#also this is more than 3 sentences but sshhh

[luminoustico]

For 3-sentence fics:

Lizzie Bennett and Darcy

Au: earlier first meeting

Lizzy sighed as the trees trickled past, the horses going a-pace towards Netherfield. Opposite her, Lydia and Kitty were fighting to peek outside of the carriage to witness the great house hove into view; Mary had her nose steadfastedly planted into a book, only occasionally looking to their father; Jane preoccupied herself by smoothing her gloves against her lap, which to anyone, would seem a sign of self-assurance and not (as Lizzy knew it truly to be), a sign of self-comfort.

"Mama shall be most perturbed she was unable to attend," Lizzy murmured, sliding her piercing gaze towards her father, who was hidden behind a copy of that day's newspaper, "and I doubt her nerves shall tolerate it!"

"That, my dear," intoned Mr Bennet, failing immeasurably to hide his amusement, "is entirely the point."

Give me a pairing, an AU setting, and I’ll write you a three-sentence fic!

[harringtonheartache]

Call It Fate, Call It Karma | Part Two

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: A continuation of part one. Steve and Y/n are stuck in the Russian base, left with many questions they will only find the answers to if they escape.

Word Count: 2,105

Warning(s): Stranger Things 3 spoilers, mild descriptions of blood and injury, cussing.

A/N: Here’s part two! Sorry for the wait. I went off book a little in terms of how shit went down in ep. 6 (skipped some lines, etc.), but that’s just because I didn’t want to bore you with scenes you had already experienced. Also, go fucking listen to Joe Keery’s song “Roddy” if you haven’t. IT’S SO GOOD HE’S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.

The needle had brought the most brief moment of silence, and then the room erupted again into havoc. “Wait a second, wait. Hold on, okay! Wait wait wait what is that thing?” Steve’s words bounced off the walls like ping-pong balls. “It will help you talk,” the Russian man answered with an unsettling tone, one that did not fit with his promise of help. While she was not the one first in line for the mystery meds, Y/n was equally panicked, yelling in unison with him. 

“Hey, hey, hey wait! Don’t fucking-”

“Did you even clean that thing?”

Both of them were cut short and the only sound filling the room was Steve’s scream as he was injected with the drug, just where his jaw met his neck. Y/n was next, but hearing Steve’s cry was worse than experiencing the needle herself. Chaos was drained from the room at once, the two strapped to the chairs having been returned to sleep. 

It was easy to assume that the drug given to them was not a pain reliever, although Steve did feel as though the tenderness of his wounds had been dulled when he woke up for the second time in the cold room. Y/n wasn’t far behind him in her physical state, waking up shortly after he had. While they had both just taken a nap, they still felt tired while they leaned their heads against one another. “Do you feel anything?” Steve asked her. “No, not really. You?” “I-I don’t think so. Maybe? I… I kind of feel good,” he answered her with a melodious sound to his voice. She offered him a chuckle, “I kind of do too”. Their heads knocked together sternly as they laughed, but they were too jubilant to feel the pain it caused in full effect. “Morons, they messed up the drugs!” he sang. “Dumbasses!” she agreed with the same satirical tone. They continued this for a minute or two, feeling joy for the first time since arriving underground, even if it was drug-induced. 

Behind the metal door, their triumph was heard loud and clear throughout the narrow hallway, indicating to the men outside that they were ready to be attended to again. Their booted feet stomped noisily back to the door, but the sound could not be heard over the laughter coming from within. They re-entered through the door, and to the teenagers tied together, the Russian men were no longer as scary as they had been earlier. “Let’s try this again,” said the man in the uniform and hat. “Who do you work for?” 

“Scoops. Scoops Ahoy,” Steve repeated his dried up answer like someone on a game show, completely certain but not too serious. Unable to keep themselves from laughing, they didn’t even bother with hiding the lack of urgency they felt in response to the situation. Y/n’s shoe tapped madly on the floor, so taken over with giddiness. Steve’s hair bounced as well, against his forehead as chuckles bobbed his body up and down. “How did you find us?” the man continued, seemingly unfazed but still bitter. “Completely by accident,” another answer that would not satisfy those looking for the reasoning behind their visit. The response did however satisfy both Y/n and Steve himself, prompting the laughter to continue. 

Russian was muttered from the mouth of the bitter man, and a pair of small doctoral pliers entered the conversation similarly to how the needle had earlier. Before the tool was able to inflict it’s intended damage, an alarm blared at an extreme volume, perhaps just as loud as the screaming had been earlier. Steve looked up at the captor, a cocky smile twitching onto his face as he poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He could feel the blood that still resided in his mouth from earlier, but no longer felt concerned with the taste. 

No more than three minutes later, Y/n and Steve rode together in the back of a small red cart, Dustin steering hastily down the hallway. His style of driving could be described as “shitty,” or “dangerous,” but rather fitting considering he had never driven anything but a bike before, and he was trying to spare the life of four, himself included. He jerked the wheel in a manner that was rather unexpected to the two in the back, causing them to fall all over one another. Y/n’s arm ended up twisted together with Steve’s leg, and she laid sprawled against his lap. The enthusiastic driving continued to milk laughter from them. “Whoooo! This is like a roller coaster!” Y/n shared. Steve agreed wholeheartedly, “I love roller coasters! Dustin go faster!” 

“No,” Erica butted in.

“What is wrong with them?” she asked the chauffeur. “I don’t know!” he yelled over his assemblage. “Did you- did you know your initials spell sshhh?” Y/n spoke in a loud whisper to Steve, dragging the two letters to mimic a librarian. The roller coaster came to a halt with the pounding of heavy barrels and the two in the back were dragged from their train car. 

While adding significant chaos to the escape plan, the drugged up duo made it back to Starcourt. After deciding that their hiding spot in the movie theater Dustin had ordered them to stay in wasn’t captivating enough, the two stumbled out into the main lobby, taking turns holding themselves up on the water fountain and downing as much liquid as they could. Y/n’s fingers started to hurt as she held down the “push here” button on the metal box with unnecessary pressure. “Hey, Y/n,” she was interrupted, her hand unintentionally slipping from the fountain. “Look at the ceiling,” said Steve. She followed his walking pattern to stand next to him, staggering as if she wasn’t fully capable of standing with complete balance. “Woaah,” she exclaimed, equitably as entranced by the stars that seemed to be dragging through the sky like someone was painting stripes on a flag. 

Their stargazing ended with them in the bathroom, disposing of what little was in their stomachs. The only thing they had eaten in the past day or two was the popcorn Steve swiped from the trashcan on their hurried retreat into the movie theater. They now stood in front of the sinks, washing out their mouths to rid themselves of the taste of bile, a taste significantly more vulgar than blood. Water now dripped from Steve’s tongue as he stuck it out under the faucet. The bathroom mirrors reflected bloodied faces, but they were not ready to take on another task of self care and clean the deep red stains from their skin. Once content with the taste of her freshly washed mouth, Y/n dropped lazily back to the ground. Steve followed shortly, sitting beside her on the floor that could most likely use a washing itself, his back to the row of sinks. 

“I think whatever they gave us is wearing off,” he spoke. 

“Yeah,” she agreed in short. 

“Well, my optimism wasn’t in vain,” Steve said playfully, remembering their conversation back in the base. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his calves coming in contact with the cool tile. His Scoops Ahoy uniform would need a good cleaning before his next shift, as the red stripes of his shirt now appeared to be dripping like melted ice cream since the addition of the running blood.

A sober laugh left Y/n, tired but content with their survival thus far. “Guess you were right, sorry I doubted you Harrington,” the end of her sentence lifted in enthusiasm. She leaned her head against the base of the sink, wishing not to consider the bacteria it was painted with. “How badly does your face hurt?” she questioned, assuming the answer was ‘a significant amount’. “A lot,” he said, “but you got pretty bruised up yourself,” he added. He turned to face her now, scooting a bit closer to her on the bathroom floor. She looked to him, expecting to meet his eyes, but found him engaged in his own observation of her injuries instead. A hand was removed from his lap and floated to the space between their two chests as he hesitated with his next action. 

The palm of his hand met her jaw and he carefully laid his thumb near a gash on her cheek. Her eyes blinked solemnly, trusting him to be gentle with her face and it’s received damage. “Shit,” he said, feeling an indisputable sense of worry that showed on his expression. His eyes (one still swollen and purple) scanned the rest of her face, looking over every cut or bruise that was added to her complexion within the past few hours. If he had not been down in that Russian base with her, he might assume she had gotten into a nasty fist-fight like he was infamous for doing himself. “I’m okay,” she told him soothingly. “You got it worse than me.” He finally redirected his gaze to meet her eyes, forcing himself to draw his focus away from the colorful bruise on the edge of her jawline that was screaming for his attention. “I’m used to getting my ass kicked,” he joked. They laughed to themselves, smiling as widely as they could stand. 

He took his hand back, but they did not subtract the closeness in proximity that Steve had initiated. “I hope you know I wasn’t saying all of that stuff back there just because I thought we were going to die,” he said, bringing a more serious conversation to bat, yet still carrying a light tone. “The stuff about enjoying my presence?” she asked, not fully grasping the lack of humor presented with his last sentence. “I’d hope you were telling the truth,” she chuckled amusingly. A smile came to Steve’s face as he looked downward, slightly embarrassed but still feeling an obligation to continue with his intended conversational route. “No, I was, but I uh- I don’t know. I,” -he paused- “I feel more than friendship with you, Y/n,” he brought his head back up now, despite his apprehension in doing so.

Her eyebrows jumped slightly, but she brought them back down as to not leave Steve regretting his confession. He watched her carefully, not wanting to miss any indication of responding emotion. His fingers twitched against one another in his lap, and he became strangely self-aware and confused as to what he should be doing with his hands. “Oh,” she said, her reply giving him little relief with only this one word. “I mean-” he started, but she didn’t let him attempt a retraction of his words. “Me too,” a smile graced her face, an honest one. “I like you too, Steve”. In all transparency, she felt as if the word “like” was not enough to express her feelings towards the person who sat in front of her, but using a more profound word was too daunting. He joined her in an elated expression, smiling both at himself and her. “Thank god, I was worried that I was going to have to go back to those Russian idiots and just let them kill me,” he said. 

They laughed again, a sound you would have heard often if you had spent the day with the two. His eyes dropped to her lips, still plump and pretty despite the small cut running vertically over her bottom one. Her laughter at his recently spewed joke filled him with enough confidence to perform his next action with almost complete certainty in himself. He swiftly moved his head to meet her lips with his own; a gentle kiss, one that was careful not to cause extreme pressure against the cut that had been bleeding all of thirty minutes ago. Nevertheless, it was soft. A moment both comforting and sweet shared between them. 

If that moment had lasted but three seconds longer than it had, it would have been shared with a third person: Dustin. The small, fretful boy slung the bathroom door open with more power than many would expect from him. He found the two he was looking for, questionably close to one another, having pulled away from a kiss seconds before. Their eye contact was broken at the sound of Dustin’s entrance, as they turned their heads to quickly meet his startled stare. “What the hell? I told you guys to stay there! What are you doing?” The two didn’t even try for words, continuous laughter now echoing off of the tiled walls. What they had was good karma. 

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Tags: @hearteyesmotherclucker

[justanotherbuckydevotee]

lostmyhead - part 3

Word Count: 2,580  words. Prompt : Lovecraftian – Horrible and indescribable platonic love. Or in which you don’t know how to deal with your emotions. Warning(s): Angst. Reader being selfish (im sorry) A/N: SO LIKE IDK . My Final next submission for @hellomissmabel‘s 2k Birthday Celebration. Happy reading! Any feedback/criticism would be welcomed (like seriously this got out of control pls tell me what you think i don’t mind if its gonna hurt me). ps this isnt proofread. its 1.27 am and i have class in the morning im sorry for any mistakes! 

masterlist || series page  The Prologue || Part 1 || part 2 || Part 3 || part 4 

** gif not mine ** 

It’s late at night (or was it really early morning?) when Bruce comes out of one of the operating room, bringing good news about the other super-soldier of the Avengers team.

“It’s a strong sedative. Any normal human being could’ve been killed with the amount he was given, but he’ll be okay” Bruce explains, making Steve release a sigh that’s been constricting his chest, tightening his shoulders when he waited.

“He’ll wake up soon” Bruce adds, “I suggest only a couple of you at a time. He’ll be a little…” he continues, a hand gesturing to his head as he waves it around in circles. “Confused” he finishes his sentence.

A moment of silence follows, a heavy stillness that nobody dared to move, one other question lingering in their heads but are too scared to ask.

“And (y/n)?”

Bruce takes off the glasses that was perched on the bridge of his nose, fidgeting with it. There was no delicate way to deliver the news about you. “She’s… They’re still in the operating room”

Everyone held their breathe.

“The wound on her leg is easy. But the one on her hip is complicated. We don’t know if it’ll affect her ability to walk, whether it’s temporary or permanent. The injury she sustained on her head is” Bruce pauses, still not looking up at his team mates.

“It’s difficult to assess” he words.

Again, silence. Nobody knew what to say, trying to process everything that’s been said.

“Thank you” Steve breaks the heavy air with his words, before taking long strides to Bucky’s room. Bruce could only nod, eyes following the trail of Steve until the door to Bucky’s room is gently closed. It’s only after that did he look to the eyes of each of his team mates.

Wanda is biting her fingernails, a distant look in her eyes with an arm crossed against her chest. Sam is leaning against the wall deep in thought, his engineered backpack on the ground of his feet. Clint is right next to Natasha, both looking solemn.

“You guys should rest for a bit. It’s been a long day”. With that, he leaves.

Clint is mumbling words to Natasha, encouraging her to change and rest as he waits for more news of you. She’s shaking her head in protest. Sam looks utterly exhausted as he brings his hand over to his forehead.

“You guys should go. I’ll wait here” Wanda announces, taking a step from where she was only to look over the others. “I’ll come get you if anything happens” she continues, speaking to them but her eyes fully locked with Nat’s.

It’s all she can offer, and with what the day had entailed. Wanda was relieved to see them one by one caving into the need of their bodies. Natasha was the last to go, whispering tiredly to Wanda “please get me first, okay?”.

The smell of alcohol and medicine made Wanda feel all the more anxious, as she sits on the edge of her seat, waiting for more news. Her eyes kept going to the double-doors whenever a staff came in or out, scrubs slightly stained before disappearing down the end of the hallway before re-appearing again with a medical cart. She clasped her hands tightly, almost as if in prayer when Steve comes out of Bucky’s room. He looked drained but he can’t make it show that’s he’s actually scared right now, not when the youngest Avenger is sitting across the operating theatre alone.

“Hey” Steve greets, taking the seat next to her. “Why aren’t you in your bed? It’s late” “I promised them I’ll wait”

He could only nod.

“How’s Bucky?” “He’s okay. He’s finally asleep”

The double-doors swing, a team of doctors and nurses filing out, a gatch bed with machines and wires tangled with each other and on it is you. They’re pulling you to a room next to Bucky, passing by Steve and Wanda. Their eyes fall on you; head wrapped with a bandage, a breathing ventilator tube down your throat, eyes closed shut.

Dr. Cho stops in front of them both, still in her scrubs and begins explaining what Bruce couldn’t manage to tell them.

“It’s the only thing I could do. I’m sorry” Dr. Cho mumbles, eyes shining with guilt. Steve is quick to react calmly, saying “You’ve done everything you could”. She looks at Steve for a moment, as if wanting to disagree. She felt she could do more, but the brain is the most complex organ of the whole human anatomy. She blinks, looks down, then moves her feet to her office.

Wanda stayed with you long after Steve has left, suggesting he should rest up too. Dragging a chair closer to you, she places her hand gently on yours, breathing in deeply as she closes her eyes.

There’s somebody behind her, a translucent shape.

“Why aren’t you coming back?” Wanda asked without turning around. She knows who it is.

“I had someone to find first” the figure said, taking slow steps to stand before Wanda. Her palm reaches Wanda’s shoulder, but it can’t really reach her, can’t physically place her touch in this world. A mere ghost of a being.

“But Bucky is back” Wanda announces, head finally turning to see you. The one in front of Wanda now looked better than the one laying on the bed. “So why can’t you return?”

You give her a weak smile. “I’m not too sure I want to come back this time, Wan” you confess.

You take her stunned silence as your cue to continue, to explain. “When I didn’t see him, when I thought he was gone, I couldn’t see anything worth fighting for. I would’ve gladly let that agent do whatever he wanted to me”

“It’s when I realized how much I cared for him. Deeply. More than just friends who look out for one another. More than just friends who understand each other. I don’t ever want to know how it feels like to lose him after this. But he can’t” you stop yourself, eyes closed shut to try and calm yourself from the on-coming wave of emotions that would undoubtedly have an effect on your physical body.

“If I come back, what good would having this feeling do to me? He has someone now; he has Yvy, Wan, and I’m so happy that he’s finally happy” you continue, sadness marring your facial features. “But it also pains me because I won’t ever have that with him. I’ll just be his friend, sure someone he cares about, but not the one he loves”

“But he does love you, (y/n). Can you not see that?” Wanda retaliates. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t love me like I want him to”

Wanda is trying to understand what you’re saying, trying to process the idea of you not coming back to this world, to this team, back home. She feels a painful twist in her chest, pricking her heart.

“So you’re just going to leave?” she asked. She had to. It felt like losing Pietro again, but the difference here is that Pietro didn’t have a choice. You did. You could come home, deal with whatever it is you’re feeling instead of running away. The pricking in her heart suddenly changes to simmering anger; you had the option to live and yet here you were deciding to be a coward and run. She hated you for wanting this, for having an option.

“You’re going to be a coward, and leave us?” she pushes when you’ve yet to answer. The air is thick now once realization dawns on you at how selfish you were being. Wanda abruptly stands up, the chair pushed forcefully behind her.

“It’s your choice. Say hi to Pietro for me”

This goes on for days; you remain in your astral form, looking down at your body as it rests and heal. You spend most your time confined here, not wanting to leave far with the fear that someone –or something sinister, decides to take your unprotected physical form as its host.

The last time you interacted was when Wanda closed the door to your room, leaving you to wallow in her last painful words.

“Say hi to Pietro for me”

So you stay. You stay and watch the aftermath of what would be if you decide to leave. Wanda is the only one who knows of your ability.

You smile faintly at how she discovered, or rather how you decided to reveal your secret to her. She was devastated at the loss of her twin, the speedster you always hear about from Clint, during the weeks you first met her.

“Did you hear that?” Bucky asked just as his hand grasped the knob of your door. You quirk an eyebrow at him before shaking your head, slightly confused. He moves his head closer to your door and for a moment he stays like that. You stand up as quietly as you could, fearing something bad was going on outside when Bucky has yet to say anything.

“Bu-“ his name barely comes out of your mouth when he raises a hand to your direction, his lips mouthing ‘sshhh’. A moment of total silence follows before the worry in his eyes disappear, his features softening before he looks at you.

He hesitates for a moment, but then decides to say “I think someone’s crying”

Immediately you walk over to him, peeling your door and motioning for him to stay there. Even though you absolutely hated being the mother hen –believing the title is rightfully Steve’s, you did have a tendency to act like one. So you tiptoed your way up the hallway, straining your ears to pick up the muffled sobs from one of the doors.

You stop dead in your tracks when you find the source.

It’s Wanda.

Bucky, who ignores your request to stay put, looks at you anxiously. You lick your lips, unsure whether you should go in or knock on her door. Clint has told you about this, had told you to look out for her during the times he wasn’t there. He’d given you a list of things that help her mind off of it, and one of the things he suggests doing was to just be by her side.

So that’s what you did. You found her curled at the corner of her room, in her arms an article of clothing. Your hand reaches her shoulder cautiously, and when she doesn’t jolt away from your touch, you pull her slowly into your arms. Thankfully Wanda doesn’t hesitate, crashing her body to yours.

Bucky takes it as his cue to leave, closing the door to Wanda’s room.

You hold her as she mourns the death of her brother, her twin, the only family she ever knew for the longest time. The black and white track jacket was wedged in-between you both. The room is filled with her pain, and you do your best to hold her, comfort her.

“I miss him. So much” she whimpers as you stroke her hair.

It’s a heart-breaking thing to listen to her say it, the absolute heart-ache she feels clearly present bringing you to tears.

It happened naturally; one moment the room is dark and depressing, and the next there’s a dim glow to everything in sight. Next to her you see a young man with silver hair, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears as he looks down at his sister.

“Then talk to him” you whisper when the person next to you realizes you can see him.

That was the night that got you closer to Wanda, and the night she finally said her goodbye to Pietro. The small smile you wore is now completely torn off of your lips. How could you have been so selfish? Here you were having the ability to continue living while others do not. Here you were wasting a life when others had theirs taken from them. You look at your body again, knowing how easy it is to just come back.

But then you see Bucky.

Bucky is both a reassuring and aggravating presence. You’re thankful that he remains by your side when he can, giving your heart an empty promise at the sight of him next to you for hours on end. But that, of course, is shattered when he leaves, where the others take his place. It exhausts you, drains you out of energy that it leaves your astral form lying on the floor to rest.

On the fourth day he remains longer than usual, saying nothing and letting the only noise in the room be from the heart monitor and respiratory machine. He stays glued on the chair next to you, this time without a book in hand.

And, this time, a little more agitated.

He’s wringing his hands together –a noticeable habit shared among people with anxiety, that it pained you even more. You push yourself closer to him, wanting so badly to comfort him, to say you’re sorry for being like this.

“I’m sorry” he croaks, guilt drenched in the words that stumble out of him next.

Four days.

It took you four days to realize the severity of your action. None of this was his fault yet here he was, sitting on that chair feeling the weight of guilt crushing his soul. None of this was his fault because he’d done everything he could. None of this was his fault because the decision was in your hands.

It took you four days to recognize the torture Bucky went through at seeing you like this. He’s looking at your weak form, lying unconscious on a hospital bed, delicate tubes and wires running around your body. The agony he must’ve endured throughout these four days finally dawned on you when he’s looking at in this moment.

You see him leaning forwards slowly, calculatedly. Then pauses for a brief moment.

“I-“ but he doesn’t continue, leaving you confused. I what? You thought. Then the door is pulled open, where Natasha and Wanda comes in before he leaves.

You follow him out, forgetting about the consequences of such action, the vulnerability you’ve put your body to just to follow him to his room.

And just like the days he left, you can feel your heart being torn apart piece by piece.

You see Bucky slide easily into his bed, hands wrapped around the waist of a beautiful women. He kisses Yvy’s back. When he closes his eyes, you can see the difference her presence has on him; the worried line and frown that marred his face is gone, his feature softening.

He looked so at peace, so calm next to the girl he loves that it makes you completely forget why you should stay. It hurts you now more than ever. He’s finally happy, so why can’t you be happy for him? Isn’t it your duty, as a friend, to support him no matter what?

Rationality isn’t of utter importance to you right then and there as you force yourself to tear your gaze away, to will yourself back to the room where you laid, wanting nothing more than to just go forget.

To forget. It’s what you wanted –to forget a time where your feelings towards Bucky was anything but platonic, to not remember a time where you craved to have him as yours.

And you know exactly who to turn to.

read final part >> part 4

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