a strange stirring


Our Little Secret

request:  please wright something ab void stiles pleaseeeeeeeeee

desc: Scott kidnaps and ties reader to a chair in order to lure an infatuated void Stiles out to him, but the plan backfires and the one who takes off the blindfold isn’t Scott. (gagging/binding, lust, etc.)

a/n: I know practically every void stiles work is a smut, but tried to do a little bit of something else, though this is def. open for a part two if you can imagine where that’d go ;)

gif: @lovemusiclifexx


She shifted her hands but found they were bound by rope. She tried to blink but found her eyes restrained by a blindfold. She tried to call out but found her mouth stuffed with cloth. It was dark and terrifying, like a black hole had sucked her up, and now there was nothing but empty silence and the cold chill of whatever room she was in. Her muffled cries were heard at last, the fabric being removed from her eyes only, and they narrowed under the bright white lights as she was met with a set of fiercely glowing red eyes.

“I know, I know, okay?!” Scott hushed her before she could even begin to protest, his eyes resuming their warm gold color. “I’ll ungag you if you promise not to bite, okay?” he joked, trying to warm the mood but clearly failing.

 He sighed and fumbled nervously as he pulled the black cloth from the girl’s mouth. Her lips were chapped, bent into a permanent frown, her eyes tired, hair a messy halo around her face.

“What the hell Scott?!” she hissed.

“Shh,” he placed a finger to her pouted lips, “quiet, okay? I need you to be quiet.”

“What did you do to me?” she ignored him.

He bit at his lip, scratching at his head like he wasn’t sure what she was onto.

“I swear to god, McCall-”

“Fine, Fine!” he cut her off, “just don’t be mad.”

She glared daggers at him, her silence enough of a response.

“Okay, so uh, I may have slipped a little something in your drink earlier,” he clicked his tongue nervously.

“You what?!”

“I’m sorry,” he filched when she snapped forward, her hands still bound to the wooden chair, luckily for him. “It was the only way I could get you to go through with the plan, alright?”

She was still wearing the navy strapped dress from earlier in the afternoon, the one she’d word when Scott had kindly offered her a big glass of iced water.

“What,” she inhaled sharply, “is the plan?”

“I-okay-w-I needed a way to lure him out here,” Scott cleared his throat and pushed back his dark hair.

“Who exactly are we talking about?” her voice lowered as she feared his next words.

His eyes narrowed guiltily, “you know…”

“No I don’t, asshole, so maybe you should grow a pair and tell m-”

“It’s Stiles.”

Her breath was caught at once, her vision going hazy.

He is not Stiles,” she growled, “what the hell were you thinking?”

“Don’t say that, (Y/N). He has to be in there somewhere, I-I know it,” Scott stuttered, “and you’re the only one he, you know, cares about.”

She felt her cheeks burn red, her brows furrowing, “he’s a creepy murderer in the shell of our best friend.”

“And that creepy murderer is weirdly intrigued with you and you know it,” he shrugged.

“So what? You think you can just kidnap me and expect him to actually show up?”

As if at once, a loud thud came from above the tiny and chilly room, and Scott’s eyes flashed at once, head snapping up, nostrils flaring, “he’s here.”

“Scott, don’t you d-” she tried, unable to stop the gag being shoved back in her mouth, or the sheet of black encompassing her vision.

She heard the footsteps of the werewolf as he bounded up whatever stairs led from the door, and it was silent, but for only the briefest of moments. She could hear the sound of her unsteady breath, feet clacking on the ground, and then suddenly, a large crash of noise. She could make out a cry of pain, a slash of claws, a series of clashes, and then a drop of a body to the floor. It all happened so fast, the clatter coming like a symphony of brief destruction before dissipating into nothingness. Then she heard them, the slow, drawn out footsteps on the floors above her, and she prayed to anyone who would listen that it was Scott who stood upstairs. But the sound, the careful and dangerous way they moved, were wrong. The way she heard each one creaking on the steps of the stairs as they descended into the room was wrong. And the absolute silence that accompanied their entrance into the room, was just wrong. She held her breath, unable to pause the shaking of her chest, or the tears that her blindfold held back. The wooden floorboards clacked softly as the person approached her, kneeling down in front of her when he was just inches away. And he, whoever it was, simply memorized her for excruciatingly long seconds, his minty breath fanning over her skin, cold fingers coming to brush her cheek. She flinched at his touch, catching a hum of quiet discontempt. Then his hands were at her blindfold, and she almost wished he wouldn’t pull it away because she was terrified of what she’d see.

Two dark eyes, blank, hollow, soulless. And those purple rings that circled under them. The pale skin of the demon who sat before her. The twitch of his lips when he saw her face. His thumbs hooked in her gag, pulling it from her mouth, eyes darting between her tear filled orbs and colorless lips. 

“Stiles?” she tried softly.

He laughed quietly, “aw, close, but not quite.”

He brushed her nose lightly with his thumb, big grin emerging on his face when she shifted away.

“You shouldn’t be scared,” he sighed, pursing his lips. “I mean, they should, but, they don’t have quiet the effect you’ve drawn to me,” he hummed lowly.

“Leave me the hell alone,” she hissed.

“Ouch,” he snorted, raising his hands in defense, “she bites.”

She didn’t respond.

“Mmm, silent method, huh?” his empty eyes narrowed. “See, as much as I’d enjoy hearing you scream, I’d pick the binds if I only had the one choice.”

Her chair thrust forward as she pushed herself angrily at the boy, but clearly did nothing to come close to harming him.

“That’s cute,” his lips twitched. “You have a lot of fire in there,” he indicated at her heart, “I like it.”

Her eyes narrowed, her breathing heavy, “what did you do to Scott and the others?”

“I took care of them,” he shrugged, adding, when he saw her expression, “oh calm down, they’re not dead….yet.”

“So why are you here?” she demanded.

“Because here is where Scott used you as human bait, which was smart, until I kicked his ass,” Stiles stood, running his pale slender fingers through his messy chocolate hair.

“Why me?” she begged softly.

He turned on his heel, shadows cast over his cheekbones, “don’t pretend like you don’t know it, sweetheart.” He stepped back to her, brushing away the loose hair gently from her face, “I am completely infatuated with you.”

Her nails dug into her palms, teeth biting at the inside of her cheek as she stared into the void’s face, “well then stop it.”

“It comes too easy with you,” he ignored her, shifting upright, “especially with that idiot nagging in my chest,” he fidgeted at the dark tee that clung snugly to his chest.

“Wh-Stiles?!” she breathed.

Void grunted softly, his eyes closing, “believe me, he has the same thoughts I do about you, sweetheart. They’re just a little more…” his eyes opened, “PG.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that every thought of you eats away at me just like it used to with him,” he sighed, pacing around the poorly lit room. He smirked, full lips bent, “It also means I’d like to do lots of selfish, dirty, and impure things to you.”

Her heart raced, the strange stir in her gut unfamiliar and daunting. 

“Let me out right now so that I can strangle you,” she growled.

“Kinky,” Stiles winked, “but I prefer you submissive.”

She tried not to focus on the sound of her blood rushing through her ears, “what are you going to do to me?”

She didn’t mean to, she wanted to seem brave, but anyone could’ve heard that fear in her whisper.

He sunk before her again, and though the usual sparkle in his eyes was still snuffed out, she sensed his empathy. “Look, I won’t hurt you,” he sighed, touching her cheek lightly with he fingertips. “I’ll gladly soak my hands with anyone’s blood but yours,” he tried to humor her.

She turned her face away, and his voice was aggressive when he snapped at her to look at him. He forced her jaw forward, caressing her flesh lightly, “don’t be scared.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, the crystal droplets trailing from her eyes, “I am.”

“Of me?” he breathed, “or of admitting what you want?”

She stopped breathing, her eyes glazing over, unable to see straight.

“I-I don’t-” she shook her head through a short sob, “I don’t know.”

“Shh,” he cooed, brushing the moisture from her face, “it’s okay.”

It was strange, to hear those words coming from him and actually feel eased, to loosen at the soothing remarks a monster whispered.

I know what you want, (Y/N)” he said with yearning, voice hoarse. “And god, I want it too,” he pleaded. “But I also know you don’t see it yet, or you do but you can’t admit it.”

Her lower lip trembled as she stared into those black orbs.

“So I’ll be patient,” he shook his head, “because frankly, there’s something about you that makes every second worth it. And I’m just waiting for you to open your eyes one day and realize we’re not so different.”

“Aren’t we?” she asked quietly.

His throat rumbled, “so there’s no part of you that wonders…?” his eyes caught on her parted lips.

She gulped down the lump in her throat, “n-no.”

He gave a half smirk, “you can’t even convince yourself of what you’re saying.”

Her heart pounded obnoxiously, centimeters between her, the boy, and the strangely fitting sleep deprived rings that clung to his face.

“What if I told you that you could close your eyes, and that the next time you’d open them, I’d be gone?” he asked, placing his palm to the midnight blue dress that cut down her thighs, his gaze tantalizing, aroma overwhelming. 

“You’d leave?” she said, “and nobody would-”

“Know?” he finished for her. “No, just you and I, just one little secret moment. One where you can either open those beautiful eyes  and ache knowing you’re going to feel that regret forever, or one where you take what you want. How does that sound, sweetheart?”

She chewed at her lip, giving a little nod.

“Okay baby, close your eyes,” he hummed, hands wrapping around her to gain access to the rope that bound her.

She did.

His hands fumbled gently until she was free, and though she couldn’t see it, she could feel Stile’s thumbs rubbing gently against her raw flesh. He gently rested her hands back into her lap, his tongue flickering over his dried lips, “whenever you open them,” he promised.

“And you’ll be gone,” she breathed shakily.

“I’ll be gone.” 

His last words were muffled as he felt a set of lips lock lightly to her mouth, and his response was instantaneous. Her hands flew up to his face and forced him to her mouth, releasing a moan into his skin as he pressed himself tightly against her body, his taste absolutely intoxicating, like cocaine to her lips. She dug her fingers through his hair, her breath heavy as he growled against her mouth and grinded her lightly to the rhythm of their kiss, his tongue relentlessly invading her mouth.

 It was Stiles who pulled away, and she could feel the grin on his lips when he did. She nudged forward for more but he released her with a small shake of his head, knowing very well he’d given her just enough to have her hooked, and left her with just enough to keep her craving more. His thumb came to her lip, and he tugged gently down on it with a smile, “my little secret.”

And then her eyes opened, and he was gone, nothing but a ravenous longing left to signify he’d ever been there at all.

Bard: Fuck you, you’re a dragon!

GM: After killing one of your followers with lightning from a “Wabbajack” -
Druid (OOC): Unintentionally! I was hoping to turn her into a flock of butterflies!

Rogue: I throw daggers at the knowledge to torture it into submission.

GM: The barbed devil feels a strange stirring in his chain.

Druid: I want his scimitar. I’m glad he’s a dick.

On December 22, 1962, one month before The Feminine Mystique hit the bookstores, the Saturday Evening Post published a cover article purporting to offer a portrait of the typical American woman. … The Post’s story was based on more than 1,800 interviews and extensive polling by the Gallup organization. According to the author, George Gallup, it was not intended to examine “the extremes” among American women. “Old maids,” divorced women, childless women, and working mothers certainly existed in America, he acknowledged, but they were of concern mainly to sociologists, “because they are unusual” and exist “in a society that is not geared for them.” The article’s aim was to portray how “most” American women lived and thought.
—  An excerpt from social historian Stephanie Coontz’s book A Strange Stirring. Coontz appears on Fresh Air today to talk about the enduring legacy of Betty Friedan’s book and what the world was like when it was originally published.
Foxhole - SLBP (Mitsunari)

Because I’ve been looking for a reason to start writing for this fandom, and @yoolee gave me one. Thank you! Go easy on me everyone, it’s been awhile. (Also wtf is 2nd person and consistent tense *flails*)

From her prompt post: AU -  Reincarnation – they meet again in the modern world (Mitsunari x MC, ~3k words)

“An old book, eh?”

The day you’d mentioned your fruitless quest to find a vintage cookbook to one of the regulars at your cafe, he had nestled his chin on his hand, lips pursed thoughtfully as his fingers drummed your worn formica counter. “A friend of mine owns a bookstore, if you can believe those still exist today. And he loves collecting vintage and rare stuff like that. Maybe he could help you out.”

Mischief sashayed through his eyes, and that should have tipped you off right then and there. Would have, if you hadn’t been eagerly scrambling for a piece of scrap paper to write down the address Hideyoshi gave you. Instead, the moment passed as he shoveled the rest of his breakfast down the hatch in an impressive gulp and gave you a cheerful thumbs up, standing and tossing a handful of bills down to settle his check. “You’ll have to let me know how it goes,” he said as he tucked his wallet away, gracing you with one last cheeky wink and a broad grin as he left. “Good luck!”

Little did you know how much you’d need it.

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Who Will Protect You? || Peter Parker x Reader

{summary: After Peter Parker witnesses a young superhero who goes by the alias Midnight quickly diffuse a hostage situation at the bank, he begins to admire her while searching for her true self.

His search for Midnight’s identity leads him to Hagstrom Academy [1], where he briefly sees a young woman who reminds him of his favorite superhero. Convinced that she is Midnight, he takes a photograph of her and keeps her picture at his desk to always inspire him to do what’s right, no matter how difficult the situation may be.

However, things start to get a little awkward for Peter when his aunt May sees Midnight’s picture on his desk, and she is completely convinced that Midnight is Peter’s girlfriend! Unable to explain the true reasoning behind why he keeps a photograph of her, Peter must find a way to introduce her to his Aunt May…

Could things get any worse for him?}

warnings: none, just a half naked Peter near the end. But it’s nothing too explicit or sexual, really, I promise.

**don’t plagiarize/repost this story; reblogs are fine!


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A Series of Accidents

Happy belated birthday, @fangirling-airi-style!!!

Based on my own gifset, because well - that’s how my brain works. 

In Which Dean and Cas (accidentally) adopt Satan Jr. Enjoy!

It’s an accident, really.

Well, adopting Lucifer’s kid is.

Taking him to the bunker is a given.

What else are they going to do? Chuck the kid into the streets and hope some non-satanist finds him? Take him to child services when every demon on the planet will be eagerly looking for him?

So, yeah, they take Satan Jr. to the bunker with them, because that’s the only thing they can do. Kelly died, just breathing long enough to see her son and whisper “I love you”, the failure to save yet another life on their shoulders.

At least they got rid of Dagon, or Crowley did.

Hey, he saw Lucifer’s kid and didn’t immediately try to kill it, so that’s a plus too.

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Stay with me

Based on “Imagine pleading with Thranduil to heal the Durins as they all still have a glimmer of life left in them and you know that he has the ability to save them” from ImaginexHobbit.


Cautiously, wary of stray orcs that might yet be lurking in the depths of Ravenhill’s tunnels, you ventured onto the ice at the tower’s base.

A lone figure lay close at hand, and as you edged nearer, casting a glance across the frozen river to where a handful of your comrades searched the rocky terrain for casualties of the battle, it was quickly apparent that the body was not that of an elf. He was smaller, stocky and powerfully built, wearing a heavy leather coat rather than gleaming armor, and a mane of golden hair framed a handsome, bearded face with eyes as blue as the sky they no longer saw.

The dwarf’s rugged beauty stirred a strange rush of pity in your heart and you sheathed your sword to sink to your knees beside him, feeling yourself unsettled by a deep sympathy for this poor, lost soul who had been your enemy only hours before. His lifeless face spoke wrenchingly to you of youth, strength, nobility, hopes for the future all cut short at the merciless hands of an orc, judging from his wounds. Carefully, though you could not have told why, you took his broad, gloved hand between your own and held it as if to comfort him before reaching to close his eyes in a futile gesture of compassion.

Your fingertips gently touched his face and you started, as though you’d been stung, instantly withdrawing your hand.

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anonymous asked:

Hay, is there any other under appreciated works that you could share with us? Pretty please?

Yes, definitely!  There are honestly so many.  Here is my first list, for those interested, and here are some more (I’ll probably do more of these lists as time goes on…there are just SO MANY great fics!).  I would suggest reading everything you can by all of these wonderful authors.  


To the Victor by @thegraytigress:  Nightmares are real. Tony is living one. It’s awful, unending, torturous. It’s driving him mad. It’s killing him. He just wants to wake up and go back to his life with Steve, a life filled with love and happiness. Yet every day the hell of reality presses down, because Steve went on a mission. Steve made the ultimate sacrifice. Steve is never coming home.And Tony can’t let himself believe it.

Fixer-Upper by @imafriendlydalek:  Tony leads the way up the steps to the house, and as the door swings open with a long creaking sound - note to self: oil door hinges - Steve’s eyes widen. He steps inside, turns slowly on his own axis as he looks around.“Tony, this place, it’s…” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice. Tony smiles inwardly. It is just the kind of thing Steve would like. Steve, who has a keen appreciation for fine aesthetics, who has a healthy - okay, sometimes more than healthy - sense of history and an acute desire to preserve things he deems worthy.“This place is a dump.”Well, so much for that, then. Tony shifts his weight to one leg as he takes an appraising look. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, yeah, I’ll give you that, but it’s not past saving. Just needs some TLC.”Steve uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Well listen, you ever want an extra set of hands with some of the work, just give me a call.”

Put My Head Under My Pillow by @lazywriter7:  Tony uses the BARF tech to get over his nightmares of Siberia.

In Another Life, My Love by @stark-spangled-lovers and morphia: Centuries ago, Stephanus was sworn to protect the city of Rome. His life was unforgiving; as a warrior, he didn’t have the time to form a close relationship, and he surely couldn’t fall in love. Senator Antonius challenged everything he knew, worming into his heart before Stephanus realized how painful love could be… especially when ripped away.In the present, Steve has a problem. The Avengers have just started to function as a team, and after their latest mission, strange visions stir long-dormant memories he can’t dismiss as dreams. Visions of Tony, visions of them. And since Tony doesn’t remember what once might have been, Steve knows he must do everything to keep his newfound feelings a secret.

Tied to You by @stark-spangled-lovers:   What does it take for Steve and Tony to get over their insecurities and denial? Being kidnapped and tied up together. Naked. Obviously.

Genuflect by @some-blue-jack (WiP, but I hold out eternal hope):  “You called for me, Your Majesty,” Steve said, leather creaking as he adjusted his sword and shield in order to go down to one knee. He waited for Tony’s permission to rise.

Just Like Starting Over by @georgygirl-247: Seven years ago, Steve broke up with Tony because he thought it was the Right Thing to Do™ for both of them.But he never asked Tony.And now it’s seven years later, and Tony has decided to very publicly remind Steve of a promise he made to him once upon a time.Or, Steve and Tony dated in college, broke up, and now Tony wants Steve back again.

The Lost Art of Correspondence by @winterstar95: The shit storm Tony found himself in – well-he had no one to blame but himself. Hacking into MIT’s grading system as an undergrad to avoid the useless course work in English got him into this mess. As a graduate student he should not have to worry about taking an English class to fulfill an undergrad requirement. But that was exactly what happened. English 13B: The Lost Art of Correspondence. It was literally a pen pal class where he was assigned to a Service member and had to write lonely hearts letters to some lunk head deployed to who knew where. He could get through it. All he had to do was convince the lunk head to go along with his plan. Fill out a spreadsheet, write the paper, no letters needed. But Lunk head refused. Lunk head wanted the lonely hearts letters. It didn’t matter that Lunk head might be the Greek god Adonis come to life, Tony didn’t have the time. Trying to navigate grad school, his parents, Tony did not need a Greek god Lunk head in his life, nor did he want to write lonely hearts letters to anyone – least of all some earnest do good soldier.By the end, though, Tony did just that. Write lonely hearts letters to his Adonis lunk head – soon to be Captain - Steve Rogers

For Sentimental Reasons by @blossomsinthemist:  Ultimates Steve and Tony have hard lives–and they end up relaxing together. It turns into a habit. Non-sexual submission with service top Steve and sub Tony.

Lucky Break by @blossomsinthemist:  Steve and Tony haven’t been together long–they just started dating after putting the team back together in the form of the New Avengers. When the Red Skull finds out about their relationship, though, he takes it personally. Aiming to make an example of them and insulted by Steve taking up with a man, he takes them prisoner, and proceeds to try and break them. It doesn’t exactly go as planned. Set directly after the beginning of the first (2004) New Avengers series and the formation of the new team.

Come All You Young Lads and Lay Me Down by @laudatenium:  It wasn’t easy, feeling like this for someone he was barely friends with.But it wasn’t like life had ever been kind to him.—-I did the AoU bed sharing thing, but with way too much angst.

A Face to Meet the Faces that You Meet by valtyr:  Identity porn. AU post Cap’s death in ways that should be pretty obvious.

Tend Towards Decay by valtyr:  As a last-ditch effort to revive Tony after he wipes his brain, Strange uses magic to connect Steve’s mind to his in an effort to force them to work things out so Tony will have something to live for.

Apparently Only One Meal from Barbarism by valtyr:  The Savage Land: “All kinds of mutates and dinosaurs and big cheetahs and a surprising amount of acceptable nudity.” - Spider-Man

Plunge by @kiyaar:   How the Illuminati ruined everything and no one was able to pick up the pieces.

Please Restore Your System to the Last Time You Felt Safe by @the-vorkosiganPost CW. Steve and Tony haven’t talked in a while, but happily an alien invasion is in progress so they don’t have to. But Tony gets hit with a mysterious ray and gets something resembling a partial amnesia: he thinks he’s twelve. He thinks it’s 1986. And he’s more than surprised to see Captain America by his bedside when he wakes up.Written as a remix of A Safe Place by Veldeia, who summed it up like this: Tony is de-aged, and Steve is there for him—both during and after the ordeal. That pretty much applies to this one too, only it’s mental de-aging.

liebesleid (m) · one

ongoing miniseries |  request: reincarnation au with yoongi.
(—or a story of perpetual unrequited love.)

pairing: yoongi | reader
genre: a lot of angst and drama with a sprinkle of smut.
word count: 7.313
warnings: alcohol mention.
author’s note: a thousand thanks to @lthyl for helping me with the outline, you have the patience of a saint :’D ILY 

⇢ chapters: one | two

Chapter one: dolente.

The same melody repeats itself every dawn.

It is one of those casualties of life you want to deem insignificant, even if it has been going on for years now. Every time you find yourself in that narrow space between dormant and conscious, you can hear the sound of a piano with a clearness that’s almost eerie — as if someone’s caressing the black and white keys right next to your ear, producing a song that resonates in your chest and makes your throat constrict in ways you cannot understand.

It’s a melody you’ve loved ever since day one. It stays deep in your heart even if it keeps repeating itself to the point of annoyance, echoes against the corners of your mind and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. It is as familiar as the voice of your mother, as the cool sheets of your bed and the warmth of the shower that prickles at your skin.

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Roots (Part Four)

Originally posted by blondejongin

EXO Fanfic: Fantasy AU
Main Pairing: Female Reader x Byun Baekhyun (Light Fairy)

You are an Elven Outsider living in the Human World, living peacefully as a florist and gardener. But your peace shatters when you are discovered by a Representative from the Council of the Other World. Will he discover your secrets?

< Previous | Next >

‘Go on a date with me Blossom,’ he said, and you blinked at the sudden intensity of his voice, ‘I’ll pick you up later.

‘Idiot,’ you cursed under your breath.


You blinked and blushed, seeing your customer looking at you in alarm, a mild look of offence on his face, and his hand frozen half way to handing over his money to you.

‘Oh, no sir, I am sorry,’ you said quickly, pulling yourself to together, ‘I was talking to myself.’

The customer looked at you warily as he deposited the money in your hand, picked up his order, and left the store.

As the door swung shut behind him, you let out a deep breath and then a grunt of frustration.

‘Uuuhhh,’ you groaned leaning your elbows on your counter and burying your head in your hands.

After Baekhyun had shot off that morning, you had been in a state of panic. What were you going to do?

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Kiss Me Better (16/?)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Loki x BFF!Reader

Word Count: 961

Summary: Bucky wakes to find the spell’s been lifted.

A/N: I wasn’t sure which pov I wanted to use, but then realized there’s really no good reason not to include both, so here’s Bucky’s side. Also, @the-wintergirl, all of a sudden I’m having trouble tagging you. :(

<< Prev  .  Series Masterlist  .  Next >>

A strange sound stirred Bucky from his peaceful slumber. He looked down at your sleeping figure beside him and smiled. Brushing the hair out of your face as gently as he could, he noticed his hand was the size of your head and froze. He lifted the blanket and looked down the length of your bodies, finding that his legs extended past yours. The sudden chill he felt also alerted him to the fact that he was naked from the waist down. He presumed the noise that woke him was the sound of his tearing bottoms. As carefully as he could, he lifted himself off the couch and reached for the biggest scrap of fabric he could find and bolted to his room before you awoke yourself. 

He did his best to shimmy out of your hoodie so he wouldn’t rip it. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He loved the way your scent, paired with your voice, lulled him into the best rest he’s had since before the war. His whole body slumped at the realization that this was the last hoodie he’d be able to borrow. He brought it up to his nose, inhaling your sweet scent, before gingerly folding it and placing it under his pillow. 

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llamagoddessofficial  asked:

Well at least let us have some Insane Doctor and his Patient headcanons

Mad Doc Sans and Captive Patient Frisk:

● Doc Sans is a creator and tester of new drugs and anesthetics. This is not, however, a legal practice. He sells most of his wares on the black market. But in spite of the shady nature of his business, many of his sedatives are used by big name doctors and scientists to put patients and specimens under.

●Despite selling to such prominent companies and making hefty profits on the sale of his wares, Sans lives and works in a lab hidden in a large underground bunker. He’s very private and rarely leaves.

● Sans had just finished off his last ‘patient’ testing a new sedative, and was in the market for a new one. Through his underworld connections, he heard of a girl who’d just been kidnapped and was going to be sold off as a slave. Deciding he liked the look of her, Sans bid higher than the other auction goers. The girl known as ‘Frisk’ was later dropped off at his door step wrapped up like a present in duct tape and rope.

●Sans was surprised to find her in good mental and physical health (not so much emotional) given what she’d been through. She gave smart but quiet answers to his questions, and seemed calm for someone who’d been stolen, bought, and sold (he could tell that deep down she was terrified, however).
Frisk also seemed to be…untouched, for lack of a better word. The men at the auction house must’ve held themselves back for the sake of merchandise quality.

●Sans feels…strange around Frisk. Something stirring in his soul that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He almost winces when he gives her shots. He’s been giving her much smaller doses than he would to any other 'patient’.
Unfortunately for Frisk, this kinder Sans is merged to a darker, more possessive, more cruel entity. A personal Jekyll and Hyde.

●Sans enjoys watching Frisk as the anesthesia takes effect. The fluttering of her eyelids, the small parting of her lips, the slow rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. He could sit and stare for an eternity. He runs his phalenges through her hair.
He’s falling deeply in love with her, with every passing day.

Electric Thunder

.Demon!Michael AU

.First Part

.Michael x O.C

*Smut Warning

.Banner coming soon

.A/n: I wasn’t going to start this yet because my uploading is so uncommon, but it’s Halloween and I thought I better make an effort. xxx

You tried to keep up with the fast-paced music as you danced and swayed between the tightly packed bodies around you. Normally you wouldn’t have too much trouble but given the fact it was Halloween, every time you tried to change direction you were either smacked in the back by a set of angel wings or stumbling over a devil tail.

Once the current overly loud dance music had come to a close, you stumbled towards the outskirts of the floor before heading over to the bar that you were pleased to find almost deserted.

It wasn’t long after you slipped up into a vacant bar stool that you felt the pant of sticky breath fan over the back of your neck. Resisting the urge to shiver in unease, you held yourself high as a man in a Roman warrior costume leaned coolly on the wooden bar top next to you, fixing you with what you presumed was supposed to be a seductive smile.

“Hey pretty demon, what’s your poison?”

Normally on a day to day basis, you didn’t think you were overly pretty.

Tonight, however was a different story and you felt very proud of the way you currently looked.

Having spent the whole of the afternoon coating your skin in a medium grey body paint after successfully dying your locks jet black, you had added small details to complete your costume such as charcoal nail gel, complete black contact lenses and dark eye paint to match.

You had greatly succeeded in turning yourself into a demon; a creature of the night, and you were certain demons didn’t mix with Roman warriors.

“I’m fine thank you, I can buy my own drink.”

Just on cue, the bar tender appeared before you and you made an order for a lime water.

You were here by yourself tonight mainly because you hardly had any close friends but you loved getting dressed up. You weren’t shy by any means so coming out by yourself didn’t bother you, you just always made sure you didn’t end up so shit faced that you couldn’t make it back home at the end of the night.

“Water? Are you serious?”

The Roman next to you laughed but you just ignored him.

Despite your hard attitude towards this stranger, he seemed insistent on staying by your side as he drank his own pint. He seemed a little clumsy and it wasn’t long until he knocked your small bag off the bar and onto the floor.

“Oh, sorry Doll.”

His apology was poor and he made no move to pick up your clutch so, rolling your eyes, you dropped down from your stool to retrieve your belongings. It didn’t take you long to perch yourself back up on your stool, deciding it would be best to just keep your bag in your lap while you continued your drink.

You had hardly wrapped your fingers around your icy glass when a smooth, clear voice spoke up from behind you on your other side.

“Don’t drink that.”

You nearly fell off your seat in surprise as you turned your head to see who had spoken.

The man looked exactly like you, from what you could see anyway. His skin was grey but maybe a little lighter than yours and his dark orbs seemed to sparkle as he looked down to stare into your own. The crop of styled but messy black hair on his head looked so soft it made you want to reach up and run your fingers through it, and his dark clothing blended in so well with the rest of his costume.

How on earth had he managed to make himself look exactly like you?

“Excuse me mate but you’re interrupting us here so if you don’t mind, jog on.”

You were so in awe of staring at your male counterpart you hardly heard the Roman warrior when he spoke, but this new guy at your side seemed to be as sharp as a knife.

With a low chuckle, the demon at your side placed a hand lightly around your waist as he took a step up to your side. His touch wasn’t intimate, but enough to make the Roman think twice about his position.

“And what makes you think I’m going to let you get away with spiking my lady’s drink? I think you and I should step outside and see just how good you are at overpowering people without the help of a drug.”

As he spoke, the demon’s voice steadily became more threatening and as he took a step closer to the Roman, the armour-clad man stumbled way in fear. The demon made sure he was well out of sight before turning back to face you with a concerned look, ever so slightly edging on the side of curiosity.

“Thank you… I hadn’t even realised he put anything in here.”

You smiled uneasily as you lifted your glass in acknowledgment before slowly tipping it down the drainage grid underneath the closest beer pump.

“Nice outfit choice…”

You continued as you placed your empty glass back down and looked up at your heroic demon.

“Well, you would know.”

He answered in a husky voice as his dark lips pulled into a smirk.

“What was it you were drinking?”

He asked softly as he caught the attention of the bartender and without a second thought, you let the stranger buy you another water and lime.

For some reason, you seemed to feel at ease with his man and luckily for you, your look seemed to hold his interest and he didn’t disappear as soon as he handed the money over.

“What’s your name?”

You asked with a light blush to your cheeks, not that it could be seen from under the layers of dark body paint as you took a sip of your drink through a straw.

“Michael Clifford.”

Michael’s answer had no hesitation to it whatsoever and he fixed you with a handsome smile as he asked you for your name.

Tipping your head to the side with a slight shake, you denied him the knowledge.

“That’s classified information.”

You assured before finishing off your water but instead of Michael fixing you with a strange look, he just smirked down at you with determination and his voice held the same attitude.

“I’ll do my best to earn it then.”

You couldn’t ignore the strange feeling that Michael stirred within you and you couldn’t help but feel like you knew him. You didn’t, but there was something about him that felt familiar, and you felt comforted by that.

As you got down from your stool and collected your bag, Michael watched you with a relaxed attitude and an amused smile as you wandered away from him and back into the crowd of dancing bodies.

Having no expectations of Michael following you, you swiftly warmed up to the beat falling from the speakers and you were soon swaying in time with everyone else once more.

Momentarily closing your eyes and just getting lost in the rhythm of Halloween, you all but jumped out of your skin when you felt something run over your waist. Opening your eyes and stumbling around, you were a little surprised to see Michael. His smirk was still plastered to his face and after a few seconds he beckoned you closer, and you only briefly hesitated before you stepped closer to him.

Once you were close enough, Michael reapplied his hands to the bottom of your waist and dropped his face towards yours, being sure to keep a comfortable distance.

He felt warm and safe and tempting but the feeling of excitement that you first felt swiftly faded into one of doubt and insecurity on your part.

You didn’t want to get close to a person who seemed comforting; maybe it was time to go home.

Smiling apologetically up at Michael, knowing you didn’t stand a chance of being heard over the music, you placed a hand gently on his chest and let it linger for a moment, just long enough for his eyes to narrow in questioning before you turned away from his grasp and made your way towards the exit.

Somehow, you knew he was following you, but you didn’t turn to confirm your suspicions.

It was only when you had stepped out into the cold night and felt a chill settle on your skin that you felt someone step up being you.

“Don’t you want to dance?”

You could hear the playful tone to Michael’s voice and you immediately turned against his warm body.

“It’s getting late.”

Michael’s dark eyes orbs regarded you with frustrated longing as he reached up to brush his grey fingers lightly through the ends of your hair.

“But I still don’t know your name.”

He insisted as he inched his lips closer to yours, but you pulled back just a short, teasing distance. You knew if you offered, he would follow you back to your flat and spend the night. You wanted him to follow you, but you didn’t like the fact that he felt so familiar; you didn’t like to get attached to people, but no one had peaked your interest as much as Michael had for a very long time.

“Come with me?”

You purred softly as you ran your fingers lightly down his torso and he almost growled in approval.

“Pretty Demon, I’d follow you anywhere.”

You felt your cheeks burn in a blush but thankfully your paint hid it well.

Lightly brushing your fingers against his, you turned your back and proceeded to walk away from the club and back down the street, Michael following you closely with the occasional affectionate brush against your arm.

It took you about fifteen minutes to weave down the streets into the not so pretty part of town, but the house that contained your ground floor flat was on the outskirts, so it was easy to get to.

As soon as you stepped up to your front door, pausing to fish in your clutch bag for your keys, Michael’s hands brushed lightly but suggestively up your thighs as he pushed you playfully against the front of your door.

He grinded himself against your bum as he squeezed his fingers against your hips, groaning against your ear as he did so.

“Give me your name.”

Michael purred again as you managed to get the key in the lock and push open the door, causing you both to clumsily stumble over the threshold.


You gasped quietly as Michael kicked the door shut with his foot whilst biting down gently onto your shoulder; his teeth feeling unusually sharp.


He tested, sounding satisfied with your information.

Resting your hand on his that was currently plastered against your hip, you guided him further into your flat and into a small room at the back of building that contained your bedroom. It was only small but seeing as he was going to be on you anyway, there was more than enough room.

Throwing your bag into the far corner of the room, you turned in Michael’s grasp and he instantly joined your mouths in a heated kiss that made you weak at the knees.

Something about his touch seemed to be driving you wild and you wanted him to have his way with you.

His hands were confident as they racked up your thighs, hooking under the hem of your short dress and pulling it up with his movements.

Michael didn’t hesitate to turn and back you up against the wall as he fought for dominance in your kiss, something he easily won as soon as he pushed his fingers past the elastic of your underwear to dip against your wet heat, causing you to gasp in delight.

With one hand against your body and the other trying to push up your dress, he was having a hard job with your kiss, and in the end he chose to part from your lips in favour of pulling your dress off, something he wouldn’t have achieved without the help on your part.

Once your clothing had been discarded, you arched away from the wall and unclipped your bra before slipping it off your arms. Michael’s face dropped straight away to your left breast and worked his mouth heavily over your skin, causing you to whine in need, especially when his fingers began to stroke and circle your clit at a pleasurably slow pace.

Hastily licking broad strokes from your chest up to your neck, he bit your neck harshly and you winced in pain as his sharp teeth anchored against your skin.

Michael must have noticed your discomfort because he soothed you with a kiss straight away.

“Sorry Beautiful.”

He apologised gruffly as he kissed you once again.

Quickly dismissing his actions, you pushed him back lightly as you cocked your head towards the bed.

“Let’s just get you undressed.”

Smirking, Michael invited you closer with his eyes and you set about unfastening his belt as he shrugged out of his denim jacket and t-shirt.

Instead of removing his underwear, you pushed lightly against his chest as you ushered him back onto the bed. He moved easily with you like you had done this a hundred times and as he shuffled back up the mattress, you crawled slowly after him.

Once you were on top of him with your knees straddling his waist, you leaned low to run your tongue sweetly against his jaw as you lowered yourself against the straining bulge in his boxers, beginning to grind slowly against him.

Michael’s head dropped back as he groaned quietly but you couldn’t blame him; the friction you were creating was delicious.

“Ugh Blue… You’re such a tease.”

Michael groaned up at you as he brought his hands up to hold against your hips, urging you to apply more pressure.

Smiling wickedly, you picked up your speed and you could feel him getting harder beneath you.

Michael’s dark eyes were fixed on the point where you were humping shamelessly against him and you loved the small growling noises that were falling from his lips.

As soon as you began to moan and whine in need above him, Michael decided it was time to get to it and pulled himself up into a sitting position to join your lips in a heated kiss.

Resting your hands lightly against his neck, you held him close as you shared your kiss. Michael planted his own hands securely against your lower back to hold you close as he shuffled off the bed. You could sense his movements so you wrapped your legs comfortably around his waist, helping to hold yourself up as Michael shifted his hands to your backside to help hold you against his body.

Michael’s lips never left yours as he pushed you back up against the wall where he was able to hold you with his upper body as he quickly removed the last of his clothing, letting his shaft finally push against the lace of your underwear.

“Your body is perfect.”

Michael muttered as he started to kiss from the valley of your breasts down to your stomach.

As he lowered you gently to the floor so he could remove your underwear, you shook your head as you wrapped your arms back around his neck as he lifted you in his strong arms once more.

“You don’t need to sweet talk me Mikey.”

Supporting your thigh with one hand, you could feel him position the tip of his shaft against your burning heat, causing you to whine as you tried to push onto him. Smirking, Michael kissed your jaw before replying.

“I’m not.”

As soon as he started to encase himself inside you, he brought his hand back around to support your backside again as he let his hips take over.

He was slightly thicker than what you imagined and you gasped sweetly as he nestled himself deeply.

“Are you okay?”

Michael mumbled gently as he kissed under your ear and as soon as you gave him the nod ‘okay,’ he gripped your body more securely before he began thrusting his hips at a quick pace.

It had been so long since you had been with anyone you’d forgotten just how good it made you feel; the way Michael’s body pressed against yours, the soft pant of his breath against your collar and the slick pounding between your legs; it was bliss.

“That feels so good Baby.”

You groaned softly as you ran your fingers up his neck to lock in his hair, squeezing him close as he proceeded to place sloppy kisses against your chest, grunting quietly as his hips continued to bucked sharply into you.

“Yeah? Say my name then Beautiful.”

Michael grinned, fixing his eyes solely on yours but you shook your head with a smug smile.

“If you want me to moan your name, you’re going to have to earn it.”

You felt him groan in slight disappointment as you placed a teasing kiss against his lips.

“What’s the matter? Surely you can make me moan…”

You grinned as you grazed your teeth playfully against his jaw but before you knew it, Michael had pulled you against his chest and lifted you away from the wall. It only took him a few short steps to reach the end of your bed and drop you down onto the thin mattress.

As you giggled happily, Michael crawled back over your body with a determined look set on his face.

“I’ll make you scream, Princess.”

He purred seductively against your ear as he took a hold of your thigh and re-entered you with hard precision, immediately making you whimper.

Michael smirked proudly as he picked up his speed to rut hotly against you.

The way he moved against you was sending you insane; he seemed to be filling you and hitting just the right spot and you were having a hard time keeping quiet. Hoping to help yourself out, you tipped your head back and focused your eyes on the ceiling rather than Michael’s handsome face, allowing yourself to open your mouth and pant gently, hoping to try and ease the pleasure being created between your two bodies.

Michael seemed to guess your game straight away because you soon felt his warm fingers ghost down your stomach and dip into your core, quickly circling your clit in time with is rough thrusting.

“Don’t deny yourself Princess, you know you want to…”

He panted against your jaw before hotly licking your throat.

“Ugh, you feel so good around my cock Baby, fuck…”

You could feel your cheeks burn red and you couldn’t stop the sweet moan falling from your mouth. You could hear Michael chuckle in response as he squeezed you tighter.

“That’s it Blue, you’re a good girl.”

He groaned as he sucked opened mouthed kisses against your jaw and throat.

Michael was setting your body on fire and you were getting close, you could feel the tight knot form in your abdomen but all too soon, Michael removed his fingers and pulled out of you completely; causing you to bolt up in pure frustration and annoyance.

“Michael! What are you…?”

You all but shouted before trailing off slowly, confused by the massive smirk on his face.

“I told you I’d get you screaming my name.”

You rolled your eyes and were about to give him some smart come back but before you could, he was on you again. Sealing your lips in an apologetic kiss as he regained his hard pace, causing your legs to weakly part further, giving him more than enough room.

Within seconds you were back on edge, whining softly as you held him close, giving him what he wanted as you panted his name over and over against his ear, but you didn’t want to say anything else.

Thighs quivering, you hit your high with a pleasured cry and Michael’s increased grunting signalled he was close too.

Shortly after you, he pulled out just before you felt his cum splatter against your stomach, and you enjoyed tiredly watching his face as he finished himself off.

As soon as he was done, he looked back up at you with his shining, fake black eyes and a soft smile on his lips. Prowling over your body, Michael lowered his face to yours and you joined him in a deep kiss.

“Stay tonight?”

You whispered tiredly against his lips once you parted, and he smiled handsomely in response.

“Are you sure?”

He asked quietly and you nodded your head as you stifled a yawn.

“Mhmm, just let me up so I can use the bathroom.”

Michael rolled off you and began to search for his boxers as you padded out of your room and into the bathroom next door.

After removing your contact lenses, you cleaned your stomach and ran a brush through your tangled hair. Your body paint was quite thick but you made the effort to wash it off your face and neck and it made you feel so much fresher; the rest would have to wait until tomorrow.

Catching a glimpse of your normal skin in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but notice how sharp the marks on your collar were, not the shape you would normally expect from a bite, but you were tired and couldn’t be bothered to ask questions about it at this time of night.

Turning off the bathroom light and entering your room, you found Michael nestled comfortably under your duvet, lifting it open for you once you had pulled an old t-shirt over your head to sleep in.

Seeing as you only had a small bed, the most comfortable position for you was to rest on your side with your back against Michael’s chest.

Michael draped an arm over your waist and lazily tangled your legs together as he pulled you closer, smiling softly as he groaned in pure comfort.

Closing your eyes, you thought it would take you a while to fall asleep with a stranger but on the contrary, you couldn’t remember a time when you fell asleep so easily.


Kitchen Adventures (4 Weeks of Fluff #2)

Why do all of my fics this month have to do with the kitchen? Btw, I’ve pretty much made all of these cooking mistakes myself so…yeah lol @4wksoffluff

Word Count: 820


“Are you ready for this?” Baz asked.

“I’m not sure,” Simon said, biting his lip.

“C’mon. We’ve been talking about doing this forever,” Baz said.

“All right,” Simon said, determination in his eyes.

Baz turned back to the boiling pot of water and dumped the spaghetti noodles into the pot, wincing when the pot spit water at him. Simon had a ridiculous looking apron on and stood a foot or so back, tail twitching nervously. This was the first time they were cooking together. Unfortunately, neither one of them were very good at cooking in the first place so they’d decided to stay simple and make spaghetti. 

“Um, should we make a salad?” Simon asked.

Baz scratched his head.

“Well, besides lettuce, what would we put in it?” Baz asked.

“Those crunchy nugget looking things,” Simon said.

Baz wanted badly to laugh at Simon’s word choice but he wasn’t sure what the crunchy nugget things were called either so he held himself back.

“I don’t think we have any,” Baz said.

Simon’s face looked scrunched in concentration.

“What did you get for the salad?” Simon asked.

“Lettuce and dressing. I grabbed a pear too, I think my stepmom uses them in her salads,” Baz said. 

Simon made a face.

“That doesn’t really sound like a good combination.”

“So no salad then,” Baz said.

“I guess not,” Simon said.

Baz shrugged and walked over to grab the baguette they’d bought. The instructions said to preheat the oven and warm the bread for ten to fifteen minutes. He glanced at the oven warily.

“It says we should wrap it in foil,” Baz said.

Simon’s eyes widened.

“Is that, I don’t know, safe?” Simon asked.

Baz frowned.

“Well, it says to do it so it has to be right?” Baz asked.

Simon shook his head.

“No I’m pretty sure it’s not safe. I learned my lesson a long time ago with the microwave,” Simon said.

Baz nodded.

“Good thinking.”

Baz had no idea what the package meant by preheating so he pressed the preheat button on the oven and threw the bread in, turning the oven up 177 degrees Celsius. Then he clapped his hands together, feeling ridiculously proud of himself.

“Dinner is going to be great,” Simon said.

Baz smiled.

“Hey Baz, have you been stirring the pasta?” Simon asked.

Baz spun around.

The spaghetti didn’t look too strange. Panicked, he stirred the clump of noodles, relying on his vampire strength to separate the congealed mess. After a few minutes the spaghetti appeared to be normal. He turned to lean against the counter tiredly. 

Simon smiled at him.

“My hero,” He said.

“Shut up,” Baz muttered.

Suddenly there was a loud beep from the oven.

“What’s that for?” Simon asked.

Baz frowned.

“I don’t know,” He said.

“Does that mean the bread is done?” Simon asked.

Baz shook his head.

“It hasn’t been fifteen minutes,” Baz said.

The beeping continued, loud and insistent. 

“Maybe we should just check on it,” Simon said.

Baz bent over and peeked into the hot oven. The bread looked fine. He touched it carefully and frowned. It was barely warm. 

“It’s definitely not done,” Baz said.

Simon shrugged.

“I guess we should just focus on the pasta then,” Simon said.

Shit!” Baz said, suddenly remembering the pasta.

A few minutes later Simon was sloppily draining the pasta while Baz glared at the marinara sauce. He knew he was supposed to heat it in a saucepan, he’d seen his stepmom do it. But he was so scared he’d mess that up too that he was debating whether or not to just pour the room temperature sauce directly on the pasta. 

“Baz what are you doing? Bring the sauce over,” Simon said.

Baz decided to forgo the saucepan and poured the entire jar over the pasta. They stirred for a bit and Baz was disappointed when he realized that they had used too much sauce.

“It’s fine, we can just add more pasta later,” Simon said.

“I guess,” Baz said.

Simon checked his watch. 

“I’ll take the bread out,” He said.

When Simon opened the oven the unmistakable smell of burnt bread hit Baz. Simon took out a charred lump that barely resembled the baguette it had once been. He looked confused,

“How? Honestly how could this have happened? We did exactly what the package said,” Simon said.

“Maybe that’s what the foil was for,” Baz said.

Glumly, they took their lukewarm and soggy spaghetti to the table. Simon had grabbed the baguette as well, claiming that the inside might not be so bad.
Baz sat down heavily in his seat.

“We cannot cook,” Baz said.

“At least we match?” Simon said, laughter in his voice.

Baz rolled his eyes.

“Not as cute in this situation Snow.”

Simon raised his glass of wine.

“To us, the hopeless pair,” Simon said.

Baz smiled unwillingly.

“To us,” He said.

Drawn to Life || Klaroline

Klaroline Infinity Day 1 - AU/AH

Caroline’s finally getting to voice an animated character (her dream!), but she didn’t know how much time and effort goes into it as a creative team. She’s paired with Klaus, who studies her character traits and facial movements to bring life to the screen.

“Hold still, please.”

Caroline fought the urge to fidget as the massive camera revolved around her, capturing her image from every possible angle. It was hard not to track the man operating the camera with her eyes. His attention to the placement of her freckles was almost invasive, but he was incredibly hot.

The brass curls were artfully mussed, just enough that Caroline wanted to run her fingers through them. And his lips, god, they were so pink-

She shook her head, hoping to get rid of whatever lusty demon had taken hold of thoughts. Really, it was her own fault for swearing off dating after Tyler moved out. A cleanse was standard breakup routine, but maybe three months was too long.

“I said to hold still,” Klaus snapped, though his hand was gentle as he gripped her chin. “If we don’t get the digital model right, I’ll have to start all over.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you do #67: “Are you getting jealous?” - “You’re changing your outfit, now!” for the prompt thingie for rebelcaptain please?

Thank you to both anon’s who requested this prompt! I’ll be honest, I had like, three separate ideas for it but this was the only one I was able to sort of flesh out. Takes a few liberties with the Rebel army and rankings and such, but … I just wanted to write a slightly flustered Cassian :P This is after Jyn’s debriefed on leading the Rogue One mission, and let’s put this one about a month after Scarif, once they’re all better and bacta’d out.

“So, how did it go?” Cassian asked, trying to hide the waver in his voice.

“About as well as you’d think,” Jyn said. “We went rogue, Cassian. We disobeyed orders.”

Cassian watched as she shuffled her feet towards him, head lowered in defeat. He’d wanted to be by her side, attest for her to Mon Mothma and Draven that he’d been behind it all, he gathered the team, he made her disobey orders.

Of course, he knew, that wasn’t all true.

It wasn’t that he questioned her ability to handle her own in the face of discipline — that had been the least of his worries –- it was that strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring in his chest.

He still hadn’t put a finger on exactly what it was stirring there, running rampant and uncontrolled, just that it made him want to do anything in his power to help her, just as he’d gathered the team for Rogue One. He’d lost countless soldiers and recruits in the war, it was a simple fact. But that didn’t erase his desire to do anything in his power to keep her on base, fighting for the Rebellion, to keep her home.

He had promised her that, after all they’d been through in the past three weeks – waking up in medbay terrified of being alive, of having survived knowing that the other might not have lived – he wouldn’t accept it if Draven or Mon had stripped that promise from his lips.

By the time his mind had finished processing the “what if’s”, she had closed the distance between them, her arms tight at his waist as she dug her nose into his jacket. His own arms had found their way around her shoulder blades, pulling her tight to rest his chin atop her head. She squirmed against him, and he felt something cold and hard jut into his chest.

“Jyn,” he pulled back, enough to see the glint of silver and green attached to her jacket. “What is that?”

She smiled, as wide as Jyn ever allowed herself too, and fought a laugh in her throat. She shook a few more moments in his arms before whispering, exasperated, “They made me Captain.”

“Captain?” he eyed her, equal parts shocked and confused. “But you said—-“

“But— Captain? So … so soon?”

“Wait,” she cocked a brow, poking at his own rank incredulously, “Are you getting jealous?

“No,” he said, almost too quickly. “I just, you — you’re changing your outfit, now.

“What? Why?”

“Because, Captain’s don’t—, they don’t dress like—”

“Like what, Cassian?” She fought the grin warming her cheeks, “how should a Captain dress?”

“For starters, the jacket.” His voice faltered, breaths coming quick while his eyes shifted from hers to the badge at her chest. “Did they not give you new fatigues?”

“No, I didn’t think to ask,” she sighed, reaching into her pocket. From it, she took out a silver badge and slid it between her fingers. “Besides, we had more important things to talk about— like you.”

Cassian looked down at Jyn, her fingers poised above the rank badge tacked above his heart. She slipped her thumb and forefinger behind it, unclasping the metal badge while he prayed she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was pounding beneath her touch. He shut his eyes to breathe – feeling both ridiculous and foolish at how a mundane action such as this could set his body aflame – and felt the cool, familiar clip of metal replaced on his jacket.

“Congratulations, Major Andor.”

She stepped back, her gaze fixed on his shoes.

“Are you— but,” he ground his teeth, “this can’t—– how?”

Jyn shifted, “Easy. You deserve it, they were going to give it to you even without my convincing. I just — I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“But the way you were acting, how you were upset, I—-,”

“I have to get my fun somehow,” she squeezed his elbow, speaking into his chest as she continued, “besides, you’re … cute when you’re jealous.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” he brought a hand to her chin, lifting her head gently to meet his eyes.

She looked at him through her lashes, unsure she could finish her next thought looking him straight in the eye.

“Now, why don’t you show me how a Major should dress.”

anonymous asked:

after the curse is broken, another curse is set in place. as punishment for the villagers being so cruel to belle, they are all turned into inanimate objects, and the castle forgets about them and continues on with their lives. in order for the spell to be broken, someone from the castle must wander into the village, stay, and truly forgive them all for whatever secret and dark past they may have. -☁️

oh wow that’s fucking weird. also the Perfect excuse to write the Fucking Trash Fic starring the V I L L A G E R S  i’ve been wanting to do

“Did I have a papa, once?” Chip asks his mum. He’s not sure why, but playing with his little toy donkey—carved from wood, with little wheels for legs—has stirred something in him.

“All little boys have papas,” says Mrs. Potts absently. She is busy drying the dishes, and doesn’t look up from her saucers and plates. “Why would you think of that now?”

Chip tries to string the words together. Something like where is he now, then? Or who is he? Or why don’t we talk about him? Is he dead?

He can’t think of any of the words. His eyes go back to the donkey, and he forgets what he was asking.

Jean Potts is not dead. But sometimes, he feels he might as well be.

There is something about being a plate that feels particularly humiliating. The fact that his lovely porcelain border is striped in the same way his old hat was does nothing to diminish the embarrassment.

He didn’t even like that hat, that much. But now it’s all he is: a white plate with a striped border, and painted eyes and mouth, and nothing else besides. He wish he had thought to bring a change of clothes before encountering the old hag from the mountains.

Agathe hadn’t turned him into a plate. This curse was done by someone else entirely: a hag with corkscrew, blue-streaked hair, and a cranky nose, and a spitfire temper that doomed them all. They didn’t know her name. Just that she was malicious, and had curses to burn.

“If I had known she was like this,” argued Clothilde, newly a fishhook, “we could have bought her jam, or sommat.”

“I don’t think jam was what she wanted,” said Jean. 

The curse had been swift and brutal and ironic in its care to detail. Everyone knew what it was for: to tell them, in no uncertain terms, that Mobs Are Bad, and Hating People You Barely Know Is Bad, and Falling In Line With Tyrants Is Bad, and Being Stupid Is Bad. (the hag had really gone on quite a while before she actually cast the curse.) It was a taste of their own medicine, for acting like tools in the hands of a crazed, angry man.

That didn’t help assuage the feelings of plate, though.

Some had it worse. Alléchant Agriculteur, the local supplier of eggs, couldn’t complain at all; nobody had ever seen such an unbelievably attractive hen coop in their lives. But Forgeron Rouge, the blacksmith so beloved for his bright red cap and helpful manner, had turned into an anvil. He couldn’t move. The horses—now all just horseshoes, poor creatures—whinnied around him pitifully, and all he could do was clang in response.

The hatstands in the window tittered and sighed. They still wanted to be pretty, and here they were, with big bonnets as always, but no pretty black hair to make it worth while. They wondered if Chapeau, their brother, might find them. They wondered if Chapeau still remembered them.

He didn’t.

Sometimes—given to subtle turns of thought, as he was—Chapeau wondered how the castle was meant to survive, in a forest with no villages around. Surely that affected the local economy? Where was Cuisinier meant to buy his eggs and bread, with no farms around to supply it? Given that, where did the servants come from? They couldn’t all come straight from Paris, like Lumiere and Plumette. There had to be some village boys, with pretty mothers—milliners maybe—who could come up to the palace to find work. He had to give it some thought. There was a riddle here he needed to remember.

He didn’t. He forgot.

It was odd, at nights, when some told stories of their families. Mrs. Potts talked about her mother at length—the weaver-woman from Yorkshire, who she hadn’t seen for so long, ever since she left the country and came here. Lumiere, if pressed, will laugh and mock his father, the old man in Paris who wears spectacles and worn brown vests and who he loves so much, so complicatedly, so completely. Even Belle remembers a little of her mother, even though she died so far away.

But nobody seems to come from around the palace. There are no village boys.

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