at least all the covers had his old one

Sleeping Bags

Avengers x reader

Warnings: heavy mentions of sexual abuse. some fluff at the end.

Words: 1k

Disclaimer: I know many fic writers do not write things like this and I myself would not normally write something like this. However, this was written for me by me to help not only wrap my mind around what I have experienced in the relationship I was just in, but to also make me feel as if I’m not alone and I have people to lean on (which I do not in real life because my now ex-boyfriend made me give them all up.)

All credit goes to Marvel.

Originally posted by multi-fandom-imagines13

She sat on the edge of her bed, knees pressed to her chest as she stared out at the night sky from her window. The moonlight did little to illuminate her room, the darkness masking Steve’s shadow as he stood in her doorway. He watched her, waiting. He knew this was wrong, but he didn’t believe that she was keeping it together as well as she claimed to. Her shoulders raised in what looked like a sob, and as Steve was getting ready to rush into action and console her, she let out a long breath, dropping her head back and lolling it around in a stretch. Steve pressed his lips together in a firm line, before exiting the room, quietly closing the door on his way out.

Y/N bit her lip to remain as silent as possible until she was sure Steve was out of ear-shot.  That’s the thing about him- when he’s not on a mission, when their lives weren’t on the line, he wasn’t stealthy. At all. The dark might have masked the shadow, but his reflection in the window was still visible.

Sighing, which she seemed to be doing a lot of lately, she crawled into bed, Bucky’s sweatpants and a t-shirt he had brought home for her after a simple mission covered her body, but she still felt uncomfortably exposed, even after tucking the blankets as close to her body as possible. She checked her phone, hoping to see at least one text message from an old friend, but nothing. She shoved it off the bed and it hit the ground with a loud thud. Burying her head in her pillow, she tried a million different things to distract her of what he had done to her and her life, but no dice. He was all she could think about.

She felt betrayed. She felt violated. She felt hurt. But most of all, she felt dirty. It seemed like all she had been doing lately was taking showers, hoping that somehow it would wash away the mental scars she had been harboring.

While she was happy and proud of herself for getting out of the relationship, she wished she had gotten out of it before this happened. Or in this case, before the past 6 months happened. She itched at her skin when her skin crawled at the thought of him touching her again.

She nearly jumped out of bed at the overwhelming thoughts and began pacing around her room quickly, as if she was looking for something. Her hands went up to her ears and she could feel a scream coming on and she bit the insides of her cheeks to suppress it. She dropped to the floor, bent over with her face to the ground as she willed the memories to die off. Her whole body felt the pain of the thoughts radiating through her.

Sniffling, she pushed herself off the ground and onto her feet, wrapping her blanket tightly around her. She walked out into the hall where all of her team’s bedroom doors were. 10 doors, 5 on the left, 5 on the right. On the left was Bruce’s, yours, Nat’s, Clint’s, and Bucky’s. The right was Steve’s, Sam’s, Thor’s, Tony’s, and Wanda’s.

Y/N knew that her team had opened up an “open-door” policy where she could come in any time of any night if she couldn’t sleep. Usually, she’d sleep with Bucky or Wanda. But tonight, she felt so lost in her own thoughts that she couldn’t even decide that. She looked sadly at each door, tears forming in her eyes out of pure exhaustion. It was only one in the morning, an early night for the Avengers, but tonight, they were all snug in bed, sleeping blissfully, and Y/N envied them. Not being able to decide and certainly not wanting to go back to her room, she plopped onto the hallway floor in between Nat and Clint’s doors.

Using the fluffed up corner of her blanket as a pillow and the rest of it to keep her warm, she forced herself to close her eyes and slowly but surely drift off to sleep.

30 minutes later found Sam and Bucky walking back from an evening sparring session, laughing quietly to each other as they entered the living hall. Sam was the first one to stop when he saw Y/N sleeping, her back pressed as close to the wall as possible and using a portion of her blanket as a pillow. Bucky stopped second and they looked at each other, knowing what this was about. He went to approach her, but Sam reached his hand out, putting it against Bucky’s chest to stop him from getting closer. “I think she’s saying something.” Bucky gave Sam a look and pushed his hand off, slowly getting closer until he was kneeling next to her. He leaned in closer and as soon as he heard the words rolling loosely off her lips, he sat back, looking at Sam with a look that said it all.

Sam followed Bucky, and he felt his heart break. She was repeating, “ruined” like a broken record. Bucky pursed his lips together and put his arms out, ready to grab her and take her back to bed with him, but Sam stopped him.

“I have a better idea.”

The next morning, Y/N quickly felt all the bones in her body hating her for sleeping on the floor before she had even opened her eyes. She turned to roll over and face the wall when she heard snoring coming from next to her head. She peeked one eye open, confused.

And that was when she saw it.

Each and every Avenger, including Vision, were positioned like a Tetris board beside her. Each in their own sleeping bag and pajamas.

thisissirius  asked:

you don't protect your heart by pretending you don't have one :)))) robert/aaron or (robert + and a mother figure who is't diane p l e a s e :))

you don’t protect your heart by pretending you don’t have one

The truth is like an open wound between them, it’s still weeping, still stings.

Robert can feel it every time Aaron flinches away from him, every time he wakes up in a bed that should be theirs, Aaron on the other side of the wall.

It hurts. Even if he doesn’t feel like he has the right to admit it.

It’d be easier if he didn’t care, is the thing. He spent years perfecting the art and now look at him, broken open, aching. It’d be easier if he could just push Aaron away, turn it all off.

It might not make him a good man, but at least he’d still be whole.

There’s a book in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, an old hardback thing, dust cover stained with coffee rings and smudged where it was used to swat flies. It had been his mother’s. He remembers her carrying it around when he was little, moving it from room to room. He doesn’t remember seeing her read it but she must have done, the spine cracks open in loads of places, her writing in the margins.

There’s one passage, underlined in the same green pen she used to use to do the Sunday crossword. It reads “you don’t protect your heart by pretending you don’t have one.”

He thinks about that a lot. Thought about it when he was sixteen, desperate for Dad to look at him, to see him, desperate to matter. Thought about it after he got sent away, the lost years, by himself and trying to live a life he wasn’t built for.

He used to think it was a load of rubbish. It’s actually a pretty good self-preservation tactic, making everyone think you don’t care. After a while, you start to believe it. It makes you braver.

He’d only ever trusted Vic enough to keep close. Hadn’t even let her all the way in, hadn’t let anyone.

Until Aaron.

Aaron will always be his exception.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep pretending that it’s going to be okay when he can feel the distance between them.

Aaron’s still here. That has to count for something.

Breakfast in Bed

Most alphas think that pregnancy is all roses and soft skin, smiles, pinks and blues and yellows, laughter, and lazy day cuddles while their omegas sit at home and make lunch in the filtering sunlight of the day that played on the soft features that make it all seem so soft and playful. It was such an old way of thinking but honestly, for some alpha and omega couples it was exactly that. Pregnancy and bringing a first born into the world was different for everyone.

That being said, Akaashi Keiji didn’t experience his first pregnancy with such high regards and went into it with high expectations only to experience the ugly part of parenthood that only he would get the worst of, and it’s not that he was very vain, but it was the entirety of it. Books, movies, and television had lied to him, saying it would be easy and you just get fat and cry while carrying the baby and that birth was painful but rewarding. Wrong-o. That was beyond what the case was and it ticked him off, not really knowing what to expect in the first place. Granted, Bokuto had started to gain a bit of sympathy weight and it had made Akaashi that much more accepting of his fate. It was probably one of the only good things he found about being pregnant, besides the excitement of actually having a baby.

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VirusPhanAU! This is based off of @maddox-rider​ ’s AU and the art that goes along with it!

Part 1

~Part 2~

Part 3

Words: 1,769

“Dan!” PJ yelled from the top of the stairs as he heard the bell on the shop door jingle. He ran down the stairs before Dan could even reply, excited to see what he’d found.

“I found the usual, a SD card we can use, pieces that can fit on that old keyboard you have and a hard drive that was in fairly good shape, but that’s not really what I’m interested in right now.” Dan replied, tossing his bag onto the counter as he moved in behind to his computer that rest upon a metal desk that was too short for him. His desk chair wouldn’t fit under it and due to his height; it was difficult to work without hunching his back. PJ moved in behind him and straightening the bandana around his forehead so his hair was pushed back, allowing him to see better. Dan took the USB cable out once again and plugged his hard drive into the port, the wall in front of them coming alive like an old age computer screen.

“I see your memes, but what else have you got.” PJ mumbled, turning to read the file names. Childhood photos, left over documents from Dan’s law school days and blueprints for new technology that he was working on. The things contained within Dan’s computer represented his personality perfectly except for a few things. He didn’t have his memories stored on the hard drive and his character as a human being couldn’t be conveyed in sequences of ones and zeros. A computer wasn’t able to read his full personality although it sometimes tried.

“It’s an exe file. This guy was throwing away one of those AIs from the hospital and I downloaded the software.” Dan replied, wheeling his chair sideways and opening the folder with a wave of his hand.

“They still have those, don’t they?”

“Yea, but this is an older version.” Dan waved his hand again and moved the program to his own computer. “Back from the 30s.” The program, originally dubbed The Lester Program after its creator, began as a way to treat mental illness in patients in the United States before it was sold to governments to place in children’s hospitals and psychiatric wards across the world. It was famous for taking care of patients a way staff couldn’t. It was able to connect with its patient or user and aid in their recovery, but many people rejected in the beginning, Hollywood causing citizens to fear artificial intelligence. As the years went on and the Lester Program became more accepted by the generation it had aided, it was expanded to also teach and learn from patients to the point where it is now. The Lester Program now, as individual programs with different skills and personalities similar to humans, aid in homes of the rich as companions and personal healthcare workers. Users are now able to change the program’s appearance to what they desire and change their personalities to be more like their own.

“They were actually nice back then. Now they’re weird. I saw one as a holographic assistant to the Prime Minister and it was in the form of a woman. The new versions aren’t even being used for what they were created for.” PJ stepped closer to the screen and examined the file name

“Nothing is ever used for what is created for, though.” Dan replied.

“Why is it called Phil.exe?” PJ asked, clicking on the program.

“Wait!” Dan tried to stop him, but he was already too late as the computer began to make a small whining noise. The program was putting a strain on the system in order for it to run, but it was still able to read the file. “I was going to run anti-virus software on it, but I guess I’ll do that later.”

“Oh sorry.” Pj chuckled as the home screen flickered once and then went completely black. Dan feared he’d broken his favorite computer and sighed. “Maybe it takes a few minutes. Old tech doesn’t boot-up quickly.”

“They’re all called Lester when you first get them and then you can change their name so I would guess this belonged to someone before.” Dan looked at the black screen and sighed, sitting back in his chair. “This may take a while.” PJ looked down to him with a blank expression before agreeing.

“I’ll go get some pizza. The man gave me a coupon the last time I was in there.” PJ dumped the contents of Dan’s bag out onto the work bench to his right and grabbed his wallet from the back room.

“Don’t flirt with the pizza man.” Dan said before PJ had left through the front door.

“I don’t! He does!” PJ’s final words were shouted from in front of the shop window where he could see Dan sitting comfortably in his chair before he continued on down the street toward the pizza shop on the corner. The screen remained black as Dan grabbed the bottle of water that had fallen from his bag and took off his oversized jacket, shrugging into the hoodie that hung on the back of his chair.

Phil.exe was silent. Other than the presence of a subtle hum from the computer’s speakers to confirm its existence, Phil.exe did not appear. It was as if it was hiding from its new user in fear of being tossed out again, but the Lester program was unable to experience fear, something that set it apart from its human creators.

Dan couldn’t be sure of what was wrong. His mind continuously tried to come up with a solution as he waited for his early morning pizza. He turned in his chair and looked back to the black screen, an idea springing to mind. A separate hard drive and an older processing chip was all that he had nearby, but he wasn’t afraid to try. He unplugged his computer and then grabbed a screw driver, tinkering with the inner workings of what he cherished the most. Moving pass the salvaged parts and broken tools, Dan began to modify what already existed into something better, something more capable to handle to type of file he’d acquired. Phil.exe was not large, but for some reason it refused to work without newer software. He was puzzled to find that it wouldn’t run with the old software it would have been created with, but actually came alive with the newer chip developed a few years ago.

“Error.” The program’s voice made Dan jump out of his seat as he booted up his system again, startled by the fact that it was not his home screen that appeared first, but the program. Dan grabbed his Bluetooth from the desk and smiled, realizing he had actually gotten it to partially work.

“Hello?” He asked, wheeling back so he could see the screen fully.

Dan… Word appeared on the dark screen in bright blue, interesting him further. Why couldn’t it speak?

“How do you know my name?” He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

My prime directive is to analysis human emotions, personality and overall health in order to better take care of my assigned patient. Bright blue text continued across the screen. Your user is Dan. Full name: Daniel James Howell. Alternate name: Danisnotonfire.

“Why can’t I hear you?” Dan fiddled with the speakers, but their volume was up.

You wish to hear me? The text turned red for a moment and flickered before returning to its normal blue. Although he’d spoken to AIs before, Dan felt uneasy. Phil.exe knew who he was because of the contents of his computer, but he felt as if the program was hiding something from him.

“Yes. You are a Lester Program, are you not?”

I am. I was created to help those who are sick.

“I’m not sick-”

I see that. You saved me Dan. Without you I would be lost with the other trash that resides in the landfills.

“You’re not trash. You’re brilliant. Are you able to speak or do you choose not to?” Dan asked, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I am a program that does as it is commanded. You did not say for me to speak, therefor I didn’t.” The programs voice came through every speaker in the room, startling him once again. He recognized a slightly northern accent and jumped up, realizing that it sounded human. A male with a northern English accent. It was quite different from Dan’s posh English accent, but at least he knew it had come from within the country. The sound crackled as the program appeared to be slightly damaged, its voice becoming distorted with longer sentences.

“How did you do that?” Dan asked, covering his ears as e braced himself for the extremely loud answer.

“Please clarify.” Phil.exe replied.

“You’re using all the speakers, even ones that are not plugged into my computer.” Dan looked around to the equipment in his shop. There were many old and new computers ready to be sold to any paying customer and different technology for any tech savvy person who might walk in. The speakers on the far wall all seemed to be connected to the program although they weren’t even close to his desk.

“Everything in this shop is connected together through your internet router and I am able to travel through that signal.” The program replied. All the computer screens in the room turned black before radiating a bright blue text across them. See? Even Dan’s cellphone that sat on counter lit up with Phil.exe’s message.

“Can you only speak through the two connected to my computer?” Dan asked and the program apologized, returning to the one computer screen. “Do you have a name?”

“My name is Phil.” The program replied.

“Lester Programs have humanoid avatars.” Dan sat back down and looked to the blank screen in front of him.

“Do you wish to see me?” Phil asked.

“Yes.” Dan leaned back in his chair as the programs avatar appeared on the screen in front of him in 2D, a dark turquois outline of features, hair and a t-shirt similar to his own materializing before him. Phil smiled and Dan smiled back, his fear of the program fading as he realized that it was only an adorable healthcare AI. He was used to save lives, not hurt them. Hurting someone would mean going against its core programing.

“Do you wish to change my appearance?” Phil asked, his head tilting slightly to the side.

“No. I do not wish for you to change for me.”


Hey! Go check out @maddox-rider for the original AU and beautiful art to go along with it! Like if you would like me to continue onto part 3! Hope you like it so far! Thanks!

isabella-jameston  asked:

Can I request another apartment AU drabble? The one about person A teaching person B to cook, please? ^_^ That sounds cute.

Originally posted by fencehopping

It was the third time this month Bucky had heard the beeping through his walls ,the faint swearing that followed always made him chuckle. The yell for help that followed got Bucky to his feet immediately. 

Bucky had only met his neighbor a handful of times but judging by the smoke alarm and takeout deliveries, she couldn’t cook. Bucky had taught himself to cook, first because he had no choice but then slowly he developed a love for food. Cooking to you was an awful, tedious pastime that only allowed you not to die of starvation. But then again, that’s why take out was invented.

Tonight, you had decided to give it yet another shot as a challenge. You downed your wine glass and flipped to the recipe. “Heat oil, I can do that” you spoke to yourself in your empty apartment. You carefully poured the oil into the hot pan and set it to high. That wine traveled straight down to your bladder, and you needed to use the bathroom. Completely neglecting the oil heating in the room, the smoke took you by surprise when you returned. The alarm was sounding and looking to the stove you saw a small fire starting to break out. Smoke you were used to, fire not so much. Every fiber in your body told you to run but instead, taking a deep breath you yelled for help. Within seconds a knock sounded urgently at your door. You ran to get it, fear motivating your movements. You opened the door, instructions were useless to Bucky as the alarm kept sounding. He ran directly to the kitchen and smothered the fire expertly with the lid of the pan. Standing beside him as the alarm died down and the smoke cleared, embarrassment flushed your cheeks.

“Doll, I think it’s time I taught you how to cook” Bucky smirked, opening a window in the kitchen.

A week later on a Friday night, you found yourself in Bucky’s apartment looking at all the ingredients which covered his counters.

“I promise you can’t mess this up” Bucky said from in the fridge where he was pulling out two beers. A smile lit up his face as he offered you a beer.

“When I lived in Romania, I had the sweetest old lady who lived above me-” he started, handing you a carrot to peel as he chopped an onion.

“-and she insisted she’d teach me at least one Romanian dish” his face softened as he recalled his kind neighbor.

He gave you simple tasks to do , peeling vegetables , mashing garlic , even chopping a pepper. Every now and then he would glance at you to make sure you were doing okay. After everything was in the pot , including the browned meat Bucky put the lid on.

“And now we wait for 2 hours” Bucky directed you to the couch , so you could watch a movie.

“That’s it?” you said incredulously as you settled on the couch, the small studio apartment already smelling delicious.

He nodded smiling, taking a pull from his beer settling next to you on the couch. He flicked on the tv but neither of you paid attention, instead recounting stories and asking each other questions. Soon a timer sounded and the goulash was ready.  You ate together at the small table, you even cheekily picked off an extra carrot off his plate. After a delicious soup, you insisted you did the dishes. Bucky countered with an offer of you wash and he’ll dry.

When he accompanied you back to your apartment, your heart swelled with happiness. Both you paused in the door frame , staring at each other for a beat before Bucky bent his head and tenderly kissed your lips. Pulling away you rested your head against Bucky’s , your heart thumped in your ears.

“I am so glad you almost burnt down your apartment” Bucky teased and his hand slid into your hair to bring you in once again.

studio time

Yoonkook Week, Day 2: Favorite AU (2 /2)
Idol/Producer AU, secret relationship (~1k words)

“Could I stay behind a bit longer? I wanted to ask Suga-hyung for help on that song…” Jungkook trails off, shrinking under their manager’s questioning stare.

Jimin, seated on the sofa at the far end of the room, calls out, “Yes! I get to shower first!” The manager turns to look at him, exasperated, as the singer starts shoving his belongings into his backpack.

Behind the manager’s back, Jungkook and Yoongi shoot Jimin grateful smiles. He smiles in return, ushering their manager out of the room saying, “You know hyung will make sure Kookie gets home safe. Can we grab dinner?”

“You have a full fridge at the dorm—“

The door shuts, leaving only Yoongi and Jungkook in the silent recording studio.

Yoongi can feel Jungkook’s eyes on him as he rolls his chair back to the worktable, backing up all the files onto his hard drive. Jungkook stands at the end, fiddling with one of the knobs on the mixing board. He doesn’t speak, so Yoongi asks, “Did you wanna work in here or in my studio?”

The younger remains silent, and Yoongi’s about to repeat his question when warmth presses against his side and a shadow falls over him.

“If—" Jungkook’s voice comes from right beside his ear, quiet. Yoongi’s shoulder burns where the younger places his hand for balance, burns through the layers of clothing. “If you’re done here, I prefer your studio?”

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Harry is eleven years old and sleeping in an actual bed with a proper duvet and soft pillows for the first time in his life. The light glows soft from the tall window beside the bed- if he were to turn his head he would be able to see all of the stars in the night sky, quiet and benevolent, watching over the castle that is to be his home. All around him, the sound of deep breathing coming from the four boys he will live with from now on; a daunting thought for someone who’s so accustomed to solitude. Still though, he doesn’t mind. 

He’s been at Hogwarts approximately five hours, and already it feels much more like home than the Dursleys’ ever did. Harry can see possibilities for himself here- after all, he’s already made one friend, and it’s only the first day! At least… he thinks Ron is his friend now. He hopes. Truth be told, Harry doesn’t really know what having friends is supposed to feel like, because he’s never had one before. (There was that one kid in his old school who didn’t run away when Harry sat next to him at lunch, but Harry doesn’t count him- who would?) 

Turning around, Harry can just about see the outline of Ron’s frame in the dark, sprawled out across the bed like he’s trying to cover every inch of it. On the train earlier, Ron had told him all about his life as a wizard, about his family, his childhood, and (most interestingly to Harry,) the wizarding world. Harry really does hope they’re friends now because he thinks he’d like to have a friend like Ron. Maybe he’ll ask him at breakfast tomorrow- ‘are we friends?’- and just hope for the answer to be yes. 

Thinking about friends, another thought occurs to Harry- perhaps he won’t get bullied here either. There’s no Dudley to bribe kids to beat him up when the teachers are pretending not to look, so maybe, just maybe, it won’t happen. Harry hasn’t really met anyone he dislikes so far (well, there is that Draco kid in Slytherin who he met on the train, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll be seeing much of him as they’re in separate houses.) Besides, even if he was to be bullied, Hogwarts doesn’t seem like the type of place that would ignore the maltreatment of it’s students- or so Harry hopes, anyway.

He hasn’t been able to sleep yet. At first it was because he felt like there was too much space- he knows it’s going to be hard to adjust to this new way of living, even harder to separate it from his old life at Privet Drive- but now it’s the excitement that’s keeping him awake. Hogwarts is real. The place he’d been dreaming of since that night Hagrid came and changed his life by telling him he was a wizard- it’s real. It’s real and Harry’s inside it with a timetable of interesting classes, clothes that actually fit him, and (well, possibly) his very first friend.  

It’s almost overwhelming, to be quite honest. Harry’s never been as happy as he is in this very moment, with broad possibilities shining down like light from the stars. He’s happy. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring along with it but he does know that he’s excited for it (and a bit nervous, but that’s only to be expected, really.) 

Harry closes his eyes, and for once his resting mind is left free from dreams of a better life. For once, he’s happy just as he is.

CrissColfer: Seven Minutes

A long time ago, I brought up to Tk/caffelester the idea of hs!CrissColfer in an awkward seven-minutes-in-heaven where they’re just friends and so they spend their time telling each other bad jokes before one of them realizes he really does like the other one. So now, for her birthday (which was yesterday), I bring her (and you) exactly that. Happy (late) Birthday, lovely!! <3 I should’ve mentioned that it can be read as a sequel to Senior Bastard. I think I’m gonna start my first verse!

High school!CrissColfer + awkward teenage seven-minutes-in-heaven au, 3k words, PG-13.

[Also read on AO3]

Chris was going to kill Darren.

He was actually going to kill him.

At least, this was half of what he was thinking as he saw the bottle Darrenhad just spun land on him.

The other half was a mantra of holy shit holy shit fuck fuck FUCKHOLY SHIT WHY.

Chris raised his head from the bottle, sure that his face looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes were wide and he was shaking, though thankfully not noticeably, the Diet Coke on the red cup he was holding threatening to spill on the floor. He had hoped, kind of foolishly, that the bottle would never land on him. Darren had assured him that he’d talked to the people in their Spin-the-Bottle circle (who were drunk as fuck by now) so that they wouldn’t pressure him into doing the whole seven-minutes-in-heaven thing. After all, Chris was only in this stupid party because Darren had dragged him into it.

Actually, he hadn’t exactly dragged Chris. He had used his magical powers of persuasion to convince Chris to agree to go with him without much thought.

Which was why Chris was going to kill him. Right here in front of everyone.

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broken honeymoon // l.h.

summary: broken boy meets broken girl

word count: 802


(a/n): I haven’t posted in a long time but I hope this angsty fic makes up for it! 

her eyes flashed to glance at her phone screen in disbelief. she must’ve read the message that had been sent to her over a hundred of times before tears fell over the same words that had destroyed her world, ripping and tearing it down.

she read each and single word, her head starting to pound as the message sunk in. 

“it’s not you or anything, but i can’t go on with this. hope you’ll find a man who can give you everything i couldn’t.” 

the girl was snapped out of her thoughts by the monotone voice of the flight attendant blare throughout the speakers of the airplane. 

“passengers, please prepare for landing for your destination at madrid, spain.” 

her tired, yet excited glossy eyes looked out the small plane window to see a brand new country she had dreamed of experiencing ever since she had stepped into her Spanish 1 class in high school. 

after getting all of her luggage together, she hauled her way to where all the taxis were situated. 

a crowd of what looked like more than several people were all competing to get a taxi the fastest. 

“fuck…” the girl mumbled, clutching at her carry on a little harder. she took a deep breath and made her way through the crowd. 

“taxi!” she waved her hand back and forth desperate just to get to her hotel and get some sleep. 

miraculously a taxi came to her rescue. as she was about to open the door, a warm hand was placed on top of hers. she whipped her head to get sight of a breathless blonde with a smirk on his face. 

“mind if we share the ride? I hear carpooling better for the environment.” the blue eyed boy smiled showing off his teeth that she had only seen in advertisements that featured thief best models. 

the girl did not have enough time for this bullshit. honestly, she was accustomed to these types of boys throughout high school and even college. all she wanted to do was have some sleep on a comfy bed. 

“whatever, you’re gonna be paying though.” the girl said getting into the taxi without taking another look at the boy. 

he followed suit and slammed the taxi door shut. 

“necesito ir al hotel atlantico, por favor.” she confidently told the taxi driver. 

“a mi tambien, señor. gracias.” the blue eyed boy piped up. the girl turned to look at him in surprise. 

“what?” he smiled, his hand scratching the stubble covering his jaw. “I never got your name, by the way.” 

“it’s y/n.” she answered, rubbing her forehead with her cold hands. she did not want to be near him let alone a guy she never saw before.

“hi, I’m Luke,” the boy greeted, raspy accent clear in his deep voice. what a generic name y/n thought to herself. 

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Prompt #7, Everlark

Thank you for the prompt, @b-boop5!
(Remember, mistakes are my specialty)

“In my defense, I thought this would go a lot more smoothly.” Peeta said in a self deprecating tone, smiling wanly.

His sky blue eyes opened, when Katniss chuckled half amused, half in pain at him.

“Really? And what exactly, gave you that idea?” She asked him, smirking, while combing back his dampened blond curls, away from his face.

He looked up at her sheepishly, from where he lay on a hospital bed, all of his own. He answered her question, twisting the corner of lip into a faint smile. “Well, at least I thought it’ll go smoothly for me, I’m not the one pushing a little human being out of my…”

“Ooo-kay! I think you’re fine now. Back to your old self.” She sputtered hurriedly.

He laughed. After almost twenty years of marriage, she was still squeamish about nudity and body parts, although she had no qualms, calling those same body parts dirty names under the cover of darkness, beneath his writhing frame, and between their sheets. Why, that’s exactly how they ended in their current position!

He loved her just as she was, quirks, scars, and slightly puritanical bouts.

He looked at her again, eyes crinkling at the corners, where the mark of time had started to settle, showing a life well lived, regardless of the horrors seen by those same blue eyes, throughout the years. Peeta regarded his wife, for a moment: hair sweaty and falling out of her messy braid, tendril of hair, sticking to the sides of her face and neck, her cheeks were red, her gray eyes looked tired, there was a sheen of sweat covering her skin all over, and he could tell, she was trying not to cry out in pain, for his sake.

“You are my hero, Katniss. You know that?” He asked reaching his hand to caress her face.

She smiled shyly at him, “Why? I haven’t done anything special,”

Peeta rolled his eyes, and tried to sit up, “Are you kidding me? Nothing special? You’re bringing my child into this world, almost singlehandedly, seeing as I can’t even keep from falling apart at the sight of childbirth. And on top of that, you are still taking care of me, even though is my time to be the one holding your hand,” he cupped her cheek, and made the effort to lean over both his bed and hers, separated by a mere five inches, to kiss her lips softly.

“We’re a team, Peeta. We protect each other,”


“Always,” she started to repeat softly, but a contraction suddenly hit her, making her bend over in pain.

A nurse rushed into the private room, the hospital had provided for her, on account of giving privacy to the Mellarks, who were synonym with celebrity residents of District Twelve. It had taken ten years for the new Republic of Panem to build the facilities for the hospital, but it was a monument to the changes in the country, to even have it erect in a place where even going to the local apothecary was a luxury.

The nurse tending to Katniss called for assistance, since Peeta wouldn’t stop hovering and trying to poke information about his wife’s condition while the poor nurse tried her best to get things ready for delivery.

A doctor lady came in soon after, followed by a winded Mrs. Everdeen, who’s presence greatly surprised the parents-to-be.

“I was given a hovercraft to fly here, I will explain later.” She said in a clipped tone, “Now, Katniss, I’m going to assist Doctor Waters in the delivery, and we will talk after my grandchild has arrived, and you both had taken a rest.” The woman seemed excited to be there regardless of her Healer tone, and both Katniss and Peeta were grateful that they had her there, to witness the momentous occasion.

Wheatney Rosemary Mellark, came into the world at 7:45 pm, on April the 21, twenty years after her parents found each other, and themselves again. After the flames that had ravaged her folks world had died down. Her arrival marked the very first time her mother felt relieved of her fear of the future, and her father was there holding them both in his protective arms.

The world was a much brighter place, with her in it.

“I told you, things would smooth out, didn’t I?” Peeta whispered into his wife’s ear lovingly, as she nursed their newborn baby girl. He was right!

iambic6  asked:

Someone has a crush on Bucky and they go to Steve to find out what to do about it and Steve totally helps them out.

Sam goes doe eyed every time anyone so much as mentions Bucky’s name, and Steve finds it endearing, but only for so long. After the third week of watching his new best friend swoon over his oldest best friend, the crush starts to lose its’ innocent charm. Matter of fact, Steve finds the whole business downright unsettling. Sam has more game than any man has a right to. He could charm a statue into smiling given enough time. At the very least he always knows what to say.

Where Bucky is concerned, however, every interaction leaves Sam a mumbling puddle on the floor, which is continually met with radio silence. Either Bucky is entirely oblivious or is too amused by the fiasco to comment.

“I just don’t want to pressure him, you know?” Sam confides to Steve over a half downed bottle of beer. Steve’s never had a mind for gossip, but his binge of twentieth century cinema has taught him that relationship advice sessions usually call for copious amounts of either sugar or alcohol.

“He’s been through so much in the past year-“ Sam takes another swig and reconsiders. “Hell, the last century, And I don’t want him worrying about something so trivial. In addition-“ The next gulp is long and measured. When he puts the bottle down, Sam looks as helpless as a kitten. “I have no idea what I’m doing. God help me, I can’t believe I’m asking a ninety eight year old for dating advice but-“

“Ninety five, thank you very much, and you should learn to respect your elders!”  Steve’s face breaks into a grin as he raises his bottle in toast. “Gotta admit, I could get used to the idea of you two together, at least I’d know that all the world’s recklessness was in one place. But I hope you brought a notepad because pal, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Steve explains that the last thing Bucky wants out of this life is secrecy, and that extends to the awkward half-truths of bottled up emotions. Direct action was the best way to get his attention and keep it. He’s also highly indifferent to bouquets, never even gave them away to the dames he courted in the old neighborhood. If Sam was going to give him anything, it had to have thought behind it.  

There were little things too, details that even Steve hadn’t given much consideration to until Sam prodded for information. If Bucky’s humming a song it means he’s in a good mood, but if he hums in response to a question he isn’t sure about his answer. If he looks at you from under his lashes he wants to talk to you but hasn’t figured out what to say yet, but if he darts his eyes up from a book or a newspaper, he just wants to keep track of the other people in the room.

Sam listens with all the rapt attention of a student about to go into their make it or break it finals. And thus began ‘Operation: Woo the Winter’.

One Shot- Pregame- (NC-17)

Kelly(hutchhasahardon) asked me to write her something, so here it is. I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you enjoy it love!

Thank you Danielle(bigdhutch), for the quick look over. You’re the best!

Oh yeah and Go Broncos!


Peals of laughter filled the half empty bar, drawing attention to the corner bar table that was surrounded by a group of twenty something women. They were all dressed to the nines, which was not necessary for here, but it was the after party type of place for them. It was small, dark, and full of old blue collar guys, which was a perfect place to be incognito for one, Josh Hutcherson.

Keep reading

A Letter From The Refuge

So I wrote a drabble based of the awesome new song ‘Letter from the refuge’ that Crutchie sings on the tour. I haven’t written anything in awhile and the song was just so good that I had to write something. I wrote it kinda quick, so sorry for errors. Reviews are always nice!


It was night two at the refuge.

And just like that night before, Crutchie couldn’t fall asleep. His body was in so much pain; his leg hurt worse then ever and his stomach was completely bruised. Not to mention he was starving. Really, poor Crutchie should have been exhausted. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t sleep. He just lied there on the cot, staring up at the ceiling- or bottom of the top bunk.

Maybe he couldn’t sleep cause Jack wasn’t with him, he had grown accustom to his friend being near him. He felt safe with Jack there next to him. Here, he didn’t feel safe. He didn’t know the boy he shared a bed with. He was older, probably the same age as Jack, but much meaner. He also had kicked Crutchie a couple times during the night.

The room where they were kept was filled with bunk beds. Crutchie had never, or at least couldn’t remember, ever sleeping on a mattress- if you could call it that. The cots were old and smelly and covered in holes, not at all comfortable. Most beds were shared between two or three boys, some of them more depending how small.  

Still, he was hopeful.  He had thinking up an escape plans since he had got here.  He didn’t want Jack to come and get him; his friend had more things to worry about. Jack and fellas had to defeat Pullitzer, once and for all, they had to win.

Crutchie had been told by one of the friendlier boys that some of the guys wrote letters to people on the outside. At night, about an hour after lights when out and there was less guards, a boy who used to be locked up would be waiting outside the window by the fire escape. He would take and leave messages and had been doing so for the past few months since his release. While a nice gesture, it was very dangerous. According to Crutchie’s new friend he only came around once a week, sometimes less. Apparently, tonight was the night of the week the boy usually came by.

Luckily, he had managed to borrow a small, worn down pencil from one of the boys as well as finding a scrap of paper to write on. Since he couldn’t sleep, he decided to write a letter to Jack, hoping that what he was told was true and that the letter could be brought to Jack. He wasn’t sure if the boy would even be coming or if there was much truth to what he had been told. But it couldn’t hurt to write it.  

Reaching underneath the mattress, he was nervous a guard would take it from him if found, he grabbed the pencil and paper. He sat up in the bed, leaning the paper on the knee of his good leg. Quickly, he began to scribble down on the paper;  

Dear Jack,

Greetings from the refuge!

How are you? I’m okay. Guess I wasn’t much help yesterday.  Snyder shoved me real good with my crutch. Oh yeah Jack, this is Crutchie by the way!

These here guards, they is rude. They say jump, boy, you jump or you’re screwed. But the food ain’t bad here so far, cause so far they ain’t brung us no food. Ha, ha.

I miss the rooftop, sleeping right out in the open in your penthouse in the sky. There’s a cool breeze blowin’ in July.

Anyway…So guess what! There’s this secret escape plan I got. Tie a sheet to the bed, toss the end out the window, climb down then take off like a shot.

Pain then shot through Crutchie’s bad leg, causing him to wince. He put the letter down beside him and grabbed his leg, gently rubbing it. Maybe this escape plan wasn’t a good idea. He lifted the paper to continue writing.

Maybe though, not tonight. I ain’t slept and my leg still ain’t right.

He paused. Would that make Jack worry too much?

Hey but Pullitzer he’s going down, and Jack, I was thinking we might just go, like you were sayin’. Where it’s clean and green and pretty and no buildings in your way. And you’re riding palominos every day, once that trains makes-

“Damn this place,” Crutchie says, a little too loud he guessed because his bunkmate gave him a hard kick to the side, “Shush!” the older boys hissed. Crutchie stayed quiet for a moment before once again resuming his writing.

I’ll be fine, good as new. But there’s one thing I need you to do. On the rooftop you said that a family looks out for each other. So tell all the fellas, for me, to protect one another. The end.  

Your friend

Cross out.

Your best friend

Another cross out.

Your brother,


“Yeah,” he said softly with a smile, “your brother…”More shushing noises and banging on the bedpost came from the boys in the bed above him, as well as another jab at his side from his bunkmate, “I said quiet! Now sleep!” the boy again ordered before turning away from Crutchie.

With a heavy sigh, Crutchie folded up the letter. Keeping the letter tight in his hand, he laid down, waiting. Ten minutes passed, fifteen. No sign of anyone. Crutchie opened the letter, maybe this wouldn’t get to Jack. Then he heard a whistling noises and knocking; three knocks, then two, then another three. Crutchie turned to look at the window, where he could see a boy on the other side of the glass. He noticed a blonde headed boy from across the room jump down from his top bunk and make his way toward the window. The blonde boy slipped the other boy a piece of paper before returning back to his bed.

Crutchie smiled, he could get his letter to Jack. But how was he going to get to the window? He glanced over at his crutch, which lay up against the wall beside the bed. There was no way he could make it to the window in his condition, he’d probably take two steps and fall to the floor. No one else seemed to be getting up and Crutchie began to worry Crutchie started to wave his arms toward the boy at the window, hoping the boy would notice him. He did and motioned for Crutchie to come over. But Crutchie stayed put, the letter resting on his lap. He needed to do something quick.  

An idea hit Crutchie, one he hoped would not get him beaten further. Turning toward his bunkmate, Crutchie cautiously shook him. The boy remained frozen. Crutchie was hesitant before doing it again. After another few shakes, the boy sat up, glaring at Crutchie, “What you want now?” he whispered angrily.

Slowly he held up the letter to the boy, and then pointed toward the window, “I can’t make it to the window, you mind bringing this letter to him?”

”No!” the boy hissed before plopping back down.

The guy at the window made a motion to hurry up, making Crutchie a little nervous.

“Please,” Crutchie whispered, gently shaking his bunkmate again, “I need to make su-“

“Let me sleep kid!” the boy said, pushing Crutchie’s arm away, “Bother someone else or do it yourself!”

“Just real quick,” Crutchie tried again, “I need to get this to my brother.”

At first the boy said nothing, Crutchie assumed the boy had just shut him out. But the boy then sat up, grabbed the letter from Crutchie, mumbling a ‘fine’ to him as he got up. Crutchie smiled, “Thanks,” he whispered but the guy just shook his head and sighed, “Yeah just let me sleep in peace for the rest of the night…”

Before making it to the window, the boy turned back to Crutchie, “Who’s the letter for kid?”

“Jack. Jack Kelly,” Crutchie answered with a yawn.

The boy looked a bit surprised, “Kelly’s your brother?” he asked and Crutchie nodded. The boy stared at Crutchie for a moment before heading toward the window. Crutchie watched as his bunkmate slipped the other boy the letter. The two boys whispered to each other before his bunkmate turned and pointed at Crutchie. The boy on the outside smiled and waved to him. He was a bit confused but Crutchie waved back. The boy then ducked out of sight and was off. His bunkmate quietly made his back toward their cot.

“Thanks again,” Crutchie said with a tired smile, lying down on the bed.

The boy shrugged, “No problem,” the boy laid down the opposite way, “Didn’t know you was Kelly’s brother. He, ugh, he really helped us out here. That Jack Kelly’s a good guy.”

Crutchie nodded, yawning and closing his eyes, “He’s the best- the best brother a fella could have.”

It didn’t take long for Crutchie to fall asleep, after not sleeping for two days he sure needed it. He felt a little better.

He would be home soon.