and took care of me when i was too drunk to function

anonymous asked:

How about a semi angsty fight with the rfa+V but they make up because HAPPY ENDINGS ARE NICE

I’m a slut for angst don’t give me this power 


✮ you had accidentally knocked the power cord to his computer while you were cleaning and he was playing LOLOL 
✮ he screamed 
✮ he was ranting and raving about how he was in the middle of an important raid and he was so close to levelling up 
✮ and you’re kinda standing there with a laundry basket and a pile of clothes almost over your head 
✮ and you don’t know what to do 
✮ you kind of want to cry 
✮ you kind of want to throw the laundry at his head 
✮ until 
✮ “rika never did things like this!!”
✮ oh 
✮ of course
✮ it somehow always got back to this point. comparing you with rika 
✮ sometimes he didn’t mean it or even realise he’d done it. but this was different 
✮ you remain eerily calm, putting the laundry down before turning to glare at yoosung 
✮ a wave of realisation hits him and he’s just full of guilt 
✮ you very calmly tell him you’re going to spend the night with jaehee, and ask him not to contact you 
✮ he begins crying and pleading with you to stop and stay 
✮ he’s so sorry and he’s just hating himself while you pack an overnight bag
✮ he’s practically on his knees and following you, begging you to stay 
✮ you kind of pause when you see the raw sorrow in his face 
✮ you sigh and stop for a moment 
✮ you’re hurt but you know that you have to talk it out with yoosung for it to get better 
✮ you both talk for a few hours, and he completely understands your viewpoint and he apologises 18923475829 times 
✮ he stays off of LOLOL for a few weeks, and even after that he tries not to get too obsessed– because that’s how the whole problem started 
✮ he just doesn’t want to lose you 


✎ you just wanted her to stop working so much 
✎ she was working overtime at the cafe 
✎ so much that she practically lived there 
✎ she was there after-hours and before-hours 
✎ sometimes she slept there and wouldn’t come home 
✎ so you book a holiday for her in secret, making plans behind her back for the cafe so it can function without her
✎ you tell all the employees and the deliverers who are close with the shop 
✎ but when you sit jaehee down and announce your plan 
✎ she gets so cold 
✎ she wants none of it 
✎ she’s not overworking herself dammit 
✎ she’s just doing what needs to be done 
✎ you try telling her that she doesn’t need to coddle the cafe, that you and the other emplyees were fully capable of running it 
✎ but she’s so worked up 
✎ and she says that you can’t 
✎ you’re clearly offended and you’re upset that your hard work planning this holiday for her is being pushed aside 
✎ somehow, you get her to take the holiday and see how it pans out 
✎ she’s calling you constantly 
✎ eventually you start ignoring her calls and texts 
✎ she gets so freaked out that the cafe is literally crumbling with you in charge so she rushes home 
✎ and you’re so mad when she rushes into the cafe, only to stop when she sees everything is going as usual 
✎ “b-but you weren’t answering my calls! I thought something happened!” 
✎ “jaehee i was ignoring you because you have no trust in me and I was busy making sure you could enjoy your holiday!” you were screaming 
✎ she felt so bad 
✎ she took her vacation and came back a lot better 
✎ you two made up, and she explained that her problem came from being jumin’s assistant for so long (if she didn’t do her job everything fucked up bc jumin is horrible at his job lmao) 
✎ she was a lot more calm after that and took breaks when she needed to (even took some time off on every second weekend- when you took care of the cafe) 


✿ he was working 
✿ of course 
✿ his job was the root of most of your arguments as a couple 
✿ but this time he had gone out for drinks with the cast 
✿ while you were standing outside of a restaurant waiting for him- you were going to have a date since filming was wrapping up that day (which is why the cast was having drinks in the first place) 
✿ you had faith in him, and stayed there until the restaurant closed 
✿ which was very, very late in the evening, seeing as it was part bar 
✿ as you were walking home, upset 
✿ zen came stumbling out of the bar with his castmates 
✿ he doesn’t notice you at first 
✿ until one of his acting buddies points at you, not recognising you, and laughs about how you’re soaked in rain and look like you’ve had that worst day of your life 
✿ you hear him 
✿ zen chuckles slightly before looking closer and realising who it is 
✿ swears up a storm as he pushes away everyone- muttering out something like ‘ssss my girlfirendddd’ 
✿ he tries to grab you because you’re storming away 
✿ he’s trying to coo and ask you why you were out so late because he’s drunk and doesn’t remember 
✿ you slap his hands away before screaming at him 
✿ “I was waiting for you! Our date for celebrating the end of filming?! Guess you had other plans, huh?!” 
✿ he’s so shocked like 
✿ it looks like he’s been smacked in the face 
✿ he follows you all the way home, apologising profusely 
✿ you make him sleep on the couch and lock yourself in the bedroom 
✿ when he wakes up the next morning he remembers, even through his wicked hangover 
✿ he cooks an amazing breakfast and waits for you to come out 
✿ when you do he hands you flowers with a card about how sorry he is
✿ he swears that he’ll make it up to you- and never let it happen ever again 


₩ he was planning on properly introducing you to his father 
₩ but he was getting so controlling 
₩ he literally dressed you and did your hair and practically gave you a lecture on how to act and what to say 
₩ you’re kind of pissed at him but try to understand that he’s just stressed about how his father will react 
₩ his father loves you, and you loosen up- begin to be yourself 
₩ his father leaves after blessing your relationship together 
₩ but jumin is fuming 
₩ ‘what were you doing?! I told you not to say this or that’ blah blah 
₩ you’re just so shocked 
₩ “jumin that’s not who I am!” 
₩ “that’s who you should be!” 
₩ silence. 
₩ jumin has never been afraid of anything 
₩ but he’s afraid of this silence and the tears that are slipping down your cheeks 
₩ he’s afraid of what he said. he’s afraid of himself 
₩ he stumbles over his words as he tries to apologise, saying that isn’t what he meant 
₩ you can’t hear him though, all you can hear is his previous words echoing through your head 
₩ you tell him you’re sleeping in the guest room that night- the only thing you said before locking him out 
₩ when you get up the next morning 
₩ you open the door and see jumin sitting on the ground agains the wall next to your door, elizabeth pulled to his chest 
₩ his eyes were puffy and his cheeks and nose red 
₩ he had a note next to him that he hadn’t finished 
₩ it read ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, tear stains smudging some of the letters 
₩ you sigh, and kneel down to wake him up 
₩ he explains that he thought his father wouldn’t accept you unless you were like the other women and he didn’t want his father to come between your relationship anymore than he already had with the Sarah bullshit 
₩ and you make up but he spends so long reassuring you that he loves you so much, just the way you are 


✞ he was doing it again
✞ he was trying to push you away 
✞ someone had approached you while you were on the street, asking about a ‘707′ 
✞ when you told saeyoung he got so scared and reverted back to his old ways 
✞ trying to push you away so that you ‘wouldn’t get hurt’ 
✞ when you try to kiss his cheek he physically pushes you away (after acting hostile all day) 
✞ and you trip over his wires and fall- hitting your head on the ground 
✞ he’s shocked, you’re shocked 
✞ he reaches forward to try and help you but freezes when you flinch away 
✞ he feels like less than shit 
✞ he feels like death himself. the grim reaper- that’s him. 
✞ he watches helplessly as you stumble to your feet and rush off to the bedroom, locking yourself inside (even though Saeyoung had control over the locks) 
✞ he spends about an hour just leaning over his desk with his head in his hands, thinking over how terrible he had been 
✞ how you deserve so much better 
✞ he was unstable. he was dangerous. 
✞ you were the light. you were everything 
✞ after a while he unlocks the door and sends your robot-cat in with flowers and a note in his mouth 
✞ it’s a handwritten letter from saeyoung, telling you he was just scared 
✞ that he was so sorry. that he loved you more than he could ever understand and he didn’t know how to deal with that yet 
✞ you slowly walk out, seeing him sitting on the ground somewhere, surrounded by the mess that he’d made 
✞ he had thrown all the cushions and pillows on the couch. ripped up the first drafts of the note. he’d even knocked one of his monitors to the ground, shattering it.
✞ you sit with him and talk together 
✞ you make a plan for how you can both deal with these times better 
✞ he promises to spend his life making sure you’re as happy as you can be 


☼ i’m so sorry but i don’t want to hurt this precious roll 

Special Instructions (1/?)

Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the “Special Instructions” box on the website.  (AO3)
Rating: M (eventually)
Word Count: ~1700

This has been burning a hole on my desktop for a couple months now and I just really felt like if I didn’t start posting it would probably never get finished… I’m a couple chapters in with the writing but I think this is going to end up being like between 10 and 15 chapters, all roughly the same length if I can pull it. We’ll see how that goes. Anyway, this was gonna just be like a cheesy smut fic originally but I apparently like to overthink things and it became slightly cuter of an idea…

@stubble-sandwich THANKS FOR LETTING ME GUSH ABOUT THIS STUPID IDEA WITH YOU. Look at me, finally posting the fuckin pizza guy au… christ…

Special instructions: pls make smiley face with pepperoni, i could use something happy right now

She’d typically have left the box blank but Emma was currently full of self-pity and a little too drunk to really care how she appeared to the rest of the world.

Two years she’d spent with Walsh. Two years of warm embraces and whispered I love you’s and sweet kisses and integrating him into her close-knit group of friends despite some heavy resistance – especially from David; she reminded herself to give her brother a hug later for trying – and for what? 

For him to just “reconnect” with his ex at what was supposed to be their engagement party?

“I’m so sorry, Em. I never meant to hurt you like this. It just… happened. I can’t help how I feel.”

She scoffed in disgust. What an asshole. A total prick.

She finished off her fifth – sixth? – bottle of beer and popped open another. Maybe after another few she’d forget the sight of him with his tongue down that other woman’s throat. Maybe she’d forget the shock and guilt on his face when she’d dropped her glass of champagne at seeing them together, stunned to see her betrothed blatantly cheating on her by the bathrooms while their party guests mulled about in the main room, completely clueless.

Keep reading

May I have this drink?

Request: Your Archie imagine is seriously so cute! Could I request another Archie x Reader where the reader, a river vixen, gets drunk at a party and Archie takes care of her? If you’re comfortable with writing about alcohol, that is! I completely understand if it’s something you don’t want to write about! Thank you :)

A/N: Stop this is so cute.  This is gendered (fem!) because I assumed based on the request.  If you want a gender neutral version feel free to message me.  I also got a lil bit carried away with this one omg.  Also lowkey based on a true to life party experience. wild time.  Also, god, am I sorry about the number of times I had to post this and delete it to get into the tag.  If you follow me, sorry. Thank you for requesting, and feel free to hit up my inbox with any ideas for imagines!

Word count: 1655

Warnings: cursing, alcohol mention, vomit mention, parties?  I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

Originally posted by jane-foster

Alcohol had never really been your thing.  You could tolerate it, but a coke was much more up your alley.  You just had an issue with control, and alcohol took that control from you.  

So you didn’t drink.  Big whoop.

However, with your boyfriend Archie being a big popular quarterback and you being a big popular River Vixen now, you frequently found yourself being dragged along to post-win parties where most people in your school were shit faced by eleven.  

This was a routine you found yourself slipping into: getting dragged along, pouring a soda for yourself, and finding a wall to lean on until it was time to drive your boyfriend home.  However tonight, the routine had been broken.  Reggie for some reason wouldn’t leave you alone, and Archie was off making friends somewhere, leaving you to deal with him on your own.  Not that you couldn’t just… what a waste of your time.  

“You know, you kind of come across to me as a rum girl.  You a rum girl?”  You imitated a buzzer noise at his guess, eyes straight ahead, trying to give him as little attention as possible.  “Tequila?  No.  You’re classier than that.”  He continued making his judgements based on what alcohol he guessed you must have been drinking.  “Vodka?  Is there even vodka here?”

“There’s always vodka, but you’re still wrong.” He seemed confused for a moment, but a sneaky grin soon stretched across his face in realization.

“So miss cheerleader badass doesn’t even drink?” You rolled your eyes, letting out a sarcastic ding, ding, ding!  “Wow.  Now I always picked you as kind of hard to read, but I was sure I had you down as a rum girl.  Really?  What is that just coke?” Unamused, you nodded.  “Interesting.  So no way you’re getting messy drunk tonight?”  Not wanting to say something you may regret, you sucked in a deep breath.  “Shame.  Was looking forward to that fun.” He winked, and then pushed off into the crowd, leaving you at your wall.

An hour or so passed, and you drank a few more cups of your sugary soda.  Around the third, you started to feel different.  Passing it off as just being tired, you kept yourself hydrated through your profuse sweating at the temperature of the room.  However, a few cups later you found yourself really noticing a difference in how you felt.  Your stomach started to churn a little bit, and it was almost like the room was spinning.

You noticed someone’s eyes on you from across the room, and hesitantly you met them, finding Reggie staring right at you.  The churning in your stomach turned vicious as you felt a disoriented anger rise in your blood, narrowing your eyes at him.  He had done something.  Presumably, something bad.  He took slow steps toward you, stopping about eight inches from you.  

“You alright Y/N?” He asked, a wide smile on his face.  He inched toward you, but you raised your hand to stop him.  However, your arm felt kind of light, limp almost, and your palm against his chest definitely wouldn’t be much.  “Whoa.  Have you been drinking?  Damn, you smell like rum.” He chuckled, and you let out a noise that almost resembled a growl.

He had been right, you were a rum girl if any, and your neutrality towards the taste of it had allowed you to get drunk off spiked soda.  Presumably, spiked by the devil incarnate.

“You’re a real ass,” you slurred, mentally cursing at your inability to hide the fact that you were inebriated.  This could easily be blamed on the fact that you didn’t drink often, and that you had probably consumed quite a bit of alcohol at this point.  “Where’s Archie?”

Reggie pretended to think for a minute, “Hm, I don’t really know.  He dipped out of the crowd around half an hour ago.”

You tried taking deep breaths to encourage your body to flush this garbage out of your system.  “I’m going to find my boyfriend.”  You took one step forward, and found somebody’s foot where yours was supposed to go, and all your weight went backwards right into a body.  

Reggie’s mocking tone filled your ear as he whispered, “Whoa there, Y/N.  Don’t go so soon.  You’re in no shape to be walking around a party on your own.”

“Get off me, you pig,” you grumbled, using your half-functioning limbs to push against his tight grip around your waist.  When he wouldn’t budge, you found yourself panicking a little, struggling more.  Your eyes searched the living room for Archie, but he was nowhere to be found, this only increasing your nerves.  “I said, get off!” You tried yelling, but your voice was fragile, lacking in the power it normally had.

“Shh… you’ve had too much to drink.  Let’s go find Archie.” He let go of your waist, giving off the impression that you’d be allowed to walk, however a nudge sent to your shoulder sent your unbalanced body tumbling forward.  Before you hit the ground, the boy pulled you into his arms.

“Put me down!  Stop touching me!” You wriggled in his grip, only making him smile more.  

“Reggie!” Archie’s voice suddenly hit your eardrums, and while you weren’t necessarily soothed immediately, it worked wonders on your building anxiety.  “What the hell are you doing, man?”

“Your girlfriend was looking for you.  She’s too drunk to walk.  Figured I’d help you out.” Reggie shrugged, letting you out of his arms, however your moments of being held like that juxtaposed to being vertical all of a sudden was no help for your already terrible equilibrium.  You found yourself free-falling into the chest of your ginger-haired, anger-puffed boyfriend.

“What’d you give her?” He grumbled, the words sending vibrations through his chest that made you giggle, his arm wrapping tightly around your back.  “Did you drug her?”

Reggie smiled fakely.  “Of course I didn’t.  She just confused the coke with the spiked stuff.  Easy mistake.”

“Not for someone ten times smarter than you,” Archie roared.  

“Archie,” you mumbled into the soft material of his shirt.

“If she’s so smart why didn’t she notice before she became full on drunk?” Reggie tossed back.

“Not being able to handle alcohol and intelligence are very different things.”  Archie narrowed his eyes, clearly ready to fight Reggie right here and now.

“Archie,” you tried again to stop him, this time tugging at his collar.

“What, babe?” He asked softly, ducking his head to insure you hear him, but not breaking eye contact with Reggie.

“We should just go.” He frowned at your slurred words but nodded, sending another threatening glare at Reggie before looping his arm under your legs and pulling you to his chest.  He carried you to his car, smiling at your soft ‘thank you’s’ that you whispered into his shirt.  “Hold on,” you said suddenly.  “Put me down.”  Without hesitation, he propped you onto your feet, and then promptly holding your hair behind your shoulders as you emptied the contents of your stomach onto the lawn.  “Wow that was hot,” you grumbled to yourself, leaning back against Archie as he helped you into the passenger seat.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m doing great.”  You leant your forehead against the cool leatherette dashboard.   Even drunk, your sarcasm came through strong.  “Is this what it always feels like?”

Archie tried focusing on the road, but kept turning to see you were doing okay with the bumpy roads.  He found himself swerving to avoid the potholes so you wouldn’t vomit all over your own car, a worried crinkle in his brow at the sight of your now sleeping form in the passenger seat.  He pulled into your driveway, quietly maneuvering out of the car and coming to your side.

He placed a hand on your shoulder.  “Hey, we’re at your house.”

“Are my parents home?” You murmured, eyes open to slits.

“I don’t think so.”  

“Can you carry me?”

“‘F course.”  He once again pulled you into his arms, comfortably carrying you to your door, twisting the handle seemingly with ease despite having his hands full.  “Do you wanna shower?”

“Too tired.” He nodded.  

“Okay, let’s brush your teeth, though.”  

“‘Kay.”  Your lips brushed against his neck as your head lolled against his shoulder, him grinning at having you so close.   He carried you like this up your stairs to the bathroom where he sat you down on the fluffy bath mat with your back leaned against the tub.  

“How are you feeling?”


“Why’s that, babe?” He asked softly, squeezing some toothpaste on a toothbrush and handing it to you.  

“He got me drunk.” You frowned to yourself.

“It happens to everyone.” You looked up to him, and he smiled at the ring of white foam around your mouth.  While part of him was still mad at Reggie for getting you in a state like this, he had to say, you were kind of funny drunk.  He held his hand forward, pulling you upright and then leaning you against his chest.  “Spit.”  

He then softly walked you to your bedroom, where he helped you into a pair of his sweatpants that he found in the drawer and a baggy tee.  He laid you down under your covers, kneeling down beside your bed to get to your level.  “How are you doing?”

You smiled, “Why do you keep asking that?”

“I want to make sure you’re doing alright.”

You nodded.  “I’m doing alright.”

“Good.” He grinned as you shut your eyes.  

Without moving you asked, “Are you staying?”

He cocked his head.  “Do you want me to?”

“I’d like it.” His lips cracked into a smile again as he took off his jeans and shirt and gingerly laid down beside you.  You subconsciously turned into his chest, his arms wrapping around your back.  “I hate alcohol.”

He giggled lightly.  “Yeah, I know you do.”

Word Count: 2031
Author’s Note: So I have this personal headcanon that Bones loves filthy limericks, but he’s too much of a gentleman to share them unless he’s really, really intoxicated. This, coupled with his horrible flirting in Into Darkness, gave me this fic to share with you. tagging @youre-on-a-starship​ and @outside-the-government​ because they both expressed such interest in the idea.

You’d heard about the legendary shore leave shenanigans of the Enterprise crew, even before you’d been assigned to her. Rumour had it things got absolutely crazy on the first night, and tapered off from there, depending on your division. Operations was rumoured to party the hardest, partly to remind themselves they were alive, you guessed. You’d been told they remembered to toast their absent friends individually every night. Science was the next most likely to go on a prolonged tear, but you didn’t find that difficult to believe. Science held within it the Medical Corp, and you’d never met a nurse who wasn’t just a little bit wild. Additionally, the science labs were full of the kind of equipment that allowed bored officers to brew moonshine. That left Command as the Cinderella squad, destined to leave before the party really got started. But it was a comparative scale, really, and you suspected with a captain like Jim Kirk, the Command division wasn’t going to be leaving the ball before the fun started.

You’d been aboard for about six months when shore leave was announced, and you hoped your liver was up to the task. The gleam in Christine Chapel’s eye suggested it might not be.

“Come on, Doc,” she gestured to you. “We should find out what they’ve been cooking in the back of the lab.”

“I don’t know about this,” you replied, hesitant. She laughed and linked her arm in yours.

“First shore leave is always the worst. Just plan to alternate booze and water, and put a hypo at your bedside. You can step whoever you wake up with through giving it to you,” she winked.

“Whoever I wake up with?” You gaped. You hadn’t been on the ship long enough to make those types of connections.

“Think of it like a rite of passage, Y/N. Eventually, you’ll make a mistake and sleep with someone on this boat. You’re better off doing it sooner than later. And better to do it drunk on shore leave. Because then you can blame not knowing people better, and too much booze,” she explained. You shook your head.

“I don’t know, Chris, that seems pretty calculated.” You couldn’t help but blush just thinking about trying to seduce any of the crew you’ve met so far. There wasn’t really anyone who did anything for you. Well, there was one person. Who was completely off limits.

“You’ll thank me for this wisdom later, Doc.” She winked, and continued to lead you through the maze of the lab until you reached the very back. “Hey, Jameson, what’s cooking back here?”

“Would you believe I’ve managed a completely flavourless 100 proof coming out of the still right now?” Lt. Jameson grinned. “We’ll have to be very careful with it.” She offered a beaker to Christine who took a sip and tipped her head, her eyes wide.

“Oh, wow. That’s smooth,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “Try it, Y/N.” She pressed the beaker into your hand and you gave her a worried look as you tilted the glass to take a sip. It tasted like water, but it burned going down.

“Oh, that’s trouble,” you commented, garnering a laugh from both women. Christine clapped you on the back.

“Stick with me, Doc. I’ll make sure you survive,” she promised.

Keep reading

No Sleep Till Brooklyn, Part 2

Heartmate Series: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Deadpool, Falcon

Warnings: language, violence - Deadpool’s in it guys, it ain’t PG.

A/N: This is my take on the soulmate trope. It’s not necessarily an AU, because technically heartmate is canon in the Marvel world - at least with Wade’s comics. 

Summary: You’re a mutant turned mercenary, working with the best merc around - Wade Fucking Wilson aka Deadpool. You are also someone who doesn’t believe in the whole heartmate crap. How could two people solely be made for each other? Steve Rogers is Captain America,  Avenger extraordinaire. Call him old fashion, but he believed in heartmates and knew he had one out there. The two of you cross paths one day and things get set in motion. Can Steve get passed the jaded wall you built or would things just crash and burn? And will Wade Wilson finally learn to put the seat down after taking a piss? Who knows.

Part 1

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Aloha 🙃 Keith and Lance for 10. or 4. Please?

Mwa hahaha YES an ask

Okay so I went with ten here we go on this half-finished log flume ride.

“Please don’t make me socialize.” Keith’s voice was muffled by the pillow he had hidden his face in.

“Come on, Keith, we just kicked the Galra out of an entire solar system.  If there was ever a time to celebrate, it’s now.” Lance tried to lean farther into the door, or somehow make it audible.  Anything to make Keith look up and see how cool he was being.

“Coran’s just going to get drunk again.  I still have nightmares.”

Lance burst into a fit of laughter and wondered how much nunvill it took to get a six-foot tall human teenager tipsy.  When he didn’t stop laughing his ass off in a matter of seconds, Keith finally peered out from behind his pillow.

“Are you drunk?”

“What?” Lance tried to get his hysteria under control and failed abysmally. “Drunk? No, of course not.  What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who thinks that just because he’s in space no one cares what he does.”

“Well of course no one ca-a-ares,” Lance sing-songed. “The rest of you have got better things to do.”

Well quiznak, thought Lance. There’s no way this ends well.

Keith dropped the pillow to his lap and stared at Lance with his eyebrows knit together.  He started tapping his fingers against his thigh, and the part of Lance’s brain that was still capable of 100% rational thought (it was a very small part) recognized his ‘worried’ tell.

“Better things to do?”


“Yeah, man.  Like party! Come on!” Lance tried to roll off the door frame in some suave fashion and was utterly unsuccessful for two reasons.

Reason number one: The nunvill was evil and had robbed him of his balance.

Reason number two: Keith grabbed his sleeve and dragged him back to his bed to sit him down.

“That’s not what you meant, is it.”

“The heck man, of course it is.” Lance pulled his arm back and Keith let go reluctantly.  He looked pained.

“Lance, I have literally nothing better to do.” Lance tried to pinch his leg sneakily. “I care whether or not you get drunk off your ass.  I’m sitting here in my room because that party is loud as fuck, and you’re sitting here because you’re being an idiot.

“A silly, loveable idiot.”

What the cheese.

“Who I often want to hug and/or kiss if given the chance and your consent.”

Lance felt his cheeks heat up and he stole the pillow from Keith’s knees to try and hide it.

“Uh, I’m sorry.  Was this a bad idea? Is this awkward? I can get you back to your room if you want.”

They sat in an undecided silence for what felt like a very long time.

Lance took advantage of this to make up his mind.  His only half-functioning mind.

Option A was to pretend to pass out and get an excuse to go to bed, but that was right out.  That would be terribly embarrassing.

Option B was to yell “I’m bi and I love you too!” at the top of his lungs, which didn’t seem like such a bad idea really.

Option C was to kiss the mullet right there and then see was happened.

Oh what the hell.

Lance snapped his head up from his pillow, reached for Keith’s face with his hand and kissed him.  Very sloppily.

It turned out nunvill and romance didn’t really mix.

heart skipped a beat

pairing: lin-manuel miranda x reader

summary: you were too much.

words: 1,130

warnings: angst!, self-hatred/anxiety, swearing, alcohol

a/n: i listened to the song “heart skipped a beat” by the xx exactly 35 times last night and this terrible thing happened. not only is this my first fic ever published, but it’s also my first fic in english which is not my native language and that makes me too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that i may have committed many [grammatical] errors. honestly, i don’t even know why i’m posting this, since i have like 0.4 followers and no one will read it. i guess i just felt like sharing it somewhere.

please don’t say we’re done when i’m not finished.

“It’s over.” Lin declared briefly, not bothering to look up at you.

You stood there, blood rushing through your whole body, sending chills down your spine. Your brain stopped functioning for a second and you weren’t sure if it would work right ever again. You couldn’t believe he just said that. You thought he never would.

“But-” you began, not sure if there was anything you could say to make him stay. All you knew was that you had to fight. Fight for him. Like you did all the time.

“No,” he cut you off. “I’m done with your bullshit, [Y/N]. I’m tired. I’m tired of listening to this. I can’t take it anymore. Why are you like this? Why do you keep fucking everything up?”

Lin ran his hand down his face and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t have to keep it open, you knew what they were full of. Anger. Anger, disappointment and guilt. You hated yourself so much for not being good enough, for causing him pain, for making him suffer, for ever coming into his life. Lin was too good for you. A tear appeared in the corner of your eye, but you ignored it. You couldn’t let yourself cry. Not then, not when he was standing in front of you, almost falling apart because of how mad you drove him.

“Lin, y-you know I love you. You’re the only reason I’m still here. I live for you and you only, you know it. So-”

“So?” he cut you off again. “So what? So how come you keep hurting me? You can’t fucking stand yourself. And I don’t know why. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I can’t make you happy. I can’t make you look at yourself the way I look at you. I don’t know whose fault it is anymore. But you know what, [Y/N]?”

For just a second you hoped that he would look at you, but he just glanced at your feet and got distracted again, eyes wandering all over the place.

“At this point… I don’t even care. I’ve had enough.”

Your heart stopped. You weren’t ready to lose him. God, you weren’t ready to face anything without him.

“Lin,” you whispered. “Look at me.”



He took a deep breath and turned his gaze to you.

“You know I’m doing my best.”

He chuckled. You couldn’t believe it at first, but that’s exactly what he did. Your confused stare made him laugh even more.

“Yeah. Find someone who will believe you. I don’t.”

i could give you so much more, make you feel like never before.

“I gave you my heart. Lin, you have my heart. Isn’t this enough?” you cried out, trying to catch your breath.

He was rushing through the halls of Richard Rodgers Theatre. You grabbed his hand and tried to make him listen to you. Make him give you one more chance. Lin shook his arm rapidly, causing you to fall to your knees. He disappeared in a matter of seconds.

welcome, they said – welcome to the floor.

“And you’ve broken it! You’ve shattered it! Lin, please!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, your voice cracking somewhere in the middle of the sentence. Your own words echoing through the building were the only answer you got.

it’s been a while and you’ve found someone better, but i’ve been waiting too long to give this up. the more i see, i understand.

“Who is she?” you sounded emotionless. Chris shot you a hesitant look.

“I’m not sure. She’s blonde and she used to work on West End. That’s all I know.”

“She’s blonde? So you’ve seen her?” He nodded.

You caught a glimpse of the joyful smile that was spread across Lin’s face. He was talking on the phone. He looked happy. You couldn’t stand the sight of someone else making him feel this way. Slowly getting up, you tried not to tear up.

“You’re a lot prettier, you know?”

You smirked and suddenly you heard Lin’s genuine laughter fill the room. You left without saying goodbye to anyone.

but sometimes i still need you.

“Lin!” you heard Jasmine’s forceful voice as she tried to catch Lin’s attention.

You didn’t want her to call him, but you simply stopped caring. You were drunk and lying on the bathroom floor of some random club. Jasmine just witnessed one of your panic attacks. All of that caused by a stupid song that reminded you of him. You just sat there, shaking and not knowing what to do, with make up running down your face making you look even more hopeless than you felt.

“Can you fucking listen to me?” she shouted into her phone.

Your thoughts drifted away and you felt your eyes slowly close, tiredness taking the best of you. You weren’t sure how long it took, you weren’t sure whether it was ten minutes or an hour – but he showed up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he panted. You heard Jasmine say something, but you were too distracted by his sparkling eyes to focus on her voice. Lin slipped his hands under you and lifted you up. His warmth embraced you and you felt safe for a while. You felt loved.

and i was struggling to get in, left waiting outside your door. i was sure you’d give me more.

You refused to enter his apartment.

“I don’t want to look at her,” you murmured. You were too proud to admit that you weren’t strong enough to bear the sight of her. Even though you were absurdly drunk.

“Who are you talking about?” Lin whined, half asleep and quite confused.

“The blonde girl you’re fucking.”

The dim lights spread all over the street made the dark circles under his eyes seem even darker.

“I’m not fucking anyone.”

no need to come to me when i can make it all the way to you.

You woke up in his strong embrace, his hot breath on your neck and his arms around your waist. You wanted this moment to last forever. Turning around, you gently cupped his face and pressed a light kiss to his lips. He woke up instantly.

you made it clear. you weren’t near, near enough to me.

He pushed you away.

heart skipped a beat.

You begged.

and when i caught it you were out of reach. but i’m sure, i’m sure you’ve heard if before.

“I’m yours forever, Lin. I’m yours and I will never be anyone else’s. Remember that.”

Matty Healy Fic- ‘You’re Cold And I Burn’

Prompt: Can you do a Matty fic where you two grew up together?  Like best friends since birth, and then as you get older the age gap separates you and eventually you drift apart?  But then reconnect in following years?  Thanks so much tay :)) 

Authors note: This took me sooo long to write and I did no proofreading whatsoever, so please pardon the inevitable errors below.  

Trigger Warnings: drug use 


You’d been obligatory friends for years, because when your parents were best mates, surely you had to be too.  Your friendship with Matty was comfortable, genuine, safe, always there, achingly present and solid. You never felt uneasy confiding in Matty, somehow your three year age gap made him seem more worldly, more experienced. You spent the quickly passing school years making one another’s homes your own, your mom called Matty her honorary son, while Matty’s mom doted on you, saying you were the daughter she wished she had. Everyone knew that if they wanted to find Matty, they had to find you first.

The summer that Matty’s ten and you’re seven, is the best in both of your eyes.  All of Matty’s friends think he’s way too old to be hanging out with such a little kid, but you’re convinced that you’re a big kid now too. You don’t need to hold your mum’s hand everywhere you go. Matty had taught you how to swim without floaties and you can ride your bike without training wheels. Besides, you and Matty’s friendship surpassed any of the teasing he might get from the other year five kids.  You two share everything, popsicles, beds, secrets.

When Matty turns thirteen and you’re ten, it’s like a switch has been flipped. Matty’s discovered music and cigarettes and girls. You’re finally old enough to go places on your own, but Matty’s outgrown the movie theater across town and the ice cream place down the street. Your mum tells you it’s called hormones but you don’t care, you just want to watch VCR’s and eat sweets and fall asleep talking to your best friend every night.

It’s a turning point, ten years of friendship nearly right down the drain.

At sixteen and thirteen, your age gap has never seemed wider. Matty stops coming over and eventually trades in his football cleats for a new guitar, candy for cigarettes, and you for older girls.  You feel a bit like you’ve lost part of yourself; a big, important part of yourself that you aren’t sure how to function without. It was bound to happen, your mom tells you, but it still hurts nonetheless. You aren’t really sure that Matty even feels it, not over whatever high he’s chasing next.

By eighteen and fifteen, Matty starts coming around again, but only in the middle of the night, when he’s high out of his mind. You try not to care though. You sneak him in through your bedroom window and let him curl beside you underneath your comforter. Sometimes he’s crying, sometimes he’s shaking so badly he can’t say anything, and sometimes he smells like vodka and cheap perfume. You always hold him and pretend that he isn’t falling apart in front of your very eyes.

On your sixteenth birthday, Matty’s already turned nineteen. He gets you drunk for the first time, even though you swore you’d never touch the stuff, down at the park where Matty taught you how to kick a football around.  As you sit on the scratchy blanket from the trunk of your car, taking another swig from the bottle, you realize that in the past sixteen years, Matty’s taught you a lot of things.  Not all of them good; you gather from the burning feeling in your throat, but that’s besides the point. What you don’t know is that Matty’s come to the same realization, and it terrifies him.  You terrify him. Especially when the moon hangs high above you and Matty’s rambling on about the last song he wrote and you lean over and press your lips smack against his.

In your opinion, the kiss was a long time coming.  You’d imagined it before, countless times actually, but knew you’d never be brave enough to actually act on your feelings.  At least you thought you wouldn’t be brave enough, that was before the alcohol made everything seem so much simpler.  

When you pull back, butterflies rampant in the closed confinements of your stomach, you’re finally able to gage Matty’s reaction.  His eyes have lowered to the ground, like he’s staring intently at his hand picking apart a blade of grass next to the blanket.  You wait a little longer, staring at the thin line Matty’s mouth is forming into.  His lack of response sobers you up.  The buzz that once gave you infinite amounts of courage melts away like a coat of ice, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.  

Finally Matty speaks, his words hanging heavy in the night, “I think maybe it’s time I take you home.”

It’s a subtle rejection.  There’s no boisterous protesting or him telling you you’re disgusting like you’d imagined in all of the worst-case-scenerio reruns in your head.  But somehow, this is infinitely worse.  This can’t be played off as embarrassment or denial.  It was just apathy, disinterest.  

You and Matty don’t speak about it for the next year, when Matty’s twenty and you’re seventeen. And Matty says he’s finally leaving for good. Your first impulse is to cry, to scream and yell and shove.  But ever since Matty turned you down, you’ve been afraid of being honest with him,  afraid of looking weak.  So instead, you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest and leaning against the doorframe of his kitchen.  “I don’t blame you,” you say.  Even though you did.  You blamed him for his unhappiness, and you thought maybe if he didn’t drown himself in alcohol every night, he wouldn’t be so agitated.  Maybe if he didn’t settle for these people who continuously treated him like shit, he wouldn’t be so lonely.  Maybe if he stopped seeing you like a little kid, he wouldn’t feel so unloved.  Everything inside of you blamed him for his own unhappiness, but a part of you was beginning to blame him for yours too.  

He’d made you a promise years ago, that you’d never be alone, best friends forever, through thick and thin. But Matty stands in front of you, talking about how he just can’t take it anymore, his parents or their hometown or the looks he gets when he buys weed in a back alley and picks you up from the high school across the street after his shift at work.

What he doesn’t tell you, is that most of all, he can’t take you. He can’t take the way you’re growing into your own skin and out of your curls. He can’t take the way that you’re still finding yourself, desperately exploring all these outlets and destinations and finding your heart.  Or the way that he holds you back.  He can’t take the way you think you want him, because Matty knows what happens when he lets people in and he knows he really won’t be able to take it when you finally realize you deserve better.  You just were never meant to be, at least not in this lifetime.

He’ll never admit any of it out loud though, instead he’ll pack up in the middle of the night without really saying goodbye and he’ll drive until he hits London. He’ll find a shitty flat and a new best mate and start a band. He’ll get a new job and a new guitar and maybe, hopefully, a new heart.

You hadn’t really realized how much time you’d actually spent with Matty, until he’s gone.  You try to find a semblance, you try to get into your own routine, but it’s harder than you want to admit and you spend the coming months wandering down the same old paths Matty and you used to walk, through the same worn fields, taking photos of the sky, the ground, your shoes, all things that didn’t matter, things that didn’t make you smile.

The following year, you start looking into colleges, applying to just one local, safe school, but the rest of them are far.  Places you only ever dreamed of visiting.  You played it off as wanderlust.  But secretly, although you’d never admit it, you had this dream of Matty coming home to find you, ready to finally settle down, and just expecting you to still be around, but you wouldn’t be.  You’d be gone.  Long gone.  

London is appealing. Bristol is, too.  You get excited at the idea of leaving, at the idea of experiencing life outside of what you’ve always known, and you’re working up the nerve to tell your mom where you want to go when you get a phone call late Thursday night.

“Hello,” you answer on the second ring.

“Y/N—” a voice that you instantly recognize as Matty’s, says after a slight pause. “I didn’t think you’d have the same number,” he murmurs, voice slurred.

You freeze, completely blind sided. “Um. Why did you call it then?”

“I guess I hoped.”

You bite your lip, falling back into the pattern of overthinking everything you say in Matty’s presence.  

He sighs loudly.  

“How’ve you been?”

The question comes out so nonchalantly. Like it’s only been a few days since they reconciled last.  And just like that, a switch flips and the anger you’d been feeling so heavily inside boils to the surface. “How’ve I been?  Since when? Today?  Or the past year?” you snap.

At first you think he’s hung up the phone, because there’s complete silence other than your own heavy breathing.  But then the faint whimper comes across the line.  Matty is crying and suddenly, your heart hurts, your entire chest aches. “‘M sorry,” Matty mumbles incoherently, “I’m sor-sorry..”

The harshness of your words bites back at you with guilt, “It’s okay. Matty, it’s okay. Did something happen? Why’re you calling?”

He’s crying harder now, the obvious influence of alcohol is not helping. “There’s a girl here and she likes me and she keeps asking me to ask her out on dates and it just— it felt wrong, because I haven’t been with anyone since I left— and I don’t know why… but I got drunk.  I got drunk and realized she reminded me of you and suddenly it didn’t feel wrong anymore so I slept with her—.” He coughs, taking shaky breaths.

You hear his words.  You do.  You listen with every intent that you’ve always shown your friend.  But you don’t let yourself feel them.  “It’s okay, Matty,” you say, with utmost sincerity.  

“But she’s not you—“ he chokes out, “She’s in my bed and she’s got dark hair like you, but it’s not the same shade and it doesn’t smell like your shampoo.  She’s not you.”

“Shh.” you coo, burying the tears threatening to surface deep inside of you, “It’s okay.  Matty, it’s okay.  Take a deep breath.  How much did you have to drink?” you ask softly.

You hear a grunted protest on the other end, but no response.

“Take your deep breathes, Matty.  You know that always helps.  I’ll count with you if you want.  Or try running cold water over your hands.”

He breathes through the receiver for a beat too long. “I miss you.”

You let your head fall, chin to your chest, trying not to think about the girl in Matty’s bed, who she is or what she looks like. “I miss you, too.”

When the line fills with Matty’s deep breathing, you realize he’s drunkenly fallen asleep and you can finally hang up.  You wonder if he’ll even remember he called in the morning.

It’s a Wednesday and the vending machine in the hall are broken.  It’s a sign, an omen, you’re sure, because you know how to kick it in just the right way, so that as many bags of crisps as your pack can hold dump out.  But today, there’s nothing.

You have two choices, you think to yourself.  You could wander back to your own floor with a grumbling stomach, or you could venture down to the ground floor and check out those vending machines.  Your hunger outweighs your laziness and you decide to head downstairs.  

Once you’ve come to the first floor, and all stairs are evaded for now, you hold the change out in the palm of your hand and begin counting it again.  In the midst of your distracted state, you find yourself colliding with someone, head on.  

You gasp loudly, stumbling back and tightening your fist around your money so it didn’t all go flying.  But after you ground yourself, and get a chance to look up at who you ran into, is when the breath really leaves your lungs. Dressed in a ratty white t-shirt, a worn leather jacket, and jeans ripped in the knee is absolute heartbreak.  And then Matty’s eyes land on yours.

You think the world has just about stopped spinning, it feels like slow motion. Both of your eyes meet and both of your expressions fall. You’re secretly glad the vending machine was out of food, because you think if you’d had anything to eat in the last five hours, you would’ve been sick.


It isn’t a question, it’s a realization. One that makes your stomach churn. Somewhere in the back of your head, you remind yourself to keep it together.

London is a big city, you knew that before Matty left for it. You convinced yourself when you left for school that their paths would never cross again simply because they weren’t destined to. Matty had fucked off to do God only knows what with a guitar and only one suitcase. And you had waited it out, graduated, gotten into uni and done everything right. You and Matty were two different people now, moving in two different directions. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You can’t even identify what emotion you’re really feeling or what’s bubbling underneath your skin.  There was anger, sure.  Frustration and aggression.  You wanted to punch Matty right in the nose, although you weren’t sure that counted as an emotion.  But there was also this wave of nostalgia that hit you unexpectedly.  Because no matter how much you wished this was ten year old Matty standing in front of you, waiting to go grab an ice cream cone or ride bikes, you knew it would never be that simple ever again.  And that made your chest ache.  

“What’re you doing here?” is all you can think to say.

But before he can answer, a girl you recognize from your floor comes stumbling behind you, giggling loudly.

“There you are, Matthew!  You texted me like five minutes ago saying you were here— I thought you got locked out or something!”

You knew the jealousy you felt inside was unjust.  It wasn’t fair of you to stare daggers at this poor girl that Matty was inevitably using for one reason or another.  It really was your fault for expecting anything more out of the boy who’d only ever broken your heart.  

He turns his head to look back at you as the girl pulls him down the hall towards the stairs.  

“Bye Matthew,” you spit sarcastically to yourself once he’s out of earshot and you can finally let your shoulders slump and eyes fall.  

You walk all the way around the building just to take the opposite staircase and forget all about the bag of crisps.  

No deadline or piling amount of stress could give you the incentive to focus on homework.  Not with the knowledge that Matty was in the same floor as you this very moment.  Living, breathing, kissing another girl.  You feel that familiar pressure in the bridge of your nose, evidence that tears were starting to surface.  You punched the pillow on your bed, sniffling loudly.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t fucking fair. You hadn’t seen him for three years.  Hadn’t spoken in two.  And yet, just like that, at the drop of a hat, one fucking glance and he had you once again.  You needed a distraction.  Something to pretend he wasn’t fucking Clara or Carissa or whatever her fucking name was, just down the hall.

You grab your keys and a jacket hanging from the back of your door before deciding you just needed to be somewhere, anywhere, away from him.

You let your door slam shut before turning around to lock it.  You fumble with it at first, your hands shake as you try to fit the key in.  In retrospect, you wished you’d just left it unlocked, risking a robbery.  You would have preferred it to Matty approaching you in the hallway.  

“Please go,” you manage to say while still keeping your eyes trained on locking your door.

“Y/N, I-I had no idea-”

“I don’t really care,” you will Matty to give up. To just fucking leave again. But Matty could never just leave, he could never let you have a clean break. He had to feel blameless first. A fucking martyr, is what he is.

“Do you really think if I had any idea, I would’ve come?!”

And there it is, just what you’d been expecting, Matty proving to you that he hasn’t changed at all. All he cares about is proving his innocence, his victimization, and if anything comes in the way of that, he caves.

“Dunno,” you sneer, “Depends on how cruel you’re feeling on any given day, I suppose.”

“Don’t be like this,” he sounds older, frustrated. Like he’s talking down to a child. Your blood run hot.

“I think you should leave.”

“I think you should let me take you out for some drinks.”

You’re sure there’s steam coming out of your ears as you spins in your spot, staring him down, “I think you’re out of your mind.”

Matty grins, that same crooked smile with the same crooked teeth that still does something to your stomach that you aren’t proud of.

“My treat?” Matty asks with a smile.

As you sit in the back booth of a pub that smells like piss, you tell yourself that you couldn’t have said no, because you were being offered free alcohol, not because you knees felt weak when Matty flashed his teeth your way.  And hell, you knew the minute you decided to leave your room you’d end up at a bar anyway.

You order a beer, and resist from an order of chips, praying to god Matty couldn’t hear the grumbling noises your stomach was angrily producing from where he sat across from you.

It’s awkward, Matty asks short questions and you offer nothing but short answers.  You’re waiting for Matty to take charge of the conversation to steer you wherever he wants you to go so he can ramble about himself and his music and his wonderful new life without you in it. But he doesn’t.

It occurs to you on your fourth beer (still on an empty stomach), that this run in isn’t to Matty what it is to you. To Matty, it’s just coincidence, a chance to catch up with an old friend whose friendship ended on the wrong foot. To you, it’s a living, breathing nightmare, something you’ve fretted over for years.

“Are you going to order chips?” Matty questions after you list off a few of your courses, more focused on the condensation from your drink than Matty in front of you.

Your head whips up, already feeling a bit dizzy, “No.”

“Why not?” he wonders, chin resting in his hands and eyes still looking completely sober, “You always used to. With extra vinegar and salt.”

You shrug, ears burning with shame and annoyance. You won’t give him a real reason, that you’re embarrassed and don’t want to eat in front of him.  Instead you’ll let Matty wonder and think that things have changed, that he doesn’t know you at all anymore.

“Well I’m going to,” he downs the rest of his gin and tonic drink and stands up, patting his jeans, “I’ll be right back, yeah?”

You give him a slight, tense nod and watch him walk away, all confidence and curls and leather.

It’s been just as awful as you imagined it would be. Matty’s not as mean as you had thought up in your head, but the awkward pauses and uncomfortable topics certainly make up for it.  You keep telling yourself that you just needs to get drunk. Once you’re drunk, you’ll be able to pretend that you don’t care so much and then you can just go home and get a long night’s sleep. Then you can wake up, go to economics, and forget it even happened.

Fifteen minutes later, and you’re sure that Matty’s ducked out and left you with the tab.  It’s a very struggling rockstar thing to do and in turn, a very Matty thing to do.  You slap your thigh angrily at the realization that you didn’t even bring your wallet with you, meaning you couldn’t pay the tab either.  You stagger, annoyed and bitter and slightly tipsy up to the bar.  

“Have you seen a curly headed guy?” you ask the bartender, leaning on the counter.  “Leather jacket, this tall-“ you hold your hand up, impersonating Matty’s height.

“Yeah,” the guy answers, rubbing a glass clean.  “Ordered chips, then ran off to the bathroom.”

The men’s room is across the pub and you hesitate slightly before entering.  You’re not sure why you’re worried about Matty.  But that worry is quickly replaced with panic, as you push open the door to the bathroom and spot Matty at the sink.

He’s bent over, curls falling in his face and eyes shut, like he hasn’t even heard you enter. He’s off in his own little drug-induced world. There’s a half empty plastic baggy on the counter and just enough remnants of a line for the pieces to click in your drunk mind.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you say out loud, in complete shock. Your head is spinning a little too fast all of a sudden.

“Y/N—” Matty breathes, eyes still squeezed shut as he straightens up and lets his head tilt back, lets it hit him. It scares you a bit because Matty inhales like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” your voice raises a bit. You feel a little bit outside of your own body. Now that you’ve found a reason to be angry, everything you’ve felt and bottled up all night is hitting you all at once.

“‘S alright,” his eyes open, but only half lidded.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you say in disbelief, shaking your head as you feel the influx of tears falling down your cheeks.  You wipe them away angrily with your hand.

Matty’s eyes widen and he looks so different than the version of him you’d been formulating in your head the past three years. The messy hair, tired eyes, and chapped lips all looked the same.  But there was a sadness about him now.  An aura of tragedy and dismay surrounded him, making you wonder if the three years he spent away were really as outrageous and spectacular as you’d always thought.  Your face softens.

Matty’s absolutely fucked.  And there’s so much you want to say to him, so much you need to say.  But now’s not the time.  Not when there’s snot running down his nose and his pupils were practically bulging out of his skull.

“Let’s just head back, yeah?”

Matty doesn’t protest in the slightest.  In a quick motion, he slings his jacket over his shoulder and sniffs the remainder of cocaine up his nose before following you out of the bathroom.  You’re glad he remembers to slap down some money on the table before letting you drag him back to the dorm rooms.

“Which room’s hers?” you ask once you’ve reached your floor.  You pretend like it didn’t eat away at you to have to drag Matty back to some other girl’s dorm room.

“Hm?” Matty grunted.

“Clara? Which room’s Clara’s?”

“No—“ Matty protested, stopping dead in his tracks near your door.  “Common, she knows I ditched her, she’s not gonna let me sleep in there.  Can’t I just crash with you? Like the old days?” he says with a smirk.  

You nod grudgingly and push by him to unlock your door.  You find yourself trying to remember what state you left your bedroom in, hoping nothing embarrassing was left out for Matty to see.  

Luckily, you’d left it in tact and only swipe up a few articles of clothing once you make your way inside.  You hear Matty already collapsing on your bed before you have time to even take your coat off.  You sigh as you turn around, but notice he’s got one eye propped open, watching you from the mattress.  

“You know that shit’s terrible for you, right?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, in the most sincere way possible.

Matty shrugged nonchalantly, and sits up on your bed, his eyes bloodshot. “And? We’re all gonna die anyway.”

“How beautifully cryptic of you,” you say sarcastically.

“It’s just coke,” he plays it off.

“Just coke?  Matty, common, I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Why do you care so much?” Matt asked apathetically, though you both know it was a loaded question. Matty was right, why should you care?  You didn’t know Matty, not anymore.  You didn’t owe him anything.  If Matty didn’t care about himself, why should you care?  But maybe it’s for the same reason that you comforted Matty over the phone. Maybe it’s for the same reason you let him take you out for drinks tonight.  Maybe it was because you knew you’d always love Matty, even though you knew fate just wouldn’t allow it.  But of course you couldn’t tell Matty that, so you just shook your head as you stripped off your jacket.  

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” you state quietly, more as a reminder to yourself than an insult to Matty.  But you hear him sigh softly from the bed.  

You huddle near your dresser, grabbing an old pair of shorts and ratty t-shirt from your drawer before changing behind the door of your closet.  You don’t even both to run a brush through your hair before you trot back over to your bed, where Matty was sprawled directly in the middle.

“Scoot over,” you order.

He looks up at you questioningly from the pillow.

“If you thought I was giving up my bed, you don’t know me at all, Healy.”

He smirks before hiding his face in the pillow and scooting against the wall.  

You awkwardly lift as much of the blankets as you can before sliding in, noticing Matty hadn’t covered himself with them at all.  

“Thanks for lettin’ me stay,” he grumbles.  You can tell how trashed he still is so you just nod, staring straight up at the ceiling.  

“Goodnight, Matty.”

At around three in the morning, you wake up to Matty shivering violently beside you. He’s got his arm coiled around his thin body and you swear you can hear his teeth chattering. You look for a moment at how vulnerable Matty was, shivering and asleep, and it makes your chest ache inside.  

Your first impulse is to cover him with a blanket, but with him laying directly over both the comforter and sheets, that option was shot.  Instead, you opt to just wake him up.

“Matty—“ you say, nudging his shoulder.  “Matty, wake up.”

His eyes pop open with a start and he looks at you, surprised, like he’s forgotten where he was momentarily.  

“You’re shivering,” you whisper.  

He stares for a moment, like it’s taking that much extra time for your words to sink in before he speaks, “m sorry,” he grumbles in that deep, sleepy voice you used to love so much.  

“Get under the blankets,” you suggest and he nods, lifting himself higher on the bed before scooting underneath the sheets.  You immediately feel his toes touch your bare leg, and you can’t help but notice they’re not freezing like you’d expected.  He lays on his side, facing you, and before you can convince yourself otherwise, you flip so that you’re facing him, too.  You stare into his tired eyes, waiting for them to shut any second, but they don’t.  They remain focused on yours, his pupils returned to a normal size.  

“I really missed you,” you say, because you’re exhausted and you have no filter when you’re tired.  

Matty nods, “I really missed you, too.”

You nod in return.  Like these were just facts, not needed to be said out loud, but still glad that they were.  

And again, because you were impulsive when you were exhausted, you don’t even hesitate before sliding yourself across the distance that separated you and Matty, curling your arm around his waist and pressing your head into his chest.  Only when you feel his arm wrap around you, his fingers spreading wide across your back, do you inhale smoothly.  He smells like cigarettes and whatever drink he had earlier, but it’s still Matty, and it’s the freshest breath of air you’ve had in a long time.  

You wake up early.  Hours earlier than Matty.  Once you’re awake, and no longer on the brink of exhaustion.  You let the fact that you’re curled into Matty’s side, with your head resting on his beating heart sink in.  You bite your lip, wanting to stay in the moment a while longer, and play with the hem of your baggy t-shirt.  You let the tears fall silently down your cheek, mostly because you were so mad at yourself.  

It’s not like you and Matty hadn’t cuddled before.  You spent the latter of your sleepovers curled up in blanket forts together, after all.  But this was different.  Because in one, weak, desperate moment, you let yourself feel for him again.  After spending three entire fucking years accumulating reasons to hate Matty Healy, in one moment, you let them all melt away.  You let yourself be vulnerable to him; open, exposed.  And you remember all too clearly what happened the last time that happened.

You pull yourself out of bed and pretend not to notice Matty’s arm searching for you in his sleep.  Instead of curling back beside him, like you wanted, you grabbed your shower caddy and hurried off to the bathroom.  

Matty slept until nine thirty, and when he opened his groggy eyes, he found you sitting in your desk chair, knees tucked against your chest writing vigorously away.  

“Morning,” he said, the same, sleepy voice softened your heart slightly.

“Good morning,” you said back, turning around timidly in your chair.

Matty’s got this wild hair-thing going on.  His curls stick straight up in the air and it’s so endearing it makes you want to slap and kiss him at the same time.  But then he scoots off to the toilets, and you have a moment to compose yourself before he’s coming back looking a bit more refreshed.  

You hesitate when he invites you to breakfast, worried he might sneak off and do a line of coke in the bathroom again or worse, but you don’t say so out loud.  Instead you agree, ignoring the class you’re blatantly skipping for him, just another reminder of the influence Matty had on you.

You find yourselves sitting across from each other at the back of a coffee shop. You had ordered a bagel and some tea and Matty was sipping at a coffee, straight black.

“You sure you don’t want anything to eat? Not even a bite of my bagel? It’s good,” you offered.

“Nah, ‘m good,” Matty says as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Matty be honest, when’s the last time you ate?” you asked, looking at Matty with serious eyes.

Matty held the stare for a bit until you quirked your eyebrows up and he realized that you were actually being serious and weren’t going to let him avoid answering the question.  “I’m not bloody starving myself, if that’s what you’re wondering. I told you I just don’t get hungry much but when I do, I eat. Don’t worry— you sound like a mum.”

“Okay,” you say, crunching up the paper from your bagel and letting it go.

Matty didn’t respond for a few minutes. Just sipped at his coffee silently until he spoke again. “You know you don’t have to worry so much about me.  I do fine.”

“I’m sure you do,” you say, shrugging.

“Come off it-“ Matty says, nudging your arm, “I know you, Y/N.  I can tell when something’s bugging you.  What is it?” he asks.

You bite your lip and trace the edge of your mug, contemplating for a moment before asking him “Why are you so afraid to let someone care about you?” you inquired cautiously.

Matty frowned, “I’m not ‘afraid’" he said defensively.  “I just.. I know how the world works and I know what’s worth worrying over and what’s not.”

You shake your head.  You were sick of Matty pretending like he was so much wiser.  So much more experienced.  You were sick of his pretentious outlook, his excessive need to bullshit his way through life.

“What is this?” you ask, finally gathering the courage to just look him in the eye.  

“Look I don’t know what you want—“

“I want to know what this is, Matty,” you state clearly. You debated on elaborating further, but Matty’s fallen gaze indicated that he knew exactly what you meant.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you almost think it’s sincere until he looks up and lets out an innocent, hearty laugh, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Fuck you,” you sigh, feeling so defeated and drained.  You dig into the pocket of your coat and throw money on the table, not wanting to give Matty the satisfaction of buying breakfast too, before sliding out of the booth and walking towards the door.

“Woah, woah!” he calls, you can hear him hurrying after you.  You only quicken your pace out into the brisk morning air.  “Please Y/N, just look at me.” His voice is wobbly. Like he knows he’s fucked up. “Wait a second, please.”

You spin around at the contact of Matty’s hand, and turn to face him, squeezing your eyes shut before deciding you’d just had enough and you didn’t care.  You didn’t care about looking weak or vulnerable.  You just wanted it to stop.  

“You left,” you bark at him, making his eyes go wide.  “Remember?  You did.  Not me.  I was in love with you and you just left, like it was nothing.  Like I was nothing.”

Matty’s mouth hangs open slightly, his eyes still hooked on yours as he listens to the words that should have been said years ago.

“You were my whole world, Matty.  And you just fucking left.  I had to learn how to live without you, and that sucked.  But I did it,” you pause to wipe the tears from your face, before continuing with a choked voice, “Why didn’t you call me?  Or ever check in?  Or god forbid fucking visit once and a while?  Why’d you have to disappear?”

“I did call,” Matty says quietly.

His words make you freeze.  You narrow your eyes in on him and say in disbelief, “You remember that?”

He let’s out a heavy sigh, and fidgets in front of you, clearly uncomfortable.  “Of course I remember that.”

“You called me about some chick you fucked,” you say, annoyed.

“Yeah,” he admits, “Some chick.  That’s all they were.  Some chicks to fuck.  They were a shag.  They were nothing.  They weren’t you,” he inhales sharply on the last word, like he’d embarrassed to say it out loud.

But you shake your head, confused.  “No, you left.  You left, Matty.”

He nods, “I know.  I know, I did.  I left cause I was a mess. I am a mess.  I mean look at me—“ he holds his arms out straight like he’s showcasing himself, “I’m a fuck up.  And you kissed me, that night on your birthday, and it was perfect.”  He closes his eyes, like he’s remembering that night. “You were perfect.  And I was gonna ruin that—you— I don’t know.  But I couldn’t.  I couldn’t drag you into my shit.  The drugs, the alcohol.  I was never going anywhere, that much I knew.  But you?  You graduated top, you’re at uni, you’re gonna make a difference.”  Matty pauses briefly, getting to the ultimate point of his rant, “I was afraid I wasn’t enough for you.”

You let his words sink into the layers of your skin, absorbing their impact and trying to make sense of it all.  But that’s the thing, you realize.  Is that none of it made any sense.  Because all this time, you’d been trying to listen to fate and realize what you really wanted, what was meant to be.  And it sounded like Matty had been doing the same, chasing happiness.  Chasing something written in the stars.  

Maybe if you’d actually talked to each other, and been honest, this mess wouldn’t have happened.  You can already feel the temptations that beating yourself up bring, but you sigh, acknowledging that you were here now; standing in the middle of a busy, London street with Matty standing in front of you.  

“Not enough for me?” you repeat, the words sounding bitter on the tip of your tongue.  “You are everything to me—“ you say it like it’s obvious.  Like there’s nothing more true in the entire world.  In your world, there might not be.

Fuck fate, you think when Matty closes the distance between you two in just three quick strides. This is what you’ve always wanted, before you even knew it was something you could or couldn’t have.  You know you aren’t meant to have it, your whole lives have been a story of how they were never meant to be, how one of you was always two steps ahead of the other. But for now, you were here; Matty’s hand cupping your cheek delicately, your hands finding their way to his back, your lips moving as one.  And you decide, in that moment that you were going to fight for what you wanted, fate could go to hell.

Barnes’ Books - chapter 10

I’m sorry. That’s all I’m going to say…

Barnes’ Books masterlist

I wasn’t well, that was true, and so that day I wasn’t up to thinking about Bucky or wondering why he’d come. After he left, I fell asleep again, a much healthier sleep. I’d eaten, drunk, washed, changed. I’d been cared for. It had been a long time since that happened.

I woke up the next morning to a soft warm body curled against mine. It had been a long time since that had happened too. I moved slightly, and the body moved with me. Then it climbed out from under the duvet and stalked off, tail in the air. Can’t have everything. I got out of bed gingerly, expecting to feel terrible, but I didn’t. Not great, but OK. Hungry, a little headachy, but human.  

I followed Steve into the kitchen, to find everything clean, laundered bedding folded on the side, dishes put away. Tidier than I’d left it for a long time. I felt a hot flush of shame at the thought that Bucky had seen how I’d been living. The depression I’d sunk into would leave me staring at dirty crockery, empty wine bottles, unwashed clothes, then just turning away, unable to even begin to deal with anything. While I’d been sleeping, Bucky had obviously been in and taken over. Even as I felt embarrassed, I felt a weight lift from me, that I could start afresh.

Keep reading

Never Have I Ever and Chill - Markson x Reader

Originally posted by tepangel

members: mark and jackson
rating: nc-17
genre: smut
word count: 3098

summary: you like to spoil the boys with relaxing, fun nights where they can let loose and forget about their busy schedules whenever you get the chance. you don’t expect it to turn into you and your boyfriend hooking up with his best friend. 

Keep reading

Don’t Let Go (Bucky Barnes X Reader)

So I should be writing my history essay that my teacher literally gave me to do two days ago.  It’s due tomorrow.  But whatever.  Frick history.  Also, I was listening to Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur (it’s an amazing song, seriously) and it reminded me of two people: Dean Winchester and Barry Allen. And then I was like, well, I’ve kinda already written them a lot, especially Dean. So, it’s Bucky guys.  

Seriously, go listen to that song while you’re reading this.  I listened to it on repeat the entire time I was writing it.  

Without further adieu, let the reading commence.  

Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Words: 2460

Warnings: Fluffy Steve Drunkenness (if that’s even a warning), alcohol consumption

Excerpt: Sighing, Bucky made his way back to the bar, but this time, he came up behind the beautiful woman.  He was careful not to touch her when he leaned in to speak to her over the music.

“Is this spot taken?”

The woman looked over at him with dazzling eyes.  Those were eyes he knew he’d never forget, even if he never saw her again.  “No,” she spoke in the smooth, melodious voice of maybe a singer or a poet. Soft, yet assertive. She gave him a quick once-over and smiled brightly. “Definitely not.  My name’s Y/N.”

Tagging: @beccaanne814-blog and @bovaria

Originally posted by feueriosa

Originally posted by fvckmxk

Your name: submit What is this?

A friend’s wedding.  That’s how it all started.  Bucky thinks back on the first day he met you as he sits on a bench under a shady tree.  He remembers that you have the same birthday as he does, and that’s today, a beautiful spring day. Sighing, he wrings his hands.  

He remembers how beautiful you looked. How shy you’d been until you’d gotten a few drinks in you, and how well you danced. 

April, 1936

Bucky watched the girl standing on the other side of the bar, waiting for the attention of the bartender.  He was sure he’d never seen her before; he’d know if he’d met a woman that beautiful. She wore a red dress with a big red bow on the back.  It was absolutely stunning, as was the woman wearing it.

They were at the wedding of a mutual friend, celebrating, but not really celebrating since neither had a date.  

Steve came up behind Bucky and clasped him on the shoulder lightly.  He was grinning from ear to ear and very obviously drunk. Slinging one arm over Bucky’s shoulders (and having to go almost on his tiptoes to do so), Steve looked where Bucky was looking and whistled.  

“Oh, man,” he breathed, looking at Bucky.  “You have to stop staring and do something, Buck. She’s never gonna notice you if you—hic!—don’t go over there.”

Bucky chuckled.  “You are so drunk, man.”

Steve shrugged. “So what? I,” he nodded emphatically, “only I know what’s best for you.  And right now, what’s best for you is that hot broad over there. She would totally be giving you the eyes if you weren’t cowering over here.”

“Usually I’m the one giving you advice on women, Steve,” Bucky chuckled a little more. “I think I should get you home.  And anyways, it’s not like I’ll ever see her again.”

Bucky pulled Steve off of him and then found that he really couldn’t stand on his own.  Steve was usually so careful about alcohol, but it was one of their best friends’ wedding, and neither of them were feeling particularly like a million bucks.  Steve drank, and Bucky watched a woman he would never have any chance with.  They both had their vices.

Slinging an arm around his friend, Bucky began to make his way away from the bar.  He only got a few feet away until Steve pushed him away.

“Buddy,” Bucky said softly, “you gotta go home now.  I’ve never seen you this far gone.”

“’M fine,” Steve protested, “go get that girl.”



With that, Steve disappeared into the crowd, whooping and bumping into people in his drunken haze.  Bucky wanted to go after him, but for once, Steve seemed happy.  He wasn’t self-conscious about his size or height.  It had been a very long time since Bucky had seen his best friend that carefree and euphoric.  

Sighing, Bucky made his way back to the bar, but this time, he came up behind the beautiful woman.  He was careful not to touch her when he leaned in to speak to her over the music.

“Is this spot taken?”

The woman looked over at him with dazzling eyes.  Those were eyes he knew he’d never forget, even if he never saw her again.  “No,” she spoke in the smooth, melodious voice of maybe a singer or a poet. Soft, yet assertive. She gave him a quick once-over and smiled brightly.  “Definitely not.  My name’s Y/N.”

She held out a hand to him.  He shook it tentatively. Y/N had such soft hands.

“James,” Bucky said.  “But my friends call me Bucky.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, still grinning.  “Some kind of nickname?”

Bucky grinned bashfully and gave a small shrug.  “Yeah.  It’s short of Buchanan, my middle name. Nobody really calls me James.”

“Thought you said only you friends call you Bucky,” she said, smirking. Bucky thought that a sly smirk should not be that sexy.  He pulled air into his lungs, but his tongue wasn’t working very well, and neither, for that matter, was his brain.

It took him a good few seconds to come up with a reply. “Um, well, yeah, they do, but so does everyone else. Well, I mean, the people that know me.”

Y/N smiled.  “Well, Bucky, would you like to dance?”

Bucky pulled his eyebrows together slight and tilted his head.  “I thought I was supposed to ask you that.”

“Life’s too short,” Y/N shrugged. “So…?”

Bucky grinned again.  “Couldn’t stop me if you wanted to, Doll.”

They danced for most of the night, until both of them were drunk.  Bucky couldn’t get enough of her: her scent, her hair, her eyes, her lips.  Not that he’d kissed her yet, but they just looked so luscious.  Bucky had heard of people getting together at weddings or other affairs and it only being a one-night-stand.  But then again, he’d also heard of people who met at these things and ended up falling in love with each other.

At the end of the night, Bucky hailed a cab for Y/N with every intention to shut the door and let her live in his fantasies. But she pulled him into the cab with her and gave the cabbie the address for her apartment.

She grinned at him and he couldn’t take it anymore.  He kissed her, right there, in the back of the cab on the way to her apartment.  

They stumbled out of the cab when they had arrived at Y/N’s apartment in a mass of limbs and lips.  Carefully, the made their way up the stairs and to the door.  She gave Bucky her keys and he opened the door.  Immediately, she ran into the bathroom.  

Bucky followed and held her hair while she was sick.  He rubbed her back with his free hand and whispered that she was okay and that it’d be over soon.  

When it was over, she wiped her mouth and brushed her teeth and then grinned at him over her shoulder.  He shook his head because even after that, there was no way she was still feeling the euphoria of the night.  Nothing would bring her down.  

He pulled her to him tightly.  For a while, they just stayed like that, until Bucky pulled away.

“You’re so warm,” she whined, but he pulled her into the bedroom, sat her on the bed, and pulled off her heels.  “Stay.”

“I can’t, Doll,” he chuckled.

Bucky shook his head as he pulled the blankets up over her.  He went into the bathroom and looked in the cabinet for Advil.  Taking two, he went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, placing both on the bedside table.  

She was watching him intently.  “Stay.”

Bucky chuckled again. “Already told you, I think you should get some rest.”

Once more, she pulled him in and kissed him.  Bucky didn’t want to let her go, but he knew that he couldn’t stay.  Instead, he kissed her forehead and left before he did something stupid that he knew he’d regret in the morning.  

Nevertheless, he was determined to see her again. He was not going to let this be one of those stories where you meet someone at an event, kiss a little, and never see each other again.  This was going to be a love story.  This was going to be his love story.

Picking up the pen and paper sitting on the kitchen table, he scribbled his number and his name. He put the paper on the bedside table next to the sleeping beauty and took a few moment to just look at her before shutting the light and closing the door.  He wanted to stay with her so much, but he couldn’t.

He made sure to lock the door on his way out.

Bucky remembers every minute of it, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. You did call him the next day and the two of you went out a few times.  Despite your less than ceremonious meeting, the two of you hit it off and within a few weeks, you were going steady.  

The two of you were inseparable for years, and you got engaged on your birthday’s two years after your first meeting.

Bucky had told you to meet him at the park and that it was urgent. Of course, you quickly made your way to the park to meet him.  You had no idea what it was about, but it had to be important if Bucky said it was urgent.

At first, you panicked, because it was late and the streetlights hadn’t kicked on yet so the park was dark.  Where was he?

“Bucky?” you called.  “You here?”

There was no reply and your heart started to beat faster.  Then, the lights came on and the park flooded with dim light from the street lamps.  Finally, you spotted him sitting on a bench in the middle of the park, staring down at something small in his hands.  

You made your way over to him and he stood to greet you, kissing you and slipping the small thing into his pocket.  You frowned.

“What was that?”

“What was what, Doll?” he asked innocently, pushing his hands into his pockets so you couldn’t reach in and grab it from him. You shook your head.

“Whatever that thing was that you just stuck in your pocket,” you said.  

Bucky grinned at you and kissed you, pulling you down to sit with him on the bench.

“You know,” he began, “this is the park where we had our first date. I took you to this exact bench and we had a picnic.”

You smiled brightly at the fond memory. “Yeah, I remember that.  You squirted yogurt all over yourself.”

Bucky cringed. “Not one of my finest moments, but do you remember how much fun we had? We had a picnic, then we went for a walk around the park. Then we went to that little cafe and talked for hours.”

“Not that it’s not cute,” you said, “but you just brought me here to reminisce?”

“No,” he chuckled.  Then he produced that small thing that he’d been staring at before and knelt down on one knee in the soft grass.  Immediately, you put your hands over your mouth and gasped.  


“Y/N,” Bucky said, with that goofy grin on his face. “I love you, I know you know that.  But I think I’ve loved you since that night, that first night.  I know that I didn’t say it for a while, but it’s true. I’m always gonna love you, and I want to stay with you until we’re gray and old.  Will you do me the great honor of being my partner for life?”

Bucky looked breathless and slightly nervous.  As if you’d say no.  You would never say no.

You knelt down in the grass in front of him and sang a chorus of ‘yes’s while you kissed him.

You and Bucky had married the next year at an extravagant ceremony.  It was lavish and wonderful and everything you and Bucky had always hoped for.  You had married your best friend.  

Bucky remembers that the night of his wedding and the first night he met you were remarkably similar.  Dancing in the dark, holding your hair—it was mostly the same, only this time, he got to stay with you. He didn’t have to let go.  That was, until two years later.  

War had already broken out in Europe, but now the Japs had bombed Pearl Harbor, and the U.S. was going to enter the war.  Bucky enlisted, but wasn’t drafted until Captain America and his Howling Commandos recruited him.  Or rather until Steve, the new and improved Steve, and his group asked him to join them.

Of course, Bucky didn’t want to leave you, but he couldn’t let Steve and his group of misfits go off on their own without him.

He wanted to stay with you, he didn’t want to let go, but he did.  He wonders now what it was like for you when he didn’t come back.  You must have been absolutely crushed.  As absolutely crushed as he was when he found out that you had died.  

You’d died in 1994, at the age of 79.

Now, he sits in a bench in the cemetery where you were buried.  He can’t muster up the courage to get up and go to your actual grave.  

But then Steve is there, sitting down next to him, and he’s not sure how long he’s been there or when he came, but he is sure that Steve is the only other person who was always there for him when he needed someone most.  Steve and you.  

Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes but Bucky can’t look at him.

“Go see her,” Steve says quietly.  He had been through something similar when Peggy died, Bucky knows, but Steve and Peggy were never together. You were Bucky’s wife, his one true love.  And when he found out that you were no longer living, a hole punched its way through his chest.  He hopes that you were happy, at least.  

But no, that’s a lie.  Part of him hopes that you weren’t happy without him, but he knows that that part of him is just being irrational and angry.  

“I can’t,” Bucky whispers.

“Buck,” Steve says quietly, “Remember? Only I know what’s best for you, and right now, what’s best for you, is that broad over there.”


“Go, Buck, tell her how much you love her,” Steve pats his shoulder once more.  “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

A tear slips its way past Bucky’s defenses and he wipes it away angrily. Stiffly, he gets up and walks toward your grave.  The headstone proclaims, “Y/N Barnes. Loving Mother and Grandmother.”

Bucky frowns, because surely if you had remarried you would have changed your last name. Right? He looks back at Steve who is smiling softly.  Bucky walks back over.

“I have a kid somewhere, don’t I?” Bucky says, completely dumbfounded.

Steve takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

“You knew?”

“Not at first,” Steve amends. “But, before she passed, Peggy mentioned something about Y/N having a kid and never remarrying.”

Bucky is reeling.  “She was pregnant when I left?”

“I think so, buddy.”

Bucky doesn’t even know how to process this news.  He slumps down onto the bench.  He’s not sure how long they sit there in silence, but, eventually, he asks, “What’s the name?”

Steve smiles softly. “James Buchanan Barnes Jr. Y/N had a son. You have a son. And, actually, he lives in New York.”

Take care of her – Jeff Atkins x Reader

Summary: This happens after Jeff’s death and before Hannah’s suicide. Let’s say, a week after the car accident. Jeff and the reader had been dating for about a year.

I listened to this song while writing the one shot.

Reader’s point of view.

Words: 1737

Your name: submit What is this?

I looked again at the clock of that gray and dull reception. I hit the heel of my shoe against the ground, desperate to get out of here. I had class, moreover, I needed to keep my mind occupied, before anxiety absorbed my body. I took deep breaths as I concentrated on people coming and going. No one dared to glance at me, not even the receptionist. I sighed and looked down at my fingers.

“I’m glad you’re here. Come to my office”

"You quoted me here, Mr. Porter,” I mumbled as I grabbed my backpack and followed. It’s not like I had any other choice. The receptionist had only looked at me when she went after me during the history class.

“Take a seat.” Mr. Porter pointed as he closed the door and walked to his place. I obeyed and dropped my backpack “I found out that you left the squadron”

I shrugged.

“So?” It was nothing to be alarmed about in that way. Mr. Porter smiled, but without any joy.

“It surprises me. According to your colleagues, you enjoyed this activity”

"No more.” I looked away. I had been engaged for the last forty-eight hours in forgetting the moment when I gave up my uniform. Jessica and Sheri insisted that I shouldn’t.

“This week you have continued to do your work, but your teachers have noticed your isolation.” I looked back at the man and sighed “What is going on in your mind, Y/N?”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“Seriously? Are you really asking me that, Mr Porter? ”

“I want to help you, Y/N. It has been difficult to lose someone important, I understand, what happened to Mr. Atkins was a misfortune, but you have to learn the lesson of this …”

"He wasn’t drunk, okay ?! I’m really tired of hearing everyone say the opposite, the teachers wanting to show us a fucking lesson for something they didn’t witness. "I was really annoyed to hear their judgments.” I was the last person I spoke to him, ten minutes before that damn accident. He wasn’t drunk “


“And I neither wasn’t, if that’s what’s going on in your head, Mr. Porter, I have road education. Moreover, I ‘m not the only one who can testify against such judgments and their moral teachings; Clay Jensen was there with us”

I leaned back in the chair and covered my mouth. I didn’t have to be discussing this with the counselor, I cared little that he tried to help me, I just wanted to occupy my mind in other things, I reserved the nights to think about Jeff and immerse myself in my own agony. I squeezed my eyelids avoiding tears.

"You’re going through a duel, Y/N, and I’m here to help you”

“Listen, I thank you for trying, but no, I don’t want to be helped, just treat me as if I were invisible, like the rest of my classmates out of simple pity. I have to go to class”

"There must be something you want and your spirits up.” Mr. Porter stopped me with those words. I snorted and looked at him.

“All I want now is Jeff Atkins, healthy and happy. And neither can you achieve it”

I grabbed my backpack and hurried out of there. The emptiness in my chest was beginning to make itself felt, and I couldn’t bear to break myself in the face of idiots who would only turn to see me out of curiosity, not because they intended to help me.

The corridors were empty, the first period wasn’t over, I would have to see myself in the annoying need to ask for the notes and task of history, my mood was not fit to return to the room. I wandered through the corridors, aimlessly, unconsciously; I reached the row of lockers, where his was, adorned with his photo and thousands of notes. I felt a lump in my throat. Jeff Atkins was a good guy, someone who cared about uploading his grades, practicing baseball, and getting a college scholarship he had taken this fall. My class is the same as Clay Jensen, so I just should have survived this hell a bit more without Jeff. We had so much plans, I didn’t know if I could follow them by my own foot. Alone. I stopped in front of his locker, my eyes on his, happy, just as I remembered them and that smile that I loved so much. The tears began to come out of my eyes. I ignored the notes that left him, had too many that some were already on others. I took my post it from my backpack and with a random pen scrawled some simple words that he knew them. "You are the love of my life, always will be” I placed the note next to his photo, covering another and I allowed to close my eyes. I remembered the times that surprised him here; I imagined his smile and the moment he put his arm around my shoulders to leave.

“I need you” I whispered.

The bell of the end of the period startled me. I wiped my tears before the first door opened and I walked away from the locker without looking back. Many noticed that I was there; I could feel their eyes behind me, because that is what they had been doing for a week, nobody dared to meet my eyes. I arrived in silence at the communication room. My eyes on the floor, I heard Zach and Justin calling me but I just smiled in their direction, not looking up. I settled at the last table, just in front of those paper bags. I had a few little notes that I refused to take out of my bag, I knew they would be condolences. I fixed my eyes on my notebook.

The class passed in a debate about the prudence in front of the steering wheel, when were they going to surpass that subject? My ears burned just to hear the words car and accident in the same sentence. Several looked at me sideways, hardly anyone dared mention Jeff.

“Excuse me, Professor; Mr. Porter wants to see Clay Jensen in his office”

I quickly looked up at the receptionist whose name I didn’t know, it had to be new or something. My stomach contracted, wouldn’t it? Why Clay was going to go with Mr. Porter? Damn! Clay looked hesitant as he grabbed his backpack. Everyone was silent, I was the only one frozen, by a demon, me and my mouth. When Jensen left the room, the discussion resumed. But I no longer listened to the words, my heart was racing, my hands began to sweat, my ears buzzed, I couldn’t allow this. I knew the relationship between Jeff and Clay, he was also very affected. He was the one who found it. He called the police. He was the one who warned me and held me when I collapsed on the pavement as I recognized Jeff’s car.

“I don’t feel well” I exploded interrupting the class. My breath was starting to fail, I grabbed my backpack, held my chest with my arm, and it started to hurt a lot. As I made my way out, I heard murmurs.

“I heard she’s pregnant, poor Jeff Jr.” I recognized Justin’s voice but what made me turn around was the little laughs.

I looked at them angrily, although I had a cordial relationship with all of them, I had never cared. My eyes collided with the only person who didn’t seem to be amused by this attempt at a joke. Hannah Baker smiled at me, not with joy, but rather wanting to support me, give me strength. I couldn’t return the gesture and left the classroom. I ran down the aisles, hoping to get there before Clay finished in Mr. Porter’s office. Luckily I found him before he went through the doors.

“Jensen!” I screamed with the force my lungs allowed me. He stopped and looked at me in surprise, we had not talked since the funeral.

I slowed my pace and he cut the distance between us. I took a breath.

“I know why he called you,” I said shortly. He waited in silence. “This morning he wanted to talk to me, I was exasperated and I ended up telling him that you also knew that Jeff wasn’t drunk”

He raised his eyebrows. I noticed his gaze darken; however,i hadn’t found any shine these last days.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. He started to leave but almost immediately stopped and turned to see me “There is something else you have to know, Y/N”

My heart stopped for a few seconds. Clay pulled something out of his wallet, a crumpled and stained paper.

“When I found Jeff, there was a note in his hand.” He unfolded it in front of me, my stomach churning as I realized that those spots were my boyfriend’s dried blood.

But the words finally broke me.

“Whatever … Take care of her … Y/N Y / L” The last letters of my surname were barely visible. I took the paper with shaking hands and my eyes clouded.

“He still had the strength to write that.” Clay’s voice sounded broken but calm. “I know how much he loved you, I tried to get close to you, but you didn’t let me in. I didn’t know how to tell you about this”

I looked at him, no matter whether he saw me crying or someone coming out of a room and finding us. I just didn’t care.

"Can I … can I …?”

“Sure.” He pointed to the paper. It was just what I wanted. Stick with the last thing Jeff had written. That made me love him more.

“Ah, Mr. Jensen, Miss Y/L, I hope I can talk to you both.” Mr. Porter stared at mine, waiting for me to run away, but this time I let myself be taken by Clay.

My mind wandered in a Jeff with his last heartbeat writing the same note that now posed in my hands and that had become my main treasure.

Gold (Gabriel x Reader)

Request(s): Did someone say Gabriel requests?! I would love a gabe mate!one where they are the only ones to see their wings but only when there is like a connection made (emotional love sort of thing) and Gabe helps the reader out after a nightmare and when she wakes up she is under a dome of golden wings and its like that for weeks until she tells gabe how beautiful they are and like a fluff ending? Sorry if its long


Okay…. How about the reader is separated from her family and she keeps having nightmares about them dying in the worst possible ways. Sam and Dean have tried everything to help, but they can’t really, so they’ve giving up. They’re still there for her if she goes to them of course, and Cas has tried as well but nothing he tries works. Gabe staying in the bunker for like a few nights because of idk… And everyone sleeps through her screaming, but he hears her and you know, throw in some fluff..
Word count: 1608
Warnings: Nightmares, graphic descriptions of death.
A/N: Cover art and beta’ed by @pepperwoodatnight

Your name: submit What is this?

Originally posted by lucifersagents

“Mum!” you screamed. Someone was grabbing you from behind and holding you, stopping you from running to your mother. A vampire had her by her throat, and you saw every detail of her death. Her screams rung in your ears, the smell of guts and blood attacked your nostrils. You screamed for your life when the vampire drained your mother completely, and only then did the vampire let your mum go, and she fell to the ground with a thud.
(Y/N)!” Sam yelled when he shook you. You screamed and shot up from the bed in a second, Sam catching you in his strong arms. “(Y/N), talk to me, what was it this time?” he asked softly.
“V-vampire,” you stuttered and took a deep breath. You let Sam wrap his arms around you and stroke your back until you’d calmed down.

“NO! GET AWAY FROM HIM!” you shouted, but the werewolf didn’t listen, and all you could do was watch as it tore your father to shreds, and then your sister.
“Wake up, come on, sweetie,” Dean urged and shook you lightly. You sat up and looked around, covered in cold sweat. “Hey hey, take a breath, you’re okay…”

You weren’t okay. Never. Almost every day started with a cold shower and a heavy layer of concealer to cover up your dark circles that became more and more prominent for every nightmare. For weeks this had been going on. Sam tried to comfort you and talk about it, Dean tried to get you drunk at night to ease the dreams, and Cas tried working some mojo on you, but nothing ever helped.

Keep reading

Snivellus Snape and the Potions Shop from Hell

Anonymous Asked: Could you write something where Snape is Lily’s boss and she is always worried about losing her job because he wants more* of her but she loves James.

Lily had to admit, not only was her boss socially useless and awkward, but she also hated that she literally owed him for giving her a job in his shop because she was newly graduated from Hogwarts.

Keep reading

Silver Balls- Eisuke Ichinomiya (NSFW)

The story of an undrunken Eisuke getting controlled and commanded by his drunken girlfriend! This is my first smut on Tumblr, and I’m sure there’s some scope for improvement. Readers and followers, if you wish to suggest areas for improvement, feel free to message me! 😁

It was Christmas Eve, and the Penthouse was beautifully decorated, complete with the huge Christmas tree and gold and silver colored decorations. _____, boyfriend Eisuke and the other bidders were having a really good time with all the food and drinks……until….

She got horribly drunk, no sorry, was gotten horribly drunk by two huge criminals – Ota and Baba. She started swirling the champagne bottle, as her dopamine levels scooted high and higher; so high that she could not keep herself from stumbling and falling. After stumbling two times over the sofa and falling thrice on an extremely annoyed Eisuke, she sat quietly in her place.

“How dare you get her so drunk?!” Eisuke asked Ota and Baba furiously.

“Not our fault. You are the one who came late. Else you would’ve stopped her. Or maybe us.” Baba replied with a wink.

“Yesssss…..Eiiiiisukkeeeee, it’s…it’s not…their fault at….all…haha!!” she said, laughing a bit and taking another sip from the almost empty champagne bottle in her hand.

“Oh god _________! You’re terribly drunk, let’s go back to our suite.” He snatched the bottle from her hand while the others giggled.

“Nooooo Eisukeeeee pleaseeeeeee lemme drink some moreeeee….”

“Not at all! Cummon now!” he said sternly, trying to get her off the sofa.

Just the Ota’s phone rang. And that’s when the huge disaster of the evening took place.

All my friends are Heathens, take it slow….Wait for them to ask you who you know….

Please don’t make any sudden move; you don’t know the half of the abuse…”


The ringtone played on. Ota kept the phone aside, when _____ got up from her seat and started singing,

“Yes my man’s an asshole, takes it slowwww…..”

Eisuke stared at her, bewildered, body frozen, and eyes wide with shock. The other bidders looked more than amused at this.

“Woo hoo _______. That’s so nice! Keep going!!” Ota cheered while Baba and Mamoru laughed.

“Yes my man’s an asshole, takes it slowwww……

Wait for him to ask…me….where to fuck!

Please don’t make any s…s…sudden moooveee……

You don’t know….haha….he’s got nice balls too!” she sang, much to Eisuke’s dismay. He stood where he was mouth slightly agape.

“Oho Eisuke….the kid sings like…hella well!” Mamoru commented.

“I never knew she had it in her!” Soryu said, with a mischievous smirk which earned him an angry glare from Eisuke.

“_______, stop that please.” Eisuke said getting up and pulling her towards their suite.

“Naawwwww Eisuke, bad boyyyyyy!!!” she slurred and got away from him, moving back until she stumbled and hit the Christmas tree. Thank goodness she was drunk; else the tree would have been down upon her. But what happened now was the worst. Or the future best. The small force caused a few decoration balls to fall off the top of the tree and ____ managed to catch some of them. She started giggling, formulating more incoherent words for putting into the song.

“Yes my man’s an asshole takes it slowww…..

He’s got great balls like these silver balls….!” she sang, squeezing the balls in an absolute vulgar manner, causing the bidders to laugh even more; whereas Eisuke grew red. She continued taking that as a token of appreciation….

“Yes my man’s an asshole takes it sloww…..

He’s got great balls like these silver balls….!

He don’t care, what time it is, which room…..!

He once fucked me on the table toooo!!”

That was the end of it for Eisuke. Face redder than a tomato, he forcefully pulled _____ and dragged her towards their suite.

“Heyyy Eisukkkiiiieee lemmmee sinnggg….Eisukeee you asshole!!” she whined constantly and tried to escape his grasp.

“Cummon Eisuke let us hear her sweet voice.” Baba said grinning.

“Shut up! Just shut up, okay!!” Eisuke said, out of sheer embarrassment.

“Heyy cummon _______, tell us more about what he does.” Ota said.

“Oh yes….he once put a cheesecake on my….-“she started again, but Eisuke cut her off immediately.

“No ________, no! You aren’t going to say a word after this!” he shouted, opened the door and pushed her inside, hearing the amused laughs of the others as he did so.

“Yes Eisuke…you’re an asshole…!”

Eisuke sighed. It irritated him to have such vulgar things about him heard by others; more because they came from _____’s mouth. But ______ was certainly in mood for some fun. She pulled him by his tie and both of them fell back onto the bed.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, trying to get up and push her away. But she pulled him back against herself and started kissing his jaws and neck.

“____, please stop this and go to sleep.” Eisuke tried to stop her, but failed. She straddled his torso and started kissing his lips, her eyes showing a sense of roguery. Eisuke froze. Just what was happening? The hell was this drunken woman up to?! When did she become so damn bold?! And so utterly shameless?! His hands rested on her waist, temporarily allowing her advances; until his neurons got back into function. He started kissing her back, clearly tasting the remnants of champagne on her lips. _____ moved her hands up and down his chest, thighs and upper arms. He started pulling the zip of her dress when she smacked his hand.


“Bad boy, very….bad…boy…Eisuke!” she scolded and got off him. He tried to hold her back by her wrist but she shook him off anyways.

“What are you upto baby? You get me this hot and now you’re leaving?” he said, the annoyance apparent in his voice.

“Who said I was leaving, huh?” she replied stumbling a bit, but gaining balance. Before Eisuke could open his mouth to say anything further, quick as a flash, she took off her dress and threw it off in a random direction. Surprise for him. Eisuke-0, ____-1.

His literally stared at her, pupils dilated and mouth dry. And he would be lying if he said ‘he wasn’t thrilled’or ‘this is nothing!’ Never had _____ been so bold. If she had, then he’d definitely not seen it. But oh god, she did look sexy, so sexy that he wouldn’t mind chaining her to the bed and having his way with her; roughly.He looked like a hungry, horny wolf, which hadn’t mated since months and was seeing a potential mate for the first time. He propped himself up, ready to take off his own clothes, but she pushed him and straddled him once again. “Bad boys don’t get their candy….so soon!” she said, biting her lip seductively. She grinded her hips and he groaned.

“____, I swear stop it!” he growled in a low tone. This further amused the inebriated girl. She pulled Eisuke’s hands above his head and held them there, surprisingly with a lot of strength. Eisuke tried breaking the constraint so that he could teach his little vixen how to behave, but all in vain. She was stronger than he’d expected. This display of strength was new for him. He never knew a drunken woman could be this strong.

“____, do you know what effect doing this can have?” he asked, raising a brow. He was trying his best to be patient. He didn’t want to have rough sex with her in a drunken state. But this goddamned woman was driving him crazy; he doubted if he could further contain the hungry inner beast.

“I’ve know ya for quite sometime ‘suke. And I just know what all you can do!” she cooed, with a smirk. Unzipping his trousers, she pulled them down, along with his expensive black Emporio Armani boxers, revealing something far more precious- his heated erection.

“Looks like someone’s yearning for  friction…..” ____ said, licking her lips. Eisuke gulped as the remaining blood from his head, rushed downwards. He was caught in a spell, a sexy spell that she had cast on him. She flicked his erection.

“Ow heck!” he almost shouted. _____ giggled. “Please don’t do that….it hurts…”

She did it once again, harder this time. “Fuck!” he shouted, “Stop it you damn woman!” She laughed wickedly. Eisuke Ichinomiya was under he control tonight. So were his Silver Balls. She finally released his wrists and pulled his trousers and boxer off his legs. Eisuke looked at her, secretly anticipating her next move. She looked into his eyes and slid herself down his body, until her face came in contact with his cock.She gave it one slick lick.

“Ahhh….”Eisuke groaned lightly. She slowly took his entire cock into her mouth and started sucking on it.

“Oh -fuck……!” he moaned, kicking his right leg hard. Despite of how cold, narcissistic and oblivious he appeared on the outside, he hated to admit, he was sensitive down there. And _____ was driving him crazy. She was his personal Achilles’ heel. She was the only one who could make him vulnerable; while being so vulnerable herself.

“Ah…ah…._________! Oh god please!” he moaned, running one his hands through ________’s hair.

She smiled. He was helpless and she’d made him like that! It was good to see Eisuke Ichinomiya lose control once a while. She redoubled her efforts and sucked harder.

“Fuckkk…….” he growled. Eisuke’s hands were now free but he couldn’t even move. His head was buried into the pillow and his eyes rolled back into his brain. She had brought out the most vulnerable, sensitive and weak him. Someone whom the others won’t ever believe to be Eisuke Ichinomiya.

“________….I’m there, I’m t-there!” he roughly breathed out. And ______ stopped her caresses. Just as he was about to cum.

“What…..why?” he asked, his eyes holding an expression of longing in them.

“Bad boy Eisuke, you have to admit some things today.” she said, winking at him.

Eisuke furrowed his brows. Him? Admitting things? As if…..

“Me?” he questioned.

“Yes baby boy. YOU.” she said, “Firstly, admit it that you….are…an…asshole.

“What? NEVER!” he said defiantly. She took his cock out of her mouth and looked up at him, batting her eyelashes.

“_____ no fair. Don’t stop please!” he begged.

“Admit it then.”

“No! No! Never!” he said, with a smirk.

“No? Really?” she said, kissing his balls, blatantly paying no attention to his erect member, which desperately needed friction.His smirk immediately disappeared. Eisuke was too tired, too embarrassed to stroke himself. Rather, he was still in shock, as far as her boldness was concerned. He wanted this. He wanted this badly. Wanted to reach his high. He wanted her body. Setting aside all his pride, for the first and perhaps the last time, he said, “Yes _____, yes. I admit that I’m an asshole.”

She smiled and started sucking him again as a reward. He gave out a satisfied moan.

“Number two. Admit it that you are…actually…liking this!” she said

“Yes! Yes! I like this! I like this so damn much!” he moaned.

“Third, admit it that you consider each and every inch of yourself as mine”

“Ah….ah….yes…oh _______, Yes!” he shouted, nearing his high again.

“Now beg for it.”, _____ said, sucking harder.

“I…ah….d-don’t just beg….oh!” he said, moaning in reflex.

“So you won’t eh?” she said coyly and sucked him the hardest she could.

“Fuck yes! Aahhh….I want you please! _____, I want y-you so bad!” he almost screamed in pleasure. That was it for Eisuke. He couldn’t take anymore of the teasing. THIS was what he did to ______ everytime. He made her beg. He made her moan and writhe helplessly. He made her scream in desperation and ecstasy. But today, that privilege was not on his cards. He was under her control.

______ left Eisuke’s cock and straddled him once again. He opened his eyes and looked into hers, wondering why she’d stopped inspite of him having put up with her demands. She let her lips find his while he hugged her flush to his still clothed chest.

“Take me”, she asserted.

She was willing to give herself to him. She was being incredibly susceptible, inspite of knowing Eisuke could punish her in the worst way. That was LOVE for Eisuke. He kissed her and shifted her to his side, opening his shirt buttons whilst never taking it off. Positioning his hardness at her wet entrance, he slowly pushed in. Spooning was something Eisuke had never tried. But heck, it felt amazing! Eisuke’s thrusts were short, yet passionate. His face buried in the crook of ______’s neck.

“Suki….suki….ahhhh….Eisuke! I’m close!” she screamed.

“Ah baby, I’m close too”, Eisuke moaned along. Every time his cock entered her, it made a weird and erotic squelching sound, which added to their combined arousals.

“Eisuke…please!!! I’m cumming!”

“Hah…wait for me baby..ah!”

“Ahh no, I c-can’t take it E-Eisuke, please!”

“Yes baby…..”

“Suki…EISUKE!!”, _____ screamed loudly as she came.

“Fuck _____!!”, Eisuke groaned into her ears as his orgasm shook his core, his hips coming to a steady halt after the final few thrusts. Finally, coming so hard was worth every bit of the teasing! Both of them tried to catch their breaths as their arousal seeped out of _____.

“Eisuke, baby are you okay?” she asked as she turned to face him.

“Yeah” he managed to say through his harsh pants, “that was amazing ____!”

_____ blushed a bit.

“Seems that her high is wearing out”, thought Eisuke.

“I love you Eisuke”, ____ said, giving him small pecks across his jaws and collarbones. Eisuke propped himself on his elbows and took off his blazer and shirt, both of which were horribly creased and drenched with sweat. ____ pulled the comforter on their warm bodies. Today had been amazing for both of them. Eisuke pulled her flush against himself, enjoying the soft feeling of her body.

“I admit one more thing _____. I’m madly in love with you. You make me behave like a horny bastard there, I so damn love you.”, he said, his cheeks flushing a light shade of red. ____ smiled as sleep overcame her. Eisuke continued stroking her hair even after she’d slept. She had been so bold today. Heck, if he’d only recorded everything; she’d definitely forget it all in the morning and wouldn’t believe him! But then, it was a good thing to tease her about. All thanks to Ota’s ringtone and the guys who got her drunk. Sneaky bastards. Eisuke chuckled a bit as he remembered some of the lyrics of what ____ sang.

“How senseless!”, he thought. Thank goodness he stopped her in time, else she would’ve definitely blurted out the entire cheesecake incident to those guys.

“You’d better be ready for a punishment sweetheart, for getting drunk and calling me an asshole, for making me admit embarrassing things, for speaking too much in front of the guys and for stripping me off my pride.”

But, that was all for some other time. Right now, Eisuke focused his gaze  on her contented face. It was one in  a million, and he’d never give her up. For anyone. For anything.

RESTRAIN (SLBP FIC) by @viridian99

Edited by the lovely and amazing @jemchew

Pairing (Shingen x Ehlana)

It started as a joke. Happenstance maybe. Saizo, my chief security officer dropped his pair in my office. God knows how or why. Maybe they were meant as a signal for Yukimura and I was the mistaken recipient. The thought came much later in my mind. I unconsciously slipped the handcuffs in my pocket at the time. 

And now she found them as I embraced her. 

I tried to laugh it off. Telling her how I came across them. I turned around to look at her after hanging up my coat, the hand cuffs still dangling from her fingers. She had a speculative gleam in her eyes. Oho, was my kitten ready? She had come to me untouched and unsullied, and I exercised as much restraint as was possible by a man of as impatient a temperament as I. But if she was ready I would gladly introduce her to the world of bondage. 

I chuckled inwardly. We did not need a paltry pair of steal cuffs. Diamond encrusted gold as befitted my Queen. If she so desired. I kept watching her closely. Gauging her body language and responses. Judging her instinctively. 

Was she ready? 

I put my hands on her shoulder and she turned around. I raised an eyebrow and she smiled. “I suppose you are no stranger to recreational restraining?” she asked sweetly.

I laughed out loud. “I adore your elegant turn of phrase, love. Would you like to be introduced to the world of recreational restraining?” 

She blushed immediately, becoming shy and turning away. Just as I was enjoying the look of innocent embarrassment on her face she turned around and gave me a defiant look and said, “Maybe.” 

Oho, the kitten was growing up.

I moved forward to grasp her chin in my hand when I caught sight of a troubled look in her eyes. “What is it, love?” 

She turned away and said in a small voice. “I would not like to appear lacking in expertise in any area of interest to you.” 

Oh, how clinical! What a very clinically expressed adorable sentiment. I found myself falling for my little scientist all over again. Battling with my incurable disease. She was working so hard to find a cure for me, and at the same time, keeping me alive with her bone marrow cells since she was a perfect match for me. In more ways than one. My little scientist. I had refused her help in the form of her blood cells, but she had forced my hand and made me agree. No less than a feat since no one, and I repeat no one, made Takeda Shingen do anything I did not desire.

No one but her. I am a fool when it comes to her and in my folly I am afraid I rather worship her. She bit her lips, uncertainty and nervousness colouring her face, a look not befitting of my beloved. I smoothed the frown away from her brow. 

“You are not lacking in any department of my interest. You are all my areas of interest,” I said, my words meant as a caress as my hands touched all of her her adoringly. 

I picked her up easily, took us to the bedroom and proceeded to show her my very much invested interest in all her departments. We kissed breathlessly and she smiled, but I did not stop to ask her what made her do so. I loved kissing her smiling lips, loved knowing that I put that smile there. I could identify the types of her smiles just by the quirk of her lips next to mine.

And that’s when I knew a second too late of mischief afoot. I was so drowned in the happiness her smile brought me I failed to recognise the mischievous quirk of her lips followed by a click and the feeling of restraints on my wrists. How in heavens did those wrist cuffs get here? I growled and moved to dislodge her from my lap but she bit my lips. I growled again and she sucked them to placate me. I pretended to be unmoved. 

“Open them,” I said as soon as she released my lip. My voice level, calm, distant, a trifle frosty. 

Lesser men and women have cowered before that glacial look of mine. Lesser men, I snorted inwardly. She sat back on her hunches hands on my shoulders and looked at me speculatively, mischievously, cocking her head to the side she slightly shook her head, biting her plump lower lip. 

“Open them right now.” I put every bit of intimidation I could muster. Well as much intimidation a naked man with a beautiful woman on his lap sitting directly on a raging hard with hands cuffed to the bed board could muster. 

I have never been ashamed of my body or any bodily functions. I do not believe in using the body to attain pleasure as sin. Sin meant guilt. And I find no guilt in pleasure.When it comes to her it is pleasure mixed with boundless joy. Complete and utter bliss. Why would I mar these moments of benediction with feelings of sin or guilt? It is a concept completely alien to me. 

My mind returned to the question at hand: the inelegant rough steal handcuffs retraining my wrists. I looked at my kitten again and said remove them, but she only threw her head back and laughed teasingly. She looked like a child drunk on mischief enjoying herself tremendously. Who was I to rob her of any joy? I could not keep the sternness in my voice and she knew she had me as she laughed again, her eyes alight with a mixture of pure joy, mischief and affection. 

Caught you. I caught the tiger, I read her heart say. 

Yes you did, my heart answered.

She must have noticed the shift in expression. This was the first time I found myself in such a position. I had never allowed any one to restrain me before. I don’t enjoy it. Sex was about giving. A man’s duty was to give and fulfil his partner and himself. I was at the giving end. In that I found pleasure. 

Until I found her. 

For the first time with her I was at the receiving end of physical and emotional intimacy, love, care, joy and laughter. I felt indulged by her. I felt unworthy of her indulgence. This innocent sprite of a girl, a feisty flower child, would fare much better with a man less battered than I. Yet she won me over and I couldn’t let her go. I looked at her trying to assess if she was enjoying this apparent dominance over me. In my mind this was what restraining meant. Taking away the power of pleasure in your hands; leaving the restrainee at the others’ mercy. Instead what I found in her face was pure joy, love and happiness. Not an ounce of pride at being able to control me. 

I was stumped. I was baffled.

Once again she made me realize my limitations as a man. My narrow horizon when it came to intimacy. This was not about control. This was never about control. At least not the way I thought. She leaned in, the curtain of her thick hair falling on my face. I inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of her. Her hand ran slowly over every inch of my body. I could see her eyes focused intensely on me, cataloguing my responses, mapping me like a cartographer taking note of the goose bumps and hair raised on its end. 

“I like the hair on your forearms,” she remarked offhandedly, and bent down to press a chaste kiss there. It was so like her. So so like her. 

I am used to being praised for different parts of my anatomy. But never the hair on my forearms. I huffed out a laugh. Her eyes followed her hands as her fingers moved across my chest to my neck. She dipped her head to nuzzle into my neck and lick at the outer shell of my ear, nipping at my neck. I hummed approvingly. She brought her cheek next to mine and slowly nuzzled again. The silken feel of her skin against my roughened stubbled face was such an exquisite contrast. In my heightened state of sensual awareness I shuddered, groaning as an answering moan came from her. 

“My patience is limited kitten,” I purred. 

She looked at me more seriously. “Tell me what you want me to do to you?” she asked, her voice exquisitely tender and I stared at her open mouthed and shocked. She kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “Let me pleasure you, darling.” 

The last vestiges of sanity ripped from me. The cuffs rattled as I tried to free my hands. But then I stopped completely. This was never about control or dominance. It was just her innocent desire to pleasure me, slow me down, since I was a man with little patience and finesse. I let my instinct govern me. 

“Do whatever you want,” I replied in a quiet noncommittal voice. She quirked an eyebrow. Was she losing confidence? Oh no, that was not allowed. She was my queen. Such an expression did not befit her. I smiled up at her. “Do what pleases you. Let’s see how it pleases me”.

A previously absent predatory gleam entered her eyes. She proceeded to spoil me with her touch, her fingers and her lips. 

I loved it.

The simple act of being touched by the one I love was an exquisitely erotic act to me. No fancy toys, no props. Just touch. I could feel her love, her affection, mingled with her arousal and it aroused me to no end. This act of giving and receiving of touch.We kissed over and over again, sharing the very air we breathe, our sweat mingled as our hearts beat in tandem. She brought her head up and I growled. 

“Enough fun, little one, I have let you amuse yourself.” She was not the shy kitten or the smiling girl intent upon slowing me down anymore. I understood now why she did it. She wished to slow me down so that I would take my time enjoying each other’s touch. As loath as I was to admit it, I loved this lesson in restraint. But I was at my ropes end and getting feral by the moment. 

I had always let instinct govern me. Never had I allowed myself to slow down and smell the roses in the garden. I laughed inwardly at this out of place analogy. She looked so different; the air around her shifted and she appeared at once regal and proud. A primal confidence cloaked her, the feral look in my eyes reflected in hers. 

“Release me,” I roared. 

“No,” she said. To drive her point home she ground on my hardness. 

Lesser men would have backed down in front of this new avatar of her.  

I was entranced by her beauty. We were slow dancing in a burning room. Fire filled my lungs. We were both gasping for breath as we attacked eachothers lips, feral growls and moans punctuated our fevered embrace. 

“Unlock them,” I snapped. 

“No,” she answered in equally feral tones. She threaded her fingers through my hair and tugged it none too gently. 

At last she has taken control. My kitten had grown and claimed her throne. I marvelled at her transition . In the recesses of my mind I mused that I would not mind it if she would restrain me further, pull my hair and ride me to oblivion then and there. I would welcome her dominance. Of course, she would have to repay in kind later. 

“Release me right now!!” I commanded.She tugged at my hair again “ What did you say to me?” She said matching glare for glare.I changed tactics and smiled at her tenderly. “Open them, my love”. No one was more surprised at my gentle tone. It was a soft voice she drew from me, laced with the warmth of my tenderness and laughter. I wanted to throw her off and see what she would do now, how this would play out how would this shift the balance of power resting precariously between us. A dark part of my brain ironically questioned my manly ego at still being fixated on power when this was about so much else.

Old habits died hard.

She would have to put me through my paces again and again before I learned of joy without power. She quirked her head and looked at me, undeterred by this unexpected curveball and then smiled, trailing her hand from my thighs up to my neck. My muscles clenched reflexively and thrummed with tension under her touch. 

“If you want them undone, break them,” she said evenly. I look at her, startled. Her eyes were wild with my feral gleam reflecting in them. Her lips were swollen, face flushed, eyes heavy lidded with a heady mixture of love and lust, her hair a glorious main framing her delicate elfine features. She brought her face close to mine and whispered, “If you want them gone break them. Break those chains and take me. All of me. Take me apart.” 

Once again the tables turned on me spectacularly. I growled and saw nothing but red. My mind was on fire. The paltry cuffs broke and lay on the mattress unheeded by either of us. In a moment I flipped her and took her without mercy or restraint. But she did not hold anything back either. We bit, scratched, screamed, and came together again and again. It was a beautiful wild, glorious mess and it drove us both to the edge of sanity.

Later, much later, as we lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, languid, sated happy, she looked up at me, chin on my chest. 

“What are you cooking up now?” I flicked her forehead. “I knew you were always trouble.” 

She laughed, shaking her head. She tossed her head,her glorious mane of sun kissed hair cascading down her back. She was a bewitching vision to behold. Since when had laughter become a regular part of my intimate life? I marvelled at the new things she introduced to me. 

I joined in her laughter and leaned in to kiss her kiss swollen cherry lips.

Sir Hugsalot

This one’s for Precious, @saved-by-the-notepad​, because she she deserves a lot of hugs and a Hugsalot of her own <3

Monsoon was a neutral season in the Avengers Tower. While summer meant hogging the pools and cribbing about sunburns, fall meant Natasha glaring at anyone talking about Halloween (Clint simply said Budapest, like that explained all of Natasha’s quirks), and spring was Thor’s paradise while the others watched out for Loki. Winter, by unspoken agreement, was nobody’s favorite.

But monsoon, that was the neutral zone. There was no rule during monsoon, except for Clint’s rules because an unleashed and unrestricted Clint was always a danger to the constantly bleak Avengers PR. Other than those, there were no rules and no set traditions that came to be. It was a quiet season, one where even the loudest ruckus was always tinged by a subdued air. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but Tony always reckoned that it was the rain that brought it. Rain was always moody to the genius; it always flitted between being playful and alive, and morose and stoic. Tony often caught Steve or Thor gazing at the windows, watching a lone raindrop trickle down. Like they were watching some invisible reflection cry.

It was a neutral zone, but not one that Tony always felt comfortable about. He knew his team well enough, despite what a suspicious Hill said, to say that they were all sad creatures wrapped in manic energy and insane power. They weren’t happy by nature, no matter what people saw in a boisterous Thor or a cheeky Clint. Or maybe they were and the job sucked that out of him. He didn’t really know. All he knew was that they had enough of rain dampening their moods on a general range.

He knew that. He also knew that it wasn’t something changeable. But it never sat well with him, as he watched them brood openly - the way he did in hiding in his workshop. 

This irk was fine as it was, if Tony’s itch for some madness hadn’t combined with it one dark evening. He had been watching Steve surreptitiously, as one does when hoping to avoid being caught red handed by the greatest crush of one’s life. The supersoldier had been gazing listlessly at the window, a sketchbook in hand and lost expression on his face. Steve’s sketches reflected his moods, Tony knew that. He also knew that at the moment, Steve’s sketches would be the personification of melancholy. 

It had been sheer dumb luck, as he would explain to Rhodey later, that Natasha and Bruce had been watching Big Hero 6 at that time. Natasha had a strange affection to animation and Bruce was the only one who never acted weird about it, so it was a routine between them to watch an animated movie on the quiet nights. 

“ Hairy baby! Hairy baaaby!”, a lilting robotic voice drew his attention to the large screen and Tony watched as a loopy Baymax petting a grumpy but purring cat with an adoring expression.

“Health care, your pers… personal Baymax companion..” the adorably drunk sounding big balloon of fluff reminded Hiro and…

Tony sat up straight and felt a lightening zing in his brain. His mind raced through the concept and its implications. A personal care provider, he thought with growing excitement. A walking marshmallow who could do the things that Tony knew his team needed but couldn’t do for them himself. The hugging and the caring and the comforting…

“Yess,” Tony hissed in excitement and raised an eyebrow when both Bruce and Natasha shushed him without looking back from their spot. Scrambling to his feet and mind already working over the idea, Tony shot one last look at a somber looking Steve and shot out of the floor with his workshop in mind.

He was going to make monsoon happy goddammit, even if he had to engineer a Disney character modification for it.


“It’s Big Foot,” Sam said after an hour of observing Tony’s masterpiece. Tony’s eye twitched and he suppressed the urge to pour his smoothie down Sam’s head with great restraint. Great restraint.

“It’s not Big Foot,” Tony said in what he thought was a perfectly reasonable tone but Sam’s raised eyebrow hinted that it wasn’t coming out too well, “It’s a StarkPal. A companion with the highest emotional, physical, and mental health care giving capability.”

“It still looks like Big Foot,” Sam shrugged and Tony shot an unrepentant Rhodey a glare from his stool for inflicting this one him. When he had asked Rhodey to come by to see his latest invention, he had not expected him to bring his new boyfriend and Tony’s not-so-secret-secret-friend-and-teammate with him. In an attempt to play civil, Tony had asked Sam for his opinion on the invention.

Biggest mistake of his life in the past three days.

“It looks non threatening,” Tony retorted and Sam shot him a wry look.

“It has an armor. It’s literally wearing an armor,” he pointed as the seven foot tall bot that had a golden armor. Thankfully, it wasn’t metal and seemed more like padding than anything else.

“It looks majestic,” Tony hissed, because he had a thing for armors. Surprising to no one.

“It looks like a Yeti who just got knighted,” Rhodey offered from the workshop couch and Tony really, truly hoped that his best friend would be bitten by that missing bug that Tony forgot to take out last week,

“It’s not…it’s a care companion!” Tony gestured towards the white and gold bot with large blue eyes. That was totally not inspired from any supersoldier.

“I’m not saying it’s not cool,” Sam said with a small grin and hopped up to circle around the bot with sharp eyes, “It’s pretty cool. And sure, the idea is pretty awesome, even if you got it from Disney.”

“They totally got Hiro from me,” Tony countered and Sam raised his hands in mock surrender even though his eyes were warm and laughing.

“Sure, man,” he nodded and looked back over his shoulder at Rhodey, “So, what are we calling Tony’s latest love gift for Steve?”

“It’s NOT a -” Tony bit out with widened eyes but Rhodey spoke over him.

“Dunno,” Rhodey looked thoughtful, “It looks very Arthurian. Should have an appropriate name.”

“Hmm,” Sam hummed, “Kinda like a knight?”

“Yeah,” Rhodey nodded and looked at Tony, “Any suggestions, lover boy?”

Tony ignored the lover boy comment and tilted his head at the bot which was now scanning the three occupants of the place.


“Meh,” Sam wrinkled his nose.

“Lancelot?” Rhodey suggested and the others made unimpressed faces.


“No magic,” Tony quipped and remembered the last time magic brought them trouble. Steve was super mad at him that time, for endangering himself and -

“You seem sad,” the bot spoke up and Tony saw Sam jump a bit while Rhodey blinked.


“My scans and calculations indicate that you are experiencing an emotion,” the bot explained, gazing calmly at Tony, “It says in my database that the emotion is sadness.”

“Um,” Tony cleared his throat and carefully did not look at the others, “No, I’m -”

“My solutions include a variety of activities and dietary implements, along with conversation with your preferred humans. Or me,” the bot continued, “The first on my list of activities seem to be hugging.”

“Oh no, no , no -” Tony was cut off when the knight-bot stepped forward and carefully embraced him in a warm hug.

“There, there,” the bot cooed and patted the genius on his head while gently swaying with him in its arms. 

“Oh my god,” Sam whispered in an awed tone and Tony tried to get out of the hug but it just…felt…good.

“I think,” Rhodey said after a minute, in his smug tone, “we have a name.”

Tony just knew that his magnificent invention was doomed to have the cheesiest name in history.


“Meet Sir Hugsalot”

Hugsalot waved in a half circular hand motion and then did it again when Clint waved back with an amused expression.

“Is this…what is this?” Bruce asked as he took in the seven foot armored marshmallow like bot, “Is this your version of Baymax?”

“It’s an improved version of Baymax,” Tony corrected as though offended and Bruce shared a quick look with Natasha, “This is a StarkPal. Fully functional, real, and marketable.”

“Wait, you’re selling robot friends now?” Clint asked with a choked laugh as he observed Hugsalot with curious eyes.

“Not…yet,” Tony hedged before continuing, “This is a prototype, and I thought, who better to test on than my favorite pigs?”

“We’re you favorite?” Natasha asked deadpanned and Tony winked at her like the completely reckless man he was.

“My favorite guinea pigs,” Tony corrected and moved a bit when Thor came forward to poke at Hugsalot.

“Hello, Sir Hugsalot,” Thor boomed and extended an arm to the bot, “It is an honor to meet you.”

“Hello, Thor,” Hugsalot replied in a voice that Tony thought sounded a bit like Leonard Nimoy, “I must complement you on your attire today. You look resplendent in this shade of red.”

“You taught it to flirt?” Natasha raised an eyebrow at Tony but Thor simply laughed with joy, always liking it when somebody complemented him.

“Tony, he is a great companion indeed!” Thor turned to Tony and clapped him on the back before turning to Hugsalot.

“Well, this is going to be entertaining,” Clint commented and Tony noticed that Steve had been the only one to stay silent through the entire demonstration, noting the supersoldier watching the bot with an unreadable expression.


Hugsalot, or Hugsie as Clint shortened it, was a hit among the Avengers. It was almost creepy if you thought about it but he had become a faster friend to them than any human had.

He would quietly help Bruce with his balcony garden, talking in soft tones about the latest opera music Bruce was listening to. He would gently provide foot massages and hum lullabies to Natasha as they huddled on the couch. He would help Clint do target practice and would never flinch when Clint tried the cliched apple trick on him. With Thor he would listen endlessly to the numerous battle stories and sometimes laments of romance, always offering warm hugs by the end.

But it was Steve that piqued Tony’s curiosity. Hugsalot simply sat with Steve and did nothing. They would sit together on the roof, Steve sketching the sunset and Hugsie staying quiet beside him. They would spend hours in Steve’s suite, where Steve drew Hugsie on canvas and the bot patiently stayed the perfect muse. Steve never really DID anything with Hugsie. He would never ask for hugs or accept them when offered. He was always polite, always kind with the bot, but he never interacted with it the way Tony had intended for.

And Steve still sat by the window, watching raindrops trickle down the glass.

It ate away at Tony for three weeks, making him feel disappointed with himself and dejected at Steve’s unchanged sadness. He felt incompetent. It was the worst feeling he could feel.

Finally, after three weeks, he lost his patience and cornered Steve in the gym.

“So, you don’t like him?”

Steve looked up from the bag he was decimating and then continued with his boxing.


“Hugsalot,” Tony gestured impatiently in the air, “You don’t like him?”

“I never said that,” Steve replied calmly and screw it, Tony never liked calm all that much anyway. He neatly steps between Steve and the bag and raises an eyebrow at the fist that almost hits him. Almost.

“Really?” Steve asked, panting with adrenaline and eyes a stormy azure, narrowing slightly at Tony’s action, “Really, Tony?”

“You wouldn’t hit me,” Tony dismissed the idea with a flick of his hand and stared up at Steve, “Important point is that you don’t like Hugsalot. Which is weird because he’s programmed to be likeable. Natasha likes him, and she doesn’t like most people.”

“She likes you too,” Steve quipped, moving away with grace as he resigned himself to unwrap his hands.

“Yeah, well I’m incomparable, that’s different,” Tony grinned, “I’m an acquired taste and you guys have acquired me by now.”

“Acquired taste,” Steve repeated and shook his head with a small huff of a chuckle, “Like wasabi.”

“You think that would hurt me, but it won’t,” Tony snorted, “Wasabi is a food of the gods according to Thor.”

“Thor…” Steve started to say and Tony raised an eyebrow with a smirk, daring him to say it, but Steve simply rolled his eyes, “ right, of course.”

“Of course,” Tony echoes with a slightly softer grin and then turns quiet for a minute, watching as Steve goes about drinking his water.

It aches him with the fervor of a physical wound, the inability to be useful or helpful to this man. This man, who Tony knows has shouldered more burden than anyone should be allowed. This man who can decimate a reinforced punching bag with the same ferocity as the gentleness he uses to brush strokes on a plain canvas. This man who had captured all of Tony’s expectations and rules and thrown them out the window the minute he had met him. 

This man whom Tony was madly in love with, for every reason he could thinks of.

“I don’t - “ Tony began and exhaled in a shuddering breath as he collected his disappointed thoughts even as Steve eyed him blankly, “I don’t know what to do.”

Steve doesn’t speak, patient and quiet in his silence and Tony tries again

“I don’t know how to help,” he spoke miserably, shifting his gaze away from Steve and glaring at the floor, “How to fix anything. I don’t know…emotions. They’re too, they’re too hooded for me. I’m not an onion guy, Steve and emotions and feelings, they’re like onions. You have to peel back layer after layer. Sometimes people even wonder if I have any. Emotions, I mean, not onions. But I’ve made enough people cry so I’m guessing I do.”

He took a stuttering breath and continued, looking up but not meeting Steve’s eyes completely.

“Monsoons are neutral for us,” he said and he knew he was blabbering, knew he wouldn’t make sense but he had to get it out, “I mean, we don’t have anything against the rains. It rains, it becomes cloudy, we shrug and move on. We don’t really do anything during monsoons, not here. We’re not…we’re not monsoon people.”

“But,” he drags a hand through his hair and laughs weakly, “it does rain. And it screws up our lives sometimes, that wet blanket. It’s not something we see all that well, because we think, oh if I stay inside and don’t go out, I won’t be drenched. The rain won’t affect me. But it still does, because it always does. It’s stupid and it’s pointless and it doesn’t have any logic but it does. Like a lone raindrop on a window pane, it drags us down.”

Pulling on all of his reserves in courage, Tony looked at Steve, actually looked at him and spoke.

“The thing though,” he said, “the thing to remember though, Cap, is that it’s just one of the seasons. And it can’t rain forever.”

“Tony -” Steve’s eyes are bright, too bright, too wide and Tony has never been able to resist them, even for his stupid hugging bots.

“I wanted you to have a friend,” he said, dragging the words out from some dark cavern of his soul, “You have us, yes, but…it doesn’t seem enough. I wanted you to have more. Somebody who wasn’t screwed up and who, for once, didn’t need you to carry their burden or take care of them.”

“I wanted you to have a friend and I created Hugsalot,” Tony said with a shaky, weak grin.

It’s back to silence and Tony has never done well with it. He has always been noise, always been action,but this, this is all Steve. And for this man, Tony would be anything.

“I wanted him to be you,” Steve said after a while, too long a while and Tony’s eyes shot up to meet the azure ones that haunted his dreams and made them too.

“What?” he croaked out and Steve let out a small, shaky grin.

“You made me another me, Tony,” he said and Tony - he was gobsmacked. He simply stared at Steve and felt all the silenced thoughts crashing back on him. The eyes, the personality, the warmth of hugs, the idea of a golden armor to protect the bot, the mannerisms. God, he had created his own Steve.

“I wanted him to be you,” Steve said again and Tony was lost, he was always lost when it came to Steve.

“That’s…that’s a bad idea,” Tony chuckled wetly because what were they discussing anymore. What were they talking about?

“Always liked bad ideas,” Steve shrugged, an easy grin on his face, as though his eyes weren’t shining and his face wasn’t brightening, “Did everything good based on bad ideas.”

“I’m not good at,” Tony waved his hand a bit, “caring.”

“I disagree,” Steve said and tilted his head with a fond expression.

“Or being a friend.”

“Definitely disagree,” Steve chuckled and Tony felt an ache settle, calm down in him.

“Or hugging”

“That,” Steve quipped and finally, finally took a step forward, coming closer to Tony and staring back at him with the fondest expression, “remains a theory to be tested.”

“Yeah?” Tony was definitely not sounding choked but Steve simply nodded, a fringe of blonde hair falling onto his forehead.

“Yeah, and you said something about us being your favorite guinea pigs,” Steve replied and opened his arms with a cheeky expression that had Tony choking out a laugh.

“Guinea pig,” Tony muttered and stumbled forward, unbalanced and yet more steady than ever as he steps up and into a pair of arms that…

…that feel warmer and better than any Hugsalot could ever be.

Steve hummed and tightened his hold lightly, breathing in when TOny snuggled closer into Steve’s chest, burying his face into the man’s chest.

“See?” Steve whispered into Tony’s hair, soft and easy and almost happy, “theory disproved. You’re great at hugging.”

Tony let out a sound, something embarrassing he’s sure, but he didn’t let go and stayed, wrapping his arms tighter around Steve’s waist.

For this man, he would disprove every theory they knew.


Hugsie still lives with the ragtag group of seasonal superheroes who turn out to actually be perennial monsoon people. They’re all a bit damp, a bit of wet blankets, and definitely lone raindrops down window panes. But they also stick around for the clouds to clear and the rainbow that comes out after that.

Well, as Clint says, it’s as good as being hugged by your personal hugging pal.

I hope that this didn’t turn out to be an absolute mess. Lots of love, Precious darling <3 Hope you have a better week ahead :D

andallthewildthingsroared  asked:

hey! i wanted to let you know that i think your cas/stages of grief meta was absolutely amazing. cas's story never really made sense to me, it always seemed so inconsistent, like they had no idea where they were going with it, and your meta is the first i've read that made me see some central theme in it after all. so kudos for that :) just out of curiosity, you have any idea where they're going with crowley? bc his story is another one that always felt the opposite of straightforward to me.

Whats your hope for Crowleys arc on this season?

Hi! Thank you so much for all that! I am the most awful person, because not only I’m like, two months late in answering this but I’m also going to bundle it up with an anon ask. Sorry, @andallthewildthingsroared!

(I did write the overly long thing I promised you, though, so there’s that.)

I understand where you’re coming from - Crowley’s arc is sort of zigzaggy, but if you take away what was clearly bad characterization (such as that one-off threat to Sam complete with red eyes which never went anywhere), I sort of feel like we can know who Crowley is, and what he wants.


So, just as a summary - we know he was a bastard, and that he had a stable enough relationship with his mother that he remembers her (not fondly), and that she up and left soon enough that it felt like she was abandoning him (eight is a bit soon to fend for yourself, even in the seventeenth century). We know he had a son, and since Gavin’s mother is never mentioned, I want to say unremarkable entity who died in childbirth? Because if this had been his great love, and if she’d survived long enough to be remembered by Gavin, I hope to God that would have been brought up in the narrative (come on). So, either Crowley didn’t give a damn about her, and got saddled with the kid for some reason, or he cared a lot and she died pretty early on and that’s possibly the reason he started being so awful to everybody (hello, John Winchester’s parallels). We also know he was a tailor, which, in those times, and for an orphan, implies either that Rowena used magic to help him out (unlikely for a number of reasons) or that he was actually a very smart, very talented kid who had to work his ass off during his apprenticeship, as was usual for the times. In this case, we’ve got someone whose life was out of his control from a very young age, and who knows what it’s like to be at a master’s whim. 

Demon deal

Now, what doesn’t fit with this picture is the idea a kid like that would sell his soul for a longer dick, as Crowley boasted to have done (also, as amusing as it is, this would be a moot point by now, since Crowley’s in a different body). What I consider more likely is that Crowley’s current vessel - the literary agent in his late forties possibly all work and all play as that job often entails - tried to make a similar deal (and that would be a reason for Crowley to stick with the body afterwards; after all, we know he’s vain and likes to sleep around, so, vessel for vessel, why not go for a bigger dong?); as for Crowley himself, I really can’t guess what happened. Gavin remembers him as a useless drunkard, and he certainly had no riches to pass on - so much so, Gavin was forced to emigrate to the Colonies. What did Crowley gain, exactly, in exchange for his soul? An intriguing possibility is that, like Dean, he took the deal to save someone else - perhaps Gavin himself from some childhood fever - and became a drunk asshole out of blind panic the closer he got to the deadline. I like this explanation, because there was always this weird pull between Crowley and Dean, and this would go a long way towards explaining it; but, really, this is one of those things it’s useless to speculate about - either the show will tell us, or it won’t.

(Another possibility I like, but which would have come up by now, is that Rowena sold her kid’s soul to pay for her own magic - a plot bunny I explored here.)

Whatever his reasons, Crowley’s time in hell took this primal lack of control over his own life and made it a thousand times worse. We still don’t know, exactly, how demons are created, how long it takes, and who decides which eyes you’ll get, and which job you’ll do. This is, like, one of the 2000 things the show could get into instead of inventing new lore (I’m not complaining, though - S11 was magnificent, and S12 has been very good so far). What we do know is that the entire process is excruciatingly painful; that it distorts, or takes away, your human soul. If we think about other soulless creatures we’ve encountered, what Crowley is makes a lot of sense. It’s not about being evil, exactly; it’s more about a lack of caring and empathy. There are moments where Crowley actually reminds me of soulless!Sam - like when he pushed Dean into Cain’s arms just because it was convenient on the short term. 

Crowley the crossroads demon

Becoming a demon is also the worst kind of punishment, we should assume, because it completely takes away your free will.

Keep reading

Sam’s Truth

Summary: After your dad says some nasty things, Sam comforts you.

Italics are the other end of a phone convo.

Betas: @talesoftheimpala @winchester-with-wings 

W.C. 1417

Tag Forevers(let me know if you want to be added!): @quilliamfears @animefanatic1728 @castihelloboys @autoblocked @wayward-wheels @cestladoulerexquise 

Rest of the tags at the bottom

Notes: lots of parental angst lately for me so I wanted to get some of it out with some fluffy Sam stuff. Feedback appreciated! Find it on AO3 here. Might write a second part, morning after smut, if I get enough feedback!

Having Sam Winchester by your side when the rest of your family was telling you to go to hell was the best thing that could have happened to you.

Sam Winchester was the world’s kindest, most burdened soul, and he took on the pain of everyone that he came into contact with, hoping to ease some of their suffering.

When you first met Sam, you’d been taking down a rugaru and he and his brother burst in just as you were firing off the flame shots. Dean and you had teamed up before. When you were both younger, and you’d heard stories of the infamous Sammy, but meeting the man was an entirely different story. Dean had said Sam was tall, but tall was an understatement. Standing 5’4”, you weren’t exactly tall yourself, but Sam towered over you by at least a foot, and you felt like a dwarf. Of course, he tried hiding it, tried making himself seem smaller than he was, and your heart squeezed a bit for this thoughtful man.

Keep reading

Maybe Later- Nate Maloley (Part 2)

This phone call is always the worst. 

 It never gets easier to tell people that the ones that they love have been harmed, and have a strong chance of dying, especially with is young adult like (Y/N). I’m sure she has a boyfriend, friends, and family who really care for her, and would have never thought something like this would have happened to her, or any of them. My partner parked the ambulance and I unhooked (Y/N)’s gurney from the vehicle. Her only breaths were being made by the oxygen tube running down her throat to keep her lungs functioning. After handing her over to the doctors and nurses, I started to get teary eyed. The connection between myself and this young lady, immediately became strong, at least for me, the minute I saw the Firefighters cutting the top part of her car off and removing her from it. Her looks reflected that of my daughter, Maya, only (Y/N) was slightly shorter. A couple years back, when Maya was 16, she was drunk driving after her first high school party, and she had a similar accident. Her car rolled multiple times, and long story short, she was paralyzed for the rest of her life, until she died back in August, due to too much fluid in her brain. 

Typically, (Y/N)’s designated doctor would call her family or who ever was on her preferred call list, but because of the high amount of attention she is going to need, I took it a upon myself to call the first name on her list: Nathan Maloley- and next to his name, in parentheses, the word “boyfriend” was written. I braced myself, and attempted to go over the conversation in my head about how I would break the news to him, as the phone rang. “Hello?” He asked. “Hi. Umm…my name is Bradley Garcia, and I’m calling on behalf of (Y/N). Is this Mr. Maloley?” I blurted out. There was a silence, one of which was probably him checking where this call was coming from. “Why are you calling me from a hospital?” He questioned. I took a deep breath, tried to hold back my tears as I was saying the next line in my head, and just went for it- “Mr. Maloley…there has been an accident.”


“Just meet me at the hospital near the airport! I don’t have time to explain.” I said to John, as I was heading to my car. As I got in my car, and buckled up, I placed my hands on the steering wheel and just let regret completely take over my body. How could I let this happen? All I had to do was just hear her out about my smoking, and we could have settled this like adults, but nope…I had fuck everything up. And the funny thing is, I was raised this way- I grew in a financially stable family in Omaha, Nebraska, where I went to a great school, and had good friends, and played basketball, and soon after went to college. I didn’t have it bad growing up, and never was I ever taught to disrespect a woman the way I disrespected (Y/N). My dad never spoke illy of my mom, so these sudden outburst had to have come from somewhere, but I honestly couldn’t tell you where. 

I arrived at the hospital, and soon after John parked, out hoped (Y/N)’s bet friend, and she looked pissed. “I swear on God’s fucking green Earth, Nathan…” She yelled as she speed walked over to me “…if something happens to (Y/N) and I find out that it has something to do with you, I will cut your balls off, dip them in honey, let the bees get them, and then feed them to you myself, after I have paralyzed you.” She stated while hitting me with her purse. “Okay! Okay! I get it, Jesus… Look, I’m just as nervous about her as you, don’t think I’m not!” I wasn’t ready to admit to her that I was probably the main reason why she is in that hospital bed right now. She glared at me and walked right past me. I looked at Swazz, and he just gave me a weak smile, and guided me into the hospital. I approached the reception desk, 

“Hi. I’m Nathan Maloley, and I’m here to see my girlfriend, (Y/N).” I spoke to the lady. She looked up at me, “Yes! Okay, (Y/N) is currently in ICU, and about to under go surgery, and a couple of x-rays. I can let you know as soon as possible, when she is able to see visitors.” She smiled up at me. I was frustrated, but me arguing with this lady wouldn’t do either of us any justice. I half smiled back at her and went towards (Y/N)’s best friend and Swazz. As I sat down I noticed an older looking man walk over to the receptionist desk and ask her a question. She pointed over to me in response to his question, and he slowly started walking over. I sat up straight, slightly intimidated by his figure.

“Hi. Are you Mr. Maloley?” He asked, and at this point all three of us were looking at him. I nodded, and he continued, “I’m Bradley Garcia, the man who spoke with you over the phone.” He clarified. I stood up, and shook his hand, “It’s very nice to meet you Mr. Garcia. It sucks that it’s under conditions like this though.” “Agreed. I don’t typically do this but whenever I come across cases that involve driving accidents, it really hits home for me, so I make it an obligation that I am the one to make the phone call.” (Y/B/N) chimed in, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you feel the need to this phone call for (Y/N)?” He looked over at her, with a distant look in his eyes, as if he was remembering something. He didn’t respond for sometime, and tears started to fall from his eyes. I looked over a Swazz, and he just shrugged in response. “Sorry.” He started, “My daughter passed back in August due to too much fluid in her brain, which was caused by a drunk driving accident.” He looked down and sniffled. (Y/B/N) slowly stood up, and walked over to Bradley, and hugged him. He sobbed into her shoulder, while she comforted him. He eventually collected himself, and began to speak with us again, after thanking (Y/B/N) for the comfort. “I took up the job as a paramedic because I wanted to be able to help kids and people, in car accidents especially, so they don’t have to go through what my wife and I are going through.” We later found out that he was off of work, so he stayed and talked with us for a while, eventually swapping numbers with me so I can let him know what the doctor says about (Y/N)’s condition. Once he left a silence fell upon us as we waited, until John spoke for the first time of us being here. 

“Have you called her parents?” He looked at me questioningly. I can tell by his disappointed facial expression, that my face changed from “calm” to “freaked out” in a millisecond. “Shit, shit, shit.” I mumbled while pulling out my phone. I dialed her dad first, taking a huge risk, and prayed that he was still up. “Hey Maloley! What’s up, bud? It’s 3 in the morning down here.” “Mr. (Y/L/N), (Y/N) was in an accident, and I’m here at the hospital with (Y/B/N) and John.” There was a long silence, I had to check that we didn’t get disconnected. “How long ago was here accident, Nathan?” “I’m not sure, sir, but I had gotten a call from the hospital about two hours ago.” I flinched ready to hear him shout a string of swear words at me. But, all he did was sigh, “Why are you only calling me now, Nathan?” I answered honestly, “I completely forgot, because once we got here I had been waiting, and then the man paramedic was here, because he called, me and then John just-” “Nathan, it’s fine. I understand. Her mother and I will be up there shortly, keep me updated please.” And with that he hung up. (Y/B/N) leaned over to me, “If you think I’m going to bad if you are found to be the cause of this, imagine how Papa (Y/L/N) is going to be.” She whispered. I slowly looked over to her, and just glared at her, and slowly looked away, knowing she was right. If they all find out about our argument, then my ass is on the line, but I would rather that happen than have (Y/N) pass away, especially without me saying goodbye. 

Hours had gone by, and we had heard nothing about her condition. Around 5 in the morning, Swazz and (Y/B/N) left because she had to work later today, and Swazz was going to get me a pair of clothes to change into. Just as my eyes began to close, the door leading more into the hospital opened , and out stepped a man, in teal colored scrubs. He walked over to me seeing as I was the only one in the room. “Are you Mr. Maloley?” I stood up nodding, and slightly stretching. I extended my hand for him to shake, and of course, he shook it. “Miss (Y/L/N) has unfortunately slipped into a coma. During her accident, she had many puncture wounds, near her heart, on her head, and near her lungs.” He pointed to exactly to all the places on her body where she was hurt, using his body as a representation. He continued, “She lost a lot of blood, so there wasn’t enough traveling to her brain. I’m very sorry, but we are doing everything we can to keep her comfortable-” I immediately cut him off, “Keep her comfortable?! What the hell does that mean? Why can’t you all be trying to save her and take her out of the coma?!” “Mr. Maloley, it’s impossible for us to get her out of the coma, the only way is for her body to get itself out of the state, but the only way we can help is by keeping her comfortable.” “Can I at least see her?” He nodded, and lead me to her room. I damn near cried when I saw her lying their, almost life-less. “You are aloud to stay in here as long as you would like, but a hospital rule is only 3 people in a room with a patient at once.” I looked up at him, “Thank you, doc.” He left us alone, and I finally let out all my sobs I had been holding in since I got the phone call.

“I know you probably can’t hear me, but baby girl, I just want to say, you mean the WORLD to me- the whole damn thing. Their is no one in my life that makes me feel the way you make me feel. I never realized how much you care about me, or how much I don’t appreciate you, until I got that phone call saying you were in an accident. I’m unbelievably sorry for causing this. I don’t want us to end, I love you with all my life. I will slow down on the smoking, babe. I’ll do whatever you want me to babe, just please to leave yet, your time isn’t up yet. Please, baby.” 

I laid back in the chair I pulled up to her bed, and just held her cold hand.