#shut up loo

[cameoliob]

Love was the law and religion was taught or something

Also it has become glaringly apparent that I cannot spell so if you see a spelling error NO YOU DIDNT SHHHHHHH SHHHHHHHHHHHH

[theoneandonlysourcandy]

I HATE JEAN LOO PISSOIR I HATE JEAN LOO PISSOIR I HATE JEAN LOO PISSOIR I HATE JEAN LOO PISSOIR PLEQASE SHUT UPPPPPLU YNYI HATE YOU JEAN LOO PISSOIR I HAYE YOU I HATE YOUOUOUIUKK REAAAGGSGSGSGH

[gayemoji]

fully thought at the melbourne show that billie sang 'im not apart of the MyGov agenda' and only in rewatching videos from it do i realise he said 'MAGA' .

but for a good few hours its been really funny to think of billie joe armstrong as someone who just googled 'australian government' and when he got the Australian website for all government services as the top result he said 'yeah thatll do mygov agenda fuck emmm'

[sadhornydemons]

At some point, before this scene, we missed out on something like this..

"Blitzy! Do you want some souvenirs to remember our trip to Loo Loo Land?"

"Fuck no, I'm just here to...Wait, actually..."

Followed by Blitz throwing away $80 worth of merchandise five minutes later, but hey, at least he saved the magnet:

[looz-y]

didn't eat turkey, yet still enjoyed this Autumn Harvest feast today! hope everyone has a sane, comfortable, and safe day 💗🔮🧹🐈‍⬛

(he/she pls)

bonus +!

POV: you are turkey

[afrognamedfizzarolli]

Any wild guesses on what my favorite episode is?

In all seriousness, tonight (or maybe tomorrow morning) Im going to post the first of a series of analyzations of Helluva Boss. Starting with general overviews of each episode. Things like blink and you miss it details, easter eggs, foreshadowing, ect. As well as talking about parts of the episodes I feel get overlooked.

I will be doing one episode at a time, hopefully one a day. Would like some input though: Should I start with the pilot or episode 1?

[probablymoons]

#america so juicy rn #i thank God everyday im a journalist in this life

oof uh this feels weird and callus, right? iirc the person was literally a white Canadian 😑

[dandorishipping]

Oh I also got a deadlock comm :D she’s coming in the mail a few days.. excited… she’s so pretty I want to eat the art style

[random-thot-generator]

Ghost decides after one blind date that you're going to be his.

>>>>>

Simon isn't used to dating. A quick hook up in the loo, sure. A drunken one night stand? He's had too many of those to count. But proper courting? Hell, it's been years, maybe a decade, since he's taken a bird out on an actual date.

It's probably going to be a disaster, but he gave Johnny his word he'd go out with his bird's best friend, so he can't back out now. He'll just have to grit his teeth and power through it.

His sour outlook for the evening is forgotten the second he sees you walk in with Johnny's bird. You're no tipsy tart on the pull, like the birds he's used to dealing with. You're a proper lady, dolled up nice for your date with him. It makes his chest feel tight when he gets a good look at your pretty face and nervous little smile.

His usual gruff manner is obviously not going to fly with you, so he quickly tries to recall the mannerisms he's seen his captain use around women. He gets to his feet with Johnny when the two of you reach the table, trying his best to look less intimidating.

Johnny introduces the two of you, and Simon melts inside when he takes your soft little hand in his for the first time. His brain goes fuzzy, dark eyes glazing over, and he's not sure what he says when he greets you, but it earns him a smile.

"It's really nice to meet you, Simon," are the first words you say to him.

Your voice is soft and sweet, and the way you say his name? Oh, he's gonna need to hear more of that, and often.

For the first time in a long time, Simon's worried about what someone thinks of him. He's worried he'll put you off with his harsh manner. So, he minds his words and gentles his tone. He slows his steps to match your pace and tucks your small hand at his elbow to keep you close and safe. He's holding doors and pulling out your chair. He compliments your dress and hair.

And when your heel catches on the sidewalk and you stumble, he doesn't bark a laugh or say something mean, wouldn't bloody dream of it. No, he catches you before you fall, and all that softness in his hands makes something shift in his brain. You're such a fragile little thing, delicate as spun sugar. You need a big nasty mutt like him to protect you, take care of you, and he's more than willing to do the job.

When the date is over, Simon sees you home, and you kiss him on your front stoop. It's not all groping hands and tangling tongues. It's a gentle press of lips, his big hands cradling your face, the sweet intimacy making his eyes flutter shut. He's floating when he finally gets back in his truck and drives himself home.

Instead of going to bed, Simon begins to formulate a plan of strategy. He figures it'll take a few more dates before you invite him into your flat, and several more after that before you invite him into your bed, then eventually into your life. It might take months, even a year or more. That's alright, though. If his years in the military have taught him anything, it's patience.

Simon knows how to play the long game. He'll go at your pace, let you get used to having him around, then make himself indispensable to you. No one will treat you as good, meet your every need and desire the way he will. He won't stop until he is your world, your reason for being. Your everything.

And when enough time has passed, he'll claim you completely as his. He's going to put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly, then tuck you away safe and sound in one of those cute country cottages he looked up online. You'll be his little missus, and he'll be your tamed beast, keeping his teeth and claws hidden but at the ready.

By the time he arrives at your flat the next evening for your second date, he's already got your engagement ring in his safe at home and the names of your future children picked out.

And when you text him the day after to invite him for dinner, the new name he replaced yours with pops up on his screen.

It says 'Missus Riley', of course.

-

[rock-a-noodle]

Really wish my brain would stop waking me up before 9 AM.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x Slytherin!fem!reader

Summary: Being friends with benefits with James Potter isn't all you want, it just takes you a while to come to terms with that reality.

Genre: a mix of everything

Warnings: reader and James are 18, suggestive, sex, friends with benefits, misunderstanding trope, reader and James are both delusional lol, reader is stubborn and headstrong, James x Lily, hint of enemies to lovers

ask: [...] like give me the angst of wanting to be detached but feeling insecure when you see him with someone else (or vice versa) or the hurt comfort where you both start to fall for each other but don’t know how to deal with it!

~ thank you for requesting my dear 🫀anon. Sorry this took forever ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

When the four infamous Gryffindors saunter into the Common Room to attend one of the Slytherin parties, no one is surprised, at least not since Sirius and Regulus Black reconciled their differences.

Tonight is Regulus's 17th birthday, which meant Sirius had made James promise he would be on his best behavior. 

However, the latter doesn't seem to be doing a good job as his eyes are trained on Severus Snape and Lily Evans, who are standing much too close for his liking. James downs his fourth fire-whiskey and turns to Remus, shaking his head drunkenly.

"What a pompous prick," he slurs, his cheeks turning pinker. The collar of his chemise is overturned and Remus sighs, fixes it for his best friend.

"He isn't hurting anyone," Remus mutters.

James rolls his sharp hazel eyes, glaring at the couple in the corner. He hates how Lily laughs at whatever stupid joke he's telling her. He hates how happy she looks with someone who isn't him. Ever since their break up a few months ago, James's patience with Severus has been almost non-existent.

He walks forward, his shoulders squared, and walks right into you. 

His drink spills all over your blouse, causing you to gasp. 

"Sorry," James grumbles but he doesn't even glance your way as his gaze remains fixated on Lily.

You snap your head up, glaring at him. You feel embarrassed as James's drink is sticky. He doesn't seem to care as struts over, successfully breaking up Lily and Severus' conversation, and leaving you alone. Your gaze narrows.

"You good?" Daniel, the guy you've liked for a while, asks, coming up behind you as he returns from the loo. You don't answer him, simply watching as James embarrasses himself and shoves Severus away. "He's a twat, even outside the pitch," Daniel grunts, crossing his arms and sending James a dark look.

You knew of his rivalry with James Potter but honestly, you couldn't care less at that moment. All that matters is that Daniel's attention is on you as he inspects your blouse. You shrug. "He's a dick. C'mon,"

You lead Daniel up the stairs, to a secluded corner near the dormitories. Daniel leans against the wall, frowning a little as he senses your hand slide up his chest and your lips hover close to his neck. He catches your wrist and laughs, his gaze sharp on yours. 

"You're joking, right? 'M not gonna sleep with you, Y/l/n. You're not that kind of girl." 

You snatch your hand away from him, an expression of hurt spreading across your features. "I'm not what kind of girl?" you ask, narrowing your gaze at him. Daniel's eyes watery from his laughter and you feel even more stupid. 

"The kind you sleep with," Daniel shrugs, "It's not a bad thing, let's go back to the party,"

"Do you not think I'm pretty?" you interrupt, the drinks you'd had rushing to your head as your eyes narrow. When David looks like he could burst into laughter again, you don't give him much time to explain himself as you run up the stairs to your dorm.

You've never felt as stupid as you do now. You slam your door shut, collapsing onto your bed as you hug your pillow. Tears threaten to spill but you don't let them. Daniel McLaggen can fuck himself.

You're the kind of girl someone fucks.

You are. 

Wiping your tears, you stand and rush down to the Common Room again. This time, you simply walk by Daniel and you don't even bother turning to see his expression when you brush him off as you make a beeline towards someone who you wouldn't have even considered otherwise.

You only think of him because of Daniel's previous words.

James Potter stands to the side now, having been pulled away by Remus, still fuming. Without thinking you walk up to him. He turns his gaze, his eyebrows creasing. 

"Can I help–"

"Can I kiss you?" you blurt out, cheeks burning. You needed to ask. You couldn't just ambush him without consent. Still, James looks just as shocked as he would have if you'd simply kissed him. His jaw falls open and he clears his throat. 

"Is this some kind of joke?" he asks, uncharacteristically nervous. 

You shake your head, resisting the urge to make sure Daniel is watching. You keep your eyes on James. "It might make Lily Evans jealous," you try and convince him, although you aren't even sure if she'd care. 

James thinks abut it for a moment.

"Oh, well, okay, sure," James says with a small nod and you move closer, wrapping your hand around his tie. Without wasting time, you pull him into you and crash your lips onto his. He tastes like fire-whiskey and raspberry pastries but you don't care. You move your hand to his hair, tighten your fingers in his curls, lips moving in sync with his. Once James kisses you back, his hands find your hips and he holds you steady. 

He's a pretty damn good kisser. 

Soon, one thing leads to another and you wake up in his dorm room. Your clothes are scattered around the floor. Thank Merlin he's Head Boy or you'd have his roommates to worry about. James is still sleeping, his arm tucked under his pillow as he snores lightly.

Sitting up, you hold the sheets over your naked body as the events of last night play in your mind. You look at James, biting the inside of your cheek. You shouldn't have taken things this far. All to prove yourself to some arsehole? No, this shouldn't have happened. 

Your gaze softens. James looks so peaceful in his lip. You resist the urge to touch his hair.

Cursing, you promise yourself it will never happen again as you sneak out of his room.

And still, week after week you find yourself twisted in his sheets again and again. 

Turns out, fucking around with James Potter is addictive.

* * * Four Months Later * * *

"Hiya, love," James announces happily, plopping himself onto the chair in front of yours in the library. He's loud so you shush him, your finger pressed to his lips as he leans forward over the small desk. You don't look up from your book. You need to pass Potions and you don't have time for distractions. 

James smirks against your finger. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"An essay, now be quiet, you're annoying me."

James laughs and lays his head on his arm, his dark curls falling over his features as he draws small little hearts near your hand as you write. He's teasing you on purpose. Looking up, you narrow your gaze. "What's your problem, James?"

"Are you coming over tonight?"

The question causes you to flush and you look away, focusing on your essay again. You think for a moment, letting his words wash over you. It is Thursday, meaning you usually meet him in his dorm. Your cheeks burn. 

"Hmm," you nod and then push his hand away, "now bugger off, you're being such a knob." You keep your voice calm and steady, knowing James has too much power over you.

In all honesty, you're still not used to this; being friends with benefits with James Fucking Potter. You're barely friends, it's mostly all benefits, or at least that is what you like to think. It makes the situation so much easier when you're riding him in his room and he's muttering praises in your ear.

It helps keep the lines clear. 

Lines that James loves to blur.

That evening as he snaps your bra open and presses kisses on your chest and stomach, he makes conversation; "Will you come to my game tomorrow?" he asks hopefully, still kissing you. 

You gasp, arching and running your hand in his hair as you lean into his mouth. "U-um, yeah–sure."

He pulls away and sends you an adorably stern look. "I'm being serious. Please come. I want you there."

Your chest rises and falls as you gently rock your hips against him. "I said I would," you whisper, annoyance lacing your tone. James senses your frustration and smirks. He leans forward and wraps his strong arms around your back, attaching his lips to your nipples. 

"Good," he says with a devilish smirk. 

You moan in response.

You didn't think you would actually go. Going to support James, the Captain of the Gryffindor team as a Slytherin, was too close to girlfriend activities for your liking. Plus, you'd stopped trying to make Daniel jealous months ago so there was no reason to be there.

Only, James asked you and in the moment, that seems reason enough. 

The game is loud and you feel a little awkward sitting in the Gryffindor section instead of the Slytherin one. James's friends are rambunctious and one practically bumps into you as he cheers loudly. You move closer to the balcony edge, leaning against it as you focus on the game.

Your eyes drift to a familiar figure in the distance. He's holding the quaffle under his arm, his dark hair is even messier than it usually is and he's clearly an experienced flyer. He throws the quaffle into the hoop and scores. Cheers erupt around you and you straighten up, a small smile forming on your lip. James does some, obnoxious, victory flips and your smile can't help but grow. 

Instantly, you feel embarrassed and you control your smile. You shouldn't be smiling so hard at James Potter. Your heart is pounding and unwanted thoughts swirl into your mind. You spend the rest of the game pretending you're not looking at James. 

Once the game ends, you wander around the Gryffindor Common Room at the after party. You'd promised yourself you would congratulate James and then leave immediately. Only you've been in aimlessly wandering around for thirty minutes and you still haven't found him. You're beginning to become annoyed.

Where the fuck is he? 

Finally, you turn a corner and see him. Well, you see his back, but that's unmistakably his jersey. You open your mouth to call his name as you walk forward but your voice dies in your throat. Someone's hands are in his hair. Your heart sinks and you suddenly feel like throwing up. 

James twists his body as the girl comes into view. Your nose scrunches in disgust. Lily Evans? Why is Lily Evans kissing your James? Just as the thought pops into your mind, another wave of nausea washes over you. James isn't yours. If anything, he'd only been passing time with you when he wanted Lily back all along. 

Your breathing is labored as you watch Lily kiss him.

No. This is so wrong. You shouldn't be crying over him.

You back up, turn around and rush out the door before James or Lily could see you. You wipe at your tears, focusing on anger instead of sadness. 

Fuck this. 

* * *

James hasn't seen you in three days and he's becoming worried. You haven't answered any of his Owls, you crumple up any note he writes to you in class, and you avoid him outside of classes.

He doesn't understand what he did wrong. 

He'd waited up for you after his game. He'd had this entire speech planned, some stupid, love-sick confession of his feelings, and yet, you never even showed up. He wants to be angry with you but he can't bring himself to be. He can never stay angry with you even when he tries. 

However, it seems like you're angry with him because when he coincidentally sees you on your way to Honeydukes and he calls your name, you spin around and glare at him. "Leave me alone, Potter," you spit and that wild look he usually loves so much, now scares him a little. Still, he runs up and his hand brushes your arm. 

You turn around again and shove him. With a thud, James falls to the ground. He hadn't expected you to push him and he lost his balance on the mud from the morning rain. "Oi, bloody hell, woman! What is your problem?" 

You're standing over him now and you look furious. 

"You're my problem!"

"Me?" James scrambles up, dusting the dirt from his jeans. He looks at his Converse and they're covered in mud. Great. He looks back up, an expression of hurt obvious on his face. He doesn't have time to worry about his shoes when you're this upset. "I don't understand! What did I do?"

You're breathing heavily, your gaze locked onto his. The truth is too hard to admit. 

"Just, leave me alone," you snarl again, turning back around. James catches your wrist and turns you towards him once more. You're a little surprised but you don't push him or pull away. Instead, the air around you both feels thicker.

"I like you," James blurts out.

Your chest tightens so much it hurts.

"Don't lie to me," you say, your voice hoarse. 

James looks flabbergasted and he moves forward, taking your other hand in his. "What? I'm not lying. I wanted to tell you after my game but you never came—"

"I did come, you tosser!" you snap and James's brown eyes widen. You've never looked more beautiful, even if you do look like you want to kill him. You push your index into his chest. "I came to the game and I saw you play and I even stayed afterward like an idiot because I wanted to see you. And you know what I saw?"

James shakes his head. He's a little petrified.   

"I saw you kissing Lily Evans. Lily Evans of all people! And what's worse is that I shouldn't have been surprised because it was always her. I should have known—"

James blinks and out of all the things he could have said, the only thing that slips from his mouth is, "Y/n. Did you listen to anything I just said?"

That only angers you more because you look like a vein on your forehead could pop at any moment. "What?! James, did you just listen to what I just said?!"

"I never kissed Lily. She kissed me," James says matter-of-factly and then leans in so his face is close to yours. "Now what did I say?"

"That isn't how that works! You both kissed!"

"Nope. I did not. Now, what did I say?!"

"Don't patronize me," you hiss.

"Y/n."

"You said you like me but—"

James places his index on your lips, cracking a small smile. "Exactly. I like you, not Lily. I told her as much after she kissed me. She means nothing to me anymore. My heart belongs to you and only you."

Your lips part under James's finger, your eyes still wide and a little glossy. His words swirl in your chest, warm and so so dangerous. "You're such an idiot," you whisper against him, his confession finally sinking in. You push him away. "I don't believe you. Why should I believe you!?"

"Because it's the truth. You drive me crazy." James moves his hand and cups your cheek. He's staring at you now like you're the only person in the world who matters. You feel like he's stared at you like this before, you just never knew what it meant.  

James moves a little closer, his large hands framing your face. "I have felt like this for months. Months. And I've been meaning to tell you. I like you. I want you. Not just in my bed as a passing fancy, not to make anyone jealous, but just because I want you."

Your heart catches in your throat, and you know you should say something—anything—but instead, all your defenses come crumbling down as you crash your lips into his and kiss him. 

James responds instantly, hands curling around your waist as he lifts you slightly off the ground and hugs you, his lips still on yours.

Once you finally break apart, his forehead finds yours, and he mutters, "So, does this mean we can finally be done pretending we're just casual now?"

You scoff. "Is that what we were doing?"

James smiles, his dimples appearing as he nuzzles his nose into yours. "Mm, it was," he whispers.

You smile gently. "It suppose was, wasn't it?"

He leans in and kisses you again, smiling against your mouth. "I'm yours. If you'll have me. I am completely and wholeheartedly yours."

"Does that mean you promise to stop being such a knob sometimes," you say and shoot him a pretend annoyed look, keeping him close.

James grins. He raises an eyebrow and wiggles it playfully. "No promises," he teases but he leans in and kisses you again, a silent promise. A promise that he loves you, he loves you more than anything.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Make it Clear

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (oral f! receiving, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping.

But he might never want you to leave.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one was very fun. All time favorite hobby, giving men emotions.

Word Count: 5.4k

The room is dark.

You never let Dean turn on the overheads, there are no windows in the bunker, and you angle yourself to stay away from the hallway light—leaking under the door—so it’s as dark as you can possibly make it. 

It’s still not enough.

Your eyes aren’t your friend, and they adjust. You can still hear your skin slapping against Dean’s as he guides you up and down his cock, and his groans of your name whenever you squeeze around him or scratch at his chest. You can feel him, everywhere, and it’s the best, cruelest thing in the world. 

He’s deep inside of you, pressed right on that spot no one else can ever it, and you can feel it lighting up in every nerve of your body. He keeps trying to grab your hand, and you don’t know what that’s supposed to help with, but you can’t let him. But there’s not winning, because the only way to avoid it is planting your palms flat on his chest and feeling the firm muscle shift and flex whenever he ruts up into you. He’s got a hand secured on your hip to keep you above him and the other playing with your tits. Flicking at your nipple and palming at them more for himself than you, but it still feels good. Then his hand will shift down to flick at your clit, and you’ll arch your back with a high gasp, and it’s too much and never enough. 

It really doesn’t matter if Dean is doing this for you, or for himself. You’ll give him whatever he wants. 

But it’s not dark enough. 

So you keep your eyes squeezed shut, and try not to think about who’s below you. It’s an impossible task, when nobody else is a good as he is. Nobody fits into you like Dean, no one else has that deep, gravelly voice and says your name like it’s a baseline in their favorite song, no one else knows that if they grab you by your neck and press their thumb into your mouth, right as they slam up into you, you’ll make that stupid, high, breathy sound and your pussy will flutter around them. 

And Dean always laughs to himself after, and the sound rumbles in his chest and vibrates against your clit, and then you let out the loud moan of his name that means you lost. 

You know it’s Dean below you. It’s always going to be Dean below you, until he kicks you out to the curb. And even then, you’ll just sit in the gutter and hope he comes back.

You love him. You’d never want anyone else but him. 

But Dean doesn’t do love. 

And you knew that, the first time he kissed you after a bad hunt, right after yelling at you for ten straight minutes about trying to get yourself killed. You knew it when cornered you in the hallway with a hungry expression, licking his lips and muttering that he didn’t mean to yell, but he needed to be able to touch you. You’ve known it, every time you’ve fallen back into bed with him—only more and more as the months pass, until it’s more of a routine than an itch being scratched—and he’s pulled you apart, and you’ve failed to find a room that’s dark enough. 

Because this is the part that you always try so hard to avoid, and never can. Dean moans your name and tries to pull you down into a kiss, and you can’t stop him—you don’t hate yourself that much, or enough—but you still can’t look at him. And then you can taste the cherry and whiskey from dinner on his lips, and feel him a little more than everywhere, and he mutters your name again.  

You push up. You always sit right back up, even when Dean tries to trap you against his chest. 

But you also fail again. 

Your eyes open. 

And he’s art. Looking up at you will the sex-addled expression you only see half shrouded in shadows, where his eyes are hooded and he’s licking his lips. And he looks like he was carved from marble rather than just made, and his chest is heaving as he fucks up into you at a brutal pace, and when your mouth falls open in a silent scream he pushes up and kisses you again.

You manage to close your eyes.

The damage is already done.

You love him. You love his face, and how he never stops you from digging your nails into his chest until it’s littered with small marks, and how when he cums in you he moans your name in the only way you’ve ever wanted to hear it. You love how he always stays in you for another moment after, and buries his face in your breasts like he can’t bear to move—even though he always does, and you know he just likes boobs—before kissing your neck and going to clean you up. 

The cleaning you up is the worst part. You have to wait for him, because whenever you try to leave after that he just picks you up and tosses you back onto the bed. And your heart won’t be able to take that, right now. The way he’ll just wrap his arms around your stomach and carry you to the mattress, pinning you down and grumbling that you’re like a stray cat sometimes, just taking his food and running away before he can take care of you. 

And you always tell him he doesn’t even like cats, and he just laughs, shrugs, and pushes your legs apart to clean the mess between them. 

Today, you don’t try to run. It’s already too much to have him watching you so carefully as he works, and leaving soft kisses on your knees and thighs. You have just stare at the ceiling and take it, trying to fight down the soft sob rising in your throat. 

This isn’t fair. You love him, and he’s just doing this to you like it’s not breaking and remaking you every single fucking moment, and you want to hit him then climb right into his chest forever. 

And you know Dean cares about you. He’s your friend, and that’s probably why you’re allowed to stay in his bed after. Why he always brings you water and food to get your energy back. Friends is still a part of the arrangement. Even with benefits.

But it’s been too much, today. So before Dean can even grab the box of your favorite snack he keeps in his mini fridge—just for you, which is even crueler—you’re running. Grabbing your clothing and scrambling into it, then slipping out the door before he can stop you. 

It’s fucking cowardly. 

But you need a shower so you stop feeling his phantom warmth on your body. To wash away the smell of him all over your hair, and give you a safe place to cry on the floor until it feels a little better. And if you’d told Dean you needed a shower, he’d just try to shower together. 

It’s so mean. How he does sweet things like that and expects you not to fall for him, to keep the line between sex and friendship so firm. 

You can’t even tell him he’s being mean. He doesn’t know you love him. He has no way to know.

You still need to curl up in the corner of the shower and cry, though. Where the soft sobs that shake your body are drowned in the water, and the tears are washed away the same second they fall. Then you can pick yourself up, drag yourself back together where Dean had unraveled you, and just keep moving. 

It’s not good form, to ignore him. You have to smile at Dean when he walks into the kitchen the next morning, and not start crying when all you get is an odd frown in return. You just drop your gaze back to your cereal, and bite your lip to keep it from wobbling. And when you go to town with Sam you can feel him staring at your back as you leave, and when you’re putting away the groceries and talking to Sam about something stupid, Dean won’t stop walking in and out of the room without saying a single word.

He’s still your friend. You smile at him every time, but wait for him to speak first, and he never does. He just frowns and grumbles something at Sam, then fucking walks away. 

He’s ignoring you.

Maybe he’s done with you. Maybe he called it, last night, and now he’s trying to figure out how to tell you. And that fractures at your heart all day, right until you’re curled up in the library, trying to think about anything but Dean, and failing just as drastically as you always do. 

Or maybe Dean’s just Dean. Grumpy and bad at talking about anything. 

Because he doesn’t seem done with you when he leans over your chair and starts to kiss along your neck. 

You shouldn’t let him. Not when he’s barely said a word to you all day. 

But you love him. And he hasn’t been angry or rude. He might have just had a bad day. 

So you angle your head a little to the side to grant him further access, and let out a long sigh. 

He bites and sucks a deep mark against your skin. 

You’re going to fall apart again, and he’s barely even touched you.

“Dean,” you mumble, trying to keep your attention on your book. “Sam’s in the other room.”

He grunts, big hands brushing your hair to the side. “So? He’s seen me do a hell of a lot worse than kiss a pretty girl.”

“But- It’s-“ Your breath hitches as he nips at your throat, and you shake your head weakly. “Dean- I can’t.”

He freezes. “Can’t what.”

“Have sex.” You mumble, turning another page, having not read a single word on the first one. “I- I’m busy.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart, we can just sit.”

“But- I- I’m busy-“

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” He sighs, right in your ear, and it sends a shiver up your spine. Then he says your name, and you have to just keep fucking looking at your book.

He repeats it. You just hum. You can’t-

“Look at me.” He grunts, and you swallow. 

All the words on the page look more like scratching marks. All you can really see is Dean in your periphery, moving to kneel before you and taking your face between his hands. 

You still can’t look. Even as he tilts your head up, you keep your eyes fixed down.

You don’t know what he’s trying to do, when he grunts your name again. 

You know it’s mean.

“Son of a bitch,” He mutters, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, and you almost start crying again. “Fucking- Just look at me-“

You shake your head weakly. “I- I’m busy-“

“Too damn busy to look at me?”

There’s no good answer to that. And Dean know is, because he lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. 

“C’mon, baby, I- I know you’re pissed at me, but-“

That gets your gaze to snap up to his. And he looks devastated. Like you’ve been kicking him on the ground, with a deep frown and furrowed brow and open expression of strain over his handsome features. 

You really don’t know what’s happening. At all.

“What?”

Dean clears his throat, and suddenly you can hear how hoarse his voice is. “You’ve been ignoring me all day-“

“You’ve been ignoring me-“

“I’ve been giving you space.” He grunts. “And don’t try and tell me something isn’t wrong. You fuckin’ bolted last night, so I know something’s wrong.”

Fuck. “I- I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. And I know I fucked something up, and I’m gonna fix it-“

“You can’t fix it, Dean.”

His brows raise. “So there is something.”

Fuck. “You- Uh-“

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters, tracing his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. “I’ll fix it, baby. Promise.”

“I-“ You let out a long, slow sigh. Too late to go back now. “Dean, I told you, you can’t.”

“Not if you don’t tell me.” He grumbles, holding your gaze. “Did I forget something? Say something? Was- Uh- Was it bad last time-“

“It’s never bad.” You say quickly, and his frown twitches. “And you- this isn’t your fault-“

“It sure goddamn feels like it’s my fault.” He snaps. “And you just need tell me what to do. I’ll do it. Swear I will, I’ll do anything, just tell me how to fix it.”

You need to look away from him. He’s on his knees and begging you, and it hurts. He’s pressing on a raw, open wound in your heart and he doesn’t even know it, and you’re confused and trapped in him, and he doesn’t know. He can’t know. He’s never known. And you have to look away but you can’t. You’ve never been able to. To look away, or walk away, or stop loving him.

And Dean looks like he’s in pain, and that should make you mad, but it just breaks your heart even more.

“Dean.” You hold his hands against your face, giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s not your fault. I promise.”

His eyes narrow. “Alright, then tells me whose fault it is, and I’ll kick their ass-“

“It’s my fault.” You whisper, your voice already cracking. “I- I know you don’t do relationships, Dean, and I’m not trying to like, give you an ultimatum or something, but I can’t- I can’t keep-“

You take a shaking breath, and Dean mutters your name, but you just squeeze your eyes shut and keep pushing.

“I- I love you, and this,” you gesture between your bodies. “It’s hurting me, Dean. It really hurts. And that’s not your fault. But it still hurts. That’s it.”

He’s not saying anything. And you’re still not looking at him, so you can’t work out if he’s pissed, or annoyed, or indifferent. 

Pissed you can take. At least you can try and let him fully break your heart, so you’re cured of him. Annoyed you can handle too. You’reannoyed with yourself too. 

But indifferent might break you. The idea that Dean simply doesn’t give a shit that you love him, and he’s willing to keep fucking you as long as you don’t expect more- 

That will slam you into the dirt, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to drag yourself back up. 

He says your name, and you can’t read that tone. “Open your eyes.”

You shake your head. He’s still touching you. Rough, warms hands so gentle on your face. Maybe he knows he’s about to shatter your heart, so he’s trying to be careful with the rest of you.

“Baby, I need you to look at me.” 

Baby. 

That’s not fair.

Your eyes drag open, and Dean’s frowning at you. But it’s not his angry frown, where he looks like he’s gunning to rip something in half. It’s not his bored frown either. 

It’s just that hurt look. Like a kicked dog, wet from the rain and whimpering to be let inside. 

You were wrong about the indifference. 

This hurts more. 

“You love me?” He whispers, and it’s hard to talk through the lump in your throat. 

“I- I’m-“

He mutters your name, firm and demanding, and you nod. 

“Yeah. I do. I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenches. “You- You’re fucking sorry?”

You blink. “I-“

“And you think I don’t love you?” His voice is raising. Not to a shout, but still something angry. “You- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re-“

“Dean-“

“Of course I fucking love you!” He snaps, and you might be floating out of your body. “I- Goddamnit, I’ve been- I thought you just- Fuck-“

“Dean.” You try to make your voice sound firm, but it just comes out a plea. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I know you don’t, babygirl.” He mutters, shaking his head, and you bite on your lower lip until you taste blood. “Shit, I’ve been such a dumbass-“

You frown. “No you haven’t-“

“Yeah, I have. I didn’t know this wasn’t a-“ He swallows, scanning over you with a broken expression, his voice almost a rasp. “I thought we were dating.”

You might be drowning. Or dead. Maybe Sam crashed the car on the way back from town, and this is just hell or heaven or limbo. The world is blurry, but you can see Dean clearly. There’s a ringing in your ears, but you still heard him.

You think you heard him. You’re really not sure.

“What?”

“You’ve been it for me,” Dean says your name, and your grips tightens on his hands. “For a goddamn year, you’ve been everything. And I- I thought I told you. We- we go to bar together, and we sleep in the same bed on hunts, and I- Son of a bitch, we’ve gone on dates-“

“No, we haven’t-“

“We go to the movies all the goddamn time-“

“As friends.” You protest, and Dean snorts.

“Friends don’t give each other hand jobs in the theater, sweetheart.”

You flush, but still shake your head. “But you- You never told me-“

“Yeah, I did.”

“Dean-“

“I said I had to have you.” He mutters. “That I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t need you.”

Your eyes widen. “I- I thought you meant my body.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I figured that out myself.”

“It’s- You’ve just always said you don’t do relationships-“

“I didn’t. Before you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, scanning over you carefully, his voice still a rasp. “Do you- do you want that?”

You frown. “Want-“

“Me.”

You can’t stop your mouth from falling open. “Of course I fucking want you, dumbass, I just said I loved you.”

Something flashes over Dean’s face, and he nods slowly. “Good. That’s- Good. C’mon.”

He starts to tug you to your feet, and you just stare at him. “Dean, what-“

“Move, sweetheart, I’m trying to fuck you properly-“

“You always fuck me properly-“

“Apparently not, if you thought I didn’t love you-“

Your heart does a little stutter stop. “You really love me?”

“Course I fuckin’ love you. More than anything. But you didn’t know, so I gotta fix that- Son of a bitch.”

He’s staring at you, and you blink up at him in open confusion. “What?”

“That’s why you always make me turn off the lights.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “And why you’re always on top, and you never hold my hand, and- Fuck, baby, I thought you were just shy-“

“Dean, I-“

“No.” His hand moves to cover your mouth, his eyes narrowed on yours. “We’re doin’ this right, this time. I’m gonna fuck you with the lights on, and you’re gonna look at me and take everything I give you. Blink twice if you’ve got it.”

You’re only staring at him, something dying then rebooting in your brain. He loves you. Dean loves you. And he’s looking at you as if you’re all he’s ever wanted, and you need him, and you can’t remember how to do anything but look at him-

“I need you to blink, sweetheart.” He mutters. “I’m not doing anything until you’re good with it.”

That’s the reset. You need him, now, and you can move again.

You pull his hand down slowly, holding his gaze as you speak. “I’m good with it. Please.”

His throat bobs, and you get a tight nod in return. “Good. Hold on.”

“Hold- Dean!”

At the very least, Dean moved your book out of your lap before he tossed you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He’s walking before you even get a chance to wiggle, and the moment you try, a sharp slap lands on your ass. 

You squeak, twisting and pushing on his back to glare at him, and you don’t have to see his face to know he’s wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Dean Winchester, I’m gonna kick your ass-“

“You’re cute when you threaten me.” He turns to nip at the exposed skin of your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. “C’mon, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You frown, but still slump into his hold. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I- I dunno-“

“You better not be talking about what we’re about to do.” He hums, and you go almost boneless as one of his hands trails right between your thighs, rubbing your pussy over your shorts. 

“Dean-“

“Trust me, baby.” He shoulders open the door to his room, and lowering you down to sit on the edge of the mattress and settling between your legs. “This is about me.”

You swallow, nod, and Dean’s smirk splits into a full, wide grin. He holds your face so carefully, as he pulls you into a kiss. Trailing his tongue over your lips and nipping at the corner of your mouth, chuckling as your arms wrap around his neck and you must be dreaming. You’ve had this dream. The one where you bite his lower lip right back and he growls, deepening the kiss until melted against him and clinging to his as tight as you can, pulled entirely apart from only a kiss. The dream where you’re still Dean’s to do whatever he wants with, but all he wants is you. 

It hits you fully, when he helps you out of your shorts without ever fully breaking the kiss, presses his hand against your clothed pussy, and groans into your mouth. 

All Dean wants is you.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters your name, rubbing his palm in a slow circle. “You ever get this wet for anyone else, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling on his neck. “N- No, Dean-“

“I know,” he coos, almost teasing, and you start to grind into him. “You need it bad, don’t you-“

“Yes-“ You gasp as the heel of his palm starts to rub over your clit. “Feels so good-“

“Yeah, it does.” He mutters, and you buck into his touch. “Jesus, baby, someone would think I’ve been neglecting you-“

“Dean-“

“Sorta have, I guess. Need to fix that.” His fingers drift up, playing with the band of your panties. “You like these?”

“No-“

“I’ll buy you new ones anyway.” 

You hear the rip of the fabric, but a weak protest barely leaves your throat before Dean’s diving down, and everything narrows to heaven. It’s always heaven, when Dean licks a firm stripe your pussy and sucks your clit between his lips, giving it just enough attention drive you insane before he moves away. Dragging down and tasting every bit of your pleasure, groaning against you when your thighs squeeze his head, the sound vibrating through your body and making you fall flat back on the bed.

Your hands fly into his hair, as he pushes his tongue into your entrance and lets his nose rub on your clit. His stubble is tickling at your inner thighs, and he keeps moaning into you, and whenever you gasp his name, it only seems to spur him on. 

“Shit- I-“ You take a sharp breath when his teeth scrape against you, and his hands squeeze your ass, angling you a little higher. “Dean-“

He groans, and when you angle your head up, he’s fucking rutting against the edge of the bed. 

He’s getting off on it. On eating you out like he’s been starved of you.

And you’re seconds from toppling over the edge when he pulls away, and a high whine leaves your throat.

“Taste so good,” He mutters, kissing right over your clit and sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. “Son of a bitch, baby, the sounds you make-“

His thumb presses on your clit, a loud moan pushes itself out of your throat, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Dean,” you mumble, tugging at his hair. “I was so close-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, dragging your hand away before kissing over your knuckles as well. “But want you to cum on my cock. You think you can do that?”

You nod frantically, and Dean grins.

“Good girl.”

He rises up, shedding his clothing like it’s coated with toxins, and crawls over you with an almost feral grin. You can see how hard he is, thick and long and all yours, and your legs spread wide to let him settle between them.

This is usually the part where you make him flip you over, and you fix your gaze anywhere but his face. But tonight, it’s all Dean. And he’s keeping you right below him, twinging his fingers in yours and squeezing your hand with a wide grin. 

You don’t know how you ever lived without this. Without your eyes wide on Dean’s as he pushes into you, watching his nostrils flare, and mouth fall open in pleasure. You’re never going to be able to not have it, now. But that was always the fear. 

Now you get to have Dean bottom out, lean down to give you a heavy, hot kiss as he lets you adjust, and fall apart from only the adoration in his gaze. 

“Ready?” He mutters, his voice a deep, gravely sound that makes you clench around him, and he groans. “Goddamnit, sweetheart-“

“Sorry,” you whisper, and he laughs.

“No, you’re not.”

You’re really not.

Because Dean starts to fuck you. 

He’s everywhere. Drilling into you until your right back on the edge, his lips attacking every bit of bare skin he can find. One hand stays in yours as the other angles you up to drive himself impossibly deeper, until he’s hitting a deep and needy spot that makes stars cloud your vision. Every time you roll to meet him, he moans your name and captures your lips back against his, and your arms wrap around his neck to keep him a close as possible. So his body is molding into yours, and there’s no clear line between you, and every time you plead for more he just swallows it with a kiss, and throws it right back to you. 

The hand on your hip moves without warning, pressing right over your clit, and you fly apart. Warmth washing over you like a wave as your scream, and Dean just eats that sound too. 

He’s not stopping. His cock slams right back against that spot, and you’re thrown even higher up. But Dean just keeps catching you—fucking you into oblivion and rubbing your clit until you’re a messy, whining frenzy—and when you sense him reaching the edge, you hook your legs around his waist to try and keep him.

You know you have him.

But you don’t want to miss a single thing. 

Dean slams home with another moan and pinch of your clit, and you cling to him as tight as you can. You’re a boneless, heated mess of want, but you’re Dean’s. And he’s still rutting into you as your last orgasm shivers up your spine, and he collapses over you with a grunt. 

“Can I-“ Dean clears his throat, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “I’ll clean you up later, promise, but I kinda wanna-“

“Stay?” You whisper, your voice a little hoarse from the everything, and Dean chuckles. 

“Yeah. That.”

“Okay.”

He pushes up on his palms, remaining sheathed inside of you as he gives you a pointed look. “That easy, huh?”

You flush, your fingers curling on his neck. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he rolls his hips, already semi-hard again, and your lips part in a sharp gasp. “For months. Thought you just didn’t like, y’know-“ He nods down between your bodies. “This.”

“Cuddling?”

“Yeah. And if I knew all I had to do was ask-“ He frowns to himself. “Would you have said yes?”

“To you?” Your voice is still soft, and Dean only gives you a small nod in return. “Yeah.”

“Even though you thought we weren’t together?”

You sigh. “I still loved you, Dean.”

He nods slowly. “And now?”

“Wha-“

“You love me now, right.”

You giggle, tugging him down into a long, slow kiss before humming against his lips. “Now, I’m never letting you go.”

“Good.” He mumbles, twitching inside of you and making your hips jerk. “Not gonna go anywhere. I’ll latch onto you like, uh- What’s something that sticks-“

“Velcro?”

“Sure.” He kisses and sucks a path down your neck, finally stopping to bury his face in your breasts, his words muffled against your skin. “Long as I get to hold you, babygirl, ‘m good.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and it’s impossibly good to be able to touch him like this. Like he’s yours, and if you so much as try to blow away in the wind, Dean with launch up and catch you. If you start to drift, he’ll tug you right back. And you can see now, all the moments he’s been doing that before—kiss you with too many teeth to not want to leave a mark, holding you to his chest like you’re a lifeline—and it breaks your heart, but it’s already mending. You’ll make it up to him.

And he must be reading your mind, because he props his chin up with a deep furrow in his brow, grunting your name like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Dean.” You mimic back to him, and his lips twitch.

“You’re getting sassy, sweetheart.” He nips at your skin, and you squeal, whacking his shoulder. “I like it.”

You swallow, holding his gaze. “Nobody says sassy-“

“I said it-“

“Because you have the heart of a ninety-year-old, my love.” You boop his nose with a soft smile—now that you’re allowed to do this, you don’t think a gun to your head would stop you—and his eyes widen into a look of what might be awe.

“Marry me.” He whispers, and you blink.

“Dean, we’ve been dating for an hour-“

“Been four months for me. And I meant it, you’re everything for me, I- I gotta-“ He’s pushing up to hang back over you, framing your face with one hand and almost a frantic look in his eyes. “I love you, babygirl, and if I know I’m not gonna be good at telling you that, but you need to know-“

“I know.” You smile up at him, wiggling slightly around his cock, and he grunts. Given the surprise over his face, he might have forgotten he was in there. “I do, Dean. I only didn’t because I was- I dunno- I just didn’t. But I know now. So let’s give it at least another four months before that.”

“Four months.” He mutters, nodding. “What day is it.”

“Uh- I’m not-“ Your eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know shit, sweetheart.” Dean rolls you over without warning, pinning you to his chest above him and looking up at you like you’re the final answer to every question in the universe. “We’re gonna go on some real dates, and I’ll sleep in your bed and make out with you in front of everyone-“

“You already try to do that-“

“Yeah, but I’m gonna do it more. Everyone will know that you’re my girl.” He kisses to corner of your mouth, and you giggle again. 

You sound sort of like an idiot. You’re certainly smiling like one. 

You really don’t care.

“I’m gonna make you fall in love with me so hard.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“I am in love with you-“

“Then more. You’re gonna love me more.”

You shake your head, giving him a soft smile. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

His eyes flash again, and get a deep, heavy kiss before he speaks again. It’s all exploration and time, because Dean knows you, but he seems to want more, and you have all time in the world. 

And he tucks the hair behind your ears when he pulls away, his touch so soft, and his smirk dangerous as he thrusts up into you, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Never cared about possible, sweetheart.” He drawls. “You’re mine, and I’m never gonna give you a reason to leave.”

End Note: Thinking about Dean going to the movies like "this date is going great!" and she's just straight sweating.

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@jofinka

[miraculan-draws]

Jacob Anderson gets a lot of very well-deserved praise on his accent work in IWTV, especially in the sense that it goes back and forth— the thick NOLA Creole drawl to the sterile, stripped-clean, carefully blank American that he uses in Dubai, and then back again. If you listen closely, you can hear him very subtly letting that drawl "seep" back in during really intense Dubai scenes. It's absolutely phenomenal.

BUT! I would also like to give Sam some flowers that I don't see mentioned much. Mostly because we only hear it in two scenes, with very few lines: the reunion scene in 2x08, and the S3 Teaser. Sam is doing! Two completely different accents at once! And I KNOW it's intentional bc it's a book thing and our boy has a doctorate in Lestat.

In Louis' account of events, Lestat was fresh off the boat. The French accent is very thick, and he also peppers in a lot of French into his sentences. (Most fic writers tend to lean into this). But by our start date in 2022, Lestat has been living in Louisiana for over a century. In TVL, set in the 80s, Lestat describes LOUIS as the one having an accent.

So what is Sam doing with this?

FOR STARTERS. There are whole stretches of words, entire lines in those scenes even, where Lestat sounds pretty casually American: "shut up" like "shuddup", "and I thought, who better to carry on the great work", "Siri, pause". The French thickens a bit when the emotion intensifies, but even then it's not entirely present like it is in the rest of the show. The nasality and softened "T" of "nineteen sevendy three" "Did you hurt yourself?", the "I can't, Louis." THE WAY HE SAYS LOUIS' NAME SOUNDS DIFFERENT. not lew-EE anymore, but LOO-ee.

The teaser?? Very fun. The entire line "There's a goblet on the table." And "but, then again...it might not." AND!! Of course accents of all kinds tend to soften when singing, but in the song he only sounds French when speaking French.

And these HAVE to be conscious choices, they have to be planned and the ratios played with because neither of these are Sam Reid's speaking voice. He is doing two accents at once and it's so subtle but it's also doing so much to make Real Lestat distinct from Memory Lestat. What a GIFT what a TREASURE what SUBLIME leads we have for this show.

(Assad I see you scheming too, I will gush about you too)

[bluejulius]

more of httyd cowboys AU (I will never shut up about it <33)

(yap below the cut)

Hayden Hickok (AKA Hiccup) befriends a wild black stallion which he names Toothless

Set in a romanticised & fictional Old West.

Fishlegs is Hiccup’s best friend. The Ingermans are a wealthy family. They paid for Fishlegs’ tutoring as a kid, so he grew up to be a scholar, feeding his fascination with botany and animals. Fishlegs has a pet pony named Meatlug, who he adores. Fishlegs is the one to urge Hiccup to talk to Astrid and her group when they first arrive in town because he needed a wingman after laying eyes on Ruffnut and being enamoured with her. Later on Hiccup drags him and Meatlug along on their cowboy adventure.

Astrid and Hiccup were friends in their childhood. Astrid’s family was not well off, and realising her only option for things to improve in her hometown was marriage, she left the town of Berk when she was 13 to earn money as a cowgirl. She returns for a job in Berk years later, with her new band of cowboys (Ruff, Tuff and Lout). Hiccup, ecstatic on her return, is about to tell her about his new horse, when they hear of Drago Bludvist, a man who wreaks havoc across the country in search of the legendary Night Fury. It is said that the one who tames the Night Fury has tamed the spirit of the west itself.

At first Hiccup tries to hide Toothless from the newcomers in a barn, but Astrid catches him in the act. She runs off to tell her gang but Hiccup and Toothless catch up to her and Hiccup, after sharing a trail ride with Astrid on Toothless, convinces Astrid to escort them to Drago to change his mind about capturing Toothless.

The other cowboys are reluctant about the whole idea. With Hiccup only having one leg, a long day of horse riding would require frequent breaks and the group doesn’t want him to slow them down. But Astrid insists on him coming, and defends him if they push too far.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut make a lot of meta western movie jokes (I suspect they’re aware they’re in a western AU). They also have a lot of useless random knowledge amongst their ramblings that jumpscares Fishlegs many times. They enjoy wreaking havoc when they can, wearing disguises and scamming random travellers for extra coin (they have sold many people Thorston&Thorston miracle snake oil). They have been known to cross dress, which doesn’t help people mistaking them for each other. Astrid and Snotlout can tell them apart and know not to fall for their tricks, but Hiccup and Fishlegs are more gullible. The twins are in charge of the chuckwagon. Barf & Belch are their quarter horses that pull their wagon. Ruff & Tuff often fight over who is the actual boss of the wagon (they still haven’t decided).

Snotlout is a cowboy purist. He idolises the Vaqueros and leans more into their fashion, and the stereotypical Hollywood ideal of what a cowboy should be. In this AU his mother is also Mexican, and growing up he learned Spanish. (This helps the cowboy gang a lot make trades and take on more jobs) Before Hiccup came along, Snotlout considered himself very close to getting with Astrid. He gets jealous and defensive when Astrid finds Hiccup in her hometown, but denies being intimidated. Hookfang is very hot blooded and enjoys annoying/not listening to Snotlout.

While on the trail to find Drago they encounter many familiar faces such as Dagur, Heather and Eret!

Since I started the AU I’ve been down so many rabbit holes, learning about cowboys, horses and history. As someone who does not live in America it’s been really fascinating to learn about the old west. For me the goal with these redesigns is to make the characters seem more believable within the realms of a cowboy story, not just riding off of stereotypes from movies. It’s also helped me learn the limitations of the setting but at the same time given me so many new ideas for how to better fit the characters in an old west setting. Let me know what y’all think of their new looks!

[redflagshipwriter]

The Proposal

This mini fic was inspired by the anon prompt to @faeriekit linked here and all the development that Faeriekit did for the idea. This fic is perilously regional. I half expect angry yelling from other areas of the Midwest.

Original post

Word count: 2718

Masterpost of my Archive Down Fics is here.

Jason came to with cream cheese stuck under his fingernails and in the creases of his fingers. He looked around the room wildly, trying to understand the situation he was in. The kitchen smelled fucking weird. He sniffed the air. Meat? Like, ham and also vinegar?

He washed his hands really well, grimacing at the greasy texture. Then he reconstructed what must have happened by the debris. This was not his first post-blackout rodeo, but usually he was reconstructing a literal crime scene.

There was an empty pickle jar on the countertop. There were packets of deli meat in the trash.

There was some kind of abomination on his nicest plate, which was obviously made of cream cheese wrapped around pickles, blanketed by the meat, and sliced thin like sushi rolls. It was lovingly protected by a perfect sheet of cling wrap.

“The fuck?” Jason said, a little scared and pissed off.

He paced the kitchen for a while and then went to pace on the balcony, because he needed a smoke to process this culinary abomination but something in his gut wailed at the tragedy of ruining it with cigarette smoke. Which was absurd, partly because the plate was in the refrigerator. He sensed in his bones that it needed to cool until the cream cheese was as hard as it would get, so that he could safely transport it. Transport it fucking where? Was this an assassination attempt against Batman? That sappy motherfucker was probably the only man in the world who would choke that down to make Jason happy.

He had a long drag on his cigarette and tried to ignore the way his fingers shook.

“Okay,” he said, squeezing his free hand shut and opening it. Maybe stimming would prompt his brain to go brr and explain this. “Did I have a stroke? Maybe I was possessed?”

It was hard to tell. He ground out his cigarette and tossed the butt in the tray before venturing back inside. He was calm. He was more centered. He flicked on the kitchen fan to clear out the pickle stink and then he went and put on his coat and grabbed the plate.

Why was he doing that?

The compulsion led him three blocks before he realized where he was going.

Not far away from the safehouse he was in, some college freshman had wasted the Joker when the clown tried to drag him into a van. He had called the police, crying the whole time in shock about being a murderer.

Jason had not been on the scene. He had only heard through comms. He had been out of town when the Joker got out. He had been rushing back on his bike, heart pounding and sick with nerves at the thought of his family out there without him.

And then the fucker had failed to secure the first victim for whatever sick play he’d had in mind, and the poor out of town kid who had apparently never heard of the Joker was breathing a sigh of relief that ‘oh, this wasn’t like, a birthday clown? Whew, that’s alright then,’ previous guilt over ending a life all gone.

Jason liked that. It was hugely undignified that the Joker had been got by someone who didn’t even know who he was. If he’d known, it would have killed his ego. As it was, Jason had laughed himself nearly sick before barricading himself inside to read the file Timmers put together on Danny Fenton.

Well. If his gut said that he should deliver this horrific dish to Fenton as thanks for the murder, well…

Jason grimaced. He just wouldn’t be seen doing it. If Fenton thought it was an assassination attempt and called the cops, Jason would never fess up.

He broke into Fenton’s apartment, very glad that the guy was in class at the moment. He mourned the loss of his plate but honestly, this was the least destructive black out he’d had, so it was whatever. He put the pickle rolls in the fridge, looked around, and then left. He was done. He’d thanked Fenton, or whatever (maybe he’d attacked him, honestly, Jason didn’t know how he would react to finding that trash in his fridge.)

It could end now.

The next morning, Jason scrubbed away a yawn and realized that he had just scraped a mess of chopped snickers bars into a bowl that already had clouds of something white and -

He took out a piece and bit into it to confirm that it was perfectly cubed green apple.

“I am possessed,” Jason said in horror, looking around the counter to see what the Pit Madness had cooked up this time. Why did the fucking Lazarus Pit know these recipes?

The white shit was a mix of cool whip and vanilla pudding, apparently. There was an untouched bottle of caramel sauce waiting innocently.

“...Does that go in?” Jason wondered, vaguely horrified.

Well, maybe an evil witch was doing this to him. Bottoms up. He poured caramel in until it felt right, guided by what had to be someone else’s goddamn ancestors, and then mixed it all up with a spoon.

This looked a lot better than the last thing. Jason scraped it into a bowl and then stole a spoonful of it to try.

“Holy shit. It’s like eating a caramel apple,” he said, muffled around the food. He swallowed and genuinely considered taking more.

Nope! His gut said nope. This was another offering for–

“Hold up, offering?” Jason put it in the fridge, clingwrap on top, and let his mind be blown. He put his face in his hands and just reeled. He was making offerings for this motherfucker now. He opened his phone, intending to search the things he’d been blackout making and froze.

His lock screen was Danny Fenton’s police intake photo, looking pretty relaxed after he'd been told the booking was a formality.

“I don’t remember doing that!” Jason frantically changed it back to his old lock screen, a grimy alleyway with a hilariously shaped filth puddle and one of his favorite rats.

He snuck this dessert thing into Fenton’s fridge, collected his clean plate with some relief, and left. He didn't know if Fenton had eaten that shit or if he'd thrown it away, but at least he'd washed the plate.

“That was the last time,” Jason told himself, pacing around his room. He wasn’t– that was two days in a row now that he had a normal day, went out on patrol, went to bed, and woke up in his kitchen. It wasn’t going to happen again.

He chainsmoked all day to such a degree that Stephanie Brown saw him, whined “Dude,” in disbelief, and jumped off a building while holding her nose to get away from him. It was a fair reaction. He had a shower before patrol so that no one could make a connection between Jason, stinkiest man in Gotham today, and the Red Hood, a guy who owned a shower.

Patrol went fine. He caught himself veering past Fenton’s shitty apartment building twice but no one was nearby enough to call him out for it.

He went to bed and got a jumpscare because at some point of his most recent fugue state he'd gone out and bought a bunch of wedding magazines and made them into a nest. He made a roar of frustration and pushed them off the bed with only a twinge of interest in what that swan centerpiece was made of.

Jason went the fuck to sleep, determined to walk this off.

He woke up the next morning in his kitchen. “Cream cheese, again,” Jason complained. He gave the bowl he was mixing a furious stir and then shoved it in the fridge.

Cream cheese, chopped meat, and chopped green onion. He searched the internet to identify the fucker. This was a cheeseball.

…He frowned, thinking of the fugly mess in the bowl.

It was the larval form of a cheeseball, he amended.

Why did he know this shitty recipe.

Stomach tight with dread, he looked up the other things. Day one was a pickle roll. Day two was snickers salad.

These were all real Midwestern potluck dishes. He hadn't made them up. Why did the pit know these recipes?

The Snickers salad offended him as a concept and he bitterly regretted finding it delicious.

“Salad,” Jason repeated in aggrieved disbelief. It was good but it was no goddamn salad. “I could just make him a real salad. Will this end if I bring Fenton good food?”

It wasn't the worst idea. He put a pin in it.

Grimly, as if he was going off to war, Jason researched how to shape the ball. If he was doing this, which apparently he was for no goddamn reason, he was going to do it to perfection. When he was done he wrapped it up tight, got an assortment of crackers, and left it at Danny Fenton’s apartment with a sort of tired resignation that this might as well be happening.

This time was different. This time, Fenton was home.

Jason barely avoided being seen by rushing out the window over the sink and hiding from the immediate line of sight. He was, however, close enough to hear–

“Holy shit, is that a cheeseball? Who loves me?” and then some truly ghastly, wet crunching as Fenton tore through the crackers and cheeseball like a wild beast. It felt like being in a horror film. Jason very badly wanted to leave. Jason very badly wanted to crawl back inside and present himself for a scrap of Fenton’s approval.

What the fuck? What the fuck!

He fled. And this time, he decided to take action. He was going get out of this sick mind trap and-

“Nothing wrong with you, it's not a curse,” Zatanna said, bored about it. “Whatever is going on is safe, sane, consensual, and none of my business.” She portalled away before Jason could argue that it did not feel sane. He was having an entirely new category of mental breakdown and when one of the Bats found out about it, he was going to be a case study.

Fine. He gritted his jaw. New plan. Maybe he could beat the curse by showing it up.

He called out of crime for the day and ignored the confused commentary in the background of his phone call– can he do that? Of course he can, he’s the friggin’ boss– and spent it furiously researching. He needed a crowning achievement. He needed to find out what was sacred in this culinary tradition, master it, and then tell the compulsion to suck on bricks.

Casserole. The answer was a casserole.

Jason scrolled through dozens of recipes, scowling fiercely. That was no good. That offended his senses. He just knew that would be bland. He-

“Do I want to make that?” Jason asked aloud, puzzled by his fixation on the old-fashioned goulash casserole recipe. Worcestershire sauce– he didn’t have that in this safe house for sure. Beef, pasta, tomatoes… yeah, okay. This was the one. For no fucking reason at all, this was the one.

He went out shopping like he usually went on life-or-death missions, full of grim purpose.

He got back and assembled his ingredients. It was not exactly a challenge to follow the recipe. Jason turned off the stove top and froze in place. “I don’t have an ancestral pan,” he said, horrified. Holy fuck. How could he dare to give it in a regular baking pan- he had to get one. Where the fuck does one acquire an ancestral casserole pan on short notice?

Panicked, he called the Manor, hands shaking as he packed the whole thing up and stuffed it in the fridge to keep it food safe until he could bake it.

Bruce answered, sounding a little choked up. “Hello, Jason, so glad-”

He hung up. He texted Tim. “I need you to steal something for me from the Manor.”

“You’re allowed in, you gigantic freak,” Tim wrote back.

Jason did some meditative breathing and resorted to outright pleading immediately. “What do you want? I will give you whatever you want. I just need an ancestral casserole pan.”

“I am NOT stealing from Alfred’s kitchen,” Tim wrote back. Which was fair. “Drake ancestral pan alright?”

Jason thought about it. It was still a family pan, sorta. By the transitive property, and that was a perfectly good property. He sent back a thumbs up, his GPS pin, and the word “Hurry.”

A while later, Tim dropped off a glass dish, loudly said “I don’t wanna know,” and slammed Jason’s door shut.

Fine. He was already moving his stuff from the now-cold frying pan into the casserole dish. It went into the oven from there. Jason spent the bake time trying to think of new coping mechanisms, because apparently smoking wasn’t up to this level of mental fuckery.

He waited out the bake time. He let it cool enough to be safe to travel with but hot enough to deliver warm. Jason grappled to Danny Fenton's apartment for the fourth time in four days, let himself in, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he realized that Fenton was in the kitchen watching him.

“Hey,” Fenton said. He was sitting on his counter in his pajamas, eating ice cream out of the bucket with a spoon. He was certifiable. Jason wanted to cross the room and kiss whatever Fenton would let him. Hands, face, feet, whatever.

Wow, weird.

“...Hey,” Jason said, way too late.

Fenton crunched down on his ice cream. “...That a casserole?” He said.

Jason nodded wordlessly, feeling very grateful that he had his hood on. He put the casserole down on the counter. He took a step backwards to flee.

Fenton pointed at Jason with the spoon, wholly unintimidated by the heavily armed man who'd broken into his house. “This is a proposal.”

Oh. Oh, motherfucking shitsocks. Jason felt weak through the knees. It was. Why was- why was he proposing??

Fenton took in his shock with a detached air. “Huh,” he said, like he'd learned something from this. “Um, it's nice of you and all. Have you been like, fixated on me for a while or- ohhh. I avenged you, didn't I?” He dropped the spoon in his ice cream carton and slapped both his palms down on the countertop. “He killed you? That sucks, man,” Fenton empathized. “I get it. I think if someone smashed the portal with a hammer I'd be down on one knee.”

Jason's brain was simply not running any program any longer. He gaped. He wasn't coherent enough to ask why Danny knew he'd been murdered by the Joker, but he had his shit together well enough to be fixated on the point.

“Um, it's not usually me being chased,” Fenton said. He made a face. “I… huh, I think I'm flattered.” He very obviously gave Jason a once-over. “I suppose this is your way of showing that you're a provider.” He heaved himself off the counter and went to investigate the casserole, sniffing and lifting the lid. “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” Danny groaned. He sniffed appreciatively. “Good demonstration of your husband material, t-b-h.”

Jason resisted the urge to tackle him to the ground.

“That's the good stuff.” Fenton closed it back up, but not before giving his ice cream spoon a considering look.

Oh, yuck. This guy was so grungly. Jason needed him badly. He shuddered.

Fenton looked at him.

Jason looked back.

“Do you wanna try moving in and see how we get on?” Fenton offered. “Take it slow, no wedding just yet.”

“Absolutely.” Jason full-body twitched with just how eager he was. “How do you feel about swans?”

“Neutral,” Danny said, after a brief moment of consideration. “I like stars, though.”

Okay, so that would be their wedding theme.

Jason only realized he'd said that aloud when Fenton's eyebrows shot up. Mortified and really wondering what was wrong with him, Jason offered a weak smile.

Fenton made a considering noise. He crossed his arms. He looked Jason up and down. “...Can you grill?” He asked. “Like, beer chicken?”

[chubbyreaderwriter]

I have a long request ahahaha can u make a chubby reader x Voldemort/tom riddle story? like where the reader tries to be friends with them but they get annoyed but when time pass by he slowly gets used to it and enjoys the readers presence until one day the reader stops because of some paired up project with harry or whoever character you use and he gets jealous but won't admit it can this be angst and fluff HAHSHSJ sorry if this is long hope you consider this!

I Don’t Share (My Project Partners)

Tom Riddle x Chubby/Plus Size Reader

Imagine: You somehow manage to wriggle your way into Tom's heart but he's not the only one suddenly enamoured with you. Too bad he's never been good at sharing.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

You were out of breath rushing to your Potions class praying to Merlin that Professor Slughorn was in one of his quirky moods again and hadn’t noticed that you were missing for the first five minutes of class. Quietly sneaking in through the half opened door, you took the first open seat you could find which just so happened to be right next to Tom Riddle, a Half-Blood Slytherin you had seen around the castle a few times before. He was a strange boy, kept to himself most of the time and you rarely saw him with other people but you hadn’t taken much notice of him before that morning in all honesty.

You let out a sigh of relief as you seemed to have arrived undetected, placing your Potions book in front of you. You peeked over at Tom’s book to see what page you should be on and he quickly shut his book to stop you. You raised your gaze and saw him glaring at you, “If you wanted to know what page we should be reading, you should have arrived on time to be instructed by the professor.” You scoffed at him, “Oh come on, I was running a little late just this once, there’s really no need to be so mean.” Tom didn’t respond to you, turning his attention back to his book that he had angled in a way that you were unable to see the page number. You waited until you heard Slughorn mumbled some keywords to another student and successfully found the page number after a brief scroll through. You shot a smug little smile at Tom who only sneered back in your direction.

You spent the rest of the class in silence, well apart from you muttering to yourself and Tom’s occasional scoff in disagreement from it (not that he was listening to you). The class ended and Tom wasted very little time getting as far away from you as possible. You frowned, he was so rude. ‘Hm’ you thought to yourself ‘maybe he just needs a friend’.

Tom had disregarded your encounter with him as a one off. Two days had passed and he hadn’t seen any more of you since Potions class. He wasn’t overly fond of people to start with and especially not unorganised, intrusive girls like you who’s sole purpose seemed to be to ruin the silence and peace he had created around himself. He was walking towards Transfiguration when a certain familiar figure came into his eyesight. You’d been walking alone in the corridor as well, heading back to your friends after visiting the loo when you spotted Tom. You gave him a smile and wave, walking over to him. Tom didn’t halter in his movements, walking straight past you with only a look of distaste being shot your way.

Unfortunately for Tom, you had never been one to give up so easily. You pursued, having to jog a little to fall into step with him, “Hey, listen, I’m sorry if I annoyed you or crossed some kind of line by sitting next to you but it really wasn’t personal, that was just the closest seat I could find.” Tom turned his head to briefly glance at you before continuing his walk. This time you didn’t follow. Mentally, he let out a sigh of relief, thinking it was now all over and done with. The two of you going back to forgetting the other exists.

Well, his hopes of that came crashing down when you plopped yourself down next to him that afternoon for Potions once again. This time you were a few minutes early and plenty of other seats available, showing him that you’d chosen to sit next to him this time. The only visible tell of his annoyance was the exaggeration of a vein on his forehand next to his left temple. “What gives you any idea that I want you sitting next to me?” You shrugged and set up your books in front of you, “I mean, you didn’t answer me earlier so I figured it would be okay.” You ended your sentence with a warm smile at him and he had to admit he was a little taken aback by your oblivious demeanour. He wasn’t too sure whether you were just that naïve and honestly didn’t pick up on his body language or if you were doing this on purpose to get a rise out of him. Either way, he wasn’t going to humour your antics.

He clenched his jaw and turned his attention to the Professor, trying his best to ignore you next to him. Your many attempts at small talk had been shut down and ignored throughout the two hour period. The only words you managed to get out of him were at the end of class when the bell rang. He turned to you and spoke low so that nobody else would hear, “If you sit there again, I’ll hex you into next week do you understand?” Tom didn’t hang about for your reply, instead scurrying off to the Slytherin common room you supposed as it had been your last class for the day. You folded your arms and sighed as you pondered, he would be one tough cookie to crack but you’d break him out of his shell eventually, you knew it.

___ Tom stopped in his tracks as he saw you in his usual seat, the one next to where you had resided in the last class. You were sat with your hands in your lap until you turned your head and saw him stood in the doorway. With a large grin on your face, you waved him over. Seething with each step, Tom grit his teeth and stood to the side of you, “Are you completely incompetent as well as deaf?” It was infuriating the way you continued to smile at him as he insulted you, “You said you’d hex me if I sat there again, so I sat here instead. You don’t mind taking the right side this time do you? Or would you like to stop threatening me and I can give you your old seat back?”

“Mr Riddle, this is most peculiar for you, why aren’t you seated my boy?” Both of you turned your attention to Professor Slughorn in the centre of the classroom. You then glanced around the room and noticed that everyone was looking at the two of you now. You bit your lip feeling a bit self conscious with so many eyes on you even though you knew they were really only focusing on Tom. Said boy stood up straight, “Forgive me Professor, I was distracted.” He quickly sat down next to you, making Slughorn exude a small content noise before continuing on about Veritaserum and how it has developed over the years. You winced, whispering to him, “I’m sorry, I feel like that was partially my fault.” Tom clenched his jaw to prevent him from losing his calm composure, “It was entirely your fault. Do tell me, why are you insisting on pestering me all of a sudden? Is it not amusing enough to fail your own classes that you have to try to drag me down to your level in mine?”

You leaned your elbow on the table and rested your head in your palm, rolling your eyes at Tom, “Why do I have to have some sinister motive to talk to you? I was just trying to be your friend.” Your confession didn’t rouse anything else from Tom but he didn’t feel anger as much as he did curiosity at that moment. Why would you want to be his friend? He didn’t need friends. When he saw you look away in his peripheral vision, he looked over at you, eyeing you up and down before turning back to the parchment paper before him.

___

The next time you had Potions again, you were running late once again, having taken the wrong staircase which set you five minutes behind. When you reached the classroom, there was yet again only a couple open seats, the closest being next to Tom. Professor Slughorn was near the other one so you’d made the quick decision to just slide next to Tom once again. You panted a little and took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, taking out your books and parchment. You glanced over at Tom, “Just so you know, it’s not my fault I’m late, those staircase are just so confusing. I’m only sitting here because I didn’t want to get in trouble. Don’t worry this will be the last time.” Tom didn’t look at you or say anything but when you looked over to glance at his book he didn’t hide it this time, allowing you to open it to the correct page just in time as Slughorn came around to make sure everyone was following along.

Despite your words, you had ended up become Tom’s permanent Potions partner. Slughorn had paired the two of you up together once and it just became habit for you to seek out Tom for partner work. He never refused but didn’t exactly accept either, just got straight to work without discussing the plan beforehand. You continued to sit next to Tom over the coming months, you could probably count the times he willingly engaged in conversation with you on one hand but you would always have something to say, using him as some kind of venting therapy, voicing all your issues to. It took Tom a few weeks to be able to tolerate your presence next to him, a few more weeks to start to expect your ramblings and a few more on top of that for him to begin to enjoy your company for a few hours a week.

You were a bit of an enigma that Tom didn’t understand. You were so bubbly and happy in a world that was mostly full of darkness and misery. You had looked at him and instead of avoiding him like many others, you had persisted and persisted until you had managed to worm your way by his side and become quite possibly the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend. You’d never been put down by his lack of responses to your chatting, didn’t frown at his insults, didn’t question why he was the way he was, just immediately accepted him from the start. Part of him had been tempted to manipulate this from the beginning, you were so naive, so gullible; you would’ve believed anything. He could have had you do anything for him, but for some reason, he hadn’t wanted to do that to you. Perhaps it was because you were the first person to show him genuine kindness. You didn’t want to be his friend because you wanted anything, you weren’t doing it to make yourself feel better, your intentions were pure and that was something humanity was very scarce in, indeed.

Even though he didn’t say much (if anything) you could tell that you had made a lot of progress with Tom over the past few months you’d been his Potions partner. You had even started walking together to different classes now. He wouldn’t admit it but you noticed the way he slowed his pace down so that you could keep up with him. You would continue to talk his ear off and would mostly be met with small hums and noises of agreement which was more than enough for you. You were content with being the conversationalist for the both of you, filling him in on updates in your personal life that he would never in a million years ask for.

Tom had now planned you into his routine, it would feel out of place for him to be wandering between classes without you blabbering by his side, gossiping to him about all the drama between your other friends. It was mostly boring gibberish to a scholar such as himself, but deep down he would admit some of the secrets you’d told him were more than interesting to find out; valuable information to possibly hold over people’s head later in life.

___

It was supposed to be a normal wednesday afternoon, you’d end up meeting him in the corridor as he left Herbology and you coming from Magical Creature Studies. You would then chatter in his ear about your class, which he had little to no interest in, creatures of all kinds didn’t pique his interest regardless of if they were magical or not. You would follow him to the Great Hall for dinner before separating for the night. Nevertheless, he found himself hesitating as you were nowhere to be seen. You hadn’t informed him of a change in schedule and he wasn’t aware of you being sick and out of classes either. He only stopped for a moment, spying other students around him. A deep frown settled on his face, why did this feel so wrong?

Trying to keep his thoughts clear, he continued on his journey to the Great Hall, ignoring the lingering concern in the back of his mind at your absence. Once headed to the Slytherin table to take his usual seat, he was very surprised to find you sat there in deep conversation with Orion Black. He didn’t stop, kept walking to his seat which was about 3 feet away from the two of you. He had to force himself not to look at you, troubled as to why he even cared? So what if you were talking to Black, the guy he’s heard many of the sixth year girls label the ‘hottest guy in the year’. He didn’t care. He didnt care that over the course of the next week you had failed to meet up in certain locations as per usual. He didn’t care that you were sat with Black in the library giggling to each other instead of chatting his ear off whilst he sat in silence. He didn’t care that he’d barely got a smile or nod of the head passing in the corridor from you. He didn’t care about any of that and he definitely didn’t miss you.

By the time Potions class came around once more, Tom had a week’s worth of anger and jealousy (though he wouldn’t admit it) bottled up inside of him. He walked into the classroom and stared at the back of your head as you sat in your usual spot, right next to his. He remained silent and stoic as he sat down, keeping his things in a neat pile in front of him. You turned to smile at him, “Hey Tom! How’ve you been?” Tom acted as if you weren’t there, he didn’t turn his head even slightly to acknowledge you. He didn’t even blink at your words. You waved your hand in front of him, “Hello? Anyone there?” You laughed half-heartedly as you joked, the sound dying off as he continued to stare ahead. You followed his eyeline to see if there was something you were supposed to be looking at but it was just Slughorn’s desk which was currently unoccupied by said professor.

His silence stung you, dejectedly making you turn to face the front of the classroom as well. You placed your hands in your lap and fiddled with the fabric of your skirt, biting your bottom lip and lightly bouncing your leg to try and stop any negative emotions from bubbling up. You looked down, at least when he was insulting you, he at least thought of you as worthy enough to speak to. This somehow hurt more, that he was completely ignoring you. Eyes darting around the room, you spied an empty seat next to a Hufflepuff girl you were sort of friends with. Slughorn was at the door greeting others entering the classroom. Quickly gathering your things, you made it over to sit next to her and began making small talk to try and cover up that your feelings were hurt. Only once you left did Tom glance your way. He recognised your fidgeting as a sign that he’d upset you and he was all too annoyed to realise that it hadn’t made him feel better. If anything, he felt even worse now. There was a small ache in his chest at the idea that he had hurt your feelings. It was an unfamiliar ache, he found it bizarre and not a sensation he would be willing to experience again anytime soon.

He remained alone for the rest of the Potions class, scowling and glaring at the book in front of him as though it was the cause of all his misery. As soon as the bell rang to indicate the changing of classes, Tom was all too eager to pack his things and leave, not wanting to chance the idea of bumping into you on the way out.

Deep down he knew he was being somewhat childish but his ego was bruised and he was having to come to terms with the fact that he was struggling to go a single class without being tormenting by the thought of you. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have accused you of slipping him a love potion. But he was far too careful of his surroundings for you to have been successful in such an attempt. No, the cause was a much more complicated realisation. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, as much as he tried to deny it to himself, he had feelings for you and he missed you.

As he lay in his bed in the Slytherin dorm room, wide awake while the symphony of soft snores and heavy breathing filled his ears, he contemplated his options regarding you. He thought about cutting you completely out of the picture, going ‘cold turkey’ from you, as though you were his addiction and he just a lowly junkie waiting to feed off your presence. But those thoughts made his head hurt, caused his chest to tighten in a painful way. The simple truth was, you’d forced your way into his life and he didn’t want to get rid of you.

Hold on a moment.

Tom’s brow furrowed as he thought to himself, why did he have to get rid of you? Surely, he could just get rid of the competition, so to speak. If all he wanted was your full attention once more, then it was Black he needed to eradicate, not you. Yes, he thought as he settled into his covers preparing himself for sleep, that was a much better idea.

He had awoken with a newfound sense of determination. His plans in motion had been set askew and now he just needed to correct them. Perhaps you would come to regret the day you ever sat next to him in Potions class, but it was far too late for that. You had made the mistake of wriggling into his cold heart and you had to pay for that mistake. By never allowing your affections to stray from his side, he could be satisfied. For a little while.

Tom waited until the end of classes that day to catch up with you, not wanting to leave you the excuse of an upcoming class to escape him. It hadn’t taken him long to find you, like him you were a creature of routine and every evening you could be found wandering the halls by the Hufflepuff common room. You’d once confessed to him that you found the paintings to be extra friendly near there, always speaking to them. He had fought to roll his eyes at you at the time, thinking what a waste of precious time to be stood talking to paintings. But his memory served him correct and there you were, stood with your arms behind your back as you walked, smiling at all the paintings before you. He didn’t hesitate to approach you, the soft sounds of his shoes clicking against the hard floor in the empty hallway alerting you to his presence. You turned around and he couldn’t help but compare you to a deer in headlights at how shocked you were, before mentally cursing himself for using such a muggle turn of phrase.

“T-Tom? Fancy seeing you here, I thought you didn’t like these paintings.” Tom gave the works of ‘art’ a brief glance, “I enjoy some paintings, these ones however do not pique my interest in the slightest. No, it is you I’m interested in.” Your eyes widened almost impossibly, as though they were going to bulge out of your head before a wave of confusion and slight anger rose to the surface to overtake all other emotions, “Me? So yesterday you can’t even bring yourself to look and me and today you’re confessing feelings for me? What’s up with that?”

“I never said I had feelings for you.” His stoic expression had you swallowing past a lump in your throat as you realised he was right, he hadn’t said that at all. “O-Oh, well anyways I really must be going, things to do, people to see, you know how it is.” Feeling your cheeks start to burn from the embarrassment, you swiftly turned on your heel and began speed walking away from him. You chewed on your lip, for Merlin’s sake, that was so embarrassing! Too focused on cursing yourself out for letting yourself slip up like that, you weren’t paying attention to where you were walking, or who you were walking into.

A grunt sounded in your ears as you collided into a hard body as you turned the corner. Had it not been for the hands that grabbed your waist, you would have fallen back to the floor. You looked up to see who you had bumped into and you smiled seeing Orion in front of you. “Watch out (Y/L/N), there’s easier ways to get me to fall for you, you know.” You laughed, lightly pushing at his shoulder taking a step back from his intimate hold, “Yeah right, as if.” But Orion took the extra step with you, following you, “Why not? You’re very pretty, and smart. I’m sure it wouldn’t take you long to have me at your feet.” You awkwardly laughed at his words, what the hell? Where was this coming from? Whilst you couldn’t help blushing at his forwardness, you suddenly felt like a little lamb underneath a starved wolf the way Orion was looking at you. “Oh I don’t think so, b-besides I’m taken!” You blurted out, hoping he would believe you.

Black raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow as he got further into your personal space once more, “Oh really, and who by?” Orion made a move to touch your face but just as his fingers grazed your skin, his wrist was grabbed in a harsh grip. “Me.” The incredibly familiar deep voice behind you had your head snapping to the side to see Tom glaring down at Orion. Orion looked startled to say the least, trying to pull his hand away out of Tom’s vice-like hold. He didn’t budge, “You even think of looking in her direction again and I’ll kill you.” His eyes showed every ounce of his sincerity behind his threat, letting the words sink in before he let go of Orion, watching him scurry away down the hall, back to his gaggle of ‘friends’ that had left him behind.

He turned his gaze back to you who was staring up at him with flushed cheeks and something in your eyes, possibly admiration? His eyes meeting yours had you looking down at the floor, “Thank you Tom, you didn’t have to do that, you know Black is a huge gossip, he’ll tell the whole school we’re in a relationship by tomorrow lunch.” He watched you chew on your lip after you finished speaking, nervously awaiting his reaction. You expected him to lash out at you, but you only heard a soft hum from him. In confusion, you raised your head to look at him again, “You’re not angry?” Tom made a point of looking you up and down. The intensity of his stare had your cheeks reddening even more and your heart racing. “No. It’s true that your heart belongs to me and I intend to keep it that way.”

Tom started walking off as if he hadn’t just scrambled your entire brain. You spluttered behind him as you rushed to catch up with him, “You can’t just say things like that! My heart is not yours! You’re so big headed.” Tom stopped to fully face you, walking towards you with his long strides that had you scurrying backwards until you were backed up against the wall. He placed a hand above your head and leaned down, relishing in the way your head tilted back to maintain his gaze and the way your chest rose with each shaky breath. His head moved in closer to yours, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. His voice was soft as he spoke, “Deny it again.” Your mouth opened by no words came out, as though your voice had been taken from you. A few moments passed and you had still yet to form any words. Tom smirked as he made the bold move of brushing his lips over yours, being pleasantly surprised by how soft they were. He turned his head to place his mouth next to your ear, “I thought as much. You are mine, (Y/L/N), and I do not share.” And with that he stood up and walked off, leaving you alone against the wall to process the mind-boggling past five minutes. You leaned your head back against the cold brick, now just what had you gotten yourself into?

A/N: Look at me clearing out all my drafts 🤭