They are so in lovee, heeelp meeee???!! This is from the most ADORABLE FANFIC EVER call me, beep me by @gajeelredfox I read it in almost one go and I literally could books and books about these dorks daily lifes.
Thank you so much for writing and sharing it <33 So this is my thank you gift for you! :D I have tons of fun reading it and i can’t wait for the next chapter ~
a/n: ok angst is not my thing so please excuse, but this is for a request (that’s ancient in our box sorry) and i hope you like it! :)
“The world suddenly seemed so perfect, but perfect can never last.”
1:26 am. Your eyes instinctively glared at the clock, flitting over the fluorescent digits glowing in the eerie room. The phone in your hand was burning, tingling your numbed fingers and racing heart, while the blue light casted shadows over your sullen features; eyebrows furrowed as your mind ransacked through the single text.
Authors note: I am so sorry this has taken so long to do, I have just been trying to figure out what to write about and it didn’t just hit me until now. It is a cliche concept but oh well. Enjoy my lovelies.
List of my other Prompts found HERE
One A.M; no call. Two A.M; no call. Three A.M; no call. Four A.M; no call.
It is four-thirty in the morning, your patience is wearing thing, your emotions beginning to get the better of you as you begin to worry about where he is and if he is okay. It is unusual for him to not answer texts or calls, just as much as it is unusual for him not to let you know when he doesn’t intend on coming home until the early hours of the morning.
He is the kind of boyfriend that tends to keep you updated, by no means are you acting as a motherly figure and forcing him to text you his every move, or giving him a curfew of when to be home— he does it voluntarily to keep you updated and aware of his whereabouts.
You call his phone one last time, counting the each ring before you are again left with hearing his voicemail, “Damnit Styles.” you mutter as you hang up the phone call, looking around the dimly light living room, unaware of what you are meant to do. There is a good chance that he is perfectly fine and perhaps at the studio still, or he could be out with friends, or he could also be lying in a ditch somewhere unresponsive… You don’t know, and that is what fucking scares you. Not knowing.
Prompt #15 - Trembling Hands (approx 700 words, some under the cut <3)
Pavellan. Varlen Lavellan x Dorian Pavus. Contains non-explicit mention of past abuse.
“I-It wasn’t my fault!”
“Shhh, I know.”
“They made me… made me do it. T-They…”
“Hush. It’s all right. I’m here, amatus. Just breathe. In and out.”
Varlen’s hands trembled as words stuck in his throat like tar. He was wrapped in the thin sheet of a foreign bed. Silk. Orlesian. They were in Orlais. He remembered sluggishly as the luxurious room pulled back into focus, slowly losing the blurry edges of sleep. Sleep that tugged at him. Tugged at him like those hands all those years ago, trying to drag him back. Back to the ground. Across the wood and stones. Back to somewhere he never wanted to go.
A hand brushed against Varlen’s temple, gently sweeping the hair from his face. The motion was distant, on the periphery of both vision and awareness. Varlen blinked, and swore it took a handful of seconds just to complete the simple motion. Then, something warm wrapped around his shoulders. An arm.
It was too much. Varlen shivered then curled against him, burying his head in the crook of his neck. He smelled familiar. Wine. Parchment. Ink. Wine first, because it lingered sweetly on both their skin. Parchment and ink because he had been writing something before bed. It still stained the tips of his fingers.
Just jotting down a few things, amatus. Give me a moment, then I am yours.
“What were you writing?” Varlen whispered, voice hoarse. He swallowed, desperate for distraction. Begging for anything other than the nightmare that lingered in the dark corners of his sleeping mind, waiting for him to return. The question came out of nowhere, but Dorian remained unfazed. His hand rubbed Varlen’s arm as the other reached around to draw him into something more resembling an embrace. To hold him.
“A list,” Dorian answered softly, keeping his voice low. Soothing. “Of things that caught my eye during the evening’s festivities. Other than the assassins and murder, of course.”
Varlen choked out a laugh, sniffing, reaching up to awkwardly rub the wetness from his eyes through the small gap between his chest and Dorian’s arm. “L-Like what?”
Warnings: Small amount of angst, horrible freestyling, sad!Lin
Word Count: 819
A/N: So here’s my try at writing Lin. And mine and Laurens try at doing freestyle (spoiler alert: we suck!) but we persist. Do enjoy, and let us know if you want more! -Mulligan (PS: Yes, we are adopting the names based on some of our hobbies. There’s only two of us, and I’m the one writing this!)
Mary had tried to leave when she saw the rage in her boys’ eyes, but had barely made it a step before Dean had gripped her bicep in a tight grip. Sam kept his distance at the moment, knowing that if he was near her, he’d kill her. So, they chained her up in the vary place they had once held Crowley. They had led her down there without so much as a single word, no finesse to how they handled her, and no warnings said before they left her alone.
Eva was resting on your hip, one of her small hands gripping the back of your shirt, the other holding a teether as she gummed at it. Letting out a small sigh, you did your best not to cry. It was just after dinner, and you’d checked the two of you into some motel for the night. Eva had never slept anywhere except the bunker, she had never gone more than a week at most without seeing one of the boys, and it was killing you.
Kissing her forehead, you hoped that things would work out somehow. All Dean had wanted was Mary, and now he had her. You doubted that simply being his mate- with so many rules- would trump that. “How about we get you a bath, princess?” You gave her a smile.
As much pain as you were forcing down at the moment, the last thing that you were looking forward to was sleep that night.
Dean had called for Cas until he was horse. His throat was raw, and throbbing. Sam had a map on the war room table, his large hands holding it flat as his eyes scanned it. Hearing Dean come in, he glanced up and sighed. “I’ve marked every possible route for her to take.” He explained as Dean stood next to him. “She left yesterday, so that gets us to these possible points. Give or take a few miles for traffic. We both know she sticks to the speed limits with Eva in the car.” He was more talking himself through this now. “Then those all branch out into these routes.” Sam sighed. “She’d avoid major roads, so that’s something.” You hated heavy traffic, and always had. “I say we wash up, get a few hours of sleep, and split up.” His hazel eyes were dark when he looked at his brother. “And don’t stop until we find them.”
All Dean could do was nod, a determination in his eyes.
Summary: You’re a mutant with the power of dimensional, spatial and time manipulation, meaning you can travel to and from dimensions, spaces and different times with ease. But one day, when you’re coming back from a particularly long mission, you brought something back that should never have come with you in the first place.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that Marvel has created and I certainly don’t own Sebastian Stan.
Warnings: Sickness, fluff.
40′s!Bucky x Present!Bucky x Reader
Third Person POV:
It had been a very tough week for the Avengers.
There was no change in Y/N’s condition as far as they could see and they all took turns in taking care of her and trying to get her fever down as the others tried to get some sleep to replenish their minds.
It was only Happy Feet and Sarge that hadn’t slept.
Even with the others helping, they never stopped fighting the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake them as Sarge gently dipped the compress in the water and vinegar concoction, straining it before laying it neatly against her forehead, to combat her still high fever.
“FRIDAY, how are her vitals?” Happy Feet asked, cradling Y/N’s clammy hand in his cool metallic one while two of his flesh fingers pressed against her pulse point.