remember when we were all like oh my god if there is a time lapse

No, Wait, You Got it All Wrong

You know what there’s not enough of? Canon compliant future fic where Stiles is a cop and he runs into Derek again. What’s that you say? There’s a ton of that?? Yes, true, but NOT ENOUGH.

“…. so then he says, ‘No, Officer, I swear to God this is the first time I’ve ever smoked up! I’ve never been in trouble with the law in my life! And I say, Billy, my man, you’ve been in trouble with me personally twice this month.” Stiles snorts at the memory. “Kid was so fucking high.”

Amanda must be halfway past tipsy, because she laughs uproariously into her beer at the mediocre punchline.

Stiles smiles. He’s satisfied with her reaction, with the warm murmur of the bar, with the buzz he’s got going… with just about everything, actually. After tonight, he’s looking at two full days off before he’s back on the beat, and the night’s still young. He leans back in his chair and takes a pull of his beer, savoring it.

Amanda glances towards the bar, probably considering a fourth round, and then visibly perks up as something near the front catches her eye.

“Oooh, Stiles,” she croons. “Look over at the door, like, just glance over.” She’s adjusted her gaze down at the table now, faking casual disinterest. Badly.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at her.

“This dude just walked in, he’s so your type,” she hisses. “C’mon, look! I’m telling you, six feet two inches of ‘yes, please, give it to me’ muscles, with some salt-and-pepper scruff icing. Unff.”

“Eh,” Stiles says, tipping his weight forward to hunch over the table. It’s not that he isn’t interested, exactly, but this is a cop bar and he doesn’t want to shit where he eats. Metaphorically.

“No, really,” Amanda insists. “He's… oh my God, he’s looking over here. He’s looking at you. Oh my God, Stiles, he’s coming over here!”

“No, he isn’t,” Stiles scoffs. He’s filled out a bit from high school and he’s finally competent at styling his hair, but he’s not that hot. Only Amanda’s sitting straight like a rod, eyes fixed on a point behind him that’s about where a six foot two man’s eyes would be.


He turns then, shooting to his feet before his brain’s quite caught up, because that voice is familiar like the back of his own hand.

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Restless Nights

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Neither of you meant for it to happen, but now Bucky can’t sleep without you, and you can’t sleep without him.

Warnings: fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, third-person, very little plot (just something fun, idk), unedited, more trash writing (but like, trashier than usual because I’m trapped in an angst-ridden hole with my other fics)

A/N: Forgot this was stuck in my drafts. I kinda rushed to finish this because there was one huge section that was incomplete and I didn’t want to leave it untouched for another month. So, here it is. I’ll find another day to edit it. Think of this as a rough copy. It might be choppy. Whoops. This is more like four drabbles put together. 

Word Count: 2,102


WHEN BUCKY’S ATTITUDE necessitated a slap to the wrist, Tony, with all the subtlety of a Times Square billboard, decided to scour the Tri-State Area for the best therapist that the Stark’s money could afford. It was a warning. No words were said out loud, but the message was pretty damn clear: don’t taint the newest member of the team, or the good Stark Avenger name.

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and i’ll ask for the sea

Pairing: Jon Snow x Daenerys Targaryen
Summary: The morning after boatsex. (Can be read as a follow-up to this drabble.) Written for Jonerys Week, Day 5: Smut.
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 6,079 (yikes sorry)

A soft knock on the cabin door roused Jon from a surprisingly restful sleep. He remembered where he was when the weight compressing his chest lightened as Daenerys lifted her head, also awakened by the sound. Even half-asleep, Jon’s battle instincts stirred, honed by too many nights of sleep sacrificed while on watch, wary of an ambush. He shifted underneath her, ready to lunge off the bed for his clothes and a sword that wasn’t there, but he stilled at the touch of her fingers on his shoulder. Stay, they said.

“Come back later,” the queen called to her visitor. Her voice was thick with sleep and honeyed by an easy contentment he’d never heard from her before.

A moment passed, then, “Of course, your grace.”

Missandei. Was that laughter he heard in the Naathi woman’s voice? Jon told himself he was being paranoid. Still, he only relaxed down into the featherbed when it became apparent that Missandei wasn’t going to enter—and that Daenerys had no intention of moving, either.

Without looking at him, she laid her head down on his chest, where it’d been resting all night, apparently. Jon remembered holding her against him, just like this, after they’d lain together. Their light, aimless conversation—for once not fraught with talk of politics and battle strategy and the dead—had waned at some point in the night, and they must have drifted off to sleep. He was warm beneath her, the two of them cocooned in silk sheets and fur.

Actually, he was sweltering. Her bare skin was sticky-hot everywhere it touched his. For Jon, someone used to the frigid nights of the North, he couldn’t recall a single morning during his time on the Night’s Watch where he hadn’t awoken with limbs nearly frozen stiff. Only on the nights he’d curled up with Ghost had he’d been close to this warm, and even then, the direwolf’s body heat didn’t compare to the warmth radiating from Daenerys now.

How hot did the Dragon Queen’s blood run, he wondered.

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The Styles Effect Pt. 2

Part One

Requests Open

Warnings: Cursing, a little smut (teacher Harry), feelings, multiple parts (slowish burn)

Pairing: Reader x Harry(s)


Y/n finds a notification on her phone asking to make a wish.

Little did she think that her wishing all her Harry fanfictions to come to life would actually come true, and the craziness it would bring.

*Y/N = your name *Y/L/N = your last name *Y/F/N = your friend’s name *Y/O/F/N= your other friend’s name

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SUMMARY: Y/N’s totally not in love with her best friend’s brother. Definitely not. (Okay, maybe a little.)

A/N: this is eh??? like idk i literally don’t actually have an opinion on this. hope y’all enjoy, though. tomorrow’s inktober will be posted earlier bc i’ll have people at my house later in the day, so look out for that :)


Y/N was sat at her friend Sofia’s kitchen table as they worked on ideas for decorating the school for gym for the Fall Ball, as they were co presidents of the committee. Occasionally, they would get distracted talking about Halloween costumes or where they could go shopping for dresses for the dance, but they had papers upon papers laid out on the table with sketches, budgets, and lists of items and ideas.

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NOTHING NATURAL by Diana Hurlburt

They call him Prosper, a measure of mockery for each measure of awe.


You know the road to the laboratory blind, could walk it in your sleep—have, because sleepwalking is telltale of the godborn, so your mother says and touches your ankle in rare affection where it rests on the porch rail, one foot on the earth and one in the realm of spirits.

“Spirits,” she repeats, gesturing to the road below, the spindly pine woods and the yellow haze of heat and pollution that makes up your horizon. “He controls the spirits.”

There are no spirits, only neighbors: Men and women and half-made machines given to rust, the detritus of civilization. A plot of bloodless jackdaws, midway between flophouse and refugee camp. You know that part of her statement, at least, is true. The weak and weak-willed, the dying, the once-dead, the discarded and useless, the flagrant all require direction. Seek strength. Are used by those stronger.

Sicaria laughs and makes her crooked cross, murmurs her oblique prayer.

“Get out,” she tells you in sudden rage, “go to your master. Get out of my sight, you unworthy and unclean thing, you who have forsaken the ways of God, you who cleave to the machines. Your eyes see only falsehood.”


It is fifteen years since your mother was cast out. It is your lifetime that has been spent in wasteland, the between-place, the unplace beyond the pale. It is a pine island that shelters you, a fanatic who raises you, a scientist who uses your hands and your back and his daughter who considers your mind.

Your mind. You know you have one. All creatures do, born or made. It is the First Law of Being.

Your name. If Sicaria gave you one it has been lost. It was only after Prosper’s carelessness that anyone else tried—his accident in the lab, though he would never call it that, surely you were at fault, your clumsy hands too broad for fine work and your elbows always in the way. Acid scattered from a flask, droplets caught in sun. You did not scream; it wasn’t the worst pain you had felt. In the washroom Miranda’s hands were gentle, washing, salving. They slowed after the initial motions and your pulse followed. You examine your two faces in the mirror. If you had ever displayed beauty it was gone now, Miranda’s heightened by your face now scarred. Her luminosity beyond the human and your coarseness, a sun and its shadow.

Her hand stayed on your cheek after its necessity had lapsed. She traced the remnants of acid, specks and splotches, long fingers black and velvet like the touch of night. You believe her grasp could shift moons from their orbit.

“Calvaluna,” she said, a cantrip reshaping your vision of yourself. “I read it somewhere—where? I have never read a book. I don’t need to, Father put his knowledge into my head before he activated me. But I hear it.” She tapped her forehead, then yours. “I hear it. It means you. It suits you. Calvaluna.”

It was prettier than you, you knew that, a beautiful name. Prettier than most things. Not prettier than her.


When Prosper leaves the laboratory it is less a retirement for the evening and more retreat. He would never call it that but you believe him fearful, after all. The powerful always are. He swings himself like a cudgel upon exit, he shouts for Miranda to attend him and cuffs you, a passing blow, thoughtless. Brutality is his lever, rarely compassion.

You know his laboratory better than he does, you think, wiping down counters. You know his daughter, made in his own image but ultimately fathomless. There’s a phrase in Sicaria’s Bible that makes you quiver when you apply it to Miranda.

It is full dark when Miranda comes for you. Your laboratory is Prosper’s in miniature, piecemeal and theft-built, squirreled away in a shed in the woods south of the pine island on which the best of the unplace’s hovels are built.

“It was a citrus packing house,” Miranda says as she always does. Touches the frame of the door right and then left, stretches to her full height to brush its top. It’s a ritual the way your mother’s prayers are, her prostrations, her rages. “Before the Laws took effect there was an industry here. Fruit. Citrus fruit.” She looks at you, a delight on her face that would fire the darkness. “Can you imagine it, Calvaluna? Whole stands of trees with fruit on them. Wild fruit, just growing. Imagine taking fruit off a tree and eating it.”

Your imagination is not that good.

She goes to the single table in the laboratory and stands before it in a manner you’ve thought must be like that of the Israelites in the Holy of Holies. You are not supposed to know what that means. You are not supposed to have holiness in your life. She looks at you briefly, with mischief, and draws down the shroud you have used to protect the R.E.L.’s shell from rain.

“I think we’re close,” she says. Her eyes are fascinated, distracted; her hand reaches for you. “Come here, Calvaluna, tell me if this is calibrated properly.”

“You have your father’s knowledge,” you say. But you go and look at the R.E.L. with her. You’re proud of the effort, the work of your joined hands. You are not supposed to have pride, either. There is no pride in being raised beyond the pale. In being the offspring of a hanged woman, a witch they would have called her in days past, a lawbreaker too iconoclastic to be allowed in the city and too ineffectual to be executed, spared for her belly to the tune of mockery. Certainly there is no pride in your form or your face.

“I think he’s almost ready to revive,” Miranda says. Her joy is the only light in these woods. The sun exists, you know, in theory. Miranda’s face is your only evidence thus far, fifteen years alive and far from those spaces left which thrive in natural sunlight. She links her fingers in yours, her thumb rubs the calluses on your palm; she points with your hands to the R.E.L.’s blank and staring eyes, his half-human head, his chest with its missing heart and its new core of wires. “Oh, Calvaluna! I’m nervous. Are you nervous?”

Nervous is not the right word for what you are.


“Calvaluna,” Sicaria repeated the day you told her of Miranda’s gift. She scraped the tip of her ritual knife between her teeth, grinning. “An appropriate name for you, my aborted dream. I should have exposed you as a sacrifice to God.”

There is no god but human will. This is the Second Law of Being.


Your fellow-spirits are all will-bound to Prosper’s caprice. He makes the cogs of the community turn, greases the paths of food and potable water and herbs plucked at the witching hour that make life slightly less… life-like. Thus he is obeyed.

“Daughter,” Sicaria echoes. She spits at the trash heap beside the back gate. “Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Such words I hear from your lips, my burden. Who was it gave you speech, that you fling curses in my face? I think maybe you’re the worse for your time spent in that man’s house. I see you confuse craft for birth.” She broods, her fingers twitching at the strand of beads beneath her wrapper. “But there’s no more to be done. How else are we to live?”

Once, and only once, you suggested that perhaps her god might see to living arrangements, if she did not like how you were turning out under Prosper’s tutelage.

“Go.” She waves to the wood path. “I heard tell there was meat today.”

If there was meat to be had, you suspect it’s long gone now. Your fellow-spirits are avaricious. What have they but base pleasures?

“He’s in a gloom,” Miranda says, her face round and open as a poinciana pod. “He’s made me clean the laboratory twice over, and asked me to cook… something. I didn’t recognize it, Calvaluna. Lentil soup? What is a lentil, do you know?”

You know of lentils.

“You can’t make lentil soup,” you tell her. “He shouldn’t ask you to do things he knows are impossible.”

“He believes anything is possible,” she says. You love and hate to see her countenance. You remember a time when she would have spoken the same words in hope and affection. You know it is your fault, the way she is changing, her will a canker on the face of beauty. You wonder what Prosper will do when he realizes it. You ponder in the night, sometimes, this scholar whose eyes perceive all but the truth.

Perhaps you will be gone before he awakens.

“Race me,” Miranda says, but she takes your hand.

“How am I to race if you keep me beside you?”

“A race doesn’t have to have a winner,” she says, and begins to run.

She times these things impeccably. She runs so that you can almost believe the light follows her footsteps, that she leaves no mark on the earth. Dusk springs up behind you. You prefer night, its honesty; you prefer the real dark that would cover most of your world if not for artificial day. The unplace is a hive of night creatures. Your fellow-spirits are easiest perceived in dimness, their proclivities hidden and their countenances smoothed.

Miranda keeps your hand in hers and runs, runs, fearless and laughing. She runs like a dart flung toward the center of the south woods, the pine cloven by lightning looming over your laboratory. The pine grows despite the wound at its heart. It is where you found the R.E.L.—one of Prosper’s cast-offs, what he termed a failed experiment—half-dead and crumbling piecemeal to rust in dank rainfall.

She drops to the base of the pine and pulls you down and points up.

“I know of stars,” she says, her eyes searching as though Heaven might reveal itself. “The Southern Cross, the Swan. The Pleiades. Many more names my father gave me.” She touches her forehead, as she does when she speaks of Prosper’s knowledge, planted in her like seed corn. She is godborn more surely than you can ever be, gleaming divinity. She touches your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I think they must look like you. The stars beyond our sky.”

She traces the scars and specks and splotches. She draws new constellations and names them, her fingers a warm trail on your skin, her breath a promise.


Just once you asked your mother if you would ever leave the unplace. You did not then understand that no one came to the salt-strewn plots of land on the city’s outskirts by choice—no one laid eyes on the pine island and thought, I am home. It is far more difficult to leave a place you have not happened upon by choice.

“He’ll be a protector,” you say, pliers in one hand and cording in the other. “His new code will require defense. Otherwise…”

You look at Miranda and think of what might happen to her if the R.E.L.’s defensive code does not run as planned. You picture yourself and remember Sicaria’s dark jibes, her reminiscences of city life. You rub your upper arm where the contraceptive block had been implanted. It only prevents some things, can halt neither the heady mix of desire and aspiration nor flat violence.

“Defense,” Miranda says, her face solemn in its thinking pose, unaware of your thoughts. “Defense, financials, new birth records and identification…”

Her voice skips along, almost merry, a fertile stream in which to seed possibility.


The Third Law of Being is the inviolability of life. No one has ever explained to you whether the Law covers all life.


Light explodes behind your eyes when Prosper’s hand meets your skull. Or, you realize a little belatedly, it is the fault of the lab table, the edge of it kissing your temple. Air rushes from your lungs. You stare at the vault above the shed in the woods, its ceiling gaping in sections to reveal leaves, the white sky of noon.

Miranda flies at him, her face dressed in horror. You have never kissed her, you think. You would prefer not to die unkissed; you’d prefer not to die at all.

“Ungrateful wretch,” Prosper says. “Twisted ape-child, spawn of—how thought you?” He smashes his hand across the table. “How thought you to betray my kindness? To turn my own blood against me?” He lifts one of the R.E.L.’s arms, almost delicately. “Whore and daughter of whores. Thief.”

Small comfort to think his rage stems from fear, but it’s enough. Prosper would not be angry if he didn’t believe the R.E.L. was sound.

“You.” He points to Sicaria in the doorway. One of your fellow-spirits has fetched her at his command and she is in a state, white-eyed and gagging on anger. “Take your mooncalf in hand, I never want to see her again. Corruptor.”

He catches Miranda and snares her arms, wrenches her close, covers her head with his hands as though she is innocent. As though healing and reviving the R.E.L. were not her idea. As though a child can be born of only one parent. The R.E.L. is your inheritance, legacy of unnatural issue, a being greater than the sum of its creators.

“This abomination will be destroyed,” Prosper says. Sicaria prays in the doorway, her eyes not on you nor on the R.E.L. but searching, seeking. She hates the sight of machines. Had the city not cast her out for improper worship she would have repudiated them anyway.

“He is an R.E.L.,” Miranda says. You stare despite the throb in your head, the blood in your eyes. Her voice remains soft, wondering, a caress on the cyborg’s clinical name. Aerial, a creature of movement and possibility. “Robotically Enhanced Lifeform. Give him his name, Father, lend some pity, even if you thought nothing of flinging him into the trash when he failed to serve you.”

“Abomination,” he repeats. “Homunculus, deformity—daughter. Listen. Calvaluna has done wrong in her ignorance but you… you are not ignorant, Miranda.”

You marvel at the blindness of the learned man, the man cast out for his learned ways, the man who has made the wilderness blossom in decay. Lord of chaos, king of the misruled.

“God be with me in this hour,” Sicaria prays, her hands on either side of the doorframe. “God be with me in my pain, God give me strength for the task before me, God grant me…”

Me, you mouth. God be with Sicaria, and science with Prosper, and neither passionate belief nor dispassionate prowess sustain them. Miranda looks at you from beneath her father’s hands. Her smile is your signpost, her trust your life raft. Your fellow-spirits are like unto you only in substance: Crude matter, blunt usefulness. Miranda is your true equal, beloved of your soul. Her eyes remain open.

Your eyes must remain open. You must get up. There are but two steps between you and the table, one step in the scientific process, a bare nudge of your fingers at the master switch. Miranda’s being is in your hands.

On the table, the R.E.L. casts off slumber and rattles to life.

Waiting (Part Eight)

So this was supposed to be our last chapter. But as I was reading it this morning and doing some light editing before posting, things got a little out of control and I ended up rewriting it all and… well just read it. This fic definitely needs at least one more chapter. Hopefully you guys like where I took it.


Enjoy :)



Tony was curled up on the couch, holding one of Steve’s hoodies tight, looking stressed out even while sleeping, his brow furrowed with worry, bags under his eyes from too many late nights and not enough rest. The TV was still lit, some crap infomercial playing because it was pushing three am and nothing else was on. There were several water bottles scattered around, but no food and Steve could have cried because he knew that meant Tony hadn’t been eating.

“Oh Tony.” Steve’s heart broke a little and he set his bags down carefully so he wouldn’t wake him. “I’m so sorry this has been so hard on you.”

“This him?” Bucky’s voice behind him was low and soft and Steve nodded, rubbing over his soulmark anxiously.

“This is him. Tony. My soulmate.”

“He a better kisser than me?” Bucky peered down at Tony, his lips twitching in a smile at the rumpled hair and worn pajamas. “You know I gotta ask, Stevie. What did I say all those years ago?”

“I remember. He’s a better kisser than you. So much better.” Steve murmured, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “He’s everything you always told me I would find.” He took a deep breath as he brushed a lock of hair off Tony’s forehead, still trying to wrap his head around Bucky.

It was so amazing to have his best friend back again, standing next to him after all these years.

It hadn’t been easy, finding Bucky. It had been even harder to talk through all that brainwashing and conditioning to find Bucky under the Winter Soldier. But they had finally broken through and Bucky had cried the first time he looked up at Steve and recognized him for real.

Steve had cried when Bucky had grabbed him in a hug and sobbed Stevie into his chest over and over.

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do you remember?

Summary: It’s the night before their wedding. Izuku and Shouto did a little throwback. 

Tags: Dating, Dates Gone Wrong, Fluff, Pure fluff, Late night talk, wedding, big day, proposal

Note: This is to make up for yesterday angst. A prequel to Shoe Game@tododeku-week Day 6 | memories | quote


‘Do you remember our first date?’ Izuku’s soft murmur broke the silence of the night.

Shouto, who was starting to drift off to sleep at the lull of the conversation, blushed crimson on reflex. He always blushed whenever Izuku mentioned dates.

'The official one or the first first one?’ He asked. Because Uraraka and Tsuyu had told them first thing when they started dating for real that it felt like they had been dating for ages, with how many times they did things with just the two of them.

'The official one,’ Izuku replied fondly. It was too dark to see but Shouto was certain Izuku was smiling softly.

'Yeah. Why?’ He answered. Looks like he was not going to sleep early tonight.

'Do you remember the movie we watched?’

'Yes, yes I do.’ It was a special outdoor showing of Jaws. Widescreen on the bank of a lake at the dark of the night. They were taken out to the middle of the lake on a rickety old wooden boat to enjoy the movie. The movie was old, 19070s old, but it was surprisingly engaging. Izuku languidly dipped his arm elbow deep into the lake, not really watching the movie, but watching Shouto watch the movie. His left arm, which was thankfully dry, made an excellent head rest for Shouto.

That would have been a perfect night out if it had been a normal, innocent show.

As it was, there were people swimming around, grabbing arms and legs and scaring people out of their wits as the climax hit.

Shouto didn’t know about that. Neither did Izuku.

When the scene with the shark dragging itself up the half-submerged boat rolled around, Izuku let loose a terrified scream. Shouto, already on edge, was startled enough to set himself on fire and burn the wooden plank underneath him.

Izuku jumped onto him and clutched at his neck, face bleached white in fear.

Their combined weight on one side of the boat sent them both toppling over into the dark water.

'You climbed onto my head and refused to climb down while I swam us back to shore.’ Shouto deadpanned, looking at the luminous stars and galaxy painted on the ceiling. Luckily it was a warm night so he had hardly any difficulty guiding himself and Izuku the deadweight to the shore.

Izuku sputtered near his head, rustling about in the blanket.

'I did not!’ He protested indignantly.

'And you were convinced that there were sharks. In a sealed off fresh water lake. One hundred kilometre inland.’

'There are fresh water sharks!’

'Not native to Japan.’

Izuku huffed in annoyance as he had no comeback for that.

'Well, at least I don’t fall asleep in an IKEA wardrobe.’ He steered the conversation in a completely different direction. Shouto didn’t need to turn around to see how madly Izuku’s eyes were twinkling.

They had agreed to never talk about that again.

‘We had an agreement.’ Shouto reminded, a bit peeved but mostly embarrassed.

There was a reason why they never mentioned that.

Dripping wet and soaked to the bones, they left the movie unfinished to hunt for new clothes. The nearest store they could get clothes from was a thrift shop, which had them some rather interesting choices.

Within five minutes, Shouto picked a white polo shirt and a pair of surprisingly comfortable black jeans. Not much different from his initial clothes.

Izuku, on the other hand…

His eyes literally lit up when Shouto drove them into the parking lot of the shop and he was out before Shouto even released his own seatbelt. It took him nearly ten minutes to locate Izuku, standing in front of a bookshelf, head bent a 90 degree to look at the title on the back of the books. Water made a pool at his feet. He looked so much like a downed rat, hair plastered to his head, clothes stuck onto his lean muscular frame. Shouto was probably not much better but it was so endearing to see Izuku like this. He had to physically drag Izuku away from the books to search for clothes.

(He made a mental note to have one of the biggest bookshelves and most comfortable reading nooks installed when they moved into a bigger apartment. If his room was smaller because of that, then so be it; as long as he could see Izuku’s dopey smile all the time, any sacrifice was worth it.)

Izuku was too distracted to pick his own clothes so Shouto had to do it. And he did it well. Izuku offered no objection whatsoever, still too distracted, so Shouto believed it was a job well-done.

His boyfriend only paid attention to what he was wearing when they were driving away from the thrift shop.

‘Shouto, what am I wearing? Why am I wearing All Might merch? Oh my god I’m not 10 anymore! Wait, why are we at IKEA? What are we doing at IKEA?’ His voice was an octave higher than it had been in the beginning, face flushing crimson.

‘I am hungry.’ I want to check out the bookshelves.

‘We can eat somewhere else,’ Izuku nearly begged.

‘They’re too far,’ Shouto said. ‘I’ll be quick.’

‘Can I just stay in the car?’ Izuku changed tactic when begging didn’t work.

Shouto merely shook his head.

He didn’t understand. They wore each other’s merch all the time. An All Might hood T-shirt and matching pants were not as outrageous as Izuku made them to be. And how could his boyfriend not see how cute he was in those? The yellow things sticking out from the hood would be absolutely adorable if Izuku decided to pull the hood up.

‘I have an image to uphold!’ Izuku whispered into his ears scandalously, trying in vain to hide behind Shouto as they walked to the restaurant section of IKEA.

‘There are few people around. They won’t pay attention,’ He said while prying Izuku’s hand away from his shirt so he could take it in his own hand. ‘You look cute in them.’

Shouto would never get bored of watching Izuku’s face flame up. So, he pushed the hood over Izuku’s face and pressed a soft kiss on his covered head. Izuku’s hand felt hot in his hold but he didn’t try to push the hood down so Shouto took that as a win.

He left Izuku alone for a few minutes at the restaurant with the pretense of looking for doormat since theirs showed wear of time while in reality, he meandered over to the bookshelf section.

Then he got distracted and lost track of time.

He found an interesting wardrobe. Wooden, tall, mystical. Kind of like the one in Narnia movie.

The inside was equally Narnia-inspired with demo woollen sweeping-the-floor coats and off white fluffy carpet. It was also big enough for him to sit comfortably. A little bit too comfy as he felt his eyes start to droop and he lost the fight against sleep.

When he woke up again, it was to Izuku’s half-panic, half-dying-of-laughter face.

‘I almost called for a hero agency before I realised I was a hero. And I did a spy move to get away from the security guy while running around searching for you. We actually spent a night in IKEA. I was having a panic attack and you were sleeping away in a wardrobe!’ Izuku howled uncontrollaby, shaking so badly the bed shook with him.

Shouto endured the embarrassment as Izuku laughed himself to a coughing fit. He half-heartedly pounded on Izuku’s back to ease it.

‘I will not mention Jaws night again if you never bring up IKEA wardrobe in the future,’ Shouto bargained.

‘Deal,’ Izuku agreed easily, shaking his hand once before going back to giggling.

What a load of dung. They both knew they would bring those up again at any given chance.  

They lapsed back into silence, broken only by Izuku’s intermittent snorts. The luminous stars on the ceiling shone brightly, almost heavenly in the absolute darkness of their room.

‘Do you remember the time we danced in the rain?’ Izuku gently snuggled up to his side, whispering into his ear.  

‘Of course.’ How could he not? It was the first time he ever felt so alive. He hadn’t smiled and laughed so much since ever.

A visit to cat island. Sun shower. Before Shouto could run to the eaves of a nearby house, Izuku yanked at their joined hand and swung him around.

It was not much of a dance since they were just doing whatever moves they felt like doing. Moonwalk, robot, tap-dancing, arm-waving. At one point, they held hands and swung themselves in circles, until they both could not stand up straight. Izuku straight up lay flat back on the middle of the road. Shouto leant onto the lamp pole a tad too far.

Luckily for them, there was no one watching, only a band of ten or so cats all huddling together on the porch of a house, eyeing them attentively.

Which somehow reminded him of something completely unrelated.

‘Do you remember when you proposed?’ Shouto turned the silver band on his left hand around.

‘How can I forget?’ Izuku chuckled. ‘Our moms are our best fans.’

‘Your mom said, what, ‘there are two beautiful engagement rings in your bedroom, Izuku. Do you mind if I show them to Shouto?’’

‘Exactly that. And I almost choked to death.’ Izuku laughed. ‘I bet your mom planned that too. She kept eyeing my mom with a smile throughout dinner.’

‘You went so red that a ripe tomato cannot be any redder.’ Shouto recalled fondly.

‘As if you were any better.’ Izuku placed his head on his chest to stick his tongue out at him.

‘You popped the question right then and there.’

‘And you said yes.’ Izuku dragged his arm across Shouto’s chest to stare at the ring on his left hand. Shouto pulled his arm out from under the blanket and placed his left hand next to Izuku’s. ‘Best day of my life.’ Izuku intertwined their fingers and kissed them gently.

Shouto ran his right hand through Izuku’s fluffy hair rhythmically. He felt Izuku’s breath deepened.

‘We should sleep. There’s a big day ahead of us.’

‘Uhm, good night Shouto. I love you.’

‘Good night Izuku. I love you too.’

English Please- Olli Maatta

Originally posted by book23worm

Alright I don’t feel well and am not in a good mood so short intro today. Enjoy!

Warning: like one cuss word

Anon Request: Im so amazed at how you have time to write so much and how quickly requests come up I love you?!! Anyway when you have time could you be able to write one with olli maatta where he gets nervous over something and just starts rambling in Finnish and you don’t understand anything?? thanks once more for writing us everything ❤️❤️


              Your boyfriend was driving you crazy all day.

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wishful thinking

“So now I need someone to write a Wayhaught Uber AU. Say, Nicole picks up Waves who just broke up with her meathead boyfriend and spends the night cheering her up.”

@jaybear1701 asks, and I have to deliver. Here you go, buddy!

Nicole had never been the type to be made uncomfortable by a lapse in conversation. But there seemed to be something about the girl currently sitting in her backseat that had her itching to open up and start babbling.

It’s just the hour, she told herself, glancing compulsively at the time displayed on her radio. Already well past eleven with at least another hour before she could collapse face-first into her bed.

She should’ve called it a night after the last ride. She had an alarm set for 5:30, after all. But there was still that pesky stack of bills currently sitting on her kitchen table, only a few of which she even had the cash to pay for.

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Fic: make short the miles between

@pomrania submitted to obianidalasuggestion: Long-distance fluff prompt

It’s rare for all three of them to be able to get together, so when only two of them are together, they make sure to share and describe, with the third, all the fluffy comforting bonding activities they did. Think “dirty talk”, but without the smut.

“You should have seen how his eyes lit up when he saw the cake.”

“Her hair is so soft, I wish you were here to braid it with me.”

“He made an adorable little purring noise as I wrapped the blanket around him.”

What a fluffly prompt!  The ficlet might have wandered away from the original idea a bit but I hope you still enjoy.  


All her attendants and aides have left for the day when the Jedi master comes.  For that if nothing else Padme is grateful, even as weariness hounds her, the buzzing of all that is yet undone and all she must do rattling around in the back of her skull and pressing down upon her shoulders.  

Obi-wan’s robes are scorched.  They stare at each other across the apartment.  

“General Kenobi,” she says warily.  

He cocks his head, reaching out for something she cannot see.  “Padme,” he replies.  

No bugs.  Her posture sags with relief, and when she opens her arms Obi-wan falls into them wordlessly.  

There’s no heat in their embrace or the exhausted kiss they give each other before practically falling onto the couch - her comfy one, not the brocade monstrosity in the formal receiving room.  His head rests on her shoulder as she holds him, the smell of char and ozone filling her nose and mingling with the scent of ink, recycled air, and day old perfume.  

“How is he?” she finally asks.  

Obi-wan’s voice is muffled by the soft fibers of her house robe.  “Tired,” he says honestly.  “Angry.  Brilliant, as always, despite everything.”  Quietly, after a moment, “Sorry that he can’t make it back here with me.”  

I’m sorry too, he doesn’t say.  Padme smooths back his hair from his face, frowns at a smudge across his forehead, licks her thumb and tries to rub it away.  Obi-wan bats it away with a snort.  “Not you too,” he grumbles, startling a laugh out of her.  

“I picked it up from him!”  

Obi-wan gives her a wry look.  “Really.  Because he says the same about you.”  He shakes his head, mutters something suspiciously like “…deserve each other.”  

The thought of it - Ani leaning down over their third, fussing over him like a mother nexu - makes her dissolve into hysteric giggles which may or may not be born from lack of sleep.  “If I taught him anything about personal grooming it’s a boon to all three of us,” she finally retorts, though there’s no sting in it.  “You’ve been a terrible influence.”  

“I beg pardon?”  

“Don’t act like you’ve forgotten that haircut, Obi-wan.”  

“It was a perfectly acceptable styling choice!”  

They lapse into silence, disturbed only by the humming of the temperature generator.  “Tell me about him,” she finally says.  “Just- anything, anything at all.”

He hums for a moment, breath tickling her collarbone.  “His hair is longer now - he uses the hair tie he stole from you to pull it back.  Sometimes when I comb it out for him he’ll fall asleep with his head in my lap.”  

“Is it the blue hair tie, with little golden bells on it?”  

“Yes, that one - he’s very fond of it, probably trying to figure out where to buy more of them for your lifeday, knowing him.”  

She chuckles.  “He’s always been so odd about taking things and then trying to figure out how to replace them.  Did I ever tell you about the time I found him puzzling over our bed spread, because he had stolen your blanket and accidentally destroyed it with engine grease.”  

Obi-wan sat up.  “Is that where my blanket went?” he sputtered.  


“Please don’t tell me the new ones that mysteriously appeared in my room was yours.”  

“It…may have been a spare?”  

“Anakin,” he groaned, as if the man in question could hear his exasperation from the other side of the galaxy.  

Do not laugh, Amidala, she told herself severely, do not.  “If…it makes you feel any better, I think the arrangement pleased him in a strange, round about way.”  

“What, that we were all under the same covers if not at the same time,” Obi-wan said flatly.  Paused.  “Oh Force, that’s probably exactly what he was thinking.  Padme stop laughing.”

“I can’t help it, your face,” she gasped, mirthful.    

Obi-wan buried aforementioned face into his hands.  “Why is our husband so weird,” he moaned.  

Padme grinned.  “Do you remember the time we all went out to eat and he frazzled the server by insisting on serving the food to us himself.”  

“And the way his face lit up when we just ended up dismissing the poor boy and ended up all serving each other,” Obi-wan added wistfully.  

She giggled.  “He does have a weakness for being taken care of.”  

“Doted on,” Obi-wan said with resignation.  “Like a lothcat.  Or how about the time he was ordered on medical rest and ended up making a nest of blankets in the Resolute’s common area.”  

“He did not tell me about this.”  

“Oh, it was a thing of beauty by the end of the day,” Obi-wan conceded.  “Five mattresses, sixteen pillows, and ten napping troopers and a padawan later Kix ordered it disbanded.  Something about Anakin doing debriefs and resting only on a technicality.”  

“Oh gods.  That poor man.”  

Obi-wan looked over at her in askance.  “Who, Anakin or Kix?”  

“Yes,” she said firmly, bringing them both into another fit of slightly hysterical laughter.    

“What about the time you surprised him with Alderaanian foam cakes and he thought it was soap?”  

“Better than that time you took him out for Mon Calamari cuisine and he ended up being allergic!”  

“Oh Force, I’d almost forgotten about that one.”  

The mood in the room was tangibly lighter now - a safe haven, worries and strategy and the body politic all forgotten outside of this moment.  Tomorrow, there would be the Senate, the war, and the secrecy that dodged their heels, love and devotion tucked deeply away behind what duty required of them.  

For now though in this place of safety the two of them leaned into each other and reminisced, the memory of their absent third filling the space between them, the object of their mutual affections.  

Please tell me we didn’t have sex last night (2/4)

You can read the first part hereThank you so much for all of your likes/comments/reblogs, it really means a lot x

Abby doesn’t know how long she’s been hunched over the toilet bowl, but after what feels a lifetime, her stomach is finally starting to settle down. After taking several deep breaths, she slowly releases her death grip on the bowl before settling down on her bum. Letting out a miserable groan, Abby resolutely tries to ignore the fact that Marcus is still crouching next to her on the ground. He has stopped stroking her back, but he’s still sitting rather close.    

“Do you want me to get you something?”, Marcus asks softly, breaking the awkward silence that had descended over them.

Abby weakly shakes her head, “No, I think I’m-”, she starts to reply, but another wave of nausea hits her and she’s doubled over the toilet bowl once more. 

Marcus quickly gathers her hair again, but fortunately this time her nausea only lasts for a couple of seconds. As Abby leans back, she gratefully accepts the piece of toilet paper he offers her before wiping her mouth with it.

“Ugh. I’m sorry you had to see this”, she murmurs, feeling her cheeks flush from embarrassment.

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Fairy Tail Chapter 534

I had a feeling that the chapter was coming out and gosh did this chapter deliver from last time. After the sadness of the last chapter, this one gave me new hope while also crushing some of it.

Let’s get into this review, Jellal out there fighting Acnologia, which is a bad idea considering he didn’t do any damage at all before

I like Jellal’s magic because it’s interesting. It zig zags like a meteor, plus he’s flying.

See this is what I was talking about, Acnologia’s just going to eat the magic and then fire it back, I’m surprised he hasn’t blasted them yet.

Oh shit, is Jellal ok, that blast was crazy (poor blue Pegasus they got tossed, lol everyone’s wearing uniforms, guilds sure are different)

That’s fucking crazy, he split the OCEAN in two!! Man Jellal, I think Acnologia’s just playing around with you, he could kill you easily.

Poor Anna, I don’t know how she’s opening them, I guess she’s using celestial magic?

Ha lol, I wonder who it is. Fuck you Zeref.

Oh my god, can someone do something like Lucy we need you.

Woow Zeref, at least you still got your sense of humor, what if someone ran in right now, would they go back in time or would that not work?

He’s still a jerk but he’s saying some nice things. Wait if he’s going to keep his memories then when he becomes human, he’s going to have to remember all the people he’s hurt, I feel that his emotions will come back and he’ll start to hate himself again.

Oh shit what the hell, dang it I thought they would fade when he died but popping makes sense too.

WOW I CALLED IT!! I knew her writing skills would come in handy, and where did she get that pen, does she just carry it around with her?!? She’s matching Levi’s skill, maybe even better. Another reminder that Lucy is very smart.

Maybe they can shove Acnologia inside? It’s connected to the past now so they wouldn’t be able to use it anyway unless they send him to the past? That would be stupid though.

Like what do you mean as soon as he sees that? In the last panel he already saw it? SHIT Jellal don’t you dare try sacrificing yourself we already had too much of that in this arc

Bitch NO!!!!

OH Shit!!!!!Yeah Zeref he looks shocked bet you didn’t see that coming,

Shit round 2, Natus’s not only referring to gramps but also to himself (since he is now not dying)

Woah what the fuck!!!?! What’s wrong with Lucy? That letter is glowing, were they all glowing when she rewrote them or is that one special?!? Man I wish I knew what that means.

The next chapter is The Strongest Power and so many thing could happen, Natsu and Zeref could take this fight to the past, Jellal could shove Acnologia in the Time Lapse, Lucy is connected to Natsu somehow. Is this what Mavis was thinking!?! The strongest power, in Fairy Tail it’s always friendship. And on the panel it says where in the world will Natsu and Lucy’s friendship take them!?! Not sure but can we see some of Natsu’s memories please or a Nalu moment!!!

ShanceFluffWeek Day 7: Past/Future

Lance didn’t mind that his reincarnated soulmate was a bit older then him. It was often known that not all soulmates were reincarnated equal, and when the time came that you did find them- younger or older- to go about it at a normal pace.

Shiro was an adult. 35 years old compared to Lance’s exuberant 21, but that didn’t really bother him. Shiro was a smart, and kind, and passionate, and dashingly handsome and even shy. Do you not know how cute it is to see a man 14 years your age blush and stutter because you held their hand? Lance did. He knew how cute it was.

Sometimes he would remember their old lives. How Shiro would whisper sweet nothings in his ear and hold his hand as they played in the waves of the sea. Their past lives were nice. Carefree.

He missed those times.

Not to say he didn’t enjoy his now life too. He and Shiro to it sweetly slow even though their bodies knew each others touch by heart. Even if- they looked at each other like they were the only ones in the room. Though Lance kind of figured that’s how all soulmates felt unless they were platonic.

Sometimes he fel-

<p>He’s gently nudged out his thoughts by hands grabbing his. Shiro looks so soft and small despite how big he is and it makes Lance’s heart twist up something fond.

“You looked a little spaced out,” he says running his thumbs over the knuckles of Lance’s artist hands. “Remember something?”

Lance hums. “Not really I was just thinking- reminiscing of the other us”

Shiro’s lips quirked in a smile. “Remember Woodstock?”

“Oh my god! Like hell I don’t! Remember when we got so high we stripped make and went streaking!?” Lance said cackling and Shiro grimaced though the smile never left his face.

“Fuck, don’t remind me, and if I recall it was your idea”

“Oh yeah, but who’s idea was it to take LSD at the Jimi Hendrix concert and get wiggety whacked” Lance teased and Shiro groaned, cheeks flaming red with embarrassment as he covered his face. Lance cooed and glomped his soulmate, nuzzling into his neck.

“We were wild back then, what happened? Were all old now”

“We,” Shiro said peeking through his fingers, “Are not old. I’m old. Your young. And pretty. And could do all those things”

<“Your not old, Shiro” Lance said, expression softening. “And what’s the point of doing all those things if it isn’t with you?”

Shiro squirmed and wrapped his arms around Lance’s midsection and huffed. “If I remember correctly, this was exactly how we got together. You wooing me with your words”

“And you wooed me with your sappy nature and good looks so huusshhh” he said running his fingers through the silver patch in Shiro’s inky black hair. Shiro laid there comfortably and squeezed Lance tighter. He didn’t want to let Lance go. He never wanted to let Lance go.

They lapsed in a soft comfortable silence. Just basking in each others presence before Shiro spoke up. Voice low and husky in Lance’s ear.

“We could do it”

“Woah there tiger, we haven’t exactly disc-”

“What!? No you idiot,” Shiro said fondly exasperated. “We could do it” he repeated again and Lance frowned.

“Do what then? Since your not talking about butt stuff”

“Travel. See the world and do whatever we wanted. We can be like those little hipster blogs on tumblr you love so much. Happy, free, doing whatever we wanted. I’m successful in this life with enough money to throw around and I don’t really care what we do as long as its with you” he said earnestly and Lance blinked down at his soulmate in awe.

“I seriously love you dude”

“Did you just-”

“But yeah” Lance said excitedly cutting him off. “Let’s do it- let’s travel. We literally have eternity! Like- even if we die or grow old together out souls are always gonna find away to be together again. Just like Woodstock!” He said sitting up and running to their closet.

“Wait- what are you doing???”

“Packing you nard! You go do stuff like book plane tickets or set up a bucket list”

“But what about our house??”

“Who cares about the house Shiro, were gonna be us-do us again. Let’s just do whatever the fuck we want together until we either grow old or die. We literally have forever together!!!!

And oh. Oh, shit, jeez he’s right. Shiro knows he right. Hell, he even said it himself but just seeing and hearing Lance so excited makes him happy. Like more then Happy. Shiro thinks he might die from how hard his heart his beating for Lance.</p>

He’s picking up his phone and going to a travel website before he can even comprehend and he pauses- turns to his soulmate who’s shoving too many facial products in one suitcase alone and smiles.

“Where are we going?”

“Huh?” Lance says distractedly and Shiro throws a blue kitty house slipper at him. It bounces off his head and Lance turns to give him the stink eye. Shiro smiles wider.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Brazil” he says off bat, and then a pause, “Wait, no, Scotland”


“Yeah, Scotland’s beautiful. And then Japan, and then Cuba, but like Brazil too, and..”

He’s rambling. Motor mouth flying and mile a minute and Shiro walks over and cuts him off with a too wet kiss that has both of them giggling breathlessly.

“All of those. I told you we can go wherever, do whatever, as long as I’m with you I don’t care. You wanna go to all of those places then fine, just pack for the appropriate weather there”

“We really- we’re gonna-, Just like Woodstock?” Lance asks with wide shining blue eyes and Shiro nods.

“Just like Woodstock”

*hopefully tumblr will stop being an asshole and post my shit right*


Soft Shock

written by: Annie | @clarkescrusade

prompt: “Can I please have a college/uni au of this: “my best friend just called me to ask what color he should wear to prom and I was like “um?? idk??” and he was goes “well we have to match, so like what color is ur dress??” but he never asked me to go so I was kinda confused so I told him “hey, yeah since when are we going to prom?” and the line goes silent for a bit and he very quietly whispers “shit. I forgot to ask u” ” by @vangohing 

word count: 3197

If Clarke was smarter she probably would have noticed with the first text.


You like these flowers?

Clarke stared at the blurry picture of the corsage with confusion on and off the whole day, unsure what it meant. The entirety of her fifteen minute break at the art supplies store was spent wondering not only for what purpose Bellamy could possibly need a corsage, but also why he needed her opinion on it.

“What does this mean,” she asked Raven, as soon as she entered the swinging door of the break room. Clarke held her arm straight out, the phone grasped tightly in her palm.

Raven snorted after grazing her eyes over the message. She moved to the beaten down fridge and grabbed out a Coke, popping the top and taking a long drink before responding, “You expect me to decipher your and Blake’s neverending shit storm of a relationship? I’m a genius, but not even I can do that.”

“You’re useless.”

“No,” Raven replied. “Worrying about that text is useless. It’s probably nothing.”

The weekend passed quickly and silently, and Clarke tucked away the weird message without much more of a thought, or at least she tried her hardest to. She responded with a simple ‘looks nice’ and hoped that did the trick. The thumbs up emoji he sent in response did nothing to help her confusion.

Keep reading

Guardian Angel - Part 3 - Jimin angst

Originally posted by sugaglos

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6


Jimin yawned, barely stifling the noise with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around yours. You were still lying in your bed, stuck somewhere between a dream and the harsh reality of consciousness. For hours, Jimin had sat there, his legs long having gone numb, but he couldn’t bare to part with you for even a few moments as he adjusted himself. He figured he could sit on your bed next to you, but he feared that he might fall asleep, and lose sight of you again. He’d had enough of that.

“Poor kid,” Namjoon muttered, adjusting his jeans so they weren’t as uncomfortable when he sat. He was gazing down at the scene before him, of his young friend and his companion that he never got to appreciate. “Do you think the usual will happen?”

“Dunno.” Yoongi said, lying on his front on the edge of the rooftop. His two limbs dangled lazily, precariously, off the edge of the building, blinking at the light from Y/N’s room.

“I hope not. Maybe the Ancients should stop punishing people for making simple mistakes. We’re not human but we used to be; it’s in our nature to fuck up sometimes.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“Jimin doesn’t deserve to suffer like this and it’s not like Y/N’s done anything wrong, I mean-”

“Uh huh.”

“-Since Jimin was sent down here I’ve been checking in - without his knowledge of course - just to see how his progress was going and I focused on Y/N too -”

“Of course, yeah.”

“-And she’s a genuinely good person. Have you ever seen someone so dedicated to save the bees? I mean, look at her balcony garden! A metropolis for them!”

He gestured down into the random flower pots, bursting with the bright colours of fuchsia, golden tones, splashes of green.

“Wow,” Yoongi commented, brows raised slightly as he took in the sight of Y/N’s explosive garden. “We need to take notes, the Garden upstairs is looking a bit drab recently.”

“Right? And in any case-”

“Are those wildflowers or…?”

“I think they’re wildflowers, yeah. They look too unplanned to be anything else. Obviously I’m not the plant expert but, uh-”

“I might take some seeds up for Hobi, he’d love them.”

“Yoongi we were talking about Y/N.”

“Oh, no, yeah, of course, sorry, carry on.”

Shaking his head softly, Namjoon fell silent, still staring at the scene in front of him. Jimin had finally moved from what looked like an uncomfortable position to lying down on your bed next to you, and he tenderly wrapped an arm securely around your middle. Namjoon’s heart shattered into pieces at the gesture of adoration Jimin showed you, and it was further crushed into pieces when he remembered what was going to happen to you. He loved Jimin like a brother and to see him go through such pain was almost too much for the angel.

“Where is Jin?” Yoongi asked.

“Showering for his date, why?”

“Does that not bother you? That your charge is seeing another man?”

“Not as much,” Namjoon said, kicking his legs out slightly, watching the skyline of the city. “He’ll realise soon enough. I can wait for him.”

“Man. Sounds shit. I’m glad Hobi realised immediately we were made for each other.”

Feeling a twinge of annoyance, Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“Yeah; unfortunate that he died the next moment, then, isn’t it?”

“Not cool, man. Not cool.”

They lapsed into silence again, Namjoon staring at the young angel lying on your bed with you wrapped closely into his chest, ignoring the dried tear tracks running down his face.

“Jimin?” you whispered, dawn creeping gradually across your face through the curtains that you had failed to shut last night. The man’s arm was heavy across your upper torso and he was incredibly hot, his body heat making you start to sweat. “Wake up.”

You nudged him slightly, but that only made him whine gently in his sleep, bringing you closer and nuzzling into your neck. Immediately, as always, your heart beat started to race and a blush spread up your neck and across your face. Catching your breath momentarily, you thanked your rarely lucky stars that the boy was unconscious and didn’t notice your sudden embarrassment at the physical contact.

He never seemed to notice your infatuation anyway.

“Jimin,” you tried again, throat completely parched and burning. “Wake up!” you nudged him again, slightly harder, and this time his eyelids fluttered and he groaned, low and deep in his throat.

“What?” he muttered, his free hand coming up and rubbing his eyes. He blinked, looking around the room and his eyes blearily roamed over your face before they shot open and he leapt out of your bed like he had been electrocuted.

Feeling slightly hurt from the way he had jumped away from you as if you had the plague, you shuffled slightly further up the bed and brought your covers up to your chin.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe you were in front of him. “Are you… Feeling okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so. I’m a bit warm but I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? No queasy stomach?” He moved in closer again, placing a hand against your forehead and then the side of your face. “You feel… Fine?”

“Yeah,” you said, bewildered by his sudden fussiness. “Jimin, what is going on?”

“Nothing! Nothing, it’s just… You were ill last night so I thought you’d be ill for a few days maybe, I don’t know…”

He looked around the room, as if looking for somebody to help him explain his bewilderment and erratic actions, but his eyes fell on you again. The sun spread across his face as his eyes scrunched up in the brightest grin you had ever seen on a person before, and he bound forwards, arms enveloping your body in the tightest hug he had ever given you.

“J-Jimin?” you questioned, slightly confused but returned the hug all the same.

Sure, you had exchanged hugs before but there was something about this one, and how tight and secure it was, that immediately made you blush again.

You could hug him forever.

“Thank God. Oh, thank fucking God. I’m so- I’m so thankful,” he muttered against your head, stroking your hair slightly. “I was so worried about you, you were so sick, Y/N.”

“I don’t really remember.”

Neither of you made any move to leave the hug and you were completely content to bask in his affection for the rest of your life.

But of course, that was unrealistic and he pulled away. Expecting him to let go of you completely you were taken completely aback when he placed his lips against your cheek, then your forehead, then your other cheek before drawing away.

“God…” he whispered, pulling away to stare you in the eyes. He kissed your forehead one more time before smiling brightly again and hopping out of bed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you breakfast! Actually no I’m a terrible cook, I’ll order in! No wait!”

He paused in the doorway of your bedroom, about to leave the room at a hundred miles an hour.

“We could eat out for breakfast! My treat,” he turned to smile at you again. “I’ll leave you to get ready and stuff, and then I’ll take you out.”

“Oh… Okay?” you questioned, not sure how to react to the speed of his actions.

“Wear something nice for our date! I’ll go home and get ready and pick you up in half an hour, okay? See you!”

You sat in the mess of your bed covers, staring at the bedroom door that shut behind him.


“I haven’t eaten so well in so long.” Jimin moaned, leaning back in his seat and massaging his stomach. You laughed, flicking a raspberry at him across the table.

“You need to stop abusing your roommate for food, Chim. He’s human too. You need to learn how to cook for yourself.”

“Could you teach me?” he asked, leaning in close across the table and fluttering his eyelashes dramatically. You laughed again, shoving his face away from yours slightly.

“Sure, you pitiful man,” Sighing happily, you watched him pick up his drink and start to take a mouthful. “So… How are things with Mina?”

Your heart ached as you asked the question, but watching Jimin’s cheeks start to burn and the way he spluttered on his drink as he thought about her answered whatever questions you had about him and her.

“M-Mina? What about her? Has she said anything?”

“No, she hasn’t. Why? Did something happen?”

He stared at you across the table.

“Because, uh, she asked me a while ago if you had shown an interest in anybody and I said you seemed to like her. I’m-I’m sorry if that’s wrong, but I see in your face the way you feel-”

“Wait- Wait, okay, stop-”

“But it’s okay, Jimin! It’s okay, because she likes you too and I was wondering if she had said anything, but apparently not. Maybe you should say something to her?”


“-Oh, that’d be cute. Suddenly confessing to her,” you stopped to think for a while, a smile spread lazily across your face as you imagined the words Jimin would say to you if you were the object of his affections. He was a poetic person; anything he said was sure to be romantic. Thinking about Mina suddenly, and how good they looked together, made your smile fade into nothing again. “She’s very beautiful. You made a good choice, Jimin.”

“But I don-”

“-You don’t have to deny it to me, Chim! I see the look in your eyes when you mention her, or when she walks in the room. It’s like all attention you could possibly have for anything is focused on her.”

Jimin wanted to cry. He wanted to stand up, bringing you with him, and shake you and shout at you until you realised that it was you and it had always been you and he would die for you and fight for you and work for you - He would do anything for you.

But you were still talking about how perfect Mina was for him. You were still talking about how somebody other than you was suited for him even though he knew that the two of you, sitting together in some crappy diner that wasn’t good enough for you but it was all he could afford on his wage slip, were cut from the same fabric that the universe had weaved together and he would do anything in his power to make you see this.

He would do anything for you.


Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

I Can’t Save Her: Part 20

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Nightmares, Repressed Memories

Word Count: 1720

Catch Up Here

Summary: You have been with the Avengers for three years and during that time you have developed a close friendship with Bucky. When you discover another woman in Bucky’s room you begin to question what your true feelings for him are.

Author’s Notes: Y/N is getting closer and closer to finding out the truth – and hopefully finding Bucky in the process. Tags are at the bottom. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged/untagged.

I love your comments, messages, asks, likes, reblogs – all of it. <3

Originally posted by 11thstar

Originally posted by alrightrogers

“Y/N,” Steve said as I rested my forehead on the cool glass of the window. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times to bring his image into focus. “You need to talk to me,” he added.

“I don’t know what to say,” I muttered miserably. It had been a few days since I had spoken with Fury. After speaking what I feared to be the truth I had become withdrawn – spending most of my time silently staring out the window of our room.

“You’re not eating, or sleeping. Listen, I know Buck leaving has been hard, but I promise we will get him back,” he reassured me. I scoffed at his remark and he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“What if…. For most of your life you believed you were a certain type of person from a certain type of family, and then suddenly you find out that everything you’ve thought is actually the opposite?” I asked in a tangle of confused words. It was difficult for me to adequately describe the confusion I felt to Steve. It was as if the person I was was being unmade before my very eyes.

“You’re not making any sense,” Steve said after a moment.

“It’s me.”

“What is you? Listen, I know you blame yourself about Buck but…”

“Don’t you get it?” I snapped as I turned to look at him. “It’s not just about Bucky… it’s about me.”

“Y/N,” Steve started.

“Just don’t. My parents were part of H.Y.D.R.A., Steve. Or at least… I think they were. How could I not remember until now? What’s wrong with me? Why would he want to stay if he found this out… if it’s really true,” I rambled on as tears threatened to spill over my lashes. I paused to regain my composure. I couldn’t let the wall come crumbling down now – not until we got him back – and I was prepared to do whatever was necessary to get him back.

Steve was silent for a moment. “We aren’t defined by our past, or the things we can’t control. Y/N even if it’s true – you know who you are and what you are and so does Bucky,” he reassured. The sentiment was kind, but it was lost on me. I already knew what kind of person I was and it wasn’t something that I could be proud about.

I was quiet as I contemplated my next words. Gradually I resumed staring out the window – I couldn’t bear to look Steve in the eyes. “For so long I’ve been so worried about losing him…. I never thought I would lose myself instead,” I added bitterly as rain pattered on the windowsill. Steve slid his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder. The act should have brought me comfort, but I felt nothing except the crippling paranoia that had snapped into place days ago. I closed my eyes and sighed before drifting into an uneasy sleep.

I woke up to the sound of shuffling paper. I noticed that I was laying in a bed, which meant Steve had carried me to our shared room. I opened my eyes as I turned on my side to see Steve sitting beside me thumbing through a file. He looked up and grimaced. “Sorry if I woke you up. Fury brought these by a little while ago, and I started looking through them,” he shrugged apologetically.

“It’s okay,” I yawned as I pushed myself up in the bed. “Er… how long was I out for?” I asked sheepishly.

“About six hours – you asked me not to go when I tried to leave so…” Steve shrugged. “I stayed.”

“Thanks Steve – I appreciate it. I think that’s the first time I’ve really slept since… well since Buck left,” I added sadly. “Can I look at the files?” I asked as I reached for one.

“Oh definitely,” Steve replied as he handed them to me. “I don’t recognize any of these places so I can’t make heads or tails of them – maybe you will have better luck.”

I flipped through several of the files that Steve had handed me. They offered nondescript pictures of different H.Y.D.R.A. facilities – nothing seemed to resonate with the images that had plagued my dreams. I was about to take a break when something caught my eye in one of the last files. I froze. The room was familiar – it was as if someone had extracted the room from my dream and photographed it. Everything fell away from me in that moment – the bed I was sitting on, Steve beside me, everything.

“Y/N,” I could hear my mother’s voice. It had been almost twenty years since I had heard that voice – but I knew it instantly. Her voice was urgent and her face was full of fear. “Hide, and don’t come out!” The scene faded. I could hear people screaming and a full barrage of gunfire close by as I helplessly huddled under a desk. My mother was yelling into a phone that the asset was out as soft footsteps approached.

“Y/N,” Steve’s voice broke into the haze of memories. I blinked stupidly and stared at him. I looked around the room confused.

“I don’t… how…” I looked at him confused. The folder I had been holding was a crumpled mess in my hands. I let it drop softly onto my lap. Every muscle in my body was tense and my heart was racing.

“You saw this picture and just froze. I wasn’t sure where you went…” Steve lapsed into silence – he was never one to pry into the secrets of others.

“I remembered something… This is it, Steve. We have to go here,” I said urgently as I looked up at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he took the crumpled file back.

“Well it looks like we are going to Austria,” Steve shrugged as he pushed off the bed and walked towards the door. I was going to follow him before he turned around and looked at me. “Y/N, right now you need rest. I’ll let Fury know and I’ll be back.” I laid back down on the bed – I wasn’t in the mood to argue and even with the sleep I had gotten I still felt remarkably exhausted.

I tossed and turned restlessly for some time after Steve had left. Even faced with exhaustion I was unable to find my way back to sleep. My mind kept finding its way back to the contents of the file that Steve has taken with him. The look on my mother’s face. The screams. Finally, I pushed myself out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom to take a hot bath. I felt dirty – like the residue of my recently surfaced memories was sticking to me, and it made me feel anxious.

I shed my clothes and slid into the tub as it filled with warmth. A sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes in a moment of peace.

“God I missed you,” Bucky’s voice hummed softly in my ear. We had just made love in the bathtub of our loft after he had been away. His hair was wet and plastered around his face as he kissed me sweetly and smiled.

“I miss you too,” I whispered as I opened my eyes. Two months. Two months and the thought of him still brought me to tears. Rationally I knew he loved me – at least in those moments we shared. I could feel it in the way he kissed me – the way he looked at me after being away. Since he had left I had tried so hard to not think about the tender moments – I just focused on bringing him home, but tonight… they flooded my mind. I felt overwhelmed and utterly alone. What I wouldn’t have done for a tender moment of affection now. I slid further into the water until I was completely under it and screamed with all my might. I needed to let it out – all of it. I couldn’t keep it all in anymore – for just a moment I needed to lose control. I pushed myself up and emerged from the water to hear Steve on the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked concerned.

“Yeah, give me just a minute,” I replied as I pulled the stopper to let the water drain. I hurriedly dried myself and dressed. As I opened the door I was greeted by Steve’s anxious form hovering between the doorway and my bed.

“I thought I heard something,” he said relieved.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a bath to see if it would help me relax. What did Fury say?”

“We leave tomorrow morning,” Steve replied. He paused for a second as if he was unsure about what he wanted to say next.

“What is it?”

“Tony called Fury to see if you were here,” he said matter-of-factly.


“Oh is right. He said he had asked you to not leave New York because of an incident…” he continued. I could tell he was less than pleased with me. In all honesty, I had forgotten about this when I had originally left.

“That’s true,” I added. “What did Fury tell him?”

“He lied. Told him he hadn’t talked to you since the party on New Year’s Eve,” he added bluntly.

“Good,” I sighed – relieved that we could continue our mission.

“You have a warrant for your arrest so Fury is taking extra precautions to get us to Austria. If you come back … you’ll most likely be arrested as soon as we hit the ground.”

“I know,” I added as I laid down in my bed. “I’m going to try to get some sleep, goodnight Steve.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Steve responded as he turned out the lights and made his way to his own bed.

There were several scenarios playing in my head on how the following days would go, and some of them didn’t include me coming back from our journey, but I wouldn’t tell Steve – not now. I knew that somehow Austria was the clue we needed to find Bucky and I had every intention of finding him – regardless of the cost.


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Apollo Pt.2

Part 1 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Writer blocks can be really frustrating, and sometimes having a “muse” doesn’t really help either. - Specially when your inspiration might not be there with you forever. ModernAU!

Warnings: Mostly fluff at first, angst. Mentions of drug use (as a joke), swearing.

Words: 2644

A/N: Instead of referring the reader as “She” I’ll change the pronoun to “you”, since the last one is neutral and can be used for both genders. 

Your name: submit What is this?

Originally posted by existentialsmokebreaks

Bucky bit his lower lip as he tried to find a proper answer, answer that he himself didn’t even know. When he was thinking about a new life in Europe, he forgot he would have to deal with losing boundaries, saying goodbye, and kick them from his life. You found yourself static and stiff, trying to process the idea of him grabbing a suitcase and escaping from your life. You laughed at the idea, because he was not yours; he wasn’t an object you could own. Yet, not only was he your inspiration, but also your anchor to the real world, since, as a writer, you’re likely to spend more time dissociating yourself from the real world than actually living in it.

“I guess I’d have to do sacrifices.” He gave (y/n) a tight smile, trying to find an instant solution to a problem that hadn’t happened yet. He pulled you closer and hid his nose where your neck and shoulder connected, just to take a deep breath and mumble “don’t think about that right now, I’d never leave your side even if you punched me in the face multiple times while begging me to get my ass out of your appartment.” He squeezed you in his arms. “We’re like those conjoined twins. You’re like my sister.” That declaration made you feel a pit in your stomach.

“Man, that’s the creepiest and weirdest comparison you’ve ever made.” The wrinkles in your nose showed up, trying to distract yourself from that bad feeling “remember that time you were so high you asked me that if someone was killed in a living room wouldn’t it be called dying room afterwards?” you scoffed, grinning as you could see embarrassment reflected in his eyes.

“Oh god shut up.” he retired himself as he thrown you the crust of the last slice, while you tried to hide a smirk by taking a sip from your beer. “I’m never smoking pot while drinking again. I’m not a college student anymore.” James complained.

“I still can’t believe you did that to impress that girl… Molly? Mary?”

“Mindy.” He remembered “I had a thing for young bad girls during a short period of time…” He covered his eyes while biting his lip.

“Short?” You lifted your brows “Buck, you dated her for a year and after splitting with her you hanged out with her best friend for like, 2 years more? If it wasn’t because I wanted to steal wifi from your house your car would have “Motherfucker” writt…”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. Just… Stop reminding me that phase.” Bucky shook his head, trying to get rid of those memories.

“Welp, that tattoo you got does the job for me” You teased as he groaned, lifting up his shirt.

With grey lines which were supposed to be black years ago, a pin-up style girl with a pork head showed up on his hip. It was the clear representation of why you shouldn’t get a tattoo drunk and mostly, for a girl. You dared to press your fingertips against his firm skin, feeling goosebumps as you could feel this eyes staring down at you and his warm touch. 

His sight scanned your face, searching for some expression while he felt like he was craving for your touch somehow. Maybe he was just turned on, impatient for seeing his new girlfriend again this night.

“Like what you see?” James teased this time with that cocky smile, making you feel overwhelmed. Of course, you wouldn’t let your nervousness take over your behaviour. 

“In fact, you need to lose some weight.” (y/n) tapped his abs. Bucky, open-mouthed looked at you like you just offended his ancestors, pushing you to burst into a laugh. “Now get out of here, miss inspiration is knocking on my door and I need to answer.” You stood up, grabbing his arm as he moaned and complained. “Stop being childish, and go with Hope. I know she’s waiting for you.” You added, seeing with sadness how his eyes turned bright as you mentioned her.

And with your daily dose of Bucky Barnes, you started to type again.

Months passed and your book improved, at the same time James improved his relationship with Hope. Nonetheless, your inspiration issue was the same. You still needed him by your side, and the seriousness of his relationship with his girlfriend didn’t help. You could feel how his time with you was starting to be reduced, and how his attention was escaping from your fingertips. Stress and sadness was taking over your life and in consequence you spent more time daydreaming and using those lapses for your book in development. The quality of your work, however, decreased.

“Honey, you need to take a break. It’s been awhile since you went outside your home.” Advised Wanda. 

“I need to finish this bloody book, I need the money, I’m broke.” That had been your excuse. Economical problems, and deadlines.

“Broke my ass.” You heard Natasha in the background. You saw her putting on her jacket on the screen of your phone. “We’re picking you up in 20 minutes, be ready and don’t you dare to escape, ‘cause we’ll find you.” She threatened while getting close to the camera.

With resignation you throw your phone and decided to fix your aspect a little. They didn’t know how you felt about Bucky, and you were seriously questioning if you should tell them.

The warmth of the coffee was melting your frozen hands, and the smell brought you memories from that happy time when your social life and health were more important than ending a novel. It was surprising how could our jobs absorb what we used to love to do.

“C’mon girls, it’s not like we’re on an intervention.” You said, rolling our eyes.

“In fact.” Natasha took a sip from her coffee. “It is.” Wanda nodded.

“Why are you girls doing this? I’m fine, what’s the problem of being dedicated to your job?”

“(y/n), you’re not dedicated to your job, you’re using it to evade yourself. It feels like years since you’ve been hanging out with us” Wanda took your hands and pressed them together firmly. “Is there something wrong?”

You looked at them, guilt pressing your lungs, and fear crossing your mind. It was not a secret how close you and Bucky were, but there was no need for nobody to know your feelings towards him. It was something really common, and a simple crush like that one could be just temporal. At least that’s what you kept saying to yourself all these years.

“Its- It’s nothing.” You focused on your cup, hoping them to forget about it and start having a good time together, like the good ol’ days.

“(y/n)…” Whispered Wanda.

She knew something was hunting you, she always had this ability of looking inside your mind, and you knew it. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she figured out your crush on Buck by just staring at you.

“I- I think I started developing feelings towards someone I shoudn’t.” You summarised. 

At that moment, you could see how Nat and Wanda shared an understanding look. You frowned. 

“She fell for Buck.” Added Natasha, giving you a mother-like glance. “Oh dear.”

“It’s… It’s nothing like that.” You sighed. “It’s just that somehow he helps me to write easily, and I need him so I can do my job.” You justified, trying not to lose it in the Need Him. “It’s been awhile since we’ve spent time together. Hope is such a great person, and they’re going serious in the couple thing. It’s getting more complicated for me to keep on going with the chapters when he’s not here, but that’s not something I can tell to my editor and expect some deadline delay.”

“(Y/N/N), spit it out.” Demanded Wanda, getting impatience.

At some point, your walls started to crack and, slowly, you felt weight falling on your shoulders, and how a lump was forming in your throat.

“I miss him.” You finally declared, not being able to look at your friends in the eye. “I- Okay I fell for him, long time ago.” Something warm was rolling down your cheek, but you refused to believe you were crying for him. You couldn’t. You had no right for being sad. “Months ago when he told me about his new girl he said he would leave the country for her. He would leave all behind for her.”

Your words tasted bitter in your tongue, because saying it out loud made you realise. He was in love. Hell no, he was crazy in love. With Hope. He found his soulmate, and you were the one who was always represented as the girl left behind, the one who would find her home in him, but not being corresponded.

“Honey, don’t think about that. He’s still here, only a phone call away. Call him, tell him to come around, let his vibes help you on your writing, enjoy some time with him again.” They encouraged. “It might be hard, but If his presence is all you need, you should do it.”

And with that, you three started to talk about other issues, making you forget for a moment you were in love.

“Pizzaman is here!” You heard him say like a record. You closed your eyes, relieved, after not hearing his voice for a long time.

“I Missed you so much!” You repeated. But this time was different. This time your body was searching for him, avid to press your chest against James’.

“(y/n) I swear to god if you’re saying that to the pi… Oh” He mumbled, surprised that your arms wrapped around him first. He smiled, pressing his nose against your hair and smelling your scent. God, he felt like home. “Missed you too little marshmallow.” He kept you hugged around him. He had no problems with it.

Time was irrelevant for you both. It felt like it was yesterday when you had a long night talk, eating pizza, drinking beers, binge watching Netflix. It felt like it was yesterday you two found out you were that close together.

“You gotta be kidding me (y/n)” He said, completely surprised and honoured. “Don’t play with my feelings like that, you know I’m sensitive.” He acted like he was wiping tears from his face while you grinned like a little kid finding out how handsome boys were for the first time. In fact, he loved the idea of you finding a story behing his existence, because he felt like he was art for you.

“I swear it’s like my brain refuses to work if you’re not around.” You gestured, exaggerating your moves. “It’s like you’re my muse.” You joked, hiding a little bit of truth in every word.

“Muses are only for women darling.” Bucky corrected. “I’d be like Apollo or something like that.” His cocky smile appeared.

“Don’t attribute yourself all the effort.” You punched him sightly on his arm. “I’m the writer, remember?” You two laughed until a comfortable silence settled in the room.

“(y/n)…” James called. You looked at him. “Hope is coming here in a few minutes, we want to tell you something important.” Your smile faded, your chest felt heavy with every breath you were taking.

“Is she pregnant?” You asked, feeling partially relieved as you saw him shake his head.

“No, not yet.” That yet. He wanted to. “Remember when I told you I would move to The UK if she had to… Leave?”

You wished time had some effort on you again. Make the moment faster, emotionless. You wished every damn second to be minutes so time could pass faster and leave this situation behind. With all your will, you nodded.

“Her visa ends in a week and… I think I’m moving with her.” You could see his lips curving up a little bit at the idea. Of course, it was difficult for him to tell you that either. She’s your best and closest friend, of couse you’re feeling like shit leaving her here. He mumbled to himself.

“Bu- Bucky, I just told you you’re the one who’s actually helping me to end this shitty novel.” You stuttered, without any idea of how to act anymore. With a frowned face, he looked at you confused.

“What are you trying to say?” He felt a little bit annoyed. He wanted your support and your approval, only to get a nonsense mumble about your job.

“I mean, It’s my job, I need to keep going and earn a little bit of…”

“I can’t believe what you’re saying.” He stood up, without breaking eye contact. “I came here to tell you that I’m starting a new life in somewhere new, and all you care about is your fucking job?” He gestured showing indignation. 

“I can’t do anything about it Buck, It’s a job!” This was your way for asking him to stay. You were new at showing strong emotions, and you didn’t know how to deal with it.

“I am not an amulet, (y/n)! Stop being so selfish, all I needed was your support!” He shouted at you. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat!”

“Do you think I like my creativity to be bounded to you like this? Do you think I’m happy with the idea of my closest friend leaving to an island?” You stood up next to him.


“DO YOU THINK I HAVEN’T TRIED THAT CRAP?” You screamed, tears running down your cheeks like waterfalls “ HAVEN’T YOU THOUGHT THAT MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU, ASSHOLE?”

You froze. He froze. You were scared, he was surprised. You wanted some reaction from him, but he didn’t move for what it felt like hours. And then, you finally got it. He moved. He walked towards the door. He opened it, ready to leave, only to find Hope standing still in the corridor. You gasped when you saw him wrapping his arms around her the way he used to do to you, whispering something to her ear, and kissing her lips shortly after leaving you with his girlfriend. 

You couldn’t find any strength to keep yourself up, so you let your body hit the couch, tired. Hope walked and sat next to you, resting her hand in your thigh, rubbing it, trying to comfort you. You looked at her, confusion dripping from your eyes.

“Have you…?” You didn’t need to complete the question, she just nodded. “I’m sorry.” You apologised.

“Don’t be, dear.” She smiled at you, showing empathy. “We can’t control our feelings, It’s not your fault.” You kept yourself quiet, still impressed by the way she was treating you. “It happened to me once, too.” She confessed, staring at the white wall. “But the feeling fades. And we move on.” She took your hand. “Right now Bucky and I are in love. Well, at least I am.” She laughed softly. Even her laugh was something angelical. “He’s the type of person you would fall easily in love with.” You agreed at that, even though it took you years to realize how much you loved him. “That doesn’t mean you can’t find someone out there. I’m saying this because I don’t want to be the type of woman pictured as a bitch anywhere. I understand how you feel, and I know the pain.” You closed you eyes, drowning a gasp. “I don’t really know you, (y/n), but I feel like you’re an incredible woman, and finding another man won’t be difficult to you. And, I truly hope you find one as good as Bucky is for me.” With that, she took her purse, gave you a warm look, and left.

Excerpt 2: A Deer Among Wolves

AN: Apparently we’re doing this fic this way now. At least Robb’s a polite character to write for. Please read and let me know what you think.

The warmth of the hearth in the Great Hall made it one of my favorite places on snowy, wet northern days. I often frequented the Hall, where I could feel less like a recluse and stay warm at the same time. I walked as quickly as I could without breaking into an obvious sprint down the corridor toward the Hall, all but daydreaming of the heat of the fire.

           On the other side of the doors, however, I was met with a curious sight. The six Stark children, Jon Snow included, were gathered around the hearth. They were huddled around something on the floor and all seemed quite distracted by it. Whatever it was, it was making odd, whining noises. Interested, I approached the group of siblings. There was a gap between Robb and Sansa, and I managed to wiggle between them to see what had the Starks’ attention.

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