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Lapis... Lance?

Hey all, this is an au where Lance is a gem-specifically a lapis gem-that’s stuck in/on a mirror in the castle of Lions! 

Preview:

Everyone froze, staring at the mirror, then the gem that had skidded a fair bit away from it. There was a moment of silence before a bright, blue light burst from the gem. It glowed, floating high up into the air above the paladins and Alteans, becoming brighter and brighter before the light seemed to snap together. A humanoid form shifted quickly into different features, faster than they could really count, before it seemed to settle on a certain form.


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anonymous asked:

can you write a fic where either josh or tyler (idc) gets dared to ask the reader out?? and they somehow find out and get really upset? thank youuu, love you lots you're an amazing writer

TYLER JOSEPH FIC

“You’re full of shit,” Tyler declared, shaking his head and taking a sip of the mixed drink he held in his hand. It was strong, a little stronger than normal, and Tyler knew he had the gorgeous bartender to thank for that—thank you very much.

Michael grinned and looked between Tyler, Josh, and Mark. “C’mon, s’just a game,” he said, his words slurred just a little bit from the amount of whiskey in his system.

“That is awful,” Josh pointed out, reaching over and downing the rest of Michael’s beer. “You’re an awful human being.”

Michael shrugged, still grinning, and looked back over to Tyler. “Well?”

“I see her all the time Michael, it’ll be weird—“ Tyler started.

“Weird? You’ve probably fucked half the people in this pub, mate, which, y’know, she’s probably aware of. You need to find a better excuse.”

Tyler frowned. “Michael—“

“Fifty bucks,” he says, doubling his previous offer.

“Pick someone else,” Tyler grumbled.

Michael laughed. “No, mate, we’ve been watching you pine over her—“

“I’ve not been pining, you asshole—“ Tyler interrupted.

“—for weeks, months, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Go chat her up, take her home, sleep with her, get her out of your system,” Michael told him. “Fifty bucks.”

Tyler sighed, glancing over at Josh from the corner of his eye. “He’s never gonna let this go, is he?”

Josh shook his head, reaching over to pat Tyler on the back. “Never.”

“C’mon,” Michael encouraged, reaching into his pocket to pull out a crumbled wad of bills. “Fifty bucks for you to stop pining over the bartender and just shag her.”

Tyler pursed his lips and blamed the alcohol, that was the only logical excuse, and he nodded. “Alright, fine,” he said, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. And it was the alcohol, was definitely the alcohol that had his head swimming; it definitely wasn’t the pining or anything else, because Tyler was actively not pining.

Michael laughed, slapping a hand down on the table. “Are you for real?”

Tyler didn’t say anything; he sent his friends a weak salute before standing from the booth and slowly making his way over to the bar. And he didn’t have a plan, not really; he’d never exactly needed one before. It wasn’t that people fell over themselves to have sex with Tyler, but…he never really had to try. He approached the bar slowly, sliding into a stool and resting his forearms across the top, waiting for the girl to turn around; when she did, Tyler sent her a soft smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“You’re drunk, Tyler,” Y/N said with a quirk of her eyebrow. “More than usual.”

Tyler grinned. “Not that drunk. You make my drinks, you would know,” he teased, sending her a wink. “You know my name, eh?”

She blushed a little bit, shrugging. “Well, you do come here every now and then.”

“I know that…Y/N,” he added at the end, watching the way Y/N’s cheeks flushed from a light pink to even darker, the way the girl tipped her head down to avoid Tyler’s eyes.

“So you know my name too, huh?” she joked, reaching for Tyler’s empty glass and filling it up again.

Tyler shrugged, still grinning.

“Remember all your bartenders?” she asked with the same teasing tone, but something underlying it that Tyler couldn’t place.

“Only the pretty ones,” Tyler told her, reaching for his glass and taking a drink.

“Of course,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something else when another patron down the way caught her eye. She held up her hand, signaling to Tyler that she would be right back, before she stepped away.

Tyler let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and took another drink, trying to steady out his heart rate. It didn’t work, not really, because Y/N walked back over, running a hand through her hair, and Tyler was done. Yeah, that, that was the exact reason why he pined, or whatever Michael said, because Y/N made him so fucking nervous.

“Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly, shifting from foot to foot in front of Tyler. “Do—Do you want a drink?” she asked.

Tyler let out a little huff of laughter and shook his head, lifting his glass to his lips. “Already took care of that, babe.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, frowning, cheeks flushing. “I, uh—“

“So I feel like we don’t really…talk, yeah?” Tyler interrupted with an embarrassing little hiccup, and he reached up to cover his mouth, letting out a quiet curse.

Y/N grinned. “Probably because we don’t,” she confirmed, busying herself with wiping down the top of the bar.

“Right, you’re usually off doing…whatever it is that you do.”

“Working?” she offered with a smile.

“That,” Tyler said with a snap of his fingers. “What’s up with that?”

Y/N laughed, taking a step away to slide another beer down the bar top towards another one of her regulars. “Gotta make a living. Not all of us can be in a band, y’know.”

Tyler smiled, looking down at his hands. “I guess that’s true.”

“Kind of, yeah,” she said with the shrug of one shoulder, the hem of her white v-neck riding up to expose her hip.

Tyler swallowed, forcing himself to look the fuck away, Christ. “So, uh, how—how old are you?” he stuttered, wincing at himself for how bloody drunk he sounded, and he wasn’t even drunk. Fucking nerves, fucking Michael, actually—Tyler was almost positive it was all his fault.

“Twenty two.”

“Hmm,” Tyler nodded because, fuck, she was just a kid. But she wasn’t, not really, like—yeah, sure, she looked like a kid with her big eyes and dimples and soft hair and— Tyler shook his head. “What, um, what do—do you do?”

Y/N grinned and rested her forearms on top of the bar, leaning over until she was halfway across, still giving Tyler room to move away if he wanted to. “Is this normally how you try to pick someone up?”

“Wha—“

“Not that you’re trying to pick me up,” Y/N added quickly, cheeks flushing. “Just—Is this you flirting?”

Tyler paused, thinking it over for a minute. “I don’t even know,” he answered honestly. “I…usually don’t have to try this hard,” he admitted.

She laughed loudly, reaching for Tyler’s glass and taking a drink. “Can’t imagine that you have to try at all,” she told him with a smile, the dimple in her left cheek deepening.

“I’m usually a lot smoother at picking people up,” Tyler confided in a mock stage whisper, pushing his glass to the side and leaning a little further over the top of the bar.

“Is that what you’re trying to do?” She asked.

“Trying,” Tyler agreed, running a hand over his hair and leaning in until they were only centimeters apart. “How am I doing?”

Y/N shrugged, a noncommittal sound leaving her lips. “I feel like you’re holding back on me.”

Tyler nodded slowly. “Might be the lack of alcohol in my system. My bartender’s been watering down my drinks all night.”

She laughed. “I have not! I usually make them stronger because I like the way you laugh when you’ve been drinking,” she said before she could stop herself. Her eyes widened and she went to take a step back, pausing when Tyler’s fingers slid around her wrist, tugging her forward so she couldn’t move away.

“Who knew my bartender was such a romantic,” Tyler teased, the corners of his lips quirking upward.

Y/N tried to fight back a smile, but she couldn’t help it, just like she couldn’t help the way her cheeks were flushing and, fuck, she wasn’t exactly smooth either.

Tyler’s fingertips traced over the skin of Y/N’s wrist, across the jut of bone, before curling around her gently. He could feel her pulse jump and as she bit her lip, Tyler tightened his hold just a little bit, just enough to hear a sharp gasp leave her lips. He smiled, just a little bit, and leaned in some more until their noses were nearly touching. “How am I doing now?” he asked, eyes dropping to Y/N’s lips, his voice low.

She swallowed, staring at Tyler’s lips until she heard a loud whooping from behind them. Y/N went to move again, but Tyler kept his hold tight on her wrist.

Tyler groaned. “Fucking Michael,” he grumbled, lifting a hand to flip off his friend without turning around.

“Ayy” a man shouted, walking behind the bar and flipping a towel towards Y/N’s bum, shaking her out of her reverie.

“Shit,” she muttered, taking a step back and jerking her wrist out of Tyler’s grasp. “Sorry.”

The other bartender grinned. “I can cover for you if you two want to, y’know, get out of here,” he offered with a laugh, eyes shining bright, wiggling his eyebrows obnoxiously.

Y/N flushed. “It’s not—He’s not—“

“I am, actually,” Tyler corrected with a smile.

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, eyeing Tyler from the corner of her eye. “I should, um, get back to work,” she said quietly.

Tyler nodded. “S’alright. I can wait. I’m patient,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Y/N trailed off, taking a step back. She cursed and flailed as she tripped over something behind the bar, nearly falling, and the man reached out to steady her.

“Alright?” He asked.

She nodded, cheeks burning, as she scurried off to the other side of the bar.

Tyler just smiled and watched, totally endeared and completely infatuated with everything about the girl. He pointedly ignored the other bartender’s eyes until he felt him look away, and he sucked in a deep breath. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he checked it only to see a text from Michael with a multitude of thumbs up and kissy-face emojis; he rolled his eyes before exiting the message and messing around on twitter for a bit. He just wanted to kill some time until Y/N was off, was ready to leave. Michael messaged him again with an emoji of money flying away and the message, ‘ya actually have to fuck her to get the fifty bucks! not just flirt, ya wanker!’

Tyler groaned and messaged him back, telling him to fuck off in true best mate fashion, and shoved his mobile aside. It wasn’t—It wasn’t even about the fifty bucks; Tyler could’ve cared less about the money. It was about her, about how the stupid bet had been just the kick in the ass he needed, and he had no idea why the hell he had waited so long to actually strike up a conversation with the girl, anyway. He supposed it didn’t matter, not really, and he knew he would tell Michael the next morning that the bet was off, to keep his dirty money—or, well, maybe he could keep it and take her out, whatever.

“She’s leaving, y’know.”

Tyler shook his head and looked up at the man, eyes wide. “Hmm?”

He nodded towards the back of the bar where Y/N was lingering, looking down at her sneakers and shoving her phone into her pocket. “She’s leaving.”

“Shit,” Tyler grumbled, jumping off the barstool. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” He said, causing Tyler to stop in his tracks, eyes wide. “She’s my best friend, yeah? Standard warnings apply—hurt her and I’ll kill you. I’ll poison your drink before you go on stage, make sure you foam at the mouth in front of everyone, yeah?”

Tyler smiled a little bit. “Good lookin’ out,” he told him before rushing around the back of the bar and catching up with Y/N just as she stepped out of the pub. “Trying to run away?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, um, just…got distracted in my own head, sorry.”

“Gotta be careful with that whole thinking thing,” Tyler teased, nudging her in the side. “You see what happened to Keroauc and Hemingway.”

“No, I didn’t. What happened?”

Tyler didn’t even waste a breath before diving in, explaining his favorite writers in such detail that it took him a minute or two before he realized Y/N was laughing, her eyes shining as she stopped in front of an old beat up Volvo. Tyler scoffed, shaking his head, and he leaned against the side of the car. “You were joking.”

Y/N nodded, taking a step closer until the toes of their shoes were touching.

“That’s—That’s not every nice,” Tyler stammered.

“Shame,” she pouted. “Everyone always thinks I’m nice.”

Tyler smiled, looking down at his own shoes, how they were touching Y/N’s, and it was…nice.

“Hey.”

“I like hearing you talk,” She said quietly.

“I talk too much.”

She nodded. “You do. I like that.”

“Especially when I’m nervous,” Tyler admitted, though he didn’t know why. Fuck, why wasn’t he just…smooth? Fuck.

She smiled, tilting her head to the side as she studied Tyler for a moment.

Tyler reached out for her wrist again, fingers curling around the soft skin and pressing down against her pulse.

“So…” Y/N trailed off, shuffling her feet and knocking her shoes against Tyler’s.

“Yeah.”

“Not so talkative now,” She commented, kicking at Tyler’s foot until he moved to the side so she could step closer.

Tyler shook his head, pushing off of her car and crowding against her, eyes falling to hers again. “I don’t…wanna talk anymore.”

“Okay,” She said with a nod.

“Yeah,” Tyler agreed before leaning in and kissing her. And it was—it was everything a first kiss should be; it was soft and gentle, controlled without being demanding. Tyler could feel Y/N’s fingers curl around his bicep, holding on, and Tyler made himself pull away for a second to catch his breath.

Her tongue darted out to trace his lips, brushing across Tyler’s in the process, and she smiled. “Much better than talking,” she whispered.

Tyler nodded. “Fuck, yes,” he agreed breathlessly, curling his fingers around the front of her button-up, pulling her in for another kiss. Y/N slumped against him, fingers digging into the hem of Tyler’s jeans, fingers curling underneath the fabric, hot against Tyler’s skin. Tyler pushed his hips forward, using the momentum to push Y/N back against the car, a little gasp escaped her lips, her mouth falling open easily, and Tyler’s tongue darted out, barely touching her lips.

She whimpered as Tyler pushed her back against the car, the side mirror digging painfully into her side, and she didn’t even care. She stilled almost entirely as Tyler’s mouth slanted over hers, kissing her so thoroughly that she nearly forgot her own name. She pressed her thumbs into Tyler’s hips, feeling Tyler’s fingers slide through her hair, and she wanted more, needed more. She pressed closer, as close as she could, and she wasn’t even embarrassed at how desperate she must look as she angled closer to Tyler.

Tyler’s hips jerked forward and he slid his hands down to Y/N’s chin, cupping her jaw as he pulled away; he nipped at her lower lip until she whined, smoothing over it with his tongue, pulling away with a small grin. “Fuck, why did I wait so long to kiss you?”

She shook her head, eyes nearly shut, her brain more than a little foggy; she steadied herself by holding onto Tyler’s hips and she tried to lean in to kiss him again. “Don’t know,” she muttered, “just do it again.”

Tyler chuckled, sliding his fingers down the side of her neck and back up again, angling her chin upward. He leaned in, kissing her slowly, licking into his mouth until he felt her arms circle his waist, until he felt her shudder against him. “Come back to mine?” Tyler whispered against her lips.

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed easily, eyes slipping shut as Tyler pressed his lips against her jaw, down the side of her neck, sucking a dark bruise that had her pulse racing. She whined as Tyler rocked his hips forward, forcing back a moan as he felt Tyler’s press against her, and she wanted nothing more than to be in her bedroom or Tyler’s bedroom or anywhere private.

“Keys?” Tyler prompted, lips brushing across his sensitive skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find his words, but she couldn’t.

“Y/N?” Tyler said with a grin, nosing up her neck, across her jaw, barely brushing their lips together. “Keys?”

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Pocket, in my pocket.”

Tyler laughed softly, slipping a hand into her pocket with minimal struggle.

Her head fell forward onto Tyler’s shoulder, her breathing heavy. “Other pocket.”

Tyler hummed, fingers brushing over the front of her jeans before dipping into her other pocket and retrieving her keys. He quickly massaged the back of Y/N’s neck before pulling her away and leaning in a little bit, just breathing her in, and fuck, she was so responsive, lips parting and just waiting for Tyler to make the next move. “Want me to drive?”

“No!” her eyes suddenly shot open, shaking her head feverishly,

Tyler held his hands up defensively, “What’s wrong?”

“Did you forget I was the one pumping drinks into you all night?” she gasped.  “No way are you driving anywhere.  Just tell me where to go.”

“Alright,” Tyler agreed with a smile, and pointing towards the car. “Hop in then.” He climbed in the passenger seat as Y/N slid in next to him, rubbing his palms up and down her thighs. As she started the car, Tyler dug his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Michael.

‘bet’s off.’

Y/N nearly tripped over her own feet as she followed Tyler down the hall and into his bedroom; Tyler’s fingers were tight around her wrist, pulling her along, and Y/N went willingly. Tyler pulled her into the room, slamming the door shut behind them, and her heart was racing in her chest as Tyler crowded against her instantly, pinning her to the door and pressing their lips together.

Tyler reached for Y/N’s jeans, fumbling a little before getting them unbuttoned.  Y/N cursed against his lips and Tyler grinned, nipping at Y/N’s jaw.

“That was…” Y/N trailed off, finally pulling away and looking up at Tyler from under her eyelashes when they were finished.

“Yeah,” Tyler agreed with a soft smile; before reaching down and pulling a blanket over their bodies.

Y/N grinned widely, rolling onto her back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against Y/N’s lips.

Y/N giggled, slipping a leg between Tyler’s, trying to get closer, trying to crawl into his skin the way Tyler had crawled into her stupid heart. “You, too,” she said lamely, cheeks flushing, and she ducked her head, trying to hide against the front of Tyler’s neck.

Tyler let her for a moment, running a hand over the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades, and down the length of her back.

Tyler watched Y/N for a couple of seconds, or maybe a couple of minutes, he wasn’t sure, and he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. “I think you’ve ruined everyone else for me,” he admitted softly.

Y/N felt his cheeks flush as he nodded, still grinning. “Me, too.”

Y/N woke up the next morning to the sound of slow and steady clapping, a low whistle, and she groaned, pulling the blanket over his eyes. “Make it stop,” she grumbled, turning over and curling against Tyler’s chest in an attempt to hide from the world and sunlight and noise.

Tyler wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, pressing his lips to her forehead. He cracked one eye open, to see Michael smirking at the door. “What?”

“Thought you said the bet was off,” Michael laughed with a grin.

Y/N froze.

Tyler’s heart dropped. “Michael—“

“Bet?” Y/N asked softly, ripping the blanket away from her face and looking up at Tyler. She could feel it in her chest, then, like something was ripping straight through her; no longer did she feel the rush of adoration towards three-am-Tyler who waxed poetic about Y/N’s eyes and dimples and lips, who whispered how beautiful she was, and she felt like she was going to vomit.

“No, it’s—“ Tyler started, trailing off, knowing no matter what he said, it wouldn’t be the right thing.

Michael pursed his lips and widened his own eyes, clearly unaware that Y/N was awake.

Y/N could practically feel her heart clench in her chest as she finally registered the words leaving Michael’s lips. “How much?” she found himself asking softly as she sat up, the thin blanket the only thing covering her.

“Y/N—” Tyler started, sitting up. He reached out for Y/N’s shoulder, only to have her jerk away.

“How much?” Y/N repeated, looking over her shoulder and fixing Tyler with a steady glare, eyes narrowed.

Tyler shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he whispered. “C'mon, it was stupid. Let me—Let me explain,” he pleaded, reaching out for her again.

“No,” Y/N said, slapping Tyler’s hand away. She pushed the sheet aside and stood up, not caring that she was completely naked in front of two people she hardly knew, and started looking around Tyler’s bedroom for her clothes.

“Y/N, please,” Tyler tried again, something twisting in his chest and his stomach as he watched Y/N walk around his room, trying to find her clothes. His gut twisted as he watched the long, pale line of Y/N’s legs as she pulled on her ridiculously tight jeans. Tyler could still see the faint bruises along her hips, across the back of her thighs. His chest did something weird, then, as Y/N pulled on the first shirt she found—definitely Tyler’s and not her own, but Tyler didn’t even try to stop her. “Y/N—”

“How much?” Y/N asked again, this time aiming her question towards Michael and not meeting Tyler’s eyes.

Michael bit his lip and leaned against the wall by Tyler’s door. “Fifty bucks.”

Y/N scoffed, pulling her shoes on and running her fingers through her tangled hair, wincing a little at the pull on her scalp, even though it was nothing compared to the way Tyler—she stopped herself right there and finished shoving her phone, wallet, and keys into her pocket. “Fuck you,” Y/N grumbled, pushing past Michael and making her way to the front door

Tyler pushed the sheet aside and jumped out of bed, ignoring Michael’s apology and followed Y/N, stopping her before she could reach the door. “Y/N, please, it was stupid—”

“Yes, it was,” Y/N agreed, trying to step past Tyler to get to the door.

“I shouldn’t have done it, I know, but I was pissed and—”

“Shut up.”

“—I never should’ve agreed to it—”

“Shut. Up.”

“—Y/N, I’m sorry, I feel awful—”

“Shut up,” Y/N snapped, pushing Tyler away and opening the front door. “Fuck you,” she whispered, willing herself not to cry in front of Tyler, that was the last thing she needed, and she nearly ran out of the flat, slamming the door shut behind her.

Tyler stared at the door for a few moments, frozen in place. “Fuck,” he sighed, hanging his head; he had really fucked up. It took him a few moments before he made his way back into his room, falling into his sheets that still smelled like the shampoo that Y/N used, and he found himself pulling the pillow closer, breathing in deep. He heard Michael shut his door quietly and he looked up to see that Michael had placed the money on his dresser, and his stomach twisted again. With a groan, he pulled his blanket over his head and tried to sleep, hoping that, when he woke, the guilt would be gone.

It wasn’t.

Y/N was pining; she was miserable and grouchy and didn’t want anything to do with anyone. She changed shifts at the bar and found any and every reason to avoid the building whenever Tyler had a set. And she’d done a decent job, really, of avoiding him for two whole weeks. Though, really, she believed John was conspiring against her when she walked in for an early shift one day to see Tyler sitting at the bar, head in his hands, and John serving him a drink. Y/N frowned and spun around on her heels, pushing for the door, when John yelled out to her.

“Y/N, wait, hang on!” John ran out from behind the bar, quicker than Y/N had ever seen, and grabbed her arm.

“I wanna go, John,” she muttered, looking down at her boots.

“Just give him a sec, yeah? He’s real torn up.”

Y/N scoffed. “Yeah? So am I,” she grumbled.

John nodded, rubbing Y/N’s arm. “I know. Just… You’ve been pining for weeks-months if you count all the whining you did before—“

“Hey,” Y/N protested with a pout. “Thought you were on my side.”

“I am,” John told him. “Just hear the guy out. What he did was awful, yeah? But it’s done. And he’s here trying to make up for it. I think that says a lot about him. If it was just a shag, just something for money, he wouldn’t give a fuck. He’d be on to the next one in no time. But he’s here, looking for you; been here every night for almost two weeks,” he explained. “So just…hear him out.”

Y/N frowned and reluctantly followed John over to the bar, slumping down in a barstool about three seats away from Tyler, facing forward and crossing her arms in front of her.

Tyler looked over at her, then up at John who held his hands up and left the bar, walking to the other side of the room to wipe down tables. Tyler looked back over at Y/N before standing up and moving closer to her, sitting next to her; he didn’t miss how Y/N flinched a little, tried to move away, and he reached out for her wrist. He expected Y/N to pull away, jerk her hand back, but she didn’t, and Tyler took a little bit of solace in that as he wrapped is fingers around Y/N’s wrist, thumb resting against her pulse. “I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since you started working here. No, well, I know I have. But I’m fucked up, and you’re kind of perfect, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” he said with a shrug. “So I stayed away, pined, whatever, because I didn’t think anything could ever happen.”

Y/N sniffed, pursing her lips and still looking ahead, refusing to meet Tyler’s eyes.

“And Michael is a wanker, thought he was being helpful; thought the only way I would ever make a move would be to, I don’t know, dare me or whatever. You know how lads are,” he said with a weak grin, smoothing his fingers over the skin of Y/N’s wrist.

“Obviously not, because I would never make a bet with a friend to have them fuck someone,” Y/N whispered.

“The bet was off,” Tyler insisted. “I texted Michael before we even got to my flat that the bet was off. I didn’t—I didn’t want that, like. Fuck the money, alright? I just wanted you. I thought… I thought we had a chance, yeah? And I didn’t want that hanging over us.”

“Good call,” Y/N scoffed.

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N. I feel like shit. I never meant to hurt you—that was the last thing I ever wanted. If I just wanted a shag, I would’ve asked you to leave the minute we were done; I wouldn’t have stayed up for hours asking you about your favorite band, the last book you read, where you would travel if you had all the money in the world, or… I wouldn’t have let you stay,” he said simply.

Y/N swallowed and she could feel herself giving in, knew it was only a matter of time, because John was right—Tyler was there and apologizing and he actually gave a fuck. And Y/N wanted it, she wanted it all, she wanted to give it a shot, make it last; she wanted to stay up until four am while Tyler rambled on about his favorite books and his guitar.  Y/N wanted to make Tyler breakfast even when he pouted and said he wasn’t a morning person, didn’t eat breakfast, just needed a cigarette and some coffee. Y/N wanted it all.

“I want you to stay,” Tyler decided, pressing into Y/N’s wrist and feeling her pulse speed up. “I want you.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek and slowly flipped her palm over, instantly lacing her fingers with Tyler and squeezing his hand. “I want—“ she trailed off, shaking her head.

“Whatever you want, it’s yours,” he insisted. “Just—don’t ignore me, yeah? I can’t—I can’t do radio silence, not from you.”

“I want,” Y/N started again, pausing to take a deep breath. “I want you to use the fifty bucks on our first date. I want flowers and an expensive steak.  And I want you to wear that awful shirt you had lying on the floor that I made fun of.”

Tyler smiled, could feel laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Flowers and a steak? You’ve got quite a list of demands.”

Y/N grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Think I rather deserve it, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he agreed easily. “Flowers and a steak, it’s all yours,” he promised, standing up and crowding into Y/N’s space, breathing her in. “Am I forgiven?”

“And the shirt?”

With a smile, Tyler nodded, releasing Y/N’s hand in favor of brushing her hair out of her face. “And the shirt in exchange for forgiveness.”

Y/N smiled and leaned in, brushing their lips together. “Seems like a fair trade to me.”

Malec fic: Watching Me Fall

Just a little Malec being sweet in Tokyo

Alec would have been perfectly happy with a burger and Magnus’s company in some greasy diner right in New York, but Magnus had said that he wanted to treat Alec, turning from a shelf where he’d been puttering around since Alec arrived for their date. He’d looked so good that Alec only managed to nod dumbly at whatever Magnus was saying. He registered sushi, vaguely, but certainly not sushi in Tokyo, and most definitely not sushi in Tokyo at a world-renowned sushi restaurant at The Palace Hotel.

All through dinner Magnus watches him eat with anticipation and delight, asking after each nigiri and sashimi and inari what Alec thinks and if he likes it. He does, but he feels weird allowing Magnus to spoil him like this. A burger really would have been fine.

After dinner, they move to a bar tucked into a dimmed corner of the stately hotel lobby, the decor inside all dark wood and deep leather and burgundy velvet. Magnus looks regal, like he belongs exactly here, surrounded on all sides by beautiful, elegant splendor. Alec, however, feels awkward. Like he’s too aware of himself, of the space his body takes up, of the mundanes drinking and talking around him. Magnus is telling a story, gesturing in graceful arcs with his drinking glass. Alec shifts to lean closer—it’s hard to hear him over the din—and his drink splashes onto the pristine velvet arm of his chair. He rubs at it, scowls at the stubborn spot, and loses track of Magnus’s story.

“Alexander, do you?”

Magnus has asked him the question at least once, Alec can tell by his tone. “Ah sorry, what did you—“ He rubs again at the stain, these chairs are so nice of course he spills something.

Magnus’s fingers gently still his hand. “I asked if you would like another drink, but.. I have a better idea.”

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Possessive Drabble - 13

민윤기 Min Yoongi - Mafia!au

Glossary - 01. 02. 03. 04. 05.


Yoongi walks into Louis Vuitton like a king, body guards following closely behind. You hand is tucked between his as you walk shielded by his broad shoulders, a wall of bodies locked safely around you. When the Baby Bjorn gets too heavy, one of the bodyguards—Taehyung—comes and takes Eunah, slowly walking her in circles around the store.

Yoongi picks out a new watch, sunglasses, rings, and a duffle bag. For you, he lets you pick out a bag, combat boots, and wedges. But on the way out of the store, he turns back, picking up a scarf. He turns to you, smiles, and then drapes the scarf over his arm, holding his hands out.

You rest Eunah in his arms. She coddles in her sleep, snuggling into the soft material. Once she’s settled into his chest, Yoongi snaps his hand, holding up his credit card for the worker who scurries over.

There’s an angry line of people waiting outside the store as you all leave, body guards carrying your bags. Envious glares are shot your way, but you hide behind broad shoulders and tight faces. Yoongi walks haughtily in the direction of Cartier, mentally going over his purchases.

The store is empty when you enter and they lock the doors behind the last bodyguard. Yoongi shifts Eunah in his arms, leaning over the counter and gesturing to a necklace. You stand beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

The silent store wraps around the three of you. His bodyguards stand a few feet away, resting against the glass cases, eyes never wavering.

Yoongi’s arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you perfectly into the curve of his side. It’s welcoming and warm. Your hand resides on his chest as the workers begin pulling out displays and presenting them to Yoongi. You recognize most of them—or at least the ones that currently reside on Yoongi’s side of the closet at home. But you hold your hand up when one catches your eye.

You turn to Taehyung, calling him over. You pick the glasses up, resting them on the tip of his nose. “These,” you say to the worker. She nods curtly.

Taehyung blushes and takes them off, bowing his head. “There’s no need to treat me.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t even be working right now.”

Yoongi hums in agreement, tightening his arm around you, trying to pull you back into him. “Pick out a watch as well.” Yoongi says lightly, not even glancing in Taehyung’s direction. Taehyung’s smile lights up and you turn back to Yoongi, resting your head once again on his shoulder. “Could you bring out the Panthere de Cartier Clutch Bag?” Yoongi asks.

The worker walks off and Yoongi turns to you, quickly leaning in to leave a peck on your lips. You grimace, bumping your hip into his. “I don’t need anything,” you hum, body molding against his.

He hums, not bothering to talk. The silence is endearing, soft piano filtering through the store. You watch Eunah closely as she sleeps. When the worker returns with the bag, Yoongi hands her off to Namjoon who is currently sporting the Baby Bjorn.

Yoongi’s thin fingers toy with the strap of the bag, inspecting the black, niloticus crocodile skin. He nods to the worker and they move to the register, tapping away. “Yoongi, I really don’t need anything else.” You insist, pinching his side.

But he shakes his head, “A princess deserves to be spoiled.”

this does not mean that (possessive) drabbles or requests are open. they are staying closed with no exceptions indefinitely. 

How To: Banish Destructive Parasites

For whatever reason many of us find ourselves with a non-corporeal parasite latched on tight for the ride. There are multiple methods for banishment, of which you can stack (in order) for more impact. The most important thing however, is that you give it everything you’ve got.

*Sigils on the Skin*
This will untangle them from you, and force them out to a banish-able distance.
If you can sense where the spirit is attached​, this method will be significantly more successful. Draw the sigil where you feel their roots in black or red ink/paint. Be mindful and focus on adding your energy to the power of the sigil. Think of it like “carving” a path in your skin for a banishing lazer-like light to shine out from. Keep it fresh until well after you can no longer feel their presence.

*Self Cleansing*
There are hundreds of methods out there for this but it is vital! Ideally a cleaning bath or shower would be used, giving the boost of waters naturally healing and protective nature. it’ll help heal you of damage left behind to prevent reattachment. Use a coffee filter or tea strainer with mint, cinnamon, or any other protective/healing herb.

*Self Warding*
Again, there are many techniques to this. Ground yourself and use your favorite. If you don’t have one, how about this:
-Imagine a vivid bright light at your chest. Hold it in your hands, and let it expand outward as you move your arms out to either side of you. Once it reaches your finger tips, harden the light like glass. Thick glass, inches thick building up on the outside until it is foggy and silent. Bam. You are warded.

*Banishment*
Cleanse your space with cinnamon, sage or mugwort smoke. Mark your windows, vents and doors with storm or snow water. Spread salt over the thresh holds. Piss on the door step. Bang pots. Verbally and physically tell it to f*ck off. This is all no joke, mark your space and make it undeniably yours.

*Cleansing*
This is the weird one and the other, calmer, side to the banishment coin. Now that your space is empty of unwanted parasites (if it isn’t, repeat a step maybe with a new twist) heal your space. Set out soothing rocks, turn on calm music, burn oil, clean.

*Space Warding*
This is as varied as anything else in magic. if you don’t have a favorite, how about this:
-Imagine vines crawling over your house, apt, room, tent. They grow thin at first, weaving together in a delicate web. More grow over them, gradually becoming thicker in size and depth. The outermost vines grow sharp thorns and poisonous leaves. They grow until nothing can penetrate, not light or noise.


Hopefully this “How To…” helped!!

amindamazed  asked:

winter writing prompts: 5, 8, and/or 9

Re: this post

I chose 5: “I can’t feel my legs”

If this makes you imagine the red couch as a bit bigger or smaller than it actually is, so be it. I have bad spatial memory/recognition.

 -

The case was solved. They’d just returned from the precinct and had settled down in the library with take away and ice cream and were now sitting before a roaring fire that served as a barrier against the sub-zero cold outside.

None of this was out of the ordinary for Sherlock. What was out of the ordinary was Watson’s position.

It had started innocently enough. She had come to sit next to him on the red couch to show him something on her phone—an article that related to an old cold case they’d recently solved. After he’d skimmed the article and handed her phone back to her, instead of getting up she’d stayed, leaning back on the opposite arm of the couch, nearest the window, continuing to read news and whatever else on her phone. She’d even pulled down the duvet from the back of the couch to drape over her legs, already clad in warm pajamas, her red cardigan wrapped securely around her.

Sherlock had no idea what possessed her to settle herself thus, on the same couch as he was sitting, but he had no reason to protest. He had nothing against Watson settling on the couch, but he wondered if he should move. But he was not at all tired, and didn’t feel like changing into more casual clothes—he still wore his trousers, shoes, and buttoned up shirt, only his jacket taken off due to the large fire before them.

He got up to stoke the fire, as an excuse to move his restless limbs. He took a book from one of the shelves, then a second, and resumed his seat on the opposite end of the couch from Watson. She still was reading something on her phone, her glasses a bit farther down her nose.

He set his books down and took off his shoes, in order to more comfortably sit cross-legged, taking up slightly more room on the couch. Watson didn’t even look at him. He took up a book and began to read, glancing at her from time to time.

After his third glance she looked up from her phone over the rim of her glasses. “Sherlock, what is it?” she said, her words careful, not yet annoyed.

“Hmm?” He looked over to her with wide eyes, feigning surprise.

“You’ve glanced at me several times. What is it?” she repeated, keeping her eyes still on him. He studied her expression. She was curious, relaxed, the contentment derived from their recently solved case still permeating her limbs.

He hesitated a full second, then held up one of the books he’d retrieved, flashing the title in Watson’s direction. She didn’t blink, telling him she’d caught it. “I wanted to show you something here that reminded me of that cold case. Are you heavily occupied at present?”

She gave a small shake of her head, tucking her phone between the back of the couch and the duvet, before coming up on her knees, bracing herself on the back of the couch with one hand and reaching for the book with the other.

Sherlock flipped to the appropriate page and held out the book to her, watching closely as she adjusted her glasses and began to read. She settled back on her heels, somewhat closer to him. He moved further over to his end of the couch, leaning back against the arm and laying his legs straight out in front of him. This caused his feet—clad in his “loud” socks, as Watson referred to them—to brush against Watson’s calf, but she showed no reaction. She did not move from her spot on the middle cushion, intent on the words before her.

“You’re telling me this,” Watson held the book a few inches in front of his face, tapping one paragraph with her index finger, “proves that the science behind the forensics was wrong? How can that be possible?”

He slowly took the book from her hands, and she let him, her hard stare pinning him with a demand for an explanation. She’d raised herself up on her knees to hand him the book, and now seemed to tower over him without meaning to, her high ponytail only making her look more austere. His mouth twitched.

“It’s a compliment to your attention to detail, Watson. You noticed a flaw when I didn’t. This,” he closed the book with a snap, “only corroborates your findings.”

Pursing her lips, Watson reached behind her to retrieve her phone, then settled back on her heels to type something into Google no doubt. As she typed, she settled more between him and the back of the couch, lifting and then resting her feet flat on the other side of his calves. Her feet were bare, and likely freezing. As she scrolled, Sherlock reached forward and caught the edge of the duvet, pulling it over both of them. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Watson’s smile.

“When was that book published?” she said, not taking her eyes off her phone.

“2014,” he said, tucking one edge of the duvet under his thigh in a motion he hoped Watson didn’t notice. A few seconds of silence passed, before Watson thrust her phone in his face this time.

“Read this. The murder we solved happened in 2009. Proves the science hadn’t yet caught up to prove Houser’s innocence.”

Sherlock dutifully read, drawing his brows close together as he focused on the words. Watson was moving around again, this time leaning to her left to pry the second book Sherlock had retrieved from between his arm and the back of the couch. He barely shifted to accommodate her, so she had to lean over to pull the book out. Her calf brushed his knee and lower thigh with her movement, though he pretended that did not cause him to lose his place in his reading.

“This is a book on traditional Chinese medicine,” Watson announced, holding the book with one hand and pulling the duvet closer to her with the other. Unconsciously, her ankles pushed back against his left calf as she settled in.

That did cause him to lose his place. But he did not look up from Watson’s phone. “I hadn’t noticed,” he said, keeping his expression his stiff version of neutral.

“This has nothing to do with proving Houser’s innocence. When did you buy this?” she said, not looking up as she flipped to the book’s table of contents.

He mirrored her and kept his eyes resolutely on the words in front of him, though not a word registered. “While I was in London. It proved useful on a case. And before you ask, Watson, it had nothing to do with corroborating your claims about Chinese herbs’ abilities to contribute to longer-lasting, more vasodilated erections.”

“Sherlock.”

He looked up to find he had not mistaken the laughter in the two syllables of his name. Watson’s eyes were still hard but she was all but smirking at him.

“You know you’re a horrible liar,” she said, looking back to the book and turning to the first chapter.

“You think I was trying to cause myself more vasodilated erections?” he asked, blinking once at her. She lifted her chin without looking away from the page, her smile growing.

“You bought this book because of me. After I moved back in. I know you did,” she stated.

“Then why did you ask me when I bought it,” he said, no feigned question in his voice this time.

She finally looked back up at him, her expression unchanging even at the sight of his frown. “To prove how horrible a liar you are,” she said.

He simply looked at her, his frown deepening.

“You can’t keep your eyes still when you lie,” she added, tilting her head towards him, her stare becoming knowing.

“I was reading,” he said, holding up her phone. She shook her head once.

“Still lying.” And she returned to her own reading, becoming fully engrossed within seconds, her glasses sliding a bit further down her nose.

Sherlock gave her a glare which she did not return, and looked back to the article she had given him. The screen lit up and he found his place again, his scowl disappearing as the old case once again took over his thoughts.

By the time he had finished reading the article, Watson had more fully relaxed into the couch and into…him. Her bent knees were now resting over his thighs, and she had the book pulled closer toward her chest, likely to see better in the dim light.

Sherlock lowered Watson’s phone and was about to readjust himself when he made a realization. Watson was not seeing anything in the dim light—her eyes were closed. Her head was inches from resting on his arm, propped up on her hand instead, the book nearly closed in the lax fingers of her right hand. Her glasses were now on the very tip of her nose, inviting Sherlock to take them completely off, but he refrained.

By the rate of her breathing he knew she was likely only dozing. Watson could doze anywhere, he’d found. This was the first time she had chosen to do so on top of him, however.

“Watson,” he whispered, her name almost coming out a hiss. She didn’t stir. He became more aware of her weight on him, the way her loosening ponytail had caused her face to turn downward in sleep. He reached in with his left hand and carefully pried the book from her loose grip. She still didn’t stir.

“Watson,” he repeated, changing to a stage whisper. He tapped the book against her right arm that was within easy reach. “I can’t feel my legs, Watson,” he said, strangely hesitant to raise his voice further. It had been far too long since he’d seen Watson’s freckles so up close.

She only sighed in her sleep. Sherlock dared not take any deep breaths, and so to distract himself looked at the book in his hands to see where Watson had left off. The memory of her smile when she had discovered the book kept him reading, and also kept his fidgeting to a minimum as he let her sleep on.

Breaking and Entering.

// Here is an imagine I thought about, it’s a Gotham (Jerome) imagine. Hope you like it!

bf/n = best friends name

f/n= friends name.

Warnings: Death. (Also you {the reader} may be depicted as slightly insane-ish\come off as slightly insane-ish towards the end, but oh well. I will probably do one later where {reader} isn’t slightly insane or crazy.) It’s more of a matter of opinion on whether you are insane though.

Rating: Slightly not fluff, but still sorta fluff? An in between thing. I don’t know if there is a term for an in between. If there is, someone please tell me. //


You and your friends had thought it would be a good idea to break into the house of Theo Galavant. You walk around, looking at through drawers. F/n steps forward, and taps your shoulder.

“I-I’m not sure we should be doing this…I-I thought…..I t-think I heard something….” F/n whispers as bf/n walks into the room. Bf/n rolls his eyes and leans against the window.

“Oh calm down f/n,  we’ll be fine.”

“But I heard a noise!” F/n shouts. Bf/n opens his mouth to say something, but then a loud thud can be heard. F/n and bf/n both freak out, and dive into the closest closet. “Y/n, hurry!” They say, motioning you over. You roll your eyes, and stay where you are, even as the door busts open. You had expected Theo to walk in, and he does, but a group of around five follow him after. Two girls, three guys. The one in the lead has a huge smile on his face, and throws his arms up as he walks in.

“Well, what do we have here?” He asks, looking over at you. Theo turns to the girl with blonde hair.

“Barbara, search the bedrooms, Tabitha, search the closet.” Before anyone can move, your two friends burst out of the closet, and attempted to get away from the group. The taller man with wild hair and a bushy beard grabs f/n, and bf/n is intercepted by the smaller one who seems to be talking to himself. The red haired one, who seems like the leader, walks forward to you, and tilts his head

“You didn’t hide,” he says, looking over at your friends. “The others hid… but you…you didn’t.” He says.

“There’s a difference. Their scared. I’m not.” His lips widen into an even bigger smile, and he bows slightly.

“Well, my lady. My name is Jerome, Jerome Valeska.” He says, and winks.

“I’m Y/N.” You reply, before he can ask the question. His eyes light up, and he walks forward, causing you to back up against the window. He presses his palm on the glass right beside your head, and places his other hand on your shoulder. Jerome tilts his head, and moves close up to your face, his only being inches from your own. His eyes scan yours, his lips still tipped up in that seemingly permanent smile of his. You can’t help but divert your gaze, not able to hold it any longer. He laughs, and his hand on the window slowly clenches into a fist. His face moves even closer now, as he steps forward. You are now chest to chest with him, and his nose brushes against your cheek. He laughs again and his lips graze your cheek briefly before he pulls his head back. Jerome drags his hand down the window and searches your face with his eyes.

“Oh, doll…” He whispers

“Just kiss her already,” Barbara says, looking over at the two of you. “It’s obvious you want to.” There’s a slight taunting tone to her voice that makes Jerome look over his shoulder. When he turns back to you, he kisses you, moving his hand from the window to the back of you head and pulling you to him.

However, your moment is cut off by the sound of gun shots, and Jerome pulls away from you just in time for you to see your friends falling to the floor, dead. You stare down at them, and Jerome looks over at you, expecting a reaction, any sort of reaction. Your eyes fill with tears, and although you say nothing, one falls down your face. “Well….” Jerome says, clapping loudly once. You look over at him, and do the oddest thing.

You smile.

For a moment that’s all there is, but when Jerome makes eye contact with you, he smiles as well. In a matter of seconds there seems to be an understanding between the two of you, because you both step forward at the same time, and you he pulls you to him once again, placing a soft, quick kiss on your lips before laughing softly.

“You are different from anyone I’ve ever met…” He whispers, holding your face in his hands. “You’re…perfect.”

Can’t See the End

Member: Wonwoo x Reader

Type: Angst (tw alcohol & depression)

A/N: kinda want make this into a series of 3 or 4 parts? hope ya’ll like this

Part 1

                                                       12:30 am

   You come home to your dads house after staying out late at work. Your coworkers made you take their hours. You were desperate for money so you took them anyways. They were the type of people that don’t give a shit about anything. Except for one person; (F/N), your childhood friend. Ever since your mom left him years ago, your dad has been a walking zombie. He became an alcoholic, a ridiculous gambler and had to pay back many debts. The two of you lived in a small apartment in New York, not too far from Time Square, though it was small, your dad barely had enough money to pay rent, and because of that; you dropped out of school in your 3rd year of high school to work 3 part time jobs to pay what your dad couldn’t. It was the only way you and your dad could survive. 

   The moment you reach your apartment door, just as you were about to reach for the knob, you hear things crashing and furniture being tossed around from inside. You felt you anger fire up inside of you that made your cheeks burn. You quickly unlock the door to your shared apartment that reeked of alcohol. You knew it. He was drinking, again. Not once have you seen your dad sober since your mom left, which was 2 years ago. You quickly run to where the loud noise was coming from; your room.

 “Where’s the fucking money Y/N?!” 

   Before you could process what was happening, your dads blood shot eyes met yours. You felt your heart jump as he came closer to punch the wall next to your head. Your fingers went cold and your mind went blank, you were scared to death. But you’ve had it. You weren’t going to work 3 part time jobs to have money spent on gambling. You weren’t playing around anymore, you were fed up. You lifted both your arms and shoved your dad away from you. 

“Im not going to work 3 fucking part time jobs for you spend my money for your stupid gambling! We have a rent to pay! and you have debts to pay.” You felt your eyes water and your hands beginning to sweat. Your dad now looks like a different person. The moment he was about to take a step towards you, you ran to the living room to grab your purse and anything you can get ahold of. This was it. The day has come where you finally get to leave this hell hole. Your dad needs to learn from his mistakes without you there. Without your money, he’ll have to make his own to live. 

   You run out of the apartment as fast as you can, nothing was able to stop you. You finally reached outside where you could see the bright lights of Time Square from a far. So you headed that way, you ran as fast as you could without looking back. 

This is when your life started to change.

   You ran faster and faster, getting closer to the bright lights ahead of you. You ran as fast as you could, your face facing down. You kept going but you suddenly find yourself on the ground on top of a boy. You knocked him over, his glasses were on the floor. Shattered. You slowly lift your head up from the boy’s chest and meet his eyes, your eyes widen and begin to stutter

“o-oh my god! I am so sorry!”

You quickly remove yourself from his body and you stretch your hand out to help up get up. You glance on the ground to where his glasses was shattered. You slowly bend down to pick it up, they were circle glasses. Cute style for someone like like him. He was tall, had broad shoulders and had black hair that almost covered his dark brown eyes.

“I’m so so sorry about your glasses, i’ll give you money to buy you a new one, i’ll do an-” his deep voice interrupts yours

“No its fine, don’t worry about it. They were fake anyways. I have more at home, haha.”

   You were surprised with how deep his voice was, you were not expecting it at all, especially when he let out a deep laugh at the end of his sentence. He was pretty handsome too. You probably thought you weren’t fit for his ideal type, so didn’t even try to stay and flirt. Especially with a situation that you’re in. Right, you’re running away from your Dad. You quickly hand the boy his broken glasses and continued to run. You could hear your Dad’s voice from a far.

“Y/N, fucking come back here right now!”

   You turn around to see the handsome boy one last time, he looked confused and worried. Damn. He was beautiful. You then faced forward to continue running. Then suddenly you hear running behind you, your finger tips went cold again. Was it your Dad? How did he catch up to you so fast?

But it wasn’t 

   The handsome boy was running to catch up to you. You were shocked to see him running at the speed of light, as he grabbed your left wrist and started to help you get away from your Dad.

“What are yo-” interrupted again.

“Y/N, don’t talk! Keep running!” You took his word and continued running with him. He let go of your wrist and made his way to lock his hand with yours to be more comfortable. The both of you are now running through Time Square, at this point you have no idea where you’re heading. The strange boy just kept running.  

                                                       1:30 am

Who is this boy? Where is he taking you?

redsector-a  asked:

Amerihawk, shape-shifter AU

Steve gets back from his morning run and is immediately accosted by Clint as soon as he steps off the elevator. Apparently it’s a Hawk Day, and Steve nearly trips over him as Clint dives all of a sudden, banking just below Steve’s knees. Steve levels him with an admonishing look and carefully steps around him, ready to move on and go about his day.

But Clint keeps following him.

Normally, Steve wouldn’t mind being the center of Clint’s attention all day; most days he feels like human-Clint can barely tolerate his presence before he needs to duck out of the room, and while hawk-Clint opts for his company more often than not, he’s usually just lurking nearby, watching. Today, Clint’s going stir-crazy or something close to it, flying around the Tower incessantly and screeching as he goes. Every now and then, he swoops down and lights on Steve’s hand, talons gripping at his fingers until Steve gently shakes him off.

No matter where Steve goes, Clint seems adamant to monopolize his peace of mind for some reason; he even tries to follow Steve into his shower, for Pete’s sake.

Steve stops by the communal kitchen for a glass of juice and runs across Tony, and right on cue, Clint squawks behind him and passes so close to Steve’s head that the tips of one wing fluff up Steve’s hair. Tony takes one look at them and chokes on his coffee before he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. Shaking his head, Steve leaves him to it and makes his way to the living room.

Bruce is watching a documentary, seemingly entrenched in it, but when Clint starts doing aerials in front the television, he looks warily between Steve and Clint and then shuffles out of the living room, handing off the remote sheepishly.

Steve flips through the channels dispassionately, but Clint keeps dipping down into his line of sight and making a general nuisance of himself, so he can’t focus enough on any one show.

Natasha passes through not long after, pauses behind the couch, then rolls her eyes so emphatically that Steve can nearly feel it. “Idiot,” she mutters under her breath as she keeps walking.

Huffing out a breath, Steve lets his head fall back on the couch while his eyes track Clint’s erratic flight. “I don’t suppose you’d like to change back and watch a movie?” he tries haplessly. Clint’s only response is a shrill cry. “Yeah, I figured.”

Steve’s attempting to catch up on his email when Sam comes in half an hour later. One look at Clint’s ongoing display, and he complains, “Man, you realize this is the communal floor?”

Blinking owlishly, Steve mumbles, “Uh…yes?”

“Not you, him,” Sam scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling Clint with a glare.

“Oh, do you know why–he’s been following me around all day, but he doesn’t seem interested in changing back.”

“Seriously?” Clint pauses in his antics to land on Sam’s shoulder, ruffling his feathers in agitation. “Wait, have you been ignoring him this whole time?”

Steve shrugs helplessly.

Sam’s stern expression melts into something that would be pitying if he wasn’t so genuine with his concern. He turns his head to ask Clint, “What happened to the plan?”

Clint brings up one wing to duck his head under it. Sam sighs and looks back up at Steve with a put-upon expression. “Look,” he explains. “I’m only doing this ‘cause I’ve got a rep to maintain as the ultimate wingman.”

“Okay?”

“Clint’s trying to tell you that he like-likes you. If you like-like him too, he’d really appreciate it if you could lock talons with him.”

“Talons–?”

Sam uncrosses his arms and lifts up one hand, wiggling his fingers pointedly.

“Oh, uh.” Steve looks from Sam to Clint, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. He bends his arm up so that his elbow is on the arm rest, opening his palm in invitation. Clint goes for Steve’s hand so quickly, he whacks Sam in the side of the head with his wing.

As soon as Clint’s talons touch down on his hand, Steve curls his fingers in, engulfing them easily. Smiling shyly, he mutters, “You coulda just said, you know?”

Behind him, he can hear Sam grumbling, “I can’t believe that actually worked.” But Clint’s staring right at him, his wings twitching excitedly, muscles beginning to roll in that way that means he’s preparing for a shift, and Steve can’t draw his eyes away.

Aeronauts are a Danger to Gardens

 A story I wrote for my bab! Featuring hot air balloon pilot Alfred and just-minding-his-own-business-but-got-dragged-into-this-mess Arthur. Also featuring a teeeensy bit of PruCan.

You can also read it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4262574

Summary:  Arthur was simply minding his own business when the contraption came from the sky. The person he meets from inside it is a very interesting character, and from their meeting a friendship is born. Also known as Alfred crashing into Arthur’s garden with a hot air balloon and nearly killing him before they become friends.

Word Count: About 8,880 words.

~~~~~

“Dude, watch out!”

Arthur looked up from his gardening, then promptly hurled himself forwards. The hot air balloon basket passed harmlessly through the space where his head had been before the entire contraption crashed right into Arthur’s garden. The man inside had ducked down for impact, and the colorful envelope fluttered down with grace to cover the rose bushes.

“What the-”

“Sorry about that!”

The man popped up again, a smile on his face. The smile was the only thing Arthur could see, for the stranger was wearing an old-style aviator helmet and goggles. He seemed young, in any case. Then he was removing the helmet. Blond hair was ruffled up, and when he looked up again, his eyes were blue.

Arthur tried again. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Uh, I just landed.”

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A Light in the Dark

Artist: @elderly-scrolls
Author: @pansychubb
Warnings: major injury, blood
[AO3]

Summary:

A flash of light. A deafening bang. An image, seared on her consciousness: Percy, streaked with dirt and blood, sighting along the barrel of Bad News, a snarling beast bearing down on him.

Another shot, and Pike saw what Percy was guarding: a small figure with dented armor, crumpled on the ground, golden hair soaking into a pool of blood.

Pike gasped - except not really, because she didn’t exactly have lungs right now.

[Full story below the cut; also available on AO3 here.]

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youareiron-andyouarestrong  asked:

MY MOM KNITTED YOU A JUMPER + bellarke (with Aurora still alive pls)

featuring meddlesome filipino mom aurora blake because i can. happy holidays!

love like that starlight


“You know, I used to really like Christmas.” Clarke jabbed a finger at Bellamy’s chest for emphasis, which was hard to do because there were two of him. “I’m serious, I really did like it. Back when we lived in Connecticut, Dad and I made snowmen, Mom fought people at the grocery over this amazing Dutch hot chocolate mix, there were stockings on the mantle, lights on the roof, the works. It was bomb, you know?”


Bellamy snorted. “Did you just describe something as ‘bomb’? That’s it, princess, I’m cutting you off.” He tried to nudge the last remaining shot of tequila away from Clarke, but ended up tipping it onto the bar. “Damn, why do they make these glasses so small?”


“Look what you did.” Clarke stared mournfully at the puddle of Mexico’s finest that was now dripping onto her jeans. “Last call was fifteen minutes ago, too.”


“I’ve got some vodka in my apartment,” Bellamy offered.


Clarke scrambled to her feet. “I’m already there.”

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Things Left Unsaid

Ginny’s knuckles still stung from the wooden surface of Mike’s hotel door. She was composed even as her frustration bubbled. “Come on, Lawson. Open the door.”

The knob turned and she didn’t wait for an invitation to enter. Mike was barely out of the way when she brushed past him into the dimly lit room. Other than the nice view of the city from the oddly large window, it was bland and kind of cold. A commercial for adult diapers playing in the background seemed an appropriate final touch. Mike didn’t argue as she wandered aimlessly. He didn’t say anything at all, and that silence worsened her frustration.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or am I supposed to guess?”

“I really want to say guess.” He grumbled, scratching at his beard as he swung the door shut, and shuffled back her way on bare feet. He was dragging in slightly loose jeans and an undershirt that stretched over his broad chest. Her composure wavered slightly at the sight, but only slightly. She planted herself on the arm of the couch, and tapped her foot impatiently.

“What is your deal? You’ve been acting weird all day. You opted out of the players bus with your team, you didn’t stay after the game, you bailed on food, and then you don’t show up for an interview you said you’d be at.”

“I’m tired, Baker.” He sighed dismissively after cutting off the television and tossing the remote onto the couch. She stood to block his path when he tried to move past her towards the bed.

“No, screw that.” She snapped, pushing back against him with a hand firmly pressed to his breast. “You don’t get to blow me off. Not me.”

“Exactly what do you want to hear?”

“How about the truth.”

“It’s just a bad day, Gin.”

“That’s total bullshit.” She replied, moving with him as he tried to get around her once more, and glaring up at him under the blanket of his shadow. “If you’re going to lie, at least have the decency to look me in the eye.”

Ginny wasn’t expecting his gaze to be so direct when he dropped his chin to survey her. In an instant she was being smothered by the intensity of this undefinable friction, and had to take a few steps back to find a release from the moment. She cleared her throat and felt as though it echoed around the room. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Just let it go.” Mike stated firmly. She shuddered with rage, shoving him roughly once, and then again.

“You’re such a hypocrite! You call me out for keeping things close and choosing my words carefully, like I’m just supposed to open up to you whenever you ask, but the one time I ask you to and you try to send me away like a child.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Ginny.” He said, his voice rising in volume, which made her want to raise her her voice as well.

“Then tell me!”

“I hate seeing you with him!” Mike retorted angrily and beneath his tone, weaving in out of his words, was a hint of distress.

“What?” She exhaled.

“Dammit, Ginny. Duarte might take my job from me, and I’m more upset about you pitching to him. You’re practicing with him, you’re doing interviews with him, and I’m kicking myself for being so angry about it. But I am.”

“This isn’t something I chose! Do you actually think I’d prefer him over you?” She retorted while advancing on him to jab at him with a pointed finger. “You are my partner, Mike. I’m not half the pitcher I can be if you’re not on that field with me, if you’re not out there to keep my mind straight, but it wasn’t my decision. So punishing me is still a dick move.”

“Yea, I don’t exactly think clearly when I’m pissed.”

“No, you throw a fit like a child instead!”

“Because I’m jealous! That’s what you do to me.”

“Are you really that mad that he’s getting more attention than you? Cause that’s the only explan….”

“Jesus, Ginny. Shut up.” He demanded and, before she could check him for his tone, his mouth was on hers. They were cool. She could taste mint on the tip of her tongue, and pressed herself closer. She didn’t remember him lifting her from the ground but enjoyed the way his large hands felt beneath her ass as he drove them both towards the window. Her hand slipped down the back of his shirt to rake at the skin just between his shoulder blades while the other took a fistful of hair. He now had her pinned between him and the thick pane of glass. He made holding her there look easy because he was only using one arm while the other slithered a route straight up to her throat.

He applied a light pressure and she bucked, rolling her hips against him. Recklessly they tore at one another though not one stitch of clothing had come off yet. When he released his grip around her beck, his lips took its place, and her toes curled so to the point of aching his. Mike had both of her wrists clutched in his grasp and up over her head. They were leaving traces of their fingerprints on the window when his phone began to ring loudly.

Neither of them stopped. His touch felt like someone was lighting matches along her skin and their breathing had synced. It was when she heard the automated voice from his phone announce who was calling that she was able to focus.

“Amelia Slater is calling you.” It repeats. Mike had already stopped moving but kept her in his arms. “Amelia Slater is calling you.”

“Let me down.” Ginny said and he hesitantly obliged. The voice announced the name one more time before dying away. Ginny blinked up at Mike. “Why is Amelia calling you?”

@ginnyspitch @selina-kyle21

phereinnike  asked:

14 + sirius/james

things you said after you kissed me OMG 

it was a warm sunday evening in july, the two boys were sat on the rooftop of potter manor. despite incessant warning’s from mrs potter that it was very much forbidden, this was james and sirius’ favourite place to go when they wanted to get away together. they were never really away from everything unless they were together. 

both had a bottle of some kind of alcohol in hand, sirius’ burnt out cigarette between them, listening to the birds chorus or the soft breeze blowing through the trees. sirius looked over at james, who was basking in the low sun. mybe it was the alcohol, or the hazy sun light, but the way james looked to sirius right now was ethereal. he didn’t look real. the light lit up his dark hair in shining gold, glinting on his glasses. he saw the way his lips were slightly turned up at the corners, his strong jaw line as his head was tipped back. his never-not-messy hair was living up to it’s reputation. this was another one of those (now increasingly common) moments where all he could do was admire him, james potter, his best friend. he thought about what they could be doing if he was more than that. to sirius james was; to sirius he was so much more, but this was not returned and he’d told himself so many times that he was okay with that; that even having him in his life was a blessing enough. 

james turned to look at sirius, a slight smirk on his lips before taking a swig of his bottle. sirius raised his eyebrows 

“what is it, potter?”

“what is what, black?”

“you’re looking at me like that again” 

“well, so were you.”

sirius could feel his cheeks getting hotter. he scoffed and leans back on his elbows. “dunno what you mean.”

james smirked again, nodding his head. “you do.” 

sirius shrugged, closing his eyes and ruffling up his hair pretending to ignore james. there was a silence between them. sirius felt the warmth of the sun on his face. he liked to close his eyes. when your eyes are closed nothing is certain, nothing is real; you can only hear and smell which were to very underrated senses in sirius’ mind; they leave a lot to the imagination. he’d come to appreciate them, especially since becoming an animagus. he could hear james gulping down the liquid in the bottle; he imagined what it would look like; he allowed himself the pleasure of that. the steady movement of his adam’s apple, the little bit of alcohol that ran free down the corner of his lips and onto his chin. this hadn’t been the first time he’d wanted to help clean that off. whilst deep in his fantasy, the real james potter threw his bottle to the ground, there was a crashing sound as it shattered against a tree and then an exclamation of elation. sirius didn’t open his eyes. james always tried to hit the tree, he usually failed. whilst catching was a strong point for james, precision throwing was not. 

“nice one, prongs” he murdered distractedly. almost before he had the chance to finish his words, james’ lips were against his. it was so sudden. too sudden. he wasn’t sure if he was just fantasising too vividly. it’d never been this vivid. his lips instinctively moved against james’. as soon as the kiss had started, it stopped, their lips drifting apart, it was only a few centimetres but it was too far for sirius’ liking. way too far. he reached up and grabbed that ridiculous patch of untameable hair on the back of james’ head then pulled him back in. this time the kiss was more. it was harder, it was hungry. it was 6 years of tension. james let out a soft sound, moving closer to him. if there was one thing about sirius black, it was he never did anything half heartedly, no half measures and this kiss was no different. there was the taste, of cigarette smoke, of alcohol on each other’s tongues. sirius’s hands were rough, james was needy, running his hands every where over his best friend’s torso that he could reach.
they were both strong. they both fought for dominance, it was like one of their play fights. james held sirius down against the warm roofing tiles, sirius tugged his fingers through james’ matted hair. neither of them were quiet, groaning and gasping. 

eventually they pulled away for much needed breath. sirius finally opened his eyes, his breathing was heavy but so was james’. he looked up at him, running his tongue along his bottom lip. the taste of james potter was still fresh. what to say now? sirius thought, he could feel his heart racing, he wondered if james could too. james’ cheeks were pink, his hair even more messy. the two boys looked at each other for a while, neither wanting to break the silence. once james’ breathing had steadied, he exhaled slowly and broke into a grin. that made sirius feel more comfortable, james’ smile had always been contagious. he laughed a little, wiping his lips. james nodded and then moved to sit back beside him, his hand sliding off sirius’ chest. he leaned back, looking out over the garden again.

“nice one, pads.” he said, cracking open another bottle. 

sirius looked up at him, he couldn’t read him. usually he knew what james was thinking, but the one time he wanted to now was the one time he couldn’t. he loosened up after he’d spoken, sitting up and holding his bottle up toward james’. the necks of their bottles chinked together in cheers. 

“not so bad yourself, prongs.” sirius replied, nodding his head. 

james smiled back and then took a swig, barely turning back to look at sirius. sirius didn’t mind, in fact, it was easier this way. they didn’t say a word to each other until they climbed down off the roof and back through the window. then they shoved the empty bottles under james’ bed, said good night and went to sleep in separate bedrooms. both lying in their beds, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about what just happened. the morning after they were woken by mrs. potter, had breakfast and never spoke of that kiss again.

at least until the next one.  

Wild Heart || JB

A/N: One of those scenarios I just sort of wrote in the moment, and this one is specifically because I loovveee the song it’s based off of, anndd it’s not read over so excuse any mistakes. Hope you like it. 


Tonight, we’ll dance

I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine x


        It was crazy.

           It was crazy, insane, ridiculous, senseless, absurd, wild, but that didn’t slow down JB’s pace as his feet carried him to her house, even when the night only got darker and his head only got cloudier.

           From the moment she stepped into his class and introduced herself, JB was just completely taken in by her presence, and captured by her smile. He remembered her waving at him once, maybe even twice when she occupied the desk beside him, and he remembered muttering something really stupid in response and slapping himself in the face numerous times afterwards.

           He remembered asking her if she wanted to sit at his table at lunch, and the way she made his heart take a giant leap when she said yes.

           He remembered the sparkles he saw in her eyes every time she talked about something she loved talking about, like her old town, or her hobbies, or her dreams, or her favorite music.

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anonymous asked:

Gom + hanamiya asking out their s/o to prom? :D

I love writing these losers send asks for them anytime~

Kuroko: You giggled as Nigou ran past you for the fifth time, sipping your soda and leaning against Kuroko’s shoulder. Moments later the pup had his front paws resting on the blue haired boy’s knees, a slobbery red ball clutched in his mouth, and waited patiently for either you or your boyfriend to notice him. As you go to take the ball Kuroko stops you with chaste kiss against your cheek.

“Tetsu-kun?” The pink tinge lights up the tips of his ears even as you turn to him, returning the kiss to the tip of his nose, and watch as he plucks the ball from his pup’s mouth.

Tossing it once again your gaze lingers for a moment on the sight of the little ball of fluff as he dashes after the toy. It’s only after ten minutes pass and the dog has yet to return do you begin to worry. “Tetsu, Nigou hasn’t come back yet….”

You yip quietly as Kuroko’s hand comes to rest on the top of your head. “____-chan don’t worry.” Despite wanting to believe the blue haired boy, you can’t squash the worrry blooming in your chest. As if sensing it, and frankly you wouldn’t  be surprised if your boyfriend was actually reading your mind, Kuroko pulls your face into his chest.

Another ten minutes and you stop wiggling, though Kuroko is adamant that you not look yet. “Tetsuya I think-” Your words are cut short as he finally releases you. You wince as you pull back, eyes readjusting to the sunlight, before you notice the missing pup sitting pretty in your boyfriend’s lap with a little white envelope held carefully in his mouth.

Pulling it gently from the puppy’s hold you flip it over and peel the heart shaped sticker off the back just before reaching in to take out the paper. Written inside, in Kuroko’s neat penmanship is the following sentence. 

Will you go to prom with me, ____-chan?”

Kise: When Kise had invited you out for dinner, you imagined you’d finally get some well needed and deserved alone time with your busy boyfriend. Things were going well, at least, until a group of his fangirls decided to crash your plans.

As you glare at the tablecloth, fork stabbing at the embroidered designs, you listen as the blond boy tries to wiggle out of the crowd of cooing girls surrounding him. With a sigh you prepare to get up and forcefully remove the girls from around the model when the loud clang of his chair hitting the ground startles everyone in the vicinity. Seconds later, the blond was letting out muffled whines as he throws his arms around you and buries his face in your hair. “I’m trying to ask _____cchi to prom, but you’re all ruining it!”

You have to stifle your laughter, as Kise sounds close to tears, before you begin trying to coax him to look at you. After fifteen minutes of the model clinging to you and pouting anytime someone tried to remove him, you finally manage to wiggle around enough to face him. “Ryouta-kun?”

His pout melts away as you place a sweet kiss against his lips. “_____cchi~” Kise hums happily, rubbing his cheek against yours.

“Of course I’ll go to prom with you!” His happy shouts, and the shower of kisses you receive, well make up for the half hour you spent making holes in the table with a fork.

 Aomine: “Daiki I can’t just skip class!” Your protests fall on deaf ears, however, as the blue haired boy tugs you down the hall. The only response you receive is a half smirk thrown over one shoulder. A whine slips past your lips as he tugs you through the hallways, your free hand wrapped around his as you try to pull him back toward the classroom.

A low grunt comes out as your boyfriend suddenly turns around, tugging you tightly into his chest and crushing you against it as one arm pins both of yours to your sides and the other wraps around your shoulders. “Hey, what’s your problem? Don’t wanna spend time with your boyfriend?”

You grumble into his muscles, resting your head over his heart. “Daiki I take notes for both of us,” His chin rested atop your head as you listened to his heart beat. “If I miss a day it’s like we both miss a day.”

“Worried about my grades huh? I don’t even worry about my grades!” Scrunching your face up in anger, you turn to gently bite his shoulder.

“Oi!” He takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head up. “What kind of girlfriend bites their boyfriend?” You smile smugly, sticking your tongue out at him. Aomine responds by pressing a fiery kiss to your lips, brushing his tongue against yours, before pulling back to let you speak.

“The kind who has to put up with lazy bums that never do their own work.” You retort, your lips lightly brushing the pulse in his neck.

“Heh,” Soft lips press against your ear. “I’ll make it up to you at the prom, alright?”

Midorima: Something was off about your boyfriend today, though you couldn’t quite tell what it was. He wasn’t the type to cling to you, or to show such affection in public, but today he had yet to leave your side. The green haired boy was never more than a few feet behind you, making nitpicking comments about any prom poster you passed.

“This color scheme looks terrible.” You sigh, turning and catching the boy’s tie before pulling him closer. This must’ve been the twentieth comment he’s made in as many minutes.

“Shin-kun,” Your giggles come out as his cheeks turn a deep shade of red. “Do you really hate prom so much?”

Pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, and stifling the laughter as he feebly protested, you look up into his light green eyes and wait for a response. “I…” He clears his throat, removing your hand from his tie before dragging you toward his locker. “You need to come with me right now.”

His arm unwrapped from your shoulders as he began to shuffle through his locker, turning redder by the minute. “Here!” Two tickets were shoved into your hands and you grinned as you watched him push his glasses up his nose.

“Your lucky item for today is a ticket to prom!”

Murasakibara: “Astushi,” Your fingers run through his purple locks as his head rests in your lap, one hand laying over his abdomen as the other used your remote to channel surf. “Are you still hungry?” He’d been eating sweets all day and you were worried he was going to give himself a stomach ache.

“____chin, I want that cake~” His tone was half whining as one finger pointed at the container he’d brought over with him. Arching one eyebrow you lean forward, straining to get the container without disturbing your boyfriend. 

However, unlike the boy half asleep in you lap, you were almost pathetically short. No matter how you leaned you couldn’t even get a fingertip on the white box without smashing your boyfriend’s head into your chest. With a sigh, and an angry pout, you slump backward on the couch.

“Hehe,” You stare at the lazy smile spreading across Mura’s face as his arm reaches out to pluck the box from the table and hold it up for you. “____chin is so tiny~”

Huffing, you lean down and peck him on the lips before flipping the lid open. It takes you a moment to register the words written in (favorite color) icing.

“Go to prom with me, ____chin”

Akashi: He had taken you out this Saturday to one of the most expensive formal clothing stores in town and you couldn’t stop yourself from almost clinging to his arm. You weren’t used to this type of environment. Everyone seemed so….sophisticated. 

“Seij-kun I…” A blush spreads across your cheeks as he turns to glance at you, a delicious smirk twitching his lips up. “Are you sure this is alright?” Two fingers were placed beneath your chin and you found yourself holding you breath as his lips graze against yours.

“_____, are you questioning me?” You shake your head, intertwining your fingers with his as you lean forward, and try to catch his lips with yours. His smirk grows as one arm snakes around your waist, holding you to him as his other hand lovingly caresses your cheek. “Answer me.”

“Sejiuro I just…don’t feel right letting you buy me things that are so expensive.” His smile is soft as he kisses your forehead, bringing your head to rest in the crook of his neck. You sigh, wrapping your arms around his chest.

“My queen, my empress,” His hand was slowly running though your hair as he spoke. “You deserve everything I can give to you.” Akashi pulled away, taking your hand and guiding you to aisle upon aisle of beautiful dresses.

“Now, if we’re to match I think something red would look ravishing on you.” Confusion is written all over your face as watch him shift through the racks.

“Match?” He turns to peer at you over one shoulder as you speak. “Match for what?”

“Prom, of course. You are going with me.”

Hanamiya: You could hardly bare to watch his practices. Someone always ended up covered in blood with something bruised or broken. Even now, as Hanamiya shouted orders at his team, you were halfway out of your seat and ready to drag Hara off the court so you properly bandage the gash on his forehead.

“____!” A small squeak escapes your lips as you turn to face the amber eyed coach. “You listening to me?” You clutch onto the water bottle beside you, glaring at your boyfriend as he stands with crossed arms and a languid smirk.

“No!” You shout back from the stands, mirroring his expression, before shuffling through your backpack for the first aid kit you always kept.

“Are you going to make me come up there?” You stuck your tongue out at him, finally procuring the necessary bandages, and started down to the court. Although you couldn’t see his eyes, Hara didn’t seem too surprised when you began cleaning and bandaging the cut on his cheek even as he pops a bubble in your face.

Though you hardly time to swipe an alcohol swab over the small red line before two muscular arms had wrapped around you from behind. “What do you think you’re doing huh?” Just as you’re about to respond though, Hanamiya bites down on the tip of your ear.

“Oww,” You hiss, (e/c) eyes boring into his, while you squirm in his python like grip. “I’m your manager! I’m just doing my job!”

“You seemed too comfortable around him, should I be worried about something? Is he better at fuck-” Your lips smash against his in a vain attempt to shut him up. It works, if only for a moment, but his laughter is still clearly audible.

“You know,” A growl slips pass you lips as he sits down, holding you in his lap and grinding his lower half into yours. “I’ve always wanted to screw you in a fancy dress….so I guess we gotta go to prom this year.”

anonymous asked:

Imagine jock!steve having a huge crush on bucky, the cute pouty faced nerd he sits next to in chemistry class

It’s not that Steve has no idea who this guy is. He’s heard the name Bucky Barnes lots of times.

It’s just. He’s never ended up in the same classes as the guy.

So he watches, mildly interested, as Bucky Barnes–less than three inches shorter than Steve, broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist, with a walk that airs on a swagger and that definitely favors his left side and the sling on his left arm–slopes over to a seat halfway down the third row of desks, as per their teacher’s instructions.

“Rogers–you’re next to Barnes,” says Mr Douglas. He’s the football coach. Steve plays baseball–okay, baseball and hockey–so he and Douglas have never crossed paths, but he knows from reputation that the man never calls anyone by their first names.

Steve heads over to his seat, notices Bucky turn and watch him. He swallows. Why is it always the eyelashes?

“Rogers,” he says in greeting.

“Barnes,” Steve replies.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask, that day, why people call him Bucky.

-

It happens in the fourth class. It’s their first lab day; Steve’s not great at this stuff, but, damn, it’s pretty fun watching stuff blow up. Mr Douglas seems to know that, which must be why he’s got them making tiny explosions in their test tubes today.

Bucky, leaning against the lab counter holding their test tube horizontally, looks up at Steve and grins. “Right. Now, light the thing,” he says. Steve does as he’s told, holding the too-skinny-for-a-popsicle-stick in their Bunsen burner. Bucky nods, tips his safety goggles off the top of his head and onto his nose, and says, “now stick it in.”

“That’s what she said,” Steve says, or tries to say. He manages, “that’s what–” before he feeds the flame into the test tube. The thing makes this weird little pop sound; fire races up toward Bucky’s hand, held in by the glass–and the experiment’s over.

Steve shoves his goggles up and laughs a little, put out that there wasn’t more explosion. But Bucky–Bucky is grinning like a loon. He’s put the test tube back into its clamp and picked up his pen, his left arm–as usual–hanging in its sling.

Steve can’t stop looking at him.

“I was kind of expecting more,” he says, because he wants Bucky to look at him too.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky asks, glancing up at Steve. His eyelashes are bent against the lenses of his glasses, that’s how long they are. “I love this shit! Fuckin' science, man!”

Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone smile like that. He feels sort of off-balance, like his feet are standing on nothing.

It’s going to be a long year.

-

It’s not that Steve’s an idiot, okay? He does understand chemistry. If he puts his mind to it.

It’s just. He can’t focus.

Their midterm is coming up, and he has no idea what the hell has been going on in this class, except that Bucky Barnes smells like chocolate chip cookies some days and like just really manly other days, and either his body heat is several degrees higher than normal or Steve’s mom’s menopause is rubbing off on him (okay no but seriously it’s always so warm sitting next to Bucky), and for a while he had been sure that Bucky had worn mascara because his eyelashes are just so fucking long, and also Bucky has a lot of these weirdly pretty beauty marks (or something, Steve doesn’t know what the hell to call them), they’re like Steve’s freckles but bigger and darker and wider-spaced, but anyway Bucky has them on his neck and they’re in the pattern of the Cassiopeia constellation and Steve just wants to kiss them all.

He’s so screwed.

And yet this is nothing–nothing–compared to how screwed he is when Bucky offers to tutor him. Because there’s no way in hell he’s saying no, but there’s also no way in hell he’s ever going to learn anything this way.

-

When Bucky shows up at Steve’s place that Friday, he’s carrying a tin of cookies. “My mom never lets me go to anyone’s house without treats,” he says with a grin as Steve leads the way to the kitchen because he can’t imagine being in his bedroom. Alone. With Bucky. And a bed. In his bedroom.

“You want anything to drink?” Steve asks. Behind him, Bucky pops open the lid on the cookies and puts them in the middle of the table, then starts to unpack.

“Um, you know, whatever you’re having,” he says. Steve gets two glasses of orange juice and joins Bucky at the table.

Steve stares down at his notebook for a few seconds. He has no memory of writing anything that’s in there, and it’s mostly garbled anyway. He groans and slumps down over the table, picking up his textbook and covering his head with it.

“I’m so fucked,” he grumbles.

Bucky chuckles. “You know, you wouldn’t be if you could pay attention to Douglas instead of staring at me.”

Steve jerks up. Bucky has his chin in his hand. His left arm is still in its sling–one day Steve’s going to work up the courage to ask about that.

“You–I–you,” Steve says. His face is already on fire, he can feel it.

He’s about to bunk in under his textbook again for, like, the rest of eternity, when Bucky leans forward a little. He grabs the front of Steve’s shirt and yanks him forward.

Suddenly they’re kissing. Steve lets out a little mewl and Bucky pulls back, just a little. His eyelashes brush against Steve’s cheek. “You,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Me.”

Fic: You or Someone Like You, pt. 3

(First parts can be found here and here!)

“I can’t believe how much he looks like Tony.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t bring that up.” Steve said to Bruce. It took more effort than he cared to acknowledge to tear his eyes away from the little boy who was currently perched on one of Tony’s highest bench stools, his fingers careful and assured as he went through the process of disassembling the Roomba. No one had given him any instruction, Tony had barely had time to give the boy a tray of tools before he was popping the casing off.

Now, he was half-crouched on the stool, the heels of his feet caught on the edge of the seat, his arms stretched around his knees to do his work. Harris, his broom now resting on his knees, sat next to him, just watching, his eyes wide.

Bruce paused next Steve, his arms wrapped around a clipboard. “He’s, uh, he’s not handling this well, I take it?” he asked with a faint smile.

“Well,” Steve said, drawing the word out, “considering the situation, I think he’s bearing up pretty darn well. He tell you what’s going on?”

“I got the condensed version,” Bruce admitted. He stared at the boy, his brow creasing. “I’m starting to suspect it was the highly condensed version.”

“I’m not sure we’ve got an uncondensed version, to be honest,” Steve said. “Things are still a little… Complicated.”

Bruce nodded. “I’m… Getting that.”

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Starter for @hartoverhammer - Loki’s back was pressed back against the indestructible glass wall of the cell he was locked in that separated him from the outside world. His eyes were trained down on his shackled together hands as he was passing the time of waiting to go back to Asgard, with magic; more importantly learning how to train and control the powers his true blood line. It wasn’t something he was fond of, still rather upset about the fact that his true heritage had been hidden from him all these years. Frost Giants were cruel beings, feared and thought of as monsters to the Aesir. That’s what he had always been told, growing up as a child. Not to mention that he was practically the runt of his heritage, a misshapen and left for dead infant. It gave him even more of a reason to prove his worth, to prove his power and that he was capable of taking on greater tasks.
But that wasn’t the case at the moment. He was sitting there, waiting to be taken back to Asgard after failing in his attempts to take over Midgard. That had been his one chance to prove his worth, and yet he had failed. At first he thought he’d win, that he’d come out on top as the victor and everyone would bow down to him. But halfway through he had even started doubting himself, doubting that he was powerful enough for that task.
His eyes gazed down at his now light blue fingertips, the color slowly starting to creep up his fingers and to his hand; the underside tips of his fingers having slowly produced little icicles as he was trying to produce some sort of ice, snow, anything. He just wanted to know what he was truly capable of with his heritage.
But his attention had been cut short when he heard someone walk into the room on the other side of the glass wall, separating him from his guest. His fingers shook a little, quickly trying to disperse the light blue color of them though he didn’t think he had enough time; just slipping his cuffed hand under his leather coat.
“Thor…” His voice drawled out, brow narrowing to the God. “Have you come to take me back to Asgard? Or just to mock my failures?”