no but look at him in the second one he's petrified but he's still protecting her ):

Memories Pennywise x Reader

Requester: Anonymous

Prompt: A Pennywise imagine where he saves you from Henry Bowers and after he does you think he’s going to eat you but he tells you he won’t because he’s been protecting you ever since you were little. Basically he explains it to her like a story and at the end the reader trusts him and he tells her that he will always have her back and protect her. Please just make it fluffy and cute thank you!

Warning: Bullying, death, and Henry Bower’s potty mouth

Note: Got nothing. Enjoy! XD!

Originally posted by thelongforgottenglamorousdays

Originally posted by janellalove

Originally posted by jonroru

You were once again running for you life as Bower’s and his gang chased after you. They constantly did this at a daily basis, chasing you like predator to prey.

“Run little bunny! Run!” Henry chanted.

They called you a bunny or a rabbit because you were just as fast as one and just as vulnerable as one. You were gasping for breath as you ran cursing high school for making you have to carry around so many binders and textbooks.

You eventually stepped wrong and cried out in pain feeling something snap inside your ankle as you tumbled. You whimpered from both fear and pain in the dirt as they surrounded you like a pack of hungry wolves.

“Get up little bunny.” Henry said nudging you roughly with his foot.

They laughed and chuckled as you didn’t move and only made weak noises.

“Get up little bunny. We ain’t done with you yet.” The main bully spat.

When you made no attempt to move Patrick grabbed you by your backpack and yanked you up. You had to lean on your other leg since your ankle where you felt the pain from was a bruised color.

Henry grabbed your chin squeezing your cheeks together as he seemed to examine you like a farmer to livestock. He moved his hand to your mouth and you bit down as hard as you could on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

Henry cried out in pain and had to land 3 blows to your head before finally getting you to let go. He cursed nursing his hand for a few seconds before turning back towards you and punching you right in the face.

You fell to the ground and they all laughed at you.

“Stop laughing me!” You finally spoke, able to push yourself up but you had to lean on your arm.

“Oh so the bunny speaks after all. What was that you said lil’ bunny?” Henry asked getting in your face.

“I said go fuck yourself you mullet headed fucktard.”

He growled and pushed you onto the ground squeezing your throat tightly. You choked and grabbed onto his muscular arms digging your nails into them which only resulted in him squeezing tighter.

“Henry don’t kill her!” Belch warned.

“Shut up!” Henry shouted before turning back toward you.

“You listen to me now punk. If you were think of calling me that nickname again I swear to god-”

“Uh…Henry…” Patrick said.

The boy looked up and saw a clown was heading their way with a bunch of red balloons in his hand. Henry  et go of you just as you were turning blue resulting in you coughing and gasping for air desperately as he stood up.

“What do you want clown?” Henry spat.

“Care for a balloon?” The clown asked gesturing towards his handful of red balloons.

“Go fuck yourself creep.”

The clowns smile turned into a frown and you watched petrified as his eyes turned gold and he started laughing insanely. Henry took a couple steps back as the clown continued to laugh until his eyes fell out and he seemed to be morphing into something.

A wolfs muzzle grew out of his mouth as his clothes and skin ripped apart till all there was left was a werewolf. You wanted to scream but your throat was closed too tightly and your lung lacked the oxygen needed.

You were instead hyperventilating heavily unable to move. When he barked at them Bower’s and his gang scrambled away screaming like girls and tripping on the ground. The werewolf growled and you shuddered tears of absolute fear prickling at your wide eyes.

The once-clown stepped towards you and you scrambled to get up desperate to run. You only got so far before a hand—surprisingly not furry grabbed your wrist. You turned around to see it was the clown again but his eyes were a soft blue.

Still you were terrified from his earlier show of transforming into a werewolf and screamed and fought punching, yanking, scratching, pulling on his hand but that clown was inhumanly strong.

“Help me!” You cried out, “Someone help me please!”

Eventually he pulled you so your back was to his chest with his elongated arms around your waist. You shrieked at the top of your lungs and continuously struggled in vain which only made you out of breath.

You shuddered as he pulled his head down to your neck and to nuzzle and sniff the jugular vein there. You sobbed knowing this was probably the end of the line for you; you were going to end up as one of those kids on missing posters.

He was going to kill you and then eat you like the rest of the kids he has kidnapped.
You could imagine your grave right now.

(Name)

(Last Name)

Born: 1942

Died: 1958

Due to unknown circumstances

You could hear him heavily sniff your neck like he was smelling the fear radiating off your body like a putrid odor.

“Why so scared kiddo?” He asked.

You shuddered at his squeaky voice goosebumps rising across your skin from just his voice alone.

“Don’t be scared kiddo, I’m not going to eat you.” The clown promised.

“I already know your promises are empty. You are going to eat me like the rest of the kids.” You sobbed.

“If I was going to eat you I would’ve done it a long time ago.” He snickered.

“That because you just caught me now.”

“No. Believe it or not kiddo I actually have been watching you well you were still developing in your mother’s body…. Actually, I’ve been watching your entire family’s generation since the 1800’s.”

“I had fallen in love with a human mortal, your very great grandmother. I loved her until the very last day of her existence. That day though, I made a promise to her.”

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Spiders | JIMIN

Pairing: Jimin (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 1370

Summary: Get you a man who saves you from spiders. 

**THERE IS A MENTION OF SPIDERS IN THIS, TRIGGER WARNING ALLDAT** **REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!**

Originally posted by kpopidolaegyooo


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Friendship is a difficult thing to put into words, no less so than love is (and, really, sometimes the two flow into one another, with the boundaries growing smudged and hazy). But many of those that, in a multitude of different timelines and alternative realities, have been Marked by the Anchor, and ended up leading the Inquisition, still do try. And sometimes, they even succeed - for they have a treasure trove of memories at their disposal; a whole wondrous archive to choose from, leafing through the cherished entries and juxtaposing them against this curious word. Friendship.


Friendship is when the Iron Bull looks away from the smoking wreckage of the dreadnought, before the frothing grey jaws of the sea are quite finished munching it up, and his boss, Issala Adaar, rests her hand over his thick, pale-scarred arm, and does not let go throughout his conversation with Gatt; this one last talk with one who was once his brother, which dooms him to a life of an outcast, unwanted and despised, a Tal-Vashoth like her. She does not let go - and he knows why. He has looked into her background (because of course he has, being a Ben-Ha… being who he once was). She used to be a junior Tamassran, this big, soft woman with a huge burn mark on her cheek and Antivan-made adornments on her horns. She defied the Qun when the Arvaraad came to chain one of her favourite students, a little girl who turned out to be a Saar… a mage. The girl died, in an explosion of magic that warped Issala’s skin - but she still defended her to the last, choosing her over the Qun. Because that girl was family - just like the Chargers are family. Just like the Inquisition is family. This is what Bull thinks of, when Issala holds on to him - and glancing up at her, he reads an affirmation of this in her eyes, bright-yellow and speckled with Fade green, and brimming over with silent tears. Breathing in the powdery drizzle, he grunts a brisk ‘Thanks, boss’ - which would seem weird to an outsider, for sure (thanking her for touching him? for getting weepy?), but is not weird to them. Because this is what friendship is.


Friendship is when Varric settles more comfortably on the makeshift bench by the side of a roaring fire and flaps his hand against the splintering wood, as a welcoming gesture to the Herald, Nakamoa Lavellan, nicknamed Nana by the children she would often baby-sit back in her clan, before a herb-gathering mission gone wrong resulted in her stumbling on the Conclave and being appointed by a bunch of shemlen as their goddess… or something. She accepts the invitation eagerly, crackling her joins and stretching her throbbing weary limbs, as she fire’s warmth swaddles her in a fuzzy, protective blanket. And suddenly, it strikes her that this is what a hahren would do - an older elf, weary and perhaps a little downcast after seeing too many years rustle by, like dry leaves carried by the sad, grey autumn wind. After that thought, comes a second one: she not only acts like a hahren, she feels like one. Mournful over something she has lost but can never regain. Which… Which is not like her at all. She used to be so cheerful, so full of jokes and songs to amuse and delight and soothe her precious little da'len flock; and now, she is oddly empty on the inside, with a drab veil cast over her eyes and draining the world around her of half its colour; even the supposedly dazzling golden fire somehow looks faded, muted to her, more like a picture of a fire in an old book than an actual cheerfully crackling blaze. Startled by this change within herself, she cannot help frowning - and when Varric asks her what’s wrong, she explains it to him as best she can, though not as much for the sake of informing the dwarf of her troubles (she does not expect him to care, to be honest) as for helping herself figure out her feelings by putting them into words. But, to her astonishment, the dwarf does care; he gives her an earnest, sincere nod, and lifts his short arm to pat her on the back. 'Yeah,’ he says gravely. 'It’s hard to be all sunshine and sparkles when the world is drowning in demon shit and your old friends are scattered all over the place, putting themselves in Maker alone knows what kind of crazy danger… But you know what - sometimes you gotta pretend that you are still the same, still with a roguish twinkle in your eye and a smug smirk on your lips… Because if you don’t… You might just fall apart’. And after she is finished talking, Nana edges closer to him and silently squeezes his hand, a tiny voice in her mind murmuring that she just might find all this Fade-induced insanity a little bit more bearable with this dwarf around. And that this - this is what friendship is.


Friendship is when Saarath Adaar, a blue-eyed, unsettlingly rake-thin Qunari with sawn-off horns and stitching scars around her mouth, glides like a wraith among the creaking cots where the wounded soldiers toss and turn, their breaths like gusts of scorching summer wind. She kneels next to each of them, whipping back the long silvery braid that keeps dangling down and getting in the way, and gloves her hands in gently chiming healing magic - a refreshing autumn rain that brings an end to the sweltering heat. Very often, far more often than she could possibly have hoped, her spellcraft does take effect, and the soldier opens their heavy, swollen eyelids, the dim feverish glaze lifted off their eyes, and, fingering weakly at the gnarled stretch of healed-up skin that once used to burn like a splash of lava, mumbles a husky thank-you. This always makes Saarath tear up with joy, while a disembodied voice chants rhythmically somewhere from behind her back, 'Whole, healthy, happy, all by my hand. The hand that used to be stiff and cold and wilted, drowning in icy chains like a nest of snakes. They bound my hands because they thought I was going to do harm, to hiss curses and hurtle magic and hurt, hurt, hurt people unless I was stopped. But I have learned that, apart from hurting, I can undo the hurt caused by others. I am not a dangerous thing any more’. And every time it speaks to her - of her, but also of itself - Saarath looks up and opens her palm, beckoning the voice’s owner to hold her hand. And he always comes to her, stepping out of nothingness, the rim of his oversized hat flapping in the breeze like the sail of a ship, and slips her fingers into his. He is not quite sure what it means, but it helps her do her helping, so he is only too glad to oblige. And they complete the rest of their round side by side, a former Saarebas and an odd spirit boy, seldom speaking but feeling wonderfully soothed by each other’s presence. Because this is what friendship is.


Friendship is when Vivienne strides through the merchant galleries of Val Royeaux, arm in arm with a lanky, blonde, tattooed elf, and shoots a petrifying icy glare at any masked gossiper who, not having recognized her companion as Arryn Lavellan, the chosen of Andraste, starts whispering that the high-class clothing stores are not the proper place to bring a knife-ear to. With an impeccably refined smile and a carefully balanced dose of honey and venom poured into her words, the Imperial Enchantress navigates the world of Orlesian fashion, having the traders roll out their finest fabrics, puff small roseate clouds of their sweetest perfumes, and even fish out a coveted little box of dazzling glitter (with actual gold dust mixed in), because 'darling, surely you have not forgotten the favour you owe me’. And when she is done, when the series of dives into dressing rooms is complete, Arryn emerges transformed, with his wiry frame swathed in glimmering silks, a fluffy weather from his dashingly cocked hat curling round his shoulders, and just a few dashes of make-up highlighting his pale eyes… But not hiding his ritual markings, oh no - he is going to flaunt them proudly in the face of every Orlesian he comes across! His poor old Keeper and mentor would probably have a heart attack if she saw him like this, dressed up more lavishly than all shems she has seen in her lifetime combined; but her reaction would be nothing compared to the outraged hisses of the same faceless dolls they passed on their way in. A rabbit - and a godless mage, no less! - walking among humans as an equal! Spending his gold on the things he likes, like a normal person! How dare he! How dare he! Yes, he dares - he dares to enjoy himself, to treat himself to the little pleasures of luxury, without cowering fearfully away from human clothing, as though he had touched that does not belong to him. He dares to mingle with the 'proper society’, and to challenge the shemlen, one and all, to a match of their own Game, which he will win with flying colours. Because he has been taught by the best, by the master of rising above the people who despise you for what you are, and making them bow in respect instead. By Vivienne. Who is now watching him saunter triumphantly through Val Royeaux with a little smirk of pride. Because this is what friendship is, is it not?


Friendship is when Solas catches himself smiling when he watches a swarm of curious spirits flutter round Kulak Cadash, the Dwarven Herald who, after accidentally tapping into the power of the Fade, has gained an ability to experience dreams, utterly unexpected, and thoroughly baffling, if you were to judge by the blank, loose-jawed, bulgy-eyed face he made when he first saw 'sodding pictures in his head’. But that was long ago; now, with Solas’ help, the child of the Stone has begun to adjust to the journeys along the winding path of visions. And sometimes, he actually enjoys dreaming, especially when, after pestering Solas with demands to 'introduce him to this joint’s good crowd’, he gets to meet friendly spirits, which, in turn, are irresistibly drawn to someone so alien to their native realm (even the most passive ones cannot but stir at the approach of someone so bafflingly solid). Given Kulak’s gruff, pointedly rude demeanour, and his tendency to flaunt his physical strength and past feats of violence, Solas has to admit to being briefly concerned that interacting with him would twist the spirits’ nature, and turn them into malevolent, demonic entities that would reflect the dwarf’s key negative traits (which have so very often infuriated his elven companion). Like the flaring, lava-like Rage, and its many-faced varieties: Cruelty, Aggression, Bloodlust… But, as it turns out, he needn’t have worried: no matter how much time this brutish Carta thug spends around spirits, they remain unchanged. They are still the same Kindness and Faith and Hope; their aura is still pure and untainted, and they allow the dwarf to bask in its tingling radiance, raining white and green sparks over his outstretched arms, while he grins happily and listens with reverent attention to the stories they choose go tell him, sometimes using his imagination to crown the spirits’ heads with flower chains, because this delights him so. He is less loud in the Fade, less brash and short-tempered - less like the roughly chiselled image of his kind that Solas has had in his mind. And frankly, he is uncertain how to feel about this; he is uncertain that it is a good thing, this smile that touches his lips when he hears Kulak chuckle and call the spirits 'you cute little green ghost children’. Things will be more difficult now, once he regains his stolen Focus and prepares to use it for its true purpose; this discomforts him greatly - but as this hour has not yet come, for now at least he can allow himself a brief moment of idyll, teaching the Marked dwarf the ways of the Fade and looking on fondly at his games with spirits. After all, this is what friendship is - or so he heard.


Friendship is when Maaras Adaar, a hornless Vashothari mercenary who has spent most of his life with a full-faced helmet concealing his features, so as to fit in better among humans, tosses that protective metal mask aside, earning himself an approving hoot from Sera. Inhaling deeply, he tilts his head back, and lets the fresh evening breeze caress his skin, while his eyes travel with a content idleness over the rooftops of Skyhold, which are bathed in the the liquid gold river streaming from the setting sun. His mouth is still full of lumpy, half-raw, half-charred cookie dough, which he just holds over his tongue, not quite ready to bring himself to swallow. But even though this lump in his mouth is far from savoury, it does not ruin the moment for him. Because the cookies’ taste does not really matter - what matters is the little figure of the one who tried to bake there ridiculous things for him, cross-legged and rocking back and forth precariously on the roof’s very edge. Maaras knows about Sera’s history with the baker and the woman who raised her; he knows that, like him, she has been taught to hate herself for what she is, to squeeze out every last bit of 'elfiness’ out of herself, just like he has been trying to squeeze out all of his… 'Qunariness’, to pass himself as an exceptionally tall human, to keep a distance from his horned, glaringly grey-skinned family members - who, even as Vashoth, still clung on to some remnants of Qunari culture and customs, and were the ones that tossed the nickname Maaras after him when he left, as an insult and a warning. A weighted word that means both 'alone’ and 'no-one’. And for the longest time, he has, indeed, felt that he is no-one, racked on the inside by guilt over being born the way he is; just the way Sera has, he suspects. She does not like to stop and think about things, this impatient little girl, never the quietest, never the gentlest - but if she did, she would have discovered that she and Maaras are very much alike. For her, baking cookies again, going from 'pride cookies’ to 'Inquisition cookies’, is the same as embracing his Qunari name (after years of going under 'Martin’) has been for him - along with taking off his helmet and showing his face. His true face. He still cannot swallow the cookies - but he nods enthusiastically when Sera remarks, 'It’s good, innit? We’re good!’ and ponders to himself if this is what friendship is.


Friendship is when Maedhros Lavellan, a stern, reticent Dalish mage with deep lines etched into his weather-worn skin and threads of silver glinting in his long ginger hair, comes down to the stables, carving tools under his arm, and spends the afternoon in the company of the man he has come to know as Blackwall. They both work their craft in silence - and for them, it is not the least bit awkward or constraining or boring. For it is not a tense silence - not the same kind of silence that they used like a heavy pall to shroud their past regrets, the shameful tales of a Keeper whose negligence resulted in the death of his whole clan, and a fugitive soldier for hire who once looked upon his men as they chopped through the doors of a carriage to reach for the children that hid quivering inside, their morbidly cheerful song about a bird that sees dead people cut to an abrupt, bloody end. No - this silence is not like a concealing pall; it is more like a pillar, for it supports them both, and bolsters their strength for the next day, which they will likely face in battle side by side. Two grizzled, world-weary men who shall be forever tainted by the unwashable splatters of blood - and yet still press on, fighting for the good of the whole world, always coming to each other’s aid should their quest turn too dangerous. And this silence of theirs is a pact that reaffirms this. Their silence is friendship.


Friendship is when Naali Adaar, a brawny, rough-voiced Vashoth woman who used to run a mercenary company (inherited from her mother, or so Leliana’s files say) prior to getting 'roped into’ the Inquisition, works together with Cassandra to pitch up the tents for a brief reprieve on their journey through the blighted wastelands, stripped down almost to their smalls in order not to completely melt away in the fiery maw of the desert - while the men in their adventuring party look on at them from afar, dazedly admiring their sculpted muscles and the bold dashes of scars across their sweating flesh. When their task is complete, they shake each other’s hand with a wordless nod of appreciation, and lower themselves on a not-so-scathingly-hot boulder in the shade, leaving the men to complete the rest of the work around the campsite. Slanting her eyes in distaste at the damp spot under her arm, Naali grouses, 'All these waterfall thingies are well and good, but I am so pestering Josie to arrange one of them proper baths when we get back home…’ - and then claps her mouth shut, stunned by her own choice of words. 'Home’… She has never been at home anywhere, not really; more like, floated about all sorts of weird far-off place where her work took her, shunned and pointed at with fear and disgust whenever she went. And from what she can gather, Cassandra - who is an absolute bloody delight to carve shit up with, honest! - has been feeling this way too. Like Naali, she has known little in life apart from her work, not taking root anywhere like a stern-faced tumbleweed. Which is why Naali is ready to let out the stupidest, the most shameful girlish scream when Cassandra holds her stupefied gaze and says in agreement, 'Yes, I suppose Skyhold has become rather like a home to us, hasn’t it? Books… Books always say that home is where one’s friends are, and it… it could be true’. Well, Naali is not a fan of mushy fluttering nonsense (the only difference between herself and Cassandra that she can think of) - but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t agree this once. Home is where your friends are. And this thing they have going right here - it’s friendship.


Friendship is when Dorian, on the way to the tavern, to both shock and dull his senses with the slurpy swill they call mead, stops in his tracks and comes over to offer a comforting embrace to young Cassia, a small, short-sighted, bushy-eyebrowed Laetan that apparently travelled south as an unobtrusive junior scribe in Erimond’s entourage, only to wake up - quite in a storybook fashion - after a mysterious blackout with her hand ripped up by the glowing Anchor that her boss’s master covets so much. She is very weepy, the poor child - and, while Dorian gets more than mildly annoyed by it on occasion, he can understand why her tear ducts are so easy to disturb. Sneered at for her origins and pushed out of the way by her 'betters’ all her life, Cassia is finding the weight of her lofty mission far too much for her fragile shoulders. And add to that the insults she has to endure on a daily basis, for being an 'evil Tevinter’. Dorian can shrug those off with his enviable, effortless elegance - but he cannot pretend that they do not sting. This is why, whenever he sees Cassia crying, he abandons whatever he has been doing, and offers that tactile comfort that seems to be a bit of a tradition among the lower classes. 'Hush now, puella,’ he murmurs to her, playfully ruffling her clumsily cut hair (not quite as much a disaster as Sera’s, but still pretty close). 'These hilarious bumpkins may seriously believe that you and I drink the blood of the infants for breakfast, but we both know it isn’t true. So why don’t we go on with this marvellous day, our heads held high with the thought that we are better than all those cardboard cut-out magisters they scare their children with?’. And when Cassia repeats breathlessly after him 'We are better’, he finds himself thinking how splendid it would have been if Felix had lived long enough to get to know this silly sniffling child better, and what an incredible world-saving Tevinter crew they would all have made… And there is a soft pang in his heart that knocks the wind out of him for a fleeting moment - a shot of pain that is both bitter and yet strangely sweet. Which, he supposes, is what friendship is in general. Bittersweet.

Anyone, but her

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader.

Summary: Loki made a deal, he would let Thanos in and take possession of the few Infinity Stones that were kept by Odin to destroy Asgard later, with the condition that (Y/N) would remain untouched and unharmed, but joke was on him, Thanos is not the one to trust.

Warnings: Violence? Just a bit of fluff. 

A/N: This was so much better in my head, sorry.


Originally posted by lulurandomness

Thanos was sitting on his throne, waiting patiently for his moment as he looked at the realms rotate at their own speed. He had done it for years and years, and he still dreamed about the day that he’d get to finally raise hell upon each one of them. Patience was a virtue, but he was starting to run out of it.

Loki Laufeyson, Odin’s adopted child appeared in front of him, with an offer that was hard that the mad titan would reject.

“Thanos, I have come to bargain.” Thanos nodded his head once to let the frost giant descendant know that he was paying attention to his words. “I have no interest whatsoever in ruling Asgard, not anymore, so my offering is that I guarantee you and your people the access to the vault and you might take the few stones that lay there, do with Asgard as you please.”

“And why the sudden change of mind, Laufeyson?” Thanos asked.

“None of your business, Thanos.” The titan tried to talk back, but Loki immediately cut him off. “I have a condition, you can harm whoever you want, but there is a maiden, and I want her unharmed.”

“Who shall I spare?”

“Her name is (Y/N).” For a second, Loki’s façade fade out. It was enough time to make Thanos realize the trickster’s true feelings for the woman. “You get close to her and I swear I will terminate you.” He threatened calmly. “No matter how long it takes, you will pay if you dare to do something to her.”

“The maiden will remain untouched.” Thanos promised, but you can’t really trust someone like him.

Odin’s best soldiers, including the Warriors Three, fought bravely against Thanos’s army, but it became pretty obvious that it was a battle the Asgardians wouldn’t win. The palace was exploding from almost everywhere, and Loki was fearing the worst.

He had no idea where (Y/N) could be, and he didn’t have the chance to warn her about what was about to happen and how much he worried about her. If this was the end of their world, he needed to at least let her know about his true feelings.

Ever since childhood, (Y/N) was always around the princes. Her mother had died when she was just a baby, and her father was one of Odin’s greatest soldiers, but he had died too, so both the king and the queen of Asgard received (Y/N) as part of their own family. Thor, Loki and (Y/N) were almost raised together.

In Loki’s teenage years, he became more and more envious of his brother Thor, and the only person he could trust to let out his feelings was (Y/N). She always had a comforting word for him, and even when she didn’t, she was still there to make him feel like he was not alone. And he truly wasn’t.

Loki felt like there was something strange. It took a liar to know a liar, and he knew Thanos was not a trust worthy man, let alone, he was not a man. But Loki realized that a little too late. Thanos was already entering to the main hall of the palace, surrounded by his soldiers who were holding a woman. Loki’s instincts told him to run and save her, but that would surely end up fine.

“WE HAD A DEAL, YOU MONSTER!” Loki growled, and when the mad titan turned to see him, he laughed deeply, almost heartedly. “I didn’t believe you had no honor.”

“You, of all people, should know that you must not trust anyone… God of Mischief.” Thanos grinned, holding (Y/N) by her arm and pushing her to make her fall onto the cracked flooring of the leftovers of the Asgardian palace. “Look at your precious loved one.” Thanos pointed at her with his giant hand. “Look at her for what it could be the last time.”

(Y/N) laid there, terrified to the core and shaking. Her hands had dirtied with the dust that the tiling left and as she looked up at Loki, the words got caught on her lips. She had so many things to say, a lot of places to start from, but she was petrified. Loki ran to kneel next to the love of his long life, and he hurriedly cupped her face in his slim hands.

They tried to hold onto each other with the very last of their strengths. She allowed herself to break down in tears, wetting the collar of his clothing. (Y/N) babbled something she couldn’t even understand, while Loki tried to sooth her a little.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” He mumbled, pressing his forehead against hers. “I—I never thought he’d do this.” She held on to his wrists as she tried to keep herself together. “We—we had a deal.”

“Loki—how could you?” She spat out with her voice breaking every passing second. “You brought this misery upon all of us!”

“This misery was not supposed to reach you, we’d be far away by now if this crook hadn’t tricked me.” He explained agitatedly. “I would never put you through this intentionally. Please, love, understand—”

“Love?” She asked in bewilderment. “You called me ‘love’?” She repeated.

Loki didn’t say anything, he was too ashamed of what he had done, but he still had a trick on his sleeve. Thanos wouldn’t win that easy, especially now that he had broken the only promise Loki cared about.

“You are a disgrace to your own name, Loki Laufeyson.” Thanos murmured. “God of Mischief? Let me disagree with that.”

The first explosions inside the palace came from Loki, but as they were too close to (Y/N), she passed out and fell unconscious next to him. It was his first duty to protect her now.


The nurses around the bed started to move quicker now that their patient was waking up. She groaned deeply, and one of them held her hand and caressed her forehead. The nurse signaled the awaiting companion to come closer and replace her hand with his.

He was so eager to see her awake again, but she was taking her time. He signaled the nurses to put the lights down a bit, so her eyes wouldn’t hurt that much when she opened them, and apparently it was what she needed, because it didn’t take long until she opened them again.

When she saw Loki, holding her hand and standing beside her, a soft smile formed on her lips as she weakly tried to speak, but he silenced her right away.

“Don’t talk (Y/N), you don’t need to.” He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead and she sighed in relief; it seemed like everything that happened so fresh in her memory was gone and there was no more Thanos, no more destruction and no more anything. “Do you want me to bring you something?” She shook her head. “Do you want to keep resting?

Weeks went by, and (Y/N) started to feel much better. Even though she still remembered some things, there were a few details she was not aware of, like what had happened to Thanos and why was everything as normal again.

“Loki,” she timidly asked, as he walked her out of the improvised nursery. Asgard was still trying to be rebuilt, and it could take ages, but everyone was trying to do their best, “what happened after Thanos… I just can’t remember a thing.”

“Well, Odin is smarter than I thought, and he knew Thanos was plotting something to get into Asgard, and with Thor’s help and the warriors from other realms they finally defeated him.”

“Did you really…?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “but I have paid the price for it.”

“May I know what that is?” She asked, slowing down and tugging at his arm to make him look at her. “Loki, I’m not stupid… I remember some of the things that happened before I passed out and… I remember you calling me ‘love’” She bit her bottom lip, and Loki smiled fondly. “Is it true or—”

“It is,” he nodded, “you are my love.”

“You have the worst timing,” she chuckled, “getting your home destroyed… Just to admit you like me.”

“I love you.” He slyly replied. “There’s a difference.” His hands sneaked down to hers and he held them tightly; he was not letting her go again. “What do you say, love?”

“You’re the worst, trickster.” She laughed. “The worst of the worst.” She stepped on the tip of her toes to get closer to his lips and lock them in a sweet kiss.

All For One

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader where she is pregnant and the team are competing to be the baby’s godparents. I basically did a straight up game competition, and the results might not be what you expect. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @hogwarts-konoha @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @yoinkpeter

                                                             —-

“No way!” Garcia’s face lit up as you placed your hand gently on your stomach. Spencer’s smile was so painfully wide that Garcia knew she was right. “No way! You’re pregnant? You’re having a baby? Two of my babies are having a baby? I can’t! Oh my god! Come here!” Her heels happily clipped across the floor as she embraced you in a hug that was tighter than any you’d ever felt before. “You’re going to be such an amazing daddy!” She grabbed Spencer by the cheeks and kissed them both. “Oh my god, I’m so happy!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at your friend’s exuberance. You knew no one would be happier about the new BAU addition than Penelope. Congratulations flew around the room. Rossi was a proud grandpa, Hotch and JJ were both immediately offering help if either of you needed advice on parenting, although most of it was just flying by the seat of your pants according to them, Emily was full of tears, embracing you both for what felt like five minutes a piece, and Morgan clapped you both gently on the back. “You’re both going to be great parents. Even you, Pretty Boy.”

“Shut up,” Spencer laughed. He was already panicking about being a dad. Last night, you were pretty sure he’d read about five parenting books. “I’m gonna be fine. I’m just going to have to make sure that this tiny child doesn’t get hurt and that their happy all the time. And they’re so small I could easily drop them but I’m going to be fine. Right?” The way he looked at you, such desperation, fear and excitement mixed within his gaze, that you started to laugh before leaning in and giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. 

“Spence, you’re going to be okay. No one knows what they’re doing at the start. Right JJ? Hotch?”

Both parents shook their heads. “Not a clue,” Hotch laughed. “Still don’t really. You’re going to be petrified. But you’ll be fine.”

“And I’ll always be available if you have questions,” JJ said, linking her arms through Spencer’s. 

After the initial excitement died down, the question of possible names or godparents came around. You’d been holding this secret from the team until you passed the first trimester because miscarriages were more likely to happen during that time. During those two weeks, you and your husband had discussed possible names. “We’ve settled on Allyson Diana if it’s a girl,” you said, gently rubbing your stomach, “And if it’s a boy, it’s going to be Spencer Jr.”

“Hopefully, this Spencer won’t get his ass kicked,” Spencer said. He was petrified of having a boy for that very reason, believing that if it was a boy, he’d end up having a childhood similar to his own, while if it was a girl, she would take more after you; you didn’t take crap from anyone. 

Rubbing his arm, you leaned in to his shoulder. “It’s all about how we raise them,” you assured him. “No one is going to be kicking my baby’s ass. Mama bear will go bananas.”

Spencer’s fear faded away as he looked at you, his smile widening as he imagined you being protective over your child. “What made you decide on the name Allyson?” JJ asked out of curiosity. “Obviously I understand Diana, but why Allyson?”

“Well my mom told me that when she was pregnant with me, there was a short time where she thought she was having twins, and the girl’s name she’d chosen was Allyson.” Spencer said. God, if Spencer had been a twin.

“Aw that’s so adorable,” Garcia said, bringing her hands up to her face and waving away tears. “I love that name.”

“And as for godparents, we haven’t decided yet. It’s too hard, considering we love you all.”

“Competition!” Garcia exclaimed. 

When you looked toward her, you could see the gears turning in her mind. There was practically smoke coming out of her ears. “I mean considering you love us all, there’s no way for you to narrow it down unless we have a competition. We can make a day out of it!” She started walking around the room, saying how the team could gather at Rossi’s house for a family function; there would of course be games of all kinds and whichever two won the most games would get to the new baby’s godparents. 

It sounded like a fun day, so you were all about getting together, but Spencer and yourself had already spoken at length about possible godparents. Spencer was an only child, and you had one sibling you weren’t close to. All of your friends were in the BAU, and everyone was so important to you both in different ways that it was impossible to pick. 

Your teammates loved you, and you were positive that if anything were to happen to the two of you, the entire team would come together to make sure your child grew up happy and loved. Plus, how were you supposed to know what everyone’s circumstances were going to be if something ever did happen to you and Spencer. Basically, all of them were going to be godparents. “Should we tell them?” Spencer whispered in your ear, chuckling softly as the team started bickering back and forth about who would be the best godparent.

“Nah,” you replied. “This is too much fun. Let’s watch this play out first.”

                                                            —-

Two weeks later, everything was set up at Rossi’s house. There were games galore, music, decorations (courtesy of Penelope of course) and the competitive spirit was rife in the air the second you walked into his backyard hand-in-hand with Spencer. 

Immediately, Penelope passed you a cup with what looked like alcohol in it. “PG, what is this? Baby. No booze.”

“What kind of Auntie do you think I am? That is iced tea, which I hear is good for morning sickness.” You had been sick this morning. 

Taking a long swig of your drink, you raised a glass toward your ray of sunshine. “Thank you, my love.”

“Game time! After two tries of each game, we move on to the next! Whoever wins the most gets to be godparents! I’m out for blood!” You snorted. Penelope was already an amazing godmother to Henry, she would be brilliant with this new baby. Of course, Penelope had orchestrated everything. There was a matching game (which she’d made from scratch using cardstock, stencils and spray paint), one of those beanbag games you see at kids camps, water guns (whoever ended up the driest according to you and Spencer won) and the tried and true beer pong (or in Rossi’s case, Scotch pong). 

“Baby girl,” Morgan said, as she handed the cards to Spencer to lay on the ground. “Matching games, really?”

Penelope was all about having fun, no matter how childlike she may seem. Kids had all the fun, and they deserved to have some fun with all the things they’d witnessed. “What? You afraid I’m gonna win?”

“Oh, you’re on, baby girl.”

Spencer happily laid all the tiles on the ground. There were an insane amount of them. If Spencer had been playing it would have been one thing (damn his eidetic memory), but there were so many tiles that the team found it harder than they imagined (it didn’t help that all of them had a drink in their hands). 

Two games later, Morgan had won one and Garcia had won the other. You kept score of course. Next was the beanbag toss, and two everyone’s surprise, Rossi and Hotch were absolute masters. “I believe you’ve been, as the kids say, schooled,” Rossi said smugly as he chucked a beanbag toward Emily. Now Morgan, Garcia, Hotch and Rossi each had one, and Emily and JJ had nothing. 

“Water guns next?” Emily asked. “Oh you fools are going down!”

Spencer passed out the water guns. “Watching this is fun,” he laughed, sitting down and gathering you in his lap. “So competitive. All of them.” It was truly hysterical how zealous everyone was. “Ready! Set! Go!” He screamed. Rossi’s entire backyard became a sea of screaming adults ranging anywhere from 30s to late-50s. Penelope was no secret agent. She went all out, just running out into the middle of mayhem to try and soak who she could, but she got soaked to the bone immediately. 

You’d set the timer for 10 minutes or until the water guns ran out of water, whichever came first. By the time the water was gone, JJ and Emily seemed to be the driest. “What do you think Spence? Does one of them win over the other or do they both get a point?”

“I think they both get a point, but I’m not sure,” he started walking around to check if anyone had been splattered, and then picked up the hosing, unleashing a spray that soaked everyone.

It was another 15 minutes before you moved on to beer pong. Spencer had been cornered and soaked with the hose. “You deserved that,” you laughed, kissing him as the water fell down his cheeks. “But you look adorable when you’re all wet.”

“Beer pong time!” Spencer laughed. “Everyone is tied. After two rounds, we declare the winners! Go!” 

They were laughingly bad. If you weren’t with child, you would’ve kicked their asses. The first game was handily won by Morgan, while the second didn’t go as smoothly. JJ hit the side of one of Rossi’s cups, spilling some of his precious Scotch into the ground. “Oh, JJ, I’m going to have to get you for that.” While they were bickering, Emily pulled out a win.

Emily and Morgan were the winners. 

“Well, I’m hoping everyone had fun today,” you laughed, taking in the picture of your soaking wet, drunk ass friends. “I’ve had an amazing time watching you all be idiots. But you’re a lovable, and somehow brilliant, bunch of idiots.” Looking back at Spencer, you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the seat to reveal the “winners.”

He kissed the side of your head and wrapped his arms around you, his soaking wet jacket making your clothes wet too, but you didn’t care. This was going to be a day you’d remember for a very long time, and you’d make sure to tell your future child that their godparents loved them so much that they’d competed in a bunch of kids games to have the chance to be named godparents. “Technically, the winners are Emily and Morgan with two wins a piece, but as we said a couple of weeks ago, it’s too hard to pick who we wanted to be godparents. We know that if anything were to happen to us, all of you would step up and make sure that this baby is happy and loved.” As you scanned the room, you could see a half-drunk Penelope already tearing up. She knew what was coming. “Also, we have no idea, who is going to be able to take on the responsibility if the time ever comes, so we want all of you to be godparents.”

All of your friends raised their arms in happiness. When a family was as close as this one, singling out two people to take care of your little one seemed pointless. Why limit the love to two people? All of these wonderful people you’d come to love over the years would do what was necessary for this one very lucky baby.

T H E    E V E 

Genre: Smut/Angst/Fluff

EXO Mafia! AU

SehunxReader

A/N: So hello dear reader, this is my first ever kpop related fanfic. Hopefully I won’t dissapoint. English isn’t my first language so bare with me if you see any mistakes. I also didn’t proof read this much so yeah. Expect A LOT of smut because that’s the reason for this au being born, some fluff and a lot of angst as well. Enjoy ^^

 

Chapter 1

Sehun

I hated celebrating my birthday. To me it was just another business night out in the streets, wiping off a target, negotiating a dealing contract, sabotaging lame ass competitors. It was nothing special. Yet the gang cherished birthdays dearly and were always looking forward to partying, thinking another year of life for us, given all the types of twisted shit we do for a living, was something to celebrate. The night was starting to cool off when they dragged me over back to our dorm, popped champagne bottles left and right and filled the place with gorgeous, expensive whores.

Laying back on the couch I thought I might as well try to enjoy myself and in the blink of an eye, I had a beautiful ebony girl dancing for me, grinding on my lap with a pill between her lips. Her body was elegant, strong and gracious, like art, warm, cinnamon skin glowing under the dim lights and bare for everyone to see. I bet she’d be a pleasure to fuck but I’ve never fucked a prostitute. It’s too easy, too superficial. I thoroughly enjoy the process of chasing a woman, making her so mad with want she willingly ends up being a slave in my bed, surrendering her whole self to me knowing she’ll be pleased by whatever I want to do to her. The fact that’s been over six months since I did that has me burning up. My job can be very tense and there’s nothing that can relax me more than coming back home to a woman looking at me like I’m her whole world and a good, hard fuck. Sighing I realize, I could never get that from a whore.

“What’s with the long face, boss?” a familiarly annoying voice asks.

“I’m not your boss.” I retort.

“Yet. Not the boss yet. But you will be soon. We all know that. Boss.”

“Quit it, Hyunbin. Not in the mood.” I grunt. Hyunbin is a doubtful member of the gang whose permanence in it I question a lot recently. I have a bad feeling about him and my bad feelings usually end up being right, sadly sometimes later rather than sooner. He’s been trying to lick my ass insistently since rumors arose suggesting I might take on the Boss’ spot sometime soon, once he retires. I sigh heavily. I can’t believe I have to put up with this asshole even when I’m trying to have a good time.

“Oh, come on, boss. Don’t be so touchy. Follow me. I’ll show you a little something I got you for your birthday.”

I reject his request telling him he could show me later but he insists so I give up to it thinking I’ll get him off my back sooner if I do. Shoving the beautiful ebony girl off, I follow Hyunbin to the garage feeling uneasy somehow. I glare at his back suspiciously. I don’t trust him all that much. I don’t know what sort of present we’re heading to but it better not end up with a bullet inside someone’s forehead.

Once in the garage, Hyunbin turns the lights on showing a really large box in the center of the room, covered in a large piece of black velvet. He smiles at me expectantly, most likely waiting to see some emotion on my face only to find an annoyed expression on my features I presume.

“Listen, Sehun,” he started, his face lighting up. “I have a great feeling about this present. I think you’ll like it. No, actually I think you will absolutely love it.”

“Just show me already.”

Eagerly, he unveiled the box and it turned out to be a cage. Inside there was what it looked like a corpse. The dead body of a woman. Only after a few seconds I realized she wasn’t dead, she was breathing, shaking mildly, coiled up like snake, protecting herself. Her hair was a deep chestnut color, silky soft looking that fell on her back. Her right ankle was chained to the cage. Hyunbin’s voice took me back to the moment.

“See, you’re speechless. I knew you would like it boss.”

To be quite honest I wasn’t only speechless but also petrified. Shocked. Then I was enraged and considering the fact that I had a gun right here with me, wasn’t good news for Hyunbin. The bastard knelt down right next to the cage and knocked on it twice with his knuckles.

“Hey, sweetie. Remember the conversation we had earlier? Say hi, doll.” He slowly spoke to her like she was an animal and then unlocked the cage with a small key.

The woman rose her head and looked at me. Not one sound leaving her lips. She appeared to be quite young. Very young. Not older than 21 years old. She looked pale, cold and afraid. It was evident she had been given some sort of drug as her gaze seemed somehow lethargic. She was completely naked, her body shivering, looking so fragile and weak. Poor little girl just stared at me pleading for something. Freedom, most likely, or mercy. God only knows what she has gone through. I sure as hell don’t want to hear the gory details.  

“Boss, I know you don’t like to fuck whores and also you don’t have so much time off to chase after women, so I thought I would give you one as a present. And listen the best part is that her cherry here is completely intact. She’s still a virgin. Just for you.”

I grunted. A virgin girl. Maybe she was even younger than I initially thought. A virgin. Poor angel. How did she end up here in a cage? Sold to the highest bidder no doubt. Adult virgins are extremely rare and expensive in the black market. She most have costed a fortune.

“Come on boss, say something. Do you like your present? Only the best of the best for y-“

“You have one second to shut the fuck up before I degut you with a fucking spoon.”

For the first time since he unveiled the cage my gaze turned his way. I had the feeling that Hyunbin was unreliable but I never thought his thirst for power would hand him to me like this, completely in fraganti.

“You know we don’t do this shit, Hyunbin.” I growled.  

“Listen, boss. Let’s keep it a secret. It’s not a business after all, it’s a present and no one has to find out where she came from.”

Poor fool, he really has no idea. We have never traded with people, it is forbidden within our organization and personally, there are very few things in the world I despise more than trafficking with human beings. Women, men, children, whatever they are. If Hyunbin would’ve known a couple more things about me he wouldn’t now be playing with death at such narrow distance. Anyone else in the gang might have just taken him to the boss and let him decide what reprimand suited him best for breaking the rules. Too bad I wasn’t anyone else. I had no desire to take him to the boss but to do something a lot worse. I laughed at the thought realizing I knew all along this birthday was going to be just like any other shitty day, ending up with blood dripping from my hands.

“I think you don’t understand, Hyunbin. I specifically don’t mess around with this shit. You should’ve known better.”

He looked at me with surprise in his eyes, laughing incredulously.

“Oh, man. Come on. What are you jabbering about? I brought you top quality virgin pussy. A whole woman just for you, Sehun. You should be thankful. Now listen if you don’t want it, I could sell it myself. You know Dragna loves purchasing young cunts.”

I launched myself at him. Over my dead body, I thought. Dragna was a competitor; boss of a relatively small but rich gang, everyone knew they had no problem negotiating with human lives just as they would with drugs or weapons. Dragna himself was famous for buying or kidnapping young pretty women and slaving them for long periods of time. It was obvious he would sell or kill them once he considered them to be replaceable for a new one, being suspected for the death of quite a few girls. May God send me to the most painful and slow death if I allow this poor creature to end in the hands of someone like Dragna.

Hyunbin tried to defend himself, fight me off. He couldn’t. I was bigger, stronger and smarter. I wanted an excuse to get rid of Hyunbin and he handed it to me on a silver plate.

******

Reader

The tall man standing right in front of you snarled at the one who had held you captive.

“You know we don’t do this shit, Hyunbin.” He said. You had finally heard the name of your latest captor.  

Then everything was even more confusing or maybe just happened very fast. They were fighting. Really fighting each other. You couldn’t help but stare trying to get a clear, sharp view of anything you could, but everything was so hazy. Filthy drugs in your body, rushing through your veins made you feel so weak to the point that only speaking was a huge effort. The cage was cold and so was your skin. Your body felt so strange you could barely exert any control over it.

Then you heard his rough voice again.

“Don’t look, honey.” He said, locking your eyes with his for an instant. His raw, growling voice scared you so you obeyed and shut your eyes closed. He seemed so frightening, the other man was also terrifying. Everything was. Cancelling out your vision in fear, now you could only rely on your hearing. Pants, punches, kicks, even what sounded like bones snapping all mixed in a big haze of noise and then it rang clearly. A gunshot. Then another gunshot. The sound of a body dropping heavy on the ground. Then silence.

Lock and Key (Jonerys Fanfiction)

Summary:  The evening before they set sail for White Harbour, Jon needs air to think. He comes upon a sight which melts him, and unlocks the depths of his heart he promised he’d never open again.

Notes: Thank you @ferosa for the prompt! This was a fun write. 

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11961618

Jon needed to get away from everyone, the crowded hall of the painted table was not where Jon enjoyed being, especially after the Dragon-pit fiasco. Tension was palpable in the castle and Jon needed to get away. Now it was much cooler on Dragonstone, the outdoors had more appeal to him than the inside of Dragonstone castle ever had. On the following morning; himself and Daenerys would be leaving for White Harbour and he wanted to have a clear head. He’d been spending too much time with the Dragon Queen that he found his judgement was getting clouded. 

Why did he announce his loyalty to her then and there at the dragon-pit in front of Cersei? Why had he even suggested that he and Daenerys travelled together? On a restricted boat for a 3 day journey with the one woman who wouldn’t leave his mind. It was going to be the toughest time those three days with nothing to do, his mind wandering like it had been doing…

Keep reading

prompt 45 and 48 with daryl, please? <3 - @dxsturbxa

Prompt(s):

#45- “Stop trying to push me away!”

#48- “I’d fucking die for you.”

TWD prompts.


Today’s going to be a complicated day. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. It’ll be stressful and trying and exhausting. Thankfully, I have the motivation to actually get out of bed and be somewhat helpful, so I decide to do exactly that. I get up, get ready, head out of the door and then over to Rick’s place. 

It’s a sweltering day in Alexandria, beads of sweat start forming along my hairline and my entire body begins to heat up. I quickly tie my hair up to get some air to the back of my neck, but to no success.

I jog up the stairs to Rick’s house, already noticing Michonne and Tara through the window. I knock on the door a couple of times before the door swings open and Daryl appears before me.

“Hey,” I smile politely. “You coming today?” I ask, referring to the run that Rick and I organized.

“Yep.” Daryl grumbles and moves aside to let me in.

Daryl’s been acting… off with me lately. He’s been completely blanking me and anytime I attempt to start a conversation with him, all I receive are blunt, one-word answers.

I concede in trying to talk to him and walk past the threshold of the doors and then into the lounge where I find Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Glenn, Aaron, Tara, Sasha and Abraham.

“Hey Y/N, you all set?” Rick asks.

“Pretty much,” I reply, checking that my gun and knife are attached to my belt. Rick nods and lets me take the lead. “Okay, this should only take us a couple of hours. We go to town, grab what we need and we go. Quick, simple, easy. That good with everyone?” I announce.

“Sounds good to me.” Glenn nods, relatively satisfied. Everyone nods along with Glenn in agreement, causing a me to grin from ear to ear. Everyone but Daryl, who’s still sulking against the door frame. I roll my eyes and ignore his petty attitude, my mind purely focused on our main objective.

I don’t know why he’s been acting like this. Daryl and I used to be so close. We’d go on runs together, keep watch together and we’d always hang around my house. But one day, he just kind of switched and he hasn’t been the same with me since. I miss him, I really do, but every time I ask him what’s wrong, he ignores me. I just wish I knew what I did wrong, then maybe I could fix it. The not-knowing is killing me.

When we arrive into town, we all split off into pairs and head in different stores, but before we can initiate pairs, everyone does their own thing without discussion. Rick heads off with Michonne, Glenn pairs up with Tara, Aaron and Rosita run towards the west side of the town, and Sasha and Abraham walk off together leaving Daryl and I completely alone. We stand in place awkwardly for countless moments before I head south. Daryl catches up and walks beside me with his crossbow at the ready, still not uttering a word. I spot a grocery store and head in that direction, Daryl immediately copying my path. I quietly open the door, gingerly stepping over some fallen items. I search the aisles and throw whatever canned good I can find into my backpack, all in complete silence. Daryl barges past me and grabs a load of random items and tosses them in his bag, but is caught off guard when a walker falls through the damp ceiling and directly on top of him.

“Daryl!” I cry out and shoot at the walker, not hesitating to rush over. The grumbles die down and the geek goes limp, letting Daryl push it off of him. “You okay?” I ask, kneeling down beside him and checking him for wounds.

“Yeah… thanks, I guess.” Daryl pants.

“You’re not hurt or anything?” I panic, pulling off his vest to find and bites or scratches.

“I’m fine…” He sighs.

“Are you sure? It looked like-”

“I said I’m fine!” Daryl snaps.

I scoff and and sit back onto my heels, staring at him with utter disbelief.

“What?” He asks after a while.

Stop trying to push me away!” I yell.

Daryl lets out a deep breath as his head falls back against the floor. His eyes close for a few seconds before he stands up again and begins to walk out.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Daryl!?” I shout, following him as he storms out.

“Shut up. You’re gonna attract unwanted attention.” He hisses, turning around.

“Talk to me, Daryl! Stop avoiding me and just say something! What did I do wrong!?” 

“Can this wait? You couldn’t have picked a worse time.” He mumbles and walks away.

Run after him. Make him tell you. Run after him. Make him tell you.

I can’t. I’m frozen. Petrified, even. Scared that if I ask him once more, he won’t be delicate with telling me what I’ve done and I might lose him for good. I’d take one-word answers over nothing. That’s better… right? I stressfully run a hand through my hair and sulk off outside and get back to where I left the others. We rejoin and take inventory, then getting back in the trucks. I remain quiet the whole ride back to Alexandria, even when I notice Rick and Glenn looking back at me worriedly. Sasha, who’s been sat next to me the whole time, lovingly rubs my arm and flashes a warm smile when I look over to her. She knows not to ask, but to just… be there.

Finally, we return home and I take a long, well-earned shower, trying to wash away the thoughts that Daryl left. All I’m able to feel is hurt and confusion as to where it all went wrong. It’s like he just woke up one morning and decided that I no longer mattered.

I lay on my bed in a sullen silence, desperately trying to think of anything other that Daryl. I begin to think that I can concentrate on something else when I hear a knock at my door, but when I reach it, I can already tell who it is by the silhouette on the other side of the distorted glass.

“Hey,” I sigh, opening the door. “What’s up, Daryl?”

He shuffles awkwardly and coughs out something inaudible.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow, too tired to care if I’m being rude or not.

“We need to talk.” Daryl states and pushes past me.

“Come on in.” I say sarcastically.

I shut the door and head into the lounge, where Daryl is pacing nervously.

“So, you going to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.

“Yeah… probably ain’t a good enough reason, but I might as well tell you ‘cause you don’t deserve the way I’ve been treatin’ you.”

My heart breaks at his clear sincerity and I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He takes a while to respond, but hugs me back after a few moments. I release after a while and gaze up at him.

“I’ve been pushin’ you away because… I’m… I’m afraid.” Daryl admits.

“Of what?” I ask softly.

“Loving you,” he blurts out, making my heart skip a beat. We got so close and I started to get all these feelings and it scared the shit out of me. Then, I realized… if we were ever in trouble or under attack, I wouldn’t even think about protecting anyone else but you. Hell, I’d fucking die for you, Y/N.”

I stand absolutely still, not able to comprehend everything I’ve just heard. My mouth opens to say something, but my vocabulary isn’t wide enough to justify a reply.  Before I can even think about it, my hand snakes to the back of his neck and I pull his lips against mine. His hands travel down to my hips and he pulls me closer, eliminating any space that was between us beforehand.

We pull away from each other and he rests his forehead against mine as we both catch our breath.

“You don’t need to worry, Daryl. II know that if anything ever happened, you’d be the first out of the door to protect anyone you could. That’s just the type of guy you are. Everyone has each other’s backs. But you really do have everyone’s best interest at heart even if you don’t act like it sometimes.” I tell him in all honesty.

Daryl looks down into my eyes and his lips curve into a small smile.

“You’re somethin’ special, y’know that, Darlin’?”

“I could say the same.” I smile, grateful that I finally have Daryl back.

dating archie andrews | would includes

Originally posted by thosekidswhohuntmonsters

headcanon

written by: rosie, gaby, kelly & maddy

anonymous said: dating archie would include!

- archie’s main thing to write music about is you

- he would teach you how to play guitar

-”babe, can i teach you guitar?”

- ”babyyy, my fingers hurt.”

- “well, i’m sorry your fingers are short.”

- he’s always is down for midnight trips to pops

- knowing each others orders off by heart

- fighting him to foot the bill

- “i can pay archibald!”

- “can’t i treat my princess?”

- going to the annual fair with him in town

- archie trying to impress you and the gang by attempting to go on the ferris wheel

- you all knew that he was petrified of heights, so as you were at the top the poor boy was about to pass out

- you slipped your hand into his and gave it a big squeeze for comfort

- jughead had teased him about that for weeks and weeks

-“do you remember that time archie went on the ferris wheel and-”

- “jug leave him be”

- you became closer with jughead

- he’d always keep an eye out for you when archie wasn’t around.

-babe im gonna be at practice tonight, can you take vegas for a walk?

sometimes you even went down and watch

- you and vegas would sit in the stand and cheer on the boys

- archie would jog over to his two girls and give you both kisses

- you’d be a river vixen of course

- piggyback rides after practice because your legs ache

- laughing at each others dumb jokes

- car rides with loud music

- purposely singly off key

- the windows were down the wind blowing in your hair

- him being very proud of you

- and spending every moment he could stealing glances at you

- archie being extremely protective of you

- he had reggie and moose look out for her whenever he couldn’t be around

- they were like brothers to you

- watching him work at the construction site

- “ damn archibald you really work that wheelbarrow”

- warm hugs

- you were just shorter than him so when you hugged you could feel his heart race whenever you hugged.

- soft kisses along the jaw line

- deep and intellectual conversations during the early hours of the morning

- archie talking constantly about marriage and children

- him constantly teasing you about knowing all of the songs to the movie grease

-it actually isn’t an insult, you found it more to be a compliment

- helpless without you, love has flown all alone.

- y/n, shut up

- you poking his cheeks when calling his attention

- because he was constantly on his guitar or on his playstation

- nibbling on his ears to finally gain his attention

- him playing with your hair while you lay on his chest 

- he’d sing you songs to put you to sleep when you stay at his house

- “have i ever told you that you have the voice of an angel”

- “no but you have told me i have a body of a god

- his dad loving you 

- he’d always ask you over for dinner

- whether it was pizzas or take away you’d always help him out in the kitchen

- archie’s mum not liking you at all because she thinks that you’re using him

- getting super emotional over his mum and her opinion of you

-“babe, i love you but she doesn’t have to”

- “i want her to though, arch.”

- meeting his mum and making it your mission to prove her wrong

- because you love him

- surprise hugs from behind, side and running hugs

- let’s face it he was always hugging you

- when you sleep archie has to be touching a part f your body

- just so he knew that you were laying there safe next to him.

- he’d let you wear his clothes

- especially on game days

- you’d wear his jersey to school

- to show that you support archie

- plus he loved showing you off at school

- not to even mention the way he loved to see you in any of his clothes

- especially in nothing but one of his baggy t’s and a messy bun.

- running your fingers through his hair

- in return he’d do the same for you

- especially when you’re stressed

- you helped him study alot

- even when he didn’t think he needed it

- or didn’t want it

- “how ‘bout we put this calculus away and do something a little more fun-”

-trying to start a makeout session

- “ uh-huh andrews we need to get this done”

- you’d work at pops

- he’d bring you flowers

- and sit with you on your break and feed you french fries

- “okay my breaks up i gotta go”

- “baby pleaseeee stay”

- clingy archie

- whenever you weren’t together he’d always text you funny things or what he was doing at that exact second

- just took the trash out

- i just stubbed my toe SO bad

-we’re having chinese for dinner

-just finished eating and im still hungry

- dating archie meant the gang was all up in your business

- “so.. y/n is archie good in bed?”

- “kevin please”

- “sorry i was just asking.. but seriously-”

- “kevin!”

- compliment central

- breakfast at the andrews

- wearing his varsity jacket all the time

- “baby where’s my- .. is that my jacket”

- “maybe”

- smirks

- constant banter

- and pranks

- you practically lived at archie’s so that meant prank central

- he’d always hide and jump out and scare you

- “archie fucking andrews!!!”

- when jughead moves in they’d team up

-nerf gun fights

- and in the summer water gun fights

- ended up with you and archie making out

- “if you guys are going to have sex id rather not be in the room”

- double dates with betty and jughead

- since the drive in is closed the four of you would camp out in the coopers living room and watch movies all night

- cuddled up to eachother

- being super close with betty

- learning all the words to archie’s songs

- whenever he played them you’d dance around the room

- and you should see the smile on his face when you do

- you’d sit front row at the jubilee

- singing along and looking at him in admiration

- all the girls at school were jealous of you

- archie’s a hickie monster

- he was no match for your concealer

- constant pda

- especially over social media

- archie’s instagram would be dedicated to you

- filled with endless amount of photos of you posing against beautiful back drops

- “archieee.. stopppp

- covering your face from his constant camera in your face

- but he’d shower you with compliments

- which would turn you into a blushing mess

- cute nicknames.

- always shows up at your door with flowers and chocolates

- and he’d always go to betty and veronica for advice

- singing to you in the pouring rain

- confessing his undying love for you

tag list: @hauntedcherryblossombanana-blog @sadbreakfastclb @jugandbettsdetectiveagency @kindfloweroflove @fragilefrances @mydelightfulcollectiontyphoon @onceuponagladerhead @natalieroseg @mhysaofdrxgons @hiimalyssawriter @riverdalemami

A Broken Man with No Home

Request: Newt x Reader with a storyline where everything is going Extremely Bad. Desperate situations calls for desperate measures so Reader “takes the chance to sacrifice her own life to save everyone because she can only do it” cliche. Angst like a punch in the gut.

Word Count: 3,025

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by @duquesarosa but also tagging @red-roses-and-stories @dont-give-a-bother @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly–canthrope @whatinbenaddiction @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2


“Dada, where are we going?”

Newt looks down at the little girl squirming in the train seat next to him. Her thumb’s lingering near her mouth, ready to pop back in the second she gets her answer, and a part of her hair’s sticking up.

Newt smiles halfheartedly and reaches over to tuck the errant hair into a butterfly clip. “We’re going to Bulgaria, honey.”

She frowns, the thin wrinkles hiding some of the freckles that dot her face. “Where’s that?”

“Far away.”

“Where?” She persists. Newt almost laughs at the stubborn set of her small features. She’s a near copy in that aspect, an exact match.

“Do you remember when we went to see uncle Theseus? How far we traveled then?”

She nods, thumb now in her mouth as she watches Newt with patient eyes.

“It’s right next to there. Do you think you’ll make it?”

“Yes. Teddy and I are gonna be just fine.” She pauses, as though she’s thinking something over, then continues. “Thank you very much.”

“Someone’s been spending too much time with aunt Tina.”

“Auntie Tina likes me. She said she’d have a whole bunch of chocolate for me when she gets to see me again.”

“Yes, well, Aunt Tina spoils you too much.” Newt busies himself with the bag at his feet, digging through it for the box of crackers.

She kicks her feet. “She says she wouldn’t if you listened. She says you’re a bad listener, dada.”

He slows his search, the familiar anger he’s felt over the past few months stirring in his chest. “Does she, now?”

“Mmmhmmm.” She hums. Her summer green eyes are focused on the box Newt pulls out, and she completely misses the flash of annoyance her news earns.

He takes a deep breath as he shakes the crackers into his hand. It’d be best to ignore the comment. “Here, love, eat up. We’ll be on the train for a long time before we can leave.”

She grabs the crackers, her grubby fingers leaving streaks of saliva on Newt’s hand.

Newt wipes his hand on his blue jacket as more commuters lumber onto the train and shuffle past him. The train hisses, a bit of steam making its way in the door a few rows away. Newt’s surprised he can even hear it over the dull drone of the others, those who take the route daily speaking about politics and the recent construction started in London. Others, those who are new to the train like him, sit quietly, hands folded in their laps as they watch the crowds move past the window. Some squint at crossword puzzles, doing their best to make out the tiny clues in the dim light of the sunrise.

Newt’s nose wrinkles as a particularly strong cologne passes by. He quickly covers his daughter’s mouth when her nose wrinkles too and her mouth opens.

“Hush,” he murmurs. “We should be nice.”

He can hardly bring himself to say the words. Not after what he’s done the past few months, the things he’s said to Tina, the way he’s treated his brother. Hypocrite. Newt never expected such a description to fit him, but when Theseus shouted it in the middle of the family’s Christmas gathering, earning the attention of every aunt, uncle, and cousin he’s ever met, he’d been unable to argue the point.

“Dada,” she whispers against his palm, “why can’t we go home?”

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Hetalia phobia Headcanons

So I was talking with my sibling about Hetalia and we both began to speak about what it might be like if it were a bit more serious. As we spoke, I brought up a few Headcanons that I had when it came to some of the Nations worst fears and phobias. My sibling though they were rather interesting. So I decided to share them. I’ve always thought that Nations would have phobias based on their pasts and tradition. So I did some research and put together a list of some countries phobias. I don’t have EVERY country of course, but I do have a few.

Originally posted by darkesttrip

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anonymous asked:

Hi! I would like to request a prompt where Jumin's biological mother comes back to see him after he becomes the head of C&R. It's up to you how it gonna turn out, whether it is angsty or not. Thank u!! :")

I meant for this to be angst but I’m a fOOL ᕦ( ఠ్ఠ _ ఠ్ఠ ˇ)ᕤ 

Anyhow, I’d be happy to do this thank you and have a terrific day sweetheart! Enjoy!

———————————————————————————————————–

Mr. Han had passed.

They may as well have said his heart had broken.

A combination of the stress and pressure they had told you.

Started by the grief by one failed relationship after another.

Only so much could be done.

Until it inevitably ended.

Jumin had stayed by his father’s side during his last few days, assuring him he’d be fine, even updating him on the C & R’s status, as if he’d be heading to work the very next day. 

But as his heartbeat flattened, Jumin didn’t speak, his eyes wide with a sort of horror and fear you had never seen before. 

He hadn’t even realized he was crying as the sound of his father’s heartbeat stopped, staring miserably at Mr. Han, his brow furrowed and jaw gaping.

Yet no words came out. 

He was speechless. 

But as you wrapped your arms around him, he crumbled.

But despite everything, he was silent. 

He had stayed that way almost the entire night only speaking as you drew yourself away for a moment if only to get a blanket, seeing him tremble.

He had ribboned his fingers with your own, holding you back, his gaze turning to face you, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Don’t,” He hummed. “Don’t leave, please.” 

You gave in the moment he spoke, curling up beside him, feeling his arms entwining around you, holding onto you as though you might fade away with the next breeze. 

You never did.

Yet as time went on, the pain almost did.

Until someone arrived. 

Jumin had taken his father’s place as the head of the C & R company, always calling you throughout the day, always a hint of concern in his words before he’d hear you.

As if you’d be gone too.

Yet this day, you were planning to surprise him, a small gift held in your grip as you knocked on the office door, excitement brimming inside of you.

He opened it to meet you, an almost instinctual smile tugging at his lips as he saw you, chuckling lightly. 

“Darling!” He pressed a fond kiss to your head, ushering you inside of his office. “What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to bring you something!” You grinned, handing him the small gift. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to make this dessert and I finally-” 

Knocking. 

You twisted to the door confusedly. “I thought this was your break?” 

“It is…” He frowned, stepped forward. “I’m sure it’s just Jahee with some forms I wasn’t given.” 

But as it unveiled who was on the other side, it was clear it was no mistake.

You hadn’t seen her before, but you knew the moment your husband’s face dropped.

His mother. 

Myung.

Jumin had told you about her during quiet nights, an unmistakable gloom casting over himself as he retold the tales.

“She drained my family of almost everything we had,” He would confess, a cloudy glint in his eyes. “She’d spend every drop of money we had with us on shopping sprees. She nearly left us bankrupt, threatened us to lose our home, everything we had. You…You should’ve seen my father MC every night he’d break down, and each day they’d fight for what felt like hours. She didn’t even care MC…she just let our family rot.” 

As he would continue he’d struggle to come up with the words, shaking from the frustration. 

“If my father hadn’t left her…we would’ve fallen apart…but my dad he still did.” He sighed. “He kept searching for the happiness he never found with her.” 

And now she was back.

And poison was wound in her every move. 

She gave him a honeyed smirk, dipping her head politely. 

“Jumin! It’s been far too long hasn’t it?”

“…What…What’re you doing here?” He muttered, quiet and petrified. 

“What do you think I’m doing here honey? I’m here to congratulate the new boss!” She laughed meekly, allowing herself in. “I haven’t seen you in so long, you didn’t even invite me to the funeral…”

“Only family was invited.” He growled. “People who cared about my father.” 

“I don’t appreciate the accusation-” She noticed you, her gaze the size of saucers as she saw you, gasping. “Who is this? Is this the famous MC I keep hearing about?” 

She reached out to shake your hand, only held back as Jumin stepped between of you, scowling.

“Don’t touch them.” 

“Where are your manners Jumin?” She scoffed. “I simply want to introduce myself to them!” 

“I-um…I’ve already heard of you before Ms. Myung. No introductions needed!” You laughed sheepishly, Jumin’s arm snaking around your waist protectively. 

“Well…” She huffed, glaring at Jumin, curly locks of sooty hair twirling about her ears. “I suppose it’s good that at least one of you is decent enough to show some manners.” 

“Not that you deserve it.” 

“How can you speak to me that way?” 

“You think you deserve any sort of respect?” 

“How else do you talk to your mother?” 

“You’re not supposed to nearly tear apart your family either, but you had a rather fun time doing that as well,” He shot daggers at her, glowering. “you’re in no position to be upset.”

He jeered. “Why’re you even here?”

“I came here to discuss our policy,” She huffed, snatching out a stack of papers. “Since your father is gone I wanted to ensure there wouldn’t be any changes to the current agreement.” 

“Of course you did.” He shook his head. “Your business is worthless in comparison to our other partners though, C & R gains nothing from keeping you with us. And that’s with an objective point of view.” 

“You can’t just tear me out of this.” She threatened. “I’ve been a part of this business for too long!” 

“And for most of that time, you were tearing that apart!” He remarked. “It shouldn’t even matter to you regardless, you still hold rights to your business, simply sell yourself off to someone else, since you’re so confident in your importance.” 

She weakened for a moment, attempting to grab onto his arm, her son jerking away, almost repulsed somehow.

“You can’t do this to me me…I’m your mother…I-I raised you.” 

He winced, hesitating if only for a second.

“My father raised me, you are a woman who used him for his wealth,” He stared down at her, utterly towering. “I will not make the same mistake.”

“If you talk to me that, I can only the poor treatment you put MC through.” 

You could hardly believe your ears, nearly choking on air as you switched to her, sneering. 

“Unlike you, I married my husband because I love him!” You proclaimed. “I love him more than anything! I don’t love his money, his big house, or any sort of wealth he has! I love him because he’s him!” 

You thought of his delicate, tender laughter, his ridiculous puns he’d murmur to you throughout the day, his enjoyment of stories, and even the simple light in his eyes that would grow as he’d look at you, as though you hung the very stars.

Yet more than anything you thought of his pure desire to make you happy.

You even saw it then, keeping you close, trying to hide away the anger seeping from him.

But as he looked at you, he melted. 

And your heart swelled with warmth.

“He has never hurt me,” You proudly declared, “and I’m not going to let you hurt him.” 

She was baffled, jaw agape, trying to come up with something, anything to say.

But Jumin got to it first.

“If you’d rather had a more grand exit, I’d be more than happy to call security, otherwise, go.” 

She began sentences as she balled her hands into fists, finding herself backed into a corner.

The only option was, to leave. 

And she did.

She readjusted the colors of her jacket, puffing out her chest with some sort of faux pride before storming off, an odd sort of melancholic regret plastered onto her before the door shut.

And for a moment there was silence.

And it sank in.

“Thank you…” He muttered, his head turned to the door, a cloudy fog in his eyes. “I don’t think I could’ve taken much more of her honestly.” 

“I don’t think I could’ve either…” 

“But um…may I ask you something?”

“What?” 

“Did you…did you really mean what you said-before-I mean.” 

You raised your hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at you, your fingertips lacing within his messy strands. 

“Of course I did,” You spoke quietly, earnestly. “I meant every word Jumin.” 

You pressed a kiss to his nose, smiling.

“I love you for you, nothing could ever change that,” You continued, your heart swelling. “Nothing will ever change that.” 

He laughed beneath his breath, almost in disbelief, pulling you close to him.

“Thank you, darling,, I…I just…” 

“What?”

“I can’t even put into words how much I love you.” 

Nancy Mulligan

Title: Nancy Mulligan

Word Count: 2606

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. Pure fluff

Authors Note: I am so in love with Ed’s album Divide, as I’m sure you all are too. This song never fails to make me grin and want to dance, and I can’t help but picture Steve being enraptured by some girl as she dances around to this. So viola, mes cheries. 

Listen to the song here

Tags are open!

Originally posted by littlemisssyreid


It wasn’t that Steve didn’t want to be there – because he did. Really. Despite Tony’s eye-rolling and Bucky’s incessant need to flirt with the single women within earshot. He was just bored. He had been to an insanely large number of parties and events within the past two weeks, and this was no different to any of the others. The alcohol was flowing, the band was loud and the people were bordering on obnoxious. With a small sigh, Steve swirled the whiskey in his glass before taking a large swig and finishing it all.

“There he is!” Bucky threw an arm around his best friend, a bottle held loosely in between his metal fingers. “What are you doing way over here, punk? We’re off duty, have some fun!”

“How much have you had to drink?” Steve shook Bucky’s arm away from him and frowned at the super soldier. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, his words clearly slurring. “I’m having a good time. Something you should be doing too.”

“I’m having fun.”

“Clearly.” Bucky obviously did not believe a word he said because he held his bottle out for Steve to take a sip. “Look, I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but you and Sharon called it quits weeks ago. It’s time to move on.” Steve took a swig from the drink and quickly pulled a face at the horrid taste it left in his mouth. “Some of the girls I’ve been talking to have asked about you. Do you want me to introduce you to one of them?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright,” Steve shook his head and risked another sip before handing the awful-tasting drink back to Bucky. “Thanks though. Jerk.”

“Punk.”

“Tell me you love me, boys,” Tony joined them, all but jumping into his seat as he proudly placed a bottle in the centre of their table.

“Tony, we’ve talked about this,” Bucky tried to keep a straight face. “You’re great and all, but I just don’t swing that way.”

“You’ll be changing your mind pretty fast when you see what I’ve got.” Tony turned the bottle around to show off the label, which read Property of Thor Odinson.

“He’ll kill you.”

“Is that going to stop you from having some?”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky scoffed and pulled the Asgardian liquor over before pouring himself a generous helping. “Stevie, do you –”

“Tony!” a feminine voice cut Bucky off. The three men all turned to look over at the woman approaching them, a wide smile on her face. Steve swore the world stopped spinning as he caught her eye. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, wearing a simple, yet elegant dress that looked a lot like something from the 40s.

“Y/N!” the billionaire stood up and tugged her into a tight hug. “You didn’t tell me you would be coming to this.” He pulled away to give her an accusing glare. “I thought you were still in London?”

“Well, you know me,” something akin to mischief sparkled in her eyes. “I’m never far from an open bar.” Her eyes slid over Bucky and Steve, and the latter could have sworn the half-smile she sent his way was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He didn’t know if it was aimed at him or his best friend, but god, did he hope it was for him. “Good to see you again, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Likewise, Agent L/N,” Bucky smiled and pulled her into a gentle hug. “Or are you Y/N Maas, now?” He looked down her left hand, and then once more when he noticed her bare left finger.

“It’s still L/N.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not,” she shrugged casually and turned her head to look at Steve. “Captain America, I assume?”

“S-Steve,” the super soldier cringed slightly and cleared his throat. “Please, call me Steve, Agent L/N.”

“Y/N,” she corrected him with the same half-smile that that had disarmed him before. He doubted even his shield could protect him from the glint of mischief that seemed to sparkle in her eyes. Steve decided that the best defence was a good offence.

“Y/N,” he repeated, a crooked grin of his own appearing as he brought her hand up and pressed a kiss on her skin. He was shocked to say the least, if it were any other woman she’d be melting in his hands right about now, but instead, she shot him a brief wink and another one of those adorable, coy smiles. Steve was glad that she had her back to Tony and Bucky because that meant she missed the looks of surprise that flitted across their faces before the smug smiles appeared. The men invited her to sit with them, and it provided Steve with the perfect opportunity to stare at her, enraptured, as she told them a story about the latest mission she had been sent on.

I was twenty-four years old
When I met the woman I would call my own.
Twenty-two grandkids now growing old
In that house that your brother bought ya.

The band started to play a new song, and Steve wasn’t surprised to note that he didn’t recognise the tune the guitarist was plucking out. The last remaining couples cleared the dance floor, distaste evident on their face at the upbeat melody. A few children, clad in overly expensive outfits, ran forward, their laughs echoing over the music as they began to fool around in the large empty space. Steve couldn’t help but smile as he watched them and began to fondly remember how he had acted the same back in his day. He was a terrible dancer – and he still was – but spinning a pretty girl around was fun. Especially when they didn’t mind if he stood on their feet.

“Come and dance with me, Stark,” Y/N demanded as she got to her feet.

“Oh no, not after last time,” Tony shook his head with a laugh. “My poor feet won’t be able to keep up with you. Besides, I’ve drunk so much of this Asgardian ale, I honestly don’t know which realm I’m in!”

“Tony, I know you think that this stuff doesn’t affect you, and to be honest you’ve even surprised Thor, but if you drink much more it may kill you,” she shook her head at the man and tried to extract the bottle from his grip.

“Are you calling me an alcoholic? Because let me tell you!” he pointed at her wildly, his arm waving around to stay steady. She took advantage of his momentary distraction and slipped the drink out of his hands, before slyly handing the bottle over to Steve. “I am drinking half as much as I used to. Besides, you drink this stuff all the time, I mean you put it in your coffee, surely that makes you more of an alcoholic than me?”

“I don’t go to meetings,” she crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at Tony.

“What?”

“Alcoholics go to meetings, Stark. I’m a drunk. Besides, this stuff doesn’t have the same effect on me as it does you. Now, go and get a glass of water before you die.”

“I haven’t died yet! I’m starting to think I can’t be killed.”

“That’s the ale talking.”

“Really? That’s not what it said to me! Have you been saying things behind my back?” he glared at the bottle in front of Steve accusingly, which prompted the blond to let out a low chuckle. “Whatever,” Tony rubbed his face and tried to get to his feet unsteadily. “I’m gonna see if the drink has any more bar.” He just about managed to stand up before his legs gave out from under him and he fell back down into his chair. “As soon as I figure out where my legs went…”

“Boys?” she looked over at Bucky and Steve. They both looked up at her curiously, and in Bucky’s case, through alcohol-clouded eyes. “Do one of you want to dance?” Her eyes lingered on the blond for a second, something the brunet took note of, albeit slowly. Bucky drunkenly blinked at her for a moment, one eye after the other, before claiming he was too tired after spending half of the night on the floor. Steve could feel the butterflies building in his stomach as he knew what his best friend was about to suggest. He honestly couldn’t understand how he could go up against Hydra, the Chitauri and an army of evil robo-starks with relative confidence, but a single woman could shatter his nerves.

“What about Steve?” Buck mumbled, drunkenly gesturing towards his petrified friend, bottle in hand.

“Maybe later,” Steve replied, trying his best to sound like his usual, confident self.

“I’ll hold you to that, soldier,” she smiled at the men before turning and walking towards the dance floor. The children on the floor welcomed her with open arms, and she quickly kicked off her high heels to join them.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bucky’s hand met the back of Steve’s head. “Go and dance with her!”

“Leave it alone, Bucky.” It was clear from the stern, finality to his tone that Steve was not in the mood to listen to his friends chastise him, so the brunet dropped the subject and turned to strike up a conversation with Tony, who was currently watching the Captain through the corner of his eye. Steve took no notice, however, as his gaze was firmly fixed on the stunning woman whirling around to the music.

Steve was enraptured. Her hair had spilled out of its fancy up-do and flowed around her as she twirled around in style. Some of the present party-goers frowned at the sight, but the majority watched her intently, clearly as taken with her fluidity as Steve was. Tony and Bucky stood up to grab the former a drink, leaving Steve alone at the table to watch Y/N glide across the floor. Her movements were unplanned and uncoordinated, and she stumbled a few times as she span, but somehow, she still managed to move with the grace of a ballerina.

She must have caught Tony’s eye as he waited for his drinks by the bar because before Steve could blink, Y/N had grabbed Iron Man by the hand and dragged him out to dance with her. It was obvious that the disgruntled face that Tony had plastered on was an act because he easily kept up with her as they both danced around on the empty floor. His movements were sloppy in comparison to hers, but then again, Steve mused, he doubted that anyone moved as elegantly as she did, especially not with half a litre of Asgardian ale in their stomach.

The violin joined in with the music, sparking a new Irish flame to the music. Being sat so close to the dance floor, Steve could easily hear Y/N’s laugh of mirth as she threw her head back and began to spin herself in a circle. Tony, along with a few other people who were watching, began to clap their hand in time to the music or banged their fists against the tabletops. The stern, uptight façade on their faces was fading away the longer they watched Y/N dance across the floor with Tony and the children following her lead.

“You should go up there,” Bucky nudged Steve gently as he sat back down. He pushed a fresh glass of whiskey in front of Steve and rolled his eyes at the surprised expression on his friend’s face. “Come on, punk. It’s not every day you meet a dame like her. It’s not the 40s anymore – you’re Captain America – go and talk to her.”

“I’ll probably just step on her feet and embarrass myself,” Steve shook his head and sipped his drink.

“You think Tony hasn’t already?” Bucky chuckled and bumped his friend again. “Go. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Everything, now that you’ve said that.”

“Get over there, punk,” Bucky insisted, as he all but pushed the blond out of his seat.

“Jerk.” Steve straightened up and nervously fiddled with his suit jacket, before shrugging it off and making his way over to the dance floor. He lingered on the edge of the floor with some others, not quite joining in as he began to hesitate. What if she didn’t want to dance with him? He didn’t have much time to think about it, because Tony had noticed him standing on the corner of the dance floor, and quickly excused himself with a red face as he stumbled over to Steve.

“Swap.” Tony gasped for breath and tumbled by him to sit down. Clearly, he didn’t have a choice in the matter, because Tony quickly shoved him forward, and into Y/N’s awaiting arms. She grinned up at him, and he could have sworn the whole world slowed to a stop as she took his hand in hers and placed a hand on his shoulder. She was patient with him, and didn’t complain as he faltered and stepped on her feet clumsily. He was sure his face went red as he stuttered out an apology, but she simply giggled spiralled around him before facing him once more.

He took a step back and stomped along to the music with everyone else. He was content just watching her as she tilted her head back, arms over her head as she clapped along and skillfully pivoted herself so that she was spinning around in circles. She didn’t seem to stumble or lose her balance once – or if she did, Steve didn’t notice. She was perfect to him, and when the song came to a stop and she eventually fell into his arms, he could help but laugh and hold her upright.

“Are you alright there, darling?”

“Fine,” she chuckled and pressed her forehead to his chest. “Just give me a second to stop the room from spinning.” The band started up again as the cheers died down, a slower song playing this time. He could see Bucky and Tony gesturing wildly to him over the top of her head, and once again, he was glad her back was to his teammates. He would need to talk to them about subtlety later, but in that moment, he tightened his hold around her and gently began to sway along to the music. Y/N didn’t seem to mind, and the second she was feeling alright, she wound her arms around Steve’s broad shoulders so that she could move back and forth alongside him.

Something tightened in his chest as she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. Steve thought he knew love before, with Peggy and then with Sharon, but this felt different. It was stronger, more terrifying. He knew, even though he had just met her, that he would do anything she asked him to. He had only known her for an hour, but she had him wrapped around her little finger, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Steve wanted to know her better, to see if he could take this further. He just hoped that she felt the same way.


Tags:

@shannonnickols @buckyismyaesthetic @iamlilypotter @lilmessedupme @mindlessprocrastination @hotmessofafangirl

Surrogate Father ✷ Lee Taemin

Genre: Smut

Warning: graphic sex (no duh), adoptive father/daughter, big age gap, daddy kink, jealous taemin, just overall really bad for pure souls

⁜⁜⁜

You were the best happening in Taemin’s life, that he couldn’t deny, yet your arrival in it was due to one of the worst experiences.

At twenty-two and engaged to his girlfriend of eight years, he was devastated to hear from the doctors that their couple could never conceive. He didn’t want to know who was «responsible» for that, as blaming them would be inhumane. He just cried and held his fiancée and found another way to have the child they so desperately sought to love.

They called orphanages, talked for months on end, signed encyclopaedias worth of paperwork. The adoption mechanisms were slow and rusted, but a year later, they got news. A child who could be theirs. Not one of their choosing, of course not — that would be perverse and lead to destructive complaints of «I should’ve picked someone else». Like nature, the process was random.

Finally, after an arduous year and a half of struggle, he welcomed you in his household. Your home.

The beginnings stumbled and stammered. You were seven, spoke hardly any Korean, and had a mind warped by your growth among other lost children and shifting workers who weren’t truly parents. His girlfriend studied and worked around the clock, smiling at you as hello and goodbye, but Taemin dedicated himself to you.

He taught you the social skills an orphanage couldn’t provide. How to talk and speak up for yourself, how to shake a hand and pack a punch, how to introduce yourself politely and say farewell forever. You learned how to love him the fastest.

You mispronounced his name as Teenim and he giggled, correcting you only to hear you make the mistake again. It became your personal nickname for him even long after you spoke Korean like you were born with it.

He cooked while you sat on the counter and let you taste the food at different stages of preparation. You loved the tepid rice but hated the raw beef.

You enrolled into a school and after the first day you called Taemin Oppa. He ruffled your hair and told you he wasn’t your brother, but your daddy. You repeated the word, paraded and cherished it like a treasure.

The seams of your world appeared the month following your third anniversary of adoption. Taemin’s girlfriend announced she’d had enough of over-stressing herself and of him being more with his «fake daughter» than his «real fiancée». She threw the ring at him and packed her bags.

Taemin sobbed for two days, hugging you and nestling his forehead on your shoulder, but you didn’t notice her absence. You had your daddy and nothing mattered.

He buried himself in a myriad of part-time jobs, and you progressively became a discarded gimmick, a pet whose owners lost interest in. You befriended some children but never quite entertained those relationships enough to last.

You were twelve and an orphan once again.

Taemin patted your head when he walked by you in the hallway, no more kisses or hugs or words. He stopped teaching you about life and telling you stories at all time of the day and wandering around town with you. Your family life was a dream in arrested development.

Your world finished crumbling down when your biological parents — you loathed to call them real parents — wanted you back. They said they regretted giving you up and could take care of you, now, and the law was on their side.

Taemin’s eyes were bloodshot and lacklustre, his mouth unable to form all the apologies he wanted to tell you. How guilty and sorry he was. He held you against his heart like the first day, and when he stood away you tried to pull him back to you. Your arms hung from his shoulders as he adjusted the bow of the dress he gifted you for Christmas.

Heart and luggage heavy, you were brought to what they called your home country — but how could it be your home if you knew nothing of it? You couldn’t pronounce its sounds or understand its phrases. It wasn’t home: it was foreign, strange, unwelcoming.

You were eighteen and still dreamt in Korean. All your thoughts existed in the dialect Taemin taught you, even if you hadn’t spoken a word of it in years. Every day, you reiterated his address, his name, the details of his face, the touch of his hands. The woman who gave birth to you never was «mom» and no one grew to be more than an acquaintance.

For your nineteenth birthday, you saved money for a plane ticket and flew to South Korea. A homecoming, a true one, for once. You wore the dress of your last day with your daddy and carried little more than the bare minimum.

You strode to his house, the path memorised in your legs’ natural movements, familiar and comforting. Coming up to the grey house, you straightened your skirt and rang the bell, a din you didn’t recognise. Your eyes widened.

A man unlike your daddy threw the door agape, extended arm reaching for something you didn’t have.

“Yay, sush —” he cut his exclamation short, “Wait, you’re not the delivery man. Who are you?”

He gave your body a once-over, your unusual complexion and foreign facial structure, brow raising like you were a tourist who definitely should not be at his doorstep.

“I’m Y/N.” Your Korean sounded wobbly even to your ears, and you winced somewhat. “I’m looking for Taemin, he lived here.”

The man grinned, slung an arm over your shoulders and dragged you in. You shimmied along, discomfited, wondering if there wasn’t any danger in letting a stranger bring you in his house.

“So how’d a pretty girl like you know Taemin? You’re honestly too good for him.” The man asked, shameless in his attempt at hitting on you.

You compared him to your daddy. Black hair, wider face, slightly bigger nose, thinner lips, but overall still attractive, although not by your standards.

“He’s —” you hesitated, unsure what the least misleading appellation would be, “my daddy. I mean, like —”

“No, that’s not possible. He fucking hates being called daddy. And he hasn’t hooked up with anyone in forever.” He nudged you closer to his face. “But me, if you want, I’m always availa —”

Clacks of nails on a doorframe interrupted him. Then an icy voice, laced with boredom and arsenic.

“Minho, I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t fuck your girls in my house.”

It shrilled, a warped version of Taemin’s harmonious chime, but definitely his. You shoved the stranger’s arm off and ran to your daddy, a wide smile spreading from ear to ear.

“Teenim! I’m so happy to see you!”

You engulfed him in a tight embrace, like he was air you needed to live, while he stayed petrified. No one used that nickname, not since — not unless…

He scoped your form up, the dress you’d begged him to buy, the locks he’d combed and braided hundreds of times, the face he peppered in butterfly kisses.

“Y/N?” The name stunned him more than his, but his eyes brightened and his hands slowly rose to cup your cheeks. “Oh my God, Y/N, it’s you… Thank you.” His lips pressed on your forehead. “Thank you for remembering me.” On your cheeks. “Thank you for finding me.” On your nose. “Thank you for returning to me.”

He ghosted a second over the last part of your face, then leant back, ruddying up.

“I missed you.” You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, tickling the skin.

“I missed you too, princess.” His chin rested atop your head, his eyes closing as he stroked your hair. He missed that, too. “I tried to find you and get you back, but they wouldn’t let me. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They said I couldn’t because I wasn’t your real father and didn’t have any rights over you.”

You pecked a tendon accessible to you, feeling him shiver.

“They’re wrong. You’re my daddy, I don’t care about the others.”

A cold finger poked deep into your flesh.

“Hey!” You jumped back to see Minho, staring quizzically at you two.

“Your moment’s really nice, but who exactly is she? Like, what’s this story of daddy and real father?”

Taemin’s hands clasped over your waist and he placed you in front of him, mirroring your introduction on the first day of school.

“Y/N,” he sounded proud, with a hint of something stronger, different and insidious, “is my daughter. I adopted her twelve years ago, but her biological parents took her back four years ago.”

Minho stuck out his tongue in disgust.

“God, that’s awful. Poor kid. Poor you.” He looked down to you. “But wow, you should’ve told me you had a daughter that hot. Is she off limits, or?”

An abashed blush hurt your cheeks. Taemin wrapped around you, pulling you into his protection.

“Y/N is my princess.”

Minho lifted his hands in surrender, a lopsided smile swaying his lips.

“Okay, all right, got it. I’ll just go girl-hunting somewhere else.”

He strolled out, picking his jacket up on the way, waving you goodbye as he shut the door. You blinked a few times, convinced you’d hallucinated the man, then glanced at your daddy. You loved the shape of his features now more than ever, especially the way his hooded eyes stared you down.

“Daddy? How are you?”

He stepped closer, his linked arms a trap you willingly got yourself into.

“Princess, I’ve been thinking about you every single minute.” His falling bangs titillated the tip of your nose. “But what are you thinking of Minho?”

The question cut you short of opinions. You cared about Taemin, nothing but Taemin, why would Minho be involved? Instinctively, you averted your eyes and your cheeks heated up with a middle schooler’s shame. Taemin constricted you, leer narrowing to a slit, a hand snaking to your butt.

“My little princess is all grown up… and she likes another man.” He licked his lips and bit on the lower. “I shouldn’t care so much. I shouldn’t do this.”

“Daddy… I care too, I want to do this.”

You closed any gap between your bodies, your bosom crammed into a valorising cleavage against his chest, grinding slowly on his thigh.

“Princess,” he hissed, stifling a groan, “you shouldn’t tempt me like that.”

You kept rocking your hips against him, his hardening member poking your belly. He gave in and squeezed your ass — once you moaned, twice you mewled, thrice you whimpered. Your movement paced faster the more he slapped your butt, skirt inching up with every slide over his thigh. His hand grabbed your right leg, kneaded the soft flesh then hoisted it over his hip. You jumped, wrapping completely around his waist, and he slammed you to the wall to maintain you up.

“Ah! Taemin, daddy, ah… ah…”

You gasped loudly as his free hand groped one breast through the fabric, pressing and pushing it, grazing his fingers over the bud of your nipple. Taemin licked down your neck, seeking the perfect spots to abuse and suck on, his plump lips lighting your nerves on fire, hickeys in their wake. You tangled your fingers in his silky hair and guided his head along the neckline of your dress, down to the dip of your chest.

He took the elastic between his teeth then let go, jolting you with the pain. You groaned and bucked against his erect shaft. He countered with a growl and a pinch of your nipple, the pleasure sending your head back. You hit the wall, a dull throbbing spreading through, but all you felt was Taemin bruising your breast.

No one had ever touched you for more than a hug, these new sensations overwhelmed you, but it was your daddy and you longed for more. More of it, more of him, more, more, more.

You attached a hand to your neglected breast, rubbing circles into it up to the jutting nipple. Taemin removed your own fingers, harsh and chafing your mound, then thumbed its top over and over until you cried out. The pleasure wracked you.

“Ah, ah… Daddy, please —”

He parted your bodies and unbuckled his belt, discarding it with a rattle. You went to lower his pants and underwear, careful to the extreme, making him groan as you grazed the skin down from his belly button to the inside of his thighs. His cock smacked your own leg as it was freed, and you couldn’t help but stare. You gulped down, a stir in your loins and knot in your guts.

Taemin leant back against you and whispered for you to touch him. Your hands wrapped around the base of his member, earning a moan and a bop of his Adam’s apple as you titillated his ballsack then stroked up his length, your thumbs popping his end as if to get something out of it. He thrusted into your hands harshly, and you picked up speed. Your fingers ran up and down, tightly squeezing him, his veins engorged and pulsing under your touch.

He heaved out when pre-cum seeped out and you spread it all over his dick, making him as wet as your own core. With a bit more friction, he came into your balled hands. You brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean and lapping off what you couldn’t reach otherwise. Taemin fisted your hair and jerked your head back.

“Ah, my perfect princess… You did so well, I need to reward you…”

He slid up your dress, completely exposing you, and hooked your panties to leave your folds bare. Drenched, by and for him. A smirk on his lips, he circled your clit and pressed it like you’d done to him. Rubbing it, thumbing it, kneading the area and sending high voltage coursing within your system. You moaned out, bringing your hands over his shoulder blades.

He secured a hand on your waist and the other beneath your ass, pinioning you into position. Your breath hitched with expectation. He shifted between your legs, prodding your excited clit — then rammed into you. You scathed his back with long trails from your nails, shouting out his name.

“Taemin! Ah! Daddy, daddy, ah, Taemin!”

Your scream silenced as he hit you again, in a sensitive spot that flamed up your core. Shutting your eyes, legs tightening around his waist, you let him thrust into you however he pleased. Your walls stretched, your muscles tensed, your bones cracked, your guts knotted up in an assemblage of electricity and fire. Your throat scalded from the repetitive noises you couldn’t stop.

He gave you too much, hit you too hard. His thrusts crashed upward and gravity pulled you downward and you floated between the two in pure paradise. The ecstasy washed over you like a tsunami, destroying every other sensation — the ache in your back, the burn in your womb.

Taemin progressed down, holding you as you bounced slower on him, until you came to a full stop. You stumbled off him, barely keeping yourself up, and he clutched you against his body.

“Princess, do you need to clean up? Or rest?”

“B — Both.” You choked out weakly.

“Of course, Y/N. Let me help you there.”

He smiled at you and you smiled back.

He was rough and caring and you didn’t want any more and you couldn’t ask for any better.

Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

(hope you don’t mind me doing these two together, sorry I haven’t updated in a while)

1. Could you do a Klaus scenario where she’s human and friends with the Mikaelson’s but doesn’t know that they’re originals/vampires/hybrids (and Klaus likes her and she likes him). One night she sees Klaus kill someone and gets really scared of him. Up to you how to end!!❤️❤️❤️❤️

2. @ninja-boss-barbie - Hiiii idk if ur still taking line prompt requests but #3 with Klaus would be great! Thank uuuu

#3  “How sweet, sacrificing yourself for her, when did you get a heart?”


Warning: A death, its long(ish)


Keep reading

When Ladybug is quiet enough, sits still enough, she feels herself multiplied by a thousand. 

She feels filled to the brim with ghosts of battle cries, mortal wounds, and ultimate sacrifices that feel foreign and familiar all at once. Like her suit that feels thick and heavy one day, and like it’s melted into her skin the next. 

Tikki says it’s because her miraculous loves vitality, loves spirit, loves passion. It doesn’t know how to let go of it all. 

Marinette wakes up screaming some nights for the safety of a village she can’t remember, can’t picture. Sometimes, she throws her yoyo into the air and she swears she feels the splintered shaft of a spear as it soars from her hand. Dull blows to the torso that send her flying for very brief seconds feel like bullet wounds that pierce deep and true. 

The Ladybugs before her fought wars. Led revolutions. Saved civilizations. She is just a little girl who stands in awe before her city and still finds herself unable to predict how she’ll manage to protect it tomorrow, and the day after that. Her legacy is already written, and it’s too vast for her to comprehend. 

Chat Noir finds her staring out into the lights of the city, her head tilted to the sky, listening to the dozens of voices, the hundreds of languages, the millions of cries for peace, for justice, for Ladybug. She tells him how much it excites her and how much it scares her. How unclear yet pristine her future looks. She is luck and creation. She is change. She is hope.

She asks if he ever feels like that. He admits that sometimes he’s petrified. 

He holds his baton and swears sometimes that it’s crumbling in his fingertips. He wakes up screaming because he swears his heart isn’t beating. When he’s flung against buildings, he sits there stunned for a moment like his blood is still and his skin is chilled. 

Ladybug asks him what he hears when he’s still and quiet. He says he hears screams, and then nothing. 

Underwear (Part 6)

Summary: Nat goes into protection mode, there’s fluff y’all I promise. 

Word Count: 2514

Warnings: angst, swearing, kisses :)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 7


3rd Person POV

Peter escaped breaking down by the skin on his teeth this morning, just barely making it to his first class after making eye contact with Y/N. Ned had been asking him what was wrong the whole time, making wild guesses to get him provoked. By the time Peter had gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw until it hurt, the lunch bell rang.

Peter didn’t pay much attention to Ned, only nodding along and humming in recognition at anything he said. He hated himself. He was horrified. He hurt his girlfriend, coloured her stomach purple and made her cry. Peter thought he didn’t deserve her, unconsciously squeezing his fists as last night’s events vividly replay in his head.

When he woke up, he had seen Y/N’s face, covered in tears as she scrambled to get away from him. Peter didn’t even bother touching his food, knowing he’d probably throw it up anyway. Ned gave up pursuing an answer, instead eating his food silently. Peter sits at the cafeteria table, leaning his head on his crossed arms as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

A sudden tap on his shoulder alerts him to turn around, and a part of him secretly hopes it’s Y/N. Instead he’s greeted by Liz, a frown unable to help but make its way onto his face. Liz either remains oblivious or ignores this, her face masked with concern as she beckons him over, seeming frantic.

“Peter, I need you to come with me right now- it- it’s about Y/N…” Peter’s now at full attention, shakily standing from his seat and audibly swallowing. “What is it?” Liz shakes her head, pulling him to her by his arm as she walks away, taking Peter with her. Ned tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly scheming girl.

Peter doesn’t want to create a scene, begrudgingly following Liz out of the cafeteria and down the hall. They stop in front of Peter’s locker, while he finds himself becoming angry. Why hasn’t she said anything yet? If Y/N’s unsafe, (other than how he already hurt her) he wants to make sure she’s okay.

Crossing his arms, he faces Liz, opening his mouth to begin speaking. Before he can get a word out, he’s being pushed against the cold metal, a pair of unfamiliar lips forcing themselves against his. Everything that’s happened since the night before has left Peter’s senses numbed, leaving him weary and exhausted.

He was expecting to receive some kind of information about Y/N, not be assaulted by Liz. The shock takes about two seconds to wear off, but by the time he’s able to shove off the girl attacking him, it’s too late. A tiny, fragile gasp is heard from a few feet away, and he looks up to see Y/N standing there, trembling.

He can tell from a single glance how hurt she is. Her hair is messy, in a way that looks as if her fingers have run through it one too many times. One hand is on top of her parted lips, while the other lays limp at her side, the only movement there being the noticeable quivering. He calls out, trying to convince the girl of his dreams not to leave him, although he had done that exact thing a few hours previously. 

Y/N sprints away, making it to the exit before he takes off after her. His knees tremor, barely holding up his weight as he bounds after her, unrestrained sobs shooting out of his body like an unstoppable tidal wave. Y/N gets to her car, sparing Peter one last glance through her reddened eyes before she takes off in her vehicle, speeding away with desperation. 

Your POV

You sit still, petrified at how you’re exposing yourself to the team. Your many attempts at stifling your sobs are proving ineffective, as you make yourself as small as possible, pressing your face to your hands. The surrounding team is suffocating you, and you heave in an attempt to not cry anymore. It seems as though they’re also frozen, not knowing how to deal with a breaking teenager. 

Nat’s question is enough to make you cry harder, while she settles for pulling you into a hug, crouching to the floor with you. “Might I ask what we do in this scenario?” Vision pipes up, and you can feel his eyes on you as he studies you carefully. “Everyone go, I’ve got this.” Nat softly speaks, ushering you as you begin to cease your sobbing, instead just hyperventilating. 

At first there are signs of protest, but they all fall silent as Nat glares at them. The group quickly disperses, and that helps to ease your panic. After a few minutes of your attempts at regaining your breath, you manage to do so, getting yourself to the point where the only signs you had been breaking down were your puffy eyes, reddened face, and slightly swollen lips. 

Anyone who could see you would know that you were previously crying, but at least you aren’t on the verge of passing out. Nat stays with you the whole time, allowing you to cry into her shirt as she hugs you tightly. When she had first shown affection towards you, the team was astounded, this being something Nat rarely ever did. 

They all theorized the same thing; she had seen you as a little sister, and wanted to protect you to the best of her abilities. Muttering Russian endearments into your ear, she continues the patterns on your back. Breaking away from her, you nervously look up to her face, finding it to portray the exact definition of worry.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, okay?” You nod, smiling timidly at her soothing voice. “You’re going to have a nice long bath or shower, and then we can talk about what happened. Just me and you, alright?” Nat gets up, offering you a hand. You gladly accept, shakily standing. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” As she turns to walk away, you tap her on the shoulder, pulling her into a brief, tight hug before leaving to go to your room. She smiles as she strides to the kitchen, then moving to plan what she’s going to do to whoever hurt you.


The shower felt great, it gave you a chance to wash out your tension and massage some of your muscles, the hot water calming you. You now stare at the mirror, chuckling darkly at the person who stares back at you. The bruises on your stomach put you on edge again, and you’re soon reminded of what happened with Peter and Liz.

You wipe the tears that prickle your eyes, sniffling as you sigh, reaching over to the towel rack. Wrapping the large cloth around your body, you wring out your hair, weakly opening the door and stepping into your room. It’s a wonder how much can change in a span of a few hours, isn’t it? 

Once you’re changed into your most comfortable pyjamas, you slide on your fluffy socks, the ones that allow you to slide against the hardwood floors like a giant dork. You always wanted to do that with Peter, to chase each other through the halls. 

You wanted to scream at him, tell him how much he hurt you. A part of you blamed yourself for wanting to comfort him as well, knowing that as much as what he did with Liz wounded you, he did not mean to physically harm you. You open the door, stepping into the hallway with a deep breath.

As you make your way to the living room, you hear multiple voices yelling. Only able to make out a few phrases, you barely recognize who the voices belong to. “You did what Peter?!” You gasp, feeling another panic attack coming on. 

You’re able to keep from hyperventilating, instead clenching your jaw in order to stop the whimpers that are desperate to leave your mouth. You want to turn back, but you need to see what’s happening, your curiosity overcoming your anxiety. 

Step by step, you shuffle to the living room, unable to stop the few tears that slide down your cheeks. Peter resembles the mess you look like, his eyes spilling tears and lips quivering as he speaks to Natasha, who looks just about ready to kill him.

He makes eye contact with you, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Y/N please! It wasn’t what you think it was.” Nat watches you, trying to see whether or not she should deck the teenage boy in front of her. You’re sad, a type of pain that eats you from the inside out. A type of hurt that reaches into your chest and squeezes your lungs. 

With his words, you feel another emotion wash over you; Anger. Anger at how he left you that morning, unable to look at you. You’re supposed to work things out together, not run away from your problems. The tears seem to fade out, your eyes replaced with fire.

“What Peter?” You step forward, Nat’s eyes darting between the two of you. “You were pushed up against the fucking lockers, kissing somebody else. What else could it have been other than you being unfaithful!” Nat becomes puzzled, not knowing about your new relationship. She wasn’t the only one.

Peter begins speaking, just as the others pile into the room, standing around the two of you, on guard as if preparing for a fight of sorts. “She tricked me! Please Y/N, she told me to go with her, that it was something to do with you.” Your breath catches in your throat, about to attempt speaking when you’re interrupted.

“What the hell is going on?” Tony exclaims, seemingly sharing the thoughts of everyone in the room. “Y/N and Peter are dating… but he kissed someone else?” Nat’s lips make a small O as her eyebrows furrow, a cocking her head to the side. You look at Peter, then back to the team.

“Look guys, we’ll give you answers later but we really need to sort some things out.” Speaking shakily, you point your thumb towards your room, just about ready to collapse. Peter sniffles, looking as broken as you. Your feet slide against the smooth floors, ignoring the team’s questions as you go to your room.

You can hear his faint footsteps follow you into the bedroom, shutting the door as he remains silent, eliciting a sigh from you as you realize you’ll have to initiate conversation. “Speak.” A single word. The response that follows deciding the fate of your relationship, whether or not your hearts will shatter.

“Liz came to the cafeteria and said I had to follow her, that it was something to do with you. I- I thought you weren’t safe. I know she didn’t give me any specifics, and looking back on it now makes me think of wha- what an idiot I was being.” He hiccups before continuing, tears steadily streaming down his face as he tugs at his hair.

“It was a wrong place at the wrong time situation. She came onto me out of nowhere. I froze, and then- and then you walked in. I swear, I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything.” He finishes with a gasp, tears wetting your cheeks once again.

“O- okay.” You sigh, pulling at the roots of your hair as you put together sentences in your head. “What you need to know, is that what happened this morning was not your fault.” Peter opens his mouth to protest but you quiet him, holding up a trembling finger.

“If I were to have a nightmare and hit you, would you say it’s my fault? What if I thought you were an enemy? What would you say to me?” You dry your tears, jabbing a finger into his chest. Peter opens and closes his mouth, trying to look for a counter argument.

“Exactly. Now I know it’ll take a while for you to full trust yourself, but I need you to know that this is not your fault. Do you understand?"  You place your hands on Peter’s shoulders, using your thumbs to wipe away his tears. He nods slowly, cautiously bringing his hand up to touch your cheek with quivering fingers, afraid to wound you again.

Shake your head, you swallow thickly. "Don’t run away from me ever again, that really hurt.” Peter sobs for the last time, carefully holding his arms out as you step into them, wrapping your arms around him. “I am so, so sorry. I promise, it’ll never happen again." 

He tightens his hold around you, breathing in your scent and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. You rest your forehead against his, sniffling and let out a breathy laugh, spiting everything that’s happened in the past hours. Peter presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering as you stare lovingly at each other, the tears gradually fading away.

You rub noses, shutting your eyes as the two of you chuckle at the sentiment. A loud bang is heard on the door, followed by Steve’s shout. "What is happening?” A childish snicker is heard, Sam’s voice filling the air. “Shush Rogers, maybe you’re being a cockblock!" 

Both you and Peter’s eyes fly wide open, meeting each other’s direct line of sight as you hop to the door, ripping it open. "For your information Wilson, we are not having sex.” Nat steps ahead of everyone, resuming her silent badass stance as she glares at the boy standing nervously behind you, causing him to audibly swallow.

“Did he hurt you Y/N? Do I need to rip out his teeth?” Peter’s eyes go round as he steps back further, hiding behind your shoulder. “No Nat, it’s okay. We resolved the conflict.” Wanda cocks an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes you two, I will give you an in-depth report of everything later. Now, my boyfriend and I are going to watch Netflix until the ungodly hours of the morning. Have a good day.” You slam the door shut, turning around to face Peter. He watches you in admiration, a blush creeping up his face as you catch him staring.

You say nothing, instead walking over and taking his hand in yours, walking him to your bed. Peter purses his lips and shudders, remembering that just 14 hours ago he was injuring you. Sensing his thoughts, you pat the mattress, hoping to soothe him with your voice.

“I trust you, Peter." 

With that, he cautiously joins you, climbing onto the bed and pulling you into his lap. You lean the back of your head against him, his chin resting on the top. 

The two of you sit like that for a while, laughing at crappy movies on Netflix and at each other, cuddling and reassuring one another of your feelings with eskimo kisses, deep down knowing the both of you have found love, you just don’t know it yet. 


A/N: There it is guys! I hope you liked it :) Part 7 anyone? ;)

Tags: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed) @becaamm @briannareneea985 @cutie1365 @multifandom-slytherin @shadowhunter7 @peachpodge @carolldaanvers @lexi-chan17 @1dforeverandalwaysfan @lena-deee @archie-is-bae @taecrazi @muffinfangirl28 @nadtandy @wrongirish 

[Tell Me]

Daryl x Negan x Reader 

A/N: This is my exchange for @smallbaldhead for the lovely @i-am-negan-trash writing challenge! I hope you enjoy it! :) xx  <3 I had loads of fun participating in this one, it was such a great idea! :) **Although this is focused mainly around Daryl - Negan is important in this piece. – Idk why I’ve had such a hard time editing this piece?? 

Tags: ANGST, FLUFF 

|| Masterlist || 

Originally posted by fifty-shades-of-mara

•••

Blue and pink twirled around one another with each pull you made from the crochet hook. Your eyes were fixated on the immersion of color, mesmerised by how the helixes of loose string bloomed into tiny connecting flower buds right before your eyes. You ignored the numbed sensation at your fingertips as you vigorously kept working your hands. The anger you felt earlier finally subsided and you allowed the calmness of the moment to subdue your anxious state. 

You woke up this morning with a clear memory in your mind. 

Every time you thought about the night of the line up, your guilty conscious dragged you down a path filled with regret; The very thought of that terrible, awful, dangerously handsome devil made you feel sick to your stomach.

For the past three weeks, you consistently found yourself waking up alone. You placed your hand on the empty pillow that still outlined where Daryl’s head rested, and breathed out a heavy sigh.  

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Radioactive | Peter Parker

Summary: It is based on the song Radioactive by Imagine Dragons where Tony Stark and Peter Parker are desperately searching to collect the missing pieces of Chitauri alien technology (glowy thing) after the Vulture is defeated. Sadly, someone is affected by the dangerous technology and inherits radioactive powers…

Warning: some violence

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Type: Oneshot

Requested: anonymously 

MASTERLIST

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