CS FF: Forever Yours

Summary:  My version of how season 7 should open.  Set in the future during a time of peace in Storybrooke, Emma and Killian are living a blissfully happy life with their seven year old twins.  But this is still Storybrooke.  And things can change in the blink of an eye.

Rating: PG

Note: Thank you for the responses to ‘Never Stop Fighting’. Since Emma is only guaranteed to be back for one episode, we know that CS will have to be separated somehow.   Given what we know so far, this is how I would like things to go in the season premiere.  Oh and there is no mention of Henry in this because I’m still trying to wrap my mind around how that whole thing is going to work and what exactly will happen to him in the future.  Hope you enjoy it!  ~Steph

…Forever Yours: Part 1/1…

Killian came up behind his wife, as she stood at the stove making pancakes.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his nose into her neck.

“Something smells delicious,” he muttered.

Emma giggled as his lips moved to her neck.

“Don’t start,” she warned.  “The kids are already up and in the living room.”

“What?” he asked, nibbling on her ear.  “I was talking about the pancakes.”

“Sure you were,” she replied with a laugh.

Emma spun around in her husband’s arms and snaked hers around his neck.  His lips came crashing into hers, his tongue quickly diving into her mouth.  He pulled her body up against his, as Emma threaded her fingers through his hair. 

“We can’t,” Emma breathed before kissing him again.

Killian reached behind her and turned the stove off, as his lips moved down her throat to her chest.  

“Perhaps if we are quiet, we can make it up to our bedroom and the children will simply think we are still asleep.”

Emma squeezed her eyes closed, as she held his head to her skin.  

“Only one problem with that: they already saw me making the pancakes.”

Killian pulled her robe back a bit with his hook and kissed her shoulder.  

“We can think of an excuse for our disappearance later then,” he said.  

His lips moved back to hers for a quick kiss and then he grabbed her hand, leading her to the stairs.

“Let go!” Leia screamed.

“You let go!” Liam yelled.

“MOM!  DAD!” they both bellowed.

Killian and Emma stopped dead in their tracks, mere feet from the stairs.  

“Bloody hell.  They must have inherited their grandmother’s terrible timing,” Killian mumbled.  “Why did we decide to have children again?”

Emma laughed, as she kissed his cheek.  “Because we wanted to share our love and watch it grow everyday.”

Her husband bobbed his head, as he placed a kiss to her forehead.

“Aye, that’s right.  Sometime I forget.”

“Come on,” Emma said, as she dragged him to the living room.

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Truth or Dare

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3127

Summary: Simon (regrettably) decided to go to a party. Of course his prick roommate is there.
Based on “First Kiss” prompt from anonymous.

Read on AO3

AN:  Aaaahhhh this took way longer than it should’ve. I’ve had such a bad case writer’s block lately. And I rewrote this a thousand times because I’m an over thinking anxious nut bar. Hopefully all of you, especially the original fic requester, like it :D


I really shouldn’t be here. The music is awful and everyone’s totally pissed. Penny said I should socialise more, integrate with the school population. But if this is how the school population acts out of class, like fuck I want to take part.

It’s odd for a year 13 to not have attended a single party in all their time at a school. But I’m not a usual student. I’m a scholarship orphan charity case, supposedly so gifted that I had to attend Watford School. I’m not sure what Headmaster Mage sees in me. I’m just pleased to have an education.

The ones who aren’t pleased are the snooty rich assholes who think I’m below them, and don’t deserve to attend their fancy school. And one of those assholes is my roommate, who is here, of course.

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The Weird Neighbour

by existentialcatwhiskers

Phan | Dan/Phil | 3.7k | Rated T for dan’s language

Read on AO3

Summary:  Dan has just moved into a new flat when he has an odd and awkward exchange with his new neighbour who then makes a YouTube video about it. Dan’s friend finds the video and sends it to Dan who vows to get his revenge by being the weirdest, strangest neighbour that this Phil guy would ever meet. Turns out he got more than revenge.

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X is for Xenopolycythemia (24/26)

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS/TOS).
Prompt: Fic 24 of 26 in the CMO’s Log – A to Z series.  Click here for a listing of all the fics in this series!  X is for Xenopolycythemia
Word Count: 5703.
Rating: Teen+.
Author’s Note: Requested by @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse – Xenopolycythemia appeared in TOS (S03E10 “For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky”).  It is not a real illness, but features many of the same symptoms as polycythemia.  In this condition, the body begins overproducing red blood cells, leading to all sorts of problems.  Enjoy!

X is for Xenopolycythemia

You watch Leonard from across the room, leaning on the desk to chart while he finishes up talking to a patient.  You’re concerned about him; he hasn’t been himself all morning, he’s flushed and looking like he’s coming down with something, and while you’ve given him a chance to admit that something is wrong, you can’t stand by and watch anymore.

As he leaves the ensign’s bedside and heads for his office, you pick up your PADD and beeline off after him, following him through the door before it manages to slide closed all the way.  He jumps, clearly startled at your proximity as he turns to face you and looks down at you from his lofty height.

“Can I help you?”  He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Up close, you can see that he’s got a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead.  He’s breathing a bit quickly and he’s hunched a little – not enough to be immediately noticeable, but he’s definitely not standing at his full height. Reaching out, you gently touch his cheek, cupping his face in your hand.

“Yeah,” you reply.  “You can let me help you.”

“I’m fine,” he says firmly.

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anonymous asked:

Hi, I hope you are better! I missed you but your health is more important! But i'm glad you're back ❤ so can i ask for a scenario where Revali's s/o gave him that blue cloth that he has in his bow for good luck or to remember s/o? I like to think that cloth has some meaning and it's not there just because

[A/N: Funny the day you sent this, I was looking over Revali and wondering the same thing, lol. I wanna know what those smaller blue wings on his chest are for or from.]

It seemed that each day that passed the overwhelming realization that Calamity Ganon would soon be here. It frighten the hell out of you. You didn’t know what will happen and all you could hope for was the desperate victory of the Princess and her Champions. It was in these moments you wondered what you were even around for. Sure, they required your expertise for scouting, but now it did not matter anymore.

 As you sat away from the group, your gloved fingers pressed against your lips in thought, you could not help but feel envious towards your comrades. You did not possess any special skills or blessed with power. You were just a knight for hire and as much as you wanted to be the one to put an end to all this so none of them would have to put their life at risk, it was underlying inevitable. What frightened you the most was the person you’ve gotten very close to out of everyone, Revali…

 What would you do if you ever lost him, you wondered? You spent so much time allowing him to get closer than anyone. Sometimes what you felt for him frightened and elated you, and you couldn’t decide if this was a mistake or a blessing. And each sunset that came and went, the dreading claws in the back of your mind reminded you over and over the danger Revali was putting himself in. As much as you wished you and him could just runaway together, run beyond the lands of Hyrule and live your lives out together in bliss, you couldn’t. It hurt and it made you want to cry out in anger, but Hylia bestowed a role for all and who were you to tell a Goddess otherwise?

 At times when there was not a thing for you to do and tagging along with the group, you usually got lost in your thoughts. There were times you realize your mind was only silent in their presence, or when Revali was with you. You sighed, feelings anguish wriggling around in your chest and feeling your head become hazy from the stress of your thoughts. You were so lost to reality that you did not see Revali make his way over and sit next to you. It was then when you felt a tickling sensation on your neck that caused you to come out of your clouded state.

 “You look a million miles away, [Name]. I am feeling rather lonely, will you not come back?” His smooth pompous ass voice caused a bittersweet ache in your chest. You gazed him softly and smiled the best you could, but he would not be fooled. Not after knowing you so well. His cocked his head to the side, “What is the matter? You look deeply troubled.”

 Revali tensed feeling your head rest on his shoulder, but he soon relaxed and rested his beak upon your head. You could feel his lower jaw weigh upon your dome and for some odd reason it filled you with contentment. His wing came around and encased you to his body, and each movement sent a wave of sadness through you.

 “I am scared, Revali.” You did not say much more even as you felt him jerk.

 “What ever for?” He questioned, his chest filling up with anxiety.

 “I don’t…” You sighed heavily, “I don’t want you to fight Ganon.” Your arm wrapped around his waist while your other hand rested on the wing wrapped around your form. “What if I lose you?” Your voice was lost and Revali’s hold grew stronger.

 “You will not lose me nor will I lose you.” As much as you wanted to believe his words, it was hard, but you clung on to his reassurance like a life line. “How can I lose when I have to come back home to you?”

 He was always so good with words, either it be insult or comforting you, and in this moment you relished his soft side. You nuzzled under his chin while your hand gripped his tunic. He shushed you returning the affection, but looked at you confused when you pulled away. Reaching behind your neck you untied the blue bandanna and held it out for him. He only looked at it questionably and you grabbed his wing to set it there.

 “This is a promise, Revali. I am serious.”  Your eyes blinked excessively trying to prevent the tears that threaten to spill. “You have to bring this back to me, okay? I-it’s my favorite bandanna and if you don’t bring it back I will haunt you. I swear I will.” Your lip quivered and voice shook uncontrollably, but your eyes remain stern.

 Revali looked you over before taking a moment to sigh. He smiled gently, his brilliant emerald eyes that captivate you at night holding more sincerity than you ever seen before. He clutch the cloth and pressed it to his beak. “I would not dare dream of breaking this promise.” He winked, “But I hope you know I would not mind if you haunted me.” He leaned in, his beak against your ear, “I will take great care.” Whether he meant the bandanna or in general, it was enough to quell your fears for the moment.

 The next day when you and the group were to set out, you couldn’t help but noticed the blue cloth now adorning his bow. Hopefully for him it would prove to be his good luck charm.

racheltuckerrr  asked:

glitter and be gay. thats all im gonna say but i trust u to handle it.

“And that’s the story of Elphaba, the not so wicked witch of the west,” Kara ended, closing the old and worn-out book with a soft thud. The little girl in the bed was fast asleep, a baby lion stuffed animal tucked tightly in between her arms and the shadow of a smile still floating on her lips. Kara pulled up the blanket up to her daughter’s chin and kissed her forehead before tiptoeing out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Cat was waiting for her in the living room, sipping at a glass of red wine while reading something on her iPad. When she heard Kara enter the room, she looked up and smiled, her hazel green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Wicked, again?” Kara nodded and let herself fall next to her wife with a loud sigh. “Remind me again who’s brilliant idea it was to tell her all about Oz and the untold story of the wicked witch?”
Cat only chuckled and leant forward to put her glass on the coffee table before cuddling against the Girl of Steel. 

“Glitter and be gay, Darling.” She whispered before kissing the laugh out of Kara’s lips.  

(Your fault)


*sigh* why Littlefinger is so awesome. brilliant vid.

BTS Demon/Gang AU

Author’s Note: So back a while ago when I first started this blog, I posted a BTS demon/gang au called Meraki(idek why I picked that name tbh) I came back to it last night, and decided that my writing had improved so I should try to re-vamp it! This is still one of my first tries doing first person, though, so sorry for any mistakes! Also, though I try to keep my fanfiction pretty gender-neutral most of the time, this protagonist is pretty obviously female, so I’m sorry if that annoys anyone. That all said, enjoy!:3

Members in this part: Yoongi

Word Count: 1646

Originally posted by yoongijae

Part One|Psychopath Perverts

You know, I really hate parties. I’m not entirely sure what the reason is. Maybe I don’t find watching random girls drunkenly flirt with every male in sight as entertaining as others. Maybe I don’t want to slowly become deaf from the crappy dance pop blaring in my ears. Maybe it’s because of my glaringly obvious social ineptitude. Either way, they suck major ass.

There’s also the psychopath perverts. Yeah, they kinda suck ass too…


Shitfuck. Fuckshit. Fuckity fuckity fuckshit.”

These and many other glorious word-combinations fly through my panicked mind as I stumble my way down a dark alley, my crazy stalker mere seconds behind. Why I had decided an abandoned alleyway was a good escape rout I will never understand; but hey, you try running away from a psychopath in a tiny dress and a pair of heels, and see if your mind still works. “Stay away from me you freak!” I shriek behind me, angrily removing my heels and throwing one back at him.

Yeah Y/N, throw insults and a shoe at the bad guy. That outta stop him for sure. Sigh.

Of course, my brilliant plan fails miserably, as the shoe bounces harmlessly off of his chest-what, is he made of steel or some shit?!-and he laughs at my pathetic attempt at an attack on both his ego and face. “Aw cmon baby, you know you want me,” he shouts back drunkenly, continuing the chase.

Okay no. Ew. Nope City. I resist the urge to vomit as I turn the alleys corner, breathing heavily as my bare feet slap against the damp pavement. “Curse my being so out of shape! I swear I gotta hit the gym when I get out of this. If I get out of this alive that is. Wait, what the fuck am I thinking about the gym for? Agh!”

I’m so lost in my own crazy thoughts that I don’t notice the wall in front of me until I run headfirst into it. I exclaim some more choice words as I clutch a now surely bleeding nose. I was at a dead end; no side roads, no escape.

Like I said before: Shitfuck.

I whip back around to face my pursuer head on as he rounds the corner, holding the heel end of my shoe out like a dagger. “Don’t come any closer!” I exclaim, fighting to keep my voice steady as my nose blood oozes between my fingers and down the back of my hand. My pursuer-fuck I just realized I have no clue what his name is…I guess we’ll call him Mr. Pervert Guy-ignores my threat and advances closer. “If you come any closer I swear I’ll…I’ll…”

Wait, shit, what was I going to do?

Mr. Pervert Guy seems to follow my train of thought, a wide grin spreading across his face. “You’ll what? Shoe me to death?” He throws back his head in a maniacal laugh.

Wow. The only thing missing in this shit show is some lightning and a crack of thunder.

I throw my heel down and back myself against the wall, trying to keep as much blood in my nose as possible. I resort to the only thing I can think of to keep him distracted; shit talking. “Wel,l what are you gonna do huh? I don’t see any weapons on you.”

Mr. Pervert Guy freezes in place, cocking his head to the side. For a moment, I think I have him, but his evil smile quickly returns. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t know what I am.”

“Uuuh…a creepy pervert trying to kill me and use my body for his own needs? I figured we were on the same page here buddy.”

Mr. Pervert Guy rolls his eyes. “No, idiot, I’m a demon.” He puts particular emphasis on the last word, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “A demon with a job to do…though I might do those things too…”

Oh great. Not only did I get a psychopath pervert; I got a psychopath pervert who thinks he’s a demon. Just my luck. I still keep up my shit talking act, glancing over Mr. P’s shoulder every once in a while to see if anyone is coming to rescue me. “Oh really? And what exactly is that job, demon boy?”

This time, he looks genuinely confused. “Wait, you are Y/N Y/L/N right?” he asks.

He knows my last name? How the hell does he know my last name? Or even my first name for that matter? I’m only able to nod my head in response. Mr. P seems completely dumbstruck,staring at me in confusion. “You don’t even know what you are, do you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. I can only stare back in utter confusion. What I am? What does that even mean? I don’t get the chance to ask him, as he quickly shakes his head, the darkness back in his eyes full force. “It doesn’t matter. Only makes killing you that much easier,” he growls. “Now, come quietly and I promise I’ll make this quick.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary Akira.”

The voice had come from somewhere above me. Mr. P’s-or I guess now Akira’s- head shoots up toward the voice, and his lips pull back in a snarl. “What the hell are you doing here, Yoongi?” he asks, glaring somewhere above my head.

I follow his gaze to see a figure perched on the wall above me, their face cast in shadow. I stumble away from the wall, my eyes never leaving the shadowy stranger. Slowly they stand and drop from the wall, landing softly on their feet and stepping into the yellow of the streetlight. His dark brown eyes glance at me for only a moment before landing on Akira, his face breaking into a lazy smile. “Oh ya know, just wandering around as usual.” His eyes land on me again and he cocks his head to the side. “You scream quite loud you know.” He suddenly launches into a horrible impression of my screams; when he laughs his silver hair shakes, catching the light.

“Okay, did you come here to do lousy impressions of me, or save my ass?” I ask, my voice muffled behind my hand.

I catch a mad glint in Yoongi’s eyes. “Both,” he says with a wink. He gently pushes me aside as he approaches Akira, who growls again and cracks his knuckles. “A bit pathetic Akira, preying on helpless humans like this. Don’t you have something better to do with your time?”

Oh great, so this one’s a nutjob too.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, idiot, but she’s not a human.”

I couldn’t help it, my snarkiness comes out again. “Oh, well good thing I have you around since you seem to know so much about me. Creep.”

Akira’s glare falls on me again. “Shut up bitch,” he growls between gritted teeth.

Yoongi watches us with an amused smile, his hands in his pockets. “See. Why did you have to speak up?” he says, looking toward me. I open my mouth to give another snarky remark but jump when I hear Akira let out a yelp before falling to the ground, clutching his jaw. Yoongi stands over him, and when he speaks, his voice is eerily calm. “Now I have to fight him because he tried to kill you and called you a bitch.” He kneels down, grabbing Akira by the hair and yanking his head back, shaking his head. “Tsk tsk Akira. Don’t you know that’s just adding insult to injury?”

Blood streams from Akira’s nose down his chin, but he seems completely unfazed. “Go to fucking hell Yoongi.”

Yoongi chuckles darkly, leaning forward so he can whisper in Akira’s ear. I only just catch what he says. “No thanks man, once was good enough.” He pulls his fist back and punches Akira one more time, effectively rendering him unconscious. He places his head down on the pavement and pats him gently, pushing himself to his feet and brushing off his hands. When he turns to me the mad glint is gone from his eyes. He takes a few cautious steps toward me but I stumble back. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You’re really going to back away from me when I just saved your tiny human ass from a crazy demon?” he asks.

Okay, does he know how crazy he sounds right now? Because he sounds really fucking crazy right now.

I try to keep some distance between me and Yoongi. “Okay first of all, demons don’t exist and if you think they do, you’re just as crazy as Mr.-uh I mean, Akira. Second of all, you just knocked some dude out in like two punches, and third of all I’ve dealt with enough crazy nutjobs in this one night to last me a fucking lifetime okay?!”

I can feel my pitch rising as I rant, my voice finally cracking on the final word as angry tears begin to stream down my face. Great; I hate crying in front of people. For a moment, Yoongi seems unsure of what to do; when he speaks his voice is considerably softer. “Look, I understand what you went through tonight really scared you. I can also completely understand why you wouldn’t believe me. But you’re standing here at…” he pulls back his sleeve and glances at his watch before looking back up at me “two in the morning, cold, bare-footed, and scared with a bloody nose; and considering you’re out here alone, I’m going to assume you don’t have any friends I can bring you to or a ride home. So, just…lemme help you okay?” He holds out a hand, looking at me pleadingly.

I only pause for a moment to mull over what crazy shit I’m doing, before taking it.

Royally Yours: Part Eleven

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You’re unwillingly engaged to the Crown Prince of another kingdom, whom you had known as a child but then lost contact with. Time, deceit, and politics brings you two back together, but it’s a dramatic stretch to the ascension of the throne.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Grant Ward, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Pepper Pots, Peggy Carter, Bruce Banner, Lincoln Campbell, Betty Ross, Clint Barton (more to be added)

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: heyo sorry for the long wait, but I had personal matters come up yesterday with my family, and obviously school today, but part 11 is finally here (don’t roll your eyes that’s rude). enjoy it, I had fun writing it (:


Originally posted by beneath-the-moon-and-sun


Something outside your chambers clatters against the ground, and Bucky springs back from you, turning red in the cheeks. You flush, breathing deeply as your lungs burn for oxygen, not having realized your breath had caught itself.

“Forgive me,” Bucky mutters, his previous unfriendliness returning and then leaves your room. He’s gone so quickly that you don’t even have to time to respond.


      You don’t know what’s kept you awake for hours now, and as you slide a robe over your shoulders and slip out past your dozing guards, you realize you can’t pin the insomnia to a single happenstance. James. Grant. Your mother. Their contributions to your sleeplessness spun your mind too tight to even try to rest, so with nothing but yourself you venture through the castle.

Though you’d roamed here as a child, the sensation of running your fingers along the stone walls and the excitement of climbing the grand staircases in races had long since ceased, replaced by age and maturity. You smiled thinly when you remembered how calloused your palms would become when rushing through the halls, holding the walls in the dark to not trip over Steve while he held onto you.

Adventures had flourished here, Bucky and Steve acting as knights and yourself one too, countless instances of dragon hunting quests and servant terrorism coming into a full circle as you walk the halls a decade and some years older.

“Your Highness,” a maid says in surprise, exiting a chamber near to you. You glance at her, startled, and she gives you a hesitant smile. She looks familiar, but you can’t yet place her face. “What are you doing out so late?”

You decide not to shrug your shoulders and instead reply, “I was just wandering.”

The maid purses her lips. “Would like me to make you tea, or a-”

“It’s alright,” you respond.

The other woman hesitates again, and then finally decides to nod. “Good night, Your Majesty.”

“Good night,” you say as she passes you, and you recognize her instantly, “Betty.”

The woman smiles, and continues off down the hall, leaving you alone again.

You sigh.

Your feet take down paths your mind had forgotten, and memories drown out the sleep-robbing thoughts ricocheting around in your head. Daises had once fallen from the ceiling as you pass under a staircase, dumped there by Bucky onto you and Steve. He’d been angry, you recall, and had taken his revenge by throwing the beloved flowers you and Steve had collected without him onto the two of you. His plan had backfired, because it was a vibrant memory, dense with laughter.

Eventually, you come upon an open terrace and lean against the stone railing, inhaling the heavy air and letting the scent of oncoming rain fill your senses.
Below, you can see the multiple hives of flower gardens surrounding the castle on the one side, colors unseeable because of the blotched out moon in the sky.

Thick, frothy gray clouds capture the moonlight like greedy thieves would collect jewels, and only a few stars peek out through gaps in the coverage. It’s beautiful and disappointing all at once.

“Oh! Sorry Your Highness. I’ll just-”

There’s clattering behind you, and someone has tripped on a potted rose bush near to the entrance. They mutter a curse, and you raise an eyebrow at their person.

The unfamiliar is wearing a hooded cape, hair, eyes, and nose hidden in the shadow it casts, and if the being hadn’t already apologized and tripped, you’d have thought he was in league with the clouds.

“Who are you?” you question, still suspicious. The hooded figure jerks up, and freezes, as if not expecting to be called upon, and reaches up to drag back the hood. Now him, he you recognize instantly.

Lady Natasha’s newest lover stands before you, blonde hair illuminated from behind by candlelit halls and demeanor still uncertain.

“I’m Clint, Your Majesty. I’m a knight.”

Your eyes narrow and you cross your arms over your chest. “A knight sneaking through the castle in a hood.”

Clint clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, I wasn’t sneaking, Your Majesty.”

“You’re dressed for it.”

Clint looks down at his hood, and frowns, as if realizing that his clothing was conspicuously sly for the first time. “I haven’t stolen anything.”

“Where are you off to?”


“Where have you come from?”

There’s enough light to see the suggested knight clench his jaw as he swallows. He’s impatient.

“A friend’s.”

“Lady Natasha?” you ask on a sarcastic whim, not realizing your impolite intrusion of question until Clint shuffles.

“All due respect, Your Majesty-”

“Enough,” you cut him off by raising your hand, slightly embarrassed by your behavior. “I don’t care for your business unless you are a thief.”

“I’m a knight.”

You nod, and turn back around. There’s no movement, and then Clint speaks again.

“Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?”

You exhale, breath foggy, and shake your head. “Nothing to concern yourself about.”

Hesitation is evident as it is night until Clint joins your side.

“I’m here to talk to, Your Highness, if you need it. Knights are sworn to serve our royals in any way,” Clint says softly. He’s being friendly.

You look at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m not your royalty.”

Clint clears his throat, and scratches the back of his neck as he makes himself comfortable on the railing. As comfortable as you can be leaning against stone.
“Nat told me about the forced marriage,” Clint admits, and you sigh again.

“Brilliant,” you mumble. “Now how many more men that she’s bedded know?”
Clint’s eyes sharpen, and you grow shameful. “I’m sorry.”

He juts out his jaw. “It’s whatever. You’re right anyways.”

You let the response hang there, and look back at the gardens. This side of the castle is angled away from the ocean, so the waves you hear pounding on the cliff face are echoes through the courtyard.

“Are you happy?” Clint suddenly asks, and you glance at him fully now. He’s looking at you, waiting for a response expectantly.

You purse your lips, unsure if you should reply to Natasha’s bed mate. Clint seems to realize this because he lets out a light chuckle.

“Natasha and I only share one thing, and that’s a bed,” the knight tells you. You frown.

“That doesn’t seem like any way to live.”

“It’s not living,” Clint replies. “It’s getting rid of boredom.”

You cough, and shudder, as Clint laughs like you two were old friends sharing an even older joke.

“Are you happy?” Clint asks again, and this time his voice is riddled with amusement.

You think for a moment. “I don’t consider happiness a state of being.”

Clint cracks a smile. “You’re going to have to speak with the education of a knight, Your Majesty, I don’t like big words and riddles.”

You suppress a smile. “Moments here make me happy, but when I’m not having those moments, I’m not.”

Clint hmphs. “Well, no disrespect Your Majesty, but no one’s ever always happy in every moment, but overall I mean.”

“Court clowns,” you disagree.

“Haven’t you heard the funniest people hide the greatest tragedies?”

You consider this as Clint adjusts himself again. He fidgets a lot, you notice.

“Our prince is kind of a royal pain,” Clint begins to say, glancing at you to make sure it’s appropriate for him to say. When you smile minusculely, he continues.

“But the kid is golden hearted. I’ve seen him do extraordinary things when it comes down to protecting people he cares about, and I hear about how he’s always trying to do the right thing.”

You exhale, ironically. Bucky could probably spit bad things about Clint all day if you provoked him to, all untrue though.

“Do you know you hurt him?” you ask softly. “He loves Natasha.”

“And I love my job,” Clint replies. “Which is why I’ve been in a different kingdom for months, only having returned the day before the celebration. Natasha was as unattached to the Prince as the flowers are to us.”

You find his analogy confusing, but Clint doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t believe the Prince loves Natasha though,” Clint says, blinking between looking at the heavy sky and the network of flower gardens. “Infatuated maybe, but not in love.”

“Why do you say that?”

Did infatuated men destroy rooms and cry like Bucky had? You don’t think so.

“Royals are a tricky thing,” Clint murmurs, disregarding your own royalty. “The men seek lovers because they don’t care for breaking the rules, and the women play jealousy games and have hands in triangles they shouldn’t make, but in the end, there is sometimes love that is real. I see every time I walk into the throne room to the King and Queen.”

You consider this. “They do seem to love each other very much.”

Clint nods in agreement. “I’ve only been home for a few days, but I’ve seen the Prince and you. He looks at you like the King looks at the Queen.”

You can’t help but to snort. “Bucky doesn’t look at me like that.”

Clint quirks a smile and raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever seen love, Your Majesty? Because his love begins with the use of that name.”

You fall silent, and the knight beside you smiles winningly.

“Love’s a dangerous game to play for royals, Your Majesty,” Clint says, pushing himself off of the wall. “Especially when you only marry for power.”

You nod your head, because you understand. The marriage between you and Bucky only existed in the name of an alliance, but alliances only ever hold until they break, and if the one between Sokovia and Romania ever broke, it could mean both of your lives. You dismiss this fact.

“I should go back to my chambers,” you say, feeling the tug of drowsiness on your conscience.

“Good night, Your Majesty,” Clint replies.

“(Y/N),” you correct him, pausing before you reenter the hall. “You can call me (Y/N).”

Clint smiles, no hesitation and nods his head. You dismiss yourself and walk the path back to your room.

Clint’s conversation with you has calmed your thoughts and they lie dormant for now, resting as you would soon be in your bed.

Lincoln’s shoulders tense when he sees you turn the corner, and Bruce looks up, startled.

“Your Highness,” Lincoln starts to say. “We thought you’d been sleeping.”

You smile at them. “Go to bed, both of you. Sleep tonight.”

The two guards exchange unsure glances, but then slowly retreat down the hall after nodding to you in respect. You close the door to your room behind you and slide under your blankets.

Sleep accepts you now. 


@a-steroides @princeofsassgard @soundslikehuman @crazybarnes @creativexdreamer @fav-fan-fic @allyp1023 @sergeant-james-bbarnes @topthis808 @pretentiousaf  @blues–sargent @aboxinthestars @bailieinabottle @flibertigibbet23 @thinks–for-thanking-of-me @bad-wolf87 @creepy-sex-kitten @themortallife @aenna-4


hey if you guys are commenting on these posts, wanting to be added to the tag list, it’s easier for me to add you guys if you ask or send a message! I don’t always get the notifications

It happens at a crime scene.

Sherlock is bent double, crouched over the body of the killer’s most recent victim. It’s a lady, late forties, dressed sloppily, grease stained clothes littered with patchwork and holes from a hard life. Bruises and swelling around the carteriod artery make it obvious that she died from oxygen deprivation, strangulation. What was peculiar was the set of lacerations across her back, from the back of her neck to the back of her pelvis, blood seeping through the material of the shirt to stain the white fabric red.

Sherlock has his magnifying glass out, peering fiercely at the abundance of unidentifiable spots dotting her shirt.

“Sherlock.” John’s found a letter, luxurious envelope, embossed with an official looking insignia.

“Sherlock!” Brows furrowed, Sherlock continues to study the stains, probably cataloging the origins and compositions of the blemishes across her shirt.

“Sherlock!” Sherlock remains unresponsive, still taking in the scene in front of him.

Huffing in annoyance, John heads over, already used to this side of Sherlock. Deathly focused on the task at hand, tuning out any outside input he considers a distraction. A smile lifts the edges of John’s lips, exasperation written in the creases of John’s brow, as John leans down to speak to Sherlock.

“Hey Sherlock I found-”

John is met with silence, and straightens up again, sighing. Sherlock was brilliant, but why did he always have to be so difficult.

Standing with hands resting on his hips, John’s lips curled with mischief, shuffling closer, only to poke one finger sharply below Sherlock’s ribs.

What John didn’t expect, was such a visceral reaction from Sherlock.

Sherlock yelped, head whipping around to fix a glare at John’s laughing figure. Sherlock had dropped his magnifying glass onto the floor, expensive glass now useless due to the multitude of lines stretching across the instrument.

“S-Sherlock,” John choked out, still chuckling to himself, “are you ticklish?”

Sherlock stood stiffly, only pausing to pocket the ruined magnifying glass, a faint blush stark against pale cheeks. Sherlock’s eyes flickered over to rest on John’s shaking figure, muscles taut as Sherlock wrapped his Belstaff tighter around himself, walking swiftly away and towards the main road.

John hurried along, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, a soft smile playing across his features.


Nestled in the warmth of the taxi and speeding across London back to Baker Street, John let his eyes roam over Sherlock’s lean figure. Sherlock, who had always been cold, untouchable, and had walls so high John would never be able to see over them, was ticklish.

It was an entirely new thing to accept, but personally, John thought it was adorable.


“Sherlock”, John was almost at his wits end, this was the fifth bullet Sherlock had put into their fridge.

Sherlock whirled around, heading back into the living room, before dropping heavily onto the sofa, staring sullenly ahead.

“Come on Sherlock, we need that fridge, you of all people should know that,” John fumed, fists clenching sporadically.

“Bloody hell even you use that fridge!” John stopped in front of Sherlock, glaring down at the impassive detective.

“I was bored John.” Sherlock states, emotionless, still staring straight ahead, unmoving.

“Bored are you?” John bites out, blue eyes hard and unflinching, before memories of a yelping Sherlock invades his mind.

John lets his features melt into a blank slate, hoping to mask the sense of childish anticipation building in his gut.

As John leans down, inching into Sherlock’s personal space, suspicion makes itself evident in Sherlock’s verdigris eyes, tracking John’s every movement. Sherlock thinks for a moment, teeth worrying a pleasingly full lower lip, before his eyes widened, flickering up to meet the warm blues of John’s eyes. John can tell the moment Sherlock realises what he’s about to do, nothing escapes Sherlock, not really, but this time, Sherlock is a second too late to stop John from launching himself at Sherlock, bowling him over with his fingers relentlessly attacking Sherlock’s sides.

An unwilling yelp escapes Sherlock, before a series of maniacal giggles bubble out of Sherlock’s throat, accompanied by the frantic twisting of Sherlock’s body, writhing in a valiant attempt to rid himself of John’s hold. As of now, an ear splitting grin has covered John’s features, elation welling up deep inside his gut from the laughing, relaxed image of Sherlock before his eyes.

Soon, Sherlock is tired out, lying loose limbed and pliant across the length of the sofa, head lolling back to accentuate the curve of a pale throat. John is seated across of him, nursing a cup of tea, both men still panting from the exhilaration that they felt not even minutes ago.

Sherlock’s head swivels around to pierce John with his gaze, eyes somehow still cold and passive, but imperceptibly warmer than before.

“That was mean.”

Silence hangs in the living room for a few moments, before John bursts out laughing, the happy, joyous sound ringing loudly in the previously silent room.

“I was mean? Sherlock, you put five bullets into the fridge!” John lets his eyes wander, and they rest on his cup of tea, steaming on the coffee table for a fraction of a second, before snapping back up to Sherlock’s horizontal figure on the sofa.

“What did I say? I was bored John.”

“Go get that parcel by the door Sherlock,” John calls, ignoring Sherlock’s dramatised groan.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice travels over from the doorway, suspiciously thick, “did you get me a-”

“Yeah I did,” John revels in the quiet surprise and muted happiness flickering on Sherlock’s face, “figured since I caused you to break yours the last time that I should get you a new one.”

Sherlock bounds towards his room, coming out with a few sheafs of paper and jumping onto the sofa, causing the tea on the table to shake precariously as he leans back against the armrest of the sofa.

John sighs exasperatedly, but his hands are gentle when he gets up to smooth back the sweat matted curls off Sherlock’s forehead.


Sherlock is just about dead on his feet.

“That’s enough.” John cuts Lestrade off, herding a stumbling Sherlock towards the main road with gentle hands and soothing whispers. Lestrade protests weakly, saying something about having to take their statements and witness accounts and-

“We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Sherlock is John’s first priority. Always has been.

John’s insides feel generically warm and mushy as he takes in the sight of a mussed, vulnerable Sherlock. Throwing out an arm to flag a taxi, John slips his other arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulling the lean detective snug into his side, sliding him into the taxi with surprising tenderness.

Sherlock slumps into the seats, verdigris eyes glazed with exhaustion, eyelids fluttering lightly as a fine-boned hand comes up to grasp at John’s sleeve. John’s heart clenches achingly at the sight of a worn-out Sherlock, clutching feebly at John’s jacket, and as John climbs into the taxi, Sherlock tugs at John’s sleeve, pulling John close.

A sound of discomfort escapes Sherlock, as he attempts to curl his entire body into John’s shoulder, head butting placidly against the underside of John’s chin. John smiles, eyes warm and mouth soft, as he wraps an arm around Sherlock, palm coming to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers sorting through the curls he finds there.

Sherlock mumbles something unintelligible, jostling them both in an attempt to coil himself closer to the source of warmth. John is surprised by how protective he feels of this brash, coarse detective in this very moment, wishing for nothing more than to stay in this moment forever as he leans down to press his cheek against Sherlock’s riot of curls as his fingers stroke his love into the skin behind Sherlock’s ear.

Too soon, the ride to Baker Street is over and Sherlock is definitely fully asleep on John’s shoulder, snoring gently and hands clenching erratically in John’s jacket.

“Sherlock,” John shakes the flaked out detective, stifling a snort at the dismal sound that Sherlock makes, a cross between a dissatisfied grunt and a wet snuffle, “we’re here.”

Sherlock gives no indication that John’s even said anything, so John flashes an apologetic look at the cabbie, before leaning down and hissing sharply at Sherlock to wake up!

Sherlock moans under his breath, long limbs taking the chance to curl more firmly around John. In a moment of distraught motion, John pokes Sherlock in the ribs, trying to wake him up.

Sherlock jolts awake, the top of his head colliding painfully with the soft underside of John’s jaw as he straightens up, fumbling with his scarf as he almost trips over the sidewalk in his haste to exit the taxi.

John climbs out after him, catching ahold of the end of Sherlock’s jacket, and tugging Sherlock around so that they stand face to face in front of 221B Baker Street.

John looks up to see the quiet curiosity reflecting in Sherlock’s eyes and chuckles to himself before lacing his hands behind Sherlock’s neck, pulling the startled detective down so he can smile straight at him, before placing a chaste kiss on the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, meeting Sherlock’s gaze with the ever present question of is this okay?

Coupled with a decisive nod, Sherlock swoops down to capture John’s mouth with his own, tracing the seam of his mouth with infinitesimal care, suckling softly on John’s lower lip as John arches into Sherlock, pressing upwards in an attempt to feel more of the soft, wet heat when Sherlock breaks away, panting slightly, a smile curving his features.

Dropping one last, quick kiss on John’s lips, Sherlock pulls away, unlocking the door to 221B.

Sherlock turns back, running an appraising eye over John’s still flushed cheeks, rumpled jacket, and mussed hair, grinning as he holds out a hand for John to take.

“We’re home.”

some tags ( let me know if you ever want to be tagged in my crappy works + if you want me to stop tagging you ) :
@softjlc ; @thejohnlocker ; @shag-me-senseless-watson ; @johnlockshire ; @b221 ; @gentleholmes
^ i’m hoping to add a little perk & fluff into our lives since the end of tfp so i hope this helps !!!! i love everyone


(Not My Gif)

“I must be going” your father said abruptly.


“I’m afraid so”.

“When will I be seeing you again?” You asked. You knew your father’s work sometimes made it so you wouldn’t see him for days at a time.

“In a week maybe” your father informed.

You sighed.

“I’ll be back before you know it” your father promised kissing your forehead. With that he walked out the door.

Sarada likes to observe them. Her mother has always been an affectionate woman, warm and generous and kind and nurturing, but the way she acts around her father is much more different than the way she acts around her friends or her patients or even Sarada herself.

It’s a Thursday and Sarada has come home a bit earlier today having skipped getting a snack with Chouchou after training. When she enters the house, her parents are in the kitchen. She hears the radio playing some sweet little song and then hears her mother’s laughter.

Keep reading

err.. um.. can you please make a fic where laito is trying hard to make ayato and yui a couple 'cause he ships them SOO much? thank you, and um.. keep up the good work with those drabbles and scenarios! ^_^

“Ayato-kun! I have flowers~!” Laito squealed. His brother raised his eyebrow. “Good job. Do you want a medal?” he said sarcastically. The fedora wearing boy pouted.

“That’s not what I ment…” he sighed, “I want you to give these precious little flowers to your precious little Bitch-chan~!”

“What?!” Ayato scoffed. “Why should Ore-sama do that? She should be the one who should give Ore-sama flowers!” He blinked. “On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t give me flowers…”

Laito giggled. “So will you give these beautiful roses I stole from Subaru-kun’s garden to Bitch-chan?” He smirked hopefully and gave his brother the bouquet.

“… You’re right!” He nodded in agreement. Laito almost yelled in triumph. “If I give these things to her, then maybe she’ll make me Takoyaki!” He whooped.

“Ayato-kun!” Exasperatedly, Laito sighed.

The narcissistic redhead’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute… I don’t need flowers! I can just force her to make some for me!” He childishly stuck his tongue out. “You’re an idiot,” he said and shoved the bouquet in Laito’s mouth.

The fedora wearing vampire coughed out the rogue petals that he shoved. He pouted and left to plot another scheme.


“Bitch-chan~” Laito squealed, “can Laito-kun ask you a question?” He gently grabbed the timid girl’s face and smiled devilishly.

Yui bit her lip nervously. “Eh? Um, y-yes! Of course!” She tried to escape the vampire’s grip in fear of getting bitten.

“Great!” Laito smirked and let her go. The blond girl stood there patiently as she waited for the brother to continue.

He looked around as though he was going to be captured in a few moments. He leaned in and whispered secretively in her ear, “what type of men do you like, Bitch-chan~?”

The bride looked at him weirdly. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he suggestively winked, “who makes your heart pump with excitement? Is it the princely type? The cold type? The cute type? Ah! I know~” he clapped his hands in realization, “you must like a the narcissistic idiots who can’t tie a tie themselves!”

Yui laughed. She thought the vampire was joking. “Are you talking about Ayato-kun?” Though she was giggling, Laito noticed that her cheeks were slowly tinting red.

“Yes~! You must love him-”

“I’m sorry, Laito. But I think I like the good boy type a lot better.” She smiled brightly to conceal her blush. “Anyway, goodbye, Laito! I’ll see you soon!” Yui ran as fast as her legs could take her.

The vampire leaned on the wall and sighed. “They’re hopeless,”


“My brilliant plan doesn’t seem to be working as well as I had thought~” Laito mumbled to himself. “It’s such a pity, though… AyaYui is such a perfect ship!” He grinned contentedly.

He had already tried multiple times to get them romantically involved. He tried pushing Yui into his brother’s arms but Ayato threw her into the pool again. He attempted to set them on a blind date but Ayato said no when Laito told him that the girl had no breasts to be proud of.

They weren’t exactly aware of it themselves, but Laito was sure that they were made for each other! He just had to keep trying!

He mulled over his plans. Imagining the two together as an official couple made him want to jump in the air. He slammed his fist on his hand and looked determined.

“Nfu~ they may be idiots but I won’t give up on them!”


“Tch. Oi, pervert! What the hell are we doing here? Wait- do I smell Takoyaki?”

“Yes~! I had cute Bitch-chan make us some food! I am sure you love her cooking, hm?”

“It’s the best!” Ayato enthusiastically remarked as he whipped the scent of his favorite dish. “I want to eat her food forever!”

Laito squealed. “Do you want to marry her? She’ll cook for you for as long as you want!

"Wait,” Ayato shut him up, “so what you’re saying is…. If I marry Chichinashi over there…. She’ll cook me Takoyaki anytime?!”

The fedora wearing vampire raised his eyebrow. “Well, not exactly but you get the gist!” He grabbed his brother’s arm and forced him to waltz around the room.

Ayato tried to get away but his brother’s grip was strong. “What are you doing? Get off me!”

“When you marry Bitch-chan,” he gently closed his eyes and circled the room with practiced movements, “you must treat her like a princess. You must be there for her and she will be there for you. She is yours and you are hers.”

“Nfu~ oh! And by the way, you must give your helpful little brother pictures of you and Bitch-chan so he can post them on Tumblr~!”

“… And she’ll make me Takoyaki everyday, right?”

“Well, if you don’t die from diabetes yet, then yes-”


Laito watched with wide eyes as his brother sprinted out of the room. He came back as quickly as he went. When he arrived, Yui was tucked securely in his arms in a bridal position.

She looked a little shaken. “A-Ayato-kun? What’s going on?”

“We’re getting married, idiot! Didn’t you hear me?” Ayato rolled his eyes and dropped Yui to the floor. Laito helped her up. “Okay, this wedding’s gotta be the best! I’ll ask Kanato for a gown, I’m sure Reiji’ll want to manage catering….” He trailed off.

The perverted vampire and the sacrificial bride watched as the narcissist rambled on. They both looked at each other. Yui was blushing while Laito still looked shocked.

“Um… Laito-kun? Am I really getting married?”

“This plan went a lot better than I had hoped.”

Your Chance (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1, 625

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Request: Bucky x reader where the reader is the new computer engineer for Tony and she lives in the Stark Tower. Weeks later, she has a secret crush on Bucky, but she was afraid to even talk to him because she is very shy and has a lot of insecurities, especially with her body. But all ends well. FLUFF EVERYWHERE PLEASE

A/N: Ask for fluff, and fluff you shall receive. I told myself this wasn’t too cliché but it really is. (I’m sorry but fluffy Bucky does it to me) I hope this does your idea justice. This is also unedited, so any mistakes I will fix up tomorrow. Requests are closed as of now! Happy reading!

Your name: submit What is this?

Living in the Avengers tower had its negatives- Tony completely overworking you, dealing with rude rich people and always lacking sleep due to the overwhelming loudness of it all. With all the negatives came many more positives- forming an unlikely friendship with Bruce Banner and Tony, learning more than you bargained for, and, developing the biggest crush in the world for a metal armed assassin.

Yes, you were completely smitten for Bucky Barnes, yet you’d never even spoken properly to the man.

You had spoken in passing, you’d be tinkering with a computer alongside Tony or helping Bruce out in the lab, and he’d come in, ask a few questions and leave. Very rarely did you speak about anything unrelated to technology. The first normal conversation was Last Wednesday when your paths crossed during breakfast and you had an in depth conversation about his arm and his time in the 40’s. Before leaving he asked if you could do it again. You hadn’t spoken to him since.

That was until you were sitting in the lab with Bruce and Tony, somewhat spinning around on a chair as him and Tony worked on their recent project regarding nuclear physics. Usually when you had no work to do and Tony was in a good mood, the three of you would sit down there, listen to Tony’s terrible music and discuss anything and everything.

“Is Pepper coming to the party tonight Tony?” You asked, bringing your spinning to halt.

“Afraid not,” Tony responded, moving away from the glass projected screen. “Does that mean you’ll accompany me?”

“I mean, I suppose I could,” You sighed, your eyes rolling at him.

“Brilliant, you’re wearing that red dress right?” Tony asked.

It was the dress he had gifted you for your birthday a few months ago, he knew you wasn’t into flashy and revealing things because you was very insecure. You had told Bruce and Tony in one of your rare ‘deep’ conversations and Tony was very understanding about it all. Of course Bruce was too, and ever since they had always looked out for you at large gatherings because that was where you always felt most uncomfortable.

You nodded your head at Tony slightly. As you was about to answer properly Steve and Bucky walked in, looking around at each of you. Steve held a file in his hand and waved it at Tony.

“Here’s that file you wanted, Hill found it in an old cabinet. We’re still unsure as to why it wasn’t uploaded electronically, so Y/N, if you get time can you do that?” Steve said, he handed the file over to you and smiled.

Steve walked over to where Tony and Bruce was standing and began a quiet conversation, you assumed it was about the recent Hydra base they had discovered and when they was planning on attacking- Tony had told you all about it. While you were flicking through the file a very shy looking Bucky had walked over to you, his hands tucked behind his back.

“Barnes,” You nodded, lifting your head up and offering a smile. You weren’t meaning to be so blunt with him but you were still unsure around Bucky; he made you feel all tingly when he looked at you and extremely self conscious. He didn’t mean to of course, but you preferred to admire him from afar rather than have him staring at you like he was in that moment.

“Will you be at the party tonight?” He mumbled, his blue eyes staring at his boot clad feet. “I was hoping we might be able to properly talk.”

Before you could answer him, Steve was already bidding you all goodbyes and leaving, Bucky trailing behind him.

Your crimson nails gripped onto Tony’s arm as he walked you to the room where the party was being held. It was a formal party for a change, women would wear ball gowns, and men were required to wear suits. You were unsure on what the party was actually for, but you knew everyone was attending; even Thor was going to be coming.

Feeling your long red dress tickling your ankles, you lifted it slightly in fear of tripping in your heels. You were sure Tony could sense your uneasiness as he placed his hand over yours on his arm. He paused outside of the entrance for a moment, turning his head towards you.

“Right let’s breathe for a second,” He said, inhaling deeply. “Look, we’re good right? You look great, I obviously look great. We’re going to walk in there and dazzle them all so, Y/N, stop stressing, Bucky is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

“W-what do you mean, Bucky, I-“

“Oh come on Y/N, I’m your best friend, I may be old but I have eyes, and not to make you self conscious or anything, but you go really red when you talk to him,” Tony smirked at you.

You sighed at him before entering the room, your grasp tight around his arm again, his fingers drumming against his leg. The glow of lights twinkled in your eyes as you surveyed the room above the stairs. As you slowly descended, you realised that a lot of people were looking at you and Tony, all of them your colleagues and all dressed in a way you’d never seen them before.

You shut your eyes for a second; reminding yourself that you looked good and that you had nothing to worry about. Tony walked you over to Bruce and Steve who were standing at the illuminated bar. Miniscule lights were draped across the shelves, a radiance surrounding the bottles of liquor. Tony was ordering your drinks as Steve was grinning at you.

“You look lovely tonight Y/N,” Steve remarked, his elbow leaning on the wood of the bar. Bruce nodded along with him, his eyes crinkling in a smile.

“I agree,” Said a voice from behind you. In an instant you were able to recognise it. You turned your body around to Bucky who was rocking on his heels.

Tony walked towards you and placed your drink in your hand. He embraced you in a hug and whispered, “This is your chance, kiddo, you got this. I’ll be over by the balcony if you need me.” He then released you and walked away, Bruce and Steve following.

“Seems that everyone has left us,” You concluded, earning a short chuckle from Bucky.

He ran his human hand through his unruly hair, pushing it behind his ears. “Seems that they have,” He answered, the shadows of the lights reflecting onto his face.

He looked like a different man dressed in a suit- a thin tie dangled from his neck and a fitted blazer hid his cybernetic arm from view. “You look dashing tonight,” You spoke gently, lifting your glass to your painted lips.

“You look wonderful too, Y/N.” He began, his breathing staggering, “Rather than standing around, would you like to dance?”

You nodded curtly and accepted his hand. Couples littered the polished floor, all dancing to a slower jazz song that was playing. He attached his metal arm around your waist, holding you as if you would break. Your arm wrapped lightly around his neck and your small hand clasped perfectly in his.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been speaking to you lately,” Bucky mumbled, his eyes boring into yours. “I just got scared.”

You tilted your head at him, your eyebrows furrowed. “Scared?”

He smiled at you before he turned you around, “Scared of what I was feeling.”

“And what was that?” You whispered back, your breathing becoming heavy, the heat had already began rising to your cheeks before you realised it was happening.

“You look cute when you blush,” Bucky grinned, his hand brushing against your cheek softly. He twirled you again before you could say anything back to him.

You danced to the rest of the song in a comfortable silence, the music filling your ears and Bucky’s grin never leaving his face. “You know, I used to be the best dancer back in the 40s,”

You laughed at him, throwing your head back, “Since when was I dancing with my grandpa?”

“What’s wrong, too scared you won’t be able to keep up with a 99 year old?” He joked, his eyes glittering behind his thick eyelashes. You giggled again, bringing your hand towards the stubble across his jaw.

You blinked quickly, as you felt his hand touch your arm. You stood like that for a few moments, both swaying to the song being played and staring at each other.

“I was feeling electric,” Bucky started, “I felt like a balloon being inflated and lifting off of the ground. It was as if all I could think about was making you laugh or causing your cheeks to get red.”

You inhaled deeply, realising what he was talking about, the blush creeping back into your face. “And Y/N, I don’t want that feeling to ever stop, and I’ve stupidly been telling myself it’s nothing but I can’t ignore it anymore, you make me feel the best I’ve ever felt.”

Lifting your hand towards him, your fingers traced along his jaw, the stubble scratching your fingers, his eyes began closing and you were leaning your face in. He brushed his nose against yours, before placing his rough lips against yours slowly. His hand was pressed to your cheek as your lips moved in sync. Numbness engulfed you as the kiss lasted not a moment too long, yet not long enough.

Bucky pulled away, his lips grazing against your own as he beamed at you. He dropped his hand, picking yours up in the process and holding it to his solid chest, “Not much of a grandpa now huh?”

Lost Chapter 4

Read the first chapter here (x)

Warnings: None
A/N: Everything from the potterverse belongs to Ms. J.K. Rowling.

Masterlist here

At every free moment, you and your friends spent all yourtime working on the proposed cure for George. Hermione locked herself in the room you shared reading for hours on end. You were sure she was exhausted, but she never admitted to it. Ron snuck out of wedding planning several times to scour for the proposed Weasley pensive. You had to hand it to him for visiting ten members of your family at a time and still coming back in time for dinner. Amidst the work you did to prepare for Fleur and Bill’s wedding, it seemed like you couldn’t get the memories down fast enough.

Just as you were starting to reach the ropes end of the memories you had, you heard a small knock on your bedroom door.

“Y/N, Hermione, Ron’s back with the pensieve,” Harry called.  The two of you couldn’t scramble out of your room fast enough. When you arrived in Ron and Harry’s room, you took a long look at the pensieve. It was a relatively large silver bowl with what appeared to be latin text scribbled around the edges: iucunda memoria est praeteritorum malorum.

“Pleasant is the memory of past troubles,” Hermione translated. “Yep this is definitely a pensieve alright.”

“Good because I did not want to have spent three hours chatting with Aunt Muriel for nothing,” Ron moaned.

“It’s strangely empty for something you’ve had in your family for centuries,” Harry commented.

“Yeah Muriel wouldn’t let me take memories. She said I’d spill hundreds of years’ worth of Weasley treasures whatever that means,” Ron confessed.

“Well I guess that’s good in a way. George will just have a vat of his own personal memories with Y/N and nothing else,” Hermione shrugged.

“I’ll go get Fred” you began to reach for the door when you felt Harry’s hand on your shoulder.

“George is in there. If he sees you he’s going to go ballistic. I’ll go get Fred,” Harry offered.

“While he’s gone, let’s extract a simple memory from you. We’ll get the rest later,” Hermione smiled as she motioned for you to sit down beside her. “I want you to think of a nice introductory memory for George.”

You closed your eyes and imagined the first time you saw George. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I got it,” Hermione marveled. You opened your eyes and stared at the silver strand that was dangling from her wand. Quickly, she dropped it in the pensieve, and the empty bowl filled with a silvery liquid containing your one memory. “What were you laughing about?”

“You’ll see when Fred finally comes back,” you smiled as you tried to suppress your laughter.

“What are you saying about me?” Fred pondered as he strode in the room.

“Nothing negative it’s just the first time I met George,” you started laughing again.  Fred smiled the memory replaying in his mind.

“I already filled Fred in as we walked here. We just need to see if the memories are clear enough to help George remember,” Harry spoke. “I have no doubt that Hermione did a perfect job on the spell, but we can’t be too careful.”

“How many people can watch the memory at a time?” Ron mused.

“Just one I’m afraid,” Hermione sighed.

“Alright Y/N you should go. You’ll be able to see if there is anything wrong with the memory,” Harry replied.

“If anything happens I can pull you out straight away,” Hermione reassured you. You took a deep breath , and taking one final look at your friends, you placed your head in liquid.


You felt yourself falling, and you screamed when you realized there was nothing to hold on to. All you could do was close your eyes and pray that there would be something soft to catch you.

You landed with a loud thud; surprisingly you didn’t feel any pain from your rough landing. Dusting yourself off, you stood up and looked around. You were in a one of the hallways of Hogwarts, and you were not alone. Your younger self was making her way down the hallway humming a happy tune. You almost wanted to laugh at how embarrassing you were, but you just followed yourself down the hall. There was a faint whispering coming from somewhere down the hall, yet the younger version of yourself was so enraptured by the tune she didn’t notice. Just as you remembered what was to happen next, your younger self was hit by a purple puff of smoke. When the smoke finally cleared, she looked at her robes and exposed limbs. When she realized they were completely purple, instead of gasping in horror, she started laughing uncontrollably.

“I told you we should’ve checked the hallways before we started,” Fred muttered as George started running toward your younger self. Your heart ached when you saw him; it had been far too long since you last saw him.

“I’m so sorry about this are you alright?” George asked your younger self with a look of concern.  

“I’m fine,” the younger you gasped in between laughs. When she finally calmed herself down, she continued “That’s one powerful spell you have. Why test it indoors?”

“Doesn’t affect anyone but people and their clothing they have on. Now I’m beginning to wish we didn’t affect the clothing,” George sighed.

“It’s absolutely brilliant though it could use a bit of tweaking,” she commented.

“So you’re a pranking genius now?” George teased.

“You know it,” she sassed back.

“What is your name oh pranking genius?” George asked.

“Y/N. And you both are?” she questioned.

“I’m George and that is Fred,” he answered calmly. “Now I think I owe it to you to help you clean up. This is going to take a lot of work getting out.” She flicked her wand absentmindedly restoring your clothes and exposed limbs to their normal colors. Both you and her smiled in unison; you knew it was a simple spell, but the fact that it impressed George still got to you.  

“How did you-” George stammered.

“I’ll teach you in time young Padawan,” you winked.

The memory started to blur and you felt a force pulling you upward. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay and see what happened next.


You were gasping as you pulled your head out of the plate.

“Did it work?” Hermione inquired, a look of concern in her eyes.

“Better than I expected it to,” you praised. Every detail was perfect down to a tee.

“When should I show George this?” Fred piped.

“Tomorrow I think when we can all be there,” Harry paused, “I mean not you Y/N, but you know we’d want you there if we could.”

“How did it feel?” asked Ron.

“Real Ron,” you turned to face Hermione, “Are all these memories going to be this realistic?”

“Yes. They have to be for George’s sake,” Hermione purred. “You don’t have to watch every one Y/N. That would be too emotionally exhausting for you.”

“I might have to watch them all eventually. I mean what if he’s really lost to me,” you speculated. Everyone looked away, no one was willing to face that possibility yet

“You don’t know that and nor do I Y/N,” Hermione reasoned. “ We’ll try everything in our power to help him but you need to trust us.”

You nodded and walked back to your room. You prayed that George would react just as positively to you reintroducing yourself through memory as he had the first time you met.

The story continues (x)

Thanksgiving - Marco Reus

“I can smell our apartment from down the hall,” Marco shouted as he walked into the kitchen. I turned around just in time to see his eyes bug out and his grin stretch to cover his face.

“Oh my god,” he laughed, tossing his jacket onto a chair. “Y/N, I think there’s enough food here to feed the entire team.” I giggled and shrugged, continuing to stir the pot on the stove.

“It’s not a proper Thanksgiving unless you take in like 5,000 calories in one sitting, plus dessert,” I explained. “You should invite the boys, if you want,” I suggested. Marco came up behind me and rested his chin on my forehead.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he sighed. “I want to spend my first American holiday with you, my little American.” I scrunched my face and shook my head.

“So would that make you my big German?” I questioned, peeking up at him.

“Only in the bedroom,” he joked, playfully biting his lip. I rolled my eyes and smacked him away, insisting he shower before dinner.

The food was all done, apart from the pies that would be perfect when the time for dessert rolled around. I carefully spread the buffet of food across the dining room table, making the large, golden turkey the centerpiece atop a red tablecloth. Marco returned just as poured the wine.

“Yesssss,” he exclaimed, “this is what I have been waiting for all week. Can we eat?” he asked excitedly. Highly amused by his eagerness, I decided to have a little fun.

“We can eat,” I began, “if you can tell me the story of how Thanksgiving came about,” I demanded, folding my arms across my chest. “You were listening when I told it to you, right?”

“Oh, uhm yeah, yeah of course,” he mumbled, attempting to recall my words.

“Let’s hear it,” I said teasingly.

Marco cleared his throat and exhaled. “Ok, so the Mexicans ran away from the King and they bumped into the Canadians and together they planted corn and like made America and then to celebrate, they had dinner,” he said matter-of-factly. I stood dumb-founded for a minute before keeling over in laughter, eventually gasping for air. “Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t exactly right?” he mumbled, sucking his teeth. I composed myself as best as I could and gave him a pitying look.

“Oh honey, thank the lord you can kick a ball,” I joked, taking a seat at the table with Marco right behind me.

“Well,” he sighed, “we can’t all be brilliant foreign exchange students.” He gave me a wink and a complementary smile.

“That’s ok, I like you how you are,” I comforted, reciprocating his wink. “Now, do the honors,” I said, passing him the carving knife, “and let’s eat.”

It wasn’t long before both Marco and I had devoured our fair portion of food, even though it was only a small fraction of what I had cooked. We were slumped over in food comas. “If I have one more bite, I will actually explode. However, I can’t bring myself to put this roll down,” he said, chomping down on the warm bread product. I laughed and the groaned, feeling overwhelmingly full.

“I need a nap,” I whined, leaning back in my chair.

“You deserve it,” he insisted, “this is the best meal I have ever had, baby. Thank you, Happy Thanksgiving.” I smiled at him sleepily.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I seconded. “We’re going to be celebrating for the rest of the month by the looks of all this food that’s left.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffed, “once the boys find out, I won’t have to invite them, they’ll just come over and inhale our kitchen.” I gasped at his words once I realized.

“The kitchen, the pies,” I yelled, jumping out of my seat and running into the kitchen just as the smoke detector began obnoxiously beeping. I leapt towards the oven door, but Marco was too quick and cut in front of me.

“Careful, Y/N” he barked, turning off the oven and opening the door to unleash a burst of smoke. He pulled the pies out of the oven and set them on the stove. Frowning, I walked forward and stood right in front of them, ready to cry.

“Dammit,” I grumbled, looking at the charred mess I had created.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marco sang, “they would have gone to waste anyway, and we’re both full, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I just wanted everything to be perfect,” I shrugged.

“It was,” he insisted. “Dinner was perfect, you’re perfect. Forget the stupid pies. We’re mean to be thankful for what we’ve got right?” He was standing beside me, and arm around me waist as we looked at the burned desserts.

I nodded half-heartedly and turned to face him. “I’m thankful that I bumped into a pretty American girl who spoke German at the airport. And I’m thankful she deceptively kept me from catching my flight so she would have more time with me. And I’m thankful she gave me her number. And I’m thankful she’s a genius and managed to get into a foreign university so that I could have her right by my side all the time,” he added. I hugged his waist and rested my head against his beating heart.

“I’m thankful I didn’t set the house on fire,” I joked, making him laugh his perfect laugh.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s a good one too,” he conceded.

“But I’m also very thankful for the boy who thinks Mexicans and Canadians made America,” I teased, kissing his clothed chest. Marco grimaced embarrassedly before childishly shrugging.

“Close enough,” he mumbled into my hair. He tugged at my hand and led me to the bedroom.

“Come on,” he cooed, “let me give you something to really be thankful for,” Marco smirked.


  • *221B*
  • Sherlock: *looking in the mirror; fidgeting with his collar* Are you sure this is a good idea?
  • Molly: *in her bedroom* Absolutely. I've almost solved this case. A quick undercover in this club should be the final proof I need. I can think of no one better to assist me.
  • Sherlock: *bitter* What about Greg? You two seem close.
  • Molly: *confused* Who?
  • Sherlock: *smiles* Nevermind.
  • Molly: *exits her bedroom* Well?
  • Sherlock: *glances at her*
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: *staring* Wow.
  • Molly: *frowns* What?
  • Sherlock: *spluttering* Well, you...I mean, you're- you look fantastic.
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* It's just a dress.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* Just take the compliment, Molly.
  • Molly: Oh *hesitates* Thank you.
  • Sherlock: *waiting*
  • Molly: *clears her throat* You look quite fetching yourself.
  • Sherlock: *nods* Thank you *offers her his arm* Shall we?
  • -they walk out into the street and hail a cab-
  • Sherlock: What's the name of that club?
  • Molly: *to the driver* Angelo's.
  • Driver: *nods* Right you are, missy.
  • Sherlock: *confused* You said-
  • Molly: We're having dinner first. Problem?
  • Sherlock: *shakes his head*
  • Molly: *smiles* Good *takes his hand*
  • Sherlock: *grins like a fool*
Arie’s Corner - Fics to Love

It has been a LONG ASS time since I have told you guys what I am loving reading right now.

Jensen & Dean - One Shots/Imagines/Drabbles

@torn-and-frayed - Isn’t It Great

  •  With this angsty Dean x Reader piece, Steph has proved that she is satisfied with setting the world on fire and watching it burn. Now that I said that, you know you want to find out what the hell is going on. Join the damn club.

@blacktithe7 - Don’t Say a Word

  • This is one of her older pieces, but it is brilliant, per the usual. This Dean x Reader one shot will remind you what the word feels really means. I promise, you go read it, and you won’t regret. And don’t worry, she wrote a follow piece. (Say Something)

@sincerelysaraahh - Jensen at the Airport

  • This is a cute Jensen x Reader interaction that explains the video of Jensen’s when he was rushing to catch his flight in Rome in may. Super cute a fluffy.

@one-shots-supernatural - Restless Nights

  • This is ANOTHER take on the airport video, but this time we have Daddy! Jensen x Reader. It’s so fluffy I could float away every time I read it. I’m a sucker for daddy Jensen. ;)

@loveitsallineed - My Drab Request

  • I sent in the lines 25. “I don’t think anyone else has ever made me feel that way about myself.” 30. “There was always a little part of him that wanted to get caught.”  and Caroline came up with this piece that had me giggling like a little girl. I was doubling over in fluffy laughter at Dean’s reaction to the reader several times. 

@supernatural-jackles - Locked Up

  • Dean x Reader get locked in a freezer and there is an angsty, fluffy revelation. I love it. 

Jensen & Dean Series 

@one-shots-supernatural - The New Roomate Series

  • I put this series off for a while in the name of, “I’m too busy, I don’t have time!” Well, I’m glad I found the time. This Reader x ? series is completely wonderful. Its AU Sam and Dean, but she stays true to all of the characters and puts them all in a world where you would think this is what their life would be like if they weren’t hunters. It’s fabulous and when you find out the pairing, after quite a few parts, you’ll sigh in relief or cry. Depending on if you’re a Dean girl or a Sam girl. 

@deanscolette - Love in the first Degree

  • Another AU series. This one is Dean x Reader and you need a box of tissues, man. I’m just warning you. She isn’t very deep into the series yet, but I’m so hooked and so sad. 

Smutty Dean/Jensen Oneshots

(Damn, I read a lot of smut)

@thing-you-do-with-that-thing - Red-Handed

  • She is at it again, folks. A Dean x Reader smutastic fic. Let’s just say you’ll need a cold, COLD shower when you get done with this masterpiece by Karina. You’ll probably want to read it a couple times. ;)

@whispersandwhiskerburn - Sunshine in Rain

  • I’ve only recently discovered this wonderful writer, Angel. I tell you, she is going to have a new stalker soon. This is a smutty, angsty, fluffy, Dean x Reader one shot that will just make you sigh contentedly at the end. *sigh*

@dean-reader-stories​ - Mudder Virgin

  • This is a Jensen x Reader smutty, fluff piece where the reader decides to participate in Tough Mudder for the first time and runs into Jensen and the guys and they invite her to join their team. The reader ends up running the race with Jensen. It is one of the FIRST fics I found on Tumblr, and recently found it again. You have to read it. It’s wonderful and a big part of why I write the way I do.

@ilostmyshoe-79 - Tease Me

  • Kim never EVER disappoints, and she certainly doesn’t with this smutty, hair pulling, dirty talk Dean x Reader piece. Gotta break that tension somehow. ;)

@nichelle-my-belle - Birthday Blues

  • Dean forgets the reader’s birthday and makes up for it it in the sweetest way. *sigh* It’s bloody brilliant and full of fluffy smut.

@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid - Now Boarding

  • A very fucking HOT take on Jensen’s video in the airport. Good lord help me. This is Jensen x Reader SMUT-tastic wonderfulness. And the best part, there’s a part 2. (Awaiting Departure)

Keep reading