#sam does arts pause challenge

[sun-catcher2k]

Samdoesart paused challenge OC, meet Saint 🔪🐍🧿

Prompts i got ⬆️

original video if you wanna make a pause challenge OC

[alexandenigtscreations]

Did a art Pause Challenge and I think I love her. She looks dangerious XD

that is where you can find the pause challenge if you want. It is #SamDoesPauseChallenge

The results were, curly hair, yellow eyes, rich skintone, flashy long stripe coat pants and buckle shoes, and armed to the teeth. I don't like cigarettes so I replaced it with a lit match for unhinged reasons. She also got a 'suprised' look so I wanted to give her something to be supised about.

I think I'll keep her XD But I'm not sure which of my five stories she would fit best in? Like, would work with Allen Rail, Razen Thrain and Alexande Hexaba. But that's three options XD

Art by AlexandeNight

[zalaznyart]

more random characters for Sam Does Art's pause challenge

[steddiebang]

the freaks who could never love anyone (October 10) author:  dima (ao3/bsky/tumblr/twitter) / artist:  robin (tumblr / twitter) Hawkins High School’s show choir group, the Treble Tigers, is in desperate need of new members. Eddie Munson, the group’s de facto student leader, is well aware that they need to do anything they can to be in contention for Nationals.

But Eddie immediately finds himself at odds with one of their latest members, Steve Harrington. A prototypical pompous jock that has no place in a group that’s meant for misfits. But when Steve starts opening up about the many secrets he’s carrying, Eddie realizes that he might need the Treble Tigers to go to Nationals as much as Eddie does.

Tell Me Then Would You Lend A Hand (October 13) Author: funeralbeldam / Artist: rrrrraatt An exploration of Steve’s trauma. How it affects his everyday life, opens him up to Vecna, and sends him on a path of self discovery as the world is ending. His relationships with his friends - most notably one Eddie Munson - and how he views his own self worth. How one man will tear down Steve’s curtain to reveal the truth inside, through the power of music. Who says metalheads and jocks -turning-punks can’t get along?

scheming on a thing (October 14) Author: greatunionic (ao3 / tumblr) / Artist: daysarestranger / singinginmay It’s 1994, and Eddie’s been a guest of Uncle Sam at Pelican Bay since it opened in ‘89, when his public defender stopped defending and he resigned himself to the sixth to life bag the Spring Break of ‘86 had left him holding. Sure, the series of frantic transfers that made Wayne and the party lose track of him (and cost him his unlikely prison penpal, Steve Harrington) truly were a bummer, but life’s actually not too bad, in the long run: he’d got three hots and a cot, ya know, and sometimes a few of the other inmates actually believe him when he tells them he’s innocent. Still — the new lawyer and paralegal shaped suspiciously like one Erica Sinclair is starting to give him pause, and make him wonder if the story’s not quite over yet…

Or: a story about seven letters, the worst love song ever written, and a heist.

Of Space and Time (October 15) Author: @appledagger / Artist: @Ahhrenata / Additional Art: @appledagger, @betwixtandbetweenn In 2073, the world is still moving forward despite arid climates and the quick relay race between man and machine. Within the walls of the hospital center at Vecna Labs, Steve Harrington has just woken up after an accident inside the depths of the classified sections of the lab. Stricken with amnesia, he is brought to Edward Munson’s home to recover and to be observed during his recovery after experimental treatments had brought him back from the brink of death. In Edward’s home, Steve finds question after question. Why does Eddie seem to hate him so much? What do all the observations have to do with his accident? What exactly is going on with his malfunctioning mind, and what does this all have to do with Creel and Vecna’s tech monopoly? All the while, Steve struggles with the feeling that there was something more to his relationship with Eddie that he can’t quite understand.

Road to Nowhere (October 14) Author: @sharpbutsoft / Artist: @patternscolorsflowers Eddie Munson isn’t dead, and he’s trying not to make it everyone’s problem. After the horrorshow that was Spring Break, he’s been keeping to himself, attending his “legally you cannot call this a bribe but, yes, obviously it’s a bribe” physical therapy sessions, and trying to recover from his brief but violent death. Enter Steve Harrington, and his compulsive need to be useful, who’s volunteered to taxi him to and from these sessions (with minimal bitching.) This newfound friendship isn’t without its challenges though. Steve, not the best with his words, struggles to define his feelings for Eddie, who has it in his head that the only reason they’re not together yet, is because he’s not better yet. When an argument threatens to snuff out the sparks flying between them, Eddie has to learn that better is a journey, not a destination, and one he doesn’t have to take alone…

The Ones Who Know (October 15) Author: @tacticat / @hereforthesteddie / Artist: @miloboiwonder / @milotheboywonder / Artist: @donttellunclesam “Robs, Eddie’s mad at me. I did something wrong, I think. I don’t really know.“ 

"Can you tell me what happened?" 

"We were watching movies last night and we-” his throat closes up on him and he struggles to take in a deep breath. “We kissed." 

"What!?” The unlucky customers waiting on them can probably hear her, she reacts so loudly.

“I know! I wasn’t expecting it." 

 A look of confusion crosses her face.

"Wait but Steve, you’re-”

“Straight? I know!”

Does he, though? She gives him a curious look that seems to ask the same question. 

Steve didn’t used to like being someone who knows, when that meant keeping secrets about horrifying and heartbreaking things. But now that he’s learning beautiful and precious secrets about the people who are important to him, he’s starting to learn that being one of the ones who know doesn’t have to be so bad.

change your mind (October 16) Author: helix_stomper / Artist: horsegirleddiemunson  After his breakup with Nancy, Steve Harrington keeps it a secret that he hasn’t made an effort to meet his soulmate. When he accidentally wakes up next to them a few days after his 18th birthday, he’s surprised to find that it’s not only another guy, but somebody else in Hawkins. Between losing all his old friends, learning how not to be an asshole, and balancing his newfound sexuality in a closed-minded town, Steve has his work cut out for him. Eddie Munson doesn’t believe in soulmates, but that doesn’t stop him from waiting in the dreamscape every night for his. Balancing life as an openly queer, drug-dealing super senior in Hawkins, Indiana is no cakewalk, especially with Billy Hargrove on his ass. But maybe, just maybe, there’s something to that whole soulmate thing after all.

Drowning In Your Love (October 20) Author: @steveshairychest / steveshairychest /Artist: parasite_z (twitter) / @parasite-z

There’s something so enticing about forbidden love, about yearning for someone that you know you can’t have. Eddie knows he’s breaking every oath he took on the day of his knighting, but he can’t help but be drawn to the golden prince that beckons him with a sharp tooth smile. It’s forbidden to speak with the merfolk that occupy the ocean around the city but Eddie has never been very good at following the rules, especially when he’s got his hands tangled in a beautiful merman’s soft hair. Each day, he finds himself with his toes in the sand and with his heart in the hands of Steve Harrington, the heir to the merkingdom. They meet in secret at the rockpools, and the more Eddie learns about the prince, the harder it becomes to keep away. His knights oath to never take a lover gnaws at the back of his mind the first time he presses a kiss to Steve’s lips. Things become difficult when the Queen of the merkingdom starts to pressure Steve to take the necessary steps required of him to become King, the first being to choose a bride. But Steve doesn’t want any of the maidens that his mother forces him to meet. He wants the knight in clunky armor that brings him treasures from the human world, the knight that he shared his first kiss with under the light of the moon. Forbidden love is never easy. It hurts and bares its teeth just when you thought things were going well. Will Steve and Eddie be able to make it through unscathed?

Nobody’s Baby (October 22) Author: ArtaxLivs / Artist: LexPlexDraws It’s Dirty Dancing but Steddie Style. Steve is a privileged young college graduate who is supposed to spend one last summer with the family at an upscale resort but stumbles in unexpected friendships with some of the resort’s employees. Eddie is the dance instructor with a chip on his shoulder. An impossible situation makes them unwilling dance partners but maybe the possibility of trust will make them more than that.

it’s a lonely world when everyone knows your name (October 23) Author: @whataboutthefish / Artist: @hawkinsleather and on Twitter Steve Harrington had a nemesis, Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson. The only thing was, Eddie didn’t know. Eddie Munson was the face of the decade and fashion’s darling, but his hard partying ways and lack of professionalism- in Steve’s opinion- had him seething. When Steve was paired with Eddie for a photo shoot he was already anticipating hating the whole ordeal. What he didn’t expect was Eddie being more than just his persona.

Or

Hottest Alpha Model Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington just might be wrong about Omega Supermodel Eddie ‘The Face’ Munson.

My Dad, Your Papa, Our Father (October 25) Author: @strangerthingssteddiebrainrot / Artist: @waldos-art Steve thought a memorial for the fallen if Hawkins lab was pretentious and insincere. He wasn’t the only one. But if he hadn’t come, he probably wouldn’t have found out about, this. So really, it could be argued, understood even, that he was completely taken off guard when a picture of one of the deceased scientists was placed on the memorial table and he couldn’t control what came out of his mouth, loud enough that there was no way everybody didn’t hear it. “Dad!?”

A Haunted House With A Picket Fence (October 25) author: Quinn (ao3/tumblr/twitter) / artist: AtlasMoth666 (twitter) Eddie Munson is no stranger to bad choices. It’s how he ended up a single father selling drugs to keep him and his kid clothed and fed. Dumb choices have him fleeing Chicago in the middle of the night and renting a place in his shitty hometown in Indiana while he plans his next move.

It’s also how he ends up asking his stupidly hot neighbor to babysit his daughter while he goes on a last-minute job interview, and much to his surprise, stupid-hot neighbor agrees. And it turns out he’s not just handsome, but funny, a great cook, he loves Eddie’s weirdo kid, and may just be the love of Eddie’s life.

If only starting over and escaping his past was that easy.

after all this time (i’m still into you) (October 26) Author: oriscribes  / Artist: unspcfiedfigure / Artist: @hellfireloserclub Steve just wanted to keep working on his TV show, but due to some clauses buried in his contract he’d been coerced into a fake dating scheme. Which was especially stupid because Munson didn’t even like him. Steve should know, Munson had already rejected him years ago. Eddie just wanted to keep his head down until his contract ran out so he could get back to writing with Corroded Coffin instead of doing this idol shit. He wasn’t counting on getting outed and having to do damage control… by pretending to date someone who he maybe sorta had (has?) a huge crush on. OR: Steve pretends that if he keeps calling Eddie by his last name then he won’t develop any feelings to go with that crush he’d been trying to forget about. Meanwhile, Eddie is trying to figure out what went wrong years ago and if this time could be different. 

how greedy my heart (October 27) Author: @matchingbatbites / Artist: @amethyst-crowns After his first encounter with the Upside Down, Steve needs something to help him relax. He gets more than he expects from drug dealer Eddie Munson, who pulls him into a world of gentle care, good feelings, and calm that he’s never experienced before.

All Eyes on Me in the Center of the Ring (October 28) Author: a_lil_a_lot  - twitter / tiktok / bsky / tumblr / Artist:  bienmoreau - twitter Ex-Olympic gymnast, Steve Harrington, is politely asked to not return to college after the summer - upon his return to his hometown, he’s not expecting a trip to the circus with his best friend to have such an impact on him. Just when he thinks he’s run out of options, he takes a chance in following the Munson Family Circus and finds not only something he enjoys, but a place where he belongs.

(he’s) a runaway foal that doesn’t know where to go (October 31) Author: @patti_cake08 (twitter)/ @moltenchocolatelavacake  Steve Harrington has always loved too much, he knows this. And yet he’s never been enough for anybody. It’s why relationships never work out for him. But he tried again because of course he did. Always too stupid for his own good, his feelings were bullshit. A week after having his heart broken by a man he believed he’d meant more to than flirty phone calls and occasional fucks, Steve ends up at Forest Hills Trailer Park. He’d gone looking for a reprieve, a comfort, a way out of his grief. Instead he finds a pair of pale arms and a yearning heart eager to help him heal and, maybe, show him his love is enough.

[blakefate1356]

I ended up doing the pause art challenge from Sam does art just for the heck of it

I ended up getting some pretty decent options tbh so much so that I decided to reroll some just to make it less perfectly in line but I ended up comtinuesly landing on katana and tattoo for the accessory so xD I just gave in oh well

happy timezones

[im-not-dare-devil]

Ain't nothing better | sambucky

"I hate you." Bucky gasps when Sam adjusts in his lap for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, sure you do." Bucky can't see Sam's face because of the way they are laying on the couch, but Bucky knows he's rolling his eyes.

Bucky glares at the back of Sam's head for a moment, but his silent brooding is interrupted when Sam moves again. Bucky starts to wonder why his Ma ever wanted him to get married because so far married life was getting his junk sat on by his husband's bony ass.

"You're thinking too loud. I'm trying to watch the movie," Sam says, pointing the remote at the TV.

"The movie's been on paused for thirty minutes, Sam," Bucky says, and this time Sam looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes.

Bucky wants to push him off, but he feels like the room will become much colder if he does. Plus, now that Sam has turned around to roll his eyes, Bucky can see how pretty they are in the light of the setting sun, all brown and beautiful, practically glowing. Bucky can look at them for hours--how they radiate with humor, and happiness, and love, and Bucky sighs because his husband is a fucking piece of art.

"You're the worst," Bucky says, but he can't contain his smile, unable to a find a reason why he would want to in the first place.

Sam shrugs. "Its because I'm a better kisser than you, man. You're just jealous."

"Prove it," Bucky challenges, and when Sam leans forward to kiss him, Bucky understands why his Ma wanted him to get married, 'cause there ain't nothing better than Sam Wilson.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Gift of Jab

For the prompt: Hi! I'm always up for some sparring hotness, so how about Tony being present for physical training sessions (working/watching), but says no everytime Nat/Clint/Steve/etc invites him to do it. Rhodey laughing every time the team says that it's bc Tony doesn't want to embarass himself. Bucky suspects his BF is actually well-versed in hand-to-hand/martial arts/self-defense; so he gives himself the challenge of getting Tony onto the mat. When he does he ends up a)on the floor & b)really aroused.

A/N: This ended up more meet-cute than PWP, hope you enjoy! 

By @dracusfyre

Click here for AO3

Natasha’s thighs tightened around Bucky’s neck warningly, threatening his air supply and reminding him that anyone else’s neck would already been broken. Bucky smacked the mat with an open palm and the pressure disappeared; he lay there for a minute, getting the air back in his lungs from where he had hit the mat so hard, then he took Nat’s hand and climbed back to his feet. “Who taught you to be so fast?” he complained as he traded places with Steve, who had been waiting on the sidelines for his turn to spar.

“You did,” Nat said with a grin. She grabbed her bottle of water while Steve bounced a little on his toes and jabbed the air, not so much warming up as getting in the right mindset.  The sparring mat was in the middle of the room, and on one wall Sam was tearing up the treadmill and bobbing his head to whatever music he was listening to and Tony was doing his own thing in the corner. Clint was sitting in the corner watching, having already reached his fill of getting thrown around the room.

Steve must have noticed Bucky staring goofily at Tony because he followed Bucky’s gaze and watched Tony for a while, frowning in confusion at the strange pattern of movements Tony was making in the air with his arms and legs. “What’s he doing?” he finally asked, tilting his head towards Tony when Nat looked at him questioningly.

“Wing chun,” Tony called out, apparently able to hear them even over the sound of Sam’s treadmill and the music on the loudspeakers.

“Like Bruce Lee,” Clint added helpfully. Bucky and Steve just looked at him blankly.

“You’d like it,” Nat said, elbowing Steve in the side. “It’s really popular with old Chinese grandmothers.”

“I heard that!” Tony said, raising his voice but never pausing his movements. “Also, what you’re thinking of is Tai Chi.”

“But what is it? Is it like yoga or something?” Steve kept watching as Natasha took a moment to put her hair back up in a tighter ponytail.

“It’s a martial art,” she mumbled around the hair band in her mouth as she raked the hair back from her face. “Like karate or jiu jitsu. Ready?”

Steve tore his eyes away and let Bucky do the admiring from afar while Steve concentrated on his match. He lasted longer than Bucky did, which was understandable given he’d been sparring with Nat longer, but she suckered him in with a feint and hooked his legs out from under him, hitting the mat hard. She stood over him, made finger guns at him and said, “Pew pew,” and Steve obediently flopped back against the mat and played dead.  This time, Natasha traded out with Bucky and Steve did a kip up to his feet as Bucky stepped out onto the mat.

“Does he ever spar or is it just to stay in shape?” Steve asked. “I mean, it’s not like he…I mean, when he’s in the suit he doesn’t…” He realized what he was saying as he was in the middle of saying it, especially when he noticed Natasha giving him an unimpressed look. “Of course, he doesn’t always wear his suit,” he muttered, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink. “Right.”

“I can hear you,” Tony said in a high sing-song voice.

“You should join us,” Natasha called back, smirking when Bucky’s eyes jerked to hers in alarm.  “I think the boys want a closer look.”

Tony was silent for so long that Bucky thought he was back to ignoring them, but right as he was turning back to his mat Tony stopped what he was doing and said, “You know what, sure. I haven’t sparred with anyone but Happy for a while.”

He caught Sam’s eye as he came by the treadmill, and Sam took out his headphones. “You going to spar?” he said with interest. Tony never sparred hand-to-hand, he always demurred with a joke or an excuse. When Tony nodded, Sam turned off the treadmill to watch.

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a spectator sport,” Tony complained even though he was smiling. “Who am I sparring?”

Bucky felt the back of his neck burn as everyone but Tony turned to look at him. “I’ll go first,” Bucky said when the silence stretched for long enough that Tony was starting to look confused.

As Bucky shook out his arms and joined Tony on the mat, Clint leaned over to Natasha and said, “I bet Bucky has to tap out because he gets a boner.” Bucky gave him a dirty look over his shoulder, then gave Natasha one too when she shook Clint’s hand.

She just smirked and said, “Keep it clean, boys.”

Bucky brought his hands up in blocking position and closed his hands into loose fists, squaring up while Tony was turned slightly to the side, hands open and in front of his torso instead of protecting his face.  Bucky jabbed at him a couple of times experimentally as Tony dodged and then when he swung a little more seriously Tony blocked it easily and jabbed at the inside of arm, making his fingers go numb for a second.

“Whoa, what was that?” Sam said, raising his eyebrows. “Never seen that before.”

“You have,” Clint insisted. “Bruce Lee, remember?”

Bucky shook his hand out and took up his position again.  He led with an uppercut this time, a little faster and with more power, and Tony turned to the side, letting it swing past where he used to be, and hit Bucky’s throat, temple, chin, and jaw with a flurry of punches and chops, making Bucky stagger backwards from the unexpected onslaught. Then there was a foot in his chest that shoved him backwards and he almost landed on his ass.

“I want to change my bet,” Clint said. “Tony’s a ringer.”

“Buckaroo here isn’t going full speed or strength,” Tony said with modest shrug, though there was a smile playing on his lips.

“Just warming up,” Bucky said, though the truth was that this was a fighting style he wasn’t familiar with. Until Natasha, he’d mostly been from the “stand and slug it out” school of fighting, something you naturally fell into when you were stronger and more impervious to damage than most. Also, well, Bucky was much more used to having a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.

He eyed Tony and tried to slip on a little of the Winter Soldier, rolling his shoulders and trying to imagine what he would do if he were really trying to bring Tony down. So this time, when they squared up, he charged, trying to bodycheck Tony and get his hands on him, ready for Tony to try to dodge. Instead, Tony stepped into the charge, turning so that his shoulder drove into Bucky’s upper chest, pushing him off balance. At the same time his foot was between Bucky’s and his knee drove into the inside of Bucky’s thigh, making him lose his footing. Bucky rolled into the fall, coming up on his feet. He jabbed a couple of times, making Tony give ground, then followed up with a side kick, expecting Tony to dodge or block. Instead, he ducked by leaning back and kicking the thigh that Bucky was standing on, then catching Bucky’s other leg on his shoulder, forcing him to land on his back. Tony kept a grip on Bucky’s leg and followed him to the ground, pressing his knee to the side of Bucky’s. It was clear that in a real fight Tony’s next move would be to tear the ligaments in Bucky’s knee, and Bucky tapped out. He lay there for a moment after Tony released him, heart pounding with more than just the rush from the fight, before he accepted Tony’s hand to get back on his feet.

“Again?” Tony asked, bouncing a little on his toes, smiling widely. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, tank top clinging to his torso. “Best two out of three?”

Bucky’s mouth went dry and he swallowed, skin feeling tight. He stalled for a moment by grabbing a towel and swiping it over his face, worried that going another round would be a bad idea. But in the end he was helpless against Tony’s enthusiasm. “Sure,” he said after a minute, and the rest of the team cheered.

As they squared up again, Bucky assessed his next move; in a real fight, he would try to take Tony to the ground, but there was no goddamn way he could grapple with Tony without embarrassing himself. Having Tony kneeling between his legs for just a second had already been bad enough. 

He started out with a flurry of kicks, keeping them low so Tony couldn’t try the same trick again. Tony didn’t return them, he only deflected them while stepping back, a frown of concentration on his face. The last kick, however, he caught Bucky’s leg and stepped forward, making Bucky hop backwards or fall over. When Tony tried to sweep his leg Bucky did a backflip, curling his legs in tightly to avoid hitting Tony on the chin. He landed gracelessly, but he was on his feet; backflips were not his thing because the arm itself and the supporting metal in his shoulder made him lopsided, which affected him in the air. Tony took advantage of Bucky’s unsteady landing to attack with a flurry of lightning fast jabs. Bucky brought his arms up to protect his face and got sharp jabs to the solar plexus and ribs, threatening to knock the wind out of him; he tried to punch back to get Tony to back off, and got hit in the throat. Finally he tucked his head and barreled into Tony, who turned on his heel like a matador and push kicked him in the small of the back. Bucky stumbled forward and when he finally turned back around to face Tony, Tony look so goddamned pleased with himself that Bucky had to laugh.

“Come on, then,” he said, doing the come here gesture.

Tony shook his head, hands up in the same starting position as before. “Wing chun doesn’t really start fights,” he said. “That’s not why I learned it.”

Clint hooted from the sidelines. “Hear that? Tony doesn’t start fights, he ends them.”

Tony and Bucky rolled their eyes and shared a grin. “Alright,” Bucky said, and swung at Tony again, a jab with his left followed by a hook with his left; as he anticipated, Tony blocked and countered with a chop to his neck like he’d done earlier. This time, though, Bucky dipped and twisted so that the blow hit his shoulder instead and grabbed Tony’s wrist. Tony lunged and hit Bucky in the chest with his elbow, hard enough that it would have knocked the wind out of a normal person. Bucky countered by hitting Tony in the side with his free hand and felt bad when he heard Tony grunt, but without hesitating Tony drove his heel into Bucky’s instep and then his knee into Bucky’s thigh. Bucky felt his leg twist at the impact but stayed on his feet and kept his grip on Tony’s wrist.

Until Tony somehow twisted in his grip, sweat-slick wrist slipping from between his fingers as Tony trapped Bucky’s arm against his body then ducked under it, twisting Bucky’s am behind his back. He kicked the back of Bucky’s knee, making it buckle, then with a knee to the center of Bucky’s back Tony drove him to the floor.  Bucky struggled just enough to know that Tony had a solid lock on his arm; Tony was a heavy weight pinning him to the mat and Bucky’s breath caught in his lungs. He felt himself flush hot and then cold, skin tingling, and knew if he struggled too much Clint would win his bet. He tapped the mat with his free hand and Tony released him immediately. Bucky blew out a breath and rolled over, only to find Tony standing over him.

“I’ve known Natasha for longer than you have,” Tony said with a smile as he held out a hand to help Bucky pick himself up off the floor.  “You taught her to be fast, and she taught me. Taught me some of her tricks, too.”

“Even the leg thing?” Bucky asked, and wished he hadn’t because then he pictured having his head between Tony’s thighs and he had to force his thoughts to something else. Behind them, Clint was scowling as he handed Natasha money from his wallet.

“No, not the leg thing. No one but Natasha can do the leg thing,” Tony said ruefully. Then he looked at Bucky expectantly and Bucky realized he was still holding Tony’s hand.

Bucky felt his face get hot and let go quickly. “We should do this again sometime,” he offered a little breathlessly. “It was fun.”

“Even if you were taking it easy on me,” Tony said, taking a towel from Sam and running it over his face.

“I went as fast and hard as I would go with anyone but Steve and Thor,” Bucky countered. He pulled his shirt up to wipe off his face and when he lowered it, he caught Tony staring at his stomach before his eyes flew up to met Bucky’s.

“That’s fair,” Tony said, and his grin said he knew he’d been caught looking and didn’t care. Bucky grinned back because all of a sudden it had become the best day ever. “You know, I think I’m done for the day. Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” Clint said, and he was about to climb down off his perch when Natasha grabbed his arm, fingers digging in with warning.

“He wasn’t asking you,” she said, and though she was smiling it was all teeth. “Don’t fuck this up,” she hissed, impressively managing to say it without moving her lips. "They might not try again for weeks." Bucky’s neck burned and he hoped Tony couldn’t hear her, even though Steve’s carefully blank expression said that he definitely could and furthermore, he agreed. Behind Tony’s back, Sam gave him a discreet thumbs up, and Bucky was ready to murder all of them.

“I am, yes,” Bucky said, resolutely ignoring the chuckleheads in the peanut gallery. "I just, uh, need a shower and I'll be ready."

"It will be faster if you shower toge-" Clint started, and Natasha elbowed him off the bench before he could finish.

"You kids have fun," Sam said, and Bucky left before his face could get any redder. 

[banshee1013]

Suptober Day 16 - Switch It Up

Yes, I FINALLY finished this one! This one took FOREVER and put me way behind, so I thought instead I would get all the fic writing done and then do all the art and post as I complete it - but life intervened and I got even more behind. So, I have Days 21-24 already written, Days 30 / 31 partially written; so gonna do the art for 21-24, posting it as I complete the art, then Days 30 / 31 will have to come after (Timestamps!). Regardless, as soon as it’s all done, it will be polished and posted on AO3 in it’s entirety.

So, I hope you enjoy! It’s been quite a challenge but I’ve had such a great time!

Overall Title: The Road Less Traveled

Overall Rating: Mature (may change to Explicit, we’ll see how it goes)

Tags: Castiel/Dean, mention of Sam/Eileen, Post-Season 15, ExAngel!Cas, MostlyRetiredHunter!Dean, Road Trip

(Note: all ficlets are unbeta’d. At the end of the month, I’ll wrap up whatever I manage to get written, clean it up, get it beta’d, and post to AO3. So please pardon any mistakes!)

========================================================

CHAPTER ELEVEN - SWITCH IT UP

Words: 3689 CHAPTER RATING - EXPLICIT

“Hello, spoils.”

Dean barely has time to kick off his shoes and register the door being closed behind him before he’s effortlessly spun around and pressed against it, The gasp that escapes him is definitely from the air being driven from his lungs by Cas’ body, not at all from how completely hot it is that Cas so easily manhandled him against the door.

And DEFINITELY not by that statement being growled against his ear. 

That deep, rumbling voice vibrates straight to his cock; and the tone of command would have had him on his knees were it not for Cas… Castiel’s… leg placed firmly between his.

“Ah,ah, sweet boy,” Castiel purrs darkly against his neck, his hand moving from the door to grasp the back of his neck, long fingers digging into the short hair there, “can’t have you dropping to your knees here, you’ll damage my property.”

Dean’s eyes fall closed as his mouth drops open, and he most certainly DOES NOT whine. 

OK, maybe a little whine. So sue him. 

“Open your eyes, Dean.” 

Dean’s eyes snap open, and it’s then he sees the object in Castiel’s hand. 

An adorable bear-shaped bottle filled with - honey? What was he going to do with honey?

He doesn’t have time to contemplate for long, as Castiel moves back and to his side, the hand on his neck guiding him to the bed. The bottle is set on the nightstand, then Castiel reaches for a pillow, tossing it on the ground by Dean’s feet at the edge of the bed. 

No words are needed - a small squeeze and gentle nudge from the hand on his neck, and Dean’s knees hit the pillow, wrists automatically clasped behind his back. 

“Good boy.” Dean shudders involuntarily from the praise, as Castiel slides his hand from Dean’s neck and through his hair, petting him while gently pushing his forehead to the edge of the bed. “Rest now, and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Reaching down into Dean’s pocket, Castiel grabs the keys to the Impala and steps away, followed by the sound of the motel room door opening and closing. 

The room door opens again, and Dean first hears the dull thud of a duffle bag dropping to the floor, followed by the rustle of fabric against plastic - the garment bag with their “Fed Suits” in them - moving past him. Castiel’s footsteps retreating in the direction of the closet. The closet door squeaks open, the garment bag’s hanger clinks on the hanger rod, the door squeaking closed again; then Castiel is behind him, fingers running through his hair and around to brush his cheek. Dean leans into the touch, barely breathing. 

“So good for me.”  

Castiel turns, and then the bed by Dean’s head sinks slightly as he sits by him. Castiel’s hand moves to Dean’s other cheek, rising to card idly through his hair. His hand slides around to Dean’s chin, lifting it so that he’s looking directly into Castiel’s eyes.

“Here is the game I would like to play, Dean. I purchased the bottle of honey at the winery, thinking it would be good for toast or with peanut butter sandwiches, but when I won your game, I had a much better idea for it.”

His lips turn up into a feral grin, and butterflies take flight in Dean’s stomach. 

“I would like to see how it tastes on you, first.” 

Ok, yes, that was definitely a whine this time. Dean is far too excited at the prospect to care, and his dick is fully on board. 

“Will you indulge me, sweet boy?” Dean’s head does its best impression of a bobblehead doll, and he’s rewarded with Castiel’s face lighting up like a kid at Christmas. 

Standing, Castiel presses a hand gently on the back of his head, a clear indication that he’s to return to leaning against the bed; and he does so, closing his eyes and focusing his hearing on Castiel’s movements. 

He hears a cabinet being opened, water poured into a container and then set into the microwave. Footsteps disappear into the bathroom as the microwave hums, then return as the microwave dings. Castiel pops the microwave door open and removes the dish, and then he’s back beside Dean again, setting the dish on the nightstand. 

Dean opens his eyes and steals a glance - the bear-bottle of honey is sitting in a bowl, presumably the one filled with water and microwaved. A washcloth lies folded next to it. 

Castiel glances down and catches Dean looking; and Dean flinches but Castiel only smiles. 

“I believe it will be a more enjoyable experience for you if the honey were warmed first.”

Oh hell yes.

Castiel turns to Dean, carefully pulling him to his feet, Dean thankful because his feet had started to tingle despite the pillow. Castiel then begins to undress him, slowly, like he’s unwrapping a present; gently pushing Dean’s hands away when he tries to help. The flannel overshirt slides from his shoulders and is draped over a nearby chair, followed by his favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Castiel runs his fingers lightly down Dean’s chest toward the waistband of his jeans, goosebumps popping along his skin in their wake; then unhooks his belt and pulls it free from the belt loops with a crack, sending a shiver through Dean’s body. The belt joins the shirts and Castiel’s hand returns to cup the very distinct bulge in the front of Dean’s jeans, pulling a desperate moan from Dean. 

“So eager,” Castiel breathes against his lips and gives Dean’s cock a squeeze, his smile growing wider at the gasp it produced. Releasing it, he pops the button and slowly, tauntingly slides the zipper down. Both hands now at the waistband, Castiel begins to pull the jeans and boxers down, sinking to the floor with them, his breath hot against Dean’s skin as his lips kiss and suck a path down his body. 

Castiel is on his knees in front of Dean, his lips a hair's-breadth from his now rock-hard cock, his breath hot against it but not touching; and Dean feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin. He actually jumps when Castiel reaches for his hand and places it on his shoulder for leverage, tapping the inside of his calf to get him to raise his leg to slide the jeans, boxers, and sock off his foot. Castiel repeats the motion on the other side, then rises to his feet, his eyes devouring Dean.

“So beautiful,” Castiel breathes, and Dean feels a wave of heat flush over him at the look of raw adoration and lust he sees on Castiel’s face.

Dean realizes that while he is completely naked, flushed and hard with arousal, Castiel is still fully clothed; and this really needs to change. 

But this is Castiel’s game, not his. He lost fair and square - well, sorta, since he kinda cheated a couple times - and he was honor-bound to play along.

Lost in this train of thought, he’s startled by Castiel suddenly being right in his space, hands on his bare hips and pushing him gently back towards the foot of the bed. His knees hit the edge and he loses his balance, sitting hard on the bed. Castiel places a warm hand flat on his chest and presses him down the rest of the way, his back on the bed, feet still on the floor.

Castiel scans the bed above Dean’s head and huffs in annoyance.

“How unfortunate,” he grumbles. “The headboard is flat and flush against the wall. No anchor points.”  Moving to the front of the bed, Dean twists to watch him as he removes all but one pillow, placing them onto the nearby chair. The remaining one he places about a foot from the headboard, then motions for Dean to move closer, patting the pillow.

Dean scoots up to the top of the bed and lays his head next to Castiel’s hand on the pillow. 

The hand moves from the pillow to stroke Dean’s cheek, then trails fingers lightly down his neck and across his chest, pausing to sharply tweak a nipple before continuing down his body. Dean squawks in surprise, then hisses as Castiel switches from light fingertips to nails down his stomach towards his painfully hard, leaking cock. He stops just before reaching the head, swirling a finger in the small pool of precome there and lifting it to his mouth to suck it off his finger; eyes sliding shut and humming as if tasting the finest ambrosia.  

Dean forgets to breathe and his dick dribbles even more. 

Removing his finger from his mouth with a pop, Castiel continues, his fingernails running down Dean’s leg, then clamps a hand around his ankle. “Stay”.

Dean swallows and nods his compliance, the idea of doing anything else never even entering his head. 

Castiel gives him an indulgent smile, then turns and heads to the closet. Opening the doors, he unzips the garment bag, revealing the beige trench coat draped over his standard navy blue suit and white shirt. Reaching into the pockets of the trench coat, he pulls out his coiled belt and blue tie before zipping the garment bag back up and closing the closet doors. 

He approaches the side of the bed and sits facing Dean, holding out his hands to show him the belt and tie.

“I was going to offer you the option of holding on to the headboard if you did not wish me to bind you to it, but as you can see, there are no handholds.” Dean nods, and Castiel continues. “What I would like to do in lieu of that is to bind you with belt handcuffs.” Setting the tie down, he loops the belt through the buckle to form a loop, then back through the buckle again to form the second loop. “Your wrists will be bound in the loops, and can be tightened by pulling on the end of the belt, here,” he demonstrates, slipping the belt on his own hands, and Dean nods again. “You will have full control of the tension by holding the end of the belt in your opposite hand, as such.” He pulls on the end of the belt, and the cuffs tighten around his wrists. “To release the tension, release the end of the belt.” He demonstrates this as well, then looks up at Dean.

“Do I have your consent to bind you, Dean? You can of course say no.” 

Dean nods, but Castiel shakes his head. “I need verbal consent, Dean.” 

After not having spoken since entering the room, Dean struggles to find his voice but manages to croak out, “Hell yes.” 

Castiel’s smile is as bright as the sun. “Thank you, Dean.” He slips the bet cuffs over Dean’s hands, placing the belt end into his hand, then raises Dean’s bound hands above his head and pressing them down onto the bed. 

“Stay.”

Dean nods, pulls the belt end tight and revels in the rush. 

“Not too tight. Release the belt end if your hands start to tingle.” Dean nods once more - then drops a pointed look towards the tie by his hip.

Cas picks up the tie, unrolling it and running it through his fingers. “And this… if you’re agreeable, I would like to blindfold you with it.” He quirks an eyebrow.

Dean swallows, hard, and nods vigorously.

“Verbal consent, Dean.”

“Y...yes,” he stammers, and is rewarded with another blinding smile. 

“So, so good for me.” 

He leans over and lays the tie over his eyes, the blue silk cool against his flushed face. 

The tie he gave Cas after he returned from Purgatory the first time. 

Castiel slides the ends of the tie around his head, wrapping it around and tucking the ends in tightly. “Is that too tight?” Castiel breathes into his ear.

“N-no, Castiel.” 

Dean can no longer see, but he can feel Castiel’s lips curve up against his cheek, just before his lips brush the shell of his ear, moving across his jaw and settling over his own. Castiel kisses him, chaste and light at first, quickly dissolving to wet and hot. Dean moans into the kiss, whining and chasing after him when Castiel breaks the kiss and moves away. 

Castiel lays a hand on his forehead and gently pushes him back down, fingers trailing down over his cheek,the mattress lifting slightly as Castiel rises. The rustle of fabric, the slight thud of his jeans hitting the floor tells Dean that Castiel is finally getting naked, and silently curses the unfairness of not getting to watch it happen.

Suddenly the bed shifts around him, followed by the warm, bare skin of Castiel’s thighs pressing on either side of his hips. He gasps as a shiver of anticipation shudders through him from the contact; and then the bed dips on either side of his head.

“Are you alright, Dean? What’s your color?” Cas’ lips brushing against his ear send a fresh set of shivers down his spine.

“‘M fine. Green, so fucking green.” 

Cas’ dark chuckle vibrates against his ear, and the next moment Castiel’s lips are on his again, tongue insistently pressing past them and Dean sucks it in eagerly. His hands twitch in the bonds above his head, the skin where Castiel’s body presses against his tingles and burns.

Then Castiel’s lips are gone, replaced by spreading warmth across his thighs - he’s leaned back, his perfect bare ass now resting on Dean’s thighs, the hands that were on either side of his head lightly brushing down his chest, stopping to tweak his nipples again before skating down his belly, and then gone; Dean jerking and whining from the contact and the loss. The weight on his thighs shifts, becoming lighter on one side and heavier on the other, the mattress creaking softly as Cas leans in the direction of the nightstand. He hears a clink and the slight sloshing of water, the sound loud in the darkness. The weight on his thighs shifts again as Castiel centers himself over Dean.

“Color, my sweet boy?” Cas asks; his voice, dark and deep, drifts towards him as if from far away.  

“Green,” Dean breathes. 

Seconds later, he yelps in surprise as a pinprick of liquid heat pools in the center of his chest and dribbles in a line down to his stomach, the honey hot but not burning, the warmth expanding as it spreads out against his skin. The weight on his thighs shifts again as Castiel leans forward; then the warm, wet pressure of Castiel’s tongue, pressed flat against Dean’s stomach, slowly slides up his body. As his tongue follows the trail of honey, Castiel’s body shifts against his and Dean breathes out a shaky moan when the hard line of Castiel’s cock slots next to his, just as his tongue laps up the last of the honey from his chest. Castiel doesn’t stop there, his tongue continuing up Dean’s neck and into his mouth, the sweet taste of the honey bursting on his taste buds as he sucks it from Castiel’s tongue, swallowing his groan as Dean ruts against him. 

Castiel breaks the kiss and rises back up, pushing Dean gently back down when he tries to chase. 

“Patience, Dean. I’m not finished with my taste test yet.” 

Dean jerks as the pinpoint of heat returns, this time on his left nipple. Castiel spreads the honey over the nipple with his fingers, pinching and rolling it to a stiff, sticky peak, then swirling the tip of his tongue around it before sucking it into his mouth. Dean cries and bucks underneath him, but a firm hand pressed on his hip stills him. The right nipple gets the same treatment, hot honey followed by the wet heat of Castiel’s mouth. 

Dean gasps and moans, his hands pulling against the belt restraints as he tries to remain still against the onslaught of Castiel’s tongue. He could just as easily let the belt end slip from his fingers and free himself, but he desperately wants to be good, wants to be Castiel’s good boy. He pulls the belt tighter, and feels himself begin to float. 

The weight and warmth settles back onto his thighs as Castiel sits back up, and Dean can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, feels the weight of his gaze panning down his body, hears his ragged breath. 

“So, so beautiful.” Cas’ voice, reverent and resonating, sends shivers chasing down Dean’s spine. 

“Color, my sweet, beautiful boy?”

“G-green,” Dean whimpers. 

“So very good for me,” Cas says softly, a hitch in his voice. 

The weight moves off him completely then, reappearing further down, thighs now pressing against Dean’s knees, and he gives a high raspy cry when the warmth of the honey trickles down the length of his cock, dribbling down over his balls to his perineum. Cas wastes no time, his tongue briefly circling Dean’s rim before sliding up and sucking his balls into his mouth. Dean keens and writhes, his hands twisting in the restraints until Castiel’s hand returns to his hip, fingers squeezing into the flesh, and he stills again, panting and whining. Castiel flattens his tongue against the base of his cock and paints a wide swath up his length, licking up the honey until he reaches the head. Dean feels the precome dribbling down onto his stomach and Castiel’s tongue lap up, then keens again as Castiel takes in his cock all the way down to the root. 

“Ahhhh... fuck… Cassss…” he babbles as Castiel slides up and then back down, starting up a steady rhythm.

Just as Dean begins to feel the pressure build, Castiel pulls off, the warmth of his body is gone completely, and Dean whimpers as he floats alone in the dark. 

He hears the soft tread of Castiel’s feet moving to the door, the zipper of the duffle bag he had dropped there. Then the mattress dipping as Castiel returns,the distinctive snick of a lube bottle cap; and eagerly waits for the feel of lubed fingers against his rim, opening him up… but it doesn’t come.

Instead, he hears uneven breaths next to him, little whimpers and sighs, the slick sound of lube against skin.

Dean’s head buzzes as his heart begins to pound, a fresh pool of precome dribbling from his very eager cock. 

Cas is opening himself up, and this can only mean one thing. 

It’s not like they don’t ever switch it up… but it’s a pretty rare thing since Dean loves bottoming and Cas definitely loves topping. 

“C-Cas?”

The bed shifts again and then Cas is straddling him, lubed fingers grasping his aching cock and slicking him up. 

“I thought I might give you a special treat for indulging me so,” Cas says, his voice low and rough. “Would you like me to ride you, my love?” 

Dean almost comes right then and there.

“Fuck… yes, Cas, YES.” 

No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, Dean feels Cas line up and slide down onto his cock, slowly, letting him feel every inch. 

“Ahhhhhh ffffuuuck Caaassss... “ Dean moans, the heat of Cas’ body surrounding him, the sensation almost overwhelming, but so, so incredibly good. 

Cas slowly rises and falls again, then begins to pick up the pace. A few more strokes and Dean feels Cas’ chest against his, Cas’ cock hard and hot against his stomach, Cas’ lips claiming his, tongue licking into his mouth. Cas’ hands move to grasp Dean’s, threading their fingers together around the restraints, using them as leverage to shove himself back onto Dean’s cock. 

Dean feels claimed, possessed, in every way possible; heart and soul floating, surrounded and consumed by the heat of Cas’ body.

Instinct and need takes over, his hips thrusting up to match Cas’ rhythm; the pressure coiling in his abdomen winding tighter and tighter. 

The coil snaps, and with a high, thready cry, Dean comes, filling Cas up. 

Cas continues to move, whimpering and moaning against Dean’s neck; then with a deep, rumbling groan he follows Dean over the edge, come spurting hot and wet between them. His arms give out and he collapses down completely onto Dean, breathing hard and ragged. 

Dean lay still, floating, feeling Cas’ body all around him; their breaths and heartbeats merging, aligning, and finally slowing. Finally, Cas rises and Dean whimpers, missing his heat. 

A finger traces through the combination of come and honey on his chest, then the finger is pressed against his lips and he sucks it in; bitter salt and bright sweetness exploding in his mouth. 

Cas slides off him and Dean feels bereft, unanchored, but not for long; the tinkling sound of dribbling water followed by the mattress again sinking next to him; a cool cloth running over his flushed skin, cleansing and soothing. Cas washes him down completely, then hears the cloth running over Cas’ body followed by the dim plop of the washcloth returning to the bowl; the click of the lamp switch and then Cas’ warmth pressed against his side, grounding and anchoring him again. 

Gentle fingers pry at his hand clenched around the belt end, loosening his grip on it to remove the belt restraint and drop it to the floor; lowering his arms to his chest to massaging his wrists and fingers. 

Cas’ lips brush lightly against Dean’s as he lifts the tie blindfold from his eyes. Dean squeezes his eyes shut as the cloth is removed, but the room is now lit only by the lights from the parking lot filtering in through the window. He opens his eyes and stares straight into endless blue, the sparse light catching in Cas’ eyes. 

“How are you, my love? Is there anything you need? A drink, something to eat...”

Dean reaches for him, his arms heavy and slow but still able to grab Cas by the waist and pull him down next to him, twining arms and legs around him, burying his face in Cas neck.

He sighs contentedly.

“Just you, babe. Just you.” 

[you-guys--are-losers]

Can you pls do prompt 66?

//Absolutely! Ooh… This is gonna be fun. Turned out angstier than it was supposed to, but oh well. 

66: Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In

Better This Way

Summary: Moving on is hard, but it’s a little easier with Michelle Jones by your side. 

Characters: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones

Wordcount: 3,383

Warnings: Grief, Touch of Angst, Michelle Being an Incredible Human

Peter has been anticipating something like this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean that he’s prepared when it happens. 

Pepper gives him plenty of time to prepare, of course. In fact, she gives him almost an entire year of warning, letting him know of the plans for the event at Christmas. Peter even manages to convince himself that he’s alright with it. The months fly by in a blur of managing his own business, stealing MJ away from her own work to walk the streets of New York with street food in their work clothes, and darting to the new headquarters to address each new challenge that comes with being an Avenger. Peter appreciates the busy nature of things, just as much as he appreciates returning to his fiancee after each challenge and holding her close, more grateful each time for the snarky comment she greets him with and the way she let him hold her until they are both asleep. It helps him forget, helps him to keep telling himself that nothing will change when it’s time.

Every thought of preparedness deserts Peter completely when he begins to see the announcements on social media: “First Annual Stark Charity Gala.” 

Tony’s name is everywhere again; not that it ever stopped circulating, of course. But it had quieted to a steady buzz up until the announcement. Now, the tributes explode across Peter’s feed. There is art, poetry, thousands of stories of all the ways that Tony left his mark on the world. Peter only manages to resist the urge to read every single one when MJ persuades him to delete his news app, reminding him that it’s only the manufactured reality that the government wants him to subscribe to. 

Peter appreciates the intervention; it does help, and for a while it pushes the date farther and farther into the future. 

But the articles grow even bigger than the internet after a while, and Tony Stark is not the only name on everyone’s lips. It’s the first real, major appearance that Peter will have made as himself, at least since the address to the public following Mysterio’s reveal of Peter’s identity. But that was different– it came in the wake of an acquittal, and with a promise to the public. That was “Avenger stuff,” as May likes to call it; it was an acceptance of the mantle that had been passed onto him with the allowance that he was not Tony Stark, and that he would make it his own.

This isn’t “Avenger stuff.” This is Peter Parker stuff. People aren’t asking about Spider-Man, they’re watching him.

And even though it’s better, the loss of Tony still weighs down on people, almost as heavy as the responsibility of carrying on for him. 

The reporters call the apartment he shares with MJ, leave May voicemails, and linger on the doorstep of the building where he lives. MJ has gotten pretty good at dealing with them; ever since she learned that the press can’t use anything with swearing in it, she’s actually been enjoying herself. On other days, she wears t-shirts with the names of various non-profits scrawled on the back in hand-lettering. It lifts Peter’s spirits, and he even begins to join her (in the charity endorsement, not the profanity) when he’s on his way to his tech startup or when they’re going out together. 

Still, even that isn’t enough. Peter can tell MJ notices, and he manages to explain enough of what he’s feeling that he knows she understands. Just telling MJ makes it more bearable, because she does what she always does when he needs support: she doesn’t try to fix the problem, but she does make sure he knows that she’s there. 

In the days leading up to the gala, Peter begins to notice the little ways she is taking care of him. When he gets back from work, it is to an empty apartment; something came up with her current project at work, so she was called in with the entire team of animators she supervises to address it. However, though there is no MJ, he does find a cannoli from their favorite bakery waiting for him in the fridge with a purple sticky note on the cardboard box. Her scrawl, spindly and neat and angular, causes him to grin for the first time that day. 

Couldn’t think of a pun. First one to come up with one wins. 

He tucks the note in his bag for the rest of the work week. 

The Thursday night after that, their favorite books have somehow found their way to the coffee table in front of the sofa. They spend the night curled up under one of May’s attempts at quilting, each with their own novel and a cup of tea that MJ refills when needed. She somehow always manages to make the perfect cup of tea. The chamomile in his mug and the scent of her lavender shampoo are exactly what he needs. 

Over the rest of the week, they don’t breach the subject again. There’s no need to. What Peter does need is a liberal amount of snuggles, sarcastic banter, and the feeling of her curly hair brushing his cheek as he rests his head on her shoulder. MJ is more than willing to provide all of these, and she does it like is the most obvious thing in the world. 

That’s what makes the day of the gala so much harder. 

It feels like he is sleepwalking from the moment he wakes up. Peter rises long before MJ, though he does take a moment to appreciate the soft breathing of the firl he loves beside him. Her curly hair tickles his cheek from across his pillow as she shifts her head slightly, and Peter can’t resist the urge to lightly stroke her cheek in a gentle caress before he rises. She’s been so intentional about loving him, so willing to show the same quiet, steady flexibility that she always has. 

That only makes Peter feel more guilty. For all she’s done, it still feels like he’s drowning. 

It’s a Saturday, and Peter has already informed everyone at the office that he won’t be be coming in today. So, instead of heading to work or lingering around the apartment, Peter heads to the compound. The lab is there for him, the way it always is. 

It’s his, something that Pepper consistently reminded him of once it was rebuilt where one of Tony’s favorite places had been in the old compound. It has a lot of Stark tech, certainly, but in the time since Peter has left his mark on the place. It’s where he’s done a lot of innovating for his own startup, a lot of the brainstorming and experimenting that has led to great advancements. But that’s not what Peter thinks about today as he looks around the work space, where the various machines on standby glow dimly and gleam on metallic counter-tops. 

He’s thinking of every wrong attempt, each scrapped failure that his successes have been built on. This is the place where it is okay not to be okay, because if he isn’t now, he will be. He needs that. 

Peter isn’t sure how long he spends in the lab, fiddling with the various machines and working on the designs of a few abandoned prototypes that Pepper had sent over to him. They were some of Tony’s “works in progress,” all those years ago. The things he had started and dropped for various reasons, always with the understanding that the work he began could be finished by someone else. 

Peter appreciates the work, but more than anything, he appreciates the proximity it creates to Tony. It’s been so many years, and so much has happened… Peter has gone to college, graduated, proposed to MJ, become everything that Tony told him he could be. But that ache is still there, arcing through his chest with every new milestone that Stark isn’t there for. And at times of stress like these, Peter misses the feeling of knowing that there was someone waiting to catch him when he fell. 

He isn’t sure how long he stays at the lab, but the sun rises and is beginning to descend from its climb when Peter is informed by F.R.I.D.A.Y. that someone is entering the compound. Peter figures it’s probably one of the other Avengers; Sam is staying for the weekend in order to attend the gala, and Bucky has taken to staying in the area every so often in order to be available for Avengers business. T’Challa is in town for the gala as well; perhaps he has returned to fetch something from the compound or to access one of the Avengers databases. 

Whatever it may be, Peter figures that if he is needed, F.R.I.D.A.Y. will let him know. Peter continues to work, adjusting the hologram he is attempting to replicate and raking a hand through his mess of curls that have not been brushed yet. A bit of grease has smeared on his other hand, but he does not pay it the least bit of mind as he lightly brushes sweat from his brow, leaving a black streak in the wake of his fingertips. 

“Placement’s wrong.” 

Her voice, quiet and simple and truthful, drifts across the lab and over Peter’s shoulder. He pauses for a moment, letting out a breath and letting the flat cutter he’s holding drift to the counter as he closes his eyes, not turning. 

“I can’t figure it out.” The admission is tired and accepting from his lips, and he hears the clicking of heels across the lab floor as she draws closer to him. 

“You’re preoccupied.” Peter closes his eyes, simply drinking in the feeling of her shoulder lightly knocking his as he listens to her pick up the flat cutter. The quiet, familiar whirring of electronics, and then he can tell she has corrected his error for him efficiently. 

“Yeah,” he admits, exhaling as he finally turns to face her. “I just-” 

All thoughts vacate his mind when he looks at her. 

She’s dressed, ready for the gala; it must be later than he thought. Deep, dark eyes find his, lashes long and dark as she searches his face with them. Her brown eyes are piercing in the light of the lab, illuminated by the glowing hologram before them as she looks in every line of his countenance, gauging his emotional state. 

Her hair has been straightened and curled, and it drifts to the shoulders of the dress she wears. It reminds Peter of the flappers that she loves so much, glimmering in the artificial light of the lab as it swishes to her knees in shining fringes. Everyone else tonight will be wearing glamorous, floor-length clothing, black tie and red lipstick. The sharp wing of her eyeliner, the wisps of hair that frame her face like a halo, the cut of her clothing… All of it will be striking, out of place, offbeat in the glamorous room. 

She’s going to be by his side, and she won’t be pretending in front of the cameras and the reporters. And because MJ is by his side, he won’t have to be either. 

MJ’s lips part slightly, and for a moment Peter thinks that she is going to take a step closer. Then she blinks, shaking her head slightly, and glances him up and down. “I think you should go like this,” she murmurs, a gentle, hesitant smile edging onto her parted lips. “I like it better than a suit, and it’ll give the tabloids something to talk about.” 

Peter winces as she mentions the tabloid, but an ironic grin rises to his lips anyway as he leans back against the counter-top, studying her. He can tell that she is caught off-guard by the gleam of wonder in his eyes as he looks at her, the woman who is so unapologetically herself in contexts that might terrify other people. 

“I thought you hated the tabloids.” 

MJ tips her head slightly to the side, contemplating her answer as she gazes into his eyes. “They’re awful writing, and they profit off of violating people’s privacy,” she decides, brown eyes filled with a pensive sort of intelligence that sparks adoration in Peter’s chest where before there was only dread. “But so does the government. At least the tabloids don’t try to hide it.” 

There is a moment of silence as each takes in the other. Peter can feel MJ’s eyes traveling his countenance, and his cheeks flush. His hair has gone unbrushed all day and is a mess of lumpy curls. His t-shirt is stained with grease, as are his hands, and his clothing is creased and rumpled. She looks like an angel, and he is a mess… And yet, somehow, she looks at him with the same admiration that he does her. 

She steps closer, and Peter is reminded unavoidably of her words when she showed him the broken necklace he had given her all those years ago. She’s never been one for whole and complete. She likes what’s broken, what’s twisted. 

She’s not scared of a little darkness. 

“I should be over him by now.” 

Peter swallows as the words leave his lips, and his eyes flicker to the ground. There is quiet for a moment, and then he hears the sound of her slipping her shoes off. Bare feet brush the lab floor as she approaches, slow and sure. Peter doesn’t look up, but he feels her arms loop around his waist, gentle and comforting. There is a lump in his throat. 

“That’s not how that works.” Her words are whispered against his forehead, and Peter slowly tips his head up to face hers. His eyes sting as they land upon her black-lined ones. 

“It’s been years.” 

“Time is relative. You can’t assign it to something like losing someone.” 

“I just… They’re gonna ask me things tonight, about everything.”

“You’re used to questions.” Her thumb gently strokes his lower back as she pauses a moment, then nestles closer after a moment of thought. This is one of the things he loves about her more than anything; even after years of dating and a promise to marry her, she’s cautious. Careful. She makes sure that he’s comfortable with everything she is doing, makes sure that if he wants to pull away, he can. 

“You answer them all the time. You’re good at dealing with reporters with the Avengers, and you have no problem navigating the press at work.” Peter exhales softly, moving to rest his head against hers. However, she pulls back slightly, leaving a few centimeters between their faces so she can look in his eyes. 

For all her care when it comes to intimacy, Michelle Jones does not shy back from the ugly truths. 

“You need to say it, Peter.” 

Dark eyes linger on his, and a few strands of perfectly curled hair have escaped their neighbors, glowing in the soft light emanating blue from the hologram. She does not look away, does not shrink back from the unspoken words that linger between them. She is still waiting for him to say them. 

“I can’t… I’m not ready to answer questions about him.” 

MJ blinks, and one of her hands gently rises to cradle his face. Still, she says nothing, and Peter knows she is leaving him room to continue. 

“They’re all going to be looking for quotes, for little tidbits about… About Mr. Stark that no one knows. And they’re going to be looking for them from his replacement. But I don’t want to give away any more pieces of him.” 

Peter lets out a sharp exhale, looking away. “I’m selfish.” 

Her thumb thoughtfully travels along his cheekbone, and she sighs. “You’re a lot of things, Peter,” she murmurs. “For one, you’re sweaty, and you look like hell.” 

He lets out an amused huff, lips relaxing into a slight pout as he looks up into her tentatively playful eyes. “Don’t worry, I like you better this way. Suits are boring.” 

Peter closes his eyes and leans into her touch, letting it spread warmth through him when all he feels is cold. She indulges him for a moment before letting her hand drift to where it can rest at the nape of his neck. 

When he opens his eyes hers are ready. They have been waiting for his, and they pierce into him, dissecting his sorrow like scalpels through scar tissue. 

“You aren’t selfish. And you never have been.” 

The breath that leaves him relieves the ache in his chest, but it also catches in his throat. Her fingers press slightly harder at the back of his neck, letting him know that she is still there. 

“There are things that aren’t meant to be given away, not to the wrong people. There are answers that are only for you, and maybe for Morgan when she’s old enough to ask the right questions. But they don’t have a right to them, and it’s okay.” 

Peter tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes, and he offers her a slightly shaky smile. She returns it with her own lopsided grin, lips soft with the beeswax lip balm that she likes so much. “I don’t… You are so much more to me than I ever thought anyone could be.” 

Michelle freezes, and for a moment Peter feels that same, terrifying rush of panicked nerves that he felt all those years ago when he told her that he liked her. Somehow, she is capable of inducing it in him even now, and he finds himself resisting the urge to apologize. 

She lets out a shaky breath, and then the corner of her mouth tips up as she tilts her head slightly. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Peter laughs quietly at the words, and then she is laughing too, inching closer. The soft laughter drifts off, and Peter’s gaze lingers on hers. MJ purses her lips as his eyes rest on hers, and then they part slightly as her eyes wander his face, every line and crease and smudge. 

They flicker to his lips, then, and Peter feels his breathing halt as his do the same. 

“I want to… But you’re all ready.” 

“Right.” 

“I shouldn’t.” 

“No… Yeah. Definitely. Terrible idea.” 

His eyes flicker to hers, which are filling with amusement. Then those full lips are twisting into a smirk, and before Peter knows it she is guiding his mouth to hers with firm fingers. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

When they show up to the gala roughly an hour later, they’re barely on time. It’s as Peter predicted: the cameras are flashing, illuminating Peter’s slightly rumpled tux and the hair that will not quite smooth over, though someone has clearly tried. The voices overlap, shouting their names. Peter doesn’t look to them. 

Instead, his fingers lace with MJ’s and his eyes linger on the little trace of grease that his fingers brushed along her cheekbone, the one she decided not to wipe away. 

I actually like it better this way. 

The mischievous gleam in her eyes as she had said it in the lab remains as Peter looks at her, dropping behind slightly just to take her in. She is standing a step ahead of him, at the doors, waiting for him with a raised eyebrow. Her curls are a bit messier than they were before, something the tabloids will almost certainly pick up on, as well as the fact that his jacket has a few wrinkles. 

Peter doesn’t care. 

As he joins her, Peter can’t keep the grin off of his face. She glances over at him conspiratorially as they enter the venue, shoulder bumping his. “What?” 

“I was just thinking…” 

“About using this opportunity to scope out the level of corruption in all of these local politicians? Yeah, me too.” 

Peter grins, hand squeezing hers slightly. 

“…He’d be proud.” 

“He was always proud of you, Peter.” 

Now it’s Peter’s turn to smirk. “I was more referring to the whole, ‘making out in the limo on the way here’ part.” 

The punch to his bicep doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should, especially not when paired with MJ’s disbelieving grin.

Taglist: @eniemeanie @inlovewithtoomanythings @booksarelife-stuff @AlexanderThyGreat @flawless-tlc @heynowitsafangirl @but-saving-what-we-love @haurasha @friendly-spoodermin @lundya366 @nicolewithasoul @1am9root @spiderkaren

[rae-is-typing]

Universal Language

Description: You, music and the Avengers

Characters: You, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Peter Parker and Pepper Potts because I love her

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mentions of little Stevie getting beat up, and mild language. If there is something I missed, please let me know.

Disclaimer: Some are longer than others, some have dialogue, and I couldn’t think of anything for Rhodey (I’m so sorry!) Tell me what you think, I was trying something new for this one. If you want something more in-depth, lemme know :)

Word count: ~ 2.5k

Tony took you in when you were a toddler. He knew jack shit about raising a child, and enlisted the help of a nanny,. That is until Pepper made him realize how much he was missing of his daughter’s life. He didn’t even know you started crawling. However, he knew the only thing that got you to stop crying was music. He also knew that banging on things rhythmically was your favorite pastime. From then on, he knew that he was going to have a little musician on his hands.

Tony

In Tony’s opinion, the only good things your mother gave you were life and your knack for the arts, especially music. Rhodey and Pepper saw it, too. You took to music the way Tony took to mechanics. He loved your adorable pout when you were figuring the notes out, and the way your face brightened the room when you finally played it right.

The first thing he got you was a toy xylophone when you were three. He would watch you try and replicate the music he was playing over his speakers. You’d look up at him with tearful eyes when you couldn’t get it. He would gently take the mallet from your hands and copy the music, then he’d give it back to you so could copy him. Your giggles of glee when he played were something he’d never forget. He used his knowledge of the piano to help you learn music.

You were six when he got back from Afghanistan. Even at that young age, you knew things would be different. Your father had been gone for months. His arm as in a sling and he looked sick. He pushed you away for a few weeks after that, only staying in the lab, not even letting you stay in the child-proof area he had set up all those years ago. You didn’t understand why he was different, you only understand that he was different.

One night, you were playing in the main room. Pepper was done for the day, and Obadiah was far away and wouldn’t be back for a really long time; you were all alone with only JARVIS looking after you. You were trying, and failing, to play Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. You kept hitting the wrong keys and messing up the rhythms. Frustrated, you huffed and crossed your arms.

Unbeknownst to you, your dad was behind you. He smiled softly, walked closer to you, picked you up, set you on his lap and played the phrase you were trying to. You demanded he play the rest. Soon enough, he had a sleeping kid in his lap.

You were eight when you had your first performance with an audience. It was a piano recital in a small auditorium at your school. He sat in the front, unashamedly cheering for you and loving you. He was there whenever you had solos, and he cried for a lot of them, not that he would ever admit that to anyone but you or Pepper. He records all of your performance, e even has videos of your progress from a four-year-old you playing Mary Had a Little Lamb to sixteen-year-old you busting out Beethoven like its nothing.

Now, he asks FRIDAY to play back recordings of you singing or playing. It helps him calm down, knowing he’ll always have a piece of what matters most to him with him at all times.

Steve

You met Steve when you were ten years old. It was the aftermath of the Battle of New York. Steve and the rest of the team, excluding Thor, had moved into the tower. While you were thrilled to see Natalie-Natasha again, you were a shy kid, opting to stay with Pepper or your dad and away from the others. The larger-than-life Captain America intimidated the shit out of you.

It wasn’t until you saw him sketching in the common are you began to consider him an actual human and not a walking action figure. You had been trying your hand at drawing for months, and while you had made considerable progress, your work always looked off for some reason. After watching him draw for weeks, you managed to snatch his sketchbook, flip through it when left to go get something from another room. He cleared his throat, startling you into dropping the book. You picked it up, heat in your cheeks, and sheepishly handed it back to him with a small, almost scared, “Sorry,”

He only smiled at you, ten-year-olds weren’t all that subtle when it came to spying. He sat you down on the couch, and began showing you all of the drawings he felt were appropriate. Some of them were memories of war-ravaged battle fields, and he didn’t want to give you nightmares. There were lots of old-timey Brooklyn, a man named Bucky, a vaguely familiar, but very beautiful woman named Peggy and Steve’s Ma, Sarah.

You pouted and explained that whenever you tried to draw, it never came out right. He nodded, then smiled. “I’ll tell you what, you help me learn Piano, I’ll help you learn to draw.”

Clint

Clint is a vent-dweller and, much like everyone else on the team, he struggles with PTSD. He uses the vents as a safe space, a way to escape the nightmares and the heartache from the past. However, he doesn’t like to feel alone. He often says above the lab to hear Tony’s loud music, snarky banter with his AI���s, and his empty threats to the ‘bots. Other times he’ll stay above the gym if he knows that Steve or Natasha are doing late night workouts. The soft grunts and the sounds of the equipment are sufficient to keep the loneliness at bay. On very rare occasions, he stays above the kitchen to hear Vision mutter to himself while attempting, and generally failing at cooking food.

Soon enough, he found the music room. Well, art floor.

You were up late, practicing a solo that you couldn’t quite get, but weren’t ready to give up on. He paused, getting clear tone with his hearing aids in. He soon found himself up above the floor whenever you were playing late. The music was a nice distraction, and he could feel himself become happy with your progress, small feelings of pride swelling in his chest at your success. One night, he even left a note on the piano asking you to learn and play Clair de Lune for him. The next week, you told him to be there at midnight, and sure enough, the beautiful piano tune floated up to the vents.

Natasha

You’ve known Natasha since she was Natalie. You mostly kept your distance until one day. You were struggling to play something. You fumbled with your instrument, while penciling something onto the sheet music. She watched you for a couple minutes before asking if you  needed help. You huffed out a petulant “No,” before proceeding to struggle for another five minutes. Defeated, you asked for help. She managed to help you figure out the fingerings and the accidentals.

You took up dancing a little later on, and she began helping you after your regular class. With her guidance, you quickly became one of the best dancers in your classes, always rising to the challenge with the work-ethic she helped instill in you.

Even later on, you became her pupil once more when learning to fight. She knocked you on your ass more times than you can count, and still does all the time. But, with her help, you’ve learned how to kick some serious ass.

Thor

It’s no secret that Thor is a big guy. He doesn’t know his own strength,and often breaks things when he wasn’t careful. Out of all the original Avengers, he intimidated you the most.

One day, you saw him holding your violin, examining it like a specimen under a microscope. You panicked, dropped everything and ran to him.  

You demanded he stop, resorting to pulling the bow from his hands. He was confused at the tiny child pulling the interesting midgardian play thing away from him.

“Let it go, Thor! You’ll break it!”

Thor frowned, still holding the violin.

“My apologies, young Stark. I do not know what it is, I was merely trying to find its function.” He says, handing it back to.

You relaxed a little, the initial panic wearing off. “It’s a violin, it makes music.”

“How?”

You got into position, put the bow to the strings and drug across the strings. A note rung put, and everything seemed to click in Thor’s mind.

The next time Thor came to visit, he brought Asgardian instruments for you to learn, try and play. You may or may not have cried out of joy.

Bruce

Bruce is a ball of stress, and that is evident to anyone that’s spent any amount of time with him. He uses music as an outlet, letting the sounds wash over him and makes some amount of stress go away. But there are days that things get too overwhelming, there are days where the headphones and opera don’t work, there are days where he needs something more.

Bruce knows that you play, he knows about your talent, and he’s even gone with Tony to watch you perform. There was a day when he shyly asked if he could watch you practice. You were all for it. You practiced in front of him, and he calmed don a lot more.

It became a routine of sorts, you playing, him offering some constructive criticism when he could and you even taught him a few songs on the piano.

Sam

You took the initiative of catching Steve up with modern music. One day, he sheepishly handed you The List, Working your way down, you finally landed on Marvin Gaye. Steve called his friend Sam in so you both could gush about the icon.

You and Sam ended up screeching singing Ain’t No Mountain High Enough for him, and managed not to scare him off. You called it a successful day.

After that, you had put together a playlist for him, and had your dad create a portable sound system for his wings so he could fly listening to his fave.

Bucky

Bucky came to the tower after his time in Wakanda. Tony was wary, anyone in his situation would be. He wanted you to stay away from the ex-assassin indefinitely, and you didn’t blame him. You knew what Bucky did. However, you tried not to blame Bucky either. Steve explained the situation as best he could to you, and you understood that Bucky had been taken advantage of, used and manipulated.

Now that he was in the tower, Bucky wandered around the tower when he couldn’t sleep which happened to be most nights. One night, he heard something familiar, something that tugged at his chest in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Somewhere over the rainbow,”

He remembers a warm breezy day, the alley he pulled Stevie out the night before, reaming him for fighting more than usual because of the big day they had coming up. He cleaned him up. He remembers holding a washcloth to a small blond Steve as he tried not to hurt him too bad while he berated him for fighting again that week.

“There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby,”

He remembers walking with Stevie to the theater, paying too much for the tickets and sitting beside his best friend watching color appear on a screen for the first time. Bucky smiles, letting the feeling of nostalgia and the longing for a simpler time linger for a moment longer before heading to another area of the labyrinth to explore.

Wanda

Wanda moved in when you were 13. You were so happy that you had another female in the tower to bond with. When she expressed interest in music, you jumped at the chance to teach her something, anything really. You tried a few things. You started with woodwinds, she couldn’t figure out the embouchure. You moved onto brass, she didn’t like the sounds. You settled on stringed instruments. Her choice was the acoustic guitar, and she was good. She picked it up almost immediately, easily learning the fingerings and chords.  Her favorite thing were duets with you, and you often played together whenever you two had time.

Peter

You saw how good Peter was for your dad. He finally had a mentee to teach. Tony really tried to get you into science, he really did. It didn’t work the way he thought it would, and damaged your relationship for awhile until he back off, letting you do you.

You were jealous, admittedly. You weren’t used to sharing your father’s attention with another person your age.

Then you got to know him. You found out through your dad that he was in marching band, and you needed to know more. You began spending a little time together, swapping band stories and laughing at memes. Soon enough, Peter hung out with you before going to working with Tony in the lab for a few hours. It was fun.

You learned the Mii Theme, the Kahoot theme and even put together a duet of meme music to annoy your dad with together.

Pepper

Pepper is your mother. No, she didn’t birth you, and you didn’t call her mom, but she has been there for you through everything. Through your father’s time in Afghanistan, the battle with Obadiah, your first day of middle school, whenever your dad was busy and you were upset, your first period. It didn’t matter, she was with you. She listened to you when you worked hard on a piece. Hell, she even helped you pick out your first professional grade instrument, despite knowing very little about them.

She encouraged you when were feeling less than, she helped pick you up when you were down, she taught how to act around the business assholes in Galas and events.

Pepper loved you and you loved her.

When the proposal happened, Pepper asked you to sing at the wedding. You took this role very seriously, singing ‘A Thousand years’ by Christina Perri and ‘Future Looks Good’ by OneRepublic.

When Morgan was born, you sang to her whenever you could. When she was old enough, you’d sit her on your lap and let her smash the piano keys like Tony did with you.

Pepper couldn’t think of a better older sister for her baby; she couldn’t think of any better daughters.

[fangirlxwritesx67]

Christmas Tea (Sam x Rowena)

A/N: Who’s in the mood for a little cracky fluffy holiday smut?? Written for @idabbleincrazy 750 followers challenge! Who better for cracky fluffy smut than my favorite pair?!

Tags: 18+, smut, holiday fluff, first time, consent, lingerie, oral sex (woman receiving), sex, general sexiness (both Rowena and Sam)

Sam knocked on the door of Rowena’s apartment.

The door swung open and the tiny red headed witch greeted him, wearing a black tunic sweater over leggings.

“Hello, Samuel,” she purred. “What brings you here today?”

Sam held up an old and yellowed volume. “I’m here to return the book you lent me.”

Rowena stepped back. “Come in,” she said. “I’ve just made tea. Would you like a cup?”

Sam shrugged his broad shoulders easily under his plaid shirt and leather jacket. “Why not?”

Sam strode into the living room and stopped short. The apartment was bedecked for Christmas. Candles and boughs were arranged on every shelf and window. Bells hung from the door. Little felted winter animals winked from the coffee table.

The centerpiece was the tree: a real balsam, draped in white lights and ornaments. Sparkling snowflakes, bundles of herbs, and cinnamon sticks wrapped in ribbon hung from every branch. A few presents were placed under the tree, wrapped in perfectly coordinated paper, with room for many more.

Sam shook his head and turned to Rowena. “Is this another one of your spells?”

Rowena giggled. “Samuel,” she cooed. “It doesn’t need to be magic. Haven’t you heard of online shopping? It’s not all arcane books and spell components.”

“Online shopping,” he murmured. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.“

Sam followed Rowena into her kitchen. Her tunic swished over her hips as she walked. Sam couldn’t help noticing the shape of her body and her graceful movements.

Sam sat at the table, focusing on the tray of festive candles, trying to think of something, anything other than how gorgeous Rowena looked. She opened a cabinet, and his gaze was drawn towards the sound. She was stretched, up, her toes pointed and her tunic pulled against her body. She found what she was reaching for and turned around quickly, catching Sam’s eyes. She gave him a saucy smile before turning to pour two cups of tea.

Rowena sat down at the table, handing Sam a cup of steaming tea. He sniffed. It smelled like oranges, cinnamon and spices. He took a cautious sip. It was hot, sweet, and delicious. His hands dwarfed the cup as he sipped again.

"Rowena,” he said with a boyish grin, “This tea tastes like Christmas!"

She giggled, and nodded. "Yes, Sam, yes it does.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Wait, is this tea magical? Are there herbs that are going to make me feel things?”

Rowena’s green eyes widened and she leaned in close before she purred, “Why, are you feeling things?"

Sam shook his head quickly, his dark wavy hair flopping.

Rowena laughed at Sam, a musical silvery laugh. "This is just tea. It’s Harney and Sons. I buy it at the bookstore in town. But even ordinary tea and spices do have that magic of conjuring up memories.”

She took several delicate sips of her own cup before looking at Sam. “Then again, cinnamon is a powerful spice that can encourage you to speak the truth, or stir up forgotten emotions.”

Sam stared forlornly into his own tea as he answered, “My memories of Christmas aren’t that great."

"Sam,” she asked softly  “Haven’t you ever even had a Christmas tree?”

Sam shrugged.

Christmas had always been a fraught holiday for him and Dean. They had no sweet memories of good Christmases at home. No holiday fantasy of sparkling safety awaited them. On the other hand, they had tried, over the years, for one another. A branch hung with gas station air fresheners came to mind. For Sam, Christmas time was mostly a time to remember all the things he didn’t have.

He realized Rowena was still waiting for an answer.

“Not a Christmas tree like that."

When the tea was gone, Rowena walked Sam to the door of her apartment.

"Sam,” she asked, sliding one hand up the door frame. “What do you want for Christmas?”

Sam looked her up and down until he realized he was staring. He blushed and shrugged.

“Books, I guess.”

Rowena leaned in closer, teasing him. “Books?” she asked, batting her eyes and drawing out the word. She shot Sam a smug smile. “I’ll have to do more online shopping. Or go back to the bookstore in town. Books it is!”

…

A few days later, Sam knocked on the door of Rowena’s apartment again. He didn’t know why she couldn’t just bring his Christmas gift by the bunker but she was insistent that he come back to her apartment.

“It’s open,” he heard her call.

Sam stepped into Rowena’s living room. It was dark, and for a moment he thought that he had imagined her voice, that no one was here. Then his eyes adjusted to the low light. The Christmas tree was shining bright, maybe even brighter than before. And next to it, comfortably seated on the floor amongst the gifts, was Rowena. The glow from the tree lights illuminated her face, casting shadows in the curves and angles of her body.

“Ro?” asked Sam, baffled.

In one graceful motion, she rose and walked towards him.

Sam saw that Rowena was wearing a satiny red robe, held closed around her tiny waist with a sash tied in a bow. She walked right up to him and slipped into his arms. Without even thinking, he drew her into his embrace.

“Rowena,” he murmured. “What are you doing?”

Rowena looked up, tilting her beautiful face to look at him.

“Giving you your Christmas gift."

Sam’s brows rose. "I recall asking for books.”

Rowena pressed into him. “I’m giving you something better."

She was gazing up at him, her glossy lips dark and soft. Sam lowered his head and met her lips with his own.

Their first kiss was soft and tender. Their second kiss was hotter, each of them asking questions of one another. After that, their kisses faded into a blur of warmth and cinnamon.

Sam lifted one hand to cup Rowena’s face, long fingers tangling in her hair. He ran a thumb under her lower lip and her mouth dropped open. Sam slipped his tongue into Rowena’s mouth, hungry and seeking. She met him with equal desire.

Sam’s other hand slid down Rowena’s back, slipping over her satin robe, until it settled in the small of her back. He pulled her close, holding her, almost lifting her.

"Wait,” Sam whispered. “C'mere.”

He took a few steps back and sat down on Rowena’s couch, pushing pillows aside. His hands pulled her close, to stand between his spread knees. This way, Rowena’s face was almost level with his.

Rowena pressed her forehead to Sam’s and he lifted his face to nuzzle his nose to hers. Her lips were irresistibly close, and he kissed her again.

“Ro,” he murmured, “Are you my Christmas gift?”

Rowena nodded. Her dark red hair cascaded down around his face, drawing the two of them into their own little world. This close, Sam could see the light freckles on her cheeks and the tiny lines in the corners of her eyes.

A sound caught in Sam’s throat; somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

Rowena’s eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, her thick lashes like dark lace on her pale cheeks. She lifted her gaze to meet Sam’s. Her pupils were wide and her green eyes were flecked with gold and grey.

She was the most ethereal magical tiny sex bomb of a woman and Sam found her completely irresistible.

Sam ran his fingertips lightly up Rowena’s high cheekbone and around to her neck, drawing her close so he could kiss her again. Her mouth was sweet and warm, and every kiss was amazing. His kisses spread from Rowena’s mouth to her chin, up her jawline and under her ear. His hand tangled in her thick red hair to pull her head back gently. His kisses traced a line down her elegant neck.

Sam’s hands pushed open the collar of Rowena’s robe, just a little, revealing the fine skin of her shoulders. He turned his attention to the delicate lines of her collarbones.  His lips teased a series of marks, first soft, then red hot, and then bruised and deep. When his tongue hit the spot between her collarbones, at the soft vulnerable point of her throat, Rowena moaned. Sam met his mouth with one finger and then trailed a path down into the neckline of Rowena’s robe.

He paused; she nodded. His fingers trailed down further, between her small pale breasts. Her skin flushed pink under his touch.

Rowena’s robe was held closed with a tied bow, like a gift. Sam took that bow in both hands and slowly drew it open. She rolled her shoulders and smoothly shrugged off her robe. Underneath, she was wearing a red babydoll slip, with a matching thong and thigh-high stockings.

Sam’s eyes fluttered closed for just a moment as he drew in a ragged breath. Then he looked up and his gaze met Rowena’s. His hazel eyes were wide and hungry.

“Turn around,” he murmured.

Rowena obeyed slowly, turning until she was standing with her back to him. She pulled her hair over one shoulder and tipped her head, exposing the line of her neck and shoulder. The babydoll she was wearing was nothing more than sheer red netting over her pale strong back.

Sam’s gaze dropped lower. Her matching thong rested over her small, perfectly shaped ass, framing her curves like art.

As his gaze took her in, eyes raking over her delectable body, Rowena pointed one foot and slid it up her other leg. It was an effortless motion that drew all of Sam’s attention to her thigh high stockings. They had a seam up the back and a little bow on each leg nestled just beneath the curve of her ass.

Sam reached out and ran a thumb up that seam and over the bow before trailing across the crease of Rowena’s thighs. A choking sound fell from his lips. He grasped Rowena’s tiny waist in both hands and spun her around, turning her to face him again. Her face was flushed and gorgeous.

He leaned forward and lowered his mouth to her breast. He licked one of her nipples, dragging his tongue over her through the sheer red fabric. Rowena’s lips parted in a hot whimpering moan.

He closed his mouth around her, sucking softly. At the same time, he slid his hand up to her other breast, running his thumb across that nipple.

Rowena arched her back and pressed forward into the heat of his attention. Sam trailed his kisses downwards, across the pale skin of Rowena’s taut stomach. He slid his hands around her tiny waist, pulling her closer. He kissed a soft wet line between her hip bones across the top of her thong and she whimpered.

His hands moved down further to cup her ass. He kissed her hip harder, and then dragged his sharp teeth along the blushed skin. She shuddered. He bent down and placed one hot kiss on her soft thigh.  

Rowena gasped and her knees buckled.

Sam had been waiting for that. He held her easily in his grasp and turned to set her down on the couch next to him.

Rowena lay back gracefully on the throw pillows piled on the couch. Her long red locks fanned around her face. For a moment, Sam just looked at her, drinking in her beauty. Her pale freckled skin was on perfect display against the pillows: tan linen and green velvet and cream knit and gold brocade. Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed hard.

Sam pressed kisses onto her lips and throat and breasts. She reached for him, pulling him closer. Her delicate fingers swiftly unbuttoned his plaid shirt, pushing it off his broad shoulders. He sat back and took off both his shirt and undershirt.

Sam bent down over Rowena again. The light from the Christmas tree cast a soft glow over her fine skin as he circled her waist with his hands, sliding his fingers under the straps of her thong. He eased it down off her legs, his warm palms skimming over her stockings. He cupped one heel in his hand and laid it over his shoulder. He turned his head to kiss the back of her knee.

Rowena sighed.

Sam kissed all the way up the seam of the stocking, nipping it with his teeth. When his mouth reached the bow at the top, he took the whole thing in his mouth, his lips and tongue caressing the back of Rowena’s thigh. She shuddered. His scruffy cheek brushed between her legs and came away wet.

“Please,” she breathed.

Sam wanted to take her and have her all, but he wanted her begging even more. He turned to her other leg and kissed along the top of her stocking, his lips pressing hard against her velvety thigh.

Rowena reached down and tangled her fingers in Sam’s hair, pushing him to where she wanted his mouth.

“Please,” she groaned.

Sam gave in and sunk his face into Rowena’s hot center, greedily lapping up the wetness that had pooled there for him. He explored her velvety folds with an eager tongue, licking and sucking and swirling.

Rowena was breathing in soft panting moans. Under Sam’s careful attention, she was winding tighter and tighter. She tightened her knees around his shoulders, tension knotting her thighs and her stomach. Sam had her in a labyrinth of pleasure, pushing her closer and closer to release.

“More, Sam, more.” Rowena pleaded.

Sam brought one hand up to join his mouth, slipping first one, then two fingers inside her. He swirled them slowly and she shuddered. He crooked his fingers inside her warm depths.

Rowena’s mouth dropped open as her hips ground down on Sam’s face. She bucked against him hard. He pleasured her skillfully, steadily as she unwound under his touch. A stream of sighs and moans and curses fell from her lips like dirty gems.

Sam kept his focus on her, unwavering, until finally she grew quieter. He sat up and put his big hand on her chest, watching it rise and fall as her breath evened out.

“Oh Sam,” she finally murmured, “I’ve truly picked myself a wonderful gift this year, haven’t I?”

Sam smiled, his face alight with desire. He didn’t want to be patient anymore. He wanted Rowena. He wanted them to enjoy one another, together. He stood up and unbuckled his pants, letting his jeans and boxers fall away. Rowena’s green eyes raked over his magnificent body and she hummed with anticipation. She held out her arms and Sam went to her willingly, eagerly.

He settled himself between her open thighs and laced his fingers together with hers.  He found her hot wet center and began to press into her slowly. Rowena met his need with her own, rocking her hips to draw him in deeper. Sam pushed into her, stretching her, filling her. This was something they both wanted, both needed. She could be as greedy as she pleased, and he still had more to give.

Sam let her control the pace until he was fully buried inside of her. Then he thrust forward with his hips. Rowena’s mouth dropped open.

“Faster, Sam,” Rowena moaned.

He let go of her hands and braced himself on the arm of the couch, getting the leverage he needed to give them what they both wanted. He dragged back, almost all the way out, and then plunged back in. His hips pressed into Rowena over and over. Every movement of his body drew a sound from her lips, hot pleading moans.

She slid her legs up over his ass, the seams of her stockings raising goosebumps on his skin. She pulled him in deeper, holding him close. Her hands slid up his arms, her sharp nails digging in.

Sam was breathing hard as he pounded into her. He was pushing himself, and her, higher and higher towards a peak of pleasure.

“Ro,” he gasped.

She answered him with her body, arching up under him to press along him harder, grinding her hips against his. Her whole body clenched and a long wordless moan rose to a scream as she finally tipped right over the edge, free falling into her orgasm.

Feeling her tighten around him was all Sam needed. He closed his eyes and then came right after her. They were tumbling together down a mountain of sensation and release. They were lost in their own bodies and in each other.

When Sam opened his eyes, Rowena was gazing up at him, her gorgeous face proud and hazy with pleasure. She tipped her lips up to his for a kiss. Then she pressed her little white hand into the middle of his broad chest, pushing him off of her.

Sam sat back on the couch comfortably. He pulled Rowena close to him. She nuzzled up against him and ran her fingers through his hair. He cupped her face and lowered her mouth to hers for a kiss.

The light from the Christmas tree cast a soft glow over their radiant faces.

“Thank you, Rowena. That was quite a Christmas gift."

Rowena giggled. She shot Sam a teasing look fluttering her lashes and then widening her green eyes.

"I don’t know about you, Sam,” she cooed. “But I could use a cup of that Christmas tea.”

Thanks @there-must-be-a-lock for the beta read, especially with the big ass moose POV. Tag List: @marril96​, @tloveswriting​, @awesomesusiebstuff​ (this is new!), @dawnie1988​ (look, lots and lots of soft thigh kisses)

[spn-mediabigbang]

Title: Shattered Dreams–Curated Reverie

Author: Darmys

Artist: blueeyesandpie

Betas: Lady Fox

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 155k

Genre: SciFi

Source Material: Anne McCaffrey’s Crystal Singer and Killashandra books

Summary: Dean Winchester has not had a good day.

Within a 24 hour period, he loses his family, his job, and his plans for the future. When he heads for the spaceport hell-bent on getting a fresh start elsewhere, he meets a brand new friend who opens his eyes to new possibilities and changes his life forever.

Coober Pedy: Home of the Crystal Singers. Few people travel here, even fewer leave. Living on this planet requires adapting to the native spore, and living in symbiosis with it. The rewards are great but the risks can be fatal.

Can Dean overcome the challenges ahead of him? Will he once again lose everything, possibly even his life? Or will Coober Pedy bring him everything he ever wanted? Love, life, travel. Family.

Preview: Dean stands leaning against the glass looking out over the spaceport. He’s been watching shuttles come and go for hours. He and Sam have been coming here for years, watching the departing shuttles and making plans for the day they’d be on one of them. The beginning of their great adventure. Dean scoffs to himself.

Their big plan. Dean scoffs again. He thought he and Sam were in this together. Hell, he was pretty sure it’d been Sam’s idea to start with. Dean shakes his head. All this, this whole mess, it’d all started with the dreams of an eight-year-old boy.

He watches another shuttle take off. “There goes another one,” he mutters to himself. He pauses a moment, as if waiting for Sam to finish the thought, ‘and we’re not on it.’ Dean turns away from the viewing platform and walks towards the seating area. “I’m not on it,” he says to himself, disgruntled. He drops into one of the low couches placed for people waiting.

Waiting. He feels like he’s been waiting for years. Waiting for Sam to grow up, waiting for Sam to get his degree, waiting for Sam to become a lawyer and for the two of them to set out together on their grand adventure. Between the two of them, they thought they’d be able to work anywhere.

He leans back, resting his head on the too-low back support, his legs sprawled out in front of him, staring at the ceiling. He rubs his hands over his face. How many times have he and Sam sat here together, watching the shuttles come and go, dreaming dreams. Planning plans.

Dean grunts. He’s not here to get on a shuttle, he’s sitting here waiting to be found. All this time he’s been waiting for Sam to find him and explain.

Explain how he wasn’t coming, how Sam had his own plans that didn’t include Dean after all. Plans that have left Dean behind and Sam—Sam’s not coming, can’t come. Sam’s already gone.

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply.

Tags: AU – Scifi Book – Anne McCaffrey – Crystal Singer, AU - No Supernatural, Dean Winchester-centric, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Dean does dumb things, Angst, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Gore, Pining, Switch!Dean, Switch!Cas,

Link to Fic

Link to Art 

[katsens-writing]

Bumpy Night, Part 6

Summary: A mission gone wrong leaves one of the Avengers fighting for their life and the other fighting time to save them.

Content: Loads of angst and whump, injury, illness, inaccurate medical stuff (I am not a professional, people), mention of blood. Please let me know if I need to add anything else.

Word Count: About 1.4k (Does not include recap)

A/N: We’re nearing the end here. You can find a link to the masterlist under the tags. This is part 6 of a story I wrote for a writing challenge. The line I picked was “Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.” (You can find the line in part one.) This was my first time writing anything for a challenge so let me know what you think. This part (*ahem* like the last two....)  also ends in a cliffhanger. My asks and messages are open if you want to yell at me!

---

     “What is it?” you inquired, your brow creased. Without a word, Bruce stepped back so you could see the screens better. When your eyes focused on them, the color drained from your face. Peter’s heart rate had spiked dangerously and his breathing was sporadic. The percentage on the oxygen monitor clipped to Peter’s finger was frighteningly low and his temperature was increasingly high. You turned and looked at Bruce, your heart racing.

     “Have Nat page the tower, tell Cho to have her team ready at the landing pad,” Bruce clenched his jaw. “It’s going to be close.” He turned and headed toward the cockpit. “I’ll tell Tony.”

     You nodded. “Tell them not to wait, I’m staying here with Peter.” You ignored the throbbing in your temples and kept your eyes on Peter. “Hold on kid. We’re almost there.” You whispered.

     “2 minutes to landing,” came Clint’s voice over the comm.

     “Hey,” still hunched over the exam table, you looked up and saw Tony standing on Peter’s other side wearing his suit and looking apprehensive. “Bruce told me what’s going on. What can I do?”

     Before you could reply, several loud, solid tones emitted from the various machines simultaneously. Your heart froze in your chest at the sound. Your gaze snapped to the monitors before you turned to Tony with a terrified look in your eyes.

---

     “Grab Peter!” You shouted over the roar of the engines that filled the jet as it began to land. You began unhooking Peter from the various machines and monitors, leaving only the critical IVs as Tony scooped him up in his arms. The second you had detached the last wire, Tony turned and bolted for the back of the jet.

     “Lower the ramp!” He yelled.

     “We’re too high up!” Sam shouted.

     “The ramp is down!” Natasha’s voice carried out from the cockpit and through the main cabin. You grabbed the last printout of Peter’s vitals and ran after Tony. The wind whipped through the jet, sending the loose strands of your hair flying up around your face. Tony walked out to the edge of the ramp and stepped off, the suit thrusters automatically engaging. As soon as he was clear of the ramp, you jumped down without even hesitating, landing next to him at the same time he did. As soon as you straightened, Dr. Cho ran up to you and Tony, her team right behind her pushing a gurney.

     “What stage?” she shouted. She caught a glimpse of Peter as Tony laid him down on the gurney and she paled, no longer needing an answer. Her fears were confirmed when you handed her the printout.

     “He’s crashing!” You shouted over the roar of the jet.

     Dr. Cho turned to one of her assistants. “Go get the defibrillator set up!” The assistant nodded before turning and running off. You took the assistant’s place at the gurney’s rail and as soon as Peter was secured, you helped push it toward the entrance, hurrying alongside it with Dr. Cho and the others. Tony was right behind you guys as you burst through the doors, with the team on his heels. Bruce quickly overtook him and caught up with you.

     “Stage three?” He asked breathlessly. You nodded without looking away from the hall in front of you guys as you ran through another set of doors. As you rushed through them, the hall widened into an expansive, bright open floor equipped with state-of-the-art equipment. Individual rooms were sectioned off with floor-to-ceiling glass walls and doors.

     “Third room on the right,” Dr. Cho indicated. You could see the assistant that she had sent ahead already in the room, standing by and awaiting your arrival. You didn’t hear Tony’s shouts when Rhodey and Steve held him back at the last set of doors as you turned into the room that had been prepared for Peter. The second the door closed behind you, Banner turned and with a few quick taps on the wall next to the door, the glass darkened so no one could see in or out of the room.

     “How long has he been like this?” Cho asked hurriedly as Peter was transferred to the table.

     You quickly glanced at your watch and your stomach churned. “About eight minutes.”

     Dr. Cho’s eyes widened at your response. The second Peter was laid down, one of her assistants put an oxygen mask on him. The first assistant handed her the defibrillator paddles as Bruce began compressions. You stood at the head of the table, keeping an eye on Peter’s heart monitor for any changes.

     “27, 28, 29, 30!” Cho’s assistant counted.

     “Clear!” You called and everyone stepped back as Cho shocked Peter’s heart with the defibrillator. His body jumped as the electricity ran through it, but the heart monitor remained the same. Bruce immediately resumed compressions as the assistant counted. You held Peter’s face in your hands and murmured to him, pleading. “Come on Peter. Come back to us.” Your heart was pounding in your chest, beating so rapidly as if it was trying to beat for you and Peter.

     “26, 27, 28, 29, 30!”

     “Clear!” Peter’s body jumped again as the paddles made contact. You didn’t dare glance at the time because you didn’t want anyone to stop. You knew it had been at least ten minutes since Peter’s heart had stopped beating. Ten minutes since it had stopped sending blood flowing through his body, ten minutes since his lungs filled with the oxygen his brain desperately needed...

     “28, 29, 30!” The assistant called.

     “Clear!” Everyone stepped back again and you let go of Peter. His body arched off the table as the electricity contracted every muscle in it, yet the monitor still remained unchanged. The room fell quiet, the solid tone of Peter’s heart monitor drowning out the other machines. Dr. Cho looked over Peter’s body to Bruce who closed his eyes tight and lowered his head. Your eyes widened and you shook your head, not wanting to hear what they were thinking.

     “No. No, no, no,” your eyes filled with tears as you shook your head.

     “Y/N--” Bruce’s voice broke as he gently placed a hand on your arm.

     “No!” You cried, yanking your arm away. You lowered your head, gritting your teeth as tears streamed down your cheeks, your shoulders trembling in a silent sob. Your blurry gaze came to rest on Peter’s face. Cho glanced at the time, her eyes watering. She opened her mouth to speak when a soft beep broke the silence of the room. Immediately your head shot up to look at the monitor. Your mouth opened slightly as you saw the smallest peak disrupt the straight line. Your heart leapt when you saw the peak repeat itself and your knees began to buckle from the relief.

     “We need to intubate,” Cho hurried to the side, not pausing for a second. “We’re going to need to flush his kidneys too.” She turned to Bruce who nodded before moving to get the machine set up. You were turning to help Bruce when you noticed a red slash on Peter’s arm that was growing. Your eyes grew wide as you realized one of the IVs you left in Peter’s arm must have been ripped out when his muscles contracted.

     “Hand me some gauze,” you told one of the assistants who obliged without question.

     Cho looked at you curiously before she saw the bleeding. “Get thread and sutures too. We can’t risk it,” she added.

     Cho kept a close eye on Peter’s blood pressure as you helped Bruce stitch up the wound. You held gauze to it, pressing on it and hoping, praying it would stop. Your eyes flicked to the monitor and you saw his blood pressure had plummeted. You looked back to Peter and paled when you saw how much blood he had lost already from the wound. It wasn’t that big or deep but you knew Peter’s blood was thinner due to the poison, so it was just as deadly as a cut twice as severe. You looked pleadingly at Peter and whispered to him. “Please, don’t give up now. Please.” You wanted to hold his hand but you didn’t dare take the pressure off his wound.

     A minute or two passed but it felt like hours. “I got it,” Bruce murmured as he finished the stitches and sutures. He placed a hand on yours gently and pulled them away from Peter’s arm. You all turned to the monitor and waited with bated breath. What felt like your whole life went by before the numbers on the monitor gradually changed as Peter’s blood pressure slowly but steadily began to rise. You let out a trembling sigh, your whole body shaking in a combination of relief and disbelief. You turned to Bruce, stunned and he looked back at you, a glimmer of light finally returning to his eyes.

     “We... we did it,” Bruce whispered, sounding astonished, but you didn’t hear.

     “He’s stable for now but we still need to take care of his kidneys and I want him intubated just to be safe.” Cho turned to her assistants and directed them. She looked over to you and Bruce and her face softened a little. “We can take it from here if you guys want to update the others.”

     “Ok,” Bruce nodded. He glanced at the small assistant trying to maneuver the machine by herself before turning to you. “I’m going to help them get set up then I’ll be right out. You go ahead.”

     You didn’t hear him because you had already turned and were halfway to the door. The whole team was gathered outside the room, standing around and waiting. The second you opened the door, you were met with seven worried faces.

     “How is--” Tony began, but he stopped mid-sentence, and the color drained from his face the second he saw your clothes. Steve’s eyes widened and Bucky’s lips parted in surprise. You didn’t realize your shirt was completely covered in blood as you took a few faltering steps toward them. Bucky took a hesitant step forward. You saw the worry on his face, and you saw his lips moving, but you didn’t hear anything. You didn’t even notice the pain shooting through your ankle when you took one more step before darkness rushed up and swallowed you as you collapsed to the floor.

---

Tags: (If you want to be added, let me know, its no trouble at all!) @whiskey-cokenfanfic @xmarveled @parkerspicedlatte @sunmoonandbucky @southerngracela @jll72-blog @evanstush @bla-369 @diekatimitdemhutohnehut @supermoonchildbroski

LAST PART   SERIES MASTERLIST   NEXT PART

[the-canary]

One More Night - S.R

Summary: What were you supposed to give a man you didn’t know that well? (Modern!Reader/Steve Rogers)

Prompt: I got you for secret santa so now I have to buy a gift thats absolutely amazing but also hope you don’t find out its from me and it doesn’t reveal that i’m in love with you

A/N: this is for @buckychrist ‘s holiday writing challenge. either the last of the year or the first fic for some people. christmas was last week, but let’s keep it going a little while longer! thank you to the lovely @isavuu for brain storming with me <3 and happy new year’s everyone! 

Masterlist

Feedback is always welcomed.

Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers.

That is the name you pull out of your friends’ Secret Santa list at the beginning of the month. You try to stop yourself from groaning -- Bucky’s and Sam’s best friend, Tony’s business partner, the twins’ surrogate “dad” in their really bad dad jokes, Sharon’s sort-of ex.  

This is all the ways that you know Steve Rogers, but despite running in the same circle of friends for years -- you didn’t really know that man. He was quite and hardly ever talked to you, and it wasn’t for your lack of trying. You were in a vicinity and he just ran for it or started talking to someone else, eventually you got the point that he wanted nothing to do with you, as sad as that made you feel.

But now -- now, that you had to give him a gift, you were at a loss in what to do.

Sam and Bucky’s combined laughter echo off the walls.

“Why you finally got her after all these years!”

Steve groans as his best friends take joy in his sudden dilemma. He shakes his head before leaning into the leather of the booth.

“What am I going to do?”

“Well, maybe you’ll finally---”

You don’t know enough about Steve and you can’t really go to Sharon, since that would be a little weird, and asking wither Bucky or Sam would just give you away. So, you ask Nat to meet you for lunch outside of your work in the middle of December. Her green eyes twinkling as if she already knows what you are going to ask her, as she takes a sip of her Cafe Americano.

“What is this about exactly?” she asks with certain coyness that makes you just a bit anxious.

“I was wondering what you could about Steve,” you immediately respond, “I mean outside of what he does and somethings here and there, I really don’t know much about him. He really keeps to himself, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know,” she smiles a bit more before adding to underneath her breath so that you don’t notice as you dig into your lunch, “Though mainly around you though.”

“So, what can you tell me?”

“What would you like, Steve?” Wanda questions with a bright smile, as said anxious man brings out two pieces of paper.

“I just wanted to run this by you...for her present,” he admits softly, as Wanda’s eyes widen a considerable amount. She gaps at the name printed before she goes from looking at the pair of tickets and Steve, who just moves around awkwardly in the booth seat.

“Are these?” she pauses, remembering how you hadn’t stopped talking to her and Pietro about a certain event for months only to be disappointed that you couldn’t get tickets due to annoying website problems, “How did you even get these?”

“A friend in the marketing department,” Steve admits bashfully with a shrug as Wanda looks at him -- as she is trying to read his mind before giving him a small smile.

“Well, I keep your secret for now, Rogers.”

Wanda keeps smile as Steve shakes his head, embarrassed and unsure of what to do next.

Nat gives you few details about the super secretive Steve, but she does tells you that even though she does tell that even though he works with an advertising agency what he really loves is to paint and visiting museums when he can, which isn’t often enough -- his words, not hers. It’s then when you set about to work, looking to see if you can find what type of art Steve might enjoy or what he even focuses on. As you go through your list of friends, that is  when you beginning to see -- the little spark of Steve Rogers that seems to shine in all of their lives.  

Steve seems to be the glue that holds everything together in your little grow of friends as you soon come to realize. He and Bucky knowing each other since childhood, meeting Sam and Nat in college (who brought in Clint, whom she has been dating since forever). He brought in Tony through work meetings and just sharing certain ideas in common, who in turn brought in Pepper (his now wife), Rhodey, and Sharon -- who had been dating Steve when you came in.

You had joined this little group as an extension of the twins, Wanda had meet Steve through her internship a few years back (she would later bring in her boyfriend, Viz) and Pietro basically considered another younger sister when you first meet back in college -- these two world collide and you had been part of it ever since. While, there were noticeable ages differences here and there, everyone was very supportive of the rest of the group -- milestones and birthdays were celebrated as a family. However, even family had fights sometimes, Sharon had thrown everyone into a tizzy when the all-American blond couple had broken up a few years back-- everyone seemed to have an opinion about the deterioration of their relationship, but you-- you were just trying to help.

“Hey Steve,” you were standing in front of his new apartment with a nervous smile, as blue eyes gave you a questioning look.

“Hey,” he starts off as he sees that you are carrying a large bag of food and other items, “I don’t mean to be rude, but can I help you with something?”

“I-I was just wondering if you wanted to have a night in,” you try your hardest not to stammer as he give you soft smile, “You know movies, pizza. Just if you want to.”

He scrutinizes you for a moment, wondering if you are just pitying him cause of the current situation at hand but as you beam at him a shy smile with bright eyes -- Steve knows that you aren’t. He knew that you were a sweet gal from what he had seen from afar and know you were just trying your best in a very confusing situation.

“Yeah, come in,” he states, opening the door a bit more as you nod and come in for one of the very best nights in your life.

It was only for a couple of weeks, Steve and Sharon tried to make it work one last time and then Bucky and Sam proceeded to through the ma in a stream of unsuccessful dates, but you were sure --even if you never spoke again after that-- that you fallen for the man...just a little bit.

And now, you wanted to lift his spirits, just a little bit.

Thus, when you realized and searched just exactly who Steve liked in terms of modern day artists -- well, you knew with all your pitched pennies what person you had to call on to get it.

“Hey Tony,” you call him one mid-December day, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

To be completely honest, Steve had sought out those tickets with a blind determination because he knew how much she loved that band -- she spoke about them all the time with Pietro, he had caught her humming their songs and lyrics from time to time with a bright smile on her face. He wanted to make her happy, but he was unsure how much he would enjoy them especially since he was aiming to be the one to be with her that night of the concert.

He personally knew how damaging it could be to see someone dislike or worst be uninterested in something you loved, so he goes to  Pietro for musical advice -- as bad as that sounds coming from Bucky’s annoyed tirade.

“Mmmm, I’ll just tell you her favorite song,” the young man smiles, as if he already knows what Steve is seeking out, though the blond never lets a word out.  

Steve finds himself staring at the purple cover art with a bit of apprehension, he had heard some of Pietro’s music before, but as he presses play -- he soon finds himself humming along.

The truth is that I fell in love with you And now I don't know what to do But I'd do anything to steal a little time

“I’m guessing your his Secret Santa,” Tony can’t help but remark as you stare at the painting in awe, as you shake your head.

Tony had helped you find an old art piece from an old Brooklyn artist that Steve seemed to be fond of and while you had a placed a good chunk in to pay for it, Tony had put the rest though as he already understood what you were going for.

“He’ll really love it,” Tony remarks as you turn and give him a bright grin that catches him off guard for a moment before he chuckles to himself. You’re confused for a moment before going back to staring at the painting. Later on, when you ask Tony how you were going to pay him back, he just shook his head vehemently.

“Anything to make the old man happy,” Tony states with a smile, using the old nickname for Steve that you still don’t quite understand the story behind. However, as you thank him, Tony knows that you don’t understand that he meant you instead of the painting placed behind the two of you.

Oh, if you only knew.

December 25th passes like a flash within your little group, as you all spend it in Tony’s Buffalo home.

Everyone watches gifts being exchanged with screams and excitement on how could it be. Most of your friends realize who their Secret Santa is by the end of the night. However, as you scream over the two tickets and Steve looks with awestruck wonder at the painting hanging in Tony’s living room. Neither of you say anything --too scared over the potential of rejected feelings than anything-- as the night moves forward.

The two of you say goodnight to each other awkwardly.

The rest of the group groans in annoyance and sets their own plans into motion.

It’s December 31st when you see Steve again, the craziness that comes with the end of year making it hard to see any of your friends until Tony’s party and while you had wished it was under better circumstances were also doing your best to avoid the man since the failure that came with your Christmas gift. His silence over the painting was something that stung you deeply. You knew a Steve that was already to debate and speak out about what bothered him -- you had seen it numerous times before when it came to politics or football, so to see him so quite shocked you.

You ran and hide for the entire night, while also trying to find who exactly had given you those tickets -- such a precious thing since the band’s music had helped you through some tough times. So, it didn’t help that through the process of elimination, you came to realize that it might have been Steve. He had given such a nice gift and you had give him...that thing.

You hated yourself for it, stuck between hiding and wanting to kiss him for such a beautiful thing.

It certainly didn’t help that he seemed to keep looking for you and he was a goddamn hound-dog when it came to it. Though, it wasn’t until the clock was close to midnight that you were able to catch your breath on the balcony overlooking the rest of Manhattan as the ball was close to dropping. Everyone inside was cheering the start of a new year, as certain song came up.

I just hope you realize That you know I believe in a thing called destiny So please don’t   Please don’t   Please don’t Don’t sleep on me

You gasp at the sound of a familiar song playing in the background of all the festivities, but instead of going back inside. You freeze at the sound of a certain voice: “It’s a good song, huh?”

You glance to your side to see a certain man in dark pants and a white shirt rolled up to his elbows as he seems more interested in swirling his drink before glancing to meet your eyes. He gives you a bashful smile before going back to looking at the city ready to enter a new year.

“It is. I love a lot of their music,” you state softly, unsure of where all this could be going as Steve nods.

“I’ve picked up a lot of their music recently,” Steve lets out an unsteady laugh, as your eyes widen just a but as you look at the blond, putting two and two together.

“Does that mean you,” you let out softly as somewhere in the background the countdown began, but you were unfolding something completely different,  “...gifted me the tickets for the concert?”

“I know how much to loved them,” Steve admits with a shake of his head and a  swing of his drink, trying to get some courage to move forward with admitting a lot of things, “And I know how hard you took it when you couldn’t get those tickets in time.”

“I...Thank you, Steve,” you grin, as the fireworks slowly begin to pop on the dark sky in front of you and for a moment you me mesmerized by how the colors light up the blue in his eyes.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Steve answers back softly, as he leans in a bit more for a second though your heart is going crazy at the new nickname he had given you, “ Does that mean I’m right in guessing that you gave me the painting?”

“Yeah, I even asked Tony for help,” you admit a bit embarrassed, “But you were so quiet, I didn’t...think you liked it.”

Steve has to look away and  laugh at this, as you give him a confused look: “I loved it. I was just shocked is all. You don’t see one of those everyday.”

“Oh, that’s good,” is all you can really say, trying not to skirm underneath his gaze that seems to have changed slightly from the friendly blue eyes you are used to -- it was more intense than before.

“So, since we both worked really hard on each other’s presents,” Steve starts off and though he seems calm, his heart is thumping like crazy, “That’s this might be more than a friend thing, right?”

Blue eyes keep watching you, as you nod meekly and unsure as he gives you the biggest grin.

“So, if I asked you--”

It’s all Steve gets in before you nod and pepper his cheeks with kisses, as he places his hands on your hips and spins for a brief moment, laughter echoing in the small balcony as the party keeps going on inside.

And even though, Christmas had come a little late for you -- the new year certainly look better than ever.

[shirtlesssammy]

4x13: After School Special

Then:

Sam and Dean were once kids, and they had a pretty crappy father.

Now:

High school, amirite?

A joyous time where friends call you “slut” so you turn around and call a nice helpful classmate a “fat, ugly pig”, only to have the nice helpful classmate turn around and swirly you to death the next day in the bathroom. Plus your parents set your curfew at 9 pm on weekdays.

April, the girl who murdered her classmate, is in an institution. No one believes her story, but Sam Winchester in white scrubs does. Sam asks about sulfur or black smoke, but April just thinks he’s crazy.

Back in the Impala, Sam tells Dean that he believes April’s story and thinks they’ve got a case of demonic possession. The only thing off about it is that she didn’t see any black smoke. Time to check out the school. Dean sarcastically agrees. “Truman High, home of the Bombers.” (Oof, I’m surprised there wasn’t a referendum in that town to change that mascot!)

(And because I paused the video and was granted this aesthetically pleasing shot, I will share with the class)

It seems that the brothers went to this school once upon a time. Dean wants to know their cover. “FBI? Homeland Security? Swedish Exchange students?” Sam’s got an idea.

Cue Foreigner’s “Long, Long Way From Home”, porn shots of Baby, and a flashback to Sam and Dean’s first day at Truman High. A) Baby Sam in his little Carhartt just is the cutest thing ever. B) For all the math nerds out there, the caption says “Truman High School, 1997”. Sam says that it’s November. So, do the math and Dean should have graduated in the spring of 1997. We all know he didn’t because he got his GED. So, the question remains, was Dean held back in school (a VERY real possibility considering his extreme intelligence and extreme dislike for book learning, and all the monster hunts and moving and being a full time parent, etc.) or is he going through the motions of school just to watch out for Sammy? I don’t know which is worse.

Sam and Dean are introduced to their respective classmates. As Sam plops his stuff down on his new desk, his butterfly knife falls out. Millhouse Barry, another student that will soon become friends of sorts with Sam, notices.

Dean, meanwhile is pressing hard on the condescending, misogynistic bravado that we all know isn’t him at all. I really love this tidbit of information that Jensen gave to Brock Kelly, who played the flashback Dean in this episode.  

In Sam’s classroom, while the teacher discusses an essay assignment, Barry gets bullied by another classmate. Sam Fucking Winchester tells the bully to knock it off. Sam, who hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, is called a midget and Sam, gifted with the self-confidence of a boy that has his tribe (albeit small) and an outsider’s assurance that fitting in won’t matter to his drifter lifestyle (and that butterfly knife in his pocket, no doubt), challenges the bully. The bully flinches.

Present day Sam wanders the halls of Truman High as a custodian. He just walks past his old English class when his old English teacher, Mr. Wyatt, comes out.

Present day Dean is A LOT. He’s dressed as the substitute gym teacher. And well, we all know how much Dean loves to dress up. When he leans into an act, he leans into an act.

He tasks his poor underlings to the art of the Dodge while reconvening with Sam. Sam shames Dean’s outfit, and Dean’s slight look of abashment is so sad. The dude loves to LARP. Sam has been all over the school but not one clue. Maybe there isn’t a case after all.

Meanwhile in Home Ec, Male cheerleader threatens his table partner with a fist to his throat if he doesn’t share his homework. So, the other dude does what any sane person would do and takes said fist and pushes it into a whirling food processor. Sam is there to see the cheerleader whisked away and the other kid fall to the floor, black goo oozing from his ear.

While the school has a non-violence assembly, Sam and Dean have free reign to search the school for EMF and ghosts. 

They’re dealing with a seriously pissed off ghost. Dean already did a little searching in the principal's office and found out that there was one suicide back in 1998, Barry Cook.

Flashback to this gem of a school banner:

Mr. Wanek is the art teacher. ALL THE HEARTS.

We’re shown more bullying of Barry with Sam coming to help. Sam learns that Barry wants to be a veterinarian. “You like animals?” dog loving Sam inquires. “They’re a lot nicer than people.” We also learn that Sam is adorable in his little brown striped hoodie. 

Dean, meanwhile, is making out with a fellow student in the broom closet. This whole scene is a gold mine for Dean analysis. Needless to say, the more Dean tells the girl about his life, the more her alarm bells are going off for him. You’re life isn’t normal or healthy, Dean bby.

Sam and Barry run into Barry’s bully, Dirk, in the hallway. Sam tells Barry to run while Dirk threatens Sam. Sam just stands him down, and starts to walk away before Dirk punches him. His English teacher breaks it up.

In the present day, Sam and Dean burn Barry’s bones and leave town.

Sam laments the fact that if he could have stayed at Truman High just a little longer, maybe he could have helped Barry. Dean tries to console him, and tells him that it was a good thing they got out of there so soon. Sam doesn’t think it was all bad.

Flashback to Dean raging about what Dirk did to Sam, but Sam doesn’t want Dean’s help. He wants to be normal. They’re stuck in this town for at least another week (MY GOD, JOHN WINCHESTER. This. Is. Child. Neglect.) (Sidenote: Dean tells Sam that Amanda wants him to meet her parents. He then says he doesn’t “do parents” and well, we know he met Cassie’s mom and he met Cas’s dad, so sometimes he’ll meet the parents. Just saying, and welcome to my world where I can make literally anything about Dean and Cas.)

Back in time, Mr. Wyatt pulls him aside to ask him about a “non-fiction” essay he turned in where he describes how he and his family killed a werewolf over the summer. Sam’s only somewhat abashed. He’s clearly taken on the mentality that whatever he does in class won’t matter since they’ll be moving on soon. But the teacher tells Sam that his work is good enough that he could be a writer someday. Sam shuts him down: he has to go into the “family business.” (Hey Sam, you can always write on the side, baby.) The teacher asks him if he wants to go into the family business. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” Sam says. SAMMY. While I weep over Sam’s childhood, the teacher encourages Sam to make his own choices in life.

For Pretty Patterns Science

In the present, Sam heads back to find the teacher who encouraged him when he was a child. Standing nervously outside the door, he’s interrupted by a girl who asks him for directions. “Thanks, Sam,” she tells him when he helps her and then she STABS HIM OH MY GOD. “You got tall.” 

She starts beating him up, ectoplasm oozing. Sam shoves a handful of salt into her mouth and expels the ghost.

Back at the car, Dean mirrors the school scene from earlier. He feeds Sam alcohol while he rages about ripping out the ghost’s lungs. “Or, you know what I mean.” They realize that all three of the attacking kids rode the same school bus.

Cut to Dean stalking through the suspect school bus with his shotgun, as one does.

They’re looking for hair, for skin, for anything that might tie a ghost to the bus. Dean finds the bus driver’s recent certification; he started the route 2 weeks ago. He’s the dad of Dirk, Sam’s youthful tormentor.

In the past, Sam confronts Dirk for beating up Barry. When Dirk attacks him, Sam’s had enough. He pulls out his raised-from-birth fighting tactics and quickly beats Dirk to the ground. “You’re not tough. You’re just a jerk. Dirk the jerk.” The nickname spreads like wildfire.

Sam and Dean talk to Dirk’s dad. Dirk died when he was 18 of an overdose. Dirk Sr. tells them that Dirk was poor and bullied. When he was thirteen, his mom got cancer and Dirk took care of her while he dad worked three jobs. As a cloud of guilt descends on Sam, Dean asks for Dirk’s burial site. Unfortunately, Dirk Sr. had him cremated. “All of him?” Dean asks. Dean. Bean.

It gets the job done. Dirk Sr. keeps a lock of Dirk’s hair in the bible on his bus.

That evening, the bus ferries a load of (presumably) football players to a game. Ectoplasm oozes out of the bus driver’s nose. The bus rams over a set of road spikes. I’m asking the screen WHY there are road spikes when Sam Winchester approaches the bus driver. Yeah, motha fuckahs, it’s a Winchester trap. (Related: they keep ROAD SPIKES in Baby’s trunk? Ooookay.) Dean ties up the bus driver, aka Dirk, in salt-soaked rope and then heads into the bus to find Dirk’s remains. He gets recognized as the gym teacher but Dean deflects: He’s 21 Jump Street, man. This ain’t nothin’ but a drug bust.

Dean finds the bible, but there’s nothing in it. Dirk falls into his villain monologue. In his experience, Sam and the popular kids are the bullies - they’re evil. “I’m not evil,” Sam protests because he is CUT TO THE CORE by being called evil. (Me: remembers that this is Season 4 and nods knowingly.)

“We were scared and miserable and we took it out on each other...that’s high school. But you suffer through that and it gets better.” Sam’s words don’t convince Dirk, who bursts free of his bonds. He gets shot out of the bus driver’s body and possesses one of the students. While Sam’s getting the crap beaten out of him, Dean searches everywhere for the hair, eventually finding it in the bus driver’s shoe.

Dean fumbles with his lighter (MY GOD invest in better lighters, boys) and then lights the sheaf of hair on fire. Dirk bursts free from the student and dissolves into flame.

And...we’re in flashbacks again. Dean’s kissing a different girl in the supply closet. Amanda walks in and Dean very, very poorly tries to cover.

Amanda delivers a scathing analysis of Dean: “I thought maybe underneath your whole ‘I could give a crap,’ bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on. I mean, like the way you are with your brother. But I was wrong. And you spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool...but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad, lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.” This devastates Dean, of course. We close the episode with Sam riding an absolute high, beloved by the school and Dean at his lowest. John Winchester shows up just in time, or way too soon, depending on your viewpoint. They climb into John’s car, Sam waves goodbye to Barry, and they leave town.

In the present, Sam finally heads in to talk to Mr. Wyatt. (Sam’s still bruised and cut from the fight so...awkward.) He thanks Mr. Wyatt for the advice he gave him years ago. Sam admits that he made his own choices for a little while but got pulled into the family business in the end. Oh, Sammy. <3 “You took an interest in me when no one else did,” Sam tells him. “That matters.”

“The only thing that really matters is that you’re happy,” Mr. Wyatt tells him. “Are you happy, Sam?”

And...fin.

Rollin’ with the Quotes:

You got your lunch? Books? Butterfly knife?

The whistle makes me their god.

I have to go into the family business.

There may be three or four big choices that shape someone's whole life, and you need to be the one that makes them, not anyone else.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[jujywrites]

WIP Challenge

I got tagged by @kikithedeceiver to do this!

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Here’s the thing. I don’t have many separate WIP files; most of them are in one huge doc. and most of the separate wip files are... pretty dead? but ok whatevs. under a read more since it’s long...... and my ego won’t let me skip snippets hjkhkhk thanks for the idea Kiki

From my main miscellaneous folder:

50 Grades of Steele. 1 and a half chaps of a role-flipped 50 Shades of Grey rewrite (i haven’t read the books so I extra don’t care about the characters lol). why do i still have it i’ve lost interest.... *side eyes her entire wip ecosystem* ...Then I see my interview subject, seated at her desk.

"Mr. Grey. I'm pleased to meet you."

And I stop breathing. [end CH1]

[open CH2) I forgot to mention something: I exaggerate occasionally. But I'm not now. I literally stop breathing for a few seconds. A thousand thoughts are racing through my mind, which doesn't help my chest stop seizing, but the main problem here is that Anastasia Steele is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Fanfic idea masterlist. my most active file and where I keep most of my WIPS, unless they get too “large”. Organized by fandom. lotta stuff i keep passing by & may as well be dead but don’t wanna delete. here’s a zero-draft snippet of probably the next chapter of my G-rated yukyoru fic collection

He grabbed a pillow and placed it to his chest, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him, praying his idea would work.

Seconds passed and he didn't transform. He put his arms around her gingerly. Should he try to immobilize her or would that make it worse?

She made the decision for him. "Mom," she sobbed, clutching him with an iron grip. "N-Need to help...!"

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Thudding footsteps announced Yuki's arrival. "What's wrong?! Honda-san--"

He didn't say "What did you do?" The thought raced by and Kyo said, "Grab a pillow and help me!"

As Yuki positioned the pillow and himself without having to ask, Kyo said, "She won't wake up. I don't know what to do!"

"Night terror," Yuki said tightly. He was too close but it almost didn't matter. "Not much you can do besides wait."

MayxWard BDSM fic agents of SHIELD. mix of notes and actual writing. kind of a half AU. Melinda climbed into the driver's side and buckled in, then started up the car. "If you've not ridden on the left before you might have motion sickness. It's normal. Just close your eyes until—" She paused as she looked at him; his hands shook so much he couldn't manage the seatbelt. "Here, let me."

"Thanks," he muttered with a sigh, looking rueful.

Modern AU Zelink. What it says on the tin~ Teenage-ish Zelink, with a mash of supporting characters from other games. another mix of notes and fic. Link wasn't sleeping tonight. Tonight was the night he'd been planning for and awaiting for weeks. He was going on a quest: the quest to meet Princess Zelda. 

She wasn't really a princess, of course. That was just her nickname. Zelda Nohansen was Hyrule's sweetheart, the most sought-after young actress in the movie business. And Link had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen her, two years ago in a tiny theater in Kakariko.

PMMMfic homumado. Madoka Magica. AU, been around since about an hour after I finished the series (5 years yikes, still gotta watch Rebellion). Homura's time power still somewhat involved, but Mami's an adult, everyone's at a boarding school (I think?) where ~things aren't as they first seem~ and Madoka has mysterious powers and night terrors. just notes at the moment.

SoubixHitomi.  Loveless. 3 unfinished/dead first-person Shinonome-senseixSoubi snippets, all of ‘em spicy.

yvy abo. Yuri On Ice. Yuri (Katsuki!!)/Victor/Yuko(!!?!), my attempt at. well. omegaverse(!!!!!!!). orignally started as part of a “bad YOI fic” bigbang and now I’m taking it seriously dgdgfg. Alpha Yuko. “Please, please stop,” she whispered, like saying it aloud would make any difference. But the pressure in her head kept building. Her limbs had begun to itch restlessly.

And Victor wouldn’t let go of her hand.

With the last scrap of her control, she straddled him quickly and kissed him awake.

Even in half-sleep he arched to meet her, and when he opened his eyes sapphire blue had already turned stormy with lust.

yvy canonfuturefic. Yuko-focused following of canon, or: how canon can I keep YOI while still rareship OT3ing it. She and Yuri fall in and out of love, in between falling for Victor. Victuri is still my life I swear   

“You have got to watch this,” she tells Yuri. She watches Yuri’s face instead of the video, having seen it at least forty times by now.

Yuri’s eyes transform into beacons of awe, and Yuko swallows around her rapid heartbeat, breaths coming too short. She sees everything she’s feeling and more on his face. She remembers that she loves him, that he’s real and here and more important than the beautiful boy on her phone who’s trying to pull her under to a scary new world.

ZnT ot3 bdsm AU. Zankyou no Terror, 9/12/Lisa. mix of notes and fic, not just PWP. in heavy need of editing bc a lot was inspired by a non-spicy book.

“But it’s not just me. It’s everyone. You need everyone because you have no idea how to need yourself. Or even how to be yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” The force and volume of her voice shocked her and pushed her onward. “You and Touji. I don’t need anyone except you and Touji! Because you both taught me how to be myself-- no, how to find that on my own. I know exactly who I am, and that me isn’t complete without both of you!” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, yet somehow her voice didn’t waver. She felt so full of conviction she could burst into flames. “Don’t you understand, Arata? We’re all meant to be together.”

From my SnK folder:

Cave of the Crystal Maiden (working title). Aruani. Modern AU. MMORPG shenanigans with a dollop of magical realism/supernatural. Just notes. @portraitofa-girl suggested “meeting online” and it’s been there literally for years oh lord im sorry. no fic yet, just notes.

Falling Anthem (working title) Modern AU Levihan, art student Hange and young professor Levi. just notes. fic one in a planned series. also has been years ;_;

Raindrops and Soft Steps. Jearmin. unsurprisingly, modern AU. One morning, when Jean looks out of his bedroom window, he sees a boy dancing across the street. In the street, to be exact. There wouldn't be anything unusual about that, Jean supposes, except it's raining cats and dogs outside.

In my IAMXfic folder (fff i almost skipped this):

2ndPOVCalberto (DO NOT CORRUPT WITH HET) ChrisxAlberto? not much to say?? yes i know they’re real people??? which applies to everything after this oh my god *crawls under desk* Of course she knows; she is annoyingly perceptive when it comes to romance. The only thing preventing you from asking her (like a fucking lovestruck teenager) if Alberto likes you back is emptying that beer bottle. By then the only thing on your mind is ordering another.

CalbertImmi. i can’t even keep my poly shit outta RPF ahaha omhg Imogen has a conversation with her lover's lover. (AlbertImmi, sequel to...) Imogen finds herself in an unenviable position. (emerging CalbertImmi)

Alternate summaries (CC POV, first fic?): Chris loves two people. He doesn't want to choose. Chris has fallen in love a few times in his life. But he's never fallen for two people at once. (Chris also isn't good at choosing.)

ChrisxJ. several self-insert fics bc CC is just that powerful, apparently. haven’t looked at the file in a long time,,,,,

He started calling people to the stage with him, and one by one, my row emptied.

"Come on, yeah, come on," he was saying, waving his hand in an inviting gesture and grinning like a little kid. "Hey, you want to?" I did a double take.

"Me?" I mouthed, pointing at myself just to be sure. He nodded, smiling wider.

So it was that I walked unsteadily down the ramp and waited in line, feeling like I didn’t belong there. Soon I was next in line. What would I say? What would I do? I was sure if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or faint.

Genderswapped IAMX sci-fi. The sci-fi was inspired by a word prompt, genderswapping by my own brain. (play spot the Immi lmao) Across the aisle, Sam rolled his eyes. “Leave Chris alone; she’s nervous.”

“And put on your own seatbelt, Johann,” shouted Jess, two seats back and in Sam’s aisle.

Patrick turned  to look at Chris. “Subspace travel is a bitch,” he said simply, and turned back to his book.

“Oh, I feel much less nervous now,” Chris said with a sardonic grin. “How do you know that, anyway?”

"I'm not exactly what I seem to be." He didn’t look up.

Chriimmi (While I Was Gone inspired). Chris/Imogen, inspired by scenes from Sue Miller’s While I Was Gone.

"You really ought not to do that, you know," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

My eyes slid from his face. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

"Mm." I glanced back at him; he wore a lopsided smile. "Not that I minded." The tension was so strong the air nearly vibrated with it, yet I held my tongue, terrified that I was the only one feeling it. He took a breath, deep, nearly rising on his toes. "No. I didn't mind at all." He took my hand, circled his thumb over the back. My breath caught as I felt it, as I watched him looking down at our hands.

Chriimmi bathtub dream. dream inspired Chris/Immi smut.

Chriimmi twitter. twitfic plus some, inspired from an actual tweet iamx made that i’m still not over. 

@ imogenheap Come sing your lovely lyrics with us in London. @ IAMX misses you. CCx

ChrisxImmi main. grab bag of Chriimmi I was too lazy to put into separate docs.

“What do you think?” She grinned, twirling.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I-Imogen, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to clash with your theme…  Janine helped me. Does it work?”

Scandalously short skirt, midriff-baring top, knee-high boots.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Her grin only widened, even though a blush had started.

Fic edit chriimmi ver. yeah. editing someone else’s original fic to be chrimmi. either never posting or editing the frick out of. ~_~

He kissed her neck, whispered into it, “I love you.”

Imogen laughed. “Bollocks,” she said lazily.

”I do!” Chris protested. She looked down at him, nestled on her shoulder. He looked back, open, a little adoring. “I fell in love with you halfway through the show; I sang every note just for you.”

”Oh, please. You couldn’t have seen me.”

”No,” he said. “But I knew you were out there… I knew it had been you the minute I saw you backstage.”

Hospital Chriimmi. In which my guilty feeling over RPF are even worse bc of the inspiration ^_^U “Ms. Heap. What a pleasant surprise.” It’s surprising, how well she remembers his voice.

“Mr. Corner, what have you got yourself into?”

“Oh, just a bit of lingering insomnia. You know how it is.”

She takes a seat in the chair near his bed, crossing her legs. “Well, I’ve certainly had a sleepless night here and there, but I’ve never ended up in hospital from it. So no, I don’t suppose I do know.” Her tone is light, but her smile has begun to crack.

ImmixChris genderbend smut. the my secret friend video is... fertile material. have not actually written the smut yet.

...he saw us as characters– we put on those clothes and become separate from ourselves, removed. Whereas I simply felt like myself in men’s clothes, and instead of feeling what He felt for Her, I just kept right on feeling what I felt for Chris, amplified to a distracting level.

ReluctantdommeImmixSubCC. ...shrug emoji? notes and uh. visualizing.

Vampire Chriimmi. based on a dream. smutty. inspired by True Blood so wow that’s old.

From my Markipairings folder:

demon dream. markiplier self insert...... ughhhhhhhh o///o

"You can have me," I tell the creature. "But this one," I jerk my head toward Mark, "comes with me. He's mine, you see." A bold proclamation to make, but in the moment I know that the truth in those words surpasses everything I've ever said. He is mine, and saying the thought out loud fills me with courage. He squeezes my hand, two short and a long one so strong I think he might break it.

I know we’ll win.

DommeJujY. same as above, same as the next four. smutty.

Fight team AU. i forget where i got this one from. vaguely inspired by loveless i guess.  The first clear thought I had was, He shouldn't have gone ahead of me. The second one was, I should have been able to protect him. But these came later, after the rage went away, after I hugged him and apologized, after I bandaged him…

Gaming meetcute. i win some contest or whatever to secretly tagteam w/ Mark. stuff happens and yeah......

The adrenaline surges through my veins as I take in the scene. Mark's avatar is flailing around, backed into a corner by some Eldritch Abomination and holy shit, the graphics in this game are amazing.

"This is not good, I can't move, I can't move…"

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming to shut the game down, to get that horrible thing off the screen. I ignore it.

Markinpanties. .......smut.

shifter-slight sci-fi AU. shrug emoji.

I looked up from the ground and saw I was heading straight for a brick wall. There was no time to slow down. I braced for impact...

It didn't happen. I opened my eyes and found myself in a café.

What.

Looking behind me, I saw a door. On impulse I walked over and opened it; the tree-lined street I could see through the glass was indeed there. No brick wall to smack my face into. Bewildered, I turned around and looked for a seat, choosing one near a window.

Gouldiplier~. master doc of ficbits of my cracky mccrackship, MarkiplierxEllie Goulding.

I check my phone during break time again. My selfie has been liked and retweeted thousands of times, and I shake my head in disbelief; I don't think that will ever stop surprising me, deep down. To make things even better, Mark's liked it! I'm in the middle of a happy jig when I realize there's a text from him and a squeak of joy slips from me.

hellooo gorgeous

looks like you're having fun. Hope the shoot's going great! <3

I quickly send a reply. it has been. Be glad when it's done tho. Missin u lots xo

Markipicbunnies. fanart of Mark for Gouldiplier insipration. photographer au. 

"Ms. Goulding, I'm really not sure about this…"

"I produce pictures that are intimate because I'm an intimate being, Mark." Ellie looked at him directly, a hint of a smile shaping her lips. "Deep down, I think you are too. We just need to draw you out a bit."

showersexgouldiplier. WELP. IT’S SMUT.

Also I have folders for my 2010/11 nanowrimo novel that are kinda still WIPs but also kinda not

i’m gonna tag.... @kippielovesyou @kiridork and @mistergrass and anyone else who wants to do this can too :3