building. To your hidden delight, the glowing sign of a twenty-four-seven ice cream store comes into view, and you sit up just a little bit. Blade slows the car as he turns into the drive-thru, glancing at you with an eyebrow half-raised. 

“What do you want? I’ll order for you.” 

“I don’t have my wallet,” you admit, just a little bit embarrassed. “I didn't even bring my keys with me. Do you think they take Apple Pay?” 

A breathy laugh escapes him, and you catch sight of a dimple pressed into his cheek, and you want to press your thumb into it and look at his smile, just for a little longer. “Don’t be dumb. I’m paying,” he tells you, the same way he has every time he pays for your cafe drink, or when he comes home from work with your favorite, and says You’re broke enough without having to pay for these drinks, don’t pay me back in that snippy way he shows his care. 

You ask for a medium vanilla milkshake, with sprinkles, and he gets you a large instead, which you’re more than grateful for. He refuses to let you look at the receipt for the total cost, and hands you the milkshake with a comical severity that you often see in him. The sweet drink washes away any bitter taste left in your mouth, and you feel a little better, a little nicer in your haphazard party outfit and under Blade’s fleeting gaze. 

A deep sigh escapes you, one of relief, when the car finally parks at your apartment building. Blade puts a cold hand between your shoulder blades, unobtrusive and leading, and it’s a comforting contrast from the heat lingering on your skin from the party and the closed car. It feels right, more in-place than Kafka’s warm hands were when she wiped your face and kept you steady, though she was just as gentle. 

Blade all but tosses you onto the couch, claiming that it’s much too late for a shower and he’d rather not deal with you collapsing from exhaustion in the tub. You relent easily, the exhaustion of the night hitting you and soaking into your limbs. 

“I’ll let you sleep on the couch,” he says, and it’s a good and kind thing, because he knows that sometimes you hate your bedroom because it’s just too empty, and the constant sound filtering into the living room puts you at ease. He never lets you sleep on the couch, because it’s bad for your back, and he jokes about you developing adult onset scoliosis with the awful way you sleep. Letting you do it, just this once, is another one of his small mercies. 

The TV is on, humming at a low volume, and your legs are thrown across Blade’s lap. You’re shocked that he’s willing to fall asleep with you like this, but he’s kind, sarcastic and biting but kind all the same, as much as he loathes to admit it. It’s not too lonely, you decide, hearing the bottle cap wind chimes on your balcony clink together in dissonant harmonies. 

(There’s a missing text from a new contact on your phone when you wake up, coming from pretty lady friend, extending an invite to brunch in two days, and you kick your legs on the couch in giddy excitement, thinking about how you’ll rope Blade into coming with you, too.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

taglist: @tragedy-of-commons

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[jeguluses]

✶ tunnel vision ✶

for @jeguluskinktoberr day 15 : masturbation ✰ 995 words ; t4t mutual masturbation ; first time fluff ; praise

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3 HERE | nsfw

They’re house sitting for James’ parents when Regulus suggests it.

“What?” James asks, almost spitting out his butterbeer. They had been in the middle of their yearly Practical Magic rewatch.

Suddenly, the younger man seems defensive. “It was just an idea,” he says, pouting.

“No, I was just making sure I heard you correctly,” James assures him, mopping up the bit of his beverage that dribbled out of his mouth with a napkin. “Is that really something you want?”

“Are you kidding? It sounds hot as fuck, don’t be ridiculous.”

And James has to agree. The idea of touching himself with Regulus watching him, touching himself for James, the idea was intoxicating. Truth be told, he was already getting a bit wet at just the thought.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” James says, eyes blazing with determination.

So, that’s how they end up in James' childhood bed, pantsless and facing each other. They’d made out a bit before taking some of their clothing on and with that and his imagination, James was properly aroused. The knowledge that Regulus can surely tell, with the moisture gathering at his entrance and on display with his boyfriend, only has him feeling hotter.

“You look so gorgeous, James. Will you touch yourself for me? Please, baby.”

James thighs clench at the request and he trails his fingers down to his labia. He whimpers as he sinks his digits into the warm folds, playing with his opening.

“Wow,” Regulus breathes, moving his own hand in response. He places his entire hand over his cunt and uses all of his fingers to stimulate his cock and his hole. There’s a wet, vulgar noise to match his slick movement and it’s that sound that gets James off more than the visual.

Though, the visual is otherworldly.

James slides two of his fingers to his cock, inching his hips forward so that his knees are touching Regulus, making him swallow dryly in arousal. He circles the engorged nerves, crying out at the touch on his sensitive cunt.

“Yes!” Regulus shouts. “You sound so pretty. Look even prettier.”

“Regulus!” James sobs.

“I know, James. I know,” Regulus coos, his fingers moving faster. “You gonna fingerfuck yourself for me? Make that pretty cunt come all over your own hands while I watch?”

This time, it’s Regulus who moves closer, wrapping a leg around James. Regulus' thigh now rests over his own and James can’t help but reach out to touch the warm skin. He digs his fingers into the flesh and sinks the two fingers playing with his clit into his drooling hole.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “Feels so good, Regulus.”

“Love the way you sound, saying my name like that. I could come from your voice alone.”

It’s all James can do to continue to emit the most desperate sounds as he steadily pumps his fingers in and out of his cunt. He can’t take his eyes off Regulus' own fingers, he’s got three of them now rapidly flying over his own moistened cock. Regulus has hardly been quiet either.

“Can’t wait to get my hands on you,” he is saying now. “Want to learn how to touch you, make you come.” He’s much more vocal than he is outside of the bedroom and James is not complaining.

“Please.” James has figured out the proper angle to ride his fingers as he rubs his clit at the same time. He knows he’s close, his thighs shaking against Regulus' and his breath coming in heaving pants.

Regulus watches James hungrily, even licking his lips occasionally. James wants to kiss him but doesn’t have the finesse to do it while he continues to get himself off. He thinks of the wicked tongue his boyfriend possesses and how it feels entwined with his, aware of the way his moans pick up pitch.

Regulus hips have started to twitch infrequently as he works his hand diligently and James thinks finds it unfairly sexy. “Are you going to come for me, baby?” Regulus asks.

“Unfair,” James whines, referring to the rare pet name use. “I want to see you go first.”

“Yeah?” Regulus exhales. “Fuck, come here.”

James is enveloped in Regulus' hold as he’s brought into a passionate kiss. Somehow, James' hand never leaves from the space between his thighs and neither does Regulus'. The younger man moans into his mouth deliciously as he comes, groaning into James' mouth and scratching his nails down the back of his neck.

“Oh,” James whimpers, “I’m—” is all he can get out before he’s following his boyfriend over the edge. He locks eyes with Regulus and the feeling is overwhelming, the sky is falling and the streets are flooding. James is heaving, now, lightheaded as Regulus whispers sweet words into his chest.

Regulus' arms come to wrap around James’ figure, holding him close as he pets his hair. “You did so good. You were perfect. Love you so much.”

James' insides are warm with the afterglow and the affection. Regulus hardly says the words and when he does, it never fails to make James feel special. It’s not that the older man doesn’t feel loved by Regulus. The man shows James every day how much he cares for him. He’s always looking out for James, making sure he is taking care of himself and telling him how attractive he finds him. Regulus is always holding onto James tightly and kissing him tenderly, like it might be the last time.

Every time James had pictured being intimate with someone for the first time, he had always imagined that he would feel embarrassed afterwards; ashamed of his body and dissatisfied with the experience. But instead, James just feels extraordinarily special and sexy.

“Did you like it, darling?” Regulus asks sweetly, pulling James down on top of him to allow the older man to lay on him.

“The best, my love. I love you, too.”

And the pair fell in love, still naked and satiated.

[starrystevie]

based on this headcanon i posted previously!

"what do you mean you've never had a valentine?"

eddie rolls his eyes and swings his arms across his front as if to gesture to his entire being at steve's question.

"consider me flattered that you think all this," he gestures again, "would land me a date at all, but it's not like i even want a valentine in the first place."

they glare at each other as steve picks at his cold diner fries and eddie finishes off his strawberry milkshake. they've landed at a stand still, steve trying to figure out how eddie can experience a real valentine's day, and eddie trying to figure out how to talk steve out of whatever sympathy thing he's planning. he opens his mouth to say something, and before he can get a word out, eddie cuts him off.

"whatever you've got cookin' up in that pretty little head of yours, i want you to stop. i don't want a bullshit pity date on a fake holiday that only puts more money in the hallmark ceo's pockets. forget it."

eddie watches as a grin spreads across steve's face and he knows then and there that there's no way in hell steve will forget it.

it's four days later that eddie is packing what is bound to be the best bowl of his life, feet up on the coffee table and the wizard of oz playing faintly in the background, when he hears a knock at the trailer door. he ignores it with a huff and shakes his curls out of his face, bringing the bowl up to his lips only to be cut off by the knocking once more.

"what?!" eddie yells out. he doesn't want to get up and see who it is. he wants to wallow in the weird liminal space of self-pity and anger about capitalism and smoke weed until the flying monkeys in the movie seem even scarier than they already are. he doesn't want to deal with someone when he feels so crushingly lonely-

"it's me!" steve's voice is muffled through the door. "let me in, munson!"

something vaguely hope-shaped catches in eddie's chest before he pushes it away with a deep breath and a shake to clear his head. "open the door yourself, lazy. it's unlocked."

he hears something hit the door, a loud thump that he thinks might be steve kicking the door, and then hears the door handle rattle for a few seconds before steve clearly gives up with a groan.

"come on, a little help here?"

"this better be fucking worth it," he grumbles under his breath. eddie rolls his eyes and set the pipe down on the coffee table next to his pbr with a huff. "fine, fine, i'm coming hold your horses."

he doesn't really know what he is expecting, but steve with his arms wrapped around a bouquet of daisies, a too-big heart shaped box of chocolates, a stuffed bear and a card is at the bottom of the list. he's smiling that smile, the one that eddie takes a mental picture of and files into the steve-shaped folder in his memory every time he sees it, and he has on a stupidly charming button up shirt to go along with it all.

"what." eddie says blankly, the cold february air making him shiver as it hits his bare arms. steve thrusts the gifts towards him with an even brighter smile that has his eyes crinkling and eddie's heart thumping painfully in his chest.

"be my valentine?" steve breathes out and eddie has half a mind to pinch himself.

"steve, i don't-"

"nope," steve responds and pushes past eddie to get into the warmth of the trailer. "you don't get to say no or tell me it's stupid or that today's only a money grab for the corporate elite or whatever-"

eddie balks as steve beelines to the kitchenette to pull out a large glass to put the flowers in. "it is, though."

"-we're going to sit and order a pizza and eat these stupid, over-priced chocolates for dessert, and you're going to like it."

there's butterflies and knots and something that's too close to love fluttering around in his stomach, so eddie sits down on the edge of the arm of the couch and watches as steve finishes adjusting the bouquet.

"daisies?" eddie asks after a beat of silence.

steve beams. "they're your birth flower so i thought..."

dorothy's in the background saying something about not being in kansas and eddie feels the same.

this is all as foreign to him as tin men and scarecrows and wicked witches would be. he's never had anyone, let alone someone like steve fucking harrington, barge into his house and demand a date. he's never wanted anyone to demand a date out of him, especially on valentine's day of all days. he sees steve reach for a phone book and start searching for a pizza delivery number to call and it all feels right in a way that it probably shouldn't.

"are you fucking with me?" eddie asks. his voice feels small.

steve looks up, face smoothing out from determination to something softer, and puts the phone back in the cradle. he hesitates before grabbing the card and teddy bear, this fuzzy brown thing that's holding a heart that says 'i love you beary much', and hands them to eddie.

"not in the slightest," he tells eddie. with a wave of his hand, steve motions for eddie to open the card before pulling his hand up to his mouth to bite at his thumbnail.

the front of the card is simple, just some hearts with a 'be mine' in a fancy script, but it has eddie's breath catching anyway. it's a real card with real stupid hearts and real meaning behind it and it forces him to pause before he can open the rest. he's too cowardly to admit that he's afraid of whatever it could say.

"open it," steve says like it's the easiest thing in the world and eddie pulls his eyes away from the front of the card to see how steve is staring at the paper like it's going to burst into flames. "but don't read it out loud. please."

it's an easy request to follow. with the card open, eddie glances down to see only a few short sentences written and yet it still hits him like an arrow through his goddamn heart.

you're going to think this is a joke, the card starts, but i promise it's not. it's not pity, either. it's just some crazy little thing called love. be my valentine? xo, steve.

eddie can feel how big his eyes are, wide as dinner plates, as he looks between the card and steve who probably won't be hungry for pizza after he finishes chewing off his thumb out of nerves. a laugh sneaks out in a gust of wind through his nose and it has steve wincing despite himself, which has eddie rushing into action.

"you mean it?" he asks, wrapping his hands around steve's shoulders. their eyes meet and steve looks as scared as eddie feels as he nods with a watery laugh of his own.

"yeah, i mean it. you haven't had a valentine and what better way to start than with a harrington that is absolutely nutty over you?"

the tin man is the background singing something about having a heart while eddie's beats out of his chest as steve connects their lips in a soft kiss. and eddie might be against valentine's day, against capitalism and the mass-produced niceties that it brings to the everyday consumer, but if steve keeps pressing into him like this, it might just become his favorite holiday yet.

[frostyblustar]

Nico watches Percy poison Akhlys.

Day 2 of Percico Week - Powerful Percy (prompts by @percico-nicercy-events )

(Heavily inspired by Chapter 48 of House of Hades by Rick Riordan - Also this idea has been out there for ages)

Percy looked like a corpse, and Nico suspected he did too. Death mist did this sort of thing to a person, it was completely normal. Still, Percy looking so lifeless while still traversing Tartarus was a ghastly sight. Nico couldn’t see how he himself looked. When he looked down, he only saw fog. Maybe that was too thin to use as a descriptor, white smoke would be more accurate.

Akhyls was the goddess of misery, and the death mist. She claimed that this gift of smokiness, which would let them go unseen by monsters, was only viable if death followed. Well that sucked, but it was obvious her intention was to betray them from the beginning, so Percy seemed already ready to put up a fight. Nico took out his own sword, but it just looked like smoke. Riptide was the same it seemed, and did nothing to the goddess.

Nico could guess his weapon was under the same effect, so he didn’t attempt to use it. Instead, when Percy was lunged at, he put himself in front of the other. He took the blow hard, crashing into the ground as the goddess tried to tear into him. Despite feeling lighter and almost like he was smoke himself, he could still feel the sensation of claws digging into his flesh.

Before he could try handling this situation on his own, Percy was yelling. “Hey, Happy!”

He shouted more pleasant things about the goddess of misery, angering her to the point she was completely now focused on Percy instead of Nico. Nico could do nothing but watch as she screamed that they would both die. They would be sacrificed to Night. Their deaths would be painful. Wow, it sounded great.

Nico tried to get her sights back on him, since there was no way he was going to let Percy face her on his own. Despite his own fear, he cared about Percy too much to let himself run or hide. “Cheerful! Hey, over here Smiles!!”

Nothing, he meant nothing.

He sat up and watched while the plants that followed the goddesses steps started spewing sap, the poison flowing towards Percy. The poison settled around him, and Nico tried calling out more positive exclamations, but it was as if he wasn’t even there. Maybe the smoke had dissolved his form into nothing.

Percy laughed. That made Nico freeze. It wasn’t a cheerful laugh. It was broken, exhausted. Forced out in a wheeze that indicated Percy’s dehydration from their journey through Tartarus. A grin was on his face, and Nico couldn’t help but be mesmerized. In such a dire situation, Percy was showing a hidden side of himself. Nico didn’t mind it at all, but he worried about Percy’s mental state.

The pool of poison that had accumulated around Percy suddenly started flowing towards the goddess. “What is this?” She exclaimed with a disgusted look on her face.

Percy could control poison? He wasn’t sure how it was possible. Poseidon's domain was water, not poison- Though poison did have water in it…

There wasn’t much time to think it over, Percy continued to smile as the goddess started to cough. The poisonous fumes of her own creation were eating away at her. It was oddly terrifying, but also so cool. Percy was defending him, and that didn’t help the crush he still had.

Akhyls deserved this for sure, Nico wasn’t against this fate for her. However, Percy didn’t seem like the killing type. Him and Percy didn’t operate on the same moral code. He may find eye for an eye fitting, but Percy certainly did not think the same.

The grin wasn’t truly his, and the happiness he was taking in watching the goddess choke to death even as she tried to run away wasn’t him. Nico got up, and with no hesitation, he put a hand on Percy’s shoulder. He needed something to lean his weight against, Percy just happened to be a viable option is all.

“Percy, it’s okay. We’re safe.” His voice was soft and reassuring, he was keeping it low due to the lack of water.

The look of satisfaction melted away from Percy’s face, and his hands dropped as he let the goddess run off. He took one look at Nico, and suddenly he was back to normal. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you badly?”

Nico couldn’t help but smile a little at Percy’s concern, responding in a voice just as horse. “I’m fine. That was… Awesome, Percy.” He felt a little breathless.

“Was it really? I almost killed her.” Percy’s eyes were the same pretty shade of sea-green, even though he looked near death. Nico wanted to stare at them forever, but he would never be able to.

“But you didn’t. You stopped. This place does things to people, Percy. That wasn’t your fault. She threatened our lives, so you threatened hers.” Nico tried taking Percy’s hand, but they were smoke. “C’mon, we need to keep moving.”

Day 1 here

Check out my ao3 for longer Percico stories :)

[robyn-i-guess]

“It’s your turn to make dinner.” with Gerry & Michael Distortion

"I am not cooking tonight."

Gerry huffs and collapses onto his couch.

"What a greeting," Michael responds, its voice annoyingly cheerful as it always seemed to be. The door that was not there before removes itself, leaving just Michael, Gerry, and the dizzying feeling Michael tends to emit.

"Seriously though," he responds, "I couldn't. I'll burn the place down."

"Oh, don't doubt your talent!" It smiles. "I bet you'll make it combust!"

Gerry sighs of exhaustion, grabbing the cheap slushy that he had gotten in his way back from the Institute.

"Why don't you get that – what do you call it? Where the little people bring you your dinner?" Michael sits on the other side of the couch from Gerry, causing a headache to form as its presence usually does.

"Doordash? No, nothings open. It's 1am, Michael."

"I'm open!"

Gerry chokes on his drink. "You're fucking what?"

"I can deliver you the food!" It smiled like it had no clue what it just said. Did it know? Gerry didn't have the energy to pinpoint that.

"From where? Everything is closed."

"The kitchen!" The smile twists in a weird way. Is it meant to be excitement? Does Michael feel excitement? Too many questions lay unanswered.

"Fine, whatever. It's your turn to cook then. Go ham." Gerry pulls a throw blanket over him, trying his hardest to push away the growing migraine was threatening tonight's sleep. The buzzing in his head (that he didn't realize was there) disappears, a sign of Michael leaving his side.

5 minutes later comes a smell from the small kitchen that can only be described as painfully sour candy.

The next minute it's warm both in scent and temperature. Gerry questions just for a moment in his sleep riddled mind of the house is on fire, before remembering fire alarms exist. Michael could turn them off, but it wouldn't. He thinks.

Then there's sizzling, maybe popping, maybe boiling. The sound is hard to pinpoint, but it's certainly a cooking sound.

Then 30 minutes of silence. Nothing. Gerry knows Michael isn't gone because he can feel it look at him. Was it even 30 minutes?Maybe that's all it was doing. Maybe the exhaustion was getting to him.

On his shoulder came a gentle tap with what felt like a knife. If not for the jacket be wore, it might've cut or punctured the skin. Gerry pulls the blanket off and in front of him is – as he expected – Michael, with its usual shit eating grin.

"Wakey wakey!" It squeaks, holding a plate that curved weirdly into a bowl that Gerry knew he didn't own, but he does now, he supposes.

In it is certainly... food. It is like if an artificial intelligence was told to create what it thought food was; sure, it resembles something edible, but what it was couldn't be pinpointed. Are those noodles? Is that sauce or the color of something cooked? What plant is that? The answer is none of the above, it is not anything, it's simply food.

It tasted like ramen.

Apparently, Michael just had fun with instant ramen.

Whatever keeps it entertained.

[gardenoflupins]

Angel/Demon AU / @wolfstarmicrofic / 989 words

CW: sexual content, drugs & alcohol

Remus points a blessed sword against the side of the demon’s throat, eyes narrowed in his direction. He feels Minerva McGonagall’s divine energy as she apparates beside Remus.

“Leave her alone,” he warns in a low voice.

The demon, Sirius, slowly turns around with raised brows. Both Minerva and Remus scowl at him. Sirius had always been a threat to them. Always found a way to corrupt humans, especially the ones assigned to specific angels.

He always got his way.

“She isn’t doing anything she doesn’t want to,” he replies, unbothered about the divine beings in front of him. You’d need to be a major nuisance to have not one, but two angels corner you. And yet, he was indifferent.

Minerva steps forward, quiet and lethal. “You are encouraging a range of unhealthy activities. Drinking, drugs, luring her to this…” she scrunches her nose at the club they were standing outside of.

Sirius grins as if they’re all sharing a mutual joke. “I know, isn’t it fun?”

Minerva looks down her nose at him like he is nothing but filth. “She is under our guidance.”

“Is she?” Sirius asks innocently.

Marlene McKinnon stumbles out of the club in that moment, bottle in hand as she sings out of key. Remus doesn’t need to check to feel the drugs in her system.

Minerva thins her lips. They had lost another one. If there was one thing Remus knew very well, it was that angels were not as forgiving as humans made them out to be.

Remus redirects his sword so it’s right under Sirius’s chin, almost touching him before Sirius flinches away. Blessed weapons had the ability to injure a demon painfully. “You turn them all like you. You ruin everything good. Nothing thrives in your presence. You are a leach,” Remus hisses.

Sirius’s eyes flash in warning. “Careful, angel. Don’t forget I’m not above tearing the wings off your back.”

Minerva tenses and Remus can see her calculating. He knows she is thinking about killing him. He also knows that they’re both aware that they can’t. Not when Sirius belongs to a dangerous family. Killing him would cause a chain of events they didn’t want to deal with.

This is why Remus had come. To make sure someone didn’t die.

Another woman walks out of the club and makes her way to Marlene. Remus watches as she pulls her in for an embrace. Marlene grins up at her before leaning in for a deep kiss.

Minerva’s wings ruffle in agitation at the display.

A tremor goes through Remus’s own, for reasons other than annoyance.

“We will guide her back,” Minerva cautions, wings pulled tight. “Outside of drugs, you have nothing. You are nothing. She will come to the same realisation.”

Sirius glowers at her then directs it to Remus. “What makes you think I won’t torture him. He’s also nothing. There’d hardly be a consequence.”

That much was true. Minerva was more like Remus’s… mentor. She was a higher up. He was, well, replaceable.

She gives him a deadpan look. “I’ll kill you.”

With that, she disapparates.

Remus watches Sirius with stiff shoulders, feathers ruffling from anticipation. They stare at each other, both bracing for bloodshed.

They wait and wait and Remus realises no other angel is coming.

Sirius seems to realise it too.

He is on Remus in a second, hand on Remus’s throat to pin him against the wall. Remus lets out a grunt at the force as Sirius drops his hand to pin him by the hips instead. Remus shivers when he feels Sirius’s hot tongue sliding down his throat. His mouth opens instinctively and he tugs at Sirius’s hair to connect their mouths.

It should be mortifying how quickly that hot liquid of desire spreads through Remus. He is already moaning lightly against Sirius’s mouth, tugging, tugging, tugging to get him even closer.

“My beautiful angel,” Sirius whispers against him, leaving wet kisses across his jaw. Remus sighs contently, spreading his legs so Sirius can be between them. When that doesn’t feel close enough, he attempts to wrap his legs around the other’s waist. Sirius gets the message instantly and indulges him.

Remus loves the closeness.

“Have they been nice?” Sirius murmurs, still leaving kisses across his body.

Remus ignores him. “Stop stealing my humans. You’re going to make it obvious,” he breathes out shakily.

He feels Sirius grin against his throat. “No, they won’t suspect anything. We hate each other.”

Remus arches against him with a gasp when Sirius’s hand slips under his shirt and up his body. “Absolutely loathe each other,” Remus agrees breathily.

He holds Sirius close, deepening the kiss as Sirius tenderly strokes his wing.

“Missed you,” Remus mumbles and Sirius hums. “I missed you too, had to get your attention.”

Remus tries to pull back to give him a disapproving look but Sirius just leans in to kiss his furrowed eyebrows.

Remus gives up. “You’re going to leave traces of yourself on me.”

“I’ll wipe my aura off you,” Sirius mumbles, still peppering him with kisses anywhere he could reach.

“Oh,” a voice says. Remus pulls back to look at Marlene who begins to grin widely. “Fuck yeah Sirius, this is a win for the gays tonight.”

Sirius looks at her smugly as she drags her lover away, saying something about recreating what Sirius was doing. Remus is instantly curious about that interaction as it wasn’t common to directly interact with humans. Both Remus and Sirius were glamoured to look more human so she hadn’t seen the wings or horns.

Sirius mistakes the look on Remus’s face. “She’s fine, just partying,” he says, knowing Remus was still an angel at the end of the day.

Remus can’t even think to reply because Sirius is leaving love bites, pulling pleasurable sighs out of Remus and oh, does it feel lovely.

Sirius had won twice today.

Corruption, afterall, was his strongest ability.

[theicarusconstellation]

kinktober day seven

prompt: virgin // pairing: jegulus // word count: 1.3K // includes: cunnilingus, daddy kink, daddy!james, sub!regulus, trans regulus

“Hey, baby,” James murmurs, coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around Regulus’ waist. He presses his face into the other man’s curls with a deep inhale.

Regulus turns around and meets James’ waiting mouth with his own. He can taste pomegranate juice on his lips.

It’s been a long day for the both of them. Despite being new Hogwarts alumni, their collective fortunes make it so that they don’t need to work, but James insisted on enlisting into the Auror program anyway. He’s gone for hours at a time, sometimes at night, to complete his training, and every day, he comes back dead on his feet.

Regulus, on the other hand, does no work at all. Waiting for James is work enough. They might be a bit codependent, but he couldn’t care less, honestly. His world spins when James is with him, and it stops when he’s gone. That’s all that matters to him.

“How was training?” Regulus asks between kisses. James is always extra touchy after work, always cuddling and kissing like his life depends on it. Tonight though, he’s practically lifting Regulus up off his feet with his arms as his mouth travels up and down his neck.

“Good. Fine. Tiring,” James replies, the words rushed like he can’t get them out fast enough. Regulus pulls back for a moment, raising a brow.

“Are you alright?”

“Very,” James mumbles. Regulus sucks in a breath as the other man’s teeth capture the soft skin of his neck. “A little tense though. Missed you a lot.” He runs his hands up Regulus’ body until they’re cupping his face and kisses him fiercely.

There’s something different about the way James is touching him tonight. They’re usually very intense, sure, but they’ve never…he’s touching Regulus like this time, he wants something more.

They’ve talked about it. Sex. Talked about what they’d like and wouldn’t like. However, Regulus neglected to mention a very crucial detail that seemed pathetic to say in the presence of James Potter at the time, and he’s been too prideful to bring it up ever since. Now though, with James touching him more and more insistently, a question burning between his palms against Regulus’ hips, he knows he has to.

“Baby…” James whispers below his ear. Regulus shudders and leans into his chest. That same unspoken question wraps around them like a blanket.

Instead of answering verbally, Regulus loops his arms around James’ neck and hides his face in the man’s shoulder, hopping to allow James to press his hands to his thighs and hoist him up. James carries him through the flat to their bedroom despite his obvious exhaustion from Auror training. He sets him on his back on their bed and props himself up over him, barely letting him breathe before going in for another deep kiss.

“James,” Regulus half-gasps as James’ hands begin working Regulus’ shirt off. “I haven’t — I’ve never —“

James stops immediately and falls to his side so that he’s laying beside him, concern in his eyes.

“What? Reg, are you…you know I don’t care that you’re trans, right? You know that, right? I promise, Regulus, I don’t —“

“It’s not about that.” Regulus shakes his head. He feels his cheeks flush hot and bright. “It’s not…it’s…James, I’m a virgin.”

James’ eyes go wide, and his perfect, perfect mouth drops in a way that makes Regulus want to crawl under the floorboards and never come out.

“Oh. Oh, Regulus, I’m sorry. I should have — Merlin, how did I not — I’m so stupid. I’m sorry, baby,” he rambles, frantically kissing Regulus’ face. “We don’t have to — shit, I’m so stupid —“

“You’re not stupid, James, I was just too embarrassed to tell you,” Regulus snaps in the firm tone he always uses whenever James starts to berate himself. “You’ve been with so many people before…I just thought…maybe you wouldn’t want me.”

James blinks furiously, looking wildly confused.

“Wouldn’t want you? Regulus, I want you more than anything. I don’t give a fuck about experience or — or whatever people told you the standard was,” he insists. Regulus shakes his head, but a smile tugs at his lips.

“Besides, “ James continues with a new spark in his eyes. “I’m a very good teacher.”

“Hm?” Regulus’ breath catches when he feels the pressure of James’ hand on his waist.

“If you’ll let me…” James kisses him again, more tender this time, and his hand snakes its way under Regulus’ pants.

“I’ll let you,” Regulus breathes. His heart pumps faster in agreement, let you, let you, let you.

“We’re not going to do everything all at once,” James says, which has Regulus feeling oddly disappointed. “You’ve touched yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We can go a bit further then.” James slides Regulus’ pants off, tossing them over his shoulder like they’ve offended him. Regulus’ legs are already shaking when James places his hands on his inner thighs and gently spreads them apart.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans.

Regulus’ fingers clench into a fist against the sheets as James attaches his mouth to his thighs, teasing at the skin with his tongue. James sucks dark hickeys into his pale skin, surrounded by bite marks that have Regulus swallowing back moans as they get closer and closer to the wetness between his legs.

“You still okay?” James lifts his head, and as he does, his glasses brush against Regulus’ folds. Regulus bites back a yelp, nodding feverishly.

“Yes,” he manages to get out. James doesn’t wait for further confirmation after that. He kisses Regulus’ hip, and then he lowers his head again, licking a slow line up between Regulus’ legs.

James goes at a leisurely pace, and Regulus feels every fucking second of it. James’ mouth sucks at the most tender of places, and when he bobs his head, the cool metal of his glasses teases Regulus’ clit with a shocking but welcome touch.

“D-daddy —“ Regulus whimpers the first time it happens, the word slipping out like it’s instinctual. He slaps a hand over his own mouth at this, thoroughly mortified, but James doesn’t miss a beat. He just hums happily, and his tongue takes on new enthusiasm as it flicks in and out of Regulus’ hole.

“Again,” he says lowly from somewhere deep within his throat. Regulus whines, his back arching when James licks at his hole again.

“Daddy,” Regulus whispers, “Daddy, please —“

“Good boy, baby,” James replies as he hooks his arms under Regulus’ thighs. Regulus can’t help the loud moan that he releases at James’ words. He wants to hear that over and over, wants to hear what a good boy he is, just for James.

“Fuck, Daddy —“ Regulus cries out much louder than he intended. James is properly sucking and licking at his clit now, swirling his tongue around it and lapping at it with quicker and quicker motions.

Regulus has no idea what an expert is actually like, but if he had to put a face to the word, it would be James. James and his masterful mouth and fucking excellent motions of his lips. The coil within Regulus’ stomach is so, so tight, squeezing and making him shake with need.

“Daddy, I’m — mm —“ Regulus’ voice breaks as James brushes his teeth against his clit, just enough to send a shock through him. “Coming,” he barely manages to gasp out before he’s rocked with the peak of his pleasure, his orgasm ripping through him in what feels like endless waves. James eats him out through the whole thing until Regulus tugs him away by the hair.

Tremors still spasm through Regulus’ body as he draws James up to his lips for a tired kiss. He can taste himself when their mouths meet.

“So, was I a good teacher?” James inquires with a smug smile. His lips are swollen, and Regulus suspects his might be as well.

“Teach me again tomorrow,” is all Regulus can breathlessly say in response.

James chuckles and pulls him closer, guiding him so that his head is against James’ chest.

“Anything for you, baby.”

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

How about Peter feeling touch-starved and asks Tony for a hug?

These mini fics often turn out super self-indulgently soft. Haha. But hey! We love it, right?? We're here for the fanon?? I know I am! I hope Anon is too because this one is hurt/comfort with a heavy emphasis on the comfort. Peter desperately needs a hug and doesn't know it. Good thing Tony does. :) Super sweet. Very fluff.

Peter Parker Needs a Hug 967 Words

At sixteen-years-old, Peter was eminently capable of spending a week alone in the apartment. May had been begged to take some shifts at a short-staffed hospital a few hours away. She’d tried to decline. She’d told them she had a nephew at home and couldn't uproot him in the middle of the school year.

Peter had argued the compensation was too good to give up. He’d assured her he would be fine. It wasn’t like he spent that much time at home anyway. He’d attend school, patrol, complete his homework and sleep. If he needed anything, he would have the Leeds’, MJ and Mr. Stark.

Reluctantly she had accepted the offer. She’d packed a few bags, hugged him tightly and driven off.

As it were, Peter flourished in the independence. He woke up early to make himself breakfast, watched whatever he wanted on the television and made sure to get to bed at a reasonable hour. It was great. And when the first week went well, May apprehensively agreed to one more.

While Peter missed his aunt, he wasn’t terribly upset that she had decided to stay longer. It was only seven more days and they talked on the phone all the time. However, the intrigue and sense of accomplishment that came with being trusted to care for himself came to a screeching halt in the middle of his eleventh night of solitude.

For no discernible reason, Peter woke up too early in the morning feeling uneasy. He didn’t think he’d had a nightmare. If he had, he certainly didn’t remember it. Sighing, he went to get a glass of milk from the kitchen; something he often did when he simply couldn’t sleep. But as he walked down the hall, he realized something was different. What he ordinarily thought of as a peaceful silence in the apartment, had been replaced with an eerie feeling of emptiness. He rolled his eyes at his own dramatics and flipped the light on.

The rest of his day didn’t go any better. He got to school and went through the usual paces. Really, it would have been a completely ordinary day had it not been for the lingering discontent in the back of his head. It made him irritable and anxious, and he had no idea how to combat.

When lunch came around, Ned put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if he was okay. He shook his head, his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he fought back the overwhelming desire to pull his friend into a bone crushing hug. Being that they were in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, he fought the urge and wrapped his own arms around himself instead. He mumbled he was just in a bad mood, apologized and tried to go back to his suddenly tasteless sandwich.

Patrol was a no-go. He wanted to go out and help, but lacked the motivation. It was odd. He couldn’t think of a time he’d ever not wanted to patrol. He brushed it off as another symptom of a bad day and went straight home. He’d only been there about ten minutes before Mr. Stark texted him.

‘You’re not patrolling today?’

‘Taking a break,’ he replied, not wanting to give too much away.

‘Want to take that break at the tower? the next message read. Followed by, ‘I could use your help.’

Peter read the message over a few times, surprised that going to the tower actually sounded really nice. Hurriedly, he changed into this suit and headed in that direction.

“Hey, Kiddo!” Mr. Stark cheerfully greeted. “How goes your lack of parental supervision? I haven’t gotten any emergency calls, so I assume it’s gone well.”

Dubiously, Peter narrowed his eyes. “May asked you to check on me, didn’t she.”

Mr. Stark smiled sheepishly, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “She did. Said you sounded a little down this morning.”

Peter’s eyes tried to well up again. It was super aggravating. Especially in front of Mr. Stark.“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he growled. “I’m antsy and annoyed for no good reason.”

Mr. Stark’s head tilted to the side. “How long has May been gone?”

Peter scrubbed at his face and did a mental tally. “Almost twelve days.”

There were a few beats of silence. Then Mr. Stark beckoned him closer. “Come here, Buddy.”

“Why?” Peter asked, feeling more defensive than he should have.

“Just come here. Trust me.”

Peter did as asked. He closed the distance between them and was met with a tight embrace. He stiffened for a split second before melting into the pressure. He couldn’t restrain the fresh round of tears that sprung to his eyes. Mr. Stark tightened his grasp, swaying gently as he ran a hand up and down his back. He didn’t stop until Peter gathered a breath and pulled back on his own.

“Better?” Mr. Stark asked, one hand still squeezing Peter's bicep.

“Yeah,” he replied, his cheeks pink with mild embarrassment. “Yeah, that’s better.”

“I know you’ve been doing fine on your own, but you know you’re welcome to stay here tonight,” Tony offered. “Pizza and movies. I’ll get you to school in the morning.”

Relief Peter didn’t even know he needed, washed over him. “That actually sounds really awesome,” he sighed, leaning in for another brief hug. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. You always seem to know what I need.”

“That’s my job,” Mr. Stark said softly. “But next time you need a hug, all you have to do is ask, okay, Pete?”

“Okay,” Peter echoed. He bit back a smile and looked up through his lashes. “Can I have a hug?”

Tony barked a pleasant laugh. “Of course, Kiddo! Any time,” he said, arms outstretched for Peter to fall into. “Absolutely anytime.”

[morticianesbit]

The Most Beautiful Boy

Severus Snape x Sirius Black

~*~

Severus’ trunk is heavy. It is dangling from his thin arms when he arrives at platform 9 3/4. Sunshine casts a joyful glow on the surrounding people. From behind him, a young boy runs into Severus’ shoulder. The young boy keeps running towards the train without a worry or an apology.

‘James!’ A middle-aged woman in expensive robes calls out to the young boy. She reaches Severus and holds his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, are you alright ?” She checks Severus’ robes, and tightens the clasp of his cloak. ‘Sorry about James, he is just very excited to go to Hogwarts. You understand, don’t you ? You are excited for Hogwarts too, aren’t you ?” 

Severus, feeling slightly awkward because of the attention, just nods. “Are you all alone ? Here, let me help you with your trunk.” 

They found James sitting in one of the compartments in the middle of the train. Severus' old trunk is shoved next to James’ new one. The woman encourages James to be friends with Severus as she bids her goodbye. There is something in James’ eyes that Severus does not like. He wants to sit next to the window, but James puts his foot on the seat. Severus’ nose crinkles as he looks at the dirty boots. 

“Why are you wearing women's clothing ?” James asks. 

Severus looks down and flushes. They were his mothers’ old Hogwarts robes. Everything except the trousers. The buttons on his shirt reveal it. “Don’t know, why are you dressed like a mini-version of your parents ?” 

James narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but the compartment door opens. A slender girl with light red hair and bright green eyes walks in. “Hello” her smile accentuates her apple cheeks. “Do you mind if I sit here?” In a hurry, James puts his foot off the seat and forcefully pulls Severus to the seat besides the window. “Of Course not! Please, have a seat” he says and gestures to the seat besides Severus. The one next to the compartment door. The arm that James pulled hurts, and Severus scowls at both James and the girl. 

“My name is James” 

“Lily” 

Lily’s cheeks turn slightly pink. Severus sees the interest in Jame’s eyes and the intrigue in Lily’s eyes. He rolls his own eyes. Who would ever fall for an arrogant spoiled brat like him? 

James tells Lily about the letter he received. His parents joy, the trip to Diagon Alley for School supplies, and the congratulation gifts from his parents and their friends. Severus looks out of the window as they talk. He sees the children on the platform entering the train. He smiles. He’s going to Hogwarts. His mother’s smile whenever she talks about her school days flashes through his mind. It's so different from the tired expression she usually wears. Now that I’m gone, what will mother do? This question haunts him. It haunts him when he’s listening to music. It haunts him when he’s watching the fish in the nearby lake. It haunted him when he nearly befriended a group of friends at Spinner’s End. He wants to run away from that question. But something that haunts you, runs with you. 

Severus shakes his head, forcing his mother out of his mind. Lily and James are giggling now. They’re in their own world, with no attention to Severus. Not that he wants any. He decides two things. One, he doesn’t like Lily, and two, he has to do something to pass the time with these two dunderheads. 

He always has a book with him. This time, one on intermediate charms. It is old and torn, but a good book nonetheless. He opens it but just as he is about to read it, the compartment door opens. “Hello” a boyish voice says. 

“Sirius !” James’ excited voice makes Severus look up. In the opening of the compartment door stands a boy with shoulder-length hair. It is tight in a low ponytail with a few loose strands in the front. His wide smile reveals a set of straight and pearly white teeth. He wears a loose white shirt with the two uppermost buttons unbuttoned. It reveals a glimpse of the sturdy body underneath. 

Severus freezes. He wants to run and hide, but also be there for an eternity. He could not stop staring.

“Come on James. You're going to make a fool of yourself on the first evening. I would not miss it for the world. What else would I be laughing at tonight ?” 

The two met in a brotherly hug. James guides Sirius to the seat in front of Lily. “This is Lily, she’s also starting this year.” 

“Sirius Black, nice to meet you. James is the reason my mother once scolded me so loudly that she lost her voice.” 

“Ha!” James hits Sirius's shoulder. “I might have had the ideas. But it was Sirius that insisted on doing them.” 

Sirius chuckles. He leans his back on the wooden wall beside the compartment door. He has a full view of the space now, and his gaze meets Severus’ staring eyes. 

Sirius scans Severus from head to toe. “And who are you ?”  

Lily and James both turn to Severus. Under their eyes, he's aware of his sleek greasy hair, the flowy old robes, and worn out vintage book with half a spine missing. “Se, Severus”. 

He can feel the heat in his neck, his cheeks, his ears. James’ eyebrows go up in slight surprise. Lily’s mouth opened, a little, and a small smile puffed her cheeks. The shame is too much to handle, so he quickly goes back to his book. 

“Pleasure to meet you” he hears Sirius say in a low tone. 

James, Lily, and Sirius’ laughter fills the air again. Severus tries to focus, but can’t seem to understand the words that compose the sentences. Their laughter is like a wall beside him. He’s so aware of it. Slowly he turns his head to Sirius. Sirius' body moves with him when he laughs. He is so happy between James and Lily. Sirius’ eyes meets Severus’.  Severus quickly looks back to his book. 

Nothing makes sense anymore. How can he think, when the most beautiful boy alive is sitting in his compartment ? 

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 219/4.756

Title: Name To Call You By

Author: Tirainy

Website: Ao3

Published: 09.09.2018

Word Count: 678 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? Yes

Warnings: No

Smut? No

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: One Shot, Writing Exercise, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Established Relationship, Fluff, Worldbuilding

Author Summary: In which Shadow wonders why so few Mobians have an actual surname.

My summary: Shadow learns more about Mobians and their names from his boyfriend Sonic.

You can read it here

[thisisnotkitty]

Ness tending to Mike's injuries 😭

me when i steal the scene from the movie and make it securitywaiter

-so yknow when mike is like “yeah ill trade in abby for garrett (which like why did he do that lmao) and gets just like mauled by the animatronics

-anyways instead of vanessa finding him ness had actually gone in to snoop around freddy’s bc thats what he does as a conspriacy theorist

-he gets there just in time to save mike but mike’s like,, OUT so he takes him back to his apartment to fix him up

-while mike takes a while to wake up ness begins cleaning his wounds and stitching him up and there’s a brief moment when mike is nearly all cleaned up that he looks kinda peaceful(?) lying on ness’s couch and ness is like “huh” but he doesn’t quite get why his heart speeds up a bit

-as ness finishes cleaning him up he starts humming and singing gently and it kinda wakes mike up but he’s still a little out of it and can’t quite open his eyes fully so he’s just like “are you an angel?” bc he fully thought he died back there lmao

-and ness just laughs and goes “i’m fully human as far as i know. the name’s ness and i found you at freddy’s which is lucky for you bc it looked like you were in a bit of trouble there” bc he’s cheeky like that

-and mikes still a little dazed and confused from the blood loss but still he’s like “wait a minute… narrows eyes why were You at freddy’s”

-ness is just like “well you see it’s a long story” and mike just looks down at this injuries with a look that says well i’m clearly not going anywhere soon so i’ve got time

-ness starts explaining the fnaf lore while bandaging up mike and mike is trying to pay attnetion bc this is kinda imp but he can’t help but get distracted with how gentle ness is handling his arm and maybe he’s still a bit dazed but he swears this guy’s voice is a bit melodic and oh. oh.

-mike hasn’t really been in the dating scene much bc of abby so when he realizes that he might be developing a crush on this guy he’s known for a grand total of 30 minutes (and he was only awake for 10 of those) he begins to panic a bit

-uhhhh yeah. they go back to freddys and vanessa’s there and they save abby and it’s pretty much the last bit of the movie but w ness there now! (i couldn’t figure out how to end this im so sorry)

prompts, hcs, whatever random thoughts you guys have on these silly little fellas pls be sure to send them my way bc im going a Bit insane

[moonstoneistired]

Just found out that the top two f/f bsd pairings on ao3 are just genderbends of m/m ships. In the top ten f/f pairings only three and five are canonical women.