to anticipate his moves and to catch him but at what cost

now we dream apart

soulmate au

pairing: jungkook | reader
genre: angst 
word count: 3.291
warnings: none
author’s note: I know I know, another soulmate au, I’m trash. :’) this is just a small story I started working on this afternoon, to get me back on track so I can start working on my bigger projects again. nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

You don’t know when the dreams begin — but once they do, it feels like they’ve been there since you were born.

The first dream of him revolves around coffee beans. The heavy scent of the morning beverage tangles with the rich shade of chestnut hair and chocolate eyes, turning almost hazel under the glowing sunlight. You can remember a gaze, a nose and full lips turned upwards, but your mind is unable to piece it all together. The face as a whole is blurry in your mind, indistinct, frustratingly vague.

But the memory of those lips moving and pronouncing your name is remarkably sharp, and it almost fools you into believing it is not a dream, but a real memory — that the warmth accompanying his stare existed at some point in your life, that your body did feel the bedsheets tangling around your bare legs as you struggled to move closer to him. That the sound of his voice, rough and mellow, belongs to a living, breathing person and not a figment of your vivid imagination.

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Originally posted by hohbi

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: street racing au, smut, angst

word count: 23k

description: Street racing was your dirty little secret, you could never get enough of the thrill, of the adrenaline that pumped through your veins like a drug. You were used to being the best. The competition would all fall miles behind as you thundered down the empty streets. 

But then Jung Hoseok showed up in town, bringing with him an arrogant manner and cocky attitude and you’re soon forced to acknowledge that you aren’t as undefeatable as you’d once believed. 

warnings: mentions of alcoholism

For you, street racing had always been an addiction.

You had told yourself it would be a one off thing. After all, it was reckless, irresponsible, dangerous and so very unlike you. You who had been so studious and dedicated your entire life, you who rarely drank and had never even tasted the bitter smoke of a cigarette.

It was hard to remember the first time you did it, you’d been so high on adrenaline that the details of the night all seemed to melt together into a confusing smudge of events. All you knew was that when you had sat behind that wheel after finally being persuaded, when your foot pressed down hard on that accelerator and when you heard the tumultuous sound of the engines roaring, you felt more alive than you ever. Nothing else had mattered, handing in work before the deadlines, wondering how you were going to pay for dinner, fixing the leak in your roof, all those things became so laughably unimportant. Your only objective was to cross that finish line.

It felt better than getting good grades, better than alcohol, better than sex.

Of course, the next morning, like any student with a good reputation, you were desperate to sweep your temporary recklessness under the rug. More than reckless, street racing was completely illegal. You were aware of the risks, you could get fired and kicked out of university, you had already stepped far too close to treacherous territory.

But like all drugs, once you get hooked, despite your better judgement, you always keep coming back and back for more. You constantly chase that elusive feeling, the feeling you got the very first time. So you donned a biker helmet, the kind where even the eye screen was made of blacked out plastic, just to ensure no one would ever figure out who you were, and you gave into the addiction, you let it consume your very being.

And it couldn’t be denied, you were a fucking good racer.

So good in fact, that after about a year of racing, no one could beat you. No one, that is, until Jung Hoseok showed up in town.

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Shady hotel business.

WARNING: This post is looooooong. If you want a quick fix, this isn’t the story for you. If you want to dive deep into the layers of corruption where it’s all about the little things, then please read on. Also, I’m fond of lists.

This happened two years ago. I was twenty and a recent university dropout. I needed a year to empty my head, recover from imminent burnout, and make some money to help support my single mom and my younger sister (who’d just given birth with no father in the picture). I was a very insecure person at the time. I really wanted to work, but without a degree life sucks balls… until I got contacted by Mr B.

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I can’t be bothered to write it all down on paper so I am sitting here, sharing it with you instead, while listening to the Russian Orthodox Requiem haha!

Feel free to like & share it to serve as your own reminder. It’s useful as hell.

It is all from the book “The 48 Laws of Power” by Robert Greene.

Read on, my friends. For this is going to teach you many valuable lessons!


Always make those above you feel comfortably superior. In your desire to please and impress them, do not go too far in displaying your talents or you might accomplish the opposite—inspire fear and insecurity. Make your masters appear more brilliant than they are and you will attain the heights of power.

Note: Yes. This is so important. Especially when it comes to dealing with MEN. Never outshine the MASTER.. oh boy, but how we do ;)

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10 Years (The Beginning)

Pairing: Stiles x Reader (eventually)

Warnings: heartbreak

A/N: This is an AU series that I have been working on for so damn long! Wow, I can’t believe I’m actually posting it. I really hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions or queries about what will happen. Thank you to @dylan-trash-tbh for keeping me sane.

Tagging: @nervousmemzie @darlingimafangirl @apollogirl13

Next Part

Originally posted by dylanobriengirl

“I’m not going,” You stated clearly as your fiancé glanced at you over his cup of coffee, you shoved the postcard to the side, looking through the other envelopes that the postman delivered moments ago. Bills. Bills. And more bills. You averted your eyes from Asher’s blue ones, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

“It’s your ten-year High School reunion, y/n. You have to go.” He stated, standing up from the chair and walking to the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the kitchen breakfast counter. He adjusted his tie before sighing, turning to you, his eyes pleading for you to help. You walked up to the sandy haired man, giggling as you fixed his navy tie. “Just think about it, what I’d do to go back to my ten-year reunion and give the people a piece of my mind.” You laughed aloud, shaking your head.

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Full of Suprises

Gif Not Mine :)

Hello, my lovely friends, I’m back with another one-shot courtesy of an anonymous prompt submitted by one you beautiful people. Since my birthday is coming up and I’m a bit selfish I decided to finally write this. And here starts the apology for this being so late. I believe this prompt was sent to me a little bit before my hiatus so if the author of this prompt is reading this I hope I did it justice and I’m terribly sorry that it is so late and I do hope you enjoy!

Prompt: Can I have a request where it’s the readers birthday, and for some reason her ex thinks its okay for him to show up with a new girl, the avengers are pissed, reader is upset, and Steve comforts her while the others deal with her ex? Smooches! xx 

Word Count: 2,372

A single knock rap against the door of your small apartment, however, it goes unnoticed by you as you sluggishly begin to craft a basic breakfast. You start by cracking a couple of eggs in a small purple bowl quickly mixing the yokes with the egg whites. Placing the mixed eggs in a large saucepan, you set out to make your favorite cheese and bacon omelet.

“You know you really ought to keep your doors lock, Brooklyn can be a scary place.” Your closest friend Steve chuckles from behind you. “Wouldn’t want the birthday girl to be robbed on her very special day.”

“Steve, we talked about this…”

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Escape:  the Bree years

6 Months Later

When Claire thought back to the early days with Bree she could only describe it as if she were climbing out of a fog.  Fog so dense, so thick, you couldn’t see your outstretched hand in front of your face.  Like the red tail lights of a car in front of you that you can see, but then disappear, and no matter how far you drive you can never catch a glimpse of the thing that you know is right in front of you. 

Slowly though, the mist had cleared.  

Through her own determination, her sister-in-law’s support, and Jamie’s unfailing love, she managed to find joy again.  Claire’s joy was in her work, if only part-time.  She loved the energy of the Emergency Ward, the fast pace, the split-second decisions, and the challenge of performing a different surgery almost every day.  

“Suction.”  Her field of vision was cleared immediately.

“I need another clamp, please.”  

The instrument was in her hand before she was done asking.  But that’s how it was with her and Geillis.  They knew each other so well that they anticipated each other’s needs.  

She looked up and smiled at Geillis.

“Hocus Pocus,” Geillis giggled.

“Time to focus,” Claire admonished with a wink.  

Everyone agreed that Geillis was an excellent surgical nurse, but put she and Claire together in the O.R. and you had real magic.  

Her joy was in Jamie.  He was happy he had provided for his family’s needs. He moved mountains to prepare their home for a Nanny.  Her husband had charmed Mrs. Fitz at their first meeting, then invited her to dinner at their home, and asked her to care for Bree.

“Honestly, Mrs. Fitz, I’ve no’ seen anything like it.  She went to ye as natural as she would her Auntie Jenny,” Jamie smiled at their guest.  

“Och, she’s a sweet child,” Mrs. Fitz said as she stirred sugar into her tea.

“So, we were hoping that ye might consider being her Nanny three days a week. Not full time, mind.”  Jamie poured on the charm.  “Seein’ as she has no Grandparents, ye really would be filling a huge void in her life.  Someone who could teach her the songs and stories that our mothers would have done. The presence of someone with such strong character and values. Do ye ken my meanin’?”

“Aye,” the blue eyes twinkled, “I ken fine what ye mean.”

But Mrs. Fitzgibbons had said “No”.  

She was getting on, she explained, and her knees were sometimes sore.  After years of wandering hospital halls she’d had enough.  It was the stairs, she explained, the ones leading up to the flat, and the others inside.  She knew she would never be able to manage.

Jamie understood her decision.  He just didn’t accept it.  

The same drive, determination and stubbornness that drove James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser to rehabilitate after his accident, to be successful in business, to tenaciously fight for Claire with every folded piece of origami when they first met, did not take Mrs. Fitz’s ‘no’ lightly.

One week later he showed her the flat on the ground floor that Claire hadn’t even known existed.  Apparently, Jamie had been using it as a storage space for years.  He rattled on to Mrs. Fitz about all the amenities, promised her whatever features she wanted, made it rent-free, and finally convinced her to take the position.  

The minute their daughter reached her little arms out for Glenna Fitzgibbons, Jamie had seen it as Divine Intervention.  

And Jamie Fraser was not one to spit in God’s Eye. 

He’d opened his wallet, and opened it wide to ensure the peace he and Claire needed as working parents.  He cleaned out the space, designed and oversaw the renovation, even going so far as to have a lift installed in his building.  

“Where are ye goin’?”  His blood ran cold at the sight of the suitcase and the clothes Claire was jamming into it.

“Dammit, Jamie, this is getting ridiculous!” Claire was furious. “The noise is unbearable.  Bree can’t nap, and I can’t keep her out all day while they put in a fucking lift that costs a small fortune!”  She walked into the bathroom to pack up her toiletries.

“Claire,” Jamie followed her, “Claire - wait!”

She stopped and looked up at him, her face close to his, her whisky eyes dark and threatening.  “I’m going to Lallybroch.  I’ve taken two weeks off and Bree and I are going to your sister’s.”  

Jamie breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to the closet to grab some clothes.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Well…I thought,” Jamie stuttered.

“Think again.”  Claire spun around and threw her bag of creams and lotions in the suitcase.  “You have two weeks, James Fraser.  We’ll be home Sunday next after supper,” Claire poked her husband hard in the middle of his chest, punctuating every word.  “I. Want. It. Finished.” She paused, then added with a tug on his sweater, “Stat.”

“Aye,” Jamie whispered.  “Ye have my word.”

Her joy was in Bree.  Their daughter was happy, and thriving.  She was crawling, cruising along the furniture, and babbling. She watched everything with solemn eyes, taking in every word, every action.  Intelligence brewed behind that angelic face.

“Dada!” Bree shouted when Jamie came home.  Hell, she said it every time he entered a room.  

“Halò, mo leannan!”  

Claire’s 12 hour shift from 5:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. allowed her pick up the baby, while Jamie did the dropping off.  Mrs. Fitz was packing up the diaper bag while Claire was tidying up the toys that stayed in Mrs. Fitz’s flat.  

As all three adults watched, Brianna Ellen Fraser turned from the chair she had used to pull herself up, and took three solid steps forward before landing on her bottom. 

The adults gasped.  Mrs. Fitz clapped.  Claire squealed and ran over to Bree. Jamie grinned and dropped down on his knees. 

Claire lifted their daughter up, and set her on her feet again.  “Go to Da, Bree. Get him!”

“Come, mo nighean brèagha,” Jamie cajoled, “Come to Da.”  Their clever girl did it again.  Three more steps, then down she went.  Once more, and she made it into Jamie’s waiting arms both confused and thrilled that she’d managed to impress the most important people in her life.

While Claire still felt the odd pang of guilt at leaving Bree so young, the pangs were like wisps of fog clouds, feather light, hardly lingering, being burnt off by the sunshine in their lives.    

Tonight, as Jamie aroused her, whispering his words of love and lust, it was difficult to remember why she had ever shut him out.  When he ran his hands over her flat stomach and down to cup her between her legs, she was unsure as to why she ever thought she could be happy alone.  

Taking him into her body, she had leaned down to him, chest to chest, kissing him deeply.  


She could taste it.  She could feel it.  She desired it.  For everything that her life was now, she was grateful.  Her job.  Her friends.  Her home.  Her husband.  His love.  His child.  

Both children.  

She found she could even be grateful for Faith because Faith made her realize just what a miracle they had in Brianna.  

And as she lay on top of him, his hands at her hips trying to urge her to move, she stayed still.  She thread her fingers through his mahogany curls so dark against the pillow, holding his head still.

“Don’t move,” she whispered.  “Just feel.  Feel us, Jamie.  Feel what we have. Feel all that had to happen to get here, to this place.  Us, together.”

She kissed him again and felt him smile through it.  

“I’ve never been more grateful for an open window and a dislocated shoulder,” he whispered back flicking a thumb over her nipple.

The silence of the night surrounded them.  The lay entangled now, Claire running her fingers lightly over Jamie’s chest, Jamie rubbing her arm slowly, each lost in thought. 

“Ye were right about gettin’ back to work.”  

“You were right about having a nanny.”

“Are ye happy, Claire?  Truly?”  She could hear it in his voice now, just as she saw it in his face when she was packing her bag for Lallybroch a few months back. 

Uncertainty, tinged with fear.  

She untangled herself, and rolled over on to her stomach to face her husband.

“Did I worry you that much?”

“Scairt me, more like,” he reached out and brushed her curls behind her shoulder, his hand lingering.  “I thought….once or twice…ye were gonna leave me.”  He said the words softly, bravely, honestly.   

“I scared myself,” she admitted.  “To be completely honest, Jamie, you can thank Jenny.”  

Jamie nodded.  “I have.”

He hugged his sister, hard.  Hugged her like he did when they were bairns. Except now he was such a size she could barely reach him.  

“Dè tha ceàrr, bràthair?”

“Nothing’s wrong.  Now,” he said.  “Jenny.  Ye’ve been so good to Claire.  To me.  I canna thank ye enough.”  

He could feel the tears, but he breathed deeply, finding control.  

“When I think back to Mam and Da, and how their marriage wasn’t supported by her brothers, I just feel so grateful that ye love Claire like a sister.  That yer there for her.  And for me.”  

“Jamie -”

“Nay, Jenny.  I found the journal.  First page, she wrote the story of how ye encouraged her to do this.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “Jenny.  Ye need to understand.  I’m damn certain that ye’ve saved my marriage.”

“To answer your question, yes.  Yes, I’m happy.  And lucky.  And grateful.  And in love.  So very, very much in love.”  Claire held Jamie’s gaze.

“I wish I could have fought that darkness for ye,“ he said abruptly, his eyes dark and intense.

"It wasn’t your fight, it was mine. But you won it anyway,” Claire said, dropping a kiss on his shoulder. 

"Aye, but that’s not what I meant. I hate that ye may feel any regret over it,” he said.

"There aren’t any regrets,” Claire said. “I thought of every one of them over the past few months, and here I still am.”

“Thank God,” he said, smiling, “and God help ye.” Then he added, “Though I’ll never understand why.”

Claire laid back down, snuggling up against her husband’s side.  She pulled the duvet up around them both.  

“Because,” she said, “I bloody well can’t do without you, Jamie Fraser, and that’s all there is to it.” 

Into the Woods

Originally posted by winter-barnes

Summary: Y/N hasn’t seen Bucky Barnes, her high school crush, in eight years. What happens when she sees him again at a natural reserve she’s taking her class to? Working as a park ranger, no less.

Warning: minor injury, swearing (maybe, I’m not even sure)


A/N: This is the result of @redgillan and me deploring the lack of Bucky in uniform, and then getting way too excited about park rangers. Enjoy!

Y/N loved her students, she truly did. But spending even a minute with thirty of them in a bus was a nightmare. There was something utterly diabolical about groups of eight-year-olds on a field trip and, not for the first time, she wondered what had made her think becoming a teacher was a good idea.

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‘Regret’ was too mild a word to express the emotion Hanzo felt.

In fact, there was no one word in either English or Japanese that accurately described the overwhelming urge that Hanzo felt to draw his neck into his body like a turtle and die quietly. His face had turned such a beet red, that even the strongest sake in Hanamura would not be a credible excuse. Ah, sake– Hanzo would have killed for his drunkenness back. In fact, he may still kill, as Genji’s maddening cackles taunted him and added more color to his face.

Hanzo’s body metabolized alcohol too quickly so he didn’t tend to get too drunk or stay too drunk on a regular day, but getting himself stuck in the McDonald’s play area jungle gym had sobered him up quicker than he had ever sobered before. It left him in a shocked stupor– he still wasn’t entirely sure this was really happening. More than that, he had no idea how Genji had convinced him to attempt something as idiotic as playing in the children’s structure. He guessed the credit was largely due to his inebriated state rather than to Genji’s “masterful persuasion techniques", which is what he had wheezed to the distressed McDonald’s employee who had come at the sound of Genji’s howling laughter and Hanzo’s furious yelling. The three awaited the arrival of the fire department; an odd mixture of unchecked fury, delight, and overwhelming anxiety making the bright colors of the play area seem sarcastic.

Hanzo kicked out with his legs for the umpteenth time, as he could not strangle Genji since his top half was trapped in the maw of the magenta slide that he had attempted to scurry up like he had seen children do. His voice echoed ominously when he roared, “WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I AM GOING TO RIP EVERY HAIR ONE BY ONE FROM YOUR RIDICULOUS GREEN HEAD, THEN KNIT A ROPE FROM THE STRANDS, WITH WHICH I WILL THEN STRANGLE YOU TO DEATH.”

There was a moment of silence and then a new voice chuckled quietly and caused a fresh wave of shame to come crashing over Hanzo’s crown, “I ain’t never heard a more eloquent threat in my life.”

The accompanying chuckles that followed were nearly drowned out by Genji’s prolonged wheezing. The firefighters had arrived, but at what cost? (Answer: Hanzo’s pride.) Though Hanzo was grateful, he ground his teeth noisily at the teasing note in the firefighter’s voice.

“Get me out of here immediately,” Hanzo blurted, thankful that the reverberating echo created by the slide had hidden the embarrassment in his voice.

“So soon?” The firefighter teased. “I was just startin’ to enjoy the view.” Hanzo’s indignant sputtering nearly drowned out the firefighter as he delivered instructions to his crew. Hanzo was only able to catch what sounded like “we’ll lube ‘im up like a virgin on her weddin’ night” which made more sense than Hanzo wanted it to and frightened him so severely that he went perfectly still and silent.

A soft shuffling, which Hanzo could only guess was the sound of the crew carrying out the assumed leader’s instructions ensued. The Southern firefighter voice came again, a roll of soft consonants that soothed Hanzo despite himself, “Howdy, the name’s Cap'n Jesse McCree, from fire station six.“

“Thank you for coming,” Genji piped up. “I am Genji Shimada and this fantastic ass is my brother, Hanzo.” Genji smacked Hanzo none too gently on his left asscheek making Hanzo yelp in shock and spit Japanese profanity from between gritted teeth like an offended cat.

“Nice to meet y'all,” Captain McCree offered. “Yer ass really is fantastic.”

“I assure you, it looks even better when it is not lodged in a hot pink children’s slide.” Hanzo ground out haughtily.

McCree laughed, “I don’t doubt that for a second. So Hanzo, we’ll be attemptin’ to use an oil-based lubricant to slide you on outta there, alright? Hang tight for just a sec, sugar.”

“I can do nothing but ‘hang tight’, Mr. McCree!“ Hanzo quipped exasperatedly. McCree chuckled sympathetically in response and Genji stifled a snort.

“Do you think the lube’ll work over his clothes?” A female voice inquired, heavy footfalls indicating that the crew had returned.

“I reckon it’ll have to, Amari,” mused the Captain. “I’d like to wine and dine ‘im like a proper gentleman before I see ‘im without clothes on. Ain’t that right, honey?” A gentle hand against his lower back let Hanzo know he was being spoken to.

“The only wining and dining we will be doing is in your dreams, cowman.” Hanzo said scathingly, causing uproarious laughter– particularly from the fire Captain.

“We’ll see if I can’t win you over, honeysuckle,” The firefighter said. “Oxton, shed yer gear and see if ya can’t shimmy on up to the top of the slide and throw some lubricant down to Hanzo.” It almost bothered Hanzo how familiarly McCree addressed him. Already, he found the fire chief brash and overwhelming and vulgar– all the things Hanzo regarded as absolutely horrendous. And yet, still he found himself enticed by the Captain in the most curious way.

“Righty-o!” Came a chipper female voice. Some aggressively shuffling and violent shaking of the entire jungle gym structure (during which Hanzo proceeded to gracelessly panic and shout profanities) later, a head popped up high up at the top of the slide. A small girl with short brown hair grinned widely down at Hanzo and gave him an enthusiastic wave which he half-heartedly returned.

“Oi, Captain!” Oxton shouted, voice echoing. “‘E’s a reeeaaalll looker!” Jovial laughter once again led by McCree’s belly-laugh sounded and Hanzo wished for a swift death.

“Our Cap'n’s pretty hot too, y'know! ‘A real fine specimen,’ says my Emily.” Oxton addressed Hanzo, punctuating her words with wild gestures. “But you can decide for yourself once we get you outta here! I’m gonna drop the tube down so catch it and do your best to get it ‘round your hips, yeah?”

“Yes.” Hanzo agreed. Oxton grinned and waved the tube of lubricant as a warning before letting it drop. Hanzo caught it easily and wasted no time in dripping it over his lodged hips. It was disgustingly slick and rank against his clothes but already, he found he could move his hips in ways he could not before.

“I can move my hips a little!” Hanzo said excitedly.

“Ain’t that a relief!” McCree replied. “I’m'a lube you up from behind– which is, spoiler alert, also what I’ll be sayin’ our first time together.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes but grinned despite himself, “Are you sure I will not be the one saying that?”

McCree gave an odd sort of choked sound, and when he spoke again, he sounded sheepish, “A-Ah, I’m gonna apply the lubricant now….“ Hanzo tensed in anticipation before feeling the same unpleasant sensation against his lower back, the slick lube sticking his trousers to his body.

“Alright, darlin’,” said McCree a little breathlessly. “Go ahead and try t’ wiggle on out.”

Hanzo tried, though admittedly, not nearly as hard as he could have. He was beginning to grudgingly enjoy his little back and forth with the Captain, “I cannot on my own. I require your assistance.”

“Okay then, sweetheart, I’m'a put my hands on you.” McCree said, the grin on his face sounding bright in his voice. Hanzo hid his own smile in his shoulder as McCree placed wide palms on the sides of Hanzo’s ass, thumbs on his hip bones and tugged while Hanzo wiggled.

He came free with a small pop, McCree helping him to straighten and stand. Hanzo gratefully stretched his back. The entourage of firefighters, McDonald’s employees, and Genji cheered excitedly. McCree clapped a slick hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, and Hanzo took this time to look the fire Captain up and down. Hanzo’s stomach dropped to his knees, his heart stuttering out an unsteady rhythm as he registered the roguishly handsome firefighter who was staring at him with an expression of utter wonder on his face.

Oxton came sliding out of the narrow magenta tube of death and embarrassment easily, permitted by her small frame, and made a clicking sound with her tongue at Hanzo, “What’d I tell you? Our boss is a right hottie, isn’t he?”

Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged a shoulder, “He is certainly not the ugliest man I have ever seen.”

McCree laughed bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck and eyeing Hanzo playfully, “Aw shucks, sweetheart, you sure know how to flatter a man.” Hanzo’s face broke into a grin at McCree’s sarcasm, though it disappeared just as fast when his eyes landed on Genji attempting to camouflage himself against a bright green slide on the other end of the structure.

“You!” Hanzo thundered, making a mad dash for Genji that his little brother replied to with an undignified yelp and a mad dash of his own. Unfortunately for Genji, Hanzo was faster. A few firm smacks to the back of the head and intense yelling in Japanese later, Genji was allowed to keep his hair and his life by the skin on his teeth.

McCree approached the brothers with a grin and a towel, holding the latter out towards Hanzo almost bashfully. Hanzo gratefully accepted it and used it to mop up some of the excess lubricant from his ruined clothes.

“Y’know,” McCree began, hands on his hips and a crooked grin on his face. “I was hopin’ you’d do me the honor of makin’ my dreams come true.”

It took Hanzo a moment before he understood what it was McCree was referring to, but once he realized it was his own line of dialogue used against him, he chuckled softly and replied with a tilt of his head, “I think you have won me over, honeysuckle.”

anonymous asked:

How would gaara, shisui, and Naruto feel about an arranged marriage? How would they treat the bride to be? How do they handle the wedding night and how is life after that?

Hooooo shit, I got so excited this became a mini-story. I’m so sorry, unless you like long headcanons, in which case it was my pleasure. I’m a sucker for the arranged marriage trope. Also sorry about the Gaara gif, but I think he would make a fetching bride. ~Admin Axel

Naruto, Gaara and Shisui in an Arranged Marriage

Originally posted by nostrromo

Sabaku no Gaara

  • As Kazekage, Gaara is no stranger to the idea of a politically motivated arranged marriage. A marriage to strengthen the bonds between two villages or clans is an antiquated practice, but it’s not unheard of even in this day and age. While Gaara is not what I would call pleased by this proposal, he isn’t against it either if it’s in the best interest of Sunagakure.

  • Gaara is polite, but reserved about the whole thing. He doesn’t open up to or even trust people easily, so while he will always be a gentleman, he will keep enough of himself locked away so he can protect himself if things don’t work out.

  • It would be a lengthy engagement so he can gauge if he can trust her, but it’s worth it. In the end, when Gaara finally trusts his bride-to-be, he is so sweet to her. He can’t believe he got so lucky in something like an arranged marriage when he spent his whole life reaching out for someone to love and who will love him in return.

  • Gaara has a hard time concentrating during the lavish reception because he knows what he is expected to do when they are finally alone. Gaara is filled with a nervous anticipation, but he hides it well for the sake of the party. When he takes her home, he undresses her tentatively and reverently, leaving soft kisses over the skin he exposes. The first time he is intimate with his wife, he makes love to her. There’s plenty of time for rougher exploration later, but that night he just wanted to take it slow with her and learn what makes her feel good.

  • Their marriage would strengthen the alliance between Gaara’s village and his wife’s village, and in the quiet aftermath they would enjoy a peaceful and prosperous life. Gaara quickly learns to balance his work and his life at home with his wife, because he wants to enjoy this stroke of good fortune and never take a single moment for granted. Within the year, Gaara would begin talking to his wife about starting a family together.

Originally posted by uchiha-save

Uchiha Shisui

  • Most of marriages in the Uchiha clan are arranged on some level, but usually between distantly related family members to keep the bloodline pure. Shisui grew up with the idea that while he could have flings with non-Uchihas, eventually the day would come when he would have to give that up and marry a relative. The proposal doesn’t exactly surprise him, but it throws him for a loop when he finds out his bride-to-be is not part of the clan.

  • The Uchiha clan expects him to conduct himself with dignity and stoicism, but he doesn’t really care about behaving as he’s told. Although he has a humble heart, there is something about impressing a woman that brings out the competitive side in him. Shisui will talk her into sitting in at his spars with his family members and pull out all of his flashiest moves for her.

  • After a while of learning who his fiance is as a person and deeming her worthy, he is loyal to a fault. He believes that if there is anyone who truly deserves the kind of devotion he is capable of, it’s the woman who will one day have his children. He always puts the needs and desires of his bride-to-be before his own, even if it costs him.

  • Shisui fidgets through the entire wedding ceremony and inwardly curses the pageantry and long-winded speeches that the women in his family insisted on. For months both he and his fiance had to be content with lingering touches and stolen kisses, and he wants her. He wants her like he has never wanted anything in his life, and he makes that clear to her the moment he finally gets her alone. Their first time is intense and passionate and when it’s over and they’re laying there catching their breath, it’s next to impossible to stop smiling because the future looks so promising. Shisui wakes his wife several times throughout the night for a repeat performance - he just can’t get enough of her.

  • Marriage isn’t always going to be neat and blissful, and Shisui is well aware of that so he intends to make the most of the honeymoon phase. It’s not long after their wedding that the Uchiha clan starts pushing for them to have a baby, and although they aren’t against the idea of a child, they want to enjoy each other as husband and wife first. Maybe in a few years they will start trying, but for now they are content to have each other.

Originally posted by ergo

Uzumaki Naruto

  • Naruto is obstinate about the whole thing the second the council decides to lay the proposal before him. Even though there is sense in arranging a marriage between himself and a seal master in case something went awry with the Kyuubi, it still rubs Naruto the wrong way. He outright tells the council he will not be agreeing to anything until he meets this seal master girl himself.

  • Even though this girl who is supposed to be his wife is beautiful, he still has a hard time accepting that someone is being handed to him like a gift. It seems wrong and unnatural. Naruto keeps the council at bay by never outright agreeing to the engagement, and uses the time he’s gained to get to know this girl. He can’t stand the idea that she is being forced into marrying him and has to know for certain that this is something she wants, and not some duty she is being pressured into.

  • Naruto is forever the boisterous, loud-mouthed ball of sunshine and he is no different around his bride to be. He excitedly introduces her to his friends, making sure that she feels welcome at all times because he knows what it’s like to be unwelcome. In rare, quiet moments when he’s exhausted himself and he’s feeling unusually pensive, he will sit down next to her with his eyes downcast like he’s expecting to be laughed at or told to get lost and ask her again, “are you sure this is what you want?” When she grabs his hand and smiles warmly at him, assuring him that she’s never wanted anything more in her life, Naruto’s smile is like the dawn breaking after a stormy night, and she can’t help the way her heart gets lodged in her throat.

  • Naruto spends the majority of the reception in good spirits, laughing at the teasing jibes of his friends as they offer the bride condolences for her choice in a husband. It’s not until a smirking Kiba nudges him and offers him some tips on how to make his new wife moan that it hits him. You can physically see when it registers in his brain that he’s about to have sex, because all the sudden he’s flushed and a little sweaty. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of it before, but it was always a secret thought of a far-away future and it snuck up on him so quickly that he was caught off-guard.

  • When he gets his blushing bride home, it’s obvious that he’s nervous from the way he resolutely refuses to look at her until she turns his head with gentle hands and smiles at him. “I don’t know what I’m doing either.” She assures him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. He sweeps her up in his arms and carries her to the bedroom where the two of them spend the better part of the night thoroughly enjoying figuring it out.

  • Naruto is a kindhearted and cheerful but dopey sort of husband, and he spends most of his time pranking his wife. She’s his favorite girl, and there is no one he’d rather spend his days hanging out with. The two of them discuss children in the blissful aftermath of their wedding, but they just kind of shrug and decide to let fate take its course. Whenever they are meant to have children, they will have children. That comes a lot sooner than either of them expected, because he totally knocked her up on their honeymoon. Oops.

anonymous asked:

I need some angst... Hanzo, Genji and Zarya's trying to find their s/o who is fighting talon soldiers, and when do find them, they end getting shot right front of them... But somehow ending surviving.


He keeps to the rooftops, far removed from the chaos in the streets. His sonic arrows show him a path through the worst of it and when he stumbles over his teammates, cornered and trying to find their way back to the point, he helps as best he can. McCree waves a thanks at him when he shoots an attacker that would have flanked him but Hanzo barely sees. He’s searching, wasting his sonic equipment to save those crucial few seconds. The terrain is dominated by narrow alleys winding between high buildings that cast perpetual twilight on the streets below and carry echoes until their source is all but indeterminable. What he needs is visual confirmation, that’s the only way he’s ever going to find you in time. The last thing he heard from you was your frantic request for backup, the comm line breaking before you could pass on your position. He didn’t wait for Reinhardt’s permission to go look for you, knows there’s a lecture about teamwork in stock for him, but his team has things under control. You might still be in trouble.

Another arrow loosened and finally your silhouette appears before his eyes, unmistakably alive. Just a little more, around this chimney, he almost slips because he doesn’t look where he’s going, keeps his eyes on you, fearing you might disappear. He spots the man taking aim behind you before you do. And though he shouts, screams in fact so loud his lungs feel like bursting, he’s too far away for you to hear. The gunshot overcasts the sonic waves of his arrow, he’s blind to your fate, doesn’t know if you’ve been hit, if you’re still alive.
He trips over his feet the last metres, falls down the roof, not bothering to catch his fall, grabbing an arrow instead and ramming it into the enemy’s head, clean through his skull until the tip pierces his throat from the inside. He gurgles, falls over and Hanzo has to push his lifeless body to prevent it from falling on you.

You’re unconscious, but your hands are covered in blood, you must have tried to still the bleeding, which means you were still alive when you fell. Hanzo sinks to his knees at your side, searches for your pulse and doesn’t find it in his panic. Nothing, except his own heart hammering in his throat. His vision swims, the spot where the bullet struck in almost the exact same place where he impaled Genji nearly two decades ago, the blood-soaked fabric of your clothes clinging to your skin just as it did back then. He thinks he can smell the dojo, the wood and fibre, the incense, as he presses down on the gaping wound, blood squelching through his fingers. He’s doing it wrong, there’s more he ought to do but he can’t remember, doesn’t know, because all he sees is you and Genji, dying underneath his hands.

When his brother touches his shoulder he nearly screams.

Keep reading

What Is In A Name!

She used to dream of her lover and never knew his face. She used to dream of her home but before she could take it back she was suddenly met with a different path.

Daenerys chose to look North. Daenerys chose to fight the real enemy. It costed her Viserion. It costed her and her dear friend Missandei, Greyworm and it almost took her. All her life she bled, she gave, she suffered, she withstood, she ran, she walked, she crawled, she breathed a life not befitting for a daughter of a King. As mad as her father was she was still a princess.

Home is not just an architectural vision anymore, it is in her husband. It is in her family. She remembers the fateful day he came to her shores. She remembers the moment she came to seeing his face in the cave. In the dimmed tunnel… his face like a passing shadow. Like the lover in her dreams. Even before she willingly allowed herself to at least weigh the odds of finding romance amidst a war albeit her heart had already chose. Her heart had already sought the face of her once dreamt lover and found him to be infinitely more than just a vision himself.

Aegon is his name. He did not like it. He used to say it reminds him of the lies.

“Your real name … is Aegon Targaeryan. You were never a bastard.”

 "I sure felt like one. I lived like one. I did as one. I breathed as one. I ran, fought, crawled, walked as one. That name to me,“ he spat, "is worthless!A Targaeryan? It will never conjure up to the real life I lived. What?! A prince of Dragonstone?”

“And what of the Northron Lords? The moment they hear the truth they will drop their loyalties and walk away, and maybe even kill me first.”

Arya tugs on the hilt of her Needle before breaking in to say, “I’d like to see them try!”

All awhile Sansa leaned back into her chair, her hand clasped around her mouth with disbelief.

“He lied to me! My fathe- Uncle lied to me! All those years he never spoke a word! He lied!” Jon ended with exasperation his voice shaking. The grave realisation of who he really is dawning upon him, the father he thought was his, the love he thought he deserved, the cruelty that was brought upon him he believed he deserved. All a lie. Ned Stark is a liar.

“He lied.”

Pairs of eyes drifted across the room towards the silver haired Queen. Sansa and Arya by instinct peeked up to protect their late father and even Bran who was known to be rather … bizarre drifted his attention towards the Dragon Queen.

“Even so, you would ignore the measures of which your uncle went, to even have you breathing still? Do you ignore that if it weren’t for his promise to your mother, to protect you with his life, giving part of himself away as a Lord and as a man to his wife, the Usurper would’ve killed you? Do you ignore the principles he has taught you, to be noble, true to your word and honourable? Everything that man did for you… taught you, is it all for naught then Jon?”

The Stark siblings exchanged glances, surprised at the Queens avow on their father. Yet Jon was livid.

He turns to face her before bellowing, “I was raised a bastard. Or did you forget that Your Grace? I was spat on, I wasn’t allowed to sit with my half brothers or- cousins it doesn’t matter I was looked down upon. Catelyn Stark hated my guts even if I breathed half a mile away from her she hated it. He lied to me. All my life I thought he was my father, and yet I can’t bear, that now I remember everytime he looked at me he would’ve been reminded that it was my fault I tarnished his reputation… my fault I tore him away from his wife, my fault I bruised his family! You wouldn’t have survived what I survived!”

“He wouldn’t do that Jon. Our father loved you like you were his own, and you are our own! You have the blood of the wolf and the blood of the dragon. You are a Stark-” and before Bran could finish his sentence Jon turns away and faces the firepit in an angry stance not willing to have anymore of what the three eyed raven had in say.

Silence fumed the air despite the whole party gathered around the dull room. Bran, still, as emotionless..

Sansa and Arya, glanced at each other remembering the survival they thought the other wouldn’t have survived. They’ve had this ‘conversation’ before and it proved to be meaningless.

Sam stood by the fire undecidedly choosing who to look at Daenerys or Jon, twiddling his thumbs reevaluating whether this was a great idea after all.

Tyrion sporting a glass of wine after the reveal of Jons or is it Aegon now … whichever Jon sees fit for himself, true lineage.

If the Night King knew cold, then her orbs were a furnace.

She narrowed her eyes and without notice for shaken weight beneath her feet she slowly but briskly walked her body up to him. And in a low voice, “You wish to diminish my ability to have gone through what you went through when I have never done such to you with my history. Yes I am a woman and you a man. We may not be the same, but I am just as capable. I am just as worthy. I am just as important, and in my own conviction I am just as strong. I will not try to undermine your past by repeating my own. My reputation serves enough of it.”

“Yes the Targaeryan name has its own weight and yet I will choose to not conform to the maddening ways of my past ancestors. Why? Because I know better.”

After Viserys she always thought she was the last to carry the Targaeryan name, and when she reminisced the heated arguments of her succession with her Lord Hand, she never thought the name would still continue. Tyrion looked up to the Queen he chose and realised that no matter the odds of their romance, if they levelled each other, in spite of all the stupid decisions they’ve made, the two had a chance in surviving anything.

The Targaeryans were known to marry within their own blood, to preserve their links to their dragons, the blood of Old Valyria.

Sansa finally spoke but with a heavy heart she pushes on to say, “ You maybe half Targaeryan, but you are still my brother. Then, now, and always!”

Arya follows after her and she looks to Bran who in turn nods his affirmation. She had always and even despite her mothers cruelty towards Jon, Arya had and always will, side with him. She loved Jon like he was her own brother, and there was nothing that could make her love him any less. Not even a name.

Across the room they are still locked in an impassioned gaze, their breaths catching the vapour of the cold. He clenches his jaw and finally looks down, head bent while Daenerys follows him searching for his brown eyes. She takes his calloused gentle hands in her own. The dragon inside him needs to awaken. It’s been dormant far too long. It wasn’t surrender that overcame him, and she did not accept defeat. The blood of her blood and the blood of the dragon needs to wake the dragon within, not in rage or fits of anger, but to finally accept that dragons were always meant to take Fire.

To take flight.

She curls her hands with his between their chests and whispers, “We can’t bear to lose to this when we know what is coming. You can’t run away Jon. We can’t bear to waste any more time and we will figure out later the fight with Cersei on the Iron Throne-”

“I don’t want the throne-” “

I know,” she softly assures him.

“Jon if there is one thing that I have learnt in all the lessons that I’ve been taught, that it is our choices that condemn us. You wonder why he lied, he chose to love you as his own, condemning his own life, but I imagine it would have been a joy to see you grow into more than everything your mother never lived a day to witness. The least you could do is honour that.”

That night comes and goes in memory whenever she looks at the Starks. What a man their father might have been, their mother was also lied to and it was not in anyone’s candle light to hold her to her actions. Catelyn Stark felt what any other wife could’ve felt. Her brother Rhaegar may have been foolish, blinded by love and lust, driven to annul his dutiful responsibilities for the realm and chose love. Love costed themselves and the realm. Love costs.

But Gods be damned if her husband were to take another woman. What hypocrisy that is it doesn’t matter though she knows her husband is noble and too fair and too just to act on such lust outside of their love. A man of honour in his heart. She still can’t help but wonder whether she would still be enough, even when her hair is greyed out, if anyone could tell, or even when her bones become too frail.

The door closes behind her and she feels a warm embrace around her torso. His face coming to rest beside her neck laying open kisses behind her ear.

“Have they gone to bed?” she asks.

He lets out a chuckle and continues to plant gentle caresses with his mouth while saying , “Daeron wasn’t happy, and Ned only went to bed with a promise to ride Visenya tomorrow and Lynaera wants to ride with Ghost.”

He playfully squeezes her hips and moves his hands behind her starting to unravel her gown, resting atop her bum. With every deft movement of his fingers he never fails to let his mouth leave her neck. She smiles, humming with content full in her heart and turns around to face him resting her palm on his naked chest, his lips halting but his hands never stopped.

“You promised our 4  year olds a ride with a dragon and a full sized direwolf? The dragon I can forgive, Visenya is not that large yet but Ghost…. that I can’t my love,” she protested with a gleam.

All the while he had already finished dissembling her dress before him and pushes it down her body leaving her nipples to harden in exposure. So was he. With anticipation for his Queen.

His palms rested on her wide hips and pulls her closer to his body. He smooths his hands down along her backside and pulls apart softly at her cheeks bringing her up and even closer to him making her moan her pleasure.

“What’s wrong with Ghost?” he murmured softly with a hum and touched her forehead with his, their breaths mingling with each other. “Hmm?”

“He’s far too large and the pups aren’t big enough yet for riding-”

“I don’t know if you can tell my queen but I am rather large for you beneath my underpants if you would like to participate in this riding.”

She gasps with surprise before letting out a laugh bringing her arms up to hold her husbands back pushing him down, closer to her skin. His shaft, truly… hard against her stomach.

“Mmm you got undressed rather quickly my King,” she drags her palms from under his shoulder blades across his chiseled chest and down towards the edge of his britches. Her sex grows slick with want and wetness and she wants nothing more than for him to take her into his arms and ravish her in more ways than she could count.

She pulls at the waistband and slips her soft touch towards his cock before taking the precum at the tip with a swipe of her finger and rubs it onto her slick folds.

Like a trickling hourglass Jon watches her wanton actions with hot breath escaping his mouth finding moisture on her top lip and then the sands of time gives in at its last grain. He growls like a mad wolf beneath his lungs and takes her lips in a heated battle of tongues. His hands pulls and kneads at her arse cheeks, pushing her up against his body grinding his body against hers. They’ve done this countless times before.

It should be simple and easy now and yet it was just as core shattering as the first time they laid together. In a muttered gasp she breathes out, “Jon! I want to feel every ridge of your cock inside me,” and pushes his britches down exposing his hard rod, and wraps her hands around the base of his member.

He doesn’t let her continue with anything more lest he gives in so he gathers her in his arms and carries her to their bed, her lower back just shy of the edge. She opens her smooth legs and he looks down at his beautiful wife.

Her lips inviting, her eyes a fury furnace, her tits with her pebbled nipples and probably still full of milk and he reminisces the time she had let him thirst on her rosy teats with the taste of milk on his tongue. Her chest rising and falling with hums of gasps, her curved waist and birthing hips are where he loves to handle her while pulling her up and down his shaft when she rides him. Her thighs are firm from all the riding on her dragons or on his dragon and finally her glistening cunt. A cavern he loves to get lost in and the one place he would spend to drink himself to a state of stupor.

He bends down eye level with her slick wetness and notices the mix of both their juices between her pussy lips and if rock was hard, his dick becomes pressed diamond. Her puckered clit stands out into the air and he leans down to sniff at her invigorating scent moaning loudly and licking his lips before fingering her clit between his middle and ring finger. Her body jerks at the touch and shudders at the feel on her sensitive spot.

“Jon please!” she begs and thrusts her hips upwards under his fingers.

“I love your body! Your eyes, your lips, your ears and that sensitive spot on your neck that has you shaking when I dress my lips to it and your tits when I press my tongue on your nipples sucking them into my mouth!” he whispers, her swollen lips catching his hot breath.

“I love the noises you make when I am making you feel this good, your legs and your thighs squeezing me while I make love to you my Queen.”

She gasps loudly and sits up on her elbows watching her husband feast his eyes and touch on her swelling pussy. She almost came right then and there.

“I love your pussy my love!” she lets out a whine at the words before grabbing his chin to face her and whimpering a, “Its yours my King.”

To feel love come in at his eyes, coming inside of her, or love in his gentle touch, or even when he takes her from behind. Pushing and pulling her warm snatch over his rigid cock taking her every breath.

“Please Jon,” she pleaded while he continues to play with her clit nipping at her thighs and starts moving closer to where she needs him to be and he gives her a final graze of his teeth on her puckered clit.

But he goes back to kissing her thighs. She huffs out her frustration and reaches down to his dark locks pulling at the soft tresses of hair she finds.

Finally, her abdomen tightens, and she can’t withhold her pleasure anymore. It slowly turns into bearing pain when he still skips over where she wants his mouth to be and right when his gaze catches her watering eyes she pleads once more with a shaky gasp, “Please Jon!”

He licks a stripe from the bottom of her cunt and flicking at the knob and her body clenches in a tight coil within her and she lets go. He is quick to slick his tongue inside her tight hole coaxing her juices into his mouth and the move alone has her shaking on her back.

He presses both his fingers inside tucking it agonisingly slow in and out of her pussy and shifts his attention to her nub sucking it into his mouth, holding it lightly between his teeth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. She screams her pleasure and tightens around his fingers as he moans his lustful savour of her sweet cunt. He laps up her juices between his fingers and finds that she is about to cum again.

She struggles to push away from Jons assiduous mouth at first and finally she pushes at his chest with her feet and topples over onto her front taking in gasps of air. Her pussy, still aching, clenches at nothing and she yearns for the push of his hard rod to bring her to utmost pleasure. She rises up on her knees and hands before looking behind her at Jon with his dick in his clenched fist, breathing heavy. She moves around facing him and he moves forward to meet her, placing one knee on the bed and with his other hand caressing her face, he pulls her mouth into his. He bends down and pulls a nipple into his mouth and groans deeply before running his hand down from her face behind her to her arse.

“Turn around.” Before she goes to follow her Kings orders she grabs his hand from his cock and places it on her belly looking deep into his eyes. When love overcomes, words have no purpose. He pulls her back in for a passionate kiss and places his forehead against hers stammering under his breath.

She slowly nods her head in assurance and swiftly turns around to bare her waiting pussy for Jon. There’s no need for words in what she or he wants.

He surges forward and finally teases the head of his member on her swollen clit, sliding back and forward until he inches his cock inside her. He starts to groan and piston his cock slowly, but surely inside her. Her gasps are loud and wanton with every push inside her walls, she climbs closer and higher to release.

There is no rush to the end. They have all the time in the world. But even all the sands of time could not measure to the eternal desire to be by his side beyond forever.

“Sex joins two bodies, but making love joins two souls.”

 "Fuck Dany!“ he moans in pleasure and pulls at her cheeks, pressing them apart to behold the view of his shaft pressing in and out of her tight cunt, as she feels her own warm snatch grab at every inch of his rod. The sight enough has his spent tightening and all it takes is Dany moaning to be filled with his spent that has the both of them undone. He spills his seed inside her but he doesn’t stop.

 I love you.

He says with every push.

I love you.

She says with every tug at her cavern.

I love you.

He feels with every tightening of her cunt.

I love you.

She feels with every ridge of his shaft.

I love you.

He knows with every shattering breath.

I love you.

She knows with every whisper of her pulsing veins.

She loves him… And he loves her.


idk. Something like this. Lol. As promised a fanfic!

Thank You @flammafumoestproxima for encouraging me to finally write again! I think I did too much! But oh well aha!

Inspiration and quote comes from "Sex/Love” by Chrissie Pinney.

Songs I listened to while writing this: Bathing Beach EP Album by NOVO AMOR (The whole EP is awesome! There’s only 4 songs but oh goodness it was on repeat! My fav is Embody Me!)

Cant Stand You

Originally posted by leakees

Characters: Dean Ambrose x OFC

Content: Sexual Content, NSFW, Hate Sex, Oral Sex.

Summary: OFC hates Dean Ambrose but can’t seem to stop ending up with him. Hate sex.

“This is the last time, Ambrose!” She breathed out between his messy kisses. Her lips were full and swollen from the aggressiveness of their lips smashing together.

She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with him this time. Dean had probably said something to her that ground her gears, it always started like that.  All she remembered now that she was on her way back to the locker room after her match and before she knew it his hand were gripping her hips and his tongue was fighting against her’s.

Dean growled at her, wrapping his fingers tightly around her wrists, backing her into the empty room. He didn’t bother to lock the door behind him, not caring if they got caught, this was all part of the game. He wanted people to catch her submitting to the man she claimed so passionately to hate, catching her at her weakest moment with his cock buried deep inside her.

“Pretty sure it’s the fourth time you’ve said that to me, Princess.” 

Ambrose tangled his fingers into her hair, taking a deep breath to inhale her scent before yanking her head to the side and running a line of sloppy kisses down her collarbone. 

Dean picked her up and placed her on the table in the corner of the room. His lips found hers again, kissing her with such ferocity as his tongue darted into her mouth. In retaliation she bit down on his lip, hoping that it would break the skin, instead he moved his mouth to her neck, sucking light bites on the currently unblemished skin. 

He always left his mark on her and she never stopped him, despite complaining about it non-stop after. It was worth every endless complaint seeing her on TV with his marks littering her body, no matter how much she tried to cover them, he could still see them.

He pulled her knees apart and pressed his thick, hard cock into her core through his jeans. It caused her to let out a muffled moan right into his mouth. Her hands found herself instinctively reaching out towards his belt buckle, but he batted them away, pinning them back down to her sides.

“Leave them here.” He barked.

 He wanted to be in control and she was too turned on to protest right now.

“I don’t have time to fuck you before my match, but I am gonna make you cum.” Ambrose tapped his collarbone as he admired her. His eyes darting all over her body making her feel like a prize for him to corrupt and ruin. It made her feel so dirty when he looked at her like nothing more than a sex object, but it was degrading in the most thrilling way.

Roughly he licked a stripe down her cheek. “I’m going to make you moan my name so loudly that whole the locker room will know just how much you hate me.” He winked at her, then chucked her on the chin, fingers lingering over her jawline.

He hastily removed her ring shorts and knelt down in front of her, spreading her legs wide.

“Did you wear these for me?” He mocked, twirling thin red lacy silk panties in his fingers, Considering for a second about ripping them off just to vex her.

“Why would I bother dressing nicely for you, you don’t give a shit!” She spat out aggressively between ragged breaths. “I could wear a trash bag and you would still try and get into my underwear! You look at me like I’m a piece of meat…”

Dean’s tongue traced around her clit slowly, mainly just to shut her up before she went off on another rant about how much she hated him. 

Ambrose licked his lips in anticipation before dipping his tongue between her soaking folds. Groaning to himself as he tasted the sweet nectar that was leaking down her thighs. His tongue moved over her sensitive bundle of nerves, with a carefully calculated amount pressure, enough to make her moan but not the way she normally liked. He didn’t have the time to tease her but he couldn’t resist doing it a little.

‘Just do it properly!’ Impatiently kicking her heels into his back and tugging on his hair.

Dean chuckled, relishing in the pain radiating from his scalp. He liked her best when she was all needy and demanding, especially when she tried not to beg. 

As he licked, sucked and nibbled at her flesh between her legs she shook around him. Moans and profanities escaped her mouth with every flick of his tongue, the noises she made his cock throb wildly in his jeans. While she was trying to suppress each gasp escaping her mouth, she could rapidly feel herself coming undone.

“More, More!” She cried pushing his head closer and arching her back -Immediately regretting begging, but it was the only way she was going to get what she wanted from Dean.

“Oh, you want more? Hmm?” He removed his tongue from her pulsing clit, she was so close and he could tell. Instead of stopping he continued to slowly pump his fingers inside her, kissing her thighs. His thick fingers grazed her g spot every time, causing her to shudder every now and again.

She had her eyes closed tightly, in an attempt to avoid eye contact with him at any cost. She hated that his voice was dripping with arrogance and despite her intense loathing for him, She was currently being betrayed by her pussy as her hips rocking against his fingers. Silently begging for stimulation for now that he’d removed his mouth from her.

“P-Please…” She whined.

“You’re the neediest, little brat I’ve ever met.” Slapping her across the thighs so she would open her eyes. “Look at me.”

Her stomach tensed tightly as their eyes joined up. As much as she hated him locking eyes with him, it was her weakness. There was something about his pale blue eyes that spoke to her soul.

Once he was satisfied with the eye contact, his mouth had returned to her clit, hooking a leg over his shoulder so he could work his jaw into her. Tapping away at her clit, alternating between hard and light sucks.

Ambrose was so good at going down on her and no one made her cum the way he did it. Sometimes she missed the way he made her feel, but the weeks between their encounters were getting shorter and shorter to the point it all felt too familiar now.

Dean’s tongue was brushing against her clit faster and faster, his fingers hitting the perfect spot as he held her legs open, in an attempt to stop them quiver around either side of his head.

"Come for me, baby,” Dean cooed from between her legs, His scruffy beard slick with saliva and her juices.

She rolled her eyes at how messy and gross he looked, despite the fact he was between her legs with the sole purpose of pleasing her. Despite it all she still thought Dean Ambrose was such a dirtbag, He treated her badly and spent half his time staring at her and the other half doing anything in his power to make her mad.

She tutted, Commanding her to cum as if she could do it whenever he wanted….

Suddenly her mind froze as she slipped over the edge without warning, Her walls clamped down harshly on his fingers as he lightly sucked her, allowing her to gently ride out her orgasm.

His name escaped her lips over and over again like a hypnotic chant. Waves rushed over her body and pounded in her chest, sending jolts down her back and she gasped for air. He liked her best when she was moaning his name or when he had his cock in her mouth, Those moments were worth all the other irritating stuff that came out of it. 

Her legs gave way and she found herself slipping down off the surface she was perched on and rested on his lap on the floor. Her eyes were half-lidded as he clung on to him, her brain hazy from her orgasm and her thighs tingling with overstimulation. Placing her head in the crook of his neck, relishing in the tenderness of his fingers drawing soft shapes on his back. Her lips pressed against his neck, placing a few light kisses and nuzzling into his chest.

”That’s a good girl…” Dean found himself stroking her hair affectionately, she found it oddly soothing. “Stay with me tonight?” He asked softly, rocking her body against his, mainly to get some friction between her and his jeans.

Suddenly she jolted out of her post orgasm come down and pushed him away from her violently, making him almost fall back. It was as if he’d asked her to do something completely unreasonable and out of line. He didn’t think it was that out of order to ask her considering what he’d just done for her.

“Why do you have to be like this?” Dean hollered as she turned away from him, tugging on her shorts. “Why can’t you play nice?”

“Urgh… Shut up!” Her cheeks flushed violently red as she stood up and tried to gather her things. The door slammed behind her as she scurried off back into the backstage area.

Dean picked up her lace panties from her floor and shook his head. He could never tell what was on her mind or how she really felt about him. If she hated him so much why did she keep coming back? He balled the panties up them up in his hand and put them in his pocket, smirking to himself as he palmed the rock hard flesh that was still contained in his pants. He’d have to deal with that later.

Or maybe he just had to piss her off again later or just wait it out and see if she would turn up at his hotel room later. He predicted the latter.

She was addicted to his cock or maybe she was addicted to him, even if she wouldn’t admit it. 

TAGS: @actualamyautopsy @oraclegazes @livingthestrongstyle @phenominalstyles @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues @reigns420 @devittslegos @banditsrose @littlemissava13 @the-geekgoddes @dessertwerewolf @xuhwheredidkylogox @blondekel77 @adamcolesbaybay  @alexispoo

I’ve Been Wishing For You

aww hell yeah. i added in a teensy bit of spaceboy!dan becuase i live for that shit ;))))

also phil has a tattoo but hes not a punk lets be cleAR


Phil had always loved the rain.

He didn’t like being caught in it, but he loved the comfortable atmosphere of being curled up in blankets as the rain poured outside. Especially when he was at work.

Owning a flower/plant/coffee shop wasn’t the easiest, but why would Phil ever do anything that was easy? He loved what he did. He loved the people that came in, his regulars.

Phil’s shop was really unique, especially being on the corner of a busy street in the heart of London. It was white on the outside, with vines growing on the walls, with the logo, that Phil designed himself, painted onto the window. He had flowers growing in pots on all eight tables, with even more bins filled with various plants, succulents, and mosses. This was his passion.

The shop smelled strongly of the outdoors, which you don’t smell very often in London, and soft whiff of coffee. Not only did he make flower and plant arrangements, but he also served some of the best coffee served in London, which had turned the place into a cafe as well.

Phil was so successful with his business, he had employees working full time, and the regulars had started giving him reviews on Yelp, which were fantastic. His business was booming, not one moment of the day was quiet around him. 

But Phil wasn’t happy.

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Shatter and Collide

1628 Words, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler

A proper reunion, the way it should have been. No regeneration, no metacrisis, just shameless, unabashed fluff.

(I blame @chocolatequeennk for making me need to write this instead of my various other WIPs. Regardless, reunion feels shall not be denied and this is the result. I hope you enjoy!)

The Doctor edged out of the TARDIS warily. He could tell by the viewscreen that they’d landed, of course, but after all the effort it had taken to get them there, he and Donna both needed to feel the solid ground beneath their feet.

“It’s like a ghost town,” Donna said in a hushed tone that befitted the abandoned street.

“Sarah Jane said they were taking the people,” the Doctor observed in the same tone - it was certainly unnerving to be anywhere in London without a soul in sight. “What for?”

He turned to Donna without waiting for a response. “Think, Donna. When you met Rose in that parallel world, what did she say?”

Rose would know. Rose is coming back. She is returning. It had taken monumental effort for the Doctor to focus, even with the scale of the current crisis - the only thing keeping him going was the knowledge that Rose would be right in the thick of things.

“Just… ‘The darkness is coming,’” Donna said uncertainly. The Doctor fought the urge to yell in frustration.

“Anything else?” he asked, not entirely successful at keeping the impatience from his voice.

It wasn’t fair to Donna, he knew her memories of the bubble universe were shaky at best, but he found it hard to believe that Rose would have been so vague with the fate of the multiverse at stake. It didn’t sound like her at all, and it was taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to be resentful of Donna. He needed Rose, with an ache that sharpened every day, and yet Donna was the one who had seen her, spoken to her…

He dragged his errant thoughts back to the present, the way he’d needed to do with increasing frequency since Shan Shen. Donna looked like she was about to answer, then she stopped and stared at a point over his shoulder with eyes softer than he’d ever seen them.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

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anonymous asked:

Here's my prompt for you! Can you pleaaaaaase write something with a tipsy Scully in it? Secret season of sex, preferably, but anything will do, really. Thanks xx

This is SO delayed, I’m sorry! (and Happy Friday!)

Post ep for The Goldberg Variation

Mulder doesn’t quite know how it happened. He and Scully are supposed to be on a plane, heading back to DC following their trip to Chicago. Right now they should be flying over Ohio, but instead they’re twenty miles from O’Hare Airport, still sat out on Navy Pier. Their case wrapped yesterday, earlier than anticipated, and so they’d decided to take another day, take their time before heading on home. Mulder had never been to Chicago before, other than on cases, and so he’d barely had any time to see the sights. Scully, upon realizing this, decided to take it upon herself to be his guide and show him the other side of the city, the side free from monsters and ghosts and lucky men. After all, she’d told him, they’d worked enough overtime in recent months to justify taking a day off, and they could do with some time away. An extra night at a fancy hotel (at Mulder’s cost) was just what the two of them needed, and gave them the chance to connect away from home, work and other distractions. Their extra day in Chicago offered them the opportunity for a romantic, albeit short, break. At least that was the intention.

It was approaching lunchtime when Scully suggested that they stop for a drink and a bite to eat. It was a hot day, much warmer than it usually was at that time of year, and they were tiring under the heat of the midday sun. So they’d found a bar out on the pier and taken a seat, immediately ordering a cool beer each to quickly cool them down. One turned into two which turned into three, before their food had even arrived. While they were eating Scully had picked up the cocktail menu, and before they knew it they were working their way through a pitcher of margarita. The combination of the heat and alcohol immediately went to their heads, Scully’s in particular. After all, she’d managed to keep up with Mulder in terms of drinks, and she was a hell of a lot lighter, not to mention the fact she rarely drank more than one or two glasses of wine a week.

So now here they are, four hours later, still in the same bar, nursing yet another cocktail jug between them. Mulder can’t recall the name of the drink, but he did remember Scully laughing uncontrollably when she ordered it, so knows it involves some kind of sexual innuendo. It tastes incredibly sweet, so much so that whenever she takes a sip, Scully scrunches her face up as the cocktail attacks her senses. It’s a Scully he hasn’t seen in a long time, not since their office was set alight and they thought they’d lost everything – that night they’d both drank themselves into oblivion, but now things are different. The future is brighter, they have the X Files back and they have one another. Things have changed between them in recent months, ever since Mulder kissed his partner as they saw in the New Year together in a hospital corridor and the two of them went back to his apartment to celebrate further. They’re still somewhat cautious when they’re in DC to try and keep their relationship quiet from their colleagues and enemies, but here they can be like any regular couple, and they’ve been taking full advantage of that. Right now they’re holding hands across the booth, while Scully appears to have discarded her heels and is rubbing her foot up and down Mulder’s lower leg, each touch like a jolt to his crotch. He’s starting to realize that drunk Scully equals flirty Scully, and he likes it.

“We’ve missed our flight Scully,” he announces, slurring slightly when he pronounces her name. Just buzzed, he tells himself. Not drunk.


“Our flight. We were supposed to leave tonight.”

He can’t stop himself from laughing as Scully lifts up her arm to check her watch, not quite realizing she left it back at their motel with their bags.

“ss late,” she blinks, losing interest in her arm long enough to sneak another drink. The pitcher next to her is almost empty. Mulder tries – and fails – to attract their server’s attention.

“Happy hour.”

“A very happy hour.”

“Is it?”

“Is what what?”

“Is it a happy hour?”

“Are you asking if I’m happy? Or drunk? Because I’m not drunk Muller.”

“Course not.”

“Definitely not.”

“What about happy?” Finally he catches the eye of the waitress, who nods in understanding.

“Happy? We’re in a beautiful city, with good food and wine –”

“It’s a cocktail Scully.”

She giggles. “Sex on the beach.” At first he thinks she’s offering, but then he realizes she’s talking about the name of their drink. “Good sex on the beach. We saved the world and –”

“How can I help you sweethearts?”

Scully pauses at the interaction and shifts in her seat to face their server, breaking her contact with Mulder’s leg. He misses her touch immediately. “Hi.” She squints, attempting to read the woman’s name badge.  It’s hard to read, Mulder concurs, but only because the woman is showing off her ample cleavage. “Bindi.”


“Whatever.” She moves to lean her elbow on the table but misjudges the distance and stumbles. Brandi smiles politely but says nothing while Mulder reaches across the table to steady his partner. Scully immediately sits up, shooting a death glare at the waitress, as though blaming her. “Bindi, my Mulder and I would like some more drinks.”

*My Mulder.* Oh she’s definitely drunk now, he thinks to himself. She hasn’t even registered the term of endearment.

“Of course.” Clearly amused now, Brandi looks over at Mulder giving him an appraising glance. “What can I get you darling.”

The move doesn’t go unnoticed by Scully. She taps the other woman’s hand until she turns her attention back to her. “We’ll have slow comfortable screw against the wall,” she says, shooting Mulder a suggestive look he’s seen countless times since New Year’s Day.

Still though, his eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. “I’ll have…that sounds good to me,” he says to Brandi, keeping his gaze on his tease of a partner. There’s sexual tension in the air and they can both feel it.

Brandi mumbles something in response and turns on her heel to get their drinks. She’s barely out of earshot when M starts laughing once more.

Scully doesn’t join in. “What?”

“A slow comfortable screw against the wall.”

“That’s what I asked for. If you want something different you should call Bindi back.”



“Your jealousy is cute.”

“I’m not jealous.”


“She looks more of a Bindi.”

“Her name badge definitely said Brandi.”

“I should have known your eyes would go to her chest.”

“Actually my eyes have been on your chest all afternoon.” Scully sits up in her seat, and Mulder’s gaze fixes on her breasts, which now look as though they’re straining to get out of the buttoned shirt she’s wearing. He smiles. “A slow, comfortable screw against the wall…” He lifts his glass and finishes up his previous drink. 

“It doesn’t have to be slow.”

Unable to stop himself, Mulder chokes on his drink, spitting it out across the table. “Jesus.”

“Scully.” She looks proud of herself now. “How about it?” She asks, glancing over towards the restrooms and then back again. He knows exactly what she’s asking, and it has nothing to do with any alcohol. *God yes* he wants to reply, but they can’t do this, not here, in front of anyone. Scully is too drunk for rational thought, and he knows she’d kill him afterwards. 

He’s about to reply when Scully suddenly takes hold of his hand and hurries  out of the booth, standing on unsteady legs. Mulder follows suit, allowing his partner to tug on his hand in the direction of the front door. While Brandi’s attention isfocused on other customers, the two of them run off towards the exit, laughing to themselves as they make their way off the pier. When they are in the clear, Mulder tugs on Scully’s hand, slowing her in her tracks. “What about our drinks?”

“Brandi can pay for them.”


“Mulder, take me back to our hotel and I promise you it’ll be a happy hour.”

Somewhere in the recess of his brain he knows they don’t have a hotel room waiting for them, but right now he couldn’t care less. Before Scully thinks he’s having second thoughts he leads her along the sidewalk to the first hotel they spot, and within minutes the two of them have forgotten all about cocktails. 

Like a Movie || JB Fluff

[ so to start I edited this on my phone so I’ll fine tune the post when I’m home from work again. No idea how many words. JB au fluff. There is a part 2 that I will add in a few days because I have a LOT to post. Sorry for no music to add to this too. ]

“Sir,” I started as I peeked through the doorway, “do you have a moment?”

As he looked over his shoulder my heart fluttered uncontrollably. A smile graced his lips as his eyes landed on me, and he waved me into the room. “Of course I do. How can I help you?” I walked carefully into the room as suddenly my light pink dress felt too short.

It was hard to lift my eyes from my white converse as I took my seat before the most beloved teacher at the college. Jae, was what he let us call him, and he was the most easy going but motivational teacher on capus. He taught creative writing, and his methods were just as creative as the subject. It didn’t help that he was the youngest, and most attractive professor walking the halls, hence my averted eyes and careful actions. It would be a lie to say I didn’t wear such a pretty dress on purpose.

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The Firsts | Fight

#08. The First Fight | Barba Imagine
Requested by: @yourtropegirl
Characters: Barba, Reader
Word Count: 1,413
Warnings: None

It wasn’t that you lacked self-confidence or that you thought you didn’t deserve to have your voice heard. You simply avoided conflict at all costs. The idea of raised voices and letting someone down caused your stomach to drop and insecurities to take over. You were much, much happier when the waves were calm and people were content within their relationships.

Somehow, you and Rafael Barba had gone four months without a significant altercation, and you thought it was a sign. A sign that maybe you could have the perfect relationship without fighting, that disagreements were going to always be handled civilly. That Barba got enough out of fighting in the courtroom and he just wanted to avoid conflict with you, too.

Wouldn’t that have been the dream come true for someone who refused to stand up for themselves?

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Anything (Part 1)

Summary: Victoria Abbott (reader) gets rescued by the Avengers and they help her adjust to life out of captivity. While learning how to be herself again, she finds that the one person she least expected is the one who shows her how to really live.

Word Count: 2,583

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This will be my first series that I’m publishing! It is not related to Babydoll, but it will be the same format (Bucky x Reader). I hope everyone likes it and be sure to read my first Bucky fic, Babydoll!


I crawl to the middle of the mat, coughing up scarlet blood. My abdomen stings with the fire left by the blade, and I can’t catch my breath. Lungs burning and face bloody, I stagger to my feet, but not before my assailant lunges towards me again. He throws a powerful fist at my temple and the world goes black before my body hits the ground.

Gunfire peppers the walls in the corridor, startling me awake. I cry out in pain, slipping off the cot onto the cold, cement floor. My stomach regurgitates the food I assume they fed me through an IV onto the floor, acid burning my dry throat. Suddenly, the fluorescent lights blacken and I’m left alone in the darkness. The blackout brings complete silence, frightening me. I feel under my cot for the knives I’d stolen from a security guard doing his nightly rounds. It cost me a horrible night of unfavorable activities, but anything was worth my safety in an emergency like this. My fingers touch the cool metal and I scramble for the weapons. Heart pounding and fingers trembling, I clutch the slim knives and back up against the wall adjacent to my cot, tensing in anticipation. I hear light footfalls outside my door and close my eyes, tears streaming down my bruised face. This is it, this is the great and terrible end to my misery.

The door flies off it’s hinges into the room with a powerful kick from the intruder and without hesitation, I attack them. Since I have the element of surprise, I slash at the body a few times, unmatched. One of my knives strikes metal and I’m momentarily puzzled, which gives my attacker an opening to react. They somehow find my hands in the dark and grab both of my wrists with one hand, knocking my defense mechanisms to the floor and twisting my arms behind my back in one swift move. I cry out and another hand covers my mouth, shushing me. The hand smells musty and like sandalwood, the calloused fingers a sweaty pressure on my cheeks. I struggle against who I assume is a man, and gasp when I realize the fingers wrapped around my wrists are cool metal. He whispers something Russian in my ear and it’s the last thing I hear before I black out.

I open my eyes to an upside-down world. The blistering night air stings my face and sweat beads down the bridge of my nose. My throbbing head bobs to the cadence of the man walking, holding me bridal-style. Although my mind is fuzzy and my muscles are on fire, I know well and good when I’m being taken against my will, and that sure as hell isn’t happening a second time. In a flash, I maneuver my body to his shoulders and he is thrown on the ground before he can register my attack. I tear the sniper-rifle from its strap on his back, turn off the safety, and aim it at his head. He groans and rolls onto his back, hands up in surrender.

If I wasn’t in a life or death situation, I would be awed by his beauty. His sharp jawline is scruffy and bloodied and his blue eyes are bright in the moonlight. I catch the silver glint of his left arm and linger on it a second too long. I hear more footsteps running towards us and use the butt of the gun to hit the man in front of me. He falls unconscious on the ground, motionless, and I turn to the direction of the sounds.

My heart pounds as I steady my finger over the trigger, ready to defend myself. My throat burning from dehydration and underuse, I say, “Don’t come any closer.”

Whoever it is hears me because I then hear silence again.

You need to be stronger.

“Who are you?”

You need to be faster.

“My name is Steve Rogers. Can I come closer so we can talk?”

You need to be smarter.

“Stay where you are or I’ll put a bullet through your head.” An almost empty threat, seeing as I can barely see this man’s silhouette in the dark of the night. He looks tall and muscular, but so was every person I’d ever fought. His size didn’t intimidate me. His voice didn’t intimidate me. Only the darkness obstructing a clear line of sight frightened me. I don’t waver.

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” the man says.

“That’s what they said when they took me ten years ago. Why should I trust you?” I spit.

He takes a step forward and I tighten my grip on the barrel of the gun. “We just want to help you, Victoria.”

“How do you know my name?” I yell. “Who the hell are you?”

My guard is up and all of my focus is on the man in front of me. The gun is ripped from my hands and tossed aside, firing a shot as it lands. I scream, my heart pounding out of my chest while terror consumes me, as the same man from before traps me in his strong arms. “Тихий, дорогая,” he whispers. “You’re safe now.”

I go limp in his arms, going against my better judgement and trusting him, tears streaming down my face once again as I choke down sobs. He spins me around and pulls me into a hug, burying his face in my neck. I struggle to pull away from the stranger, who just wraps me up tighter, holding me firmly in place.

I hear the whirrs of his metal arm shifting as he moves to pull me impossibly closer. I fist his shirt in my hands, my head buried in the warm crook of his neck and shoulder. I can’t control the sobs that wrack my body and I feel ashamed at showing weakness. But I don’t care. He says I’m safe, and but I don’t believe him. I want to believe him, but I can’t.

“B-” the man from earlier, Steve, says.

The beautiful stranger with the metal arm shakes his head and waves him away, squeezing me tighter and shielding my body with his. I have no idea how long we stand together - seconds, minutes, hours - but the only thing on my mind is how he holds me like I’m glass, like I’m broken. It’s frightening how gently he holds me; I’ve never known any man to be this gentle while touching me and I only want to get away. I can’t let him see me let my guard down.

After what feels like an eternity, the man wraps his flesh arm around my shoulder and grabs my left hand with his metal one. It feels terrifying and new, like nothing I’d ever experienced. He leads me into the woods by the facility to a jet in a clearing. It looks ominous and expensive, the reflective black panels causing light from the moon to bounce off in all different directions. I hear voices in the jet and I tense instinctively. The man squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it seems terrifying now,” he says in a low, scratchy voice. “But you’re with us now. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll keep you safe.”

My heart thumps painfully hard. I won’t be giving in that easily. “Who are you?”

The corners of his lips quirk up slightly. “I’m Bucky.”

With that, he leads me into the jet and six pairs of eyes are on me instantly. My skin crawls as I avoid the gazes of all of them, unsure what to say. A woman clad in a black jumpsuit with beautiful red hair steps forward, extending her hand. “I’m Natasha.”

I can tell by her accent that she’s Russian. I try to not shiver when I shake her hand, my fingers trembling as I touch her skin.

A blonde man dressed in a black suit with a star on it steps forward, extending his hand with a slight smirk. “I’m Steve. We’ve already met.”

My hand shakes as I hesitantly take his in mine. “I thought I was being taken again,” I mumble quietly, weakly.

No one moves.

Bucky clears his throat and I examine my bare, scratched-up feet. “Is there any water on here? Or food?” At this, my stomach growls loudly. My cheeks redden in shame. Steve, Natasha, and another man laugh at the sound. Bucky and another woman remain silent, glancing at each other.

Natasha shows me to a compartment with MRIs and I grab the first one she hands me incredulously. She smiles and hands me a fork. I try to eat at a reasonable pace and struggle to remember the last time I ate, failing at both. Bucky watches me with creased brows and a slight frown, making me self-conscious. I hiccup and wipe my mouth with my hand, accepting the water Natasha brings me. I chug the liquid down, internally thrilling at the cool sensation sliding down my throat as I swallow.

A man who I didn’t see before pokes his head out of the pilot’s cockpit and announces that we’re taking off. I give my trash to Bucky, who smiles gently at me and hands me a black zip-up hoodie. The air in the jet is cooler than I’m accustomed to, but I hadn’t noticed because of my fixation on the food and water. I pull the hoodie on and shiver, breathing in the smell of fresh laundry. My eyes water again and I wipe away the tears discreetly. It has been so long since I’ve worn clean clothes and to smell them is heaven. I don’t plan on falling asleep, but I can’t fight the fatigue that washes over my body and let unconsciousness overcome me.


Victoria mumbles something in her sleep, shifting slightly in my lap. I massage her scalp with the fingers on my flesh hand; when she sighs, I can’t help but smile. Looking at her pains me: her face is littered with cuts, bruises, and blood; her lips are cut; her hair was thrown in a messy, greasy ponytail with tendrils falling out, but she removed the band and her hair now falls freely; her skin is ghastly pale from lack of sunlight and proper nutrients; her fingernails are bitten low and caked with dirt and dried blood; her whole body is toned but extremely skinny. My heart clenches as I think about what she had to go through to get like this. Sam sits across from me, watching silently. I ignore him and focus on the small girl resting in my lap, thinking of ways to rain endless hell on her torturers.

“Barnes,” Sam says. I look up at him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make sure she feels safe. Do you have a problem with that?”

Sam throws his hands up. “Hey, man, I was just asking. We just found her and you haven’t let go of her yet. It’s freaking me out.”

I shrug. “I can’t stop thinking about that base. It was exactly like Siberia, and she was trapped there for most of her life, probably. Just training and killing.”

Sam smiles sadly. “She’s gonna be alright, man. We got her out.”

That’s the thing. She won’t be alright. The nightmares never stop.

I just nod, knowing there’s no way he could ever understand what it’s like to lose control of yourself and not know how to get it back. I glance to my left at Steve, who’s looking at Victoria’s head in my lap. He frowns and we meet eyes.

“What are we going to do?” He asks. “Is she like you?”

Twisting a lock of hair around my finger, I shake my head. “No. She’s nothing like me.”


My whole body aches. I wrench my eyelids open, exhausting any energy I have with the simple task, and blink to get rid of the fuzzy spots obstructing my vision. I bring my hand to my face, brushing hair out of the way, and notice the heart rate monitor on my index finger. I freeze and glance around the room: clean, white sheets on my small bed; bright lights from the overhead fluorescents; a wide, wall-length window to my right a barrier for the snow storm outside; a bedside table with a button labeled “Press when you wake if no one is there.”

After a few seconds of speculation I press the button.

Almost instantaneously, three men crash through the doorway, startling me. I jump and cry out when I feel a slight ripping sensation from my side. The men crowd my bed, all bulk and muscle and moving mouths. It overwhelms me and I throw my head against a pillow, motioning for them to stop. I clench my teeth and breathe in sharply, focusing on the dark-haired, blue-eyed man to my left. Bucky. I recognize the blonde, Steve, at the foot of my bed. The three men smile at me and I sigh, the heart monitor beeping incessantly.

“Welcome back, Victoria,” the man to my right says. He looks less intimidating than the other two with his shock of messy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He has on a lab coat and a nametag that reads “Dr. Banner.”

“Where am I?” I question groggily. I’m shocked at how raw my voice sounds. “How long have I been here?”

Dr. Banner scratches his neck. “You’re at the Avengers’ compound’s medical bay. You’ve been in an induced coma for two weeks.”

My heartbeat jumps. “Two weeks? Why was I out for so long?”

He smiles gently and adjusts his glasses. “When we found you in Nairobi, you were severely malnourished and dehydrated. You also had several severe, untreated wounds: three broken ribs, a ruptured appendix, a sprained wrist, and a punctured lung. If we wouldn’t have found you when we did, you would have died within twenty four hours. We took you into surgery as soon as you arrived and it took six and a half hours to set your bones, fix your lung, and remove your appendix. You’d experienced too much trauma, so we decided to induce your coma so you could rest and heal with no problems.”

My brain feels muddled as I try to say something. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a laugh. “You’re healing now. Sleep. You deserve it.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Steve says. He hands me a small box with what looks like an interactive screen. He touches the surface and it lights up, much to my surprise. I still don’t trust these men, but I act civil to gain their trust. I’m not sure what it is, so I listen carefully to Steve’s advice on how to use the “phone.” I remember my home phone from my childhood and it looked nothing like the one he holds in his hand, but I don’t say anything. I’m not surprised the world improved their technology while I was trapped. Progress doesn’t halt for one person.

Steve and Dr. Banner exit, leaving me alone with Bucky. I look up at him and he smiles. “Tired?”

I nod my head, my eyelids weighing a hundred pounds, begging me to sleep. Bucky walks to the door and flicks off the light. He returns to my bedside and kisses me on the forehead softly. “Rest. I’ll check on you in a couple hours.” I’m asleep before he closes the door.