oh and that face of yours is kind of hard to beat

There are roses on Derek’s doorstep.

No note. No scent trail. After determining that there is nothing inherently magical or deadly about them, he spends the entire rest of the day researching symbolism and archaic demon customs, trying to figure out what kind of death threat he’s just been handed.

It doesn’t occur to him until nightfall, when the neighbors start discussing their romantic dinner plans at a decibel he has trouble tuning out, that he realizes the flowers might not have been delivered with malicious intent.

Because, apparently, today is Valentine’s Day. And apparently someone decided that Derek should receive flowers to celebrate the occasion.

Derek Hale has a secret admirer.

He honestly would have preferred the death threat.

Keep reading

Regarding Dean

Characters:  Dean, Reader, Sam

Summary:  Sam calls reader to babysit Dean after he’s cursed by a witch.

Warnings:  Angst-ish

Word Count:  1776

Tags are at the bottom.  As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Regarding Dean

The screen lights up on your phone, Sam Winchester’s name flashing on the screen.This can’t be good, otherwise Sam would never, ever call you. Not after everything that happened. Should you answer? You don’t really want to dredge all that shit up. But if he’s calling, it’s important. You’re thumb hovers over the green button. It’s on the third ring before you decide to answer.  

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)? It’s me, Sam. Please, don’t hang up, just hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“Thank…thank you. Listen, I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t need help, you know that I wouldn’t. But I need you.”

———–

You can’t figure out how Sam knows you’re in the area. You haven’t had contact with Dean or Sam for over year. Is he still keeping tabs on you through the hunter network?  It’s touching in a way, you’ve always had a soft spot for Sammy. Truth is, you miss him.

Why the fuck are you driving to the motel right now? Why would you willingly put yourself in this position? Must be temporary insanity. It’s the only logical explanation. Maybe you should drive straight to the psych ward and check yourself in after this is over.

Keep reading

continental drift

(#21 off the Super Sappy Prompts list: “I’m better when I’m with you.”)

It’s an experiment based on a hypothesis based on a coincidence. They’re sharing a room on a roadie, and Nursey has been stuck in a dry spell for a week and a half now. The words just haven’t been coming the way he wants them to, and he’s starting to feel dried out, like all the creative juices have been wrung out of him by school stress and lack of sleep. Maybe it’ll never come back. Maybe he’s just done. All washed up by the tender age of twenty.

He’s not even trying to write as he watches Dex from across the room, tracking his fidgets and expressions as he sits hunched over his laptop frowning at the screen. It’s been a while since he and Dex have been in the same room for an extended period of time – a fortnight, about. Dex has been on a project, and Nursey started isolating himself about when the drought hit. But it was nice to sit with him on the bus today, and it’s nice to dump his bag near the bed and just relax, hands behind his head, and drink in his presence. It feels like something he’s been missing for far too long.

Nursey’s not sure what it is that makes the words start coming back, but it’s like a cloudburst on a hot day – a few lines, scattered drops against a parched sidewalk, then all at once he’s drowning.

He writes for four hours that night. His poems are full of microchips and anger, all about the gray morality of man against the rigidity of binary code, and by one a.m., when he should really be getting his beauty rest for tomorrow’s game, he’s starting to formulate a theory.

The theory is that maybe being in Dex’s proximity jumpstarts his creativity. In a phrase, Dex inspires him.

So Nursey resolves to test it.

Keep reading

Lena’s First Game Night

Lena Luthor does not shy away from challenges.

She’s tackled hostile business men – perhaps not literally (that’s her new girlfriend’s job), but effectively – and she’s survived her mother (enough said).

But this? This overly-casual invite from Kara?

“You don’t have to, you know, I know how busy you are, but if you wanted to, I’d love you to get to know everyone, but you know, you don’t have to – “

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kara, of course I’d love to spend more time with your friends.”

This sends her into a spiral that has her digging into her purse for her anti-anxiety medication, because she wasn’t lying when she told Kara that she was her only friend in National City.

But she was exaggerating slightly; because Kara was her only friend… anywhere.

So this idea? This idea of taking off her CEO blazer and fuck-me pumps to sit on a throw blanket with Kara and her sister and her sister’s girlfriend and their best friends – their family – and play board games and Mario Kart like she’s not horrific? Like she’s not vile?

Like she’s not a Luthor?

This idea is at once the nicest, kindest, sweetest thing anyone has ever proposed to her; and also the most terrifying.

Maggie knows, and Maggie talks her way past Jess: it’s not that hard, she just mentions Pam from HR and their outing the other night when Jess had that late meeting, and when it becomes clear that Maggie had no love for arresting Lena earlier; when it becomes clear that she’s concerned about her girlfriend’s kid sister’s girlfriend (”queer girl geography, right?” she jokes), Jess lets her through.

“Here to escort me out of my own building in handcuffs again, Detective Sawyer?” Lena glances up, holding in the amount hostility she’d normally show for Kara’s sake.

“Here to escort you to your girlfriend’s place for game night, actually.” Lena looks up from her paperwork with a slightly furrowed brow, and Maggie puts left hand under her lip briefly.

“Look, I… I didn’t have much by way of family. Before National City. Before Alex. And now… it’s scary. It’s scary, having people who just… accept you without an agenda, and want you to come eat potstickers and play crappy 90s board games in your socks on their living room floor, especially when they’re all already…”

“Family,” Lena supplies, skepticism still in her voice but shocked warmth growing in her eyes.

“Yeah. But Kara… Kara’s wild about you, Lena, and I… Here’s the thing. I understand what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve a Danvers girl. But instead of beating myself up about it, I just try to earn it – earn her, earn Alex – every day. And I know you do the same for Kara. And she wants you there tonight, Lena. No one’s going to test you, no one’s going to ask you to prove yourself.”

Lena tries to swallow the tears stinging her eyes – she’s deeply unfamiliar with this feeling – and she bites her bottom lip slightly, at a loss for words.

“Unless you try to verse Winn in Mario Kart. He will try to crush you.”

Lena laughs, softly but irrepressibly, and Maggie grins. “Yes, he would be competitive about that sort of thing, wouldn’t he?”

Maggie nods and shoves her hands deep in her pockets. “I know Kara was gonna pick you up to take you over to her place, but I just… I don’t know. I could have used a pep talk from someone that wasn’t my girlfriend before my first game night with the squad, so… consider yourself pep talked.”

If Lena is expecting Maggie to ask anything in return – to hold anything over her for her kindness – she’s mistaken, because by the time she and Kara slip into an already full apartment about an hour later, Maggie greets her warmly from the floor, from Alex’s arms, but doesn’t give any indication that they’d just talked. Doesn’t give any indication that she’d just reached out to try to be Lena’s… friend.

“James Olsen,” James shakes her hand near the door with a small smile, and Lena gulps almost imperceptibly.

“A Pulitzer Prize winner, I daresay I know who you are, Mr. Olsen.” Also Kara’s ex. The pit in her stomach grows wider, but James smiles broadly.

“It’s just James,” he assures her, and pulls Kara into a hug.

“I’m happy for you,” he whispers, and she kisses his cheek while still holding Lena’s hand. Or, more accurately, while Lena keeps her hand in a vice-like grip.

She’s already met Alex, Winn, and Maggie, so none of them bother getting up, all engrossed in some sort of card game that has Winn screaming something about cheating and index fingers and unfairness in between waving enthusiastically at Lena.

She perches on the couch in front of them all as Kara sinks back in the pillows.

“It’s okay, Lena, you can relax. I promise,” she whispers, and Lena melts and leans back into her.

Alex glances up and grins.

“I hope your thumbs are ready for war,” she says, and Lena blanches slightly. Maggie leans her head back into Alex’s shoulder so she can meet Lena’s eyes.

“She means Mario Kart.”

“Winn takes it very seriously.”

“Hey, so does Kara, it’s not just me!”

“Oh please, Schott, you almost gave Maggie a bloody nose with your flailing last week!”

“The key word is almost, Danvers!”

“Yeah Alex, no need to take out my tech man with some index finger trick just because your girl’s face got in the way of his maneuvering – sorry Maggie – “

“Not at all, Olsen, I’ll just make sure to toss some turtle shells at you – “

“You wouldn’t – “

“Try me!”

Kara laughs along with the banter, and Lena just tries to follow it all. Kara watches her carefully, a soft smile on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she kisses her cheek, and James smiles affectionately and nudges Winn.

“We’re outnumbered, man.”

Winn laughs happily and tosses aside his cards – he would never admit it to Alex, but he was losing anyway – to set up Mario Kart as Alex takes the opportunity of Kara’ diverted attention to kiss Maggie senseless.

Between Winn’s excited yelling and wild gesturing, James’s cheering a squinting, focused Kara on, and Maggie’s cheering a pursed-lips, focused Alex on, none of them notice immediately.

None of them notice immediately that Lena is silent but Lena is determined. That Lena’s expression is set, is fire, is blazing with the shock of being surrounded by people who love having her there, who toss their arms around her to grab more popcorn easily, who make sure she’s getting enough to eat, to drink.

Who only ignore her when they’re focusing on driving their Mario Kart characters forward.

Who notice her – who care – at every moment except exactly when she wants to be stealthy. When she wants to sneak up behind all of them, perfectly calculated to pull ahead with a burst of speed just on the last lap, with a brilliantly timed maneuver that puts her strategically-chosen Toad kart ahead of everyone else’s for a first-place win.

Kara beams and bounces on her seat and squeals because if she can’t win, then her girlfriend definitely should; Alex tosses down her controller and exchanges a slack-jawed expression of begrudging admiration with Winn; and James and Maggie try their very hardest not to giggle, not to tease Kara, Alex, and Winn over the ultimate Mario Kart upset.

Lena smiles nervously into the silence and shrugs. “It’s all about strategy, isn’t it?”

She gulps and she fights down panic and she fights down agony because maybe she shouldn’t have won. Maybe they accepted her only before she stole their spotlight, their rush.

But then Alex is leaning in and Alex is grinning and Alex is more than the hardcore, take-no-prisoners agent that unflinchingly and single-handedly blew up Lena’s mother’s most updated facility, because Alex is congratulating her and Alex is, “Okay, you’re definitely coming to this every week. Anyone who can make Winn lose like that? Definitely a keeper.”

She squeezes her sister’s knee and Kara beams and practically tackles Alex with a hug and Maggie nudges Lena softly while James and Winn egg on the tickle fight that ensues.

“Our Danvers girls, huh?”

Lena fights down tears again, worn out Play Station controller still in her hands. But this time, the tears aren’t anxiety or disbelief or distrust.

This time, the tears are just happy.

“Our Danvers girls, indeed.”

→ Paper Doll (pt. 1)

Originally posted by sugutie

☆ pairing → Jungkook x Reader

☆ genre → idol+singer-songwriter!au, drama, slight angst

 warning sexual themes with smut in the next chapters, mentions of past unhealthy relationship 

☆ word count   → 2.1k

summary   → When the nation’s little sister, IU, gets into a huge scandal, your agency seizes the opportunity to thrust you into that now vacant spotlight. Your self-composed song Paper Doll becomes an overnight sensation, and soon people are itching to find out who was the one who broke your heart. All hell breaks loose once netizens discover that you used to date popular idol, Jeon Jungkook. Little do they know that it wasn’t him who left the relationship unscathed –  it was you.

alternatively: a story on the consequences of a hit break-up song

pt i |pt ii | pt iii| pt iv (coming soon!)


a/n  → so basically this is me being coerced into writing jjk smut 
edit: pt i is more of a prologue



[+11,435; -2,003] this really breaks my image of him… proves how you can’t judge someone from their personality on camera

[+9,386; -1,983] all this time he was pretending to be super innocent haha all those stupid fangirls throwing money at him blindly must be going crazy

[+5,903; -1,234] i mean everyone goes through break-ups, but he was cosplaying as an innocent guy who was scared of skinship with girls all these years.. lmao he’s super shamel–

The words on the screen in front of him all blurred and bled into one big stain. He quickly scrolled through the hundreds and hundreds of comments, each more condemning than the last. A steady pressure was building in his ears, until the only thing he could see or feel were the accusations of a faceless crowd, all jeering at him loudly, fingers pointed.

It was as if his entire life flashed in front of his eyes right then, and he could suddenly recall every inconsequential and significant thing that had shaped his life the past seven years – the hours and hours spent in front of the mirror rehearsing the same steps over and over again, the taste of soggy ramen Hoseok hyung had let overcook last week, the screams of fans, the sound of his alarm clock, the look on your face when you told him it was over. There was no chronology to the kaleidoscope of fleeting glimpses of his past.

“What,” he breathed, hands shaking, eyes wide and disbelieving as his phone fell with a clatter on the table. He desperately wanted to ignore reality, but the stares that were all focused on him kept him grounded to the present.

Of course his first scandal would be linked to you.

Keep reading

Protégé [Part 6] (M)

Originally posted by jjks


[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3] - [Part 4] - Part 5]

Thirty-four hours.

It had been thirty-four hours since you’d yelled at Jungkook and he had left your office. It had been thirty-four hours since you’d collected yourself after shattering your phone set into pieces and ran out of your office looking for him. Jaebum told you with a dejected frown that Jungkook had left. Where to? His guess was just as good as yours, if not worse.

You ran out to your car, the chill of the night air biting against your bare arms and cheeks, but you’d be lying if you said you felt it. You went at a crawl through the streets, stomping down on the brakes and squinting to make out the face of each and every pedestrian you past who resembled Jungkook in any way. You had even called out to a few of them, earning you nothing more than odd stares or blatant ignorance. You didn’t believe he could have gotten very far, but after two hours of driving, there was no sign of him.

The hospital’s visiting hours were long over, which cut that out as an option. And it took a persuasive conversation and a few slow swipes of your tongue across your painted lips to convince the security guard of Jungkook’s apartment building to tell you that no one had come in or out since six that night. He’d left your building much later than that.

You returned to the building, your jaw aching from hours of clenching your teeth and your eyes downcast, staring at nothing in particular. Jaebum greeted you, and before he could get the chance to ask you what had happened, you held your hand up to him. You were tired of questions, you were tired of explaining things. But, mostly, you just didn’t want to relive the truth of the matter–this was entirely your fault.

Keep reading

No Parachute

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2.230

Summary: Bucky just doesn’t need a parachute 

Warning: fluff

A/N: Hi you beautiful people! I’m still alive! heh. I’m still drowning in my thesis, but I didn’t like leaving you all with nothing so I wrote you this one! Hope you like it, feedback is always greatly appreciated. I love you all so much, and thank you for the continuous support. *big bear hug to you all*


“He did what?!”

“He jumped o-”

“I heard you the first time, I just.. he did what?!

Steve gave you a half smile, approaching you slowly to give you a reassuring hug but you held up your hand to stop him and he did. Glaring at him, he held up his hands in surrender and let you walk around him and down to the medical bay.

“Y/N, printsessa how are you today?” Pietro stepped in front of you, stopping you in your quest. Narrowing your eyes, you sent him a death glare that was cold as ice within a second he was out of your way.

When you finally reached the door to the medical bay Tony appeared. You groaned and tried walking around him but he stepped in front of you. Smiling like nothing was wrong. You glared at him.

“That look might work on everyone else, but not me, kiddo,” he smiled teasingly and went to ruffle your hair, you slapped his hand away.

Keep reading

It Wasn’t a Mistake

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

Author: @ninja-stiles

Words: 5487

Warnings: sin, fluff, angst?, blood

Author’s Note: I decided to write this to celebrate the trailer of American Assassin coming out and it was a fucking amazing trailer. Dyl looked so good. oml. I want to thank like all my friends for encouraging me that this is good! I wanna thank @dumbass-stilinski for looking it over, helping me with some parts, and just being amazing all around. You da best babe. I hope you guys enjoy!!

Originally posted by stydiaislove

Keep reading

Haunting Me (Chap. 2)

A/N: eeeeek! chapter 2 is here and it gets wild as heck guys! This chapter was so freakin’ fun to write, I kind of remixed the whole winter soldier movie plot to fit this in just right and I hope you guys like it! ENJOY! - Delilah ❤️


Pairing: Bucky Barnes x POC Reader

Haunting Me: Y/N is a normal young adult living in New York, but little does she know that she’s a reincarnation of the long lost Bucky Barnes’ fiance from the 1940′s. What happens when she runs into Steve in 2012? Most importantly, what happens when she runs into The Winter Soldier?

Warnings: Violence. Angst. Some people get shot. Kidnapping. Feels. 


You sat in the backseat of Natasha’s Porsche, listening as Steve explained the plan to you.

It wasn’t very thorough as you imagined it would be, but it was way better than Sam’s plan, which was to get Tony Stark involved. Apparently, this was a super top secret mission, one the millionaire had no business knowing about. You rolled your eyes as Steve explained to you that you would leave the minute the fighting started.

“I don’t see why,” Natasha chimed in, smirking over at Steve. “She’s a big girl.”

“Last I checked everyone in this car had military training except for Y/N.” He pressed, buckling the buckle on his helmet.

You scoffed; you were more than capable of handling your own, but as much as you hated to admit, this Winter Soldier had the same serum as Steve. Which meant he could probably break you in half with minimal to no effort. You liked being able to walk, thank you very much.

You gazed out of the window next to you, watching the scenery go by with each turn. Steve was doing better, which put you at ease for now. You still had no idea what would happen once the four of you arrived at the base. You were beyond concerned now. 

You looked back over to Steve, who was preoccupied by the shield in his hands, fiddling with it anxiously. When you turned back around, you were met with a pair of black goggles and a heavily masked face. 

Before you could scream, the man brought his fist forward and busted through the window. 

Natasha swerved erratically, trying to avoid the many cars in front of her as the man began punching holes through the roof of the car. You screamed when you felt a metal hand grab ahold of your shirt and tug forcefully, ripping the material. 

“Y/N!” Steve exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear. 

Natasha slammed on the breaks, causing the man to fly off the hood and tumble onto the concrete. 

“Everybody out!” she screamed, gathering her pistols. You exited the car, holding the small pistol in your hand. You’ve never shot a gun before, and you were mentally kicking yourself for never asking Steve to teach you. Sam expanded his wings and began soaring into the air towards the masked man. 

You watched as Natasha and Steve sprinted towards the man, dodging the spray of bullets gracefully. You, on the other hand, ducked behind a car and aimed your pistol. 

“It’s not that hard, right?” you whispered to yourself, your legs trembling as you closed one of your eyes and aligned the barrel of the gun with the man’s head. “It’s just like Call of Duty!” you laughed nervously. 

One of the hydra agents pulled out a missile launcher and aimed it right at the car. Steve immediately ran towards you, holding his shield in his front of him. The missile hit the shield directly, sending him flying over the edge of the bride. Once you saw Natasha get hit violently by the man’s metal arm, sending her flying into the side of a car, you closed your eyes. 

And you fired. 

When you opened them again, the masked man was on the ground. You perked up from behind the car, your eyes wide with shock and your mouth turned upward into a triumphant grin. You felt your heart beating wildly in your chest as you stared at the man from afar. Your smile faded as soon as you saw the man moving. 

He sat up, rolling onto his hands and knees, before standing up completely. From where you stood, you could see the bullet lodged in the lense of his goggles that were shielding his eyes. 

Uh oh. 

You backed away slowly as he glared at you. His eyes focused on yours, taking in your features. His head slowly cocked to the side as he stared you down. You stood frozen in the middle of the street, completely unsure what to do. 

“Cолдат!” Soldier!

The hydra agent behind him shouted at him angrily in Russian, aiming his own gun at you as well. You felt your heart skipping beats in your chest as you watched the man approach the soldier. 

Fucking shit!” you cursed, taking a step back. 

Instantly, the man’s eyes widened at the sound of your voice. His eyes became frantic, his breaths came out in short, rapid huffs. He shook his head, as if to rid himself of some evil-like thoughts. The gun in his hand dropped to the ground as he clutched his head. 

“Солдат, закончи свою миссию!” Soldier, finish your mission!

You watched in horror as the masked man unsheathed a black blade and in one move, slit the man’s throat. He turned back around, staring at you with his dead eyes.

And began walking towards you. 


The bullets barely missed your head as you sprinted down the sidewalk.  

You scurried around the many panicked people as they ran beside you. The bullets hit multiple people around you, but thankfully, they managed to miss you every single time. You made a sharp turn down a dark alley, hoping he’d get distracted for a moment.

As you ran, you could hear the faint footsteps growing closer and closer. You huffed, feeling your sides begin to ache from the sprinting, but you refused to slow down. 

You were almost to the end of the alley, when you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and haul you back into the alley. You began screaming, kicking everywhere you could with all your might. He managed to get you far enough away from the street before spinning you around and planting a hard slap onto your face. 

You cried out, feeling your cheek burn from the harsh contact. Blinking through the tears, you noticed the man was staring at you oddly once again. You watched as his head cocked to the side, his gaze set on the tears running down your face. 

Realizing he was distracted, you swung your fist into his face as hard as you could.

Big mistake. 

His head jerked back violently and you watched as the black mask flew from his face and landed onto the concrete with a small plop.

He turned around and you were hit with the strongest sensation of déjà vu. 

You swore up and down on everything you own, that you’ve seen this man before. You didn’t know how or when or where, but you’ve seen him. 

He was gorgeous. Really gorgeous. You probably would’ve developed a small crush on him if he weren’t a raging psychopath and trying to murder you and your friends. 

Who the hell are you?” he spat, his eyes wild with fear. They burned into your fearful ones as you stared back, your mouth hanging open. With a deep breath, you brought your leg up to his ribs and kicked with all your might.  

He grunted, jolting back from the force of your kick. But to your dismay, you didn’t do any kind of damage. His grip on your wrist tightened painfully, you cried out as you felt your wrist seering with pain. 

His eyes dilated, his brows furrowed as he scowled. In one move, he launched his fist forward, hitting you directly in the face. 

Then everything went black. 


When you woke, the only thing you could hear was silence and the soft sounds of what sounded like a metal clinking together. 

You opened your eyes, wincing at the brightness of the light above you. Especially the ache in your eye. You blinked, trying to fully comprehend what had just happened, most importantly, where the hell you were. 

“Who are you?” a deep voice pulled you from your thoughts.

It came out more of a demand. His voice was completely monotone, but still deep with authority. There he was, The Winter Soldier. The man who punched your lights out a while ago. Steve’s best friend, only, he didn’t look friendly at all. 

He looked terrifying.You peered around the room, taking in your surroundings. Somehow, he managed to take you to a shady little motel. From what you could peek from under the blinds as you lie on the bed, you were far from New York. The familiar sounds of traffic and civilians passing by was completely gone, leaving you in eerie silence instead.

“Are you fucking deaf?” he spat, his face twisting into a scowl. You shook your head, feeling the tears pooling in your eyes. You were trembling as well.

“N-No,” you answered timidly.

“Then answer my damn question. Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you replied, feeling the tears running down your face. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

He stared off into the distance, as if he were processing the information in his head. Was he really a human computer like Sam said? You were terrified as it was, but being around a terminator was even more horrific. You waited for him to ask another question, but it never came. Instead, he leaned back into his chair, placing the pistol back onto the table.

“Are you going to kill me?” you heard yourself ask. Immediately, you shut your mouth. Why would you give him the idea? From what you knew, he was crazy, probably from all the brainwashing.

His blue eyes flickered back over to you, and you swore by everything, you saw them soften momentarily before they were back at to their original coldness from before.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you asked, this time with more volume in your voice. Immediately, he stood from the chair and you jumped, backing away as far as you were allowed. He slowly made his way over to you, his dark gaze burning into your teary eyes in a predatory manner. You flinched as he sat beside your legs.

“The man on the bridge,” he spoke, his voice still in the same nonchalant tone. “Who was he?”

“His name is Steve,” you answered, watching his expression change. “Steve Rogers, he was your best friend since childhood.”

He didn’t respond, instead, he ran his hands over his face. You watched as he ran his fingers through his long, dark hair. Despite being insane, he was extremely handsome, you’d give him that. His jawline looked like it could cut glass, and those eyes. They were twice as blue as Steve’s, twice as beautiful, too.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, mentally scolding yourself. This man was probably going to kill you, maybe after he did god knows what with you before, yet here you were ogling over him like some A list celebrity.

He turned towards you, his face set in a frown.

“I knew him,” he admitted, his eyes full of a mixture of confusion and hurt. “I knew him a long time ago.” You nodded, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. Why were you acting this way?

“But you…” He whispered, staring into your eyes fiercely. 

“I knew you, too.”

-Fin!  

Tag list of super awesome people! ❤️

@sebbylover24 @softwintersoldier @amrita31199 @jezzula @jenna-luke @harrisbn @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x @ballerinafairyprincess @gingerbatchwife @callmeoncette @bellaballanda @sebbyismyking @abigailredgrave @chou-maitresse @twinklingstarlight @abovethesmokestacks @dracu-ma-bucky @persephone-is-here-omg @i-write-tragedies-and-sins @melconnor2007 @nenyakj @watergirl1996 @marveloussssworld @ihavetwobuckystomyname @megandrawsspace @wintersoldieressiam @fridabarnes @abovethesmokestacks @mizzzpink @diana-daydreamer @meganlane84 @adrianabribiescacortes @r3stl3ss-minds @queen–valeskaxx  @winterboobaer @addictivewriter @tatortot2701 @supersoldier-buckybarnes @the-winter-avengerrrrr @the-witching-hours12-3 @netflixa @kaitskennedyy @witheringblooddemon  @lostinspace33 @nottheopera @beebossinner @ktrivia @4theluvofall @the-lazy-leprechaun @behindthesehazeleyes27 @38leticia @davinaciaire @cry-me-a-fkin-river @buckyshattergirl @raeintheusa @helloitsgrc @icedragoncred1763 @sebbeanstan @shieldagentofthemonth @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @sheriwallace123 @permanent-lines @hellstempermentalangel @answer-the-sirens @badassbaker @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes @therealgoldenbookworm @buckyappreciationsociety @dream-equine @munsurieya @feelmyroarrrr @learisa @stephie-senpai @vindictivegrace @valynsia @saffreelove @say-my-name-assbut @feelthemusicfuckwhatheyresaying @alucialunn12 @bad-wolf87 @such-a-common-girl @yknott81 @frolicsomefawkes @svetlanaabril @hellahornyvirgin @amour-quinn @tirednwired05 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @harleycativy @mirkwood—princess @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @deathordesire  @sassycat15 @chamongangae @loricameback @steves-bitch @alternativelycliche @starnova143 @molethemollie @bloo-moon-freak @themermaidpirate @vacam79 @i-swam-through-twelve-oceans @academic-poltergeist @screamlikealunatic @kcsavege4134 @marvelxharry @marvelouslyloki @hotemotionalmess @beebossinner @almondbuttercup @followeroonieclassic @happily-beinghappy @ria132love @mariathedorkydragon @peoniesinmyhair @bvckys-doll @vibraniumdoll @chrishemm11 @oh-brother-mine-92 @bubble-dreamer123 @archer-whovian-violinist @ayo-minty-jess @lottaswonderland @blazeshira @thefanempress @arabellaaurorabarnes @kduran04 @monsis-world @cutescreenname @buckybarnesbestbabe @fandomlover2001 

Tags are now officially closed babez ;(

If your tags don’t work or I accidentally didn’t tag you, please let me know!

cyanlester  asked:

soulmate tattoos au mdear (freaking move your blog sorry for spamming you with likes 😅)

Ah nah man, that’s cool. Your profile picture is really distinctive, so I’m always like “welcome back cyanlester. Good to see you” haha.

And alright soulmates tattoo au!

Alright so I’m feeling this as Klance (big shock) and Keith and Lance go to high school together, and they kind of have that “yeah we’re friends, but we shit in each other constantly”, like they’re competitive, and make fun of each other’s fashion sense, but if anyone ELSE picks on them… oh boy. Like someone called Lance dumb once and Hunk had to physically restrain Keith so he didn’t beat the crap out of him.

So Hunk’s 18th birthday rolls around and his soulmate tattoo shows up. It’s on his bicep and Lance thinks it looks a bit like a bear. It matches a girl in his manual arts class who apparently has had a quiet crush on him for a while. Her name is Shay and hunk really likes her so it works out great!

Lance’s 18th happens and he thinks his tattoo is rad as hell. It’s on his thigh and looks like a lion. He starts wearing tiny shorts to flaunt it to everyone, in the hopes of someone seeing it and realising they match, but also because it annoys Keith. He must be jealous. Every time Lance wears his shorts and shoves his thigh in Keith’s face he always gasps and growls out a “LANCE! PLEASE….!” And Lance laughs to himself.

Lance is eager to find his soulmate, but understands it might not happen immediately. Besides, loads of his friends haven’t turned 18 yet. Keith bats his lashes and jokes that it could be him. They both laugh a little too hard.

Keith’s 18th FINALLY comes. He is so excited. Secretly he hopes to see a little lion somewhere.

He doesn’t have one. He doesn’t have one anywhere. He panics. He doesn’t go to school that day.

The next day he still doesn’t go to school. Shiro calls him to wish him a happy birthday. Keith confesses everything and cries on the phone. It takes every ounce of Shiro’s will not to fly home and be there for his friend, but he can’t do that. He wonders if because Keith is adopted, maybe they have his birthday wrong? Keith says that’s not possible. Maybe it’s just really faint and will darken later.

He finally returns to school and explains what’s happened to his friends. Hunk is supportive, and Lance is almost as devastated as him. He holds him while Keith sniffles. The next few days are quiet.

Finally Lance has an idea. He invites Keith to go to the beach with him, that always cheers him up. Keith isn’t sure what good it would do, but he realises he should go because he isn’t sure how much time he’ll be able to spend with him before Lance finds his own soulmate.

They meet on the weekend and Lance’s joy is infectious. Keith manages to smile as Lance splashes him. They dive into the deeper waves. Keith shoves his hair in a ponytail and Lance wolf whistles. Lance teaches him how to swim into shore with the waves. Keith crashes into the shore and laughs. He turns to look at Lance when his heart stops. Lance is crying.
“You fucking idiot,” he laughs. “You absolute fucking idiot”
Keith doesn’t understand. Sure his body surf was pretty rad, but not this great. Lance runs to shore and grabs his phone. He runs back and grabs Keith harshly by the shoulders, turning him around harshly. Keith hears a click, and then Lance is shoving his phone in His face.

And there… a photo of the nape of his neck… is a little lion tattoo.
“It was underneath you’re stupid mullet” Lance’s happy tears don’t stop. Keith’s tears join them.

Lance’s kisses taste like salt.

down to brass tacks

happy valentine’s day, everybody!! <3 canon verse, 3k+

ao3

They finally get a lead on Kelly Kline on a Saturday. Spurred on by guilt and probably a bit of cabin fever, Castiel turns right around from the hunt he just returned from with Mary to chase her down.

“Oh,” Castiel says, turning. He sticks a hand into his coat pocket. “I almost forgot.”

It isn’t like him to forget things, so the move has to be calculated. Then again, he loses his phone all over the place. Maybe he really did just forget whatever it is. Dean’s startled out of his musing by a shiny projectile hurtling towards his face, which he catches gracelessly in one hand. The metal, whatever it is, feels cool in his palm. He blinks up at Castiel.

Keep reading

student! taehyung smut

Originally posted by taehanstic-baby

word count: too bad to even bother knowing 

tags: fingering, exhibitionism(?), public stimulation, bathroom sex


maths class bored you to tears. your teacher droned on continuously. it was like being stuck in a horrible weekly loop of monotonous voices.

but today’s class had peaked your interest as a new kid had joined the class.

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McCall Pack, Meet Riverdale Part 2

Summary: Your the sister of the late Allison Argent. Soon after her death your father, Chris Argent, Isaac Lahey and you move to France. Not long after you find yourself living with your Dad in his hometown. While Riverdale doesn’t have a supernatural mess, it sure does have a strange and mysterious murder.

Characters: daughter!reader x chris argent, reader x undetermined love interest, Archie Andrews, Jughead Jones, Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, and Allison Argent (mentioned)

Words: 4507

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or the characters. I do not own Riverdale OR the characters, the show is based the Archie Comics which I do not own either. I also do not own any gifs, images or songs that may appear.

Warnings: possible swearing, mention of death, mention of murder, angst. Angry reader and allusion to the murder of Jason Blossom.

Author: Caitsy

Tagging: Ask if you want to be removed or added! At the bottom.

A/N: I’ve completely fallen in love with Riverdale mainly because I grew up reading the comics. IT’S AMAZING! With that being said I will be taking requests for Riverdale!

This is to hold you guys over because Ash and I will be unavailable for a little way. I have tons of homework and I’m not at liberty to say what Ash is busy at!

Master List

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

PART ONE

Originally posted by lux-teen0

Originally posted by persephene

“What the hell?” Archie exclaimed following the three of you. His friends trailed after him.

“Jesus christ.” You groaned rubbing your arm from where you had been manhandled. Scott smacked Stiles in the back of the head before he looked at you, “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Argent sent us.” Scott said, “Beacon Hills has trouble and we need your help.”

You were pushed back as a tall red head protectively stood in front of you with his arms crossed. To your horror Archie and his tag alongs had joined the group also causing Stiles to curse as he pointed a skinny finger as you.

“Please tell me that the Scooby-gang doesn’t know about the Nogistune.” Stiles hissed.

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Back Massages

Pairing: Dylan x Reader

Author: @ninja-stiles

Words: 2393

Warnings: unprotected sex, explicit language

Authors Note: I’m really excited about this one! There will also be a part two that I’ll have to start working on! I want to thank @thelittlestkitsune for mentioning to me for this to be sinful and giving me a few pointers! A HUGE thanks goes to @smutandahalf for reading this over plenty of times and helping me express what I was saying better and helping on a few parts I didn’t know how to explain. 

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a pretty good bad idea (1/?)

pairing: Trini/Kimberly (Power Rangers

words: 2097

summary: With great power comes unexpected and awkward side effects. Also: kissing lessons. (Isn’t that how the saying goes?)

a/n: Guess who saw Power Rangers and is predictable trash? Guess who loves all that trope-y cheesiness? Guess who doesn’t remember how to write, but is doing it anyways? Me me me. Anyways, I tried to bring the cheese, my friends, but I’m just not capable of writing poetry like ‘Are we Power Rangers or are we friends?’. Alas.

AO3 Link here!

WARNING for @smallandsundry : there is KISSING in this fic. (Also, no bear rangers.) Please avert your eyes.

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phantomavenger  asked:

Prompt #11 :)

I loved doing this one. Here’s #11: “If I die I’m going to haunt your ass.”


“You’re the worst, like the actual worst!”

Derek huffed beside him, “if you don’t shut up I’ll leave without you.”

Stiles paused, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock at the threat. He didn’t sense any joke behind it. Instead he went back to his silent freak out as he did his best to ignore the undead groans from the other side of the door.

Zombies. Freaking zombies. As if Beacon Hills couldn’t get any worse. This time if people were bitten they wouldn’t turn into were-somethings. They’d be zombies; rotten, gnarly, undead flesh craving things. Of course Stiles had played his fair share of online games with his friends to fight off creatures, like zombies, but the real thing was much more terrifying. They smelled terrible, their skin looked horrendous especially when it fell off in chunks, and for the love of God the noises were things of nightmares.

Sick pained groans that were hollow and void of any sort of intelligence.

Just hungry.

Very hungry actually since they tried to make him Stilinski a-la-mode about five minutes ago and Derek a Hale sunday.

“This is your plan? Hide in a storage closet?” Stiles asked and flailed just crazily enough to knock over a paint can.

It clattered to the floor with a harsh sound followed by a long silence. Derek’s eyes flashed blue, and gave Stiles level ten of the Hale-Glare-of-Gloom™. From outside the storage room of the old factory the silence gave way to loud hungry moans of the undead, bodies banging against the door. The rusted hinges weren’t going to last if the pileup on the other side grew until the pressure was too much.

“If I die I’m going to haunt your ass,” Stiles muttered as he shuffled backwards until he was flush with the wall, his heart about to beat out of his chest.

“You’re not going to die Stiles,” Derek said.

“I’m so going to die, you’ll probably heal,” he said, his hand ran through his hair but didn’t seem to have its usual calming effect, “oh, God. I’m gonna be a zombie—holy, Derek…you gotta keep my dad away from fast food, alright? His cholesterol is through the roof. Give Scott my comic collection; he’ll keep them safe–”

His panicked ramble was cut off when Derek was suddenly in his space, his hands tight around Stiles’ shoulders. There was this look of…uncertainty in his pale green eyes, and before Stiles knew what happened he was wearing the leather jacket.

“What–?”

“Keep your head down, hang on tight, and whatever happens…run,” Derek said seriously before he hoisted Stiles up onto his back.

Stiles gasped in surprise, his legs automatically locked around Derek’s waist as his arms wrapped around Derek’s shoulders. His mind raced with questions, for example; why the fuck Derek was about to risk his life for him of all people? Seriously there was no rhyme or reason for it, the guy made his dislike for Stiles crystal clear.

The door was kicked open, the hinges flying off and the metal crushed the few zombies right in front of it. There was a split second path and Derek was already running; Stiles let out a small shriek and curled himself tighter against Derek, his head hidden in the crook of Derek’s neck. Hands tried to swipe at him, but the leather and denim he wore made it hard for hands to actually grab and tear into his flesh.

Stiles had no idea how Derek was doing, he had no idea if he was hurt, he had no idea where they were going. At one point Derek jumped, and they free fell for a while before landing. Eventually though they made it to a place where fresh air was all around them and the noises of zombies were gone.

He found it in himself to look up when Derek slowed, they made it out of the old factory, into the back end of the woods.

Victory.

Well almost, because suddenly Derek collapsed to the ground with Stiles still on him. His knees smacked onto the hard ground violently but he had enough sense to roll off Derek, finally taking a second to see if he was okay.

“Oh my God, dude, Derek!” Stiles gasped and scrambled to his knees to shove Derek on his back and off his wounds.

There were angry tears of skin and muscle, blood oozed out in thick globs, and Stiles was so sure he was about to puke. Derek let out a pained sound and tried to curl in on himself only to fail and fall back.

“You so cannot die! We save each other! We don’t freaking die!” Stiles exclaimed, trying to see if the wounds were healing themselves or not.

Hands cupped his face and pulled him away from Derek’s torso. His eyes met pale ones which were riddled with pain. Stiles hated that; he couldn’t even do the cool werewolf pain drain thing, he could only sit there helplessly. He wasn’t just sitting there though, because now he was bent down with lips on his which were surprisingly soft.

So maybe he totally flailed and maybe he accidently bit Derek’s lip, but he was well within his freak out rights. Derek Hale was kissing him and he hasn’t kissed many people, let alone super attractive people that were so out of his league.

Stiles pulled back, lips still semi-puckered with his brows drawn in, “why did that feel like a goodbye kiss?”

Derek had the audacity to roll his eyes, “not…a goodbye kiss, it was a ‘calm down I’m healing slowly’ kiss.”

“So you’re not dying?!”

“No, I can feel myself healing.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Stiles wheezed, leaning back down for another kiss which was probably only a little less clumsy than the first one.

“What kind of kiss was that?” Derek asked softly.

“I think it was a ‘thank god you’re not dead don’t do that to me again you dick’ kiss,” Stiles answered.

“I saved your life. I’d do it again if I had to.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Derek did in fact shut him up.


ASK ME A PROMPT FOR THE DRABBLE CHALLENGE!

Silver Storm ( 1/?)

Summary: While on trip out of state, you were taken by Hydra. You were barely 21 at the time. Hydra took you and turned you into another asset, matching the Winter Soldier’s abilities. They injected you with a serum similar to his, wiped you,  and instructed the soldier himself to train you. He was hard on you, but when it was just the two of you he let his walls down. You were each other’s comfort, until the events of D.C when he was sent to kill Captain America. After that day, you never saw him again. You were told he abandoned you, that he was on the other side now. It’s been years since you’ve seen him, but what happens when he comes bursting through the doors of your facility?

Memories are in Italics, bold is readers thoughts *

Pairing: none so far, but Bucky x reader (eventually) , reader x avengers

Warnings: swearing, torture, violence, sadness


                                                     Chapter one

   Your life consists of three things now: killing, obeying, and training. When you don’t do one of those things, or when you show hesitation, your mind is wiped clean by your handlers. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been with Hydra. How could you? You’ve been wiped so many times you’re surprised you still know how to fight. Killing, Russian, and taking orders are now burned deeply into your system. Over the last few months, memories have been slipping through the cracks of your mind. You’ve  managed to hide your reaction when they appear, not wanting to lose them again from being wiped. With the memories though comes a sharp pain, as if they are forcing their way into your mind. They aren’t ever in order; you’ll remember things from when you were a child and were with your siblings, and the next minute you’ll be reminded of the parties you attended with friends in high school. Having your memories back isn’t all good though; it means your humanity is seeping back in play, making it that much harder when your superiors send you on a kill mission. Sometimes you consider asking to be wiped to make things easier since it doesn’t seem like you’ll ever be free again.  Since Winter escaped, the security around you has been tighter. Hydra is too afraid to lose another asset.

Today, a particular memory stands out to you: a memory of the Soldier.


Your body slammed to the ground, as your superiors watched their agents punish you for being hesitant on a training set. If it wasn’t for the super soldier serum swimming in your veins, you’d most likely be dead by now. No human body could or should endure this much pain. By the time they’d finished with you, you were in the fetal position. You could feel that your ribs were cracked, your nose was broken, your arm may have been broken, and your eye was beginning to swell shut. They left you there, laughing as they exited the room. You didn’t know how long it had been, but Winter finally made his way into the room. He gently lifted you into his arms, not saying a word.

Originally posted by ale-la-pazza1

You finally ended up in the cell where they kept the both of you. They forced you two to sleep on the concrete floor, supplying an itchy, thin blanket for each of you, and a bucket. Winter was in cryo more than you were, but when he wasn’t, you’d sleep curled into his body with his arms wrapping around you tightly.   

He laid you down over one of your spread out blankets. Whimpers left your lips at the hard ground underneath your broken body.

“Shhhhh, you’ll heal soon. Just give it a day or two, Doll.” He moved a piece of hair out of your face and left the room. He managed to come back with a makeshift icepack and towel to clean you up. He stayed with you for hours, trying to distract you from the pain, promising one day you would both be free.


   The memories of Winter always hurt you. Neither of you knew much about each other, just whatever he remembers (which wasn’t much). He repeated the name Steve a lot in his sleep, and he remembered that he fought in a war, but not which one or how old he was. He remembered falling off a train, and that’s how he lost his arm and gained his metal one. At night, when the nightmares of his memories from before Hydra and after hit him, you would pull him to you, trying to calm him. You never had memory slips when he was around; they didn’t start happening until after he left you.

  You request a training session from your superior. Maybe it’ll ease the pain of the memory away. He agrees, no questions asked. You make your way to the designated gym. It was small but held the proper equipment you need. You go straight for the punching bag. It takes a total of five punches before it flings off the chain and smacks into the wall. Anger is all you feel; the memory of the soldier just makes you feel alone, miserable, and hostile towards Hydra. Overtime you’ve realized Hydra isn’t who they claim to be while they tortured and morphed you into this soldier. They claim to be doing the world a favor, that they were the ‘good guys’. Maybe from their standpoint they are, but from yours? Hell no. You believed in freedom and justice before all this. Well at least you think you did, based on your memories. You still weren’t clear on who you were; you just knew names of people in your memories. The name they used when referring to you still felt odd to you. You only ever remember being called Silver Storm ,which, once you started being able to think for yourself again, sounded so fucking dumb. As you move to hang a new bag from the ceiling, the red alarm lights start blinking along with the shrill sound of the alarm. What the hell?

  Your handler burst into the training room. “Silver, the Avengers are breaching our system, suit up.”

At the sound of his voice, you snap into mission mode. You sprint to the gear room, pulling on your tactical black suit. It matches the one Winter use to wear, including the red star on the arm. You pull your hair into the standard braid you wear on missions, and place your mask over your mouth. As soon as you finish filling all your holsters with the proper guns and knives, you slip your comm into your ear.

“Silver Storm, ready to comply,” You announce coldly.

“The Avengers are infiltrating your home, soldier. Show them what they’re dealing with, take them all out.”

“Yes sir.”

You move swiftly through the halls, while you’re told of the Avengers locations through your comms. The closest one to you is Captain America who’s on the roof taking out agents.

“тут ничего не происходит (here goes nothing),” you mumble under your breath. You haven’t had to deal with the Avengers, so you’re not sure what to expect.

You slink your way up the stairs to the roof, readying your gun. You kick down the door, and immediately see your target. You take aim and begin shooting. He deflects the bullets with his shield, then throws it towards you. You tuck and roll, dodging his shield. Why the hell does he have a giant Frisbee?! You switch out your gun for another from one of you holsters. You take aim again, except before you shoot, your gun is shot out of your hand by an arrow. What the hell kinds of weapons do this people have? An arrow, really? You train your focus and leap straight towards Captain America. You start throwing punches, and he barely deflects them. You land four good hits to his abdomen. While he stumbles back, you whip yourself around and wrap your thighs around his neck. You take him down, cutting off his oxygen with the pressure from your thighs. You don’t hold him there long before he manages to flip you off him. You land on your back with a thud.

“Сукин сын (son of a bitch)!”

You pick yourself back up, only to be thrown backward again by him. You reach for your knives then whip them quickly at him. Two of them manage to stick, one in his shoulder and one grazing his side.

 It slows him down momentarily. You hear steps behind you, causing you to pull your gun and turn. You’re facing your superior. Oh Shit.

“I see you need help, Soldier. Your training will be changed accordingly after we finish this.” I can feel the pain already. The rest of the Avengers seem to appear out of thin air. You notice it’s not the entire team, only the Captain, Hawkeye, and Falcon. You begin shooting at the Falcon, successfully grounding him. Your superior seems to be in a hand to hand with the Captain, and the other agents are after Hawkeye. You have your target pinned to the ground wrapped between your thighs. As you begin applying more pressure around his neck, you hear a voice that wrecks your concentration.

Originally posted by lilsonbucky

“Steve, duck!” Winter? You watch as he throws the Frisbee to the Captain, aiding his fight against your superior.

Originally posted by readytocomply

“Well, Winter. Welcome home.”  You hear your handle say. In your moment of distraction, Falcon gets the upper hand, knocking you off him, and landing a hard punch to your stomach. You fumble back, mind still in overdrive at the fact he is here. He finally made it out of here, and he’s still fighting?   

You abandon Falcon as your target, letting the lower level agents go for him. You move to help against the Captain and Winter. A plan starts swirling around your mind. When you approach the three, you see your superior losing.

“Asset, finish them. Winter is against you now,” he says as he battles Captain America. You turn your gaze to the soldier. A look of recognition and sadness flashing through his eyes. You turn away, glancing back at your handler. The same handler that beat you, abused you, wiped your memory, forced you to kill, and took you away from your family. This is it. He gains the upper hand in his fight, and you pull out your last gun from it’s holster. You turn your gaze back to Winter for a second. If I fail, they will kill me. Is this worth it? Where would I go if I actually succeed? It’s now or never. You take the comm from your ear, smashing it under your boot. Then, before he can move from his spot on top of the man in red, white and blue, you spin yourself over, taking aim and shooting your superior in the back of his head. His body falls limp over the captain.

There is no going back now.

Originally posted by geekcomics

the posh boy problem

you are at part one.

part two: the posh boy solution

also available on: AO3

***

Posh boy left his mug on the papers again. It will leave a rim on the sports section.

John goes over to the living room table. Then he stops in his tracks. It’s happened again, hasn’t it? More and more often he finds himself giving Sherlock silly petnames in his head. He was never a friend of those, can hardly explain why he is doing it now – in his own thoughts – but something about it calms and provokes him at the same time. He picks up the half-emptied mug of cold tea and thinks this over on his walk to the kitchen sink.

He likes Sherlock. He knows this, has known this for literally ages. That he likes him, and that he likes him in a way that Sherlock most definitely won’t find appealing. Sexually. There, he said it. In his head, of course, never out loud. But Sherlock, with his many frustrating qualities, of which many where outrageously attractive to John, is practically forcing him to feel provoked. Those feelings then lead to … petnames, apparently. He’s had stranger coping mechanisms before.

In his head greets him with hey, handsome in the morning, those wonderful mornings where Sherlock has actually slept and still looks all soft and not quite awake. He calls him genius when he is being too clever again and doesn’t notice, calls him pretty man and silly git and sweetheart when he’s feeling like it, and, of course, posh boy. He doesn’t even know what it is about that one in particular, but he finds that to be the worst. For his sexual frustration, that is. Every time it comes up in his head, which is more and more often, it fuels his imagination vividly. So much that it has even made it to his bedroom and he has dreams, half-asleep, half-awake, about teaching posh boy a lesson, getting posh boy a little dirty, treating posh boy a little rough. These are all terrible thoughts. Because they will stay just as imaginary and sexually frustrating. Posh boy won’t love him back, after all.

One morning Sherlock sits in front of his microscope on the kitchen table. He hasn’t moved for at least two hours. Nothing unusual. In fact, it was how they spend most of their Sundays now. John doesn’t really date anymore, and even if he did, he would not trade these days for anything. They have fallen into this pattern a while ago, the pattern of staying in on lazy Sundays, waking up later and waiting for the other to have breakfast together. Now Sherlock occupies himself with some experiment on maggots and fingers (John doesn’t even ask) and John is sitting in his chair. He is reading a novel about an incredibly clever and cunning explorer who kind of reminds him of Sherlock (he can’t help it, as much as he would like to). Being absorbed in the book, he is confused at first when Sherlock calls him from the kitchen.

“John?”

“Hmh?”

With Sherlock this is either going to be of highest importance or an absurdly unnecessary request.

“Care to pass me my phone?”

John sighs loudly. The latter. Thought so.

“Where is your phone?”

“Breast pocket.”

With his eyes rolling at the ceiling John puts a bookmark in his book, places it on the table next to him and gets off his chair. Walking into the kitchen, he murmurs under his breath.

“I see posh boy’s being a lazy butthead again…”

He takes the phone out of Sherlock’s breast pocket and holds it out for him. But instead of taking it and paying no more attention to him, Sherlock is suddenly staring at him like his face was on fire. John frowns at him. Sherlock, in turn, raises one brow.

“Posh?”

John’s eyes widen in shock and his heart jumps once in his chest and then stops, he thinks, just stops, and he wants to melt and become one with the floorboards. This is bad.

“I’m not posh,” Sherlock complains.

He must notice how John is only blushing more deeply. How? How did he say that out loud without noticing? How the bloody hell could he?

John clears his throat and decides to go along with it. There is no more turning back from here on anyway.

“You… are, actually. Just look at you, you with your… cheekbones. Your… perfectly tailored suits, your annoying British accent and deep voice-”

“We all have British accents.”

“I know!” John is enormously embarrassed, and he feels that if he doesn’t take a long walk right now, he will punch something to calm his inner unsettlement. “I need air.”

But Sherlock isn’t finished. “If anything, you are the posh one, John.”

“Hah! How so, Sherlock Holmes? Have you looked at yourself?”

“Have you looked around this flat in the past years? There are piles of magazines in the corners of every room, there is a Cluedo board pinned to the wall by me, I leave my things wherever I please, the kitchen is a mess of syringes and human body parts – an organised and well structured mess if you know where to look, but not the point right now – and I am currently examining maggots. In contrast to this you, John Watson, are a doctor, you wear your chequered shirts buttoned up to your chin, you’ve lived a clean life not suffering from a drug addiction, have had girlfriends and relationships and altogether live as part of the middle-class society in Central London. You wish for a wife and children and probably a German Shepard and a house in the suburbs, or at least that’s what you think you want, so tell me, John: How am I the posh one?”

John has a hard time finding a response to this that doesn’t only consist of loose vowels. It takes him a good minute, but Sherlock is oddly patient with him.

“First of all,” he manages then, “ I don’t think I want a wife and children, thank you very much. And maybe… maybe I’m not that serious when I call you things like that.”

“So why do you?”

“What?” John’s heart began beating faster once more. He’s so tense.

“Why do you call me a posh… boy?”

Oh fuck, hearing those two words spoken out loud and together and out of Sherlock’s mouth, for God’s sake!

“I- I don’t. Why- why should I even tell you? You read my mind all the time, can I not be allowed to keep this one thing to myself for once?!”

Sherlock narrows his eyes and observes him from head to toe. Oh please no. “No, that’s not it.”

“Alright, you know what? It’s you. Okay? It’s your fault! You just make me so angry all the time. No, don’t- don’t look at me like that.”

Sherlock’s eyes have gone wide and very blue. He looks genuinely hurt by this. Scared even. Scared at what John would say next, what this would mean for them. John feels and shares his pain, and he hates himself for every word he has ever said that would make Sherlock look like this. He is vulnerable and human, after all. Even if he tries to convince everyone around him that he isn’t, John has to stop falling for Sherlock’s own defence mechanism.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… what you said. There’s no wife and there is no house in the suburbs for me, Sherlock. I just can’t see it. But I see this.” He means Baker Street, means 221B, means … Sherlock. “This life. With you.”

Sherlock’s eyes are still so very blue. He wants to lose himself in them.

“And that makes you angry?” Sherlock asks.

“What? No. I’m just. Forget it.”

John finally has the courage to turn around and go, or maybe he lacks the courage to face him and stay, but either way he walks back into the sitting room, prepared to put on his jacket and leave the house for at least two hours. Sherlock jumps up and follows him.

“John! Wait. We never say what we want to say.”

John swirls around, his mouth a thin line of held back emotions. He stands close to the door. Ready to flee. “And what do you wanna say?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there is courage in the one and fear in the other.

“Me too.”

“Sorry?”

“Me too. I see this, too. Us. This life we share.”

John bites the insides of his mouth because his whole skin feels hot with disbelief and wonder and hope, oh god, so much hope that he doesn’t let himself own.

“What?” he asks instead, going for a weak smile, “You don’t see yourself with a wife and children?”

Sherlock huffs a laugh. “No. Weirdly I don’t.”

They smile at each other.

“So ‘posh boy’,” Sherlock says after a while, “is actually about…?”

“Me being an ungrateful moron? Me never saying what I should say before it’s too late? Me trying to get my anger at all of this under control? Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

Sherlock looks down at the spot between his feet. He’s thinking. But not as he usually is, not fast and calculating and mechanical. He’s thinking about the right thing to do. The things he has always wanted to do, but never thought it to be right or appropriate or good for them.

“I can wait for you to figure this out.”

“Wait for me?”

“As long as you need, John. We both agreed, didn’t we? Both of us don’t plan on leaving or getting married and reproduce anytime soon, so.”

“You don’t like waiting,” John points out, but he is already incredibly relieved and impressed by Sherlock’s words.

“No, I don’t. But I like you.”

John doesn’t flee to take an hour-long walk that day. He would never trade a lazy Sunday with Sherlock Holmes, after all. Sherlock continues with his experiment, and John reads. Later they watch telly together and Sherlock yells at the incompetent game show host on BBC One. He said he could wait till John figures this out, whatever this is. But maybe they both don’t have to wait that long. Maybe, just maybe, posh boy could actually love him back.

…to be continued…

@just–elope