again apologies for the size but this is the best that can be done

Katsuki Yuuri is 22 and in college and disgustingly in love with Viktor Nikiforov, his boyfriend of two years.

They have a one-year-old puppy named Makkachin, whom they got from the breeder as soon as he was fully weaned. 

They live together in a gorgeous 2-bedroom apartment - with huge bay windows and what is technically a guest room, but which they’ve been calling “Phichit’s room” for as long as they’ve been living there, for how often the Thai boy stays over. Sometimes, Chris stays there too, when he’s in the country, and Phichit will complain for weeks afterwards that nothing is where he left it and someone has been rummaging in his personal belongings. (Yuuri and Viktor have long since given up questioning why he even keeps his personal belongings in their guestroom).

Viktor is a successful, best-selling author who insists on travelling to the places his books are set in the interest of accuracy even when the setting has next to nothing to do with the plot, because he’s just extra like that.

Yuuri and Makkachin travel with him whenever they can, but being a college student doesn’t give you that much free time, so most often Yuuri has to stay at home, or come home early. He doesn’t mind too much. He’s never actually alone for more than a few days at a time anyways (again, Phichit crashes at their place a lot).

They’re happy and disgustingly adorable and #couplegoals for literally everyone.

And then…they break up. And neither of them will say why. All anyone knows is that it started with a tiny little argument, and spiralled quickly into something monstrous and devastating.

And within the month, Yuuri moves out of his gorgeous 2-bedroom apartment with the huge bay windows and the guest room that they used to call Phichit’s room.

He leaves behind the boyfriend he was disgustingly in love with, and the puppy that whines pitifully after him, scratching at the door and begging to be let out.

He’s done uni by then, and so is Phichit. They have nothing left to tie them to that city, and because Phichit is beautiful and perfect and a way better best friend than Yuuri deserves, he convinces Yuuri to move with him across the country, to sunny beaches and towering palms, to a place as far away from home as they can possibly get, while staying in the same country.

And Viktor? He’s left behind in a too big apartment, with a heartbroken puppy that lies listlessly on Yuuri’s side of the bed and can only fall asleep when listening to Yuuri’s breathless laughter through old vacation videos on Viktor’s laptop.

Once their lease is up, Viktor decides to move back home to Russia, to parents who hug him tightly when they see him standing miserable and tired on their doorstep, and a little brother who barely recognizes him without his ex boyfriend attached to his hip.

He keeps writing his books (tragedies now, instead of the romance his fans have grown to expect from him), even sells his movie rights to some of them, and Makkachin starts running and playing again, tongue lolling happily out of his mouth and bouncing with excitement whenever Yura mentions the beloved “w” word. These days, Viktor always takes him travelling with him, ever since Makkachin got sick with anxiety the first time Viktor left him behind at his parents’ home for a week.

And meanwhile, Yuuri learns to live with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, so painful some days he can barely breathe.

Phichit is with him every step of the way, his partner-in-crime, his brother in all but blood, his platonic soulmate. (It’s a warm and sticky summer night when they lie on a sandy beach and listen to the waves lapping quietly at their bare toes, and they promise each other that if neither of them are married by forty, they’ll just marry each other. It’s not exactly what Yuuri had wanted from his future, but it still makes him clutch at his stomach in breathless laughter when Phichit suggests it.)

Viktor had always been the author out of the two of them, the one that knew how to string words in just the right order to paint a vivid picture in the minds of his readers.

But Yuuri isn’t too bad at it himself, he thinks. He decides to give it a try.

He paints a story of a clumsy couple, charmingly naive, so in love, so perfectly imperfect. He paints a story of a couple that bickers and banters, fights and then makes up with whispered apologies and warm cuddles. He writes about a couple that fights and makes up, fights and makes up, fights and makes up until…quite suddenly…they don’t.

He writes about the couple that goes their separate ways. A couple that is too young, too inexperienced for this thing they have between them, this thing that’s so huge, so important, so beautiful, they’re both afraid to lose it, so they throw it away themselves.

And then, just because he wants to give them the one thing he’d long given up hope for, he ends their story with a question.

(Can we give this a second chance?)


Katsuki Yuuri is 26, and disgustingly in love with Viktor Nikiforov, the boy he broke up with three and a half years ago.

He has a cute little 2-year-old toy poodle named Vicchan, whom his roommate, his platonic soulmate (his potential fiancé?) had given to him as a present to get over his broken heart.

They live together in a cozy little 1-bedroom apartment just ten minutes away from the beach, with a sofa-bed that their friends, Guang-Hong and Leo, like to crash on sometimes when they’re in the middle of another lovers’ quarrel.

Yuuri is a best-selling author, with his one-hit wonder, On My Love, garnering international attention and countless desperate requests for a sequel.

Yuuri likes to take Vicchan for walks along the beach early in the morning, just as the sun is beginning to peek above the horizon and paint the sky in soft pinks and dazzling oranges.

They’re taking a break one day, with Vicchan splashing in the shallows a few feet away, when Yuuri is suddenly bowled over by a whining, panting, standard sized poodle, all soft brown fur and sloppy kisses.

He can barely breathe around the desperate affection, and not even Vicchan’s excited, curious yapping is enough to distract the ecstatic giant furball from his reunion with his long-lost and sorely missed human.

As soon as Yuuri can breathe again, fingers curled into his beautiful older puppy’s fur, he looks up, and his heart clenches at the sight of the Russian man standing a few feet away, a familiar paperback clutched to his chest with white-knuckled hands.

He still wears his heart on his sleeve.

A question tumbles out of his mouth.

And in that moment, Yuuri knows to start his next book with an answer.

(“Of course.”)

Misdialed Call (Part One)

Summary: After an overall bad day, you call your best friend to rant and to vent. But when you accidentally misdial, you end up talking to a complete stranger. What you don’t know is that this stranger may not be a stranger at all. He may even be the world’s first superhero. (Drabble Series)

Author’s Note: Hey guys. I’m back from my hiatus. I’ve miss you guys so much. I hope to continue writing for a while now that midterms are over and done with. I hope you guys enjoy this series and thank you for everything!
Also, special thanks to Combat Anon for the idea of this series!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 934

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

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The Fourth Musketeer (Part 3)

Originally posted by bettytail

Part one here    Part two here

Requests: I love part 1 and 2 of The Fourth Musketeer!! Are you going to make a part 3?

Part 3 pls? For the four musketeers I’m really loving it.

WHERE IS FOURTH MUSKETEER PART 3 IM DYING TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

Ahhhhhhhhh, The fourth Musketeer series is sooooo good 😍😍 I can’t wait for part 3 😭💕

I need part 3 of 4m please

OMFG I NEED A PART 3 OF THE 4 MUSKETEERS !.!! Its SOO AMAZING

OMG I just read the second part of the Fourth Musketeer. It’s amazing!!! I already want more! Love your work darling ❤❤

More fourth musketeer please god 💖🙏

Part 3 of the Four Musketeers PLEASE, it’s so freaking good. It makes me feel all the feels and I’m in love with your writing

Pairing: Archie x Reader

Description: Unplanned reunions never end well.

Warnings: I cried while writing this

Word count: 1,536

A/N: just a reminder to all, if you want to be added to my taglist please ask in my ask box! anywho wowow buckle your seatbelts for the emotional roller coaster that is part 3!! enjoy!!


(Y/N) obliviously stood at the counter in Pop’s, unaware of three sets of unwavering eyes staring at her.

“Should we… say something?” Betty suggested, but she didn’t shift her gaze from (Y/N).

“I don’t know,” Veronica breathed.  "I probably shouldn’t since she has no idea who I am.“

"I’ll do it,” Jughead stated.  Before Veronica or Betty could acknowledge what he said, Jughead had stood up and began to walk towards (Y/N).  The two girls shared a tentative glance.  "Long time no see, (Y/N),“ Jughead said from behind her.  She whirled around.

"Jughead,” she acknowledged him, her lips forming an awkward smile.  "It’s… nice to see you.“

"God it’s been so long,” Jughead sighed, stepping closer to (Y/N).  She tried to inconspicuously edge away.

“Yeah,” she nodded and pursed her lips.  Jughead was taken aback by her cold behavior.

“Does anyone else know you’re here?” he questioned.  (Y/N) shook her head.

“Nope,” she answered simply, “just you.”

“And Betty,” Jughead added, gesturing back to where Veronica and Betty were sitting.  When they noticed (Y/N) was looking at them, they smiled and waved. (Y/N)’s focus turned back to Jughead.

“Who’s that with her?” she asked.

“Veronica,” he explained, “she moved here at the beginning of the year.”

“That’s nice,” another awkward smile formed on her lips.  Suddenly, a waiter brought out a bag of food.  (Y/N) grabbed the bag and quickly paid.  "Well, I’ve gotta get going. It’s been nice seeing you again, Jughead.“  She started to exit the diner, but Jughead quickly snatched her wrist.

"Wait!” he said, earning a questioning look from her.  "What about Archie?“

"What about Archie?” (Y/N) innocently repeated.  Jughead rolled his eyes.

“You know,” he responded, “are you going to tell him you’re back?”

“Why should I?” (Y/N) scoffed.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he’s fucking smitten with you and has been heartbroken for the past two years.  And if I’m not mistaken, you were pretty smitten yourself before you moved.” (Y/N) bit her lip as she shook her head.

“If he loved me, he would’ve called,” she rolled her eyes.

“What happened to you?” Jughead asked, scanning her face.  (Y/N) snapped her wrist out of his grip.

“Nothing happened, Jughead.”

“There’s another thing,” he noted.  "Since when have you called me Jughead?“

"My food is getting cold,” she made up an excuse.

“Archie said you changed your number.”  The sentence knocked the wind out of (Y/N), so she stood in silence as she stared at Jughead.

“I changed it,” she finally admitted it. “But that was a few months after I left.”

“Why?” he inquired.

“Because he didn’t call me,” she sighed.  "Even when I called him, he wouldn’t answer.“  Jughead furrowed his eyebrows.  (Y/N) shook her head as she left the diner.

She called over her shoulder, "Don’t tell Archie I’m back.”


“She expects you to not tell him?” Veronica questioned the next day at school.  Jughead shrugged.

“But I get it, you know?” Betty responded.  “She wants to be the one to tell him she’s back, not have someone do it on her behalf.”

“If she tells him,” Veronica reminded her.

“Listen, just… don’t tell him, okay?” Jughead told Veronica.  “I told (Y/N) I wouldn’t, and I don’t want to upset her.  She seemed kinda off yesterday.”

“So she’s not normally like that?” Veronica questioned with a hint of sarcasm.  Jughead rolled his eyes.

“Not when I knew her.”


“Okay, so (Y/N)’s gotta have some flaws, right?” Veronica asked Archie as she sat across from him in the lounge.  He narrowed his eyes.

“What?” he confusedly mumbled.  “Why are you asking about (Y/N)?”

“Well, Archiekins,” Veronica bit her lip, “you’ve seemed more down ever since Jughead’s party.  I figured it was something having to do with (Y/N).  I’m asking you about her flaws because right now, it seems like you’re kind of glorifying her in your memories, you know?  Since she hasn’t been around, you only want to remember the good parts of her.”

“I don’t know,” Archie waved off her suggestion.  “I really don’t want to talk about her.”

“But you have to,” Veronica immediately replied.  “Betty, Jughead, and Kevin told me about her and how you absolutely refused to mention her after she moved.”

“It’s a coping method,” he defended himself.  She shook her head.

“It’s unhealthy.”

“Veronica, stop!” Archie yelled, exasperatedly throwing his hands up in the air.  “You know why I can’t tell you any of (Y/N)’s flaws?  Because I love her.  And when you love someone, when you truly love someone, their flaws aren’t something you notice.  Their flaws are just another cute quirk that you adore, and I love everything there is about (Y/N).”  A smile creeped onto Veronica’s face, causing Archie to twist his face into a puzzled expression.  “What?”

“You love her,” she grinned, but Archie remained confused. “You love her, Archiekins.  Not loved, love.”  Archie rolled his eyes, but it didn’t hide his growing smile. Veronica stood up, brushing down her pencil skirt.  “My job here is done.  Keep an eye on your phone, Archiekins.  I’m gonna send you a very important message soon.”


An extremely confused Archie walked into Pop’s, and he continued to double check the text that Veronica sent him:

Go to Pop’s tonight.  Trust me.

She said nothing about meeting her there, nor did she mention anything about what he was supposed to do at the diner.  He scanned the area, searching for a familiar face.  His eyes landed on a face that was more familiar than he expected.

“(Y/N)?” he whispered, staring at the girl sitting all alone in a booth.  She, having not heard Archie’s murmur, continued to stare at her phone. “(Y/N)!”  Archie said it louder this time, and (Y/N)’s head snapped up. Her eyes doubled in size as she stared at her old childhood friend.  Slowly, she stood up and began to walk towards Archie.

“Archie?” she asked, stepping closer to him with an unreadable expression on her face.  He grinned and nodded.

“Oh god, (Y/N), I thought I’d never see you again.  I thought that-” A sharp slap across his face interrupted him.  Archie’s mouth opened slightly ajar as he stared at (Y/N), subdued into shock.

“Fuck you, Archie,” she spat.  Archie noticed tears glimmering in her eyes.  “No calls, no texts, no emails, nothing!  Absolutely nothing!”

“(Y/N), I-”

“And you act like you’re the victim,” she interrupted him, refusing to grant him the chance to defend himself.  “You told Jughead and Betty that I changed my number?  And you didn’t mention that I called you countless times, only for you to never answer.”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he apologized, slowly grabbing her hands.  She didn’t tear them away from his grip, but Archie could feel her muscles tense.  “You know why I didn’t answer your calls?  Because it hurt.  It hurt because I thought I’d never see you again, and I thought that if I heard your voice, it would just make the pain worse.  I thought that maybe if I didn’t talk to you, if I pretended like you never existed, then maybe I could move on.”

“You think it didn’t hurt me?” (Y/N) questioned, her voice cracking as she held back her tears.  “You think it didn’t hurt every time I called my best friend but never got an answer?  You think it didn’t hurt when I was alone with my parents in a big city with no one to turn to?  You think it didn’t hurt when I couldn’t call for help when I needed it?”  Her voice gradually raised as she spoke.  Archie released (Y/N)’s hands, and instead, he opted to cup her face.  He leaned in and did something he had been dying to do for the past four years: he kissed her.  Archie tried to pour every ounce of love he had for (Y/N) into the kiss, he tried to tell her the things he was unable to say.  However, (Y/N) pulled away.  She took a step away from Archie as she frowned at him, her tears finally stumbling down her face.

“Why did you do that?” she cried softly.

“Because I love you,” Archie desperately answered.  He attempted to reach out towards her and hold her in his arms, but (Y/N) stepped further away.  “I love you, and I have always loved you.  I never got the chance to tell you.”

“You can’t do that to me,” she tried to wipe away her tears, but they were flowing too quickly.  “You can’t just barge in here and confess your love after you completely ignored me!”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), it was stupid and selfish of me, but-”

“But nothing!” she stopped his apology.  (Y/N) brushed past Archie as she began to storm out of the diner, but before she could exit, Archie grabbed her wrist, forcing her to turn around.

“One thing, (Y/N). Can you please just answer one question for me?” he begged.  (Y/N) pursed her lips but nodded.  “Do you love me?”

“Archie, you can’t just-”

“Please, (Y/N),” his voice was meek and desperate.  She sighed, but slowly nodded.

“Of course,” she whispered. She gently wriggled her hand out of his grasp and exited the diner, leaving a heartbroken Archie behind.

Part four here     Part five here

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Business and Pleasure - Part 18

Summary:  Bucky AU. After a major deal falls through, your father’s business almost falls apart. In a desperate attempt to save his livelihood, he seeks the help of his oldest friend, George Barnes, who happens to be the CEO of one of the most influential businesses in New York. He agrees, but on one condition. You have to marry his son.

Word Count: 2,059

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: I’m so so sorry it’s taken me so long to get this written, guys. I’m in my last semester of college and these last few weeks have been absolute hell. I’m slowly trying to catch up with life, while also trying to just make it through finals alive. Anyway, I’m not super thrilled with how this chapter came out, but I feel like I owe it to you guys to at least post it. I’m sorry if it’s not up to my usual standards, but I’m doing my best. Hopefully by the next chapter, I’ll be back to being my usual self. 


Originally posted by wishyouwereherexox

“Y/N? Are you almost ready doll? We should get going. The appointment’s in an hour and you know how unpredictable traffic can be around this time,” Bucky smiled at you from the doorway, watching as you pulled on your shoes.

“Yup! Just let me grab my purse and I’ll be ready to go!” You nodded, blushing slightly as you felt his eyes trailing over your figure.

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Title: Newlyweds
Pairing: Cassian Andor x Reader
Genre: Fluff, some angst
Warnings: Some nudity
A/N: Inspire by The Coat™ tbh. That’s the only excuse I have for this nonsense. I regret nothing

Originally posted by fandomsarecoolilikequiteafew

“Remind me why we couldn’t just stay in the ship?” you asked, pulling your coat tighter around your body. Dark clouds loomed above, threatening to dump a blanket of snow right on top of you at any second.

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Baby Girl

Originally posted by dean-sam-winchesterbros

Summary: Reader avoids a night of trouble thanks to Sam…

Pairing: student!Sam x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: implied drugging, smut, language

A/N: This was just a general request for some frat boy Sam and I ran with it…


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I Had This Dream, That in Another World, I Was Someone Else, Someone Not Me.

Part of my hospital chaplaincy duties is to write a reflection on how it’s going. Identities may be altered for privacy. All the writings are here.

The patient, Jerome, had a trapezoid-shaped hole in his head, and he told me it was from his son.

Jerome’s son had waited in his father’s home until he came back from work, and then he robbed him. Jerome fought back. In the struggle, his son had picked up one of those bright and shiny geode rocks the size of a torso, lifted it to the sky, and wham, in a sick, slicing arc, brought it down into his father’s head. The son was still at large. The father, after six months in physical therapy, still could not get the blood stain out of the carpet in his house. Jerome had lost his job at the oil rig; his wife had left him; his other son took two jobs to pay off the hospital bills, but one evening after dropping off his dad for PT, had been struck by a sixteen-wheeler and died on impact. 

“Chaplain, I had this dream,” Jerome said, scratching his old wound, “that in another world, I was someone else, I was someone better, that I have two sons who love me, my wife never left, I was still at the rig with the boys … I had a dream that I was someone not me. It was extraordinary. It was wo—”

He fell asleep, which he told me would happen. His brain needed to shut down when it overworked itself. A few seconds later, he woke up and apologized.

“I had this dream, chaplain. Do you ever dream that you are someone in another world, a different you?”


I visited another patient, Donnie, who weighed about 1400 pounds. His legs had been amputated and he was nearly blind. He had a neurological deficiency in which he couldn’t stop eating; he had become diabetic and was recovering from Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, or as it’s also known, broken heart syndrome.

“Chaplain, I just think,” he said, eating his third plate of pasta, “I was meant to do … something, anything. Anything. Not this. Everyone tells you that your life is meant to help people, but how the hell can I do that here? Look at me.”

In our chaplain training, we call this intrapsychic grief, the pain of losing what could’ve been and will never be. It is the loss of future, the theft of invested time. It’s not a tangible, physical loss, but an internal shipwreck, the imperceptible emotional shriek in our chest when the picture of life we had planned for so long simply dies.

Donnie, the blind, obese, bedridden man with no legs, ordered pizza for the whole floor. That was, he felt, the best he could do. I told him it was even better than that.

Another patient, Lorenzo, had been in a car accident a few days before, and he suffered anterograde amnesia. He was having trouble remembering the words he had just spoken. 

“Chap—you the chap, right?” He rocked back and forth in his bed, nearly clapping his hands in frustration. “My girlfriend is real worried about me, man, she real worried. I think I’ll be fine though, but my girlfriend, she real worried about me. I’m not worried, I think I’ll be fine, chap. You the chap, right?”

He repeated himself, perhaps, to find security in the canvas of his own assurances. His brain had resorted to a safe mode, to grip onto the word-balloons which were floating away, by constantly making new ones.


I was astounded and bewildered by how much a mass of gray pulp between our ears can determine the course of a life, and inside the soul-box of our neurology is the possibility of a hundred lifetimes, and I was angry that the tiniest neuron could so effectively demolish an entire world.

What separated me from someone else not me, except by the tiniest shred of a neuron, one misfired synapse, one slender thread of chance? 

Another patient, Tony, was telling me that he had gotten weaker and weaker in his legs until one day, on the way home, he had collapsed at the ATM and there were floating heads around him asking what was wrong, but they looked like demon faces, and he tried to kick them off but he couldn’t move anymore. Tony had some sort of encephalopathy that had caused brain lesions and he was seeing things that weren’t there.

“But you know, chap,” he said, breaking into tears, “I got this long-lost brother up in Boston, he’s my half-brother but he loves me like a full one, Mikey, this guy’s made of money and he offered me a room at his place, his house is on this fifty acre property, it’s a mansion. Can you believe it?”

I spoke with Tony’s sister, who told me that no such brother existed, and there was no room, no mansion, no fifty acres. It was a story that Tony had been telling himself for months now, when his legs began failing him. It’s all he wanted to talk about, this promised land. 

Oliver Sacks, in his book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, writes about disturbed patients who “confabulate,” who spin tales all day long in a constant stream of chatter. They cannot help but conjure completely made-up yarns about meeting celebrities or devising inventions or discovering something remarkable, as if the widening chasms in their brain need a desperate momentum to thrive. Or, worse, such activity drowns out the long fall of personality into the abyss, into the unrecoverable ether. One story after another tumbles over the cliff; I may be the last one to hear them. 

It is my role to honor the burial of what can never be done. It is my role to remember what will never become. It’s not just my role; you and I need this more than we think. At every turn, every choice, we die a million deaths each day. How can we stand such a thing, except to tell those stories that never had a shot?

I had this dream … 

Suddenly, Jerome, the man with the trapezoid hole in his head, nodded off again, but his eyes fluttered, like someone was still home.

… that in another world …

He spoke, but a voice that sounded thicker, more weight, more verve. He sat up taller, his eyes closed but working. I took a small step back.

… I was someone else …

Jerome’s eyes quivered and he said, “I am the man from the other world.” He smiled, just for a second. “I am a hundred lifetimes, I am one of many. I am not who I could be.”

… someone not me.

“I am a life never had. I am the man in the dream. The dream wishes he could be the man in the other. We all wish to be awake in someone else. There is no perfect dre—”

And he woke up. Jerome blinked, saw me, and he apologized for sleeping again. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him about the other voice. 

He said to me, “Chaplain, thank you.” He held my hands, his eyes alive and fiery, wet and fierce. “Thank you for listening. I have to believe my son didn’t mean it. He did the best he could with who he was. I still love my son, in this world or the next.”

I left the room shaking. I questioned if I had really seen what I thought I saw. I repeated his words in my head, I replayed the eerie twitch of his eyes, the way his body slipped into another skin, another dimension.

I wondered if I had glimpsed, even for a second, a keyhole into other possibilities, like dipping a toe into the stream of the infinite, where a son did not ruin his father, where a man missed a car by inches, where a promised land of endless acres was waiting at the other end.

I thought about how we’re always dreaming of being someone else, and the others are dreaming of each other, wishing for a world they couldn’t have.

We survive the nightmare, I think, by dreaming. To dream is to cope. It is the brain’s essential defense against itself. We create new dreams all the time, a new canvas of assurances, to wake against the intolerable. It feels like a lie: but what is hope, really, except a story we tell ourselves in the dark to light the way? If it works, who is to say otherwise? The world continues to be cruel and unfair, but we do the best we can with who we are, to dream amidst the wreckage of what no longer is, to bend with the merciless wind. To even share pizza with the whole floor.

J.S.

Night Sky Chateau (Jeff Atkins Smut)

While Ariana Grande sang through the speakers, people were dancing, drinking, and overall just having fun. Although prom was supposed to be one of the most special nights of your high school experience, right now it seemed like a regular school dance—except we’re in a hotel and not the gym. Between the saved money from bake sales, the Dollar Valentine’s, car washes, and other shit, we were able to make enough cash to have prom at this hotel called Night Sky Chateau. Pretty long name if you asked me, but it definitely suited it. Lights flashed all around the enormous dance hall, while I sat at one of the pushed aside tables. The song changes, everyone grinding one another. That’d be me and my date, if he hadn’t got a stomach virus and was bedridden in the hospital. Ate some expired sushi, and that was the end of it. I sigh, honestly just waiting for this night to end. I would go upstairs to my room, but a certain someone kept me down here. Jeff Atkins. He is honestly so sweet, unlike a lot of other people here. My eyes scanned around the room, before seeing him with my friend, Miranda. Also his girlfriend. Jeff did some of the cutest things for Miranda, and 9 out of 10 times she never deserved it. When they first got together, I knew how their relationship was gonna be. Miranda would use him as a sugar daddy, and give him sex and fake her love for him. Did it work? Hell fucking yeah. Did I wish it did? Fuck no. Jeff deserves better—he deserves me. I’m snapped out of my thoughts when Hannah sits next to me, pulling me into her side for a hug. I hugged her tightly, another pair of arms holding me on my other side. I take a glance, seeing Clay. I sigh, even my two best friends are finally dating, while I still sit alone. After Hannah tried to commit suicide, a miracle happened and she survived. Of course, Tony still had the tapes, and Hannah didn’t know what to do with them. So we did the only thing that made sense: show her parents and then the police. Bryce was put in jail, Courtney finally admitted to being lesbian, and everyone else on the tapes had been exposed for what they did. Clay officially asked Hannah to be his girlfriend, and here we are today. “What’s going on over here?” I hear Tony ask, Hannah, Clay, and I all letting go of each other. “Hey Tony.” I smile, a hint of sadness in my voice. Tony sits across from us, drinking from a can of Coca Cola. “Thinking about Jeff again, aren’t you?” Tony questions, Hannah and Clay looking at me. “No.” I lie, but the three of them see right through it. “Yes.” I sigh, after Hannah gives me a look. “I don’t know why you just don’t speak to him, and tell him your feelings.” Clay says. I glare at him, Hannah gives him a “I know you’re not talking” look, while Tony just shakes his head and sighs. “What?” Clay asks confused. “I know you’re not talking, considering how you ended up with Hannah. Hell, you even had a damn coach to talk to her so hush.” I explain, Hannah and Tony laughing, while Clay turns redder than Tony’s mustang. “(Y/N)!” I hear my name being called, the voice coming from Miranda. “Be right back, guys.” I say to the trio, walking off to see what Miranda wants. “Hey, what’s up.” I greet her, a cup of punch in her hand. “How you liking prom? Happy I brought you?” Miranda smiles, taking a sip from her cup. If you mean, dragging me out of my house, and kidnapping me to go to a dance with no date, just to leave me by myself hidden in a corner, then yes. I love that you brought me here. I think in my head, but say a simple yeah. “Well, where’s Jeff? You two were pretty comfortable on the dance floor.” I say, not knowing what to say or do. “(Y/N), please. I honestly don’t know or care, matter of fact. He’s yet to put a ring on my finger, claiming we should wait till after school ends.” Miranda rolls her eyes, me internally choking her. “Like how much time does one person need to feel ready for marriage? It’s not like I’m gonna stay afterwards. Hell, I might sign the prenup as he’s getting down on one knee.” She shrugs her shoulders, taking another sip of her drink. “Seriously, Miranda? You do realize he actually loves you right?” I say, not being able to hide my disgust, but like everything else I say or do, Miranda doesn’t notice. “That just gives me more leverage. If he would propose already, that scholarship would be mine too. It’d be my way out of this boring shit hole, now that Bryce is gone.” Miranda whines. “What the hell are you talking about Bryce for?” I say utterly confused, my eyebrows knit together. “(Y/N), you honestly think I was fucking Jeff for a relationship?” Miranda snorts. “Bryce is my actual boyfriend, Jeff is just a side piece.” Before I could even reply to that, I hear someone scoff. I look behind me, met with Jeff. “Are you fucking kidding me, Miranda?” Jeff’s voice is thick with anger, while Miranda stands there in shock. “Baby, that was all a prank, you know I lov—” Miranda tries to grab him, but Jeff yanks his arm back with a shake of his head. “Stay away from me.” With that, Jeff walks out of the dancehall. I go to follow him, but Miranda pulls me back. “Where are you going?” She questions, tears in her eyes. “Fuck you Miranda. Jeff should’ve never even gave you the time of day, and neither should I.” I yank my arm away from her, running after Jeff. I see Jeff get in an elevator, before running towards him. I get in the elevator just in time, Jeff sighing. “(Y/N), what do you want?” His voice is weary, his eyes closed as he leans against the wall of the elevator. Something comes over me, causing me to kiss Jeff. After awhile of him not kissing back, I pull away and start to apologize. He just stares at me as I continue to ramble, before grabbing my face in his hands and kissing me. I kiss back, the kiss turning into a make out session. Jeff picks me up, pushing me against the wall he used to lean against. His lips move down to my neck, nipping and sucking all over it. “You mind being a rebound for tonight?” Jeff asks, against my neck. A small amount of pain pokes my heart, but his lips make it all disappear. “No.” My answer comes out breathy, my fingers tangling in his hair. The doors to the elevator open, Jeff taking us to his room. He holds me up with one arm, his other hand unlocking the door for us. He walks us in, closing the door with his foot before slamming me against it. I moan low, Jeff kissing my neck and grabbing at my ass. I hear the sound of a lock, Jeff bringing us to the bed. He drops me on the bed, before we both strip. Jeff drops to his knees in front of me, spreading my legs. “We’re gonna play a little game, alright?” Jeff looks up at me, his hands placed on my knees. “I’m gonna write a letter, and you have to guess it. Get it right, we go on to the next one. Get it wrong, you get punished and try again. Understood?” “But, Jeff—” I get cut off quickly. “It’s daddy, baby girl, daddy.” He smirks, before licking a long stripe up my heat. I moan loudly, covering my mouth instantly. “Baby girl, don’t.” Jeff pulls my hand away from my mouth. “I wanna hear you.” I nod, Jeff going back to his letters. He does two half circles, after doing the line again. “B-b.” I stutter, my stomach clenching at the feel of Jeff’s tongue against me. “Correct.” He does the next one, but I can’t think of it so I guess. “R?” I ask, hoping I’m right. A hard slap against my thigh, makes me jump from the bed with a slight shriek. “Try again, baby.” Jeff does the same thing, but I still don’t know. “M?” This time I feel his fingers pinch my clit, my body shivering as I cum at the touch of pain and pleasure. “Wrong again, baby girl, and you came without permission.” Jeff shakes his head and sighs, I bite my lip. “One last time, or else it’s over.” He does it again, my mind finally getting it. “N?” Jeff nodding, gently rubbing my thigh. “Good girl.” He kisses my inner thigh. By the time we’re done with the alphabet, I’ve came 6 times altogether. I close my eyes, my pussy sensitive at this point. “Baby girl, you think I’m done?” Jeff asks, a smirk clear in his voice. I look up at him, his body hovering over mine. I slightly nod, my body still going through the motions. “I’m sorry to say baby girl, but we’re just getting started.” The biggest smirk is planted onto his face, before he lays down next to me. “Show daddy what you can do.” I find the energy to get up, and line myself with him. I slowly slide down his cock, the stretch bringing tears to my eyes. Big is an understatement, as Jeff completely fills me. “Holy shit.” He grunts, while I try my best not to cum right here on the spot. I lay my hands on his chest, lightly scratching him as I get used to his size. Once I’ve got used to him in me, I start to bounce up and down, Jeff’s hands grabbing a hold of my hips tightly. I can feel the bruises growing under his fingertips, but the enormous amount of pleasure I’m in surpasses the thought of it. Jeff starts to buck his hips up, putting me in shock for a second, as I squirt all over him and the comforter. We both look at each other in shock, going harder and faster. Jeff flips us over, his strokes slow but deep. I feel every of inch of his cock in me, my nails creating patterns of scratches up and down his back, but that just makes Jeff go harder. He puts my right leg on his left shoulder, wrapping my left leg on his right hip. The change in angle has me screaming so loud, my throat starts to hurt. A thrust harder than the last, brings me over the edge, me squirting for the second time in my life. Jeff keeps going, kissing me on the lips and neck again. Jeff pulls out, turning me on my stomach. He pulls my butt up, pushing my head down slightly, me arching my back to help him out. He slams into me, my hands clawing at the sheets, my moans and screams muffled by one of the many pillows. “You’re on the pill, right?” Jeff grunts, me answering with a yes. In a blink of an eye, Jeff shoots his load in me, me squirting all over again. Jeff pulls out before falling down on to the bed next to me. After a minute or so, Jeff gets up, getting a towel from the bathroom to clean us up. I get up, pulling the comforter off the bed, thankful the sheets underneath are still dry. I get under the sheets, Jeff laying behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “If being your rebound gets me this, oh I’ll be waiting for your next break up.” I joke, the rumble of Jeff’s chest because of his laughter, vibrating my back. “Or…” Jeff trails off, making me turn around to face him. “You just get it any time, by being my girl.” He kisses me. “I’d like that.” I smile, kissing him.

Originally posted by umpontoazulnoceu

@citrusmaps

Ooooooo, mama! I love me some dragons! Imma stick with the traditional Japanese ones, because those are canonical to the universe. ( ´ ▽ ` )ノ

(Please excuse the silly names the Shimada dragons were given. I don’t know any Japanese (RIP).)

———–

HANZO:
“The air is shifting.”

Hanzo opened his eyes slowly, his meditation could wait.

“What do you mean, Sui Riu.” He spoke calmly as the beast met his eyes.

“The winds have changed. Listen.” It circled him slowly, moving as if constantly suspended in water.

“Yes, I hear it too.” The darker of the two dragons agreed. The man shifted in his seat, straining his ears to hear whatever change they were referring to.

“Hmm. What do you propose we do, Aoi?” Asked Sui Riu, beginning to unravel itself from Hanzo and around its companion.

Hanzo crosses his arms, still concentrating on the breeze, and lets then have their conversation separately. Something did seem slightly off, he just couldn’t put his finger on it, and after a minute longer of observation, he deduces that the change must be spiritual; something he was much less in-tune with than his dragons.

“Master,” Aoi began, “we think it best to go now.” Hanzo pauses, realizing that he had not been listening to them at all. Any decision they had made had completely flown over his head.

He pauses awkwardly, thinking of how to respond properly. “Yes. That is fine.” He stands, dusting off his knees a bit. “Lead the way.”

___________

It was so nice to finally get some sun!

You stretch, before curling around yourself and resting your head on your tail. Overwatch truly was a blessing: taking someone like you in with a promise to keep you safe, happy and healthy.

You smile and lull your head side to side. “No more crowed forests for me!” Your eyes close, and you sigh, letting yourself relax for once.

That is until distant mumbling made it’s way to your ears.

There was a man, followed by……two other dragons!!? You’re eyes grow wide as you study them. Geez, they’re absolutely beautiful (and kinda tiny in comparison to you). You’re eyes wonder back to the man, who was speaking.

“I..I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

“I apologize.” He bows politely. “My name is Shimada Hanzo.”

You nod your head in response. You pause, contemplating your next move. Deciding it’s best to level with this guy, you allow yourself to swiftly change back into a human.

You reach out a hand, introducing yourself, but he takes a moment to comprehend what had happened. His face pales a fraction and he refuses to meet your eyes; making you wonder if there was a problem with your appearance.

You glance down at your chest, making sure that you remembered to actually cloth yourself this time (and to your relief you had). His cough brings your attention back to him.

“Oh, uh.” You rub your hands together. “May I ask who you two are as well?” You start, praying that that didn’t come out too awkward.

“I am Aoi,” one begins, weaving itself out from behind Hanzo, “and this is Sui Riu.”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” You offer a smile, and watch as they approach, inspecting you.

“I was not aware you could see them.” Hanzo started, voice even. “Most cannot.”

“I assume by that you mean most humans.” You shove your hand into your pocket and use the other to gesture yourself. “As of right now I’m only physically human.”

He nods, feeling as though he might of offended you in some way.

“Well, you seem to be a very appealing human.” Sui Riu said, circling your form.

“And dragon as well.” Aoi added, joining Sui Riu.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You blush.

“Perhaps you would like to join us later to converse?” The former asked. To which you eagerly agreed, letting them set a time and place to meet.


GENJI:
He didn’t really think of himself as the best welcoming committee. However, it just so happened that the newbie asked to be greeted by him specifically. Nothing about your name rang any bells, and he couldn’t possibly think of many people who would want to be guided by him.

The first thing he heard when the ship had opened it’s doors was a loud gasp. His eyes followed the sound to a slowly approaching figure, eyes wide and mouth covered.

“It-it’s true!” You exclaim, glancing at him, then to his side, then back to him. “The man who is guided by dragon!”

You reach to his side, and he sees a green head meet your hand.

“So you can see Tatsu as well?” He watches you gently stroke it, placing his hand on it’s back to pet it as well.

“Yeah, I never thought I’d really get to see another one!” You grin at him, then pull your eyes back to Tatsu (who was loving all the attention).

“Ah, so you have seen another.”

“Well, I guess you could say that.” Letting out an awkward chuckle, you raise your hand off of it and cross your arms. “You didn’t get the memo, huh?”

“I suppose not.” His dragon begins to slowly drift back to him, not wanting the petting to stop. Genji makes a motion like he’s beginning to speak, but you swiftly cut him off.

“Umm, so, Tatsu. Can you speak too?” You unfold your arms and wave them frantically, “No! Wait! That was super rude! I’m sorry!”

“No, it is fine.” Genji chuckles gently. He runs his hand down it’s back. “They are mute.” He motions at you. “The other one could speak?”

“Uh, well, yes.” You clear your throat. “You see….. I’m…… the other one.” You shift your weight, gazing at your feet.

“I see!” Genji inspects you, with what could only be described as subdued glee. “May I ask how?”

“Well, yeah.” You pause and steady your nerves. “I can sorta turn in to one. Sometimes. I’m not very good at it yet.”

He clasps his hands together, not hiding his excitement well. “Can I see?”

You nod, tell him to stand back, and shut your eyes tightly. The tingling in your arms growing strong before your muscles begin to shift. Letting your eyes open, you see that your arms were the only things you could will to change, and you scrunch your face in frustration.

“Incredible!” Genji cheers from intront of you. He steps closer and hovers his hands over your arms. “May I?”

“Uhh, sure.” He gently takes them, turning and poking them to ease his curiosity. The other dragon watches over the both of you, contently; then decides that the two of you needed to be circled.

“Haha! Looks like Tatsu likes you!” He boasts, removing his hands from you, and onto the serpent-like creature.

You chuckle and look down at your arms. “I gotta say, meeting you two has made me feel so much better.” You look up into his visor. “I should probably change them back now.”

He hums in agreement, picks up Tatsu by its midsection, and allows you some space.

You focus your energy into your arms, letting the shifting sensation sweep over you. Once it settled you peer down and notice a problem with your hands. Claws.

“Wait. I, hmmm, give me a second.”

“Yo, Genji! I was wonderin’ if…..” A voice echoed in from behind him. It sounded familiar, for some reason.

Oh, god. That was that famous D.J. wasn’t it?

He coughs, awkwardly. “I was wonderin’ if I could borrow you for a sec?”

“Yes, I will be with you soon.” He bows to you in apology. “I will be back as quickly as I can.”

He jogs off, leaving you, claws and all, equally relieved and embarrassed.


REAPER:
He was never a fan of going down to the prisoner holding; or as Sombra liked to call it, “the Dungeon.” But, alas, there was a certain someone with needed information, who also happened to be a prisoner.

When all was said and done, it was easy to make them talk, and he was out of their room at in no time at all. An outcome that pleased him slightly.

His feet echo heavily as he makes his way down the long hallway out, letting him relish in the quiet.

“Hello?” He stops. Was someone talking to him? “Hey, uh, any chance I could get some water?”

“Not my job. Wait till diner.”

“C'mon, please? It’s been hours.”

“Again, not my job.” He begins to move again, but is stopped by the sound of intense scraping. He thought all prisoners were suppose to be stripped of all of their belongings; how did this one manage to sneak in something sharp? “You have a knife? They’re gonna have a field day with you when they find out, grunt.”

“I-I don’t have a knife!”

“Sure sounds like you do.” He states, voice taunting. The scraping continues, urgently, than becomes more muffled, and he decides if he should see for himself if they had something they shouldn’t, or to just leave.

Curiosity gets the best of him as he unlocks the door leading to your cell. The room is dim, as most are, but overwhelmingly dry. The shadows shift against the wall, and he knows better than to think that it was just his imagination.

“Come out.” He nearly demands, watching you nervously scuttle forth, almost twice his size. “What the hell?”

“Hey! It gets hard to control when I’m really hungry or thirsty….” You trail off, feeling small compared to the intimidating man before you.

He crosses his arms and stares at you a moment longer. “I’m guessing by that you mean, changing?”

“Mmhmm. But, I thought you guy knew that already.” You turn your head away from him bitterly. “I would’ve thought you knew everything about me by now.”

“Well, apparently, Talon isn’t to found of the idea of spreading the fact that they have a dragon in their dungeon.”

Your eyes sweep back to him. “You mean you didn’t know? You look kinda important.”

“Honestly, won’t have cared enough to remember if I was told.”

“That’s a bit rude.”

“I’m a member of a terrorist organization. We don’t tend to considerate.”

“Touché.” You curl yourself on to your bed and sigh. “If you’re not gonna get me some water, you can leave. I’m sure you have other, more important things to do.”

“I do. But they aren’t nearly as interesting.” He leans against the wall. “I’m curious, how exactly were they able to catch a dragon.”

“Why would you care?” You put dryly, no longer facing him.

“Humor me.”

You shift in your bed, trying to find the right words. “They didn’t FIND a dragon.” You exhale loudly through your nose in discontent. “They made one.”

You both sit in silence as he takes in your words. He pushes himself off the wall and leaves, not saying a another word.

______________

“Wow, even your wallet is edgy.” Sombra snorts, eyeballing the black leather wallet, with a metal skull emblem and chain.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” He growls and she raises her hands in mock defense.

“Why are you buying that many water bottles anyway?”

“That’s none of your business, Sombra.” He pulls the last of the five he bought into his arms, and turns to leave.

“Aww, I was hoping to watch you chug those all at once!”

“Too bad.”

JugBug || Jughead J.

Word Count: 2266

Warnings: None:)

A/N: Riverdale is my newest obsession and obviously my favorite character is Jughead Jones. I’ve never read the comics but I’ve seen that there he is asexual, however, I’m pretty sure the show is changing him (AKA Bughead) and that’s how I want to write him. I’m sorry if that offends you, but come on, who doesn’t want a little fluff/smut from the mysterious closed-off hottie in the gray beanie? Also, I wrote this at 2 AM when I couldn’t sleep so if it is complete trash, let me know. I value you all comments unless it involves hate. :) 

Sidenote: Thank you to all of the people that followed me after Holy Trench Coat! I love you all so much and you are the best!

(gifs are not mine)


           It was Friday, the typical day that you rejoiced all your happiness because the week was finally over. You didn’t have to go to school, and you could sleep for as long as your mother allowed you to before she decides she needs to vacuum the house and wake you up.

           Normally, on Fridays, You would have a fantastic breakfast of waffles and bacon at Pop’s with a certain raven-haired boy as he typed and you drew, before you headed out to a prison that forced learning upon you. After you would serve your eight-hour sentence, you and sometimes Juggie, if he hadn’t already walked there, headed to Pop’s. Yes, you do interact with people on the way. It is a fair few and normally short conversations as your sarcastic humor is just not appreciated as much as it should be. 

           However, today is different. Your alarm casually didn’t go off and you were rudely awakened by a loud fist slamming into your door. Ever since you realized that your door had a lock on it, you made sure to use it and last night was no different. It definitely helped when your mother decided you didn’t need to sleep anymore.You thought you had fooled her but you were wrong and that was when she began to use the vacuum as punishment and to this day you can’t stand to look at that Dyson Dirt Devil. It even has devil in the name!

           Groaning, you stuck a pillow over your head trying to drown out the banging. After what felt like an hour, but was possibly only five minutes the knocking went away. A soft sigh left your lips as you snuggled deeper into your covers waiting for sleep to overtake you once more.

           However, you were sadly mistaken. The intruder did not go away and just as you were perfectly comfortable, your blanket was snatched off your body and the cold air from the AC unit blew goosebumps on your skin. Your eyes immediately sprung open and you sat up.

           The raven-haired boy didn’t even say anything, but as soon as you stood up his smug expression changed. You watched the smirk drop from his thin light pink lips and his brows furrow.

           “What the hell Juggie? How did you even get in?” Your eyes watched as his hand lifted to show the key that you had given him at the beginning of summer.

Keep reading

Mannequin 4: The Becoming

Summary:  Dean gets hit with a curse and you’re the only person that he can talk to.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas, OC George

Word Count:  2922

Warnings: swearing

A/N:  I wrote this for @wheresthekillswitch and @trexrambling Crack It Baby Challenge.  My prompt was “I’m pretty sure there’s a law against removing your pants in public."  It will be bolded in the fic.

If you’ve never heard of the movie Mannequin please watch this.  And don’t judge me, the eighties were weird, ok?  I actually worked in display and merchandising for years because this movie made hanging out in a department store after hours look like the best time ever.

Thank you to @pinknerdpanda for betaing the beginning of this story and thank you to @hannahindie for polishing it up.  You ladies are wonderful!

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

 

You worked on the new mannequin all day.  You were tired of the faceless weirdo ones the store had been using forever so you made a bet with George; if the real looking one got more attention he’d let you make more.  You knew exactly how you wanted him to look; tall, sandy brown hair, full lips and green eyes.  You sigh to yourself as you think of him; the man from ‘that one hot summer’ in college a million years ago.

That night you drive to the store ready to work on the new display with George.

“Here’s the new mannequin,” you say setting it down.

George looks him up and down.  “Mmm, maybe you can make me one.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes.  “I’m gonna start setting up.”

“Ok, I’ll be there in a bit.

You pick it up and walk over to the window, your thoughts occupied with the next display.  You stand the mannequin up looking him over.  He really is perfect, you think to yourself as you pick out a hat to put on him.

“What the hell?”

“Holy fuck, what?!” you scream.

The now-alive mannequin is gripping your shoulders, “Where am I?  How did I get here?” the tall, gorgeous, used-to-be mannequin asks.  “Wait, Y/N?”

“Dean?” you pause, catching your breath.  “I’m hallucinating.  All these late nights have finally made me crazy,” you mumble.  “The most vivid hallucination ever,” you say touching his face.

“Hey,” Dean says touching where your hand just was.

“How are you alive?”

“Uh, what?  I am alive! How did I get here?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you but you were a mannequin about ten seconds ago.”

“A what?”

“A mannequin, see,” you gesture around you, “storefront window, clothes.”

He looks down at what he’s wearing and a look of disgust and surprise crosses his face.  He starts to undo the button of his pants.

“And, I’m pretty sure there’s a law against removing your pants in public,” you say, holding up your hands.

“Well I’m not wearing these, sweetheart.”

“What? These are great, they’re the latest-”

“They’re shorts.”

“Yeah, it’s summer.”

“I don’t do shorts.”

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Chapter Two [Beyond the Sunrise, LMMxReader]

Summary: Your first date with Lin doesn’t go exactly as he planned it.

Word Count: 1,785

Warnings: Slow burn, as always.

Authors notes:  Sab - First dates a fun, right? We’re churning these guys out - it’s so amazing to get to work with Ren, we both hope you enjoy it! (And, as she says, please don’t kill us.) 

Ren - This chapter. Oh god there’s no words for it. I hope you guys like it and please don’t kill us *evil laughter is heard in the distance*

askbox | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter


“Hi, excuse me I-” You looked up for a second to find one of the visitors you had talked to just a few minutes ago. “I believe you handed me the wrong…”

The guy handed you one of the museum brochures, and you noticed the dates were off. Taking a deep breath, you opened the top drawer to find the right folder, handing one to him before apologizing. It was the third time you messed up that afternoon: First, you almost guided the group of students to the wrong exhibition, then a guest’s question went completely over your head, leaving them staring blankly at you as you attempted to collect your wits, and now this. You felt lucky that your boss was drowning in paperwork and not paying much attention to his employees.

The truth was: you were nervous. Ever since you and Lin started texting, things just clicked between you, everything was easy and he made you smile. A lot. With Stephen sitting in the next room during many of those slightly flirtatious conversations, however, you knew it had to come to a halt soon.

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Austin Nights - Part 5

Pairing: Single!Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 3500

Summary: The reader lives in Austin and unknowingly runs into Jensen at a bonfire and sparks fly. Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

—-

When Jensen had said he would be in touch, you actually assumed it would be him. However, you felt like you had talked with his marketing and security team more than him in the last three weeks. (Yes, you promised him two but the school had asked for three in order to find a substitute counselor for such a long period of time.) If you had to go over your social media privacy settings one more time, you might begin pulling your hair out. It was driving you bonkers to say the least. Honestly, you didn’t care what people did and didn’t know about you or what could possibly happen if someone came across an unflattering photo, god forbid. But it was all to maintain Jensen’s image and you were determined to keep it up as much as you could.

All that behind you now, you were waiting in an airport terminal with boarding passes and passport in hand. The $3 fedora from Target rest atop your head being your constant companion for any traveling adventure. Angie hardly let you go and if she had a valid passport she would have definitely come with you.

“Take a picture with Jared for me.” She demanded. “No, call me with him, wait make sure it is a video call!” She had instructed you.

Thinking about it now, you were super nervous and unsure why. With Jensen it came and happened so naturally. With Jared it seemed like you needed to meet an expectation, you were dating his best friend, you needed to live up to his standard and make a good impression. Regardless, there was no turning back now as you boarded the plane.

Customs were quick and easy. You couldn’t remember who told you but someone had once explained getting into Canada was fairly easy, it was coming back when you would run into problems. Jensen had texted you earlier explaining a car would meet you there. However, you tried to make it clear that you would be fine with a cab. Regardless, coming down the escalator you saw a man dressed in black holding a sign with your name. You rolled your eyes and tucked your hair up into your hat, trying to disguise yourself. You said you were taking a cab so that’s what you were going to do, you thought. As soon as you hit the floor you b-lined for the opposite direction of the driver, trying to make it outside before noticed.

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Things I Love About You [M]

Request: Can you please write a Namjoon smut about your honeymoon night with him?! Thanks!

a/n: this is so cute to me tbh, I LOVE MY baby :( PLS READ IT

The evening was off to a perfect start.  You had just married the love of your life, the wedding was beautiful, your families and friends were there to witness and support you through everything, and you couldn’t be happier.

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Zach Weresnki #3 - Height Differences

Anon asked: Hi! Not sure if requests are open but if they are could you write a zach werenski imagine pls? Sorry if I requested this already but could you write where he makes fun of your height and like compares your hand sizes? Just really cute and fluffy!! Thank you :)

Yes anon here you go! I must confess though that I am a certified tall person (I am 6′0″) but I have a friend a foot shorter who confirmed that high counters and high shelves are a struggle. I hope you enjoy this super cute, cookie induced sweetness overload!


It was not your fault you were barely 5’3” you had to remind your boyfriend for what seemed like the thousandth time. You had been visiting his apartment and decided you wanted to put his barely used oven to good use. Simple chocolate chip cookies seemed like a safe bet but unfortunately for you the chocolate chips were on the top shelf and your boyfriend was currently out picking up dinner. Even if he had been here it would have only resulted in teasing. The rest of the dough had been mixed and you wanted to get them into the oven so they’d be done by dinner but you were currently at a metaphorical road block. Zach who was 6’2” had no need for a step stool so you opted to climb the narrow counters. Your clumsy nature mixed with the socks you were wearing on the granite could only end in a disaster.  

Just as your fingers brushed the chocolate bag the front door opened and Zach called out for you. The sudden noise startled you and you accidentally kicked the dough bowl onto the ground. Zach came into the kitchen to inspect the noise and instead found you clutching the cabinet door tightly in an attempt to regain your balance. He dropped the takeout bags onto the floor and clutched his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“Zach,” you heard yourself nearly whine, “don’t be rude.”

The laughter brought tears to his eyes which he wiped away with shaking hands. Next thing you knew he was taking a photo of you clutching on the cabinet for dear life and the spilled dessert.

“Babe what should I caption this for Instagram?”

“Zach help me down you jerk.”

He thought for a moment, “no, not catchy enough.”

He typed something out quickly and pocketed his phone before coming over to you.

He looked up at you, “well this is new.”

“What?” you asked impatiently.

“I’m looking up at you for once. How’s the view up there?”

You crossed your arms and gave him a disapproving look.

“Is that what it’s always like for you? Is this how you see me?” he continued.

“That’s it, I’m getting down myself.”

As you tried to lower yourself into a seated position your left foot slipped out from under you and you accidentally kicked Zach in the stomach.

He groaned in pain and you couldn’t help but remark, “karma’s a bitch huh?”

“I’ll give you that one,” he wheezed out.

Once you were safely on the ground you went to clean up the ruined dough. When the floor had been cleaned you turned to start mixing up another batch. You felt a pair of arms snake around your waist and your lug of a boyfriend draped himself over you.

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The Doc with the Butterfly Tattoo

Pairing: Bones x Reader

Word Count:  1949

Warning: One swear, nsfw mention but not explicit, tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: I’m very annoyed that this header pic is pixel-y bc i spent a good 2 hours editing it but of course tumblr’s size guide messed it up *sigh


“Nurse Y/L/N,” Bones said, popping into the exam room where you were triaging your newest patient. “Will you see me in my office when we’re done here?” Bones put a hand on the small of your back as he took the PADD from you, and you knew immediately what he wanted.

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10 things that absolutely happened in Baker Street after Series 4 ended...

So, like most of us in the Sherlock fandom, I have had a great variety of thoughts about the events of Series 4. For instance, I have thought about the many details from Canon they included (“The Six Thatchers” story line was a really cool update in my opinion), and the details they chose to omit for some godforsaken reason (that sweet moment from “The Three Garridebs”), and why.

But, if I’m honest, I have thought a lot more about the lives of our heroes following the ending (if S4E3 is indeed an ending). And about how that ending was, honestly, as true to Canon as it could be (Sherlock and John together solving crimes at 221 B for the rest their lives), and offered us even more than we hoped (John has a daughter and Sherlock is involved in taking care of her in some way).

So, in my mind, the following are 10 things that absolutely happen after Series 4. 10 things any sane Sherlockian will be on board with. These aren’t in any particular order.

1. Sherlock and John never again have another major falling out, like the one after S4E1. They are each other’s family. That is that. And they both deeply understand it now. 

2. John apologizes sincerely and extensively for taking out his grief and rage on Sherlock and beating him up. Sherlock explains that he doesn’t think John needs to apologize; John convinces him otherwise. Sherlock forgives John, because of course John is always John and thus he is always forgiven. They go downstairs and continue their game of Monopoly with Mrs Hudson (game which, of course, Sherlock doesn’t understand the rules of, either). That is the night that John moves back in to Baker Street, with Rosie.

3. They spend a whole week redoing the flat, again: they baby-proof, clean, demolish and painstakingly make over the large upstairs bath into Rosie’s room. When I say ‘they’ I mean John and a mate down at Speedy’s who also works in construction. Sherlock has none of it and opts to leave Rosie with Mrs Hudson in favour of solving five cold cases before returning five days later. 

4. Sherlock and Rosie become, eventually, father and daughter. Sherlock, of course, never thought about this happening - ever. But, sure enough, he finds himself offering to babysit while John’s at work more and more, to the point where Molly and Mrs Hudson almost never have to anymore, unless Sherlock’s on a case (read: Sherlock and John are on a case). Many, many times, he sings silly songs, and spins her around and bounces her on his knee and crashes with her on the couch because he’s been awake on a case for 72 hours and he didn’t realize it. When she is 3, he teaches Rosie to play a tiny 1/8 size violin, which he then replaces on her birthdays as she grows. When she is 4, he starts giving her lectures on science and teaches her while she looks through his microscope. He has also taken to reading to her nonfiction appropriate for children her age, as fiction is handled best by John at bedtime. The way she looks at him when he reads is so utterly John, he is almost as bewitched as she is. So he doesn’t have the heart to mock the way the authors sometimes trivialize the scientific/historical concepts. He just corrects them as politely as he can (just barely steering clear of insults) and reads. When she is 6, after she asks about her mum (for the nth time), he is finally honest, because he knows John couldn’t have been. Yet it is also him who plays the violin to soothe her to sleep after she is done crying in his arms. When she is 8, John asks Sherlock to please finally assume Rosie’s legal guardianship, only to find out Sherlock says no. Sherlock asks John if he can instead adopt her. John agrees and Sherlock does (in record time, because Mycroft gets involved). Rosie already calls Sherlock “pa” anyway.

5. John, eventually, dates sparingly - and then not at all. Whether he likes it or not (he finds that he does) he is already in a long-term relationship, even if it isn’t (yet)/won’t ever be romantic. That has always been the case, right? It has always been him. Sherlock, and now Rosie and Sherlock, very nearly occupy his entire heart. There is simply no room for anyone else. Not after Mary. It doesn’t even cross his mind to meet someone else with intent of a serious affair. 

6. They both find therapists and stick to treatment at least for a little while. Sherlock’s therapist happens to be the second most patient man on the face of the planet (the first being, of course, John Watson). He is also, well, not a complete idiot. And he is just as annoying as John about Sherlock’s substance abuse problem, which means he must be doing something right. John’s therapist is an older army vet, a widower, who understands John’s anger issues and adrenaline addiction nearly better than John does himself. The very calm, mild-mannered, highly empathetic man is a stark contrast to both Sherlock and Mary, and John, oddly enough, finds he can work with him just fine.

7. Eurus and her brothers now have something of a relationship. Of COURSE she can’t leave Sherrinford again, but she does have her moments of sanity. Few and far in between though they may be. And in those times she helps Mycroft with matters that Sherlock is too much of a diva to tend to, and amuses herself composing music alongside Sherlock. She does plot their deaths, and in general people’s deaths, often in her mind, of course, but that’s beside the point because she is left absolutely no way for those plans to come to fruition. She receives lots of gifts from her family. But never again any special visitors.

8. Molly leaves for the United States when Rosie is 10. Because she needs to. After a few years of struggle, she ends up as one of the pathologists on a coincidentally all-female research team at Johns Hopkins. As she works she is hit by the notion: she is done admiring the brilliance of men whilst overlooking her own. Over her career, her team publishes dozens of peer-reviewed original research articles, crucial to the development of several new medications. She is also the editor of the general and organ-systems based anatomy curricula at three newer medical schools, where she teaches said courses. Her students, she finds, become like her children. And, given her reviews, they like her very much as well. So much she gets tenure, in fact. Whenever she is not too busy, she visits London again. She gets a coffee with John, and goes shopping with Rosie, who now is 24, and in graduate school. And she takes a walk with Sherlock. He’s aged very well, the bastard.And he is a little warmer, kinder, sweeter. It’s finally nice to be just friends. 

9. Sherlock gets that knighthood. After one of the best cases of his career, actually, one John blogs about in particular detail. John takes him out to dinner to celebrate when they get back from the official string of engagements.

10. John publishes his blog in book form and it becomes a best-seller. His private practice doesn’t exactly thrive, but he does okay. Primary care offers a quiet little alternative to the life-or-death situations in his writings.

That is it. That is my collection of headcanons.

BONUS:

11.  John makes a very strong point of celebrating Sherlock’s birthday, since he went so long without doing so. He also ropes Rosie into doing it. In fact, she is the only one who ever manages to plan a surprise party that actually surprises Sherlock.

12. John’s hair continues to be on point for eternity. So do Sherlock’s cheekbones (obviously).

13. Mycroft gets to his ideal body weight. Which is a small mercy, since he is almost, not-quite-trying, definitely-not looking for his goldfish. In between taking down the Trump presidency and knocking down a few terrorist cells.

The Sun and The Stars {6}

Previous parts:  Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word count: 3020

Warnings: Mentions of smut, light violence

Originally posted by nerdyfandomimagines


“Don’t you two have a bed for this?” A voice sinks into the dull haze of your mind. You open your eyes to see Tony Stark in a full suit, standing over you.

“Fucking hell, Tony.” You groan as you scramble to cover yourself. “A little warning next time?”

Bucky wakes up from your movements and instantly pulls you against him to protect you from Tony’s gaze, but Tony, ever the gentleman, has turned his gaze from you and focuses on the view of the city.
“I mean I’m all for adventurous sex but at least end up in your own room at the end of it.”
“Shut up, Tony.” Bucky laughs as he sits up and pulls on a shirt.
“Now where’s the fun in that? I totally get the allure though. This view is incredible.” Tony replies as he fixes the buttons on his sleeve.

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strange love • theo raeken

RATING : TEEN

PAIRING : THEO/READER

WARNINGS : PROFANITY / VIOLENCE / FLUFF

SUMMARY: IN WHICH THEO AND Y/N HAVE SECRETS THAT RUN DEEP.

•••

The night was to never, ever be spoken of again. Theo and Y/N both promised to never bring up the night. But neither of them could ever stop coming back to the memory of it.

The thrill of the night had many things to offer the both of them. The high of the rush, and the downfall of feelings in the morning. Everything was tragically beautiful in its own way.

Theo had taken a seat next to the youthful looking Y/N the next day during AP English, a smug smirk crystal clear upon his face. “What the fuck are you smirking at, Raeken?” Y/N scoffs.

Theo chuckled lowly from his spot, shaking his head as he wrote down the notes on the board in front of the classroom. Y/N rolled her eyes and finished the upcoming assignment for the class without another word.

A girl who prided herself upon knowledge, self-taught with friends who encouraged her to be the best she could be. And she regretted ever falling into Theo’s arms, she decided it was her worst mistake, but she would learn from it, and come back bigger, badder, and stronger.

“You know, ignoring me isn’t the solution. If you wanna forget what happen, fine, it’s done with, but don’t sit here and act like you aren’t at fault with this too,” Theo spoke, his eyes filled with a very small amount of guilt and hardness. Y/N was just trying to get from her last class to her locker so she could go home for the Friday night.

She turned to Theo, her jaw clenched and her voice cracking as they reached her locker toward the end of the hallway. “I want to forget that night, but the problem is, I can’t forget. I keep thinking about it,” Y/N’s words were rushed as she ran a hand through her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Theo apologized, though anybody with common sense would know, he wasn’t sorry, he was just a convincing liar to the majority of crowds.

“Don’t,” Y/N warned, a hand up as her shield. “Please, just don’t.”

Theo left it at that, giving a soft nod and walking away back to his locker. Y/N sighed, shamelessly glancing at him while he walked to his own locker on the other side of the hallway.

Y/N hurried to grab her bag and rush down the hallway, catching the concerned eyes of Stiles and Scott, but the pair left the rushing girl alone as she headed for her car.

Y/N sighed when she got into her car, hands placed on her steering wheel tightly after she’d buckled her seatbelt.

A knock on her window made her nearly jump out of her skin, she turned to look at the person who’d tapped on her window and with a rolling of her eyes, she rolled down the window.

“What the hell could you possibly want, Theo?” She asked, her head falling back on the head rest. “Can you let me in? We can talk,” Theo gestured for her to unlock the doors. With slight hesitation, she did as asked and let him into the car.

When Theo got inside, she turned the ignition off and turned to him. “What can I help you with, on this glorious day in Beacon Hills?” she asked sarcastically, a smile pasted dangerously on her face.

“You can start by telling me why in the hell you’re so pissed off with me,” Theo shrugged, looking at the shorter girl. Though average sized, she was smaller then his broad frame.

“I’m really not, I guess I’m just pissed off at myself,” Y/N sighed. “I don’t regret that night, but it should’ve never happened.”

“I’m confused,” Theo announced, tilting his head slightly. “Okay, well, I don’t regret that night. And, I can’t find it in me to, but I should’ve thought the night through a little more.”

Theo nodded, “I get it, I do. And if you wanna forget about it, the offer still stands that it be completely forgotten, but please don’t take it out on me,” Theo’s eyes though still held the usual hardness, were filled with a kind of apologetic manner.

“Maybe I don’t want to forget it completely,” Y/N mumbled, finding it hard to look Theo in the eyes. Theo sighed, “You just said-”

“I know what I said, I know what I said before and I know what I said this afternoon. But I don’t know what the fuck to think. I wanna forget, but I don’t wanna forget you, and us, and everything that happened,” Y/N sighed.

Cars started to disperse from the school parking lot, and Theo bit his lip, “I’ll talk to you later, Y/N,” then, with one more solid nod, he started to open the door. Y/N reacted impulsively and fast, a contrast to her usual cool and rational decisions.

“Wait-” she spoke, grabbing onto his shoulder. He looked back, and Y/N grabbed his jaw with one of her hands, enclasping it softly. She brought him close, and kissed him on lips. He returned the gesture. Leaning into her soft touch as their lips molded into one solid figure.

She pulled back, biting her lip, she then began to think about her action. “I don’t wanna forget,” she murmured, glancing back down at Theo’s lips. “Then we don’t have to, princess. Never forget.”

lupanaoflaminar  asked:

Request for Ignis' and his S/O comforting each other over their abusive parents/families. *flings self into sun**regrets nothing**

Wooo Iggy angst is the best kind of angst. I really love the headcanon that he’s abused. Well. I mean it makes me sad but idk, it’s just really fitting for him. It’s a common issue out in the real world, so *shrugs*. Anyway, trigger warnings galore for mentions of abuse. But also sweetness. <3 Please enjoy dear friends!

Tagging: @stunninglyignis​, @themissimmortal​, @cupnoodle-queen

Here are my original headcanons for abused!Ignis if you are interested:

Abused!Ignis (Headcanons)

It was a quiet evening at home. Ignis and you prepared dinner together like usual. You shared meaningless conversations and giggles. Nothing out of the ordinary. The both of you were already cuddled together in bed, reading a book you both have found yourselves engrossed in when his cellphone began to ring. You automatically assumed the call was from Noctis, begging Ignis to help pick up some sort of mess he managed to create in his apartment. Who else would be calling at such a late hour of the night? You had to double take at the analog clock that hung on the wall in front of your queen sized bed. It read ten-fortyfive. 

He answered the phone with a calm grace, as he always did…no matter how reluctant he was to answer… but within a matter of seconds you could tell something was seriously wrong.

You heard the mumbled words of a female voice sounding from his cellphone but could not make out the exact words. You only stared at him with concern.

“I see,” Ignis muttered stoically into his phone. “Thank you for informing me…. Yes. I will… be there in the morning.” He paused for a minute to listen further to the other contender of the conversation. “You have a good night as well.” He muttered politely, before ending the call.

“Is everything alright?” You questioned, shutting the book that rested on your lap. You felt as your heart pounding like a hammer against your rib cage.

Ignis only responded with a sigh. He placed his cellphone carefully back on his nightstand and sank himself onto the cozy mattress. 

“Ignis?” 

“My father has… passed away,” he announced blankly.

A numerous amount of emotions fled through your veins. You never met his father… nor his mother, but you held a strong hatred for them both. You knew of Ignis’s abusive past as he knew about yours. You bonded over your scars… both mental and physical.

Ignis always has yearned for his father’s approval ever since he was but a child. Though they will long separated by distance, you knew deep down Ignis still only wished to please his father with his numerous deeds in assisting Prince Noctis.

You felt furious. You felt sympathetic. Worst of all: You felt relieved.

“I…. don’t know what to say, Ignis,” you muttered breathlessly. “I’m… sorry.”

He forced a chuckle from his lips. “Don’t apologize. I find my self speechless as well,” he admitted. “I… am upset to hear that he is gone, but I can’t seem to find the urge to cry.”

“Iggy,” you muttered, pushing yourself upward to stare down at him. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were closed. “Are you… okay?”

No,” he stated blankly, his green eyes still hiding behind his eyelids.

You frowned, lowering yourself down beside him one more. You rested your head against his chest. His hands wrapped your body securely hold you close. “Tell me what you’re feeling,” you offered your attentive ear to your lover. “If you want,” you were sure to add. 

He remained silent. Only the sound of his heart beat echoed through your ears. After a few agonizingly long moments he began to speak. “I wish things… were different between my parents and I.”

Your heart swelled with a tinge of pain. “I know, Iggy… I understand.”

He sighed. “I feel horrible for feeling some what relieved… at this news. I can’t… I don’t want to feel this way, Y/N,” his voice began to tremble.

“No, Ignis, it’s okay…” you began to stroke patterns into his chest through his night shirt. “That man has done… so many cruel things to you. He’s left so many scars,” you muttered, your hand wandering down to his abdomen where you knew a particular scar rested. He had acquired it when he revealed to his parents that he was moving out on his own. He admitted that he wanted to be far away from them. He was only sixteen at the time.

He was always insecure of his scars. During intimate moments, he often tried to hide them from your view. To which you only assured him you love everything about him. His scars included.

“It’s… freeing to know your abuser can no longer hurt you,” you muttered, feeling your eyes water. Your father… your abuser… had passed away when you were only sixteen, so you greatly understood Ignis’s conflicting feels. You knew the pain he was suffering in this exact moment. “But, I know he’s still your father,” you told him in a shaky breath. “The man that brought you into this world.”

You felt as he pressed his soft lips to the top of your hair.

“I have to meet with my mother in morning,” Ignis admitted slowly. He knew you would be displeased about that decision. He braced himself for your scolding.

“Do you want me to go with you?” You looked up at him, concern in your eyes. “If she dares to lay a hand on you… or if she says anything—“

“She won’t. I know she won’t.”

Your expression turned skeptical.

“You won’t be impressed with her demeanor,” he sighed. “But you are welcome to join me if you so wish.”

You nuzzled your head downward again, only somewhat satisfied with his answer. “Ignis?”

“Hm?”

“Promise me we’ll leave if things start getting out of hand,” your grip tightened around him. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Not after everything you’ve already endeavored. I won’t allow it.

You heard a chuckle pass through his lips. He used his right index finger to tilt your chin upward so his emerald eyes can meet with yours. “You are much to good to me, my love,” he smiled. “I promise you we will leave if things get out of hand,” he swore as he repeated you proposition.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “I love you, Ignis… more than you possibly know. I’m… sorry about this whole situation,” you didn’t know how to word your thoughts. “You deserve only the best.”

“I have received the best,” he pressed his lips to yours.

“One day, when we are good and ready,” your voice trembled. “I’ll give you your own family to cherish, Ignis. We will protect our children with our lives. They will look to us for safety and love. They won’t have to live their lives like we once did.”

“I look forward to that day, my love.”