After the final battle, Killian and Emma finally find their way home. (I like imagining the conversations we never see, and the sexy times that follow) rated M, 1200 words
The walk up to their door seems endless, both of them clinging to the last tendrils of adrenaline keeping them upright after a hellishly long day. Killian’s lost track of the hour, but his body feels every minute spent, muscles still burning from his climb and fall from the beanstalk, head aching from clenching his teeth as Emma performed her Savior’s sacrifice before his eyes. Her fingers give his a gentle squeeze causing her wedding ring to press against his and like a rope snapping loose in the wind, he becomes completely untethered. Eyes burning with overflowing emotion, he stops, turns and gathers her close, tucking his face into her hair as hot tears splash down over his cheeks.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Shaking his head, he just pulls her in tighter, not sure of how to express the weight of everything crashing down over him, just knowing he needs to hold her and allow himself a moment to find his bearings. Her woolen cap is slightly rough against his temple, but it’s so achingly Emma that he finds himself leaning further into it, the threads drying the tracks of his tears. Keeping his hook anchored against her back, he loosens his grip on her jacket so he can cup her cheek with his hand, forcing a shaky smile upon his lips as he finds her worried eyes with his own.
“Sorry, Swan, it’s been an exceedingly trying day.”
A/N: no one requested this but i wanted to do something else w the coffee shop au!/ story line idk
Pairings: bucky x reader
Fuck, this is the longest day ever, you complained to yourself as you foamed the milk for the thousandth time for the thousandth latte of the day. Your thoughts were interrupted by an angry customer yelling ‘why are you taking so long!’ Your grip on the cup tightened before loosening it up and turning around to face the person.
“We’re almost done,” your friend muttered next to you before you took a deep breath and plastered a fake smile on your face along with a fake apology for taking up their time. Returning back to the register you call up the next person, grabbing an empty plastic cup and the black sharpie, ready to jot down their order -Venti Iced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato, Sugar- Free Syrup, Extra Shot, Light Ice, No whip.
Ignoring the pretentiousness of the order you couldn’t help let out a huff at the ridiculously long list of instructions, but nonetheless you created the order, mentally cursing at those who decided to create fancy names for coffees. You tried to not scoff when you yelled, “Bucky, your order is ready!” while setting the drink on the counter in front of you. What kind of a name is Bucky, you wondered.
“Did you follow the instructions?” A quiet but raspy voice asked as a hand reached for the drink.
“Yes. I do know how to do my job,” you replied without looking up at the customer as you cleaned your station.
“Wow, employees really changed since I last came around,” the voice said and you could practically hear the smirk that was on the man’s face. You dropped your wash cloth on the counter rather dramatically, ready to give a whole speech to the stranger but when you looked up you couldn’t help but be in awe of him. The man named Bucky was wearing a red henley that showed off his muscles perfectly along with low riding running shorts and shoes. His brown fluffy chocolate colored hair fell gracefully to his shoulders and framed his face, exaggerating the blueness of his eyes, a juxtaposition to his rigid look.
“See something you like?” Bucky said with a shit-eating grin, raising an eyebrow at you.
“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, ducking your head in hopes that the stranger doesn’t see you blush.
“Right, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow macchiato girl,” he said, raising his drink while he winked at you before taking his first sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.
Her grandmother would always say that if you cut a Lewis woman, they’d bleed green. She never understood that, not as a kid with red-scraped knees. As an adult though, things were different. Darcy, like all the Lewis women before her, was a witch. A hedge witch with magic over green growing things.
She could make anything grow, except for her nails.
She was a witch with a specialisation in earth magic, with an impulsive streak a mile wide. She listened with her heart more than her head, which often led to some interesting places.
Darcy tried hard to curb her impulsive nature, she really did. But moving forward without any thought, listening with her heart, led to a life far different than working in her mother’s flower shop in Petaluma, California.
It led her to a job working for a brilliant, if somewhat caffeine-addled, alchemist living in the middle of the city, the only greenery nearby a sad communal garden with vicious little roses and more weeds than grass.
There are crescents of dirt beneath her nails as she pushes open a glass door into the cool interior of White Star Tattoo. A spark of magic like golden sunshine washes over her as she steps over the threshold.
The shop smells of leather and ink and beeswax candles. The walls are filled with framed photographs of tattoos and beautiful sketches.
“Just a minute,” shouts a voice from the back of the shop.
“No problem,” Darcy shouts back. She takes a sip of the coffee she brought in with her and examines a sketch of the phases of the moon over a geometric forest. Interesting, even if it wasn’t her style.
“Hi,” says a soft, deep voice.
Darcy’s heart jumps in her chest and she spins around on her heel. Hot coffee splashes onto her hand. She looks up and up, into amused blue eyes and a handsome face covered in a neatly trimmed beard.
Magic clings to the man like an old coat, well-worn and stained. There is a wildness to the man, something that echos of the deep forest. Moonlight and fur and…
“Wolf,” Darcy says. The word slips past her lips without her consent, trailed by the hot feeling of embarrassment crawling up her neck. Wearing a red blouse might have been more than a fashion mistake.
“Witch,” he replies, head cocking to the side. “Can I help you?” He crosses his arms over his chest, ink spilling out from under the rolled-up cuffs of his sleeves.
Darcy’s mind goes blank. A small splash of magic slips past her control, wrapping itself around a potted tulip on the reception desk. The green leaves perk up, and the white blooms open.
“Tattoo, I want a tattoo,” she blurts, tearing her eyes away from the glimpse of ink peeking out behind the open top buttons of his shirt. “Apple blossoms. It’s…it’s a thing.” Darcy waves her hand, and the tulips bend towards her fingers with a whisper of leaves.
“Alright, let’s see what we can do for you, Ms..”
“Darcy, just Darcy.”
“Alright, Just-Darcy, I’m Steve.”
“A werewolf that tells dad jokes and then stabs you with needles? This must be my lucky day.”
You are swimming in a lake. The shore is quite far off and you know that beneath you there is a wall of water multiple times the length of your body. Your feet tread nervously as you keep yourself afloat. The water is dark beneath you, darker than you think it should be, but you tell yourself it must be a cloud passing overhead. You don’t look up. The sun is caresseing your head. Suddenly you feel something winding around your foot, and instincitvely you start to kick out in fear. But the more you struggle, the more the stringy, slick something tangles around your ankle. Something breaks through the surface in front of you, and as you look down you find yourself staring into the large eyes of a terrifying monster.
“Excuse me,” it says, and the entire lake trembles, “I’ve noticed the callused skin on your feet. Can I interest you in our newest and incredibly effective corn parer?”
The stairs creak under your weight, and you balance the glass of water in your hand carefully. It is night. It was thirst that got you out of bed, but now you wish you would have turned over and pulled the blanket over your head. There is something behind you. Rationally, you know it is nothing, but your nerves are on edge and your heart is hammering. It takes every ounce of self-control for you to not start running up the stairs until you reach the safety of your bed. You need to stay calm. Once you start running, it will be too late. But then someone clears their throat behind your back, not far away at all, and there is no holding you back. You run, spilling your glass of water.
“Mam, wait a second!” you hear someone call after you with a voice like a million screaming children, “We have stair lifts on special offer!”
The water is hot as it splashes onto your head and runs down your body. You feel warm and comfortable. But as you apply shampoo to your hair and the bubbly water runs over your face, you instinctively close your eyes. Everything goes dark. And suddenly there is no more comfort. You feel the need to open your eyes, but you know the shampoo will sting, so you tell yourself to calm down. You know there is no one there, cannot possibly be. But you are wrong. The water is uncomfortably hot, and suddenly feels sticky. You don’t dare to open your eyes anymore. A hand that is not your hand moves through your hair, and then you feel hot breath tickling your ear. You stay very still.
“Today’s your lucky day, Miss,” the voice hisses, “I don’t usually do this, but because I like you I’ll offer you two Gentle No-Tears Kid Shampoos for the price of one.”
Lurching forward, Lance catches himself on the side of his bathroom stall and grimaces, fighting back a wave of nausea. His side stings–rather, his entire midsection, from the healing, jagged cut on the left to the stinging of his skin and the cramps of his stomach. It hurts, and Lance knows he ought to ask someone else to check on it, but he’s determined to fight this one out alone.
After all, he doesn’t want to be shouted at for being the screw up, not again. Not this time when it’s something as minor and foolish as being cut. They already had to repair his undersuit, which he felt bad about when Allura had fixed him with that look of displeasure, and he didn’t want them worrying more. It’s just a cut, of course. That’s nothing, nothing the wonderful and strong Lance can’t handle on his own.
My birthday is April 28th. I don't maintain a blog on Tumblr though. I created an account just to follow the fabulous fellow Everlarkers here. If you can, I will take anything I can get but if possible, some smut please. *bambi eyes*
Happy birthday! Here is a little something special cooked up just for you by @katnissdoesnotfollowback. Have a wonderful day and enjoy the read!
Have Your Cake and Eat It Too
Happiest of birthdays to
you! I hope you enjoy what I’ve cooked up for you and it adds to to your
celebration. Thanks to @peetabreadgirl for prereading this sucker. <3
“I’m gonna be late. Please tell me you made some
hot water for tea this morning,” Peeta says to his brother as he rushes into
the kitchen and tosses his bag on the counter.
“Gotta move faster, old man,” Ryen teases, but
lowers his newspaper enough to point to the kettle sitting on a silicone
“You’re two years older than me,” Peeta
grumbles, not bothering to look at what he is sure is a self-satisfied smirk on
his brother’s face, choosing instead to focus on pouring the water into his
travel mug and dropping in a tea bag to steep.
“Yes, but nothing good happens after
twenty-five. They expect you to be an adult after twenty-five. For real,” Ryen
complains and Peeta curses as the hot liquid splashes over the edges onto his
hand when he moves it a little too forcefully towards the spot where he left
“Graham would disagree,” he mutters
sarcastically as he shakes the tea droplets off his hand and wipes the residue
on a towel. His skin stings, but he doesn’t have time to deal with it.
“Graham is an idiot,” Ryen returns, but he
doesn’t say the rest of what they’re both thinking.
Character / Genre: Min Yoongi x reader (oc) | Smut, Fluff
Prompt: “Let me spoil you tonight, Princess.”
Summary: He has a special way to help you wipe away your fatigue after a long day. And tonight, it is all about you.
Warning: Fingering, soft Yoongi, bath tub scenes
a/n: I have so much writings piling up in my draft and this one was actually one of the oldest (lmaooo I am so lame), I wrote this in the middle of my packed deadlines but then I have been too busy and tired to re-read and edit this. Plus I ended up posting Heat which had almost the same topic *shrugs* Sorry if this is lame, it’s just a simple fantasy when I just wanted to be spoiled by my dear beloved Min Yoongi. Enjoy!
Summary: Based on the prompt: “you give me a different fake name every time you come into starbucks and I just want to know your real name bc ur cute but here I am scrawling “batman” onto your stupid cappuccino” but with Roman emperors because Bellamy is nerd. Obviously.
Clarke knew she would regret volunteering to work the early shifts when she started working at Starbucks, but it aligned with her class schedule and she was hoping at least the free coffee would do something to wake her up in the morning.
She wasn’t five minutes into her first shift, barely past five-thirty am, so early even the sun couldn’t be bothered to show itself yet, before she knew for certain that her hopes were misplaced.
She did her best to tame the scowl on her face on the off chance they actually had customers before six. By seven, she could very nearly manage a smile when serving the pre-coffee grumps that dragged themselves through their doors. But before six, or really, if she was honest, six-thirty, people were lucky if she didn’t glare at them like she wanted to splash the hot coffee in their faces.
Her manager would probably be more bothered by this if most of the customers seemed to care much about the look on her face. She almost didn’t mind serving those people, the ones who were clearly just as amused at being up at such an absurd hour as she was and were just trying to get themselves a halfway decent cup of caffeine to get through their day.
That, she could handle.
What really, really made her want to poison someone’s cappuccino were morning people.
Part of her already hated him the moment he walks through the door; it was her third shift and she’d only seen two people that morning, verging on five-forty-five, the slight smirk seeming plastered on his face like he existed to charm every person on the planet.
He saunters up to the register and grins at her. She’s just awake enough to register the fact that his smile could literally end wars, (or start them, she thought, that would be more historically accurate) but it still did little to brighten her mood.
She takes his order and his voice in every way matches his overwhelmingly attractive exterior. He had it all, really; the dark, curly hair, the dark eyes, the endearingly freckled skin and muscles she was sure made other girls swoon.
Other girls, that is, who were not raging monsters before six am, face to face with a man who seemed determined to radiate sunshine. She finds herself just as annoyed by his good looks as she is by his good mood.
She manages to keep herself composed while taking his order, but catches herself only after making a snide comment about The Fault in Our Stars when he says his name is Augustus.
In her moment of horror that she’d just made fun of a customer’s name, sure he’s going to get upset and tell her manager and she’s going to lose her job before she’s even finished her third shift, he has the audacity to smirk.
“More like the emperor, Clarke,” he says with a pointed glance toward her name tag.
She almost would’ve preferred if he’d gotten her fired; that, at least, would’ve likely prevented her from seeing him again.