i'm not sure what he's doing with his mouth but i think i like it

wingardium-letmefuckyou  asked:

Hey, I love your gods&monsters series, could you write something about Apollo? ^Preferably something with a positive vibe, something romantic... But that's totally up to you, anything about Apollo makes me happy

Apollo has many sons.

He only ever has nine daughters.

~

He has his first when he’s young, too young to know better.

Daphne is beautiful and coy, and leads him on a merry chase. He catches her, and finally silences her laughing mouth with his own. They sleep together, and she leaves bite marks up his neck.

Her father, the river god Peneus, finds out about them. Apollo had not known it was secret. Peneus is a hard, selfish god, and he slits Daphne’s throat for her impurity. Better a dead daughter then one who does not listen.

Apollo finds out too late. He arrives to Daphne dead on the side of her father’s riverbank, stomach swollen in a way Apollo doesn’t remember it being the last time he saw her, which was – which was – it couldn’t have been that long, could it?

He cuts open her stomach, throat too tight to call for his sister’s help, heart too tight to bear anyone else looking at Daphne’s slack, bloody face.

The child is still warm.

The child is still alive.

He cannot bring himself to bury Daphne, to sentence her to an afterlife beneath the earth. Instead, he transforms her into a large laurel tree, so her beauty will remain eternal. He presses a hand against her trunk and says, “My hair will have you, my lyre will have you, my quiver will have you.” Apollo looks down at the baby, too small, tucking into the crook of his arm. “Our daughter will have you.”

He calls her Calliope. Their daughter weaves laurel leaves into her hair every day of her life.

~

When he is older, but not wiser, he gets drunk on the top of Olympus. It is not the first time, nor the last, but this time it is different.

This time Hestia, goddess of the hearth, of warmth, of family, places her delicate hand around the back of his neck and leads him to her rooms.

Months later, he lands his chariot, the sun finally set. His arms are shaking, and his legs are covered from burns when the sun grew tired and tried to consume him, but could not. Hestia stands before him, something held in her arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks roughly, throat dry and the skin of his lips cracking. Hestia rarely leaves Olympus.

“I am no mother,” she tells him, and he doesn’t understand until she places a warm, squirming bundle in his arms. He holds it to his chest automatically. “Her name is Terpsichore.”

She leaves before he has the chance to question her. He looks down, and the baby has his golden eyes and her dark hair. “Hello, little one.”

Calliope is fully grown now. Apollo leaves Terpsichore in her care, and promises to come when called.

“Yes, Father,” Calliope says, rolling her eyes as her little sister grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair. There’s an ink smudge across her face, and her home is bursting with books. He should really talk to Athena about letting Calliope use one of her libraries.

He kisses both their foreheads before leaving.

~

Apollo falls in love with a Spartan prince, graceful and strong and with a wide, pretty mouth. He falls in love with a mind that can match him, with a smile that leaves him breathless. Hyacinth captures his affections and attentions utterly, and for a few short years Apollo is enchanted, for a few short years Apollo feels a love deep in his chest that is only surpassed by the love he has for his sister.

Then Hyacinth is killed.

He shows up at his daughters’ door, and Calliope and Terpsichore take one look at him and usher him inside. He can’t bring himself to speak, but he’s covered in blood that isn’t his own, is pale and shaken and mourning.

They clean him and care for him and settle him to bed, although he cannot bring himself to sleep.

Less than a week later, there is a mortal woman there looking for him. Her eyes are red, but she stands tall and her lips are pressed into a straight line. A toddler who shares her dark coloring clutches her skirt. “I am the Princess of Sparta, and wife of Hyacinth.”

Apollo hadn’t known Hyacinth had a wife. He hadn’t asked. Surely he would have noticed – but then again, perhaps not. Love makes people stupid. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“As I am sorry for yours,” she says in return, which surprises him. “Sparta must have a prince. I am to be remarried.” She brings the little girl forward, and she can’t be more than a couple years old. “This is Urania, the child of myself and my husband. I have been ordered to kill her.”

Apollo flinches. He knows such things are done, but – she is Hyacinth’s daughter. “I will take her.”

She smiles. “I thought you might.” She kisses the girl on both cheeks, hands her to Apollo, then leaves as quickly as she’d came.

Urania watches them with big liquid eyes that she got from her mother. He stays with his daughters for a year after that, playing with Urania and watching Terpsichore dance and listening to Calliope’s beautiful poetry. Urania loves the stars. She stares up at them each night, and Apollo patiently explains the name of each one.

When she is fully grown, he begs a piece of ambrosia off Hestia and feeds it to her.

Urania is his daughter as surely as if his blood ran through her veins. He cannot bear to watch her age and die.

~

Marpessa chooses Ida over him, but it is too late. She already swells with his child, and he could use that to keep her. He could force her to stay at his side, she loves him, she said so, it would not be such a cruel thing.

But she is not wrong in her assessment. Apollo is immortal, and will not grow old with her, will not change with her, will not die with her. Ida will.

There’s fear on her face, and he thinks she deserves it, for proclaiming to love him and choosing another. But he is not interested in keeping her captive for a lifetime.

“Have the child, and give it to me,” he commands, “and I will leave you to your life.”

Ida is furious in his jealousy that Marpessa will bear a child for Apollo before she bears a child for him, so there is that comfort, at least.

Artemis delivers the child to ensure it goes smoothly. She’s beaming as she holds her niece. “What will you call her?”

“You choose,” he says, running the back of his finger over the babe’s soft cheek.

His sister considers the squalling child for a long moment before she says, “I think you should name her Thalia.”

“Thalia it is,” he says.

She’s mischievous, and reminds him of himself on his worst days. She grows, and pulls pranks on nymphs and deities. Her older sisters are constantly straining to keep her out of worse trouble.

He gets a frantic message from Calliope that Thalia has gone missing, and he eventually finds her at the edge of a scorched battlefield, the soldiers long gone but the bodies and stench remaining. He’s furious at her for going to a place so dangerous, but when he marches up to her he sees something that he hadn’t expected.

She’s hallway through a story about pranking a wood nymph that he knows is at least half lies and a quarter exaggeration. Curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe, is Ares.

Apollo hasn’t seen the tormented god of war this carefree since he was a child.

Thalia finally notices him, and cuts herself off, paling. “Oh, uh. Hi Dad.”

Ares is downright giggling. “Hello Thalia,” Apollo crosses his arms and glares, “You shouldn’t go wandering away from your sisters.” She winces and nods, ducking her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, doing her best to look contrite and innocent.

It might have worked, if Apollo hadn’t taught her that look himself.

He sits down on the ground next to Ares, who doesn’t acknowledge his presence beyond shifting enough to use Apollo’s thigh as his pillow. “Well,” Apollo says, “keep going.”

Thalia lights up and launches back into the story, and when she finishes she continues into another which is mostly true and somehow even more ridiculous.

~

Because he’s an idiot with a death wish, Apollo ends up spending a month with Hecate in the underworld. He stumbles out one night when she falls asleep, because he feels if he doesn’t leave now there’s a possibility that he never will.

One of the most horrifying moments of his life is looking for the way out, and finding Hades instead. The god of death looks to him, walking around naked in his realm, to the direction he came from, and says, “That was you? Are you crazy?”

“It … it was a good time,” he says faintly.

“Obviously,” Hades shakes his head, and slices his hand down in the air in front of them, creating a doorway for Apollo out of his realm.

Apollo gives him a clumsy salute and steps through.

Roughly a year later, he’s playing his lyre when a little girl with black skin and grey hair and eyes appears in front of him. It’s terrifying enough that he accidentally snaps one of his strings.

“Lady Styx,” he says, voice higher pitched than normal. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The child snorts and reaches her hands into absolutely nothing and pulls out a baby. She holds it out to him. “Hecate says this is your problem now.”

Improbably, the babe already has a mouth full of too-sharp teeth. Her eyes shift between every color, unable to decide, and there is something a little too knowing about her face for one so young. Artemis says he too was born knowing too much.

A child of Apollo and Hecate can only be a mistake, something that will never fit quite well among others of her own kind.

He sighs and take the baby. “Very well.”

“I like the name Clio,” the child goddess says before leaving him.

Thalia tells him it’s too small and to give it back. Urania is fascinated, and takes over most of the child’s care, which is likely for the best since Calliope is neck deep into a new epic, and would be cross if she needed to pull her attention from it to rear a child.

As Clio ages, she stays just as unsettling and strange. Hephaestus shows up around the time she starts breaking into Athena’s libraries, even though stunts like that get people worse than killed. “I don’t know why she gave her to me,” Apollo says as they watch the teenager devouring a stolen tome on the history of the Persian Empire. “Hecate raised you, I don’t understand why she didn’t want to raise her actual daughter.”

“You’re a better parent than she is,” he says thoughtfully. Apollo gives him an unimpressed look, but he says, “I’m serious. Your girls are turning out to be quite lovely – all of them.”

“Of course they are,” he says, nose in the air, but grins when Hephaestus elbows him the side.

By the time she’s an adult, Clio is easily one of the most accomplished scholars to ever exist. She and Athena regularly get into academic debates that last weeks, and scare off anyone from daring to come closer.

She stays strange, and too smart, and Apollo loves her utterly.

~

Apollo is lying on the beach when a large wave overtakes him and drags him into the sea. He struggles for the surface, but can’t seem to shake the waves, and is dragged to the sea floor. He’s a god, so he won’t suffocate, but he’s terrified when the water drags him down to Poseidon’s palace and deposits him in front of his wife. “Apollo,” she says, “I can see what your daughters will become.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. “Excuse me?”

Amphitrite grabs his jaw and pulls him closer. He doesn’t dare resist. She looks into his eyes, then smirks. “The god of prophecy doesn’t know that which he has wrought. How … ironic.”

“Is it?” he wonders. He really hopes she doesn’t kill him.

“Quite,” she smirks, and with a flick of her wrist she’s naked before him. “I wish for one of your daughters to be mine as well. Lay with me.”

“Uh,” he says eloquently, because Amphitrite has never given her husband any children, he hadn’t even known she could. If he sleeps with her, Poseidon might kill him, regardless of how many people the god of the sea sleeps with that aren’t his wife. But if he refuses her, she might kill him, and it’s not like having sex with Amphitrite is any sort of hardship. She’s as gorgeous as she is terrifying. “Okay.”

He’s deposited back on the shore the next day, feeling oddly used.

If Poseidon has any opinions on Apollo knocking up his wife, he doesn’t voice them.

Amphitrite doesn’t foist the baby upon him as soon as she’s born. Instead years pass, and one day a dark skinned, amber eyed sea god shows up at his door. There’s a teenager at his side, who has Apollo’s coloring and Amphitrite’s bone structure, and hair that shimmers golden-green in sunlight. “Glaucus,” Apollo greets warily, “and who might this be?”

“I call her Erato,” Glaucus says, “I’ve raised her since birth. It’s time for her to join her sisters.”

Erato is not as terrifying as her mother. Instead there’s a sweetness about her that she must have gotten from Glaucus. She’s shy at first, and spends many days looking out into the sea. But his daughters are persistent, and soon she’s laughing and joining them. There’s something dreamy about her, and she loves love, writes romantic ballads and beautiful poems, so much so that Aphrodite commends her talent.

Erato is also the most like him in the area of her love life, meaning she leaves behind a constant trail of heartbroken men and women.

Calliope complains about the constant wailing around their home, and Clio proves she has some of her mother’s talent with magic when she casts an unplotable spell around their home so former lovers stop following Erato home. Of course, she forgets to tell both Apollo and her sisters about this, and it’s very confusing for everyone until Clio remembers to tell them where the house is.

His daughters’ home is a place of constant music, poetry, and literature. He thinks he’s starting to suspect what Amphitrite was talking about.

~

Not all hunts are easy things.

Apollo feels the moment his sister is wounded, the arrow through her abdomen as painful for him as it is for her. He’s in his chariot, and he can’t leave it, if he leaves his chariot unattended the sun will consume it, and then consume the earth. “Calliope!” he snaps, and his eldest daughter appears by his side.

“Father?” she asks, huddling into him and away from the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Artemis is hurt, I have to help,” he says urgently, and places the reins into her hands. “You can do this.”

She pales, but steps forward, keeping a white knuckled grip on the chariot. “Go.”

He kisses his forehead, and goes to his sister. Her huntresses have set up an honor guard around her, defending and dying as cruel faced giants draws closer. “ARES!” he screams, and he doesn’t know what they’re fighting for, what this war is about, but it doesn’t matter. “WE NEED YOU!”

The god of war appears, and he’s clearly come from some other battle, covered in mud and other worse things. He throws himself into the battle, but it’s not until they gain more aid that the tides turn in their favor.

He first sees Erato on the field, water swirling around her as she slices through them all, the power of her mother making her golden eyes glow. Clio is at her back, the glittering magic Hecate passed on to her filling her hands.

Thalia has long curved knives flying from her fingers, and all who face her don’t figure out they’re dead until she’s already left them behind. Urania is letting loose arrows against the giants and though she’s not his by blood, not a goddess by birth, none would know it watching each of her arrows hit true and take down another enemy.

Terpsichore uses her honed abilities of dance differently here on the battlefield, twirling and ducking around enemies with her sword flashing as it slices through all who go against her. Celestial fire licks up the sword, and the daughter of Hestia and Apollo is laughing as she dances through the battlefield.

He wants to yell at them, to tell them to get off the battlefield, to get to safety. But it is thanks to them that the fight is being won, so he says nothing.

Ares looks around, grimaces, and catches Apollo’s eye before he disappears from the battle. They must be invoking his name. Apollo is only grateful he managed to stay as long as he did.

The giants are all dead by the time Apollo manages to make it to his sister’s side. She’s pale and covered in blood, her huntresses seated around her and trying to stop the bleeding. “What were you thinking?” Apollo demands, grabbing her hand and pushing her hair from her forehead. Terpsichore comes forward and lays her burning sword against the wound, sealing and cauterizing it at once. Both Apollo and Artemis scream

“They – took – a – child,” she pants, leaning in for his touch, for his comfort, and he has never been able to deny her anything. He pulls her up, biting back a scream at the pain that rips through them both, and props her up against his chest. “A – nymph’s child. Zeus’s child. They killed – it’s mother. That – that sort of injustice will – will not be – tolerated.” She lays her head back against his shoulder, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and Apollo almost wishes the battle were not over, because he wants to murder something.

“I’ll get it,” Erato says, and a moment later she returns with a toddler in her arms. She has the copper skin of Zeus, and pale blonde hair. “What do we do now? Zeus does not care for his children.”

“I think it’s time you became a big sister,” Thalia says, and Erato looks stricken. “Right Dad?”

He looks to his sister, who nods. “I can think of no better place for her. She cannot stay with me – a hunting party is not place for children.”

“Very well,” he sighs. “Does she have a name?”

The girl attempts to hide behind Erato’s hair, then says, “I am Euterpe.”

“Welcome, Euterpe,” he says.

It’s then that the sun finally sets, and Calliope stumbles into existence next to them. She’s covered in deep, bleeding burns, but it’s not as bad he feared it would be. She’s certainly faired better at her first time driving the chariot than he had. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“We have a new sister,” Thalia says brightly, even as Clio rushes forward to tend to her burns.

Euterpe, thankfully, seems to inherit none of Zeus’s madness. She has a singing voice like a clear bell, and soon surpasses even Calliope’s talent with the lyre.

He knows, technically, that Euterpe is his half-sister. But it takes him no time at all to regard her as his daughter, to love her with same simple ferocity as he loves her sisters.

~

For a while, all is well, is quiet. His daughters are all fully grown, accomplished and beautiful.

Then Demeter corners him when he’s walking through quiet city and pins him against an alley wall. “If Amphitrite thinks she can one up me over this,” the goddess hisses, “she’s sorely mistaken.”

At least this time he knows what’s going on when Demeter starts pulling her dress off. “You can’t raise the child,” he says. He’s not adverse to laying with Demeter, although at this rate it looks like there will be less laying and more standing against a rough alley wall. But Demeter only knows how to love in a way that crushes all it touches. He won’t let her do that to his child.

“Fine,” she snaps, “Now get moving.”

He’s vaguely terrified the whole time, and it mostly reminds him of his month with Hecate. He’s left alone and naked in the alleyway an hour later.

Nine months later, a baby is delivered to his door by a nervous wood nymph. His daughter still has the squashed appearance of a freshly born baby. “She didn’t waste any time,” he comments, settling her into the crook of his arms. “Does she have a name?”

“Polyhymnia, my lord,” the wood nymph says, then bows before fleeing.

He brings her to the home where all his daughters live.

She grows, and she’s the spitting image of Demeter, of Persephone back when she answered to the name Kore. Her voice is lower than Euterpe’s, but just as pretty and when they sing together it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. She’s quiet, and thoughtful, her big brown eyes watching all around her with a measured stare.

Polyhymnia asks after her mother, something none of the others had done, and Apollo doesn’t know what to say. The truth is too callous, but he can’t bear to lie to her. Instead he begs an audience with Persephone, and says, “Your sister asks after the mother you share. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Persephone has no advice to offer, but she starts spending some of her time outside of the underworld with Polyhymnia. It is enough, and her questions stop, and Apollo tries not to feel guilty that he never really answered them.

~

Cassandra is unlike any woman he’s ever met, unlike any person he’s ever met, and the flames of love and passion burn inside him in a way they haven’t since his Hyacinth died.

She’s bull headed and irritating, and whenever he tries to complain about it Artemis rolls her eyes and his daughters laugh at him. He supposes he’s not doing a very good job hiding that he’s in love with her. Not even from her, because at one point she crossly asks if he’s ever planning to do anything with her, or if she should accept the offer from the butcher’s son.

They don’t leave her house for five days.

She is curious, hungry for knowledge, hungrier for it then she is of him. She wants to know impossible things, wants to be an impossible thing, and so Apollo laughs and takes her hand and says, “I will make you a bargain. I will give you the gift of prophecy, if you will grant me the gift of your hand.”

He’s never take a bride before. He hasn’t wanted to.

Cassandra is screaming and laughing, and she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him until she’s breathless. He takes it as a yes.

That’s when everything goes horribly, incredibly wrong.

It’s too much, all the horror she sees is too much, and Apollo tries to tell her to focus on the good, to see the happiness of the future. But she can’t, gets too caught up in too many wars, and she wastes away in front of his eyes even as her stomach swells.

He tries to take back the gift, tries to save her, but he can’t. It cannot be ungiven, and his headstrong, vivacious lover fades before his eyes. He only manages to alter it, to change it so no one believes the horrible things she cries to prevent the horror people feel when she looks at them and screams the way that they’ll die.

Artemis helps deliver their child, but halfway through her face goes pinched and worried, and Apollo knows that Cassandra won’t make it.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, kissing her gaunt face, feeling the sharpness of her cheekbones under his lips, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen. I didn’t want this to happen.”

She looks at him with glassy eyes, barely reacts when Artemis places their child on her chest. There’s a growing pool of blood under her, but she can’t be saved, she will die, here, now.

Apollo wonders if she saw this coming.

She blinks, and meets his gaze with a sharpness and awareness he hasn’t seen for a long time. “She is your last daughter,” Cassandra says, “Melpomene is the last daughter you will have.”

He kisses her, his last chance to do so.

She’s dead before his lips leaves hers.

Apollo tries to flee, to run from the claws tearing apart his heart, but Artemis doesn’t let him. She yanks him back and pushes Melpomene into his arms. “You can’t leave,” she says harshly, “She needs you. Your daughter needs you. You’re not allowed to run.”

He crumples, leaning his head onto his sister’s shoulder as he sobs, and her calloused hand grasps the back of his neck. Melpomene is stuck between them, soft and warm and alive.

Time passes.

Melpomene is Thalia’s other half, her best friend, and they do everything together. Her dark hair is a mass of unruly curls just like her mother, her laughter is just like her mother’s.

She, like her sisters, is his pride and his joy.

~

Apollo has nine daughters

Calliope, who reigns over written epics.

Terpsichore, who reigns over dance.

Urania, who reigns over astronomy.

Thalia, who reigns over comedy.

Clio, who reigns over history.

Erato, who reigns over love poetry.

Euterpe, who reigns over song.

Polyhymnia, who reigns over hymns.

Melpomene, who reigns over tragedy.

They are known as the Muses.


gods and monster series, part xxi

read more of the gods and monsters series here

I'm On My Knee

Hi babes! This is a marshmallow-soft story about the reader and Tom having a special inside joke. That inside joke being Tom dramatically falling down onto one knee to tease her after she accidentally tells him that it’s always been how she wants to get proposed to. The inside joke makes the both of them think a lot about their future and cuteness ensues! I hope that you like it!

Side note: The film was everything I wanted it to be and more? It owns my entire heart? The cast did so well and I’m so happy for all of them and my heart is just overflowing with love and I’m going to see the film again tomorrow!

I’m On My Knee

“He makes me want to wear a white dress and walk down the aisle.” She murmured to her boyfriend, utterly and completely inebriated. “I want to learn how to cook so he can always come home to a hot meal. He makes me want to learn more so that I’ll always have new things to talk to him about, and he makes me want to take care of myself so that I can look good for him. I wanna read every book on the planet earth and watch every film, just so I have stories to tell him before we go to sleep. But, mostly, he makes me wanna wear a white dress and walk down the aisle.”

    Tom smiled, securing a strong arm around her waist before she had the opportunity to slip from the barstool she was trying to twirl on. Holding her still, he questioned, “anything else you want, darling?”

    Lurching forward, she twined her arms around his neck and moved to perch on his knee. She shoved her face into Tom’s neck and breathed in deeply, dragging her hands across the expanse of her boyfriend’s chest. He smelled of french cologne, the fabric of his shirt felt soft beneath her cheek, and she was so close to him that she could count the beats of his heart. “I love you.”

    Supporting her frame, Tom kissed the top of her head, “I love you more.” She sighed into his chest and Tom helped her to her feet, making sure that he still had her locked in his arms. “Let’s get you home now, drunky.”

“I want him on his knee like in the old films,” she added before she allowed Tom to guide her to their parked car.

    Truly, Tom felt the same way about her, but there was no way that he wouldn’t tease her about her intoxicated confession every chance he got. He’d been dreaming about how beautiful she’d look walking down the aisle to meet him since their third date and it comforted him that she seemed to feel the same way.

    She knew that she had majorly screwed up the next morning when Tom dropped down onto one knee, offering her a bottle of advil and a glass of water to soothe the pounding in her head that refused to be ignored.

    “On my knee, baby, just how you wanted!” Tom smiled, his curls flopping down in his eyes in the most endearing of ways. She hated that he looked so cute while he was so successfully embarrassing her.

    Groaning, she brought her hands up to cover her face, “Tom, stop! I told you that I was just drunk. Let it go!” She pleaded, blush spreading as far as the tips of her ears.

    Her boyfriend feigned hurt feelings, “well, if you were truly joking, guess I’m out of here. Gotta go get me a girl who’s in it for the long haul.” Tom joked as he moved to walk out the door.

    “Tom,” she whined before rushing forward to keep him in place with a hug. “Stop being so dumb and help me make pancakes. You flip them better than I do.”

    Smiling down at her, Tom took of her hands within his own and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “One day, I’ll be way more than just your boyfriend who flips pancakes better than you do. One day, I’ll be your husband who flips pancakes better than you do.” Tom laughed, picking her up to spin her around the kitchen.

    She was happy that Tom was focused on not dropping her or running into anything because she was even pinker than she’d thought previously possible and she was positive that the smile on her face was so huge that her face would crack into halves. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have the greatest job, it didn’t matter that she was absolute shit at math, in fact, she couldn’t think of anything that mattered to her more than what Tom had just said. He was planning on a future with her and she was so elated that she spent the entire rest of her week floating from place to place on a bed made of cotton candy clouds.

    The next time Tom dropped to one knee for her, it was in the flower shop while she was sifting through bins of tulip bouquets for their friend’s dinner party. “Because I love you,” Tom said, holding out a bundle of daisies.

    Rolling her eyes, she took the flowers and bent forward to kiss Tom tenderly on the mouth. “Because I love you,” she repeated back to him before taking both bouquets to the register while Tom struggled to free his wallet before she could pay for her daisies.

    The time after that, Tom fell to one knee when she had come home with smudged mascara and tears dripping from the corners of her eyes. Hurrying off the couch, he dropped to one knee in front of her, pulling her to perch softly onto his popped knee. “What’s the matter darling?”

    Shrugging her shoulders, her lower lip trembled and she merely hid her face in Tom’s neck.  Stroking her hair and mumbling the words to ‘Moon River’ into her ears, Tom waited for her to tell him what was upsetting her. He did his best to search his mind for anything he could’ve done, anything her friend’s could’ve done, anything at home that could have upset her and came back with nothing. Tom briefly had a fleeting feeling that he was failing as her husband until it clicked in his brain that he hadn’t ever gotten down on one knee before her to present her with an actual ring.

    That night, while she snuggled into the crook of his arm, her face hidden so close to his neck that Tom could feel her lips press into his skin, he looked up some photos of rings. Each time Tom found a particularly nice ring, he’d zoom in and envision it on her lovely hands. Looking down at her hand that was loosely curled around his waist, he murmured to her sleeping form, “nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands.” His girl had been on an E.E. Cummings kick and clearly the poetry she read aloud to him had rubbed off on Tom.

    Placing his phone back into it’s charging station on their nightable, Tom laid down and  made sure to lace his fingers through her own before he shut eyes to sleep, agreeing with E. E. Cummings  that nobody had such small hands. Such small hands that a glittering ring would only compliment.

    The next weekend, as she and Tom strolled through the supermarket to grab some fresh vegetables and fruit, and maybe a loaf of bread to go along with dinner, Tom spotted the baked goods aisle. Getting completely sidetracked, Tom stood staring at the pastries while she carried on in search of the produce section. Glancing at her retreating figure and then back at the deserts, Tom grabbed an armful of cookies, cinnamon rolls and cupcakes before hurrying after her.

    Her eyes widened when she saw her boyfriend nearly skipping towards her, arms overflowing with pastries. “Tom,” she started, cocking her hip and raising her brows, “that is ridiculous. Pick one thing, we already have too many snacks as it is!”

    “No, no, darling, you don’t get it. We’d leave the cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and we could eat the cookies as a snack, and then the cupcakes could be after dinner.” Tom tried to ration.

    “Tom, I’ll eat them all and then get bigger and you know I’m trying to look good this summer!” She whined, shaking her head and silently pleading for Tom to at least put one of the items he was holding back.

    Shuffling the food around in his arms, Tom attempted to clutch all the food with only one hand. Gently moving her hair away from her eyes, Tom kissed her temple. “Darling, you know that you’re perfect. There’s nothing wrong with how you look, and nothing would be wrong with how you look even if you decided to inhale the entire pastry department on your own. I love the way you think, how kind you are to others, and you’re one of the smartest and least arrogant people that I know! I love you for your heart, and your brain. I thank the universe every night for your lungs and your kidneys, because they make you. You’re sweet-ass body just happens a perk of loving you.”

    Tom kissed her one last time before dropping down onto one knee before her, “c’mon angel, please?” He asked one last time.

    Rolling her eyes at her boyfriend’s cheesiness, she placed the cupcakes and the cinnamon rolls in her basket before leading Tom over to the fruit and asking him to pick out the crunchiest apples for their salad.

    When Tom fell to one knee again, it was after she had gone shopping with her friends and was currently modeling her new purchases at his request. She had exited the bathroom in which she was changing in, wearing an extremely short, white dress that left very little, if anything to Tom’s imagination. The dress was littered with small, red roses and had straps that were tied into a bow. As she twirled for him, Tom could see that the straps were the only thing holding her new dress together and by the time that she’d stopped her spinning, Tom was on one knee.

    “Should I take this off myself or do you wanna get up off the floor and help me?” She giggled, toying with the bow sitting atop her shoulder blade.

    As Tom carefully untied her dress and watched it fall to the ground, he muttered, “pretty ring would go nice with the roses.”

    She could barely hear what Tom had said, let alone comprehend it, as he began to pepper her exposed body with warm kisses. Stuttering out an barely audible, “uh-huh,” as Tom mouthed over the sensitive spot she had just beneath her ear.

    As time went on, “I’m on my knee,” became a phrase that she would hear from Tom almost as frequently as he said “I love you.” He’d drop to his knee in public, private, essentially everywhere they went. She was nearly convinced that Tom on his knee wouldn’t ever mean anything other than their inside joke, but little did she know how Tom feeling.

    Each time he dropped down onto one knee before her, it always made him long to obtain a ring to present her with. Considering that he was on his knee for her essentially everyday now, so much so that even the press was completely desensitized to photos of Tom on his knee before his girl, he was legitimately out and about looking for rings.

    He’d recruited his mother to assist with the search, begged Harrison, Jacob, his brothers, his father, and even her mother to help him with the search, but none of them could find a ring that Tom felt was worthy of her hands. Each time someone would send him a photo of a ring that left Tom dissatisfied, which was often, he’d simply send back the verse from ‘Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, Gladly Beyond,’ regarding the smallest of hands. At this point, nobody was sure what he meant. Once Harrison had tried to clarify what exactly the rain having tiny hands had to do with the ring search, but he came back describing a look of genuine craziness in his best mate’s eyes and decided to drop it.

    It was only after Tom had wandering into an antique shop with his mother that he found something perfect for her. The wedding ring was vintage and even came with an engagement ring, and after Tom had spent countless hours on the weekend thrifting and wandering in an out of hidden gem shops with his girl, he knew that she’d love it.

    Tom could only hide the ring for about a week. He was utter and complete shit at hiding things, especially from her, and the ring felt as if it was burning a hole through his pocket. He couldn’t wait to let the whole world know that she was going to his forever and he’d be hers for just as long. Tom just needed to create the perfect moment.

    Luckily for him, the perfect moment came the very next morning. Tom trailed behind her, kissing the back of her neck softly as she laughed and threaded her fingers up through his curls. They were deep within the poetry section of the most massive library Tom had ever seen and when she reached up to grab a novel, Tom felt as if the wind got knocked out of him. In her hands sat a copy of E. E. Cummings collected poems and while she sifted through the pages, Tom prayed inwardly to the universe for her to read the poem that he knew was destined to be hers.

    Not allowing her time to chose a poem, Tom dropped down to one knee while her back was still turned on him. Digging the ring out from the confines of his pocket, he could only get the last few lines of the poem out. “I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice in your eyes is deeper than all roses.”

    As Tom neared the end of the poem, she turned and opened her mouth to say the last verse with him. “Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.” She smiled, completely prepared to meet Tom’s eyes as she finally faced him.

    At first, the only thing her mind could register was that her boyfriend was on his knee, as always. It took her a second to take in the ring that glittered off of the library’s bright ceiling chandelier. Pressing a hand over her lips, she struggled to breath, her small hands gripping the open poetry book in her hands. “Do you mean it, Tom?” She questioned, her eyes flicking down to the ring he was presenting her with.

    His eyes were glassy in the light, and Tom smiled, “course I do, darling. I’m on my knee after all.”


“Prom was invented just to make girls starve so they can fit in a dress and compete over a stupid title.”

“Uh –” Derek blinks, eyes his sister dubiously, “I’m not a girl?”

Cora huffs. “Whatever.”

In the kitchen Laura bursts out laughing. “Don’t worry.” She yells. “Cora is just jealous she will have to wait five years to go to her own prom.”

“I’m not going!” Cora yells back. “Prom is stupid, I don’t even know why you’re going,” she tells Derek, “it’s not like you know how to have fun.”

Derek raises an eyebrow while Laura just laughs harder. “Oh my god.” Their older sister says. “I stay away for six months and Cora turns into a sassy queen.” She walks into the living room, pretends to wipe at her eyes. “I’m so proud.”

“You two are ridiculous.” Derek says, turning around. “And I’m just going because Erica promised to pay me. With ice cream.” Then he gives Cora a wicked smile. “That I’m not going to share with either of you.”

“You are the worst brother!” Cora yells as he begins to climb the stairs. “And I hope you fall on your ass while trying to dance!”

“Can’t hear you!” Derek’s cell begins to ring. “Too busy getting ready to prom!”

Laura lets out a high-pitched laughter. “I love you two so much.”

Derek shakes his head fondly, closes his bedroom door behind himself just as Cora tells Laura to shut up. “Hey.” He answers the phone, collapsing on his bed. “What’s up?”

“Yo,” Stiles answers, “whatcha doing?”

“Listening to my sisters fight.” He says, snorting when he hears his dad start complaining about all the yelling and ‘no, Cora, I’m not letting you go to prom, you’re thirteen!’. “I’m gonna have to check the trunk of my car tomorrow night.”

Stiles laughs. “She’s not that good.”

“If you keep teaching her, she will be.” Derek blurts out, curses himself mentally when he realizes it came out harsher than he intended.

It’s just – sometimes he can’t help it. He’s known Stiles since they were four, Cora wasn’t even born then, but one day she turned eleven and Stiles became her new favorite person. Stiles couldn’t find it funnier and took Cora as his little apprentice. He even taught her how to cheat on Mario Kart.

He’s never taught Derek that.

Derek rolls his eyes, thinks about his little sister still downstairs pouting and trying to convince their dad that she’s old enough to go out. He shouldn’t be jealous of her, but the thing is – he grew up with two sisters, he knows how to share toys and food, but he doesn’t know how to share Stiles.

Because Stiles is his.

Keep reading

Things in The Raven King that have me Dead

-ronan calling gansey dad multiple times

-”ronan’s jealousy of henry was visible from space” HAHA CALM DOWN BROTHER

-adam realizing he is caPABLE OF LOVE

-aurora lynch is described as basically looking like aurora from sleeping beauty… sleeping. beauty. ONCE UPON A DREAM. SHE WAS CREATED IN A DREAM. sorry this just really fucks me up™ 

-adam recognizing fear like he used to have in orphan girl and giving her his watch :’) i’m crying in the club

-”do you love him?” “i’d rather not” lmao blue honey that didn’t answer the question

-”adam shot gansey a knowing look. he mouthed yee haw.” these Nerds wtf

-blue. driving. the. pig!!!!

-”gansey wasn’t sure he was in a position to be falling in love, but he’d done it anyway.” :’’’’’’’)

-”because it was not julius caesar. it was henry in a toga” common misconception

-”now blue looked properly judgmental, which was about two ticks off from her ordinary expression and one tick off from ronan’s”

-ronan thinking about adam’s hands for about 50 years

-I LIKE YOU AN AWFUL LOT BLUE SARGENT

-”hey, shitlord”

-before rereading these books i didn’t realize how much gansey and adam fist bump like THEY BUMP FISTS BEFORE GANSEY SACRIFICES HIMSELF HAHAHA WHAT

-when he said “ronan” it meant: ronan (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

-I WAS ACTUALLY THINKIN OF BEIN A FARMER

-”parrish always was a creepily clever little fuck,” declan observed,

-henrysexual

-”ronan felt like he had caught happiness without meaning to. he could do anything.” :’’’’)

-”ORBMASTER. all caps” “technically you’re the orb master, though, right? and that’s just an orb.” “anyone who holds it becomes an ORBMASTER. you’re an ORBMASTER right now. there, keep it, put it in your pocket. D.C. ORBMASTER.” “you’re such a little asshole.” (can someone draw this scene??)

-blue lying on the couch with her head in ganseys lap!! good shit!!

-I SUPPOSE… SHE MAKES ME QUIET. LIKE HENRIETTA!!!!!

-gansey calling blue magical

-WHEN ADAM KISSED HIM IT WAS EVERY MILE PER HOUR RONAN HAD EVER GONE OVER TEH SPEED LI,MRT

-helen asking gansey if he’s sleeping with ronan lmao homegirl asking the important questions

-”fuck,” said adam vehemently

-blue telling gansey she’s a tree and almost saying “you’re in me”

-”yay” said henry “also woo”

-gansey mourning his youthful self - goodbye i have had Enough

-blue stroking adam’s hair jsndfkjsd

-RONAN DREAMING EVERYONE BEAUTIFUL THINGS EVEN AS HE WAS BEING UNMADE OH MY GOD

-adam parrish !. just. adam parrish. 

-ronan dreaming blue an orange camaro so she and gansey can match hashtag relationship goals!!!

#awkward #pining #ministry

Prompts: @tera2
Author: @queenofthyme

Harry read the article again. He didn’t know why he put himself through it. Rita Skeeter’s outlandish claims never failed to make him angry. And he’d already forced The Daily Prophet to run a redaction days ago. 

No, he did know, actually. It was the accompanying image. The one with Draco Malfoy staring right into the camera, unblinking, a challenge in his eyes. It was familiar but at the same time nothing Harry had ever seen before (except during his many rereads of this particular paper). Malfoy had aged. Matured obviously since he was now a Ministry official. There was just something about his face. The same but different. Harry was drawn to it.

“Auror Potter." 

Harry looked up to find that same face at his doorway, focusing a steely gaze on Harry. He was so shocked he forgot he was holding a cup of tea. It dropped to his desk with an embarrassing clatter, spilling its contents, all over Malfoy’s inked face.  

The Malfoy at Harry’s office door – the real one – didn’t move. His eyes flickered down to Harry’s desk, watching the spill unfold passively.

Harry jumped to his feet and quickly bundled up the wet paper, throwing it face down into a waste basket at his feet. He wasn’t sure if he’d been fast enough.

He looked back up to Malfoy, searching for any sign he might have seen. Nothing. But that hardly meant much. Harry suspected Malfoy’s emotions didn’t play so obviously on his face anymore. He nodded in what he hoped was a professional courteous manner. "Dralfoy.”

Harry froze, the awful blunder hitting his ears just as it came out of his mouth. He could feel himself blushing, his palms getting clammy, his knees weak. Was simply Malfoy’s presence enough to make him come undone these days?

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Harry, not quite sure how much longer he’d be able to stand for, slumped back into his seat - or at least attempted to – but misjudged the position and ended up plummeting to the floor instead.

The only saving grace – if there was any positive to the situation at all – was that at least on the floor, behind his desk, he was hidden from sight. He wondered if he crawled under his desk and stayed there, if Malfoy would get the idea and leave. Harry was seriously considering the option when Malfoy came into view again, stepping around the desk to loom over Harry.

He offered a hand. Harry gladly took it, forgetting for a moment the current predicament of said hands. And sure enough, after Malfoy helped Harry to his feet, he quickly let go and wiped his hand on his trousers.

Harry wanted to close his eyes and crawl up into a ball in the corner of the room. He never wanted to look Malfoy in the eye again. In less than a minute, he had made himself look like a complete fool. And all it took was for Malfoy to walk in the bloody room.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “I just came by to say hello. I thought it was polite given we work in the same building now. Which, of course, you already know.” His eyes darted to the waste basket. Shit.

“I had The Daily Prophet write a redaction,” Harry blurted out, as if that would help. Although at least he managed to get the words right this time.

“That was you? I should have guessed. You never miss an opportunity to save my skin.” Malfoy’s lips quirked upward for the smallest moment before his composure returned. “Well, it was nice seeing how the other side lives. I suppose I must get back to it.”

“Right,” Harry managed to nod. “I’ll get the door for you.”

They both stared at the open door.

Having already committed to the pointless task, Harry hurried forward and tripped over his own feet, falling right into Malfoy’s waiting – his reflexes were still as fast as they were in Quidditch – arms. Could Harry be more embarrassing?

Malfoy righted Harry but kept a firm grip on him – perhaps he thought Harry might slump to the floor otherwise, which was probably an accurate assumption at this stage.

There was amusement in Malfoy’s face now, a lightness in his eyes. “Are you always this clumsy, Potter, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” Harry answered quickly as he didn’t want Malfoy to think this was how all his mornings went. Although, after he realised what he’d said, he quickly tried to take it back: “No, I mean, wait, I mean, that’s not what I  -“

Malfoy took a step back, dropping his arms. “No need to be so flustered, Potter,” he interrupted. “I keep all the newspapers with your face on them too.”

Harry’s brain short-circuited. He must have stood there blinking at Malfoy for a solid five seconds before he was able to ask: “All of them?”

“Thirty-four and counting.” Malfoy winked. “You know, Potter, if you were to take me out to dinner, I’m sure the outing might be scandalous enough to make the front page. We could add to both our collections.”

“If I – you – dinner?” Harry repeated, a little discombobulated.

“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, a cheeky smile appearing on his face, “I thought you’d never ask. I’d love to.”

Harry blinked – it was the only action he was capable of.

Malfoy laughed lightly when Harry didn’t reply. He made to exit, but paused briefly to call out over his shoulder: “I finish at six.”

Only when Malfoy was out of view did Harry let his knees give in.

more like this l @queenofthyme

3

Who’s birthday is it?!! It’s KEITH’S!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEEF, I LOVE YOU

I also wrote a suuuuper sappy fic about that ring ^ down below!!

Bonus:

And now for the fluff :’)


Keith wakes to see a star outside of his window.

It’s a brilliant blue, dazzling and bright, and he’s immediately reminded of the mesmerizing color of Lance’s eyes, like the deep sea.

He rolls over and flings an arm out, expecting to come into contact with an entanglement of limbs and exposed wires, but all he grasps is air. Confused and still half asleep, he cracks open a dark violet eye and releases a wounded huff when he realizes that the other half of the bed is empty, its occupant long gone.

His heart makes a strange leap up into his throat but he shakes it off, pushing the paranoid thoughts away before they can nag at him. Lance probably left to get a system checkup. He does that, sometimes, in the early morning before all the hustle and bustle of the day’s plans crowd in.

Rest is under the cut!!

Keep reading

Jack Zimmermann was accustomed to dealing with difficult situations; he was captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team after all, but this? This was never in the job description.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Bitty whispered into the side of Jack’s neck, breath hot and sweet against his skin. The kegster ended a while ago but Bitty was still feeling the effects. When he fell off the coffee table attempting to dance to All the Single Ladies, Jack swept in ready to piggyback him to bed.

“Alright,” Jack said, mouthing I got this in Lardo’s direction before heading to the stairs.

“I don’t wanna be a single lady anymore,” His voice faltered and Jack became acutely aware of Bitty’s thighs around his hips. “I want a person. Everybody else has got a person.”

“With moves like that I don’t think you’ll have to wait long,” Jack said, supressing a chuckle.

“Mmhmm,” Bitty mumbled, fighting a losing war against sleep. Jack pushed open the door to Bitty’s room with his foot and ducked inside.

Keep reading

The Wake of War

[AO3]

So.” Stiles drops back against the side of the Jeep, elbows braced and spine sinking slow against the dusty blue metal. Derek’s hovering a few feet away, at the edge of the lot, not quite ready to vanish into the night but not prepared to join with the rest of the group, either.

He needs their voices, maybe, to block out the ones in his head.

“Looks like I saved your ass again,” Stiles is saying, flashing him a crooked grin. He looks warm and bright like the rest of them, a glow of victory dancing around him that can’t quite seep into Derek’s bones. “What’s the count, now? ‘Cause I think I’m getting pretty close to earning a victory ride in that sweet new Camaro.”

Derek’s lips twitch, a snort slipping out.

“I seem to recall saving you last time.”

“Hey, we’ve been through this. At best, that was a tie.” Stiles looks so smug Derek can’t bring himself to argue, and maybe that’s the reason Stiles’ grin falls. His eyes go soft, flitting over Derek’s frame.

“I’m glad you’re ok, man. …I mean, as nice as it would have been to have my very own, hot guy lawn ornament––”

“Why did I look at her?”

He doesn’t mean to say it; flinches at his own words. His hands are too-tight fists he stretches straight with an effort, and when he looks at Stiles again the bright expression’s gone, replaced by tension and an edge of a grimace he’s trying to fight down.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hello!! Can I ask for a friend zoned MC feeling unrequited love to the RFA + V & Unknown which ends in a "I like you god damn it" confession?? And they like you back?? Thank youuuu (: I love your blog btw

Author’s note: sorry this is so rushed I have to post Saeran/V’s separate bc this is so long || So some of these aren’t as much confessions as they are cute, BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY THEM NONETHELESS ♥

Yoosung

  • “To the left, MC!!!! NO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!”
  • You smashed the buttons of your controller down, hoping something good would happen
  • I have no idea what I’m doing.
  • “Uhh, Yoosung?”
  • “Hmm?”
  • “I think I just died.”
  • “WHAT?”
  • You set your controller down and glanced over at your best friend
  • His eyes were glued to the screen, tongue sticking slightly out just like it always does when he’s focused on something
  • The light from the monitor flashed white and Yoosung jerked forward, causing your knees to collide
  • You felt your face heat up at the skin on skin connection
  • “A-Ah, Yoosung?”
  • “Not now, MC, I think I can win this!!”
  • Yoosung leaned over in front of you, trying to get a better angle of the screen
  • You got a whiff of Yoosung’s shampoo and your heart skipped a beat 
  • I don’t know how he smells this good after playing video games all day.
  • You involuntarily reached out and ran your fingers through his hair
  • “…So soft.”
  • For a second you though you felt Yoosung leaning into your touch
  • But that’s probably my imagination…
  • The screen flashed again and Yoosung turned around to look at you
  • He was still leaning over on your side, your faces now inches apart
  • “I won!”
  • Yoosung gave you a close eyed smile
  • That damn smile.
  • When you didn’t respond to him, Yoosung frowned
  • “What’s wrong, MC?”
  • “…”
  • Screw it.
  • You summoned every ounce of strength you had and closed the gap between his lips and yours
  • Before Yoosung could react, you pulled away
  • “U-Uhhh,” you looked at Yoosung’s bright red face, “Congrats on the win?”
  • Do it!! Tell him how you feel!
  • “Yoosung, I-“
  • “M-Me too.”

Zen

  • It was just another average friend date with Zen
  • You, him, a small bistro, hundreds of fans all begging to get a picture with him
  • Just a normal day
  • “Zen, over here!!!”
  • “Sorry about the flash, I just HAVE to make sure it’s a good picture.”
  • “Are you stupid??? ALL of Zen’s pictures are good!”
  • You turned to look at your friend, who was soaking up as much of the limelight as possible
  • This dork…
  • He stood up and tapped on his glass with a fork
  • “Ladies, ladies, you can all get a picture with your Zenny, just be patient!”
  • “Since when are you theirs?” you mumbled, crossing your arms
  • Zen glanced back at you
  • Crap, did he hear me?
  • You gave him a big smile and a thumbs up
  • That ought to throw him off his tracks.
  • Zen turned back to the sea of fans
  • “I’ll be outside in ten minutes, so if everyone could make a line outside, that would be perfect!”
  • In the blink of an eye the restaurant was empty again, a flood of screaming girls and guys retreating outside to wait for their prince
  • A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Zen sat down
  • “Are you mad at me?”
  • You looked down at your food and began messing with it
  • “Don’t play with your food, MC.”
  • “Okay, mom.”
  • He sighed, “If you aren’t going to answer my question I’ll just go outside right now.”
  • Zen put his hands on the table and started to push himself up
  • “W-Wait.”
  • You grabbed his arm and pulled him back down
  • “I’m not mad at you,” you sighed, “I’m just mad that we never get to spend time together like we used to.”
  • Zen put his hand on top of yours and leaned in toward you
  • “What do you mean? I see you all the time up at work!!”
  • You stared at his hand
  • He’s touching me.
  • He’s holding my hand.
  • ZEN is holDING MY FREAKING-
  • “MC???”
  • You awkwardly coughed and pulled your hand away
  • “Y-Yeah, uh no… what were we talking about?”
  • Zen leaned back in his chair
  • “Never mind… let’s just eat.”
  • He lifted up his glass of water to his lips
  • Those lips…
  • “I love you.”
  • “WHAT?”
  • “DAMNIT ZEN!”
  • You pushed away from the table and stood up
  • “You spit all over my shirt,” you gestured down to the wet material that clung to your chest, “my WHITE shirt!!’
  • “W-Well you said that you… you love me.”
  • “Ah… that.”
  • And all of sudden, the floor became veryyyyy interesting
  • I wish I had the power of invisibility…
  • “MC, look at me.”
  • While you were contemplating superpowers, Zen had taken the time to walk over and stand in front of you
  • “Nah, I think I’m good,” you continued looking down, “the floor happens to be my favorite shade of… brown.”
  • A soft and warm hand tilted your chin up, and your eyes met his scarlet ones
  • “I love you too.”
  • You slowly leaned in-
  • “ZENNY, WE’RE WAITING~”
  • Offff course.
  • Zen stepped back and glanced at the girl peeking through the front door
  • There was the click of a camera and a squeal, and she was gone again
  • Zen scratched the back of his head
  • “Sorry, I guess it’s-whoa whoa WHOA, what are you doing????
  • You flung your wet shirt over the back of the chair and shivered
  • “Man, this place is kinda cold,” you looked up and smirked, “then again, I am wearing just a bra.”
  • You heard a very inhumane noise come from the back of Zen’s throat
  • “The fans can wait.”
  • Zen grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest, his lips crashing against yours
  • The beast was NOT contained that night

Jaehee

  • On your way out of the RFA building you glanced at your watch
  • Damn… it’s already 11pm? I stayed waaaaayyyy too late.
  • When you walked past the break room you heard the familiar sound of the copy machine clunking turning on
  • “…damn Jumin and his damn reports-“
  • I wonder if that’s…
  • “-with his damn cat and the damn cat wine.”
  • Yup, that’s Jaehee.
  • You peeked in the room and watched as she stuffed a stack of papers into the copy tray
  • She wiped her hands on her skirt and sat in the chair next to the whirring machine
  • “You should go talk to her.”
  • “WhAT THE-“
  • Seven put a hand over your mouth and pulled you away from the door
  • Jaehee glanced up and sighed
  • “Anyone there?”
  • Seven removed his hand and you lowered your voice to a whisper
  • “What the hell do you want?”
  • He glanced at the breakroom and then back to you, giving you his famous ‘I have an idea that could go horribly wrong or perfectly right’ look
  • “Good luck,” was all he said before grabbing you and harshly shoving you in the breakroom
  • “WAIT-”
  • But it was too late
  • In a flash the redhead was gone, and you were alone with Jaehee
  • She looked up and smiled
  • “MC? I didn’t know you were here so late! It’s nice to have some company.”
  • You stared at her, unsure of what to say
  • S-So cute…
  • “U-Uhh, yeah…”
  • Jaehee stood up and stretched, letting out a tiny yawn
  • “How much longer does Jumin have you here?”
  • She picked up the warm copies from the tray and leaned up against the machine
  • “I just have to run this back to his office and I’m done! At least, until he inevitably calls me at midnight asking for more cat food…”
  • You walked with her to Jumin’s office, continuing to listen to her rant about his late night antics
  • When the two of you finally got there, she plopped the papers in a box outside the door
  • “H-Hey, Jaehee?”
  • She glanced over at you
  • “Hmm?”
  • “You wanna go grab some late night coffee? Since, you know, Jumin should be calling you in about,” you checked your watch, “30 minutes.”
  • “Sure!! That’s exactly the pick me up I need, a nice little friend date!”
  • Hold up.
  • “…Friend date?”
  • “Yeah, I was thinking-”
  • “I like you. A lot.”
  • Jaehee stopped and turned to you
  • “A-As a friend?”
  • You stepped closer, “More than a friend.”
  • Her eyes widened and a deep blush spread across her cheeks
  • “Oh…”
  • “Oh?”
  • You felt your heart break in two
  • She doesn’t feel the same… dammit, this is why you never fall in love with a straight girl.
  • Tiny hands wrapped around your own, causing you to look back up
  • Jaehee had a soft smile spread across her lips
  • “Me too… a-about the not friend thing.”
  • Her gripped tightened, “Not that I don’t consider you a friend! I’m just, well, what I’m trying to say, or rather, what want to say-”
  • “Would you two KISS ALREADY???”
  • Both of your heads snapped in the direction of the voice
  • “Seven, whyyyyy are you still here?”
  • “Still?”
  • “Yeah, he was here earlier when-”
  • “-When I set you guys up!”
  • As you and Seven began arguing, Jaehee looked between the two of you and sighed
  • She interlocked fingers with you and pulled you away
  • “Sorry, Luciel, but we have a date to get to.”
  • You stuck your tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes
  • “Whatever… have fun you two love birdddssss!!”
  • You looked over at Jaehee and smiled
  • Oh, we will.

Jumin

  • Dammit, he closed the blinds.
  • You rolled your chair closer and angled your head in an attempt to see into Jumin’s office again
  • “Peeping tom much?
  • “Shut it.”
  • Zen sighed and leaned up against your desk
  • “I still don’t understand what you see in him.”
  • You rolled your eyes and looked over at Zen
  • “You promised you’d be supportive-
  • “-And I am,” he held up his hands in surrender, “I just think you could do better.”
  • “What? Like date you?”
  • “Well, not that much better.”
  • Zen smirked and you playfully hit him in the stomach
  • Within the next second the two of you burst out laughing
  • “Wow,” you wiped a tear from your eye, “I don’t even know why that was so funny.”
  • “Me neith-”
  • “MC,” Jumin’s voice boomed, “Can I see you in my office?”
  • Zen raised his eyebrows and pushed himself off your desk
  • “Good luck,” he glanced back, “with him, you’ll need it.”
  • You rolled your eyes and stood up, cringing when your knees made a loud pop
  • Could my body, like, not embarrass me? No? Alllllllrighty.
  • You walked into the room and Jumin closed the door behind him
  • “So, what’s up?”
  • Jumin turned around and sighed
  • “I believe some… congratulations are in order.”
  • Huh?
  • “Did I get a raise?”
  • Jumin chuckled, taking one big step toward you
  • “No, I’m talking about you and Zen.”
  • …Huh?
  • “I’m a little lost… what do you mean-”
  • “Your relationship. Are you not romantically involved with each other?”
  • “Huh?”
  • Said that one out loud this time…
  • You mentally kicked yourself, “Zen and I are just friends.”
  • “Just friends?”
  • “Purely platonic.”
  • Jumin scratched his chin, completely lost in thought
  • You took a deep breath
  • Here goes everything nothing.
  • “…I actually have my eye on someone else.”
  • Jumin snapped back into reality
  • “Who? If that, well, if it isn’t too much to ask.”
  • Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap-
  • “Is it really not Zen?”
  • Oh my god.
  • “You know,” you grabbed his tie, “you’re pretty clueless for a CEO.”
  • In one gentle tug, your lips connected with his
  • After a few seconds, Jumin pulled away
  • “So, it’s me then?”
  • You shook your head and grinned
  • “Of course, you-“
  • Jumin’s lips crashed on to yours again,his hands cupping your face
  • And let’s just say you were now very thankful for the closed blinds

Seven

  • “Wrench.”
  • “WRENCH!”
  • “Screwdriver.”
  • “SCREWDRIVER!!”
  • You grabbed the two tools from Seven’s hand
  • “You know, you don’t have to repeat everything I say.”
  • “Repeat everything I-OUCH! MC, why’d you kick meeee?”
  • Seven hugged his shin and hopped up and down
  • I’m surprised he has this much energy at 2 in the morning….
  • You looked back up at Seven, who had miraculously gotten over his bruised shin and was chugging a can of Dr. Pepper
  • …Who am I kidding, he never sleeps anyways.
  • It had been about an hour since Seven called you asking for help fixing his chair
  • You had gone to the furniture store IKEA anyone??? with him earlier that day and actually took the time to READ the damn manual
  • Anddddd, done!”
  • You clapped your hands together and smiled
  • “Wanna test it out?”
  • Seven gave you a mischievous grin
  • “Don’t mind if I do!”
  • Before you knew it, Seven grabbed your waist and pulled you into his lap, causing both of you to fall back into the chair
  • It creaked under the combined weight of you and Seven, but surprisingly remained stable
  • “Hey, you really did fix it!!”
  • Seven began spouting off nonsense about how crappy it was earlier, but you were too busy thinking about the fact that you were sitting
  • In his lap
  • INCHES away from his face
  • He’s so warm…
  • “-Plus, it kept making weird noises! I’m so glad you came over tonight.”
  • “Mmhmm.”
  • “Uh, earth to MC?? Agent 707 calling, can you read me??”
  • You shook you head, zoning back in
  • Seven sighed, relaxing back into the chair
  • “Thank God Seven you’re okay… I can’t have my best friend dying on me… literally,” Seven chuckled at his own joke
  • I love that little laugh.
  • “Dammit…”
  • Seven looked back at you
  • “What’s on your mind, MC?”
  • “You.”
  • DID I JUST SAY THAT OUT LOUD?
  • “W-What?”
  • Here we go.
  • “Seven, I like you.”
  • “You mean,” Seven furrowed his brows, “You like me, or you like-like me?”
  • You rolled your eyes, how old is he again??
  • “You’re so ridiculous.”
  • Seven looked at you patiently
  • “I like-like you.”
  • You felt lips lightly press on the back of your neck
  • “Well that’s not fair,” Seven tightened his grip on your waist, “because I love-love you.”

anonymous asked:

RFA+V+Saeran accidentally hitting MC headcannons? I'm sorry if this triggers you or something but I'm curious how will they react!

( ̄▽ ̄) This got progressively more fun to write~~ It varies from fluff to comedy to slight angst lolol

–R.I.


RFA Accidentally Hits MC

Yoosung

  • He hadn’t meant to, he swears!!
  • He was just so excited about finally achieving a higher level than Seven on LOLOL that he’d carelessly thrown his headphones behind him and you just happened to be there!
  • When he turned around to tell you his good news, he noticed the newly-formed bump on your head.
  • Oblivious, he tilted his head in question. “Oh, how’d you get hurt, MC?”
  • You fired a glare at him, crossing your arms and stomping off, irritated by his carelessness. ‘I’m going to ignore him!’ you decided.
  • You held true to your word.
  • It wasn’t until days later (in which Yoosung spent whining for your attention) when he heard you complaining to Jaehee about what had happened, and how careless he was.
  • Finally learning his mistake, he slid to the floor, grasping at your leg while he stared up at you with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry!!!” he wailed, feeling the guilt him hard. “I’ll do anything to make it up to youuuu” ;-;
  • Dammit, his puppy face was hard to resist.

Zen

  • He noticed you trying to sneak up on him by looking at your shadow on the floor, and he swiftly turned around so he could tease you that your plan failed but… but…
  • His long ponytail somehow whacked you in the face, leaving a pink mark on your cheek
  • “Owwie.” You rubbed your cheek with a slight frown.
  • He shrieks at the sin he’d just committed. I JUST HIT MY PRINCESS WHATDOIDOOHMYGODIDESERVETODIE
  • He rushed out an apology in a panic, “MC, I’m so sorry, oh my gosh, I’ll never do that agai-”
  • Low whistles came from their surroundings.
  • “Wow, what an awful boyfriend, did he hit her? Her cheek is pink… Poor girl…”
  • “Isn’t that the actor Zen? Didn’t know he was abusive to his girlfriend…”
  • Every comment only made him feel guiltier. He hadn’t meant to hurt you—he would never!
  • He placed his head in his hands, feeling horrible about himself. You noticed that tears were welling up in his eyes.
  • “Hey, it was just an accident… And it was only your hair. It’s okay Zen. I know you’d never hurt me,” you murmured gently, smiling brightly up at him as you brushed aside his bangs.
  • “M-maybe I shouldn’t stand so close to you anymore…” He shook his head, frantically backing away from you, not processing your words at all.
  • Well, you sure had fun explaining why Zen kept running away from you like a little kid at the RFA party. It only got worse when Seven joined in, “ARE WE PLAYING TAG?!? TAG, YOU’RE IT, MC!!!” and running off…

Jaehee

  • As usual, you were helping out at the coffeeshop, scurrying around behind the counter to get to the customers’ orders.
  • And like most days, it was busy.
  • As you were serving a customer at the cash register, Jaehee was rushing to finish someone else’s order, and in her hurry, she bumped into you. Hard.
  • The both of you crashed down, with her knee digging into your abdomen. You felt the wind knocked out of you, and you gasped for air, your eyes rolling to the back of your head from the pain.
  • “MC!” Jaehee shrieked, the guilt hitting her immediately. “MC, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
  • You were in too much pain to even realize she was talking. You closed your eyes as you rolled to your side, trying to tolerate it.
  • “Hey, take my order already!” someone demanded.
  • Jaehee slowly stood up, a fierce glare upon her face as she slammed her fist onto the countertop. “Your order? MC is hurt and all you can think about is your order? You think your order is more important?” she growled, glaring daggers in the inconsiderate customer’s direction.
  • The customer visibly gulped, shuddering from the intensity of Jaehee’s anger. “N-no, ma’am…”
  • Your girlfriend clicked her tongue. In an icy cold tone, she stated, “I’ve never had to ask this of a customer before. Get. Out.”
  • Ignoring the line of customers, Jaehee chose to tend to you first, carrying you princess style (remember this gal can fight) to the staffroom and checking the damage. Upon seeing the bruise, she winced, feeling another wave of guilt overwhelm her. You could see her silently mouthing yet another apology as she stared at it.
  • “It’ll heal. It was only an accident, Jaehee, don’t worry,” you soothed her, smiling gently. Albeit with a frown, she accepted it.
  • …Although, she made you take multiple days off after that, despite your protests.

Jumin

  • He’d just gotten out of a 6 hour long meeting, feeling completely worn out. Nonetheless, it was over, so he could finally return to his office.
  • You’d asked to meet with him for lunch that day, patiently waiting for him to finish up.
  • But he had hardly taken a step into the office, and he received a call from another business partner. He flashed you an apologetic look before taking the call, walking to the far end of the room to talk quietly.
  • You didn’t mind, it was just a little more waiting. The call couldn’t possibly take that long, after all!
  • Or so you thought.
  • But over an hour had passed already, and his lunch break was almost over. Growing impatient, you walked up to your husband, reaching to hug him.
  • Noticing your actions, he swatted his hand dismissively, trying to tell you he was busy. Unfortunately, he was distracted, and he ended up smacking your face.
  • The moment his hand made contact with your face, his expression froze. In a split second, Jumin hung up on his call, setting aside his phone and rushing to your aid.
  • But you pushed him away.
  • He winced at the hurt expression on your face. You weren’t upset because he’d hit you, but that he had tried to dismiss you as if you were just another employee to him—as if you weren’t important. But you couldn’t say that out loud to him. Just because he had hurt your feelings, it didn’t mean you had to do the same to him.
  • You lowered your eyes, avoiding his worried gaze, and quietly walked out of his office. Jumin sank into his chair in despair, feeling awful about what he’d done. He knew how it felt to be cast aside for work. And he hated that you had to go through the same experience.
  • After finishing work that night, he returned home, still feeling ashamed of himself. You’d already turned off all the lights as if to say you weren’t waiting for him tonight. He hesitantly opened the door to your shared bedroom, where you were reading a book in bed.
  • Jumin held up a bouquet of purple hyacinths, nervously forcing a smile on his face. “I-I’m sorry about earlier today, MC…” he said quietly.
  • “You think flowers will make me forgive you?” you sighed, a frown tugging at your lips. “While I appreciate the sentiment, the flowers won’t win me over. I understand that you may have been stressed from work, but that doesn’t make me any less upset about it. Well, you should get some rest.”
  • He looked away, then suddenly grabbed your hand. “I… Will you let me explain myself, at least?”
  • Albeit surprised, you nodded calmly.
  • “The reason I’ve been working so hard lately… even today… it’s because I wanted to clear my schedule to spend time with you. I know you’ve been very patient with me all this time, and I’m really grateful for that. I just… kind of missed passing time with you, so I was planning to finish up next week’s work and then properly ask you out on a date… But I guess it really took a toll on me.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry.”
  • You wrapped your arms around him, a soft smile upon your face. “Then, make it up to me by staying with me all next week, okay?”
  • Although you wouldn’t see it, Jumin had an adorable grin on his face. ‘I love you so much.’

Seven

  • “BWAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!”
  • If you were wondering why Saeyoung was laughing at 6AM in the morning, it’s because he woke up to your face.
  • Now, he wakes up with you everyday, but it was the first time that you awoke with a nosebleed. He grinned cheekily, “I didn’t know I was that hot, babe.”
  • …to which, earned him a smack in the head.
  • “This is your fault, you idiot,” you grumbled, carefully getting out of bed.
  • He cocked his head in confusion, “Wait, really?”
  • “You whacked me with your arm. Again.”
  • Although he felt guilty for hurting you, he covered it up with another grin. “Just admit that you were nosebleeding because I’m hot, MC~”
  • Despite his words, he still led you to the bathroom and helped you clean up the blood. He took it upon himself to wash the blankets and bedsheets which had gained bloodstains, and even made breakfast for you that morning.
  • And it’d be over breakfast that he quietly apologized to you.
  • “Hey, uhm… I know I was kidding around earlier, but I’m really sorry about hitting you, MC…” he mumbled, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being so sincere, but he knew he should apologize.
  • You merely flicked his forehead. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to. Besides, I’ve kicked you off the bed multiple times because you were taking up too much space.”
  • His head snapped up immediately, narrowing his eyes at you accusingly. “Wait what?! But you always told me that I rolled off by myself!!”
  •  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Saeran

  • “Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry”
  • He was chanting it over and over, his head on his knees, his entire body trembling. You tried to approach him, but he only flinched, backing away.
  • “N-no, stay away. I hurt you, oh my god, I hurt you,” he whispered, pain dripping in his voice. His eyes were wide with horror, and your heart clenched at the sight. He was scared. Scared of himself.
  • Now, what had caused this?
  • You’d sprung onto Saeran, declaring a pillow war, and the two of you had been smacking each other with your pillows, trying to get the upper hand over each other. But then he’d tripped over his own feet while he was swinging his pillow at you, and ended up smashing his elbow into you, knocking you to the ground.
  • You’d only scraped your knee from the fall, and it only bled a little, but the injury was enough to make Saeran freak out.
  • “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said in a gentle tone, trying to coax him. “You would never hurt me.”
  • “I d-d-don’t want to hurt a-a-anyone,” he stammered, still shuddering. “P-p-please believe me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, imsorryimsorryimsorryi-”
  • You took ahold of his trembling hands, kissing the fingertips. “I love you, Saeran. It was an accident. You didn’t have any other intentions. It’s okay. I’m okay. Look, it’s just a scratch.”
  • It took a few more moments to calm him down, but he eventually came to terms that it was only an accident, and that it wasn’t his fault. Still, though the incident was small and harmless, the fear that he could become abusive, just like his mother, began to haunt him since that day.

V

  • ‘Bzzzz…’
  • Jihyun frowned, turning his head to find the source of that annoying sound. Although he had recovered from his blindness, (thanks to Jumin finding the best doctors and funding the surgery), his ears were still sensitive to distant sounds.
  • Bzzzz…’ He walked out of the kitchen, noticing that the buzzing sound became louder. It must be closer now…
  • ‘BZZZ!!’ His eyes caught the culprit: a mosquito was flying around the house! He tried to slap the mosquito with both hands, failing miserably as it diligently flew away. Oh, it’s on, Mosquito.
  • Jihyun began running like a madman around the house, swatting at the pest and missing every time. And then, it chose to stay still. SLAP!
  • “Eeep!” you squealed, feeling a harsh impact on your butt. “W-what was that for, Jihyun?!”
  • He glanced up at you in surprise, taking in your pouting face.
  • “Ahh!! I’m so sorry, MC! I was so focused on killing the mosquito, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry…” He was rambling in his apology, sounding almost panicked
  • You smirked, then grabbed him by the collar. “Hey. I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it, now, did I?” you whispered huskily into his ear. You watched as Jihyun’s ears turned pink from embarrassment.
  • (Meanwhile, Seven was listening from the monitor. He whistled lowly upon hearing your words. “Damn. Kinky,” he muttered. Too bad Jihyun had broken his bug, or else he would’ve loved to see what happened next.)
Bitty’s Southern

Bitty is a southern boy and as a southern girl let me tell you there are things he does that make the rest of SMH go “Ummm….what?” 

  • He says stuff that makes literal ZERO sense to the rest of the team. Mostly southern phrases etc. LIKE, “That boy is about of useless as tits on a bull.” or  if it’s raining but the sun is out Bits just says, “Devil must be beatin’ his wife.”  Everyone is confused as shit.
  • “Oh my goodness I want Chick-fil-a. BUT IT’S SUNDAY.”
  • Holster going,” Hey Bits can you hand me a coke?” and Bitty responding with, “Sure, which kind do you want? We’ve got sprite, mtn dew, dr. pepper…” BC in the south every soda is a coke.
  • “Y’all know what I miss the most about Georgia? Cheerwine. And Duke’s Mayo. You northerners keep using that hellman’s stuff or miracle whip and let me tell you. IT. IS .NOT. MAYONNAISE.”
  • “IT’S SO HOT! Summer is the WORST” “Ransom, It’s like, 70 degrees. It gets up to like 115+ in Georgia. And it’s not even humid! You hush your mouth.”
  • The first time Bitty goes to Stop & Shop with one of the guys from SMH he tells them to grab a buggy on their way in and said member stares at him for a second, “What’s a buggy?” “Oh for goodness sake. A shopping cart! We need a shopping cart!”
  • Bitty’s drunk at a kegster when he suddenly shouts, “WHO WANTS TO PLAY CORNHOLE?!” 
  • It’s New Years so of course Bitty’s making black eyed peas, collards, cornbread, ham, and a pineapple upside down cake. “It’s for luck.”
  • Bitty will be checking Facebook and be like, “Oh bless his heart.” Chowder notices him fretting over the phone so he asks what’s up “Oh it’s just one of my friend from high school’s dad.” and Chowder, being the precious person that he is, responds with, “Oh no. What happened? Is he ok?” Bitty just shakes his head, “He’s done went and fell out of the deer stand. Again. Broke his arm and bruised his pride. You think he would’ve learned his lesson after the same thing happened last huntin’ season”
  • Jack’s all dressed up in a suit or something, he has a meeting with the Falcs, “What are you all gussied up for?”
  • “Look at what all I got up at the outlet mall!!”
  • Rans/Holster/Bitty share a bathroom so I reckon this has happened at least once: “Neither of y’all go in the bathroom! I’m fixin’ to shower”  to which Holster responds, “What was that Bits? What are you fixing?” Bitty hollers from his room, arm full of clothes, “I’m fixin’ to shower!” Ransom chimes in, “I didn’t know the shower was broken!” At this point Bitty is getting frustrated,“Oh for the love of Pete! You Yankees.” He speaks slowly and pronounces each word carefully, “I am going to go take a shower so please do not go and hog the bathroom.”
  • “So I was talking to Momma and APPARENTLY Mrs. Jones, the one that lives down the road, was rude as all get out.” “Really? What’d she do?” Bitty just throws his hands up, “Momma and Coach were drivin’ back to the house and Mrs. Jones was driving in the opposite direction so of course Momma waves at her. AND SHE DIDN’T WAVE BACK.”
  • I know for a FACT that at some point Bits makes a pitcher of sweet tea, puts it in the fridge, and the boys/Lardo finds it. “What’s this?” “Oh, it’s just some tea. You want some?” So Bitty pours them a glass and approximately 2 seconds later “WHAT IS THIS? IT’S LIKE SYRUP! Bits this isn’t tea! It’s diabetes in a cup!”
  • “Just rub some bacon grease on it.”
  • “Don’t you dare pour that coffee out! I can use it for gravy!”
  • “You know what food I miss? Fried pickles. No, wait, HUSHPUPPIES. I’d kill for some right now.”

anonymous asked:

Hey! If you're still taking prompts, could you write about neil and Andrew having a conversation about Neil's past? Like the stuff he had to do to survive and the stuff he went through with the worlds shittiest parents? Also I'm pretty sure neil has killed people like it makes complete sense so maybe andreil talking about that?

There’s a band of pale blue light nipping at the tops of the trees and sharpening the silhouettes of the houses, but everything else is fresh and dark. Andrew smokes with the pack clenched in his fist, the cherry of the cigarette winking at the street lamps winking at the orange moon.

Their front porch isn’t like the rush of the rooftop, but he can get that same jitter of fear from Neil nowadays, and he’s more portable. He’d left him knotted in the bedsheets an hour ago, and knowing he’s inside somewhere at his back is burning him up. Andrew inhales and focuses on the exhale, the way the smoke still tries to hurt him when it should’ve given up. He likes that nicotine doesn’t leave him alone.

Neil slips out the front door and lets the screen door clatter, and Andrew knows that he’s upset before he sits down two steps below Andrew, holding his own head.

He doesn’t ask; just smokes fervently. The moon bobs its head sympathetically, wind catches the smoke and breaks it over Neil’s head like water on rocks.

It occurs to Andrew that Neil isn’t going to start this conversation, because he likes to think things through on his own, solve them wrong, and tell Andrew about his mistakes later. He’s insufferably convinced of his own problem-solving abilities, then obsessed with the mechanism of his own missteps.

“What?” Andrew asks impatiently. He flicks ash from his cigarette and holds it out in front of Neil’s face. Neil sidles through his own tangled thinking for long enough to glance up. He leans forward and sucks the smoke from between Andrew’s fingers.

When he looks away, gusting smoke from his open mouth, he says, “Matt called. We fought.”

You fought,” Andrew guesses.

Neil looks agitated, blue in the choked light, eyes black and furious. “He was being unfair. He keeps trying to tell me what’s right or wrong lately, because he thinks I’ve been— been deprived, like my experiences were outside of humanity, or morality, and it’s so— condescending.”

“You’re only realizing this now? All of the foxes are condescending. It is the only way they can avoid their own failure.”

“This was different,” Neil says, shaking his head. “I can tell when they’re saying things because they want to see my reaction, and this wasn’t that. He meant what he was saying.”

“And what was that?”

Neil goes gagged silent. He shifts backwards up to Andrew’s stair without looking at him, settling into the groove worn into the wood.

“That killing someone makes you a monster. That murder is the worst thing you can do to a person.”

Keep reading

Dean can be a stubborn jerk sometimes.

Sam has been growing up with that since he’s able to remember and though his mighty weapon, the powerful puppy dog look, proved to be successful occasionally, Dean’s an insistent pighead more often than not. It’s a beloved Winchester trait he liked to nurse for a very long time.

But, thankfully, somewhere along the way Castiel showed up and turned Dean into a compliant puddle of goo almost instantly.

Because his dear big brother is obviously incapable of saying no to those big, blue angel eyes.

A very helpful turn of events, that’s for sure.

So when Sam finds himself in need of an agreeable Dean, he just goes straight to Castiel.

“Cas, I need your help,” he says one day. “I have a favor to ask of Dean and, well …”

“I see.” Castiel grabs a cup of coffee and studies Sam intently. “How can I be of assistance?”

Sam smiles relieved. Castiel’s easy acceptance is always something to cherish. “Well, it’s kinda big, I’ve gotta confess –”

Castiel nods like he totally understands. “You want a dog.”

Sam blinks a few times, staring at the angel. “Uh …”

Actually he just wanted to borrow the Impala for about a week (or maybe a bit longer) to visit some libraries high up north, but this … this is way too important to simply wave it off. “Why … why would you think that?”

Castiel tilts his head. “Because of the way you always look at dog owners playing with their pets in the park. It’s the same face Dean makes when he’s seeing a pie he can’t have.”

Sam ducks his head. He’s apparently been way to obvious if even an angel still learning human mannerisms is able to call him out.

“Well, yeah …” he mumbles.

Castiel straightens his back. “I will talk to Dean.”

Sam casts him an incredulous look. “You … you seriously think you could get me a dog?”

“Of course,” Castiel states simply, sipping his coffee and looking freaking confident.

Sam snorts at that. “Sorry, man,” he counters. “But even you can’t bring Dean to get us a dog!”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, the “Is that a challenge?” clear as day.

“Okay, fine,” Sam concedes, chuckling. “Show me what you got! Perform a fucking miracle!”

Castiel takes a last gulp and then marches out of the room like a man on a mission, calling Dean’s name.

And just five minutes later Dean drops onto the chair across from Sam, looking a bit rumpled and dazed, before eventually clearing his throat in a very melodramatic fashion. “Okay, bitch, listen up!” he announces in his bossy you’re-not-allowed-to-contradict-me voice. “There are a lot of things to discuss before we’re getting that stupid dog, you hear me?”

And while Dean keeps talking about rules and restrictions, Sam can’t do anything else than gape at Castiel who is standing just behind Dean, smirking and mouthing “You’re welcome!”.

Damn!

master-sass-blast  asked:

Right. So. Might be mildly addicted to your 'Gods and Monsters' series. Definitely need an intervention, but I'll prolly ignore that anyway, so... anyway, can you do something with Zeus and Hera? I've always thought it was massively whack that the goddess of fidelity was with --according to Greek mythos--one of the biggest adulterers on Olympus. Definitely smelling a bit of an abusive relationship there, if you catch my drift... okay byeeeee

Hera, the young goddess of marriage and family, is only unfaithful to her husband once.

She seduces Zeus first, right as the war ends and they’re all pain and ash and thrumming with the excitement of victory. She smiles just so and touches his bloody chest, her hand pale against the dark copper of his skin and, and when he looks at her his eyes spark with the lightning he so easily commands. She is named his wife that very night, her body littered with bruises from his rough, eager hands, and she tells herself the bile at the back of her throat tastes like victory.

She is queen of the gods. This is what she wants.

They’ve all claimed their domains and gone their separate ways, Demeter to the earth, Hades to the underworld, and Hestia to Olympus where they plan to build their palace. But Poseidon still lingers. “Don’t you have an ocean to conquer?” she asks.

He looks at her, then behind her to where Zeus is busy sketching plans for Olympus. “You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, “you – you can come with me if you want. Or I’m sure Hades would take you.”

Hera has no time for Poseidon and his soft heart. “I will only belong to the best,” she says, tossing her head so her crown of curls fall over her shoulder. “You should go. You have work to do.”

“There are more important things than power,” he says uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

“No,” she says, “there aren’t.”

~

Hera would not mind Zeus’s women so much if they were not constantly giving him children, something she has been unable to do.

She is an obedient wife. She does not turn her powers against him, and she’s tolerant of his mortals at first, but the longer she is empty of child the less patience she has. How can she be the goddess of family without one of her own?

Her spite gets in her way, and she hurls every kind of obstacle and curse she can at the woman her husband lies with. At first he is angry with her, and bruises litter her throat and wrists. Then, as her wrath and powers grow, he is afraid of her. He watches her warily, sneaking to the mortal realm when before he wouldn’t even try to hide it. He submits when she pins him to the bed and rides him hard, desperate for a child of his, desperate to fulfill the perfect image of wife and mother she’s built for herself.

No matter her magic, no matter how many times they lie together, Hera does not get with child.

She goes to Hestia, and her sister presses a hand to her stomach and purses her lips and says, “Must it be his child?”

Hera stares. She’s the goddess of marriage and family. She is not capable of infidelity. “I – I can’t.”

“Just once,” Hestia says, “the problem is not with you, nor with him, clearly. Only the combination of you both. Lie with any other man, and you will have your child.”

So Hera, just once, puts on a disguise and goes to the mortal realm. She finds a man with skin darker than Zeus’s, a rich warm brown that matches his soft eyes. She lies with him, and it hurts. He is kind and patient and kisses the edge of her jaw, her shoulders, her navel. But to be unfaithful grates against her very nature as a goddess, and every moment is agony. He finishes, his mouth whispering kind things against her own, and she leaves as soon as she can.

It works. She becomes round with child, and is happier than she’s been in a long time. She does not mind Zeus’s mortals, and he even becomes kinder while the baby grows inside of her. His hands become softer, and he spends less time away from Olympus.

The baby is born, and Zeus is furious.

The child is too dark to be his, and he tears it from Hera’s hands while she lies exhausted from the birth. “What do you care?” she cries, struggling to stand, “You have dozens of children. What does it matter if I have one?”

He holds the baby in one hand and grabs her jaw with the other, pulling her to her knees. “You are my wife,” he hisses, “the goddess of marriage and family. You will have my child, or no child at all.”

He throws the baby from Mount Olympus. Hera screams, pushing herself away from him and attempting to jump after it. Zeus catches her around the waist, and with a crackle of power and roar of rage, he sends a lightning bolt after the baby.

The child may have survived the fall, but not the lightning.

“NO!” Hera screeches, clawing at his arm as she struggles to escape his grasp. Normally she’s not this helpless against him, but delivering her baby has left her weaker than she’s ever been before.

He presses the flat of his hand against her swollen womb, adding pressure until she cries out in pain and tries to squirm away from him. “My child,” he repeats, voice low and terrible, “or no child at all.”

He lets her go, and she collapses, grasping out a hand over the edge of Olympus. But the blood between her thighs is still wet, and she can’t find the energy to stand. She wonders if she’ll have to crawl down the mountain to retrieve her baby’s corpse.

“Sister!” Soft hands grab her shoulder and gently roll her onto her back. Hestia’s face fills her vision, and Hera has never seen the older goddess of hearth and fire look so cold. “I’ll kill him,” she says, hands hovering over Hera like she’s not sure where to begin. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think this would happen, I didn’t think he would – I didn’t think.”

Hera curls on her side until she can place her head in her sister’s lap. She’s not sobbing anymore, she’s never been one to fall into hysterics, but she can’t stop crying, a steady stream of tears dripping silently down her face. Hestia runs trembling hands through her hair. “Don’t,” she whispers, “I did this, this is my fault. I – I should have known better.”

Hestia’s hand cup her face, leaning over so she can look her in the eye. “This is not your fault.”

Her sister stands and picks her up in her arms. Hera tries to tell her to put her down, that Zeus will be angry if she leaves, that she did this to herself. But she falls unconscious before she can get any of it out.

~

Hera awakens someplace soft and warm. She opens her eyes, and she’s inside Hades’s palace. Her confusion lasts only until her memories come rushing back, and then she has to bite her lip until it bleeds to stop herself from crying out.

“Hestia brought you here. She’s returned to Olympus to cover for you both. Do not worry – Zeus doesn’t know where you are.” She turns her head, and sees the goddess of magic at her side. Hecate smiles, “I have mended you, do not worry. All is well.”

All is not well. That statement is so far from true, and her instant urge is to crush Hecate to dust for the audacity. Before she can make up her mind one way or the other, there’s a soft knock on the door. It opens to reveal her elder brother. “I have something that belongs to you,” he says, and Here focuses on the bundle in the crook of his elbow.

Her baby’s corpse. She’s relieved someone thought to get it. Her heart feels like lead, and all the control she’d had over her emotions is gone instantly. She hopes they’ll leave her alone to hold the body of her child and weep.

Hades gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, and Hecate rises to help Hera prop herself up so she’s at least sitting. “He’s a strong little thing,” Hades says, and Hera doesn’t understand.

Then a warm, wriggling baby is placed in her arms. He’s got great big eyes and his mouth splits into a toothless grin when he sees her. “He’s alive,” she says numbly.

“Not without sacrifice,” Hecate says softly, and reaches over to undo the blanket he’s swaddled in.

Her son has no legs below his knees.

“Zeus’s lightning bolt didn’t kill him, but we cannot return what was lost,” Hades says, pained. “When he’s older, maybe we can do something, give him something in place of legs. But for now, there’s nothing I can do.”

The king of the underworld is the most powerful god after her husband. Hera knows that, even if Zeus doesn’t. If Hades can’t do anything about her son’s legs, then no can. But he’s alive, Zeus didn’t manage to kill him, and Hera finds herself so grateful that she’s holding a smiling, living child that she can’t be anything but relieved. Her son is alive, and happy. He doesn’t need legs.

“I can’t bring him back to Olympus,” she looks up at them, “Can you find someone to raise him? Someone you trust?”

She doesn’t trust anyone, so it can’t be her choosing.

“You’re going back to him?” Hecate demands, “Hestia said – but I thought for sure – you don’t have to! Don’t go back to him!”

“I must,” she holds her son to her chest, and he reaches out with chubby hands to tug at her hair. “I am the goddess of marriage, and he is my husband.”

Hecate stares, aghast. “Don’t – don’t, Hera. Please. Stay here. Hades will protect you.”

She looks up at her brother, and he raises an eyebrow. He would protect her, he would put himself in between her and Zeus’s wrath if she asked him to. But she won’t, and she thinks he knows it. She says, “I am Hera of the Heights, of Argos, of the Mound. I am the cow eyed, white armed goddess of marriage and of family. I am Hera, queen of the gods.” She looks down at her son, and her heart clenches, because for now a title that cannot be afforded to her is that of mother. “I will not abandon my dominion, nor my husband. I will return to Mount Olympus.”

“But you don’t love him,” Hecate says helplessly.

Hera stares, baffled that anyone could think her marriage had anything to do with love. “Of course not. But this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

The goddess of magic swallows, then says, “I will raise him.”

Even Hades is surprised by that. “Hecate?”

“I will raise him,” she repeats, “He will stay with me, safe in the underworld where Zeus cannot find him, until he’s old enough and strong enough to protect himself.”

“Thank you,” Hera says, and lowers her head enough to kiss the top of her son’s head. “Tell him that I’m the one that threw him from Olympus.” When she looks up, Hades is resigned while Hecate looks on in horror. “Tell him, tell everyone. I gave birth to a hideous son, and I threw him from Olympus. His legs were crushed in the fall. I did this. Zeus tried to stop me, but could not.”

“Why?” Hecate asks.

Hera smiles down at her son, her heart full with a helpless sort of love. “So that when he ventures from the safety of the underworld, Zeus will have no reason to hurt him. So that when he comes to Olympus, Zeus will be unable to hurt him without explaining he was the one that tried to kill him in the first place.” She runs the back of her finger down his cheek, and he grabs it, his little fist holding onto her. “Blame me, and he will be safe.”

Hecate looks like she wants to argue. Hades puts a hand on her shoulder and asks Hera, “What’s his name?”

Her son smiles, and tugs at her hand, the beginnings of a giggle gurgling in his throat.

“His name is Hephaestus.”

~

When she returns, she no longer has any patience for Zeus’s mortals. When before she had only inconvenienced them, now she’s not playing any games. Those that do not die end up wishing they had, and she’s especially vindictive to any mortal carrying her husband’s child.

She sits on her throne, waiting, a smirk curled around the corner of her lips.

Zeus barges in and charges towards her. He’s so angry smoke is rising off his skin. “You,” he hisses, “this is your doing.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks, unflinching when he slams his hands on either side of her head, crushing the back of her throne with the force of it.

“She and the children are dead,” he snarls, “my children are dead! I know this is your doing, it reeks of your handiwork.”

Hera slides forward to the edge of her throne, their faces nearly touching, and spreads her legs. He flexes his hands, because even at his most furious he still wants her. She is his wife and his queen. She banishes her clothing so she’s spread out before him, hair piled high and jewelry glinting around her neck. “What are you going to do about it?”

He kisses her hard enough to bruise, and Hera crosses her legs around his back, urging him closer. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, mouthing at her neck, because he hates her even as he loves her, hates her because he loves her, and loves her because he hates her.

She waits until he’s inside her to lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “My child, or no child at all, husband.”

When he breaks her skin with his teeth, she only laughs.

They do this to each other. Maybe they are meant to be together.


gods and monsters series part xv

read more from the gods and monsters series here

On Prompto

So this cave-dude I know recently called Prompto a ‘pussy’. Delightful, right? But then I’ve also noticed lately this weird tendency in fics to reduce Prompto to (and reinforce his character as) this emotionally weak, almost ‘frightened bunny’ trope, even bordering on actual childishness at times. Now, these are in fact two different issues in the end, yet the overlap is considerable, when you think about it. And I just…

Whaaaat?!

While I recognise and absolutely support all fic writers and such in their right to do whatever the hell they want (Please do! You are valued, and our fandom needs you!), I just…maaaaan. Sometimes I just have to gently shake my head when it comes to some characterisations of our boy Prom.

Now I totally get that AU’s are a thing, as well as personal perspectives. Like, in my head, Prompto can have a pretty bad potty mouth, and regularly drops those f-bombs, and you can totally disagree with me, which is a beautiful thing. Also, if you follow this blog you have definitely seen me tag Prompto as a ‘smol cinnamon bun’, in need of protection ‘at all costs’ and blah blah blah (this is largely meme-based, because I subsist on Diet Coke and memes- I digress). 

But it’s honestly the layered essence of what makes this character who he is, the many elements written into and played out in the canon, that make him so appealing to me, personally. To see him essentially reduced to a caricature of himself, a distilled version of everything he is that just sort of latches onto this ‘he’s the baby and the smallest, the most caring and therefore the weakest’ idea, just feels so off the mark. And it makes me kind of sad, you know? 

Let it be known right off the bat that I’m obviously by no means claiming to be some sort of FINAL WORD ON PROMPTO or anything so ridiculous. Neither is this some sort of ‘call out’ on any particular writing or portrayal, at all. I can’t abide by that shit. 

I just feel like talking about how I see Prompto, I guess?  

In all honesty, the Prompto I experienced in the game, as well as in the anime, and audio drama, was anything but weak, and anything but childish. He was always, right from the start, very much the backbone of the Chocobros’ group, the one voicing what everyone was thinking, easing their tension and swallowing his self-doubt to strive to be the best he could be for his friends, like he’s always done. 

Originally posted by gladios-booty-sweat

He got this.

Prompto literally escaped/was rescued from/was vaguely aware of at least, a mysterious and probably terrifying early history, and then proceeded to face a lot of bullshit when he was growing up- at home, with frequently absent parents who left him often to his own devices, as well as at school, where he was closed off from and largely ignored by the other kids. This all could have resulted in a really timid, emotionally fragile or ‘weak’ character, but the fact is… it didn’t? He grew up independent and actually pretty capable of caring for himself, not to mention totally self-taught when it came to interacting with others (thank you for the vote of confidence, Luna). He also grew up with a compassionate streak a mile wide. 

I won’t get too into my thoughts on this idea in particular because this post is already massive, and to discuss patriarchal conventions (the aforementioned use of the word ‘pussy’ in this context), not to mention strength vs. resilience on top of it would just get out of hand. I will say this: we can all stand to remember that compassion does not equal weakness.

Prompto was afraid a lot, sure- they all were, obviously- but he was also brave as fuck. If bravery means to ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’, then Prompto’s a master. He’s been practising his entire life, after all.  

Prompto was always there, right? This ever present force for good, supporting his friends and their goals, to the bitter end. He was there, thinking and acting on the fly during the Leviathan ritual, which was obviously a horrific ordeal even before its conclusion. He was ever at the ready to see things from all sides, like when Ignis was injured and all hell broke loose between the less-capable, (emotionally-speaking) Gladio and Noct. He was even there, ready to offer a taste of his usual, cheery self when they were all together for the very last time, even if it was clearly breaking his heart. 

Heyas.

And yeah he’d kid around, make silly jokes (interestingly, it seems, especially during situations of high tension or uncertainty on the part of his friends, like deep in the depths of some mind-boggling ruins or when facing the prospect of ‘hey, we are actually going to go to Altissia now- oh holy fuck!’). But he was also so very capable of adult conversation, especially when it came to his feelings, which we saw several times throughout the canon- a sure sign of real maturity if ever there was one, in my opinion. 

The fact is, Prompto’s fear isn’t who he is, and neither is his small physical stature nor his big heart. Rather, his actions and choices in the face of all of that make up the person he is. (Like anyone, right?). He is no caricature for cute, nor for weak or timid or scared. And I for one want to see more about that guy, in all his multifaceted, achingly resilient, freckle-faced glory. 

And don’t fucking call me ‘pussy’, dude. 

Longing

a birthday gift for @succulent-sam!! happy birthday, gabby!!! I hope you enjoy this little canon ‘verse happiness. <3

now on AO3!

“Do you always understand everything you feel?” Cas asked, one day.

He thought, obscurely, that Spring was the right time for a question like this; or at least this Spring was - a Spring that felt fresh and light and hazy, still dazed by the wonder of Winter’s passing. Dean, sitting in the car beside him, looked washed out by it - or rather, washed clean, Cas supposed he meant. Softened, in any case.

“How d’you mean?” Dean said. He turned to Cas, the bright sun shrinking out the darkness in his eyes - turning them green. Green like go-lights, green like mazes - no, gentler than both of those; green like the water-full leaves of succulent plants. Green like book covers, like peppermint-flavour candies.

“I mean… do you ever feel something that you can’t explain? Something… ineffable?”

Dean pressed his lips together. Cas wondered if he needed to explain the word ‘ineffable’.

“Nah?” he said. “I guess most of what I feel, I know what to call it. I don’t always like it, but at least I know what it is.”

Cas nodded seriously. Dean let the silence rest for a while as they cruised down the Spring-morning road.

“What about you?” he said eventually.

Cas lifted a shoulder.

“I… have a thousand words for how things feel,” he said, “and a thousand things to feel within me. But I… I cannot make them match.”

Keep reading

Trust

DAY 4 OF WHUMP WEEK- Torture.

I’m actually really proud of this one? It’s a bit longer than usual, and it’s very Keith-centric even though I’m whumping Lance because hi have you met me? I’m too invested in klance. I hope you enjoy!

@elsiemcclay aka the best person to run ideas and/or titles by. thanks friendo.


A groan sounded to Keith’s left, and he looked over immediately, trying to mask his relief with a glare. “Oh, good. He finally decided to wake up.”

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you? Beauty sleep is important.” A pause. “Where are we again?”

Pidge snorted. “Guess that general hit him harder than we thought.”

“Lance! You’re okay! I was worried— that totally knocked you out, you hadn’t moved in a while,” Hunk rambled. “Does your head hurt?”

“Like hell,” Lance said, leaning back against the wall and pressing a hand to his forehead. “But nothing too serious. Thankfully, now that I’m conscious, I remember what happened. We’ve been captured, haven’t we?”

Keep reading

Babe, I'm About To Prove It (Tom Holland!Peter Parker x reader) (slight smut)

Hey guys! This is my second imagine here on Tumblr. I hope you guys enjoy! Leave some suggestions and prompts in my inbox, I’d love to hear from you guys. This is slightly slightly slightly smutty so beware. Other than that, we’re good to go! - Xoxo K


-

Warnings: Slight smut (PG-13)

-


“Han Solo is so hot” you sigh not looking away from the screen.
You and Peter were watching the Star Wars movies (the original trilogy because the prequels, in my opinion, were awful) while you cuddled on the couch. You always had a thing for Han Solo and you thought nothing of your comment until Peter changed his tone completely.
“Oh yeah, well can Han Solo shoot webs? I don’t think so.” He retorts his grip slightly tighter around your waist.
“I thought you liked Han Solo?” You question turning to Peter. You stare at his lips for a couple seconds before turning your attention to his eyes that now hold some sort of… jealousy?
“I do, but… umm… uhhh” Peter stutters trying to find his words.
“Oh my god. Peter, you’re jealous” you say turning your body all the way around to face him.
“K-kinda” Peter mutters.
This makes you giggle and plant a kiss on Peters nose. “Don’t worry Pete, you’re the only man I love” you say sweetly. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You smirk slightly at Peter, getting an idea. “But… I can’t help but think about how good Han Solo would be in bed.” You felt Peter shift slightly. “Mmm” you sigh.
“Y/N,” Peter started threateningly. Not in a scary way, you know Peter would never hurt you. In fact, it kinda turned you on a little bit. Peter being so… dominant.
“Peter, I’m just messing with you” you joke, giggling. “Besides, I don’t think he, or any man for that matter, could do it better than you” you say with a wink, making Peter blush slightly. ‘God why did he have to be so irresistible?’ You thought to yourself. You quickly reach for the remote to turn off the TV and get off of the couch. You stand in front with him with your hand on your hip and he gives you a pout.
“What are you doing?” Peter asks. “I was enjoying our cuddles, they kept me warm” he exaggerates a shiver. You giggle quietly and roll your eyes playfully at his theatrical display. “C'mon, let’s go to my room.” You say walking to your bedroom door, swaying your hips as you walk. You stop in front of the door and spin on your heel to face the living room where Peter still sat. “Well…?” You say “are you coming Pete?” You say expectantly. Peter’s head snaps up to look at you with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing, not sure what to say. “Uhhhh… I-I… aren’t your parents home?” Peter sputters. “No.” You smirk. “Oh.” Peter says quietly. “Ohhhhh…” Peter says a smile soon taking over his features, but he still stays on the couch. You roll your eyes as you smile to yourself and strut back to where Peter sat. When you reach him, you reach down to pull him up by the collar of his shirt and crash his lips into yours. Quickly Peter becomes aware of your intentions and the kiss becomes very heated. Peter’s hands move down to your hips and your arms move from his shirt to his neck. He pulls his lips from yours only to mutter the words “jump”. You do as he says and he gives your bum a squeeze. Peter carries you to your room. As soon as he reaches your door he stops and looks into your eyes, fire burning within them. He leans in to whisper in your ear. “You think nobody could do it to you better than me?” Peter says seductively, sending warm tingles to your core. “Babe, I’m about to prove it.”

As Friends Do (1566 words)

“Dean, this has to stop.” 
Sam comes barging in through Dean’s door just as he’s making himself comfortable on the bed, trying to watch the latest episodes of Dr. Sexy in peace.
“Cas is stressing me out. He asked me if I’m angry with him for the fourth time this week.” 
Dean takes off his earphones and puts the episode on hold. “And why exactly would that be my fault, Sammy?” he asks irritated. Sam takes a few steps forward until he’s directly at the edge of his bed, looming over him.
“You know exactly why.” He nods to the open door, probably somewhere vaguely into Cas’ direction. “According to him, the stuff you do with him is how friends behave when their friends come back from the dead, and he now apparently thinks that I don’t want to be his friend.” 
That makes Dean splutter and blush; the stuff – what is he even – he didn’t do anything – and everything he did was certainly – “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally croaks and slams the laptop shut because he’s definitely not in the mood to watch Netflix right now.
Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re all over him ever since he came back. And really” – he raises his hands defensively – “I don’t care, but please, just tell him what you feel for him so we can all get this over with.” 
“Jesus, can’t a guy show some hospitality to a new member of the household?” he grumbles, probably still red as a tomato. Yeah, maybe he did stretch the definition of friendship a few times ever since Cas came back, but really, that shouldn’t be an issue, right? He was just trying to make Cas feel as comfortable as possible.
“Dean, practically fondling the guy under your shared blanket on the couch doesn’t count as hospitality, it really doesn’t,” Sam says exasperatedly.
Okay, that had only been one time, and he hadn’t fondled the guy, Jesus, he had only stroked his knee because he had struck it against the counter earlier that day. He opens his mouth to tell Sam as much, but he doesn’t let him.
“And Dean, really, I love Cas – as a friend – but I’d be more than happy to never have to touch his general crotch area in my life.”
“I never –”
“So please, do me a favor and tell this guy that you’d like to bump uglies with him in an extremely unfriendly way so I can stop explaining to him why I don’t want to touch every part of his body and why I never stand up at 5 am to make his favorite pancakes.” He points a finger at Dean. “Don’t even try to deny it, I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” 
Dean’s mouth opens and closes like a fish as he struggles to find words; maybe, eventually, Sam is, at least technically, right. He certainly wouldn’t be averse to do… stuff that’s not covered by a friendship with Cas, but he’s also pretty sure that Cas wouldn’t want that, so why the fuck should he even care? 
The fact that Cas expects the same treatment from Sam, for God’s sake, makes it clear that he’s not really into the whole feel–up–Dean–thing – or maybe he’s a kinky fucker and wants them both, but then – nope. He’s not going to go there.
“Dean,” Sam says again, more urgently this time. “I could probably hear your thoughts across the pond right now. If you really think that Cas is trying to get into my pants, I’m going to have to sue you for ingraining this image onto my eyeballs.” 
“I wasn’t – okay, shut the fuck up. I’m going to talk to Cas. But not about having sex with him, Jesus. I don’t –”
“Don’t even say it. I’m not even listening anymore, I’m done with your bullshit.” Sam puts his fingers in his ears and wanders off, mockingly whistling a cheerful tone. This jerk. 
“Alright, fine,” he tells himself and takes a deep breath. He can talk to Cas. Sure. He’s not sure yet what he’s supposed to say, but he can definitely bullshit his way through all of this. Sam’s just not that much of a hugger. Sam values his sleep over making pancakes, and he’d probably burn them anyway. Sam isn’t used to sharing a blanket because he’s so big he needs at least two for himself. 
Excellent. Now he just needs to tell that to Cas.

Keep reading