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Ok omg ur bill fumblimg fanfic was TOO good, u have to do a Pete one🫡

HI HELLO! So I got some major inspo from this lolol this isn't really proofread so if it sucks major I apologize!! Enjoy a Petecentric fumble drabble

TW: Mentioned Child Abuse and Pornography (not graphic). Read at own risk.

Pete hated his family. He hated them all, and even as a kid, he promised he would never end up like them. His older brothers, his father, they made his life a living hell, and he wanted to escape the cycle more than anything. Even as he surrounded himself with the things they used to torment him with, he assured himself he was not like them. Horror littered his room, figures of Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers with bloody weapons, posters of Black Christmas and Hellraiser filled up every inch of his walls, but he was not his family. He had taken control over something they used to torment him with. Pete could recall his brothers, late at night, forcing him to stay up to watch a VHS tape he could never unsee, no matter how much he tried to look away. Pete could still visualize his father, a man who towered over him, who would yell in his face about anything he did that wasn’t man enough. 

Peter Dinunzio did not want to be like them, ever since he was a kid. He avoided questions about his family, never let the club hold meetings at his house, and stayed out late so that they could never catch him in the house long enough to bully him again. Disgusting, perveted men who made him watch women be cut open half way to next week as a little boy, he hated them. Deep down, he hated that they had formed mostly what he had become as a teen, but he vowed it would only go that far. He just liked horror, and that didn’t mean he was his family. That just meant he liked spooky shit, and anybody could like that (just not as much as he did).

It wasn’t until he was staring at you, as he wore merchandise for an industry he was tormented with as a child, that he realized he was exactly like his family. Sick and perverted more than ever, obsessed with blood and porn, he couldn’t see himself without it now. He needed blood and torment, and he couldn’t picture a woman more pretty than when she was split open on the end of a knife and covered in blood. Fake blood, of course. Dyed corn syrup he was forced to clean up after each session they filmed at Sick MOFO. He had never seen you more disappointed.

He expected you to be mad. Pete had seen you mad more times than he could count about the various idiotic things he would do or say in his teens. He didn’t have a filter, not back then, and definitely not as he stood in front of you, but he had never seen you look at him like that. It was like you expected him to be better, and in some part, he can’t blame you for imagining him in a better light. 

Pete had told you about his family when you were young. Before the club had entirely gone to shit, before Bill had gone off the deep end, when they were still in it for fun. It was embarassing to him, back then, to admit all of what had been bottled up for a majority of his life. It was engraved in him, from countless years under his father’s fist, that complaints were for girls - bitches - and the one thing Pete could assure himself he wasn’t was a bitch. He complained, sure, but not about feelings. He complained about how school sucked, or how the good poster he wanted got taken out from under his nose right before he could reach out and grab it, but he never got personal. 

He told you everything. All the bottled up garbage he had pushed down and hidden underneath an obsession he couldn’t help but see his family in. The way he wanted to escape, how afraid he was of falling down the same path as his father, or his brothers, and becoming no better. He didn’t want to be perfect, he just didn’t want to be them, and in that moment you assured him he would be nothing like his family, and he believed you. After each reassuring word, every soft way you told him he wouldn’t end up like the rest of the fuck ups in his family, your words wedged themselves into his mind that he could be different. Better.

Though, now, as he finishes his rant about how he got to see some poor woman, a piece of a system he used to cover his eyes at when he was a boy, strung up in unbelievable ways for a film shoot he was grateful he to witness, he realizes that your reaction tells him he was just like the rest of them.

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two uploads in one night??? Who am I??? Sorry for dropping off the face of the planet for fics. Currently I will be working on some asks and I will also get some stuff I have been cooking up working, too. To my supernatural fans you will be suffering with a meal you won't want (gabriel x reader angst fic). BUT DON"T WORRY!!! I will feed you guys all eventually. Just let papa cook because the fridge gets empty sometimes

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JERRY X READER headcannon..hit me with them, Fan

Oh hello person I actually know and live with!! I might eat you for this! But because you're Jerry's number one defender and fan I GUESS I will give you headcannons...your greed sickens me / j.

General and Relationship headcannons for Jerome T. Stokes >:3

General Headcannons:

Jerry has mad dandruff. Genuine problem, and he only manages to get rid of it near the epilogue because he locks in and stops using 3 in 1.

OK SO CLEARLY JERRY LIKES MAGIC BUT…what deck type does he play? I will explain in my essay! He likes playing white decks the most, both mono white and green/blue/white mix, because I project. White decks usually rely on politics/”be my friend, I help you, you help me”. Jerry tries to dial up his niceties when he plays magic so his deck can work the way its intended, he is not above it for the win. Especially near the epilogue, when he stops being gross, he actually works really well with this type of deck because he plays up the chill guy aesthetic. Proceeds to whoop ass with his deck and it feels brutal. You got to draw one card, yay, and now his foot is halfway up your ass. 

Needs glasses, but his eyesight isn’t that bad, like Josh or Bill so he never got them as a teen. Later in life he settles for reading glasses because he literally can’t read the MGT cards because of the tiny ass text, but doesn’t wear them anywhere else.

During highschool he was an average student. He wasn’t overly smart, but he wasn’t failing, either. He got B’s, sometimes an A if he actually tried, but he rarely did. 

Jerry canonically likes Studio Ghibli but I feel like he did NOT talk abt it with the club because they called it stupid. He fucks crazy with Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, and he brought it up once and Bill proceeded to call him a pussy so he never talked abt it again.

The only one of the club who could likely hold a normal conversation during their teen years. As soon as he got comfortable, though, it was over. He isn’t as bad as the rest, but he will let out an insane take that will make a group of people who thought he was just some regular nerdy guy immediately switch up and go WOAAAH. 

Relationship Headcannons: 

He has insanely sweaty hands. Normally he is a little clammy, but as soon as he gets around you he is literally a wet napkin. Like he has to wipe his hands off on his pants sweaty, and it leaves wet spots. If you hold his hand it feels uncomfortable, but if you say anything he will literally never try again. This is especially true before the epilogue, and even during the epilogue he is still clammy. He just calms down a little, especially if you have been with him since highschool, or have known him since then, as he is much more comfortable with you.

Makes you learn magic, and he definitely doesn’t go easy. It feels nearly like bullying, because you are not winning those matches. He is a decent teacher, though, even if he is beating your ass. After each round he will tell you what you did wrong, and it might come across as rude, but he actually wants you to get better so you can have more fun. 

Speaking of Magic, he will build you a deck. He will give you a deck made from all of his extra cards that is tailored towards you, especially if he likes you. Cards that are good that don’t fit into his deck type that he had collected overtime immediately go into yours. He makes you sleeve and take care of them, though, because if you bend them or get them gross his soul leaves his body. This does not change from highschool to the epilogue. Grown or not, those cards are EXPENSIVE.

When he was still in the club, he kept you at a twelve foot distance away from them. It wasn’t jealousy, because, despite being more than anxious at that age, considering you would definitely be his first relationship, it was practically about safety. None of the club would be normal, and he wasn’t as proud of a man as the others would think of themselves to be. He had no reason to show you off and have you be harassed and bullied out of the group or his life. Jerry knows better.

He doesn’t ever get a chance to play DND with you because he already has a group (the club) but he does run his plans by you. Jerry will show you his notes, his sketches of villains or NPCs, and plot lines he wants to implement. On occasion, he will ask for input. If he really likes you, he may or may not make you a character that is way too overpowered so the club can’t kill you or do anything insane with their first interaction (they are all murder hobos in game ik they are). Later in the epilogue he definitely forms a group with you and he plays just a little bit of favorites. Just a little.

When you eventually have your first kiss he gets so scared. Literally horrified. He knows its about to happen because he can see you lean in and he literally freezes. Just sits there. You think he might be a brick wall, but he is happy. Jerry is just horrified because somebody is kissing HIM and he doesn’t know what to do. Eventually he gets more comfortable, but you can always feel him stiffen up a little initially each time before he relaxes, because he literally can’t believe it keeps happening every time it happens.

Dates depend on the time. Before the epilogue he likes to play magic with you, or go movie hopping. He will convince you to sneak into different trashy movies, and eventually get kicked out because you get caught. Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, he invites you back to his house to watch something. He really values quality time, so he doesn’t care if he is just sat in a room with you doing nothing. Epilogue he likes going out to lowkey places, nothing fancy but something a little quiet and nice for dinner on special occasions because he actually has money to take you out. He still values quality time, and he will invite you over to just watch a movie, or play a new game he got (he still likes table top and he finds ones that can have 2 players only). Other than that, he likes going for a walk, or a drive to talk about anything. 

[xxfandom-writesxx]

angst with Bill or Pete (or both hehe) fumbling reader with it hitting extra hard in the epilogue / time skip

HII!! I am so sorry it took so long to get around to this ask!! I wrote a little drabble for you and I lowkey let it sit in my backlog for like eons ,,, but I hope I did your request some form of justice !!

When Bill thought back upon past regret, he had only a handful of things he could name off the top of his head. Mostly petty nonsense - like the time he sold a figure he really liked for cash, or the other time he missed out on a movie premiere because he was sick. There were deeper things, though, that he often buried to the depths of his mind. He didn’t like looking back on some things, like the day he lit the comic book shop aflame and wound up in the hospital with burns all across his body. Though, even that managed to force its way up to the top of his mind on occasion. He still lived with his mother, after all, so it wasn’t easy to avoid the streets he used to traverse with his club at all hours of the day. The old comic book shop laid in ruins now, burned up and vacated from the damage, and he avoided that area the best out of them all.

He avoided more than just the comic book store, though. There were other paths he couldn’t look at - ones much harder to avoid than the long walk to a half abandoned, burned down shop. Sometimes he thought he didn’t want to escape them at all, as his body knew them by memory entirely. Like the way to Jerry’s place - or Pete’s. Sometimes he would find himself, on the rare time he managed to drag himself out from his mother’s house, absentmindedly going down their streets. As if he could knock on the door, like he was in highschool again, and make them get out of their house to go do something ridiculous. He always turned around before he fully stepped near their houses. One glimpse and he high tailed it like a coward, scoffing and angrily spouting like a petulant child about how they were the downfall of the club. 

He hated them entirely - loathed, despised. More than anything, though, he hated you. More than the club, more than Josh, more than that prick who scammed him out of two hundred dollars for a fake Batman figure. He despised you with a passion, because you managed to be the one thing that plagued his mind just as much as the club, and you weren’t even in it. You were a fake, not even a real fan. You had never gotten into fights for the last few limited edition shirts, you had never been thrown out of a theater, and you had no right to pretend to be as close to him as you did. 

He got angry just thinking about you. Bill remembered being laid up in the hospital when he got the news you were moving away. Your parents, disappointed you had associated yourself with him, wanted you sent you away; and you let them. Like the bitch you were, you packed your bags and got on the first plane out and he never heard from you again. Not a phone call or a letter. You had effectively disappeared from his life without so much as a goodbye and he hated you for it. He should have expected it, though, with how much you started to complain just like Jerry. You wanted him to “change,” you wanted him to “be better,” like he wasn’t his own man with his own decisions to make. Bill could still hear that argument the two of you had the week before he lit the shop on fire. 

The two of you were sitting in his basement. He hated having you around the club, and he always made you come at inconvenient times so they wouldn’t see you. Bill kept you a close guarded secret, both out of impending jealousy that they would faun over you, and because he didn’t want them to ridicule him like they had with Jerry. Anyone considered a distraction would be kicked, after all, and dammit if he wasn’t a hypocrite for keeping you around. 

It was late at night. Long after the club had gone, and he had dragged you from your sleep to sit in his basement. He was ranting, raving animatedly with an aggressive yell about something you had long since tuned out. Bill hadn’t ever invited you over to just talk. Not for a while, at least, not since you were much smaller. Fandom had consumed him entirely, and he was insufferable. Someone, likely, he never pictured himself to be when he was small. Eventually he had realized you were tuning him out, and he snapped his head back to meet your eyes.

“Are you even listening to me, this is serious! This could be the end of fandom as we speak, these insufferable, fake, phony, pricks! They’re going to kill us all,” he screams at you, and it looks like he really is pissed this time. Not just at whoever he had been complaining about, but at you in general. It had been this way more often than not, directing his anger, whether it made sense or not, towards you. He had weasled his way into your life, attached himself like a leech, and like any other leech he bled you dry and kept sucking at your life. Like any victim of a leech, too, you eventually wanted to pry him off.

“Is it really that serious, Bill? What are you even talking about,” you ask through an exasperated sigh. His rants blended together. Somebody did something he didn’t like, and by God what did he like other than those stupid comics or his stupid shows, and he was angry just because. Nothing seemed to satisfy him, and you began to think even comics wouldn’t be enough eventually. He would just be angry, and there would be little left to satisfy him. Even as a teenager, not even out of his senior year, he was a vile and violent person. He started fights for no reason, he yelled over nothing at all, and it had taken your life and happiness away little by little. 

“It is serious, it is! You don’t get it - you don’t understand the real issues here! My collection could be meaningless!” Clearly, he doesn’t understand. He wants to go on a longer rant, you can tell. The way his hands flex, how his jaw tightens. Bill paced around the room once again, no longer stopped in his tracks, and he returns back to his neverending screaming. A meteor could come down, an army could invade his house, and it wouldn’t stop him. 

You sat on the couch for thirty more minutes. Thirty agonzing, self analyzing minutes. He yelled throughout them all. Rarely did he take a pause for a breath, nor did he ever stop long enough for you to get a word in (not like you particularly cared for the topic, anyway; you hadn’t cared for his long winded rants for quite a while now). In that moment, you didn’t speak, nor listen in to his strange conversation. He got out what he needed, and when he took a deep breath, looked over, and expected some kind of response, he was met with nothing. Usually you would engage, long before he turned to near mania about his interests. You would engage him for hours, going back and forth. It didn’t matter how long he went on before because you liked hearing him - and he wasn’t as bad, with his hair string temper that had consumed him. 

“Well,” he snapped, an attempt to get you to speak. Instead, you rolled your eyes and stood up. You slung the back you brought over your shoulder, and made your way to the stairs that led out of his basement. He couldn’t believe it - and at the time he was so consumed with raw, pure anger because you had completely ignored him. Bill started up again, and he didn’t even recognize what tumbled out of his mouth. Anything and everything, cruelty and threats, pulled out of his mind and went through his mouth without any thought. How ungrateful you were, how much of a bitch you’d grown to be, whatever he could accuse you of.

“Call me when you learn to grow up. Leave me out of whatever dumb shit you have until you do.” 

You didn’t talk to him, not after, nor when he burned down the shop and laid in the hospital. To your credit, he never changed. He never grew, and he only fell deeper into the hole that he opened up as a teenager. Bill was so deep there was no way out, neither in ability to pull himself out, or push through. He was so far gone Bill would never see himself be better. The only thing he had, aside from his bitch mom and annoying brother, were comics and fandom. When the depths of his horrid life caught him, in those brief moments of lucidity, he realized he might have ruined the only relationship he would ever have. Nobody else tolerated him, and the club had been disbanded for years. He had nobody else. 

But he was a loser. Even if he didn’t want to hear it, Bill knew. It didn’t take a jock, or his mother, or his dad to hammer that lesson home in his head. He still lived with his mother, festering in her basement like some dweeb, surrounded by nobody but his collection. He couldn’t hold a stable job, and he leeched off of the money he managed to haggle out of his mom. If you saw how he ended up, friendless, alone, and relying on a mom he always said he hated you would have said “I told you so”. You would have remarked about how much you warned him, how you told him time and time again to get a grip on life, to get a job, to do anything with his life other than troll forums and hang around Joe’s. 

And maybe you would be right. He hated his life, and he hated you even more. Especially at night, when he had nothing more to do than chug trashy beers and scroll through the internet. He liked stalking your profiles, despite all the anger he had towards you. He saw your graduation photos long ago, and he saw your college acceptance letters. When you graduated and got a degree he was there, too. Maybe behind a screen, but he was there. So, when you updated your public profiles and said you were taken, he was there, too. Alone, with his monitor, and his mind filled with regret. 

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What is the appeal of Pete denunzio liek why do people like him so much/gen

Hihi !!! Smth i can answer while I write up fics for other asks (pls I'm so sorry it's taking ages I'm just lazy)

I don't know about everyone, but Pete is a particular favorite for me because he's the horror guy. I'm really into horror (Hellraiser fans pls stand up) and I want to beat him up over it.

Plus, I like his character based upon the fact that he is a real outcome of desensitization in media. In my eyes, and headcannons, I believe he was heavily desensitized to gore, horror, and all above things from a young age and he ended up the way he was because of that. I like the appeal of that because it's such a real thing that can happen to a person when they dive into extreme gore and that gross ass length of horrorporn movies that need to be examined in prisons

But mostly because Pete canonically references Hellraiser and I think we could both be freaks over Pinhead together

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HI CHAT so there r many requests rn >:3 I promise I am working on them just give me some time to get through the bulk and stuff and I shall get to your stuff !! MEOW!!! Get ready for a sad ass angst fic coming ur way tho !!

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I will punch his smirk off on baby

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Do you do yandere headcanons?

Hii !! Good question!! So, I think I'd be open to it to a point. I don't really particularly want to write smth too extreme (like yandere kidnap stuff or anything yk) but I'd be down to write a character being a bit obsessive, as I have slashers up for being able to be written for.

Tldr KIND OF but nothing too crazy

[xxfandom-writesxx]

Pete Dinunzio x reader headcanons please 😔🙏 bonus if it’s enemies to lovers

PETE my glorious goat !!! Ty for the ask anon >:3

TW: none - mild language, but it is Pete so to be expected

Pete is a loud mouth crashout. I don't picture him as some nonchalant guy, and even if he did try to be nonchalant, he fails in every form. You KNOW Pete is coming because you can hear him coming down the halls.

And that's why you don't like him. He's loud, and not only is he loud, he's openly discussing vile and heinous movies he's seen to where everyone can hear each intimate detail. It's disgusting, and his abrasive, brash personality does little to make up for it. In short, you think he's disgusting.

But!! You can't avoid that freak forever. Eventually he worms his way into your life through school. You share some classes, and he doesn't really do any work. You can guess (with accuracy) that he's bottom of the class. He mostly just goofs off and messes with people. If the club, or even part of the club, is in his class? Forget it. Nothing is getting done.

That doesn't stop you from being put into a partner project with him. He doesn't even want to do it. He doesn't even know you all that well, and he has plans to just make you do it all because he can't be bothered. He's behind on his rewatch of the Hellraiser movies, he's busy.

But then he sees you. You come up by his desk once you get the chance to meet up with your partners. You look so pissed off at the idea of being partnered with him, but he couldn't care less because LOOK at who he's partnered with.

He's only participating in the project to go to your house. I'm sorry. He won't even really participate. He's there because he wants to see your room, and he wants to know all the details of your life that nobody (totally) will get to see because he's your partner in this project.

The only reason you start to even mildly get along is because he's being a nosey prick. Scanning your room, looking through shelves. He wants music (he thinks it will “set a mood,” whatever that means) and you begrudgingly allow him to scope your vinyls and CD collection in hopes he'll shut up and be busy to where you can actually work on the assignment at hand.

He's been digging through your collection for a few minutes now. He makes the occasional comment when he deems something stupid. A band that's too girlie or a genre he finds stupid. He'll toss the CD cases without care back into the bin, or he'll shove the vinyls back into the shelf with force. You think, even if he's destroying things you've spent hard earned money on, it's kept him more shut up than ever. He's bitching, sure, but you can finally work. You're doing an assignment meant for two, after all.

And then he stops entirely. No more prodding comments about your music taste, or insulting some band he thinks “sounds like a bitchy girl band”. He's holding a CD case like it's the holy grail, lifting it up to inspect it near his face as if it isn't even real.

“What are you doing,” you ask, peering from the pile of notes and outlines you made. Work that he didn't even help on. At your question, though, he holds up the CD, flaunting it like it was nearly gold. His grin is wide, where his eyes squint and he clearly knows what he's doing. You'd hidden that thing for a reason - it was a guilty pleasure band. A collection of songs you listened to in secret, when nobody was home, or when the car was empty.

“What're you doing listening to this?”

That's how you start talking to him. The awful sharing of a horrible band that he takes great pleasure in. He likes to hold it over your head, the fact that the person who hates him listens to HIS music. He's such a prick.

Though, to be fair, it does give you something to talk about with him. Even if he lowkey bullies you about it, he puts on the CDs you have every time he comes over. He's actually kind of normal now that he has something to talk to you about, even if he's obscene in his likes (and dislikes).

Sometimes he will quiz you on it, though. He'll ask you to name albums, songs, singers, anything and everything. The more you answer correctly the more he keeps asking. In some way, this is his way of showing interest.

And you feed into it. Mostly to show him up, so he doesn't think you're stupid. You like the music, you know it like how he knows the entire original Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie front and back. He takes it as you showing interest, too.

“Yeah, but what was their single they released two years ago! Name that one,” he yells at you. He's standing - pacing. Pete has been walking around like this, asking you question after question. For the first time since you've known him, he's captured your attention not in an entirely negative way. You've put aside the work, nearly done, it just needs a once over, and you answer his questions enthusiastically. Each one a marker of your intelligence, each one a reason why you are a fan.

Your answer comes swiftly, too. It makes him scoff, blowing your answer off with a wave, but he doesn't stop. He throws more questions at you, over and over until he runs out of breath. He spews curses whenever you get something right, like he can't believe you managed to answer some of his trick questions correctly.

“Yeah, well, when did the band form,” you eventually ask, slipping it between his barrage. He stops, looks at you with bugged out eyes, and he lets out a cackle.

“Pussy shit - what am I, a baby?”

Eventually you start hanging out during school. Something you would have never done before - in fact, you avoided him like the plague. He doesn't exactly prioritize you over the club - in fact, he tries to hide you away from the club at all costs. Mostly because he wants to keep the banter to himself, but also because he doesn't want to share you with those pricks. They'd run you off like they'd ran off that poor girl that kept coming over for Jerry. A distraction to the club is a big nono, but in classes you share that the club isn't in? He'll slide over next to your desk, bitching about the club, distracting you from your work. If you even think of doing work while he's there think AGAIN!! He will complain!!

Eventually, one day, in your third period that you share, he comes over with this shit eating grin. He ruffles through his bag, and aggressively slams two tickets against the desk. You don't have a choice.

“Look at what I snagged! What'dya know about this? Saw they were sellin’ em, managed to get them for nothin’.”

He stole them. Pickpocketed from some young kid, younger than him who didn't even belong in the damn concert to begin with. Poor kid was probably down two hundred bucks now, but Pete hadn't touched a dime of his.

He didn't want to do anything with the other guys, either. Bill would complain, Josh would, too, and Jerry would want to leave mid way through. They'd ruin the total vibe of it all. You were the only one who would appreciate it, like it, and wouldn't be a baby about getting in the pit. If you got hit, you'd take it, like a normal person.

“What time,” you ask, without the hesitation you would have had before. You would even say you were excited. A smile coming across your face, taking one of the tickets that were crumpled and put on the table.

The concert is actually fun. Surprisingly. Even with Pete bitching, occasionally, because he thinks the people there don't deserve to be there. It's almost a roulette at who he deems a real fan of the music (nearly nobody). He shit talks in line about people in front of you, nearly gets into fights before he even gets into the door. It's an experience.

However, when you finally get past the door, he's actually exciting. He drags you to the pit, pushes people out of the way, grabbing your hand tight and tugging you along. It hurts, but you don't really pay attention to that. His hand is a little sweaty, and it almost seems like he's a little nervous to keep your hand in his, but he doesn't pull away until he has you in the middle of the pit and is using it mildly like a fight club.

And he does make you participate. You come out with a black eye and probably a sprained ankle. He's worse. Somehow got a bloody nose and nearly got kicked out of the concert by the end, but you're laughing by the end. You aren't even particularly mad, because he looks so stupid beat up. He's complaining, but you can't help but poke fun and giggle. You realize by the end that he isn't even snapping back as much as he would.

You're stumbling out of the exit together. People are leaving in droves, and you are bruised and battered, nearly limping. Pete is by far the worst. He got into, practically, two fist fights. There's a forming bruise around his right eye, and blood has crusted by his nose. His nose might even be a bit off center, but you can't tell quite yet because it's so dark out.

By the time you're out on the sidewalk, finally starting to walk back to your respective houses, you get a better look at him. How hurt he is, and notably, how tousled and idiotic he looks. You can't help but laugh, breaking out into a fit of giggles, snorting in between as you try to suppress the laughter. He doesn't seem entirely pleased. In fact, he scowls.

“Stop laughin’. Did you even see what I did? The other guy was worse! Worse! I gotta scrape compared to them!”

You don't stop. It feels like you can't stop, and your stomach hurts after a while. You clutch your mid section, holding it tight and bent over halfway. He's pitching a fit, but he isn't really being cruel like he used to. Back when he'd pitch fits, loud and aggressive, but now it holds just a little bit of merit.

Eventually you manage to walk back home, between fits of laughter. Your houses aren't too far apart. You stand on the sidewalk that meets the halfway point between your homes.

He's still going on, and you're somewhat egging him on. Sharing the experience, talking about the performance. Pete is still as excited as when he was waiting in the line - and you know he's going to talk this whole night up to his loser club when he sees them next.

But you have to go home. It's the middle of the night - you'll both have to slip through windows and locked doors to safely make it home without making it a problem. But Pete lingers, standing with his hands in his pockets.

And it's then, between the eyes that look away from you and how he attempts to hide his embarrassment through crude comments, he asks for you to go out with him again.

“‘S a waste to not go out with someone hot. I mean, if I didn't, it'd be fuckin’ stupid. I could see you in one of those slashin’ dice movies. Covered in blood? Total babe.” He doesn't really get everything out properly. It's awful, it's horrid. He goes on and on, droning on about your body and how he'd like to see you half cut open on a flick he'd seen before. By the end he isn't making sense, but he finally cuts to the chase.

It's an awful confession. It's barely a confession. It's awful, and it's crude, and it's gross. From anyone else you would've told them to get lost. It was an awful idea to do anything less - but you can't seem to bring yourself to do it with Pete. Instead, you let him go one, until there's a long pause where he clearly isn't going to say anymore.

“I'll go, but you better not get into a fight this time.”

BWAAAA I HIOE YOU LIKED IT !!! MEOW MEOW MEOW

[xxfandom-writesxx]

I come with a fic offer none of you can refuse!

This blog will be used to drop fics/drabbles/blurbs and headcannons about YOUR favs!! Above all, I TAKE REQUESTS !!

Below I'll list the fandoms, and my list of things I can do in terms of writing!

Do's/Don't's

I DO fluff/angst/smut in terms of genres. I allow alternate universe work, as well, as long as you specify what AU/what you would like.

I DO write small blurbs and headcannons, as well as fics, if I feel so inclined based upon asks. If you ask for a specific thing, I will do that! I only ask that everyone be patient because I am a busy college student.

I DON'T do extreme kinks such as piss/scat/noncon or ageplay. I also do not do age regression and pregnancy fics. Equally, I have the right to deny any request I find makes me uncomfortable.

I DON'T write for fandoms I am not a part of. I also will only partake in writing x reader, so I do not do x oc.

I DON'T write smut for characters under the age of 18. So, for example, I will only write TEC smut for the epilogue versions and / or various aus that put them in an adult age range, like college aus. Equally, minor blogs interacting with said goon material will be put into super hell.

Onto the Fandoms!!

The Eltingville Club

Supernatural

Naruto

MHA

Slashers

Gravity Falls

Send in ur requests away!!!