i was bored and before i knew what was happening one thing led to another

The Pilgrim (Part 1)

This is the first half of a Zimbits soulmate AU, where you can feel the pull of your soulmate like a compass. This is a first draft, so no corrections have been made so far. I just wanted to throw it out there. There will be a second and final part to this- and I’ll do my best to write it soon. 




Dear Mama and Coach,

I’m sorry to leave with only a note, but this is something I have to do. I left for my pilgrimage. I know I’m way too young, but I couldn’t wait. … I think my soulmate is dying. I felt the pull stop for a full minute. It never happened before. I can’t wait another four years before seeking them! I hope you understand.

Also, I didn’t tell y’all because… I think my soulmate may be a man.

I hope you’re not too mad at me. I’ll call.

I love you both,

– Dicky


North. The pull had always pointed North. Sometimes, when Eric changed cities, he tried to triangulate the feel, but there was never enough difference in what he felt to pinpoint a precise location on a map. His soulmate could be in any of the states above Georgia, or- well, they could live further North. He wondered what would be worse for his parents, that his soulmate was a man, or that he was a Yankee.

He’d stressed about it for years but, now that he was stuck on a bus for who knew how long, he couldn’t stop worrying. He fidgeted with the cheap pilgrimage kit he’d bought at Atlanta. A map of the United States, a plastic ruler, a tiny pencil and a miserable looking compass that didn’t seem to point in the same direction if he shook it a bit. It was all he could afford, since the bus ticket from Madison to Atlanta, then Atlanta to… wherever, took most of his “borrowed” money.

That was another thing. His parents would be so mad when they noticed he took from his savings account. That money was supposed to go to his skating class- or more recently, his hockey equipment.

Maybe he could have asked. Maybe they’d understood, and offered more, and Coach would have lent him his own brass compass, the one inherited from his own father, the one he used to follow the pull until he found his own soulmate. Maybe his mother would have kissed him on the forehead and maybe she’d have offered to ride with him wherever the pull led him- North, North, always North…

But maybe not.

It wasn’t something Eric wanted to risk. The steadiness of the pull had stopped, for just a minute, maybe more, but that was enough to change Eric’s own life. He had someone, somewhere, whose soul was compatible with his- who was maybe a lover, a friend- and that someone’s life had blinked.

He held back his nervous tears, fidgeted with the compass once more.

(more under the cut)

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There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it’s actually there. No one has ever returned through it.

There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. Their friend followed after.

One returned.

One did not.

The story did not begin there though. It began long, long ago, in the tales and songs of ancestors long gone; passed from mother to daughter and father to son. They did not fade through time, starting anew in each beating heart of the family line.

They reached a young girl with olive skin and hair like raven’s wings. Her dark eyes would shine as her grandmother wove the tales by the fireside.

She spoke to the girl of a woman with fiery hair and burning eyes, who spoke with flames and held infernos between her palms. Perhaps that sparked the love in her for all things she should not, and she strove to make the embers dance, like the one with fire in her hands.

Her grandmother knew in her old, wise bones that this child needed the tales more than most. Their family had always been aware, trusting their intuition had never led them wrong.

So when the girl came to Elsewhere, (For where else could she have gone?) Everyone steered clear (The school gave up on roommates before very long.)

Perhaps it was because of her reputation of playing with fire, or perhaps it was simply fate, but her chemistry professor paired her with a boy who loved to play with ice. They became unlikely friends, she with her burning salts and he with his liquid nitrogen.

“Call me Pyrra.” she said.

“Frozone.” He grinned, white teeth gleamed against his dark skin.

He told her of his girlfriend back in Louisiana who was pregnant with his child: “It’s too soon to know the gender yet.” And she would just smile.

She told him of her grandparents and their small, simple home that stood alone on the reservation and of the wild horses that would thunder by.

They knew what everyone would say, how unwise it was to share so much about themselves, but they were chemistry majors—those rarely got taken.

The two were closer then blood and they both forgot one very important fact— being Taken isn’t the only way to Vanish.

It had been an accident. Frozone hadn’t been paying attention. He had forgotten to count the doors, as he stumbled to his history class after a long night in the labs. No one probably would have known if a fellow student hadn’t seen him stepping through the door—too late to stop his fate.

Pyrra was the first one told, the RA’s decided to wait till the end of the term before notifying his family. They knew it was a futile hope, but anything beat having to make that call.

Pyrra wouldn’t accept this though. She gathered up her craft, and armed herself with salts to burn. She dressed herself in her tribe’s garments and war paint on her face—there is power in being claimed—and set off for the history building when the moonless night was at its darkest.

The door gave way before her and she crossed into when; not where, her friend had gone. She travelled far until she found where the Little People were gathered round. They vanished as she drew near, but she was unshaken by this or fear.

“I have come to bargain for my brother of heart.”

“What will you give?” They whispered in reply.

“A story like none other.” She called bravely into the night.

“There is no story to match his fate, for his return we will need something great.”

Pyrra paused before standing straight.

“Then I will take his place.”

“Is this your choice?”

She thought of her grandparents, sitting at home, they had only gotten electricity a few years ago.

She thought of Frozone’s sisters, all so young and alone thriving off their brother’s hope to give them a better home, on the income of the degree the scholarship would to them all. She thought about his girlfriend, who worked two jobs by day, and attended a community college to get her art degree by night. With that her mind was made.

“It is.”

Frozone stumbled in, lost and confused as if it had only been an hour instead of a day. He caught onto what had happened more than quick enough.

“Pyrra, you can’t do this! Please! It’s my mistake to pay.”

“Call my grandmother and ask for my name, give it to your daughter and your debt shall be paid.”

That was all the time they had, before he was gone and she had stayed. The Little Folk drew near her now; intent on Their new pet, but she held up her hand, she wasn’t Theirs quite yet.

“I have another bargain to make.”

“What now?” They grumbled, discontent and bored.

“My story for my freedom, I chose to stay, but not to be yours.”

“Fine.” they hissed “But the bargain is this: you must keep us entertained till dawn or to us you will belong.”

What choice was there left for her to make? The sky was at it darkest—the hour before dawn. But how that hour stretched on and on!

She dared not tell her family’s tales, or sing to Them their songs, so she told them what she had, her science close at hand.

She told them how a star was born and how precious gems became; all the while between her hands she wove the tales with flame.

When that never nearing dawn finally broke upon the sky, They praised her skills, and kept their deals; blessing her all the while.

Fire-tongue they called her; Flame-speaker, They would say. They kissed her eyes and painted her lips, dressing her in flame.

She smiled and simply said, “That is not my name.”

For she had a new name now, one that no one could ever Take, now that she had given her old name away.

Frozone made it back and tried to keep his word. He called her grandmother who patiently greeted him and told him Pyrra’s name, only requesting that in return he send her things and bring his daughter by some day. She waved him off when he explained that the baby was still too small to tell, whether it was female or male.

Years passed and soon it was time to graduate. Everyone assumed that Pyrra’s grandparents came for Frozone. No one expected Pyrra to appear and collect her diploma as if she had been there all along. Then again, no one mentioned how her eyes were embers now or how her hair had turned from raven black to crimson—so she very well may have been.

         A few decades later a new student comes—a chemistry major that loves to play with fire. She wears a white smile; which is near blinding against her dark skin. She claims she came to prove that her father paid his debt. She won’t say anymore than that. But sometimes she would leave the dorm shortly before dawn on moonless nights with a string of fireworks in her hands. She would always return the next morning, humming ancient songs as she wrote an email to her father.

         During her time a new tale whispers its way into campus lore.

It’s breathed into the ears of distraught students—those with the courage to try and reclaim the Taken Ones are the only ones to hear the advice.

“Come to the edge of the woods on a moonless night, just before dawn and set off fireworks of every color—then wait.”

The ones who listen return with tales about a woman in smoldering garments, blazing red hair, and glowing embers for eyes who would test their resolve. To those who passed she would gift them with words or song, depending on their need, she might even gift them with her fire.

Regardless of what you get, it is always enough to get them back.

Except no one can remember what it was she gave them. They could never remember the tale itself, just that she gave them one; the songs she granted would dance just beyond memory’s grasp; the image of a mesmerizing flame leaving a ghostly impression inside their eyelids. There was only one thing anyone remembers her saying.

“My name is Story—”

There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it is there. No one has ever returned through it.

There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. His friend followed after.

He returned.

She did not.

“—and I create myself.”

A/N: I know the Gentry come off a little strange in this. It’s mostly because Pyrra is Navajo and thus the stories she knows are of the Little People; but at Elsewhere, the Gentry are for the most part from Great Britain, Ireland and thereabouts. I tried to blend these two cultures. I’m not gunna lie, I didn’t do great. I haven’t done much with Navajo mythology in a long while. I feel it came off pretty shoddy in this. I’m not trying to offend (I’m part native American myself). Also, I love Chemistry but I suck at it which is why I didn’t go as into depth as I would have liked. (My grammar sucks too, so apologies there as well.)

[x]

Sweet Punishment (M)

Im Jaebum | JB (Got7) x Reader 

Word Count: 5845

Genre: Smut [DaddyDom/Submissive Relationship]

“Are you serious?” Jaebum asked incredulously, eyes wide.

“Yes, I am,” You responded confidently, “and you are not going to do anything about it. Are you, Daddy?”


The car was heavy with tension as you sat a red light, the clock nearing midnight, and you felt as though your body was buzzing with electricity. Jaebum’s presence felt heavy and suffocating next to you. All you wanted to do was reach across the center console and make contact with any open skin you could get your fingers on. You needed to feel him, and if you didn’t soon you were sure you would combust. But, with the way you acted at dinner you knew better than to touch him. You were “in trouble” as he put it. You scoffed at the thought.

“What is so funny over there?” Jaebum asked, turning his head for you for a second before returning his eyes to the road.

“Oh, nothing is funny over here,” You replied.

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Hatefuck C.H.

This imagine is based on this song

You can read part 2 here

Trigger Warning: it contains smut and swearing 

Word count: 2,5k+

A/N: I’m thinking about doing a second part to this. Should i? Anyway, hope you like it.  


Heartbreak.

That was the only thing I could feel in that moment. Life was slipping through my fingers and I couldn’t do anything about it. All I could seem to do was sitting on the floor, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Numbness came right after. The tears had already dried; my swollen eyes could hardly see anything. I heard the noise that came from the TV, my chest hurt. Everything was a blur, and not only because I couldn’t see anything because of the tears, but because my mind wasn’t even thinking straight. Trying to steady my breathing, I looked around my apartment. There were smashed dishes lying around the floor, a few picture frames also accompanied them.

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Pocket Change | 1 | (M)

word count: 7.5k

genre: smut; supernatural AU + demon!yoongi

pairing: reader/yoongi

warning(s): mentions of domestic abuse

special thanks to: @honeyheonie for being a wonderful beta  ♡

masterlist

Originally posted by sugaa

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Pulse Part 11

Part 10

Genre: Fluffiest it’s gotten thus far (which probs doesn’t say much)
Words: 2,164
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Injuries
Summary: Soulmate AU in which one’s heartbeat becomes perfectly in sync with their soulmate’s once they meet.

Originally posted by coldrainy


One week. That was how long you had been held in the hospital before you had finally been able to go home- well, to Bucky’s home.

Thanks to the excessive amount of painkillers that had been pushed into your system, you had slept a lot, which had made the beginning of the week go much quicker than you had expected. It was a blessing, being able to clock out while the nurses had changed your dressings and checked your vitals.

Bucky had been in the same spot you had last seen him in when you had woken up on the fourth day since admission. In fact, he had been in the same spot everyday, even waiting in that chair as the nurses had taken you to an adjacent bathroom and given you a bath. It was weird to have had him stay there- not that you hadn’t liked his presence. You had just been waiting for his fiancée to barge in at any moment and question who the hell you were and why her future husband was tending to your every word and need.

You didn’t even think Bucky knew the answer to the last one.

He had acted like the two of you were different people. He had treated you how it would be expected to treat your soulmate, the love of your life. When you had shivered in your sleep, he had brought the blankets up around you instead of letting them rest by your waist. When you had showed the slightest sign of being in pain, he had immediately called to a nurse about the possibility of more painkillers. When you had gotten bored, Bucky had told you stories, or had propped his phone up for the two of you to watch a rented movie off of the little screen. When Wanda had come in to look at the progress in your injuries, he had held your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze it in moments of poking and prodding. He must have gone to shower and eat whenever you had drifted off, because it seemed as if he had been there every moment until you had been released.

After Wanda had helped you get dressed out of your hospital gown, Natasha having been kind enough to drop off some of your clothes, Bucky had helped you walk to a nearby wheelchair (hospital’s release policy) and stopped to go over your healing regimen once more with nurse Wanda. Then you had felt him behind you and the wheelchair start being pushed toward the parking lot.

Once you had gotten in the car and had watched as Bucky hopped into the driver’s side, you had realized that you were slightly nervous to be in a car again. The collision had been one of the most traumatizing things that had ever happened to you.

You had barely noticed when Bucky had reached over and buckled you up.

And then you had gotten on the road. Bucky had driven slow for you, maybe even below the speed limit, and you were sure he would never know how much that had actually meant to you. You had gotten to his house not long after that, parking on the street. Bucky had helped you out of the car, keeping his hand on your lower back as he supported you toward the sidewalk. You had gripped his shoulder with your right arm as you both had climbed the steps to his front door. And then you were inside.

You were in a place that was the closest thing you could call home at the moment, and the first step into the beautiful home made you grateful you were done with the one week in the same room smelling of antiseptic. One week, and now you were stuck with Bucky for one more.

He led you over to the closest sofa and helped you sit down gently, sitting back on his knees to take off your shoes. “Be careful with your side.”

You didn’t answer, instead using your energy to suppress rolling your eyes at his statement. You didn’t think you both could be any more careful.

“Do you want some water?” He spoke again, leaving you sitting on the leather as he walked into the kitchen.

“Sure.” Your voice was quiet, no doubt from how uncomfortable you were starting to become. This was his house; this was his fiancée’s house.

You could hear ice clink into a glass from the other room and then the faucet running. Then Bucky appeared, sitting down on the other side of the couch you were sitting on and handing you your glass.

“So, what do you want to do? I’ve got some movies we can watch or if you just want to relax, I have a lot of books- I could read to you if it would hurt your head with your concussion-”

“Bucky.” You cut him off. “I think I just want to shower and go to bed.”

One good thing about antibiotics and painkillers: you can blame your excessive sleeping on them.

“Oh,” his accepting voice overcompensated for the disappointment he tried (and failed) to hide. “Of course, you’re probably exhausted.”

You forced a smile to him, one that felt more like a grimace, and started to scoot toward the edge of the couch. Bucky was up on his feet in an instant, leaning down with a strong hand on your back and another holding your right hand to stabilize your balance.

He walked you to the bathroom, pausing only once the both of you have stepped inside to watch as you stepped out from his hold and turned to look at him expectantly.

He looked nervous- actually, he looked more than nervous. He looked terrified. You lifted your arms a little. “As much as I wish anyone else could help me at this moment, I don’t have much of an option, so come on.”

He swallowed hard, his movements hesitant as he reached out to help you out of the shirt you were in. He went for the buttons first, your wrist unable to bend to that angle in the bright cast it was being held tight in. His fingers were slow, and he was treating the shirt with as much delicacy as he was treating you with. The two of you were standing extremely close, and you had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his solid chest so you wouldn’t make eye contact in such a vulnerable moment.

Once the shirt was unbuttoned, he helped move it down your arms, carefully sliding it from around your cast, and tossed it to the floor without a second glance. No words were exchanged as he immediately looked at you, reaching for the band of your leggings. And the way he was looking at you- Oh, God, you wished you were dressed sexier. But you had just gotten out of the hospital and with limited options as to what wouldn’t irritate your injuries, you were out of luck.

You held onto his shoulder with your right hand as he slid the leggings down your legs and helped you step out of them. And then he was at his full height again, looking down into your eyes and searching. For what, you didn’t know, but you knew it was easy to get lost in his eyes, and it was exactly what you were doing. The blue of them pulled at the heart deep in your chest, acting as a string connecting the two of you together. You could feel the strain as your heart tried to get closer to him. You involuntarily moved toward him.

His fingers trailed along your sides, gently skimming the skin there before they rested with his thumbs against your ribs, lightly circling the harsh bruising that marked you. You held your breath.

His right hand rose and moved a piece of hair behind your ear. “You can’t get your cast wet.”

Your mouth felt dry as you scrambled to reply. “I know.”

Your right hand still rested on his shoulder. His right hand returned to it’s soothing place at your side. “Do you want me to help wash your hair? If not, you can kick me out right now.”

He was so beautiful, you didn’t think you had the strength while in his arms like this to kick him out. “You can help.”

His tired eyes skimmed your face once more, an action that made your knees weak, before he took a step back. He helped you into the tub in your sports bra and underwear, lowering you down slowly until you were able to sit comfortably. You jolted when the water turned on, cold before it turned warmer, and you caught Bucky chuckling at the reaction.

Your cast rested over the edge of the tub as Bucky filled a large cup with the hot water, slowly pouring it over your hair and making sure it all got wet. He followed the action with some shampoo, gently rubbing the soap into your hair without adding any pain to the already bruised area underneath.

“Does your head hurt at all?”

You shook your head, your eyes drooping at the relaxing feeling of someone else washing your hair.

“You promise? You have to be careful with your concussion.” You nod again, your eyes fluttering open as he rinsed your hair out. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“But I’m tired,” you whined.

“I know, I know.” He couldn’t fight his smile as he reached for the bar of soap. “Arms up and then we can get you to bed.”

You did as told, reaching up as he ran the soap over what your cast didn’t cover, your chest, and your abdomen, circling around any wounds as to not rub and irritate them, but letting the water mix with the soap as it ran over them to clean. Once you were all rinsed off, Bucky offered his hands to you, taking your right one in his, and supporting you as you stepped from the tub.

He wrapped a towel around you and used another to partially dry your hair. All the while making sure your cast stayed completely dry.

“I’ll go grab you some of your clothes to change into and your toothbrush and stuff. I’ll be right outside the door when you’re done.” He set the toothpaste out on the countertop, returning back only a minute later with your things, and then he was shutting the door.

It took longer than it should have to get completely ready for bed, and you blamed your cast for that. But once you were dressed, clean, and too tired to take another step, you headed out of the bathroom. Bucky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and waiting for you. Once you emerged, he took you to a bedroom at the end of the hall. 

It was big, and mostly neutral colored. The walls were a very light gray, paired with a white bedspread that covered a king sized bed. The floors were wooden, as was one of the walls on the other side of the room that had been converted into a bookshelf. There was a television on top of a dresser in front of the bed, but you looked almost completely past it, instead focusing on how soft the bedding actually looked.

“We have an extra room, but we haven’t actually gotten a bed for it yet. This house is newly bought…”

We.

Him and Samantha.

You nodded, not wanting to dwell on that while you had the opportunity to sleep right in front of you. He led you to the bed, pulling back the blankets and helping you get inside, before covering you back up. He looked like he wanted to say something as he stood over you, playing with your hair while he thought, but all he ended up with was: “ll wake you up when it’s time for more painkillers. Night, Fighter.”

And then he was leaving, flicking the light off as he went. He left the door cracked open so he could hear if you needed anything, but the room was otherwise silent and dark, with the exception of the patter of raindrops on the window.

You couldn’t see much in the room now, but it wouldn’t matter anyway, because the only image your brain was processing was the conflict you had seen many times in Bucky’s eyes just since you had gotten “home.”

It was almost impossible to know his thought process, so instead of torturing yourself with it, you accepted the kindness you were going to get from him, and forced yourself not to get your hopes up.

It was hard not to, though, as you fell asleep on what you knew was his side of the bed, surrounded in the smell of him. He wasn’t wrong in what he had told you at the hospital; you felt safe there.


Part 12

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5

For the first time in a while, normalcy, or the closest thing they could obtain to true normalcy, returned to the Avengers Tower. Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Clint were welcomed back after hours of debating with the Accords. Perhaps since Bucky didn’t return with them, it was easier for the government to forgive them, considering their acts of justice in the past.

Even when they returned, tensions were high between some of the Avengers. Steve could tell Wanda was still facing hardships and obviously Rhodey’s accident made the people who sided with Steve feel awkward, despite their apologies. Steve knew that it’d be a while until they felt like a true team again. It was understandable, after all. He just wished he could at least help with whatever Tony was planning, yet refusing to reveal.

He had no idea that the plan was involving you. Of course, he hadn’t seen you since his accident in World War II. You didn’t make yourself known if you didn’t have to. You couldn’t stand violence and only used defensive moves to stop someone. The British government contacted you to protect the country from time to time, but you tended to help people with a shadow to hide in. It was an amazement that Tony Stark found you. You did work with his father, so Tony took the information from his father’s things.

A box was waiting for you when you arrived at the apartment that you were currently staying in. You left Themyscira younger than your mother had wanted for you to fight in the war alongside the soldier that landed his plane on the shore. Regardless of your appearance matching one of a teenager’s, the government covered for you. Obviously going to school for the rest of your life would just be tiresome so you were jobless when you saw the box.

The familiar logo jumped out at you when you opened it. Stark Industries. You hadn’t seen any of the Starks since World War II, yet you heard that Howard and Maria had died. It must be from Anthony then. Inside was a picture that you forgot about. There you were, looking the exact same, standing among the soldiers from World War II. People wouldn’t believe that you fought with them, since you looked young, but there’s the proof. There was a little note. I found it among my father’s belongings. We should talk. - Tony Stark

Finding a flight to New York where the Avengers are located was less than ideal, but it didn’t stop you from booking a flight. The flight was particularly boring as you thought about what Tony Stark might want from you. From what you heard about the Avengers, they were just recovering from their own personal fight. Captain America, or Steve, was as passionate as he was in the war, although this time, his passion was not welcomed. Thinking about the possibilities, you looked out the window. The plane ride reminded you of what brought you to humanity in the first place.

When you landed, you weren’t entirely surprised how easy it was to find the Avengers. It had been a while since you were in New York and it was quite busier than you remembered, but you acted casual as you approached the Avengers Tower. It wasn’t everyday that people connected to your past requested your presence.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced in the kitchen, “Mr. Stark, a woman is outside, claiming that you invited her. Would you like to see who?” Steve looked at Tony curiously as Sam asked, “Who’d you invite?”

“No one,” Tony dismissed before responding to F.R.I.D.A.Y., “I know who it is. Let her up.”

Steve didn’t like being kept out of whatever Tony was planning. He asked, “Do we know her?”

Looking at him, he laughed a bit at his own inside joke. Steve looked at him like he had lost it until he turned to the elevator opening. Looking the same as you did on the battlefield, Steve was shocked to see Y/N Y/L/N standing in the Avengers Tower. Of course, you weren’t wearing your battle gear, sticking with casual clothes, but your golden tiara still rested on your forehead and your bracelets were peeking out under your sleeves. He was shocked at how casual you looked, since Steve remembered you from the war. You had led the rescue mission from Hydra with him. Despite all this, he did recall one nickname you were rather fond of.

“The Star Spangled Man with a Plan,” you stated with a small smile, “I did hear that you got out of the ice.” You talked to Agent Carter every so often, but you didn’t bring the sensitive topic up.

“Y/N of Themyscira,” Steve greeted with a respectful nod. You used Y/L/N, but it wasn’t your true last name. Of course, when Bucky left, another old friend looking exactly the same came back. “Always a pleasure.”

Tony looked between the two with an almost bored expression, before cutting in, “Now that the reunion is over, I’d prefer to talk with Miss Y/L/N.” He looked at the small group who had gathered and added, “Cap, since you know her, you can stay.” The group dispersed at the mention, some looking at you curiously before they left. Steve glanced at you and nodded with a knowing smirk about what would happen.

Turning to Tony, your eyes weren’t necessarily angry, but they were ablaze with passion as you spoke in a tone commanding respect, “If you wish to be formal, call me Princess Y/N of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyte.” You hated being called Miss, since that wasn’t your title. Although your preference is no formalities, if people are adamant about using a title, you will not settle for anything less that who you truly are.

Tony was shocked for a couple of seconds before appearing casual about it. Your appearance always threw people off, but Tony appeared to be reminded. You didn’t want to add that you knew his parents before he was even thought of, since it made you seem like a bitter old person. Your stance was like your tone. It demanded respect. You learned that people wouldn’t listen to you unless you didn’t give them the option of ignoring you.

After your conversation with Tony Stark, you had quite a lot of consider about your future. Not that it looked different from now. The only thing that could change would be whether or not you accepted his invitation to join the Avengers. Personally, you knew Tony’s emotions could make him fight first and talk later, if the fighting between the Avengers proved anything. You also knew of the benefits of actually being an Avenger.

You’d have to uproot your life and leave behind your background in England once the soldier took you from Themyscira. When you arrived at England with him, he was the one to convince the others to let you fight. You thought of him as your closest friend. He had been dead for many years and, whenever you visited his grave, you realized how much you were forgetting about him slowly. To leave England would be as if you were officially letting him go.

In order to give you time to think, Tony and Steve let you be, giving you some places in the tower they thought you might enjoy. That’s how you found yourself floating in an indoor pool. Technically, you could swim with your tiara and bracelets, yet you took them off. After a while, your hair fanned around your head as you floated on your back.

The water was slightly heated, reminding you of the water in Themyscira. You closed your eyes and it all came back. The forestry and buildings. You could almost hear the training and smiled sadly when you remembered your fellow Amazons fighting for goodness in humanity. Your mother, Hippolyte, looked over the community with pride.

Then the memory changed to the water you dived in to save the soldier who crashed his plane into the ocean. He had began to close his eyes as he lost all oxygen by the time you got to him. Your mother was wary of the stranger, not willing to send anyone to help the humans in the war. You tried to sneak out with him, only to be caught by your mother. She looked at you, her greatest joy in the world, and let you go, to save humanity. What you were told Amazons did.

The war was truly terrifying, yet you charged to stop the cruel enemy. You led soldiers with the soldier that crashed on Themyscira. There were times that he doubted the full extent of your powers, but you earned his trust regardless. You found out your true lineage after the war, when you discovered that aging didn’t effect you like it did other people. That’s when the government decided to protect you and you continued your mission as an Amazon at night.

Your recollection of past memories was interrupted by someone entering the room. You immediately stood up in the pool and faced whoever walked in. It was a boy, probably a teenager, with a backpack and school books in his hand. He seemed just as shocked to find himself there. “Mr. Stark told m-me to welcome the guest t-t-to the tower,” he stuttered slightly before clearing his throat, “You’re Wonder Woman.”

You felt complimented by his awe and only nodded. His eyes wandered to the table where your tiara and bracelets were placed. He immediately went to them and hesitantly touched a bracelet. Getting out of the pool, you wrapped a towel around yourself and stood by the boy. “I’m Peter, by the way,” he stated, still looking down. When he looked up to see you beside him, Peter jumped out of shock and rambled, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-I mean, it’s not that you’re scary- I’m not easily startled, but-”

He stopped when he saw you put on your tiara so he picked up a bracelet and began talking again, “Bracelet of Submission, huh? I always wondered why you wore these. They’re great deflectors, but why not a shield or something with a larger surface to block?” Peter tried to put the bracelet on you before you quickly pushed him back so he couldn’t fasten the bracelet on you. “Oh, am I not supposed to do that? I’ll just put it down.” He hastily placed it on the table.

“We wear them to remind us of our slavery under Hercules. They’re to lower our ego,” you explained carefully, not wanting him to think you didn’t like the boy you had just met, “Aphrodite made them indestructible with metal from the Aegis, making them have the surface area of a shield.” You looked at him cautiously as you fastened on the bracelets to your own arms. “I pushed you away because our strength is lost if a man fastens our bracelets.”

Peter stuttered a bit more, “Y-y-yeah. I won’t touch those t-then.” You were even more of a legend then the Avengers to Peter. The demigod has been a constant for Europe long before the Avengers formed. You had survived through so much. He expected you to be stoic so he wished that he’d stop being a stuttering idiot around you. “I’m Spiderman, by the way!” His outburst slightly shocked you so Peter continued in a calmer tone, “I mean, it’s pretty cool.”

“Oi, Spiderboy,” Tony called as he walked past and stopped at the door, “I sent you to say hi, not scare our guest.” He turned to you with more respect than he had originally presented you with. “Y/N, we’re planning a patrol at nighttime. Would you like to join us?”

You nodded firmly. “If I can be of any assistance.” Tony nodded back and left the two by themselves.

“It’s not Spiderboy,” Peter meekly called after him. Of course, he met one of his favorite heroes and looked like a complete fool throughout the entire meeting. “I have a bunch of homework,” he excused himself, “That I have to get done before the patrol. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“It was nice meeting you, Peter,” you replied politely, planning to swim once he left. When Peter left, he couldn’t help but wonder what it must have been like. Your true age is hundreds of years old and you were stuck in a teenager’s body. He wondered if you ever acted like a teen.

The stories revolved around a fun loving Amazon helping humanity from itself. Years of wars and helping certainly wore down on a person. While you lost the reputation of carefree, you helped humanity time and time again in countless wars and battles. You’d sometimes hear the parting words uttered by your mother as you gave up your life on Themyscira.

“They do not deserve you.”

The Only Exception (Part 3)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: language, fluff, wishful thinking, hot firemen, sarcasm, cynicism, bad jokes, drinking, sad story retelling (mentions of death and loss)

A/N: Moving right along…and yes, I used a Keep Reading line. Also, shout out to @redgillan for making my day brighter.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

Originally posted by kittyseb

Keep reading

Thin Walls

Jhope/Jung Hoseok x Reader

Word Count: 2.435

Warnings: Sexual Content [Kinda Mutual Masturbation??], Some profanity

A/N. This was supposed to be a smut but then I got deep in the plot dammit;-; Now it’s all angstyish

Ples enjoy

It was a wonder how they could be so loud. Or energetic.

All you wanted to do was relax in your room but obviously they weren’t going to allow it. Every now and then, Hoseok (the lovely roommate he was) would bring over his girlfriend so that they could “hang out” but they obviously did more. Sometimes you would go out to avoid the noise they made and other times, you would try to drown the sound out with something else. This just had to be one of those nights.

Keep reading

Mistaken Identity

Originally posted by highwaytosupernatural

Summary: Mistaking Dean for your blind date saves your life… literally

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,500

Warnings: making out? Home invasion/being attacked in your own home. 

A/N: This is for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog trope challenge! My prompt was #22: mistaken identity leads to a relationship. Considering doing a part 2, but unsure at the moment. Enjoy!

Keep reading

13 Going on 30 (Part 4)

Summary: When your 13th birthday party goes awry, and you make a life changing wish - you wake up to discover you’ve flash forwarded 17 years ahead.

A/N: Shit gets real in this part. Lemme know what you guys thought about for this one! also yes ma’am let’s admire the beauty of this gif

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

@spidweeb you’re an absolute saint, and thank you again for all the help. 

Originally posted by mylastlove-mylastsong

Keep reading

Tonight’s All About You

Summary: You’re not super big on sharing your feelings and when dinner goes terribly at your parents house, Bucky helps you forget about it all.

Warnings: angst, abuse, smut; oral sex (female receiving) and fingering

A/N: I needed to write this to escape another panic and depression attack. I swear I’ll get to requests soon.

(Masterlist)

Keep reading

Drip Drop [REQUESTED]
  • Pairing: Jerome Valeska x Reader
  • Prompt: [ANON] gothammm can u do a oneshot where reader is jims v close niece or sth who has social anxiety and phobia of blood and then jim drags her into gcpd office where she forces her to be a cop (like in training?) and then unfortunately for her, jerome and the gang comes for a shooting and then she just hides smwr like undr the table and jerome sees and finds it cute but shes pale af cuz of all the blood and she cant say or do anything cuz of fear and social anxiety?

YAYYYY! My first request from being in tumblr for 4(?) days!!! I got this request from a person [Which that person wants to stay anonymous] and it was interesting to write! It took me awhile since I have to study on how to get in a Police Department for this one and some test required. I tweaked some minor stuff, hope you don’t mind! Also, before you say that Jim couldn’t have any niece because he doesn’t have a sibling (In my information, still haven’t watched Gotham fully.) this is an AU where either your mother or father is Gordon’s sibling. Also this is a female reader insert, I couldn’t do both genders in one go since I’m really strict to grammar even though my grammar isn’ really that great. Anyways hope you guys like it, and you too anon who requested this!


You went in to you and your Uncle Jim’s shared apartment, you could hear him cooking something as the aroma of the food hits through the air. You dropped yourself on the couch and wailed like a kicked puppy.

“Oh, (Y/N). Finally find a job?” you could hear some utensils where set.

“No luck Uncle Jim…”

You were Jim Gordon’s niece. Since your parents died from a homicide when you were still a wee child. Jim was the only relative accepted you and took you in. After him helping you throughout the incident, you both became a close duo. Now that you were in a legal age and haven’t entered to any college since you and your uncle couldn’t afford for it you decided to help the household by applying on an occupation. So far, all the interviews were a disappointment.

“Could you set the table?” Jim requested as you groaned but rose and carried on what the elder told you to do.

The both of you consumed the dish in peace for a while then Jim decided to break the silence.

“I could get you in at the GCPD as a police though since we are in need after the Maniax incident,” he lifted an eyebrow at you while chewing the food inside his mouth. You thought about it, it could raise your cash earning, yes. Plus, you do have an athletic history and could fire a gun, which Jim educated you for self-defense. But the major obstacle is that you were scared of blood, in other words you have hemophobia. That’s the con, but you were mentally humiliated being puppied by your uncle. You want to assist the household too, but this decision could cause you to be terrified to death. No, I could do this. You thought to yourself, this would make me stronger.

“I’m up for it,” you said returning eye contact.

Jim knew about this phobia of yours, he doubt that you would accept it but he was surprised that you acknowledged it. “Are you sure? There would be a bloody incident now and then, I know you want to help but you don’t know what will happen in every second or minute.”

I’m sure of it.” He sighed then bowed his head a little to respect your choice.

“Well then I’ll prepare everything else, also you need to prepare about the LEE examination for it and at least have 70% above to pass. So, good luck kiddo.” He smiled at her then they proceeded to eat in silence. On that night you searched a lot of information for the test to raise your chances on passing.

The next day you and Jim were driving to the station, “My niece would like to apply.” He then advanced and gave your citizenship card and driver license, your high school diploma also to be checked by the woman on the counter. You were pretty apprehensive at this, having negative speculation every now and then. What if I did pass then saw blood throughout the job? I don’t even know if I would be able to pass this, I hope they like me… That’s some of the few anticipation that you have been deliberating to yourself.

It was going fine until several gunshots were heard; the worst thing is that it was “NEARBY”. The windows shattered and you squeaked in surprise and horror, some police were shot, which made your eyes expand.

Blood, all over.

You started to hyperventilate; your body was shaking fiercely. Your uncle led you to the other side of the counter and made you hide under the table at one corner. It was a good hiding place but you doubt it will last. He ordered to stay there and gave you a pocketknife to defend yourself. “I’ll be back, think of your happy place (Y/N)…” he was on pins and needles that you will lose consciousness and with your pale figure; it was obvious you weren’t fine. He grasped both of your hands and you focused on him, still shaking and sobbing. “Do what I told you (Y/N)—“



Close your eyes, and think about positive things.”

He said hugging you; your six-year-old figure struck by a jolt at the sight of the cadaver of your parents in the kitchen. The floor was tainted in red and their eyes are dull. Police and medics can be heard rushing outside. Uncle Jim always told to you to do that when you sighted blood, and it always seemed to work. You trusted him that much.

“I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”



You urged your head to nod which worked and he smiled and ruffled your hair before sneakily went out of sight to see what’s happening. The girl that your uncle talked to you a few minutes ago was there laying nearby, now a carcass. There’s another police you can see near at your hiding place lifeless too. You felt light headed at this point. It was horrifyingly catastrophic.

And when you heard a happy whistling tune and footsteps, you hugged yourself firmly. Clutching the knife that your uncle gave you, you closed your eyes and did what your uncle told you. Think of happy thoughts, and trust him even though your heart was pounding by the trigger of your phobia and also fearing for you life.



The MANIAX was back after estimated two weeks and were up for some show, the group of mentally ill people decided to welcome one of the most entertaining yet foolish department of all time. Gotham City Police Department. Requested by the leader of the group, the one and only Jerome Valeska.

Jerome was whistling and slightly skipping while glancing anywhere if there are any alive preys still in sight for him to satisfy his hunger. While he walked he heard a whimper, he walked towards where he heard it and saw a girl hiding under a table. She was obviously scared; Jerome couldn’t help but think it was adorable. He started to near her, gun in hand in case the girl didn’t afford the entertainment he needed. When he was in front of her, kneels down. He noticed a knife in her fist.

Boo!” he giggled. The girl suddenly by instinct stabbed him on his upper arm which was took him in shock. He noticed the girl got more scared, he didn’t knew if it was him or something else.

S-sorry!” she gasped. “I, I… Scare! . Bl-Bl-Blood!”

Not, not…. Kill, I pl-pl-please!”

He looks at her, as if she was a precious baby to be saved, not bothering the pain he felt on his shoulder. The blood flowed and the girl whimpered at the sight of it and at the sight of the well-known psychopath. This made him smile at how adorable she was, he thought. He liked her instantly. Maybe he should keep her alive and play with her for a little while. It would be interesting enough for him; besides if she gets boring he could kill her instantly. But something about her that made Jerome uneasy, a feeling or an emotion he couldn’t put into which he just shrugged off.

“Don’t worry doll,” he said and puts a hand behind her head and pushed her onto his chest and cradled her. “Now close your eyes, drop the knife and put your hands around me.” You still cried but managed to do what he said and embraced him even though she could feel the phobia rush in as she felt the sticky blood touching her arm. But she didn’t bother it, she was a facing a killer and she was exhausted. That’s a downside. She felt her world being dim and darker in every blink. Her breath seemingly slowed down. Before she could pass out, she could hear the psychopath’s comforting voice once again.

“Now, now doll. I’ll protect you for now on.”

The One

IMAGINE: If you asked Steve about his dream girl, his ‘the one’, he would have never described her, never even would have thought of her…funny how things work out.

[gif is not mine. based on the poem with the same name by lang leav. requests are open. this one shot is the first part to however many poetry inspired one shots i do.]  

warnings: none

words: 2.3 k+


‘I don’t want you to love me because I’m good for you, because I say and do all the right things. Because I am everything you are looking for…’

There was something in the way that she walked, she talked or the way she did anything that set him on fire. He’s never met a more infuriating person. A more different person than he was.

“I just don’t get why you’re being so emotional about this,” she rolled her eyes as she watched Steve sigh once again.

“(Y/N)…” Steve looked at the woman in front of him. The thick fashion magazine held in her hand, “Just because it’s not about fashion or tearing someone down does not mean that you shouldn’t care about this.”

She bit her lip, “It’s just Tony.”

“Exactly, he’s going to break her heart,” he explained. “She’s only a kid (Y/N).”

(Y/N) sat down next to him, “Look Rogers, it’s their life and she wants to be with him then let her. Just support her.”

“He’s just going to use her,” Steve spoke quietly.

In an instant (Y/N)’s demeanor change. Long gone was the somewhat caring girl, it was now replaced by her usual stance around him -cold, hard and unfeeling. “You watch your mouth Rogers, because I swear to god if you throw Tony’s past in his face, I will hurt you.” Her grip tightened on the magazine.

Steve turned around and looked into her eyes. There was anger underlying it, fire in her eyes. “She’s like a sister to me. He’s the type of person that can hurt someone.”

(Y/N) stood up sharply, and through gritted teeth she spoke, “And he’s like a brother to me Rogers.” She leaned forward, him leaning as she got closer, “You watch your mouth around me.” (Y/N) moved back and started walking away. “By the way, he’s the type of person that can only hurt someone if they’ve hurt him first, so maybe don’t judge on him when you don’t know all the facts.”

She walked faster to the door, slamming it as hard as she can.


‘… I want to be the one that you didn’t see coming. The one who gets under your skin. Who makes you unsteady. Who makes you question everything you have ever believed in love. Who makes you feel reckless and out of control. The one you are infuriatingly and inexplicably drawn to…’

If you told Steve Rogers that one day he’ll wake up with a strange inkling that will soon lead to the discovery that he found (Y/N) attractive and that he actually liked her, he would have probably laughed in your face and politely say that ‘you’re crazy.’


That was the conundrum that he found himself in as he watched her laugh with Bucky and Sam. Of course he still found her annoying and judgemental, and the complete opposite of himself, as well as what he found attractive. But watching her laugh with his two best friends, her head thrown back without any care, her hips jutting out as she told off Sam for doing something stupid. There was just something about her that he couldn’t explain.

“Why do you keep staring at her?” Pietro asked as he stood next to Steve.

Steve turned to Pietro, “I just wanted to know how such a small girl can contain so much evil in her.”

“She’s not that bad,” Pietro started. “She’s only like that whenever she’s around you.”

“She criticizes everything that I do, from the way I walk or my clothes -did you know that she hates me wearing plaid? I apparently have the entire of plaid in my wardrobe.” He paused and looked at her again, “It’s just she’s so different from the women that I’m used to.”

“Why does that have to be a bad thing?”

Steve took a while  to come up with his answer. Opening his mouth to voice out something but every time he did Steve felt that it wasn’t the right thing to say. Finally he came to the conclusion, “It’s not.”

“Don’t you realize that maybe why you hate her is because you like her?” Pietro spoke, tilting his head towards her direction. When Steve didn’t speak, Pietro broke out into a huge grin and chuckled, “Fuck, you’re hell bent crushing on her! That’s why you’re staring at her so much with that stupid-loved up look on your face!” Steve glared at Pietro who wasn’t deterred by the intimidating look on the super soldier.

As Pietro walked away he saw that (Y/N)’s conversations with the boys has finished and started walking over to where he was. He saw her smile at him and he probably thought that she forgot that he was Steve Rogers.

“Rogers,” she greeted. She looked him up and down, “Not wearing plaid I see.”

“What is it with you and the plaid?” He groaned. He honestly couldn’t understand it. Plaid isn’t that bad and he didn’t have that many plaid shirts.

She shrugged, “I have something for you.” She walked past him, knowing that he would follow her even though she didn’t ask him. Her aura commanded him. Steve rolled his eyes. Typical.


When they reached her bedroom, he looked around apprehensively taking in her bedroom. It was nice, it was minimal barely any decorations. He walked to her table where a cork table was placed. He smiled when he saw that it was pictures of her and the Avengers scattered around what he guessed was mementos. “You kept this?” He pointed at the ticket stub in bottom left corner, one that was hidden behind everything.

(Y/N) turned around and saw that he was touching the ticket stub gingerly, “I had a good time.” She remembered the day vividly, it was when everyone was on their mission and she was stuck at the compound because she broke her arm, while Steve was struck with a fever. She was bored and she was stuck babysitting him, so she decided to take him to the MET when he was feeling better. Up until that day she didn’t know that they had anything in common, other than the fact that he was her match when it came to verbal sparring.

He found out that art is one of her biggest passions and that she wanted to become an art historian but certain things happened that led her to follow in her father’s footsteps. Steve remembered thinking that maybe she wasn’t the shallow, vapid girl he thought she was. Like an art piece there was always something meaningful behind everything.

Their days were spent talking about his past and how he felt about the future, watching movies from his time and her being surprised when he quoted Casablanca. He hesitantly revealed to her that it was one of the first movies that he saw when he came out of the ice.

Everything was fine until the others got back and they were back at their old habits again, though this time it felt less personal and more for a show.  


“Aha!” She proclaimed as she opened a drawer and pulled out a neatly wrapped present. It was blue and white, with a red bow on top. “Gotta have that Captain America theme,” she winked at him and passed him the present.

He opened the present slowly, trying carefully not to rip the paper. Once he saw what was wrapped, words got stuck in his throat. “(Y/N)…”

“Don’t start crying on me Rogers,” she warned but there was no malice in her voice.

He pulled the paper away. It was his drawing that he did of everyone, a drawing of a photograph that she and he both proudly displayed in their bedrooms. He thought he lost it when Natasha did her usual random clearing of everything in everyone’s rooms. “This is beautiful.” He stroked the frame, it was gold and one of those smaller frames that held priceless arts in the museums. “Thank you so much.”

She shrugged, thinking nothing of it. “Guess my barging into people’s rooms is a good thing.” She walked over to him, her heart filling with warmth as he gazed and touched the picture frame. “At least your abnormally large hands can create something good.”


As Steve left her room, he found himself in another conundrum. How did he get into this situation? How did he manage to find a person that was the complete opposite of him, the untraditional girl who set his soul on fire. The girl who he disliked with so much passion, the one who constantly bickered with him, manage to make him feel like he’s never felt before?


‘… I don’t want to be the one who tucks you into bed -I want to be the reason why you can’t sleep at night.’

When Steve was a young child he knew what love meant. It meant being there for the person that you cared for. It was easy. It was safe. There were no fights, if there was there was it would just be little bickers. Steve would come home, greet his wife and children and they would live happily ever after. He dreamt for that life, he yearned for it, even after he came out of the ice.

Then she came into his life and turned everything upside down. She was a constant thorn in his side that manage to somehow, overtime, turn into one of the most beautiful flowers he has ever seen. Maybe she wasn’t a thorn after all, maybe she was just a particularly prickly bud that he judged based on appearance, but after he got a closer look, after it took time, she turned into something else.


“Weren’t we supposed to have this massive epiphany that you liked me? Or you know someone makes this giant I like you speech and this is why I like you?” (Y/N) spoke as she chopped the carrot.

Steve shrugged, “You don’t like grand gestures.”

(Y/N) turned to face him, hand clutching the knife, “Excuse me! I do too like grand gestures, as long as they don’t embarrass me,” she started listing of things and Steve found himself looking at her. Really looking at her. The only time that he paid attention was when she pinched him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Careful with that knife (Y/N),” he plucked it out of her hands and she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t have a great epiphany because the feeling was always there so I just woke up one day and went ‘oh, I like her’,” he finished his speech with a casual shrug.

He went back to chopping the onions, his peripheral vision allowed him to see that she was still in the same position. She picked up the knife and started chopping the carrots. “You’re such a sap.” Steve smiled as she said those words, it was her basically saying that she liked him as well.


“I don’t get why we can’t have steak (Y/N)!” Pietro yelled as he picked his food with his fork. “There are proteins that we need.”

“Because Tony decided that he wants to try vegetarianism,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “So we have to cater for the almighty Iron Man.” She threw a bean at him which he caught and smiled at her.

Steve sat next to her watching as she kept making faces at Tony, and not at all enjoying her food. He made a mental note to take her to Taco Bell after dinner. Maybe it was that moment that made him know that he really, truly, deeply in love with her. With her hair cascading down her face, and she made an aggravated noise when it fell in front of her face. Or maybe it was the way that she got along with other people, or maybe. There were too many maybe’s what he did know was that he wanted to say it out loud for everyone to know.

“Excuse me,” he spoke loudly as he stood up. “I just wanted to let everyone to know that I love (Y/N).” Steve could feel the glare from (Y/N), and the amused stares from the others. “I love her because she secretly loves me in plaid, she said so. The fact that she cries whenever that giraffe ad comes on, I love her-,” he didn’t get to finish as (Y/N) yelled at him. ‘

“STEVE GRANT ROGERS!” (Y/N) stood up, her face red due to embarrassment, but she couldn’t help but feel giddy and light inside.

“I also love her when she screams out my name just like that,” he winked at everyone and made a mad dash to the door.

“ROGERS!” With an ungraceful stand she began running after him, but not before flipping off everyone in the room, causing them to laugh louder.

She finally caught up to him, took her shoe off and hit him, “Did you just throw your shoe at me?” Steve turned around amused.

“I cannot believe you did that!”

“You said you loved grand gestures,” he teased as he picked up the shoe and started walking towards her.

“I specifically said that I hated grand gestures.”

He shrugged and wrapped his arms around her, “But I love you so I should get a pass for that.”

“The only people that get a pass for embarrassing me are the people that I love,” she smirked at him, hoping that he got what she was saying. She watched as he fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

“You love me,” she scowled at the shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’re an idiot.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, “But maybe I somewhat love you.” (Y/N) pressed her lips against his. Steve tightened his arms around her and smiled into the kiss.

“Guys, oh my god! Gross!” Sam yelled as he walked into the room and saw the couple heavily making out. Sam made a face and began gagging. “Get a room!” He made a disgusted noise and yelled at them once more and left the room.

Speak Softly, Love (1)

Originally posted by visual-jongdae

Part 2

“Speak softly, love so no on hears us but the sky, the vows of love we make will live until we die…”

Note:The song Speak Softly, Love by Andy Williams (yes this is the song from The Godfather) greatly inspired this story, hence the story title. I’m not telling you to listen to it, but listen to it ;)

Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Member: Sehun

Warnings: 

Masterlist


You twirled the glass of wine that was on the table in front of you, sighing as you gazed at the dance floor. Your father has always liked to have these glamorous parties, or events, as he liked to call them, that attracted the rich and sometimes a few well known singers that were made successful by your father himself. A lot of illegal gambling secretly went on during nights like these, meaning more money coming in for him which is probably why your father enjoyed holding these things so much.

Being the daughter of the Don, leader of the Mafia, had its perks and some downfalls as well. Number one would probably be attending this. As much as you didn’t enjoy being here, you did it for your father. He, for some reason liked it when you sat in on these. It must have been since your mother died that he became like this, but you would never know since you never asked. 

You were his pride and joy, he’d always say. You and the Mafia were all he had and he treasured both with his life. 

A familiar figure began approaching you, your heart began to beat a little faster at the sight of the young man approaching you. 

It was Sehun.

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Infatuation

Originally posted by qt-taehyungssi

“Laying in bed, Taehyung’s mind skimmed over the events from today, always pausing to think about the extremely pretty girl who was staring at him earlier. He was determined to find out who she was, she wasn’t getting away so easily.”

Genre: Fluff | Angst
Members: Taehyung x Reader
Word count: 1528

Masterlist | Next

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I Won’t Say pt. 2 (Jughead x Reader)

-Summary: Part two of I Won’t Stay, where Jughead and Y/N go to the dance together but ditch.

-Jughead Jones x Reader

-Request? Yep.

-Word Count: 1110

-Warnings: none

-A/N: Jughead is living in the drive in still for this one, it fits better with the story.

-Tags: @multiversegalaxygirl@xbobaaa , @flowercrown-bucky ,

—-

Jughead’s POV

If I was being honest, I was quite nervous. I was supposed to be picking up Y/N in thirty minutes for the school dance that she asked me to. Dances aren’t my thing, but I wasn’t about to say no to a chance with Y/N, even though everything in my head was telling me that I should do otherwise, that anything to do with relationships is a waste, because someone always gets hurt in the end. But I ignored it, and decided I’m gonna do what my heart wants for once. She is the one who asked me after all.  Or had I misinterpreted it? Was she asking me as a friend? I hoped not.

I shook the thoughts from my head and grabbed my phone and left the drive in, locking the door to the place behind me. After about twenty minutes I arrived at Y/N’s house; I was ten minutes early, but that didn’t matter, she usually gets ready for things super quick. I sent her a quick text telling her I was here, opting not to knock on the door and having to face her nosy mother.

I may love Y/N, but that does not mean I have to like her parents.

No, I’m still not admitting that I love her.

After a minute or two, the door opened up to a smiling Y/N. I couldn’t help but smile back, she had the most beautiful smile.

“Ready to go?” I asked her.

She nodded, “Let’s go.”

When we arrived at school, we immediately found our group of friends. They all greeted us and the evening went on with us just talking and drinking the punch that had not yet been spiked by Reggie. I was getting kind of bored after about two hours, Y/N and I just sitting down, watching everybody dancing.

Then, the slow dance came on.

I sat there for a couple of seconds, debating whether I should ask her to dance. It would be rude if I didn’t, but also risky if I did. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and finally said it:

“Do you want to dance?”

She looked at me and smiled, “Thought you’d never ask.”

I stood up and held my hand out to her, she took it and I led her to the dance floor where everyone else was dancing. She placed her arms around my neck, and I carefully placed my hands on her waist, my heart racing from how close we were in proximity. It felt like we were just stood there, staring at each other, no cares in the world. Before we knew it the song was over and we parted awkwardly, not saying a word.

She spoke up, “This dance is boring, wanna leave?”

I nodded and we left, not even telling any of our friends goodbye. We made our way to our ‘secret spot’, otherwise known as the tree house in the back yard of Y/N’s house. We hadn’t been up here in a while. We had been so wrapped up in the investigation into Jason Blossom’s murder and the Blue and Gold that we hadn’t really had time to properly hang out in our spot. We used to come here once a week, as a tradition. We’d made a silly pact when we were younger that we would only be best friends if we met there every week. We would play card games and board games to keep ourselves amused. It was what I looked forward to every week.

When she pulled out Cluedo from the stack of board games I laughed, “Hopefully we can actually solve this murder.”

She laughed, “Shut up you goof.”

Although it was dark and there was very little light in the tree house, our eyes adjusted and we sat down and set up everything and started playing. About half way into the game, I couldn’t help myself but to say, “I’ve missed this.”

She looked up from her cards, “The game or us hanging out?”

I rolled my eyes, “The second one obviously.”

She smiled, “Me too,” she said sincerely, then she went back to the game, “I think I’m gonna accuse.”

I shook my head, “You can’t possibly know who it is!”

She smirked, “Was it scarlet, with the pistol, in the bedroom?”

I looked down at my cards, knowing that I didn’t have any of those, and she had in fact won. I groaned and threw my cards down, and she laughed.

“You chose this game cause you always win at it, cheater,” I say, teasing her.

“Hey! It’s not my fault you suck at it!” She said laughing.

After we had packed the game up, too tired for another game, she sat back down next to me. It was quiet for a moment until Y/N spoke up again, “How have you been? You know, besides everything.”

I shrugged, “Fine, haven’t really had much time to think about anything else.”

Y/N nodded, “I get what you mean, I haven’t really had a moment to myself either, which made me enjoy tonight a hundred times more, because I got to spend time with you, like we used to,” she smiled fondly.

We sat there, in the dark tree house, just staring at each other. Thanks to my lack of control, my eyes flickered to her lips for a split second. I love her. I’m in love with her.

“I, uh…” I trailed off, not really knowing where I was going with my words. I didn’t really want to finish my sentence, because admitting it means being vulnerable, it means putting myself at risk for being hurt by the ones you love. I already knew how that felt. But I didn’t have to admit anything if I just showed her instead.

So I kissed her.

It was like the world stopped spinning. Her lips connected with mine in the most luxurious way that I felt like I was going dizzy. Everything made sense. I had no idea how much I had wanted this until now.

It felt like a lifetime until we pulled apart, and when we did I had to say it, “I love you.”

She inhaled a deep breath, looking like she was still recovering from what had just happened, “I-I love you too Jughead, I always have.”

“You have?” I ask, shocked.

She nods her head and places her hand on my cheek, smiling, “How could I not love you? You’ve always been here for me when no- one else was.”

I couldn’t even come up with a reply, I was just filled with relief.

So instead, I kissed her again.

Reading buddy || Wonwoo

genre: fluff, suggestive/mature
blurb: it’s difficult to spend some time alone when your boyfriend lives with thirteen other loud people. [ requested ]
word count: 1060

It was quiet… too quiet. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion and paused in your footsteps, listening attentively for the sounds of giggling or shuffling around. There was nothing, which was awfully different from the usual ruckus in the dorm. You took a cautious step forward, then another, and another. “Wonwoo?” You called out nervously, in case they were pulling another elaborate prank on you like they had before. Your nerves were calmed once your boyfriend’s muffled voice spoke up. “Yes?’

You watched as his figure came out of a room as a smile stretched onto your face. “Wonwoo,” you repeated his name cheerfully and jogged lightly to where he was standing, waiting for you with an amused look on his face. He opened his arms to embrace you, and you happily complied, burying your face into his sweater. When you leaned back, he took your face into his hands to take a good look at you and then planted a light kiss on your lips. “I’ve missed you,” he sighed.

“Sweater paws?” You teased him after noticing his long sleeves. Instead of being embarrassed, he only rolled his eyes playfully. “Of course,” he grinned.

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