Anonymous requested: Jungkook/Reader + one of them has amnesia and how they deal with it Pairing: Jungkook | Reader Genre: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 11,663 Author’s Note: I made myself hurt writing the outline, which ended up quite long and intricate so I apologize. Title taken from Adam Levine’s “Lost Stars”—although I do prefer the Jungkook cover :3
Summary: In which you lose your memory in a car crash, and Jungkook desperately tries to keep both of your lives intertwined. This in itself proves to be a challenge, especially when you can only remember him as the idol you once adored from afar.
Jungkook never paid too much attention to those moments in life where he would figuratively hit the wall and knock the wind out of himself, until he gets the call from the hospital. And then he’s running, dashing fast and wild as quickly as his legs can take him, his mind clouded with so much fear, so much apprehension that even when he can no longer breathe he forces himself to keep running. He feels as if he might lose his mind, already grappling with deniability over his situation, the only thing that can remain consistent throughout his mind is you.
“Are you Jeon Jungkook, Y/N’s emergency contact?”
Jungkook stills, pausing in his momentary movement to wipe the sweat that has formed across his face in recovery from the intense dance practice session all the boys have just ended. “Uh, yes I am,” He answers, furrowing his eyebrows together at the seriousness of the situation, his disposition changing in such a drastic manner that all the other boys stop what they’re doing as well to watch the maknae. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m letting you know that Y/N was recently involved in a car accident and was rushed here under critical condition. She’s undergoing surgery now but—!”
“I’ll be right there,” Jungkook interrupts in a breath, the panicking settling in before the gravity of what has just happened to you really weighs in his mind. He doesn’t wait for the nurse on the other end of the line before he’s hanging up and pocketing his phone. His heart starts to race, making the blood pump quicker as air leaves and enters his lungs at an alarming quickened pace. “I have to go,” He relays to the guys, grabbing his jacket off the couch.
“Woah, woah, Jungkookie, what’s going on?” Jimin inquires, straightening from his seated position on the polished wooden floor. “Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not,” Jungkook says, desperately trying to pull himself from the conversation so he could make his way to the hospital. “Y/N got into a car accident. She’s in surgery right now, I have to go—I have to see how she’s doing.”
“Let me come with you,” Namjoon interjects, already joining Jungkook’s side, jacket on.
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair. “Whatever. I’m running, so keep up.”
Namjoon dismisses Jungkook’s words for stress as he merely nods, following the younger boy out of the studio and dashing down the street. The hospital you have been rushed to is nearby, thank god, only a few blocks away from where Jungkook stands, but it feels like miles stretched on for miles. He runs, runs, runs faster than his legs can possibly carry him, huffing and puffing but never quite moving fast enough.
A/N: I have this version of Bucky in my head where he’s full on sweetheart and yeah he’s still got bits and pieces of that sorta dominant side but he falls for the reader and has full on hearts and flowers feelings for her. I’m a sap I know. Also it’s based off of that knew Ed Sheeran song ;)
Warnings: I think there’s a cuss word. other than that, flufffffff
It started out slowly. It was the simple glances that you shared that first caught your eye, even after having barely known him.
Then, like a train, it hit. You noticed how close he sat next to you on the sofa, how he’d always call to go on missions with you. He took care of you when you were sick, at your bedside with soup whenever you needed it. He was certainly something else.
Eventually he’d steal small kisses. The first time caught you off guard, he was going on a mission with Steve and Sam and as he was saying bye, he pressed a small peck to your lips. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing either, but neither of you complained and took everything in small steps.
After that, anytime he entered the room or left, he would peck your lips and pull away with a smile, as if you had been together for years.
You never spoke a word to each other about it, though, it was all taken in one at a time. After a while, he’d start to sleep in your room with you, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Almost as if he was afraid to let you go.
You two would share conversations with each other that no one else would dare to listen to. He was there for your whenever you needed him and vice versa.
He’d have panic attacks and nightmares that you’d be there for. He’d scream and yell sometimes and you’d be the one to calm him. Sometimes stuff would be thrown and broken, but you’d stand your ground, kiss him and watch him slowly tire himself out.
One particular night, you two sat alone in a car, the night had fallen over the sky and your eyes had never left him.
“Life happened, you know?” Bucky murmured, picking at his glove as he explained what exactly happened in 1942. “Steve tried to get to me on that train but he couldn’t. I was on the brink of death when I landed but the soldiers just appeared out of nowhere.”
Your eyebrows furrowed in sympathy, resting your hand on his thigh while you continued to listen.
It was the first time he was able to talk about it, he hadn’t even fully been able to mention it to Steve which made you feel special that you could be that person he needed.
“In a sense I’m grateful for it,” He continued, “I would have died in the snow.”
“But you-” you felt emotional, “you went through so much shit that you shouldn’t have.” A small tear collected in the corner of your eye.
“It was worth it. I wouldn’t have met you.” Bucky whispered, his sentence faltering slightly at the end, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to say those words just yet.
The tear had then slipped down your cheek, causing Bucky to reach up and wipe it away. “I don’t know what to say.” You looked down, allowing Bucky to take your hands in his.
He smiled, tilting your chin up to him. “How about I love you?”
In that moment, your heart filled with absolute admiration and love for the man in front of you. “I do love you.” You responded, watching a grins stretch across Bucky’s face.
“I know you do. You would have ran far away if you hadn’t.” Bucky said, adding humor to a somewhat somber conversation.
“Do you love me too?” You asked, almost embarrassed about the question. Bucky’s humor was wiped from his face, “More than anything.”
Without another word, you climbed across the center console and straddled Bucky’s thighs, grabbing his jaw and kissing his lips.
“Say it.” You whispered against his lips, needing to hear it so you knew it was real, that you weren’t dreaming.
“I love you.” The statement was said so lowly and quickly that you weren’t sure you heard it right but when your brain finally allowed you to understand everything, you almost burst into tears of happiness.
“How did you know you loved me?” You asked, wanting every detail.
“That night,” he whispered, lacing his hand in yours, “the night that you sang on the balcony with Natasha and Sam. The fire cast the light perfectly on your face so I could see your shining smile.”
“You were plastered then, though.” You giggled, remembering the bottle of liquor him and Tony shared.
“I was sober enough to know that you are the most beautiful girl in the world, and that I love you.” Bucky said, causing you to grow serious again.
“Oh Bucky.” You murmured, kissing him hard, unlike you ever had before. This kiss was filled with so much more passion, so much more heat. Before, Bucky would treat you like glass, but now he needed you just as much as you needed him.
That night, you two stayed in that car. You could’ve stayed there forever, because you had everything you needed. Bucky was your world, and you were his. That’s what love is.
And while you knew that would be the case going into the relationship, that didn’t mean it was easy and you certainly never got used to it. Of course it was more manageable the longer you’d been together, especially when you kept busy and stuck to your routine, but whenever it got nearer to his return home…that’s when it was hardest.
Usually about a week before he was due home, you’d send him a few extra texts throughout the day. Just a couple more ‘love you’s. A dab of ‘I miss you’. Sometimes pictures of the neighbor’s cat with its face pressed up against the glass window; ‘Boots thought you’d be home by now’.
And your goodnight calls–which were more like good mornings for Harry–grew longer as the time apart grew shorter. Just a few more minor details about your day shared. A hint of ‘don’t go’ before hanging up. Occasional tears dried with ‘I’ll be home soon, muppet’.
The day before he’s due to arrive home has you absolutely jumping out of your skin. It’s utter torture waiting for the morning to crawl by, but it’s comforting knowing that it’s agony for Harry too.
Honestly this was quite a lot of fun to write, so I hope everyone enjoys reading it!
“It feels like we haven’t seen each other in ages,” Percy complained, as he walked through the cabin area of Camp Half-Blood. It was a sunny August day, and many campers were milling about.
“I know, Seaweed Brain, but you know I’ve been so busy helping with the New Athens plans. And you’ve been doing a lot of training sessions. Besides, that’s why we’re having our picnic today!” Annabeth said happily.
Percy nodded, his usual smile returning to his face. He grabbed her hand, ready to take her to the beach, where he had planned on having their picnic, when someone interrupted them.
“Percy! Annabeth!” Piper shouted from behind them, panting out of breath. “We need you.” She was dressed in shorts and a blue t-shirt, and Rachel was next to her, a small smile on her face, dressed in her usual paint-stained attire.
“For what?” Percy asked reluctantly. “We were just about to–”
“There’s a meeting in the Big House,” Rachel said, interrupting Percy. “Chiron says you guys need to be there. There’s no time for you to go to the beach–you need to come now.”
Percy looked at Annabeth, disappointment written on his face. “I guess we have to go.”
“It shouldn’t matter too much.” Annabeth smiled. “How about afternoon tea?”
“Who has sandwiches for tea?” Percy grumbled halfheartedly.
Annabeth rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” Percy turned to Rachel and Piper. “We’re coming.”
“Great,” Piper said, her eyes brightening. “Let’s go.”
Percy and Annabeth followed them, now focused fully on what this emergency meeting would be about.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Percy said in annoyance, as he and Annabeth walked out of the Big House over an hour later.
When I say I’m thinking about teen Mileven, what I really mean is I’m thinking about Karen being a little wary when she hears something that sounds suspiciously like crying coming from the basement and when she gets downstairs, El and Mike are cuddling on the couch, puffy eyed and surrounded by crumpled tissues while watching Bambi
Watching yesterday’s video of Jack and Wiishu inspired me to write this fluffy little ‘mini-fic’ - if you can even call it that xD I apologise in advance if I missed any typos, and I may or may not have broken the 4th wall at one point… :p this is my first time posting any kind of fic so… please be gentle with me :3 Hope you enjoy the cuteness ^-^
“Did any of the
flour get into the bowl?” Baz mused as Simon dumped another cup of the powder
on the countertop, dropping a ball of dough on top and sending a cloud of flour
drifting across the kitchen.
“Shut up,” Simon
grinned, gingerly biting the leftover dough off of his fingers. “Do you think we put in enough cherries?”
“We already did
double what the recipe called for.”
“I know, but I
want there to be cherries -”
“In every bite,”
Baz finished, smiling fondly at Simon concentrating on the dough, his brow
furrowing involuntarily. Baz loved that
furrow. That furrow was only one of
countless things Baz loved about Simon.
Simon turned to
meet his eye, and Baz quickly dropped his gaze to the flour-covered counter. Baz loved Simon’s eyes too much to even be
able to look at them. It was like trying
to stare at the sun; he had to look away after a second, but the image was
still there, stuck behind his own eyes, burnt onto his retinas.
Oblivious little fuck.
“Should I roll it
thinner?” Simon asked, snapping Baz out of his thoughts. Not that it mattered, the thoughts would
carry on, like subtitles in his brain, impossible to ignore.
“It looks fine,”
Baz shook his head. “I wonder though,
should we add something to them? Like
peppermint extract or something?”
“Why would we do
“They are meant to be for a Christmas party…”
“So we’ll make
Christmas cookies next,” Simon shrugged, “I’m not going to change the scones,
they’re perfect as they are.”
Baz got an
idea. “How about we cut them with
laughed. “The scones?”
They dipped their
cookie cutters in the inch-thick layer of flour that covered the counter and cut
their scones into Christmas trees and gingerbread men. They worked in silence, side by side, Baz
trying to hide the bristling that occurred whenever he was close to Simon. He still found it hard to believe that after
all these years of being friends and spending time together, Simon had still
never seemed to notice the effect he had on Baz.
They both reached
into the flour bowl at the same time, their hands brushing. It shouldn’t have made Baz blush, it wasn’t
like they never touched each other, but Baz couldn’t help the fact that every
touch felt like an electric shock, like it made his neck crawl.
The second their
hands brushed, Baz fought the urge to snatch his back. He wasn’t expecting Simon to do the
Baz peeked at
Simon’s face. The boy was staring down
at the dough, but his eyes were wide and his cheeks were…
Don’t overthink it, he told himself.
You mean nothing to him, not like
But there was
that tiny voice inside somewhere that kept him hoping. What if
“Ready for the
oven then?” Simon broke the silence, a little loudly for such a simple
question, especially with Baz right beside him.
replied, trying to sound light, and they transferred the dough onto the pan,
sliding it into the oven and setting the timer.
Baz brushed the flour dust off his hands and turned back to Simon. “Now we wait.”
Simon had an odd
expression on his face. He stared sort
of… past Baz, like he was so lost in thought that he was seeing the things he
was thinking, and they were happening right behind Baz. “What shall we do in the meantime?” Simon
watched Simon’s face, puzzled. “We could
start to clean up, I guess.”
narrowed. “We could, yeah.”
“Did you have
something else in mind?”
eyes met Baz’s, too quickly for Baz to look away. He returned the gaze as coolly as he could,
feeling more and more exposed with every second that dragged by. “Something wrong?” he managed, his mouth dry.
murmured, not looking away. “Nothing’s
wrong. In fact, something’s right. Everything’s right.” He took a deep breath. “Everything is… making sense.”
Simon took a step
towards Baz, then another. His gaze was
so intense that Baz instinctively backed up, finding that he had nowhere to go,
he was already backed against the counter.
“Simon,” he stammered, “what are you doing?”
cocked his head up at Baz, now only inches away. “There’s flour on your face.” He reached a hand up to brush his thumb
across Baz’s cheek, so softly that it felt like a butterfly’s touch. Baz could hear his heart pounding in his ears,
louder and louder and…
And then Simon
And Baz’s heart
Because Simon was
kissing him. Shyly. On the mouth.
scrunched shut, and he went so tense that his stomach almost felt sick.
away from Baz’s mouth. When Baz opened
his eyes, Simon’s face was red, and his brow was furrowed again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Baz had to take a
couple of breaths before he found his voice.
Simon’s eyes were
blurring up. “I thought I’d figured it
out,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
“I thought that you wanted… that.
I guess not.”
“Did… did you want that?”
his eyes shut, and a tear dripped from one of them. “It doesn’t matter.”
rushed to dry the tear from Simon’s cheek, not even thinking about the
gesture. “I need to know.”
For once, it was
Simon who couldn’t meet Baz’s eyes. “Yes,
alright? I wanted it, but clearly you
didn’t, so let’s just forget it happened and carry on.” His voice was hitching as he fought back
tears, his breath becoming ragged.
Baz didn’t know
it was possible for a heart to be broken and mended at the exact same time, but
while Simon’s tears tore him apart, he felt light as air, practically
giddy. Without letting himself think
about it, he leaned down and kissed the tear off of Simon’s face, letting his
lips linger a second longer than they needed to. He felt Simon’s shuddering stop in
surprise. When he met Simon’s eyes,
neither of them looked away. “Wait,”
Simon breathed, “did you want that?”
Baz could barely
whisper the words “God, yes” before he was crashing into Simon’s mouth
again. This time there was no
hesitation, no stiffness, just a lifetime of wanting coming to a head.
tasted of cherries and the salty sweetness of the dough he’d been sneaking the
entire time. Baz’s hands went from Simon’s
face to his hair, one hand exploring the back of Simon’s neck. Simon gave Baz’s chest a push, and before
either of them knew what was happening, Baz was sitting on the countertop,
Simon straddling his lap and kissing him so deeply that Baz thought he might
faint. Simon’s hands cupped Baz’s face,
still pushing him back until Baz was leaning his head against the cupboards,
the cold wood the only thing giving him any sense of direction. His world was nothing but Simon, and he
couldn’t hold back a moan as Simon angled his head and opened Baz’s mouth with
It wasn’t until
much later, when they finally broke apart, dizzy and gasping for breath, that
they realized they’d sat in the flour.
Because I fell in love with smol!Kakashi and doesn’t-know-how-she-became-a-babysitter!Sakura, and wanted to write more about them. Also, Tsunade was supposed to have a bit part, but then I went and had feelings about her all over. Tsunade is just the best, okay?
Wherein Sakura signs a bunch of stuff, Sai’s attempts at real life as guided by books end badly (again), and Sakura’s bed has somehow become the place for cuddles and midnight promises.
(I’m apparently incapable of writing sheer fluff, so this does veer vaguely into angst, because shinobi.)
@beyondthemoor (hey! tumblr’s tagging system suddenly decided you exist!)
“And now,” Tsunade-shishō continues, shoving the completed forms for Kakashi’s custody to the side, “let’s talk finances.”
Sakura does her best not to blanch, because her most esteemed Hokage-sama gets just a little bit touchy when people bring up, refer to, or allude vaguely in the direction of her many gambling debts and terrible credit score, and somehow, village finances and mission pay negotiations manage to almost always skirt too close to that line, even though the only thing they particularly have in common is money. The memories of six desks meeting their end at the touch of a single finger and of two windows shattered in the wake of shinobi Tsunade-shishō has sent flying through them make for excellent incentive for Sakura to approach this more carefully than a surgery for restructuring a shattered limb or one of Gai-sensei’s obstacle courses.
“Right, finances,” Sakura says with an impressive lack of squeaking. She doesn’t dare show fear.
@demisexualhale Isaac, my dear bro, you know I love you. I admire your drive to write so much and it’s actually inspiring. I haven’t written this much in so long and it’s all thanks to you! So, I tried to write you some fluff. I don’t know where the angst came from, and this is kinda inspired by Deathbeds by Bring Me The Horizon, and I’m gonna stop this nervous rambling and hope you like it.
Stay awesome, my friend, and have a very happy birthday <3
Note: set in the past, but don’t count on any historical accuracy.
The sunlight catches on Stiles’ eyes like it does on the glass chandeliers in the ballroom at 3 o’clock every day, when the sun breaks out between the trees just right. Stiles’ eyes shine like the sun itself, brightening everything around them. They make the sky bluer and the clouds fluffier. They make the birds sing louder and they warm the air the way the oven warms the kitchen with the sweet scent of jam filled pastries whenever Oliver bakes.
Those are only a few reasons why Stiles has the prettiest eyes in the whole land – and probably, Derek thinks, in the whole world. They glint in a more gracious way than the fur of their most prized red chestnut thoroughbred when freshly groomed. And even gold has nothing on the honey brown color in Stiles’ eyes that thrives with passion whenever Stiles’ talks. His eyes widen and contract in perfect harmony with Stiles’ rising and falling tone. The speckles of moles and faded sun-induced freckles that frame Stiles’ face only perfect the picture. Stiles is a masterful compilation of creamy pale skin – only reddened by the flush that ever so often befell his cheeks when he talked so fast that he lost his breath.
Derek could stare at just Stiles’ face for hours and never get bored – the way Stiles will bite his lips or let them stretch into a signature smirk that makes Derek’s stomach flop. Not to mention how much Derek likes watching Stiles aside from that, with his wild hands and surprise jerks. Stiles thrives with energy. He tells a story with every inch of his body.
Stiles is the most magnificent thing Derek has ever seen and he’s seen Lydia Martin who is rumored to be the most beautiful girl in the kingdom. Derek doesn’t see the appeal, not when he gets to look at Stiles every single day.
“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Stiles accuses and smacks Derek’s chest with the back of his hand. Derek grunts and finally looks away from the boy lying next to him, who had pulled his eyebrows together and pursued his lips in his most accusatory expression. Reaching for the hands that is resting on his chest, he closes his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind.
Author’s Note: I had an ask pertaining to something along these lines (and decided I really need to take a break from writing angst for a moment) I hope you enjoy!
The lilt escaping Park Minhyuk’s lips was that of a tune both of you were more than intimidate with. Now, the hold on Park Minhyuk’s heart was something unknown to you. If you were to ask him, being a close friend or colleague, if he was okay; he would flat out say, the pain is synonymous to that of being struck. In which said friend or colleague would slowly back away or nod as if they had any sense of what he was talking about - which they most definitely had not. For it was a different kind of struck feeling pillaging Park Minhyuk’s thoughts and actions. The struck feeling of having affection for someone.
Your face was perpetually etched as clear as an oil painting in Minhyuk’s young mind. Bright pink cheeks with lips that his mind always ate away at him to kiss kiss kiss.. Eyes with pupils that never failed to lure him in and keep him there for ages, because after all, you were the bait and he was the fish.