like it's so intimate


inspired from that one fic by @slaygoldponyboy

This has been sitting in my folder for like 3 days because I got so flustered about drawing it that i wasn’’t sure if I should post it or not because it’s honestly so intimate and I’m rambling i’m sorry here you go

anonymous asked:

Number 4 please!!! I wanna burn in all these feels


(this was originally supposed to be titled ‘’things he does that make your heart soar but that was a little cheesetown so now we have this!!!)

  • he’s a forehead nudger. he’s done it since you first started dating. if your squishing together on the couch, he’ll nudge his forehead into your shoulder to get you to adjust so he can fit flush against you. or he’ll just do it when you two are standing close together. its something that’s extremely intimate like a kiss but yet so gentle and loving
  • when talking to tessa, he will refer to you as “mummy”. 
  • you can remember the first time he did it. you were waiting by the front door as he fastened her leash and cooed to her. “gonna have a nice walk, aren’t we, princess? you, me, and mummy.” you’ve never discussed it, but the look you gave him when he glanced up at you was the only confirmation he needed
  • sometimes will refer to you in conversations as “the missus”. once or twice it has sparked some engagement rumors and that’s partially why he loves it
  • every time you watch him pack for another long press junket it away, he will wrap and arm under your legs and across your back before carrying you bridal style into his suitcase. he pretends to pack you, setting some t-shirts and socks on top of you before shutting the lid. “i told you i can’t forget anything!!” 
  • when he gets home after a long day and its quite late, he wakes you up by slathering your face in kisses. there’s no corner of your skin left untouched before he smiles against it and whispers a “missed you”
  • feel free to fight me but, he’s a big corner mouth kisser. like not all the time, but rather then place a quick peck to your lips, he’s developed a habit of catching the corner of your lips, in a sort of teasing, cheeky way. 
  • (when he first started doing it, he’d say “there’s more where that came from!!!”)
  • he’s also a big grabby hand baby. if he’s talking to harrison back stage in a green room, he’ll stretch out his hand to you, beckoning you to come play with his fingers or at least just sit by him.
  • or when he has a break and for some reason you’re still across the room, he’ll stretch his hands out to, fingers flexing and a whine leaving his mouth
  • tried to cook for you but only has 3 ½ meals memorized and can never be bothered with recipes because the boy cannot follow directions (”i’m not gonna let a piece of paper tell me what to do!!!”)
  • when you tag along to his events, in between networking or interviewing, he’ll twist around so he can find you and give you a nose scrunch or a playful snarl, just so you know he hasn’t forgotten you’re there
  • lays on top of you. just spreads across you. doesn’t matter what you’re doing. you will either become his pillow for a quick nap or listen to him beg for your attention.
  • he’s a show off too. like if he gets a crowd laughing or does a flip for an audience, he’ll find you in the crowd or backstage and give you and eyebrow wiggles as if to say “did you see THAT”
  • he hits on you like you’re not already together. you’ll be in the cereal aisle, trying to pick one out for the week and he’ll saunter over to you, place and arm against the shelves and wink “do you come here often?”
  • or “hey you’re really cute, got a boyfriend?” and you reply “yeah and he’s Spider-Man.” he’s always delighted when you play along. “damn, sounds like a really manly guy, you’re really lucky.”
  • if you say “i love you” back too quietly, he shouts “what was that?!” until you shout it back at him
  • he would rather sit on the floor with his back against your legs while you sit on the couch. this way he can drape your legs over his shoulders and loop his arms over them or run his hands over your soft skin
  • will take deep, deep inhales of your shampoo or hair care sent. like sniffs so hard he may pop a brain vessel “i think i’m getting high off of how good you smell!!!!!” 

anonymous asked:

vax should have been with gilmore and gilmore should have told vax that he can hold his weight in battle

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

I think getting into what should have been gets real dicey real fast. I would have liked a conversation about Gilmore being able to hold his own and know what he’s doing, mostly because he deserves that recognition, but I don’t think that means Vax “should have” been with him (instead of Keyleth).

anonymous asked:

I too have -3.5 vision and let me tell u phil can't see SHIT without glasses or contacts everything is blurry and vague it's just kinda ?? shapes?? man intimate moments like that must be so wild bc the only way he could see someone else's face is if they're like an inch away and like man

i have terrible vision as well and thinking about intimate moments sounds horrid i always get worried like i can’t see shit! god they probably get all giggly when phil is fumbly

anonymous asked:

Not only that he chose not to show his face on the single & album covers, he even chose to show the part of his body (back) that is the only part at this point that doesn't have any tattoos, since his tattoos are also well-known & famous part of him. Everything about this album is so personal and intimate. It's like something he would release as an indie rock artist no one knows yet. Only he's putting it all out there for the whole world to be SHOOK.

Indeed :) And SHoOOOk I am!

oh and update: the new paramore album is fuckin sick

stars-and-reblogs  asked:

I live for these soft gay boys. Link and Sidon don't even bother with sex a lot they just like cuddling naked cause it's so intimate and comforting that the other is comfortable being so vulnerable in front of the other.

the softest gayest boys!!!!!!!!!!
they like to explore each others bodies but not in a sexual way just in a “pick up links hand and see the way his fingers bend when they hold hands” or “nuzzle ur nose against the curve where sidons neck turns into his jaw” kinda way
n link loves the intimacy !!! hes not used to it (any of th links rly) but its nice !! he likes being able to just Exist w sidon and not have to worry abt anything but being in his presence n not having to be on guard (esp for link who normally can just Never let His guard down)

Spock Imagine- Teach Me

You have had feelings for Spock for quite some time now, but you know those feeling if surfaced, would be considered taboo. Just a spritely cadet, has completely fallen for her instructor. Not unheard of, but this was Spock we are talking about. A creature of habit and a stickler for regulations, you saw no chance of ever getting him to budge. Yet you kept on because of selfish reasons. It drove you bonkers trying to determine what was appropriate and what crossed the line. You have the utmost respect for your instructors but something deep within you wouldn’t allow you to stop. 

Even if you couldn’t disseminate your feelings to everyone, you let those emotions fill the back of your mind. Your best friend and confidante Gaila was able to pick up on your little crush through context. She saw the little hidden exchange of smiles and the secretive glances. In your defense, you just wanted to know him better, to get an insight of his language you told her. She saw through your defensive remarks though. You were hopelessly in love after all. 

Spock wasn’t entirely innocent in this situation either. He favored you, despite his attempts to keep his class unbiased. How could he not though? You were the text book perfect student. All of your papers were beyond exceptional, and you actually were interested in your major. You are the only student to have upper level thinking. So he allows you to come to him with extra questions in private. Innocent right? It wasn’t until then that you thought maybe the feelings were reciprocated. 

So there you sit, your nose stuffed into a textbook but your mind wandering elsewhere. He sits at his desk grading papers with the greatest of attention. He mumbles Vulcan expressions under his breath. Little did he know you understood it all. Occasionally he would say something exceptionally critical, causing a small reaction from you. Stifling your giggles with your hand, he would peer up at you with a cock eyebrow and return to his papers. You would resume watching him from a distance. You loved watching him speak his native tongue. The way the worlds roll off of his tongue with such ease is settling to you. 

“Goodness (y/n), could you be any more obvious.” gala teases in orion. 

Spock’s attention is drawn away once again to listen closely to the girl’s conversation. You look to your friend with wide eyes, knowing that he knows Orion fluently. She flashes you a bright smile and returns to her work. Was she trying to destroy your cover? 

“At least he thinks my paper was good. He said yours was lacking.” you whisper back. 

To your detriment, you forgot that Vulcan’s have exceptional hearing. He stiffens in his seat signaling that he heard your comment. To make things worse, he now knows that you have a grasp on the Vulcan language. Deciding to not address the subject now, he once again returns to his work. Out of embarrassment, you slink in your chair to be as small as possible. A slip like that could have been the demise to your shared trust with Spock. Fortunately you were his favorite student. 

As the rest of the class files out of the room, braindead from a day full of studying, you attempt to collect your things as fast as possible. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t fast enough. 

“Cadet (Y/L/N), could I have a word with you?” his tone is seemingly calm. 

Approaching him with innocent eyes, you pray that he doesn’t bring up your comment to Gaila. He stands up, a sign of respect. The sudden contrast in height makes you feel like a little girl again. While you are not a short girl by any means, Vulcans are known for their strength and height. A situation like this could be viewed as intimidating if it was another student, but you had too much of a relationship with the instructor. 

“I would like to commend you on your paper. I found it exceptionally written, especially for a topic that can be found complex for most.” 

“Thank you.”

For a brief moment, you zone out in his deep eyes. For a person who is supposed to show no emotion, his eyes say so much. They have a certain depth to them, a depth you haven’t ever seen before. Stop. You should be paying attention to what he is saying. 

“I wasn’t aware of your knowledge of the Vulcan language. I suspect you have an adequate teacher to pick up on what I was saying.” 

“About that. I am sorry. It was completely unprofessional of me to be listening. It won’t happen again.” 

“Quite alright cadet.” he adds a compliment in vulcan.

“Nemaiyo Spock. Ish-veh tor sem-rik.” 

At first he looks shocked at your response. He didn’t expect you to be able to reply in such a fast response. Shock, although evident, turned to something better, something so rare that you couldn’t resist smiling. He was pleased. You could tell by the faint smile that tugs the corners of his lips up ever so lightly. At that moment, it took everything inside of you to not reach up and kiss him. But you refrained. He saw the look in your eyes though, but didn’t dare elicit a response. 

“It would be my honor to help you learn Vulcan in depth, if you so desire.” 

“I would like that a lot. A native speaker would be beneficial.” 

“See me after class tomorrow.” 

Butterflies grow in your stomach as you walk away. Did he just offer to help you, in private?

Overtime, you got to learn more of the language in depth, and subsequently more about him. He would relate little means behind words, which always had a correlation to a story. Getting to know the rather private instructor brings you great happiness. Maybe your feelings weren’t misplaced after all. 

Late one night, you sit there papers scattered about in front of you. A steaming cup of precious Vulcan tea in hand, you are scouring over reading material. Spock sits an arms length away reading a book of his own. As you glide over the words, you admire how beautiful the words look on paper. Then, you stumble over a word that you aren’t familiar with. 

“What is this word?” you ask handing over the book to him. 

“Ozh'esta. It is an old Vulcan tradition, much like the kiss Humans use as a token of affection.” 

“Ozh’esta.” you repeat, letting it roll off ur tongue.

For a moment, you revel in the thought of Spock kissing you. Even though you shouldn’t be thinking like that, there is a certain quality of taboo that you like. Its a rush, a natural high. 

“So it is intimate?” 


You reach back for the book, his fingertips grazing your own. The interaction, however brief, left you wanting more. Your better judgement told you no, but you let your heart take over. Stretching out your pointer finger, you glide it over his. You look to him for approval, almost like a little school child. 

“Like this?” 


Demonstrating, his index and middle fingers connect with your own and move in a circular motion. The action sent a shiver down your spine. With the brightest of eyes and an innocent expression, you look up to him. Perhaps this was a signal, or just your head talking but you decide to take a risk. Leaning in, you plant your lips lightly on his leaving a faint kiss. You didn’t get the reaction you were hoping for. 

“I’m sorry. Maybe I should just go.. it would be better if I wasn’t here. This wasn’t a good idea.” you ramble on. 

Frantically collecting your papers, you feel rejected. Putting yourself out there was a risk you were willing to take, but shouldn’t have. You tilt your head down to shield him from seeing the salty tears collecting in your eyes. 

“Bek-tor.” he grasps your hand. 

With a twinge of hope in your gut, you look to your instructor waiting for his next move. 

“Tra’ nam-tor rai vet du nam-tor vakstrik.” he pauses.

“But.” you interrupt. 

“I am your instructor. There are rules for a reason (y/n).” 

“So. Shaya wuh to-go k’ me.” you whisper. 

You bravely take a step toward Spock. He can feel your hands tremble as you decrease the distance. Going into this private tutoring, all you hoped for was a friendship with Spock. Now, you wanted nothing more than to call him yours. Something so close in reach is dangerous. Taking one step closer, your hand falls to his chest. As your eyes meet, you can feel the electricity run between the two of you. 

“Tor du…. nah-tor me don wish-veh?” 

Your lips devilishly close to his, breath swirling around his neck. He nods slightly, pulling you closer however impossible. 


You stand on your tiptoes and eliminate all of the space between your faces. His kiss is ardent but meaningful, the exact opposite of what you anticipated. Knowing vulcans to be extremely reserved, you expected him to be the docile one but that was not the case as his hand falls to your waist. His touch is colder than you expect, another cause for the chills. Your head starts to spin out of joy, a sensation you haven’t ever felt before. 

“Sem-rik.” you mumble against his lips. 

Perhaps you weren’t crazy after all. Clearly the feelings are reciprocated, but that comes with a whole new set of challenges. No one could find out. A forbidden attraction if you will. Despite the overwhelming number of cons to this situation, you continue. Tugging at the zipper on his jacket, you shoot him a devilish smirk. His appreciation for the Human race just increased infinitely. 

anonymous asked:

Is Say'ri ever tempted to eyeball Aversa's tasteful sideboob?

Say’ri is far too polite to openly oggle people. In fact, if she is interested in somebody, she’s far more likely to avert her gaze so it may even come across that she’s ignoring them a little more than she used to. It’s almost like she doesn’t dare to look straight at them lest she be set on fire by their hotness.

Aversa is very beautiful though, and if asked directly, Say’ri will state that she noticed as such. Say’ri feels somewhat conflicted about Aversa’s beauty, as she thinks she’s very striking even though her aesthetic is not much like the beauties found in Chon’sin, but she is partially to blame for a lot of troubles her allies and her country experienced. It’s not a guiltless fancy.


when will i stop hurting over this

“What Are We?”

Dating Luke Series 

Originally posted by woronkaa

Pairing: Luke & Y/N 

Words: 700+

Warning: sfw 

So i’m bringing the dating Luke series back.. this is definitely a filler part, it’s the conversation that takes place before the girlfriend conversation and it’s a little more in-depth than what ‘Girlfriend’ is, anyways i hope you like it! Feedback is very much appreciated! 


(gif isn’t mine) 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How do you picture the first time Fushimi call Munakata other than "captain" ? (either if they're in a relationship or not) (thanks)

I’m thinking especially if they’re in a relationship (and I feel like they probably would be if they’ve gotten to a ‘first name basis’ kind of thing, particularly considering the gap in age and rank between them) Munakata uses Fushimi’s given name first and that’s what eventually prompts Fushimi to call him by name. I definitely think Fushimi would be reluctant to start just using Munakata’s name because not counting relatives and Anna he’s only ever really called one person by their given name with no honorifics before and we all know how that turned out. So even if Munakata started calling him “Saruhiko” sometimes I think Fushimi might be slow to reciprocate, still not quite certain that their relationship isn’t just going to fall apart because all of Fushimi’s relationships fall apart. The first time Munakata uses Fushimi’s name though it’s probably a bit of a shock and Fushimi kind of stares at him while Munakata smiles back and doesn’t comment further (he uses it at least once by accident while they’re at work and there is a collective head turn from everyone in the immediate vicinity. “Saruhiko?”). Munakata possibly makes little hints to Fushimi that he doesn’t have to call him ‘Captain’ outside of work but Fushimi resists for a while, just not confident enough to attempt it. Then finally after they’ve been together a while maybe they’re just in Munakata’s dorm together or something, just sitting or cuddling a little and Munakata’s being all affectionate and Fushimi’s sort of tired and leaning into him, and that’s when Fushimi manages a little whispered “Reisi.” Munakata pauses and Fushimi immediately realizes what he said and tries to deny that he said it, but Munakata’s clearly happy about it and calls him “Saruhiko” again just for good measure. At some point Munakata manages to coax Fushimi into believing that Munakata does in fact love him and Fushimi agrees to start calling Munakata by name but it’s really weird and awkward for him at first because he’s so used to the whole 'Captain’ thing (and then the first time Fushimi calls Munakata by name at work on accident it’s like they just started making out in public or something everyone is staring so much and Fushimi refuses to use Munakata’s name at all for like a week afterward).

Imagine giving Woozi lots of forehead kisses because you know he likes them the most.


in·ti·ma·cy (noun)  

1. close or warm friendship or understanding; personal relationship 2. a close association with or detailed knowledge or deep understanding of a place, subject, period of history, etc.
The 11th; Wintershock&time travel&Soulmates

The number 11 is a good number for Darcy Lewis,

She had her first kiss on the 11th. She got her first pet on her 11 birthday. She met Jane on the 11th. Shit, she even won five hundred bucks in a bingo game once, the clincher being – you guessed it- the number 11.

Eleven is her number. Her lucky number.

This benevolence for the prime number is in no small part thanks to the elegant, ruby red writing that wraps itself around her right wrist like an intimate bracelet, its secret zealously guarded. Even so, it’s no secret to those she’s closest to that she has a tendency to up her eyeliner game and actually curl or straighten her hair properly on the 11th of every month.

She’s one of the fortunate ones, after all. Darcy Lewis is one of the lucky few with at least some semblance of an idea of when she’ll meet ‘the one’. So forgive her if she’s maybe a little more invested in her appearance. She doesn’t want to disappoint.

The day Jane’s doodad machine malfunctions is not the 11th. It’s not even 11am.

Go figure.


Darcy remember an intense heat and an insistent and obnoxious beeping noise. She remembers the familiar feeling of tools in her hands as she tries to fix a machine she has only a shaky understanding of. Most of all, she remembers the agony of being torn apart and put back together again and again and again. She tries to scream, but there’s not enough air in her lungs for even a whimper- she’s barely even sure if she has lungs anymore.

It lasts an eternity. It lasts barely a second. Darcy knows nothing- is nothing.

And then it all just


She’s something, she’s Darcy. She’s thrown to the ground with a thump that rattles in her chest. Aches in her throat. She gasps. Groans. Smells pine needles and wet earth. Tastes wood-smoke and the remnants of coffee. Hears confused and startled shouts.

Fuck me.” She gasps, throwing what she hopes is still her arm over her eyes. Everything hurts. She’s going to kill Jane when she gets back from wherever the fuck she is. If she works it out, which with Jane is a possible no, but she will have the help of Tony and Bruce and possibly Heimdall.

Darcy hopes.

“Miss? Miss, are you alright?” a man asks. He sounds familiar. She lets her arm flop to the ground. Looks familiar too.

“… Steve?” she breathes. The man’s eyes widen and he flinches. She wishes she was still wearing her glasses. His shape grows indistinct, “What’re-” she tries again, words too slurred for her to even understand. “Wht’re y’dwan ere-” the slurring fails to stop. Darcy makes a soft noise of frustration, and a warm hand touches hers, but the face that grows closer grows no clearer. Stupid glasses.

Vaguely she remembers, as the black rises around her, that she’d been wearing her contacts today.


Darcy wakes with a start, with a splitting headache and handcuffed to a canvas cot to boot. She knows this because she almost strangles herself with the arm stretched across her chest and neck when she tries to sit up.

“Jesus fuck!” she hisses at the pitched roof of her makeshift prison, flopping back down onto the stretcher, pride smarting more than anything, “Jane, I swear to Thor, if you manage to fix whatever clusterfuck your machine has gotten me into, I will wring your skinny fucking neck. And I do not care what you actual god golden retriever of a boyfriend looks like, so help me I will leave you for dead in your lab, surrounded by the carnage of your stupid fucking machines. Just give the interpolator a whack, Darcy. Just fix it with some duck-tape, Darcy. It’s fine, Darcy. I do it all the time, d-

Somewhere to her left, a man coughs.

Darcy’s incensed mutterings cut off abruptly, blood rising to her cheeks. She turns, and just knows the blush is growing more pronounced.

A young man is staring at her, trying hard not to grin at her in amusement.

Idiot, Darcy berates herself. Should have checked out the tent first, before launching into an angry rant.

She studies him- around her age, with the kind of handsome face that would have had her mother swooning over. His dark hair looks as though it may have passed as neat two days ago, and the three day old growth on his face tells the same story, but his eyes are bright and intelligent, sparking with ill-hidden amusement. He looks familiar, she thinks, but she can’t quite pin down who he reminds her of. But what’s most striking is the well-worn military uniform he wears, circa WWII.

Darcy blows out heavily through her nose, “Well fuck,” she says, brain-to-mouth filter once again failing her spectacularly, “please tell me I’ve just stumbled into an impromptu LARPing event in Central Park. What’s the date, Mister Handsome Army Dude?”

The amusement slips off his face. His gaze turns intense. Assessing.

Darcy winces, “You have no idea what LARPing is, do you?”

The man gives her a flat stare. Darcy sighs heavily in resignation and scrubs her face with her free hand, “I am so, so screwed, aren’t I? Go on then, let’s rip off the proverbial Band-Aid; what’s the date?”

“Well,” Handsome Mister Army Dude says eventually, “it’s currently the eleventh, but with the way you’re running your mouth, it’ll be the twelth in no time. But somethin’ tells me that’s not quite what you’re askin’.”

Darcy stares. She’s fairly sure her mouth has fallen open.

“I- but- you’re-”

“Yeah.” He looks like he wants to smile, but can’t quite bring himself to do it, “But forgive me if I’m not jumpin’ for joy.”

Darcy flinches, but if her suspicions are correct, then she is fucked up the wazoo, and meeting her soulmate is not going to end happily.

“See,” her soulmate carries on, curling forwards to rest his forearms on his knees. It would be sinister, but the glint in his eyes is all wrong. He looks angry, “I’ve been blank for a long time. And then the funniest thing happened about three hours ago. Right around the time you fell outta the sky.

“Can you guess what it was?”

Darcy swallows back the rising distress, “Your soulmark turned up.”

The man nod and leans back in his chair, “My soulmark turned up. Outta the blue. And ya know, just as the burnin’ feeling starts up, here you come, fallin’ out of the sky and almost squashin’ Dernier. But I figure, sure. Could just be a coincidence, that. Though it’s mighty fuckin’ weird you just turning up like that, and you seemed to know Steve ta boot- even though he swears black and blue he’s never met you in his life, and I’m inclined to believe him there, ‘cause you seem pretty damn hard to f-”

“Steve’s here?” Darcy interrupts, finally catching up to what he’s saying, “Steve Rogers? I didn’t just hallucinate him?”

His eyes narrow, anger and suspicion warring in his gaze, “See now, that’s exactly the kind of ‘coincidence’ that I’m disinclined to trust. ‘Cause doll, this thing right here?” he motions between the two of them, “This seems right up Hydra’s alley.”

Darcy’s eyes widen, “Hydra-” Steve, Dernier… “Holy shit, you’re Bucky Barnes.”

Barnes’ eyes shutter and he stands. Prowls towards her until he’s positively looming. Darcy refuses to shrink back, “You shouldn’t know my name, doll. If you think knowing my name is meant to charm me, then you got another thing fucking coming.”

But Darcy says nothing, because she’s remembered exactly how this story ends. She wants to cry, because this is just too cruel.

Because James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, best friend of Steve, member of the Howling Commandos, the most infamous commando units of the second world war, doesn’t make it through this war. Sergeant Barnes is listed as killed in action in 1945, falling from a moving train somewhere in the Swiss Alps. His body is never recovered.

Darcy starts to cry. She can’t help it. The thought of never even having a chance to know her soulmate strikes her right to the core; she didn’t think she’d be one of those, the ones who lost their mates before it had even begun. More fool her.

Barnes looks startled at the sudden emergence of tears, but he schools himself quickly, “Look,” he says, “whatever Hydra threatened you with, we can protect you from. You don’t gotta pretend you’re my soulmate-” Darcy flinches and he breaks off. She shakes her head vehemently. She takes a moment to compose herself.

“That’s not why I’m c-crying.” She sighs, and reaches down to pull up the sleeve of her sweater. Barnes watches her warily, eyeing the way she works around the cuff on her wrist as she pulls away the bandage wrapped around it.

He sucks in a sharp breath. Looks from her wrist to her face and back again. She knows it’s not all visible, but there must be enough for him to recognise his own handwriting. His words.

“Hydra couldn’t manage that. Those’re my words- my first words to you. No way they could have predicted that.”

No.” Darcy says firmly. She tugs at the handcuff bitterly, “this is wrong. This is so, so wrong. You’re meant to be from my time.”

His eyes spark, “What are you sayin?”

Darcy opens her mouth, but any possible way she could phrase it sounds ridiculous, “This isn’t my time.”

He frowns in confusion and is silent for a long moment, mulling over her answer, “You sayin’ you’re a… time traveller?”

She nods shakily, “I can’t prove it,” she says softly. It’s true; there’s no way she can definitively prove to Barnes, or Carter or the rest of the Howling Commandos that she’s from 2013. Her phone (if it even survived the displacement) could be passed off as advanced enemy technology, and any future events she could predict were impossible to prove until the day they’d actually happened. If they’ve ever happen, now that she was here.

The man known as James Buchanan Barnes sighs, “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.” He pulls out his pistol. Keeps it aimed at her as he kneels on the ground in front of her, “Don’t go giving me trouble, sweetheart.”

She nods slowly and he unlocks the cuff connected to the cot and motions with his weapon to her other hand. She doesn’t flinch when he snaps it back into place over her free wrist. His touch is gentle, but impersonal, as though trying desperately to remain professional.

Darcy can give him that.

Given half the chance, Darcy would give him a lot of things.

“Where are we going?” she says instead. Barnes hums softly and rests a hand on her shoulder as she stands.

“To people who can actually decide if this is above my pay grade or not.”

“Stark and Carter?” she won’t lie; she’s hopeful. Bucky squeezes her shoulder a little more insistently.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

He gives her a funny look, “Sayin’ things like you know everything about us. S’queer.”


Darcy knows she must look a right sight; dirty, handcuffed and tearstained, being led by one Sergeant Barnes at gunpoint out of one tent and through the small camp set up. They garner more than a few looks, and Darcy is exceedingly conscious of her brightly coloured tights and oversized sweater, the cuffs rolled to the elbow, her soulmark more than present in its crimson red.

Like blood.

The man she’ll one day know as Steve meets them at the door to the largest tent in the camp. His eyes slip down from her still wet face and red eyes to the mark above the handcuffs. He frowns. Darcy remembers that only those who had met their soulmate ever dared to leave it uncovered in 1945.

“Buck-” he says warningly.

“-Not a word, Rogers.” Bucky snaps. Darcy tries to unfocus her gaze; she doesn’t know these men, “Not a fucking word.” Steve complies, but Darcy suspects it’s only because he doesn’t see any evidence of physical harm on her, “Is Stark in there?”

Steve nods slowly, eyes still glued to Darcy. Christ she must look like a fucking harlot to him, “With Agent Carter. She say anything?”

“Inside.” Barnes growls and he holsters his pistol. Darcy is grateful- the gun was making her antsy. He guides her inside, squeezing her shoulder as though he couldn’t remove his hand, though perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part.

The insides of the tent are a queer mix of the military order she’s used to seeing in Steve’s apartments in the Tower, and an eclectic mess of machinery and paper notes scrawled with diagrams and numbers. A Stark undoubtedly lives here. Agent Peggy Carter straightens from a casual slouch at a table nearby upon their entrance. She makes an imposing silhouette, refined and austere in her uniform and Darcy feels like a downright slob in her presence.

“Stark?” Bucky barks, “You in here? I gotta conundrum for you to puzzle over.”

A man pops up from under a table. He bears such a striking resemblance to Tony it’s almost physically painful, “Barnes? Didn’t know you even knew big words like that.”

Darcy finds herself bristling almost against her will at the comment, but Bucky just brushes it off with an emotionless ‘fuck off, Stark’. He nudges her forwards, touch finally leaving, “Darcy here says she’s a time traveller.”

That familiar Stark focus zeroes onto her, “Is that so?”

“S’what she’s claiming.”

Howard Stark doesn’t acknowledge him, their presence all but forgotten, “What time are you from, Darcy?”

Darcy bites her lip. Telling them wouldn’t hurt, she supposes, “March 29th, 2013.”

There is a sharp inhalation from the three men. Agent Carter stands unaffected.

“2013?” Steve echoes in disbelief.

“Bull. Shit.” Bucky says flatly.

“Astounding.” Stark Snr breathes.

Darcy swallows nervously. Her soulmark itches. “I don’t-” she starts haltingly, before Stark can barrage her with the questions she can just see sitting on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t know how I got here. I was just fixing a machine for Jane- my boss- and then poof, here I am in 1945.”

Barnes has the good fortune enough to not mention that he never ended up telling her the year. Darcy knows her history well enough.

“Mm,” Stark says, “there’s so many questions to ask- so much to learn. I suppose the question we’d all like an answer to should go first. Do we win the war?”

Darcy thinks of Dresden. Thinks of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the Cold War that dominated the latter half of the twentieth century. She thinks of her grandparents, survivors of the Holocaust, the both of them. And she thinks very, very carefully about the butterfly effect.

Darcy says nothing.

Stark huffs crossly, “Well come on, girl; do we?”

She remains mute.

He sighs heavily, “Okay then. Loaded question, I suppose. How about an easier question; is this our last war?”

Darcy closes her eyes. She will not speak. Steve and Barnes remain silent on either side of her. Darcy thinks of the funny looks Steve had sent her way the first few weeks after they’d met (and of his double take, that first time. She’d almost thought she might have been his soulmate, the way he’d reacted), and thinks she understands now.

Stark Snr continues to question her, growing more and more agitated with each mute answer she gives. She can almost feel Bucky growing angrier in response, and her heart aches at the thought of losing him.

Even so, it’s a relief when the shining portal appears right in front of her.

“Oh, thank God.” She breathes amidst the shouting that erupts around her. She turns to take one last look at her soulmate.

“I’m sorry.” She says to his slackjawed, shocked face. And then she steps forward before they can catch her and the light swallows her whole once again.


When she lands safe, back in her time, Steve holds her hand as she sobs into his chest for long, long hours.


In response to one of several tumblr prompts I’m working through the moment, according to @stonelions post. Look forward to seeing them posted up on AO3 at some point early next year :D
And of course, @amusewithaview s soulmate AU, because I absolutely adore everything about the concept and couldn’t resist FINALLY writing some myself. 

Say His Name: Part V (Zico/You/Namjoon)

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV 

Warning: Triggers, Triggers, Triggers, Violence, language, other stuff… Lots of sex. Shit gets real… Just be safe… 

Rating M- very M….  

Zico’s POV

We decided to end it two months ago. Things got too confusing. Not to mention the scandal grew out of hand with new witnesses spilling their guts everyday. The reports were eating her alive. 

 It’s been about a week since I saw her last. I helped her get a place in the city. Something comfortable, not too much noise so she could sleep. The pills were my fault. Everything was my fault. 

“Where do you want these?” I asked carrying another box from the hall. It was a nice place. Very open. Lots of windows. Good. She loves sunlight. 

“In that room- that I don’t know quite what to call it yet- because this place is too big- that room-” She was short with me these days. But in that cute way. As if she was allowing us to be friendly. 

 "You’ve seen bigger.“ I winked. 

We loved each other- still. That would never go away I’m sure of it. We fought so hard for this. To be together. It was crazy to begin with, but we knew that- and did it anyway. 

It’s like when your friend dares you to do something stupid, and right before you’re about to do it they start shouting- "hey man we were just kidding! Are you crazy? You’re going to kill yourself!” Well they were right. I jumped head first into loving her. We were wrong for each other. Using bodies, manipulating minds, giving the other what we wanted most- and expecting even more in return. 

She was inspiration. I was- something else. Our love was toxic. Everyone loves a good toxic romance- makes everything more exciting- makes everything burn. I’d breath in her chemicals till the end of time if I could- but our radiation levels were already off the charts. She’d kill herself soon. Or worse- I’d kill her. Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t kill to have something like Sid and Nancy- and we were so close. 

I set the box down, thankful that it was the last one. “Anything else I can do you for?” She was cutting open some boxes marked bedroom, pulling out sheets and pillows- was everything an ascetic? 

“I think I’m all set. This really is too much- but you knew that.” I did. But material things didn’t matter. Id buy her an island if she wanted one- It wouldn’t change anything. 

“Well then I’d better be heading out. Press tomorrow- then off touring again.” My head started spinning going through the schedule I had set up for the next few weeks. She questioned- 


"Don’t start." 

"I’m sorry”

“Watch it- you’re going to cut yourself with that. It’s just tape." 

"Wouldn’t that be something." 

"Why would you say that?" 

"You’ve got a thing for blood.”

“I’ve got a thing for you- not hurting yourself." 

"That’s what I have you for.” 

“How’s Namjoon-" 

The game was over. We both struck nerves. I started to gather my things when she grabbed my wrist. 

"I don’t have my pills." 

Translation, "I need you to fuck me into a comma because that’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep tonight.” 

Her mattress laid on the floor- the frame would come in sometime next week- but there was something so intimate about its position. Moonlight illuminating it like we reached a check point- if we were so wrong together, why did the universe set up such beautiful opportunities? 

I laid her down. She’d been kissing me frantically, trying to get drunk off me so she’d forget what was going on. But I had a different plan. I carefully placed myself in the crook of her neck, sucking on every inch I could reach while whispering in her ear- 

 "I watched you- with Namjoon. *huff* I saw how he loved you-“ she moaned, "how he gave you want you needed.” She gripped me tighter drawing blood. “I’d like to try.” She stopped. Complete silence crashed through the room. Our eyes locked- breathing still heavy- she started to cry. God I love it when she cried. 

Holding her head steady, I kissed the tears laying on her cheeks tenderly, trying to wash away everything I did. Maybe she’d forget for just a little while. “I want you to know- *kiss- I’d do this all over again- *moan- I wanted to die with you baby- ” Id never said anything like that before. I’d never been so honest, not even in my music. I did want to die with her, but we hadn’t even started living yet- 

“We did die baby-” she whispered softly, wiping the tears for my eyes. She was right. And now she needed to be reborn. Into the person she truly is. And so did I. 

Hands traveling downwards, feeling every inch of skin. taking in her scent one last time. She was shaking from all the emotions and our intimacy. We’d never been this close before. Never touched like this. I didn’t know I could be so gentle with her. There were no bites or bruises. We were exposing more than our bodies tonight. I think we both needed to feel human together to know that in someway all the pain had been worth it. 

“Don’t take your eyes off me, okay?” I asked. I asked her to do this last thing for me. I didn’t command, or force her. I wanted her to want to look at me while I made love to her. I wanted her to know how vulnerable she made me. This wasn’t to make her stay. This was for us, 10 years from now, passing each other on the street and being able to say hello- you look well- I want you to meet- and then we’d smile and remember our last moments together, how beautifully toxic we were. 

Back arching, I entered her not losing eye contact. Our moans were in unison, our tears boiling on our skin. 

“I love you." 

"Always will." 

"Maybe we could-" 

"You know we can’t." 

I rocked deeper into her on my last sentence, holding her hips steady so she knew I didn’t want to say it, but it was right. She knew it. I started to feel her contracting around me while I held her tighter and tighter. Making sure she felt safe. Her lips were so soft trailing over my skin, our eye never too far out of sight. She started to draw shapes into my shoulders while my my hands tangled into her hair. 

"Let go baby- ” I knew it would send her over. I felt her walls suffocate me with pleasure as I rode her out. Her moans were sweet and breathless, I was so lost in her- 


No. She couldn’t have. It was me this time. I was making her feel loved. It was me who was there for her- when she called at 2am- telling me about a fight she had with her mom. How she needed a place to go. How I was always there for her, even when I wasn’t. How could she. In our last moments, how could she think of him. 

Rage boiled something monstrous inside me. I was no longer in control of my actions. My hands traveled to her throat. I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t let her take another breath. My grip tightened as she kicked and hit me, a waterfall of tears soaking her body. 

"Jiho- ” she managed to mouth the word. I snapped back. Releasing my grip, gazing at the red marks that would do more than scar her skin. What was that. Jealously? I did this for her. She wanted this. She couldn’t handle me anymore. I couldn’t let her go. 

The only thing I could think of to do, was run. Run far away. Out of her apartment, through the streets, back to my place. After getting dressed of course. I couldn’t see. Water blinded me. I could feel my chest rise and fall rapidly, half from sprinting home, the other for what I’d done. I left her there. Alone. In pain. Real pain. 

I picked up my phone swallowing my pride. I needed to make sure she was okay. 

 I dialed Namjoon- 

“She needs you." 

I hung up. Throwing my phone against the wall, I knew I could never see her again. There’s no way he’d let me near her.

*Sorry guys- I know it was a little much but I have a vision of where this will go. Hope it’s okay*