stubble on the floor

anonymous asked:

Can you imagine little Darcy wanting to try on her daddy's glasses?? "Aw lovely, you look so smart in those" MY HEART x

MY HEART. 

Maybe she doesn’t know the word for ‘glasses’ quite yet, so she calls them his ‘eyes’. 

It’s early in the morning and Harry pads down the hall to go wake her up. Rumpled pajamas he’d plucked from the floor, hair pillow mussed, chin a bit stubbled, and his frames slid onto his face because it’s early and his eyes are still adjusting to waking. And there’s a big ‘good morning’ cuddle as he unwraps her from her blanket nest and brings her into his arms. Tiny arms looped around his neck, where she nuzzles in for a moment, because he’s warm and his scent is comforting and familiar. 

“Hi there, my little love,” he’d say, as he brushes her bedhead back from her face and presses three quick kisses to her cheeks. “Did you sleep good?”

She nods,  reaching up to pat at his cheek affectionately. “Daddy, I try your eyes?” she asks in her little voice, fingers reaching further to touch the frames. 

He can’t help but to giggle as he pulls off his glasses and carefully fixes them over her ears. “There you go.” They hang nearly halfway down her cheeks, magnifying the brilliant green of her drowsy eyes. She smiles proudly. 

“Whoa,” she coos, and as she looks around curiously, the frames slide up and down her nose. 

Harry chuckles. “Does everything look a bit funny?” 

“Yeah. Wibby-wobby.” 

“Wibbly-wobbly,” he repeats with a laugh. “You look very clever in them, lovey. Like a little professor.” He bumps the tip of his nose to hers. “Can Daddy have his eyes back now, please? Need to be able to see where ‘m going!” He gingerly slides his glasses from her face as she gives a huge yawn and a nod, settling them back in front of his own eyes. “Thank you. That’s much better.” 

“Got your eyes,” she hums. 

“Yep! Now I can see how beautiful you are.” He smushes his lips to her neck and blows raspberries against her skin, glasses pushing up towards his eyebrows as she shrieks with laughter. Tiny fingers fisting into his hair.  

“Should we go make Mumma a coffee and then come back up for a cuddle all together? Does that sound good?”

“Okay.” She’s already on her way to dozing off again, cheek pillowed to his shoulder. He smiles softly and kisses her forehead, careful not to disturb her. Thinking just how lucky he feels that this is what he gets to wake up to. 

Just Friends

Another night spent alone.  Another night without him knowing my true feelings, what I want.  I swore this trip would be different. I swore I would tell him, make a move, maybe change things between us.  But, here I lie, wanting him, needing him. 

 These walls are so thin I can hear him, strumming away on his guitar, probably writing some new song.  Maybe one about his crazy friend who is slowly driving him mad.  One day he’ll leave me.  One day he’ll introduce me to a girl and I’ll have no choice but to stop running to him with these ideas of us in my head, that he has no clue even exist.  I mean, for nearly two months he apologized to me every day, asking if I was okay, if we were okay, after we found ourselves in bed together.  I teased him, told him it was just a moment of weakness and assured him time and time again that he was and always would be my best friend.

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jackwhitesgirl  asked:

Hello! Welcome back, we have missed you! ♥️✨💋 I was wondering if I could request a Tombraxas and prompt wise... could it just be Tom not wanting to admit to his growing feelings? Thanks lovely! 💋✨🔥

pairing: tom riddle x abraxas malfoy

setting: modern, non-magical, college au

word count: 1050

warnings: language, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dumb gross boys being dumb and gross, etc.


Abraxas Malfoy kisses like he does everything else.

Lazily, sloppily, with way too many teeth and way too much saliva and, weirdly, just the right amount of tongue; he crowds Tom against an ancient, rickety door that groans under the force of their combined weight, cups the back of Tom’s head with one of his massive fucking hands, and then rolls his hips, grinds down, fumbles for the doorknob, breath hitching a little when Tom bites down on his lower lip—

Abraxas Malfoy kisses like he’s used to getting exactly what he wants, and it’s fucking infuriating.  


“You’re a fucking idiot,” is the very first thing Tom says to him afterwards.

Because now they’re locked in the grimy basement bathroom while the year’s first rush party rages on outside. The faint, slightly grainy thump of Lestrange’s stupid Eurotrash DJ equipment is rattling the ceiling fan. Tom’s phone is securely stowed in the presidential safe upstairs, but Malfoy had managed to spill beer all over his an hour ago. No one is going to find them until morning, probably, unless the pledges run out of places to puke.  

“Wonder what that makes you,” Malfoy muses, scratching at the shiny gold stubble on his jaw. He’s sitting on the floor, slouched against the wall under the light switch. “Since you’re so into it.”

Tom crosses his arms over his chest and sneers at the peeling enamel on the clawfoot tub. “What, exactly, am I so into?”

Malfoy flips his hat backwards. “My dick, mostly.”

Tom stares at him, unblinking and unimpressed, for so fucking long that his eyes begin to water. “Can you pass me the Listerine?” he asks coolly. “Under the sink?”

Malfoy smirks. “I think we both know that’s not Listerine, bro.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I always call you that, though. Bro.”

“And I always tell you not to,” Tom snaps.

Malfoy chuckles. “Why are you so uptight? It literally can’t be because you need to get laid, like, you’re getting laid, I am personally fucking responsible for that, thanks.”

Tom clenches his jaw and reaches around Malfoy for the Listerine bottle. FRESH MINT, the label reads. “I’m not so into your dick, by the way,” Tom says, deliberately ignoring Malfoy’s comment. “I’m not so into anything of yours.”

“Bullshit,” Malfoy retorts, swiping the bottle out of Tom’s hand as soon as he has the cap twisted off. He takes a comically huge gulp of what smells like vodka. “You made me social chair so our rooms would be next to each other. You’re hella into me.”

Tom snatches the bottle back. “I made you social chair because you have no concept of money and use your own fucking credit card to plan official events.”

And so our rooms would be next to each other.”

Tom sniffs. “Maybe I just don’t trust you.”

Malfoy’s answering grin is sleazy. “Whatever you’ve gotta tell yourself, baby.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“What’s that, baby?” Malfoy murmurs, sidling closer. His breath is hot and moist and terribly, terrifyingly sweet where it swirls against Tom’s ear. “You’re really into my mouth, too?”

Tom slams the Listerine bottle down, sloshing cheap vodka onto chipped green tile. “No, actually,” he hisses, “that’s not what I’m into.”

Malfoy jerks back. “Wait, what?”

Tom is dimly aware he’s treading on dangerous ground. Unforgivable ground. He’s just—not sure he cares, really, because his spine is tingling and his pulse is thundering and his head is a fucking mess, chaos on top of chaos on top of chaos—  

“Your most attractive quality, Malfoy, isn’t your credit card, or your mouth, or your—dick.”

Malfoy licks his lips. His eyes—gray and clear and startlingly innocent, usually—are wide. Wary. Tom shivers, a little, at the sight. “Then what is?”

Tom shrugs like the question doesn’t matter. Isn’t relevant. “Your convenience,” he says blankly. “You are convenient to me. I wish you’d stop fucking forgetting that.”

For the first time in three years—since they met on the cold marble steps of the Greek Council building, since they started fighting, and then fucking, and then falling into this strangely frenetic holding pattern, one that Tom had an unsettling suspicion Malfoy only pretended to let Tom have any fucking control over—Malfoy’s expression flickers with uncertainty. Self-doubt. It’s simultaneously the most relieving and most distressing thing Tom’s ever seen, and the ensuing flood of rage—of disappointment—churns uneasily in the pit of his stomach. He can’t pinpoint the cause. He instinctively knows he doesn’t want to.

“Jesus,” Malfoy mutters, voice cracking. His gaze is trained on a spot of speckled black mold on the floorboards. He’s scraping at it with his thumbnail. “It’s not that fucking deep, man.”

Tom presses his lips into a thin line. “Yes,” he grits out, “it is.”

Malfoy swallows. “Whatever.”

“Don't—” Tom cuts himself off with a scowl. There’s a small, purple-black bruise on the side of Malfoy’s neck. A hickey. A mark. Tom’s mark. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Malfoy scoffs, still staring at the floor. “I’m not even looking at you, bro. Too inconvenient.”

Tom makes a sound in the back of his throat—low, guttural, impatient—before grabbing Malfoy’s hand, flattening his palm, and aggressively entwining their fingers. “Do you need me to say it?” Tom demands, nostrils flaring.

Malfoy goes very, very still. “Would you?” he asks, sounding curious. “Say it, I mean. If I needed you to.”

Tom doesn’t reply—but he doesn’t let go of Malfoy’s hand, either.  

And Malfoy’s smile, when it finally comes, is slow and smug and syrupy and sharp.  

Tom is beginning to understand why.


BonesXReader: Three Weeks

You cursed the idiots responsible for your current state. A few weeks previous some Ensigns took a trip planet side to help the native species and the morons never went to the med bay to get vaccinated beforehand. Now because of their stupidity, both you and your boyfriend were pulling a shift and a half at a time. Him to monitor the dumbasses in quarantine and you to make up for their shifts in Engineering. Because of the split shifts and the difference, it meant you and your partner, Dr Leonard McCoy hadn’t seen a lot of each other. In fact, you hadn’t seen each other at all. And that was the problem. Aside from being unbearably horny, you were now starting to feel sick on top of it.

Life was being tough on you right now. You and Leonard used to be intimate almost every day. Now it had been at least three weeks and it wasn’t good. Didn’t these idiots know a girl had needs? Normally you wouldn’t be effected by the length of time so much, so you had no idea why the feeling was so intense. One morning, after throwing up your breakfast you headed to med bay to see your friend, a nurse, Nychelle to ask her to check you over. The last thing you needed right now was to be sick on top of everything else.

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Here is the absolutely stunning commission of Anders I got from heavensong at Metrocon!

Imagine leaving Matt to protect your child...

Originally posted by celestialnogitsune

“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!” you yelled out in frustration.

“Keep your voice down” Matt warned as he waved behind him, “We just put her to sleep”

“What does it matter, Matt” you turned around and faced him, “It definitely didn’t matter when those thugs broke into our apartment and ripped her from my arms the other night!”

Matt gave a slight nod as he said, “I know, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that they knew who I was when I’m not-”

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Spar

Synopsis - At the Performance Center you ask Dean to have a little spar with you to test your endurance and made him swear to take it as seriously as he would a real match. You made the champ promise not to go easy on you and let’s just say that was not one of your better ideas…Or was it…? 


SMUTTTT and this is before Backlash


Pairings - Dean Ambrose x Reader


Included Characters - Becky Lynch, Bayley, Roman Reigns


Gif isn’t mine so credit to the owner~!


Originally posted by stellarollins



Your name: submit What is this?




“You want me to do what?” Dean snorted, momentarily stopping his assault on the punching bag to glance over to you. 


He kinda wished he didn’t…


There you were in tight gym clothes, sweaty and on top of all that you weren’t looking too happy…


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Crayons

Rook Howard x Robert Joseph MacCready

(1111 Words, SFW, Established Relationship, Dadding, Fluff?)

A/N: It’s technically seventeen minutes since @losebetter ‘s birthday ended, but I am the Slowest Human Being and my writing brain likes to hide until the end of the day. So, here’s this. I’ve had the idea for like - a month or so now, having come from the fact that I, just like a five-year-old child, cannot draw. Not to mention Rook is The Best Dad, and Dog is The Best Weird Internet Uncle.

In short, here’s a kinda not-great, very rusty Fallout fic featuring the Wasteland’s best dad in order to celebrate one of my favorite people. Happy birthday, sweet pea! :D<3


MacCready carried the crayons around for months. They were nothing special—the paper sleeves were faded, the tips crushed in the small, plastic wrapper. A handful of old, slightly deformed lumps of wax he’d found beneath the counter of a dinner he and Rook had swung through looking for any untouched canned goods for diner one night. It hadn’t been an immediate thought—to pick them up and tuck them into the breast-pocket on his shirt. It had taken a few seconds and Rook calling his name, but they’d found their way there, a quiet, subtle hope for the future.

Now, they’re spread out on the floor of their home, well-used and stubbly, as Duncan scratches away at the latest in a series of drawings. The paper sleeves are gone, for the most part, torn away as the crayons became shorter and shorter, shrunken by Duncan’s constant desire to document his thoughts by the way of pictures that he would pass along to one of the other three people in the house.

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Ready For The Storm - Chapter Two

When they crossed the threshold of the headmistress’s office, Hermione was surprised to see the Minister of Magic sitting casually in one of the nicer wingback armchairs, tea tray out on the table in front of him. He looked tired, with more than a day’s growth of stubble lining his jaw. She dropped her bag to the floor heavily, suddenly overcome by an all too familiar feeling of trepidation.

“Minister, is there something… is something wrong?” she asked, her voice wavering more than she would like. He looked at her kindly, but it was her professor that responded.

5

Prompt: You know what? There’s all these imagines about Ron and Carl fighting over the reader and the reader picking one, but what if, plot twist, reader says they like Enid instead. So if you could please write one like this, I would greatly appreciate it

Requested By: Anon

A/N: I was literally thinking about writing something like this like an hour or two ago.


The were at it again. Of course (Y/N) didn’t know that they were at it at that very moment. She was upstairs in Ron’s room while Ron and Carl were down stairs. (Y/N) and Enid were waiting patiently for Ron and Carl to return while the two were down stairs whisper-yelling at each other.

Carl was frustrated with Ron and his advances to (Y/N). He was tired of him trying to get with her. He was tired of having to say the same thing over and over again. 

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Catching (ReaderxDean)

Previous Parts

Warnings: sad backflash, angst, fluff, smut

Words: 2174

Note: finally, some smut! ;) let me know what you all think and if I should continue this series! xoxo

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anonymous asked:

(Usually BFF) Companions being pushed by Sole after a heated argument then calling them an ass.

HOW DO YOU CALL CURIE AN ASS? MAYBE LIKE ‘DAYUM GIRL, YOU GOT A NICE ASS’ I SEE NO OTHER WAY?!?! SHE TOO CUTE AND INNOCENT TO BE AN ASS. Enjoy <3

Cait:

“Cait, for fuck sake. Stop being such an ass. When you feel like you need to use again, just fucking come to me”

Cait had been clean for a few weeks, but for some reason today, really felt the urge to use again. She thought that she could be sly about it; she really didn’t want Sole to find out. But of-fucking-course they found out. Those annoying fucking blackbirds that fly around must be spies, or every other human being that lived or breathed in the commonwealth must be reporting back to them, because they fucking found out.

Cait had only wanted one hit- for the old times. One last one. But of course Sole had to find out. Cait stood defensively, and watched as Sole exhaled, breath falling from their nose, a stray tear making its way down their cheek.

“I just want you to be healthy and safe. You can’t if you put yourself in danger through using Cait”


Curie:

“OUCH ASSWIPE”

Sole had never liked needles, even before they ended up in their own personal freezer. The idea of blood tests made them squeamish. They never liked having to stim themselves, always told their companion that they’d just sleep it off.

But you can’t sleep off a deep bullet wound. Blood was seeping out of the wound, causing the blue vault suit to stain, but Sole told Curie that it was fine, they were fine.

But Curie wasn’t expecting that as an answer. When Sole was turned away, Curie silently snuck up on them, jabbing the stim’s needle into their arm, injecting the medicine into Sole’s body to speed up the healing process.

Sole jerked their arm away from Curie, screaming out as they felt the needle enter skin. They instantly felt bad about calling her an asswipe, so mumbled out a pathetic excuse of an apology, which Curie instantly accepted.


Danse:

“…For the Brotherhood. STOP IT DANSE, NO MORE BROTHERHOOD ASSHOLE”

Danse had been kicked out the Brotherhood. And it broke Sole’s heart to watch as he slowly destroyed himself with a sense of false hope and loyalty for the group whose leader had aimed a bullet between his eyes.

So Sole snapped, telling Danse exactly how it was. The Brotherhood soldiers they saw when travelling together were no longer family; they had orders to shoot Danse on sight. The vertibirds that flew over their heads were no longer an ally; if seen, the miniguns attached to them would be trained on Danse before he could say ‘ad victorium’.

He had to admit to himself- he knew they were no longer his family. But they were the only family he had. And he just wanted to cling onto that for a little bit longer. But he didn’t tell Sole that.


Deacon:

“you ASS”

Sole and Deacon had travelled to Sunshine Tidings Co-op because they heard they had a problem with gunners.

The pair had arrived and got straight to work, repairing broken turrets, setting traps and mines for the gunners to fall into. Then they stood and waited for the impending attack.

The fight between the settlement and the gunners had been a lot more difficult than any of them expected. Sole was stood shooting at the assholes, and out the corner of their eye watched as Deacon went down. They shot their way across the battlefield, killing anyone that got in the way of her and her friend, falling next to him on their knees. They shook Deacon, calling his name, before standing back up, picking him up under the arms and dragging him in the direction of the medical building. They threw him on the bed, rushing around the room to find medical aid whilst watching the battle play out outside. It looked like they had won, with only one injury. Their best friend laying on the bed in the room.

Just as Sole went to stim Deacon, treating who knows what sort of injury, he opened his eyes. Sole stopped the needle just above skin, asking him where abouts on his body hurt the most. Sole knew the needle would need to be inserted close to the injury for best results.

“I got a splinter” He replied to their question, holding his thumb up like a child with a boo boo. He was met to a punch in the arm and a sob from Sole, before they pulled him into their chest.

“You Ass”


Hancock:

“You ass”

Bobbi No-Nose had tricked Sole into breaking into Hancock’s personal warehouse. Sole and Hancock have been on good terms, hell, maybe they could have called each other friends. But now?

Sole sat in Hancock’s office, staring at him nervously from her place on the couch opposite him. He sat with his knife in his hand, swirling it in between his fingers, staring Sole in the eyes. He’d whispered in Fahrenheit’s ear before dismissing her.

“What are you going to do to me?” Sole whispered, deciding to come to terms with their fate. The question was met by Hancock laughing in their face.

“I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya brother/sister, ya didn’t sell me out. I just wanted to see you sweat” Sole stood up, stomping round the coffee table to smack Hancock on the arm, mumbling to themselves:

“You ass”

“Talking about asses, don’t mind if I do” He replied, slapping Sole on the asscheek, eliciting a sqeak and another slap on the arm, Sole blushing a deep red.


MacCready:

“I didn’t touch your fucking gun you asshole”

Sole screamed at him, pushing him away from them, before storming off across the vast emptiness of starlight drive in.

MacCready was shocked. For two reasons. One, Sole had just called him an Asshole (his poor delicate little ears). Two, he fucking knew that Sole had touched his gun.

Sole had wanted to learn how to become a better sharpshooter. MacCready was Sole’s ‘bestest friend in the whole wide commonwealth’, and MacCready was a sharpshooter. He agreed to help Sole, but told them they would have to find their own gun; his was special.

He turned and stormed back into a room, throwing himself down on the bed he’d claimed as his. As the mattress creaked and shifted under his weight, something bounced off onto the floor. His hand cupped his face, rubbing his stubble as he sat up, looking down on the floor at his gun that Sole obviously planted there. As the events of the afternoon unfolded in his head, he groaned silently to himself, before standing up and making his way to the door, every intention of finding his ‘bestest friend in the whole wide commonwealth’ and apologising.


Nick:

“I CAN’T KEEP GOING ASSHAT”

Nick knew that travelling the Commonwealth can be tough at times. Sole and Nick had been travelling for fourteen hours, and had taken time to stop at an old abandoned shack. Nick had hurried Sole so they could move on to somewhere more safe, and Sole had snapped.

Nick defeatedly admitted that Sole was right, they can’t keep going. He stood and watched tiredly as Sole dragged their sleeping bag out their pack, roughly throwing it on the floor. He told them he’d keep watch all night, and he’d wake them up in the morning.

Nick wasn’t really sure if they had heard what he’d said. They’d fallen straight asleep and soon as they’d laid down, not even taking the metal plated armour off their chest.


Piper:

“Piper you ASSWIPE. I told you NOT to mention me in that BLOODY article OF YOURS”

Sole had been hanging around with Piper in Diamond City for some months now. Sole had been there when Piper had started writing the article, and they had quickly shot her down at mentioning their name in the article.

But Piper had gone and mentioned them. And it pissed them off big time.

Sole didn’t want the whole commonwealth to know their name; they didn’t want everyone believing that they were going to be the one to come along and save the commonwealth.

Sole didn’t want the Brotherhood knowing about them, or the RailRoad to know their name. Sole just wanted to find their son. But Piper clearly had other plans, even if Sole didn’t want to be part of them.


Preston:

“ANOTHER one. AnoTher oNE.” Sole mocked his voice. “No you ass, go and KILL THE MUTIES yourself”

Preston had to admit to himself, it was probably annoying the way he asked so much of Sole and seemed to give nothing in return. He also admitted that he sounded like a broken record, going on about the same things every time that Sole was nearby.

They hadn’t had the downtime to just be friends in a few months, and it was clear that Sole had had no downtime anytime recently.

But Preston felt that Sole had no reason to be so… mean… towards him, he was just doing his job after all. He watched as Sole stalked away, most probably to calm themselves down. It wasn’t long before they were back and apologising, agreeing to take on the job, but he declined, telling them that he’ll send someone else and that Sole can have the night off. Downtime he told them.


X6-88:

“…a fucking wooden spoon. An ass. They both have more emotions than you. That’s what you are X6, A FUCKING ASS.”

Dogmeat got hurt. A group of raiders had spotted the three of them from a mile off, and had moved themselves to higher grounds to get a better shot. Sole and X6 effortlessly eliminated the raiders, however at some point Dogmeat had been shot by a stray bullet.

Sole had reached for a stim to heal the dog, however X6 took it from them, moving it out of reach, claiming that Sole would need it more than the animal. Sole hadn’t taken well to being told that.

So here they were, comparing X6 to a wooden spoon and a ass. And they weren’t far off the mark if they changed the sentence to ‘you have a NICE ass’.


Maxson:

“YOU, ARTHUR ASSHOLE MAC ASS MAXSON, ARE AN ASS”

Sole didn’t react well to being told that Danse- no the thing- needed to be put down. They had been sent to kill it, but they didn’t, and they were emerging from the underground facility with it still alive. Sole also didn’t react well to an ultimatum.

When Maxson raised his gun, intending to end the life of the traitor, Sole had put their body in the line of fire. Maxson told them to move, but they refused. When Sole heard Maxson cocking the gun, they threw themselves at him, every intention of causing him to fall, but he barely moved an inch. His gun was still cocked, but now he had a clear shot.

He fired one shot, aiming for Danse’s heart; intending to end his- no its- life. But as the round left the gun, Sole hit the gun, causing the bullet to completely miss its intended mark.

“Asshole”


Desdemona:

“You’re an ass”

Sole and Desdemona had been discussing RailRoad business for hours now, and Desdemona had shot down everyone of Sole’s ideas.

Des had wanted the opinions from Sole of how to deal with the elephant in the commonwealth that was the Brotherhood. Sole was giving ideas, the majority of which were good- great even- in Des’s mind, however involved putting Sole’s life at risk. And Des didn’t want to put a friend and agent in danger like that, even if they wanted to do it themselves.

“So Des, you want my opinions so badly yet you shoot every single one of them down. Thats an asshole move. It means you’re an ass”

Switched

Originally posted by blackinjustice

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Switched

Prompt: Can I get a buckyxreader? They have similar backgrounds, but they can’t stand eachother and argue a lot. Loki finally gets fed up and makes them swap bodys and they feel everything the other does, after it’s over its like “how the heck do you do it?!”

Note: I really like this prompt omg! This one’s gonna be fun!

Warnings: None?

“You always ruin everything, Barnes! I had you covered! If you would have trusted me, I wouldn’t have missed the target!” You shouted. The Avengers had just gotten back from a mission, and once again, you and Bucky were arguing.

I always ruin everything? Me? I’m not the one with the 40 percent success rate!”

“We took care of the mission,” Steve said. “I don’t see why either of you is upset.”

“Ugh! I’m out of here!” You shouted, turning to leave. Bucky followed you.

“Where do you think you’re going?! I’m not done with you!”

“Well too bad! I’m done with this conversation! I’m out!” You insisted. Bucky reached forward and grabbed your arm. There was a flash of green, and in instants, you both collapsed to the floor.

This should be fun…

***

You came to a little while later, clutching your head. You felt odd, bigger than usual. You sat up and rubbed your face. Stubble. That’s not right. You scraped yourself off of the floor and looked in the mirror. Bucky. No. Nooo. NOOOO. That couldn’t be right. What was happening?

You were taller, that was for sure, and extremely muscular, and you couldn’t feel your left arm. Oh right. It was metal.

“Bucky? Are you okay?” asked Steve. You looked around and then pointed to yourself.

“Steve, I’m not Bucky. I’m (Y/N).” You said. “S-something must have happened. Where’s Bucky?”

“You mean where are you?” Steve asked. “I mean, well um, no, I was right. Was I?”

“Get Bruce on standby. We have to fix this. I can’t be Bucky. I can’t.” You said, walking through the hall like a man on a mission. Finally, you found him –er yourself. He was sitting on the couch with your legs crossed and an angry look on his face.

“You!” You pointed. “Get out of my body! Now!”

“If I could, I would, princess!” he stood up and crossed your arms. He looked up to you, noticing your considerable height advantage. “God, you’re short…”

“How do you think I feel?” You asked. “How do you even use this thing?” you waved the metal arm around. “I can’t even feel it!”

“I know! I live with it!” Bucky shouted. “You know, maybe being you isn’t so bad. I don’t see what you’re always so upset about.”

“Oh, buddy, you chose the wrong week to say that.” You crossed his arms, smirking.

“W-what do you mean?” he asked. You counted down from three on your fingers and he went down, clutching your abdomen. “Oh my God! I need a medic!”

“Not so tough, huh? Not so tough? Try that every single month!” You teased. He grimaced. Your smug expression fell, and you realized what was happening. Maybe walking a mile in each other’s shoes would help you out after all. “I…uh, I have some Tums in my room, if you want some. They help.”

“Why on earth would you help me?” he seethed. You scooped up your body in Bucky’s strong arms.

“Because I’ve been there too many times to count and it’s not fun.” You told him, carrying him down the hall and into your bedroom. You set him on the bed and opened the medicine cabinet, taking out the Tums container. You tossed it to him and he popped a few tablets into your mouth.

“Thanks,” he said reluctantly. “I…I’m sorry for earlier. I just, I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe when all of this is over…” Bucky started. “Do you want to go out or something?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “Why not?”

Have a Request? Just Ask!

youtube

Song of the Year, 2012 for me! 

"Imagine doing the Tango with Crowley" One Shot
Authorcrowley-glencraig

Original Imagine

Warnings: It’s a tango, it’s going to be bizarrely tense… it’s also long, I regret nothing.

(It might also help to listen to some tango music, you’ll know when.)

Fic:

After a failed hunt you’ve found yourself sitting at the bar of a fancy looking restaurant, listening to obscure classical music played by a bored looking band, surrounded by rich looking people eating fine dinners and talking about all sorts of nonsense and complaining about having too much money to know what to do with while in the company of their friends. You know you can’t afford anything to drink from here, it’s just too expensive for your taste and it’s obvious the bar staff know it too as they purposely ignore you. Not that you mind, the restaurant serves as a good hiding place from the Winchesters who will no doubt interrogate you about your failure. Not nastily, they will just want to help, but the thought of sitting down and explaining how you missed your one good shot on your target causes your stomach to twist in uncomfortable knots.

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Closed rp (The return)

sailor-anwael

James slouched against the unrecognised door, knocking slowly at it, his left hand missing his index finger and his right hand missing his ring finger, he had escaped from god knows where, where they had kept him for god knows how long, he only had a few memories that he could recall, a bar, an apartment number and a name.

The first place James had gone was to the apartment just to work out what it meant, after he got there he found out that it was in fact his and that he had disappeared a few months ago, the place being sold given the disappearance, taking that information he went to the bar that he remembered and asked about the name he remembered, it was terrifying when he asked as people screamed at him for disappearing and making her feel like it was her fault, though after some conversation he managed to get he apartment number from them, and now that is where he was, knocking on her door.

Finally the door opened, his scruffy body stood infront of her, torn plain white clothes and thick stubble across his cheeks “V… Valeria..?” He questioned before collapsing on the floor before her.