come take a tumble with me

the-queen-sees-all  asked:

I was wondering, what if Harry and Hermione had met before Hogwarts?

The first time Harry Potter met Hermione Granger, she was standing with her chin up and her hands on her hips a few paces from the old olive tree in the schoolyard, glaring into the far distance. The wind was trying to twist and buffet her hair into her face, but mostly it was just tangling cheerfully with itself.

Dudley and Piers were busy kicking all the other kids off the play structure, so Harry had retreated out into the grass. He stood a safe distance from the weird girl who was pretending to be a statue and thought wistfully of lunch.

“There’s a fallen bird’s nest,” the girl said in a rapid and certain tumble of syllables. “The boys knocked it out of the tree, but I chased them off and I’m hoping the mama bird comes back. I’m Hermione Granger. We just moved here.”

“Harry,” he said.

“How’d you get that scar?” she said.

“Car accident.”

“That’s a weird scar for a car accident.”

Harry shrugged. “It killed my parents.”

She blinked quickly at him and even at that distance he wished vaguely that she wore glasses, too, because her gaze was something that really felt like it should have some built-in bluntedness. “Mine are dentists. Mum’s taking me to the library after school, want to come?”

-

Before they went into Diagon Alley, Harry asked Hagrid if they could find a payphone. Hermione picked up on the first ring.

“Harry! Where have you been? I’ve been trying and trying to call–”

“Sorry, yeah. Um, so, I’m not coming back to school next year, I…” Harry drifted off, staring at Hagrid’s massive moleskin shoulders. The giant man saw him looking and gave him a tentatively cheerful little wave. “It’s been weird, Herm.” He pressed his forehead into the phone stand, but not too hard. “I think you’re the only thing I’m really going to miss.”

“Harry,” Hermione said and Harry started to frown, because that wasn’t her stern and startled voice. That was the voice that meant she was off down a charging war path of other thought and might not have heard him at all. “I’ve been reading.”

“Of course you’ve been reading,” he said. “I’ve been being forcibly hidden from a swarm of post office owls–”

“You’re in books,” she said in breathless delight, squeaking over the telephone line. “First thing we did, of course, after the professor explained, was get her to escort us to a bookstore– a whole bibliography, Harry, a whole world’s bibliography I haven’t even touched– how am I ever going to–” She took in a little calming breath, and murmured, “Different infinities, it’s okay, Hermione, okay.” A sharp exhale and then she tumbled right back into her rushing rivelet of a sentence. “And I picked up a good dozen, besides the school books, of course, and Harry, you’re in books, in Dark Wizardwork of This Century and A Modern Wizards’ History and October’s End: A Biography–”

“Hermione,” said Harry with slow enunciation. “Are you a wizard, too?”

“A witch, I think,” she said. “But I’m still reading up on the sociology of it all.”

-

Hagrid wouldn’t say Voldemort’s name, but Hermione would. She came over with a stack of books up to her chin, gave the Dursleys her normal pointed little stare that said she’d like to set them a little on fire, and curled up in his cupboard with him.

He supposed she probably could learn how to set them on fire, now, if she really wanted to.

She gave him passages and excerpts with his name in them, with his parents’ names, a home he hadn’t known. There were pictures of a ruined house with the smoke drifting in little curls of ink. There was his mother, smiling and waving in black and white. There was his mother, laid out on the floor, with a sober little caption below it. That picture was still, except for curtains fluttering in the window.

Hermione finally dragged her face far enough up from the pages to see Harry holding his own hand very tightly, and then she closed the book and reached for one about which magical creatures you should pet and which you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I wanted to know.”

“I’m still sorry.”

-

The Grangers drove Harry, Hermione, Hedwig, and their trunks to King’s Cross Station. Mrs. Granger kissed the top of Hermione’s head while Mr. Granger mussed Harry’s mop of dark hair affectionately, and then they swapped children and repeated the treatment. Hermione pushed her hair back out of her face and marched them all to Platform 9 ¾, the entrance mechanism of which she had read all about.

“Before you go,” Mrs. Granger said, “let’s buy you some sandwiches? I don’t know what sort of food they’ll have past that–”

“There’s a trolley,” Hermione said, but her parents dragged them off to a snack kiosk anyway, Harry happily in tow.

As they were on Hermione’s tight schedule, there were plenty of compartments open, and they took one all to themselves– well, to themselves, Hedwig, and Hermione’s books, which took up two seats. (Harry would wheedle Hagrid into taking him to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping that year, where he would get Hermione a carry-all bag for her small personal library.)

Hermione took a long preparatory breath while Harry unwrapped his sandwich. “Harry? What if I go and sit down under the Hat and I just sit and sit there, and then it says I’m not a witch at all?” Hermione said, the words getting more squashed together and higher-pitched as she went. “I’m not magic, it just got confused, and they send me home? Harry, I don’t want to be a dentist. Other people’s mouths are disgusting–”

“You’re not going to get kicked out,” Harry said, chewing amiably on his sandwich. It was not good, but the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with any breakfast for him and he hadn’t wanted to bother the Grangers about it either. It was a bit dry on the way down, but it settled warmly in his belly.

“But what if I do?”

“I’ll stage a protest,” said Harry. “Refuse to do my homework til they reinstate you.”

“You’re not going to do your homework anyway.”

“See how dedicated I am to you.”

She made a dismissive little noise at him, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Hermione,” he said, and she lifted her bush of hair to look at him. “You’re the most magical person I know. It’s gonna be alright.”

She gave a long slow blink but whatever she might have said was interrupted by an uneven knock at the door. “Um,” said the pudgy boy standing there. “I’ve lost my toad.”

Hermione leapt to her feet. “Where did you see him last?”

Harry followed in the wake of her forward charge, but he brought the rest of his sandwich with him.

-

(Harry did not know this and would not know this until Mrs. Granger mentioned it casually over a Christmas dinner years and years later– but she and Mr. Granger reported the Dursleys for child abuse and neglect, over and over.

The reports got lost– minds scrubbed down, papers vanished– but they kept calling in reports. They considered kidnapping. They couldn’t imagine why the wizarding world might want to keep their chosen one somewhere so toxic, why they might want to keep this underfed child and his messy hair with those people.

“My mother left me a blood protection spell,” said Harry, whose scar had not ached in years. He poked at his mashed potatoes under the focused attention of Mrs. Granger’s stern little forehead wrinkle. “I had to live with family, blood family.”

“Then they should have made them treat you right,” Mrs. Granger said, as though it was that simple.

Mr. Granger gave Harry another helping of peas.)

-

On the steps of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy thrust out his hand to the Boy Who Lived, who surveyed the open palm with amusement. “Thanks,” said Harry. “But I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

The redheaded, freckly, hand-me-down clothes boy Malfoy had been bothering snorted. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the kid with the rat from the train,” Hermione said. “And the spell that didn’t work.”

“It was a cool rhyme anyway, though,” Harry said. “Hi, I’m Harry, this is Hermione.”

“Yeah, she said, then. I’m Ron– uh, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah, he said,” Harry said, rolling his eyes Malfoy’s direction. “Come on, you wanna stand with us? Hermione will tell you about the ceiling.”

“It’s enchanted!” said Hermione.

-

When Hermione founded SPHEW, Harry was not surprised. He had spent too many schoolyard days escorting spiders to safe spaces, keeping vigil over fallen bird’s nests, and watching Hermione stand up on her desk chair in heated pitched verbal battles with teachers. She’d driven at least two teachers to tears and taught most of them at least a few new vocabulary words.

-

Over summers and holidays, Harry and Hermione took Ron to the movies, to the seashore, to Hermione’s top three favorite libraries. Hermione’s Aunt Meg taught them how to whittle under a cloud of cigarette smoke that clung to Harry’s hair until he washed it out.

In this life, there were things in the Muggle world that Harry missed, that he wanted to see again. He loved Hogwarts, and he nominally went home to the Dursleys each summer, but he knew he always had a bed at the Grangers’. He knew the weird system they used to organize the books on their shelves. He’d pass Mrs. Granger the marmalade in mornings before she had to ask. He got free dental check-ups all his life, which was good because the Dursleys rarely bothered taking him into the dentist.

The whole Granger family tore apart newspapers every morning, calling article excerpts across the table and pointing each other to their favorite journalists. Before Hermione even first stepped onto Hogwarts grounds she got a subscription to the Daily Prophet. During Harry’s fourth year, Mr. and Mrs. Granger got Arthur Weasley to buy them an owl and then began an unending campaign of furious letters to the editor that never got published.

-

In a crumbling boat shed, Severus Snape died, but first he pressed a shining bundle of memory into Harry’s hands.

The fight was still going– Neville newly broad and certain; Luna whipping out quiet, barbed little curses; Ginny charging like an army in and of herself. Hermione had her arms full of basilisk fangs. Ron was moving people like bishops and knights. But Harry had a long damp walk before him, so he had time to wade through that life not his own.

Severus had been a lot of things– one of them was in love. Harry dragged his feet through forest mulch, seeing a little redheaded girl in sunlight, hands not his own offering her transformed flowers. It had been just them for so long. For Severus, for so long, there had been no one but him and Lily.

Even in Hogwarts, Severus had drifted through the classrooms and common room and library. He had believed in magic, in the cool slide of good knives through dried roots, and in Lily– always, always in Lily– Lily in sunlight, Lily chewing on her thumbnail over Transfiguration homework, Lily flicking soapsuds at him in her kitchen at home over summer, Lily pig-tailed and seven, wide-eyed as he showed her the first magic she’d ever seen, a leaf to a flower, a bit of sunlight to a bit of fire.

He had loved, and it had been a real thing. He had fucked up, and it had been a real thing, that heartbreak, that regret.

When Harry turned the Stone in his hand and saw his mother step into pseudo-life in that forest clearing, he thought I wish I’d known you. He thought about how she was in sepia and gray, here, just like in the pictures in the pages of Hermione’s books.

But he was also thinking about Severus. He was remembering Lily in sunlight, remembering her walking away, remembering her in that same cold photographed sprawl but in color–in grief–in bruised knees and heaving gasps.

Severus had been the first to find Lily’s body and it had felt like someone had cut the sunlight out of him. Harry was living through that grief, but he was also living through the wail of the child crying unacknowledged. His tiny pudgy hands were wrapped around the guardrail of his crib.

Harry was thinking about a girl standing in a field like a statue, hands on hips. He was thinking about Hermione’s raised hand ignored in Potions, or the way Snape had sneered that he didn’t see a difference in her cursed teeth. Love had made him brave, perhaps. It had killed him, but it had not made Severus good.

Harry wondered if his mother would have escorted spiders to safe places, if she would have stood guard over fallen bird’s nests, if she had worried herself to pieces that first time on the Hogwarts Express about the Hat telling her she didn’t really belong.

“I wish I’d known you,” he told the specter of Lily Potter. He held his own hands tight.

For Harry, for so long, there had been no one but him and Hermione. Even in Hogwarts, there were things only she would understand– parking meters, the cobweb ceiling of his cupboard, the silence of marmalade at breakfast. Harry believed in magic and he believed Hermione Granger was the most magical thing he knew.

“They’ll be alright,” he said. “I’ll be alright. I was alright, mum. I wish I’d known you– but I wasn’t alone.” He squeezed his hands tighter– Hermione showing him her favorite spots in her favorite libraries; Ron shyly showing them the Burrow like it was anything less than a magnificent masterpiece of warm rooms and patchwork architecture; Hermione standing in the field like a statue, bushy-haired and seven years old, jaw set. “She wasn’t alone, either,” he said. “And she’ll be alright. Ron will be alright. I have to do this, don’t I?”

“We are so proud of you,” Lily said.

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Sorry,” said Harry, and wondered if Hermione was going to be able to read the little passages and excerpts with his name in them, with those un-moving pictures and the sober captions underneath.

He dropped the Stone.

-

When Harry Potter died for the first time, crumpled in forest mulch, he didn’t go to a squeaky clean King’s Cross Station. There were no crescent moon glasses to twinkle kindly at him.

He stood under an old olive tree and a little girl looked up at him with those eyes that needed shielding, needed blunting, needed a manufacturer’s warning. “A wind’s coming,” she said. “You can just go. It will be easy.”

He stood outside Diagon Alley, a Muggle payphone tucked between his shoulder and ear. “You’re in books,” she said, with a breathlessness he’d barely heard for years. There had been too much weight on his shoulders, on hers. “You’re done,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Go on, tap three bricks up and two to the left.”

He stood in Godric’s Hollow, in the snow, holding her hand, looking at the ruined house. “You should have had this,” she said. She was seven and small, not nineteen and weary like she had been in life. The sky was overcast but there was sunlight glinting in her hair. “You can still have this. You can have everything.”

“You’re not real,” Harry said.

“But you are,” she said. “There’s a wind coming. It will be easy.”

“You’ve never done anything easy in your life,” he said.

She took both his hands– hers were so small against his grown fingers, his broad palms, and how had they done everything with hands that small? Basilisks and werewolves; shouting down teachers from atop desk chairs.

Harry was sitting in his cupboard in the light of its single bulb and he was too big for this space, his shoulders curling forward, his head bowing. She was standing there with sunlight still in her hair and her arms piled high with books. “You don’t belong here,” she said. “It will hurt. You won’t fit, if you go back. Everything can be easy. Everything can be fine. It doesn’t have to hurt, ever again.”

“Hermione,” he said and leaned forward, put his hands on her hands where they were gripping her books. “It’ll be alright.” He smiled and she was staring at him with those eyes, those goddamn eyes. “We never fit, remember?”

“We tried,” she said and Harry squeezed her small hands gently.

“Send me back,” he said. “I want to go home.”

-

After the battle, as Hogwarts rang with frantic healing, crushing grief, and raging celebration, the three of them retreated to the library. Hermione hauled them down narrow aisles until she found her favorite tucked-away nook and they all collapsed on sagging sofas that seemed to not have been touched at all by the war.

“Well,” said Hermione. “What now?”

Ron let his head flop back against the seat, hair tumbling all over his pale forehead. “I’m going to nap,” he said. “For a month.”

“That’s not physiologically possible,” said Hermione. “Or if it is, then it’d be a coma.”

“It’s a metaphor,” Ron said, then: “no, wait, a hyperbole.” Hermione beamed at him. He blushed a little and elbowed her gently.

“After this, you’ll be in books, you know,” Harry told her.

“Not– I mean–” Hermione rubbed at her nose furiously. Ron laughed enough to wake up and sit up, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

While Ron came up with outlandish titles for Hermione’s eventual many biographies, Harry pulled his feet up onto the sofa. He watched the candles float quietly between the shelves.

this is a story about a sorcerer and a knight. well, a knight-in-training. they go by KiT, a nickname for their title, but a perfectly good name for anyone. kit’s a good squire, for the most part, but they have a knack for getting into trouble.

this time the trouble is they just fuckin decked another knight in the middle of the tavern.

“keep your hands off my friend,” kit tells the shocked personification of grossness, now sitting on his ass on the ground. kit’s pretty sure the message was already sent though the ass-kicking, but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough.

the man splutters for a minute before finding his tongue. “you— you— you piece of shit, you’ll pay for this. i have powerful friends.”

“bring it on,” kit retorts. they’re feeling pretty confident right now.

they’re feeling significantly less confident as two other men step up behind the first guy.

“outside,” the first growls.

“we’re zit and wedge, and we’re going to kick your ass,” the second one clarifies. 

zit nods. “but we don’t want to make a mess of you on mal’s floor, since it was just scrubbed and all.”

kit glances at mal, who they rather thought was a friend, to find her nodding appreciatively. “brawlers these days are so polite. out you three go.”

kit wilts. “but… there’s just one of me.”

it’s around this time, when the two other guys are starting to crack their knuckles and look like they’re going to drag kit outside whether they like it or not, that someone else pushes their way through the small crowd that’s forming.

“’scuse me, pardon me. hello. what’s going on here?”

she’s got bright blue hair, of the kind that you get from mucking around with magic too much. everyone immediately reassesses the situation, and watches her warily. a sorcerer can quickly change the way a brawl plays out, if they feel like intervening. kit sincerely hopes she does.

“miss,” zit jumps in before kit can get a word in, “this young… person, here, just brutally attacked my poor friend, and me and wedge think we ought to be able to teach them a lesson in manners.”

the sorcerer studies him for a moment, as if considering his statement, and kit grabs their chance.

“pimple here is completely leaving out the fact that their friend wouldn’t leave my friend alone, after she asked him to go away twice!”

zit bristles, and looks to the sorcerer for her judgment.

she considers for while. “can anyone vouch for this knight’s statement?”

“i was the one getting hit on!” tea shouts from behind kit’s shoulder.

the sorcerer digests the witness’s statement. “hm. i’m inclined to see this as a case of self-defense, through the channel of someone who was not the self being hit on. i would suggest that all the parties involved accept the ruling of “he who gets their ass kicked probably deserves it”, and move on.”

“fat chance,” wedge growls. “the pack sticks together. we have to defend our leader.”

werewolves, kit sighs internally. it just figured.

there’s a dramatic pause, then the sorcerer says cooly, “you try it, and you’ll get your asses kicked too.”

zit and wedge eye her warily. kit eyes all three of them, which is hard with only two eyes.

“i reckon we could take a sorcerer,” wedge hypothesizes— an idea that would be quickly proven false in any laboratory experiment.

but this is a tavern, and the sorcerer has a delayed reaction, only raising her hands when zit charges at her. kit flinches back, sure she’s about to be crushed, but the next moment flames explode in the small space between the sorcerer and zit. there’s a yelp, and mad scrambling back from the sorcerer.

“i have nowhere to be until book club at midnight,” the sorcerer informs them calmly, her hands still out, palms up and ready to summon more flame. kit squints at them. “so i have plenty of time to teach you a lesson.”

apparently rescinding their hypothesis, all three werewolves make a mad dash for the door and disappear into the night.

the sorcerer smiles victoriously, and shakes her bright hair out of her face. kit squints at her scalp as she turns to them. “all good?”

“yes, thank you,” tea says, sounding impressed. “wow… a fire summoner. i didn’t know there were any teenagers powerful enough.”

kit has no other specific places to squint, so they just stare hard at the sorcerer’s face. “yeah… thanks. that was really cool.”

she waves their thanks off with one hand, a few strands of smoke issuing from her sleeves. “all in a day’s work. i’ll be off now.”

kit leaves tea with mal, though they frankly no longer trust her so much, and follows the sorcerer out the door. “hey, wait! you, blue hair magic person. what are you?”

“a masked vigilante,” she says, after a pause. “without the mask, because magic.”

kit blinks at that, before realizing she’s perfectly right. besides the definite ideas that she’s female and blue-haired, kit seems to forget what she looks like one moment to the next. kinda neat, honestly, though disconcerting.

they shake their head. “no, i mean… you’re not a sorcerer. i’ve seen people summon fire, and it comes from a loosely closed fist, not an open hand. also, your hair is dyed, not magically changed.”

she doesn’t answer for a moment, then looks stumped, and continues to not answer.

“well?” kit asks.

“fine,” she admits. “i’m a sorcerer in training, but the fake mask is about the most complicated magic i can do. the hair is so people will take me seriously when i do masked vigilante stuff.”

“and the fire?” kit persists.

after a moment, she shakes out her sleeve, sending a tiny purple dragon tumbling into her other hand. “my helper. my fire aid, if you will. you’re the first person to notice, you know?”

“just logic and being awesome,” kit says with a shrug, feeling pleased. neither are skills they get to show off a lot. they kinda feel like they’ve earned something for it. “hey, can i ask you a question?”

after a pause, the sorcerer in training says, “go for it.”

“why do you wait a second before responding to anything?”

their question is punctuated by a pause before she answers.

then the sorcerer motions kit closer, and tucks her hair behind her ears. the knight-in-training leans in, gaping. there’s a green dragon no longer than the length of one finger perched behind her ear, claws holding onto her piercings for balance. it unwedges one tiny wing to wave at them.

“what the fuck,” kit says, unable to find a reason for this from logic or being awesome.

“what the fuck,” the dragon repeats, pushing its snoot practically inside the sorcerer’s ear.

“this is peep,” she says. “my hearing is shit, so it helps me out. i call it my hearing aid.”

the draconian hearing aid preens under the knight-in-training’s stare.

“shit,” kit mumbles, for lack of better words.

“shit!” the dragon crows, gleefully.

Another Man’s Treasure

A/N: This is a completed five-part mini-series because @alrightpetal and I have this thing about making Harry super vulnerable and flawed. So here you go.

// Another Man’s Treasure // Mind on a Mission // Take the Lead // Worth the Pain // Wings of Butterflies


…I’m gonna show you tonight! I’m alright! I’m just fine! And you’re a tool so, so what?

You belted your heart out up on stage, pumping your fist in the air to empower your words even further. It was a good thing you knew all the words, too, because your mates had bought you so many drinks your vision was crossed and blurred you couldn’t have read the lyrics to an unfamiliar song. Then you would have just been a blubbering fool butchering a karaoke performance. And that would have been embarrassing.

Singing yourself blue in the face—and drinking yourself into oblivion—served as the perfect outlet for your aching heart. Hours earlier, you’d been dumped. Or more accurately, replaced.

It’d been a week since you’d heard from your long-term boyfriend, and while you knew he was on holiday with his mates—a holiday you hadn’t been invited on—it was still odd that you hadn’t heard from him at all. Not even a text to let you know that he’d made it to Amsterdam. You didn’t expect too much communication; you trusted him to treat you right, but, silly you, you thought your boyfriend might actually miss you and want to say hi.

Last night after seven and a half days of nothing, you completely lost it and called him forty-seven times in a row. And not a single one was answered. So you rang your closest friends and they came over, laptops and tablets in hand, and intense cyber-stalking commenced.

It only took thirty-four minutes for your good mate Lindsey to unearth a damning post on Insta that your boyfriend was tagged in by a girl you kind of knew. The picture itself wasn’t awful; honestly you couldn’t make out much besides silhouettes and drinks. Even the caption wasn’t much; all it said was, “this guy” with a random slew of emojis. But the funny thing was, when you tried to search for it yourself, nothing came up. Meaning you were blocked. You weren’t meant to see this picture.

Twenty-two minutes of super-sleuthing was enough time for your oldest friend Ashley to find every social media account the girl had, and then eventually uncover her phone number.

In thirteen minutes you had a text drafted to her that was so long it was broken into five different parts when you hit send.

And one minute and fifty-four seconds is all the time your boyfriend—well ex-boyfriend—allowed you to speak to him today before he told you he was coming back tomorrow and there’d be no need for you to come see him. Tomorrow or ever again.

So your mates did what they knew best. They took you out, got you absolutely smashed, and then got you up on stage to pour your heart out. Somewhere in between I Will Survive and Total Eclipse of the Heart, you got a bit weepy and ended up calling your brother from the toilet. It took you awhile to realize you weren’t actually sobbing to him but his voicemail, and as soon as you did you pulled yourself back together and headed out for another drink and a rousing rendition of Since U Been Gone.

The few other patrons in the pub were hardly paying attention to your drunken warbling on stage, only breaking from their conversations when your mates would cheer at the end of each song, some of them even offering half-hearted claps. If they were annoyed, they certainly didn’t let on. Most likely, they pitied you; for Christ sake, you pitied you.

When your song ended, you finished the rest of your drink and began flipping through the songbook. Liberation was surging through you and you wanted a song to match your mood; something to serve as a proper fuck you to the twat you’d wasted the last few years of your young life on.

The book closed on your fingers, and you stumbled back in surprise. Were books automated now too?! You still weren’t over the automated tills at Tesco, would you now have to get used to robotic books closing on you when they’d had enough?!

“[Y/N].”

You looked up, your blurred vision slowly coming into focus as you swayed on the spot. A robotic book didn’t close itself on you, a person had closed it. Which was rather rude of them.

[Y/N],” he repeated. Finally he came into view and you cocked your head in confusion.

“Hazza?” you slurred, taking a step closer to get a better look. You nearly toppled off the stage, but Harry was quick to grab you by the waist and steady you before easing you down.

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baby fever [parenthood series #1]

 summary: Bucky wants a baby. || fluff & nsfw || [future]dad!bucky x reader ||

warnings: your heart will grow like the grinch at this sweet content, nsfw, smut, trying for a baby, fear of parenthood, [intentional] unprotected sex, mentions of prenancy, mentions of Steve/Natasha and their baby Sarah

note: I’ve been posting dad!bucky fics here and there, so I decided to make a legit series and stuff about it called ‘Parenthood.’ This series will show everyone how Bucky’s little family was started, and how they progress through milestones and all of that. Here’s the first part called ‘Baby Fever!’ 

Originally posted by thewiinterrsoldiier

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City of Love

Pairing: Teacher!Derek x Teacher!Reader

Warning: NSFW, 18+, spanking, vaginal sex, oral (fem receiving, and male), no dk unfortunately

A/n: It’s very rare that I write fluffy Derek smut, but damn I do love it as well. This was a request, and I did alter the request slightly so apologizes but I just find this works <3 Thank you to @ninja-stiles for reading through this <3

Masterlist

Originally posted by iminlovewithderekhale


“Remember class, we’re meeting at the airport tomorrow morning at four am.” You announce to your class full of teenagers who were chatting among one another. You could tell they were excited about their trip to Paris, France but you could bet you were more excited than all them put together. It was always a dream of yours to go to Paris, you loved everything about the city.

When your principal asked you to organize a trip abroad for your class, you couldn’t help but choose the one place that fascinated you the most. You ran it through the school board, highlighting the array of activities that were available over in France; The Louvre, The Eiffel Tower and Disneyland. Six days away from Beacon Hills was everything you needed.

“Miss Y/L/N, what other teachers are coming with us?”

“Miss Martin and Mr Hale.” His name fell from your lips with a hiss, and the class giggle at your tone. “Right, have a good evening and I’ll see you bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow.”

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Which Witch

Summary: Dan and Phil are neighbors, witches, and enemies. Their feud leads to Dan cursing Phil, only for Phil to curse him right back. 

Genre: smut

Word Count: 4.9k

TW: slightly neglected aftercare

(i had this in my drafts in google docs with everything except the smut scene written and i’d completely forgot about it so!!! enjoy my dudes)

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This is one of the older fics I’ve read, but definitely one of my favorites. Lots of fluff that will make your day. 

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood (21k)

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that’s ever so cross.

Honestly, she has made some of the best fics I’ve read. I love how even after trying everything, the one person that he tries to stay away from, pulls them together in order to help. 

Lumos by birdsofshore (41k) NC-17 

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

welp, it had to be at some point, but I do really love this fanfic. It’s not pure smut, but I think it is really well written which makes it good even besides the smut. 

Leo Inter Serpentes by Aeternum (618k) 

Just one conversation between two eleven year old boys goes slightly differently, and the world changes. Just how much will be different with Harry being sorted into Slytherin, and how much will stay the same?

I honestly love these retellings, it makes me see how different it would actually be if Harry were to be sorted into Slytherin. It’s a good take on things. 

Love Comes Tumbling by taradiane (22k)

‘Harry’s thoughts were of how much he would have done differently with Malfoy over the years, and of Dumbledore’s final words to the other boy … “It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.” Maybe, Harry wondered, he could find some mercy, too, and give Malfoy the second chance that Dumbledore had believed him worthy of.’

love this fic, read it!!!!!

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (302k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

this always makes me cry so hard. But it is definitely worth the read, its one of the older fics I have read but for sure one of the best. READ IT!

Something I Don’t Want to Stop by traintracks (16k)

It’s Harry and Draco’s eighth year, the Houses have been all but demolished in favor of unity, and they’re being forced to room together. How ever will they cope?

I love Draco in this fic, he’s so snarky and acts with just the right amount of sass. 

Who Shagged Harry Potter? by Faith Wood (6k)

One beautiful sunny Sunday the Slytherins wake up after a raunchy night only to discover a very naked Harry Potter sleeping in their dormitory. Naturally, they ask themselves a logical question: Who the hell shagged him?

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrimsOn (180k)

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

I love this interpretation and it’s a really well written fic. 

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (57k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

I love this a lot, everything is perfect. Draco Malfoy in this fic is just so Draco Malfoy and it’s absolutely perfect in my eyes. 

  • I will be updating this post or uploading new recommendations frequently, if you have any requests just send them to be or ask and I will happily create something for you! :) 
Jimin’s runaway daughter. pt.3

Jimin’s DaughterAU!

Genre: Angst

[pt.1] [pt.2] [pt.3] [pt.4] [pt.5 Finale]

Warning: Sensitive Content (mentions of abuse; read at own risk)


Originally posted by jeonyween

Dad went to work early this morning and so did mum, I was left alone in the house and I was actually glad to be by myself - with no one else around me. Now, I wouldn’t mind if it were dad keeping me company, but his schedules were always so full that it was rare for me to be home with him and only him. Usually, it’d be mum and I here - she’d finish work at your regular five o’clock and be home by six. That’s the time I dreaded the most, nothing’s worse than being home with her, alone. Dad never gets back until late, if he even bothers returning at all for the night. Sometime’s he’d practice until ungodly hours and just end up staying with his members at the dorm because he didn’t want to come back at four in the morning and wake us all up. I’d see him less during comeback times because he’d be so busy, not that he’s not busy near enough all year round but I could end up going days without seeing him because he just couldn’t find the time to stay at home. For that, I missed him a lot and that was also the reason why he would never believe me when I say that mum hates me.

Sometimes it’d get really lonely, I’m homeschooled because my mother decided it was best for me to stay and learn from home so that I wouldn’t attract unnecessary attention that could damage dad’s reputation, but really she only started keeping me away from the outside world when she started beating me, the real reason why she doesn’t want me out there was because of the injuries I would have, which would of course attract attention. My mother was awful, but I can’t deny that she’s smart. She’d only hit me if she knew dad wasn’t coming up that night, so she doesn’t end up risking being caught.

The dreaded time of day was inching closer and closer by the second, mum was going to be home any minute now and it’d be the first time I was alone with her since running away yesterday. I remembered her words, or more so ‘threats’ so clearly, the amount of venom I felt from her voice surprised me because I didn’t die then and there after she had whispered in my ear. She beats me so badly, sometimes I wonder why she doesn’t just kill me altogether. Why she doesn’t just take out a knife from the kitchen drawer and aim it directly at my heart. I assume that the pain the knife would bring, would be easier to handle than the constant punches, the kicks, the hair pulling and the scratches. Because the aftermath of her beatings are mentally traumatising, but if she killed me with a knife, I’d be dead and wouldn’t even have to think about anything else after. If you can’t tell already, I’m obviously an optimistic person - please note my sarcasm. I used to be a bright child, people always thought I was a smaller version of my dad because of how much of a ‘sunshine’ I was, knowing that my father was part of the sunshine line of BTS. But when the day came where my mother told me she no longer loved me, I knew I had changed.

I was currently in the kitchen, cutting up some onions for tonight’s dinner as I heard my mum walk through the front door, with a few clicks of her heels as she took her shoes off to heavy footsteps coming my way. I held my breath as I heard her come closer, tears already brimming my eyes because I was so petrified of her.

“I’m home, bitch.” I turned slowly and faced her, but not once could I look her in the eyes, I was simply too afraid to do so. “I get back and you don’t even know how to greet me, did I not teach you your manners? Is this how it is after you’ve called me a bitch in front of your dad?” She taunted me, she knew very well where my breaking points were - because she’s my mother of course she’d know, and that’s what always gives her the upper hand.

“Welcome home mum.” I say as I placed the knife down on the side of the cutting board, walking over to her to greet her properly. I didn’t need her to tell dad that I was now being rude to her, she probably would anyway, but I didn’t want to risk the little chance I had of him even believing me.

I felt my cheek sting, she slapped me across my face and as I looked up at her - she showed no remorse. Instead, the devilish smile she wore tainted my life. It was an image that’d cause me to wake up because it haunted me in my nightmares, something that was so mentally scarring and no matter what it is I tried to do, or how hard I tried to remove that image, I couldn’t.

“Does it hurt, my child? I hope it does. I told you you’d be punished for what you’ve done, and here’s your punishment right now. You told your dad everything didn’t you? That I abuse you, that I don’t love you? It’s just too bad he’ll never believe you, isn’t it?” She hit my head after every single question she asked, her force stronger with every hit but I couldn’t retaliate. She kicked the back of my legs, causing me to tumble forwards. My knees hit the ground as I yelped.

“Don’t think for a second that you’re going to get away with this. Don’t bother screaming either, because no one will help you. Not even your own dad believes in your words and he’s not going to come home any time soon, so it’s just going to be me and you. Like the good old times, where I get to take my anger out on you because you’ve been a terrible daughter, and you can enjoy it.”

Her words didn’t quite end there, as she would beat me she would yell nasty names at me. Call me a useless child that she wish she would have aborted years ago. A child she shouldn’t have had, that dad doesn’t love me, that he’s only doing this because the fans would question him if anything would have ever happened to me. I didn’t want to believe in her words, but it made sense. Everything made sense. When she got tired, she left me there as she continued to finish off the cooking I had left. Was she mentally sane? I doubted her sanity, but then again - I was doubting my own. Knowing that she was done with me, I struggled my way into my room locking the door behind me. I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw all the cuts and bruises forming as I cried at my ugly self. Her beatings no longer hurt, like people would say - if something happens so much and so often, it becomes a regular routine that your body just gets use to and for me, the abuse was the regular routine that my body was accommodated to. The closer I looked at the injuries, the more I’m convinced that my mother was smart. All the areas that were hurt, they looked like injuries I would get from falling. She knew exactly what she was doing, and that was something I was afraid of. Because it’ll always be her word against mine, and nobody would listen to a child. A child who has a wild imagination like me.


pt.4?

(((A little background - I’m dming a Pathfinder game for my siblings, who are 13 and 10-who-acts-7. It’s my first time dming a game that’s not pre-made, and I came up with a troglodyte (“trog”) filled mine for them to clear out. My brother the 13yo is our rogue, and my sister is our fighter. Our NPC cleric went missing shortly before the rest of the group (my siblings and the NPC wizard) entered the mine. This scene takes place right after a fight with two trogs, which the rogue came out of unharmed.)))

Dm(me): As you look around the room, you see the door you came through and a spiral staircase in the corner.
Rogue: [ic] I should go down the stairs first. We don’t know what’s at the bottom.
[Fighter and Wizard agree]
Rogue: [ooc] I go over to the stairs and look down.
Dm: You can’t see anything except a faint glow.
Rogue: [ooc] I want to sneak down the stairs.
Dm: Ok, roll me a D20 for stealth.
Rogue: *rolls a Nat 1* Fuck.
Dm: *silently laughing* You get two steps down and trip and tumble down the stairs, making crashing sounds. *rolls* You take 1 damage.
Rogue: [ooc] *also laughing* Fuuuuuuuck. I got through a fight unharmed, only to be defeated by the stairs. *pauses* What’s at the bottom of the stairs?
Dm: An iron-barred cage containing the missing member of your party.
Rogue: [ic] Hi, [cleric]. We left a note for you at the inn.
Dm: [as cleric] Yeah, that’s nice. Can you get me outta here?
Rogue: Sure, hold on. *yells up the stairs* Guys, it’s safe! And I found [cleric]!
[Wizard and Fighter come down the stairs]
Dm: It’s a rather small room that you’re in. The stairs are the only visible entrance.
Rogue: [ooc] I move to the other side of the cage and tug on the bars to try and break them.
Dm: Ok, roll Strength.
Rogue: *rolls* uhhh, 6? No wait, that’s a 9.
Dm: ok, roll dexterity for me.
Rogue: *rolls suspiciously* 12.
Dm: You tug on the bars, lose your grip, and fall backwards through the wall.
Rogue: [ooc] SECRET TUNNEL!

Backwards Clock~ Langst P.1

Important A/N

This is an extremely triggering series. Following chapters will have these triggers:

Child abuse

abuse

harsh words/language

alcohol induced rage

Alcohol/drug abuse

implied rape

child molestation

sexual harassment

self harm

suicidal themes

attempted suicide

descriptions of violence

Side A/N

This was supposed to be a one-shot but it’s getting too long so I’m breaking it down.

This is for the person who asked for the De-Age fic and a maximum langst fic. 

Please read the trigger warnings. If you are affected please do not read this series. Your health is more important to me than reads, notes, or any other forms of acknowledgment. 

A/N


“And that, my friends, is what I call a job well done,” Lance joked while landing Blue and placing his helmet to the side. 

“Yeah, but uh, Lance, you have a few fans outside,” Shiro joked.

“What do you- Woah,” Lance voiced. When he stepped out of the lion he was expecting everyone around the Black Lion examining them and trying to see the face behind its metal.

Instead, the King of the Mooi and his people were standing in front of Blue, staring up at Lance with wide eyes and glowing skin.. literally. They surround him, cheering and laughing.

Lance was mildly uncomfortable with the attention. Don’t get him wrong, he loved attention, being able to tell stories and speaking out, but those times he had control of the situation. This was completely different.

The Mooians petted Lance causing the later to curl back a little before allowing the others to hold his hand and inspect him.

He glared at Keith and Pidge who were holding on to each other trying not to fall over in laughter.

Hunk was panicking not knowing what to do and Shiro was talking with Allura.

“Apparently,” Shiro started to explain, “they liked how you flew, all flashy and stuff, and they realized you piloted the lion.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Lance called out. He shuddered in discomfort as one of the Mooians rubbed their face on his upper arm, though it didn’t last as one ran a finger softly across his stomach causing him to laugh.

“The people of Mooi are strangely obsessed with beauty and glamor,” Allura explained, “As the ‘most handsome’,” Allura quoted Lance,” they were naturally drawn to you.”

Lance smiled, “Well, of course, they did,” He joked. “Thank you, but this really isn’t necessary,” Lance tried to explain. He stepped away from the citizens.

They cleared away revealing the queen in her purple and gold robes. She carefully made her way through the crowd, nodding to certain people and acknowledging others. She made it to Lance and bowed. 

Lance stepped back in shock while the citizen’s followed in the queen’s pursuit. 

She stood up straight once more, “Someone such as yourself must stay young forever. Your beauty must be preserved.”

“Uh,” Lance froze. He wasn’t prepared for this, “Thank you, your highness, but I couldn’t accept something as valuable as this.”

The queen shook her head and pushed the drink into his hands. She stepped away and nodded her head expectingly. 

Lance gulped when the citizens started to lean forward. He looked down at the liquid. 

The purple liquid was far too dark for his liking and when he stirred it a bit in the glass it didn’t move. No light reflected off the surface and it smelt like gasoline. Beside him, Allura scoffed and nudged him. Lance took in a breath and downed the drink. He ignored the bitter taste and the stinging sensation it left. 

People around him cheered and ushered him to the plaza where a celebration would take place.


“Hunk!” Someone screamed in the castle. Keith jumped out of his bed, grabbed his dagger and ran towards the noise. The echo messed up his sense of hearing, making it harder for him to tell where it was coming from but small shuffling noises in Lance’s room told him everything. 

Hunk came tumbling out of his room at lightning speed. He tripped before knocking on the door, “Lance?” The noises stopped. “Lance? Buddy? It’s me, Hunk! Open up!”

“H-Hunk?” Lance called from inside. The door slid open.

What the two expected was their normal lanky legged friend with a goofy smile and bright blue eyes.

Instead, a kid in their mid teens stood awkwardly staring at the floor. He looked up to Keith, taking a step back and then to Hunk.

“Hunk?” 

“Lance?” Hunk stepped towards Lance, “What the heck happened?”

“Where am I? Who is he? Where’s Hunk?” Lance started blurting out questions, “Why do you look like Hunk? Why is everything in this room blue? Why-”

“Lance. Lance!” Hunk interrupted the younger male. “What happened to you?” Hunk questioned, “You look 15!”

“Well, that would be because I am 15!”Lance screamed. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Where am I? Who are you?”

Keith coughed, snapping himself out of shock, “You’re in the castle. Do you really not-“

“What the hell?” 

All three of the boys turned to the door where the youngest paladin stood.

“Lance?” they shouted. 

“Pardon?”

Pidge and Lance screamed at each other; Pidge for shock and Lance for frustration. Keith tried multiple times to get them to be quiet, only to have Shiro come in and pull Pidge and Lance apart and bringing them into the bridge. 

Allura was notified and Coran and her tried to contact the people of Mooi to get an explanation.

“So,” Lance tried to grasp everything he was just told, “I’m in a huge alien castle-ship.” Everyone nodded, “I’m supposed to be 17? I pilot some huge blue lion ship that I’ve bonded to, and I’m always happy and jokey?” Lance looked down, “Go me.”

“We found it,” Allura shouted, “Umioreo. Pidge, can you look it up on the pad?”

Pidge ran to her seat and pulled up a tab, “Erm…here! Umioreo was known as the Liquid of Gods. Blah blah… it is made from the Umi fruit found only on the planet Mooi. Mooians give it people who look like Gods to stay young for eternity and to preserve beautiful youth. It…” Pidge stopped for a moment. She took a shaky breath and continued to read, “It makes the drinker become younger until they cease to exist…therefore they stay youthful forever.”

Shiro stood up, causing Lance to shrink into his seat. “Can you tell us how to reverse it so we can get Lance back to normal?”

Pidge looked away, “There isn’t.”

“Pardon me?”

Pidge looked up from her screen, “There isn’t a cure.”

Oh Captain!// Steve Rogers x Reader (P2)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x POC Reader
Word Count: 2k+
Warning: Language, fluff, smut, unprotected sex (WRAP YOUR WANG BEFORE YOU BANG), slight dry humping, bit of dirty talk, a little Sub!Steve…if you squint and cock your head at a 45 degree angle.
Summary: Steve bares all, in more ways than one. How is anyone supposed to resist this god-forsakenly beautiful man? You don’t; you give into temptation and enjoy the ride. Sometimes Steve’s smart mouth gets him into trouble. Bonus: Bruce is so cute when he’s embarrassed.

A/N: I’m still getting the hang of this smut thing so pls bear with me. Idk why tf I’m so damn shy about writing it when I’m sinful as hell irl.  Also bless you @emilyevanston for reminding me that Steve is so much more than just Captain America. Sorry this took so long, hopefully the fic makes up for the long ass wait! Feedback is absolutely appreciated.

Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain

Previously on Oh Captain!

Keep reading

My Boys

Got an idea in the middle of class today, been waiting all day to have a chance to actually write it. This is probably gonna be shit, but oh well. 
PLEASE REQUEST! THANKS

He’s crying.

Again. 

You groan and push your face further into your pillow. 

Now he’s screaming. 

“Shawn.” You push his shoulder. He groans and rolls away from you. “Shawn!” You say again, shaking his arm. 

“What?” He mumbles.

“Get your son.” You slur, so fucking tired.

“I don’t hear, fuck!” He groans. “Does the boy ever sleep.” He turns back towards you. 

“No, and he got his Daddies lungs. Go get him.” You say sighing. 

Sleep, man it’s a great thing, when you get it. But ever since you had your mini Shawn, it has ran away from you. That kid could cry all night, so saying that he got Shawn’s lungs isn’t a lie. Man he could scream. 

Shawn huffs and rolls out of bed. 

“Dude, calm down.” You hear Shawn say as he walks to the nursery. “You are gonna keep Mommy up all night aren’t you.” He says in his baby voice. 

Shawn is a great father, has been since the day he found out he was gonna be one. This is baby number two for you guys but little Raul really doesn’t like being away from you and Shawn. 

Taylor, he slept threw the night from the get go. He was such a quiet baby, still is now as a toddler. But Raul, he is gonna be so much like his Dad. Loud and goofy. 

“Shhh, Raul.” Shawn whispers walking back into your room. 

You roll over and see him holding the tiny baby to his big frame. Shawn’s a giant, you already new that. But watching him hold a two month old made him look huge, compared to the young child. 

“Raul, what’s the matter buddy.” You sigh sitting up, leaning against the head board.

“I don’t know, I changed his diaper and tried to feed him.” Shawn yawned sitting next to you. He hands you Raul leaning his head on your shoulder. You sigh as you hear two little feet running towards your door. 

“Mommy, I can’t sleep.” Taylor says from the door. 

Shawn waves him over and Taylor smiles. 

2:47 am 

“I’m so tired.” You whine to Shawn. He kisses your bare shoulder and looks at you. 

“I know Baby, me too.” He blinks slowly up at you. 

“Daddy can we cuddle?” Taylor asks. 

“Why don’t we all cuddle.” Shawn whispers. “You get to lay with Mommy while I hold Raul.” Shawn shrugs at you. You nod and hand him Raul, now that he is no longer crying. 

“Tay, I’ll be right back okay. Get comfy.” You weakly smile getting up. 

“Hey.” Shawn whispers, catching your hand. 

“What?”

“Where are you going?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Bathroom, and then make a bottle so it’s ready when he’s hungry.” You say yawning. “Might as well since I’m up.”

“Let me do it, you’re tired.”

“You are a little busy.” You smirk at him as Taylor snuggles up to his Dad, closing his eyes. Shawn looks at his sons, smiling wide. 

“You’re right.” He sleepily smiles at you. You head to the bathroom. 

*

You walk back into the bedroom when you finish making a bottle. 

Shawn, on his back. 

Raul, laying on his stomach, on Shawn’s chest.

Taylor, on his side, holding on to Shawn’s arm like its a stuffed animal. 

You slowly and carefully crawl back into bed, Shawn stirring as the bed dips. 

“Hey Beautiful.” He grins. 

“Hey.” You whisper. You kiss Raul’s head lightly. Then kiss Taylor’s. 

“Do I get a kiss?” Shawn asks smirking. You roll your eyes.

“Gotta save best for last right?” You grin at him, that makes him smile wide. 

“C’here.” He says leaning up to you. You lean down and kiss him lightly. 

“My boys, gotta love them.” You sigh laying down. Shawn takes a hold of your hand and holds it as you get all comfy. 

“I love you Babe.” He whispers before drifting off to sleep. 

*

“Mommy.” You stir as someone shakes your shoulder. “Mommy, it’s time for breakfast.” 

You roll over and meet the brown eyes of your son. You smile and sigh in content.

“Morning Tay.” You smile.

“Morning Mommy!” He smiles as you wake up. 

“Where’s Daddy?” You ask as you notice Shawn isn’t next to you. 

“It’s time for breakfast.” Taylor says grabbing your hand and trying to pull you with him. You get up and follow him, grabbing Shawn’s flannel along the way. 

You are just pulling it on as you enter the kitchen. 

“What’s all this?” You ask as you see the table set, and Shawn standing at the stove. 

“You’re up.” He smiles as he turns. 

“Breakfast!” Taylor calls, jumping up and down. 

“Go take a seat bud.” Shawn smiles at his son. 

“Mommy come on!” Taylor says taking your hand. 

You look at Shawn and see that he’s staring at you, casually looking up and down. 

“Fuck.” He mumbles quietly so little ears don’t hear him. 

You look at yourself, jogger shorts, cami with his flannel, your hair that was curled yesterday now a crazy mane on your head.

“What?” You quirk a brow, picking Taylor up and resting him on your hip.

“You just look really good in my flannel.” He shakes his head.

“Yeah, good enough to get a good morning kiss?” You tease, smirking at him. 

He turns around, grinning smugly, and nods. He leans down and connects your lips, giving you a quick but sweet smooch. 

You pull away giggling and Taylor giggles too.

“Here Mommy.” Taylor says, making you look at him. “I have a kiss for you.” He smiles. You smile and he kisses you too. 

“Thanks Tay. That was the best kiss ever.” You smirk looking at Shawn. You giggle as you walk by him. He smacks your butt as you walk by, causing you to laugh harder. You set Taylor down in his high chair and look over into the play pin noticing Raul sleeping. 

Shawn sets your plates down and pulls your chair out for you. He kisses you again as you go to take a seat. 

“Let’s eat!” He says siting next to you, setting two waffles on your plate. 

“Thanks for making breakfast Babe.” You smile as you start fixing up your waffles.

“I don’t know what your talking about, Taylor made it all.” He says looking at Taylor. 

“What? No! Daddy made it.” Taylor giggles. 

“Then what did you do?” Shawn asks.

“I manned the music.” He grinned looking at you. That made you laugh and another smart comment was tumbling from your lips.

“Well you do have the best music taste in the house so…” You say biting back a smile. 

Shawn looks over at you with wide eyes. His hand finds your bare leg squeezing your knee. 

“Take that back.” He says, trying to hide his smile too. 

“Sorry, I only speak the truth.” You continue.

“You are just playful this morning aren’t you.” He says raising his eyebrows. His hand slides further up your leg, making your eyes widen. 

“Get me well rested and the sassy comes back.” You say taking a bite of your waffle. 

“Your sassy is always there, rested or not.” He says taking a bite your waffle, not a small bite, but a big ass bite.

“Shawn Peter!” You say hitting his arm. He laughs at your reaction.

“What? You insulted my music taste.” He shrugs.

“That does not mean that you get to take my waffle. You took like all of it.” You whine at him. He laughs. 

“It was good too.” 

“I wouldn’t know, you ate it all.”

“I can think of a way could taste it.” He smirks. 

“Taylor, you’re Daddy is being bad this morning.” You say as Shawn squeezes your thigh. 

“Daddy, time out!” Taylor says pointing at the wall. 

You laugh as Shawn glares at you.

“No, no time out.” You laugh. 

Then the crying starts. 

Raul’s awake. 

“Morning little man.” You say getting up and picking him up from the play pin. 

“I’ll get his bottle.” Shawn jumps up, rushing to the fridge. As he leaves you take half of his waffle and eat it quickly, with Raul in your arm. 

Once he returns he hands you the bottle taking his seat looking at his plate.

“Did you take my waffle?” He asks looking at you. 

“What? No, Taylor did it.” You say pointing at Taylor.

“No, Mommy took it, she even gave me a bite.” He smiles pointing back at you.

“How dare you.” Shawn laughs.

“Karma Babe.” You shrug, burping Raul. 

*

“Come on Tay, let’s go do the dishes. You get to man the music again.” Shawn says getting.

“Why do we have to do the dishes?” He asks. 

“Because we are treating Mommy today, that means we are doing all the chores.” Shawn says picking Taylor up. 

You look up at Shawn in shock. He winks at you and takes your son to the kitchen. 

You sit at the dining room table with your baby boy in your arms, he’s staring back at you with his brown eyes that are identical to Shawns. You are soothing running your finger over his features, smiling at his blinks get longer and he starts drifting off to sleep. 

“Is he done eating Babe?” Shawn asks. 

“Yeah,” You say getting up to bring Shawn your plate, still holding Raul.

“Here I’ll take him.” He says with a smile. You laugh as you see him wearing the baby carrier. You help him get Raul all comfortable in it.

“I drew you a bath.” Shawn whispers into your ear.

“Oh my god really?” You say getting excited. 

“Go relax Babe, me and the boys got the chores.” He smiles.

“God I love my boys.” You grin, leaning up to kiss him.

“We love you too.” He says against your lips. 

Still in Love

Hi! Hope you’ll enjoy this short one shot. It’s a request based on the song “Somebody that I used to know” by Gotye. It’s only loosely inspired by it though, the song is despite its lyrics rather upbeat while I imagine this story to be set in a sadder atmosphere. 

Plot: H and Y/N used to have a bond until they cut each other out of their lives.

Warnings: None.

Gorgeous picture isn’t mine.

Harry found himself unable to look away. All his eyes could see was me, just as if my frame was the magnet to his attention. It was as though I wasn’t surrounded by a mass of people in a barely lit room and thick, humid air. His gaze was only drawn to me because to him I was illuminated. The air around me glowed. I might as well have stood in an empty room or lain in his bed, his attention couldn’t have been on me any more.

Harry’s jaw tensed. The sweet taste of the soft-drink on his tongue and the loud music blasted through the big speakers would normally have his shoulders relaxed and his body moving along to the rhythm. He would be enjoying his night out with friends and colleagues. But this time he couldn’t.
If anything Harry hadn’t ever been this tense whilst partying before. The tips of his fingers twitched, his lips were raw from his teeth pulling and biting into them and his hair was a mess.

All of which he truly could not understand.
How was Harry’s mind so incapable of finding an escape from the worry and slight fear his body was tormented with? Ever since he’d noticed me singing along to the music and laughing with my head thrown back and dancing in the middle of the floor, his blood had turned to ice and his skin heated.
His eyes followed the movements of my hips swinging, feet jumping and arms raising. The tip of his tongue pressed against his teeth when he noticed my exposed neck and collarbones and his skin prickled.
Harry’s stomach turned with guilt because he really shouldn’t be giving me that kind of attention. I wasn’t his after all. Not even as a friend. Nothing.

Still, if only to make sure I was fine, his pupils continued to follow my every move and they narrowed when he noticed me stumble a little, losing my balance momentarily. It seemed as though I’d had one if not many drinks too much. He moved to get up and come to my aid before his head had even caught up with it to consciously make that decision and before it could tell him not to move.
Harry didn’t know me. Not anymore, for the matter and it was no longer his job to come to my protection either.

And still, his hands reached out to carefully nudge people out of his way and his big feet moved quickly and steady in order to reach me faster. Harry was impatient and he couldn’t have said why.
One of his friends even made the effort to call after him, truly surprised at his sudden movements, but went silent the moment he noticed who it was Harry’s gaze had found. He knew Harry hadn’t heard him, knew there was no reaching him where his head had gone.

There had once been a time when Harry and I would lose ourselves in the other. When the whole room could feel our connection as though an electric energy was caused by it. The house could have erupted into flames, the room flooded by water or the earth broken open - we wouldn’t have noticed. Not when our fingers touched the others skin, if only momentarily. We would have eyes only for the other, words meant for no one else to hear and in truth Harry missed it as much as I longed for those times to come back.

I turned around when I heard him say my name for the first time in over a year. My blood was frozen, my skin light on fire and my heart flattered in my chest as if it tried to fly away. In my hurry and desperation to see him I lost my balance once more and stumbled into his chest rather forcefully. My stomach dropped at the sight of his beautiful features and a smile forced itself onto my lips.

Harry. He visibly hadn’t changed at all and lost nothing of his beauty.

“Harry.” My voice was shaking but fierce, with no doubt in its tone at all.

He chuckled quietly with the softest smile on his face while his hands found my rips to rest on hesitantly. Though his hold was firm, it was a gesture meant to steady me, keep me from falling and getting hurt, but oh if it didn’t weaken my knees even further. And I fell. Metaphorically speaking.

“Hi,” he hummed, his face leant in so his lips were near my ear. I shuddered when his warm breath fanned my skin. His hands brought me closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I replied cheerfully, my arms raising to rest on top of his shoulders with a wide smile. The embarrassment I felt when my voice broke was over quickly and though Harry’s smile told me he’d noticed, it was alright. The kind expression he wore and the alcohol numbing my brain were relaxing me enough to not blush at the uncommon closeness between us.

Maybe the lack of a barrier between us had become something unfamiliar, but when my fingers found the back of his neck and his soft curls to play with, I felt at home. He was truly here, in my arms. The softness of his strands was too addictive to let go of again. I normally wouldn’t have ever dared to be handsy with him, which of course didn’t mean that I didn’t long to be. Touching your ex’s hair and embracing his shoulders after not having seen him in 14 months wasn’t exactly what was considered a great idea, was it?

But Harry wasn’t really any ex. We’d never been an exclusive couple, never went on a date or got around to be introduced to parents. Harry and I were… in the lack of a better word Friends with benefits. It started one night mostly as a half drunken mistake and then continued until our relationship had transformed into something more. We’d hook up occasionally when we were in need for relief, then when we were in need of a shoulder to lean on and then when we were in need to be near each other. Our feelings for each other heightened and grew in strength until when we were in public and somebody asked what we were, neither of us knew what to say anymore. The term friends didn’t suffice, fuck-buddies sounded too meaningless.
So we avoided a label all together which was what had brought us to an end.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, trying to adapt a neutral tone. My brows knitted together and I observed his face closely, wanting to be sure he wouldn’t lie. Harry didn’t drink often, hardly ever got properly drunk. I feared he’d changed since we’d last spoken.

Harry nodded though his gaze darkened. Instinctively my hold on his locks tightened in fear he’d pull away.

“I’m good,” Harry muttered, coming closer once more so he could talk into my ear, “But I’ll be even better if you let me take you home.”

My stomach dropped and I let out a shocked gasp. He flinched when I shifted, almost tumbling once more and frowned at me trying to pull away.

“You sure are forward, aren’t you,” I joked half heartily, my voice doing a poor job at covering up the surprise.

Harry’s eyes widened, his head catching up to what he’d said.

“S'not what I mean!” Harry stressed, “M'not trying- Y/N you know m'not that sleazy. Was a stupid way of phrasing and-”

“Harry,” I laughed, “I know. Didn’t sound like you for a minute so I know you didn’t intend it.”

My hands ran down his shoulders and squeezed his arms. “But why do you want me to come with you?

The green of his orbs sparkled and my gaze dropped to the pink of his pillow lips. "Because I really miss you.”

….

His room looked nothing like I remembered. And that saddened me. The soft blue colored sheets, sheets I’d loved to sleep in due to their unbelievable softness had been replaced by plain white ones. Where once the stacks of books we used to read in to one another before falling asleep had been on his nightstand, was now a quartet of scented candles. I frowned and stepped closer. I’d kept up with what he’d been up to and had only rolled my eyes at his newly discovered obsession with candles, but now that I stood right in front of four my fingers twitched.

Orange. Lavender. Hibiscus. Almond.

“Is water okay? I can make you a tea if you want. Think I even got your favorite somewhere.”

Harry stood in the doorway, watching me with a mixed expression I found difficult to read. But I understood. It must have looked as strange to him as it felt for me, given that the last time I’d been in this exact bedroom we’d both been crying our hearts out.

“Water is fine,” I replied with a hesitant smile, “Thank you.”

His feet were slow when he approached me and the invitation to sit on his bed was spoked low. Any confidence Harry had shown back in the bar was lost, just like my bravery was wearing off with the remains of alcohol leaving my system. The more I sobered up, the stranger the whole situation became to me.

“Please, don’t get sick,” Harry requested quietly, whilst helping me sit down on his bed. I could only assume he was reading my pale cheeks and discomfort as a sign of too much alcohol in my blood. “Got new sheets.”

“I noticed.” The disappointment was evident in my voice and I forced a smile to cover it up, “And I’m alright.”

Why were the sheets gone? It was silly to feel nostalgic about them, but why hadn’t he kept the material we’d spent hours of sleeping under? Where we’d made plans, confessed dreams and caused giggles to fill the room? Had he thrown them away just like that and replaced them by silly blue ones? How could he?

“Where are they?”

“Who?” his face wore an expression of pure confusion.

I let my fingers touch the top of his mattress. It felt wrong. Not even half as soft as it used to be. “The sheets.”

Harry didn’t reply which was answer enough. I hissed and shook my head. My heart was heavy with a sudden sadness I couldn’t explain and knew was stupid. There was no reason for me to feel crushed over the loss of some blue material I hadn’t lain on in a long time. He’d made a decision I had no place being angry about.

Sensing my crushed feelings Harry shifted beside me, his arms ached to reach out and embrace me but his mind burned with questions he needed answers for.

“Why didn’t you ever call, Y/N?”

We weren’t avoiding the awkwardness, then. We wouldn’t dance around the uncomfortable feelings. My chest moved and my lungs filled with fresh air. One thing I appreciated about Harry was his bravery, one I never possessed. He wasn’t afraid of tackling the difficult conversations.

“I can’t remember how many nights I stayed up staring at my phone with hopes I could never fully let go of.”

“I needed space,” I explained weakly, “Needed to clear my head.”

We sat so close next to each other his knee brushed mine and though it was only a small touch, my eyes could not look away from it. His body heat easily radiated off of me, awakening every cell of my body and speeding up the rhythm of my heart. I wanted more, wanted to be reminded what it felt like to hold him right.

“Clear it from me?” Harry’s quiet voice was laced with sadness, “You shut me out of your life. As if you tried to make it like I’d never touched it.”

Contradicting his words, Harry’s hand found my thigh, giving it an entirely non sexual squeeze, one that let me know he wasn’t angry. My hand pressed on top of his and I looked up to meet his eyes.

“You know what I felt for you, Harry.”

He nodded. “Which is just why I don’t understand.”

It’d been him who’d broken us off. Well, whatever “us” had meant. His solo career had been in its beginnings and he knew he’d need to be free to travel for it, work an impossible amount of hours and be available to anyone always. Anyone, aside form me.

Going solo meant he was busy and that meant that any feelings for him I had developed, did not have any place.
Harry cared for me, wanted me and desired to keep me close, but at the same time he knew that if he let us strengthen our bond even more, we would eventually suffer a heart break. Our connection wasn’t meant to be, not at that time anyway.

“I began to miss you so terribly the moment you closed the door behind you,” I breathed.

Watching him walk out of my apartment was a sight I knew I’d never forget. No matter how many promises of keeping in touch, staying friends and wanting to remain close had been made, I was sure we both knew they were void of true meaning.

Harry had touched my heart. How could I look into his eyes after having been rejected?

I whimpered when his body turned to face mine and shuddered when his hand fount my neck, gently turning my head so I looked up at him.
Harry’s brows were knitted together while his eyes pleaded with mine. My lips parted and my head spun when my own palms found their place on his shoulders, only centimeters away from his collarbones. I yearned to touch his skin.

“But that doesn’t mean you had to cut me off like that,” he whispered.

“Your fear of perhaps not having enough time for me didn’t mean you had to deny us any chance either,” I countered, arching one eyebrow at him.

Relief overcame me when a smile pulled at the corner of his lips and I felt some of the tension in the room shift. “That is true, I suppose.”

His thumb gently caressed the skin of my cheek before trailing along my jaw. Harry shook his lovely head, making his slightly disheveled hair fall into his face. “And both happened despite that I loved you.”

There it was again. The buzz in the air. I moved further up to sit in a crossed legged position across from him, both of my hands still pressed flat to his chest and his eyes closed when the tips of my fingers dared finding the unbuttoned part of his shirt where his warm skin was accessible.

I hummed, a shy smile on my lips.

“You know,” I began in a whisper, “your choice of candles lets me hope there is no past tense to your feelings.”

His nose brushed my cheek and his mouth kissed my shoulder.

My voice shook as I went on: “They are, after all, the scent of the cookies I always made for you, the soap of mine you used to hate and the oil I used to massage your shoulders with when you were stressed.”

A low moan fell from his mouth at the memory and my eyes fell shut.

“And what’s the last scent for?” he asked.

My body was pushed back to lie flat on his mattress and I welcomed him with open arms who finally got to hold him tight again.

“It’s the smell of my hair,” I whispered into the shell of his ear, whimpering when his lips pressed warm kisses to the bare exposed skin of my collarbones. “My shampoo.”

“Maybe s'not in the past tense then,” Harry murmured, grunting when my legs found the familiar place around his hips, “Maybe I still love you.”

“That would be nice,” I gasped when he pressed himself closer against my skin and wanted to cry because it still wasn’t enough.

“Would it?”

“Yes,” my hold tightened, “because I’m as in love with you as I was the day I told you for the first time.”

Hope you liked it! It’s the first story I posted since being officially 19! Ahh!! Love everyone of you who reads my stories, your support means so much. Thank you.

Rest of my stories: 

http://harryimaginedstories.tumblr.com/post/144920695218/masterlist

It’s been one year today that I gave my first glance at you and never wanted my eyes to peel away. A year since the planets aligned for me and sent down an angel from heaven into my life, a blessing I’ve never taken for granted. I still remember the first hellos and goodnights given, and how quickly they became the first “I love you"s. You were a miracle from the start. You’ve helped me see the true value in myself; you and I both have helped eachother out in and of so many ways that there is no doubt left in my mind. You’re my person. I’m proud to wear this coronary year on my belt; I wouldn’t change a thing about it, just as I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. I am in love with you, then, now and forever.

Thank you. Thank you for everything. For letting me see you grow so much. I’m proud to say I saw eachother grow so fast together. I want many more years to come and can’t wait for where those years will take us. I’ll say it again, I love you. Thank you for saying that first "okay, sure” to that awkward kid your friend told you was a nice guy and taking that chance, to watch us grow from two kids tumbling awkwardly in love together. I knew from that day you were far more than what anyone could see on the outside, and given the opportunity to look in, I was right. Thank you, for being good. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for loving me back in the same way that I love you. Thank you for laughing at my silly jokes. Love itself could glance our way and get jealous. I’m so proud of you and to call you mine puts a smile on my face.

~Love, that person you stole a heart from

—  A proud lover named Jake the tomato, to his soilmate Angie the bean via mysweatylife
“Babydoll” (Suga Smut)

Originally posted by jungsooneul

Title: Babydoll

POV: 2nd

Rating: NC-17 smutty smut

Summary: You decide to try on some lingerie, unsure of how Yoongi will take it. 

Requested by anon!

Yoongi sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands and lulling his head back and forth over his shoulders, eyes shut and sighing.

“Will you come out now?”

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Bare

Hey guys! This took me so long to write and I hope you enjoy it! Wanted to make it as relatable and realistic as I could, so I would love to know what you think! This is also super long, you’ve been warned!

Oh and… smut ahead ;)



Toronto, 23:12 p.m.

It’s late and Jo is so tired she feels like passing out at the kitchen table. She stares at her textbook but the paragraphs seem to blur in front of her eyes and she frowns, trying to decipher her notes on public international law. Her eyelids are heavy and she stifles a yawn, rubbing her eyes.

Shawn is sitting across from her, a focused look on his face while listening to demos, one headphone in, nibbling on his bottom lip, looking at the screen of his MacBook.

Jo normally loves evenings like this. Her and Shawn working until the morning hours, engulfed in their passions.

She loved how they would bring out the best out of each other, supporting each other, staying up so late to get that song done or finish that paper for uni.

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Cure (3)

Bucky x reader

Notes: trigger warnings! Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, swearing, injuries, memory loss, recuperating, fluff, angst and obviously, eventually: smut.

A/N: Here’s part three! Bucky finds out about his past and wants to see his files, shit happens. 

Originally posted by natpekis

“So.. what you’re saying is: I was captured during World War two, after I fell off a train to my death, but I wasn’t really dead of course, and then brainwashed and tortured into killing a shitload of people before you found me again and snapped my crazy ass out of it”

Sounds about right.

“Yeah, Buck” Steve shifts a little, looking helpless and worried, sharing glances with Y/N and Sam.

I don’t think I can take any more of this. It feels as if it’s true, I know it is; but how the hell was I still sane after that?

Are you? Really?

Shut up.

Honestly. If I’m anything like the voice in my head, claiming to be me, I’m a real asshole. 

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Flight Buddy

Summary: 100 banging kinks for Bucky’s 100th birthday! | On a plane. (Bucky x Reader)
Warnings: smut clearly; oral (f receiving), dirty talk
Word count: 1,7k
A/N: Let’s just all ignore that this drabble is way over the word limit. But oh look! It’s Gen! @bucky-plums-barnes (Babe don’t kill me for the word count lol) LEAVE ME FEEDBACK!!!!!! <3

Masterlist

Originally posted by oscarsisaacs

„Attention! Flight 343 from Sydney to New York is now boarding. Please make your way to gate 4.“

You gathered your backpack and started walking towards the gates, flicking your eyes up and down between your phone and the directions to gate 4. This was your first time abroad on your own and you were quite nervous at airports, fearing you’d board the wrong flight.

You followed the directions and some people that seemed to be heading the same way. You checked in successfully and boarded the plane, you were greeted by a lovely flight attendant wishing you a safe flight.

„19A.. 19A..“ you murmured to yourself looking at the numbers above the seats, looking for your own. Of course, you figured, that’s what the A meant. 19A was an aisle seat. You sighed and stuffed your backpack in the compartment above the seats and made yourself as comfortable in the comfortable leather seats that came with such long distant flights.

You were in the middle of texting your friend Genevieve of your safe boarding that you didn’t notice a man standing right next to you, holding a ticket of his own. The man cleared his throat loudly and you snapped your head in the direction of the voice.

„I think that’s my seat.“ He pointed his long slender finger to the seat next to yours.

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That Girl is a Problem (2): 2 AM

Paul Lahote isn’t pissed, he can’t even be annoyed. It’s 2 AM and his phone is ringing.

Pairing: PaulxReader

Warnings: Cursing, Underage Drinking

Song(s) to Listen to: Say You Won’t Let Go - James Arthur OR/AND Closing Time - Semisonic 

A/N: I can not thank you guys enough for the wonderful feedback on part 1 of That Girl is a Problem. Seriously, when it hit 100 notes, I cried. Thank you guys so so much, and please, if you have any requests or questions or if you just want to talk, feel FREE to message me any time!!

Keep reading