bitsevenmexico-blog

[maryfromwork]

Me when I read a fanfic set in the 70s and they act like it’s the 70s 😖 (gay people aren’t allowed)

[full-time-fangirl06]

Somewhat of an unofficial logo for the fic I'm currently reading just for fun ;) let me know what you think!

[forourmoonyyy]

“My favourite trope is someone who believes they’re hard to love and someone who loves them like breathing”

Just say wolfstar damn

[14ficworms]

THIS IS SOOOOO SIRIUS IN CADENCE OF PART-TIME POETS

[remusoldsuitcase]

my interpretation of their relationship put on a playlist :)

[stomach-bugg09]

are we going to talk about this? or are we just gonna leave this for therapy? because i cannot stop thinking about this scene

[study-of-the-moon]

kristen from boy meets world s3e21 is literally jillian stewart from the cadence of part time poets

if you get it you get it, if you don't you don't

[brain-of-rain]

Kaiju no. 8 x Godaigo Daigo

Ya'll I'm going to be honest, I really hate writing. However, I am so obsessed with this concept I can't stop myself from trying. Here's an attempt to slap some ideas together into something comprehensible.

Overcast skies shade the city. It's been cold today, the first undisputable sign of changing seasons. Most citizens groan about the chilly air, not ready to let go of summer yet. Some welcome it, and others have been waiting for this moment all year. The lack of sun and cool breeze do wonders for reducing the rotten stench of a stagnant kaiju corpse.

It's noon, and the Monster Sweeper Inc. crew is breaking for lunch. No one wanders off to buy food as the surrounding stores are abandoned. Buildings were left empty during the kaiju clean-up efforts. Co-workers find seating on grassy hills and benches in a nearby park, unboxing packed lunches and chatting aimlessly as their hour rest ticks by. “Man, It’s been a while since the big guy has dropped in. Guess the defense force is keeping him busy” “Sir?” Reno Ichikawa pauses, looking up from his vitamin pouch, too curious to ignore the comment. “Someone from the defense force works for the company?” “Well…” Kafka peters off, gesturing incomprehensibly. “His situation is a bit… complicated.” Glancing at Reno he's met with a deadpan look. “Ok ok, so Big Guy doesn't exactly work for Monster Sweeper Inc., it's more of a volunteer contract. He comes and lends a hand with cleanup when the defense force lets him go out at least, I swear he probably begs to clean up Kaiju, they barely let him out nowadays.” “So what you're saying is the defense force has a prisoner who prefers digging around in kaiju guts over whatever solitary confinement they have him trapped in at the base. You can’t be serious. How could you see the Force with such high favor if that were true.” “No no, you've got it all wrong! He's not a prisoner… well I guess prisoner isn't entirely inaccurate, but his situation isn’t so simple! He's a prisoner of circumstance, not the defense force! UGH, why is this so hard to describe.” “Jesus Kafka, you could not be any worse at explaining things” Mitsuike grins from his bench, scoffing good-naturedly, sympathetic to Ichikawas’ position. “You're beating around the bush too much. What Kafka is trying to say is that Big Guy is the unfortunate product of human experimentation and is required to stay on base unless deployed by the higher-ups due to his terrifying appearance… Ok, I see why you’re having trouble.” Kafka leaps up, dancing around like he won some important bet “HAHA! See! I-” Thud - a familiar sound interrupts the celebration. Thud - There it is again, followed by another at a regular cadence, getting closer with each repetition. The cold, empty streets echoed with the noise. Ichikawa leaps to his feet eyes locked onto his mentor, vitamin lunch forgotten entirely. “Why aren't the kaiju alerts sounding?” His tone was sharp yet controlled. “Why isn't anyone moving? We need to evacuate.” “Ahhh speak of the devil.” Kafka is looking elsewhere, towards the resounding footsteps. “Looks like we don’t have to explain after all.” His nearsighted squint breaks into a smile as he begins waving. Ichikawa stares blankly at him before another footfall breaks his confusion. He looks up, and up and up until he meets the subject of Kafka’s attention. It’s a man, an unnaturally, tall man, dwarfing nearby buildings and interrupting the cityscape. It stops and raises a hand to return Kafka’s gesture. The figure softens, suddenly familiar, friendly, and human. “Oh.” That is all Ichikawa can muster. “That…” Kafka smiles, “Is Big Guy.”

[silverzoomies]

Alone

peter maximoff x reader fluff

warnings: fluff, humor, first meetings, pining, female reader

word count: 3,461

a/n: just a drabble i spent way too long on. based on something i used to daydream about a lot. happy late valentine's day !!

tag list: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Peter sits, slouched on the floor against the foot of a sofa. Glimmers of light flicker in his eyes, as he indulges in some mind numbing television. Reruns of Frasier play stereotypical laugh tracks, droning through the basement. He can’t help but follow suit. Chuckling along in quiet huffs, he shakes his head.

Upstairs, the house rests in silence. Dead quiet. Magda snores softly in her room. Lorna’s probably conked out too. And Wanda? She’s gone. Somewhere. He could never guess. She doesn’t tell anyone where she goes on weeknights. But hey, what’s it matter to him? So long as she’s playing it safe.

Peter snickers at another corny, sitcom joke. He guzzles down handfuls of Reese's pieces. The candies rustle in their small box. But with the rustle, his ears catch something else. Distant and faint. Outside the realm of television laugh tracks and candy clicks.

It’s a lyrical melody, playing with romantic cadence from outside the basement window. Peter tilts his head back, drinking a glass bottle Pepsi. Fizzy sweetness mildly irritates his throat. Raising a brow, he guides his gaze to the window. One more chug of his soda, and he snatches the remote.

The roar of sitcom television falls into stillness.

And sure enough, a tune whispers from beyond the window’s glass. Like the call of a sea siren through the neighborhood. But it’s 10pm on a Tuesday night. And the likelihood of a smokin’ hot siren crawling from the ocean - to a house in middle class suburbia - is beyond impossible. Unless Peter’s dreaming again.

In which case; wait for him, nautical dames. He'll grab his trunks and be out flash.

And the night goes by so very slow

Oh I hope that it won’t end though

Alone

Peter narrows his eyes at the window, scoffing to himself. Woah, now. Is he warped in the head? Or is the mantra of Heart crying out from beyond the shadows? Peter appears at the window in a zip. Raising himself on his toes, he launches his body upward. Through smudged glass, Peter’s black hues scan the world outside. A shadowy mass looms in the grass, imposing and somewhat terrifying.

Until he realizes, it’s someone holding a giant boombox over their head. Phew .

Til now I always got by on my own

I never really cared until I met you

And now it chills me to the bone

How do I get you alone

Peter’s silver brows furrow again.

“What the hell?” He mutters under his breath.

He unlatches the window, pushing it open. Allowing that unmistakable tune to come through much clearer. Peter watches the mysterious, boombox stranger for a moment longer. A beat passes, and Peter sighs. He could just as easily zip out there, confront the culprit, and return to his basement lickety split. Instead, he opts for the casual approach.

Peter pushes himself through the window, his bare feet scuffing the basement wall. He accidentally kicks over a set of speakers. Some he stole five years ago and forgot about. They tumble off a wall shelf and crash hard onto the floor. Knocking down a bunch of stolen street signs in their wake. If Maximoffs weren’t such deep sleepers, he’d be in for it now. Big time.

As soon as Peter’s out, he stumbles in the grass. Mumbling a hushed - Shit.

You don’t know how long I have wanted

To touch your lips and hold you tight

You don’t know how long I have waited

And I was going to tell you tonight

Crawling through the dry, winter grass, Peter finally stands. With an exhale, he wipes dirt from his grey sweatpants. The rando in his yard doesn’t react, but they lower the boombox a little. Peter waits at a distance, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Who are you? Whaddya wannnnnt?” He shouts.

Til now I always got by on my own

I never really cared until I met you

And now it chills me to the bone

How do I get you alone?

No response from the rando. With a simple gesture, they tap the speaker of the boombox. Whatever that means. Rolling his eyes, Peter strides across the cold grass. Shirtless in the brisk, February air. He raises a hand to scratch his messy, silver bedhead. As he moves in closer, the neighborhood street lights illuminate the figure’s features.

Up until now, he thought some weirdo guy snuck out to pine for Wanda’s attention. Peter’s ready to kick his ass if he needs to. Poor Wanda’s always got dudes falling to her feet on Valentine's day. But she usually does the ass kicking. More power to her.

Guess he won’t have to this time. Turns out, it’s just some weirdo girl.

How do I get you alone?

How do I get you alone?

Peter puts a stop to the song before it reaches its end. Extending a hand in a quick blur, he abruptly clicks a button on the box. The neighborhood drowns itself in late night silence all over again. Interrupted only by the occasional car passing in the distance. Peter’s vascular arms cross over his chest. Lidded eyes leer straight at the mystery woman.

“Sooooooooo…” He tilts his head to the side, “Who are you? And why are you playing Heart outside my house at, like, ass-o-clock at night?” Peter pauses, eyes narrowing in suspicious slits, “Are you tryna pick up my sister? ‘Cuz you kinda look the type. And I know she’s been ‘tryin’ new things’ lately.” He gestures with air quotes, “If you catch my drift. Not that it’s any of my business. Point is , she’s not here.”

Boombox girl lowers said boombox down into the grass. She shakes her head, reaching into the pocket of her oversized cardigan.

“Pick up your sis- hah! ” She snickers with a snort, dawning a bashful smile. Boombox girl runs her other hand through her hair, “No! Noooo, it’s not like that! Uhm…I was actually playing Alone for you, silly.”

Peter drops his arms to his sides, and his heart skips a speedy beat. Scrunching his nose, he curls his lip.

“Youplayedwhatforwhonow?” He slides his hands into his sweatpants pockets, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. The apples of his cheeks burn, and Peter clears his throat, “Uhhhh. Okay. Thanks? That’s…sweet, I guess. But, I-I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Her smile’s kind of adorable. Especially as she rubs her neck, displaying timid hesitance. Whatever confidence she had, she must’ve maxed out on 80’s romance cliches.

“Not really? I mean, I’ve seen you around. A lot. But you’ve never really noticed me, so…”

Alrighty then. That makes this interaction even weirder. But Peter’s pulled equally weird - if not more desperate stops to win some hearts in the past. And he may or may not be guilty of the same technique she’s using now.

Give him a break, okay? So what if he took a chance on it once? Back when he was eighteen and leagues more naive. It’s a little cheesy, sure. But it’s also the story of how he lost his v-card. And not the Valentine’s kind.

Case in point, it worked for him. So, he’ll bite.

“And you thought crashin’ outside my house, blastin’ some corny song while my family’s asleep - that’s a smoother move than…oh, I dunno…just talkin’ to me?”

She shrugs again, her guilty eyes looking down at the grass. Boombox girl raises a foot, tapping the ground with the tip of her boot. God, she’s obviously so nervous. And he's not gonna lie, it's a little charming. The corners of Peter’s lips turn up in a grin.

“I thought it might get your attention. You just…you move so fast all the time. And I’m really slow when it comes to these kinds of things. You were always gone before I ever got the chance.”

“How’d you know where I live?” Peter throws her a nod of his head, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Pulling her hand from her pocket, she fixes her attention on the plastic case of a cassette tape.

“My uncle tried to arrest you once.” She grins, “He was out on patrol. Saw you steal a speed limit sign. Your mom paid him to let you off the hook.”

Peter’s brows fly up under his bangs. His cheeky smile spreads into his dimples.

“Your unc-...seriously? Whoa. No kiddin’?” He laughs, “Wish I could say I remember. But that sorta thing used to happen to me all the time.”

Not like he wasn’t asking for it back then. But to be fair, Peter’s made some drastic improvements. When it comes to his klepto compulsions, anyway. Excluding the influx of junk food and Garbage Pail Kid cards he snags on a daily basis. From nation-wide chain stores. Totally ethical.

“Yeah, I know.” She giggles, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. This way, he actually gets a good look at her. Soft lips. Pretty eyes, “You used to be the talk of the station, where he worked. Those guys never shut up about you.”

Reaching forward, she passes Peter the cassette in her hand.

“What’s this?” He gently takes it, inspecting the hand-made label inside the case. Decorated in little, lightning bolt doodles. Even some hearts. Aw. Cute. Scratched across it in messy handwriting, are the words - For the kleptomaniac. In exchange for my heart. You stole it forever ago.

Come on. Could she be any more corny?

“It’s a mixtape.” She bites her lip like she’s terrified to keep talking, “It’s cool if you don’t listen to it. I dunno if you’ll even like what’s on it. But I know you carry around that Walkman all the time.”

Uh huh. Did her uncle tell her that too? Get outta here.

“Does it have Heart on it?” Peter flips the case over in his hand, pursing his lips.

“Of course it has Heart on it.”

“Awww. Givin’ me Heart for your heart.” He snickers, turning pinker in his cheeks, “This is legit the cheesiest thing a girl’s ever done for me. I’m kinda buggin’ out right now.”

“Oh yeah? I mean, I can always take it back, if you-” She teases, like she thinks he’s being sarcastic.

She reaches for the tape. But as her fingers brush the case, Peter raises it above his head. The motion happens quickly, before she can even keep up. Boombox girl wasn’t foolin’. She is slow. Slower than a turtle on tranquilizers. As she makes another attempt, Peter drops his hand in a speedy blur.

“Hey, hey, hey. Nuh uh. No takesie-backsies.” He teases, waving a finger, “A trades a trade, babe.”

Her hands rest at her hips, and she flutters her long lashes. So shamelessly flirtatious, but still not enough to win him over. Not just yet. Even if her bedroom eyes offer a tempting invite. Like, seriously, so tempting.

Mama didn't raise him like that, though. Peter has somewhat of a delinquent track record, sure. But he's still a good hearted gentleman. He'll take her out on a few dates first. Treat her to a little arcade romance, before he tries some no pants dancing.

If she's not playing him for a complete jackass, that is. Really, it’s almost too good to be true.

No chick has ever pined for him this hard in his life. And Peter’s never had the chance to play hard to get. He bets dollars to donuts, boombox babe probably isn't a mutie either. Talk about some major role reversal. How often does a human girl beg and plead for mutant man's love? She knows he's a total shut in, right? Or did her uncle not fill her in on that?

“You still have my heart, though.” She coos, gazing at Peter with those eyes.

Those - embrace me, o’ speedster man of my dreams - eyes.

Yeah. Her uncle most definitely didn't break the news. Peter hisses, teasing her again with a click of his teeth.

“Ooooh. Yeah. Well, finders keepers. Good luck shakin’ that silver lovebug.”

He flirts back and forth with her naturally. Kinda like high school sweethearts. It goes on for a few more minutes. Until he's pestered her enough, she just up and quits. Her car's parked down the street. A Volkswagen bug. Hah. And there she goes. Peter's secret admirer stomps off. Boombox swinging at her side. A wave of guilt almost pulls him under, and Peter starts to regret teasing her so much.

She laughs as she walks away. And the call of her giggle brings him back to the surface, much like a song. Seems like the sirens really did come out tonight.

So, she likes playing games too, huh?

You don’t know how long I have waited

And I was going to tell you tonight

Peter’s not even that much of a Heart fan.

He looks down at the cassette case in his hands. Rolling a thumb over a scratch in the plastic. A beat passes. In a flash, he appears in front of her. Peter walks backwards, padding barefoot along the side of the road.

“So, are you gonna ask me out ‘er what? C'mon, don't be chicken shit. I know you got it in you!” He jokes.

Boombox girl giggles so hard, she breaks out in dorky snorts. Ah, the sexiest, siren song. Too bad that's not a track on the mixtape. He’s willing to slip her some loose change for a raw recording.

By happenstance, another car slows to a stop. Right in the middle of the empty neighborhood street. Colored a familiar shade of scarlet, the vehicle looms for a beat or two. Peter comes to halt, watching as the passenger side window rolls down. Boombox girl crashes right into him.

Shit. Peter just now realized, he doesn't know her name yet.

He grabs her hips on instinct, catching her in case she falls over or something. Her free hand clutches his arm, right over the ‘mom’ tattoo etched into his skin. Naturally, Peter radiates enough warmth to act as a heater. He’s a godsend on cold, lonesome nights. Boombox girl presses her body closer to his, seeking his heat.

Peter knows she does it without thinking, since she whimpers a soft, “ Oh god. I’m so sorry. ”

“It’s cool. You okay?” Peter’s hands linger on her hips.

“What’s going on over there?” Wanda grills playfully from her car. She flits her eyes between her doofus brother, and boombox girl. When Wanda purses her lips, she does so in a way identical to Peter, “Is he giving you any trouble?” She asks what's-her-name.

Peter zips to the passenger side door, crossing his arms over it. Leaning against Wanda’s car through the window, he makes a pfffbbbbtt noise.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, Wands. I’m just walkin’ my future wife to her car.” He raises one of his hands, waving the cassette case, “Check it out, ah? She made me a mixtape! Cute, right?”

Wanda’s knits her brows as she tilts her head. The long, scarlet locks of her hair bounce with the motion. At the side of the road, boombox girl makes an adorable squeal. She covers her blistering face with her hands, mewling silent pleas.

“Oh my god stop. I’m sorry I even said anything. Oh my god. ” What's-her-name whimpers.

Which really isn’t helping the whole suspicious sister situation. Wanda leans back in her seat, peering over Peter’s shoulder at boombox girl. Narrowing her eyes, Wanda looks back at him. And before she can call Peter out on his bullshit, he lowers his arms from the door. Peter drops his chin to it, his tapioca eyes gazing up at Wanda innocently.

He chews his lip. In that ‘ I’m obviously up to no good’ kind of way.

“Y’wanna know what that cutie over there told me?” He purrs, talking loud enough for what’s-her-name to hear, "She said I stole her-"

Boombox girl shrieks, “MAXIMOFF! Please! That was a secret! I’m serious! You’re killing me here, dude!”

Maximoff?

Ohhhhh. She doesn’t actually know his name. Seriously? Didn’t what's-her-name say she’s pined after Peter for a while now? How long is a while? Long enough to know his address, apparently. And to know he likes listening to his tunes. And to know he’s a mutant with a rep for thieving. But not long enough for anyone to drop his name? Did the feds never bother learning it? Ouch. Figures.

“Piet.” Wanda leers at Peter, holding him at gunpoint with her eyes, “Leave that poor girl alone. Look at her! She’s had enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter stands up straight. Lazily, he smirks, waving a hand, signaling Wanda to drive off.

“Naaaah! You shoulda seen her back at the house. She’s hopelessly in love with me. Played songs outside my window. Y'know, like they do in the movies? I’m serious! You can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Once more, Wanda shifts her skeptical gaze to what’s-her-name. The mystery girl carries her boombox to her car. With her head dipped and a free hand over her face. She looks like she’s doing the walk of shame. As if Peter stole a little something else from her and-w hoops. That's also not helping his case at all. Wanda hums, doubtful of Peter’s unlikely story.

He cheeses a toothy grin, looking guilty.

“Really?” Wanda adjusts in her seat, reaching for the radio dial, “Well, you might wanna tell her goodnight. For a girl who’s totally in love with you , she seems in a heck of a hurry to leave.”

And with that, Wanda drives off. Peter stumbles back, his calloused heels scuffing concrete. Wanda’s car rolls all the way down the road and into the driveway. Whipping around, Peter catches what’s-her-name opening the trunk of her love bug. As she lifts the boombox into it, Peter zips up next to her. Latching his arms around the boombox, he gives her an aloof grin.

“Can I borrow this for a sec? Thanks, cutie.” He throws her a wink.

She doesn’t get the chance to ask why. Peter zips back to his spot on the side of the road, clicking a button on the boombox. He raises it over his head, letting Heart roar obnoxiously across the neighborhood. Disrupting the late night peace. Out the corner of his eye, Peter notices a few neighborhood lights come on. The song plays just as Wanda hops out of her car. She stops in the middle of her stride to the front door. Her bags hang from her arms and her keys dangle on her finger.

Wanda squints, eyebrows turned inward.

How do I get you alone?

How do I get you alone?

“I TOLD YOU! SHE’S TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH ME!” Peter yells.

A faint, red glow emanates from Wanda’s hand, as she delicately swipes it in the air. The boombox’s tape player pops open with an click, and Peter lowers the box down in front of him. He playfully pouts, muttering a soft booooooo to himself. Abrupt silence fills the entire neighborhood again, save for the local dogs barking in their yards.

“Say goodnight, Pietro.” Wanda’s voice calls from the driveway, before she disappears into the house.

Peter doesn’t even realize what’s-her-name is standing next to him, until she speaks.

“Pietro’s a beautiful name.”

Peter snickers, feeling heat rise in his cheeks again. Popping open the case she gave him, he swaps the tape for the one in the boombox. Rapidly clicking the volume button, Peter huffs a soft laugh, hooded eyes blinking.

"Thanks. I'd say the same about yours, but I don't even know it." He teases. A little shy, Peter keeps his eyes on the boombox, "I go by Peter, actually."

"Peter. Pietro. Whatever your name is, you embarrassed the shit outta me, man." What's-her-name scoffs. Peter kinda likes the sound of both names in her voice, "You're lucky you're gorgeous."

Gorgeous? Whoa. That's a helluva word. Shit, this really is too good to be true. Peter's heart skips another beat, and he shakes his head. "Y'know, if you still what your heart back, you're shit outta luck, babe." Peter clicks the play button on the boombox, only after some tension heavy beats pass, "Like I said, finders kee-"

An all too familiar melody pours from the boombox speakers, softer now.

I hear the ticking of the clock

I’m lying here the room’s pitch dark

“Seriously?” Peter laughs, slinging an arm over boombox girl's shoulders.

“Yeah, seriously. I told you it had Heart.” She blushes profusely, averting her innocent gaze.

Maybe there really is something to these 80's romance cliches. Peter's almost willing to give up his own heart. Just as compensation for hers.

[unholyhelbig]

Would love some Kate Bishop angst

Title: Past Tense

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4027

Summary: Kate Bishop returns to her hometown unexpectedly following some bad news. She's shocked when she runs into you and struggles to grapple with her past choices.

Warnings: Funerals, hurt/comfort, drinking, work injury/ burns, spelling mistakes and grammar issues (I'm sure)

[A/n: Hello! Just a little disclaimer, this is probably going to be the last thing I can publish for the rest of the month. I've got a massive work project, I move this coming weekend, and it's my birthday at the end of the month so my time is quite limited. But things will pick up again next month]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Day had barely broken over the horizon, but the world around you was impossible to ignore. There had been snow the night before, something that everyone believed was too cold to be possible. A thin layer of ice had encrusted each car before the soft, powdery type had built up on windshields and culminated under tires.

Large, wet flakes swirled around you and despite the gloves that clung to your skin, they didn’t do much for the numbness in your fingers as you fumbled with the keys to the coffee shop. Moisture had wicked through the fabric, and you hastily took them off before flicking on the house lights.

It was just past 5am and the usual crowd of early risers were soon to arrive. You made quick work of starting all the machines, the cooling cases and the manual grinder. Your baker had been in earlier, filling the displays with various muffins, baked goods, and sweets. A smooth cinnamon scent filled the air and warmed you all over.

“Son of a bitch!” the muffled exclamation formed a smile against your lips.

MJ was bundled up in a sweatshirt, a flannel, and a heavy winter coat over that. Her boots were caked in dry snow. There was a deep red blush against her nose and her cheeks that accompanied her scowl.

“Language, there are children present.”

“We’re the same age!” Peter protested as he pulled himself through the back door. He was dressed in less layers but sported the same winter complexion. He shook the large flakes of snow from his sweater, mumbling “Son of a bitch.”

It was cold enough to warrant you closing the shop. Most of the schools and the businesses in town had called for a snow day, something that didn’t happen often in Connecticut. Frigid temperatures were expected. Below freezing was a way of life and the world didn’t stop craving warm coffee to thaw them out.

This fact was proven when you flipped the open sign and the typical crowd of tired eyes started to line up at the counter. Peter typically had too much energy, so MJ took up the register while her counterpart flitted around and filled the orders. Most were to-go.

You’d known these people for years. They’d come in with a habit that was unmatched by the weather and the any other obstacles thrown at them. Before you opened up ‘The Grindhouse’ you’d gone to high school with them.

Through all the proms, and the homecomings, and the house parties that left you vomiting in the yard amongst their parents’ flowerbeds. Since then, you’d grown up and couldn’t stomach more than a few shots or two glasses of wine, tops.

They’d grown up too, those who had stuck around town. They had families and businesses much like yours. You had homeroom with the accountant that had helped you hedge your money in the correct places, and you made the same bacon, egg, and cheese English muffin for the star football player that blew out his knee senior year.

“Welcome to Grindhouse,” you said distractedly at the sound of the bell above the door, working on clearing the fallen grounds from under the espresso machine. The rag was damp and the floor was already coated in little brown specs that needed to be swept up during a lull.

“What can I get started for you?” MJ asked in her usual cadence.

“Just a plain black coffee, please.”

Your body froze at the sound of the voice, hair falling into the gaze that you refused to lift. There was a strange mix of emotions in the pit of your stomach. That voice, with it’s familiar rasp was one you hadn’t heard for years. Nearly a decade. But it couldn’t be her, could it?

She’d left for New York right after high school. The last you heard, she’d become a doctor. An unrivaled cardiothoracic surgeon that flitted around the world wherever she was needed. There was no reason for her to be back in this small, freezing, end-of-the-earth town.

“That’ll be 2.25, we have cream and sugar on the far wall, but if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.”

It was her. It was most definitely her. There was a crispness to her voice that you’d recognize anywhere. The last you remembered; it was whispered with a quickness that rivaled her hands. Her hands were everywhere. They were warm and calloused and gentle.

There was a sudden bubbling heat against the side of your hand. You hissed through your teeth and pulled back from the espresso machine. There was a large bubbling welt on your skin and a string of curses ready at your lips.

“Jesus, y/n are you alright?” Peter was at your side in a moment with a wet, clean cloth that he had run under cold water. “Do you need the burn kit?”

“No, no. I’ll be alright. Thanks Pete”

He was so attentive and clocked you with a worried stare but you reassured him with the squeeze of his shoulder with your good hand. If you were going to fly under the radar before, it would be impossible now.

You glanced over the counter, pressing the cloth even closer. Your suspicions had been confirmed by the tepid gray stare that met yours. Shock simmered behind Kate Bishops gaze, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

Suddenly, you felt dizzy. She looked a bit older in the face, more experienced. There was life there, a form of living that had lowered her shoulders and sealed her lips. The Kate you knew was a bumbling mess- but med school had effectively changed that.

“y/n,” She regarded you.

“Hi, Katie.”

That lopsided, sloppy grin was still the same. It reached her eyes and brightened them. You cradled your hand and reveled in the silence. Peter and MJ had frozen in place, flicking their eyes from you and then back to her.

“Want me to take a look at that hand?”

“What are you doing back in town?”

The two of you spoke at the same time and dissolved into nervous laughter. You shook your head. “I thought you were a surgeon?”

“I know how to treat a burn, y/n, don’t insult me.”

You often prided yourself on your strong will. If you had a weak one, it would have been impossible to build this coffee shop up from the rubble that it once was. Kate Bishop, Doctor Kate Bishop, had a way of melting your resolve.

Peter shoved the small plastic first aide kit into your hands and shoved you forward. There was no choice to hide your stumble other than a confident stride towards her. She led you to one of the tables that spanned the windows at the storefront. They were lined with frost, a biting cold fighting to get its way in.

Kate had about a half-inch on you and radiated a type of warmth that was unmatched. When she grabbed your sleeve and dragged you to a sitting position right across from her, you were practically putty in her hands.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you.” She spoke without looking at you, unlatching the kit and pulling on the blue latex gloves with practiced ease. She couldn’t see the look of shock on your face. “This place is beautiful. I remember when it was that pizza place.”

“Ah, pizzapocalypse. Who would have thought that a combination shooting range and Italian restaurant would fail?”

Kate chuckled and tenderly pulled your hand closer. Her touch was barely a whisper against your skin, strands of black hair falling into her eyes. She examined the angry red mark. It had already started to blister. The espresso machine was kept at unbelievable levels of heat.

She grabbed one of the wrapped applicators, using her teeth to tear away at the wax paper. Kate squeezed a small dollop of burn cream onto the end. You hated the cloudy clearness of the substance.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you too, you know?”

“Have you? This might sting a little bit. Do you want a countdown?”

“No, just do it I’m a brave- Fuck!” She’d already started, and you gave her a vicious glare. She shrugged with that infuriatingly perfect grin of hers. “I thought you were in New Zealand for some medical internship.”

“New Hampshire, actually. Not as exciting, I know. It was going well, but Eleanor died.”

There was a tightness to her voice. Typically, you looked away from anything involving wound care. If you were to get a shot, you’d stare at a small spot on the wall that interested you. Drawing blood was more of the same, it was just harder to ignore the needle in your arm.

Kate was working hard at the bandage in her hand and finally pulled it apart. Despite the frustration etched into her features, she applied it with a certain level of care. You didn’t’ say anything. Your hand was throbbing uncomfortably.

“She was old, we knew it was coming and pancreatic cancer, well, it’s a bitch by the end and Susan asked me to fly in for the funeral. How could I say no to that? Flying in for my mothers funeral when I was too busy working to witness her descent?”

“Katie,” You breathed out.

“That should be healed up in a few days. Make sure you change out the bandage.”

You couldn’t’ get a word in edgewise before she started to shove the contents of the case back into their proper places. The chair made a horrible scraping sound that you felt in your teeth. Kate grasped her coffee, colder than it was a few moments ago.

“Thank you for… this. I’m sure it’s delicious.” She had her hand on the door. Her quickness was unmatched. Both in and out of the OR, from what you had read. But she paused, looking at you for a moment. “I’m proud of you, y/n. This place is great. Really.”

Kate had vanished into the whiteness of the blistering day. You watched her navigate the snow with ease. Eleanor had died. How could you live in such a small town and not have heard about the woman’s passing?

The Bishop family was always a private bunch, and with Kate moving right after high school graduation, you hadn’t any reason to go past those wrought iron gates. Kate’s older sister would stop by for a hot drink once every other month or so, but you saw her coming from a mile away and selfishly hid in the back.

Eleanor had died.

There was a softness to her that you remembered fondly, a memory of Kate and you as children in the heat of summer. You’d been stung by a wasp and cried and cried until Eleanor rushed into the yard and scooped you into her arms.

Much like Kate had just done with her soft ministrations, she fixed you right up by applying a mix of warm water and baking soda. An old family remedy, she said. The venom had stopped screaming and the tears eventually stopped for both you and Kate.

Eleanor was a kind, if not private, woman. One that you thought of daily when you clocked the photo of High School Graduation on the dusty bookshelves in your living room. Your own mother hadn’t attended, but Eleanor was right there. She was right there.

“Who’s the girl?” MJ drawled out, leaning heavily on her hands, a goofy look on her face. Peter was next to her, doing the same, both eyebrows raised.

“Kate… She” You picked up the plastic first aide kit. The two of you had a habit of not sitting still and it was better to move to replace the supplies then let them sit out here. Besides, a customer could walk in at any moment. “We were engaged.”

Peter shot up “What?”

“It was a long time ago, it’s not important.”

“You were engaged, I think that’s important. How old are you?”

“First, rude, second; old enough. And really, guys it’s not a big deal. Both of us moved on. Life happened.”

They exchanged a look that, in the past, had never meant anything good. MJ had her arms crossed over her chest and Peter leaned heavily on a broom he had grabbed, hugging it lose to his chest. You rolled your eyes, attempting to ignore them both was impossible in a place this retrospectively small.

“I don’t know, boss. The way she was looking at you… maybe neither of you really moved on.”

“I write your paychecks; you understand that right?” You turned to face them. “Kate and I are done. We have been for a long time. She made that very clear when she gave the ring back and I refuse to push the matter.”

It was collecting dust on your bookshelf next to the photo of your graduation. It was a small emerald, green box that you hadn’t opened since you resituated the diamond ring. It had been stupid to propose, a last-ditch effort to get Kate to stay. She’d said yes. And then she said no.

The baker’s old Subaru wouldn’t start because of the bitter cold. It sounded like an old wife’s tale that made you chuckle to yourself while reading the text that popped across your screen.

Before you had hired him for the long nights, you’d done the baking yourself and it wasn’t a horrible chore. You’d just have to down some caffeine and slam it out; trays filled with mini cakes, with quiches, donuts and cheese tarts. It was like a methodical science project with the bonus of eating the food that didn’t look edible.

It was midnight by the time you’d pulled the first couple trays from the large industrial oven and exhaustion was starting to bay its head. You weighed the option of going home and just spreading out the pastries in the case.

All thoughts of sleep left your mind when a rapid banging filled the store. The front glass doors were being tugged upon. And while you were more than willing to die in this coffee shop, being robbed was not the way you wanted to go. There was less than three hundred dollars in the register.

You grasped at the broom, your hands covered in flower and caked on the bandage that was applied earlier. Another round of bangs as you tried to stay low and reach for the cordless phone. There was a silhouette outlined by the gray white of the snow.

Doctor Kate Bishop.

She’d given up on her breaking and entering and pressed her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging it up. It was hard to tell, but you were sure her eyes were clenched shut. There was a brown paper bag in one hand that looked suspiciously like a large bottle of alcohol.

Your grip was tight on the broom, even as you felt confident, and a little sad, about opening the door. Kate fell forward and a blast of cold enveloped you. She made a small noise at the back of her throat, regaining her posture.

“Were you going to sweep me to death?” Kate asked, “I brought whiskey.”

“Here I thought you weren’t going to come back here with the way you ran out earlier, and now you arrive with gifts?”

It was a low blow, but she had shrugged her shoulders with her goofy grin and snow in her messy hair. “Come drink with me, just for a little bit in our old spot. Don’t make me play the dead mom card.”

Saying no to Kate had always been hard for you. It had been hard when you were children and she dared you to jump from high places, always stopping you by the collar of your shirt before either of you got hurt. And it was especially hard to say no to Kate in your teens when she would kiss hot trails against your throat, marking them with bruises. Not that you were rushing to deny her.

“Really?” You asked, “Aren’t we a little old to be caught sneaking booze in the gym?”

Both of you knew for a fact that the side doors leading into the school would always be open. There were no alarms, or flood lights, because it was a small town and nothing bad ever happens in a small town.

She jutted out her bottom lip into a pout “Y/n, my mom died.”

“Okay, alright. Let me lock up.”

Kate stayed quiet on the three-block walk to the school. It was shrouded in darkness, an inky black despite the swirling gray of the night sky. Your high school had been the largest in the county; two floors filled with classrooms. You’d stuck to the same ones and Kate was the life of the party wherever she went, the bright spot in an otherwise dingy room.

The bottle of alcohol dangled by her side as your footfalls crunched over ice and an ugly brown slush of snow. It felt normal, almost, walking with her. Being with her. Staying in town was a brave choice after being dumped and equivocally left at the alter. You had powered through the looks and the whispered accusations. But some part of you was relieved she’d chosen this interaction to take place in the middle of the night.

When you’d gotten to the double doors of the large gymnasium, Kate’s boot slipped on a particularly nasty spot of ice. Instinctively you grasped her arm and righted her. She thanked you silently before pushing into the warmth of the space. The motion censor lights flicked on and you squinted against them.

“They built a new one, you know? A gym. I think they still use this for craft fairs. Fundraisers. But all the big stuff is off site in this state-of-the-art center.”

Kate blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Remember when Tommy Shepard broke your nose with a basketball?”

“Yeah, I do. I also remember sneezing right after and spraying him in blood. Everyone else was grossed out except for you.”

Kate dropped onto the large eagle in the center of the floor. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, and the bottle was idling between them. You let out a small groan as you joined her. Neither of you had ever been bold enough to inebriate yourselves in the crest. Instead, you’d hide behind the fold-out bleachers that were pushed against the walls, but this would do.

“That stupid EMT wouldn’t let me get on the ambulance with you.” The seal on the bottle cracked viciously, much like your nose, as she unscrewed the cap.

“And I told you I didn’t need to go the hospital. I think I was a liability, though.”

Kate laughed, taking a deep gulp from the bottle. It hit the back of her throat and she hissed in response before thrusting the whiskey your way. You took a smaller sip, let it coat your tongue and burn your stomach.

The mood had stilled, and she took another swallow before setting the bottle between the both of you like a vice or a buffer. You couldn’t decide what.

“Eleanor had very specific instructions in her will. She… shit, she planned her whole funeral out before she died in her morbid meticulousness. She picked white lilies, and a beautiful black casket. She already had a plot of land picked out in her family plot. Music picked out. A fucking guest list.”

You fought the urge to reach out and comfort her. So, you grabbed the bottle instead and gulped down a bigger heaping than before. The amber liquid was dipping down behind the black wrapper.

“The only thing she didn’t do was write her eulogy. No, she left that up to me as one last fuck you because that’s how she operates. She didn’t’ ask Susan to write it, or my dad. She asked me because I’m the one that left home. I’m the one that left her.”

The worst thing you could do was agree with Kate Bishops dead mother. And you didn’t, really. You’d always been happy for Kate. This town was too small for her and the lives that she saved were plentiful. But some selfish part of you understood where Eleanor was coming from.

You were possibly the worst person she could go to with this issue and by the frown on her face, she knew it too. For the longest time, you were there for each other. And if Kate had called out of the blue and asked you to go to New Zealand or New Hampshire, or whatever; you would go.

She’d do the same, you were sure. One call, one letter and she’d be here. But neither of you were brave enough to reach out and heal the wound that festered between you. You pulled your knees up to your chest, rested your chin against them with a quiet breath.

“Maybe you don’t need to write anything. Maybe you can just… say how you feel.”

“Yes, because that has worked out so well for me in the past.”

“Fair point, but she was your mother, not a fling. Even if you don’t have a script planned out, it’s worth just feeling the moment. No matter how shitty that moment is.”

Kate inhaled and held that breath in her chest for a few seconds before pushing it out. Her eyes searched you in a probing way that made your skin prickle. Blush started to claw its way up your throat. You’d blame that on the alcohol, you always were a light weight and it showed in your complexion.

“Is that what you think you were?” her voice was a low and raspy whisper “a fling?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You never say anything you don’t mean. All you’ve ever done is calculated and well thought out. You’ve always had a plan.” She looked down at the frayed edges of her jeans, playing with the strings to avoid looking at you. “You were my everything.”  

Your voice was a quiet murmur. “Katie,”

She reached out, her warm hand wrapped around your wrist in a tender display of affection. Her eyes met yours and it was the longest the two of you had stared at one another without breaking eye contact. Your stomach was a pit of nerves and heat.

“That scared me when we were young. It fucking scared me out of my mind how content I was with you. I was ready to risk everything, to settle down in a small house and wake up every single morning next to you.” She drew in a sharp and shuddering breath “But we were young, and I hadn’t lived life and that scared me even more.”

“I know, Kate, I know. I shouldn’t have proposed, and I certainly shouldn’t have put either of us in that position. You were right to turn me down. You were right to move on and fight for the future that you deserve.”

Kate sniffed, using her free hand to wipe away the few crystalline tears that dripped across her cheeks. You found yourself pulling her close, letting her sob into the crook of your neck as you held her, your arm wrapped around her center to stabilize her.

Things were boiling over and the tension that had been weighing on her shoulders since she’d first shown up in town started to slowly drain. She missed her mother, she missed you, and that wasn’t something you were willing to process on the crest of the school’s gymnasium.

Kate’s fingers were curled into the fabric of your shirt, and eventually, she settled. Her nose was cold against your pulse point and the bottle of whiskey had been long forgotten. As self-centered as it was, you wished you could hold her forever. Feel her touch on yours for something other than a reminisced sadness.

“If you asked again,” Kate mumbled into the collar of your shirt “If you asked me again, I would say yes.”

“I know, Katie. I know.”

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

HIYAAA!!! so i heard you were writing for matty murdock after i was foaming at the mouth simping for peter quill and i was like OOOO

so this morning I was thinking about maybe taking off his glasses for the first time? hes shy about it bc he doesnt want to scare people and he thinks its ugly and reader is like "UGLY?? ABSHSHSJ BABY YOURE NOT UGLY??" and to cheer him up she puts on his glasses and gives an epic breathtaking (im laughing so badly) impression of matty

hopefully you can do this soon! Have a great rest of your week + weekend

-🪐

hii again!!🪐 this is so cute, I love it. when I was adding asks to my list I didn’t see the last part of your message until today, sorry as I wanted it to be done sooner. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 also hope you have a great rest of your week <3

red tinted

Matt Murdock x f reader

wc || 0.36k (sorry it’s a short one)

warnings || none just fluff

masterlist + rules

taglist

You and Matt had the day to yourselves, spending your free day in the comfort of his apartment on the sofa catching up. Things were relatively new between the two of you, but you were already extremely comfortable with one another.

"Hey Matt...?" you linger, pulling away from his side, gazing over him.��

"Mhm, sweetheart?" he hums quietly, a slight twitch of concern spreads across his face. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Of course," he grins earnestly, feeling a moment of calm when he notices your heart's steady tempo. "What's on your mind?"

"Your glasses... why do you wear them at home?" you ask carefully.

"I don't know... I just always have. I suppose they hide my eyes," he shrugs simply before kissing your shoulder. 

"Hide your eyes?" you repeat, specks of confusion littering your tone. "Why would you want to hide them? They're beautiful," 

He lowly chuckles before turning from your admiration-filled gaze. "No," he says slowly, seeming as though he is embarrassed or uncomfortable.

"Matt... I think you have the prettiest eyes, like ever,"

"Come on now," he awkwardly chuckles, "you're just saying that,"

"Nah-uh, they're beautiful, Matt... can I?" you sweetly question, extending your hands toward the frames of his glasses. Noticing his nod, you slowly remove them. "Whoa, so pretty," you say enthusiastically, watching his grin widen. "Can I put them on?" you question, even though they were halfway over your head.

"What are they like? What'd you see?" he cutely asks, leaning into your side.

"I see the world on fire," you playfully whisper, earning a light tap on the arm from the unimpressed man beside you. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," you laugh, kissing his cheek apologetically. "I'm a really good lawyer. Okay, that was the last one," throwing your head back as you cackle, clearly having too much fun. "I'm just pulling your leg... but I'm being deadly serious here, alright Matthew. You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

He grins coyly, hiding his face between your shoulder and ear, softly chuckling into your skin. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay," he says, slight dismissal in his cadence. "You can play pretend lawyer for a little longer."

@mattymurdock1021 @v1ntage-daydr3am @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @redecoratestan @kpopgirlbtssvt @scarletsloveletter @princess-pebbles-things @messymissy @schneeflocky @readerhead @thegreengoop @charmedkim

[full-time-fangirl06]

*TCOPTP SPOILER*

IT'S HUGE, HONESTLY, BE CAREFUL

REMUS DEAN???? REALLY???? THADDEUS DEAN?

WHAT IN THE ROTTING. FUCKING. HELL.

I'm only halfway through the fic and I'm so utterly SCARED. Because honestly if you can just toss around with THIS as secondary plot, what can't you do?

Because it was so well done! I went back to check, it was all there: foreshadowing, tiny (and even some not so tiny) clues, but if you're not looking for it, you won't catch up. It was a master's move, I need to say. So even with the hints all fairly placed, the revelations comes as a TOTAL SHOCK.

How could it not???

When Remus said "I'm not my dad's real son" I first thought he meant it metaphorically since they have such a bad relationship; then I thought it could simply be a lie, something he came up with just to answer the game question and get it over with. But then I kept reading.

I kept reading.

I kept reading and I was TRUE???

My jaw dropped to the ground, nearly six feet under.

I was mortified. Paralysed. Could've been dead and buried alive and wouldn't be able to say a word to stop it.

And soon it hit me, Tad had to be his real dad, obviously: it was the only other man who it could be, and it made total sense, so I was just waiting for it to be confirmed. But then... he said his full name.

Thaddeus Dean.

FUCKING THADDEUS DEAN?!?!?!

And I still haven't recovered from the shock. Because so many chapters ago, when Sirius first called him "Remus Dean", I thought it was such a cute joke! Because look at that: the pet name came up when Sirius said he should change his name if he didn't like Lupin, so Moony was like "Remus Mercury or Remus Jagger don't sound appealing at all, so let me think of something random... okay, Remus Dean?" and in his internal monologue, he says it's an instant regret, but I thought it was because he thought it was silly, and what was my conclusion? That it was obviously a reference to JAMES DEAN, the bloody actor, once a teenage heartthrob, and this is why it's such a clever move!

And Remus lets Sirius play around with that bloody pet name like it's nothing? Remus my love, stop hurting yourself like this!

And the truth hits like a train when he says Tad's full name, and it's... fuck it's totally unhinged.

I bloody love it.

[forourmoonyyy]

"I wonder what was the moment where we became strangers, when we just stopped trusting each other"

Wolfstar during the first war pls😭😭

[eupheme]

MOVIE/TV - 2023 FIC RECS

this year has been filled with so many beautiful fics, I wanted to make a rec list to share & support everything I read. please check these out and support these creators, they are all incredible! 💖✨

ALFRED PENNYWORTH X F!READER

— Dance With Me by @tarrenterror25

You and Alfred move things to a more private area.

— On Display by @viceofdionysus

When Alfred finds you getting carried away on a video call, he asks you to put on a show for him.

— The Gentleman by @stargirlfics

Two chance encounters turn into something quite unexpected the longer you spend around a certain Englishman

— Thoughts No One Asked For But My Mind Had No Mouth And Must Scream by @/tarrenterror

Alfred Pennyworth x Vampire!F!Reader

— When the Night is Over by @/tarrenterror

After the flood, Dulce looks to do her part to help Gotham heal and hopes to bring change to the city.

— When We Met, I Felt My Life Begin by @/tarrenterror

You and Alfred are both trying to organize a special Valentine’s day for each other, but nothing seems to be going quite right! Luckily, young master Bruce is around to help you two get everything in order!

BRUCE WAYNE X F!READER

— Iron by @/stargirlfics

 Battinson + pussy eating

BUCKY BARNES X F!READER

— Anamnesis by @fluffyprettykitty

Transforming to a werewolf for what seems to be the first time with a familiar yet strange man by your side.

CAPRICORN X F!READER

— Take Me Home by @/tarrenterror

You are the second eldest daughter to the Adderhead and not yet married off by some miracle. This leaves room for a budding romance with a certain fire-raiser. The two of you must keep it secret lest your tyrant of a father find out.

DAVID ROBEY X F!READER

— The Devil Makes Us Sin by @tarabyte3

Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and at least it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content. At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

DRUIG X F!READER

— Calling by @redheadspark

You and Druig were meant to be together, and Druig gives you a place to call home because of that.

FRANK CASTLE X F!READER

— Saturday by @/fluffyprettykitty

Instantiable night session with Frank.

JAVI G X GN! READER

— Creation of the Heart by @0celesteisthebest0

Javi comforting you with bouts of insecurity

JAVIER PEÑA X F!READER

— Little Black Dress by @inklore

“you know how good you look in this dress? can’t fuckin’ concentrate on anything but bending you over and ruining it with my come.“ or the one where javi fingers you against a desk at a work conference.

JIM HOPPER X F!READER

— Heatwave by @/viceofdionysus

When Hawkins loses power during a heatwave, Jim does the neighborly thing and invites the pretty librarian out to his cabin on a private lake. But as they try to cool down, things only seem to heat up between them.

MARCUS MORENO X F!READER

— The Dinner by @frannyzooey

Missy invites you home for the weekend, unaware that you’ve actually been sleeping with her father since the semester started.

MATT MURDOCK X F!READER

— Cadence by @she-likesorchids

You're a barista living in New York, but you create erotic audios and sell subscriptions to make extra money. Matt has found a new outlet for his sexual frustration, and it's your voice. What happens when a chance meeting at your coffee shop threatens to blow both of your covers?

OBERYN MARTELL X F!READER

— Breath of Life by @/moonlight-prose

punctured by the arrow of cupid, oberyn is suddenly infatuated with you. you…the very breath in his lungs, the clouds in his sky, the reason the sun shone down on his home. he was in love and yet you couldn’t have felt more different.

PERO TOVAR X F!READER

— Menuet by @psychedelic-ink

you decide to take a swim in a lake that is deep in the middle of the forest. during your swim, pero finds you, and he’s not happy that you went out alone during a full moon.

PETER PARKER X F!READER

— Approach Shift by @psithurista

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

— Dial Tones by @spiderispunk

Peter gets a much-needed distraction after studying all night.

— Fragments of Tomorrow by @/psychedelic-ink

After a massive ecological disaster, the world is overrun by mutated flora and fauna, along with infected humans that sprout vines and flowers. Nature itself has turned against humanity, and you thought Peter would be by your side. That Spider-Man would protect you and those close to you—you never thought you’d be wrong in both aspects. But now he’s back, and you don’t know how to react.

SANTA (HARBOUR) CLAUS X F!READER

— All is Bright by @lavenderursa

Your husband has a rather bad yet exciting day at work which leads to an unexpected reunion and a much needed reminder of the Christmas spirit.

—Joyful Night by @cinewhore

You comfort your husband after his Christmas night run. 

SER BARRISTAN SELMY X F!READER

— Sometimes, Love is not Enough. by @sermormonts

Your knight of the Kingsguard: sworn to celibacy since he took the whitecloak at age three and twenty, bursting to prove all he knows of passion: not from song or script writ in stained pages, but from the glassy, heady ache you’ve etched into his chest—a heart kept dormant for decades.

STEPHEN GRANT X F!READER

— Love's Train by @moonlight-prose

a box of chocolates, a bottle of wine, and the floor.

— To Be Loved by @/moonlight-prose

“you didn’t intend to give up your heart - believing that you could remain one person without severing yourself in two.”

ULYSSES KLAUE X F!READER

— Bringin' Home the Rain by @the-eyes-of-andyserkis

You're no stranger to taking risks, in fact you prefer the unknown, however when you happen to cross paths with a certain black market arms dealer you find it uncharacteristically difficult to find your balance. (aka "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.")

— Danger Starts the Sharp Incline by @citrus-moonlight

At your scientific organization the study of demon energy output has become no less mundane than it would at any other research facility. That is until you find yourself trapped with the demon who has recently shifted in your thoughts from an idle curiosity to a distraction.

— I Always Find My Way Back To You by @/tarrenterror

You can always count on Ulysses to return to you, but lately you find yourself wanting more. The new dangers in the world don't make the life of an arms dealer any easier and any day could be his last. Running away and living off the grid with the man you love is the dream. Does he share your feelings and can he be convinced to live a life with you?

— Please Hold… by @/tarrenterror

Klaue is not opposed to mixing business with pleasure.

— Salvation is a Deep Dark Well by @/citrus-moonlight

Memories and fresh desires are intertwined now and you think you might go mad from the waiting, but all you can do is try to keep yourself busy as you count down to Klaue’s return.

— Think I Need a Devil to Help Me Get Things Right by @/the-eyes-of-andy-serkis

After a particularly rough flight you’re suddenly having anxiety for the first time in all of your years in the air, buyou end up finding help in an unexpected place when an enigmatic passenger offers you a distraction.

— Woven by @/citrus-moonlight

As winter begins to settle in, the darkening days are unexpected brightened when you end up with the chance to spend a little more time with Ulysses Klaue.

if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting! 💕

[soulofapatrick]

Pack Instincts - Peter Hale x Reader

Summary: Peter finally sneaks into your room to confess his feelings 

Words: 2.8k 

Warning: none 

Notes: Am still in love with Peter Hale like four years on, guess some things never change

Y/N’s POV

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I hear my window squeak as it’s lifted slowly, someone lingering just outside as if scared to come in. It’s a pack member, I can tell, that pack mum connection I have to the pack lets me know it’s one of mine but there’s something different. Something is off about them and I stay facing my laptop, shifting in my chair and tucking my leg underneath me as I continue typing my essay, not wanting to scare them away. 

It seems to work as soon enough there’s a soft thud and the familiar smell of the forest that seems to cling to the wolves no matter how much they shower. It’s become a comforting smell to me and I can’t stop the small smile that settles on my lips as it has begun to smell like home. The wolf is sitting on my bed, hesitating before I can sense them reaching down and unlacing their shoes before a jacket is placed on the back of my chair then moving back to the bed. The strange mixture of musk, something slightly spicy like dark amber and is that… is that vanilla? My mind races as it’s something new, something I’m not used to but something so familiar and intoxicating that my heart skips a beat or two. 

A rumble escaping the wolf behind me and I would never mistake that sound: Peter Hale. I’m turning my office chair around to see him lounging on my bed, a book in hand as he pretends to read it and be completely disinterested in me. The omega of the McCall Pack; the creeper-wolf with a tendency for violence; the wolf who has no pack. There’s an air of nervousness surrounding him as his eyes scan the page way too quickly to be ready any of the words there and if I were a wolf I would probably be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest. I just lean back in my chair, raising my feet to rest on my bed and watch him: his lean figure relaxed on my bed, displaying a subtle air of dominance that seems to come naturally to him. His toned physique barely hidden behind his one size too small tee shirt, his dark hair, slightly tousled, frame his angular face, accentuating his strong jawline and chiselled features. 

“A picture might be better if you want to keep staring so.” He speaks, voice carrying a hint of amusement mixed with a touch of apprehension. Peter’s voice has always possessed a seductive quality, laced with a velvety smoothness that holds a power of his own. The words rolling off of his tongue with an almost musical cadence, drawing my attention further. It’s a voice that can be both soothing and enthralling, making it difficult to resist its allure. 

I decide I’ve had enough of him avoiding why he’s here so I get up from my desk and slide onto my bed with ease and grace for someone as clumsy as me. He never lowers the book once despite me sat at his waist level on the bed so I do the only thing logical, I pull the book from his grasp and throw it onto my chair before turning my head back to him and my breath hitches at the blueness of his eyes. I knew they were blue but that shade of blue is the colour of the clearest ocean, depths of azure that captivate me. They hold a mixture of enigmatic allure and vulnerable longing, beckoning me to explore the uncharted territories within him. It's as if the colour of his eyes holds secrets of a world beyond our own, a realm I'm eager to discover but would never admit out loud. 

“Every member of the pack has visited me at least once except you, why now Creeperwolf?” I ask, bringing my face dangerously close to his, feeling his breath fan across my lips that has my tongue darting out to wet them. The nickname rolls off my tongue, a teasing reminder of the reputation that precedes him. The words hanging in the air, carrying an unspoken invitation to reveal the truth behind his unexpected visit. 

“Why didn’t you accept the bite? Scott offered it to you, and you would make a fine beta.” He finally replies, his voice carrying a weight of contemplation and a touch of longing. Each word is chosen with meticulous care, as if he's navigating a delicate path between vulnerability and self-preservation.

His hand rises, gentle and warm, to caress my face. His fingers trace a path over my lips, sending a shiver down my spine as I can feel the softness of his touch, a contrast to the underlying strength that radiates from him. His piercing blue eyes searching my gaze, seeking answers and perhaps a glimpse of the emotions I keep hidden. The question hangs in the air, pregnant with unspoken possibilities. I can sense the genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he's been searching for this conversation as much as I have. It's an invitation for me to reveal the truth, to share the reasons behind my decision. 

I open my mouth to respond but I’m unsure how to respond as I really don’t have an exact reason why I didn’t take the bite and instead spent months healing like a mundane. It leaves me momentarily speechless, caught in the intensity of his gaze and the unexpected tenderness of his touch. His grip on my wrist is firm, yet there’s a gentleness in the way he brings it to his lips. The gesture mirroring the intimacy shared between an alpha and their betas, a connection forged through the transformative power of the bite. Except Peter is no longer an alpha and I’m not a beta but it doesn’t seem to matter to him as instead of sinking his teeth into my skin, his lips press against the tender flesh of my wrist, creating a sensation that sends shivers down my spine. The warmth and comfort of his touch sweep over me, erasing any doubts or uncertainties that clouded my mind. 

“Peter.” I whispering, sitting back up as I realise just how close I still am to him but he follows me, sitting up too with my wrist still in his gentle grip. My eyes are drawn to the connection of skin on skin, feeling something completely different to that mothering instinct the other pack members give me. No, this is strong and I fear Scott can feel it through the Alpha-Pack Mum bond or pact or whatever you want to call it. We made it and I’m scared Scott is going to appear out of no where and tear Peter to shreds for even being this close to me. 

“Darling,” Peter’s voice is velvety and rich as he speaks, “You’re thinking too hard.” One of his hands cups my jaw, running his thumb soothingly over my cheek and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, sinking into the softness of his touch. With Peter's thumb still caressing my cheek, I close my eyes briefly, relishing the sensation and letting his words sink in. In his touch, I find solace and a respite from the relentless analysis of our situation. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us in this delicate moment and when I open my eyes I meet Peter’s gaze once more, finding an openness I haven’t seen before. 

“Thinking too hard.” I murmur, echoing him, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip and a real smile tugs at the corners of his lips. In this small moment, where the weight of the world seems to dissipate, I feel a surge of courage and desire welling up within me. Without hesitation, I lean forwards, closing the distance between us, and press my lips gently against Peter’s. The touch is soft and tentative at first, as if we’re both savouring the delicate moment. 

As our lips meet again, a current of warmth and longing courses through me, igniting a fire that had been smouldering beneath the surface. The kiss deepens, a blend of passion and tenderness intertwining as our mouths mould together in perfect harmony. It feels all too cliche, the kiss a dance of emotions and desires, a silent confession of mutual want and longing for each other. Peter responding to the kiss with a hunger that matches my own, his arms encircling me as he pulls me closer, one tugging my hair to angle my face to deepen the kiss. I’m sliding onto his lap effortlessly, as if we were always meant to fit together in this way and something in the back of my mind screams ‘mate’ and I know Scott feels it too as there’s a small surge of worry and happiness somewhere in the distance. It’s flowing through me but it feels so far away and detached from right now that I can ignore it in favour for sliding my hands up Peter’s toned chest and into his hair. 

A growl rumbles in Peter’s chest and I can vaguely feel claws pressed against my back and scalp but they’re in no way threatening and I feel safe. Peter’s lips are intoxicating, soft yet demanding, as they meld with mine over and over again. 

In one seamless motion, Peter flips us over, his body now pressed against mine, and the kiss momentarily broken. My breath catches as I take in the sight of him partially wolfed out, the now werewolf electric blue reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and apprehension. Yet, there’s an underlying trust that radiated from him, a belief that I would accept him in all his forms and he’s right. Without any hesitation, I reach up and cup his face, my fingers grazing over the soft fur on his cheeks, my touch gentle and reassuring as I lean up, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. A silent declaration that his transformation doesn’t change the way I feel about him, that I am drawn to the entirety of who he is, human and wolf alike. 

This kiss is a collision of desire and acceptance, an exploration of passion and longing. It’s a fusion of heat and tenderness as our mouths meld together, as if our emotions are bonded and I can feel him and he can feel mine. I find myself drawn to him, craving the connection even more now. 

As the kiss deepens, I become acutely aware of his hands, strong and possessive, as they roam my body. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers cascading down my spine, igniting a trail of sensation that dances across my flesh. I feel his claws, once sharp and threatening, receding, their presence fading into the background as his human touch takes precedence. His hands slip under my shirt, exploring the curves and contours of my body with a mix of urgency and reverence. It's a dance of desire and discovery, his touch leaving a trail of tingling warmth in its wake. I arch into his caress, craving the sensation of his hands against my bare skin, revelling in the intimacy of the moment. 

Lost in the moment, neither of us hear the front door open or the pounding of feet on my stairs until my bedroom door flies open and I’m shrieking in surprise, the kiss breaking. Looking over Peter’s shoulder I see Stiles and Scott standing in the doorway, Stiles trying to catch his breath while Scott lets out a warning growl when he realises who is currently on top of me. 

“PETER?!” Scott is suddenly yelling and I’m cowering slightly, “PETER IS YOUR MATE?!” his emotions heightened by the bond which has Peter on his feet and challenging the alpha in seconds. I’m groaning, climbing off the bed and stepping between them, my back pressed to Peter’s chest and I end up choking on my words as I feel something hard poking into my ass. 

“Scott,” I raise an eyebrow at him as his gaze stays locked on Peter like an unspoken warning still lingering in the air, “Scottie!” I’m saying again, using the bond and his expression softens, his eyes flickering with a mix of concern and protectiveness as Peter wraps an arm around my waist. 

“You hurt-“ 

“Yes, yes, you hurt her and I’ll kill you, I know the whole script.” Peter is cutting Scott off with a bored tone to his voice that has me smacking his thigh lightly as he’s not helping the situation. 

“You’re the one who’s telling Dad about this.” Stiles chortles as he drags Scott back out the room, a shit eating grin on his face as Dad is the Sheriff and has threatened to put a few bullets in Peter before. Scott and Stiles make their exit, voices fading down the stairs, Peter and I are left alone in the aftermath of their abrupt intrusion. The tension in the room beginning to dissolve, replaced by the lingering arousal. Peter’s arm around my waist providing a sense of grounding and a way to push the bond between me and Scott completely out of my mind so he’s can’t feel anything I’m feeling. 

It’s as if Peter senses it because as soon as I’ve done it I’m being spun around and pressed against my bedroom door, my hands pinned above my head as his lips graze against the sensitive skin of my neck. A surge of electricity courses through my veins, reigniting that fire within me as his kisses are soft and teasing, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. With each gentle press of his lips, I feel the weight of his desire and the intensity of our connection. His touches becoming more deliberate, lips lingering over the sensitive spots that make my breath hitch and my heart race. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, his exhales sending shivers down my spine. The anticipation builds as his lips venture dangerously close to where wolves mark their mates, the thrill of it heightening the intensity of our encounter. 

A soft moan escapes my lips, surrendering to the pleasure that courses through me, his thigh pressed between my legs. The world outside ceases to exist as Peter’s attention is solely focused on me, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of hickeys that I know Dad will question. He can’t mate mark me yet so hickeys will have to do for now and I understand and love him for the control he is having to exert. 

I can't help but arch into his touch, my body craving more of his intoxicating presence. The sensations overwhelm me, filling me with a mix of desire and vulnerability. Each touch, each nibble, feels like a declaration of his possessiveness. My pulse quickens, matching the rhythm of our escalating desire. The thrill of being on the edge, the precipice of giving in to the primal instincts that lurk within us, sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins but then Peter’s pulling back, blue eyes dark. 

“Sweetheart if we don’t stop now I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.” He all but groans, a feral and needy sound following the testament and it just sends another wave of arousal pooling between my thighs that I know he can smell with his heightened werewolf senses, “Fuck, you gotta… shit, you gotta stop sweetheart.” 

“Or what?” I tease, pressing my hips down and the material of our jeans rubs just the right way that a moan is leaving his lips. 

“Don’t,” He warns, eyes glowing again, “I don’t wanna rush this.” A mischievous smile plays on my lips as I revel in the effect my teasing has on Peter. His warning only fuels the fire within me, igniting a desire that burns hotter with each passing moment. Yet, there's a sense of restraint in his voice, a reminder that we shouldn't rush what is unfolding between us. 

I press my lips just below his ear, my breath hot against his skin. "Who said anything about rushing?" I whisper, my voice laced with a mixture of playfulness and longing. "We have all the time in the world, Peter.” His grip tightens ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the power struggle between us. We stand at the precipice of something profound, where pleasure and connection intertwine. The desire in his eyes mirrors my own, an unspoken promise of what lies ahead. 

“All the time in the world.” He echoes. 

“Make me yours.” 

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Teen Wolf Masterlist 

TAGS: Tag List Form

[tyrantonutx]

Looking for RP Partner(s)!

Hey, hi, how's it goin'?

I'm Tyrant, 30+ s/they, and this is a Take Two attempt at finding like-minded folx, so if you happen to see a similar looking post floating around (unlikely but possible), I am in fact one and the same Tyrant, I'm just too damn impatient to wait on tumblr to fix my original blog.

ANYWAY.

I'm hoping to find some partner(s) interested in Discord RP, because I am in fact a tumblr Baby (despite the original blog being...several years old...) and the formatting on tumblr rp blogs makes me Nervous.

I've been roleplaying in various capacities on forums, discord, and chat (throwback to AOL Instant Messenger amirite?) for approximately two decades and some change. I tend to write in a casual cadence as one might suspect, and I like to adapt my replies to the thread (anywhere from several sentences to a few paragraphs is my norm). I generally prefer CANON x CANON ships, at least starting out, to get a feel for how we come at characterization and plot together before we dip into OC territory. I'm involved in a few fandoms that may in fact be wastelands but, hey, you miss every shot you don't take, so here I am!

What follows is a list of fandos, characters, and ships I'm ACTIVELY looking for, the things that make my brain buzz in all the good ways. I'm down for hearing out any plots you might have in your lovely beating hearts (or shriveled little black ones, no judgment here!) or working out plots together based on all the good things that come from two rambling fans throwing head canons and "OK BUT WHAT IF"s at each other til something sticks.

If any of these strike you as fun, or if you just think I'm gosh darn neat and wanna chat me up for the thrills, please like this post, message me here on tumblr, or send me a friend request on discord (@tyrantonut)! I'm shy af and terrible at reaching out first, thank you hereditary anxiety and Burnt Out Gifted Kid syndrome, so sometimes I need that lil nudge.

...right! The fandoms! (Please note that while I have listed characters for me vs. for you, I'm actually pretty flexible on these! I just think I write some sides better than others.)

FANDOMS

The Boys (AU preferred)

Butchie -- Billy Butcher x Hughie Campbell

Stephen King's It (Muschietti AU preferred)

Reddie -- Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Stranger Things (Aged up AU preferred)

Byler -- Mike Wheeler x Will Byers

Harringrove -- Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington

Steddie -- Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Hannibal (NBC)

Hannigram -- Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham

Marvel Universe (Comics & Movieverse)

Spideypool -- Wade Wilson x Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield)

Spiderprowl -- Aaron Davis x Peter B. Parker

Mysterio/Spiderman -- Quentin Beck x Peter Parker (Tom Holland, preferably aged up)

Starkmonger -- Tony Stark/Erik Killmonger

Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss Universe

Huskerdust -- Angel Dust x Husk (Overlord Husk AU has given me brain rot)

Chaggie -- Charlie Magne x Vaggie

RadioApple -- Alastor x Lucifer

Stolitz -- Blitzo x Stolas

Fizzarozzie -- Fizzarolli x Asmodeus

Glee

Puckurt -- Noah 'Puck' Puckerman x Kurt Hummel