bathroom tap

| Caught | Peter Parker

[permanent + peter parker tag] : @momosakaki-san 


Peter Parker was Spiderman.

Or rather, Spiderman was Peter Parker.

Well, same thing. 

You kept your nose buried in your book dutifully, keeping a focused eye on the boy sitting in front of you in class. 

Almost as if he had somehow sensed your stare, he jerked, turning his head slightly to survey the room. You nearly jolted but kept your cover, sweating as you returned your eyes to your book and pretended to read.

It was obvious, really.

Peter was seen as a nerd. And for a long time, you’d thought the same. You might have not been the closest friend to Peter, but he was in a numerous amount of your classes. That fact alone was enough that you could tell his tendencies by now, his tell tale ticks in verbal language, the way he fidgeted on his feet endlessly and bit his lip when he was nervous. Then one day, you stopped and looked. And all your previous misconceptions shattered.

Peter Parker was an anomaly.

Not to mention he was too inconspicuous.

Now there were many people in the school that did not stick out, washed away in the ocean of teenagers that walked the hallways. But Peter was too invisible. It was almost like he purposefully didn’t want the attention.

The moment you intentionally tried to notice him, you wondered why the hell he wasn’t more popular.

Number one: Peter was smart. Not just nerd smart, but almost prodigy smart. Perfect grades, stellar performance on the spot when asked. He went off into ramblings in chemistry class, often underneath his breath, but as you sat right behind him you often heard what others did not. The things you heard made you wonder why in the world he wasn’t two grades up.

Number two: he was kind. Now sure he had snark, but you could count on him to stop and help a crying child on the side of the road, or carry anyone who sprained their ankle in physical education when no one else wanted to.

Number three: talking about P.E, Peter was fit as hell. Maybe it was the baggy clothes that hid that from everyone’s sight, but the boy was built like a god. One Monday you’d been running late for class, and accidentally took a right for the hallway by the locker rooms instead of the hallway down corridor 1A. You groaned and went to turn around when you nearly choked in surprise at something in the corner of your eye.

Or rather, someone.

Peter was drying his hair with a towel, faced away from you, fumbling in his bag for something. Your eyes trailed from the wet hair sticking to his neck to his firm chest, down to pairs of abs decorating his stomach and even further leading down to a V line right above his jeans-  You swallowed, just as your mind went haywire and you made a beeline out of view before he could realize you were there.

Whose great idea was it to have the locker rooms not have any doors??

But you digress.

Point was, there was way more to Peter than you had thought. (Lets not even mention his unnatural strength, you’d once seen him accidentally shatter a test tube with his bare hands in chemistry, whistling as he threw the remains in the trash without anyone seeing.)

But the real reason you accused him of being the masked hero swinging round the rooftops of Queens, was that Peter, putting it simply, was a hell of a bad actor. He didn’t know the word subtle if you stapled it to his forehead.

You’d lost count of the amount of times Peter had raised his hand in class to ‘go to the bathroom’, leg tapping anxiously below his chair and looking like he wanted to jet. Some people had even dubbed him ‘Pissy Parker’ based on that fact that he could never ever stay in class for too long. Twenty minutes later Peter would come back, scolded by the teacher for taking so long but with a satisfied smile on his face, a bruise lining his jaw that had definitely not been there when he left and a bounce in his step.

Oh, and wouldn’t you guess, only seconds after that the class was buzzing with chatter when social media blew up about ‘Spiderman saving the day again at a bank heist!’ just moments before.

You were many things, but you were not an idiot.

Nevertheless, Peter Parker was Spiderman, and that was a fact. You’d had enough time to find more pieces of evidence that you were sure you weren’t just making it up.

Did you tell anyone?

No.

Why would you?

Honestly, it wasn’t your secret to tell. Peter and you didn’t even really know each other. The best interaction you’d had together was maybe that one time you’d tapped him on the shoulder to ask for a pen, or when your teacher had paired you two for a project the month before.

Other than that, you were practically strangers. Strangers that saw each other every day of their lives in the same class, but still strangers.

Such was high-school.

Thoughts of rewards and money came to your mind whenever you contemplated telling anyone, but you quickly shut that idea down every time. Peter was a good guy. He didn’t deserve that.

So you kept your mouth closed, and continued to live life like you didn’t know the identity of a literal superhero in your school.



“Miss?”

You paused your walk in response to the voice that had stopped you on your way home. 

“Yes?” You asked, itching to go. You’d left school late that day because of something your teacher had wanted to go over with you, and as a consequence it was late, the sun already beneath the horizon. Added to the darkness there were few people on the vacant streets and you really just wanted to get home.

The man looked back at you, scruff lining his jaw, hair in shambles and wearing raggedy clothes. 

Homeless, you thought. 

“Would you spare a penny?” 

You had to go home…

His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t drunk anything in days.

The guilt in your chest only grew till you groaned and reached into your jeans pocket for your wallet, offering him a tiny smile. “Sure.”

You were zipping it open when movement stirred in the corner of your eye. You suddenly realized you’d stopped to speak to the homeless man in front of an alley. Hungry eyes from within stared at the wallet in your hands, and you froze.

“Miss?”

“A-Ah, yes,” you put your wallet back, trying to act natural as you eyed the homeless man who probably wasn’t homeless at all. What homeless guy’s teeth were that white? “Actually I think I have to go. I’ll stop by tomorrow though.”

You stepped back but hit into a body. Pure panic rushed over you when a nasty chuckle blew breath over your ear and arms trapped your own to your sides.

“Where are ya’ going missie?”

You opened your mouth to scream but a grubby palm covered your lips. And just like that you were pulled into the alley, disappearing without a soul to see.

“Smart one isn’t she?” The homeless guy from before drawled, and his back was no longer hunched and that hopeless gleam was not in his eyes, but instead his spine was straight and a predatory glint encompassed his entire face. How many people had been tricked by his ruse?

How could you be so stupid??

You thrashed and struggled but whoever had you captive was bigger and stronger, and you could feel your eyes burn with tears.

“Aw, she’s crying,” The guy behind you cooed, hand slipping down your body to suddenly dive into your pocket. “Don’t worry pretty miss, we jus’ want your money.”

“And maybe a treat,” The homeless one grinned, raking his gaze over your form and licking his lips.

Something within you broke.

You lashed out with a strength you didn’t know you had, ramming an elbow into your captor’s stomach hard. He let go of your mouth in surprise, expletives pouring off his tongue. The minute he did you screamed the loudest you ever had, throat rubbed raw as your voice rang out hoarsely.

“Shut her up!” The homeless guy hissed, stepping forward to take care of you manually when another voice interrupted everything.

“I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

The three of you looked at the end of the alley, where a certain hero stood casually, like he was watching a baseball match.

“Oh its the spider brat,” the guy behind you grunted, and the homeless guy raised an eyebrow.

“What are you looking at! Go ahead and run away you bug frea-”

The words hadn’t finished leaving his mouth when Spiderman shot an arm out, webs entangling the man, launching of his feet to kick him to the floor. You were left free when the other guy went to attack, his arm going to a bulge in his jacket that looked suspiciously like a gun.

Your heart leapt in worry and desperation. No matter how fast Spiderman was he couldn’t dodge a bullet.

Before you could even warn him Spiderman was there, impossibly, weaving through the attacker’s punches like he was dancing. The attacker was bigger and bolder in body mass, but as you watched Spiderman basically beat him into the ground and use his speed and mass against him, you wondered why you had even been worried.

Ten seconds later there were two unconscious bandits on the floor at your feet, and you were left looking at Spiderman with glazed eyes, shivering and trembling from the cold and at what had just transpired.

Spiderman stared back (or you imagined he did, his mask was not transparent). He cocked his head, as if he were studying you before holding out a hand.

You twitched, stepping back instinctively.

“Phone,” He said, and his voice was muffled by the mask, but you heard it anyway. It sounded deep, too deep, almost as if he were putting on an accent.

You could only stare wide eyed at him. Phone?

Phone!

You scrambled for your phone, pulling it out and placing it in his patient palm.

He dialed a number and put it to his ear when the rings stopped. 

“Yes, 911?” And again he had another accent, panicked this time and high as if a scared bystander. How many voices could he impersonate? Maybe he was better an actor than you had thought. “There are two men knocked out at the alley beside the restaurant Benny’s on fifth street! They look like the criminals that were on the news the other day. Please come!”

He hung up, tossing you your phone without hesitation and you fumbled to catch it.

Another awkward silence, and you could only imagine what you looked like: clothes a mess, a shallow wound bleeding on your face from where one of the men had scratched you in the struggle, gawking at the person who’d just saved you.

He cleared his throat.

“Are you coming?” He gestured to himself. “We need to leave before the fuzz get here.”

You didn’t give yourself ample time to mull over the fact that Spiderman had just called the police the fuzz and instead eyed his offered hand cautiously. Of course you knew logically he would never hurt you but you had already been assaulted once that night, and were understandably jittery.

His voice lowered, more gentle at your obvious fright. “I won’t hurt you.”

You thought that maybe he had forgotten his need for a fake accent because that sounded too familiar to the voice of a certain brunette you sat behind in school, but you ignored it.

You nodded and shuffled to him, feeling the warmth of his presence as his hand wrapped around yours. He stared at you for a second longer before he was pulling you towards him with a tug, and you somehow imagined a grin forming on his face. 

“Hang on.”

Flying with Spiderman put any rollercoaster out there to shame.

Ok, it technically wasn’t flying, but it sure felt like it as you clung shamelessly to him, repressing screams as he swung over the city. Wind ran through your hair and had it messily streaking across your eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut, stomach falling to the ground-

And it was over. Just like that.

You didn’t know how long it had really lasted, but it felt like only a couple seconds when Spiderman landed you on your balcony. You clung to him still, mind spinning. The adrenaline should have had you as awake as a bunny on five shots of pepsi and mentos but instead you found that you could barely keep your eyes open.

“Here we are-” Spiderman was interrupted by your body slumping into his side. He nearly fell forward but adjusted to handle your dead weight. “H-Hey! You alright?”

“Peachy,” you mumbled but your legs already gave out. He sighed, seemingly contemplating something before going towards your glass doors that you left unlocked, sliding them open and stepping into your room.

“This is on so many levels creepy,” You thought you heard him say to himself but you were dipping in and out of consciousness as he laid you down gently on your bed.

You registered sheets tucking themselves under your chin.

“Night, Y/N,” You caught whispered over the rush in your ears lulling you to sleep.

“Thank you, Peter,” you muttered back, already asleep before you could feel the hand on your arm tighten in surprise.



Something was wrong.

It was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t find it.

You mused in wonder as you brushed your teeth, gazing at your reflection. What was this feeling?

You gurgled and spit, rubbing foam that had escaped the water at the corner of your mouth.

You went over the events of last night as you said good morning to your parents, popping a piece of toast in your mouth. Stayed at school late. Robbers. Spiderman.

It was easy enough to remember. After all, you had a cut on your face to prove it hadn’t been a dream.

But that still wasn’t what was eluding you, you thought in frustration as you entered the school gates, stepping off the bus. Sure it had been terrifying, but the queasy feeling of unnerve in your abdomen was different somehow. What had happened? Were you forgetting something?

You stopped stressing over it as you settled in your first class. No point if you couldn’t remember. If it was important you surely would later.

It was only when you were walking into the room of your second period that you were hit with the reason of the unease. You waved bye to a friend in the hall, stepping into the class and shifting your head, Peter Parker lifting his own head from his desk to meet your eyes-

The hazy memories came back looking into those brown eyes.

You’d landed on your balcony after he saved you…he tucked you in because you suddenly couldn’t function…he had said your name and that maybe was the reason why you felt to respond using his as well-

“Thank you, Peter.”

Oh god you’d said his name.

And there was no excuse you had for why you could possibly know that.

You broke eye contact with him, walking with hurry, trying to ignore his eyes burning into the back of your head. You stopped by one of your closer friends and asked to trade seats with him with what you hoped wasn’t a stutter. He agreed with questioning in his eyes but agreed anyway, and you sighed in relief that you didn’t have to sit behind Peter. 

When the bell rang in an hour you shot out of your seat and out of the class before Peter could get the chance to even bat an eyelash your way. You were not having that conversation.

You proceeded to ignore him the whole day at every point, blatantly not sitting where you normally would for lunch, running from classes before he could catch you. Finally the last class for the day ended with a ring of the bell and you speed walked to the exit of the school after shrugging on your bag. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, freedom in sight-

“Y/N.”

You froze as a hand landed on your shoulder. 

“A-Ah. Yes?”

“Do you mind me asking you something?” 

Yes, you minded very very much-

Not at all.”

From an outsiders view the conversation was harmless, normal as Peter shifted, kind as he usually was, simply asking a friend to stop. But you knew better. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. The hand on your shoulder exhibited enough force that he overpowered you five times to one.

Peter smiled innocently. “Great.”

Two seconds later you were shuffled into an empty classroom. Peter shut the door behind him, leaning against it with crossed arms and expectant eyes.

“Uh-” You started. “What’s this about?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. He said nothing but his stare intensified, as if saying ‘don’t play with me’.

You broke, feeling very intimidated. “Look, yes I know who you are. But I promise, I didn’t tell anyone-”

“How can I trust you?”

You gaped like a fish. “What?” 

“You heard me,” He tilted his head, and you watched his jaw tighten, eyes storming.

You wanted to cry.

“I-I don’t- I’m sorry I-”

A chuckle.

You stopped, utterly confused as you watched Peter dissolve into laughter. At your befuddled expression he laughed louder, covering his mouth and outright giggling. 

“What.” You deadpanned at this point.

He opened one eye, tearing up at his guffawing. He wiped it, a blush staining his flushed face. 

“I-I’m not going to kill you, Y/N,” He said, still trying to control himself. Whatever intimidation you had been getting was erased completely, and he was genuinely grinning at you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just wanted to know how you knew it was me. But that was great.”

You had seen him trembling before, yes, but you thought that was from anger not from restraining laughter. You registered that he had tricked you finally after your brain caught up.

You were going to kill him.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“W-Woah!” He backed off, and you reveled in his frightened face, though you doubted you could even bruise him. “I’m sorry but the chance was right there and you were running away from me all day like you thought I was going to bury you in my backyard.”

At this your own anger dissipated and you couldn’t help the snort that left you at the image. You blanched, appalled at what you’d just done but if anything Peter looked more amused.

“See? It was funny.”

You let it go, rolling your eyes. “Alright fine, fine.”

“But really,” He appraised you curiously. “Did someone tell you? How did you know?”

“I figured it out myself,” You replied, and his eyebrows raised in surprise as if that was the last thing he was expecting.

“What? H-How?”

“What?” You smirked. “Sad your full proof secret identity was figured out? You’re not that subtle Pete.”

His mouth flapped, as if you had just insulted his ego, ears staining red at the tips. You snorted again and he grumbled, but his lips lifted.

“Is that it?” You asked when he didn’t say anything else, merely looking at you with soft eyes, causing something stirring in you that made your insides heat. “You’re not going to bribe or blackmail me to keep your secret?”

“Bribe?” He asked, incredulous but still amused. He laughed. “What do you think I am?”

You shrugged sheepishly. 

Peter shook his head. “No, if you haven’t said anything this far, I don’t think you will moving forward.” He smiled and it was like he was the sun, small dimples forming at the sides of his mouth as his eyes crinkled. “I trust you to keep my secret.”

Your heart jumped again and this time you couldn’t ignore it as warmth flooded you at his smile.

“I see, thank you.” You tried to control your breathing as your heart-rate picked up, holding onto your bag straps for comfort. “I guess I’ll leave then.”

“Wait,” He stopped you, still blocking the door. You gave him an inquisitive gaze and he paused, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“A-Actually there is something I’d like you to do,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck apprehensively. “You k-know, as assurance that you won’t give it up.”

“What?” You asked hesitantly. What could he want for him to be reacting like that.

At your words he swallowed visibly then looked at you with pink cheeks, smiling crookedly. “Kiss me?”

Your universe stopped.

When you didn’t reply he began rambling again, the confidence knocked right out of him.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve always kind of liked you and-” You were already walking towards him while he went off on a tangent, embarrassed. 

“Y-you kind of sit behind me all the time so I can’t really talk to y-you but I think you’re beautiful and since, well you know my secret now I was just wondering and I-I know it’s stupid-”

“Peter,” you said, and you had crossed the distance to stand right in front of him. His cheeks glowed brighter.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

You pressed your lips to his softly, inexperienced. He gasped against your mouth, unresponsive in shock, before he was suddenly all motion, gripping you and kissing you back. The world spun and his back was no longer against the door but yours was, and you couldn’t care less, raising your hands to play with the curls at the base of his neck that had always fascinated you. 

Peter made a noise against you as you tugged at the strands and you found yourself unable to think when his shy, sweet kisses turned more desperate, roughly searing his lips to yours, drawing shivers and goosebumps. 

A rattle of the doorknob knocked the both of you out of the spell and you gasped raggedly as the door you were leaning against rattled again.

“Locked…? Hey, is someone in there?” The janitor’s voice called. 

You quieted your pants, staring into Peter’s eyes, elation running through you as he put a finger to his lips, smiling back. After another couple knocks the janitor grumbled, and you heard the jingle of keys as he backed off from the door to find the right one.

“What are we gonna do?” You whispered, but the grin curving your lips didn’t match the worry in your tone. Peter motioned for you to follow as he went to the window. It was only when he opened it and put a leg on the sill that you stammered. “Hey wait, are you serious? This is the third floor!”

“And I’m Spiderman,” Peter whispered back, winking at you as he held out a hand for you to take as the doorknob rattled once more. 

“Now trust me.”

[MasterList]

Dean Winchester - It's Too Hot

Originally posted by hunterchesters

When the A.C. in the bunker breaks, you’re frustrated because it’s so warm. However, when Dean comes home, he finds a way to distract you from the heat.

Requested by: @theoneandonlysaucymo after a conversation last night about how bloody warm it was

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warning: Smut

Keep reading

for a lovely anon

For the wonderful anon who requested college AU Lance with a dangerously high fever and a panicked Keith calling Shiro in the middle of the night not knowing what to do! It’s v short and I apologize for that.

Thank you for asking me to write it–it means a lot to me when people request fics from me. Like, in general. The fact that people can think of a great idea for a story and trust me not to fuck it up is amazing to me. Now, on with the fic~!

Keith woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of his roommate calling his name.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice, weak and raspy, pleaded, “Wake up.”

“What is it, Lance?” Keith asked, still half asleep.

“I don’t feel right,” Lance replied. Keith rolled over in bed without turning on the light.

“Go drink some water,” Keith instructed through a yawn.

“Head hurts,” Lance mumbled.

“Ibuprofen is in the medicine cabinet,” Keith informed. It wasn’t terribly uncommon for Lance to wake up a bit disoriented from a nightmare–midterms week was always bad for Lance. Not only did he have tests to study for, but the SGA organized on-campus stress-reducing events (which, for Lance, were enough work that they usually had the opposite effect), and there were always other student workers calling in sick from the coffee shop after pulling all-nighters cramming for tests. Keith heard Lance climb down from his lofted bed and stumble into the bathroom before he fell asleep once more.

Lance cursed under his breath and tried to climb down from his loft despite the pain in his back. Keith was the absolute heaviest sleeper that Lance had ever met–he was surprised, frankly, that he’d been able to wake him even for that short interaction–and one thing about Keith’s sleeping patterns was that he always, always fell back asleep after being awakened the first time. Lance joked that he could light Keith on fire while he was napping and his saving grace would only be the fact that he’d smother the flames when he rolled over to go back to sleep.

He’d known that he was probably coming down with a cold when he wasn’t hungry for dinner and had tried to study but couldn’t make the words stay still on the page. Lance had tried to just go to bed and sleep it off, but that plan had clearly backfired hard. He’d instead woken up feeling freezing cold and with a splitting headache, barely able to think straight. He felt sick enough to be slightly worried, through his confusion, that this might even be more than just a cold–perhaps the flu, and Lance had tended since childhood to spike high fevers when he had the flu. The last time he’d been ill with it, when he was probably 10 or 11, the last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital was excruciating pain in his head and lower back.

Lance cupped his hands to drink some water from the bathroom tap, but as soon as the cool liquid touched his lips, he realized just how thirsty he was, and abandoned the hand-cup in favor of sticking half of his face underneath the faucet instead, chugging the water as fast as he could for several seconds until he felt nauseated.

He thought about taking the ibuprofen that Keith had suggested, but decided that his empty stomach probably wouldn’t like that, so he instead stumbled back toward his bed. Looking up at the loft, Lance dazedly realized that there was no way he was going to be able to climb the ladder to get to his bed, and so he opted for yanking the covers off his mattress and collapsing into the corner of the room.

That’s how Keith found him an hour later when he woke up to go to the bathroom.

“Lance?” Keith asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Lance stirred and moaned. “Why’re you on the floor?”

“Keith,” Lance breathed. The pain in his voice was all Keith needed to wake up, adrenaline pumping through his veins as if he’d just mainlined it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, hitting his knees beside Lance in a heartbeat. He reached for Lance’s bedside lamp and observed as Lance winced away from the light source and noticed the flush on his pale face. “Are you sick?”

“I think it’s just a little bug,” Lance rasped, “but I can’t get back up to my bed.” Keith nodded sympathetically and scooped Lance up, blanket and all, and deposited him in his own bed.

“Mine’s closer to the ground,” Keith explained. “Do you have a fever?” he asked. Lance shrugged as Keith pressed his palm to Lance’s forehead. “Fuck me, you’re really burning up. Hang on.” He rummaged through their medicine cabinet for a digital thermometer and handed it to Lance, who complaisantly placed it under his tongue until it beeped. “Fuck me,” Keith whispered again under his breath, “104.2; fuck, Lance. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No,” Lance objected, “no hospitals.”

“You really need treatment,” he argued. “By doctors. You probably need fluids, too.”

“Drank a bunch of water,” Lance fought.

“Yeah, but you’re boiling it.”

“I’m not going to a hospital, Keith.”

Keith hesitated. “I’m calling Shiro. If he says you need to go, then you’re going. Deal?” Lance nodded and waited.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice answered, sounding sleepy and worried, “It’s so late; are you okay?”

“Lance is really, really sick,” Keith babbled. “I don’t know what to do. He’s got a fever over 104 and he says he won’t go to the hospital.”

“Lance has a thing about hospitals. Is he vomiting at all?” Shiro asked.

“Lance, have you thrown up?” Lance shook his head. “He says no.”

“Then as long as you keep him drinking water, he shouldn’t get dehydrated. I’m on my way over.” Keith could hear the jingle of car keys and the shuffle of Shiro hurrying out of his apartment. “But as long as the fever doesn’t persist more than a few hours or go up, I think we can manage without a hospital.”

“Okay,” Keith breathed, “okay. Thanks Shiro.”

“Keith? Ten minutes. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just try to relax. Do you have fever reducers, or should I stop at the store for some?”

“I have ibuprofen and Gatorade,” Keith replied. “Is that enough?”

“Perfect. Get him to drink some Gatorade–as cold as possible–and take the pills. I’m on my way.”

“I owe you one,” Keith said.

“Lance owes us both,” Shiro corrected calmly. He listened to Keith’s slightly rapid breathing for a few more moments. “Really, Keith. He’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Keith nodded even though Shiro couldn’t see him and hung up the phone.

“Shiro’s on his way over,” Keith informed Lance, holding out two pills and a bottle of Gatorade.

“Yay,” Lance deadpanned.

“I just–” Keith broke off, reaching for Lance’s forehead once more and sighing, “I really don’t like that fever.” Lance gave him a small smile.

“It happens,” Lance said. “It’ll pass soon.” Keith nodded and took a deep breath, allowing Lance to fall back asleep in Keith’s bed while he and Shiro fussed over him all night.

HYYH: Stay

Plot: You were the only one holding his reality together, while it was all shattering into pieces.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst, HYYH au!

Note: Time to wash away the sinful J-Hope with a depressed J-Hope. Thank you so much for reading, liking and reblogging. This blog is growing faster than I thought. 565 Words

P.S. Can we talk about how one of my fave Sunbaenim fanfiction/reaction bloggers ever liked my post? @bulletproofwhalien I love you. I’m so honored.

Originally posted by btsleepy

“Hoseok-Oppa!”

You were banging against the door to his bathroom, a running tap being heard from inside. He had always been like this – he wanted to escape this cycle, wanted to get rid of the depression he had. Why didn’t he ever listen to your positive thoughts; your acknowledgement? You didn’t want him to have thoughts like that. 

‘One pill a day,’ was what the doctor said. You were always in charge of making sure he took exactly that; which he did. But now, he actually decided to rebel. He decided that he was going to leave forever. It was like he was in a trace – he had forgotten about you, his other friends. They had become quite distant anyway.

“Please let me in.. I don’t want you to do anything to yourself.”

To his ears, your voice was muffled. The sound of the tap was muffled. He was blankly staring at his reflection in the mirror, thinking what he had become, thinking of all the memories he had with the boys; then that one girl. That one girl who ruined Jin’s life; who changed everyone’s fate for the worse. His expression became tense, and he sharply opened up the cabinet, and snatched off the pills.

Your ear was against the door, your eyes widening when you heard the familiar creak of the cabinet. Was he really going to overdose? That was the only thing that was possible, considering there was nothing else in there other than toothpaste and brushes. You couldn’t loose him – not like this.

Sure, you were just the person assigned to take care of him, but maybe your feelings developed into something more overtime. You weren’t saving him because you were getting paid to – you were saving him because you had fallen in love with him. 

There was no way you were going to give him up.

You quickly looked through all the drawers in his tiny apartment for a key to the bathroom, or anything else that could open the door. 

For once, you just needed some luck. You wouldn’t care if you used all it up on getting a key.

After a few minutes of shoveling through drawers, you found a lone key, which you immediately used to open up the obstacle that was blocking you from seeing Hoseok. All of your prayers were answered when a click echoed through your ears, and you barged in. He was just about to take in a handful of pills, which you had slapped out of his hand.

“Don’t!” You begged, as he looked at you with wide eyes. “Please.. Please don’t leave me..”

You wrapped your arms around his tall frame, your tears staining his cardigan. At that moment, he felt his heart beat against his chest. A little life had sprung up inside him, and his dull eyes seemed to gleam slightly. He felt so much comfort from that one action, and he wanted more; he wanted to be with you forever. You were the only one actually keeping it together, while it was all shattering into pieces.

“Please stay.”

HC: SLBP Lords’ first thing on “To do list”

Nobunaga : Buy more hair products

Mitsuhide : Clean the fridge & buy more cat food.

Yukimura : 50 push ups & 50 sit-ups

Saizo : Fix the bathroom tap for MC

Masamune : Ask Kojuro where did Shigezane go with his car

Kojuro : Finally, clean your house

Inuchiyo : Buy beers

Hideyoshi : Clean the garden

Ieyasu : Kill every single mosquito that keep you up last night

Mitsunari : Complain to the neighbours about the music last night

Kenshin : Look fabulous

Shingen : MC 

                                        ~Bonus~

Shigezane : Tell Masamune about the “accident” with his car.

Fuma : Light a candle at the Saizo shrine

Hotaru : Buy more white papers to write

rubyredhoodling  asked:

Hello! I am also on mobile. I was curious if there were any updates for werewolf conventions/culture/pack dynamics? Thanks for all your hard work!

pack politics is due!

Present by reillyblack (22/? | 93,058 | NC17)

(Note: Part I is a complete, standalone story at 60k, and Part II is in progress)

When Stiles’s best friend Scott presented as a werewolf, it was just the worst. It was front-page news, there were reporters outside his house asking him questions, and people at school stared and kept their distance or interrogated him mercilessly. Worst by far was that it meant Scott had to leave immediately to live with the werewolf pack in the mountains – which no one knew anything about. Stiles couldn’t even visit, so he only got to see Scott once a month when he came back to visit his mom. It sucked.

A year later, he presents too.

Another Abomination by Letsplaysomethingdifferent, maypoison, zwatchtowerz (TheSpark) (2/2 | 3,923 | R)

Stiles held Derek up in the freezing cold water for two hours. His body is shaking, his head is throbbing, and his mind is racing.

Since when did he save werewolves from the monster? Weren’t the werewolves supposed to save him?

Being a Better Alpha Takes Work by SterekandMcDannoShipr (21/? | 98,365 | R)

Set after Peter rips Kate’s throat out. Derek is trying to be a better Alpha by bonding with his pack. Stiles doesn’t know how to control his mouth and tells Derek he has feelings for him. 

Sleeping Pull by Marishna (1/1 | 1,204 | R)

Stiles sighed. “I usually jerk off, okay?”

Derek was quiet for a minute before nodding to the bathroom. “Turn the taps on and I’ll do my best not to listen.”

Stiles snorted but sat up. “You make it sound so hot.”

community college gothic

  • there are wi fi dead zones between buildings. silence falls in these areas. weather stops. the birds do not fly. the squirrels do not go there. the trees are judging you. humans do not speak. they know better.
  • the nursing students travel in packs. they do not look at other students. they do not speak to other students. they do not acknowledge the existence of anyone who is not also a nursing student. they exist in a parallel dimension that is slightly out of sync with ours. do not question this. they will recognize you as one of their own if you wear blue scrubs, but do not do this. do not attempt to make contact. you will not be heard from again if you do.
  • you will never see anyone making new graffiti, but it appears anyway. it becomes increasingly desperate. you will ignore it, but it continues to niggle at the back of your mind. maybe it is a call for help. there is nothing you can do for them now.
  • there are students you will see regularly who do not work or go to classes. they are not students, but instead manifestations of procrastination, appearing to remind you that there are better ways to spend your time than on assignments. pay them no mind.
  • nobody looks at the fish in the pond. it is forbidden.
  • the campus will seem to shrink as you become familiar with it. don’t be alarmed. the campus has gotten used to you and has shortened the distances of your paths so you will get to class on time. if you befriend the campus, it will show you the secret portals between buildings. this is the secret of the people who always arrive early.
  • there is a bathroom where the taps are always running. do not go in there alone. nobody knows why the taps are always running, but better safe than sorry.
  • there is another bathroom where sometimes, you walk in to find the floor is full of standing water. close the door and walk away. it’s not worth it to know what caused the puddles.
  • there is a flock of crows that live on campus. they see all. they know all. all fear the crows.
First Dates

Pairing: Philip Hamilton x reader

Prompt: none lmao I just wanted to write this

Author’s note: enjoy something extremely self gratuitous which I felt like writing despite having several prompts in my inbox (which I will 100% get around to writing)

Word count: 1,074

Warnings: couple of swears


A sigh left you as you dragged yourself off the couch after realising you had only an hour left to get ready for your date: one of the first ‘first dates’ you had had in a very long time. Using a significantly more refined technique of choosing an outfit as opposed to your daily method of ‘reach into the closet with your eyes closed and pull out the first thing you touch’, you managed to pick out something you were happy with. Pulling out a black silk playsuit with an open back and generous neckline, along with your favourite pair of matching lingerie - you never knew what could happen after dinner - you proceeded into your bathroom.

You turned the tap once. No water. Another turn. Still no water. Of fucking course your shower would break now. What more could be expected from a shitty room in a shitty college dorm? Having already taken off and discarded your clothes you wrapped your towel around your body, tying it securely to save you from any future indecency.

Gathering up your clothes and toiletries you steeled yourself, taking several calming breathes as you approached your door. Opening the door to your hallway you turned your head left and right, checking to see if the coast was clear before stepping out barefoot, and walking the short distance across the hall.

You reached Philip’s door, and hoping beyond hopes that he was in his room, you knocked quickly. Relief flooded over you as you first heard footsteps inside, preempting the opening of the door.

“Philip,” you began, not busying yourself with meaningless greetings. However, the look of confusion that immediately appeared on Philip’s face after he looked you up and down prompted you to give him an explanation. “My shower’s broken.” You stated simply, as if that would completely enlighten him.

Keep reading

Wrong Place Wrong Time (10)

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF!
Part 10 of an ongoing series, enjoy :)
A fanfic for a more Mature audience due to violence and language. Read at your own risk :)

Themes=😖,🌟,💣,🎭. (☠️- Harm towards characters and Strong language.)

Summary: You end up in the wrong place at the wrong time and it has negative repercussions. Main characters include: Reader and EXO.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4  Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 23  Part 24  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34  Part 35 (Final)

Word Count: 3,137 


“He has a fever. I guess I kept him out for too long even though he was complaining he wanted to get back. I’m so sorry.” You swallowed hard kneeling down beside Yixing and avoiding Minseok’s eye contact. You decided to lie in favour of Yixing and you didn’t know why, you didn’t owe him anything, you didn’t even know him that well yet here you were, lying through your teeth even when you knew the consequences would be severe especially coming from Minseok.

“You asshole!” He screamed, “Who do you think you are, since when was a stupid little shopping trip more important than Yixing’s health. I’ll rip your throat open next time, so don’t count on being alive for much longer you stupid bastard. Now help me get him to his room.” You nodded quickly, stretching one of Yixing’s arms around your shoulder, whilst Minseok took the other.
He looked slim but his dead-weight was surprisingly heavy and you were struggling to keep up. You were relieved when you finally reached Yixing’s room dropping him onto his bed and pulling the sheets over him. Luckily he was wearing black so the blood that began to slowly seep through his clothes was hardly noticeable.

“I’ll look after him.” You said to Minseok hurriedly trying to get him out of the room, so you could take a look at Yixing’s torso.

“Damn right you will! You’re lucky you’re tending to him right now, or I would’ve killed you already. When he’s better I’m coming for you bitch!” There was rage in his eyes as he jabbed you in the chest with his index finger. You swallowed hard knowing that what he was saying was not an empty threat, it would take a miracle to keep you alive now. Giving you one last stab in the chest with his finger, he turned on his heel and left the room mumbling obscenities under his breath. You hurriedly rushed over to Yixing’s side throwing the bed sheets onto the floor and pulling his shirt up towards his chin. The bleeding had gotten worse, you had to do something and fast, but you didn’t know what you were doing.

“Okay breathe.” You said slowly to yourself, “You’ve watched crime scene and surgical dramas enough times, you’ve got this.” It was time to try and use your common sense, you rushed out of the room leaving the door slightly ajar. You ran to the bathroom to grab a towel and filled a small bowl under the sink with hot water, rushing back stealthily to Yixing’s room.
“Ahh antiseptic…” You reminded yourself but not knowing where you could find any of the medical solution, you still didn’t know where Baekhyun’s make-shift surgery was. You had to think of a substitute, and then it came to you, running out of the room you found yourself in the kitchen pulling a bottle of Vodka down from the wine rack.

“Alcohol? And at this time of the day? Really?” you spun around to see Jongin leaning against the fridge raising a brow at you.

“I’m umm… This house is making me depressed so I’m aiming to drown all of my sorrows.” You lied, tucking the bottle under your armpit and making your way to exit. Jongin shrugged his shoulder, not really bothered about what you had to say.

“Aren’t you forgetting a glass? Surely you’re not planning on drinking all of that?”

“That’s exactly what I plan on doing.” You hurried out of the kitchen and back down to Yixing’s room. He’s breathing was still shallow and he was a ghostly shade of white; he looked ethereal but in the most disturbing and sickening way, a way which made your skin crawl. Kneeling on the floor you set about disinfecting the wound with hot water and alcohol. Yixing was knocked out cold and couldn’t feel the burning sensation of the treatment, all for the better you concluded. When you were confident enough that you had disinfected him properly you ripped off the bottom of his bed sheets and tied it around his rib-cage tightly, so as to apply pressure to reduce further bleeding.

“Now I’ll have to stitch this up.” You whispered to yourself. Opening up the desk draws and frantically searching for a needle any type of thread you could get your hands on; anything would do even if it wasn’t strictly ‘surgical’. Suddenly you heard whistling approaching the room from outside. You quickly pulled Yixing’s top down, throwing the bed sheets back over his body. And threw the bottle of vodka and bowl of bloody water under the bed, the bowl spilling over under the mattress as you did.

“Oh for fucks sake, not again.” You whispered angrily, getting up off of your knees and straightening your back.

“Yixing are you o–. What are you doing here?” It was Junmyeon; he had what looked like a cup of tea in his right hand a bowl of soup in the other.

“Oh I um, I told Minseok I would look after him, since there’s nothing else to do here anyway, he’s got a fever so yeah…” You trailed off. Junmyeon nodded his head walking towards the desk and placing the tea and soup down.

“Well make sure he has these when he wakes and…” His eyes trailed down to your hands, frowning at you, “Why do you have blood on your hands, what happened?

You quickly hid your hands behind your back “Oh this…I umm… I –I had an accident.” Saying the first thing that came to your mind you edged away a bit, but Junmyeon stepped closer to you grabbing your hands in his.

“What do you mean you had an accident!?”

“I uh… It’s that time of the month.” You hung your head in embarrassment, but it’s the only logical excuse you could think of.

“Oh. Ergh.” Junmyeon said quickly dropping your hands and looking disgustedly at the remains of the blood on his hands. “You should go clean up Y/N…” he said awkwardly looking at everything in the room but you.

“Yeah I was just going to.” You said walking towards the door and him following behind you.

“I’ll umm…I’ll go and tell Chanyeol to buy you some … supplies.” He held his hands out limply in front of himself so as to not get any of the blood on his body.

“No! There’s no need, me and Yixing went today, we stayed out a bit too long, I guess that’s how the fever got worse, I’m sorry.”

“Do you cause trouble everywhere you go?”

“It wasn’t intentional. And no, I just seem to have bad luck in this place.” Junmyeon grunted at you as you both entered the bathroom, turning the taps with his elbows, he began to scrub away at the blood on his hands as if his life depended on it, it was quite a funny sight but you had to hold in your laughter. You then took a moment to wash your hands after he had finished. He cleared his throat looking directly at you as you both stepped outside of the room and stood at the door, you sensed a bit of worry in his expression.

“So… Yixing…how bad is this fever?” He bit his bottom lip nervously awaiting the news. You didn’t know how long it would take for this wound to heal and so you decided you had to make this fever seem much worse than Junmyeon thought it was.

“It’s quite bad actually” You lied “He’s knocked out cold, and I reckon he’ll be really weak for a while when he’s recovering but I don’t think it’s anything fatal, well I hope not.” Junmyeon let out a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes tightly and running his hand down his face.

“Not another one, I can’t keep losing my men. I can’t keep losing my brothers.”

“Losing? Look in all honesty I think Yixing will survive just give him some time that’s all.”

“Time is exactly what I don’t have!” He banged his fist against the wall, making you jump a little. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this shit.” He mumbled to himself in frustration. You shrugged your shoulders.

“Well I don’t see why not. You need to get some things off of your chest right? Besides it’s not like I can run away with the information, you guys have made it very clear that you’ll just kill me if I try, so I might as well serve some purpose.” He nodded a little, taken aback by your answer but it didn’t disappoint him either. “Look Yixing will be in a lot of pain when he wakes up; I was wondering if you had any painkillers or something?”

“Why would he be in pain?”

“Oh uh… you know a migraine or symptoms as such. It would just be much more comfortable for him to feel as though he’s knocked when he’s actually awake.” You mentally scolded yourself for nearly giving away the truth.

“Oh right. There’ll be some in the Op room, follow me.” Realising he was taking you to where Baekhyun worked his magic, you made sure you stayed close behind. He took you to a dark corner of the house behind the board room that you hadn’t noticed before. “Be careful, it’s dark.” He said bending over and pulling aside a rug, which gave way to a hidden door built into the floor, lifting it up, Junmyeon slowly started to descend the metal spiralling stair case, you following closely behind, he was right it was dark. There was only one light leading the way, but it wasn’t doing much good.
“Here.” He said tapping on a metal door in front of the both of you. “I’m sure you know what happens in here so I don’t need to explain. I don’t know exactly what you want, but once you find it get out straight away and don’t make noise. Jongdae needs to rest in peace.” Your eyes widened.

“Wait. Is Jongdae in there?” He nodded. “How…how is he?” You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer, but as you’d been reminded twice already in the short time that you had been here. Curiosity killed the cat.

“Pfft.” He scoffed “Alive. Though he may as well be dead with the condition he’s in.” Junmyeon turned on his heel and disappeared back up the stairs. You let out a small breath of relief, as that meant you didn’t have to prepare yourself to see a dead body lying in state, you thought that he had meant that Jongdae was dead when he said he needed to rest in peace, you didn’t know he meant it literally. But you had just assumed Jongdae had died anyway, especially with the amount of blood that had coated Kyungsoo’s hands the night before. Slowly and carefully you opened the heavy door stepping inside the room and shutting it behind you trying not to make a noise. This room was much brighter than the space outside. Big white lights hung from the ceiling shining on all the instruments in the room, how had they managed to sneak all of this medical equipment into this place? You thought to yourself. It smelt heavily of antiseptic in here and it brought you back to the time when you had had your tonsils removed. You looked over to your side and saw Jongdae laying on bed, as pale as Yixing, but his breathing was more defined, it seemed as though he was recovering well. You crept over quietly to the shelves and draws on the left side of the room looking for some disinfectant.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh shit!” You screamed almost knocking over a tray of scalpels and scissors next to you. You spun around to see Jongdae staring at you and it was probably one of the scariest things you had seen, it was as though a corpse was staring into your face, he looked dead and his eyes were bloodshot red.
“You scared me!” You held your hand against your chest; your heart was beating wildly against your breast bone. “I thought you were asleep.”

“You thought wrong. You and Junmyeon woke me up. What are you doing?” He asked again in a lower tone this time.

“Oh… I just needed antiseptic for the uhh… cut on my neck”, you pointed at the faded scar that Minseok had left behind. Jongdae frowned at you, blinking slowly it was evident that he was still extremely weak.

“Why would you need antiseptic for that, it’s basically healed?”

“I like to take extra precautions.” You answered hurriedly trying to get him off your back.
He turned his neck painfully slowly to look at the bed beside him, his eyes widening in shock.
“Where is Yixing?” he asked

“What? What are you talking about?” You stopped looking for the disinfectant for a moment and stood still, turning around to look at Jongdae again.

“Yixing. He should be here, where is he?” There was slight confusion and panic in his voice, he turned his head back again to look at you waiting for your reply.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me. Why would Yixing be here? You’re the only one that’s been here the whole time.”

“No he should be here! He was attacked too, I saw him, and he got wounded. What happened? Don’t tell me he didn’t make it.” His voice fell flat and began to falter. “I didn’t know it was that serious…”
Here comes another lie, you thought to yourself.

“Yixing is fine, he’s in his room listening to music, I think you made a mistake.”

“No! I know what I’m talking about! He went down first then I went down after, I saw it!”

Just then the door opened. It was Baekhyun in a black tracksuit, drinking some water from a bottle. He almost spat the water out when he saw Jongdae’s eyes open.
“Jongdae! You’re awake!” he cried, rushing over to him and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Oh for fuck sake Baekhyun stop that.” Jongdae rolled his eyes, but you could tell that he was happy to see Baekhyun there.

“I didn’t think you’d make it man, none of us did. I should probably go and tell the others that you’re awake. I—” He spun round in excitement just noticing you. “Wait what are you doing down here?” He frowned, then looked down at his feet, avoiding your eye contact.

“Oh I, I just came to get some painkillers, it’s that time of the month. Junmyeon brought me down here.” You decided that going that route was best, since it made the boys feel awkward and they stopped asking questions.
Jongdae frowned at you.

“But you just told me that –”

“I’m sorry about what happened Baekhyun I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your room and see…you know.” You cut Jongdae off before he could finish his sentence.

“We don’t need to talk about that don’t worry.” He shuffled on his feet uncomfortably still not looking at you. Jongdae frowned in confusion.

“Baekhyun, where is Yixing, did you treat him already?” Jongdae asked

“What? What are you talking about, treat him? I heard he had a fever but I didn’t treat him, I think he’s just asleep”

“Fever?” Jongdae said confused looking at you. “But you said –”

“That’s what I tried telling him Baekhyun, but he wouldn’t listen, honestly I think he’s still heavily under the influence of anaesthetic.” You laughed nervously, cutting off Jongdae again.

“No.”Jongdae pouted “No I know what I saw, Yixing he was wounded, I saw it he should’ve been treated where is he, why isn’t he in here!?” Baekhyun glanced over at you confused and you pulled a face back at him.

“Y/N’s right, I think that anaesthetic is still in your system, get some rest Jongdae I’ll come check up on you later.”With that Baekhyun opened the heavy metal door and ascended up the stairs to the main part of the house.

“Why did you cut me off like that and why are you telling me and Baek two different things? What do you know Y/N and what the heck are you doing down here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Grabbing the anaesthetic from the shelf and needle and some thread that you had spotted, you began to walk towards the metal door.

“I swear, if you don’t tell me what you know, I’ll get Minseok to twist a knife in your throat, and you know he’ll do it, so don’t you dare take another step closer to that door. Just because I can’t stand up it does not mean that I still don’t have power over you.” He let out a little whimper of pain; he was putting too much strain on his body.
You walked back up to Jongdae pushing your fingers hard down on his throat to slightly constrict his breathing, you don’t know what came over you but suddenly you felt a wave of power and control.

“Listen ‘Chen’ whatever it is that I am keeping from you I’m doing it for a reason, so leave me the fuck alone I’m tired of you pricks all bossing me around and speaking down to me however you feel fit.” He struggled to breathe his eyes popping out at you, desperate for some air. You removed your fingers from his windpipe and pulled down the sheets covering his body. You pulled up his hospital gown revealing a gunshot wound to his abdomen. It was raw and fresh and you knew it was extremely painful. You put the things you were holding down on the bed beside you, covered Jongdae’s mouth with one hand and pressed your fingers onto the wound with another. Jongdae screamed out in pain, but the cry for help was lost between your fingers, besides you were so far below the others you doubted that they’d be able to hear him.
“I know you have power over me Jongdae I’m not an idiot, I haven’t forgotten. But right now I have power over you.” You smirked coldly down at him. “I could cut your stitches you know, have you bleed to death all over again without the others knowing. How does it feel Jongdae? Being powerless, being told that you could be killed any second. Horrible feeling isn’t it? I can relate. You pricks do it to me all the time. So back off and leave me alone.” You removed your hands away from Jongdae’s wounds and mouth, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath, retrieving the items from the bed. You walked towards the door opening it.


“Oh, and one more thing Jongdae. I’m not a whore.”

ljh; let me check the time

Originally posted by guksuu

Summary: Everyone is born with a clock on their wrist, it’s small, but noticeable. It also happens to count down to when you meet your soulmate. (Since a lot of people seemed to like the Hoshi one or maybe it was just that it was about Hoshi I decided to to another)

Warnings: none (lee jihoon’s aegyo ^^)

Words: 1.6k


The reason you wore long sweaters and shirts, was never because you were cold. It was the slow seconds on the clock mocking you, that made you cover it up. You couldn’t stand the numbers that ticked down to the moment where you would look at someone and be bound to them for the rest of your life. It was terrifying. You’d seen soulmate horror stories and read them, some people found their soulmate, but their soulmate didn’t find them. Even one of your friends chance at finding love was ruined when fate had already dictated who she would be bound to. She was visiting her mother’s grave in a cemetery, and on her way out, she stopped in front of a young man’s grave, and her clock ran down to zero. 

You pulled your sleeve back, just to take a small peek at the numbers that slowly dropped on the clock. 11 hours, 14 minutes, and 7 seconds. You shuddered, and yanked your sleeve back over the timer.

“Is everything okay, (Name). We can go back to the hotel if you want, it’s not a big deal,” your roommate, and best friend asked. 

“No, no, Mai. I’m fine, I’m actually really excited,” you answered. She looked to you and smiled. It was odd, not being able speak the language of the country you happened to be in. You were extremely lucky you had Mai, she was from Japan, and quite frankly, the only reason you were there. 

She had gotten tickets to see Seventeen live at the Saitama Super Arena, and a get into a special fan-meet. You two were staying in a hotel in Japan near the arena, and the two of you were really excited to see the boys in concert. The only problem, was that you couldn’t get the small seedling out of your mind that you would meet your soulmate in Japan. 

“Good, cause I wanna take you to an awesome sushi place!” She laughed, and tugged you along by your hand. You followed her blindly, until you saw the bright lights and the small face of Genki Sushi. 

Once you stepped in, Mai told the lady at the counter that you were a party of two, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your eyes widened, and a grin appeared on your face as you saw the conveyor belt like contraption that brought your food to you. 

“This is awesome,” you exclaimed, and Mai laughed as she stuffed sushi in her mouth with chopsticks.

After you both had paid, you went back to the hotel, and laid down in the double bed. You tried to stop yourself from looking at the clock, but you couldn’t help it. 


“Wake up, (Name)! We’re running late! Now we’ll have to skip breakfast!” Mai shouted, shaking the bed with the force of a hurricane. You groaned, and tried to swat her away like a bug.

“For what?” You mumbled through a sleepy haze. Mai kept shaking the bed, and by this point, you were sure the people downstairs would think there was something else going on up here. 

You finally sat up in the bed, sleep shirt and pajama bottoms still on. Mai glared at you, decked out in Seventeen merchandise. Your eyes narrowed, and you reluctantly glanced at the countdown on your wrist. 3 hours, 18 minutes, and 38 seconds. Again, you shuddered and got ready quickly, trying to put Mai at ease. If this were a normal day, you would be the one getting Mai up, trying not to be late to class.

“For what?! (Name)! Today’s the concert!” Mai answered, her face a bit red, “We have to be there in fifteen minutes!” When those words were said to you, your blood ran cold and your heart froze. It felt like you were in the middle of winter, and your left wrist suddenly became so much heavier. In that little amount of time, tears started to well up in your eyes. There was no way, you of all people could be bound to one of Seventeen’s members … and there definitely wasn’t a way a member would be bound to you.

“Hurry!”

“I’m coming,” you called back, trying not to let the trembling of your body seep into your voice. 

When you stepped out of the nice bathroom, you saw Mai tapping her foot in annoyance by the door. She held the room-key in her hands, jingling the actual, key-like object. You grinned sheepishly, and laughed, making your way out the door. 

On the way to the arena, Mai kept complaining about you sleeping in, but you just tuned her out, every so often checking the time you had left on the clock. 

Your head turned on a swivel, making you look like an owl. When you had stretched you head this much, you might be able to turn it all the way around. Mai was rambling about Dino and Jeonghan, and how cute they were and how majestic Jeonghan’s hair was. More often than not, you didn’t hear a word Mai said, but you sure did enjoy her company.

“We’re here!” She exclaimed. The two of you tilted your heads up, and both of your mouths dropped open. 

“I never thought it would be this big,” you breathed. Mai laughed and ushered you into the huge building. When you entered, your mouth dropped even lower than it had been. 

The two of you found your seats, and for about three hours you forgot all of the soulmate things. You watched the boys of Seventeen sing and dance their hearts out on stage, you could only imagine how tired they were, and them having to do a fan-meet after this, you knew you yourself would be as tired as someone who had just walked through a desert. You felt bad for them.


“(Name), we’re only, like, two people away from meeting Seventeen,” Mai whispered. You nodded and smiled to appease her, but stared at all of their faces. Sure, they had on smiles for the fans, but anyone who looked past the makeup on their faces could see their exhaustion. 

A lady shuffled you to the first person. You felt a pair of large hands envelope yours, you looked up and offered Mingyu a big smile. He asked you how you were doing, and if you liked the concert.

“I loved it, you guys were so cool!” You replied, which made him grin, “But I just hope you don’t push yourself, I can only imagine how tiring being on a big stage can be.” Mingyu stared at you, he squeezed your hand in a friendly gesture, and laughed.

“Thanks, it means a lot,” he chuckled, letting go of your hand. Before you moved down the line, you took a small peek at his left wrist. In black ink, just like yours, was a clock that said 5 years, 47 days, 22 hours, 56 minutes, and 2 seconds. It surprised you that he wasn’t crawling in his skin, wondering who it could be … then again, you didn’t know what Mingyu thought on a daily basis.

Whilst you were taking to Hoshi, you took a glance at your clock. 2 minutes, 26 seconds. You were surprised at how fast it went.

“How’s your day been?” Hoshi beamed, accepting your little note that you wrote him. 

“I’m good. I’m still surprised that I’m here!” You laughed, beaming up at him. He giggled, and put the small slip of paper you handed him in his shirt pocket. Hoshi grabbed one of your hands, and shook it slightly.

“I think you have a bigger surprise in about —” Hoshi’s eyes flicked to your left wrist, “one minute.” His grin widened as he passed you on to Woozi. You looked up into Jihoon’s eyes, and he gave you a small smile. 

“Hello.” The word uttered was simple and quiet, but it stirred something deep within you. You looked to the countdown, and saw thirty seconds left. The heat that rushed to your left wrist was almost unbearable. You choked on your own spit, trying to hold in a screech of pain. The fire beneath your skin felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing your flesh over and over.

Twenty seconds left. The pain intensified.

“Is everything okay?” Woozi asked. You feared for the worst at that moment, you thought that you weren’t Woozi’s beloved. You smiled through the pain, and glanced up at his face. All of these happenings were going unnoticed to the surrounding people. You looked back at Hoshi, and he grinned at you, showing you his empty wrist. He had already found his soulmate.

“Can I — see your … clock?” You coughed, clutching his hand, that he so reluctantly offered to you. He flipped his hand over and winced as you ran your fingers over the timer that happened to say … three seconds. 

Five seconds left. You grabbed your wrist, and still wondered how people hadn’t taken notice to you and Woozi.

“Well, nice to meet you. I’m sure you already know who I am,” Woozi smiled. Suddenly, the pain began to subside. It was a slow process, but you were glad when it was finally over. Woozi took your arm into his grasp, and moved his fingers gently over the black ink on your wrist, that was slowly fading away.

You leaned in, and cupped your hand over your mouth.

“Won’t it be weird?” He screwed up his face, and his eyes met yours, you turned your head, and pecked his lips, hand still covering your mouth.

Woozi’s face became a furious shade of crimson, and you grinned slightly. His hand flew to his lips, and Mai looked to you from her place in front Jeonghan. Her gaze was scrutinizing, but she took one peek at your exposed wrist that was now blank, and she chuckled. In that moment, days, hours, minutes, seconds … all were just words in the back of your mind. 

“We”ll never have to check the time again,” you whispered into his ear.

Two are Better than One

Member: Jun and Wonwoo
Genre: smutttt
Word count: 2,113


In all honesty, this wasn’t the first time you had found yourself completely under the mercy of Jun’s touch; and in all honesty this wasn’t the first time that Wonwoo had left his own trail of purple bruises along your stomach, but you had never experienced them at the same time like you were now. You really shouldn’t have been doing this– after all, they were idols and a scandal was the last thing either of them needed. But still, you found yourself gasping into Jun’s shoulder as Wonwoo’s lips found themselves hovering above your nipple, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Your toes still curled as Wonwoo and Jun sucked and nibbled at different spots of your body leaving you in complete astonishment of how in sync these boys moved together. It was wrong, it was so wrong, but oh god did it feel heavenly.

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my biggest issue about the harry potter epilogue is that these people, these characters, were children in a war and they watched people die in front of them and die for them. they tried to kill; they tortured. some scars don’t fade - surely that’s the point of harry’s still being there, to remind us and the wizarding world of what he (and they all) went through

 you mean to tell me that these kids come out from that war fine? no trauma, no mental health issues like anxiety or ptsd. nothing to do with how they struggled to unlearn constant vigilance or if they still sleep with their wands under their pillows. if molly weasley still watches the clock when arthur is late home, jst in case. if harry doesn’t treat every headache as a sign that voldemort is somehow back. how harry worried about bringing up his children when he has not much of a concept of how to raise a child, other than what not to do? how george copes with the loss of fred, with seeing that ghost in the mirror? 

i wonder if draco can look at necklaces on pretty girls in the same way. if pansy parkinson was vilified in the press; they’re fickle, so she probably was. what happened to sirius’s old house? does harry still have hedwig’s empty cage? does ginny ever wake up from a dream and find herself stood by the sink in their bathroom, hissing to the taps? 

New Additions

Here’s a short, fluffy drabble written for the incredible norbertsmom. Sending much love your way.


When Peeta hears the jingle of keys in the front door’s lock, he slips a bookmark into the binding of the novel he’s halfway through, depositing it on the coffee table. It’s not entirely rare for Katniss to come home a little late from work – her hours at the lab are relatively flexible, so sometimes she’ll be home early in the afternoon, while other times, it won’t be until dinner.

But tonight, one-half of the grilled chicken breast and asparagus he prepared sits cooling under a coverlet of Saran Wrap in the fridge. It’s now eight o’clock – three hours after she shot him a punctuation-free text alerting him that she “might be late.” Being married to her for five years, and dating her for three before that, Peeta has long since learned to not worry over Katniss’s occasional truancies. Although she’ll give him a scare now and then, she’s never let him down.

So, wiping his hands on his jeans, he pads through the living room of their townhouse, ducking into the front hall just in time to see the door swing open.

And there stands Katniss, paused in the threshold. A cluster of plastic bags with the PetSmart logo splattered across them dangle from one hand, while the other arm awkwardly cradles a small, hazelnut-colored tuft against the inside of her elbow.

Oh my god.

“Whose puppy is that?” Peeta asks, both excited and afraid of what he anticipates the answer to be.

She gives him a guilty smile, dumping the bags on the floor so she can hold the thing up Simba-style with both hands.

“Ours,” she replies.

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I Don’t Want To (Dean x Reader... work of fiction)

Originally posted by yourfavoritedirector

Warnings: ANGST, suicidal reader, self loathing, I guess like one sentence that might be considered slightly fluffy if you’re imaginative

A/N: This is for ANGST DAY! This my first attempt at angst. I have decided that I am too nice for angst. I can’t do this to people anymore. AHH. Expect me to go back on that and kill a fictional character some day. Also, I’m not sure what this is. Is it an extended drabble? Is it a one-shot? An imagine? Help. Anyways, enjoy!

Tags: @the-killer-ballerina @death2thevirgin @thing-you-do-with-that-thing (Kari, I know you’ve got a lot of reading to do today, so no worries if you don’t get to this!)

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You looked in the mirror. You didn’t like what you saw. It was a common enough feeling, you were sure, but it had been years, and no matter how many people told you you were beautiful (not that there had been that many), you still couldn’t see what they tried to convince you they could. You didn’t like how your chin pointed, or how your eyes drooped, or how your lips looked like they were pursed all the time. You didn’t like your hips, and you didn’t like the way your stomach made a lump under your jeans. You couldn’t really put a name to anything you did like, and you knew that as much as you hated the outside, everyone hated the inside more. People would tell you it wasn’t true, but you knew they just felt bad that you’d figured it out.

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30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 11

Day 11: Wearing kigurumis

Summary: Sherlock gets frustrated at you and John when you two are texting about kigurumis
Author: Maddy (@laterthantherabbit)
Words: 2100
Characters/Relationships: Sherlock x Reader, John x sister!reader
Warnings: Excessive texting?

Author’s Notes: Honestly I had no idea what these things were until I searched them up and then I realised that my sister had one and that my brother gave me his so this is based on my own experiences really, even the texting bit, which is how I annoy my brother sometimes.

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They had finally came. You had ordered these weeks ago but it had taken forever for them to be delivered to 221B Baker Street, but now they had finally come. You took the package from the delivery man, after signing for them and wishing the man a good rest of his day, and scurried back into your flat. You had used your phone to order the two onsie-like garments and had erased any evidence of your being on the website. There was no way Sherlock was expecting these things.

You ripped open the packaging and took out the first kigurumi. It was light pink and white, with a curly tail attached to the back and the features of a cute piglet on the hood. You held it up against your body and saw that they had gotten the size of it correct, it would hang on your body as it should without disturbing your movements. You squealed out at its perfectness before gathering the other one to look at. It was bright orange with black stripes, the tiger hood featured foam fangs that would frame the face of whoever wore it. It was larger than your kigurumi, but perfect for the man who would be wearing it. You sent off a text to your brother, your plan finally being able to begin.

You: Operation Animal Farm is go

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everchanging101  asked:

Hi! From the new list 46 and 100. Thank you!

So I just couldn’t think of anything funny for this one.  I tried.  Instead, a kind of navel-gazey/ ultra-fluffy vignette from the Tom-verse happened.  I’ve been picking away at another big relationship piece (slowly, because of the ficlets and lack of direction) and I was having serious Janine feels today.

“I’m not the jealous type, I swear”/ “Nobody needs fake friends”

“So I couldn’t get any really thick callouses, but I did get some heel skin, which is comparable in tex—oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had a client!” Molly said, backing out the door.

“Not a client,” Sherlock said loudly enough for her to hear on the landing while she let herself in through the kitchen.  "Old friend.“

Molly shoved the bag in the biohazard section of the fridge and unlooped her scarf as she went into the lounge to at least say hello to this friend before she disappeared back into the bathroom.  2.0 had been tap-dancing on her bladder the entire way from work to Baker Street.

“Oh,” she said, unable to hide her reaction.  

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