Thoughts // Fred Weasley

A/N: a random story that popped into my head! For all I know, it could be incredibly cringe worthy. I hope you all enjoy it, nonetheless! I have also made the reader a Gryffindor, because it just flowed nicely with the plot. Also, my requests are now open! Feel free to shoot me an ask or a message if there is something you want!

She has her nose pressed up against the window pane of the Gryffindor common room. Her fingers slowly trace the lines of frost dancing across the frosty glass.

It’s the middle of the night, and the world outside is covered with a thick blanket of fluffy white snow. The world is peaceful and quiet, and yet, she feels lost somehow.

Her mind is completely lost and her thoughts are as scattered as the fluttering snowflakes just outside her window. She shakes her head and pulls her icy fingertips away from the window. She really should have gone to bed by now, but she just can’t seem to sleep. Her mind is too scattered and she’s too confused to make heads or tails or her thoughts right now. Normally she has her act together. Normally she knows exactly what she should, would and could do.

But not when it comes to Fred Weasley.

He was a wild card, and she never expected herself to become friends with him, let alone fall madly in love with him.

She had always seen her Prince Charming as a tall, rugged, blond-haired, blue-eyed classic beauty. She never in a million years expected him to have red hair, or that playful smattering of freckles on his face, or those beautiful eyes that almost always had a mischievous twinkle in them.

They didn’t become friends until her third year, and she was surprised to see how much they actually had in common. They soon began to hand out more and more, and what used to be “Fred and George Weasley” slowly grew into “(Y/n) and Fred and George Weasley”.

Their friendship was wild, fun and filled with endless days of laughter. There were countless copies of silly photographs scattered around their dorms of their wild adventures, capturing some of their finest moments. Endless trips to Hogsmeade, days spent lounging out by the lake, days filled with Quidditch and laughs and smiles and all the best things in life.

The day that Fred asked Angelina to the Yule Ball instead of her broke her heart just a little bit. That was the day that she began to suspect that her feelings for Fred were something more than just pure platonic friendship. Those consuming feelings were swallowing her whole and she couldn’t get rid of them. So, naturally, she shoved them deep down inside her and forced herself to put on a smile instead. She would be happy, and she would continue acting like everything was perfectly alright in her seemingly picture perfect life.

She wants so desperately to scream out to the world her love for Fred, but she won’t let herself do it. He is her friend, and probably thinks of her as nothing more than that.

She shakes her head, jarring herself back to reality. She traces a tiny heart in the corner of the glass with her index finger, smiling at the simplicity of it. She slowly peels herself up and off of the bench, making her way over to the staircase leading up to her dorm. She would just have to deal with all of this in the morning.

The next day dawned as beautiful as ever, and (Y/n) woke up and peeled herself out of bed. She got ready for her day, following the same thoughtless routine. She was making her way into the common room when she was tapped on the shoulder by none other than Fred Weasley himself.
“So. (Y/n). You’re still on for Hogsmeade today, right?”
She raised her eyebrow.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Fred sighed.
“You’ve just been sort of off lately. You haven’t been your normal self.”
She let out a single, melodic laugh.
“You have no idea, Fred. No idea.”
With that, she bid him farewell and rushed out the door.
Fred turned to George with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. George simply shrugged and shook his head.

She continued to sit at that same window, every night, hoping to reach some sort of conclusion to her problems. It was one fateful night when Fred happened to get up in the middle of the night, for some unknown reason. He didn’t notice (Y/n) at first, but when he did, he noticed the utterly confused look on her face. He paused for a moment, sighing.

“(Y/n), what are you doing up this late? You should be sleeping!”

She jumped, only registering Fred’s presence when he spoke. She looked up at him, blinked slowly and threw her hands into her face. Fred rushed over to her. He sat down on the bench next to her and gently asked what was wrong. She mumble that absolutely nothing was wrong into her hands.
“Now, we both now that isn’t true. Please, tell me what is wrong so I can try and help you.”

It was at that moment in time when she reached a conclusion and shattered into a million tiny pieces.
She said, all in a big rush “You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend!”
Fred’s face was unreadable. (Y/n) couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He turned his face to the window. She gently nudged him.
“Fred, what is it?”
“It’s George, isn’t it? You fell in love with George.”
She shook her head slowly, beginning to understand. Fred thought she was in love with his brother this entire time.
“Fred” she shook her head. “It’s always been you.”
He turned to look at her, doubt clouding his eyes.
“You’re not in love with George?”
She smiled.
“No. If anything, I love him as a brother.”
She smiled awkwardly.
“I understand if you don’t feel the same way… it’s just I’ve been thinking about it for so long, and I didn’t know what to do and I’m just honestly a mess right now so I really hope you’ll forgive me.”

Fred smiled and laughed a bit.
“You’re adorable when you ramble, you know that, right?”

“Are you sure? Because sometimes I just ramble when I’m nervous to fill up space and…”
He cut her off with a simple kiss, tangling his hands in her hair.

They break apart, hundreds of unspoken promises filling the air around them in that moment. He holds his arms out and pulls her into them. He waves his wand and summons a blanket over to the two of them, wrapping it around them. She leans her head on his shoulder, and everything is right in her perfect little world again.

Teacher meeting.

Author’s Note: I’m sorry guys but I’m trash and after I saw this post in @papi-chulo-bucky ‘s blog I couldn’t stop myself and I wrote this. yes, dishonour on my cow. Anyway, I hope you all like it! Feel free to comment and send me requests!

Also, in this AU! Bucky does not have a metal arm.

Warnings: Language, mild choking, spanking, unprotected sex (Use a condom kids!), Oral sex (F. rec), Dom! both reader and Bucky. Only 18+. If you’re a minor, go away.

Pairing: Au!Single dad Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Words: 2,294

You sighed and hurried, watching the school at the end of the street. Your daughter was following you, calmer than you were. You were late thanks to your damn boss, who had been an asshole as usual. 

“Emily…do you think you’ll mind if we run?” you asked to your eight years old daughter who laughed.

“The last one buys cookies!”

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Image finding Teddy Lupin lost in a crowd in Daigon Alley

Gif not mine. 

Pairing: Remus x Reader

Summary: You are a local shop keeper on a supply run when you stumble upon a small, sobbing child trying to find his father.

Warning: Slight AU where Tonks dies in the war but Remus lived.

The streets of Diagon Alley were overflowing today, teeming with excited children and stressed parents as they made their way down the cobblestone alley, attempting to complete their school shopping for the upcoming year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You yourself were merely on a simple errand, the bakery that you owned was almost out of a few supplies that you would have to run to a muggle store to retrieve.

As you made your way down the alley way, your ears perked at the sound of what seemed to be a child crying. Concerned, you followed the sound until you made your way to the ice cream shop, where you spotted a small boy with blue hair huddled under a table, no parent in sight, balling his eyes out.

Slowly you made your way over to him, as no one else seemed to have noticed him, and grabbed the rim of the green table, using it to swing yourself below it and sit crisscrossed before the small sobbing child.

Beaming, you asked, “Why ya crin’?”

The child looked up, startled.

“I-I I lost my daddy!” he said through a wall of tears.

“Aww,” you cooed. “It’s going to be ok, is blue your favorite color?”

You motioned to his hair, the boy whipped his tears with the end of his sleeve and nodded, his lip trembling as his stared at you.

“Blue is a nice color,” you mused, “Want to know what my favorite color is?”

The blue haired boy nodded, his small fauxhawk bouncing up and down as he did so.

With a quick motion, you slipped your hair from its ponytail, shaking it wildly about, during the chaotic motion, your normally (h/c) hair bean to turn a vibrant shade of pink. You looked up at the boy and smiled mischievously at him, while he, in turn, looked back at you in awe.

“You, you’re like me!” he said, eyes lighting up while the tears stopped streaming from his eyes. You bobbed your head up and down excitedly.

“I’ve never met another one like me before,” you grinned.

“Me either!” he cried. Then, he looked up, a perplexed expression crossing his small face. “Well, my mommy was like me. But she went away.”

You attempted to not let a concerned expression cross your face. Kids say strange things.

“Well, I have an idea on how to find your Da then, we can do it together!”

The boy’s eyes brightened. “Okay!”

“Okay,” you started. “SO your Da knows your favorite color is blue right?”

The child nodded.

“So, I’ll turn my hair the exact same blue as yours, and you can ride on my back, that way your dad will see all the blue and notice us!”

He smiled eagerly, “That’s a good plan!” he cheered.

“I thought so too,” you beamed holding your index finger up while smiling smugly. You hoisted yourself up off the ground and held out your hand.

“Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way, what’s your name?” You asked quizzically.

“I’m Teddy Lupin,” he smiled up at you as he put his itty bitty hand in yours and let you hoist him up from under the table.

“That’s a very nice name,” you complemented.

An adorable name. Teddy.

“Thank you! Now turn your hair blue like mine!” Teddy jumped up and down a few times, his eyes large as he watched you eagerly.

Chuckling, you shook your head once more, locks of pink hair flying all around until they settled into the same shade of blue that covered Teddy’s own head. You could hear the child laughing in delight, small hands clapping together. You grinned as you tucked your now wild hair behind your ears to get it out of your face.

“Now, I think we stand out pretty well, what do you think, Teddy?”

“Yes! Let go find my daddy,” he cheered. Grinning beside yourself, you bent down and allowed him to climb atop your back so he was riding piggy back.

“Okay, now you let me know if you see your daddy up there. Do you know his name?”

“My daddy’s name is Remus, at least that’s what Uncle Harry calls him,” Teddy said thoughtfully.

The name didn’t ring a bell, but you hadn’t expected it to, to be honest. You were an American witch, having only moved here a few months prior to date to open up the first British branch of your grandfathers bakery, Kowalski’s.

You began making your way through the bustle of the Alley, a few passerby giving you and Teddy odd looks, but you ignored them as you searched through the crowd, looking for a flustered single father, from above you, you could feel Teddy rest his chin on your head, likely tired from the crying he had done previously.

“Mr. Lupin,” you called, using a single hand cupped around the side of your mouth. The other was placed under Teddy’s knees, making sure he didn’t slip from your back.

“I don’t see him, (Y/N),” Teddy whined from above you.

“We’ll find him,” you reassure as you make your way down the street towards Magical Menagrie’s. Teddy didn’t remember where he was when he lost his Da, only that he had been distracted and that he let go of his hand and was swept away in the crowd. He hadn’t known how long he’d been crying either, there under the table were he’d managed to escape the current of shoppers.

“Hmm, if only there was a lost and found here,” you mused.

“You’d leave me in a box?!” Teddy accused.

Laughter tumbled from your mouth, “Well when you put it like that it sounds ba-”

“Teddy!” a voice called from the crowd. Your head whipped around towards the sound of the voice, blue hair flying dramatically, (e/c) eyes scanning the crowd until they fell on a man waving his hands frantically.

“There!” Teddy cried, “That’s my daddy!”

“On it!” you nodded, determination set in your face. You marched out into the street, using your wand to usher some people along and out of your way so it would be easier to reach the father known as Remus.

“Daddy!” Teddy cried as you reached the man. You bent down, allowing him to slip from your back and stumble towards the older man excitedly to hug him. Remus hoisted the child up, hugging him tightly.

“I was so worried,” you hear him mumble into Teddy’s hair. You smiled softly, a feeling of warmth spreading through your chest as the father and son were reunited.

“I was too,” Teddy said, smiling, “Then (Y/N) found me!” he wiggled out of his father’s grasp and ran over to you, grabbing the hem of your tee-shirt and dragging you over to his father.

Remus was older than you, you’d say about 5-10 years or so, but he was still quite handsome, even with the few scars that decorated his face, you briefly wondered how he acquired them before your attention was snatched up by Teddy.

“Daddy, look what me and (Y/N) can do!”

Practically vibrating with excitement, Teddy began to wildly shake his head like you as he had his hair turn pink. Then, he looked to you with expecting eyes. You giggled, shaking your hair has you had done before, sending the already messy locks fling about once more, you loved the dramatic effect, but now your pink hair was going to take a while to get under control again.

Remus looked in-between the two of you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“See daddy, (Y/N) is just like me! ‘Sept her favorite color is pink.”

“Well that is very interesting,” Remus said, bending down on one knee to be eye level with his son. “And whose idea was it to turn both of your hair blue?”

“Oh, it was “(Y/N)’s, she’s REALLY smart. Did you see it from far, far away?”

“I surly did, it was a brilliant plan, Ms. (Y/N), thank you for helping us,” he turned his green eyes on you, and you could see the appreciation swimming in them.

“It was no trouble at all,” you bounced on your heels, smiling as you held your finger up, a habit you had picked up from reading too much muggle manga. It started off as a joke that was now your reality. “In fact, we had a lot of fun.”

Teddy bobbed his head up and down beside his Da. “She’s like me.” He repeated, a broad smile on his face. Then his eyes widened, a smirk made its way to his lips before he leaned over to his father to whisper something in his ear, which caused the older man’s cheeks to flush.

“Teddy,”… “We don’t even know”… “she helped me” …“like me”…”not ready”…”fine” were only a few snippets of whispers you could hear from where you were, and no, you were not eavesdropping- you just hadn’t been dismissed yet.

Finally, after a secret meeting that Teddy seemed to have won, Remus rose you his feet, smiling kindly at you.

“How would you like- if you aren’t too busy that is- to join us for dinner tonight? To show you our thanks? Teddy would like to have his aunt Molly make you his favorite pie, he thinks you’d rather enjoy it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said awkwardly.

“Nonsense,” Remus started.

“Please (Y/N)!” Teddy begged.

“It’s honestly the least we can do,” Remus finished, offering you a warm smile. Your heart skipped a beat and you fought the urge to blush.

“Sure, why not?” You grinned.

A look of relief passed over the older Lupin’s face at your agreement.

“How does six sound?”

“Six sounds perfect,” you smile.

Remus gives you his address and thanks you once more, whilst Teddy hugs your leg and tells you that he can’t wait for dinner. You watch the pair of them walk off hand in hand into the sea of witches and wizards, a small smile gracing your face, a suddenly, you couldn’t wait for dinner.

#1 | 100wtsily

#1 | “Pull over. Let me drive for awhile” + road trip au + jeon jungkook
word count: 1,864

Jeon Jungkook has always been a little too reckless for his own good. While sometimes his spontaneous actions make you smile or laugh at the level of excitement in his step, most of the time, it makes you want to clobber him for not thinking through the breadth of his decisions and the consequences that would be sure to follow said decision.

It can be anything, really, from that time he thought he could down six shots of vodka and walk along the edge of the pool (which went as well as one would think), or that time your phone had run out of battery during the rainstorm and Jungkook was in such a mad rush to find you and reassure himself of your safety that he ran out in the cold and endeared a week of a terrible flu. You never thought there would be an end to the amount of times you wondered just how on earth your boyfriend could be considered an adult.

But this definitely takes the cake, the crown, the first place trophy of Stupidest Decisions Jungkook Has Ever Made - and by this, you mean a roadtrip, and by a roadtrip, you mean Jungkook’s internal challenge to see if the pair of you could cover hundreds of miles to get from point A to point B in just a couple of hours.

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dirty little mouth

inspo/propmt: “fuck me!” “at least let me take you out on a date first..”

warning: swear words? implied smut if u look with a microscope??

words: 988

an: lmao the title makes it seem like this is a smut but.. its not!! also, i found this prompt on pinterest, feel free to use it. sorry that this is pretty short (gif aint mine doods)

Originally posted by complete-fandom-trashhh

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Teasing || Riverdale Preferences

Archie Andrews:

The nylon of your backpack, which was slung over your shoulder at the moment, rubbed up uncomfortably against your bare shoulder. Grazing your manicured nails over the checkered fabric, you entered the musty classroom, the smell of Axe and cheap perfume entering your nostrils. The instructor of your class was nowhere in sight, so you decided to take advantage of the situation. Swinging your hips a little more, you made your way over to your boyfriend. He was focused in on his phone, his plump bottom lip pulled between his teeth. You situated yourself on his lap, pushing into him. “Hey, kitten.” He cooed softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Ignoring his comment, you continued to push down further, wiggling your hips. “Stop it.” He grunted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “You know like it.” You sang, reaching behind you to comb your fingers through his hair. “Not now. I’ve been horny all night thinking about you and those magic fingers, but you weren’t there to play out my fantasies. So, right now is not the right time. Especially in class.” He moaned, his hips bucking into your hand. “So let’s take it to your car.”

Jughead Jones:

“Come on, he won’t be home for a long time.” You whimpered, dragging your fingers down his bare chest. “I don’t want to risk it. Remember what happened last time?” The reoccurring images flashed in your mind and you winced. “But this time it won’t happen. I promise.” You attempted to convince him, giving him those large doe eyes that he loved so much. “Fine, but if we’re doing this, we need a blanket or something. And I need a handjob.” He flashed a grin, and you shrugged, happy to do something for him. You looped your fingers in the waistband of his pants, tugging down. His boxers followed suit after you managed to salvage a blanket. “Someone’s excited.” You giggled, running your thumb over his swollen tip. “Stop teasing me! Just go.” He whimpered, fisting the blanket that surrounded the both of you. “Say the magic word.” You hummed, slowly fisting his shaft. “P-Please. D-Do something.” He stuttered, anxious for some action. You shrugged mildly, wanting to put him through some more. You leaned down, sucking the precum that had leaked from the tip. He gripped your wrist roughly, growling lowly. “Now.”

Betty Cooper:

“Good job baby girl.” You cooed softly, shoving her up against the cool, metal lockers that were contained in the girls’ locker room. “Please. Do something.” she moaned, her hips bucking up to your balmy touch. “Beg for me.” You quirked, pressing your heated bodies up against each other. “P-Please. I w-want you. I n-need you. No one’s here. So touch me.” She murmured in a sultry tone, anxious for your skilled touch. Deciding to torture her a little bit more, you ran a hand down her body, squeezing her hips. She squealed, jumping at your sudden touch. “God, stop teasing me! Just please touch me.” She basically sobbed. Not wanting to hurt her anymore, you tugged down her cheer shorts. She happily welcomed you in, opening your legs. Kneeling down so that your knees hit the hard floor, you made eye contact with the blonde. You pressed a kiss against the soaked fabric that covered her cunt, blowing air against her throbbing clit. The cold air sent a shiver down her spine, and she arched her back in response. “Tease me one more time.”

Veronica Lodge:

“Why the hell were you mean to some kid?” You questioned, tangling your fingers in her raven locks. “She was in my w-way. And I wasn’t mean. Just sassy.” “Bite me.” You growled, your small hands tugging at the zipper of her dress. She slipped out of it before trying to undo the clasp on her bra. “Stop it.” You instructed her, slapping away her hands. She rose an eyebrow but went with it, not wanting to argue with your teasing ways. You ran your fingers over her heated form, humming a small tune to yourself. She whimpered in response, trying to get more and more of you. You refused her, punishing her for what she had done. For she had been a bad bad girl.  “What have I said about being sassy Veronica?” You demanded, teasing her to a great extent. “Y-You said that if I do it, I don’t get sex.” She whimpered, her head falling back. “But I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.” She begged, desperate to get some sort of touching, some sort of connection. “Oh baby, don’t worry. You’ll be getting a whole lot more than sex.”

Cheryl Blossom:

“Spread your legs for me gorgeous.” You hummed, making your in between them. She complied with your wishes, gratefully accepting you into her embrace. “Good girl.” You smiled, your index finger pushing aside her soaked panties to drag it along her drenched folds. “Woah.” She let out a moan, leaning back onto her plush mattress. “You like that?” You questioned, pressing your small thumb against her swollen clit. She nodded in response, letting her head fall back onto her large pillow. You pulled away all of a sudden, not wanting to give her too much. “Hey!” She yelped, her large brown eyes widening at the loss of contact. “What did I say about using your words?” You questioned, cocking your head to the side mockingly. “Whatever.” She replied, her own hands traveling downwards. “I’ll do it myself.” You slapped her hands away, suddenly furious. It was your job to please her, not hers.  “I was going to tease you, but if you keep on doing that, you’ll get nothing instead.” You replied to her comment, tossing your hair back. “Your decision.”

Convenience (victoriansherlolly)

A case makes Sherlock reassess his marriage of convenience

Sherlock pauses at the threshold of his sitting room, uncharacteristically…not nervous but…the word was on the tip of his tongue and yet escapes him.

Resigned he steps over the threshold-out of his case and into his warm, welcoming home.

A fire burns brightly in the grate, a tea set sits on the ottoman and..and Molly sits at the desk, diligently working away.

Any other wife would be writing correspondence or the household finances but Sherlock knows Molly was writing an article-one undoubtedly clever and groundbreaking though it would never bear her name. Sherlock’s lip twisted at the thought.

All the progress in the world and yet society still deemed its female members barren of intellect. It was really quite trying. He had persuaded Molly to write under the sudeneyn MH which she had consented to-if pushed Sherlock would claim his brother Mycroft had written the paper. Molly has once tried to encourage him to publish the paper under his own name but Sherlock flatly refuses to take credit for something he had not done-his own work, impeccable and detailed as it was was his own.

Molly doesn’t automatically turn at his entrance-it was something Sherlock had encouraged since his own lapses were frequent enough to hurt a wife not as resilient as Molly. It sometimes bordered on neglectful.

The extra few moments allows Sherlock to take in his wife, the elegant curve of her neck, the bright, sleek hair curled demurely into what Sherlock supposes was a very fashionable conceit.

But it was the face that arrested the detective, neither beautiful or striking and yet there was fierce intelligence in her dark eyes, a prettiness of character and strength if not of aesthetics.

Stand Molly in a crowd of young beauties and she’d be swallowed whole, unremarkable and plain. But her mind…her mind teemed with knowledge and a desire to learn, and although she often was seized by sentiment her mind for the most part was first class.

Molly turns, he notices the slight stain of ink on her index finger, and smiles at him.

“Sherlock, I didn’t know you’d be arriving so late. Let me call Mrs Hudson for supper,”

Another wife would have kissed him, embraced her husband warmly after almost three weeks absence but Molly simply helps him out of his great coat and ushers him to a chair.

“I don’t eat on a case,” Sherlock says even as he settles into his familiar chair.

“The case is finished,” Molly says without rancor. It’s a dance they perform each time Sherlock comes home from a case. A sort of detente between them. If Sherlock will not eat on a case then he will eat when he is at home.

Molly rings the bell for Mrs. Hudson and then settles in to the chair opposite him.

Sherlock drums his fingers across the armrest. The inexplicable feeling on the landing coming to rest over his chest.

“Was it a difficult case?” Molly asks gently, sensing his distress. Sherlock realises he had missed her ability to pick up on his cues without prompting.

Sherlock reviews the case, he remembers Mr Harrilson holding his fiancée after believing her to be dead after being kidnapped. He saw the tremor in his fingers as he held the woman he loved and thanked Sherlock over and over again for bringing her home.

And there it was.


The case had been filled with it and somehow Sherlock had been infected with the disease the young couple finally reunited had made him want to see Molly to a degree that was alarming. She was safe at Baker Street there had been no pressing need to see her

And yet

And yet

Sherlock realises his heart had not been easy until he had stepped into this room and seen his wife.

Without conscious thought he is out of his chair and beside her in a moment. He reaches out to cup one soft cheek, remembering the tenderness in Harrilson as he had held his beloved.


Molly’s eyes were dark in a white face, she turns her cheek away but the action simply allows Sherlock’s thumb to trace her cheek bone reverently.

He had missed this face.

It made no sense and yet it was the simple truth. Where once he had spared his wife barely a thought on long separations now the desire to reacquaint himself with her many charms was overpowering.

“Molly…I…” he struggles in vain, the softer passions as alien to him as deduction seemed to everyone else.

He must do better. He steels his resolve. Closer to the fire he can feel the heat of the flames and yet it was nothing compared to the heat in Molly’s cheeks.

“Sherlock this isn’t…its not proper,”

He barely stifles a laugh of scorn. They are married they were suppposed to know each other in the most intimate of ways and yet intimacy like the rest of their marriage was for appearance only.

“I am your husband, I don’t think it is a liberty for me to hold my wife…to kiss her.”

They hadn’t kissed since their wedding day, Sherlock hadn’t noticed the lack until now.

He kisses her and the taste of her burns across his lips, a taste deeper and more luxurious than the finest whiskey Mycroft could possess. For a moment, a too long moment Molly remains tense in his arms, her own hands coming to frame his face before hesitantly resting on either side of his face.

He’s melting into her, falling into her embrace with no clear way of ever returning and he welcomes it because the bruise on Isla White’s face morphs onto Molly’s and Mr Harilson’s desperation is his own because if someone took Molly…hurt her…the lengths he would go for her were not worth contemplation.

Most men viewed their wives as possessions, little more than decorative baubles, but the idea of someone snatching Molly’s light, of suffocating that great mind, that gentle soul who only ever worked to fill the world with light…well Sherlock would not brook it.

Molly was a useful, productive member of society in her own right, he had no desire to “possess” a wife any more than he wanted to possess a thousand pounds. What use were these concepts to a man like himself? To a woman like Molly?

But he was hers, and he hadn’t even known it.

Danger was a regular theme in his adventures, long before Molly he had heeded only the basic minimum of care for himself. But since John, since Mary and Molly, he realises that even though he wants to always solve the crime, he also wants to come home.

To Molly.

Sherlock breaks away, human biological need for air trumping the sentiment clogging his veins. He rests his forehead on hers and just breathes her in.

“Something happened on your case?” It’s not a question even though she frames it as one.

“Yes,” Sherlock answers. Mollys touch is gentle on his skin, a warm pressure he leans into.

“Will you tell me?”

He thinks, pondering over the darkness of the case. Of the happy ending even he didn’t see coming.

“Yes,” he replies, “but first,” he gets to his feet, taking Molly into his arms with one swift upward motion. Molly clings to his neck as he quite literally sweeps her off her feet.

“I would like to negotiate the terms of this convenient marriage”

Molly looks at the floor, undoubtedly uneasy at being so far from it.

“Negotiate how?”

Sherlock’s grin is wolfish, “Oh I’m certain we’ll find terms on which to agree to turn this into a real marriage”

Molly’s grip loosens fractionally around his neck, “a real marriage?”

Sherlock kisses her again, lets his body do the explaining and clever as she is Molly quickly picks up his thread.

“Oh. Oh!”

“Oh” Sherlock confirms with a flourish. “Now if you’ll let me I have eight months to make up for.”

Molly is quite agreeable.

Bad Boyfriend

The message in front you triggered a horrid feeling somewhere in your stomach and you were almost reluctant to reply. It was the one sentence everyone avoided receiving from their significant other and hadn’t you taken enough precautionary measures to prevent this? Your forgotten muffin now lay besides your laptop that dimly shone your latest assignment.

We need to talk.

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Chris Evans Fic: Outnumbered (2 of 2)

Okay, here we go! Part 2, and probably the last thing I’ll put in the ‘Four Kids’ verse for a while, just so I can get my other WIPs finished off.

Just a warning, this is very, very NSFW 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥


The next morning, you awoke fairly late after the patchy sleep you’d had during the night. Even so, this was unusual for you since the kids didn’t tend to sleep in. The bed was empty apart from you but Chris’ side still had that tell tale warmth that indicated he hadn’t been gone long.

You still felt exhausted from the stress of yesterday and its ensuing argument, Chris’ words niggling in the back of your mind as you hauled yourself upright and threw your legs over the side of the mattress, planting your feet on the soft carpet. Your eyes were heavy and the groggy fog of lack of sleep swirled around you.

Part of you didn’t want to go downstairs at all, wanted to leave Chris with the kids and hide upstairs all day, just for an opportunity to regain some semblance of sanity. But, you knew that eventually one or two or all of them would come looking for you. So after a quick visit to the bathroom, you pulled your thin robe over your short pyjama set and padded down the staircase, fluffy slippers adorning your feet.

And what you saw downstairs in the kitchen surprised you a little, it was true. The kids were sat at the breakfast table, each on a stool apart from Connor who was in his high chair, watching intently and with amusement, their father flipping Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes across the kitchen island, applauding and laughing when he managed it. All turned to look at you as you entered.

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Family (Steve x Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! I’m so sorry for taking so long to post!! I was just a bit busy the past few days haha😅 Anyways, I’m sorry again because I didn’t know what kind of difficulties to write because I’m not really, um, good at that area but I hope you don’t mind!! Anyways, enjoy!!

Request: Hey darling. Well I could need a bit distraction so I thought I could send you a request. A Steve Rogers imagine where his wife is pregnant with their first baby so they’re both excited and nervous. Later while Steve is on a mission she gets admitted to the hospital cause of some difficulties with the baby & it also needs to be operated. So Steve rushes home immediately and is there for them but it all turns out fine and he takes care of her all the time. When the baby is born it’s all perfect?

“We’ll be fine,” you said, smiling as you patted your husband on the chest.

Steve looked at you, reluctant to leave you.

“The baby isn’t due for about three weeks, and besides if anything happens, Bucky is here,” you assured him. Steve glanced at his best friend who smiled and clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I’ll take care of her,” Bucky said, before glancing and smiling at your protruding belly. “And the little one.”

“I know you will,” Steve sighed before letting a smile slip on his face as he leaned down and gave you a chaste kiss. “I’ll be back soon.”

You pushed him in the direction of the quinjet before waving. “Be back soon, dear, love you!”

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Let Me Help

Norman Reedus X Reader | 18+ Only | Smut Warning | NSFW

Summary: Pure Smut Alert. This one shot just sort of, happened. Reader sees Norman is upset and takes it into her hands to make sure he feels better. Marathon smut session does the trick. ;)


You looked up at his sad, disgruntled face; so tense, so upset. You hated seeing him this way. You looked down and watched your hands run up and down his chest, heavily, needing to show him you cared.

“Not right now, baby. I’m not in the mood.” He said, depressingly looking down at the ground and away from you.

You leaned up and kissed him gently on the cheek before nudging your nose to his and forcing him to look in your big eyes, filled with only love.

“I just want to make it better.” You said, smiling unsurely at him.

His eyes finally locked on yours and he smiled a very small smile, but at least you got to see the upward angle of it, finally.

He ran his right hand to your cheek, his left-hand landing comfortably on your lower back.

He pulled you in by your neck and body, ghosting his lips with yours, his smile became wider when he saw how much you wanted him.

He nuzzled his nose around yours, “I love you for that, Y/N. You always make everything better.”

He looked down at your lips which were smiling at his words and slowly pressed his lips to yours, giving you a long, slow kiss.

“Mmmm…” You moaned happily, closing your eyes and immersing yourself in the full feeling that was your man.

Your hands ran up and down his sides, more rapidly at his lips touch, trying to pull him into you.

He noticed, dropping back and eyeing you with a smirk as he felt you trying to pull him in.

“Is there something you want?” He asked cockily, pushing his body into yours and both your bodies back into the wall of the hallway you were standing in.

You landed with a grunt and moan, as his lips crashed onto the side of your neck and his body slammed suddenly into yours.

You wrapped your arms around him, immediately trying to hold on for dear life as he began to attack like the animal he was.

You moaned and sighed happily as you felt his lips and his stubbled beard running and rubbing up and down the side of your neck. Your hands ran up into his hair, which you massage lovely.

You felt his hands disappear and heard him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, his lips never stopping their assault on your skin.

You were breathing so heavy all of a sudden and you whispered his name when you felt his hands come to the button of your pants, popping them open with ease and starting on the zipper.

“I thought you weren’t in the mood?” You teased, breathing heavily from how turned on you were.

He shoved his hand down your pants, over your panties and began to rub your pussy up and down. He bit your neck, licking up to your ear as he slowly pushed and pulled on your sweet spot.

“Mmm… That’s not what my girl had in mind now was it?” He cooed into your ear, smiling and biting it as he felt your body jolt and your lips cry out to him.

“Oh, fuck yes!! Baby!” You cried out in pleasure as he teased your pussy so damn good.

You ground your hips up into his, the best you could, while trying to reach your high. His lips returned to yours, engulfing your sounds of passion into him.

He came up to your clit and rubbed it up and down rapidly, staring into your eyes as he worked on you, his tongue loving on yours.

He loved when your tongue stopped and your hips ran wild, riding his hand up and down until he watched you close your eyes and cum loudly.

“Oh, fuck! Yeah!” You cried out into his mouth as his left arm reached behind and grabbed your ass, pushing you into him and his hand as far as he could go.

Norman pushed his hips into you, wishing he was inside you, you had him so fucking hard now.

You grabbed onto him tighter and you felt the orgasm run through your body, your body and lips convulsing for him.

He detached his lips after you were done, kissing you shortly and sweetly before resting his head on yours, pushing yours into the wall behind you. His hand pulled out and joined his other on your ass, he ran his hands up and down it, feverishly now. He stared into your eyes, his playful, dark side returning.

“You’re just about the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” He said, bringing his right hand up to your lips.

He traced your lips with his index finger and you smiled, leaning your head back and parting your lips as he just slightly put it inside your mouth. You smiled, closing your eyes, and leaned your head back allowing him to trace all the way down your neck, to your sternum, his finger hooked your tank top and you felt him pull softly at it.

You snapped your head and eyes back to him, smiling at his playful look.  You suddenly stepped out of his grip and reached your hand out to him.

“Come on, baby. Let me help. I’ll make it ALL better.” You said, smirking at his nearly helpless stare.

He took your hand and you pulled him off to your bedroom.

You ran up the stairs, giggling in excitement, pulling him along with you.

He stared at you still in awe of you and smiled as you pulled him into your room.

You spun him around and shut the door, pushing his body into it.

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Happy New Year

A fluffy, domestic murder husband smut-session ficlet for my lovely Fannibals. I don’t have much time around the holidays, but somehow this happened so please consider this a token of my undying affection for this fandom. 

Rating: M
Word Length: 2,125
Tags: Domestic murder husbands, fluff/smut, fondling, sheet sex, happy ending

The sunlight stings his eyes when Hannibal rolls over as he breathes in consciously for the first time that morning, immediately identifying (and taking comfort in) the savory, earthy musk of the man lying next to him. He sweeps the hair from his eyes and sits back on his elbows, turning so that he faces the backside of his companion. Dark, tangled curls stick out haphazardly in all directions from a long night of tossing and turning from nightmares that had yet to subside.

Will has a tendency to thrash about in his sleep and often it’s the blankets who suffer the brunt of his abuse, so as usual, the linens are all but kicked aside, leaving his bottom half just barely covered by a thin sheet that drapes perfectly over the curve of his ass. Tilting his head sideways, Hannibal’s eyes narrow to slits, admiring the way the material accentuated his perfect form, falling over just the right spots.

Will’s shoulder flexes and his arm begins to twitch, rustling under the sheets, and he mutters something low, indecipherable; a protest of some sort. Hannibal finds himself frequently hypnotized by Will’s sleeping form – the way his muscles move and stretch with each restless movement, agitated and tense, even unconscious.

A sudden, helpless noise catches Hannibal a little off guard, making him flinch, as Will tumbles over once again, this time rolling flat on his back, arms free at his sides, but fingers twitching. “No, Hannibal,” he groans drowsily, his face contorted in discomfort. A hand shoots up suddenly and clumsily to shield his own face, but the nightmare only worsens and Will’s head begins to jerk from side to side.

A bittersweet pang of guilt shoots through Hannibal’s chest, but he gulps it down, allowing his fingers to move lightly through Will’s hair in repetitive motions, not even hard enough to pull through the tangles. After only a few repetitions, Will’s movements finally still.

Please, no …” Will breathes out, hardly loud enough to hear.

Hannibal moves a hand along the inside of Will’s arm, tracing fingertips over the sensitive skin inside his elbow. 

Shhhh,” Hannibal offers gently, guiding his fingers with the lightest of touches. He reaches the intersection of Will’s arm and torso, and Hannibal pauses, procrastinating by counting the freckles on his exposed abdomen. Of course he already knows the number by heart as he’s long since made it a point to memorize each mole, crease, freckle and scar on the other man’s body, but still … he likes to be thorough.

A voice breaks his count. “Hi.” Will’s voice is raspy and dry, but the warmth still filters through. His lips spread wide at the discovery of Hannibal’s proximity and lingering appraisal, making it clear that he approves by scooting their bodies even closer together and nuzzling into his warmth, yawning loudly.

Hannibal looks down at the sleepy mess of a man and smiles brightly, like he only does for Will, his eyes glowing with an unrivaled fondness. “Hi,” he finally responds, and Will blushes instantly, burning from the heat of his affection.

Will’s heart begins to raise hell despite the foggy, sleepy haze that he’s still trying to shake off, and it beats and kicks thunderously against his chest, doing its best to wake him up. The sight of this devil-may-care Hannibal – propped up with broad, sculpted shoulders, silver and gold hair on both his head and chest slightly disheveled – proves more than enough to stir Will to his senses, causing his morning wood to throb and nag at him irritably. He blinks away the annoyance, sinks into a warm smile, and turns his head to softly kiss the inside of Hannibal’s bicep.

“More nightmares?” Hannibal asks casually, as Will pulls back suddenly, furrowing his brows. He scrunches his nose, remembering the dream.

“Just the same one,” he answers, shrugging. “I live … you don’t.” Hannibal lifts an index finger to the younger man’s chin, angling his head up. 

“Look at me, Will,” he says softly, and obediently, Will looks up through his lashes with brilliantly wide eyes, eager to hear the words.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, leaning in, pressing his lips to Will’s delicately, but catching only a brief taste of skin before pulling back. “We’re both here,” he says, reassuring, and odd as it seems, Will believes him, and even stranger is that he feels comforted by the thought.

Fingers curl around the back of Hannibal’s neck, threading into the fine hair, and Will slides his body closer, lifting his head to force their mouths to meet again. Will licks along the slit of Hannibal’s lips, exploring with his tongue and nips at the softest bits of flesh he can find to suck on. The doctor returns the enthusiasm in kind, biting and sucking in earnest, delighting in his flavor.

After a playful, appreciative hum, Hannibal clears his throat and pulls back once again. Will groans loudly with exaggerated disapproval, propelling himself backwards against the mattress, pretending to pout. The crisp, ivory linen sheet still cover his lower half, the pleated folds of the fabric tenting over Will’s furious erection, leaving little to the imagination. The outline of his boxers, in particular, catch Hannibal’s eye.

Will writhes under the sheet, letting his cock jerk impatiently, desperate to attract his touch. Carefully, with slow and deliberate movements, the doctor lets his hand travel down Will’s stomach, allowing his fingers to wander through the terrain until he reaches the seam resting just below his navel, following the border’s edge. Will’s breath hitches at the back of his throat, exhaling sharply as Hannibal hooks his thumb over the hand-stitched trim, teasing the breach.

His brows draw close and Will’s concentration is fixed on Hannibal’s careful movements, his hips bucking instinctively, chasing the touch. Instead of pulling back the sheet, however, Hannibal lets his fingers explore further, moving beneath the fine-threaded cotton. He throws his head back against the pillow in anticipation of the touch, but Hannibal is light as a feather, completely unsatisfying, yet exhilarating all the same. He tugs at Will’s boxers, pulling them down to his knees, where the younger man finished kicking them away completely. When Will tries to shift from under the covers, Hannibal places a firm hand on his sternum, relegating him back to the mattress. One side of his mouth turns up, hinting at something devious.

Will relaxes onto his back, the friction of the opulently soft fabric over his aching cock only making his erection more intense, now dripping generously, creating a wet stain that immediately steals Hannibal’s attention. He reactively palms the sharp angles and the curve of Will’s hips, letting the cloth barrier pull taut and loose again against his sensitive cockhead, titillating him mercilessly.

Will shows his approval with another enthusiastic thrust of his hips, sliding himself into place under Hannibal’s open palm, which he graciously allows, gently pushing the heel of his hand into Will’s erection, massaging, slowly increasing the pressure. He makes his way up to the damp stain over his swollen cockhead, using his thumb as reaches the tip, circling over the frenulum, and finally, looking tormented, Will moans out the frustration he’s been holding in.

Jesus, Hannibal, that feels good,” he says weakly, sighing it out.

Hannibal beams proudly, thumbing over the tip of his cock once again, this time lowering his head to hover over the same spot, letting his mouth make only the lightest contact. The sudden heat of the breath and contrast of friction gliding pleasantly against his cock makes Will cry out, and he forces himself to bite down on his fist to stifle the sound.

Will doesn’t hesitate to grab for Hannibal, but the older man retreats, moving back to his side, and Will protests with a long, winded groan. He juts his bottom lip out, casting his disappointment up at Hannibal.

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet,” he threatens softly, slipping a deft hand under his own covers and after a bit of adjusting reveals his briefs, displayed off the end of his index finger. His smile is so bold that the sunlight reflects off his teeth, emphasizing his sharp edges and angles, and Will realizes that this is the most gloriously human moment he’d ever witnessed with Hannibal. His lips turn up at the thought.

Hannibal flings the underwear away, causing Will’s eyes to grow wide.

“Wow,” Will replies, arching his brows as if impressed. Hannibal tries to be nonchalant, but Will notices that his eyes keep darting back to the spot where the briefs had landed in a limp pile. He smiles briefly and looks up to Hannibal,  eyes begging him to continue.

Hannibal smiles back, like a standoff, arching his brows playfully.

Will clears his throat, trying to hide the obnoxious smirk that refuses to be hidden. “Well,” he says, words low, but firm, “…go on.”

It’s not a request, so Hannibal obliges, swooping in close, and lifting himself over top of the younger man. Once again, the single linen sheet provides the most inadequate barricade imaginable, Hannibal’s apparently just-as-hard cock now pressing into Will’s from the other side, a torturous, agonizing kind of pleasure.

Will can finally put his arms around Hannibal and lets his palms glide over the bend of his hips, sinking his fingers down into the top of his ass, thrusting his hips instinctively, grinding into Hannibal without even meaning to do so.

Straightening himself, Hannibal straddles over Will, taking his own cock in his hand, wrapping his fingers around his length and tugging upwards, pulling his foreskin up and over the sensitive head. Will’s tongue glides over his lips, explicitly stating his interest in the good presented before him.

In one smooth motion, Hannibal sinks down on top of Will, bringing their bodies together. He kisses along his neck, which vibrates from the guttural noises Will makes with each contact of Hannibal’s meandering lips. With his dick still securely grasped between his fingers, Hannibal pushes his groin into Will, letting him feel that he’s still touching himself on the other side of the sheet.

Fuck, Hannibal, this is torture,” he complains, already breathless.

Hannibal becomes still. “I can stop if you’d like,” he says, the words dripping heavily from his lips.

Will scoffs, then bites down on his lower lip, a smile building underneath. “Fuck you.”

A feral spark lights up his eyes and Hannibal aligns himself with Will, stroking himself against the other throbbing cock, anxious and impatient from the neglect, weighing the fabric down with the abundant outpouring of precum from both men. Will sways his hips in such a way to create friction against him, craving more contact, and Hannibal finally – mercifully widens his grasp around Will’s cock and jerks them off simultaneously. Their hips move in tandem, searching for the intimacy that feels oddly obstructed, yet magnified by the sensation of the barrier.

Hannibal dips his head lower, stealing an unrestrained nip at Will’s unavoidably bitable ear, staying near, kissing at will, feeling himself get closer to the edge. Sweat accumulates at his temples and Will’s hold is still firm, but as his nails start digging into Hannibal’s back, he knows the younger man is nearly spent.

He brings them face to safe, sweaty foreheads pressed together, their breath hot and sticky on each other’s faces. Hannibal pops his hips a little more urgently as he grips them both, the friction of both his hand and their bodies building up to that sweet, impending rapture.

Will comes first, with a mantra of “oh gods” and “Hannibal”, which is more than enough to push him over the cusp as well, warm cum spilling over top of his fingers, onto the sheet separating them. They pant heavily for a minute, taking in each other’s scent and sounds, until Hannibal peels himself away, sitting up a bit, admiring the disheveled mess of sex beneath him. They both look down, appreciating, a grin forming on Will’s still breathless lips. 

“… and they’ll never be soft again,” he says with a giggle. In fact, Will laughs so gleefully at his own joke that Hannibal can’t deny him, joining him and letting himself fall back against the mattress.

“We’ve got plenty of fine linens to choose from,” is all Hannibal says, smiling blissfully.

Will smirks at him, a crooked, debauched sort of thing. “Good. I think you’ll be doing that again.”

Hannibal turns to him, moving the wet, tangled mess of bangs from Will’s forehead, and offers a gentle kiss. “Not a bad start to the new year,” he says, softly, but with a strong undercurrent of pride.

Will rolls his eyes, still grinning. “To more of that,” he quips, stifling a laugh. He turns to face him properly. “Happy New Year, Hannibal.”

“Happy New Year, Will.”

Hannibal watches as Will settles back on his pillow, peaceful now, his eyes closing as he falls back asleep under the watchful eye of his companion.

Originally posted by sirenja-and-the-stag

(Thank you @sirenja-and-the-stag for the absolutely perfect gif <3)

On ao3

For some reason I think Bernie would be a trimmer, but I think she would LOVE Serena’s magnificent old-school bush. Like just imagine the first time she gets to see it and her eyes bulge and she’s in raptures, just nuzzling it and looking up at Serena like ‘you are amazing’; wrapping dark curls around her index finger and smiling with a little hum, ‘you are perfect’; and Serena smiles like a queen because yes she is

This Is Your Life

for @capsmuscles!! okay this is my first Steve imagine so i rlly hope this doesn’t suck, congrats on being a winner though n sorry this took so long! (Steve Rogers x Reader)

(i will send you the playlist privately, it takes a lot longer for me to choose music than it does for me to write the imagine)

“What’s this one, again?” Steve lifted the flower to his nose, sniffing it again, its scent was very vague. You glanced at Steve, who was sitting next to you, twirling the flower around between his thumb and index finger. You smiled softly, setting your sketchbook on top of your thighs and picking the flower from his hands.

“It’s a daffodil—pretty, right?” You looked at it, trying to catch any detail you’d missed from it while you were drawing it. He nodded, taking it from you again. You looked at him some more—you really liked doing that, looking at him. He was very pretty, you thought. He seemed so out of touch in his surroundings, yet he looked ethereal; he belonged in a place much worthier of his presence. He deserved to be in a museum, but then again, he already was. He deserved to have art painted inspired by him, but then again, here you were, sketching him around your favorite flowers.

“Something on my face?” He smirked, not turning to face you. From his peripheral vision, he could see your eyes widen as they casted downward, back toward your sketch book. “It’s okay, doll. Sometimes I get lost looking at you, too.” It was quiet between you two, neither of you knowing what to say. Well, actually, you both knew what you wanted to say, you both were just too scared or embarrassed or nervous or something or something else to say it.

“I like that word,” you finally said, quietly. He looked at you, and because he’d done it first, you shifted so you were looking at him, too.

“What word?”

“Doll, it reminds me of where you’re from.”

Steve frowned, looking down at the daffodil, small in comparison to the rest of his hand. “You mean, it reminds you of how old I am?” He chuckled at himself silently. Age was another reason he convinced himself that there was nothing more he wanted to tell you.

“Technically, I guess. But, no, not really.” You slid down the park bench, moving so you sat closer to him, your shoulders touching. “You’re very hip for your age, Rogers.” You laughed as he playfully rolled his eyes, looking at you with his head turned, cocking it to the side slightly.

“I’m, like, a hundred years old.”


“Technical is very important.”

“I was never a fan of fact or truth. I like pretending.” You sighed as his shoulders slightly slumped. “Steve, in a different lifetime, you’re almost a hundred. Okay. You’re dead. Are you dead right now?” He shook his head. “Well, then there you go. You were given this life. You are a preserved twenty-one-year-old. That’s your life. That’s you, whether you like it or accept it or not. Get over it, pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at you. “You’re just at the right drinking age. Live like it.”

“You have a very… youthful way of looking at this.” He chuckled as you shrugged, going back to your sketch.

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re, you know, a youth, I guess.” You finished the rest of your drawing in silence, glancing at Steve every so often while you tried to capture the shadows spreading across his face as the sun set. You smiled as he did, watching the dogs catch frisbee’s and dad’s buying there kids an ice cream cone. You wondered if he’d ever want that. “Do you want kids?”

He looked at you, surprised at the question. He followed your line of vision, noticing you were looking at the same dad he was earlier, who was now placing his daughter on top of his shoulders as she ate away at her ice cream. He shrugged, “I don’t know. Not when I’m… like this.”

“A super soldier? Isn’t that, like, permanent?”

“No, not that,” he sighed, leaning back on the bench and placing an arm around the back of the bench, behind you. “Not while I’m an Avenger, I meant. Maybe after that, when we’ve settled down.”

“‘We’ve’?” You blushed, looking up in time to watch the color rise in his face too, before he turned away from you.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head, “You know, once we’ve settled down from the group—when there’s no need for us. When new people, like us, decide they want a go at this life.” He nodded, silently convincing himself that he’d saved himself.

“Right,” you agreed, but not being able to keep the smile off your face. “I’m finished.” You closed the pad, getting up off the bench and stretching. “We could go back to the compound now.”

Steve looked at you, pulling his eyebrows in as he shook his head. “You don’t get to drag me out into this heat on our ‘day-off’, and then not show me what you drew. Give it!”

“Wow,” you said, in a mocking-offense tone, “and here I was, thinking you came just to keep me company.” You tsked him, shaking your head. “Seriously, though… I—I don’t really draw that well. I just, you know, do it as a stress reliever.”

“Don’t care, hand it over.” He stretched his arm out, now standing in front of you. He slowly reached for the book tucked under your arm, and you sighed, reluctantly loosening your grip on it. He pulled it open, silently admiring the work of your other sketches while he tried to find the one from today.

“It’s in the back,” you said, quietly. You looked away from him when he’d gotten to the page, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. You hadn’t told him that he was going to be the center of the piece.

“Is this… me?” He looked at you as you nodded, still not looking at him. “Holy shit.” It came out as a whisper, but you’d heard it. Your eyes widened. The man out of time never really speaking that way in front of women, mostly only around the men. “This is so… beautiful.” His fingers traced the details of his face, only skimming it so he wouldn’t smudge the pencil marks with his sweaty fingers. He then closed the book quickly, setting it on the bench.

“Steve—” you said, reaching to pick the book up, only being stopped when his hands cupped your face, pulling him in to kiss you softly. Your hands fell from their reach, grasping on to the hem of his white t-shirt instead, fisting the material in your hands when he angled your face to kiss you better. He pulled away, you both a little breathless, then flustered after you’d noticed what you’d just done, and in public.

“Sorry if that was bad,” he whispered, “I haven’t done that in a while.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you reached to grab your book, leaning up to him, a hand on his chest, kissing him again. “I think you did very well, Cap.” You smiled against his lips, feeling him kiss you again. Then, he reached for your hand, you both heading out of the park and back to the compound, discussing where you’d have your first date.

Imagine browsing through your keepsake box with Chris.

A/N: Part 2 of Memory Lane, yay! It’s a little longer than usual so get comfy. Here are the links to the previous parts: (‘Memory Lane - Part 1’, ‘Drunk Minds, Sober Hearts and Baby Fever - Masterlist’)

You sat on the bed, browsing through your keepsake box filled with your life’s memorabilia. You couldn’t really call it your life’s memorabilia as it mostly consisted of mementos from your relationship with Chris; from the moment the two of you met until- well, now. There were other- some important, mostly trivial- bits and bobs: baby photos, old birthday and holiday cards, concert tickets, out dated passports filled with travel stamps, the key to your first apartment, etcetera; basically anything that reminded you of the best times of your life went into that box.

You enjoyed collecting things; you’d been collecting little mementos since you were a little kid. You’d been called a hoarder numerous times by several members of your family and friends, but you didn’t care. It was nice to be able to look back at different times of your life and reminisce; it also helped you feel less alone when Chris was away, and vice versa. It had also become tradition for the two of you to bring something back for each other, to add to the box after being away for work. Your last trip to London had you bring back a sweet postcard and a miniature black cab, whereas Chris added to the collection his air ticket- the one that brought him home to you a week early- and a miniature Captain America shield; a token from the cast and crew congratulating the two of you on your son.

“I’m curious.” You looked up as Chris exited the bathroom, wiping his hands with a towel. “Why didn’t you just call a plumber about the sink?” He raised an eyebrow and you shrugged. “So you’ve just been living with a leaky sink for five months? That’s very unlike you, Miss Perfectionist.” He teased and you chuckled.

“It only broke the other night,” you defended your perfectionist trait. “I was going to call a plumber, but then Captain America popped up on my doorstep.” You smiled when he chuckled, draping the hand towel on the back of a chair. “God,” you leaned into him and rested your head on his chest when he sat down and wrapped an arm around you. “I’ve missed you so much that I don’t even care that you’re all dirty from fixing the sink.”

“I’m not that dirty,” he chuckled, pressing his lips to your hair.

“Dirty enough,” you retorted playfully and he chuckled again. “Did the Russo brothers really let you go early, or did you lie and sneak off?” You looked up at him and asked. “I mean- Infinity War’s a huge movie, there is no way they could afford giving you pre-leave.”

“I may have told them you were going into labour early,” he said with a wince. You laughed because you knew he was joking. “No,” he chuckled. “They really let me go early. Remember when I FaceTimed you the other week? Seb came in because they were looking for me?” You nodded. “Well, they wanted to move my scenes forward so I could film them all and get home to you. Seb wasn’t lying when he said everyone was working double time,” he told you and you smiled. “The code word on set was Baby Cap. Whenever anyone got distracted, we used that to remind everyone that I had a pregnant wife waiting on me at home.”

“You work with some amazing people.”

“Yes I do,” he nodded. “I think it helps that you know Kevin Feigi and are friends with most of the cast, I feel like they were doing it more for you than me.” He admitted and you chuckled. “You know, if think about it-” he chuckled, “Marvel’s played a huge part in making our relationship what it is. I mean- we wouldn’t have even met if it weren’t for Captain America.”

“Remember how we met?” You asked and he nodded, chuckling. You sat up straight, leaned forward and reached for the Starbucks paper coaster that you’d scribbled your award winning screenplay ideas almost seven years ago.

“I remember how grateful you were when I gave you your coaster back,” he chuckled, taking the coaster from you. “I can’t believe that I was the reason you got that Oscar. You really should be more careful with your ideas,” he bopped your head with the coaster and you giggled.

“Can you believe it’s only been seven years?” You asked as you took the coaster back from him, smiling at your mini mind map that probably made no sense to anyone else who looked at it. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”

“Really?” He rested his chin on your shoulder. “'Cause I can remember it like it was yesterday.”
• • • • • • • •
Chris smiled as he watched the pretty girl in the red knitted scarf from the counter; you were furiously scribbling away on a paper coaster. The more he watched you, the more adorable he found you. You were clearly in the zone, working on something important, yet somehow you still had the time to pause to scrunch your face at the orange Gummi Bears and pick them out from the bag. He chuckled when he saw you pinch a red one from the bag, squishing it between your thumb and index while smiling to yourself.

“You’re definitely going to win me an Oscar.” You whispered to your coaster then smiled, drawing a small doodle of yourself holding an Oscar at the bottom of the square. “So cute,” you giggled to yourself then stopped when your phone buzzed.

Chris raised an eyebrow when he saw your eyes widen. You scrambled to your feet and frantically gathered your things, pushing them off the table into your open bag. You were in such a rush that you didn’t notice your coaster had not made it into your bag, but onto the floor instead. As you rushed out of the door, Chris saw the scribbled coaster on the floor. He picked it up and rushed out to look for you but you were gone, he sighed and glanced down at the tightly filled square. He smiled when he saw what you were working on, it wasn’t because he understood what you were writing- it was because your notes were visually appealing; your handwriting was cute and neatly printed, and everything was color coded. The best part about that small card was your doodles, the girl with the Oscar catching his eye. He didn’t know if he’d ever see you again or if he’d ever have the chance to return it to you, but he was definitely going to hold onto it just in case.
• • • • • • • •
You poked at your salad and sighed; your appetite completely gone after realizing you’d lost the coaster you’d scribbled your ideas on. You could probably remember some of what you wrote but it wasn’t going to be as good as it was the first time. You sighed again and heard Kevin chuckle; you looked up and winced when you realized you were being a total bummer.

“Sorry Kevin,” you chuckled softly. “I’m not being good company, am I?” He chuckled and shrugged, not wanting to agree with you because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. “I just-” you huffed. “There were some really good ideas on that coaster and-” You cut yourself off, groaning. “I should’ve just written it in my phone like I usually do but I just bought these really cool pens and- You know what,” you cut yourself off. “It’s fine, I’ll come up with something else.”

“I’m sure you will, and I’m certain it’ll be better.” Kevin tried to comfort you. “Your parents called me the other day,” he began and you rolled your eyes, biting back your knowing smile. “Hence why we’re having lunch,” he continued with a light chuckle. “They’re worried about you, Y/N.”

“Of course they did,” you chuckled. “Why else would a busy man like you schedule a lunch with me when you’ve got a Captain America movie to make?” You quizzed and he chuckled. “I’m perfectly fine, Kevin. I’ve just been too busy with work to call or fly home.”

“Or socialize in any way,” he added and you sighed because you’ve heard it all before. “Y/N, you’re a successful twenty-four year old screen wright in Hollywood. You are constantly being invited to red carpet events and after parties with actors and directors and producers who could be perfect for you. Just pull yourself away from your laptop, put on a dress and go meet a guy.”

“My parents seriously called you to tell me to get a boyfriend?”

“I was the only one in the neighborhood,” he shrugged then smiled when you chuckled. “I care about you, kid. I want to see you happy, and though I know your work makes you happy- you need more than work. You’re twenty-four but you won’t be forever, it’s time you start thinking about your future.” You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off, “personal life wise, not career wise.”

“Fine,” you chuckled. “If it’ll make all of you feel better, I’ll start looking for the love-” You were cut off when a oddly familiar male voice called out. You and Kevin looked up and you realized why you found the voice so familiar, it was Chris Evans; otherwise known as the actor who dawned the role of Captain America.

“It’s you,” Chris smiled at you- much to your confusion- as he strolled over with Robert Downey Jr.; he and Kevin looked about as confused as you because you’d never met Chris Evans before. “Who would’ve thought I’d run into you here.”

“You know him, Y/N?” Robert asked you with narrowed eyes.

“I know he’s Captain America but- I’ve never met him before,” you answered. “I’m sorry, have we met?” You asked Chris; he shook his head, chuckling. “But you know me?” You asked, the confusion increased in your voice.

“Yeah,” Chris nodded. “And I think this belongs to you.” He passed the coaster over to you and you face lit up, making Chris smile. “I didn’t fold it ‘cause you look like the kind of person who would find a crease annoying.” You looked up at him and chuckled. “I didn’t think I was going to run into you so soon though.”

“And I didn’t think I was ever going to see my coaster again, let alone have Captain America bring it to me,” you told him with a light laugh. “I was a little lost without this, it’s kind of my next project. So thank you,” you nodded gratefully at him.

“Save the thank you for your Oscar speech,” Chris responded and you were slightly taken aback by his vote of confidence considering he didn’t know anything about you. “I don’t know what you’re writing but- I have a feeling it’s going to be a winner.”

“Just like this pairing,” Kevin mumbled under his breath, smiling at you and Chris; Robert had the same knowing smile on his face as he glanced between the two of you. The two of you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so busy smiling at each other. “Why don’t you two join us for lunch?”
• • • • • • • •
“Who would’ve thought that one lunch would change our whole lives?” You asked Chris as he rested his hand on the swell of your belly, smiling. “And add another life to this world.” You rested your hand on top of his, both your wedding rings glistening in the sunlight.

“Me,” he said softly. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were going to change my entire life,” he told you and you felt your eyes well with tears. “I was going to hunt you down with that coaster, like Prince Charming hunted Cinderella down with the glass slipper. You were something special, Y/N. I didn’t have to know you to know that, I could feel it.”

“You know I’m meant to be the writer in the relationship, right?” You quipped and he laughed. “I love you,” you told him as you leaned in, your lips inches away from his. “More than I’ll ever love another being.”

“Remember that when our son comes along,” he whispered then kissed you.

Tags: @widowsfics @m-a-t-91 @xoxomioxoxo @imaginesofdreams @ateliefloresdaprimavera @katiew1973 @winter-tospring @shamvictoria11 @caitsymichelle13 @michellekeehlmello Tags are still opened, just inbox me and I’ll add you. Same goes if you no longer want to be tagged, inbox me and I’ll remove you.

jennablackfox  asked:

I think that a lot of Anakin and Obi-wan’s trouble is a lack of communication, especially the whole thing with Padme and the secret marriage. So what if during one of the many times Obi-wan is hurt, Anakin finds a locket with a piece of long sliver brown hair and a holovid that shows (Gasp!) Obi-wan’s and Qui-gon’s wedding.

Blinking heavily, Anakin tried to comprehend what he had just seen but it was kind of hard.

It wasn’t really in his nature to invade Obi-Wan’s privacy but…his Master had never really been the jewelry kind of person and to find the other wearing a slightly dented silver locket on a chain was curious.

Along with the data chip and the curious thin braid of silvering brown hair that was contained inside it.

He hadn’t a habit of invading privacy…

But this once…

Just this once with Obi-Wan resting on a medical cot…

That was just what Anakin had done when the silver dented locked had opened up to reveal its content for the first time the blond could remember.

A thin braid and a data chip that he had plugged into the reader.

He wanted to say he had a moral quandary but his curiosity overwrote it and Anakin would admit that he had a certain level of greed in his personality that came from his formative years as a slave and having nothing.

So he had opened the single folder the chip contained and had his world rocked.

“…I really wished you hadn’t watched that.” A rough voice spoke up behind him.

“You were married.” Anakin got out numbly. “To Master Qui-Gon.” He blinked at the black screen before turning enough to look at Obi-Wan. “You, the perfect Jedi, was married. To your own master while you were his padawan.” He blinked again.

Obi-Wan grunted then slowly sat up, holding his bandaged hand towards Anakin expectantly.

Numbly, the blond got to his feet and carefully gave him the locket, the braid and the data chip, watching Obi-Wan carefully put both inside the locket and then put the locket on himself.

“…Yes, I was married to Qui-Gon.” He sighed, confirming what Anakin had only just seen. “I was twenty three and he was everything I wanted in the galaxy. He could be the most frustrating man alive but I still loved him through his faults just as he loved me through mine.” He settled back against the pillow, watching the other. “Now what Anakin?”

“I…what?” He sat down slowly at the others bedside.

“Now what do you do? Are you going to tell the Council? It would be no less then I deserve considering just how far I broke the codes.”

“Wha-no! No Obi-Wan of course not! How can you think I would?” Anakin frowned at him.

“Its what a Jedi should.” Obi-Wan chuckled before sighing.

“…I can’t believe you burned both your master and your husband.” Anakin whispered, just a tiny bit of resentment glowing in his stomach that Obi-Wan thought he’d rat him out to the Council.

“…I knew I’d have to do it eventually, even with his longer then average lifespan for humanoids, I would live longer then him.” Obi-Wan hummed, looking at the ceiling of the tent. “Didn’t expect it to be that quick though. Thought I’d have more time.” He smiled bitterly then sighed. “So where do we go from here Anakin?” Obi-Wan looked at him.

“…I think I have a confession to make actually.” The blond mumbled. “I…I married Padme.”

“…Well finally.” Obi-Wan snorted and Anakin blinked.


“Anakin, you go out on her balcony at her apartment, you KISS her on the balcony of all things. Do you have any idea how many reporters I’ve had to flirt with to steal their tabloid proof?” Obi-Wan gave him a long look. “Or how many Jedi, council members and otherwise, I’ve had to distract. I had a four hour long debate about tea with Mace because you were out there snogging with her and once I started it, I couldn’t escape it.”

He sighed a bit and shifted. “At least she tries to be discreet but you really must think we’re oblivious not to see that stuff happening.”

“…Oh.” Anakin mumbled when he picked his jaw off the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “I…um…so you…knew.” He muttered, embarrassment leaking of him like a physical thing. Obi-Wan shook his head a bit.

“Of course I knew. I think most people on Coruscant knows. And I’m sure the entire council knows and no, I did not tell them. I’ve done my best to distract them but there’s only so much I can do. Honestly I think Mace is doing it on purpose now just to see how far I’ll go to distract him.” He huffed.

“I…but…they never…”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan started, pity in his voice even as Anakin bristled at the tone. “They can’t be seen passively endorsing it nor can they send you away, we are in the middle of a war and you are…” He trailed off.

“The Hero with no fear…” Anakin finished.

“And a good Jedi for all your attachment.” Obi-Wan continued, shifting against the pillow. “And… you are not the only Jedi to find comfort in these times. May I point out Plo Koon and his wolfpack? You will have to rip them from his cold claws.” He gave a half smile.

Anakin blinked at him and the older man sighed.

“Point being…” He murmured patiently. “Whatever else comes with the end of the war… the Jedi order is in for a change, it has to change. We are to few now, we love and we hold and we need just like everyone else.”

He let Anakin mull over that and was almost asleep when the blond spoke again.

“You were rather young to be married.” He mused, a small frown on his face.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Obi-Wan gave an incredulous sleepy snort. “At least I fell in love with Qui-Gon for five years, we courted for a year and got married the after.”

“I…how old were you? I mean you were still a padawan.” Anakin hesitated.

“I was twenty two when we married. By the time I meet you, we had been married for three years.” Obi-Wan rubbed the locket between thumb and index finger, smile turning melancholic. “I will never regret loving him, I miss him everyday and remind myself that I will see him again one day. For now I will walk the mortal coil and one day join him again in the Force.” He closed his eyes, to tired to keep them open now that he was warm and settled again. “But until then…I’m here.”

Anakin watched his former master then smiled a tiny bit.

‘…Guess I’ll tell him about the dreams I’ve been having…once he’s more awake.’

After all, who’d better understand him then a Jedi who had also married someone they loved?

Proper Date Manners

approximately 7k of fake dating, un-fake feelings, and Jane Austen!

based on this tumblr post

ransom & holster belong to ngozi, creator of @omgcheckplease

also on ao3

“Bro. Don’t look now, but that girl’s been checking you out for the last fifteen minutes.”

“‘Swawesome,” Ransom said, keeping his eyes on his phone.

Holster frowned. “Dude. When I said 'don’t look now,’ I didn’t mean for you to actually not look.”

Ransom shrugged. “I don’t really feel like hooking up tonight, man.”

Holster squinted at his best friend. “You 'haven’t felt like hooking up’ for the last three months, Rans. I thought you said your breakup with March was mutual?”

“It was,” Ransom insisted, but Holster wasn’t convinced. Three months was a lot in college time, and a guy as attractive as Ransom wouldn’t be having any trouble getting a date unless he didn’t want one. Which meant…

“Are you still upset about it?”


“Then there’s no reason for you not to let me hook you up, is there?”

Ransom probably thought he looked casual, but Holster knew his best friend. He could see the way Ransom’s fingers tightened around his phone case at Holster’s question. So when he said, “Guess not,” Holster didn’t waste a moment in slinging an arm around Ransom’s shoulders and steering him towards the girl he’d noticed. Ransom was an amazing guy. He deserved to have a nice time.

Of course, Holster would have really liked to be the one showing Ransom a nice time… but that was beside the point.

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@sandrasr91 asked: richonne + things you said when you thought i was asleep

He tells her to sleep - to not worry about him and sleep - because if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that they both won’t be getting much sleep, at least for a few weeks, if not more.  And she’s the only one who’s done any hard work so far, so she’s the one that get to sleep.

She doesn’t want to sleep, because she’s so pretty and perfect and small and she never wants to stop looking at her.  She has Rick’s clear, bright, blue eyes and her smooth, dark skin and she looks like Carl when she smiles even though her boys say the dimples pressed into her cheeks are the same ones Judith had right after she was born. 

She’s a perfect mix of all four of them, somehow, even though it seems impossible.  The four of them are barely related to each other by blood, but this baby is theirs - is all of theirs - and it shows on her face, regardless of how much that doesn’t make sense.  She’s theirs, and she’s beautiful, and she never wants to close her eyes again, never want to lift her gaze from perfect person they’ve been given.

So she agrees to try and sleep, but she makes Rick promise not to leave the room, which he does while chuckling softly.  So she lays down, and he tucks the comforter around her like she’s the infant, instead of the little bundle in his arms.  She smiles, and he presses his lips to her forehead, and then to her temple and then to her cheekbone, before standing straight up and beginning to pace back and forth across the floor gently.

And she’s just about to let the sound of his footsteps lull her into a much-needed slumber, when the whisper of his voice catches her ear.

“I promise, I’m never going to let anything bad ever happen to you.”

It’s a frivolous thing to promise - a foolish thing, even.  Especially in the kind of world they live in.  It’s something you can’t promise.  You couldn’t before, and you especially can’t now.

But he’s promised it, all the same.

She feels the bed dip as he sits down on the edge on the other side, and she only manages to slide her eyes closed again for a moment before she’s on her knees, crawling over to his side and resting her chin on his shoulder, staring down at the precious baby cradled in the crook of his arm.  He tilts his head to the side, laying his cheek on the top of her head.

“We’re not gonna be able to protect her from everything,” she breathes, stretching out her index finger and smiling as she wraps her tiny baby fist around it.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Rick,” she implores, drawing out the syllable of his name like a song.

“I know,” he answers quickly.  “I know that.  God, I know that, it’s just…we have to try, don’t we?  We have to try.”

He turns his head, and locks his gaze with hers, his eyes beginning to shine with tears.

“We do,” she tells him, bringing her hand up to stroke the side of his face.  “And we will.  But we have to know that sometimes, we’ll fail.  And that’s okay.  As long as we try, and do the absolute best we can.  And as long as we get all the big stuff, like walkers and Governors and Negans the world has to offer.”

“I’m not letting anything like that get within a mile of her.”

She laughs, and kisses his nose before settling again on his shoulder.

“Look at her, Rick,” she whispers.  “She’s ours.  We made her.”

“She’s perfect,” he says, awe in his voice.  “She’s the most perfect, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Look what we made,” she mumbles into his shirt, and she reaches her arms around his chest so she can hold him.

They’re her entire heart and soul - him, their baby, and the two children sleeping in the rooms just down the hall.  They’re everything she is.

“Look what we made,” she says again.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning back into her the tiniest bit.  “Look what we made.”

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