cleaning out my phone and this is what i find sigh

Kitten’s Got His Tongue | M | 01

Yoongi & Jimin | BTS | 5.5k Words | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07.

Yoongi orders Jimin and you from a hybrid companion service, but when he receives the two of you, he has no idea what to actually do with you.

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Across The Hall

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 2000

Prompt:

“My date is tonight and I can’t cook to save my life so I was hoping maybe you can cook something and I could pass it off as my own,” Harry says.

Y/N giggles, walking down her hallway and into the living room where she can see her door is wide open, she closes it and turns back to Harry. He’s looking at her with a hopeful look in his eyes and a charming smile that Y/N can’t deny.

“Of course, I mean you helped me move, it’s the least I can do” Y/N smiled, “what time is your date?”

“Seven,” Harry says.

Y/N places her lower lip in between her teeth and her hands on her hip as she thinks, “okay yeah, I can do that, is this like a I want to actually date you date or a tinder type thing?”

“Tinder.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and hold the door open, “I’ll do it, but I do not agree with your motives.”

or

Y/N is the girl across the hall who tries to help Harry find a girl to settle down with, but Harry wants Y/N so he sabotages all his dates.


Harry was the first to notice Y/N.

She was standing next to her moving truck, pulling her hair into a ponytail with the blue scrunchie wrapped around her wrist. She was cute-not the normal type Harry would go for-but he would still try. Y/N was cute, and somehow dressed modest on the hottest day of the year, a white t-shirt tucked into a pair of sky blue shorts and sneakers, Harry was sure he hadn’t seen a girl with as much clothing as she had on, and that spoke loads to his character and choice women.

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Punish me (Smut)
I did a thing. I figured it to be best if this was EXO member optional, since with this storyline you could end up with any EXO member really. God forgive me for I have sinned. 

Pairing: EXO member x Reader (You will have to choose one at a certain point, or read it nine times)

Genre: Smut

Edit: Apparently the first part can be classified under ‘humour’. My sister read this and she was laughing her ass off? I did not intend for this to happen but yeah… If it’s the same for you, enjoy.

Word count: 4670 words

Warning: Phone sex, Oral sex, explicit language.

Punish me:

“No, I’m not a free phone sex service!” I shout annoyed through my mobile and immediately cut the call, throwing my mobile onto the kitchen counter. Once, just once, I had been spotted in public with the members of EXO and that was the result; forty calls a day that begin with either “What are you wearing?” or “Tell me how wet you are”.

My mother is the fixed cleaning lady for the Exo dorm, but she broke her leg a few weeks ago. In agreement with SM, I replace her until she gets better. It is summer holiday and that way I don’t need to search for a summer job.

The guys from EXO are my age, so of course the relationship between EXO and me is different than the relationship my mom has with them. Whilst my mom is more a motherly figure, I am more of a friend. That’s why a few days ago, they asked me to go out for dinner with them.

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You Look Like You Need a Drink (M)

Originally posted by hidden--demons

Summary: After a bad week with the worst luck imaginable, you happen upon a local dive bar run by an attractive young bartender who livens up your evening.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 7,221

Warning: Bartender!Yoongi, tattooed!Yoongi, sexual harassment, sexual themes, power play, manners kink, alcohol use, profanity

A/N: I wrote this last year for my dear friend’s birthday and swore this fic would never see the light of day. I have since “remastered” it, so to speak, so I’m sharing it here. SURPRISE!

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anonymous asked:

What do you think about an “i picked up your bag at the airport but i can’t find your number so i’m about to embark on the largest scavenger hunt of all time by using your strange belongings to track you down” au with charmer or nurseydex or zimbits or something??

Well, I don’t know if you expected three mini fics, and I didn’t fully follow the prompt, but here we are.

1. Charmer

Look, Chris knew it was dumb. He knew that everyone on earth had a plain black suitcase, he knew he should have double-checked the luggage tag, he knew it was important to be sure abut these things. But knowing what he should have done couldn’t help him when he finally got his suitcase home and opened it up to find mostly yoga pants and sundresses. 

Fuck.

He zipped the bag back up and flipped open the luggage tag. It was cute, pink with some metallic lettering saying “I’m outta here!” in a handwritten font. Chris blamed jetlag and the redeye flight for making him miss the fact that it wasn’t his Sharks tag. He blamed the bag’s owner for not filling out any of the information on the tag.

Dammit.

Well, sorry random girl, he thought. He opened the suitcase up again to try to see if he could find anything that would give him a clue as to who the suitcase owner was. He moved a makeup bag aside, and hit gold immediately. Well, Samwell red. A Women’s Volleyball tshirt– mystery suitcase girl had to be on the volleyball team.

“Hey Ransom!” he yelled. “You’re facebook friends with all the volleyball team right?”

“He’s friends with everyone on campus!” Holster yelled back.

“Ask their captain if anyone flew in from the Bay Area and lost their luggage!”

_X_

“Is Justin here? My captain said he’s got my suitcase.” Chris overheard her at the door. He grabbed the bag and started hauling it downstairs. As he set it down at the bottom and caught sight of the girl in the doorway, he froze. She was pretty. Like, really pretty. 

“Um, hi,” he said.

“So you’re Justin? Oh my god, I’m so glad it wasn’t some total rando who got my bag.” 

“I’m actually Chris, Justin was just the one who was friends with your captain. Um, I’m sorry, but I kind of had to look through your stuff? Your luggage tag wasn’t filled out.” The girl laughed.

“Yours wasn’t either! Me and my teammates were like one minute away from googling the record holder for most San Jose Sharks merch, but it totally makes sense that you’re on the hockey team.” 

“Since we both forgot to write our numbers down, maybe we should do that now?” Chris suggested. The girl grinned, grabbed his phone out of his hand, and opened up a new contact. She punched in a number, and when she handed it back he saw a text of several random emojis addressed to the new contact of “Caitlin Farmer” with a girl farmer emoji and a volleyball emoji.

“Text me sometime, and maybe we can get dinner?” she said, and she was gone with her suitcase. 

Chris collapsed on the couch, a dreamy look in his eyes.

“Chowder? You get your suitcase back?” Bitty called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah! and I think I’m in love now!”

2. Nurseydex

“Cheryl, I’m telling you, I had a ton of inspiration on the plane and I wrote some great stuff for act three. No. No, it wasn’t just me thinking it’s great because I popped some melatonin and got really sleepy. It’s like, legit. Yeah, I’ll send it over as soon as I get home and–”

Derek slammed into something. If he’d been holding his phone in his hand (bluetooth is a blessing when you drop stuff easily) it would have launched across the airport. As it was, his post-flight latte was soaking through the nice white shirt of the handsome stranger in front of him.

“Shit,” the stranger said, looking down to survey the damage.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have trusted myself to make a phone call and not be clumsy after such a long flight,” Derek said. He set his briefcase down and pulled a wad of napkins out of the outside pocket. The guy took a deep breath, going from murderous to calm in a few seconds. 

“I wasn’t looking where I was going either, it’s not your fault,” the guy said, setting down his own briefcase and accepting the napkins. He blotted at his shirt.

“Let me pay for the dry cleaning. Or a replacement,” Derek offered. The man shook his head.

“It’s fine, it probably needed to go to the cleaners anyways.” He checked his watch. “If I run, I can probably get a new one before my meeting.” He wadded the napkins into one big ball, picked up his briefcase, and walked towards the exit with a terse nod. Derek, feeling terrible about the whole thing, picked up his own briefcase and walked to baggage claim.

By the time he was reunited with his home office, a cozy bookshelf-lined room in his brownstone, he had almost forgotten about the coffee incident. He was focused on sending the manuscript to Cheryl. Unfortunately, that was going to be difficult, considering he pulled a PC laptop out of the bag instead of his Mac.

Derek stared at the computer for a full minute. He almost couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. Hesitantly, he opened the laptop. On one side of the keyboard there was a weird thing that a few seconds of phone googling told him was a fingerprint scanner. Shit. He hit the space bar experimentally. Something flashed on the screen, and then was replaced with just a plain black screen with red text: ACCESS DENIED

Derek swore. He started to look through the rest of what was in the briefcase, but was disappointed to find it empty except for the laptop’s charger, three packs of gum, and receipts from a lobster shack in Maine. Shit. Nothing in here would tell him anything about the redhead he’d launched a latte at. 

He closed the laptop dejectedly, ignored his editor’s text messages, and went into the kitchen to make himself lunch and feel sorry for himself. This was the universe punishing him for covering a cute guy with coffee. If he had just kept his focus and waited to call his editor later, he could have sent the draft along and saved it and not be desperately trying to remember his inspiration.

Just as the self-pity spiral was really taking off, the doorbell rang. Derek sighed, put down his tea, and walked to the door. When he opened it, it wasn’t Girl Scouts or Jehovah’s Witnesses, but the guy from the airport.

“Cancel whatever you’re doing today, I need to teach you the most basic principles of digital security,” the guy said, pushing past Derek into the dining room. He shoved a stack of papers onto a chair and pulled Derek’s laptop out.

“I’m Will, by the way, I make software that’s hopefully a step ahead of viruses.”

“Is the draft still there?”

“The draft of what?” The guy looked confused.

“My third act breakthrough. I’m a novelist, I need to get it to my editor and I couldn’t remember if I saved it,” Derek explained.

“You know you can set up an auto-save every five minutes or so, right?” Will asked.

“This might be surprising to you, but I’ve never had a cute guy storm into my house and yell at me about computers before.” Will looked up from Derek’s computer, blushing.

“I haven’t had a cute guy dump a gallon of coffee all over me and steal my laptop before, either, but here we are.”

“Maybe you can yell about computers over lunch with me?”

3. Zimbits

Button downs. Tank tops. Slacks. Shorts. Three rolling pins. A pie tin. A half-emptied multipack of sharpies.

No lucky puck. No clothes in his size. No jerseys.

Jack sighed. It would just be too much to ask for anything to go well today. He picked up his phone to call someone with the Falconers, in the hope that they could talk to the airline and sort all this out. At the same time, his phone lit up with Tater’s face.

“Zimmboni! Look on twitter. Small internet baker has your suitcase!” Tater hung up before he could reply, so Jack just opened twitter instead. 

omgcheckplease: A bunch of pucks, some dirty jerseys, and a history textbook. Either I’m back in college or this isn’t my suitcase.

omgcheckplease: .@falcsofficial please tell your #1 player to DM me and come get his shit

omgcheckplease: and @falcsofficial tell him to give me my shit back. my hockey days are in the past, I need rolling pins, not a mouthguard

Jack smiled and laughed in the way a person laughs when they’re alone, just blowing more air than normal out of his nose. He looked through the twitter for a minute– the guy, Eric Bittle, was a Providence-based chef, whose latest tweets were mostly greetings to the various cities he’d been visiting on tour. Jack clicked the media tab on the account, and looked through the pictures. Bittle was cute. He wrote a reply.

zimmboni: .@omgcheckplease how do I send u a DM

omgcheckplease: .@zimmboni you don’t deserve to be verified, oh my god #verifybittle2k17

A few seconds later another notification popped up, and he tapped it to be brought to a DM window.

omgcheckplease: hey! sorry about the mixup. I can only imagine how confused you were to find all my book tour stuff.

zimmboni: Probably as confused as you were finding hockey stuff?

omgcheckplease: I wasn’t joking in my tweets, I did play hockey before I got into the whole cookbook/food show thing

zimmboni: Exactly, I did a book tour last year in the off-season :-)

omgcheckplease: oh my gosh, isn’t it the best and the worst?

zimmboni: I know. It’s great to meet people and talk about your work, but it’s exhausting.

omgcheckplease: that’s why I’m so excited to be back in Providence! at least until the next cookbook.

zimmboni: Well we should probably meet up to trade suitcases. Want to meet somewhere for dinner?

omgcheckplease: don’t trust me to learn where your house is?

zimmboni: I mean, if dinner goes well enough…

omgcheckplease: OH. okay, then, Mr. Zimmermann, it’s a date.

Jack smiled to himself, and got ready for his date.

anonymous asked:

What if Harry and Draco had been together for a while and one of them had to go away for a while and they are on the phone and then one of them says "turn around" and there they are!!! Did this make any sense

Draco hated muggle devices.

He hated the ridiculously loud telly vision, he abhorred everything that had to do with the terrifying things called vacuum cleaners, and telly phones were no different.

They were small to hold, blindingly bright and too loud for Draco’s taste.

(That, and they didn’t exactly look pretty.)

(Yes, Harry did buy him a silver one, which was fine, but still.)

He never understood muggle devices, either. He just let Harry deal with that stuff, watching his boyfriend wave around with a duster, apparently persistent on using the stuff he’d grown up with rather than using his wand. 

(Harry had always been stubborn, after all. It’s why Draco had fallen for him in the first place. Well, that, and of course his magnificent arse.) 

The only times he liked to use phones was when his boyfriend - his stupidly successful and famous boyfriend - was out on a mission for work, unable to use magic to avoid getting his location known. Because then they could call, Draco standing in the dark of his bedroom, trying to keep his voice even and far from worried (Harry away on a mission always made him go crazy, but Harry didn’t need to know that.) Because then they could talk and talk and talk, Draco helping Harry to stay awake and focused, ending up falling asleep with each other’s breathing in their ears, a calming reminder that the other was still there, still alive.

Draco was standing in their bedroom right now, the blasted muggle device against his ear, Harry’s voice rumbling through the speaker.

And Draco was trying hard not to cry. 

(Harry had been gone for almost two weeks now, and it didn’t seem as if the mission would be done very soon. He knew Harry’s job was important, he knew that the ‘bad guys’ needed to get caught, but goddamnit couldn’t the criminals give his poor boyfriend a break? Give him a break? He needed his boyfriend, he needed to hold his hand, he needed to kiss him until his lips were swollen and almost painful.)

“I miss you,” Draco whispered, not quite succeeding in keeping his voice even.

“I miss you too,” Harry murmured back, soft but not any less sincere. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Draco snorted - half a laugh, half a sob. “You better, you prick. I need someone to make a mess of the kitchen, it’s almost scary how clean it is nowadays.”

Harry laughed, and something twisted in Draco’s chest.

“I need someone to never turn off the light when they leave the room,” Draco continued, wanting to hear that laugh again and again and again - “I need someone to forget to close the fridge, I need someone who always leaves their glasses on their nightstand.”

“Someone to yell at you when you use up all the hot water again,” Harry chipped in, and Draco scoffed.

“As if you’ve never heard of warming spells, Potter.” When Harry didn’t answer, Draco sighed. “Just… Come back, alright? It’s boring here without your annoying face.”

“Hey, Draco,” Harry suddenly said, his voice sounding a bit off, “could you turn around?”

“Why would I -”

“Just do it.”

Half thinking his boyfriend had gone mad, Draco turned on his heels. 

And promptly dropped his phone.

The loud crack it made when it connected with the floor didn’t bother Draco in the slightest - because oh, Harry was standing there, a stupid grin on his face and his eyebrows knitted together, ridiculously cute, his hair standing in every possible direction and holding his phone against his ear - such a unexpected sight that Draco had difficulty finding his breath.

“Uh, hi,” Harry said, waving sheepishly. “Surprise?”

Harry,” he breathed, and he didn’t wait for Harry to say something - and jumped towards him, kissing him full on the mouth, his hands immediately in Harry’s hair, tugging at the strands so hard it must’ve been painful but he didn’t care because Harry was with him, Harry was home - 

Harry’s phone dropped to the floor, too, when he automatically wrapped his arms around a crying Draco.

They didn’t care much about that phone, either. 

Professor

In which Andrew didn’t choose Exy but still chose Neil, which meant Neil had to learn how to talk about something other than stick-ball. 

warning, mention of implied sexual assault/non-con


Lucy had not anticipated what she was dealt. 

Her first day of second year brought a tone of finality to it all: it wasn’t just a year-long dream of terrible decisions and alcohol and chaos. It continued on, and so would she. 

Her first day also happened to bring Professor Andrew Minyard, five feet and blond and utterly terrifying. 

Introducing the course had started off mundane enough, until Eddie Court – an asshole she’d regretted sleeping with dearly – decided to lean over her shoulder. He never got the chance to say anything because a pencil dotted him squarely in his forehead, so hard that a tiny droplet of blood threatened to bead. 

Everyone stared. Shocked, confused, but remaining in complete silence as they  – Lucy included – tried to remember if anyone had mentioned anything about the man, whether or not this was normal or out-of-the-ordinary behaviour. 

“Name.” He sounded bored. 

Eddie rose his fingers to brush his forehead, smearing the tiniest of droplets. He stared at his fingertips, then at Minyard, then at the pencil that had clattered on his desk. Then at Minyard again. “Eddie Court.”

“Court. Christ.” The professor said, with a palpable distaste to his tone. “I will say this once, despite having to repeat it every year, because students seem to get thicker with every new class.” His face was blank. Stone. Lucy had never heard someone utter insults with such apathy. She didn’t know whether or not to be scared or curious: Such a mask was difficult to maintain. “Shut the fuck up, or get the fuck out. Understood?”

Swearing in class. At the students. Completely against protocol. 

Lucy couldn’t help but smile. Just a little. 


Within weeks, the class had learned how to abide by Professor Minyard’s rules. His previous students were sought out, but they merely grinned at the mention of his name. One student dared to ask another law professor, questioning the teaching methods of the criminology expert. They shook their head, leaning to the professor next to them and sharing a laugh, an inside joke that none of the second years were a part of. 

Yet. 

Curiosity won out over fear eventually, and what that said about Lucy, she wasn’t sure. Eventually, he won her respect: The piece of white chalk he’d flung had imbedded itself in her tightly curled hair when she’d fallen asleep at the eight AM lecture on a Tuesday morning. 

“You think I want to be here, Rone?” 

That piece of chalk rested on her bedside table. Lucy didn’t want to be weird, especially considering her professor hadn’t played Exy since college, but he’d played with Neil Josten and Kevin Day. The Neil Josten, and the Kevin Day. And if she had spent nights watching old Palmetto State Fox games, sitting in awe as she watched him flick balls away from the goal like it was absolutely nothing, no one was going to know. 

He was just as apathetic as he had been back then. Lucy had decided he was just emotionless: That didn’t make him any worse at teaching, so it wasn’t really her problem. 

And then she became his problem. 


Her grades had dropped dramatically low. Andrew stared at the results that he’d just drawn up, picked the paper up off the desk, and leaned back in his chair. 

It was a midterm. He’d eyed Lucy Rone’s bad results in the past two mini-quizzes, her surprisingly worsening attendance, and this was enough to force his hand. 

Half an hour later, he was convinced this was abnormal behaviour, if her patterns rang true. 

Caring, caring. Perhaps the internal monologue would never leave him alone, but he knew better than to listen to it’s mocking tone. Watch yourself turn into Wymack, why don’t you. Call Dan and say you’re taking over as coach of the Foxes. 

He almost told himself to shut up, but the chime of his phone snapped him out of his head. It kept chiming and he sighed, picking it up and wedging it between his shoulder and ear, returning to stare at the mark scrawled in the corner of the exam paper. 

“Are you going to be here for dinner?”

“Not if you’re attempting to make something.” Neil had improved past the broke-college-student level of cooking skills, but he wasn’t apt enough to cook dinner without some form of disaster. 

It hadn’t taken long for Andrew to learn the sound of Neil grinning through the phone. A particular tone of voice, a particular exhale. “It’s already done. Just has to be heated up again.”

“Edible?”

“Can’t really be the judge of my own creation, can I?”

“I’ll be home soon.” Andrew liked the way his mouth curled around the word home.”Lucy Rone. Sound like someone problematic to you?”

“Not particularly. Lucy’s always been the name of that old woman sitting on the front porch, knitting. Five cats, crocheting and all.”

“So, you?”

“If old ladies swung heavy sticks at other people, sure.”

Andrew let himself smile. He allowed himself this. The small curl up on his lips. He’d earned that, after all this time. “Sure.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Unusually bad performance. Moved from sitting front and centre to back corner. Shit attendance.”

“You’re probably a much better judge of character than I would be, now.”

Because I’ve studied criminal, suspicious and victimised behaviour for a long time, Andrew wanted to remind him. But this was no longer a sore spot for Neil: He no longer needed to read people’s intentions in need to survive, because he was safe. He could let that overly-analytical part of himself behind. It had been almost 12 years since their first win against Edgar Allen. He was still alive, well. 

Happy, even. 

Hard to believe that was partly Andrew’s fault. 

Focus. 

Andrew emailed Lucy to visit him before their next class at nine o’clock the next morning. 


She was five minutes early, he was five minutes late. He couldn’t say anything about her appearance, considering he was wearing Neil’s jersey under his coat and that he had walked out of the door with a coffee, slippers and nothing to comb his hair with but his fingers. 

His students knew not to say anything. 

Lucy sported a pair of sweats that had her high school’s initials printed on the front, with a pair of exy sticks embroidered just underneath. Her name was printed on the back pocket, and they only just came down to her ankles. 

Exy fan, then. Andrew wouldn’t have guessed. 

She didn’t say anything, sparing him a hollow looking before following him into his office. He’d used to share it, until he’d bribed the finicky financial law to move somewhere else. It was entirely his own space, clean and devoid of decoration. 

He motioned towards the desk and she leaned against it, clutching the binder to her chest. 

Brown skin didn’t usually lose this much of it’s valour, even during winter. 

And winters in South Carolina were hardly anything worth mentioning. 

“Your grades.”

She was staring at the floor. Her eyes didn’t move when she nodded. 

“All I need is a reason.” 

She said nothing. 

“It’d probably be easier on you if you told me. I’m your criminology professor: I’ll find out eventually.”

“I’m not on drugs.” She said, quickly, but not so quickly that it was an immediate red flag. An orange flag. Andrew settled back into his seat and propped his ankle on his knee. 

“Never said you were.”

“I’m fine.” 

Andrew gave her a flat look. “You know who also says that?”

She shook her head. 

“Surely someone who still wears her high school’s exy uniform would have an inkling. Yay-high, hair like a fire-engine siren, mouth like one too.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to ask if he knows that you wear his old Palmetto jersey. I thought he hated you?”

“I hated him.” Andrew corrected her. “I hate him.” He corrected himself. “And he knows.”

She looked wistful. “Cool.” 

“Lucy.”

She looked back at him. 

“If there’s a problem, you come to me. Alright?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because you can trust me. I can be a lawyer, a therapist, an advice column, what have you.”

“Can I trust you?”

“When you’re ready to.” 

She seemed satisfied enough to nod, murmur a timid thank you, and slipped out the door. 


Lucy banged on the door, feeling sick. She couldn’t go back to her dorm, because it made her want to crawl into a corner and be enveloped in a shadow. To be the smallest, most insignificant thing. 

She wasn’t sure how on earth her criminology professor was supposed to empathise with her, when he was the human embodiment of a brick wall, but here she was, trembling, feverish, panicked, and knocking on his office door at ten o’clock at night. 

He opened the door with a mildly annoyed expression, which flattened out immediately at the sight of her. 

She’d only seen him this morning, but that felt like a whole world away now. 

“Hello.”

She wanted to ask why he was still here, on campus, this late at night. What on earth he could possibly be working on, at ten o’clock on a Tuesday evening. Instead, she blurted: “What does it mean if I didn’t say no?”

He stilled. 

Too much, too much, too much: She had asked too much of him, a middle aged professor who apparently had two cats and a boyfriend, if the senior’s rumours were true. Criminology professor aside, this was the last thing someone like him would want to be dragged into –

He stood aside and motioned for her to come in. She shuffled by him, arms around her stomach. He shut the door. 

Lucy wanted to be sick. 

He pulled a pen out of his pocket – professors always had pens on them, didn’t they? – and tore a corner off a piece of paper, scribbling down a phone number. 

“This woman helped me.” Betsy. “She can help you, too.”

“You said you could be a therapist.” Lucy hedged. 

He sighed, and she’d never seen him so reflective. “I have my limits.”

She nodded. She took the piece of paper. She left. 


“Where the fuck is Court?” Andrew leaned on the edge of his desk at the front of the lecture hall, eyeing the empty seat. Second lesson in a row. 

Lucy Rone sat in front of it, back straight, gaze steady. 

“Suspended.” 

Andrew looked at her. “For how long?”

There was a hesitant smile. “Undetermined. Charges have been pressed against him.” 

Andrew drew a long line through Eddie Court’s name on the attendance.


Lucy waited by the door and saw her professor approaching, with the stack of papers in his hands. She was anxious about this mark, more-so than the others. Her dip in performance would be hard to get back up from, but if she could do it in criminology, she could do it in the rest. There was a cluster of students waiting to get their essay’s grade back, but Lucy was first in line. 

“Yay or nay?” She asked. 

Professor Minyard gave Lucy a flat look, and opened the door. 

Lucy promptly had a heart attack at the man beyond the door. 

“Feet. Off.” Her professor said, looking flatly at Neil Josten, with his feet propped up on the desk, arms folded. He, too, was wearing a faded jersey of the Palmetto Foxes’ colours, but it was too bunched up for Lucy to read the name. 

“Surprise.” Neil Josten said, and Lucy wanted to scream. 

“Get your fucking feet off my fucking desk.” Her professor dropped the large stack of papers next to where Neil Josten had propped up his heavy boots. Neil did not get his fucking feet off the fucking desk. 

Lucy almost had the nerve to scream: do you know who that is? Do you have any clue how famous he was? But she remembered that the two of them were friends. Sort of. She held her tongue, and let her heart thrum in her chest, happy to be completely ignored. 

“Leave.” Professor Minyard flicked Neil in the temple. 

Neil smiled. Neil Josten smiled. 

Lucy was having heart palpitations. 

He slowly drew his feet away from the desk to stand, still smiling. “Have a nice day.”

“You weren’t meant to be here till tomorrow evening, Josten. Explain.”

“You’re busy. Later.”

Lucy watched her professor’s arm reach out to brush along Neil Josten’s forearm as he slid past, and there was a startlingly foreign crinkle of warmth in his eyes. 

The back of Neil’s Palmetto jersey read Minyard. A thin platinum ring, identical to the one her professor wore around his neck, clacked against the doorknob as he pushed it open. She remember her professor occasionally wearing Josten. 

There was a startling curve of her professor’s lips, an almost smile that made him look almost human. 

Neil grinned before slipping out the door. 

Oh, Lucy thought, and then she said it aloud. 

Her professor turned on her, pointing. “If you dare to ask me for a single autograph, I will fail you.” 

Lucy was still smiling. 

“If any word about this gets out, I will fail you.” He warned. 

“Are you married?” Lucy laughed. 

His face was stone. 

“Holy shit. Professor Josten-Minyard. Two cats and a husband.”

“It’s Minyard-Josten.” He said coldly. “Get out.” 

Lucy got out.


By the next class, everyone knew, despite Lucy not breathing a word. Which meant the entirety of Neil Josten’s personal but still public Instagram account displayed his home life. But that was none of his student’s – or anyone’s– business. 

And if Neil started coming in with breakfast on those Tuesday morning lectures during his off season, that was none of their business either. 

McCall Pack, Meet Riverdale

Summary: Your the sister of the late Allison Argent. Soon after her death your father, Chris Argent, Isaac Lahey and you move to France. Not long after you find yourself living with your Dad in his hometown. While Riverdale doesn’t have a supernatural mess, it sure does have a strange and mysterious murder.

Characters: daughter!reader x chris argent, reader x undetermined love interest, Archie Andrews, Jughead Jones, Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, and Allison Argent (mentioned)

Words: 1933

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or the characters. I do not own Riverdale OR the characters, the show is based the Archie Comics which I do not own either. I also do not own any gifs, images or songs that may appear.

Warnings: possible swearing, mention of death, mention of murder, angst. Angry reader and allusion to the murder of Jason Blossom.

Author: Caitsy

Tagging: Ask if you want to be removed or added! At the bottom.

A/N: I’ve completely fallen in love with Riverdale mainly because I grew up reading the comics. IT’S AMAZING! With that being said I will be taking requests for Riverdale!

This is to hold you guys over because Ash and I will be unavailable for a little way. I have tons of homework and I’m not at liberty to say what Ash is busy at!

Master List

Prompt List

ASK US A QUESTION LIST

Originally posted by 5secondsofwolf

Originally posted by daddario

You were humming to yourself as you walked into your house in the town that mimicked Beacons Hills just without the supernatural element. You had moved here when your dad decided moving to his hometown would be ideal following the harsh ending of your family. It wasn’t anything bad other than Allison had died and you wanted out. Riverdale was interesting but not like the dangers of living in Beacon Hills.

“Hey Dad?” You called from the porch. It had a few hidden places holding some weapons just in case.

“Sweetheart.” Your dad, Chris, asked from the dining room table. On the table was a bunch of weapons laid out to be cleaned, “Anything I can do for you?”

“I see it’s the weekly cleaning.” You chuckled as your eyes caught sight of Allison’s beloved Chinese daggers, “Want to order out?”

“Sure.” He chuckled tapping your nose, “You know what I like.”

You laughed before picking up the phone to call Pop’s diner. It was a short wait before you were able to place the order with the waitress. You were pretty sure she was the new waitress.

“It will be ready in twenty minutes.” She replied before the two of your exchanged goodbyes.

You sat at the table going about cleaning the weapons along with your dad. It was second nature and a bonding experience from the moment you learnt what the Argents really did. It was so second nature that your mind went back to the group of friends you had left behind.

Beacon Hills had been the first place that had become a strong permanent home since the moment you made friends. You cherished the times of happiness you had with your older sister and the pack. In the wise words of Robert Frost, nothing gold can stay. It was true.

“Do you want to go practice shooting?” Your dad asked nonchalantly.

“So soon after that death?”

“We’ve delt with worse and you know it.” He pointed a knife at you, “A murder like this is a hell of lot more welcome that the supernatural.”

“Someone still died.” You grumbled slumping down in your chair.

Chris sighed before glancing at the clock watching his remaining child sulk. Both had changed after Allison’s death for the better if you looked at it one way. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when her birthday rolled around and each locked themselves in their rooms.

“Go pick up the food.” He sighed tossing a pair of keys to you.

Without looking you caught them and hastily grabbed one of Allison’s daggers and pushing it into your boot. You quickly inserted the key to the car and drove the distance to the only good diner in town.

You sat there remembering the last time you had drove yourself, well more accurately when you drove. Stiles had been knocked out cold with an attack from the supernatural and you practically did illegal stunts to make it to the hospital.

“Get over it.” You mumbled to yourself as you opened the door of the diner. Inside was a remotely busy rush following the welcome back dance.

You hated dances. The last one your were at was sophomore year with Allison.

“Y/N!” Pop’s grinned, “You’ll have to hang tight, the deep fryer wasn’t working for a couple minutes.

You chuckled before settling into a booth with a good view outside. You watched as a group of teens laughed as they walked into the diner. You saw the resident hot shot Archie Andrews as his friends. Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones. You shifted as they sat int the booth across from yours. It reminded you of your favourite times with the pack.


It was late when the pack dragged their asses to the diner that sold adequately healthy fast food. A lot of your were limping or injured in some kind of way following the shit kicking you had received against the Alpha pack. Thankfully all was right again…for now.

“Is my head supposed to hurt this much?” Stiles groaned shaking his head as Scott patted his bed friend on the back.

“You were knocked unconscious in a car accident. It’s safe to say that yes it should be for the next little while.” Lydia chuckled as she fixed her hair once more.

“What happened to you guys!” A young waiter exclaimed at the sight.

“We were playing a game of football.” You lied quickly.

Placing your orders in you all began to laugh tryng to ease the heightened feelings from the win you had managed. It was a shame everyone was under age and the diner didn’t sell alcohol because you could use some. Inside you all had different kinds of drinks.

“To a safe Beacon Hills!” You exclaimed clinking glasses with everyone.

“For now.” Stiles said meetings everyone’s eyes, “We killed ourselves and came back. It’s going to get a lot worse isn’t it.”

“We can face it. Together. We’ll come out the same.” You said before taking a long sip of your milkshake.

Boy were you wrong on that one.


You shuffled as a tear rolled down your cheek and you brushed it off. You hated thinking of those times at the same time. You missed them so much but in agreement with your dad you both needed to be away. It couldn’t be going to bad given no calls had happened.

“Y/N right?”

You looked over to see Betty looking at you concerned. The others watched the interaction with the same expectations. Veronica and Archie had already tried to make friends with you when you arrived in the summer but you wouldn’t have it.

“Yes.” You grumbled irritated by the tears wanting to move down your cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” You practically hissed before pulling the sleeves of your sweater down further, “Go back to gossiping.”

“We aren’t gossiping, man your one very angst teen.” Jughead said watching you.

“Says you.You’ve been attached to your computer since that kid was killed.”  You groaned leaning back but it stopped when the diner door slammed open with a strong force.

It was too strong so you were on your feet in a defensive position with the Chinese dagger neatly swinging in your hand. You heard a gasp from Betty as the dagger glinted in the dark lighting. Your head tilted as the frantic person landed their eyes on you with a friend sharing the same movements.

“Scott? Stiles?” You exclaimed shocked before the spazzing teenager harshly dragged you out of the diner. A concerned and worried Archie Andrews frantically followed you out with his friends.

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Do you want a part 2? If so let us now and it can be longer, if you want?

PART TWO

Mess o’ Mine

Harry X Reader: Angst, smut

In which Harry’s stolen from you and needs to fix it.

Request? No

Part 2: Mouth o’ Mine // Part 3: Mind o’ Mine


The apartment is dark, lights dimmed so you can set the mood for what you expect to be an emotional performance. Your laptop is plugged into the television and the screen is flickering, splashing colors across your face from a product commercial. Harry is across the world, about to premiere a song from his upcoming album on a popular talk show. Despite how excited you are to hear the music, you’re still nervous for him, as you always are. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll smash whatever he performs, but he always seems to get in his own way.

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Thievery | Peter Parker x Reader

requested: no

summary: reader is peter’s best friend and has just realized her true feelings. after the school day she is walking home and stops at Delmar’s to get a sandwich where a theif comes in and holds everyone at gunpoint. reader is well trained in fighting and takes him on, unaware that he has powers. spider-man arrives on the scene and things get interesting…

word count: 2252 (sorry it’s so long, got carried away)

a/n: this is my first peter parker one and i’m nervous. also idk how i feel about this but i would be up to writing a part 2..? PLEASE give me feedback, that gives me life. anyway hope you enjoy

part 2  part 3

————————

Tucking a strand of Y/H/C hair behind your ear, you steeled yourself to brave the horrors that were the halls of Midtown Science High School. You sucked in a breath and dove in, immediately being shoved from side to side by teenagers preoccupied by their phones, their friends, or their crushes.

“Hey! Hey, Y/N!” You heard your friend Ned shouting for you and pivoted to face him, nearly causing yourself to collide with a huge dude with a mohawk. Luckily, Ned managed to grab your arm and yank you over to him.

Gasping a sigh of relief you thanked him, “Ned, you just saved my life.” To which he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah Y/N, he’s a real spider-man, better actually.” You heard the sarcasm dripping from his mouth before you saw your best friend in the world: Peter Parker. He came into view with his slightly-disheveled (but in a good way) hair. You averted your eyes immediately, feeling that tight sensation in the pit of your stomach. Unfortunately, your inability to meet his eyes did not go unnoticed and Peter’s face melted into worry, “Hey, Y/N? You ok?” His voice was ridden with worry but you just brushed it off.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just thought I might’ve dropped something.” You mumbled your excuse, gesturing to your overflowing hands with a short nod and flashed him an empty smile. He cocked his eyebrows at you, clearly knowing something was up, but let it go.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight and have a Star Wars marathon with us?” Ned asked as he finished locking away his supplies in his locker and slamming it shut with an ear piercing metal bang. You considered his offer, on one hand you loved hanging out with them, you guys always laughed a lot and a new inside joke came out of every single one of these sleepovers. On the other hand, just this week you noticed something that once realized, could not be shoved to the side; you were falling in love with Peter, fast.

Recognizing your hesitation Ned used his persuasive sing-song voice, “There will be Doritosssss…you’re favorite.” He poked you in the side and you threw your head back and giggled. You glanced sideways at Ned, taking in his goofy grin, raised eyebrows and squinted eyes awaiting your response, and then you couldn’t wait any longer and you met Peter’s gaze. He was looking at you with a small smile and his eyes sparkled light brown with sincere affection. Dammit.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun, who’s house?” You gave in, knowing it was in your best interest both to have fun and because they would fight you on it until you said yes anyway. Both the teenage boys’ faces lit up with excitement.

“5:30!! My house.” Peter exclaimed, clapping his hands together in victory. You snorted a bit and nodded.

“I’ll be there. Alright, I have to run home to clean my room and I want to stop at Delmar’s on the way. Peter you wanna come with? It’s right near your apartment.” You let it slip before you could think better of it. Peter got the face that said “I really want to come but…” and you knew exactly what was coming.

“I have the Stark internship…” You said it in unison with him, earning a small smirk and a sigh, “I’m sorry but I really do need to just finish… some, stuff.. before we all hang out.” You nodded and called a goodbye, turning just too early to see the sorrowful look on his face. He wanted to be with you more than you knew…


“Hey Mr. Delmar!” You called as you entered the bodega. The large man behind the counter smiled at you as you made your way to the fat cat on the counter.

“Hola Y/N. You want a number 3? No pickles?” He asks you, you nod in approval.

“Oh you know me so well,” You shot him a wide smile and then began to scan the aisles to pass the time. You strolled past a mother with her little boy and noted that he was grasping a spider-man toy in his hand and tugging at his mother’s arm.

“Mommy, Mommy, wook, I make Pider-man go flying to help.” His baby lisp only made the entire scene that much cuter, his mother looked down and smiled at him, “Yes baby, Spider-man will always protect you.” You felt your heart leap. You always felt this weird connection to the idea of Spider-man, more-so than any other hero.

“So, Y/N, where is your boyfriend?” You hear Mr. Delmar call as you round the aisle closest to him. He rests an elbow on the counter and raises a single eyebrow in an eerie knowing way. You narrow your eyes at him and prepare to give him the “He’s not my boyfriend speech” that you give him at least twice a week. But you stopped short when his eyes went wide and he raised his hands in submission. He cocked his head at you as an attempt to tell you to get away.

“Put your hands in the air,” You heard a rough voice and then felt a jab in your lower back… a gun. You did as he said and felt him pin your hands together and place them where the gun was, which was now by your head. You felt your heartbeat in your neck and everything seemed to slow down. You saw the woman pull her son behind the furthest aisle, she locked eyes with you and you felt her fear echoed in your face.

“Give me the money, NOW” He shouted at Mr. Delmar, who looked at you with the concern of a parent and did as he said, pulling open the cash register. Pulling yourself out of the haze of fear you forced yourself to remember your training. Closing your eyes tight you drew in a serene breath, One, Two, Three.

Throwing your elbow back, you stomped on his booted foot. He drew away from you with a wheeze of surprise and pain. You threw a hard right hook and distracted him as Mr. Delmar reached for the phone and dialed 911. You actually started to have the upper hand as you kicked out his right foot and he fell to his knee, but then something turned the tables, his hands began to steam and his ski mask caught fire… shit


Peter always followed you home before he started searching for crime, only leaving you if he sees a problem or hears sirens. He was sitting up on top of the building behind the ATM across the street from Delmar’s swinging his legs back and forth and waiting for you to return to view with a sandwich in hand. He pulled his phone out of the side pocket of his backpack and scrolled through to see if he had any new texts from Ned. You were taking longer than usual, he stood up on the edge of the building, careful not to be seen, since he was wearing the Spider-man suit, and searched for you.

Peter knew something was up, he couldn’t keep hiding the secret from you, and eventually Ned would probably let it slip. He thought back to earlier this afternoon when you wouldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t want to lose you but he didn’t want to put you in jeopardy with you knowing.

“Karen, can I hear what’s happening in there?” Peter asked his suit lady.

“Engaging enhanced reconnaissance mode” He then heard a commotion and could see the heat signatures of two people fighting. Suddenly, however, one of the figures had their hands and head light up red-hot. Shit, Y/N was in there. Peter shot up and jumped from his perch onto the ATM building and then swung down to Delmar’s, blasting through the door. Nobody would hurt Y/N…


You pulled away from the burning man and backed up as far as you could. But you remembered the frightened woman and decided to try and lead him away from them, “Come on, I’m just a teenager why don’t you come get me?” That was the wrong thing to say, he hurled a fireball at your head. You narrowly avoided it but fell to the floor, tripping over a fallen newspaper stack. Your heart caught in your throat as he moved to stand over you, pulling off his mask to reveal a devilish smirk.

“What are you going to do now, babyface?” He growled at you, showcasing his cracked and missing teeth. You cringed away just kind of moving backwards an inch.

“She doesn’t have to do anything, because I will.” Your head whipped up to find the source of the familiar voice. What you found you couldn’t believe… It was him! Spider-man. He shot a web into the middle of the mans chest and used it to pull him forward, he kicked the man in the chest and then looked over at you. “Get everyone out of here! Get to safety.” You looked up at him mesmerized, taking a moment to fully absorb his words and then nodded profusely. You pulled yourself up, muscles aching from the combat you just did and scurried over to huddled mother. 

“Please, you have to get out of her.” The woman nodded and gripped her son tightly, sprinting for the door as he kept pointing at the real version of the small action figure in his hand. You nodded at Mr. Delmar and he began to get employees out. You slowly leaned around one of the aisles to see where they were. Spider-man was locked in combat with him, continuously shooting webs that would melt over his hands so that the punches didn’t burn. You saw that no one else was left in the store and looked around for an exit route. You were blocked in, they had moved over by the doorway. You wanted to help the hero but didn’t know how. Then it occurred to you.

You leaned close to the ground and made your way to the ice cream refrigerator on the wall on the wall. Desperately, you flung the door open and began ripping ice cream off the walls, until there was enough space for you to be able to fit in it. You stood in front of it and then prepared yourself for bravery you were pretty sure you didn’t actually have.

“Hey! Hot-Head! Come at me, I bet I can still take you.” He turned to you and smiled. You turned around fast to make sure the open fridge was right behind you.

“What-what’re you doing!?” Spider-man shouted, but you shook your head, letting the man get closer. His hands caught fire and he pushed you until you were up against the freezer and you caught eyes with Spider-man. You had about 2 seconds to get him to understand. You gestured your head back, ducked down and pushed yourself on the floor between the mans legs and shouted, “WEB HIM.”

In a second a stream of webs shot over your head and sealed the man in the freezer, door still open (you weren’t trying to kill him). Spider-man walked forward and webbed him over and over again. And you knew your theory worked, the fridge counteracted his heat and he could not melt the webs.

When he was done webbing the thief, Spider-man turned to you and cocked his head in a weirdly familiar way, “Thank you, that was really brave..” He seemed confused but also satisfied and sort of… proud?

“Yeah- uh, no of course.” You replied nervously, noticing that he seemed to have made his voice lower since the last time he talked. You took in his muscles and felt a blush creep over your face.

“Listen, I kind of have to go, the cops are going to get here soon and I really don’t want to have to explain to my parents what happened, also I want to be able to hang out with my friends. They’d never let me leave the house again after this…” You gestured to the scene around you. The masked hero nodded. 

“I get it… more than you know. Come here, I can help.” He motioned for you to come outside by the door with him. “Hold on tight.” He grabbed you around the waist once you were out and shot a web, lifting you into the air. It was exhilarating and you felt your hair whipping around your face. However, the joy ride was short. Spider-man brought you to the ground 3 buildings over from Delmar’s just as the first responders arrived on the scene. Miraculously he took you in the direction of your house.

“Now you don’t have to worry, get home safe. I don’t recommend any more stops tonight.” Spider-man said to you. There was a note of deep concern in his voice and again it felt familiar.

“Thank you,” You whispered breathless. Staring at a real hero, one whom you had just helped catch a villain was unreal. He didn’t answer, he merely raised a gloved hand and smoothed down your unruly hair. Then without warning he shot a web out to his right and swung out of view.

Something in your stomach was telling you that you knew the face underneath that mask, but you tucked away that nagging feeling and hauled-ass home.

bakery au (oldie but a goodie)

Part 1

“He hates me,” Bitty moaned, flopping on his couch. Holster was raiding his kitchen, listening to his rant about Jack Zimmermann.

“I don’t even know what I did wrong! Maybe it was because I told him that he played a hard game last night the first time he came into the bakery? All he does is glare at me and say stuff like ‘Eric, the coffee is too sweet,’ or ‘Eric, you need more protein.’”

“Brah, maybe Zimmermann just has a total resting bitch face,” said Holster as he pulled out a leftover pie from Bitty’s fridge. “Guy seems fucking intense. At least he’s good for business.”

“He keeps on glaring at me! And he comes in, like, three times a week. Orders a coffee and just drinks it in his corner, ignores my attempts at conversation even though, mind you, he has already said some pretty rude stuff!”

“The guy’s a celebrity, he probably has his head so far in his ass and doesn’t care about shit, and also just wants some privacy. Bits, you haven’t been taking pictures of him and posting it on twitter have you?” Holster asked, alarmed.

Bitty gasped, “Adam Birkholtz! I would never!”

“Then just treat him like an antisocial customer, he can’t be the only one going to the bakery who doesn’t want conversation and just wants service and food,” Holster said, dropping down next to Bitty on the couch with two tins of pie.

“I know,” Bitty sighs. “He’s just…so handsome. And he was so nice to Nursey when that fool tripped. And he tips generously. And he’s just so gorgeous, even when he’s glaring at me and speaking in grunts whenever I ask him how his day has been. I just want him to like me!”

Holster navigated the TV to a rerun of Golden Girls and handed Bitty one of the pie tins. “I think that’s your problem. You’re an amazing person, Bits, but maybe you can be a bit too friendly for resting bitch face robozoid Zimmermann. Maybe stop asking him about his day and just let him chill.”

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Wish You Were Here (Tom Holland Smut)

request: i think it was kinda? someone wanted phone sex w tom so here we are i’m too lazy to find it but anon one’s for u babe <3

short summary: tom was a little shit this whole week about the fresh cut and it got u all hot and bothered when he finally posted a pic so u know seeing as u can’t see him phone sex will have to do

length: 1.6k words

warnings: smut

A/N: i’m sorry i know i said i was working on 2 angsty peter fics but i knew i needed to write this as soon as he finally stopped being a snake and showed us that dope cut bc goddamn it looks fucking NICE i’m so s o r r y 
pls forgive me


You toyed with yourself as you paced around your bedroom. Not knowing what exactly to do, you were at a loss. You didn’t want to cave, but at the same time you were beyond caring. The reward would be too great if you would just succumb to your wants.

Tom hadn’t only been messing with his fans all week, but you too. What started as a simple joke tweet had amassed into hysteria in his fandom. He’d initially planned on only waiting a day before showing the world a simple selfie of his new hair cut, but after seeing everyone freak out he decided to take it a step further and mess with everyone for a few days.

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customer satisfaction

Originally posted by shitohsehun

woozi x reader smut

20,480 words

a/n: my first woozi fic, my first seventeen fic, my first kpop fic. this was supposed to be something really simple and silly, but my dumb ass had to go and add a bunch of sadness and backstory to it, as always. as you can see, it got dramatically out of hand. i’m so sorry, i hope someone likes it

~ in which you haven’t gotten off in like six months, and lee jihoon is the pleasure specialist, himself. (he’s also a little bit more than that.)


     “I promise you, you won’t regret this,” Wendy reassured you, but they were words she always said right before she convinced you to do something that you definitely would regret. She’d used them very often over the past year, during which she’d somehow persuaded you into going on roughly thirty blind dates that she’d set up in her desperate attempts to get you “back out there.” You knew her heart was in the right place, but every single date had been a disaster. 

     The problem was that if she knew a guy who wasn’t already taken, there was a reason for it. The first set-up been with a guy named Jinho who still lived with his ex-girlfriend (in a one bedroom apartment) and adamantly refused to wear deodorant; one guy, Jinwoo, told you he had recently quit his job and moved back in with his parents because he hadn’t had enough time to play League; you’d tried so hard to will yourself to forget the second to last guy, but how could you forget the name (Daehyun) of someone who sat down across from you and proceeded to ignore you for the whole two hours it took him to eat a salad, baked potato, and two steaks before “suddenly realizing” he forgot his wallet, telling you he didn’t think you were his type, and leaving you to foot the bill.

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You Understand Right? (Part 2): What Happened?

Characters: Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader / Friend!Reader, Bobby Singer

Length: 1294+ words

TW: Suicide. Depression. Abandonment. Character Death. 

A/N: There was so much interest in continuing this fic! I am so glad you guys enjoyed it, and I really wasn’t expecting this to become a series! Feedback is encouraged!

SERIES MASTERLIST


“Dammit, Y/N! Don’t you dare hang up the phone! What the hell do you mean?!” Dean paced around his motel room, running his fingers through his hair continuously. They had just wrapped up a case in Nebraska, and was planning on visiting Bobby for some down time. Sam reminded his older brother that they haven’t seen Y/N in over several months, and he had been missing her.

“I understand, Dean,” she answered vaguely. Dean’s heart was thumping against his chest, as he tried to understand her message.

“What- What is it, sweetheart? What do you understand?” He started throwing clothes into his duffel bag, knocking on the bathroom door where Sam was currently showering.

“You and Sam need each other… But you don’t need me.” With that, she hung up.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Dean shouted into the phone, knowing that it would be futile. “Fuck.” He hung up his phone, and knocked louder against the bathroom door. “Sam! Get your ass out here.”

Sam opened the door with only his jeans, his face lined with annoyance. “The fuck Dean?”

“We’re leaving NOW!”

“What’s going on? Did you talk to Y/N?” Sam quickly put on his shirt, seeing the gravity of the situation in Dean’s eyes.

“Yea, but she kept saying things,” Dean answered vaguely, shaking his head as he continued to pack their stuff. 

“What did she say?”

“She kept saying how she understands- how she knows that we needed each other, but we don’t need her.”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Why makes her think that? She knows we love her.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Sam. C’mon.”

Both brothers made their way to Bobby’s house with tension between them. The four-hour trip only lasting 3 hours with Dean’s driving. Nothing else had been said. Nothing else needed to be said. Not until they find Y/N, hopefully alive. 

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Only Echoes

My ex’s ghost begins to haunt my apartment a week after the break up. I spot him sitting in our the breakfast nook, sunlight falling like dust through his torso to the rumpled rug in front of the small table. He’s staring out the window, parts of him fading in and out of view.

“No,” I say, grabbing the counter in case my suddenly weak legs betray me. “No.”  

He turns and smiles at me with the weight of the world in his eyes.

I grab my cell phone from the pocket of my sweatpants and call him. One ring. Two rings. Three. 

“Hello?”

My hand tightens around the edge of the counter until I can hear my bones scraping together. “You ass. You don’t get to do this to me. Make it go away.”

He’s silent for a long moment. Then he sighs. “My ghost?”

Yes,” I say. “Get rid of it.”

“You know that’s not how this works,” he says.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to haunt you,” I say. “You broke up with me. That’s how this is supposed to go. So stop.”

Stop or come back.

But he doesn’t say anything else before he hangs up.

I turn to scream at his ghost but, like him, it’s gone.

—————————————————————

“He’s one of those,” my sister says knowingly. She sounds far away and tiny over the computer’s speakers. “You better be careful. Sometimes they don’t leave.”

I consider my cup of cocoa. She’s holding a matching cup half a world away so that they’re connected. I wonder if she’s foregone her usual shot of baileys this time. “What do I do then?”

“Try to move on anyway,” she says. Behind her something peeks around the kitchen doorway and is gone before I can make out who. My sister’s been drinking for a decade and hasn’t once talked about quitting.

“Right,” I say and imagine the poor quality of the speakers hides the hollowness in my voice.

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Eighteen {KJM} (M)

Part 1 | Part 2
The Letter

Description: You’re an eighteen year old bartender and Junmyeon comes in with Baekhyun one day. He hits on you, then feels bad because you’re eighteen, then realizes he just doesn’t care. He likes you.

Genre: Fluff / Smut / Angst

Word Count: 10,384

Warning: Smut

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (Suho) x Reader (feat. Baekhyun)

Author: Admin Xiufairy ㅅㅇㅅ

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

At eighteen, you were perfectly content working at a bar. You just served everybody who came up to you, it was that easy. It was fun for you, but if you had a penny for every time a much older man hit on you, you’d be rich enough to leave the country.

They all backed down when you told them that you were only eighteen thankfully, but you’d begun to wonder exactly why that changed people’s minds. It wasn’t as busy as usual that night, at least at the bar. The floor was always crazy and loaded with people.

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His || Jungkook || 0.6

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6

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David isn't perfect: a PSA

Okay. So after the latest episode (That’s S02E07, ‘Bonjour Bonquisha’) I’ve been seeing a ton of people saying “That was ooc! David would never do that!”

I love David. I love him as much as the next fan, maybe more than is strictly necessary, and I love his flaws, too, and I’m here to tell you
Yes he absolutely would.

And the only way I can think of is to list, under the cut, every point of evidence for why I completely think David would punch someone, along with general flaws that people seem to be more than happy to overlook.

We’re going episode by episode folks and it’s gonna get long but I’ve been awake since 4 am and nothing’s gonna hold me back

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BTS REACTION to S/O talking to stomach while pregnant

Jin

He just walked through the door, feeling as the smell of food covered the whole entire room. He smiled to himself, walking to the kitchen. He couldn’t wait to see you, but what made everything even better was the fact that you were standing there, a spoon in one hand, while the other rested on your stomach as you started to talk about your day. He loved teasing you, although. Even when he found it absolutely perfect. This was one of those times.

“So, we’re talking to unborn babies now?”

Originally posted by bwiseoks

Yoongi

He was exhausted. He had finished his time on producing new music for the comeback. More like exhausting himself to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. But he felt as if it was all worth it the moment he saw you. You were laying on the bed, eyes closed, while rubbing your stomach, humming softly to your stomach. He was mesmerized by the sigh, knowing this was what he was going to come home to from now on. You were his home.

He kissed your forehead and stomach, making you jolt in surprise, before seeing his gummy smile shining in your direction.

“Were you good for Mommy?” He stared at your stomach as you laughed silently. These were the moments he knew he lived for.

Originally posted by sugagifs

Namjoon

He lost his damn phone again. He was searching for it everywhere, his hands shaking as he was desperate to find it. You were just walking out the shower, wondering what was wrong. You shook your head, talking to your unborn child, saying how clumsy and forgetful he could be sometimes. You laughed to yourself, before you felt arms wrap around you from behind. You squeaked softly, stopping mid-sentence.

“Are you talking about me behind my back.. To our unborn child?” He flipped you around to already see you laughing.

He found it to be the most adorable thing, even if your were saying how clumsy he was.

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

Hoseok

He was practicing his new choreo, leaving you to just sit there and watch. You were transfixed on him, and on the way he moved. You couldn’t help yourself from talking to your child, saying how lucky you and your child were to have such a man like him. You meant every word you said, rubbing your stomach with a soft smile. The music wasn’t as loud as it usually was, but you didn’t think it was loud enough for him to hear your discussion. His eyes snapped towards you the second the music stopped, giving you a sweaty smile.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

Jimin

FluffFluffFluff! You were setting up decorations for a ‘Welcome Home’ Party for him. You didn’t expect him to show up so early, so you talked to your unborn child with excitement. He stood in the doorway, watching and listening as you talked to your stomach, smiling gleefully and talking about how much you missed him. About how much you couldn’t wait to see him. His heart clenched in the best way possible, unable to contain his happiness anymore. He rushed up towards you, hugging you as you jumped out of surprise, screaming.

“Ah! I’m so happy to see you, Jagi!” “I’ve missed you so much too,” he kissed you as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You were the one person he swore to be with forever. He found his forever in you.

Originally posted by pjiminiebts

Taehyung

He was so happy to be able to see you again after practice, even though he saw you just this morning. He was very passionate about you, and you knew that. He walked through the door, only hearing the faint sound of humming. He got curious as his ears perked at the sound, his smile never leaving once. You were folding laundry, humming a quiet song to your stomach, sometimes even explaining the lyrics. He watched you silently for a few seconds, before saying his hello’s. He smiled at you, kissing your forehead.

“You’re too cute for my own good..”

Originally posted by bangtanroyalty

Jungkook

The members had just left your shared house, and he was in a giddy mood already as it was. You were cleaning up the dishes, smiling to yourself as you talked to your stomach. You talked about the boys, your day, how much you couldn’t wait for your child to be born, how much you loved Jungkook.. It was as if this moment came from a fairytale. And he loved it. He listened to everything, leaning his head against the wall as he admired you. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, he found you so perfect. Once you finished, that’s when he showed his presence.

“I don’t think I can get any luckier than now, Y/N..”

Originally posted by nochuie