Geek Power 👻

Fanfics with all of my favorite characters and I only write Fem reader and Male characters BUT if anyone has a suggestion just ask 🥰 And don’t forget your Awesome 😎

[bookloover35]

New Neighbor, New CrushPart 4 - Chaos, Concerts, and Caffeine

You had no idea how, but Rodrick actually managed to get to your house on time for your so-called "date." He pulled up in the family van, blasting music way too loud, and leaned out the window with his usual smirk.

"You ready to rock, or what?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling as you climbed into the passenger seat. "Let's just hope these bands don't suck."

Rodrick scoffed, pulling out of your driveway. "Pfft. Even if they do, at least we'll be the coolest people there."

At the Concert

The venue was packed with teenagers in ripped jeans and band tees, and the energy was electric. You and Rodrick found a decent spot near the stage, headbanging and making fun of the bands that tried to be cool but totally failed.

During a break between sets, you nudged Rodrick. "Alright, since this is technically our first date—"

Rodrick nearly choked. "Wha— You— You just called it a date."

You ignored his smirking face and pulled a can of Monster Energy from your bag. "You need to try this."

Rodrick eyed the can like it was a foreign object. "Pfft. Energy drinks are lame."

"You're literally running on, like, two brain cells and bad decisions. You need this."

Rodrick scoffed but took the can. "Fine. But if this sucks, you owe me a slushie."

You watched as he took a sip. At first, his face was neutral—then his eyes widened.

"Yo. Wait. This is actually good."

You grinned. "Told you."

Rodrick took another big gulp. "Oh, this is dangerous."

Fifteen minutes later, the caffeine hit.

Rodrick was suddenly way more hyped, jumping around, shouting lyrics, and even getting into a mini mosh pit. At one point, he grabbed your hand and spun you around, laughing like an idiot.

You were so going to regret letting him drink that.

Post-Concert Chaos

As you walked back to the van, Rodrick was still buzzing with energy.

"DUDE. That concert was legendary."

You chuckled. "I think the Monster broke you."

Rodrick grinned, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. "Nah, you just bring out my best self."

You rolled your eyes but felt your face heat up a little.

As Rodrick started the car, he suddenly paused. "Hey, so... we should do this again. You know. Like, another date or whatever."

You smirked. "You just want another Monster, don't you?"

Rodrick laughed. "Maybe."

But the way he looked at you? Yeah. He totally meant it.

And honestly? You wouldn't mind another date either.

[bookloover35]

New Neighbor, New CrushPart 3 - The Invitation

After the interesting dinner with the Heffleys, you found yourself hanging out with Rodrick more often than you expected. It started with him showing off his drum skills (which, to be fair, weren't terrible), then escalated to full-on jam sessions in his garage.

One evening, after nailing the guitar solo in American Idiot, you tossed your pick onto Rodrick's amp and stretched. "Alright, I think that's enough for today. My fingers are about to fall off."

Rodrick, lounging against his drum set, gave you a lopsided grin. "Not bad. For a rookie."

You scoffed. "Please. I carried us."

Rodrick let out a laugh, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. Then, he cleared his throat, suddenly looking... almost nervous?

"So, uh... there's this concert coming up."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Local bands, some decent ones, and a few that totally suck but try really hard." He scratched the back of his neck. "I was thinking... maybe we could go together?"

You tilted your head. "Like... as friends?"

Rodrick's smirk faltered for half a second before he quickly covered it up. "I mean... unless you wanna make it, like... a thing."

You crossed your arms. "Are you asking me on a date, Heffley?"

His face turned a little pink. "Uh. Maybe?"

You pretended to think about it, just to mess with him. "Hmm. What's in it for me?"

Rodrick rolled his eyes. "An amazing night, VIP treatment—"

"Liar."

"Fine. I'll buy you a slushie."

You smirked. "Deal."

Rodrick blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

You grabbed your pick off his amp and slid it into your pocket. "Yeah. But you better not make it weird."

Rodrick grinned. "No promises."

As you walked out of the garage, Rodrick watched you go, a victorious smirk on his face.

Maybe having new neighbors wasn't so bad after all.

[bookloover35]

Neverland's Wildflower- Peter Pan.

The salty air of the Jolly Roger had always been home to you. As the daughter of Captain Killian Jones—better known as Hook—you had spent your life sailing the endless seas, learning the ways of a pirate, and hearing your father's endless warnings about one name: Peter Pan.

Pan, the ruler of Neverland. The demon in a boy's form. The thief of children's dreams.

You never expected to meet him face-to-face.

But fate had other plans.

The night was dark, the stars barely visible behind the thick fog curling around the ship. Your father stood at the helm, tense, his fingers twitching over the hilt of his sword.

"We're close to Neverland," he muttered, his jaw set in a hard line. "Stay by my side, lass."

You rolled your eyes. "I can handle myself, Father."

"Aye, but Pan isn't just anyone. He's worse than the worst of men because he's not a man at all."

Before you could argue, a gust of wind howled through the sails, and suddenly, the ship wasn't alone. Shadows danced on the deck, creeping along the wood like living things.

Then you heard it. A chuckle. Smooth, cocky, and far too amused.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Your hand flew to your sword as you spun around. And there he stood, bathed in moonlight.

Peter Pan.

He looked exactly as the stories described—wildly tousled hair, mischievous green eyes, and a smirk that spoke of dangerous games. He was younger than you expected, yet something about him felt older than time itself.

His gaze flickered to Hook. "Good to see you again, Captain. Still holding a grudge?"

Your father growled, stepping protectively in front of you. "What do you want, Pan?"

But Pan wasn't looking at Hook anymore. His eyes were on you.

"And who might you be, love?"

You gripped your sword tighter, raising your chin. "None of your business."

Pan laughed, tilting his head as if you were the most interesting thing in the world. "Oh, I think it is my business. You smell of the sea, but you don't belong to it, do you?"

You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He took a step closer, ignoring the way Hook bristled. "It means you're different. You're not just a pirate, not just your father's daughter. There's something more inside you. Something wild."

A strange sensation curled in your stomach.

"Stay away from her," your father warned, stepping between you again. "She's not yours to play with."

Pan's smirk grew. "Oh, but everyone in Neverland is mine to play with."

And before you could react, the shadows surged forward, wrapping around you like vines. You gasped, struggling, but the darkness pulled you away from the Jolly Roger. The last thing you heard was your father roaring your name before everything went black.

You awoke in a jungle. The air was thick with the scent of earth and rain, and the trees stretched high above, their leaves rustling with unseen movements.

"Rise and shine, darling."

You sat up, heart pounding. Peter Pan perched on a rock nearby, twirling a dagger between his fingers.

"What the hell do you want with me?" you snapped, standing.

He watched you, eyes gleaming. "You're special, love. I can feel it. And I think you'd do quite well here in Neverland."

You scoffed. "Not a chance. My father will come for me."

Pan grinned. "Oh, I hope he does. It's always fun watching Hook squirm."

Your fists clenched, anger flaring. "You're a monster."

He stood in a blink, suddenly in front of you, so close you could see the gold flecks in his green eyes.

"No, sweetheart," he murmured. "I'm just honest about what I am."

His gaze flickered over you, assessing. A smirk ghosted his lips. "You'd fit in well here, you know. You've got the fire for it."

You swallowed hard, refusing to let his words get under your skin. "I'm not like you."

Pan only chuckled, stepping back. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

And with that, he disappeared into the jungle, leaving you alone in the heart of Neverland.

[bookloover35]

Burning Red- Part 3

The room smelled like sweat, gunpowder, and sex. Somewhere in the hallway, Harley was singing off-key to a song only she could hear. You lay sprawled across Rick Flag's chest, your black-painted nails lazily tracing the scars on his skin.

He hadn't said a word.

You could feel it—the storm gathering under his skin. Duty. Guilt. Maybe even regret.

"You thinkin' about pushing me away now?" you said, voice low, almost amused. "About how you shouldn't have fucked the Squad's resident nutjob?"

Rick's jaw flexed. "This was a mistake."

You sat up slowly, bare skin catching the moonlight like a blade.

"Oh, that's cute," you purred, grabbing his dog tags and tugging. "You didn't seem to think it was a mistake when I had my teeth on your throat, Rick."

His hand wrapped around your wrist—not hard, but warning. Always warning.

"This can't happen again."

You smirked and climbed off him, slowly pulling on your torn fishnets like it was a striptease in reverse. "Sure, sure. You'll resist me next time. Promise?"

Rick watched you, still in the bed, muscles tense, jaw clenched. You'd seen men like him before. Soldiers with a moral compass duct-taped to a bomb.

You blew him a kiss as you grabbed your boots. "You can lie to yourself, sweetheart. Just don't try it with me."

One More Mistake.

Location: Gotham Underground Safehouse | 2:17 AM

The door slammed shut behind you, both of you breathing hard. Rick Flag was bleeding from his shoulder, his shirt ripped, dirt smeared across his jaw. You had a graze on your thigh, your lip cut from a close call—but adrenaline had your blood singing.

"Sit down," you said, yanking a medkit from a half-burned cabinet. "Let me patch you up."

"I'm fine," Rick growled.

You dropped the kit on the table with a loud thud. "Don't make me stab you and suture you, Rick."

He sat.

You peeled off his shredded vest and shirt, your fingers brushing the fresh bruises across his chest and collarbone. His breath hitched—just slightly—and your smirk returned.

"You're lucky that bullet didn't take your damn arm."

"You gonna give me a lecture, sweetheart?"

You leaned in, cleaning the wound slowly, deliberately, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "No. But I'm gonna punish you for scaring me."

He turned toward you fast—hand gripping your hip, pulling you flush against him. "You don't get to be scared. You're the one who runs headfirst into every goddamn fight."

"And yet," you breathed, straddling him in the chair, fingers sliding through his hair, "you always chase after me."

His hands tightened on your thighs.

"Tell me to stop," you whispered, voice low and dark and taunting, "and I will."

He stared at you like you were the battlefield and the weapon.

He didn't say a word.

So you kissed him.

Hard.

It wasn't soft. It was teeth, tongue, and everything unsaid. His hands slid under your shirt, rough fingers tracing the curve of your spine. You ground against him, moaning low as his mouth moved to your neck, biting just hard enough to bruise.

Clothes came off in frantic motions—boots kicked off, belts undone, knives forgotten on the floor. You weren't delicate, and neither was he. The chair scraped against the concrete as he stood, lifting you effortlessly, slamming you down on the table.

"Goddamn you," he muttered into your throat.

You pulled his face to yours, lips brushing his. "Too late for that, baby."

He thrust into you hard, and you gasped—back arching, fingers clawing at his shoulders. Every movement was sharp, hungry, like he'd been waiting for this since the moment you first smirked at him in that cell. And you had. You both had.

The table creaked under you, bruises blooming under his grip, but you didn't care. All you could feel was him—deep, rough, relentless. The heat, the burn, the goddamn craving.

You bit his lip, dragged your nails down his back, and whispered, "You gonna regret this tomorrow?"

He groaned into your neck. "Already do."

But he didn't stop.

Neither did you.

[bookloover35]

Burning Red- Part 2.

You weren't supposed to save him.

Flag hit the ground hard, his rifle kicked from his hands as the explosion lit up the alley like a goddamn fireworks show. Debris fell like ash. His ears were ringing, blood dripping from his temple. That meta bastard with the molten fists had come out of nowhere.

And just when Rick thought he was about to become extra crispy, you landed on the guy like a screaming banshee in fishnets and fury.

You moved like a knife through chaos. Blades flashing, red streaks in your hair catching the firelight. You drove a dagger straight through the bastard's throat, twisting it with a wicked grin.

Then, cool as a shot of bourbon, you looked back at Rick—straddling the now-dead meta, blood soaking your chest.

"You good, Cap'n?" you purred.

Flag stared, jaw tight, chest heaving. "I had it handled."

You tilted your head. "Oh yeah? Looked like you were about to get well-done." You offered him a hand. "You're welcome, by the way."

He ignored the hand and pushed himself up, brushing ash off his vest. "You disobeyed orders. I told you to stay with Harley."

You stepped closer, that dangerous glint in your eyes. "And I told you I don't take orders well."

Flag's voice dropped. "You could've gotten yourself killed."

You stepped into his space, toe to toe now. He didn't move.

"I'm touched you care, Ricky." You reached up, wiping the blood off his jaw with your thumb. "That was almost sweet."

He grabbed your wrist—firm, not rough. "You play like this long enough, you're gonna get burned."

You leaned in, lips a breath away. "Maybe I like the burn."

There was a beat of silence. The kind that buzzed with danger and desire.

He let your wrist go. Stepped back.

"You're insane," he muttered.

You smirked. "Takes one to know one, sugar."

⸻

Later That Night...

Back at the base, after the mission, the Squad scattered. Harley was dancing in the hall with blood still on her cheeks. King Shark was snoring in the corner.

You found yourself on the balcony, moonlight catching the red in your hair, a cigarette in hand. You knew he'd follow.

He did.

Flag leaned on the railing next to you, arms crossed. "You were reckless today."

You blew a puff of smoke. "So? You like me reckless."

"I didn't say that."

You turned toward him, leaning on your elbow, facing him fully. "But you didn't say you didn't, either."

He looked at you, hard. "You're Harley Quinn's sister. You're unpredictable. Dangerous."

"And yet... you keep looking at me like you want to find out what shade my lipstick looks like on your skin."

He didn't respond.

You took a step closer, hand brushing his chest. "Say the word, soldier. You want me to stop, I'll stop."

A pause. His voice was hoarse.

"...Don't."

That was all you needed.

You closed the gap, lips crashing into his like dynamite. His hands grabbed your hips with barely restrained control, and you kissed him like he was your next bad habit. Clothes didn't matter. Control didn't matter.

Only heat. Grit. The sharp edge of something dangerous and real.

[bookloover35]

Burning Red- Rick Flag.

"You're late."

Rick Flag didn't even glance up as you sauntered into the briefing room, black combat boots thudding with unapologetic rhythm. He could already tell it was you from the faint scent of smoke, cherry gloss, and trouble. The way your chains jingled with every step. That cocky rhythm. Pure chaos in heels.

"Miss me, soldier boy?" you purred, sliding into a seat across from him, smirking as your red-highlighted black hair fell over your eyes. You blew him a kiss. "Or just annoyed you didn't get to cuff me this time?"

Rick looked up slowly, jaw tight. "Y/N... we're five minutes from a mission. Can we go one day without the flirting?"

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your gloved hand, grinning like a cat with bloody paws. "Darlin', I don't flirt. I warn."

Next to you, Harley cackled. "She's got a point, Cap'n Crunch. My baby sis doesn't flirt unless she likes you. And if she likes you... well, better update your will."

Rick let out a long-suffering sigh. "Why the hell did Waller let both of you in the same squad again?"

Harley popped her bubblegum. "We work well together! Total mayhem. Sisterly bonding. Murder and mani-pedis."

You grinned wider, twirling a butterfly knife between your fingers. "Don't worry, Rick. I won't stab you. Not unless you ask nicely."

"Cut the crap," Rick growled, standing up. "We've got an extraction op. You're covering Harley's flank. Keep your knives to the enemy this time."

You stood too, close enough to brush against him. "No promises, soldier boy. But for you... I might behave."

For a moment, something flashed in Rick's eyes. Not annoyance. Not anger. Something hot. Dangerous. Something he shouldn't feel for a sociopath in spiked leather.

But then it was gone, replaced with that steely commander's mask.

"Suit up. Now."

[bookloover35]

Shadows Among Angels- part 3

The battlefield was silent, the air thick with tension. Castiel and you stood side by side, the forest around you scorched from the remnants of the last skirmish. The moonlight glinted off your black wings, feathers ruffled, a living shadow against the pale night.

"You shouldn't have come back," Castiel murmured, eyes scanning the trees. "They'll—"

Before he could finish, a flash of white light cut through the darkness. Angelic figures materialized from the shadows—Heaven's soldiers, their swords raised, their eyes cold and unyielding.

"You cannot interfere," one commanded, voice ringing with authority. "This fallen angel must be brought back—or destroyed."

You stepped forward, black wings spreading wide, the silver of your aura flickering with defiance. "I am not your soldier anymore. I make my own choices."

Castiel's gaze met yours, unwavering. "Stay behind me."

You shook your head, lips tight. "Not this time. I'm not leaving you alone."

The angels advanced, and in a split second, one lunged directly at Castiel, an angel blade aimed at his chest. Time seemed to stretch as your instincts screamed. You moved faster than thought, pushing him out of the way—and taking the blade yourself.

Pain erupted through your chest, black feathers flaring violently as you crumpled to the ground. Blood, dark and almost shimmering, seeped from the wound. Your wings sagged, heavy with the injury, but your eyes found his, blazing with unspoken defiance.

"YN—" Castiel dropped to his knees beside you, voice breaking, hands trembling as he tried to close the wound with his grace. "No... no, no, no. You're not leaving me!"

You coughed, the sound sharp and ragged, yet a small, pained smile touched your lips. "I... couldn't... let them... hurt you..."

Tears pricked the corners of Castiel's eyes, uncharacteristic for the stoic angel. "You foolish, beautiful angel... you're everything I care about, and I won't—cannot—lose you."

You reached a hand up, trembling, brushing it across his cheek. "Castiel... I—"

He pressed his forehead to yours, wings folding protectively around you, the heat of his presence a shield against the world. "I know," he whispered. "I've always known. And I've always—always—felt for you."

Pain twisted through you, but the moment between you was unbreakable. Even as Heaven's soldiers closed in, your bond—born from rebellion, trust, and love—was stronger than any command, stronger than any blade.

"I'm not afraid," you murmured, leaning against him despite the wound. "Not with you."

Castiel's hands glowed, angelic grace spilling over you, mending, shielding, refusing to let the darkness take you. The angels faltered at the radiant force between you, uncertain, powerless against what they could not command: love, choice, and defiance.

And as the two of you stood together, one fallen, one devoted, the night itself seemed to hold its breath, watching the impossible bond of two angels—one black-winged, one faithful—ignite into something that Heaven could never hope to control.

[bookloover35]

Shadows Among Angels - part 2

The Impala's engine hummed quietly as Dean parked by the edge of a deserted road. Castiel's eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, on the dark wings that had appeared in his dreams for weeks, on the dangerous pull that lingered every time you were near.

Dean leaned back against the car, arms crossed. "Cas... you've been acting weird. And I know it's not just about whatever weird-ass supernatural thing we're chasing this time. What's going on?"

Castiel hesitated, jaw tight, voice low. "Dean... there's something I need to tell you. Something I've... never admitted."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "This isn't about another trench coat problem, is it?"

Castiel's lips twitched, almost a smile. Almost. "No. It's about Y/N."

Dean's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "Y/N? You mean... the fallen angel you've been hunting—or helping? The one with the black wings?"

"Yes." Castiel's voice was steady but heavy with emotion. "I've... always felt something for her. Something I didn't allow myself to name, because I thought... because I thought it was impossible. She is... a fallen angel. She's made her choices, and I... I am bound by duty, by Heaven. But my feelings—my concern for her—it goes beyond duty."

Dean blinked, stunned, then shook his head slowly. "Cas... you're telling me you've got a thing for a badass rogue angel who basically left Heaven behind and probably scares the crap out of half of Purgatory?"

Castiel turned to face him, eyes unwavering. "Yes. And I cannot deny it. Every time I see her, every time she chooses to stand with me despite the darkness she carries... I feel alive. She is more than her fall. She is... extraordinary. And I cannot—will not—stand by while she faces danger alone."

Dean let out a long whistle. "Damn, Cas... that's... actually pretty romantic. Though, you're screwed if she finds out how mushy you get around her."

Castiel's expression softened, almost vulnerable. "I do not care. If she is in danger, I will protect her. And if there is a chance... a possibility... that she might feel the same... I must act. I must try."

Dean smirked, shaking his head again. "Well, good luck, Cas. Just don't let her fry you with those wings of hers before you get the chance to say anything. And... try not to die, yeah?"

Castiel gave a faint, rare smile. "Thank you, Dean. I will... do my best."

Later that night, under the silver glow of the moon, you appeared at the forest edge, wings folded but tense, ready for whatever came next. Castiel's heart—celestial as it was—skipped a beat.

"Y/N," he breathed. "There's something I need to tell you..."

And this time, he wasn't going to hold it back.

[bookloover35]

Shadows Among Angels- Castiel.

The night sky over the forest was a blanket of ink, pierced only by the pale light of a half-moon. Castiel's trench coat flapped in the wind as he landed softly among the trees, his eyes scanning the shadows. He had heard whispers of her—of you—and now, desperate and alone, he had no choice but to find you.

You were perched atop a jagged rock, your black wings folded behind you like a cloak of night. Once, you had been like him—an angel of Heaven—but now, your heart beat with rebellion. You had chosen freedom over obedience, exile over endless war. And it had left you cold, haunted, yet undeniably powerful.

"You shouldn't be here," your voice cut through the night, smooth and dangerous. Your eyes glowed faintly, reflecting a mixture of anger and curiosity. "I left that life behind, Castiel. Why are you following me?"

He stepped closer, hands raised in peace. "I... I need your help. There's something coming—something neither Heaven nor Hell can stop. I can't do it alone."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "You always did rely on others. Why would I help you now? After everything... after what I became?"

Castiel's expression softened, though the urgency in his eyes remained. "Because I know there's still good in you. I know you didn't fall because you're weak—you fell because you cared."

For a long moment, you studied him, your wings twitching in the darkness. There was truth in his words, a memory of who you were before the war, before your doubts became chains. And yet... helping him meant stepping back into a world you had abandoned.

"I don't fight for Heaven anymore," you said finally, your voice low, almost a whisper. "But... I might fight for you."

Castiel's relief was palpable, but he didn't lower his guard. "We don't have much time. The threat—it's not just demons or angels. It's... something older."

Your eyes narrowed, black feathers catching the faint moonlight. "Older, you say? Then perhaps it's about time I reminded the world why fallen angels should not be underestimated."

As you spread your wings, dark and majestic against the night, Castiel couldn't help but feel awe—and something deeper, more dangerous. The sky seemed to tremble at your presence. He realized then that whatever battles lay ahead, having you by his side might be the only way to survive.

And maybe... just maybe, in the shadows of your rebellion, there was still a spark of the angel he had once known.

[bookloover35]

New Neighbor, New CrushPart 2 - Dinner Disaster

You weren't exactly thrilled when your mom announced that your family would be having dinner at the Heffleys' house.

"Come on, sweetie, it's a great way to get to know the neighbors!" she said, straightening your shirt while you tried to squirm away.

"I already met Rodrick. That's enough, right?" you grumbled.

Your younger sibling snickered. "Ooooh, do you have a crush?"

You shot them a glare. "Shut up."

Before you knew it, you were standing at the Heffleys' doorstep again. This time, Rodrick opened the door with his usual smug expression.

"Well, well, well," he said, leaning against the frame. "Look who's back."

"Don't make this weird," you muttered.

Rodrick grinned. "Too late."

Your families sat around the dinner table, and it didn't take long for the chaos to begin.

"So, (Y/N)," Susan Heffley, Rodrick's mom, said with a polite smile. "Your mom tells me you play guitar!"

You nodded. "Yeah."

Frank Heffley, Rodrick's dad, seemed mildly impressed. "That's nice. Do you take lessons?"

"Nah, self-taught," you replied, stabbing at your food.

Rodrick nearly choked on his drink. "Wait, self-taught? That's actually sick. What songs can you play?"

"She played 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' earlier," your younger sibling blurted. "And she's way better than you."

Rodrick gasped dramatically. "Excuse me?"

Greg, his younger brother, snorted. "They're probably right. You do suck, Rodrick."

"Shut up, Greg!" Rodrick shot back, glaring at him.

Your dad chuckled. "Maybe you two should play something together sometime."

Rodrick immediately turned to you, eyes bright with excitement. "Dude, we have to jam. Like, ASAP."

You smirked. "You sure you can keep up?"

Rodrick pointed at you with his fork. "Okay, now I have to prove you wrong."

Manny, Rodrick's youngest brother, suddenly pointed at you. "Are you Rodrick's girlfriend?"

You and Rodrick both froze.

"WHAT?"

Your sibling burst out laughing. Greg looked way too amused. Susan giggled while your mom gave you a knowing look.

Rodrick, face slightly pink, coughed. "Uh, no. We literally just met."

"Yeah," you added quickly, trying to ignore how hot your face felt.

Manny blinked, clearly not convinced. "Oh."

Your mom just smiled. "Well, you do seem to get along well."

Rodrick smirked at you. "Guess we do, huh?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the small smile creeping onto your lips.

Maybe this dinner wasn't so bad after all.

[bookloover35]

New Neighbor, New Crush- Rodrick Heffley.

Moving to a new neighborhood was not something you were excited about. Your mom, however, was over the moon.

"It's a fresh start, sweetie! And we should be neighborly!" she chirped, peering out the window. "Oh, look, the Heffleys! We should introduce ourselves."

You groaned, setting your guitar down on the couch. "Do we have to?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

Minutes later, you stood awkwardly in front of the Heffleys' house as your mom knocked. The door swung open, revealing a messy-haired guy in ripped jeans and an old band t-shirt. He looked about your age, maybe a bit older.

"Uh... hi?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hello!" your mom greeted cheerfully. "We just moved in next door, and I wanted to introduce ourselves. I'm (Mom's Name), and this is my daughter, (Y/N)."

Rodrick's eyes flicked over to you, and for a moment, he just stared. You stared back, arms crossed, not really interested in small talk.

"Cool," he finally said, nodding. "I'm Rodrick."

"Nice to meet you, Rodrick," your mom continued. "I hope you kids get along."

Rodrick smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Depends. You into, like, boring stuff, or do you actually have a personality?"

You raised an eyebrow. "I play guitar."

His smirk widened. "No way. Acoustic or electric?"

"Both," you said. "But mostly electric."

Rodrick whistled. "Okay, now that's sick. What bands?"

"Green Day, Nirvana, MCR..."

Rodrick's jaw practically dropped. "Are you messing with me right now? That's literally my jam."

Your mom, clearly happy you were getting along, clapped her hands together. "Why don't you show (Y/N) around, Rodrick?"

Rodrick barely waited for her to finish before motioning for you to follow. "Come on, you have to check out my drum set."

You rolled your eyes but followed him inside, already feeling like maybe this move wasn't going to be completely terrible.

[bookloover35]

Spellbound Love-Loki.

The grand halls of Asgard shimmered with golden light as a soft breeze carried the scent of burning incense and ancient tomes. Deep within the royal palace, Y/N stood at the edge of the throne room, her fingers twitching with barely contained magic. She was no ordinary sorceress—her power rivaled even the greatest of seers, but it was her heart that made her dangerous in Odin's eyes.

She was in love with Loki.

The God of Mischief stood beside her, his emerald gaze locked onto his father's stormy expression. Loki's grip on her hand was firm, a silent vow that he would not let go, no matter what.

"This union is unnatural," Odin declared, his voice heavy with judgment. "You are reckless, Loki, blinded by a sorceress who does not belong at your side."

Y/N stiffened, anger flaring in her chest. Her curves were draped in a gown of deep green, the color of Loki's magic, the color of his love. She had faced many battles, but none as personal as this.

"With all due respect, Allfather," she said, her voice unwavering, "you fear what you do not understand."

Loki smirked, pride swelling in his chest. He had always admired her fire, the way she refused to bow to anyone, not even the King of Asgard.

"She is more worthy than most who claim to serve you," Loki interjected, his tone sharp. "Or is it simply her power that makes you afraid?"

Odin's eye darkened. "You dare—"

"I dare," Loki snapped, stepping forward. "You have never once approved of anything I love, but this? I will not yield."

The room grew tense. The guards stood ready, uncertain whether to step in. But before Odin could retaliate, another voice broke through the tension.

"I agree with Loki."

Thor.

The golden prince strode forward, his blue eyes blazing with defiance. "Y/N has proven herself time and time again. She has fought beside us, saved our people, and she has only ever brought out the best in my brother." He turned to Odin. "Would you deny him the happiness you so easily granted me?"

Silence fell. Y/N felt her heart race—Loki had always defended her, but to have Thor's support was unexpected.

Odin let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable. "Love does not come without consequence. If you choose this path, Loki, know that it will not be easy."

Loki smirked, pulling Y/N closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "Nothing worth having ever is."

Odin studied them for a long moment, then turned away, signaling his reluctant acceptance.

Loki pressed a lingering kiss to Y/N's forehead, his magic wrapping around her like a promise. "Let them try to stand in our way," he murmured, "I will always choose you."

And as she looked up at him, she knew—no force in the Nine Realms could ever break their bond.

[bookloover35]

In the Glow of St. Peter's Light-Patrick McKenna.

The ancient bells of St. Peter's Basilica chimed softly in the distance, a lullaby of their own, resonating through the warm Roman night. The city of faith and fire had finally found a moment of peace.

Inside the modest apartment tucked within the papal residence—a home far quieter than the Sistine Chapel halls—Patrick McKenna sat beside you, his face softer than you'd seen it in months. The lines of guilt and burden had faded, replaced with something gentler, more sacred.

Love.

Your newborn son, Enzo, rested quietly in your arms, wrapped in a soft ivory blanket that Patrick had insisted be handmade by a sister from one of the nearby convents.

You'd never seen him cry before—not truly. But now, his blue-gray eyes shimmered as he looked at the tiny bundle in your arms.

"He has your eyes," Patrick whispered, brushing a reverent hand over Enzo's downy hair.

"And your temper, if his lungs are anything to go by," you said with a small, tired laugh. He chuckled, though his gaze remained fixed on his son, as though one blink would make this moment disappear.

The past was still there—dark and thorny, threatening to rise—but tonight, you wouldn't let it. You had fought hard to build something new. Something holy in its own right.

Your arms tightened gently around Enzo. The baby stirred, fussing quietly.

"He's restless again," Patrick murmured.

"I know what he needs." You looked up at him with a soft smile. "A song."

He sat back in the armchair beside the bed, watching you with awe as you began to hum. The tune was ancient, one your grandmother had once sung to you when the Roman summers were too warm to sleep through. You sang low, sweetly, the melody flowing like honey in the silence.

⸻

"Ninna nanna, bel bambino,

chiudi gli occhi, piccolino.

Sogna cieli d'oro e mare,

dove gli angeli van cantare.

Dormi Enzo, figlio mio,

tra le stelle, sotto il Dio.

Mamma è qui, papà veglia,

con amore che mai si spegne."

⸻

Patrick's eyes closed, not in sleep, but in silent reverence. The words floated over them both like a prayer. You weren't just singing to Enzo—you were singing to him, too. Healing him with every note.

"I don't deserve this," he whispered, voice thick.

You leaned over, kissed his temple, and placed Enzo gently into his waiting arms. "Maybe not. But love isn't about what we deserve. It's about what we choose to become."

He held the baby with a tenderness that only a man reborn could muster. The sins of the past hadn't vanished, but here, in this quiet room lit only by candlelight and your voice, redemption had begun.

[bookloover35]

Of Rum, Revenge, and Rumors- part 2.

The Pearl had docked briefly in Tortuga, which was always an invitation for two things: a fight and a drink—though not necessarily in that order.

You were enjoying your second mug of rum when a voice behind you growled, "Didn't know Jack was dragging little ladies aboard now. What's next, teacups and lace?"

You turned slowly, the tavern's candlelight flickering against your dark coat and the twin pistols at your hip.

The man was huge. Scar across his cheek, meaty hands resting on the pommel of his cutlass, and a grin that already made your knuckles itch.

Will stood from the corner table, jaw tight. Jack didn't even look up from his mug.

You raised a hand toward Will without turning around. "Don't."

He hesitated. "(Y/N)..."

"I said don't."

The tavern went quiet as you stood, grabbing the bottle of rum and walking over to the brute.

"You've got a sharp tongue," you said coolly, "but tell me something—do you bleed easy, or do you make a mess?"

He laughed. "Is that a threat, darling?"

You smiled. "No. That was a warning."

The bottle cracked across his head before he could blink. He stumbled back, roaring. You drew your dagger from your belt and slashed his arm cleanly, stepping to the side as he lunged at you.

The fight was fast and dirty — boots on tables, broken chairs, a blade clashing against his. He swung wildly. You ducked, rolled, came up behind him and kicked his knee inward so hard he fell with a shout. You had your dagger at his throat in seconds, your other hand raised in a mock toast.

"Now," you said sweetly, "apologize to every woman in this room before I turn your voice into a memory."

He looked at your blade, then at your eyes — and promptly wet himself.

You stood up, stepped back, and gave a mocking bow. The tavern erupted in cheers.

Will stared at you in stunned admiration as you sheathed your blade and sauntered back.

"Remind me not to anger you," he said, half-breathless.

You winked. "Darling, I'm worse than anger. I'm a bloody hurricane."

Jack clapped once, then said without looking, "See? She takes after Mum."

[bookloover35]

Of Rum, Revenge, and Rumors- Will Turner.

The sea was in your blood—salt and storm, chaos and freedom. You'd grown up aboard ships, following your infamous brother, Jack Sparrow, from one near-death escapade to the next. The only thing more unpredictable than your life was Jack's idea of "a clever plan."

You hadn't expected to find Will Turner at Port Royal again. Not so soon. Not after the mess with Barbossa and the cursed gold. But there he was, hammering away at steel in the forge like the world hadn't turned upside down a dozen times.

"You're staring," Jack muttered beside you, eyes narrowed as he sipped from a bottle of rum. "And I don't like it. That boy's too honorable for his own good."

You snorted. "He's not a boy."

Jack gave you a side-eye. "Aye, but he's not a pirate either. Not yet."

⸻

That night, under the hush of sails and moonlight, you found yourself on the deck of the Black Pearl—alone with Will. You were meant to be checking the rigging. Instead, you leaned on the rail beside him, the ocean black as ink beyond.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Will said, voice soft and honest in a way that always disarmed you.

You shrugged. "Jack said we'd only be in Port Royal for a day. I didn't know you'd still be here."

"I stayed," he admitted, turning toward you. "For a reason."

Your eyes met his, and you knew. You could feel the unspoken tension, months in the making, humming in the air between you.

"You've got a thing for trouble, don't you?" you teased, stepping closer.

"I suppose I do," he said. "Seems I've fallen for the sister of the most troublesome pirate in the Caribbean."

You smirked, heart skipping. "Poor, poor Will Turner."

He kissed you like a man defying fate. And maybe he was. Because your life was a storm—and Will, for all his blacksmith's strength and steady hands, was willingly stepping into it.

⸻

Later, Jack leaned against the mast, arms crossed.

"You kiss my sister again," he said coolly, "and I'll let you fight Barbossa's ghost with a spoon next time."

Will didn't flinch. "I'd do it gladly."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Bloody romantic fool."

You grinned behind him. "He fits in already."

[bookloover35]

Sugar and Gasoline - Dean Winchester.

The bell above your shop door jingled — the sound that usually meant a customer, but today, it meant him.

You didn't even have to look up from the rolling pin to know it was Dean Winchester. You could tell by the heavy boots, the smell of leather and motor oil, and that voice that made your stomach flip faster than a pancake.

"Morning, sweetheart."

You glanced up, flour dusting your cheek, and smirked. "You're early. Again."

Dean leaned against the counter, flashing that grin that had probably broken a few laws of nature. "Couldn't help it. I was cravin' somethin' sweet."

"You mean pie," you said, dusting your hands on your apron.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Didn't say I wasn't."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile too hard. "You know, most boyfriends bring flowers. Not a constant demand for baked goods."

Dean chuckled, watching you knead dough like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "Yeah, but my girl runs the best pie shop in Kansas. Flowers don't taste like apple-caramel perfection."

You paused your work, leaning across the counter. "Flattery gets you one slice. Maybe."

"One slice?" he gasped dramatically. "You're cruel, sweetheart. Pure evil."

"Evil?" You grabbed a towel, tossing it at him. "That's rich coming from a guy who's literally fought demons."

He caught it, laughing. "Yeah, but demons don't cut me off from pie."

You couldn't hold back your laugh then — that warm, soft one that Dean always said was better than anything in heaven.

After closing time, he stuck around, helping you clean up (which mostly meant stealing leftover crumbs and trying to kiss you while you worked). You finally gave up, letting him pull you close, his hands still smelling faintly of sugar and cinnamon.

"You know," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, "I used to think Baby was my favorite thing in the world."

"Oh?" you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Then I met you. And your pie."

You laughed against his lips. "So I'm competing with dessert?"

Dean grinned. "Sweetheart, you are dessert."

[bookloover35]

Sugar and Gasoline - Part 3

The morning sunlight spilled through the windows of your shop, casting warm golden streaks across the counters stacked with ingredients. Dean Winchester, clad in a worn flannel and an apron that read "Kiss the Cook" (which you had given him as a joke), stood stiffly at the counter.

"So... we're really doing this?" he asked, eyeing the mound of flour, butter, and apples in front of him like it was some sort of monster to be hunted.

"Really," you said, tying your own apron. "You said you wanted to learn. Today's the day, Mr. 'I Could Live Off Your Pie.'"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Just don't set off any fire alarms, alright? I've had enough explosions for one week."

You laughed, grabbing his hand and guiding it toward the rolling pin. "Step one: flour your surface."

Dean did as instructed, though he was a little heavy-handed. Flour puffed into the air like a snowstorm, coating his hair, nose, and the front of his shirt.

"Okay... maybe step one-and-a-half: don't look like a ghost," you teased, brushing some of it off his shoulder.

He smirked despite the mess. "Lookin' good, huh?"

"Awful... but cute."

You guided him through the steps: rolling the dough, slicing apples, sprinkling sugar and cinnamon, and eventually, carefully layering the filling into the crust. Dean watched you closely, occasionally stealing glances at your face, probably more interested in you than the pie.

"See?" you said, nudging his elbow. "Not so bad."

Dean took a deep breath, concentrating like his life depended on it, then carefully placed the top crust on the pie. "Ta-da?"

"Ta-da!" you said, clapping. "It's... actually perfect. I might cry."

Dean grinned, puffing up proudly. "Hey, I told you I'm a fast learner. Don't underestimate the power of Winchester focus."

You laughed, wiping a smudge of flour from his cheek. "You're lucky I like your face, or I'd make you eat this crust as punishment for all the flour explosions."

"You're lucky you like my face, huh?" Dean echoed, leaning closer, eyes twinkling. "Because I'm the best thing in this kitchen."

"And the pie?" you challenged, smirking.

Dean feigned deep thought. "Eh... the pie's good too. But it's got nothing on the chef."

By the time the pie was in the oven, Dean had flour on his hands, cheeks, and even a little in his hair — but he looked like he'd won the lottery. You leaned against him, smelling the warm aroma filling the shop.

"You know," he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist, "I think we make a pretty good team. Kitchen team, hunting team... life team."

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Best team ever. And hey... next time, you can make the crust."

Dean groaned playfully. "Next time? That's a long week away!"

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder. "Patience, Winchester. Baking is an art. And love... is the secret ingredient."

Dean smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Well then... guess I'll have to taste-test the love too."

And just like that, the morning was filled with laughter, flour fights, and the warm, golden smell of pies baking — and Dean wouldn't have it any other way.