oh and would you look at that he got in no problem

Glasses

“Where is Smii7y anyway?” Craig asked.

“I think he said he was gonna work on some editing upstairs.” Tyler replied

“Oh, so interrupting him for dinner would be bad?” Craig asked.

“Nah I think he’d be fine with it.”

“A'right.”

Craig got out his phone to tell the others food was there while Tyler got out plates.


“Did you really send out a group text for dinner?” Smii7y’s laughing voice carried into the room.

“You got a problem with that?” Craig turned around to face him.
“Wait, when did you get glasses?!”

The glasses themselves weren’t overly too big, but the strength of the prescription made Smii7y’s eyes look rounder and more enlarged the normal. His eyes seemed to pop, bringing his heterochomia into focus. His irises, that usually just appeared mostly bright blue, sinking into a darker bluey brown near the bottom, were brought into a new light. His eyes now seemed more in-depth. The blue, top portion of his iris now faded midway into a deep, honey like, light brown. The undertones of ginger shown through, making his eyes seem half blue, half red, the same two colors that Smii7y used in his profile edits.

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thatlastdanceofchances  asked:

Steve's pov during the post-Shrapnel RTC fic where Loki decides the best solution to his problem is to stay awake forever? I can't look up the title right now, sorry. However, Shrapnel made such an impact on me I still remember its title. :-D

aww, thank you! that was a seriously fun one to write. and one I was pleased I got to make have ~consequences~ later on. 

Scattershot, 2k, steve/loki, remember this cold verse, alternate pov of where will I end up, tonight


Loki was not doing well.

Oh, he certainly tried to cover it, but not only had Steve gotten better at noticing the signs of a downturn (restlessness, distraction, the slight shift in posture where he was holding himself carefully in check, like if he relaxed he would break), Loki had gotten worse - or maybe it was just particularly bad now.

Steve couldn’t say he was surprised. He couldn’t even say he wasn’t affected, though he tried to keep his worries hidden. He knew Loki: a sliver of doubt from him would be all it would take to crack the miniscule reassurance Steve had managed to offer. And then…

Steve didn’t want to know what Loki would do. He just knew he was afraid.

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andallwaswell-ish  asked:

Draco dying his hair light blue

Harry can’t stop staring. His breakfast is forgotten. Malfoy’s hair is blue.

“Harry! Harry? What are you – “

“Malfoy.” Harry answers Hermione without looking away.

Ron pauses midway through a mouth of potato. “What?”

“Malfoy,” Harry explains again, “He – Look what he did.”

Hermione’s eyes remain fixed on Harry. “Don’t you think you need to stop obsessing over him? The war is over. We’re all on the same side.”

“No, look what he did to his hair!” Harry all but shouts. MALFOY’S HAIR IS BLUE.

Hermione and Ron finally follow Harry’s gaze to the Slytherin table to Draco Malfoy, blue hair and all.

“Bloody hell.”

“That is surprising,” Hermione admits.

“Maybe someone cursed him?” Ron suggests.

“I hope not,” Hermione frowns. “Like he doesn’t have enough to deal with – his mother is being retried this week.”

Harry’s chest constricts. “That’s this week?”

“Yes, Harry. I thought you were the one stalking him?”

“Well he has been sadder than usual. He’s been eating cereal since last Friday which is odd as he almost always goes for – what?” Harry stops at the looks Hermione and Ron are giving him.

Hermione shakes her head. “I was being facetious, Harry. I can’t believe you’re stalking him again.”

“I’m not stalking,” Harry clarifies, focusing his attention solely on Hermione and Ron to prove his point. Which is difficult when MALFOY’S HAIR IS BLUE. “I’m just observant.”

Hermione smiles wickedly and Harry already knows he’s stuffed before she opens her mouth. “Okay, then what do I usually eat for breakfast?”

Harry tries to eye her plate discreetly but she already has her hand covering it. He desperately tries to remember what she’d been eating only seconds earlier. “Uh….uh…”

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’m not stalking Malfoy,” Harry tries again.

Ron sniggers into his morning omelette. “Sure, mate.”

Hermione rests her head in her hands (revealing her breakfast of poached eggs). “Why don’t you go over there and ask him?”

“Ask him what?”

Hermione closes her eyes in obvious exasperation. “Why his hair is blue.”

“I can’t – “

“Mate, just go,” Interrupts Ron, now with a mouthful of tomato. “You’re going to be like this all day if you don’t.”


Malfoy looks up in surprise as Harry approaches, his cereal spoon hovering above his bowl. “Potter?”

“Malfoy.” Harry nods. He tries not to stare so openly at Malfoy’s hair but…it’s BLUE.

Malfoy drops his spoon and pushes the cereal away. He stares at Harry suspiciously. “Are you lost?”

“No, I – why is your hair blue?” Harry blurts out, unable to hold it in any longer.

One of Malfoy’s hands automatically jumps to his hair, as if he’d forgotten the colour for a moment. After the initial surprise, Malfoy’s turns defensive. “You got a problem with it?” He asks.

“No, not at all. It’s just – never mind. Forget I asked.” What was he thinking? What were Hermione and Ron thinking sending him over here? He turns to leave.

“it’s poetic, Potter.”

Harry turns back to Malfoy. “Poetic?”

Malfoy shrugs, and looks down into his cereal bowl. “I’m feeling blue. I dyed my hair to match. It made sense last night after the second bottle of firewhiskey.”

Harry considers this. “Your mother?” He asks, softly.

“Yes,” Malfoy says into his cereal.

“Do you – I mean, would you – would it help if I came with you?” Oh Merlin, did Harry really just say that?

Malfoy looks up, sharply. “Why would you want to do that?”

Harry feels his cheeks reddening. “Your mother saved my life,” he offers, which is true at least, but only a small part of his real motivation.

“Of course,” Malfoy says with a polite nod. Is Harry reading into it or does he seem…disappointed?

“And you might need…support.”

A small smile plays on the corner of Malfoy’s mouth. “I have friends, Potter.”

“Right, I didn’t mean to say – it’s just – I’d like to be there. For both of you.”

Malfoy tilts his head and looks Harry over with a curious gaze. This only makes Harry blush harder.

“Okay,” Malfoy finally says, “You can come.” He picks up his spoon and returns his attention to his cereal.


Harry can’t stop staring. His breakfast is forgotten. Malfoy’s hair is green.

“Go ask him, already.”


Malfoy looks up. This time he doesn’t seem surprised. “Potter. What brings you here?”

“You know what.”

Malfoy smirks. “Enlighten me.”

Harry stares at Malfoy’s hair. “Why green?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Just felt like it.”

Harry frowns. He wonders whether Malfoy’s being entirely truthful. “That’s not very poetic,” he points out.

“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,” Malfoy whispers.

Harry blinks, processing. “What?”

“His hair is as dark as a blackboard. I wish he was mine, he’s really divine, the hero who conquered the Dark Lord,” Malfoy continues with a shy smile. “Poetic enough for you?”

Harry feels himself blushing again.

“Maybe I should have gone pink to match your face,” Malfoy suggests with a wink. Merlin, Harry might melt.

“You remembered the po – “

“I wrote the poem,” corrects Malfoy.

Harry frowns “But I always thought Ginny – “

Malfoy shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Does that mean you – that you used to – “

Malfoy interrupts with a roll of his eyes. “Like you?”

Harry gulps. “Yeah.”

“I thought that was obvious, Potter.”

Harry feels like his knees might buckle at any moment. This is really happening. He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “And now?” he asks.

Malfoy raises his eyebrows, a playful smirk on his lips. “I thought that was also obvious, Harry.”            

And just to be an infuriating bastard, Malfoy chooses this moment to dust himself off and leave the Great Hall, with one last wink at Harry.

Harry wants to follow but he thinks his legs may have turned into jelly. He has to grip the table tightly just to keep himself standing.


Harry can’t stop staring. Breakfast never stood a chance.  Malfoy’s hair is pink.

He doesn’t even bother to take a seat at his own table, instead heading straight over to the Slytherin side of the Great Hall.

Malfoy watches him as he approaches with a smug smile. “Pot – “

Harry interrupts by leaning down and smashing his mouth onto Malfoy’s, his hands reaching out to finally run through that gorgeous hair. The entire Great Hall is watching and Harry’s face is on fire, but none of that matters, because Draco Malfoy is kissing him back.

And his hair is bloody pink.

Memeteen guide to Seventeen

S.coups: 

  • carats make fun of his stage name holding a couple s.coups of icecream and a S.cup of noodles 
  • chicc
  • the poor man between jeongjicheol
  • papa coups 
  • embarrasing dad
  • wings it at choreo sometimes
  • has 12 children 
  • wants to c h o k e jeonghan
  • the type of dad that would challenge his 5 yr old child to a game of soccer and then gets too competitive and swerves that bitch to get goals
  •  his smile and his smile alone gave one of Seventeen’s stages a crap ton of views
  • say the name!
  • camel
  • piggy bank
  • beagle leader
  • “eyes look like 9:15″
  • eyelashes for ddaayyyysss
  • Everybody SCREAMM
  • fireworks are the only enemy
  • My EGG YOLK T-T
  • members rebel against him at times
  • someone save him


Jeonghan:

  • John-Oops I mean Jeonghan
  • Laying down is his preferred physical state
  • swindler
  • long hair majestic unicorn and short hair majestic prince. He majestic no matter what fam
  • “Joshua was the first one to approach me”
  •  toucher of asses 
  • shamelessly feeds off of members’ love 24/7
  • Makes members have couple wallpaper and phone cases with him 
  •  "angel"
  • the mother of Seventeen
  • “Dino, nugu aegi?”
  • All members are under his spell
  • giraffe running
  • Jeonghan’s warm cup of milk
  • sa-sa-say the name seventeen 
  • Doubts OFD pds
  • bitter smile of betrayal 
  • vernon crushed his balls once
  • athletic with no stamina
  • creator of the Carat mating call: *incoherent screaming*


Joshua:

  • Gentleman
  • fukn weeaboo
  • the b e s t freestyle rapper in Seventeen. Dont @ me
  • ded meme(?) “Jisoos Christ”
  • The ‘normal one’-SIKE bitch
  • That poor waterbottle
  • When-one-of-the-members-wear-a-shirt-with-questionable-english-words-everyone-blames-me-lol  guy
  • I pledge allegence to the flag of the united states of amerca and to the re-
  • dRinK WaTeR
  • pin drop and worm master +uncle dance
  • pingpong vlive 
  • “EAT THIS” signature move
  • “over here”
  • The english teacher everyone wants and deserves 
  • white cap
  • Chicken can heal the heart
  • L.A motherfuckerss
  • piggy bank
  • “Ïm part of vocal unit too! T-T”


Jun

  • Heechul’s reincarnated body that was too early bc he aint ded lol
  • chinaline
  • child actor 
  • nyeac nyeac 
  • logos are out to get him 
  • eyeroll king 
  • punny and awkward
  • king of china
  • 404 lines not found
  • My I now
  • “Ice ice froze.” (that crazy in love Wonwoo lyric) moments
  • sexy expression
  • convinced he is the number one visual 
  • shy vlives
  • proceeds to tell members to call him handsome in chinese
  • ofd positivity boy


Hoshi: 

  • naega hosh + pose
  •  What time is it? 10:10 bitches
  • ‘ten hour ten minute’
  •  shinee’s biggest fanboy
  •  from soft 1 to hipthurst 100  real quick.
  • HAM HAM. HAMHAMHAMHAM
  • My name’s soonyoung call me soon
  • hamster cheeks
  • suffers with spicy food
  • beurora hurricane
  • Coco his chicken 
  • his love for the angsty teen makne 
  • “HEy MIDDLE" 
  • glitter face
  • pretty u first win cry face
  • Mounteen
  • kwon fire
  •  making dances out of things that inspire him; ex: crab, octopus, noodles, street lamp, backpack
  • kwon edward soonyoung 
  • refuses to be bottom visual 
  • rivalry with seungkwan and wonwoo 
  • claps like a child
  • KWON SOONYOUNG FIGHTING *wakes up* 'YYEEEEAAAHHH”
  • Grandma


Wonwoo:

  • lowkey highkey loves his own visuals 
  • beanie bro 
  • garden fairy 
  • voice so deep adele’s rollin in it 
  • “life is hamburger”
  • cheese burger aegyo 
  • emo 
  • let him sing fam
  • fukn nerddd 
  • sick wonwoo days with the plushy
  • Tsundere™
  • make him an actor pls 
  • got hit in the balls with a ball one time 
  • nose crinkle 
  • specs 
  • lack of highfives
  • middle school’s dance machine
  • him vs. Hoshi in ofd japan
  • bag of luck


Woozi:

  • Smol bean that would kill for a single cornchip 
  • Reminds me of a old grandpa teddy bear idk lol 
  • Done with life, hates aegyo and human contact, but will accept it when he wants to
  • members mock his crying from pretty u first win every chance they get 
  • if he does anything out of character they tease him about it till no end tbh
  • Suga’s son
  • his need to grab and hit people when he laughs
  • guitar is his greatest weapon
  • ccrriinnggeee & finger ccurrlll
  • producer-nim
  •  adore u is a funky pop song that has fun and fresh lyrics that match seventeen’s age on top of an addictive melody 
  • members exposing his ass in project svt


Dk:

  • the actual sun
  •  built in speakers bc he loud as shit 
  • sacrifices his beautiful face to make people laugh
  •  smile that can cure all the worlds sickness
  •  stop eating cds
  • woojoos_daddy
  • ‘come to daddy’ tee
  • horsemin MAL
  • pigeon
  • GRILLED PPPORRKK
  •  chicc
  •  pure and goes along with jokes the best 
  • heLL0 mY naMe Is LeE SeOkMIN my moTheR’S naMe Is
  • hightone rap
  • wat is basketball? 
  • do it from your heart 
  • Jeonghan’s fool 
  • mosquito 
  • Happy birfthday broo
  • orange peel king
  • wow, unbeliebable  
  • Grandpa
  • Two-teen


Mingyu:

  • MingEW and all his sneezin
  • flowercap boi 
  • tol and clumsy
  • If Seventeen doesnt drop somethign, Mingyu certainly will 
  • actually very organized and neat 
  • Minghousewife 
  • was a cheeto for a split second
  • proud father of OG BongBong 
  • Mingyu sunbaenimmm
  • Seventeen cant live without their swiss army knife 
  • Akita sound
  • oh. my. god. Oho My GOD
  • ‘Your name is bob’
  • Where Is Your Tag???
  • squeals 
  • “Seventeens official visual" 
  • oooo000OOO yEAh 


The8: 

  • got7 bambam taught him how to dab and he never looked back since
  •  thughao
  • IMMA
  • before: Yeah I’ll have her home before 10 ^-^ 

          now: she’ll spend a night at my house ;)

  • nunchuuk daddy
  • 404 no lines found pt.2
  • now My I
  • his predebut pictures are  e p i c
  • side-eye king
  • arms for days
  • fashionista
  • rolled thin porkbelly hair
  • learns more korean to roast bitches
  • flipping is his preferred transportation 
  • dirty dirty jamjam ^-^ *svt flipps out in cringe* 
  • Kermit is his bitch

Seungkwan: 

  • fresh baked buns bebe
  • divaboo
  •  just put boo in any word and it gets 100 times better
  • supports AND hates aegyo
  • Beyonce who?
  • MCboo, talk talk talk. 
  • "Thomas the train” omg rip XD 
  • Vernon’s number 1 fan
  • OHMYGOD JASMIN
  • cries in jeju accent
  • John?
  • Boonon, svts rapper 
  • Oh Laaaddiieesss~~ this is your story 
  • red 
  • haunted house screaming 
  • volleyball fanatic
  •  kimbap kidding? 
  • Crab walks away 
  • Son of Jeju 
  • fashTion 
  • '13th visual’ (fuk nah)
  • Im the BEST quality 


Vernon:

  • child actor but never fukn talks about it
  • attempts vocal runs
  • looks confused most of the time  
  • iconic rap lines “pull up on you wacks with a mac fuly loaded”, “i’m only seventeen i only got a few dollars” “Chili Chicken in the microwave”
  • fortune cookie hair 
  • headlines headlines ( HaJiMAaaaAa, dont mention smtm4)
  • his obsession with hotline bling
  • “speaks english, but forgets that one english word” (bilingual problems)
  • Person: h- 

          Vernon: I was born in america but moved to korea when I was five 

  • Kidney function is not a right its a privilege
  • woke af
  • His mom is my bias
  • teeth
  • bubble pop
  • *slightly lifts glasses* 'ding' 
  • sofia
  • Leonardo Dicaprio AND Leonardo Divinci
  • Dont take him fishing
  • stitch
  • Dat laugh tho
  • lotto
  • My favorite part of Seungkwan is-


Dino:

  • Michael Chanson
  • “Im growing!”
  • not Jeonghan’s aegi
  • we will now forget mansae era duck ass hair
  • Diamond makne
  • “he’s going through puberty now”-Hoshi
  • a new born savage
  • Makne’s visual ranking
  • GloUp of the century
  • “michael jackson version" 
  • bitter smile 
  • loud laugh 
  • *runs over hoshi’s toes with scooter* 
  • *scrolls through phone and half-heartedly says*  I love you.

((thank you to guest writer @actualbird !!!))

See the thing about Evangeline is that it’s pretty much as old as Jeremy and Michael’s entire friendship. Probably older, actually. Evangeline, of course, being the minifridge in their dorm that houses the Jeremy’s fantastic stock of Mountain Dew Red.

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country singer bitty accidentally writes a hit about nhl player jack

Based on this post about the inspiration for Dolly Parton’s Jolene, which is somehow even gayer than the song itself. Bless you, Dolly.


It had started out so innocently.

Bitty had been tired after hours of this meet n’ greet, and when that tall drink of water walked up to get his autograph, Bitty couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Gosh, well aren’t you the most handsome fella I’ve ever seen,” he said, reached for the outstretched CD–CD! Who even bought CDs anymore?–and readied his Sharpie. “What’s your name, hun?”

“Uh, Jack,” the man said, pretty eyes going wide. If he’d been more awake, Bitty might’ve felt bad for making a fan uncomfortable. But if this Jack really were a fan, then he certainly wouldn’t have a problem with another man complimenting him. And besides, he was handsome, with his wide shoulders and high cheekbones and eyes as blue as the summer sky.

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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

The Dragon & The Wolf

Dragonpit scene - I love how Jon always wants to be on the front row when Daenerys arrives. 

When he said to everyone he already bend the knee. Danys face— she knew what that line meant. And was conflicted about how to react to this. They already know they are falling hard. At least she does and things like these doesnt make it easier. 

Ok I feel myself coming into a rant here. Its just so beautiful to me how Jon is so different for her than any other man she has ever met. I am rewatching GOT and she has never been around any man like she has been with Jon. 

He intrigues her so much and I don’t think she ever had or felt that for anyone. Her feelings for other men were always clear for her. 

She loved Drogo but it was set up and she fell for him during their relationship. But I feel like that relationship formed who she is now and she didnt really knew who she was back there. She loved -spending time with- Daario but she was always in control with him.

Jon is a completely different story for her. And Emilia plays that so well. He brings out this really special vurnable side of Daenerys we have rarely seen.

And she fell for it, and fell for it hard. 

She was so desperate to save Drogo and her decisions didn’t make any sense and I like how she was the same when she heard of Jon & co being in trouble. She didnt listen but just thought with her heart.

– k I am gonna stop here. I am not even close to Boatsex talk and I am already rambling —

“No one is less happy about this than I am” “I know” Love. Loved. LOVE this. How she just understands him. 

They are both people who ask for respect and honesty. She always asks people to follow her and wants their word and he is a man of his word so its only natural she understands it. Its like the scene he told her he was gonna go to the wall as well. She hates that he is this way but she also respects it. (and finds it extremely attractive).

Also, subtle handtouching. Like you touched last week and now you just wanna get more huh? 

THAT SCENE IN THE CORNER OF DRAGONPIT. They were like 2 schoolkids being all secretly. 

And again, I love how Jon kinda drops a cheesy line there and at any other man she’d roll her eyes but with him it just makes her heart drop.

And him trying to make a joke there. Like here they are, her dragon just died, his plan is going to hell and they share this beautiful bittersweet moment. 

Her whole speech about having to trust him sooner was so heartbreaking cause maybe then her dragon would still be alive. (I am gonna cry when she’ll see Viserion for the first time) 

Dragonstone scene - can they buy a mansion there?

THIS. THIS. Haha Jon, I am so onto you. First the cave paintings and now -Notherners like people who arrive together-trick. Yeah you just want her on that boat huh?

I felt so bad for Jorah tho’. She completely ignored his plan. And she knew she did that. At the end of the scene she leanded to the table a little like trying to hold her posture but full aware that many people, including Jorah, knows about her affection to the King of hte North. 

I find Jon much harder to read. But I think it is beautiful to see how he didnt trust her at first and really does see her for who she is. Like he told her. And how he is so amazed by her. He is so starstruck. I never really liked Jon with Yigritt she was definitely his first love but Dany is something he really pines for. Yigritt was also wrong and impossible but it happened anyway. Here he knows there is much more at stake. But he can’t deny his feelings any longer. And thats why he showed up at her door.

Now about Boatsex, I would have loved for it to go differently - well actually not different just - longer. More build up. But I understand why it went the way it went. Jon knew what he wanted and I love how they let the moment last for a bit with him standing at her door, looking in her eyes, waiting for her approval and she knew what he meant by looking in his eyes and let him in. She bend the knee. 

I was dying for a kiss here. And a little sad it didnt happen - there will be a lot of fanfic request about the missing part between the door and the bed – hint hint. 

But its like we are still gonna get our first kiss in season 8-kinda.

It was so beautifully brought yet stil hot. Jon’s ass was a nice distraction ASS-well. 

And him taking over control was so hot, not only for me but I think Daenerys agrees. Their bodies looked so beautiful together. Fire and Ice. They were so full of need and it was all lust and passionate and then my favorite part came and Jon broke the moment and we had time to realize that this isn’t just two character hooking up. No, they are in love. 

And he was so amazed by her and her beauty and how pure she looked. You can really feel he looks at Daenerys here, not with all the titles but just her and she realized this and she looks so vurnable and just so beautiful to him.

You can really see her kinda scared about what this is she’s feeling and it all just because so overwhelming for them. UGH THIS SCENE.

HOW HE STROKES HER HAIR. SO BEAUTIFUL. 

And how she hold his face. 

And then he just looks at her, when he looks at her, its like the first time I see clearly through his feelings and he just lets his guard down. He loves her. There’s no way to run from his feelings. No more excuses of -the great war is coming-. He never really let his feelings for her take over. Never fully thought with his heart and here he does and he just let it take over.

I just—-

Ps: Tyrion watching was odd but it just represented the scene Bran was talking about how their love ruined all kingdoms and how Tyrion cant feel but sad and confused about what he should do about this and if it is the right thing.

I am not sure how I will make it until 2019 to wait for more and I am so curious to see where all this will go. I am really curious how they will act after this episode and they will probably learn about Jon’s family name soon enough with only 2 episodes in and I do feel this will cause a problem for them. Jon will be all - wtf and Daenerys will be distrustfull about her claim to the throne. But I can suspect moments of Jon being all noble and telling her, by episode 5 probably, that he doesnt want the title but he does want her. Oh and she is definetely pregnant. BRING ON THE ANGST. 

Cant wait for Arya’s reaction to Dany btw. 

– Now I am off to fanfiction land – 

Thank you for an amazing 7th shipping season.

+ bonus

Gif credit 

i think it’s time i told you (i’m a fan of your universe) (1/1)

Years after Hawkmoth’s defeat, Ladybug and Chat Noir have a conversation about life, love, and marriage.

Ladybug checked her communicator for the third time that night, and frowned.

The green pawprint blinked idly back at her, resting at a junction between city streets—the same place it had been every other time she’d checked.

They hadn’t arranged to meet up that night. It was her turn for a solo patrol tonight, and there hadn’t been any trouble big enough to make calling for help a necessity. She’d stopped a couple muggings, interrupted a robbery—normal, small things. Nothing that needed an extra pair of hands.

And, sure, they both transformed just for the fun of it sometimes. Sometimes they caught one another out on morning strolls or midnight snack runs or impromptu patrols, but usually those involved moving around.

Chat’s tracker hadn’t moved in the past two hours.

She shouldn’t worry—Hawkmoth had been in jail for the past three years and Chat wasn’t in a bad part of town right now—but…

But…

The green pawprint blinked at her from the same junction, at the same pace, unmoved.

Ladybug abandoned the end of her route and headed downtown.

Keep reading

Simon Cowell and Louis

I just listened to Louis’ interview with Matt Edmonson (x) after reading about Louis’ story about Simon apparently flying him out to Los Angeles to give him a telling off for having a couple of beers before a show. 

Aside from the fact that a story about a grown man flying an eighteen year-old boy across the world to have a one on one meeting is so incomprehensibly disturbing, there are a couple things that lead me to believe that while I don’t doubt that Simon called Louis into a private meeting in this manner, that there were many things about this story that weren’t true. This is purely my speculation based on having worked for a psychopath like Simon Cowell as well as having dated someone who was on the X-Factor with One Direction in 2010 and who told me a very similar story, so I’ll start with that. 

During Bootcamp, immediately prior to One Direction being formed, Louis and another guy from the boys category at Bootcamp bought a bunch of alcohol and threw a party. Because the boys category had multiple boys under 18, when they got caught both Louis and this other guy were in a lot of trouble and the other guy was told that they were both being kicked off of the show. This guy was not only kicked off the show and sent home immediately, but none of the footage of his auditions was included in the final cuts and you can only see him vaguely in the background. Louis, on the other hand, was probably given a very stern talking to, but they kept him for the taping of the end of bootcamp which he was apparently being cut from anyways until Simon Cowell “made a quick decision” and put One Direction together. This is one of the reasons I will never believe that the forming of this band was impromptu. So you’re telling me that Simon Cowell decided to put a boyband together that consisted of four 16-17 year-olds and then thought, “Oh I’ll add that 18 year old kid who gave all of them booze last night as well.” I don’t think so. 

If I were to guess, and this is purely a guess, I would say that Simon Cowell himself probably gave Louis an off-screen and completely unfriendly version of what he did to Zayn on-camera when he refused to dance at the auditions. Simon Cowell is not a nice man. He isn’t empathetic, and he doesn’t give a shit about anyone. So WHY would he put a kid who got busted for getting everyone drunk and another kid with aggressive stage fright into a band if he hadn’t already formed this band prior to bootcamp even starting? 

That being said, this story that Louis told is prefaced with him saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about it before…just thinking if I can…” which to me sounds like, “Give me a second to figure out a way to tell this horrible story about Simon Cowell in a way that doesn’t break my contract that says I can never in my life say a bad word about him anywhere in this universe.” 

Louis has mentioned that as the oldest member of One Direction he was the one who stood up to the label the most when they were just starting. As previously mentioned, I worked for someone like Simon Cowell and he refused to talk to groups of people about serious issues or problems. If he knew that a few of us were upset he’d corner us individually or take one of us out to dinner so that he could gaslight you into thinking that he wasn’t the problem, that the others were just influencing you because they were jealous or he’d give you a raise or a promotion. Simon Cowell is exactly the type of man to divide and conquer groups of people who are mad at him. Look at his circulating panel of judges. He has a few loyal minions like Cheryl Cole, but it’s not surprising that Nick Grimshaw who takes a couple jabs at Simon here and there didn’t last longer than a season. Simon is not the kind of person who likes strong-minded people and Louis “can’t bite me tongue” Tomlinson was probably as big of a thorn in his side as Dan Wootton made him out to be. I think the only hint of truth that Dan has ever written was that Louis was difficult for Sony to deal with. However, I don’t think this band would have had the success they had if it weren’t for them completely breaking the mould of a typical boyband and eventually demanding that they write their own music. 

What is so unsettling about this story is that it sounds like a classic story from a victim of emotional abuse. Like, “Oh I did something wrong and then I was punished in this kind of weird, but totally okay way.” The man I worked with who was the president of the company and used similar tactics made me believe that I was the problem in every situation to the point that when he eventually got violent the first thing I thought when he hit me in the face was, “Oh my god, I’ve made him so mad. How am I going to apologise?” I was 25. Louis was 18 when this story apparently happened. 18 when Simon Cowell began these little one-on-one meetings that lead to the visible transformation of a loud and flamboyant boy to (relatively) quiet skater boy Louis circa 2014. 

Simon was not One Direction’s manager. There was absolutely no reason for him to be talking to Louis alone like that. Not to mention that, legally speaking, I’m quite sure that a minor would have to have a guardian present for any such kind of meeting (pretty sure, but not positive), but Louis being the only adult would be the only one Simon could manipulate this particular way during the early days of One Direction. 

There is just something inherently sketchy and unsettling about this entire dynamic, and this story seems like a very sugar-coated version of something much darker. 

And that’s what I think about that.

The Dragon and His Knight

“C’mon, Teddy, it’s time to sleep,” Harry said for about the millionth time that night.

“No! I don’t want to sleep. I want to see Draco,” Teddy responded stubbornly. The four year old crossed his arms and scowled at his godfather.

Harry sighed a long suffering sigh. “Teddy, I’m sure Draco is busy grading papers. We don’t want to interrupt him.”

“Yes we do!” Teddy said.

For the past two hours, Harry had been trying to get the little menace to go to bed, but Teddy kept insisting that he wouldn’t comply until he got to visit his cousin, Draco. Harry was reluctant to bring Teddy to Professor Malfoy’s rooming quarters for more than one reason. The first reason being that, like he said, he was sure Draco would be grading papers and would get ornery if someone interrupted his work. The second reason was that Harry had no idea where he stood with Draco after what happened yesterday. Harry hoped that he hadn’t completely ruined his and Draco’s friendship by kissing him, especially since that friendship meant so much to him.

“Please, Harry,” Teddy begged.

Harry weighed his options. On the one hand, he could refuse to bring Teddy to visit Draco, which would mean Harry would get about four hours of sleep, and probably fall asleep in the middle of a Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture tomorrow. On the other hand, if he did bring Teddy to visit Draco, he would have to see Draco, and talk to Draco, and try to hide the fact that he was incredibly, stupidly in love with Draco.

But then Teddy made the choice for Harry by screaming at the top of his lungs, “I won’t go to sleep until we see Draco!”

“Shh, Teddy,” Harry said. He hurriedly covered Teddy’s mouth with his hand. Harry was really not in the mood to get reprimanded by McGonagall for waking up the entire school. “We’ll go see Draco, okay? But we’re going to be very quiet, and we’re only going to stay for a little bit.”

“Yay!” Teddy said when Harry removed his hand. His hair changed from an angry red into a bright turquoise.

Harry led Teddy through the empty, dark halls of Hogwarts, holding him by the hand to prevent the child from sprinting ahead. When they reached the door to Draco’s room in the dungeons, Teddy said excitedly, “I’ll hide behind you, so I can surprise him!” Harry smiled at Teddy’s enthusiasm, even though he was still quite irritated with the boy.

Harry took a deep breath and then knocked on Draco’s door. He heard a muffled “fuck” on the other side of the door.

“What do you want?” Draco’s sharp voice sounded from inside.

Harry didn’t say anything, as he was afraid Draco wouldn’t open the door if he knew who it was, so he knocked again.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco said irritably, and the door to his quarters swung open reveal a flustered, pajama-cladden Draco. “Harry,” Draco said. He looked- and sounded -just as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see him. Well, Harry wasn’t exactly surprised to see Draco, but he was surprised to see the state that Draco was in. His normally groomed-to-perfection blond hair was all ruffled and messed up, sticking out at awkward angles. Draco’s pajamas consisted of a white cotton t-shirt that was just tight enough to show off his lean, muscled frame, and pants with a small pattern on them that suspiciously resembled Harry’s glasses and scar. Frankly, Draco was adorable and sexy at the same time, and the sight was nearly enough to make Harry swoon.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked, pulling Harry out of a fantasy in which he was running his fingers through Draco’s tousled hair.

“Language,” Harry replied, remembering that Teddy was also there.

“Language? Are you serious, Potter? I’ve heard you say much worse. And by the way, you didn’t answer my ques-”
Draco was cut off by Teddy abruptly jumping out from behind Harry and shouting, “Surprise!” The little boy ran towards Draco and hugged his legs. His hair was now the same platinum color of Draco’s.

“Teddy,” Draco said, shocked. He looked from Teddy to Harry, confusion in his eyes.

“Andromeda made last minute plans to go on a date and asked me to take Teddy for the night,” Harry explained, looking down at his feet to avoid eye contact. “Anyways, Teddy refused to go to bed unless he got to visit you.”

“Andromeda is dating?”

Harry laughed. That was not the question he was expecting. “I suppose so.”

“Who?” Draco asked.

“Er, I don’t know. She’s your aunt, after all. Shouldn’t you know who she’s dating?”

Draco shrugged. He smiled down at Teddy and bent down to pick him up. And, no, Harry definitely did not look at Draco’s arse when he bent down. He did not. And he certainly did not wish he could touch Draco’s arse. And when Draco lifted Teddy to rest at his hip, Harry was not admiring Draco’s arm muscles. And if he was, it was completely innocent. There was no way Harry was imagining Draco’s arms pinning Harry to a bed.

“I’m glad you came to visit me,” Draco said to Teddy with a smile.

“Me too,” Teddy said. “I wish I could live at Hogwarts and be with you and Harry all the time.”

Draco chuckled. “That would be an adventure.”

Harry was beginning to feel awkward so he said to Teddy, “Well, now that you’ve seen Draco, are you ready to go to bed?”

“No!” Teddy replied instantly, clinging to Draco. “Draco has to tell me a story first. He tells the best stories.”

Harry looked to Draco, who just grinned with a shrug. “It’s true,” Draco said. “Uh, you can come inside if you want.”

Harry’s heart immediately started being faster at the thought of being in Draco’s room. “Sure,” Harry said, careful not to sound too eager.

Draco moved to the side to let Harry in and then shut the door. Harry surveyed the room in awe. The far wall was completely made of glass, and on the other side of the glass was the green-tinted water of the Black Lake. There wasn’t much to look at, just some seaweed and and fish, but it was beautiful anyway. Teddy ran over to look out at the lake as Harry turned his attention to the furniture in the room. Draco’s bed was near the glass wall, and so were his wardrobe and trunk. More in the middle of the room was a fireplace, a sofa, and two armchairs. Harry jealously wondered who Draco invited over to sit in those armchairs. The part of the room that Harry was standing in seemed to be Draco’s personal potions lab. There was a desk covered in papers, and a long table with a cauldron and many potions ingredients on it.

“What do you think?” Draco suddenly asked. Somehow he had ended up standing right next to Harry.

Harry shivered at the close proximity and answered honestly, “It’s nice.”

Draco seemed pleased. He smiled and even blushed a little. “Thanks. Guess I should give Teddy that story now.”

Harry nodded. He watched Draco walk over to Teddy and silently admired the elegance in Draco’s movements.


Five minutes later, Harry and Draco were settled in the armchairs and Teddy was nestled between a thick layer of blankets and the soft cushions of Draco’s sofa. Draco was deep in a story about a beautiful silver dragon that was being hunted down by the people in a nearby kingdom, because the dragon was thought to be dangerous.

“The people had no way of knowing that the dragon was really a handsome prince that had been cursed to be a dragon until he met his true love,” Draco was saying. Teddy looked at his cousin with reverence, hanging onto his every word. Draco didn’t notice that Harry was doing the same. “So the king chose one of his knights, the most brave and noble one, to go find the dragon and slay it.”

Teddy gasped. “No,” he whispered.

“The knight did as he was told and left for the mountains, where the Dragon was hiding.”

“Did he kill the dragon?” Teddy asked impatiently.

“Well, when he found the dragon, it was asleep. The knight was ready to kill it, he had his sword posed to strike, but then the dragon opened its eyes. And guess what happened when the knight looked into the dragon’s eyes?”

“The dragon turned back into a prince,” Harry answered automatically.

Draco looked at Harry amusedly. “I was asking Teddy.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Anyway,” Draco continued. “The dragon was suddenly enveloped in a magical, blinding light. When the light was gone, the knight was astonished to find that there was no more dragon. Instead, there was a man. It was the prince, but he didn’t have a crown, or any fancy robes, so the knight thought he was just a commoner. Since the knight was noble, he helped the prince nonetheless and promised to take him to the kingdom. As the two traveled to the kingdom, they became very close and began to fall in love. It wasn’t until they arrived at the kingdom that the prince revealed the truth about himself and the curse that could only be broken by true love. The knight and the prince got married the next day and lived happily ever after.” Draco was whispering by the end of the story, because Teddy had begun to fall asleep.

Harry smiled at Draco. He liked the story, and he especially liked the dragon. Draco saw Harry’s smile and he returned it before getting up and gesturing for Harry to follow him. Draco led Harry to his office, which was connected to his room by a short passageway.

“Thanks for telling Teddy that story,” Harry said once the two of them had made themselves comfortable in the office- Draco in his leather chair, and Harry sitting on Draco’s desk with his legs hanging off the edge.

“No problem. I can keep him for the rest of the night if you want,” Draco offered.

“You don’t have-”

“No, it’s fine. I want to.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

“I feel li-”

“I like your pajama pants,” Harry said, cutting off Draco, because he wasn’t ready for rejection yet.

Draco’s face went pink. “They were a gift,” he disclosed.

“Right,” Harry said. He smirked and Draco’s blush increased.

“Pansy thinks she’s bloody hilarious,” Draco muttered irritably.

“Kudos to Pansy for selecting such a great gift.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

More silence.

“We need to talk,” Draco said.

Harry exhaled deeply. No more pretending then. “I know.”

“You kissed me. Why?”

Tell him it was a mistake, tell him you didn’t mean it, tell him you want to forget it ever happened, screamed a voice in Harry’s head. But Harry was tired of lying to Draco, and to himself. He summoned all of his Gryffindor courage and confessed, “Because I like you. I really, really like you, and I’ve wanted to kiss you everyday for almost a year now. And yesterday I just couldn’t stop myself. You were standing there, rambling about your new potion, and you were so excited and passionate and I felt like my heart was exploding.”

Draco stared at Harry like his whole world had been turned upside down.


The next morning…

When Andromeda came by Hogwarts to pick up her grandson and found Harry’s room empty, she knew the next logical place to look was Draco’s room. But when she arrived at Draco’s room, what happened next was not at all logical. Because little Teddy was the one to greet her at the door.

“Where are Draco and Harry, sweetheart?” she asked the small boy.

“In bed,” Teddy answered like it was obvious.

Andromeda’s heart nearly stopped. If Draco and Harry had finally gotten together, she was thrilled, but she was appalled to think that the two of them would be doing things while Teddy was in the room.

She stalked over to Draco’s bed and was relieved to find that Draco and Harry were fully clothed. Draco was leaning against the headboard as he slept, and Harry’s head rested peacefully in his lap. A book entitled The Dragon and His Knight lie on the bedside table.

“Are Draco and Harry true loves?” Teddy asked his grandmother.

Andromeda smiled. “I think so.”
“Are they gonna live happily forever after?”

“Of course they are. That’s what true loves do, isn’t it?”

Landlord is jealous of my income, raises my rent $500. I screw him years later for $20k.

All names have been changed. Long story:

In the late ‘90s wife and I were just married, just getting started, and we decided to DINK (“double income, no kids”) it for a few years to save up for a down payment on a house.

The dotcom bubble was still rising and I was a newly minted software developer. I had an entry-level job for a while and then got recruited to a new city and a new job that paid 3x what I was making before. It was an offer too good to pass up. I ran the numbers and it was a no-brainer: by living frugally and saving my entire salary, living off just her income, we would easily have enough in a year to put 20% down payment on a new house.

We rented an apartment in the new city that was listed for $950/mo. The landlord was a real estate agent who owned a two-bedroom condo as an investment property. Let’s call him “Hank Wazowski”. Hank was a thin, gray, no-nonsense guy. He was pleasant enough, but perfunctory, dry, and had no sense of humor. He made a point of explaining that under no circumstances was he responsible for maintaining the garbage disposal and that it was NOT included in the rental agreement and he would not be responsible for fixing it were it to break. Um, ok.

Keep reading

“Talk to my son like that again, and I will end you” - Damian Wayne x Batmom

Summary : Damian is the victim of racism, Batmom steps in to kick some asses.

Just something that popped into my mind one night, after a day of heated argument defending some of my “people of color” friends, like some things get me instantly mad…so I had to write about it and hum…hope you’ll like it

My masterlist blog : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com

________________________________________________

You didn’t mean to say it on live TV like that…but…The nerves of those people ! 

It was common knowledge that you didn’t particularly held journalists in your heart. 

Some would say it was because any form of media in Gotham was OBSESSED with your family, and you hated the attention you all constantly got. 

If you cut your hair, it’d be in the paper, if your sons were spotted hanging out in town, it’d be in the paper, if you and Bruce did something, it’d be in the paper…with ridiculous titles too : “The heir of the Wayne fortune are turning into delinquents !” when all they did was skateboarding around town. “Bruce Wayne and (Y/N) Wayne about to divorce ?” just because Bruce arrived later than you at a gala…So stupid. 

Yes, some would say it was because they constantly tried to find a scandal about your family but others…like your husband, would say it was because he used to date a few of those journalists women. And yeah, it was true he did “date” some of those women but, this wasn’t why you disliked journalists. 

And Bruce knew it, he’d just tease you with it sometimes to try and relax you because some douchebag wrote lies in the papers about your family…

You knew by marrying Bruce that it would be like that, that you’d always be the center of attention and honestly, when it was just about you ? Or even Bruce ? It was alright. Both of you could handle it. 

But when it touched your children ? Oh no. No. And no. 

And so, tonight, as someone made a comment about your youngest son..you kinda lost it. And you could already see the title of every articles and such that’ll come out the next day : 

“(Y/N) Wayne loses it on live TV”

But this was too much. Your boy already struggled with this at school, he didn’t need it everywhere else…How did they even hear about it anyway ? 

Uh…Who were you kidding ? They were journalists, of course they would have heard about your little outburst at Gotham Academy…

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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.

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Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t)

So, I’m obsessed with the whole idea that Peter is Tony’s unofficial son and it’s only supported by Tony’s appearance in Spider-Man Homecoming, so I came up with this series, which is in the works and also posted on my AO3 account. If you like it or have any suggestions as to where I should take this, please don’t hesitate to let me know! Also, forgive any spelling errors or mistakes, I finished this at three in the morning one night and I was too lazy to go back and fix them. Enjoy!

Read Part 2 here

~~~~~~

Tony swore when he was twelve years old that he would never be a father. He remembered that moment clearly, like it had just happened a day ago, not well over thirty years ago. He was in his room, his father still screaming in a drunken rage at his mother over something Tony did, his anger and disappointment following Tony down the hallway of their New York penthouse apartment. He remembered sitting on the cold tile floor of his room, head rest against the heavy wooden door that was doing nothing to muffle his father’s harsh words.

His father was angry, Tony had gotten kicked out of his third private school on the East Coast, the letter expulsion still clutched in his father’s harsh grasp. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen his father this furious before and Tony knew that the only thing that saved him from taking a glass full of scotch to the face was his mother’s presence in the room. Maria Stark might’ve been docile about a lot of things, but Howard taking his rage out on Tony physically, that would never fly in this house hold.

Tears of anger and embarrassment welled in Tony’s eyes and he wiped them away furiously, refusing to waste anymore energy on that man that he was forced to acknowledge as his father. No matter what Tony did, it was never enough to please Howard Stark. He made his first prototype of an arch reactor at the age of six, Howard wanted it by age five. Tony skipped three grades, Howard wanted him to skip four. Tony, despite his age, was offered a spot at MIT and if Howard had it his way? He would’ve been there a year ago. No matter how much Tony achieved, how many goals he surpassed, he always came up short in Howard’s eyes. Being the constant source of Howard’s disappointment and ire made Tony wonder if he would ever succeed in his father’s eyes, if his dad would ever clap him on the back and say “I’m proud of you, son.”

He wondered, some nights, when he’d lie awake in his too big bed in his too big room in his too big house, if his father had ever wanted children, had wanted Tony.

The thought crossed his mid countless of times, until it latched onto his cerebral cortex and sat there, like the worst form of cancer that had no possible cure.

And while Tony sat there, head resting tiredly against the warm wood, Howard’s voice still echoing down the long hallway, that cancer spread until it proved fatal.

He never wanted his children to feel like this.

Unwanted

Worthless

A complete and utter failure.

Tony was self-aware enough to know that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, that human nature was a pattern and patterns were destined to repeat themselves, without fail. Anger and rage and disappointment were the only form of affection Tony was used to getting to his father. His father was a cold man, always keeping Tony at a distance that no matter how hard he tried, Tony could never quite breach.

And Tony knew, no matter how hard he tried, he would always end up like his father.

~~~~~~~

Peter Parker came into his life unexpectedly and despite popular opinion, unplanned. He’d been keep tabs on the Spider-Kid since the kid popped up on his radar a few months ago, clad in that god awful homemade leotard/hoodie contraption and flying around Queens on his webs with all the grace of a child learning to walk for the first time. Tony never planned to actually meet the kid behind the mask or reaching out to the flying kid in his homemade costume, but when the Avengers disbanded and the only family Tony had ever known was decreasing in numbers, he needed back up.

Looking back, his intentions were purely selfish and it shamed him to admit, when he dropped the kid back off in his sketchy neighborhood in Queens with the new suit he’d made him, he never had any intention of keeping in contact with the kid.

To absolve himself from the guilt, he appointed Happy as his chaperone and threw himself into creating new legs for Rhodey, another way to attempting to soothe ache of guilt that had settled along with the shrapnel, in his battered heart.

He underestimated Peter, who was pushy and persistent and finally, after three months, Happy threw his phone at Tony and told him to call the kid. That night, Tony, with a glass of scotch in hand, filtered through the hundreds of voicemails Peter had left Happy—anecdotes of his daily patrols, everything from helping old ladies cross the street, stopping bike thieves to getting cats out of trees. Each story was told with excruciating detail, in that excited ramble the kid got whenever he was particularly enthused about something and warmth settled around Tony’s heart, fond amusement making his lips curl into his first genuine smile in months.

It took Tony another week to reach out to the kid, but he did and that’s how he found himself, in one of his more flashier cars, sitting outside of Peter’s school. He ignored the gawking, the stunned stares and the whispers of the students filtering out of the school, his eyes scanning the crowd before they landed on a familiar head of messy hair.

Peter was talking excitedly to the chubby, dark haired Asian kid by his side, who was nodding along to everything Peter said with a look of pure wonder on his face and Tony wondered briefly if his little friend knew that his BFF moonlighted as a super-hero in spandex at night.

Another kid appeared by Peter’s side and Tony watched as Peter visibly tensed and tried to skirt around the kid, but the kid threw a hand out and stopped Peter in his tracks.

The cocky grin that appeared on the kid’s face was all too familiar to Tony and before he could even second guess himself, he was out of his car and walking towards the three boys, ignoring the murmurs coming from the crowd.

“—when are you gonna stop lying about your internship with Tony Stark, Penis Parker? There’s no way someone like Tony Stark would ever take on a charity case like you—“

Peter looked up when he heard the murmuring crowd fall to a hush and his gaze landed on Tony. The amount of surprise in the kid’s features made Tony’s gut clench that in no way had to do with the greasy cheeseburger he ate on the way over here.

“M-Mr. Stark, what, uh, what are you doing here?” Peter stammered, flicking his gaze back to would be bully in front of him.

“Yeah, Parker, like I’m gonna fall for that—

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Tony interrupted, smirking in satisfaction when the kid that was giving Peter a hard time, froze, turning his disbelieving eyes on to Tony.

“Y-You-You’re Tony Stark.” He said faintly, his voice shaking.

Tony smirked, “Astute observation and you are?”

The kid gulped, his adams apple bobbing harshly, “F-Flash Thompson.”

“Makes sense,” Tony said with a nod of his head, looking the kid up and down, “I’d bully someone too, if my parents named me after the lamest superhero to ever grace the pages of a comic book, overcompensation and all that,” Tony said thoughtfully, “especially with your perceived fixation on the male genitalia. Tell me, did it take you a while to come up with something that juvenile or did you have someone equally as childish think it up for you? Because I would think someone with—and I’m assuming here, so correct me if my deductive reasoning skills are off—a high level of intelligence would come up with something a little bit more creative than ‘Penis Parker’.”

By the time Tony was done, the crowd around him was snickering and the kid in front of him looked like he wanted nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow him whole, if such things were possible.

Tony smiled, but there was nothing nice about, “Now, if I ever catch wind of you so much as looking in Peter’s direction again and trust me, kid, I’ve got my ways, I have no issue siccing my AI on all your school records and wreaking havoc on your future plans for any Ivy League schools, you reading me kid?”

Flash nodded so vigorously he resembled a bobble head, “Y-Yes, Sir.”

Tony smiled, this one much more kind than the last, “Good, I’m glad we could reach an understanding, now running along so I can talk to my intern here without your sorry excuse for cologne clouding my senses, seriously kid less is more.”

Flash tucked his proverbial tail between his legs and pushed through the crowd of people that were now openly laughing, losing interest in Tony in favor of chasing after Flash to mock him.

Tony shouldn’t feel as proud as he did, but he knew what it was like to be bullied and he’d be damned if his kid—ahem, someone like Peter had to deal with someone as childish as Flash Thompson every day and it was within his power to do something about it. Like kid didn’t already have enough to deal with as it was.

He turned back to see a dumbfounded Peter and his equally as flabbergasted friend.

“That was—” Peter began, but seemed to be at a loss for words, shaking his head in disbelief.

His friend, however, didn’t seem to have that particular problem.

“—AWESOME!” His friend said excitedly, “oh man did you see Flash’s face? Dude, this is greatest thing to ever happen to me. Tony Stark just verbally assaulted Flash, Jesus dude, how is this your life? If you ever want to trade, even if it’s just for a day, I’m totally down—“

Ned.” Peter muttered, elbowing him roughly, giving a rough jerk of his head in Tony’s direction. He flicked his apologetic gaze over to Tony, who simply rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Ned followed his gaze and flushed, “Right, sorry.”

Peter closed his eyes for a moment and Tony could see the kid physically trying to fight off his embarrassment and couldn’t help but chuckle.

Peter’s eyes snapped open at the sound and the surprise and confusion from earlier was back, “Mr. Stark, what are you doing here? At my school? Is everything okay? Is there a—“ Peter glanced around in a sad attempt at nonchalance and lowered his voice to an equally as sad attempt at a whisper, “—mission?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner that was making Tony wonder if the kid had a weird twitch he’d never noticed before.

Tony glanced over at Ned quickly, going back to his original curiosity of how much the kid actually knew about his arachnid friend here, but Ned seemed to catch on to Tony’s unasked question.

“Don’t worry Mr. Stark, sir, I’m Peter’s Guy In The Chair.” Ned answered helpfully, giving him a bright smile.

Tony glanced back over at Peter with a raised eyebrow, who simply muttered “dude” in an exasperated tone, shaking his head before returning his attention to Tony, “Ned knows.”

“Oh, well, in that case, no, there is no…mission,” Tony said in a mock whisper, making Peter flush, “I’m working on a new Iron Man suit and I need to pick your brain for some ideas on upgrades, figured I’d swing by and pick you up from school today.”

Peter’s eyes widened and Ned seemed torn between fainting or peeing himself from excitement.

“You get to touch the Iron Man suit?!” He squeaked, turning his wide-eyed gaze over to Peter, who only gave Ned a look, who bit his lip sheepishly, but looked like he was ready to explode from the level of his enthusiasm.

Peter ignored him, “I was supposed to help Ned finish the lego Death Star today, we were supposed to do it yesterday, but I uh, kinda got caught up on patrol.” Peter gave Tony a guilty shrug of his shoulders.

“So let me get this straight,” Tony said slowly, “you’re turning down quality time in my personal lab to build a lego Death Star with Ned over here?”

Peter’s eyes had lit up at the mentions of Tony’s lab, but with quick glance at a wide eyed Ned, who seemed to be stuck on the fact that Tony Stark said his name, his excitement dimmed. But Peter was loyal, almost to a fault, and nodded resolutely.

Tony, seemingly at a loss for words, just stood there, shellshocked at being told no, by a fifteen year old kid at that. A small part of Tony, the one that was actually looking forward to hanging out with the kid, was slightly hurt at the rejection.

Ned, who’d been watching the entire scene with wide eyes, was more observant than he looked and seemed to sense Peter’s indecision and Tony’s disappointment, because he gave his friend a bright smile, “Dude, we can finish the Death Star anytime and besides, my mom wanted me home tonight to help her with something, so I’m booked, raincheck?” He offered.

Peter glanced at Ned then at Tony and then back to Ned, “Um, sure Ned, no problem.”

Ned gave him a smile and then turning his attention back to Tony, his friendly smiled turned a bit more to the manic grin that most people wore in Tony’s presence, “It was really nice to meet you Mr. Stark.”

He offered Peter a fist bump, who returned it, before he started walking down the side walk, towards, what Tony assumed, was home.

Turning his attention back to the kid, he gave him a smile, “Good good, now we should probably be on our way if we want to avoid traffic. Now, as far as suit upgrades go, I was thinking of up-ing the suit’s repulsers a bit—hey, kid, you coming?” Tony asked from his position on the driver’s side, raising an eyebrow at Peter, who was still standing on the side walk. Tony followed his gaze and saw Ned still making his way down the sidewalk and chancing a glance back at Peter, who was still watching him with big, guilty eyes, he sighed.

The things I do for you, kid, Tony thought to himself.

“Hey, Ned,” Tony shouted, making the kid pause and turn around, looking to Peter, who was watching Tony with the beginnings of a smile, then back to Tony curiously, “would you like to join us? There’s plenty of room in the lab for three people.”

Even from a few yards away, Tony could see the kid’s eyes widen in surprise before he hustled his way back to an equally excited Peter, who shot him a grateful look.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He said quietly, giving him a bright smile.

And Tony couldn’t help but smile back, “You’re welcome, kiddo,” eyeing a panting Ned warily, “make sure he doesn’t do anything…weird, okay? I don’t mind opening my lab to him but there was something in his eyes when I was talking about the Iron Man suit that made me decidedly uncomfortable.”

Peter gave a breathy laugh, “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark, Ned’s cool.”

Ned, who had come to a slightly sweaty stop in from them, looked up at Tony with wide eyes, “Can I try on the Iron Man helmet?”

“Dude.”

~~~~~~~~~

Tony spent the majority of their time in lab just watching Peter and Ned run around like kids in a candy store—picking things up, playing with the robots—DUM-E taking a special liking to Peter, who, Tony was pleased to see, treated him like a human, thanking him when he brought them water from the stocked fridge and smiling when DUM-E beeped happily in return—and played with all the gadgets laying around.

Tony, albeit wearily, let them try on one of the Iron Man helmets from one of his earlier models and explained to them how the suit worked, both of them hanging on to his every word. He showed them the blue prints for his newest model, listening to their suggestions and even writing a few them down to look into later.

Ned, Tony found out, was rather intelligent with computers. He gave him one of his old security systems and watched with genuine interest as the kid hacked into the the files with ease and recoded the entire system in a matter of minutes.

When Tony looked it over, he let out a grunt of an approval, “Nice work, kid.”

Ned all but fainted at Tony’s praise.

The hours slipped by and F.R.I.D.A.Y. being the helpful AI that she is, had ordered pizzas without Tony even having to ask and had them sent to the kitchen, alerting them when they had arrived. Tony led them up to the kitchen, watching with thinly veiled amusement as they both took in every new surrounding with the same amount of interest they had shown in the lab.

Tony continued to observe them as they tore into the pizza like they hadn’t eaten in days and taking a quick glance at the clock, he realized with a flash of guilt, that they had been down in the lab for over four hours and the last time they had probably eaten something would’ve been well over seven or eight hours ago.

It was nice, Tony deiced, listening to their mindless chatter and what was especially nice, was seeing how at ease Peter was with his friend, looking like a true fifteen year old with his friend over to his house on a school night, like he didn’t have super powers, like he didn’t dress up in tight spandex and web his way through Queens and fight crime at night while trying to balance a normal life.

The thought nagged at Tony for the rest of dinner and as he rode silently with them in the backseat while Happy drove them all to Ned’s apartment first, who still looked like he couldn’t believe today was real, thanking Tony breathlessly for the best day of his life and telling Peter he’d see him tomorrow at school.

Peter watched his friend with a small, amused smile and when they got to Peter’s apartment building, Tony glanced over at the kid, the smile still had yet to leave his face.

“Alright kid, this is your stop,” Tony said, making a move to undo his seatbelt, but the kid’s hesitant voice made him pause.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter said softly, clearing his throat, “I uh, just wanted to thank you, you know for well, everything,” the kid breathed, smiling up at him so sincerely that it made Tony’s chest ache in the best sort of way, “today was amazing and I really appreciate you inviting Ned along with us, he really looks up to you, you know? And I haven’t really been able to spend much time with him since, y’know, the whole Spider-Man thing.”

The kid paused before continuing on in a softer voice, “And about Flash, I really, really don’t know how to thank you for that,” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed, “it’s kind of funny, in a way, I’m a sort of super-hero and I can’t even stand up to a bully—“

Tony’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the kid’s self-deprecation, “Look, kid, I’m no stranger to bullies,” he began, sighing heavily, “I had my fair share of them when I was in school and even in college. I learned that while you may no be able to physically fight someone, you can always fight them with words and sometimes, words can hurt more than your fists. All I did was give that Flash kid a taste of his own medicine and hopefully, got him off your case.”

Peter was silent for a moment, considering Tony’s words before giving him another appreciative smile, “I don’t think Flash will be messing with me anytime soon, but still, thank you,” Peter’s smile turned shy, “you’re the first adult, other than May, to stand up for me and I really appreciate it, so thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony,” Tony offered after a beat of silence, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

Whatever he was trying to say, the kid got, because he smiled brightly and Tony, suddenly feeling awkward at the unusual sentimental moment, busied himself with unbuckling his seatbelt, ignoring the warmth in his chest.

He reached around the kid to open the door for him and Peter, rather than getting out, just like last time, he reached up and wrapped his arms around Tony, thinking he was hugging him

“This um, wasn’t a hug,” Tony began awkwardly, “I’m just getting the door for you.”

However, before the kid could pull away, Tony wrapped his arms around him and gave him a quick, but firm squeeze.

Peter gave him another smile before wishing Tony and Happy a goodnight,  getting out of the car and making his way up towards his apartment. Tony debated on his next move, mulling it over quickly and before the kid could get too far, he found himself making a snap decision and rolling down he window.

“Hey, Underoos,” Tony started, slightly unsure when the kid turned around and looked at Tony with hopeful eyes.

“Same time, same place tomorrow?” He said after a moment of silence, the kid’s answering grin melting away any self doubt before it could begin.

“Sure Mr.Stark—Tony,” Peter stuttered excitedly, “sounds great!”

Tony watched the kid go with a satisfied smiled, so caught up in his happy little pseudo-family moment that he almost didn’t hear his phone ring.

Not even bothering to glance at the caller I.D., he answered it with a smooth, “Stark.”

“Tony?! What the hell we’re you thinking going to a school and threatening a minor, A MINOR—“

Shit.

~~~~~

Should I continue? Please let me know :)

Bring It On | 01

Park Jimin | Comedy | Fluff | Slight Angst | BIO!au | cheerleader!jimin

❝You had long since gotten over your crush on your co captain slash roommate, Jimin. Other than the occasional wandering hand that maybe wasn’t so appropriate for someone who was supposed to be supporting you while you were in the air, or congratulatory smack on the ass after practice he was uninterested. Very, very, very much uninterested.❞

 

You blink down at your lunch tray, a scathing look marring your face when you note the mushed grool on your plate is probably leftovers from yesterday. You eye the cafeteria lady warily when she plops another serving on your tray, expression deadpan—you take longer to move along in line and she thinks she’s doing you a favor by serving you seconds.

“Greta,” you grin pleasantly, inching the tray back in her direction, “you’re doing amazing. Love the enthusiasm, that apron really suits you. However, I pay eight thousand dollars in college tuition and this looks like the wet food I give my dog. Do you think instead of this I could—”

She interrupts you with a wet slap of brown mush being added onto your already growing pile.

Wonderful,” you sigh, when you note the brown spackle on your uniform top, “can I just get a kale salad instead?”

It was for the best, anyway, you chide yourself. The fact that your school served lunch that was about as edible as aluminum foil made dieting easier. The reminder of your diet, however makes you groan as you reach the condiment station, chancing a smell at the ranch dressing in the clear plastic bowl. When you deem it safe enough to consume, you begin working on the croutons—

“Would you like some salad with your dressing?” Someone snorts from behind you.

You lift a wary gaze to Park Jimin, who’s leaning against the counter, working on organizing his grilled chicken. He cocks a brow at you as though he knows you’re glaring, even without looking.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure so early in the morning?”

Jimin rolls his eyes at you, nudging you out of the way so he can dress his own salad.

“Just think of me as your fairy godmother—I get a tingling sensation whenever you start to double carb.” He snorts, snatching the bread roll off your your tray and shoving you in the direction of your regular lunch table.

“It’s wheat.” You say indignantly, snatching it back and shoving it in your mouth.

“Just because wheat bread induces a slightly lower glycemic response doesn’t mean it’s better for you.” He spouts off automatically and you debate whether or not you can smash your head in before he starts scolding, “There’s no inherently good bread, just one that’s gonna make your ass slightly fatter as opposed to one that’s processed whole wheat.”

Apparently there was no avoiding his scolding this afternoon.

“For the record my mother says I have a wonderful figure,” you inform.

Jimin blinks at you before shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth, “Tell your mom to base for you then.”

“You’re in a fine mood this morning,” you scoff, before sending a teasing smile at your co captain, “I take it the freshman pitched their new uniform idea to you?”

Jimins jaw clenches at the thought, rubbing his aching temples, “I’m all for being a whore. I love the concept, I think it’s great. But I hate the bandage skirt idea. And if we’re going to look like hookers, we should at least be Marilyn Monroe and for like presidents and shit. Not Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”

“Julia Roberts slander aside,” you glare, “I agree with you. They’re tacky and besides, regionals in three weeks—changing uniforms now would just be complicated, not to mention we have to worry about finding another base now that Hoseok’s graduating.”

“God, don’t fucking remind me, I already have a headache thinking about auditions. But also, I’m so happy you agree which is why I took the liberty of telling them to go fuck themselves.” Jimin grins cheerfully as you stab a pice of kale.

“What did I say about making decisions on my behalf?” You pin him with an annoyed look before throwing your fork down with a clank, “we’re a team Jimin, we make decisions together.”

“Yes and it’s because we’re a team that I know you hate all the things I do.” He explains.

“This is why they don’t respect me.” You say, “at least not as much as they do you.”

“They don’t respect me, they’re scared of me. It’s good for our image. Like a good cop, bad cop kind of thing.” He argues before slicing a piece of his grilled chicken on putting it on your plate, “And will you eat? You wouldn’t have to starve yourself if you made better choices. For example a vinaigrette instead of what is essentially going to be an extra three pounds on your ass.”

You blink at him rapidly before sighing, rising to your feet. “Whatever, Jimin.”

“Hey,” he calls out behind you but you’re already halfway across the cafeteria, equal parts irritable and unamused by Jimins lax behavior. You stop when a hand grips your wrist, “okay jeez I’m sorry. I’m kidding. Quit being a brat and eat your lunch. I said try to drop three pounds not starve yourself.”

“Wow, what a sincere apology,” you snort and attempt to walk away again but he’s gripping you by the waist, far too close for comfort with his front pressed against your back and plush lips at your ear.

This is new. Very new. 

Your roommate was a lot of things, touchy was not one of them. If anything, he prided himself on his personal space and was constantly shoving you out of his room, out of his bed, out of the fucking bathroom

“I’m sorry alright?” He mutters and you close your eyes because he was confusing. So confusing it hurt. “I didn’t mean it. I had one too many bowls of bitch flakes today—either that or you’re PMSi—fucking ow.”

Jimin rubs his side where you elbowed before glaring at you.

“Apology not accepted.” You sniff when he turns you in his arms and there was a time when you would have been ecstatic to be in this position but those feelings have long since fled.

He only tugs you closer with a grin when you don’t fight off his hold. Jimin raises a brow at something over your shoulder and you frown.

“Don’t look now but your baby boyfriend is on his way over,” Jimin whispers before retracting his arms.

“My baby what?” You frown and it only takes you a full second to realize who he’s talking about because before long Jeon Jungkook is crowding your space.

“Hey,” he calls, an arm winding its way around your waist before you’re rolling your eyes at Jimin’s teasing smirk. “What’s going on here?”

“Jungkook,” you greet, before extracting yourself from his hold, “What’s up?”

“I could say the same,” he mutters before nodding at Jimin, “We have a problem here?”

Jimin cringes at his cheesy line before pinning him with a bored look, “Actually we—”

“Me and Jimin were going over cheer stuff. Did you need something?” You interrupt.

“Going over cheer stuff,” Jungkook says back slowly. He stares at Jimin for a second too long before returning his gaze to you, “I just came to check on my girlfriend. I have a game today, you didn’t wish me good luck.”

You close your eyes with a wince when Jimin snorts. A warm palm on your shoulder has you opening them only to glare at the all too mirthful boy in front of you, “Let him down easy, champ.”

With a wave and wink in Jungkook’s direction, Jimin is bounding back towards the lunch table and leaving you with a migraine.

Jungkook is holding your hand and swinging it. You’re not quite sure when that happened.

“Look, Jungkook,” you begin, clearing your throat.

“Oh no.” He sighs.

“What?”

“Nothing is ever good when a girl starts out with ‘look, Jungkook'—my mom, my sister, the dean of students.” He shrugs.

“So you know what’s coming next then?” You ask hopefully.

“Are you gonna put me on academic probation?” He offers and when you shake your head he stares on, “Not gonna lie, I’m drawing a blank here. I just know whatever you’re saying is not gonna be good.”

All hope dies.

“We’re not dating.” You say gently, tugging your hand out of his. It was too big and overly warm.

Jungkook frowns, confusion wrinkling his brow and for a second you almost feel bad for him, that is until he opens his mouth.

“But you let me…” He chances a look over his shoulder before leaning into whisper harshly, “you let me finger you.”

And therein lies your problem.

You knew better—you truly did—than to let the otherwise inexperienced freshman go further than second base but in your defense you were drunk. You were drunk and he was willing and he was fucking Jeon Jungkook. You were a good person but not that good.

“Yes, Jungkook I did but that doesn’t mean I want to date you.” You explain gently.

“But why would you let me touch you if you didn’t want to date me?” He implores and you blink at him because there was no way in hell someone was this naive.

“Because I was horny and you were there.” You say honestly and to your relief there isn’t a look of pain etched on his features only mild confusion mixed in with annoyance. “Now that we’ve got that settled I have a cheer thing I have to—”

“Wait, wait!” He calls out, gripping your wrist, “but what about me?”

You sigh because no matter how innocent or inexperienced Jeon Jungkook seemed he was still a guy at the end of the day, and they all wanted one thing.

“Fine.” You rolls your eyes, “I’ll suck you off after practice but I got to get goin—”

“No. Not that,” he flushes, “I meant what about… what if I wanted to date you?”

You stare at Jungkook a beat and it’s your turn to be surprised because of all the things you expected to happen today that was the last.

“Do you…” You gulp, eyeing him warily, “have feelings for me?”

“No.” He says honestly and you deflate before glaring at him.

“Oh thank God,” you breathe before smacking his arm, “don’t go around saying shit like that. Jesus. Anyway, why would you want to go on a date with me if you don’t like me either? Does that make sense to you?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at you before tugging you off to an empty corner of the cafeteria, he lowers his voice even though no ones close enough to hear. “Okay don’t look right away but do you see those guys sitting at that table next to the doo—I said don’t look!”

“Ow!” You whine, rubbing at your scalp after he gives your ponytail a hard yank. “Okay, jeez what about them?”

“They’re on my basketball team.” He informs unhelpfully and you give him a bored look.

“You don’t say?” You gasp, a hand shooting up to cover your mouth, “I couldn’t tell from their uniforms and the guy on the table, spinning the basketball, staring at us.”

Jungkook goes quiet again and you feel a headache coming on because what he made up for in looks and general athleticism he lacked in brain cells.

“Are you being sarcastic?” He frowns and what was the point if all your jabs went right over his head?

Instead, you opt for exasperation, pressing a hand to your aching temple. “What about your basketball team, Jungkook?”

“They think I’m a virgin.”

“Well are you a virgin?” You retort, thinking back to the almost painfully awful finger fuck he gifted you with last weekend.

“That’s besides the point,” he waves you off before gripping your shoulders, “I’m in college now. And a guy. Being a virgin is weird and if they find out I haven’t gone all the way I’m toast.”

“So tell them you boned me and let me get on with my life. I give you my permission, young padawan.” You give him a reassuring smack on the arm before walking away, only to be tugged back by your uniform shirt. “What now?”

“That would be great, except they’ll keep hounding me to have more sex which I’m not opposed to I just… I’m not ready yet you know?”

You blink at him, “I don’t know. I’m a slut.”

“Well pretend you get it and date me. Just for a couple weeks.” He says, “If I have a girlfriend they’ll just assume I’m getting laid on the regular and leave me alone.”

“Okay, but what about me? I actually enjoy getting laid on the regular and no offense but getting fingered by you is about as enjoyable as going to the gynecologist.” You sigh and he winces.

“Noted.” He adds dryly before cocking a brow at you, “So are you up for it?”

No!” you throw your hands up, “besides dating you could give people the wrong impression. That I’m into things like—”

“Monogamy?”

Virgins.” You correct with a roll of your eyes. “Sorry Kook, you’re just gonna have to figure shit out on yo—”

“Noona please,” he pleads desperately, hand gripping your upper arm and in all honesty you’re not a hard person to sway but Jungkook is still persistent in his pursuit. He clasps both hands under his chin before dropping to his knees desperately. He’s whining and loudly.

Loud enough to garner attention.

“Will you get up?” You hiss, “People are staring!”

“Will you say yes?” He juts his lower lip out.

“No.” You glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Then I’m not getting up.” He pouts.

“Because I care,” you snort, “Camp out here if you want. My answers the st—”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” he whines and you grit your teeth in annoyance, “I’ll owe you big.”

“You’ll owe me?” You cock a brow.

“Yes,” he says desperately, “I’ll do anything.”

Anything?” You ponder and Jungkook’s stomach turns when you openly give him the once over.

“I… shit… yeah, anything.” He sighs.


Jimin doesn’t ask you what’s wrong and you don’t expect him to—you only bang things louder until he’s sighing from his spot on his bed, pausing the game he’s playing to turn to look at you.

“Is something wrong?”

He looks put out, annoyed. You don’t care.

Everything’s wrong.” You mutter, stripping off your uniform and throwing it in the dirty clothes.

You have half a mind to remember that you were still in Jimin’s room but it didn’t matter anyway, you and Jimin had long since passed the initial crush stage of your friendship slash roommate agreement—well at least you had, you were almost entirely positive Jimin felt nothing save for mild irritation for you on a good day. That coupled with the fact that he was very much gay set your worries at ease.

“Be more specific?” He sighs, disinterested.

You pause in rummaging through his clothes long enough to narrow your eyes at him, “I hate boys.”

“Good. More for me.” He retorts instantly, shooting you a warning glare when you pause on one of his good t shirts, “I’m wearing that tomorrow, the sweatshirt you’re looking for is in the back.”

You don’t even shoot him a so much as a thank you as you shimmy out of your sports bra, with your back turned to him and tug his hoodie over head. When you’re settled and warm you shoot a mischievous smile at Jimin who’s still glaring at you before—

“Don’t you—” he cut himself off with a curse when you dive under his covers anyway. Jimin seethes quietly as you nestle yourself beneath his sheets, “You know you have your own room right?”

“Don’t you miss me?” You whine before snuggling closer, much to his annoyance, he opts to pinch your side instead of shoving you off the bed completely. 

“No. Now move over if you want to stay in here.” he scoffs.

“You know I had a really shitty day,” you glare at his side profile and he doesn’t answer, only picks up the controller to un pause whatever he was playing. “it would be nice if you could be even a little bit supportive.”

“I didn’t sign up for emotional support I signed up for half on utilities and you not leaving your pad wrappers on the bathroom floor.” He mutters, still invested in his tv show.

“Jimin.”

“Don’t use that voice, I hate it.” He grunts.

“What voice?” You pout.

“You know, the voice.” He sighs, sending you a glance from the corner of his eye, “The one you use on guys to get what you want. Your baby voice, it’s annoying.”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment and you feign indifference because Jimin never means to be hurtful, he’s only talking to you like he would any other friend… but you didn’t want to be any other friend? You weren’t sure anymore, about how you felt about him. Things were blurred because while you were sure things bordered on platonic and that mostly had to do with the fact that he was so immune to your feminine wiles (snort), you also knew you didn’t want to be treated like one of the guys or like any other fucking girl on the team, that he mostly couldn’t stand.

You wanted to be special. Special in what way, you weren’t entirely sure.

“You’re a dick.” You retort and he tears his gaze away from the screen long enough to cock a brow at you.

“You knew this upon signing the lease.” He snorts and you don’t reply because really, what was there to say. It was well known, Jimin was in fact an asshole—he didn’t like kick puppies or make orphans cry (intentionally) or anything but he was curt and to the point and you didn’t get your feelings hurt easily which is why things worked between the two of you. “Hey, did you get that playlist I sent you?”

You pause in scrolling through your phone to turn to him, “Yeah actually I did. They’re all kind of slow, did you want to use them for routine?”

Jimins hands slow on the controller but he doesn’t divert his attention this time, only hums his disagreement, “Nah, just new songs I stumbled upon I thought you’d dig. They’re good right?”

“Yeah,” you nod eagerly, “I added them to my library actually.”

“Cool.” Jimin grumbles, clearly done with the conversation and you roll your eyes.

You go on like that for a few moments because Jimins content with silence, prefers it actually over what he calls your ‘incessant chattering’ it’s one of many things he finds annoying about you—from what you can tell. He’s left almost every group chat you’re in.

You talk too much,” he says desperately after one night, a long night of drinking with your team and you’re still sending pictures. He’s in your room and his hairs disheveled and he’s shirtless and he looks delectable and annoyed and seconds away from strangling you.

“Sorry.” You squeak, tugging the blankets up past your chin and he narrows his eyes at you. You can barely make him out in your doorway, but the light from the hallway dances against the planes of chest, making you gulp.

“No you’re not,” he grumbles, throat raspy from liquor and sleep, he sticks a hand out expectantly, “hand it over.”

“W-what?” You push hair back from your face nervously and Jimin adjusts his basketball shorts before sauntering over to your bed.

“Your phone. I’m confiscating it. You’re fucking with my sleep schedule and I have a nine am tomorrow,” Jimin mutters, snatching your iPhone from you. He sends you a menacing glare all while fiddling with the device, “You don’t get to bitch if I drop you on your ass during practice. Now move in.”

“Huh?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline at that and Jimin is sending you a bland look, a hand pressed to his aching temple like talking to you is causing him physical pain. But he doesn’t respond only yanks the blanket from under you, making you all too aware of your lack of clothing when the bed dips beneath his weight.

“Move. In.” He enunciates, “I’m drunk as hell, tired as hell, and not up for the walk to my room.”

“It’s across the hall.” You remind him and in the darkness of your bedroom, with the pale moonlight dancing in and reflecting off the single chain Jimin always wears you’re overwhelmed by him. By his scent, his body, his withering stare when he presses a finger to your forehead.

“Sleep now.” He grumbles.

And maybe that was when it truly started, when the both of you settled down after that long night of drinking, him telling you to sleep on your stomach so you don’t choke on your own vomit, and you staring on dumbly, the beginnings of an on again off again infatuation for your roommate, your friend, that never really went away—no matter how unwilling a participant you were.

There’s a brief period of time (that you’ve made a conscious effort to block out) that you openly pined for him. There was no stumbling into the kitchen a mess, with morning breath that threatened to singe his eyebrows off if you struck up a conversation. No. If Jimin had class at nine am, you were up, with your lashes curled and your favorite tinted BB cream by seven forty five—you looked fresh faced, what a boy who hadn’t spent nearly five plus years of his life around girls with bedazzled vaginas would consider natural. But alas—

Jimin is a hairsbreadth from your face and you thank every god you could think of you woke up at the ass crack of dawn to wash your hair. His eyes narrow and he worries his lower lip before pulling back.

“You didn’t blend your neck,” he comments before grabbing his hoodie next to you and bidding you adieu.

For the first month of your crush you spend every morning in the kitchen (after of course closely inspecting your makeup under several different lightings), making him breakfast, green smoothies even. But Jimin is a health nut, on top of being an obsessive perfectionist. He preps his food the night before, likes all of his ducks in a row when he starts his morning at eight fifteen on the dot. His expression the first time you offer him turkey bacon and eggs is a cocktail of mild disgust and disinterest. 

“I’m counting macros this week.” He explains, before transferring his smoothie from the blender into a thermos. 

You tongue at your cheek before taking a bite of the ridiculously chewy meat. 

Your first Valentine’s Day with Jimin is always a memorable one, for sheer comedic relief if nothing else.

The two of you are regularly inseparable at practice, and some of it had to do with you being a fly and him base, your base, but a lot of it was because he didn’t… mesh well with others. He was too blunt, too rough around the edges and he took cheer seriously. The times Jimin spoke about himself were far and in-between, but you distantly remember him telling you that before he started doing cheer he did gymnastics competitively for a good chunk of his life. That explained a lot of things, honestly. Why he was so by the book, strict about everything from uniforms to ponytails, to diets—of all the boys on the squad, he was maybe the only one who gave a shit about stuff like that. It was because of all of that that he made a good co captain, and if it weren’t for his inability to compromise and just generally stomach other peoples presence, you were positive he would have beat you out for the captain position.

It also explained why he was so strong. The guy regularly worked out, yeah but he was like, open the pickle jar strong. And then there was his food intake which was crazy, all things considered, because he ate a lot to build muscle but it was all so healthy you couldn’t imagine anyone enjoying it. You wouldn’t lie, the first time Jimin lifted you during auditions your heart nearly beat out of your chest because he did it all with one arm and caught you effortlessly against his chest.

“Here,” Jimin says, handing you a tumbler filled with purple liquid at the end of practice, he hitches his gym bag up higher on his shoulder and waits for you to accept it. “I brought you a smoothie from home.”

“Thanks, what is it?” You ask, sniffing it and ignoring the glare Jimin shoots your way. It doesn’t smell offensive and you take a hesitant sip, “Actually this is good.”

He nods with a sheepish shrug and you try to tamp down the zoo of butterflies in your chest that are telling you that this is a sign, that Park Jimin making you a smoothie is his weird, male, health nut equivalent of chocolates and a confession. Your heart seems to gain wings at the prospect and then he ruins it like he always does because he’s Jimin and he ruins things. That’s his job title and occupation, Park Jimin, The Ruiner.

“It’s a detox smoothie actually,” he says when you’re already on your second mouthful, cheeks puffed with the berry concoction. Jimin was a lot of things, tactless was one of them, “I thought it would help with… you know. Plus, I do strength training in my free time but this partnership only works if you keep up your end. You should come to the gym with me in the mornings, you’re up anyway with like a full face of makeu—”

You shove the tumbler back at his chest before sucking your teeth at him, “I’m gonna go shower and then head home. See you there.”

Jimin frowns at your retreating figure by glancing down at the smoothie, he takes a sip for curiosity’s sake. “What’s her problem?”

The first time you see Jimin kissing a boy there’s no tell tale signs of arousal that all of mainstream media swore by. Only pure unadulterated jealousy tinged with sadness. You watch the way Jimin cups the boys jaw, the way his own jaw works in time with his lips. It’s not rushed or heated, filled with passion like a lover—it’s slow and a little timid, like the first kiss at the end of a date and your stomach turns.

You watch the two boys pull away, Jimin looking the softest you’ve ever seen. You wondered what it felt like to be the recipient of that gaze, but it wasn’t a side of him you were meant to see, or a moment meant for you, and you reminded yourself that you were intruding. You leave the hallway too quickly that day and maybe sulk for longer than was necessary in the weeks to follow, cry even, because your nineteen year old self is (gag) heartbroken. It won’t be another month of stilted conversation and failed attempts at avoidance until you’ve pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and manage to find a middle ground in your relationship with him.

“If you return my shirt with boob sweat I’m gonna use it to smother you in your sleep.” Jimin reminds and you scoff. “That’s my good shirt.”

“That was one time.” You shoot up indignantly and immediately regret it because with regionals nearing you were doing conditioning instead of regular routines and every muscle in your body was on fire from today’s practice.

Jimin sighs before getting to his knees and giving you a hard look, “Did you—”

“Before you ask whatever you’re gonna ask I came straight here after practice, showered and went to class I haven’t had time to do anything else.” You interrupt and Jimin rolls his eyes at you.

“Lay back,” he orders and you oblige immediately because as strict as Jimin was as far as diet and exercise was concerned, he considered you an extension of himself. His partner. And if you weren’t in good shape you were holding him back which is why he ignores your yells of protest when he pushes back on the leg you have pressed to his chest.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You say, slapping his arm so he would let up, “That’s enough.”

“Shut up.” He says mildly, pushing until your knee was nestled between both your chests. He slaps the back of your calf and you glare, “Straighten this.”

“Fuck off.” You grit out.

He cocks a brow at you and you regret your words when he adds more pressure.

“Jimin, fuuuuck,” you whine earnestly, a hand pressed to his chest because the pain was getting to be too much and he didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. He doesn’t recline right away, and you peek an eye open in time to see a look cross his face before he guides your leg back slowly with a nod.

“How’s your knee doing?” He murmurs, and you lean your head back against the pillow when he begins feeling up your leg.

As much as you hated to admit it, Jimin’s extensive athletic career as well as his major proved to be useful on more than one occasion in your house. As an athlete you could appreciate a roommate who was studying physical therapy, especially when it came to the massage aspect.

“It’s been fine these last few weeks,” you shrug, “hasn’t been giving me any problems.”

“Start wearing your knee brace again.” He says when he places one hand on your knee and the other on your ankle. You narrow your eyes when he moves it side to side, “Your knees been giving out at practice. I’ll kick your ass if you dislocate it before regionals.”

“Noted.” You scoff, but it’s more of a gasp when Jimin’s hands are on your hips, barely under his hoodie and skimming the skin just above your spandex. His face is passive all the while, nudging you up the bed.

“Move up, I’m gonna check your range of motion.” He explains and Jimin is all work and no fun. Sometimes you wonder how he can remain so disinterested, clinical at times like this when you feel like your whole body is on fire under his touch.

Your leg is back up in the air and Jimin is moving it in hesitant circles, up and down, side to side and you close your eyes, trying not to gasp everytime he presses your legs closed and tiny shockwaves of pleasure shoot straight to your clit. He never presses down long enough to evoke a reaction but you lay back and relax, enjoying what little intimacy you’re allowed with him.

Everything is good, it’s nice, relaxing, his touch is enough to leave you horny, you’ll probably have to rub one out in your room later but not enough to have you cumming right then and there. Your eyes shoot open when you feel him move in, his hand no longer resting on your leg but on the innermost of your thigh, too high up as he presses down.

Too, too high up. Too, too close to the apex of your thighs.

You cock a brow and in typical Jimin fashion he stares on blandly, cool as a cucumber sitting between your legs and forcing them open.

“Buy me a drink first?” You say a little breathlessly, and joking is your way of coping with this, him, your ego, which was sorely bruised because Park Jimin was more than immune to you and that sucked royally.

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says, but he does it with a small smile, “If you did this on your own I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”

“It’s not as fun on my own.” You comment.

“It never is.” He teases back and it’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to flirting with him. You simultaneously revel in it and chide yourself for still being so head over hills for someone who sees you as no more than an object in his everyday life, like a lamp or the refrigerator. You’d notice if it were gone but you could always get a new refrigerator.

“Okay, I think I’m good for the night! Thanks I’ll just go back to my room an—”

A crack sounds in the room, echoing off his walls, so loud it nearly drowns out the strangled noise you make in your throat. You blink up at Jimin, equal parts shocked and turned on when he rubs the sensitive skin of your thigh, the innermost part he just slapped. Welts form under his soft palm but he doesn’t look the tiniest bit sorry, in fact, he doesn’t look anything. His expression is just as calm as collected as it was when you had first walked in. It leaves you confused, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Did you just…” You gesture between your thighs and Jimin patiently waits for you to continue as he closes your legs back up, letting you know you’re done with at home PT. “Did you just spank me?”

“Take better care of yourself and I won’t have to.” He says softly and you’re searching, searching for something, anything in his face that’ll give you even the slightest idea of what the fuck just happened. But you come up empty, even as he presses on, “Stop skipping lunch to talk to that freshman. Make healthier choices so you don’t have to do extreme diets and stop,” He grips your knee softly before staring up at you, “neglecting your health.”

You nod mutely, when he finishes because there’s nothing else to really say. Jimins been acting weird, very weird these past few days and while every fiber of your being, every natural instinct is telling you ‘he likes you! you love him, offer to suck his dick!’ the rational part of your brain quashes any hope and reminds you how well trying to pursue feelings for your roommate turned out the last time.

“I’m going to bed.” You say dumbly, blinking at him and Jimin nods, not moving to say goodbye or watch you walk out.

You press your back against his door when you leave because Park Jimin would be the death of you, but oh what a way to go.


“Look, I’m sorry okay?” Hoseok sighs, trailing after you as you re-shelf the books you were scanning. Stupid midterm paper. Stupid college.

“Hm, I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re sorry for, unless of course you’re apologizing for interrupting my studying then, I forgive you Hoseok because that’s just the kind of loving, nurturing, sweet captain I am.” You return, back still to the older boy when he rolls his eyes at you, “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I’m quitting the squad.” Hoseok says with a finality that makes you snort.

“‘Kay. Don’t be late to practice today or I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you won’t be able to walk much less cheer.” You say sweetly.

“I admit, it’s a bit troublesome,” Hoseok sighs.

You whirl around on him at that, eyes narrowed, “Getting your pubes caught in the sticky part of your pad is a bit troublesome—you quitting the fucking team three weeks before a competition is a lot of fucking troublesome you asshole.”

“First of all ew,” He whines something that sounds dangerously close to your name and you don’t have to turn to know he’s pouting, “Second, you know there’s more to life than cheer! I’m graduating soon and I need to focus on my studies, and start looking into a career.”

“Listen here you little bitch,” you hiss, shoving a finger in his face until Hoseok was going cross eyed, “I can smell the entire bag of marijuana you smoked on your way here. Who put you up to this? Namjoon? I’ll kick your ass, I’ll kick his ass and then whichever one of your dumb friends helped coerce you into ‘lightening your load’ before you graduate. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“But I want to party,” he pouts and nearly eats his words when your eye twitches, “God, you and Jimin are really a match made in heaven, huh? How are two people that are so tiny, so terrifying?”

“Hoseok, you can’t quit we have regionals and the freshman are giving me a fucking ulcer. Where am I going to find and be able to train a base in three weeks?” You implore, pressing a hand to your aching temple.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says and he doesn’t look the least bit sorry. You debate on shoving you foot up his ass for old times sake when he pats you on the shoulder, “You’re a good cheerleader. An even better captain, I know you’ll figure it out.”

“Fuck off,” you glare, shoving a finger in his chest, “if anything weird happens to you this week, just know it’s me cursing you.”

You stand there, with your back pressed against the bookshelf for a good minute, just watching Hoseok’s retreating figure. His shoulders are sagged in relief, like he was just let from under a tremendous weight, one he turned around and perched atop your shoulders.

When you get back to your library table you’re pouting, on the verge of losing your shit in the otherwise dead silent room because why, why did bad things happen to good people? As though you weren’t already stressed from midterms, it was like you had a giant fucking sign on your forehead that said ‘hey, screw me over!’

“What is it now?” Someone hums across from you and you barely have time to register that it’s Nayeon before you’re jutting your lower lip.

And for what it’s worth, Nayeon is a good friend because she stops studying, sets her books and binders and pens aside to focus all of her attention on you. Then she listens, and listens, and listens because it’s only been three days since you’ve seen each other but it seems as though a lot has happened. By the time you’re done debriefing her, she’s staring at you, a frown marring her pretty face and her arms crossed over her chest because—

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” she sighs, carding hands through her hair, “Let me just… let me just see if I follow here, Jungkook the freshman, the virgin you let finger you at the party last week, he wants you to deflower him?”

“No, he doesn’t even want sex—can you believe…! He wants me to date him, so worst.” You correct, “Fake date him to get his teammates off his back because he’s fucking twelve apparently and not immune to peer pressure.”

“And your roommate, Jimin, your gay roommate,” she emphasizes the gay part and you glare at her, “you think you’re starting to… feel things for him again?”

“I mean, technically,” you put a hand out to stop her, “the feelings never really went away, but they’ve just been lying dormant like waiting for him or myself to entertain them and Nayeon, the other day, in the cafeteria he hugged me. He back hugged me. Jimin, the same person who made a six year old cry last year, and then kicked his dad’s ass. I want to die.”

“And Hoseok,” she presses a hand to her head, “the drug dealing cheerleader. He quit.”

“He’s not a drug dealer, he just smokes a lot of weed,” you roll your eyes, “his friend, Namjoon, he’s a drug dealer. I’m gonna kick his ass because he convinced Hoseok to quit the fucking team.”

“And… you have regionals in less than a month, correct?”

“Yes. So you see my problem right?” You whine.

“You have multiple problems, most of which I can’t help you with, being in love with your gay roommate ranks at the top of that list,” she sends you a sarcastic look before snapping her fingers at you, “but the Hoseok thing. I know how you can fix that. It’ll be like killing two birds with one stone.”


“This is so… lame.” Jungkook groans and you slap him upside the head before gesturing towards the rest of the squad.

“Team, I’d like you to meet our new base.” You smile tightly before patting a hand on his shoulder, and pulling something from behind your back, “This is Jungkook.”

“What’s that for?” Momo, a second year on the team frowns and you brighten at her question, bringing the glass jar to everyone’s attention.

“This,” you begin, “is negative reinforcement. Anytime he says something rude, stupid, or offensive feel free to let me know and I’ll charge him, all proceeds go towards new uniforms for the team.”

“What happened to Hoseok?”

“Hoseok decided to focus on his studies.” You say and you barely make it through the sentence before someone’s cutting you off with a snort. “Jungkook’s going to be replacing him.”

“That’s such bullshit!” Mina scoffs, “Has he ever even cheered before?”

“No but I have more than two brain cells I’m sure I can figure it out.” Jungkook retorts and you press a hand to your aching temple, resisting the urge to argue his declaration of having even more than one struggling fucking brain cell. 

“Five dollars.” You seethe and Jungkook only challenges your stare for a moment before he’s reaching in his back pocket for his wallet, shoving a bill in. You cock a brow at him. He curses you before putting in another dollar.

“What’s going on over here?”

It’s a natural response, almost second nature by now, the goosebumps, the heat in the pit of your belly, the chill at the base of your spine. You should be a little more put out over the response Jimin evokes, even after all this time but you couldn’t force yourself to care. Instead you sigh.

“Jimin, this is Jungkook. You two have met before. He’s going to be filling in for Hoseok from here on out.” You explain and brace yourself because Jimin is a lot of things. Complacent isn’t one of them. He doesn’t settle for anything short of perfect and one look at Jungkook has him straightening his shoulders and eyeing you like he’s about to throw you out a window.

“Who says?” Jimin challenges and it’s your turn to cock a brow at him, hands planted firmly on your hips.

“Me, the captain.” You shoot back.

“Did he even audition?” Jimin retorts and you roll your eyes at him.

“Audition for what? It isn’t exactly like we have troves of fucking college kids lined up to fill the spot.” You argue.

“You’re cut.” Jimin says, ignoring you and sneering down his nose at Jungkook.

And Jungkook, for all his complaints and the bitch fit he put up the entire way you had dragged him to the field, didn’t take well to being told what to do. Especially by assholes. Correction, especially by assholes in a matching fucking tracksuit.

“Weird. My girlfriend, the captain,” cue audible gasp from over dramatic cheerleaders, “says otherwise.”

You press a hand to your forehead with a visible shudder because where did this guy find his material? So corny.

“Your girlfriend?” Jimin laughs, and turns his head to peer over at the bleachers before raising a brow at you. You squirm under his intense scrutiny, “So you’re dating the kid?”

“I mean… we’re not not dating.” You mutter and yelp when Jungkook pinches your side.

“What does that even mean?” Jimin implores.

“Like, we’re not like boyfriend and girlfriend it’s just like sometimes he waits for me outside my class and we go to see the newest movies and stuff together and maybe he’ll buy me like lunch on the way and like I don’t know kiss me or hold my hand but not like in a boyfriend way, he’s not my boyfriend.” You rush out and when you glance back up the two boys are staring at you incredulously.

“What exactly is your definition of boyfriend—anal? That sounds like maybe the only thing you haven’t done with him.” Jimin rolls his eyes at you when you slap his chest. He could at least act like it hurt.

“So anyway, let’s start practice!” You clear your throat, pushing past both of them and towards the middle of the field, “Pair up and get started on your stretches!”

Jimin and Jungkook glare at each other even after everyone begins stretching, speeding up your already impending headache.

“I don’t like you.” Jimin comments mildly.

Jungkook snorts at that.

“I’m quivering. Your tracksuit really evokes a sense of fear in a guy.” He rolls his eyes before sneering, “You look like Vector from Despicable Me.”

“Okay, that’s enough. I’ve had it with you two and your dick measuring contest.” You hiss, getting in between either of them and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Bet I’d win.” Jungkook sniffs, “Everytime.”

“Yeah?” Jimin tongues at the inside of his cheek, the way he sizes Jungkook up makes the younger boy squirm, “Wanna find out after this?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to argue before closing it again—he does this a few more times before squinting his eyes and cocking his head to the side at the older boy. “That got really gay, really fast.”

Jungkook turns to look at you, pointing a finger at Jimin before, “Is he—”

“Jar, Jungkook.” You exasperate.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.” You hiss.

“Fine, homoerotic, is that the politically correct term?” He sighs and you clench your hands at your sides in an attempt to not strangle him.

Not in front of witness.

“Stop talking.” You put a finger up to silence him and then turn your attention to Jimin, “Let’s start practice, yeah? We can be mature about this?”

“Matures my middle name.” Jimin seethes.


As it is, mature is not Jimin’s fucking middle name, it wasn’t even his stripper name because between the jabs he had been making at Jungkook’s inability to pick up on the workouts as quickly, or the way he would send the younger boy a pointed look whenever he wasn’t as flexible as the other guys on the team you were about five minutes from strangling him.

“Why can’t I be her partner?” Jungkook argues at one point when Jimin immediately grabs your arm for stretches.

“Because you’ll fuck around and throw her back out and then I’ll kill you.” Jimin says politely before yanking you closer to him. His movement is only slightly halted when Jungkook reaches out to grab your other arm and your glancing between the two of them wildly.

“It’s not fucking rocket science I’m sure she can tell me what to do.” Jungkook scoffs, tugging on your arm.

“I’ve been her partner for three fucking years, if you want to look up someone’s skirt do it on your free time or pair up with one of the other freshman on the team, you’re wasting my time.” Jimin grits out.

“Why can’t you pair up with one of the freshman on the team, if you’re so experienced doesn’t it make sense if noona helps me instead of you? I also need some experienced help.” Jungkook enunciates.

“Fine.” Jimin says, letting go of your arm and making you stumble, he cocks a brow at Jungkook, jaw clenched, “get on your back and spread your legs I’m your new partner.”

You and Jungkook stare at each other for a beat before turning to openly gawk at Jimin, who was sporting an expression that told you he was bored with the entire conversation and had been tired of Jungkook five minutes ago.

“Take your pick,” Jimin shrugs, “it’s either one of the freshman or me. Personally, I can stretch you out real good—”

“Okay stop.” You say finally, pressing a hand to either boys chest, you level Jimin with an exasperated expression, one that he pointedly ignores before turning to Jungkook, “I’m going to partner with him today, Jungkook, the other girls are really helpful and if you have any questions you can ask me but I don’t think it’s a good idea to try and deviate from routine. Me and Jimin have been working together for a lot longer and it’ll take both of us to be able to incorporate you into the flow of things. It’s just easier this way.”

Jimin shoots the younger boy a smug look, one you want to smack off his face because despite the rush of butterflies Jimin’s current possessive nature was giving you, you knew it was only because he didn’t want Jungkook around. He didn’t want you injured because you were just a stepping stone towards his real goal which was essentially regionals. It sucked and was kind of dick-ish but you knew this about Jimin from the get go, he had never pretended otherwise or came to you under false pretenses. Jimin had a very one-tracked mind and it was currently stuck on the aforementioned competition your team faced.

“Stop it.” You sigh and Jimin raises a brow at you, “You know what you’re doing. You’re egging him on an—unf.”

You wither him with a glare when he positions you to get a better seat between your legs. “You were saying?”

You were really beginning to hate stretching. Especially with Jimin.

“You’re little games not cute and it’s making things difficult for m—shit.” You curse when he presses back on your leg until one knee was pressed against your shoulder.

“Should we work on your flexibility next?” Jimin asks and he’s obnoxiously close to you, his cool breath fanning over your face, but your focus was on his lips. Your throat goes dry when he licks them, his voice lowering an octave, “Or should we do that later? When we’re alone?”

His questions hits you like a punch to the gut and you’re suddenly choking because that almost sounded flirtatious but when you glance up to try and get a read on Jimin’s expression, he’s impassive, unfazed by his double entendre.

“W-What?” You stammer, shoving at his chest until the pressure on your leg gives. Jimin blinks at you curiously.

“We might not have enough time, we could do it at the apartment?” He offers innocently, only Jimin was about as innocent as Satan and you didn’t buy his raised eyebrows and saucer eyes.

A sigh leaves your lips as yourself down on the grass. Tired. So tired.


“Since this discussion has long since been put off,” you sigh before plopping yourself down on an available seat of grass, “I’m opening the floor. I hear that you all want new uniforms so Jimin and I have decided that we—”

“Not me,” Jimin corrects, “just her. If it were up to me you’d all be wearing trash bags to better suit your shitty performance.”

Jimin and I,” you begin again, “have decided to take suggestions and if you guys are really dead set on this then we can work on fundraising too.”

“The current uniforms are fine, the only ones who want to change it are the freshman!” Kihyun calls from the back, garnering more than a few glares and making Jimin snicker.

“They are not fine. They’re gray.” Eunha chimes in, “Like prison cells. Gray is why prisoners are unhappy.”

“Really? I always thought it was the loss of freedom and free manual labor,” Jimin snorts, ignoring when you slap his chest.

“I think new uniforms would be a good look.” Jungkook says, leaning back to inspect the back of your thighs, “I say we take the hem up an inch… or five.”

“Ten dollars.” You say without blinking and Jungkook sulks.

“What about black uniforms? It’s a flattering color! And we could go with gray for an accent so we don’t stray too far from school colors.”

“That's…” You begin hesitantly, “not a bad idea, actually.”

“Oh! Long sleeve tops! I’ve been looking them up online and they look so much more… Professional? A lot of the top schools are going for long sleeve instead of sleeveless.” Eunha offers.

“Maybe if you all started practicing like a top school, we’ll consider it.” Jimin scoffs and groans echo through out the huddle.

“Draw up a design. Get it approved by us and coach and while you’re at it, start thinking of fundraising ideas to pitch.” You say, rising to your feet and dusting the grass from your bottom, “If it’s good and everything works out maybe we’ll be able to get new uniforms before regionals.”

“Practice is over. Go home and stretch, hydrate and ice if you need to assholes, I’m tired of you coming to me with injuries that could have been avoided.” Jimin seethes and you roll your eyes because you think, for a moment, beneath all the bravado he actually gives a shit about the kids.

It isn’t until you’re hitching your gym bag up your shoulder and swapping your tennis shoes out for slippers that you feel Jungkook’s weight being pressed onto your shoulders.

“Can I help you?” You sigh, shaking off his grip and making him whine.

“What the hell was that?” He glowers, gesturing towards the field and when you stare at him blankly he elaborates, “That practice was worst than literally any training I’ve done for basketball—off season included.”

“Welcome to cheerleading, bitch.” You say, slapping him on the shoulder. You turn to leave, and press fingers to your closed eyes when your movement is halted by his grip on your wrist. “What?”

“Can you… you know… help with that thing you offered earlier?” He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck and you eye him incredulously.

“The blowjob?”

“What? No! No! I meant… the routines. It’s just… that… you know Jimin doesn’t like me too much and the stuff we were going over earlier was complicated but I can’t ask him and I don’t want to look like an idiot I just,” Jungkook sighs and it takes every bit of self control not to snap at him, even going as far as to remind yourself that he was doing you a favor. Even if it was only out of debt. He was trying to help.

Which is why you throw your bag down with an exasperated sigh and slip your shoes back on, “Let’s practice a bit then.”


Somewhere down the line you had just assumed, no, hoped that either of the boys would get used to each other. At least enough to be civil. You didn’t need them to be glued at the foreskin but you did need them to not give you a migraine whenever you were forced to be in the same room as them.

“This is shared space. That means no boyfriends after eleven o’clock,” Jimin hissed after one entire evening of Jungkook lounging on your couch, eating a bag of Cheetohs and getting crumbs everywhere. “So get whatever breed of cockroach this is, out of my living room.”

“He’s not my—”

Jungkook cuts you off with a withering glare, pausing the newest episode of Bones to speak around a mouthful of chips, “Noona, can we go over the routine again this weekend? I think I’m starting to forget. I wouldn’t want to choke on competition day. That would suck.”

His threat was so apparent that Jimin’s lips thin, making a move towards the younger boy, if it weren’t for your grip on his upper arm. “Jeon Jungkook, do you wan—”

“Let’s go to my room.” You interrupt, tugging the younger boy up by the wrist and dragging him the rest of the way.

“What was that for?” Jungkook grumbles, rubbing at his wrist as though it hurt, as if he wasn’t a whole foot taller and a person heavier than you.

“Stop pissing off my roommate.” You demand, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh come on! I’m not even doing anything.” Jungkook glares, “It’s not my fault he has a hard on for you!”

“Trust me when I say he doesn’t,” you snort and glare when Jungkook leans back against your headboard, completely ignoring you, “Besides, all of this was not apart of our deal. Get out of my house.”

“He totally does,” Jungkook argues, disregarding your earlier statement and making himself comfortable under your throw, “I mean, I know girls have a hard time admitting they’re wrong but trust me, you’re wrong about this one. A guy doesn’t get pissed like that unless you’re fucking with a girl he’s into.”

“A normal guy doesn’t,” you correct, “Jimin likes his space. You are intruding on that, in more than one sense.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I’m telling you I’m 100% right.” Jungkook shrugs, reaching over


“He’s wrong.” Nayeon sighs, head rested on her palm as you occupy the seat across from her. Cutting into important study time, again. “Well, not entirely wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You crinkle your nose at her and she rolls her eyes.

“He has a hard on for someone, it’s just not you.” Nayeon whispers and your eyes widen.

“No!” You gasp.

“Yes.”

“No!”

Yes.”

“No!”

Yes!” she says, slamming her hands down on the table, and wincing when people several tables over turn to gawk. “I mean think about it. You said Jimins gay right? And that he shows no emotion save for mild disinterest where you’re concerned but suddenly Jeon Jungkook comes along and he’s irritable, territorial, emotional? Jimin is one of those guys, you know?”

“I don’t.” You shake your head, but all your attention is focused on her, you’re hanging on her every word.

“He doesn’t know how to properly express his emotions so he’s lashing out.” she explains slowly.

And it’s like everything suddenly makes sense in the universe, all the pieces click together and your heart feels as though a fat man has just situated himself on your chest. Because, did Jimin really like Jungkook? Were you really going to be forced to sit back and watch him pine for another man, again? Then there was the more jealous part of you, the ugly emotions that lurked beneath the surface that you weren’t ready to address. Thoughts like, do you lie to him? You hadn’t intended on keeping the entire Jungkook thing a secret because if you were being honest with yourself you thought Jimin might try to throw him off the nearest balcony if he knew you weren’t actually dating him. But the more you thought about it the more you wanted to keep it to yourself and it wasn’t exactly lying, was it?

“You’re making the face.” Nayeon sighs.

“What face?” You frown.

“The one you make when you’re having a heated, internal monologue over your skewed moral compass.” She explains.

“I was not…” you lie before plopping your head down in defeat.

You totally were, but Nayeon is polite enough not to call you out on it.


If you had to rank your to do list for the day, telling Jimin that you weren’t actually dating Jungkook so that your roommate who you had been openly pining for for the last three years could swoop in was ranked at the bottom. Right above dying and going to another party with Hoseok’s weird friends. Though if you were being honest with yourself, you’d take death happily at this point, it sounded a whole hell of a lot less painful. Especially when just trying to squeeze yourself into Jimin’s schedule was a pain in the ass.

If he wasn’t on campus, juggling seven classes to complete school on time he was at cheer practice, which wasn’t a prime place to tell him because Jungkook—and if he wasn’t at cheer practice he was at the gym, or asleep and you’d try waking Jimin up exactly once in your entire time knowing him and it was one too many. The guy wasn’t exactly a morning person.

So the gym it was.

“I’m surprised you actually wanted to come.” Jimin muses, fixing your posture before switching out your kettlebell for a heavier one. You try not to glare.

“I figure,” you grunt when he lets go, leaving you to manage the ten pound weight on your own, a small feat when you’ve already been there for thirty minutes and your arms felt like jelly, “you were right. I wouldn’t be a good captain if I started neglecting myself.”

“Hmm..” He hums, and pressed a hand to your exposed belly, “suck this in.”

“So I was thinking,” you pant and Jimin quirks a brow at you.

“A scary prospect.” He murmurs.

“I was thinking,” you begin again, before dropping the weight completely and turning to face him, “about me and Jungkook…. and me and you.”

“Did I say you could stop?” He implores and you roll your eyes at him before switching arms, “What do you and Jungkook have to do with you and me?”

“You’re my roommate.” You grunt, heaving up with all your might. “And you hate him.”

“You’re not wrong about either of those things,” he agrees, “but I’d like to reiterate my first question of what do either of those things have to do with each other?”

“I just…” You try to get the words out but your muscles are on fire and your chest is tight, so instead you throw the weight down with a grunt before turning to him, “Do you like Jungkook?”

“What?” He blinks at you. “You just said yourself I hated him.”

“Yes, okay I know but you know sometimes you say one thing and you mean another.” You shrug.

Jimins expression remains bland, emotionless.

“You’re asking me if I have… feelings for your boyfriend, correct? That’s what we’re getting at here?” Jimin asks bluntly and you shrink under his intense scrutiny.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you say quietly.

A long silence follows your statement, in which Jimin stares at you, just stares and you cow under his gaze because well, it’s Jimin and he’s pretty fucking intimidating. You look anywhere but at him, the airconditioner, the weights, the treadmill, all while still able to feel him boring holes into the side of your head and you wonder maybe, if you had over stepped. If you had spoken too soon because granted you and Jimin were pretty close but clearly not close enough because to this day he still never really talked about the whole liking boys things or even relationships in general. It made you wonder just how many people Jimin had dated, if he had asked them out, if he was softer, sweeter or—

“You’re really dense you know that?” Jimin shakes his head at you before walking over to the weights, leaving you there slack jawed and a little bit annoyed.

“Hey! Wait up!” You call after him, but he doesn’t, unsurprisingly. “I didn’t mean it like that I was only asking because I wanted to tell you that—”

“Did you watch that new clown movie?” Jimin asks suddenly and he nearly gives you whiplash with how quick he’s jumping topics. You open your mouth to argue, to tell him you were only asking so you could tell him you and Jungkook weren’t really dating but the glint in his eye tells you not to tread there. He’s done talking about it, and by effect so are you.

“No I haven’t.” You sigh, your body slumping in defeat.

“Good,” he grunts, pulling down on the weights before turning his attention to you. And you applaud yourself because you don’t keel over at the sight of a sweaty, sleeveless Park Jimin doing reps on the pull down machine, veins bulging and muscles flexed. He sends you a look that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking and makes your back straighten indignantly. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“The clown movie.” You repeat proudly, only for Jimin to roll over and flick your forehead.

“Yes genius, but after that,” he sends you a grin, one you’re not used to seeing. He’s teasing you, but it doesn’t annoy you quite as much as usual, “I said let’s go see it. I figure you owe me after that insult you pulled.”

“Wh—” Your mouth opens and the closes before pointing a finger in his direction, “I didn’t mean it like that, if you would just let me explain—”

“Well I took it that way, you’re the only one stupid enough to date that overgrown toddler. And besides, it’s a simple question. Yes or no?” He frowns and you sigh.

“I mean… I don’t really have anything else to do this weekend so..”

“Good to know I’m a last resort.” He snorts and you hide a flush because if only he knew.

And really, if you looked at the entire thing, your situation with Jimin in retrospect it was truly all your fault. Because no matter how much you claim to have both your feelings and heart in check there is no such thing as control when it comes to love. And so you get your hopes, let yourself hope for a moment, with Jungkook’s earlier words replaying like a soft lull. When really you should’ve taken the idiots advice with a grain of salt. Or just not at all.

I Think I’m In Love With You

Author: ceruleanbucky

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, cursing, oral (male and female receiving), UNPROTECTED SEX, fingering, sexual tension, fluff, and overall sin.

A/N: guy’s I’ve updated twice in like a week and a half what is happening?!?! I mean, it’s not necessarily bad. Also, this fic is hella long, and I;m not going to lie, I’m really proud of it. Hope you guys like it! Part two of “Seven Minutes In Heaven” is coming next week.


You wake up with a start, breathing heavily and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You tried to recall what it was you were dreaming about, but to no avail. You eventually give up, thinking that it was another nightmare.

You glance at your alarm clock, wondering about the time. Seeing that you have two more hours to sleep, you gladly roll over and go back to sleep.

When your alarm goes off, you feel even more tired than you were earlier. You still manage to drag yourself out of bed, and start your day. It’s then when you smell the bacon, and the coffee. Perking up at the idea of a good breakfast, you put on some more decent pyjamas, and head to the kitchen. Most people are still asleep, seeing as the sun is only just rising, so you wonder who is in the kitchen. You step in, and find Bucky cooking up a storm.

“Sad, or mad?” You ask as you walk in, knowing it’s one of the two. He looks at you with confusion, so you rephrase.

“Are you cooking because you’re sad, or because you’re pissed off? Because I know you, Bucky, and it’s only one of those two.” You smirk at your friend, earning a smirk back.

“Neither actually.” He side-eyes, adding to your curiosity.

Keep reading

a-sisi-universe  asked:

i love your blog, could you do a drabble in which draco is really obviously flirting and harry is super oblivious, and the draco gives up and kisses him? thanks in advance!!

((I hope you don’t mind, I combined your prompt with one very vague anon prompt…also, I accidentally wrote 1.2k instead of a tiny drabble so I figured you may forgive me.))


“You don’t understand!  After the end of the year, I don’t really see us being around each other much.  I feel like I’m running out of time.  If I don’t do something soon, I’ll lose my chance with him forever!” Draco said.

“Poor thing, can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your chance with a crush, forever, only to be stuck in a toilet, forever…” Myrtle sobbed.

Draco was very used to navigating the ghost’s moodswings, “Of course you can. That’s why you are so important to me.  I didn’t go to any of my other friends, did I?  And I didn’t start talking about myself until after I fixed the lock on your favorite stall?”

Myrtle sniffled. “I guess.  But maybe he just doesn’t like boys.”

“I asked Weasely if he did,” Draco said, “and it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. I only asked if Harry liked boys and he started shouting at me. ‘He can like whoever he wants. You got a problem with that?’ Then he stood up like he was ready to fight me.”

Myrtle almost laughed, “Well, if he turns you down, just remind him that he can come see me any time he likes.”


Harry was his potions partner, his roommate since the eighth year rooming assignments were posted, even his friend.  But Draco wanted more.  He had always wanted more.  Draco had admitted that to himself almost at the beginning of the school year.  Harry never exactly turned him down, either.  That just made everything maddening.

He invited Harry to Hogsmeade the month before.  When Harry accepted, Draco was over the moon.  He came crashing back down to Earth when he grabbed Harry’s hand.  Harry had just stopped walking and looked at Draco.

“What?” Harry asked, pulling his hand out of Draco’s.

Draco panicked, “I, er, do you mind if we stop in to the quidditch supply shop? I need some polish.”

“Well, yeah.  I thought that was what we were here for,” Harry said.  

“I guess I thought we were multitasking,” Draco said.


A week later, in Potions, Harry was leaning over the cauldron to see if it smelled like burnt cinnamon yet as the assignment indicated.  His hair had gotten longer than Draco had ever seen it and he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself.  He reached over and ran his fingers through the thick, black tangle of hair, tucking it behind Harry’s ear.

“I wasn’t going to get my hair in the potion,” Harry said. “It’s not that long.”

Draco let out a deep sigh. “I know.”  He made himself look away from Harry only to make eye contact with Weasley who promptly made an I’m-watching-you gesture.


The following weekend, someone asked the house elves to bring cappuccinos and lattes up “as study aides, obviously” and Draco tried to care about the cappuccino in front of him, but he couldn’t stop watching Harry.  He almost choked on air as he watched Harry run his tongue along the rim of his mug, licking the chocolate from the edges of his cafe mocha.  

Draco couldn’t keep his eyes off Harry’s lips.  Draco reached up and brushed his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry pulled away. “Do I have chocolate on me?” Harry asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Completely crestfallen, Draco just shook his head. “You’re good.”  Before he went back to his Transfiguration essay, he caught eye contact with Weasley who was trying very hard not to laugh.


Earlier this week, Draco walked into their room to catch Harry dancing quite ridiculously to some muggle love song.  Harry blushed beautifully, and Draco grabbed his hands and danced with him.  By the end of the song, they were a bit closer than just hand-in-hand and both laughing.

“Why can’t all of my friends be so forgiving when I’m caught doing something silly?” Harry asked. “Hermione danced with me, but Ron never would.“ 

“I wouldn’t say ‘never,’” Weasley said from the doorway.

“Glad I could keep your dignity intact.  I only came in, for, er,” Draco looked around, “this,” he said, grabbing an ink bottle off his desk.  Weasley stared him down as he left the room.


Tonight, they sat in the common room celebrating the end of the first round of exams.  Draco couldn’t keep his eyes off Harry.  He laughed at Harry’s jokes, gave him a friendly shove when those jokes were at Draco’s expense.  Draco melted every time Harry’s leg bumped his own.  He intentionally moved a little closer when he thought it would make Harry’s shoulder brush his own. Then a conversation started taking over the group as a whole.

“I think a first kiss should always be discussed,” Pansy said. “It’s too presumptuous to assume an eye flutter and a smile would mean it’s okay to kiss.”

“It’s just because you’re a massive flirt,” Blaise said.

“Pots and kettles,” Hermione said. “I don’t know, I think it’s important to get consent, but implied consent between two people, depending on the people and the situation, could be okay.”

“I guess that tells you where I stand,” Weasley added. “How ‘bout you Harry? Negotiate kissing or surprise kissing?“ 

Harry shifted in his seat, "I don’t know.  It’s kind of hard to imagine anyone really wanting to kiss me.  Especially now, I mean, I don’t even know any other guys who prefer guys.”

Weasley stared at Draco before looking back at Harry, “Question still stands.  If one of us,” he said, waving a hand at the men in the group, “decided we fancied you.  Would you insist we asked permission?”

Draco’s head was going fuzzy.  Maybe he needed to remind himself to breathe.

“You trying to admit something there, Ron?” Harry laughed.

“Answer the question, dude,” Weasley said.  More than a couple people were looking at him like he’d sprouted a second face.

Harry threw his hands up in defeat, “What is the deal? Why are you getting so worked up over this? No. No. No I’m not opposed to surprise kisses! No, kiss consent isn’t something I insist on. No.  Okay. No-”

Before he realized he was moving, Draco had Harry’s face in his hands and his lips on Harry’s.  

“Thank fuck!” Weasley shouted.

Draco kissed Harry roughly, months of oblivious rejections be damned. When he felt Harry’s hands on him, he worried for the briefest moment that Harry would push him away.  It didn’t happen.  Harry’s arms circled his waist, pulling him closer as he kissed Draco back.  And, oh sweet Merlin, he moaned against Draco’s lips.  

Draco pulled away enough to ask, “How the bloody hell did you not know I like men?!”

Harry laughed, “Too much to hope for, I guess.”

Weasley, one of the few who hadn’t left while they were practically devouring each other, said, “He’s only been throwing himself at you for years, mate. And, Malfoy, I’d say it’s about bloody time you made a move but in your defense, you’ve been putting moves on him all year.”

Harry started to say something, but Draco cut him off with a kiss.

“Want to go discuss this, privately?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded. “Please.”

THE NINE TIMES STEVE GAVE YOU A FUNNY LOOK

Originally posted by themarvelnerd

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (Platonic), Avengers x Reader (platonic)

Warning(s): the kinda language Steve would smh at

World Count: 3827

Author’s Note: I got so into this it’s not even funny. After like, two years of not doing anything on tumblr, it isn’t surprising that i write a Steve oneshot for the first time since. But on that note, I don’t only do Steve works, please feel free to request other characters and/or fandoms: masterlist - prompt list.

Preference ★ Imagine ★ One Shot ★ Drabble




[Y/N] [Y/L/N] was an asshole.
You were an asshole.
You are an asshole.

You were slightly narcissistic with an ego as big as the tower, you were very beautiful, and the last person on earth to ever be considered shy.

That made you and Tony Stark best of pals (most of the time), and you and Steve as foes (all the time). He wasn’t rude or a jerk or at all hostile, Steve was just always on edge with you. He didn’t know whether or not your jokes were jokes (you always reverted back to slitting your enemy’s throats – Steve being a righteous guy and all, he wasn’t all that optimistic with that choice), or if you really were here to save people and not for the money the government and Tony Stark paid you — eh, what can you say, it’s very, very good money.

Humble was also not on your list of qualities.

Bold red lips, a wide grin to showcase your pearly white teeth, and heart shaped sunglasses. That was you in your room as you blasted out music at exactly 2100 hours.

You and Steve shared a floor in the Avengers tower.

Why? It was a decision that was absolutely not your choice, but you had no problem with it. Fucking with Steve was fun.

See, Tony had a whole floor to himself, same as Bruce and Vision. Nat and Clint were right below them (Clint usually at his place with Laura, though), Sam and Scott also had their own floor, Wanda and Pietro, then last but not least, Thor either in Asgard or London with Jane – which then pretty much left you and Steve together. Peter kind of lived here during the day then and back at his apartment with May during the evenings. He was a total pest.

A knock went by unnoticed by you. But an upset looking Steve did. He stalked into your (much larger) room and paused your music. He turned and gave you a look.

You raised your brow as you paused your late night dancing. You pushed your sunglasses further down your nose to peak up at the Captain. “Captain.” You greeted, nodding your head towards the brooding soldier once. “May I help you?“ You raised your perfectly sculpted brow in questioning.

Steve took a deep breath and crossed his (also very large) arms. “Your music was too loud and I’m trying to sleep. Can’t you at least keep it down?”

You snorted. “It’s barely nine o'clock, grandpa.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m not a grandpa.” He grumbled with an offended frown. “Just turn it down, will you?”

You smirked and pushed your glasses back up. “Oh, I’m sorry, have I spangled your stars, grandpa?”

With a final narrowed stare, Steve twisted his Dorito-body around and stalked back to his room.

You chuckled and resumed to your midnight dancing with wine.

That was the first time you got on his nerves. It was also the first time you were on the receiving end of his very famous looks.




The second time you received a stupid look was during a mission - in the middle of combat, mind you. This stupid robot who called himself Ultron was trying to ruin everything, and apparently, it was up to you and the rest of the Avengers to stop him – or it. It’s not that you wanted to. it was kind of what Tony Stark paid you to do. And like hell would you pass up Tony Stark’s pay checks.

Steve trusted you now, at least. You only saved his ass, like, a hundred (three) times after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and he found out his best friend from seventy years ago was still alive. A wild ride, that year was.

Anyway, you and the team were in Sokovia fighting robots.


ROBOTS.


Fuck this shit, if the money wasn’t so good you’d drop your signature double pistols and walk the opposite direction. But one, your pistols were very delicate (silver with diamonds), and you were asked very nicely to stay by Bruce - and you could never say no to Bruce.

In hindsight, the view wasn’t so bad and I guess – I guess – that saving people felt a little good (don’t tell anybody). Sokovia was so far high into the sky that you could have sworn that you could see angels flying around in the distance – some helpful angels, huh.

The sky was beautiful, though. And so was Captain America’s ass.

You beamed at the sight and turned to Steve. “Hey, Cap?” You called out, shooting a robot.

Steve grunted in acknowledgement as he kicked another robot and decapitated it with his shield. “What?” He gave you a glance that barely lasted a second.

You shot another robot. Then another. Then another. Then you turned to him. “Nice ass.”

That was look number two.




"Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

"Yes, Ms [Y/L/N]?”

"What’s your faculty on nicknames?”

"Activated by Mr Stark, Ms.”

"Huh … so, like, what are you allowed to call me?”

"Whatever you ask, Ms [Y/L/N].”

“Right, right … how about Supreme Leader [Y/L/N]?”

"Activated,  Supreme Leader [Y/L/N].”

"Huh … thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

"Of course, Supreme Leader [Y/L/N].”


Of course, that didn’t go unnoticed for long. You were eating dinner with the team – something that didn’t happen often – and Steve took this time to lecture the team about a mission in a few days time. Three days, to be exact. It was located in Paris, and you were all to attend a gala crawling with HYDRA agents, mercenaries, psycho bitches, and anything else in between.

“ – so we’ll go over the plans again after dinner – ”

You groaned loudly and threw your head back. You dropped your knife loudly causing a clink made by the knife and plate. “Rogers!” You whined, “We went over this yesterday! And this morning at breakfast! And two seconds ago while I tried to enjoy my dinner in peace, fighting the urge to grab this fork and shove it through my eye – ” you ignore his wince, “and now again tomorrow?! If you even bring this stupid mission up again, I will resign.” You threatened. “Resign, you hear me. R. E. S. I. G. N.” Drama Queen is also in your list of qualities. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. tell him.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes, Sam cleared his throat, Steve still had his wince and sullen/guilty face, Clint looked bored as he played with his peas, Thor looked confused, Pietro look amused, Wanda was too busy chatting up Vision, Scott was – where was Scott? Tony had a smirk, and poor Bruce just didn’t know where to look. Peter just chewed his chicken in anticipation, looking back and forth between you and Steve for a reaction.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang out soon enough. “Of course, Supreme Leader [Y/L/N].” Then the AI began repeating your every word.

Natasha’s brow shot up. “Supreme Leader? Really?”

“ – And this morning at breakfast. And – ”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“ – seconds ago while I tried to enjoy my dinn – ”

Steve groaned. “That’s enough, F.R.I.D.A.Y., please stop.”

“Yes, Captain.”

You rolled your eyes. “Traitorous bitch.” You mumbled.

Cue look number three.




The fourth time you received a look was when Steve was fixing a lightbulb and he suddenly found himself on the floor. He did know you guys hired people for that kind of work, right?

Anyway, you and Pietro - bored as hell and without anything to do - you both decided to race from the ground floor of the Avengers tower, to the very top – on foot – using the staircases.

And the silver asshole was absolutely not allowed to use his powers. If he did, you had every right to shoot him in the shoulder with your trusty diamond pistols and he would have to take it like a man. He promised so, himself. “Scouts Honour.” Pietro said, saluting you.

To which Wanda replied with a snort and, “What Scouts Honour?”

You were enhanced, yes, but you were tired. Not too much, just enough not to be tired after running twenty-six flights of stairs. You and Pietro both slammed into Steve’s ladder as he fixed a lightbulb.

You didn’t even bother looking back.

You could not lose this bet.

The entire time you ran, you repeated the same thing in your head over, and over again. Run, Forrest, Run! Whatever - If Pietro won, you had to massage him whenever he felt like it for an entire month. If you won, well, he had to give you a piggy back ride whenever you felt like it. Also for a month.

Steve was really upset after that. He wouldn’t look at you for a week, and when he finally did, he gave you a long lecture about racing inside the tower. “Blah, blah, blah, someone could get seriously hurt, blah, blah, blah, if I see you two race again, blah, blah, blah.”

You leant over towards Pietro who sat beside you. He was also slouched on his chair, eyes looking at the ceiling in boredom. “Are you also feeling the urge to shove your foot up his ass?”

That was look number four.




Look number five + look number six was kind of your fault.

Steve had arrived after being gone for months. He, along with Sam, had been off around the world searching high and low for James Buchanan Barnes. You wanted to go, you really did. Despite your love for annoying the living shit out of Steve, you still cared about him more than you let on. That was not your fault. How? Well, you know the whole shebang: 

Tragic back story: check. Trust issues: check. Daddy issues: check. Issues with not being able to express how you feel without wanting to physically vomit: check.

However, it was in your job description to be able to read people. You were an intelligent person. You knew a lot, you sensed a lot, you observed a lot. You just didn’t show it a lot. And without saying anything, you knew how people felt and most importantly, what they needed.

And Steve just needed his own space – Sam excluded. You were actually kind of jealous of Sam (tell anyone, and you won’t live until the next day). Sam was kind of Steve’s boyfriend (along with dear old Buck-a-roo and Tony).

So while he was gone, you kept your distance. Steve didn’t need any more on his plate, let alone more of your shit. Whenever he called the team for a report or to simply catch up, you never said anything. You had told the crew to just inform him that you were on a mission, in the gym, or off gallivanting somewhere - anywhere, really.

Steve really cared about you though, you knew that. Every time he called he’d see if you were there. And you were. You were there, right behind the monitor that projected him along with the the camera that projected the team from your end. Your face would be resting on your hand, your elbow propped the table. You actually smiled whenever he asked about you. It was cute.

Anyway, you kind of deserved look number five.

Steve had finally arrived with Bucky by his side. Sam had already said his hellos and received his welcome-home handshakes and hugs. Steve stayed behind the Quinjet for a few short minutes before hopping off and finally introducing the famous James Barnes. 

But you didn’t know that.

And neither did Scott.

You two weren’t racing – nope. You were simply just running to get to the last slice of cake in the main kitchen. In both your defence, it was the last slice of the cake Pepper brought home from Paris. Paris. You loved Paris. And apparently, Scott did, too. If that wasn’t worth running for, what the hell was?

You distinctly remember Pepper saying that it was from Paris, and that it was the best cake she’d ever tasted.

So, without looking, you barged through the team yelling bloody murder. Scott was a little behind seen as though you’d throw whatever the hell you could at him. That last slice was yours, and ramming, pushing, throwing off the building, and threatening whoever you needed to just to that slice, you would sure as hell do it.

You felt your hip slam into a corner of a table: ignored. You tripped over a step: ignored. You felt your shoulder ram into a very strong and metal-like object: ignored. You saw a couch: ignored + jumped over.

But alas, you held in your hand … the slice.

A grin erupted on your face. Poor Scoot looked crestfallen.

“Sorry, Lang. This one’s mine.” You grinned.

A clearing of the throat made you jump. What the hell did they want? 

When you looked up, you saw the entire team + Steve + The Winter Soldier.


Well, shit.


“Oh.” You trailed off. You gave Steve a sheepish smile. “Hi, Steve, good to see you again. Did I tell you I missed you? Because I did.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop running in the tower?” Steve stared into your [Y/E/C] eyes with his blue ones.

“No. You told said to stop racing.”

Steve didn’t reply. Instead he gave you look number five.

You chuckled nervously and stalked towards them. “Sorry.” You looked to Sam and gave him a large hug despite already giving him one earlier. Your right hand still refused to let go of the platter of cake. Then you looked towards James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve cleared his throat. “Buck, meet [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. [Y/N] [Y/L/N], meet Bucky.”

Neither of you did anything. Just kinda stared at each other in thought. He tried to read you while you tried to read him.

He was lonely.

Okay, you thought. So you reached your right hand up and gestured him to take your plate. “Here you go. Nice to meet ‘cha.” 

Steve gave you another look, only, this one was different. It looked funnier – more odd and curious. A look that you had never seen before. That was look number six.

And this time, you didn’t see anyone’s reactions. You just stared at James Buchanan Barnes, while he stared at you, to the cake, then back to you again. 

Thus, a beautiful friendship was born.




Few months later,
Look number seven.


You found yourself in this position a lot, it seems. It would be two in the morning, your head in your hands and your ears perked up.

As an agent, you were trained this way. Your mind had its own mind. Every morning at exactly one o'clock your eyes would flutter open, and without a single thought, your body would move almost mechanically. You’d get up, wash your face, then throw a hoodie over your head. Afterwards, you’d find yourself sitting on the edge of you bed, head in your hands, and your ears waiting for Bucky.

After sleeping in the same floor as Steve and Bucky, Bucky’s room was right across yours. Both your doors were so close you could stand in the hall way, spread your arms, and you’d be able to touch both your door knobs.

Insomnia was something you had as a child. It came very naturally. So, as a cure, you’d take sleeping vitamins – not pills. Though it would help you fall asleep, it was up to you to keep yourself asleep. Five hours was your maximum. If your sleep was disturbed, that’s when you would wake up every day from then on unless you trained yourself otherwise all over again. That could take days, or even weeks going up to months.

So every day, it was up to you. You didn’t want Steve waking up and losing precious sleeping hours. So instead of training yourself to sleep for five hours all over again, you allowed yourself two hours of rest every night. From then on, you’d stay awake and listen for Bucky’s screams.

Then you’d find your feet silently landing on the floor and rushing towards Bucky’s room.


Here are your steps:

  1. Lightly press a pillow on Bucky’s metal arm and cover it.
  2. Sit on his arm to keep him from attacking you.
  3. Softly say his name as many times as it takes for him to wake up.
  4. Press your body harder onto his as he thrashes around.
  5. Then hug the hell out of him and cradle his head when he wakes and begins to weep.


This would have been the one hundredth time you’ve done this. Even now, you could still remember the fourth time you had done this. You had accidentally left Bucky’s door ajar.

You were observant and smart. 

You knew Steve was there.

You guessed you just took a little longer that time to wake Buck up.

You definitely saw Steve’s look then. And again, this look was kind of different. It was a funny look that you had no idea how to read.

The fact that this look was so different, to say it irritated the hell out of you was an understatement. Out of the both of you, it was meant to be you that got under his skin.

You hated feeling this way.




Nowadays, you’ve been more confused than in control.

Back then, you saw Steve, you’d feel the urge to irritate the hell out of him. But now, you’d see Steve, and suddenly, you’d feel a funny feeling in your stomach.

So, naturally, you absolutely despised him for it. Tonight – or morning – when Bucky woke up, he didn’t cry. He just asked if you were hungry. And, naturally, you had said yes. You were always hungry.

Soft music was playing. You didn’t want to wake up Steve, after all. So you stood in the kitchen of your floor and began making pop tarts. Bucky was sitting by the kitchen island while you decided to cheer him up. While the pop tarts were cooking up, you decided to change the music to pop. Then you began dancing.

You were not a dancer. Add that to your list of non-existent qualities.

You sort of just threw your hands in the air and hoped for natural rhythm to save your dignity. 

Bucky looked somewhat amused, so that was the goal accomplished.

It all came to an end when Steve cleared his throat. He stared at Bucky in a way that made all of you uncomfortable. Bucky was going to be just fine, that’s what you thought, anyway. Steve thought otherwise. Steve treated him like a broken vase.

That’s how you and Bucky got so close. 

You refused to look or listen to any of Steve’s old war stories about Buck. Thus, why you called Bucky “James”.

He wasn’t the Bucky he was in the 40’s. And he wasn’t The Winter Soldier, either. He was someone else.

Steve’s eyes bounced from you, to Bucky, then from Bucky, to you. “[Y/N], maybe now isn’t the time to – ”

“No, Steve,” Steve’s eyes snapped towards Bucky, “it’s fine.” Bucky said quietly. “She’s actually making me happy here.” 

After that, nobody talked to a while. Bucky stood from his stool and began to walk off. 

You stepped towards him, “James - ”

He shook his head. “It’s alright [Y/N], trust me. I’ll be fine tonight. I’m gonna try and go back to sleep.”

Well, that was new.

You gave Bucky a funny look but nodded. “Okay. Call if you need me.”

Bucky didn’t say anything after that. He just walked back to his room.

Your pop tarts popped out from the toaster. After that it was left untouched.

Steve cleared his throat. “[Y/N] – ” 

You shook your head. “Nope.”

Steve’s forehead frowned. “What?”

“Do you want Bucky to get over what HYDRA did to him?” You asked. You didn’t wait for him to reply. “Well, too bad so sad, he isn’t going to get over it. Bucky needs to accept it. Then he needs to be angry. Then he needs to be sad. Then after all that, he needs to forgive himself.” You said, your hands on your waist. “And you making him feel like broken glass isn’t gonna help. It’ll confine him and make him feel crazy. Treat him like a normal person, you jackass. Let him feel like a man. Not a baby.” You took a deep breath and pulled your eyes away from his piercing blue ones. You looked at your pop tarts briefly before turning around and walking away.

And you didn’t miss his look when you did. Steve had already realised he was wrong the moment his eyes fell on the toaster.

You left your pop tarts.




Look number nine:

Again, it was in the kitchen. Bucky’s nightmares were slowly fading. Whenever he woke, you’d stay until he fell back asleep. Then you’d proceed to the kitchen and rummage for food.

“Hey, Supreme Leader.” Your head snapped towards the kitchen entrance.

You gave a nod to the blond man in acknowledgement. “Captain.” You said in a mocking soldier’s tone.

You both stood in silence for a while. You didn’t mind it for a while. Your arms were preoccupied with balancing cartons and containers of food as you boldly chewed on your Lucky Charms cereal – and then the silence just got too long. Steve stared at you with a funny look. Eh, eating cereal without milk at three in the morning wasn’t all that unusual – but for some reason, you had a really big feeling the look wasn’t about the cereal. That was actually the reason why Tony always complained about all the marshmallow gone in the morning. Not your fault. Marshmallows were the best part and everyone knew that.

You squinted your eyes as you watched him watch you. A silent growl of impatience rose to your throat. You couldn’t really speak so you opted with growling.

Still no reply.

Finally, you forcefully swallowed your marshmallow and pointed an accusing finger at Steve. His look was different again. It wasn’t annoyed or of frustration. Really it just frustrated you.

You huffed. “You’re looking at me funny.”

Steve just smiled softly. “Bucky loves you.” He said from his position by the entrance of the kitchen.

You just smirked and shoved another handful of marshmallows into your mouth. “Figured that one out a long time ago, Rogers.” Your hand reached into the box once again. “What can I say, I’m good at making friends.” 

Steve chuckled silently. Then he swallowed and looked directly into your eyes. “I love you. And not the way Bucky does.”

You swallowed. The you nodded slowly. Your heart felt so full, you had no idea what to say. And so you said the first thing that popped into your head. You said what you would say, and not stupid Nicholas Sparks movies.

“I know.” You grinned. “And I may or may not feel the same.” Before he could reply, your smile wiped off as you pointed your finger at him again accusingly, “I said maybe.”

Librarian || Bucky Barnes

Relationship: Librarian!Bucky x reader

Summary: You can’t help but slowly develop feelings for librarian Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none!!!!!!

Word Count: 977 words

A/N: wow i just couldn’t stop thinking about soft!librarian!bucky and well here you go


Being cooped up in the library from late afternoon to early evening definitely wasn’t the ideal way you’d been wanting to spend your Thursday, but your professors clearly had other plans because they were just piling on the work. 

Although you didn’t mind, simply because the librarian happened to be the cutest boy you’d ever seen. He was tall in stature and very well built, usually wearing a large sweater of sorts paired with some simple black jeans. His brown locks were more often than not pulled into a sleek bun, a couple of strands escaping around his face. 

Your favourite days were when his hair was down, framing his face as he had to tuck the strands behind his ears as he catalogued the various assortment of books.

You remember the first time you met those bright blue eyes, being completely entranced in his gaze, his smile making butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

Do you need any help finding anything?” You heard an unfamiliar voice say behind you, startling you a bit. 

“Oh no I’m okay, I’ll just ask the librarian,” you said somewhat quietly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you admired the man standing in front of you in his dark green jumper. 

“I am the librarian, sweetheart,” he chuckled as your mouth hung open, a string of apologies flowing out as your cheeks blushed at your embarrassment.  

You’d started coming into the library more often because of him, he never failed to brighten up your day. Even if it was a simple hello you got from him, it made your stomach flutter and your heart thud in your chest. 

“Long night again, doll?” You heard a soft voice ask as you pried your tired eyes away from your textbook, “you know it is, Buck,” you giggled as his own heart fluttered loving the way his (nick)name rolled off your lips. 

“You sure you don’t need anything?” He asked, bending down so he was now eye level to you, “I’m sure,” you said sweetly as he nodded, “you know where I am if anything,” he smiled before leaving you be, leaving your heart hammering as usual. 

Bucky had become your safety net through the months, always there to hear you rant about your professors or that one group member that doesn’t do any work.

He’d been there more than once when school had gotten too much for you and you needed a distraction. He’d been more than happy to wheel in an old TV and play old cartoon while making jokes to ease your stress. 

Which is why you weren’t surprised that you had started falling for him, slowly but surely you had developed feelings for him. You never acted on those feelings knowing you’d rather stay friends and not awkward once friends. 

You were also fairly positive that a man with such good looks most definitely had a girlfriend, although you’d never asked since you didn’t exactly want to venture into that territory. 

“Doll,” you heard Bucky’s voice from where he sat at his desk, “it’s time to go,” he said as you looked up and gave him a weak smile before starting to pack up your things. 

You don’t know how it happened but Bucky had walked you back to your place one night and ever since then it had become a tradition and he refused to let you walk home alone. 

You gave him another tired smile, joining beside him as he opened the door for you, the cold autumn air nipping at the delicate skin of your face, “it’s getting cold,” you said absentmindedly as the two of you began walking back to your place. 

It must’ve been a few seconds after those words left your mouth that you felt Bucky place his beanie on top of your head, smoothing it down, “can’t have you getting cold now can we?” He teased as you let out a small laugh. 

You both walked in comfortable silence, one of you occasionally breaking it to point something out as your arms bumped against each others until you made it to the front of your building. 

“Thanks again,” you told Bucky, standing on the second step of the stairs so you were eye level with him, “it was no problem, doll,” he said softly a small smile gracing his features. 

Tonight felt different. 

Bucky had always made an effort in walking you home, especially on late night, but tonight, there was something more glinting in his eyes. He appeared a little on edge, nervous maybe as he fiddled with his fingers. 

“Hey, uh, are you busy tomorrow?” He piped up, meeting your gaze, “I shouldn’t be later in the evening, why?” You asked calmly despite the fact that your heart was beating a million miles a minutes and your thoughts were racing. 

“I was wondering i-if you’d maybe wanna grab some t-tea with me?” He stuttered and you could’ve sworn that your heart ballooned in love for the man who was always so charming now stuttering and tripping over his words. 

“I would really like that, Buck,” you said softly, a smile on your face as one appeared on his face, “I-I’ll pick you up at six?” He asked excitedly as you giggled lightly, “I’ll see you then, Bucky,” you whispered as you leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek before turning around, walking into your building leaving him looking like he slept with a hanger in his mouth. 

His heart fluttered and raced all at the same time the entire way back home as he thought about you, she said yes he mumbled to himself in disbelief as he chuckled to himself. 

“She said yes,” he repeated one last time before walking into his house, anxiously awaiting for your date with him.