it's like they are seeing him with blue hair for the first time

If you survive First Impressions, you’re good to go.

Peter first met his daddy’s new friend when he accidentally crashed his motorbike into a wall.


In all fairness, a little bit of that might have been his fault. He’d been running down the road to try and chase after the important papers he and his daddy had been working on together, and might not have been looking exactly where he’d been going as he neared the corner of the street. It was a quiet road, though! There weren’t usually bikes or cars or anything! 

The first thing Peter thought when he saw the bike veering around the bend and straight toward Peter was ‘my daddy’s going to kill me if he finds out I didn’t follow all his rules about being safe on the roads’. The second, of course, was ‘this isn’t going to go well for me’ and then, finally, the third; ‘hm- I didn’t know bikes could turn that quickly.’

He watched, mildly curious, as there was a muffled yell through the helmet and then a sudden, loud scratching noise as the person slammed on the brakes and spun the bike around. Peter was close enough to get a few bits of gravel in his face, and he winced, shutting his eyes against the sharp bits of rock that flew off the road. He heard the bike continue to rev wildly, before there was an ominous crunching noise and the sound of tyres skidding over concrete.

Whoops. His daddy really was going to kill him.

(Read more, mobile users!)

Keep reading

In the aftermath of it all, Catarina can’t find it in herself to be mad anymore.

At the start, after Magnus had portaled home, staggering and hurt and halfway to death with this boy leaning against him, asking that she help this Shadowhunter first… she remembers healing him – Alexander – and feeling rage. With runes stark on his skin and blood on his knuckles, he had been every inch a Nephilim. The Nephilim who had stolen Magnus’s heart.

She remembers the way she’d frowned at his unconscious face, comparing him to the strip of photographs Magnus left on his desk. Watching him lying there on a makeshift cot in the living room, suffering from the shock of blood loss and broken bones, she couldn’t imagine him making funny faces, couldn’t imagine him looking at Magnus with soft, sweet eyes. Couldn’t imagine that he’d want Magnus’s touch, that he would smile that boyish, lopsided smile with her best friend’s arms looped around him.

She remembers thinking, you don’t deserve him. This Shadowhunter, this lying Head of the New York Institute, didn’t deserve Magnus and his love. Magnus, who had started sleeping exclusively on the right side of the bed, who looked at Madzie with something wistful in his gaze every time she ran toward him, who always protected his people at the expense of his own happiness.

He’s too good for you, she had thought as she glared daggers at the boy in front of her, with his angel blood and penchant for prejudice. But she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t rolled him down the stairs, and had gone to help Magnus instead; her best friend, drained of magic and still stubbornly trying to heal himself. She’d gone to the balcony afterwards to clear her mind for a minute, to rest her hands, and now, as she turns around to check in on Magnus…

The Shadowhunter is missing from his cot. Classic. Rolling her eyes, she opens the door to the master bedroom.

They’re lying in Magnus’s bed together, Magnus’s head pillowed on Alec Lightwood’s chest, nearly asleep as he slowly heals from the wounds of battle. His body still lies stiff from the aches of demon venom coursing through his blood, skin paler than its usual golden hue, bruises littered everywhere, yet his arm is still curled possessively around the Shadowhunter’s waist in a familiar motion.

And the Shadowhunter…

He’s looking at Magnus like he’s a miracle.

His eyes never leave Magnus’s and his face is soft and warm and content, like he’s holding onto something he thought he’d lost forever. He looks young like this, the way he smiles and whispers secrets into Magnus’s ear, the way his fingers trace patterns on his bare shoulder, the way he readjusts the red silk blanket so that it’s tucked carefully under Magnus’s chin.

Magnus can’t see it, with his face buried into the Shadowhunter’s shirt, but from the doorway, Catarina can. This boy… he’s truthfully, honestly, painfully in love. The type of love Catarina hasn’t seen Magnus receive in too long, the type that’s as helpless and natural as the sky is blue. And a part of her still wants to be angry, to shake Alec Lightwood until his teeth click in his skull, to tell him, don’t you ever hurt him, but from the way he’s staring down at Magnus with his heart in his eyes, she thinks he already knows.

Catarina starts to turn around, when unexpectedly Alec Lightwood’s eyes dart up to meet hers at the sound of her loafers swishing faintly against the rug. They stare, frozen for an awkward moment, and she nearly laughs at loud at the way his cheeks go rosy pink. She opens her mouth to say something, to make fun of him maybe, or tell him to let Magnus sleep, but right then Magnus shifts, groaning low in his throat, and the Shadowhunter breaks his gaze, mumbling something into Magnus’s hair that makes her friend smile gently.

Wordlessly, Catarina magics the door closed, staring at the smooth black wood as Magnus and Alec fade from view. In the kitchen, she makes herself a cup of chamomile tea, hands wrapped around the soothing, fragrant heat as she sighs in exhaustion. The two of them… they don’t make sense to her, not at all. They shouldn’t work. But Magnus is Magnus, and he’s never done anything by halves. If his happiness comes in the form of a too-tall Shadowhunter with gentle eyes and a cautious smile, then Catarina will be the very last person in this dimension to tell him no.

@babsxxxx: Okay soo a harry hook x reader idea for you: the reader grew up in the isle but is helping mal with saving Ben. She knew Harry from when she was growing up but hasn’t seen him in ages but he is mad at her for leaving him behind…. so yeah put your own spin on it and make is as angsty and fluffy as you can!


OK, so I may have gone a smidge overboard with this one, but I really like it. So, enjoy!

Word Count: 4336


There was a knock at your door.

You looked up, frowning for a moment, before taking this as an excuse to put off doing the homework for Fairy Godmother’s class. Getting up from your desk, you wandered over to your door to open it.

“…Mal?”

Sure enough, there she was.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Mal said, pushing through into your dorm room.

You were still a little thrown from her sudden appearance. “I thought you’d gone back to the Isle? And your hair…you went back to purple?”

Mal waved a hand to cut you off. “We don’t have time for questions right now. I need your help.”

That definitely caught your attention. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“Ben’s been kidnapped,” Mal stated, her voice low. You’d never heard her sound so emotional, so sincere.

You blinked. “That’s horrible…but why do you need me? Shouldn’t we go to Fairy Godmother or Ben’s parents or–”

“Uma and her crew took him,” Mal revealed.

Oh. Everything clicked into place.

“Harry…”

Keep reading

Rest Stop

Lance was never proud of the one thing that could make him stand out.

(The one thing that made him stand, even in his family, the one thing that destroyed the chances of affection and hugs and attention, the one thing he’d never move past, the one thing that’d always haunt him, the one thing that could get someone killed)

Lance was born with a smooth back, tan skin free of birth marks but full of freckles. Lance was born with beautiful blue eyes, deep tawny hair, and a dazzling smile. Lance was not born with a pair of wings.

Lance was wingless.

Less than 1% of the world was wingless, and that meant those who were….never had good fates. Abandonment, abuse, neglect, suicide rates almost a solid 100….anyone born wingless in this time and age was destined a shitty fate, to die for the lack of something they could not have.

But Lance did not.

His mother hated him with her very soul, but even she wasn’t heartless enough to murder someone, no matter how indirectly. His siblings might laugh with him, might eat with him, but they were never around for more than a few seconds, tossing looks over their shoulder for a parent or aunt or uncle. Lance was hidden away, kept out of sight by his parents and family for his whole life, living in the attic or traipsing the private stretch of beach that had been in his family for years, hearing the voice of the sky but never being able to answer it. (Not like he could without wings, anyway)

But then, he found a way he could.

The Galaxy Garrison, a military school where uniforms over wings were required, where group preening, cuddling, and flying sessions were encouraged but never mandatory. A place he could hide in plain sight and still see the sky. A place Lance signed up for in secret, got a scholarship, and shoved it all at his parents, the father who’d taught him the wingless were useless and the mother who never hugged him. A place that hate crimes couldn’t trace back to and murder his family if his secret ever got out.

It was too good to be true.

And it was. Lance was never the best, always mocked for trying to answer the call of the sky for the first time in his life. It wasn’t like when he’d answered the push and pull of the ocean. The ocean was cool, sometimes cold or freezing, but sage, wise and ready to crash and fall and crest back up. Ready to change, ready to grow, ready to soothe. Content to watch and learn, finding complexity in the simplest things, but brave enough to venture out on it’s own, to try on its own to live up and live past expectatons. The ocean was a gentle hand running over his back, swirling him around in currents of fate and past, gentle but wild, pushing but never shoving.

The sky shoved, but in what Lance saw as a good way. Watching gaggles of siblings and uncles and aunts swoop and soar, thrown out into organized anarchy midair, riding drafts. The sky was wild, insane. It could not sit still, it could not listen, it could not be gentle or understand. It was headstrong or helpful, stubborn or relenting. There was no in between. When it’s chicks matured and reached for the air, the sky threw them out, to the ground or the air.

A few chicks crashed, or came close, but they picked themselves back up, flapped with crooked or straight feathers, and chased the others. The ocean did not work that way. It could mimic, but it would never let it’s young crash or drown unless it was the best choice. Lance was glad for that, though he knew the sky would have pushed him faster, harder, to be who he could be, he knew he’d be the rare smashed egg, splattered on the concrete.

If it took years, he didn’t care. He was alive.

Lance remembers the looks at the Garrison at night or on weekends when he wore a bulky jacket and the issued pajamas, instead of snatching the chance to stretch his wings. The stares, the quirked eyebrows that the kid who joked, flirted, and screamed on a regular basis wouldn’t try for more attention.

Hunk, dear god Hunk, had wings big enough for both of them.

Beautiful, mahogany feathers that glowed golden on the ends when light shined on them. Thick, massive wings that he’d drape around Lance’s shoulder, wings that engulfed him in warmth and affection and took away unwanted attention. Too many people saw Hunk’s wings as plain. Lance saw them as a fucking savior, the first thing to treat him nicely and warmly.

But this savior need protecting from the savee.

Which was why Lance never told Hunk, or the team, that he was wingless.

Even Alteans had wings.

Coran’s were a gorgeous tangerine color, white, brown, red, and black speckles slipping between the feathers and coating them like candy sugar. Allura’s were an exact image of Alfor’s, deep, black wings the color of the vastness around them, silver streaks and dots making constellations that shined in lights.

The team’s may have been Earthen, but god, were they ethereal. Shiro, had a collage of slate gray and white, individual feathers breaking layers of colors, proof of the stress of the Arena. They peaked at the top, and were enormous, taller than Hunk’s but not quite as wide or thick. Pidge’s wings were peaked, but they curved out into cute little floofs. They only reached her hips, not past her calves or thighs like everyone else. They clearly weren’t fully grown, but Lance loved their speckled outsides, the tawny, earthy, color so close to her hair but clearly had a more hay-ish tint.

And Keith.

Holy shit, Keith.

His wings were like giant sparrow wings, angular but not peaked, wide burgundy curtains of feathers that fell to his thighs. They were warm, and firm, like a well trained muscle (which they were, technically). The ends were sharp and sleek, but the shy wing touches he sometimes gave Lance proved they were incredibly soft. Lance was always reminded of a wolf when he saw them; built for fast paced marathons. They were no where near as strong as Hunk’s, but Lance had watched Keith carry a Pidge in a simulated rescue. Wings weren’t designed to carry more than the weight of one person, the person with them.

He would never have a pair of wings.

So he reveled in the freedom that lacking a pair of wings gave him. Lance climbed, slept on his back, swam, and learned how to read emotions through little tics. The swimming came easily, like the ocean changed for him, parted and shifted to let him pass or propel him ahead. Lance knew he did. Wings weren’t an instant evolution. Generations of humans developed the genes and mutations of wings - Lance wasn’t just going to instantaneously sprout gills. He could, however, form a thin membrane as a sideways, second pair of eyelids. The same membrane acted as a moveable filter in his ears to hear underwater, and a slight webbing between his fingers. Strategically placed, retractable fangs a little bigger than his front teeth weren’t hard either.

The most notable change was when his legs stopped kicking, his knees disabled, and they swished back and forth. He could easily switch to kicking, but the longer he spent in the water, the more his legs acted as a single mass of flesh and bone. It wasn’t a tail, and Lance sometimes thought he was imagining it, but it was like a snake’s body, swinging side to side to move forward.

Wings were amazingly expressive, every angry twitch or nervous shuffle gave way to a mindscape, a scope of emotions and thoughts Lance learned to pick up on. Hiding your wings was seen as a sign of fear, distrust, and refusing to show them was a red flag in any relationship, platonic or romantic. It was normal to reach out and rest a wing on someone else’s as a sign of reassurance, and to purposely keep your tucked away meant you didn’t trust anyone with them. Your wings were essentially your life - if they got wet or mutilated you were grounded, tied to Earth and water.

And water drowned.

To his team, Lance was a hallow corpse without emotions. He was jello before it froze. They could hear his laugh, see his smiles, hear his cheers. But without his wings, the team couldn’t read him clearly. It was like they had lost their glasses, and Lance was the blurred board they couldn’t see, couldn’t guess, couldn’t decipher more than a few letters from.

They didn’t know, so they couldn’t understand. Lance wasn’t sure if he ever wanted them to understand.

A brazen challenge

Synopsis: Imagine admitting to Loki that you never manage to orgasm when are with men, making him smirk mischievously in response.

“Is that a challenge, my dear?”

So for the next couple of hours, he magically locks the two of you in your room and makes it a challenge as to how many times he can make you cum in a row. He pleasures you with his soft hands, his skilled and long fingers and his silver tongue before he fucks you roughly.

Pairing: Loki x Reader
Rating: M
Chapter: 1/1 (Oneshot)
Words: 4040
Warnings: smut. a lot of smut.

Keep reading

just a bet

HEY HI WADDUP

so this is based LOOSELY on will and emma from the scream tv series. if you havent seen it, that doesnt matter bc like…. its not important

ANYWAY

THEY ARE SENIORS IN THIS

THAT MEANS THEY ARE 18!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PLEASE DONT ATTACK ME FOR THIS BC THE ACTORS HAVE NO RELATION TO THE CHARACTER IM WRITING K THX

there won’t be nsfw but there are MENTIONS of it sooooo

YEAH

anyway enjoy ily all

summary: beverly bets richie he can’t get with the new kid, eddie, in under three months. richie disagrees

pairing: richie and eddie

words: 1870

Everyone at Derry High School knew of the senior Richie Tozier. No matter who they were, what social group they were apart of, they all knew of the trashmouth. Every girl swooned over him and every gay (and possibly ‘not’ gay) guy would beg for his number. He was the ‘It’ guy in his high school and even the other high schools in the Derry school district. It was common knowledge that Richie was bi. Some people said it was fake and that he said it for more attention, but his real friends knew it wasn’t bullshit at all. 


Richie strode into the school building that Monday morning, casually sliding off his sunglasses and hooking them in his shirt. People in the hallways snuck glances at him, some even saying hello to him politely as he passed. He nodded in response, flashing them a smile. Richie approached his locker and opened it with ease, getting his few textbooks out. Despite being a ‘jock’, he still cared about his grades. 


“Hey, Rich, did you hear about the new kid?” Beverly asked casually, making her presence known. She leaned against the navy blue lockers, a small smile playing on her lips.

Keep reading

Duo - Peter Parker

request -  okay so y/n is part of the avengers (she’s peter’s age) & peter does something that practically kills him. y/n freaks out & goes to hold him while the rest of the avengers just watch her in pity. they take peter & tell y/n to go cool down. and then when peter wakes up, he is sternly told by tony to go see y/n before she goes crazy. sorry this is long & specific ❤️ love your writing btw!! one of my favorite blogs

a/n - i had went back and forth with a lot of ideas on this fic, and i really hope it doesn’t seem rushed and i hope it turned out okay and not a flop like me :( but don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you want and follow!

Another building came down to the ground as another crowd ran from the scene, only being able to hear their own screams as the enemy came to terrorize New York. It was only another work of Hydra, trying to come and ruin the lifestyle that so many people have made here. It was fight, after fight, after fight, after fight, and I didn’t know if I could take it anymore.

Peter and I, both natives of Queens, and also the youngest on the team. When Peter and I had first arrived to Headquarters, Captain didn’t hesitate to warn us that most enemies target the younger party the most, and that the rest of the team would prioritize the safety of Peter and I before their own.

Today’s situation seemed to be a bit more difficult than the others, from when I looked up and saw Tony struggling to keep another part of a building from falling to when I saw Natasha almost beaten by one of Hydra’s minions. Something about today was just a bit, off.

“(Y/N)!” I heard Rogers call. I turned around to see his shield coming my way, gripping it tightly and slamming it into the bodies of Hydra’s concoctions. They were out within a second, having me throw the shield back to Rogers. He then ran off with Clint, leaving myself and Wanda to deal with the others.

“Where’s Parker?” Natasha spoke into the intercom. My heart dropped as I looked up and tried to find the boy, hoping to see a spot of red and blue anywhere. I turned around as my last hope, calming down when I saw him swinging from one building to the other, coming closer to the scene.

“Southside on 54th, coming right this way.” I said.

Keep reading

Curiosity Killed The Cat - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Stiles Stilinski/Reader

Word Count: 6,437

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral (Both Receiving), Mentions of Public Sex, 69, Orgasm Denial, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Fingering, A LOT OF FILTH

Notes: This is 100000000% for my precious Camile, @minhosmeanhoe because she wanted something involving Stiles and masturbation because this is all we ever talk about (we are horny fuckers lol). But, even better, HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMILE. You are one of my bestest friends I am glad I am able to talk to you daily. I don’t know what I would do without you. I LOVE YOU!!!!❤️

Keep reading

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 5/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s):  Fluff & Angst

A/N: A scene is lowkey inspired by the perks of a wallflower in this chapter sksk enjoy you little cuties !! sorryforthewait

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (Soon) | 

Richie pulled over, smirking as he watched Eddie’s confusion grow.

“You stopped here?”

“Yep, now get out.” Richie hummed, before climbing out of the truck doorway- grabbing his keys and standing to his feet.

Eddie was confused, his head tilted as he climbed out and looked at his surroundings. What stood before him was a tall abandoned carpark building surrounded in intertwining railings, the strands of thin grass below standing tall and knee length to Eddie.

“This is an abandoned building.”

“Well done, captain K.” Richie spoke with sarcasm, hands in his pockets, “This is my hideout.”

Eddie stepped forward next to Richie, glancing at the wired railings that stood before them both. “So, how do you get into the hideout?”

Richie hummed yet again, walking along the side of the metal, his fingers trailing against each curve. His eyes fixated on a small gap that he used to climb through when he was younger. “I’m presuming you’re not a climber, right Eds?”

“I am not climbing that thing, no way.” Eddie folded his arms, “There should just be an entrance-”

Keep reading

Pleasing you

Synopsis: Stolen from Earth when you were only a teenager, what is left of your life consists of training to become an obedient pleasure slave on Sakaar… that is, until the Grandmaster, your slave driver, decides to gift you to King Loki, who seeks to visit to observe one of the Grandmaster’s infamous gladiator fights. Now, you belong to him, obliged to fulfil his every need. A truly tempting opportunity, is it not? After all—who is the God of Mischief to miss out on all the fun that comes with being king of Asgard?

Pairing: Loki x Reader
Rating: M
Chapter: 1/1 (Oneshot)
Words: 6725
Warnings: (sexual)
submission, kidnapping, (sexual) slavery, imprisonment, mentions of abuse, dub-con, smut

Read it on AO3!

Keep reading

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!


Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot –  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

Keep reading

know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 


    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

Keep reading

2

Hello

At last, the first in a series of interconnecting one shots about my Victuri Merman AU!

I had so much fun drawing these, I hope you guys like them! These two drawings are based on the last scene in this one shot :D

This first one shot is bit short and possibly a bit slow but you need to know how they met first :) Then it’s just going to be fluff for days~

I haven’t written fanfiction in about 6 years. Please have mercy X’D

This is the only place this fic is posted at the moment since I don’t have an AO3 account. Anyone wanna help a fan out and send me an invite so I don’t have to go on a waiting list? X’D

Relatively short introductory one shot under the cut.

Keep reading

Ouija - (H/M)

A/N; SOOOOOOO
This turned out A LOT longer than @dont-run-up and I first intended, but hopefully, everyone enjoys! Leave some comments letting us know what you thought of Incubus!Yoongi~~

Genre; Horror with that good S M UT 

Length; long af- 9,800+ words

Kink(s); A sprinkle of Master/Pet, impact play, oral (giving and receiving), creampie, light bondage, etc.

Originally posted by taes-nose-mole

12:00 a.m.
The time blared on your friend, Hee Young’s, phone screen. “Come on Y/n,” She jeered, keeping that eager grin and puppy-dog look in her eyes as she gently grasped your biceps, swaying you from side to side. “I wanna play! It’s just a game-” She added, pointing towards the newly purchased Ouija board that sat on your coffee table. Just the sight of it rushed a wave of uneasiness over you.

Shaking your head, your brows furrowed slightly, “I don’t know-” You replied, as anxiety laced your words. “My grandma always told me to steer clear of them, they could allow things into your home and life.”

“Oh my gosh, you don’t really believe all that nonsense, do you?” She asked, giggling through her words while she began to open the board’s box. Unlike you, she was a full-blown skeptic; she wasn’t a believer in anything paranormal, so Ouija was just a game to her and nothing more than that.

God did you wish you could dismiss it the way she could.
Though you had never personally experienced anything ghost-wise, you knew plenty of people that had. “Ahh I do, but..” You began, sighing as you decided to give in despite your better judgment, “But I guess we can play, just for a little, at least.”

Heeyoung excitedly clapped while smiling like a dork as she lifted the onyx and pearl colored board and planchette out. “Don’t worry,” She sweetly said, recognizing the nervous expression that painted your face as she placed it onto the glass. “It’s just a game.”

Keep reading

Everything Has Changed (Part Three)

Summary: In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,540

Part Two

Originally posted by numbmimz

“Y/N?” A knock at the door accompanies the voice that just spoke, bringing a smile to your face. It’s a welcome distraction from staring at the wall, which you’ve been doing for four hours straight. There’s not much to do when you’re not allowed out of your bed. “Are you awake?”

“Come in,” you call back, propping yourself up against a few pillows. It takes some effort and your body rebels against the movement, but you grit your teeth and swallow back your groans. All the aches and pain are worth it. They prove that you’re okay. That you, unlike Antoine, are still alive.

Keep reading

Cheerleader Carlos

Okay, hear me out: Carlos wasn’t a fan of Tourney, he mostly joined for Jay. But one day, they have a break in practice and the boys are all oogling the cheerleaders (and he smacks Jay when he wolf-whistles). The girls do flips and twists and splits and Carlos think ‘huh. I can do all of that stuff too. And I do it all way better than tourney.’

- He doesn’t even ask, just hops in and mimics what the girls do before tourney practice starts. At first, everyone is laughing like its a joke until Carlos expertly lands every flip, then they’re all like ‘holy shit, he’s really good’

- Audrey is unhappy because she’s not use to sharing the spotlight, but she sees Carlos’ strength and how seriously he takes catching their fliers (girls who get thrown in the air). She begrudgingly admits he could help throw girls higher and help them land safer

- She grows to really like having Carlos on the team because none of the other schools have a male cheerleader and it sets them apart

- Auradon has never had a male cheerleader before either, so Evil has to design his outfit. The cheer squad has to bribe Carlos with peanut butter cups to wear school colors (blue and yellow), but he still wears black, white and red for practice

- Carlos is initially worried he will be made fun of (not like that’s new, he was picked on all the time in the Island), but everyone is very chill about a dude being a cheerleader

- Any team that tries to mock Carlos has to deal with Mal AND Evie AND the coach AND Auradon’s cheer squad AND the tourney team

- He still helps out with tourney by critiquing plays and fixing the canons, he and coach get along, even if Carlos was a below average tourney player

- gently has to remind the rest of the squad that he doesn’t like a lot of feminine activities - he can’t bond over getting his nails or hair done. So the rest of the squad tries to come up with gender neutral activities like board game nights or going to the movies together

- maybe the girls are kind of weirded out too at first, but they end up loving having a guy on the team. Carlos is always offering to help fix their cars (because he enjoys working with any kind of machine) and never lets any of them fall

- Slowly, the team pieces together why Carlos is so good at gymnastics and has such crazy endurance: his flexibility comes from fitting into small spaces when hiding and his speed comes from running away and his strength comes from defending himself in fights. They never like to ask about it or talk about it, but it really helps for them to accept Carlos and appreciate him on the team.

- Carlos is hella protective of his squad and any dude from another team caught harassing them has to deal with him. Maybe he’s small and short, be he knew how to fight on the Isle and listen, asshole, did you just try to look up Ally’s skirt? Come here, fucker

- All the girls have to hold Carlos back before he knocks out some jerk from an opposing school

- there’s no tourney equivalent of quarterback and Carlos is not the head cheerleader, but he and Jay still fit the stereotype of star sports player dating a cheerleader and the whole school loses their mind over how cute they are

- students try to discreetly snap pictures of when Carlos wears Jay’s tourney to class, but he catches them

- Jay begs and begs and begs for Carlos to get a cheerleading skirt but he refuses (except for that one time on Jay’s birthday)

- anyone who makes a weird comment about how flexible and limber Carlos is will get a black eye from Jay, no warning

- Carlos’ favorite thing about being a cheerleader is how he gets to cheer specifically for Jay at every game

(I’m sorry if my cheerleading knowledge is inaccurate. I dated a competitive cheerleader, so all of my knowledge is second hand.)

1940 -- Chapter One

(banner credit: @tiostyles)

The beginning of a series where you fall in love with a soldier named Alex.

A Note From The Author: This is the first of many chapters for this Alex!AU. This chapter is simply setting the scenes for what is to come between y/n and Alex. Stay tuned for swing dancing, cheeky banter from Alex, and a few stolen kisses along the way. Let me know what you think! xxh


April, 1938
London, England 

The store sat empty, as it did most days of the week. Dust regularly collected on the cash register sitting in front of you and its brass keys grew stiff with the lack of activity. With your elbows propped up on the counter, you leaned your weight forward and held your chin in the hand that wasn’t busy drumming across the countertop. They tapped in time with the clock ticking on the wall, a constant reminder that you were stuck here on such a lovely day outside.

It was unusually warm for this time of year. Normally covered in a dreary layer of gray, the sidewalks and storefronts shone in the rare-April sunshine, people out and about, taking advantage of the weather. You were antsy as you watched out the window, hoping that someone, anyone, would walk through the door and give you something to talk about.

Keep reading

Mistborn | 01

Kim Taehyung | Comedy | Fluff | Angst | arrangedmarriage!au | dragon!au 

❝You’ve been promised to Taehyung since you were seven and he’s hated you since. Nothing could possibly change that fact, not when you’ve all but stolen his freedom by simply existing. Or so he thought.❞

warnings: this is horribly historically inaccurate. pls. don’t read if you like know shit because you’re just in for a wild ride. also. this is like, borderline sucky because its rushed and im lazy but yah 


Keep reading

Everything Has Changed (Part Four)

Summary: In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,707

Part Three

Originally posted by bucky-plums-barnes

Deciding to join the Avengers was no easy task. Before informing Fury of your final choice, you had to carefully weigh the pros and cons. When you did, it was obvious that there were more bad outcomes than good if you chose to work alongside Earth’s mightiest heroes. There were missions whose varying lengths were as unpredictable as when you’d be told about their existence. There was the never-ending list of injuries that would leave lasting negative effects on your body. Then there was the fact that you’d become a public figure, which would give the media the incorrect assumption that they could magnify and dissect all of your actions.

It all seemed like too much, but it wasn’t enough to scare you away. You wanted the job. You wanted to be an Avenger.

At least that’s what you thought.

Keep reading

Cracker Jacks and kiss cams

Summary: A story in which Bucky Barnes is very smitten, there’s a baseball game between the New York Mets and the Chicago Cubs, and Cracker Jacks are consumed.

Prompt: “I never thought you’d break my heart”
Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: None. A bit of language maybe, but this is all just sappy fluff. 

A/N: This is my submission for @just-some-drabbles​ Rom-Com writing challenge, thanks for letting me join last minute and congratulations on reaching 4k! This story came about because I really love baseball, I really love the Chicago Cubs, and I really love Bucky Barnes, so all in all, it felt like a win-win.

MASTERLIST

(Bucky, opening Google search)

“how do you know if a woman is interested”
“when do you know if a woman wants to kiss you”
“how to tell a woman you love her without saying it”
“why do I suck at talking to her”
“oh my god why can’t I just ask her out” 

Keep reading