bed rail

BTS Reaction| Having Sex while Another Member Is Sleeping Right Beside The Both Of You

[Requested : having sex with a member while another member is sleeping in the other bed beside you two]


The room was dark and quiet as yoongi went to work on top of you with his hand over your mouth to keep you from waking namjoon who was sleeping in the other bed beside you two. As yoongi felt himself getting close , he tried to keep quiet, failing miserably as he gripped you tightly while letting out a few moans.

“Man what the hell is going on?” Namjoon said while flicking on the lights.

Originally posted by meanyoongis


Since jungkook was sleeping in the other bed bed beside the both of you, you and jimin decided to do nothing except sleep. But a couple of kisses turned into a heavy make out session which turned into tearing each others clothes off. No vocals were being made, just the sound of heavy breathing and the headboard lightly hitting the wall.

“Um…guys?” Jungkook whispered.

Originally posted by dominodomi


A nervous taehyung flipped you over so that you were laying on your stomach. He peeped over into yoongis direction for the 6th time to make sure he was still asleep because he was afraid of waking him. Taehyung layed onto your back, wrapping his arm around you so that his hand was tightly covering your mouth as he roughly begin to thrust in and out of you. His low but deep groans, and your hushed moans echoed through the room, but never woke yoongi up.

Originally posted by jimin-bts-trashs


Even though Jin was sleeping in the other bed beside you two, jungkook was still down to have sex because he had been wanting you all day. To avoid waking jin, he reminded you over and over to not make any noises yet he couldn’t even control his loud moans and screams as you relentlessly slammed you hips down onto his repeatedly.

Originally posted by jkookisdaddy


Namjoon bent you over on the bed, harshly sliding in and out of you, both of you completely forgetting​ that jimin was sleeping right across from the two of you. The sounds of skin slapping together and heavy moans and groans, ended up waking jimin, but neither of you noticed until the lights flicked on.

Originally posted by https-km


Jhope finally agreed on letting you ride on top of him, after say no countless times because of taehyung sleeping in the other bed. Once your hips were bouncing on top of his, he became more than happy that he allowed it to happen as he sat against the headboard, gripping you waist, and letting out multiple whiny moans. After one whole hour of going at it, you looked over at taehyung who was thankfully still sleeping.

Originally posted by jkookisdaddy


Jin didn’t seem to care about waking jhope, who was peacefully sleeping in the other bed across from you two, as he gripped your thighs open, burying himself inside of you continuously. His loud moans and the bed railing that sounded as if it would break any moment, woke not only jhope but everyone else in the house as well.

Originally posted by jxnhyungs

anonymous asked:

andreil in a hospital?

One of the things Andrew has recently grown more comfortable with is touch. He still doesn’t love it, won’t accept it from most people, but thanks to the cats he’s less likely to jump or default to his knives if something brushes against his legs.

Which is good, because even though the apartment is empty other than them and King definitely prefers Neil, she’s snaking between Andrew’s legs anyway. He stoops slightly to brush her back with one hand—he doesn’t indulge them the way Neil does, but Neil isn’t here to see it, and the cats can’t talk, so ultimately, no harm done.

He needs to stop thinking about Neil so much when Neil isn’t here. It’s a normal occurrence—they both live in Chicago, but they play for rival teams, so their schedules aren’t perfectly lined up. Neil is in Washington this weekend for a game, and Andrew has a home game against Kansas City.

Andrew’s phone vibrates—undoubtedly a text from Neil. He opens it immediately and thinks about how unlikely he is to ever admit to anyone how much he misses Neil. Except for maybe Neil himself, and only if he was on his deathbed or something.

Neil’s text reads, good luck tonight! and is accompanied by a selfie of him and Dan. Cute.


The game is a brutal one, even from between the goalposts. Andrew takes a nasty hit during a brawl early on but doesn’t get benched until the second half, when a fourth ball clatters hard enough against his helmet to leave his vision swimming.

He resolutely does not check the score for Neil’s game—he’ll find out via phone call as soon as it ends anyway, or else a reporter will ask him about it as they leave or someone will announce it to the entire court (crosstown rivals and all that)—and so it’s not until his phone suddenly explodes with messages and tweets that he knows something has happened.

A call breaks through it—from one Dan Wilds, who is currently with Neil, which must have something to do with his phone being swamped with notifications—and he manages to answer it before it, too, disappears into the mess.

“What is it?” he says.

“Andrew? You good?”

He hates niceties and small talk, especially when they get in the way of his finding out necessary information. “Where is Neil?”

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Pretty Moans

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

Genre: SMUT. FILTHY FILTHY SMUT. and fluffy aftercare

Word Count: 3744

Warnings: This is filth, a fuck ton of teasing, gags, handcuffs, jimin is flexible, vibrators and shit, a mountain of filth, i am ashamed of myself, disgustingly fluffy aftercare. You’ve been warned.

Jimin whimpered pathetically under Namjoon’s touch. Eyes screwed shut in concentration, he tried to be as quiet as possible.

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Favorite Whump Tropes

hello friends! to celebrate the 815 followers that this little blog now has (whaaaa?!! thank you all so much!), i’ve decided to put together a list of some of my favorite whump tropes and situations. you know. for reference. ;) what are some of your favorite whump-y moments? i’d definitely love to know! 

now… let the fun begin! 

  • hiding potentially fatal injuries (if untreated) to avoid distracting their friends from the task at hand
  • pale skin, dark shadows under their eyes, lines of pain around their mouth, shaking hands, hunched shoulders, raspy breathing, blood staining the fabric of their (dark) clothes, sweat beading on their forehead
  • stumbling and staggering along (especially when it’s the leader of the group, so the entire team of friends can see and exchange worried glances behind their back) 
  • hands on their elbows to steady them when they threaten to topple over
  • the almost asked “are you okay” or “do you need help” 
  • worried glances, obviously conflicted about whether to confront them about the obvious signs of injury or to hover nearby, awaiting the inevitable 
  • when they finally collapse – whether it’s planned, slumping casually to the ground to “rest”, legs uncoordinated and trembling, their back against a tree, eyes slipping shut in exhaustion and pain and finding themselves unable to get back up, collapsing with a cry of pain when it’s attempted – or if it’s sudden and unexpected, the staggering getting worse as they walk, hands reaching for the wall, an obliging tree, or a friendly shoulder, the murmur of a name on their lips right before their eyes roll back in their head, legs folding underneath them
  • worried friends desperately running instantly to their side, gripping their shoulders, smacking their (too pale) face or 
  • the "hovering friend” being just close enough to catch them as they crumple, hands on their arms, hands supporting their head as they’re lowered gently to the ground
  • “wake up! hey, don’t do this to me. stay with me, you hear me?” 
  • “stay with me!” and “don’t do this to me!” in general

    (i just realized i kind of wrote a story there… heh. give me a show (i’m familiar with) to write it for, and i’ll do it. ;))

  • “i’m okay, don’t worry about me. we need to focus on —-” (especially if it’s a person that needs rescued, helped, found, etc)
  • hands holding them down, hands smoothing back hair, whispered nothings
  • “hey, hey, it’s okay, stop trying to move, alright? we have to take care of this before you —”
  • dabbing sweat off a fevered brow, reassuring voices in the midst of delirium
  • trembling (bloodstained) hands scrabbling for the fingers of a friend, the grip turning their knuckles white when it’s finally in their grasp
  • only one person (the best friend, preferably, or the one they were injured protecting, or the one who was with them through the ordeal) being able to calm them in the throes of fever (or drug-induced nightmare) in the aftermath 
  • unexplained weakness and exhaustion, especially due to some supernatural force, side effects or sacrifice (Stiles, Teen Wolf 3b was my whump heaven) 
  • waking up in pain with no accessible medical help or morphine, their eyes fluttering open, gaze flickering weakly, barely able to turn their heads to the worried faces of their friends as they hover nearby
  • “can you hear me? hey, can you hear me?” as their eyes flutter closed
  • muffled screams, hands over mouths, whispered “i’m sorry”s as a friend tries to clean / bind / analyze a wound while preventing them from alerting the enemy / predator to their location 
  • shaking, sweating, in so much pain they can hardly speak
  • pain when they breathe, every breath like molten lava in their chest 
  • winces, shuddering, hitching breaths, gasping for air 
  • “i can’t… breat–i can’t breathe”
  • fast, panting gasps in the aftermath of a painful ordeal
  • fingers going limp, releasing the hand of a friend or slipping off an object they had seized in the midst of their agony 
  • when their focus blurs, breathing fast and shallow, head slumping to the side as they lose consciousness (from pain, blood loss, etc)
  • strangled cries from between gritted teeth, hitched breaths when the injury is inspected, blood soaked clothing pulled away from the crusted wound
  • seizures, bodies arching off hospital beds, frantic fingers trying to hold them down as the bed rails shake with the force of the fit 
  • an oxygen mask being pressed forcefully over their face, the command to “leave it be, you need all the help you can get”
  • the frantic search for a friend, the desperate, determined “they’re alive, i know it, they have to be” 
  • the moment when the lost is found, the choked whisper of their name as they rush to their side, hands lifting their head off the floor, the harried search for injuries
  • the “oh my god. oh my god. hey, we need a medic in here!” shout, desperate, tinged with fear, then the barely disguised tremor in their voice as they turn back to their friend, whispering, commanding, “you’re gonna be okay, you hear me? you’re gonna be fine.”
  • found unconscious (or barely conscious) on the floor and someone sits behind them, physically dragging their head and shoulders into their lap, gentle fingers smoothing the rumpled hair and pale face 
  • arms wrapped around their chest, slow, shuffling movements, the winces of pain as they climb into a vehicle, head pressed against the window, the worried glance of the driver at the hitching breaths as the car hits bumps in the road 

I’m positive that there are more, but this is all I can think of right now; more to come, I’m sure! ;) 


Family // FP & Jughead Jones

Request: Can you do a FP Jones x reader x Jughead Jones oneshot where the reader is FP’s gf for awhile & Jug has never liked the reader(you can make up why he don’t like her). When she gets prego w/ FP’s baby, Jug gets distant towards FP&everyone? When the reader is 9 mo, she goes into labor but FP isn’t there to be w/ her bc he’s in jail or something, so she begs for Jug to be there bc she doesn’t want to be alone. he gives in & he’s happy to meet his new baby sibling & calls reader mom? Fluff plz!

Pairing: FP Jones x girlfriend!reader, jughead jones x mom!reader

Words: 2053

Warnings: fluuuufffff, may kill u

A/n: y/b/n, is your baby’s name. Also, I hope y'all like this.

You pace the length of the trailer bathroom nervously, eyeing the piece of plastic on the counter every so often.

This is the most nervous you’ve felt in your whole life. While FP was asleep, you ran to the nearest drug store and picked up a pregnancy test. You had missed your period for two months now, and the first time you dismissed it as an irregularity because of your birth control. However, once the second month rolled around and there was still no blood, you knew something was up.

So here you are. You decided that you would wait until you knew for sure before scaring the shit out of FP. Come to think of it, you had no idea how he would react. The thought just made you more nervous.

Over a minute had passed, and you thought for sure that the pregnancy test must be done. You had placed it upside down on the toilet lid so you wouldn’t have to look at it. You picked it up, flipping it around …

All of the air was taken from you as you saw the two lines on the stick.

You were excited, but the uncertainty of FP’s reaction overshadowed it.

You take a deep breath, grabbing the stick and hiding it behind you. Walk out of the bathroom and toward the kitchen, and you smell freshly brewed coffee.

As you walk into the kitchen, you see FP’s back turned to you.

“Uh, FP,” your voice comes out weak.

He turns around,“Morning, baby. Coffee?” He notices your worried expression instantly,“Are you alright?”

You clear your throat, but then decide that you didn’t really need to talk. You brought the stick that was previously hidden behind your back into view, and FP’s eyes widen.

He doesn’t say anything, and you feel tears come to your eyes,“I’m pregnant, Forsythe.”

He still says nothing, and tears drop down your cheeks. He’s been staring at your stomach this whole time, but finally looks up at you,“Hey, why are you crying, doll? This is a good thing, right?”

“It is? I just didn’t know if you were ready or if you thought-”

His laughter cuts you off, and you send a confused expression. You were sitting here crying and he thinks this is funny?

“Baby, sweetheart. Of course we’re ready. I’ve got a job, you’ve got a job. We love each other. The next thing is, well, is this,” he says with a cheeky smile.

“Oh thank god,” you run up to him, encasing him in hug. You can’t hear the door open over your excitement.

“Hey, dad- whoa, sorry,” Jughead suddenly walks in, and looks away.

“Jug, its fine. We were just hugging,” you separate from FP, both of your mouths still smiling wide.

Jug turns back to you, him being the confused one now,“What’s with all the excitement?” But as soon as he finishes his sentence, he notices the stick you’re holding.

His face drops instantly,“Oh. You’re pregnant.”

“Wow, Jughead. Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” his dad retorts.

“So this is actually a thing. You’re not just replacing mom, but you’re trying to replace Jellybean too,” he says with a hard expression.

You open your mouth to say something, but decide it’s probably better if FP handled it.

“Jug, I’ve been with y/n for over a year. You have to accept this, and you have to accept your mom left me and doesn’t want to come back. I will love this child, but no more than I love you or Jellybean,” FP says with a hopeful look.

Jughead just shakes his head and exits the trailer.


After you had gotten pregnant, Jughead almost completely cut off ties with you and his father. He was even being distant toward his friends, but not on purpose.

You’re about seven months along, and you had just witnessed FP getting arrested for the murder of Jason Blossom. This murder case has put a damper on your mood throughout your pregnancy, with FP trying his hardest to keep your mind off of it. For you and the baby’s sake.

The news about FP being arrested hasn’t spread yet, so you decide it would be best for Jug to hear it from you. Even if he hates you.

After taking longer than what is normal to get your shoes on, you get in your car, making your way to Pop’s, the best place for you to search for Jughead.

When you arrive, you see through the glass hay Jughead is sitting with his three friends, like usual.

You walk into Pops, your eyes still red from crying when they took FP away.

Approaching the booth, Archie clears his throat and gets Jughead’s attention.

He looks up at you, previously smiling, but it drops when he realizes who it is.

“Can I talk to you Jug? It’s important, about your father,” you croak.

“You can tell me in front of them,” he says, sneering slightly.

“Uh, okay, if you insist,” he stays silent when you pause. “Okay, well. FP has just been arrested for the murder of Jason Blossom. I just thought you should be the first one to know.”

All four of the teens eye’s widen, and no one says anything until Betty speaks up,“Uh, thanks for telling us Y/n.”

You nod, exiting the diner. You almost wish you wouldn’t have told Jughead, and would’ve let him find it out for himself. But then he’d only hate you more.

*two months later*

“Well, looks like I’m having a baby,” you glance down at the floor in disgust at the pool of water between your legs.

You sigh, deciding that with contractions, it may not be the best to drive. So you decide the best way to go would be to call Fred Andrews, FP’s best friend.

You dial his number, waiting patiently for him to pick up the phone.

F: hello?

Y: hey, yeah, it’s y/n. My water just kind of broke, and I don’t think I’m in the best position to drive myself to the hospital.

F: oh. Oh! Oh shit! Yeah, I’ll be there in five. Just, uh, hang in there?

Y: yeah, sure. Just hurry, please.

You hang up your phone, grabbing a drawstring bag with some things you want to take to the hospital with you.

You walk out to the porch of the trailer barefoot (because honestly, you weren’t bending over at this point) and wait for Fred to pull up.

Once he does, he puts it in park and rushes up to you, helping you to the passenger side of his truck. There was no way in hell you were getting up there yourself.

Once you were both in the car and on the way to the hospital, a sudden wave of depression hit you. Hormones for one, and the fact that you knew FP wouldn’t be there for you.

You pull out your cellphone, scrolling to the only contact that would make sense to call. Jughead.

He doesn’t answer you, of course, but you leave a voicemail.

“Hey, Jug. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going into labor, and your dad can’t be with me so I was really, really hoping you would come and see your sibling be born. I know it may be a lot to ask. I’m begging you. I cannot do this alone. I know you hate me, but I’ve grown to love you. And I really hope I’ll see you in that hospital room.”

You hang up with a sigh, and you then realize that you’re at the hospital.

“He’s a good kid. I’m sure he’ll show up. You sure you’re alright on your own?” Feed questions.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I do need help getting out of this truck though,” you say with a laugh.

“OH LORD HAVE MERCY IS IT COMING YET?” It’s an hour later, and you’re squirming in your hospital room. Contractions are bad, and you just wish this sucker would pop out already.

You reach for your phone, about to leave Jughead the fourth voicemail.

To your surprise, he picks up this time.

“Y/n, you’ve left me three voicemails. What could you possibly want from me that bad?” He questions, slightly agitated.

“Well, I’m currently contracting a lot, my water broke earlier. Soon I’ll be popping this child out of me, and I was really hoping you would be here with me because your father can’t.”

Before he can reply, you drop your phone as you grip the bed rails, another painful contraction coming on.

A nurse comes in,“Alright, Miss L/n, it’s time to go. Is anyone coming?”

“I think my step son might be coming, the baby’s brother, but I don’t know,” you squirm again.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye out for him,” she replies and begins to push your bed to another room as a contraction comes on.



“Alright, get ready to push!” You look around nervously, not seeing Jughead.

He didn’t come. He hates you that much, that he’d skip out on seeing his little brother or sister born?

“Y/n, push!” You let out a deranged scream as you push again, feeling like you’re getting nowhere.

As the doctor tells you to push again, you feel a hand on yours.

You open your eyes, half expecting to see FP, but instead see Jughead.

You mouth a thank you to him as you’re commanded once again to push, and you scream in pain. You tighten your grip on Jughead’s hand as a reaction, and he grabs back. Maybe he doesn’t hate you so much after all.

You pushed and pushed with all your might, thinking that you were going to break Jughead’s hand.

“Young man, would you like to cut the umbilical cord?” Jughead looks back to you for approval and you nod your head with a smile. You see his eyes crinkle and know that he’s smiling too.

After the cord is cut, a nurse takes the baby momentarily to clean them off.

After a moment, the nurse walks over to you,“Here’s your beautiful baby girl.”

You hold her in your arms, tears rolling down your face from the extreme joy swelling in your chest.

“Hello, little y/b/n,” you say with a smile.

“Y/b/n? Let me guess, dad’s idea?” Jughead asks with a smile.

“Of course.”


After the baby (finally) was delivered, you and Jughead were sent back to your original hospital room.

The nurses said after they cleaned the baby and wrapped her up, they would bring her to you.

“Alright, Miss L/n. Here’s your baby girl. When you want to rest just let one of us or this young man here know, and then we can lay her down,” the nurse says with a smile as she hands you your daughter.

You stroke her little nose, it was definitely FP’s. You couldn’t wait to see her little eyes open. Her hair was dark, like FP’s also. That definitely had given you heart burn.

You look over at Jughead, who decided to stay and take a seat in the corner.

“Jug, you want to hold her?” You look at him with a lazy smile.

He gets up from his chair, swallowing nervously. He walks to you, and you hand him y/b/n,“Make sure her head is resting on your arm.”

“Okay, okay,” Jughead mumbles nervously. “She’s so tiny.” He mutters as he gazes down at her.

“Yeah, most babies are,” you respond.

He rolls his eyes,“Still a smart ass on pain meds, I see.” He looks at the baby, and to your surprise, starts talking to her. “Hi, y/b/n. I’m sorry your dad can’t be here right now, but your big brother is. And I love you very much. So is mom. She loves you the most, probably. And even though I don’t act like it, I’m very grateful for her, and even more for you.”

Your mouth drops open a little bit when the word ‘mom’ comes out of his mouth, but you smile immediately afterwards.

“Jughead Jones, a softie. Who would have thought,” you smile.

He rolls his eyes again, smiling still.

“Babies do that to ya.”

With All My Heart - Part 11

Word Count: 2691

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Medical situations

A/N: Thanks to @percywinchester27 for the help 

Feedback and Constructive Criticism Always Appreciated

With All My Heart Masterlist

“Can I have access to my girlfriend sometime this week?” Jensen glared at Emma who hadn’t stopped cuddling you since you let her in the room. You were going home today and she still refused to leave your side, taking up half your bed and clinging to you like glue.

“No.” She answered, burying her face in your neck. “She’s mine now. You had your turn.” You held your hand up to your face and laughed, cringing a little at the pain it caused. You didn’t see him snap the photo of you in that moment, but he couldn’t help himself. Seeing you laughing again made him happy.

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anonymous asked:

Could we please get junkrat getting jealous of Mercy because reader keeps going to see her. Turns out reader is going for check ups as they are now pregnant by junkrat. Reader revels to him at the end its twins.

Thanks for the request!  I love writing for Junkrat, my trash son.

Word count: 2080

Twice now you had done it.  Two times in which you told your boyfriend that you couldn’t be with him because you had to go see Dr. Zeigler.  And those were just the times you had a planned appointment, and not including the five times you were sick and gone to see her.  At first he was worried something was gravely wrong with you–because why else would you be throwing up throughout the day without giving him a reason?  No, he knew you must have just wanted to spend time with the kind doctor.

“What’cha think she’s doin’ Roadie?” he asked.  He sat hunched over a table, chin resting on the metal as he poked at a bomb with one finger.  

“Her business,” came the rumbled reply.  He was reading a book beside the smaller Junker, mask on and turning pages quickly despite his narrow field of vision.

A whine escaped between Jamison’s teeth that turned into a loud groan.  In a quick motion he flicked a match up and lit the end of the bomb’s fuse.  He laughed as he watched it burn down until Roadhog reached over, never looking away from his book, and put the fuse out with his thumb and index finger.  Another whine came from Jamison.  

“What’s going on in here?” came your voice as you walked into the room.  You were a little paler than normal, but you smiled.  Jamison eyed you, knowing you had just been to see the doctor and questioning why you were smiling.  Normally you only smiled for him like that, but lately it had been after your visits.  He let his tongue slid over his teeth, arms crossed.  

Your eyes fell from his pouting lips to the small round bomb on the table.  “Jami, you know you can’t set things off in here.  Just go to the blasting range if you want; that’s what it’s there for.”  You came around the table and gave him a kiss on the cheek, thinking his pout was because of the bomb and nothing more.  “We can go now if you want?”

He jumped at the idea, grinning wide.  Grabbing your hand he practically dragged you to the blasting range outside, scarred with black marks and holes in every corner of the concrete.  The wide area had been added in especially for Jami, after he set a few too many fires inside and even Roadhog had trouble keeping him under control during the long periods without a mission.  You noticed someone had set up a few targets, most likely Roadhog, with omnic faces painted on them.

A box of frag grenades sat on a plastic table, along with a few other various explosives.    You each fell into your usual rhythm, where you would light the match and fuse, and then he would throw the bomb out–sometimes it hit the target, sometimes it would “accidentally” go closer to the buildings.  But with you there he normally behaved, and would watch you as much as he would watch the explosions.  Today though, he didn’t feel like doing either.  Today, he wanted to do something very different.

As you flicked the match and watched the yellow flame ignite, you held it out to Jami with a smile.  As much as he loved to see your smile he gave you a pout and held up the bomb from earlier, watching it light the fuse.  You waited for him to throw it at the first target, a large omnic head painted on, but he didn’t.

“Jami?” you asked, suddenly worried.  There wasn’t much time before the fuse ran out.

“I’m not sure I feel like usin’ the targets, darl,” he said.  “Why not blow something real up for once?”

“Jami you know–”

Before you could finish your thought, let alone your sentence, Jami tossed the bomb over his shoulder.  It bounced twice before landing in a potted plant nearby, too close for your comfort.  Your hand went to your stomach instinctively as the pot exploded, showering you both with dirt and the burning leaves of whatever was in there.

When Jami heard you shout though, he realized what he was doing.  He didn’t think much about others getting hurt, not until he met you.  And while there had been some mishaps, some minor scratches and bruises from you diving for cover, nothing he’d done had ever required you to scream or worse, require a doctor.  But when he heard you cry out, and saw you duck, and pieces of the pot flew in your direction he felt as if his heart had stopped.

Jami quickly pulled you to the ground and covered your body with his, wrapping all around you.  Sharp edges of the pot sunk into his skin, some small and some not so much.  They tore into muscle, drawing blood quickly.  He barely felt it at all, his body pumped full of adrenaline as he tried his best to protect you.  When he knew the shrapnel was finished, and the world was quiet with settled dirt, he lifted back slightly to look at you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry babe,” he stated, tears springing to his eyes, “I didn’t mean that.  I’m sorry, I just don’t think.  You know me, I just can’t think sometimes.”  He swatted his head with his metal hand twice before you grabbed it.

“Jami,” you breathed, “it’s fine.  I’m fine, are you?”

“No, no, no,” he mumbled, “not fine.  Ya keep leavin’ me, I don’t like it.  Can’t think straight without you.”

Jami stood, holding his hands out for you to help you up.  Your eyes fell on the blood on his shoulder, a thick piece of clay pot sticking out of it.  You said, “We can talk about that after you go see Angela.”

Jami couldn’t stop the groan crawl out of the back of his throat.  When his nose crinkled you didn’t give him time to try and stop.  So you kept hold of him and walked him to see Angela, your legs still shaky after the explosion.  When you arrived she didn’t seem shocked to see you again.  

“Was the medicine not enough, Y/N?  Still nauseous?” she asked.

All you had to do was turn Jami around for her to understand.  He’d gone to see her plenty of times for stitches and various remedies, but he never had such a scowl on his face.  When you mentioned that you were there when it happened she immediately handed Jami off to a nurse to be patched up and attended to you.  The perks of being friends with the doctor.

Jami wanted you to stay with him, if only to keep you away from Angela.  You almost went with him until Angela insisted on a quick checkup after the scare.  

Only when the debris was taken out of his back and shoulders did he get to see you again.  But when the nurse pulled the curtain around your bed back, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

You lay on the bed, shirt up and tapping your fingers along the bed rail, staring at a photo in your other hand.  You appeared nervous, he thought, and your stomach shone with some kind of gel on it.

“What’s this?” he asked.  Had he really hurt you?  He felt his eyes water at the very idea of it.  Before he could start to pull at his hair and whine Angela turned to him and said, “She is fine.  Just wanted to be safe since…”  Her eyes fell on you.

“Since?” Jami prodded.  His heart nearly stopped again with those words.

“Jami,” you said slowly, “I wanted to wait a bit to tell you this…just to…make sure everything was okay.”

He moved closer to you, quickly grabbing onto your hand with his human one, and holding your arm with his other.  “You’re killin’ me here, darl.  What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to do something with you.”  You nodded at Angela, who then placed the ultrasound probe on your belly.  Jami watched, eyes wide and eager as he tried to understand what was happening.

Soon an image flicked onto the nearby screen that Dr. Zeigler was staring at with a smile, recognizing something there.  You smiled too, but you kept your eyes on Jami.  Eventually you could both hear tiny beats, the steady pumping of a little heart.

“Ya…” he said.  His eyes focused on the black and white shape on the screen, the blurry image hard to make out.  But Jami was a smart man, and while you hadn’t thought he’d ever seen an ultrasound before you knew he would find this out on his own.  “Ya pregnant?”  He looked at you, mouth agape.  “With mine?”

You laughed and pushed the photo at him.  “Yes, with yours!”  Releasing you from his grip he stared down at the photo Angela had given you earlier that day, and then back at the screen.  The heartbeats could still be heard, and Jami seemed to stall.

“Sounds like he’s got a fast heart,” he finally said.  He kept looking between the screen and the photo.

“They’re perfectly healthy,” you replied, “both of them.”

Jami blinked at you.  “Both?”

You smiled, tears coming to your eyes partly because you weren’t sure if Jami’s reaction was a happy one, and partly because you were hearing your baby’s heartbeats for the first time.  “Yeah, twins.  I wanted to wait until you knew to hear them for the first time.”

Expression still shocked, you couldn’t read him.  Angela remained quiet.  A tear began to slide down your cheek, thinking he wasn’t happy.

“Imma be a father,” he whispered.  “Imma be someone’s daddy?”  Neither you nor Angela had anytime to say a word as he shouted, “Imma be someone’s daddy!”  He laughed loudly, nearly crushing the photo in his hands.

You let out a breath, seeing the huge smile on his face.  You added, “Two someone’s.”

“Two,” he breathed.  When he noticed the tears falling down your cheeks he leaned over and kissed you, wiping at your cheeks with his thumbs.  The kiss was long, somewhat breathtaking as you tried not to cry any more.  It must have lasted longer than you thought because you two only stopped when Angela cleared her throat.  Jami was slower to pull away.

“How far along are ya?”

“About three months,” you answered.

He looked to your stomach.  “Can’t tell at all, love.”

Dr. Zeigler handed you a cloth to wipe away the gel on your belly, and once it was gone you were about to pull your shirt down when Jami’s hand touched you gently.  His hand was hot, and a little sweaty, but he touched you as if you were glass.  You weren’t sure he had ever been so gentle with you.  His thumb stroked over your skin as he lowered himself down to eye level with your stomach.

“Two,” he whispered, “two little babies in there.”

“No more blasting range for you,” Angela said, giving you a frown.  “You will need as much rest and calm as you can get.  Twins can be complicated, you know.”  She turned her attention to Jami when you nodded.  “You need to take care of her, Jamison.”

“Absolutely, doc,” Jami replied, his hand still on your stomach.  He looked up at you.  “Whatever ya need, I got it.”  He let out a fit of giggles.  “Roadie’s gonna be so excited!”

You and Angela exchange a glance.  You said, “I’m sure he’ll be…something.”

You weren’t sure how Roadhog would feel having two little Jami’s running around, but you didn’t care; all that mattered was Jami’s own excitement.

BONUS (because it popped into my head)

“Roadie, buddy!” Jami said as you and he walked hand in hand into their workspace.  “We got news.  We’re having kids!  Two!  There are two little babies growing in Y/N!”

Roadhog looked up from his book, his expression nearly blank with the mask on but you could see his eyes widen.

“You’re having two kids?” he questioned.  The longest sentence you’d ever heard him say.  

“Yeah, twins!  Inn’it great?”

Slowly, Roadhog shut his book and set it on the table.  He stood and walked towards you both before saying, “I quit.”

“On the Night You Were Born”-an Everlark one-shot

It’s definitely been awhile, but it’s @keelaree‘s birthday and I’m coming out for my girl!

Have mercy…I’m still a little out of my writing element…

Summary: A fateful, rainy night brings an interesting patient into Dr. Peeta Mellark’s ER…

Title—but not plot—taken from the famous children’s book.

 On the Night You Were Born

She walked into the emergency room of Panem Hospital, quiet and unassuming. Her thick, ebony locks pulled into a ropy braid that rested against hunched, exhausted shoulders.

In the hubbub of the lobby, packed with late-night drunken injuries and feverish children with their parents, Dr. Peeta Mellark noticed her right away.

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Be with Me

by Inspector Boxer

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Supercat

Rating: T

Author’s Note: This is a prompt fill for @onegoodframe who asked for prompt #20, “Do you ever think about it? Us? Married?” Thanks to @zennie-fic for looking it over. Hope you like it!


“Do you ever think about it? Us? Married?”

Alex took a deep breath and glanced up from the chart she was reviewing, shooting a worried look at Cat Grant. Much to her surprise, the Queen of All Media didn’t look ruffled by Kara’s question in the least, but she did smirk slightly.

“Do you?” Cat asked nonchalantly, leaning forward in her chair as Kara stared at her from her bed in the medical bay of the DEO.

Biting her lip, Alex barely refrained from interjecting. Her sister had always had some weird… thing… for this woman, and, for the first time, Alex was witnessing it firsthand. She had to admit, the two women had chemistry, but with Kara powerless and drugged to the hilt on pain medication, now might not be the best time to let a former reporter interrogate her sister.

“Do I what?” Kara asked, sounding so light and airy Alex wondered if she’d float out of the bed if she’d been able to.

“Think about us being married?” Cat’s smirk became more pronounced.

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Can’t Be Tamed: Part ONE

Katsuki Bakugou X Reader
AU: Omega verse
Theme: Combining Medieval AU and Royal AU

Trigger Warning (Just in case, if anyone gets trigger)

!Read With Caution!

The birds chirping happily in the high trees. The high trees shadowing over a small cottage which they purchased together when their relationship got deeper and serious.

Both of them wanted to be isolated from everyone else, where no one would bother them, nor journalists finding out about their relationship.

Despite they are supposed to enemies since their families strongly dislike each other for years.

However, they didn’t let that stop them from becoming friends to lovers over the years.

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Alone, Until I Get Home (1/?)

Summary: In Boston, Henry Swan’s six-year-old brother Ian finds a book titled “Once Upon a Time” hidden beneath the seat in their mom’s old yellow bug. As soon as Henry touches it, he remembers.

Season 3 Canon Divergence-Emma finds out she’s pregnant a few weeks after she and Henry leave Storybrooke with new memories and new lives. Nearly seven years later, another Dark Curse puts her family in danger, and Emma must return to Storybrooke to help them.

Who’s powerful enough to cast the Dark Curse? And how the hell is she going to tell Hook they have a son together?

A/N: You don’t have to have read “I belong to you, you belong to me” to understand and/or enjoy this one, but this is basically a “what if Emma had gotten pregnant with Ian right after Neverland instead of in Camelot” sort of scenario, with a shit ton of other stuff (angst! adventure! fluff! confused pirate dad Killian!) thrown in.

I hope you’re ready for this new adventure because I AM REALLY FUCKING EXCITED!!!!!!!

Thank you to @losttalongthewayy for all your help editing and for listening to all my worries concerning this fic; you’re incredible!!!

Also posted on: AO3

Keep reading

Safe and Sound

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1,866

Request:  By anon! “Heya 💝 I wanted to ask for an imagine with bucky where he frees you from being kidnapped by hydra just before your anniversary with buck. When he finds you he carries you outside cause you’re too weak from all the wounds and he brings you home caring for you. Then you feel sad cause you have to stay in bed on your special day but he reassures you that it’s all fine as long as you’re safe, so you spend the day cuddling? :)”

Warning: a lil’ bit of an ouch, with fluff. 

A/N: Thank you all for all the love on yesterday’s fic! I hope you enjoy this one as well! I wanted to add, that for, now requests are closed! I hope to open them again, but my priority is to write the ones I already have first! Lots of big smooches to you all, <3 As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! 



“Have you by any chance heard from Y/N?” Bucky asked the concern was so visible when he spoke that the redhead looked up from her food in an instant.

“Last I spoke to her was yesterday, why?” she cocked a brow, looking at the man in front of her, but all he did was look at his phone, busy typing away.

“What’s wrong? Trouble in paradise?” she asked.

“No! God no. Everything is perfect, but she isn’t answering my calls or texts. It’s unlike her. I can’t help but worry,”

Natasha frowned in concern and picked up her phone. She sent you a text and waited a few minutes: no answer. Bucky urged her to give you a call, after letting it ring for ages, there was still no answer.

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Imagine Bucky racing to get to you

Bucky had gotten the call he had anticipated for weeks now. He was across the city far from where he was suppose to be. He quickly purchased the few items he had in his basket and threw them in his backpack, raced outside to his motorcycle and jumped started it. The bike took off in no time, speeding through traffic. He prayed that he wouldn’t get stopped by any cops as he made his way to the Avenger’s Tower. A car honked at him, but he paid no attention. His mind was running a marathon of different scenarios. Were you okay? Were you in pain? Would he make it in time?

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Giving Me A Chance (Michael Mell/Reader/Jeremy Heere)


 someday i’ll stop naming fics after a fucking Gotye album from 2011 but today is not that day

(also tell me if there’s any weird spelling errors tumblr was being weird when I formatted this)

Ship: Michael Mell x Reader x Jeremy Heere

Word Count:  1560

Warnings: Swearing

You’re lying on your couch, scrolling through your phone when a set of frenzied knocks against your front door startles you. You rush to open it, thinking it was maybe your parents, but there stand Michael, bouncing nervously on his heels.

“Come on! The play starts in like 10 minutes we gotta go now!” He grabs your arm, tugging you out the door.

“Wait-What?” You ask, planting your feet firmly on the welcome mat. 

“Jeremy needs us tonight, I know it. I’ve got a bad feeling about the play.”

“Oh now he needs us? Michael, it’s done. He doesn’t need us. He’s done with us.” You hiss, yanking your arm out of his grip.

“You know, you keep saying that and I’m not so sure you believe it.” You freeze.  “You just keep pretending Jeremy’s just so you don’t have to deal with how you feel.” He retorts, gesturing angrily with his hands.

Keep reading

Extra Time- Daryl Dixon

Plot/Request: Anon requested- “Can you do a Daryl x reader where the reader is bit and Daryl just wants to spend time with them before they’re gone so he doesn’t kill them yet. As they wait, the reader realizes nothing’s happening and they discover they’re immune”

Word count: 1680

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death/blood.

Note: honest to god, I fucking love getting messages and questions from you guys.. even if they’re not related to anything in particular. I just love knowing people actually care, uk? 


You walked along the empty street, nothing but a backpack accompanying you.  Even the backpack itself was almost empty, matching your eyes.

A run gone wrong, they would call it. But it was so much more than that. It hadn’t just gone wrong, it had been bitten, beaten and tired down. 

Just like you.

Keep reading

The Words We Say

Greg and Sherlock were arguing, the rain drizzling around them as they shouted, the tension of the case making them both tired and irritable. The blasted word spilled from Greg’s lips before he could think of the effect it could have on Sherlock. Sherlock, who immediately stiffened up, not moving, not blinking, not breathing for a prolonged second as the word hung heavily in the air between them.


The first time that Sherlock was called that loathsome word, he was just in second grade. He was in the playground, but he never did actually play with the other children. Instead he’d sit in the corner of the playground, underneath the trees that covered him in its shadows like a blanket of protection. He would read books that were meant for the older children that his teacher, a kind woman named Mrs Petelli, gave to him. He would solve puzzles, or he’d sort the wood chips by size and height if he was truly bored.

He existed peacefully alone, a shadow scarcely noticed and heard, until another kid named Sebastian decided that the scrawny loner was an easy victim. “Hey, freak!” he’d shouted, and Sherlock’s entire grade listened and for some godforsaken reason the name stuck. The first time Sherlock had been called the name, it stung. The question of what he’d done to deserve the name brought tears to his 7 year old eyes, before he turned on his heel and ran as fast as his legs would take him.

He did the same thing now at 24 years of age, his coat billowing out behind him as he ran, unable to stay at the crime scene any longer. The pounding in his ears sounded like the crashing of waves against an empty beach. Ice crept up and down his spine, freezing his fingertips over. It wasn’t the weather though, he was certain that today was a mild day in spite of the rain.

Sociopath was a word that Sherlock overheard from a conversation between his mum and dad when he was 13. Loud voices as sharp as shattered glass that filtered through Sherlock’s door and assaulted his ears as he tried to finish his writing assignment. Mummy and dad were arguing about something, and it took Sherlock a few beats before he realized it was about him and Mycroft. “They’re sociopaths!” Father had shouted, “I cannot have this go on any longer! William’s an outcast, he hardly socializes, and our neighbors think were some type of oddball family now because of those two!”

Mummy yelled back of course, voice tight with tears that Sherlock knew were falling even if she was hidden behind a closed door. The argument continued on, until it ended in whispers that were no longer coherent to Sherlock’s racing mind. Mycroft found his way into Sherlock’s room, silent as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes, and no words needed to be said. There was a silent understanding as he simply placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and handed his younger brother his mask of aloofness.

“It’s easier not to care, Sherlock,” he said suddenly a few nights after that, and Sherlock looked up already knowing what this was about. “Caring isn’t an advantage, I’ve learned. Ordinary minds often try to suppress the extraordinary, so they call us names to bring us down.”

“What do we do then? They think we’re…” he trailed off then, unable to say the word out loud, afraid that saying it would make this entire nightmare more real. 

“What have people done throughout the ages when they’re called unsavory names?” Mycroft asked, a small smile pulling on his lips in spite of the look in his eyes that reflected the sharp edge of an icicle. “We take it and we own it.” And they did. They began acting distant and colder, because it becomes harder to target a heart once you’re no longer sure it exists. Sherlock forced himself to stop caring, shoving all emotions into a closed off wing of his mind and refusing to show any vulnerability.

Silk turned into leather.

 The car came out of nowhere, it seemed. It wasn’t going very fast, Sherlock decided as he fell against the concrete, otherwise he’d be dead. Between 20-30 mph then, because at 40 mph there was a 90% chance of death, whereas for 20-30 there was only a 10-50% chance of death. He was fairly certain he was neither dead nor bleeding internally, although the fact that he hit his head on his way down may have been a mercy handed out by the powers that be to stupidify him into believing he was safe. His body felt… distant, as if he was a disembodied consciousness floating in the midst of a world that was spinning rapidly, colors and muffled sounds swimming past his mind as he fought to grab onto something that could steady him, anchor him to reality.

He could feel the pain burning beneath the surface of his skin, bubbling like a pot of water left on the stove. Someone was touching him, he belatedly realized, a wet hand pressing against his face. Maybe his face was what was wet and not the hand. Maybe it was raining. Or maybe nothing was wet and it was all in his messed up mind.

He couldn’t be sure anymore, and he fought to focus, trying hard but he was just so tired and his eyes were slipping shut, too heavy for him to keep open. Sherlock was vaguely aware of a pressure building in his head, and it felt like someone was wrapping a rubber band around his brain, tighter and tighter.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t think.

 “Focus on me,” Mycroft had whispered, voice soft as Sherlock- 16 years old- shuddered, too cold and covered in sweat as he lay on the mattress that did nothing for his bones. “Don’t go to sleep.” The light off of the candle lent a soft glow to Mycroft’s eyes as he stared down at Sherlock worriedly, wiping the sweat off of Sherlock’s face with a flannel with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The silence stretched on forever as Sherlock fought to stay awake in spite of the exhaustion the fever was causing him.

 “You worry so much it makes me worry. Am I dying, Mycroft?” he asked with a teasing smile that Mycroft didn’t return which slowly fell from his face. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pain in his back. “Am I dying?”

The look he received was filled with what could only be labeled as a mix of frustrated helplessness, panic and shame. “I don’t know, brother mine. You better not.” Mycroft moved slightly, face turning away and Sherlock watched as the shadows danced on his face. It did nothing to hide the tears which shined clear as day in his periwinkle eyes. “Not yet. Not before me, at least.”

Someone cried, “shit, are you okay? Don’t you die on me, you bastard…” and Sherlock wanted to reply, perhaps snap at the person to shut up, yet his entire mouth tingled and he wasn’t sure if anything even tumbled out his traitorous lips. All he knew was that everything was too cold and too hot all at once, his vision turning gray at the edges. 

“Come on, Sherlock, wake up!” A hand slapped against his face, panicked and desperate. “He’s not waking up!”

Death was not a concept that Sherlock was knowledgeable about, he’d known about death and its permanence since he was 5 years old. He learned it through Mycroft, of course, since he learned most things through Mycroft. Redbeard had died, and he stared up at Mycroft with wide eyes. “He’s not waking up,” he had said in confusion, speaking slowly as he tried to piece together the events to form an explanation. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

“Call 999! We need an ambulance, he’s fucking dying!” a man’s voice shouted, distraught. Sherlock heard the marching of feet, and then succumbed to the darkness which swallowed him whole.

“Everything dies, Sherlock. All lives end.”

 Sherlock became lucid in fragments, becoming aware slowly as his mind tried to stitch together the little slivers of data he received from each individual sense into a whole picture. The heart monitor beating to his right, noise loud and sharp in the otherwise silent room. The smell of cleaners so strong that it felt as though the inside of his nose was being burned, a lemon-like aroma that filled Sherlock’s lungs with every inhale. The scratchy blanket that bundled around his legs, coupled with the feeling of a cool metal bed rail against his left arm, helped him come to the conclusion that he was in a hospital without him needing to open his eyes.

He opened his eyes slowly, the lights thankfully having been dimmed to be more agreeable with his headache. “You’re awake,” a rumbling voice like rain against a window said from the corner, and after a moment more of staring up at the ceiling, Sherlock turned to look at Greg. “I thought you were going to die…”

Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds, eyes dull as he took in the sight of the disheveled man with wrinkled clothes, before looking at the wall instead. “I didn’t want to die yet,” he replied simply, unsure about how to speak to the man he’d considered a friend and father figure for a long time, his chest aching as he remembered the words they’d exchanged. The vitriol that Greg had yelled, the anger in his eyes- or was it disgust?- that had suddenly made Sherlock feel as if he needed to be anywhere- anywhere- but there.

Greg shifted in the plastic chair, nodding as he offered a tight smile. “I’m glad.” The smile was so bitter and brittle it seemed as though the slightest breeze could blow on it and leave it a pile of dust and regret.

“I’m sorry,” Greg finally said, breaking the silence awkwardly, like a child clumsily shoving a block between two others and bringing the entire tower down. “I didn’t mean to… call you any of those things. I didn’t mean it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and the dim lighting of the room did nothing to hide his glistening eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock.” His voice wavered, on the edge of cracking, and Sherlock couldn’t help the tears that rushed to his own eyes.

Mirroring, he told himself. It was just a human instinct deeply wired into the subconscious to react to someone’s tears and pain with empathy. It meant nothing. Fighting to regulate his breathing, he nodded slowly, afraid that the wrong action would break open the dam and leave him to drown in an ocean of unshed tears that had collected through the years.

“When I saw you get hit by that car… I thought you were dead. Blood was all over your face, you weren’t responding to anything, and I just- I thought I lost you. I don’t want to lose you, Sherlock, and I hope you can forgive me for what happened.”

There’s a bridge being stretched out between them, and Sherlock knows that he could either ask the question that weighed heavily on his mind or he would miss the moment and wonder forever.“Do you really believe that?” he asked, voice hoarse. “That I’m a… freak?” He faltered at the word freak, feeling like he needed to drink an entire bottle of the horrible lemon-scented cleaner the hospital used to get rid of the dirty feeling that overwhelmed him at the use of the word.

Greg’s eyes bore into his, dark pools of sadness swirling behind them as he shook his head. “I don’t. I never did, I never would believe that you’re anything less than… extraordinary.” He moves closer in his chair, hand on reaching out and tentatively placing it on top of Sherlock’s which were idly tracing patterns against the blanket. “I don’t know why that I used that word, or why I snapped at you but I wasn’t angry with you, I was just- angry and I snapped. I’m sorry, I don’t have any excuses for my behavior but-”

“You apologize too much,” Sherlock cut in with a small smile playing on his lips, but the tears shining in his eyes contradicted them. “Apologies are tedious. A simple sorry would have sufficed”

Greg laughed in surprise at the statement, then his eyes flickered to Sherlock’s left leg that was in a cast, and his eyes softened, no it wouldn’t have.

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring at the tan and calloused hand on top of his for a few long seconds. “My father never apologized.” He shook his head quickly after speaking as if he was shaking an idea out, something akin to flustered panic written in his eyes. “Not that- not that he had any reason to! He never hit me, or anything. He was a good man, he just said some things sometimes.”

 “He’s a good man,” Mum had said to Sherlock, who laid with his face buried into a pillow, his back against the headboard and his knees pressed tight against his chest. “He just has a bit of a temper these days, and he says the wrong things with good intentions at heart. You have to learn to ignore the things he says, love. In one ear and out the other.” She pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s mop of curls before she left Sherlock alone in the room that was far too big and far too cold for Sherlock. This isn’t home anymore, Mum, he had thought as the tears fell quickly, creating a pattern fit for a Rorscach test. “What do you see here?” a man in a white coat could ask, and Sherlock knew what his answer would be.

“I see a fallen angel without a home.”

“Sometimes good people do bad things,” Greg murmured, eyes scanning over Sherlock. “Sometimes the words we say carry more weight than we could believe. They get embedded into a person’s mind and after that, it can be a pain to get out. Even after years and years, the words we say could still be echoing in a person’s mind.” 

Sherlock nodded, a tear falling from his eye as he bit down on his lip. “I’m not a sociopath,” he said, wondering if it was Greg he was saying it to, or the memory of his father that he could still hear yelling the word. “I’m- I’m not as strong as everyone thinks I am, Greg.”

He used the name deliberately, and he knew the older man knew that as well. The hand on top of his tightened for a second, before leaving it completely. “That’s alright,” Greg responded, standing and pulling Sherlock against his chest, mindful of the wires. “You’re plenty strong enough for me. And if you need me, I’ll help you carry all that weight you lug around inside you.” Sherlock buried his face into Greg’s soft cotton Henley, the dam broken as his skinny shoulders quaked.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Sherlock whispered between his tears as if  it was a truth he was too afraid to say out loud, a thought which haunted him during long sleepless nights.

“You’re not alone anymore. I’m here.”

So! That took forever to write and the timing of it was pretty much all over the place. I hope it made sense. @princesspeach212 suggested it again, so she’s to thank for this little fic. if you’d like to comment/ leave a kudos. @love-in-mind-palace @savedbyholmes @kateis-cakeis @shag-me-senseless-watson @inevitably-johnlocked

We don’t believe what’s on TV -Chapter 3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10…>>

Resume: I had an ordinary life, or that’s what I wanted to believe. I lost myself in the TV series that I listened to forget the normal boring life. What I didn’t know, however, was that my life would change completely overnight.

Finding myself in 2013 at Beacon Hills County.

This will be a Stiles x Reader but only further in the story

Tags: @kwien-cee @saoirsewhittle @standalls @anonimereader06@shantayok@thiscuriouslymiss @dashofsunshineblog

In this chapter: Finding an explanation. Help. A solution. Understanding.

I had regained consciousness for several minutes already, but I didn’t dare to move or open my eyes. I was afraid of what I was going to see when I woke up, afraid of still being in this other unreal reality. What a lapse, an unrealistic reality. I could hear the beep of the heart monitor, the people moving around, and I felt the same antiseptic smell that poked my nose. I was back in that damn hospital bed, with slight chances of being back in my world. I felt the previous panic coming down. I had gone mad, okay, but panicking like that wouldn’t bring me anything good or going to help me understand.

Taking advantage of the tranquility I had, pretending to be still asleep, I began to think. I passed all the seasons of the show in my head, one at a time, trying to find an excuse, a possibility. The nemeton? It had the power to attract supernatural beings … but I wasn’t one, so I ripped off that possibility. The ghostriders? They roamed the worlds by riding horses and lightning … but I was sure no lightning or smoke had struck me before I found myself in this forest. There were several elements that didn’t work and I couldn’t figure out how I could have found myself in this world. And a major element that didn’t work was the presence of Allison Argent, who was supposed to be dead since season 3B.

Then I remembered the pain that I felt in my heart when I saw her. It was probably due to the shock to see her alive.

Seriously … why me, why now, why here? How do I wake up from this dream? How do I find my reality? As I couldn’t wake up from this dream, there were two possibilities left, madness and … I didn’t even wanted to think about the last possibility. The one that I was in the world of my favorite series, with my favorite characters.

Including some hyperactive teen with pale skin and moles that took 80% of my cell phone picture space. That same boy that often populated the world of my dreams.

My phone! There had to be proofs of my life, pictures of me and my friends, my family!

And especially pictures of the show, which I would have to explain… I absolutely had to get back my phone.

I had to wake up one day. So slowly opened my eyes and immediately felt my heart beat in my throat. I had to calm down, to be strong, to understand.

However, what I saw didn’t help me calm down.

My wrist that wasn’t wounded was tied with thick, solid straps to the bed-rails. They really didn’t want me to leave.

“I’m sorry; we didn’t have a choice …”

I recognized the voice without raising my head. It was Sheriff Stilinski, who this time hadn’t taken a chance and had decided to stay until I woke up.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself, you know.”

I decided not to answer him right away. I shouldn’t talk too much, I preferred to wait and see what happens next. Staying silent throughout his interrogation if the need was.

The sheriff rose and approached my bed and I kept my head down and my mouth closed.

“I’d like to understand what happened to you, young girl. I only want to help you, and for now your parents must be very worried. Can you give us their number? ”

For a moment I almost opened my mouth to tell him. Tell him everything. After all, it was Stiles’ father, and he knew about the supernatural. Perhaps he would understand me. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut because I knew that even if he called my number, no one would answer. Because in this world, I don’t exist.

Seeing my silence, the sheriff sighed.

“Can you tell me your name?”

I thought for a moment before answering. I could tell him that.

“Y / N …” I mumbled in a hoarse voice before scraping my throat. My mouth was very dry.

“Well, it’s a start,” he added, and then noted it on a piece of paper. “And you’re from here, Y / N?” He asked me.

I hesitated again. If I told him, would he understand? Should I take that risk?

At the same moment the door opened, causing me to lift my head from the void I was staring at. It was Melissa, who came in to whisper something to the sheriff, something I heard.

“Eichen House says that no patient of her age has escaped recently.”

In the name Eichen house, my whole body tensed. That cursed place. The place where Stiles had gone in season 3B. The place where Lydia’s grandmother had been killed, the place where Lydia had been locked up in Season 5, and where a crazy doctor had made holes in her head.

“But they are ready to take her if it is necessary.”

My breath stopped and I began to panic. There was no way that I’ll go there, there was no way! My eyes filled with water and I pulled on my bonds looking at the two adults with horror, wide-eyed.

“Not there …” I mumbled, which made them both raise their heads.

“Then you must tell me everything,” the sheriff continued, now having a pressure on me to make me talk. I watched them, trapped. I was going to have to tell them everything, hoping that they would believe me and not send me to the psychiatric facility of misfortune. I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth to speak.

“I come from another …”

The pain paralyzed me in the middle of my sentence. The same pain. Piercing my heart, radiating through my chest, cutting my breath and emptying my head of all thought. The pain was intolerable. The monitor next to me began to make strange noises and lights flashed. I heard Melissa shouting something, rushing towards me, all in a mist of pain. It was intolerable; I would rather have died than to experience this pain.

A stifled cry echoed in my ears and I took some time to realize it was coming from me.

Then, as suddenly as the pain had appeared, it disappeared. The beep stabilized at the same time that other doctors came running into my room. For my part, I slowly picked up my breath, my mouth open in search of air. Slowly I began to feel better and waved to them that everything was fine, but I saw in everyone eyes that they didn’t believe me.

“I … I’m okay …”

Melissa put her hand on my head to take my temperature and immediately removed it by giving instructions to the other doctors.

“We must lower its temperature …”

But I wasn’t listening to their conversation. The same pain. It was the same pain I felt when I saw Allison. The same suffering. And just before I felt it, I had said something. Something that had happened in the series. And the other time it was about the place I came from, my world. There were no correlation between these information… a truth? Like what I just tried to say?

So every time I try to tell the truth, a pain pierced my chest to stop me? Why? I thought for a moment, lost in my thoughts.

Something that didn’t exist, something that hadn’t happened yet… Something I’m not supposed to know…?

Allison’s death…

I finally understood.

“What year…”

Melissa dropped my sack of solute, and the sheriff came up to me, worrying.


I closed my eyes before reopening them and fixing both of them.

“What year is it”

The two looked at each other before turning towards me, their eyes softened, filled with pity. For them, I was crazy, they found me in the middle of the night near the forest, wounded, I just had what looked like a strange cardiac arrest and then asked them which year we were.


I jumped and stopped breathing.

“What …?” I say wide-eyed.

“We’re in 2013,” Melissa repeated, putting a refreshing towel on my burning forehead.

Everything was clear. Allison’s presence.

She wasn’t dead yet. And I wasn’t supposed to know she was going to die.

“Everything’s fine?” The sheriff asked, waiting for me to feel better before continuing with his questions. “I can come back later for questions if you don’t feel well…”

“No,” I cut him, eyes still in the void. “ I… ”

He approached me again, and I lifted my head to meet his gaze. I could only do one thing.

“I don’t remember anything,” I said.

I had to act as if I knew nothing. Forget my life before. I no longer existed, after all. He wrote my confidence on his paper before looking at me sadly.

“Really nothing?” He asked me.

“Only my name,” I answered, fixing my tied wrist. I didn’t like to lie, but if telling the truth was hurting me, I had to deal with it.

“Okay … then according to the procedure, we’re going to make calls everywhere for missing children. In the meantime, you’ll be placed in foster care…”

He didn’t finish his sentence and took Melissa further to talk to her. It’s crazy how people think that just because they whisper you can’t hear them.

“She seems disturbed, it might be better to call Eichen House,” he whispered.

“You saw her expression when we talked about it, she looked scared …” Melissa replied.

I shuddered as I heard the name of the accursed establishment again. I was frightened by the idea of going there, and also by everything that was going on. It was too much for me, I only wanted to go home, how fun it was to be in his favorite show if it means to spend his life in foster care, or worse, in Eichen House?

A sudden idea appeared in my head. It was risky, I was going to have to say something I wasn’t supposed to know, and I knew that the pain was going to hit me again. But I knew he was going to believe me and that he was going to help me.

“Scott …” I mumbled waiting for the pain, but nothing happened.

Melissa turned to me, intrigued to hear her son’s name coming out of an amnesic girl’s mouth. But I knew that Mrs. McCall knew the truth about the supernatural since season 2, and that the year 2013 was in the middle of season 3a or 3b. So I could count on her and especially on her son to help me.

“What did you say?”

Taken with a sudden courage and relief that I could pronounce his name, I repeat it more loudly and clearly.

“I want to talk to Scott McCall.”

In the next chapter: Finally, I meet one of the main characters of the show! So why am I so stressed out about it? Probably because I asked to talk to him and I don’t even know what to say? Or how I’ll react in front of him?

                                                                                                 Next Chapter->   

No Sleep Till Brooklyn, part 10

Heartmate Series: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Deadpool, Falcon, Daredevil

Warnings: language, violence, NSFW, a little smut - 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.


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