fingers clasped

when ten years have gone by and you invite me to your wedding
i hope the tears i shed are not of anger or longing.
i hope i don’t have to force myself to hold your gaze
as i remember the look you gave me that said that today was the day
a piece of me would die.
i hope i don’t unfold and twist my hands
before they clasp the fingers of your future,
lingering briefly against their ring finger.
i hope my mind doesn’t capture and replay every angle of your face,
especially when your piercingly, bright smile shines
upon the person who holds your heart between their palms
and you are proud of it.

But most of all, I hope that by then
My soul has learned to find peace within itself.
I hope I tell you that I am happy for you,
Because that is all I’ve ever wanted.
I hope I walk home in the arms of someone
Who reminds me every day
That life does not stop,
Even it feels like the stars have fallen,
The grass has wilted,
And the ocean is parched for the first time in its existence.
You belong to yourself,
Before you belong to anyone else
And when it is time,
Love will come, shyly tap on your shoulder, and truthfully say,
“I’ve been looking for you.”

—  First love doesn’t mean only love
2

Planets_Merlin


[…]“Go to sleep,” Arthur told him softly.

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin said.  And then he slid his fingers between Arthur’s, to clasp his hand.

Arthur pressed his forehead into the back of Merlin’s neck, covering Merlin’s fingers with his own, before lowering their hands to rest upon the cot.

It took some time before Merlin’s breathing calmed. Longer still before he fell asleep.

Arthur knew it did, because he spent the entire time paying attention to how it felt to have Merlin pressed so closely against his body.[…]

                  - And like the cycle of the year, we begin again@katherynefromphilly

(grazie ancora @elokid per star traducendo questa bellezza✧ )

Cleanse

Bucky x reader

Notes: WARNING! physical abuse, threats, protective Bucky, fluff. 

A/N: I found this little thing hanging around on my phone. It’s a little dark, but fluffy too. 

Originally posted by wintersthighs

1 new text message from Y/N, 10:23 PM:

‘Bucky, can you please come over?’

Bucky checked his phone when he heard the familiar sound of an incoming message. His brow furrowed at the sight.

“Gotta go” he mumbled hurriedly, and jumped up, grabbing his coat as he ran out the door to the elevator.

“Hey! Where are you goin’? Thought we were going out!” Sam yelled after him; but the elevator doors already closed.

“Don’t take it personally, Sam. It’s probably Y/N” Steve quipped with a smirk.

Keep reading

Bruise [ III ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst [M]

Length: 9.1k

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: He wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, but that couldn’t stop your heart from believing otherwise.

Bruise Masterlist

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

The white cream swirled about in the dark coffee in front of you, your fingers clasped around the warm, pastel orange mug as the steam floated up in hazy waves. There were signs of life all around you, couples sharing intimate lunches and students laughing away their course work. The street outside the window in front of you was busy, bustling with people and lined with fall kissed trees, branches adorned in warm tones, rustling when a breeze blew. Despite the heat of life all around you, you felt cold, like your bones were made of ice, like your heart was encased in snow. The book across the table was pushed aside as Minseok sat back down, coffee in hand and round golden glasses perched on his nose as he exhaled heavily, ready to listen.

“Do you want to start or should I?”

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You’re In Love With Him But He Likes Your Best Friend: Part 2

A/N: This is a filler chapter. Meaning, this is much shorter than part 1. Do not feel dishearted, there will be a longer, more detailed part 3. 

Part 1

Masterlist linked in bio.



“Are you ever going to speak to me?”

Y/n freezes as she hears Harry’s voice ask her the question she’s been dreading to answer.

It’s been two weeks since she’s heard that voice. It may sound rougher now, more stern and harsh than it normally is as it growls behind her at the counter of Lexi’s bar, but it’s still the first time she’s heard it in two weeks.

After her sober confessions to a very tipsy, slumberous Harry, Y/n had to understand what it truly meant to move on.

At first, she thought she would still be able to be around him as she searched for ways to rid her feelings. She distracted herself, mostly. She would interact more with Savannah than she would Harry, and even started picking up new habits whenever she felt her emotions creeping in. Anything that reminded her of him was disregarded entirely so that the only time he was able to consume her thoughts was whenever he was near her.

For the first couple weeks, she was holding up quite well, considering the circumstances. She was able to contain her emotions and take her mind off of the raging heartache that kept burning in her chest.

But it wasn’t much long after that night when Savannah and Harry finally became official, and if Y/n wasn’t anguished before, she surely was then. She was forced to witness the transition of their relationship in hindsight. What was once casual flirting and innocent touches turned into secretive giggles and loving hand gestures.

It was as if her heart broke all over again. What seemed to be almost completely mended was destructed all at once. The chase between Harry and Savannah was over, and reality set in that Harry was happy and in love with someone that wasn’t Y/n.

Watching them together was Y/n’s most devastating nightmare, and the thought of that alone meant she couldn’t mentally handle being alone anymore. With all of the emotions built up inside of her, being alone for Y/n meant enduring the pain and suffering she didn’t want to feel anymore. She just wanted it all to end, everything.

The earliest hours of the morning wrecked her the most. With only the moon illuminating the room and the radio silence throughout her house gave Y/n no choice but to be alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t loved, and no matter how many nights she’s tried to convince herself that this wasn’t the end, it was.

She had to let Harry go, completely this time. She gave up on him entirely because she couldn’t keep loving him when he didn’t love her. Not anymore, not like that.

She keeps her back to him as he heaves heavy breaths, eyes sending daggers and teeth clenched from his crippling frustration. 

“It’s Thursday, I see,” Harry grumbles before giving her the chance to answer, jaw locked as his fingers grip harshly around a stray, unfinished glass of alcohol. “You never work Thursdays. ’S this where your Friday shifts went?”

There’s an unpleasantly rough tone in his voice that makes Y/n’s breath hitch in her throat. She’s never witnessed this side of him, filled with anger and exasperation. He’s always been so soft and gentle, never having the heart to speak down to someone. But here he is, eyes dark with anger and words spewing venomously from his lips.

And as much she hates to admit it, she can’t blame him for being so angry with her. She knows she means the most to him—even if it’s not in a romantic sense—she’s become such an important part of his life. Ever since they met, she took in the truth about his past, understood the feelings and thoughts he’s carried all through his years, and was able to provide him with anything she was able to when he needed her most. She was one of the very few people he trusted and felt most comfortable with in his life. She was irreplaceable, he’d always tell her, nobody could compare to her. She meant everything.

And then, she left him. She distanced herself so far away from him until it was as if she was never apart of his life. She ignored him and all his attempts to reach out to her again. It hurt her tremendously, knowing that what they had together was completely and utterly helpless, but she never questioned how Harry felt about it. She did what was easiest for her and never thought about it twice. She left him so that he can be happy, but as he stands so tensely and confused before her, she can’t help but blame herself what’s happened between them.

She nods her head softly, still refusing to look up at him as she gathers all the used glasses in front of her, making herself seem distracted so she doesn’t have to make much effort into speaking to him.

“I—uh, yeah. Friday nights were getting hectic and I couldn’t keep up with the late hours. I thought Savannah told you.”

It’s a lie. A shitty, impulsive lie that Harry almost finds humorous. Of course, Y/n switched her Friday night shift. She felt as if she had no choice. She couldn’t bare to look at him with Savannah another goddamn second, and he thought of spending Friday nights with Harry without being alone with him and going to the 24-hour movie theater together was enough to make her sick to her stomach.

“She did,” he clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing as he watches her scramble around the bar, “didn’t have to, though. I knew she was lying.”

Y/n’s actions halt for a moment, a feeling of dread flowing in her veins before she goes back to cleaning off the bar, disregarded his statement completely.

Harry knows Y/n’s been avoiding him, she hasn’t exactly made it as subtle as she thought. Their entire friendship changed, and Harry knows he wasn’t the one ruining it.

The morning after Y/n drove Harry back from the bar, all he could really remember clearly was falling asleep with Y/n. There were other bits he remembered, but that was really the only moment that came to him when he woke up. And he was confused when he woke up alone because, in all honesty, he was looking forward to waking up next to her. It was all his drunk mind thought of, and that terrified him.

When Y/n started distancing herself from him, Harry kept wondering what he had done wrong. She was fine with Savannah, keeping up with their lives as usual. But she was different with Harry—closed off, in a way, and it made him feel something he’s never felt in his life before.

He was confused, to say the least. Because when he was kissing down the bare chest of the woman of his dreams, he couldn’t stop daydreaming about Y/n, and how he hasn’t heard her voice and how he hasn’t felt her in so long.

He had Savannah wrapped around his finger, yet he still felt as if everything about it was wrong. He changed when Y/n left him, because even when he was around the most loving company, he felt alone.

He was helpless. As much as he tried to love Savannah, Y/n was always in the back of his head. She was there, all the time, trapped in his mind with no escape route. 

At first, he was confused—upset and lost without Y/n. He didn’t know life without her would feel so lonely, so empty and incomplete. It was strange, not knowing how to live his life without her. He’d never expected her disappearance to be such a hindrance to him, but it was. Oh, how it was.

Then, he was angry—angry because as many times as he tried to get her to speak to him again, she never came back. She was gone, forever.

Now, he’s hurt. So damaged by her leaving his side, so incomplete and destroyed without her with him anymore. His heart is heavy with sadness and he couldn’t let himself feel this way anymore. 

He needs her, no matter how wrong and pathetic it sounds, he needs her. 

“So you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me, or am I gonna have to force it out of you?” he seethes, nose flaring as he tries to steady his uneven breath.

Y/n shakes her head ignorantly, a flash on innocence in her eyes as she does so. But she damn knows well what he’s talking about, and her oblivion drives him crazy.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking ab—“

“Oh, fuck off with it!” Harry spits, slamming his closed fist down on the wooden counter.

He doesn’t seem to care about how sudden the bar falls silent, or the glisten of fear in Y/n’s eyes when she finally looks up at him. All he can seem to care about is how much pain he feels, all over. All he can think about is how now, after the last two weeks of not being able to understand why he cares so goddamn much, he’s finally able to feel some sense of sanity being in front of her now.

“You know what you’re doing to me, Y/n! You know damn fucking well what you’re fucking doing and—“

“Harry, please.” Y/n whispers and she isn’t sure as to whether or not she’s begging him to lower his voice or begging for him to understand.

“And it’s not fair!” he cries out, tears of frustration overflowing from his eyes as he grips tightly onto his hair.

His breaking point is approaching, he feels it. He feels it with every breath he takes and every word that emits from his mouth. His heart twists and breaks as he expresses every feeling that’s been consuming him for the past two weeks. He needs her to know what she’s doing to him, needs her to know how he feels in this moment.

“I did nothing to you and you keep pushing me away and that’s not fair because I don’t know how to live without you. Isn’t that something?! I don’t know what to do without you, and you know that!”

Suddenly, his head falls in his hands as he begins to sob. Complete heart-wrenching sobs, making his chest tight and breathing shallow.

Y/n reaches her hand out for him, her fingers clasping harshly around his wrist. Her own eyes start to brim with tears as she watches him sob below her, his body shaking with undying cries. She swallows harshly when he grabs ahold of her hand, bringing her palm against his forehead. His lips reach to kiss her wrist softly, quickly refraining from keeping them there longer.

To touch her, for the first time, is every answer he needs. She’s the only one to make him feel this way—she’s the only one to drive him to the brink of insanity and resurface him back to clarity. She has power over him he never understood until now, after he’s lost her.

“I don’t know why it hurts this much, Y/n,” He cries, his eyes squeezing shut as he inhales sharply, “I’ve never been more confused in my life.”

She chokes on her cries as she nods her head softly, her free hand reaching up to rake her fingers through his hair. Her lips shake from their craving to touch him, watching as he weakens beneath her. 

She’s missed him, in the most desperate of ways. She’s missed every part of him, and every atom in her body yearned to feel him again. Whether it was to feel the warmth of him from a distance or to feel his skin ignite her, she wanted every part of him against her. If she wasn’t with him, she was missing him, and craving him with every breath she took. 

Her lips press tentatively to his forehead, her breath fanning through his hair as she does so. The action is quick, leaving just as quickly as it comes, but it carries sentimental meaning for the both of them.

Harry frowns, his heart thumping in his chest. He looks up into her eyes, filled with concern and sanity as she maps his features.

“It’s been ever since me and Savannah got together.” He mumbles, eyes watching her face as it pales slightly at his words. “You haven’t spoken to me since.”

Her eyes flutter shut as he speaks, finding it completely pointless to try and make him believe otherwise. He deserves to know, one way or another, and even if it’s now, she feels like she’s already lost him. There isn’t much she’d be losing now, anyways. He was never hers.

“Please leave, Harry.” She whispers.

She backs away from him, her touch leaving him was like a gunshot to his chest. It’s a feeling he’s felt all too much that he can’t bare to feel again. 

His heart breaks as he watches her begin to cry, her usual glistening eyes now filled with tears of sorrow. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tentatively takes a step closer to her.

He’s desperate, and he doesn’t care how weak he seems. He’s desperate to see where he’s missed it all along, to know how long he’s been making her feel this way. He’ll never forgive himself for all the pain he’s caused her, for all her nights alone when all she wanted was to be with him.

He could have done so much to change this. If he had just listened to his heart from the beginning, this would all be different now. If he hadn’t been so blind, they would both be happy right now.

“Love, I—“

“Don’t.” she whispers, her voice cracking as she speaks, “Please, don’t.“

She isn’t exactly sure what she’s saying—isn’t quite sure what she’s begging him not to do. Maybe it’s the nickname he’s always called her that makes her stomach twist a bit more, or how he’s trying to make her feel better that makes her eyes sting with a fresh new wave of tears, or how he looks at her now the way he never did before that makes her throat tighten around a sob. Whatever it is that makes her beg, she can’t  handle it anymore.

“I’m trying, Y/n,” He whispers, “please.”

“Please just—“ her eyes flutter shut as she speaks, “just leave me alone.”

Harry lets out an unsteady breath, his green eyes brimmed with red as he watches her begin to sob. 

He nods, because he can’t let himself keep doing this to her. If he keeps trying with her in her current state of mind, she won’t be able to think properly. She’ll be a wreck, more so than she is now, and he can’t find it in his heart to do that. Even if it means fighting for her.

“It’s not worth it, you know.” He whispers, his eyes staring lovingly into hers, “Being with her, it’s not worth it if it means losing you.”

bad | 08

He was the cliché bad boy. He was the guy you couldn’t stand. He was the handsome, hot kid who made girls go weak in the knees. He was a brat. You had never liked him one bit, but you had also never gotten involved with anything concerning him. Until one day, when you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

Originally posted by shitjeon

MEMBER: jeon jungkook x reader (ft. kim taehyung)

GENRE: romance, mentions of smut, badboy!au, hints of angst

WORDS: 10 282

WARNINGS: mature language, sexual themes

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08coming soon ↠ 

A/N: I would apologize for taking so long, but I won’t :P hope you like some juicy drama. this part is a little different from the other ones, but it’s very necessary and important.

Keep reading

HOW NOT TO DRAW ARCHERY: AN ART TUTORIAL.

DISCLAIMER: I was going to make this “how to draw archery”, but that would probably have taken the rest of my life. This is all stuff I’ve learned from practicing archery in the past, and the tips I’ve given should translate to many, if not all styles of archery. If you take issue with any of the information given here please contact me, as I’m aware I’m not an expert!

Okay, I’ve seen too many bad drawings of archery online. Most of the time I can overlook it, but I’ve made this guide to address drawings where a) the character would hurt/maim themselves if they shot like that, or b) if you tried to shoot like that, the arrow would just make a sad trajectory to the ground, the aerodynamic equivalent of a “WAH-WAH” on a trumpet.

With this in mind:

POINT ONE: WHY IS YOUR ARM LIKE THAT

If successful archery is about one thing, it is about consistency - being able to make your body take exactly the same stance over and over and over again. Your body is a key part of the weapon, and just as you wouldn’t want a gun that had components that wobbled and shifted, you don’t want your body to.

With this in mind, characters shooting, particularly at full draw (this is when the arm pulling the string is stretched all the way back), should have the arm that is holding the bow straight. Not locked - I’ll get into that - but straight. A straight arm is easy to replicate - a bent arm could be at a different angle each time. Simple as that.

POINT TWO: DON’T SHOOT YOUR TIT OFF

See this diagram

the dotted line is the path the string will take. The string is extremely tight - it has to be for the bow to work. It will therefore move extremely fast. Do you want any part of your body to be in the way of that.

if you have any part of your body (elbows and breasts/pectoral muscles tend to be the worst offenders) in the line of the string, they will get hit. And this will hurt. A LOT. Google “archery bruise” to see how. Yikes. Furthermore, if your arm or chest gets in the way, it’ll knock the arrow off course, and in addition to having sliced your nipple off you’ll have missed your shot too. So KEEP STUFF OUT OF THE PATH OF THE STRING.

side note: this is where the myth of amazons chopping their boobs off came from. Also, why archers sometimes wear chest-guards - this looks like a one-cupped unisex bra. Stylish. Also why archers often wear protective gear called a bracer. This goes on the tender inside of the arm and wrist that might get clipped by the string, not the outside that is nowhere near it.

POINT THREE: WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR FINGERS STOP THAT

Okay I keep seeing this

Having the fingers clasping the arrow like this makes it highly likely that the pressure from them will send the arrow off-course.

Many modern bows have an arrow rest so you needn’t rest the arrow on your hand at all. If that isn’t the case, it works better to rest the arrow on the first knuckle of the index finger (where it meets the hand). If it’s just being used as a platform, the finger shouldn’t be able to exert enough pressure to make the shot go all over the place. Also you won’t end up shredding your fingers with the fletchings.

Talking of that…

POINT FOUR: DON’T SLICE YOUR FINGERS OFF

remember what I said earlier about how incredibly taut bowstrings are

imagine pulling that back with your soft fleshy fingers

it is basically like cheesewire through…soft fleshy fingers.

Use protection. Illustrated below are the tab and archery glove, or just go to google or something, stop the madness.

POINT FIVE: PHYSICS DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT

A strung bow is taut. The body of the bow is pulled by the (very tight) string, making a D shape. An unstrung bow will be straighter.

The tension in the string means a string should always be a straight line. If the bow is drawn, it’s two straight lines. 

If there is any curve in the string, the arrow will probably fall limply to the floor.

ALSO. When the string is drawn back, it exerts more pressure on the bow, creating that really exaggerated curve. This is where the power comes from. (I think. I am not physics). Basically, if you’re drawing a character at full draw, the string should be straight and the bow should be curved. If the opposite is true something very wrong has happened and you should be sad.


OKAY! I hope this has been helpful, if you have any questions or concerns let me know. And if in doubt, doctor google will help you - look at olympic or professional archers, and see how they’re standing and how their bows behave.

GOOD LUCK DRAWING!

Domesticity

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky being domestic is a bit of a turn on for his girlfriend

A/N: here’s your metal arm fic, @emily-james-barnes ;) your frank fic inspired me to finish it for you,,,but i think it’s more metal fingers than anything else…also it’s a little crappy, sorry :/

Warnings: smut, metal arm fingering, oral (mr), it’s all smut,,,

words: 1894

tags: @feelmyroarrrr @lipstickandwhiskey @daybreak96 @sistasarah-sallysaidso

You sip your coffee and shift on the stool underneath you.  The smell of cooking bacon and fresh brewed coffee is heavy on the air, and draws your eyes back to your boyfriend’s back in the kitchen in front of you.  You lean your elbows on the counter and study him, still not quite believing what you’re seeing.  He’s making breakfast.  Bucky Barnes is making you breakfast.  It’s so domestic, so unlike him, so goddamn attractive.  You can’t help but stare.  At the way he looks in just a pair of tight boxers, his back bare.  At the way his metal arm catches the early morning light through the window over the sink.  

Keep reading

The cupcake

“We have to help him, Ron.” Hermione told her boyfriend. “You know how he is, if you don’t push him, he will never make the first move.”

 “And what do you suggest we do, Hermione? It’s not like we can make her so something… We don’t even know if she likes him back!” He answered.

“Well, I think there is a way.” She smiled. “Come with me to the library.” 

“Bloody library.” Ron said under his breath.

“Did you say something?”

“No, nothing at all.”


When Harry entered the 8th year common room Ron and Hermione were going around giving cupcakes to who was there.

“Hello, Harry, do you want a cupcake?” Hermione asked when she saw him.

He grabbed the cupcake she was giving him and ate it while she explained that she had made them herself, not wanting the house elves to have any more work.

“Go give this one to Cho.” She said suddenly and gave him a cupcake that was just slightly different from the one he had just ate.

“Ok…” He looked at her suspiciously.

Hermione smiled at her friend and watched as he went in Cho’s direction to give her the cupcake. What Hermione wasn’t expecting, however, was Malfoy entering the common room in that moment and Harry walking towards him and giving him the bloody spiked cupcake with a nod and a tense “Malfoy”.

Draco looked at Potter weirdly, not knowing what to make out of the situation. Why, in the name of Merlin, was bloody Harry Potter giving him a cupcake like they were some sort of Hufflepuff friends?

“Why are you giving me a cupcake, Potter?” He asked.

“It was Hermione’s idea.” He shrugged. “She’s giving cupcakes to everyone.”

Then, the boy smiled and walked away living Draco looking at the cupcake in his hand stunned.

After looking around the room and seeing everyone enjoying their cupcakes – even Blaise and Pansy, - Draco took a careful bite and promised himself he would never admit aloud just how good the cupcake actually was.

Only Ron saw the look of terror on Hermione’s face as Malfoy ate the cupcake.


“What do you mean, Hermione?” Draco heard someone hissing when he left his dorm room in the middle of the night to go the bathroom 

“I mean exactly what I said, Ron.”

“So, Harry gave Malfoy the cupcake he was supposed to give to Cho?” 

Draco peeked around the corner at the scene in the common room and saw Granger nodding her head, sitting on the sofa and looking guilty.

“So, what will happen now?” Weasley asked.

“I guess we just have to get ready for a week full of Malfoy… He will want to be with Harry all the time. You know it, Ron, George was the one sending you the potion, he explained everything that would happen once someone had it and, just like he said, the only way it won’t change the person’s behaviour is if they already have feelings for the person who gave it to them. This is Malfoy and Harry we are talking about.”

Draco looked at the two of them in disbelief. If he understood correctly, Granger and Weasley had spiked a cupcake with some kind of love potion George Weasley sold at the store, they gave the cupcake to Potter so he could give it to Cho Chang, but Potter gave the cupcake to Draco and he had eaten it, meaning that he would apparently be in love with Potter for a week.

However, he didn’t feel any different and he knew why: the potion didn’t affect the behaviour of those who already had feelings for the one who gave it to them, or so Granger had said. Draco knew he couldn’t just act like he normally did towards Potter, or else Weasley and Granger would find out the truth about his feelings.

Seeing only one way out, Draco decided that during the week the potion would have effect he would show his love for Harry Potter and then blame it on the potion and make the two Gryffindor idiots who spiked the bloody cupcake pay for it.


When Harry sat at the Gryffindor table the next morning for breakfast he was met with guilty expressions on Ron and Hermione’s faces. 

“Good morning.” He greeted while sitting down next to Ron.

“Morning.” Hermione answered even though she didn’t look him in the eyes.

“Ok, what did you do?” Harry asked looking at his two best friends.

Hermione and Ron shared look and Hermione sighed, looking like she was ready to spill whatever they had done, but before she could Malfoy sat down next to her, in front of Harry, and she looked down at her food.

“Hello, Potter.”

“Malfoy.” Harry nodded.

Harry looked at him weirdly, not knowing why the other boy decided to sit with them instead of the Slyhterins. It wasn’t unusual that the houses mixed during meals, however, it was unusual for Malfoy to sit with the Golden Trio.

They ate breakfast in a tense silence and, when they finished, Malfoy got up and said “See you later, Potter” before he exited the Great Hall.


For three days, Malfoy had sat with them for meals. He tried to make conversation and Harry was surprised to see that he actually enjoyed the boy’s company. Malfoy was different from the people Harry usually hang out with; the Slytherin was sarcastic, - sometimes even making mean comments – and his humour was different from what Harry was used to, but, in a way, it was kind of refreshing. 

Now, they were both in the library studying for potions; seeing Harry struggling with the lessons, Draco had offered to help and they had already been there for an hour.

“I think it’s enough for today, Potter.”

Harry yawned and nodded, closing his books and putting them in his bag. Draco smiled seeing the sleepy boy that he found adorable.

“Come on, Potter, I don’t think you want to fall asleep in the middle of the library.”

Shaking his head, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him out of the library in the direction of the common room, their fingers intertwining in the way and neither of them doing anything to pull them apart. When they got to the common room, they said goodnight to those who were still awake and stopped at the Harry’s bedroom’s door.

“Good night, Harry” Draco smiled and kissed the boy’s forehead, before going to his room and leaving him behind.


The next day, Harry didn’t pay attention in his classes; he was too busy daydreaming about a certain boy. It surprised Harry when, the night before, Malfoy had kissed his forehead; why had he done that? Harry couldn’t tell and, somehow, he didn’t care, as long as the other boy did it again. 

At supper, Malfoy sat next to Harry at the Gryffindor table, closer than he had sat the days before, making Harry blush and smile down at his food when he felt their thighs brush. Hermione and Ron had the same guilty expressions they had been wearing for some days now.

“Are you guys ok?” Malfoy asked. 

Ron looked at Hermione, nodded his head slightly and she sighed looking up at Harry and Malfoy.

“We have something to tell you both.” She said.

“Ok, tell us.” Malfoy put his fork down.

“Not here” Ron shook his head. “Not in the Great Hall where there are so many people.”

When they finished eating, Ron and Hermione got up and told Harry and Malfoy they would meet them in the common room, so they could talk.

“What do you think they want to tell us?” Harry asked the other boy.

“I think I have an idea, but let’s go and see.”

Draco got up and Harry mirrored his actions and they exited the Great Hall together.

“Harry…” Draco called when they were just about to enter the common room.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to remember that I do what I do because I want to.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see. Just don’t forget what I said, ok?”

Harry smiled at the boy in front of him and leaned up to kiss his cheek; Malfoy blushed and Harry thought that the redness in his pale cheeks suited him and decided that he would do anything just to see the other boy flushed again. Malfoy smiled down at him and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling him to the common room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for them in front of one of the fireplaces.

The only other people in the common room were sitting at the table playing chess and Draco knew that the couple in front of the fireplace had decided to talk there because it would be almost empty, as most of the 8th years were still having supper.

Harry and Draco sat next to them and the sight of them sitting so close with their hands clasped and fingers intertwined seemed to make Hermione look like she was about to cry.

“We did something” Ron finally said. “Just don’t get too mad, Harry.”

Harry looked at them feeling slightly scared about what they could have possibly done.

“Ok” he answered. “I’ll try not to get mad.”

“We really didn’t mean for this to happen, Harry,” Hermione rushed. “We just wanted to help you with Cho.”

Harry felt Draco’s hand twitch in his own and gripped it tighter, not really realising what he was doing.

“What do you mean?” He asked his best friends.

“Oh, Harry, we know you like her!”

“But… where did you get that idea from?”

“You told us that you liked someone, but you wouldn’t say who… She was the only person we could think of.”

“I don’t like Cho.” Harry scoffed. “But that’s not the point. What did you do?”

“Remember when I gave out cupcakes on Sunday?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, there was a reason behind it.” She continued quietly.

“Just spit it out already!” Draco exclaimed.

“We spiked one of the cupcakes with one of George’s love potions.”

“What?”

“I gave a cupcake to you and told you to give it to Cho, remember?”

“But I never gave the cupcake to Cho” Harry shook his head. “I gave it to…”

“Malfoy” Ron finished looking at the boy next to Harry.

Draco heard Harry take a deep breath next to him and he could feel the other boy’s rage and betrayal.

“What was the potion supposed to do?”

“For a week, the person who drank it would act in love with the person that gave it to them, unless they already have feelings for each other, then they would act the same.”

There was a thick silence in the air and Draco felt like hexing the two people sitting in front of him when he felt Harry’s hand go limp and stop squeezing his own.

“So, what you are trying to tell me is that, for the past days, Dr-Malfoy has been nice to me because of some potion?”

Ron and Hermione didn’t answer, but they didn’t need to; Harry already knew it and, somehow, it really hurt to know that Malfoy had done everything because of a potion. Draco felt his heart drop when Harry got up without a word and left to his room, not looking back.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Hermione looked at Draco.

“I already knew.”

“How come?”

“I heard you talking about it on Sunday night.”

“You did? Then why didn’t you try and fight the potion?”

“Why would I fight something that didn’t even work in the first place?”

Hermione and Ron fell silent and Draco just sighed and got up.

“I know you are Gryffindors and all, but not even I thought you could be this stupid!”

The Gryffindors watched as he went to his room and when he was out of sight Ron looked at Hermione with a scared expression.

“Did he mean what I think he meant?”


Harry ignored the other three the following days. His best friends tried talking to him and apologize, but he wouldn’t let them. 

Seeing that the boy preferred being left alone, Draco didn’t try talking to him and decided that the best he could do was wait until the week of the potion ended so Harry would believe him.

So, on Monday after supper, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him to his room, determined to talk to him and to make him see the truth, because some days showing Harry his love wasn’t enough for him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Why do you call me Malfoy again?”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“No! My name is Draco, that’s what you should call me, just like you did this past week.”

“You were under a potion’s influence.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“The potion doesn’t work when the person already has feelings for the one who gave the potion to them.” Draco walked closer to Harry and felt really accomplished when Harry blushed.

“What do you mean?”

Draco rolled his eyes playfully.

“I know you are a Gryffindor, but you’re not so dense, Harry, you know exactly what I mean.” He leaned down and kissed the boy’s lips lightly. “I did what I did because I wanted to, not because of some stupid Weasley, potion.”

And then he kissed him harder and Harry rested his hand on the blond’s chest gasping in surprise when he felt the rapid pace the heart beneath his hand was beating in. Draco took advantage of the gasp to slip his tongue in the other boy’s mouth and both of them saw little colourful sparks behind their eyelids.

“Draco” Harry whispered when they parted to breathe.

Draco just smiled and pushed Harry to lay on the bed slipping in next to him and putting his arms around him protectively.

“I hope you know that I will have to get revenge somehow” he said. “They don’t have the right to poison me, even if it didn’t work!”

“I’ll help you” Harry smiled at the Slytherin.

They cuddled closer to each other and let sleep overtake them.


Masterlist

Awarded*

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader
Rating: Explicit  - 18+ only
Summary: Chris and Reader attend the Academy Awards together. At the Oscars after party, the actor surprisingly wants to leave sooner because he wants to have some quality time alone with his girlfriend.
Word Count: 2.9k
Genre: NSFW/SMUT
Warnings: dirty talking, slight Dom!Chris, lots of hickeys or love bites, oral sex (both receiving - 69), fingering, hair pulling, slight spanking, multiple orgasms and rough unprotected sex. [It wouldn’t be a shock if you wrapped your cock!]
Author’s Note: It can be read as a continuation of Halftime Show*.  Also, the “baby girl” pet name is mentioned, but it’s not linked to a Daddy kink in this fic.

Originally posted by adamisstillinhellthankstoyou

The Oscars, the greatest, most prestigious and most glamorous ceremony of all, gathered actors, directors, producers, costume designers and every hidden worker in the cinematographic industry for a moment of celebration of their art. Like every year since the ceremony that had awarded Cate Blanchett or Daniel Day Lewis, you stood by Chris’ sides and attended the shows with him for a moment of joy, creating happy memories.

This year’s ceremony - which wasn’t such a catastrophe - nothing changed between the dozens of photographers yelling out your boyfriend’s name, to the many laughs thanks to the host and the dinner held by the Academy, it was a blast and there you were enjoying the after party with Chris and some of his friends.

Even if you weren’t working in this environment quite tough, you were always enchanted to meet more people working behind the scenes of a movie that worked so well. The Vanity Fair Oscar parties represented moments of different encounters, sometimes either awkward or very interesting, but what you enjoyed most was having Chris next to you and telling you how much you looked gorgeous, wanting to introduce you to everyone he knew there.

Standing next to the bar with him in your sophisticated gown, your red lipstick outrageously showed off as you carried a flute of champagne close to your mouth and you noticed the way his beautiful blue eyes lingered on your lips and how his eyebrow raised so lustfully each time, your body would brush past him. The late evening consisted of quite sexy exchanged glances, stealing kisses and soft skin contacts that drove him crazy the whole time.

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Candy Hearts

Requested

Based on the word “Inevitable”


Draco’s eleven.

He’s gasping lungs and cracked open ribs as he clutches the acceptance letter in his pocket and glances up at the frost laced rooftops of Diagon Alley, realizes that there’s an entire world beyond the manor walls and he hadn’t even realized it.

He’s eleven and catching sight of her through shop window reflections like crystal balls. Dragging himself into Florish and Bots because there’s curiosity, no, interest, no, enchantment, maybe, ebbing like magic through the whorls of his fingertips. And she’s in his peripheral, schoolbooks clutched to her chest and smile soft, eyes wide and lashes fluttering. Luminescent in the light filtering through the window.

Draco watches as she rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, strains on her tiptoes to reach a book on one of the higher shelves and –

“Here,” he says, grabs the book and slips it into her hands. Ignores the spark that catches between their fingertips and tugs, oh yes, he’s close enough to see the color of her eyes like rainbows reflected through a prism, the butterfly soft smile that traps itself against her mouth as she meets his eyes –

Says her name, “Y/N,” like wind chimes or a symphony.

And Draco thinks that it might as well be a spell.

___

Draco’s twelve.

He’s glances cast across a classroom, over his shoulder, when he hopes that nobody is looking. Fingers brushing and elbows knocking and, “Excuse me, I didn’t watch where I was going.” He did, and he’d be lying if he said that touching her felt anything less than a charm.

He’s twelve and he’s the pride swelling in his chest at his first Quidditch match when he can hear her somewhere below him, cheering his name. He tells her that she’s his good luck charm the next day, doesn’t quite catch the blush that suffuses her cheeks before he turns away.

But it’s the last day of term and she’s slipping by him in the train corridor and, “Have a good summer, Draco,” she says, hesitates, brushes her lips against his cheek.

He hadn’t quite believed in magic, until then.

___

Draco’s thirteen.

He’s Blaise’s snickering and Pansy’s knowing looks and jealousy, hot and potent, bubbling like a potion he hadn’t managed to get right in his stomach as Cormac McLagen smirks and smiles and sidles up beside Y/N in the Great Hall during breakfast one day.

He’s thirteen and he’s fucking captivated as snowflakes dust Y/N’s lashes and the wind twirls the ends of her scarf, as she wipes butterbeer from her upper lip and giggles at something that one of her friends whispers into her ear.

“I’ll help you back,” he offers, seizes a chance, when her friends have run ahead of her on the path back to the castle.

And she smiles at him, tucks an arm through the crook of his elbow. Tells him about the trouble she’s been having in Transfiguration lately and if she can’t figure it out her parents will have her head for sure and –

“I can tutor you, if you’d like,” he says, wonders if Blaise had spiked his pumpkin juice with Felix Felicis that morning. Hopes that she can’t feel his heartbeat through the jut of his elbow.

“I’d love that,” she replies.

And he can’t quite believe his luck.

___

Draco’s fourteen.

He’s library desks cluttered with books and ink blotches, Madam Pince’s furious hushing when he and Y/N forget to be quite. The way light streaks and shimmers around her, distorted as though they’re drowning in the Black Lake.

He’s fourteen and strangely, oddly hopeful as he clasps her fingers, marvels at the fit of her hand in his, shows her the correct hand motion and heart stops, starts, stutters when she doesn’t quite pull away.

“I aced my last test,” she tells him, runs towards him in the corridor, throws her arms around his neck till he can feel her heartbeat crash against his.

“I guess you don’t need a tutor anymore then,” he says. A frown is burgeoning on the cusp of his mouth.

“No, no,” she says hurriedly. “I still do.”

And he isn’t sure why he hasn’t transfigured this, them into something else yet.

___

Draco’s fifteen.

He’s the firewhiskey on his lips and the castle floor on the palms of his hands as he reaches forward and spins the bottle yes, hopes, wonders, waits as it spins, spins, lands on her, oh yes.

He’s fifteen and he’s the lip-gloss on her lips, the way they crash head on like a train-wreck, a car crash and he doesn’t have an algorithm for this: him, her, the kiss.

Because her mouth fits neatly against his and she tastes like melted sugar, like cotton candy, all soft edges and fluttering pulse points. His eyes are closed and he can’t quite believe/ only he can, he’d rigged the game.

Afterwards, afterwards, afterwards:

He pulls her into a broom cupboard and threads his fingers through her hair, tastes butterbeer on her tongue and feels his tonsils glued together because this is a secret and he can’t quite find the right words to say.

But things are different, they’re different and he holds her hands as he walks her to class, kisses her across the tabletop in Honeydukes and grabs her, twirls her after Quidditch matches. He wraps his scarf around her neck and they pass notes in class, sit at the top of the astronomy tower at night and map out the handful of constellations that they know.

It’s this: him, her, and how he hadn’t anticipated that the winds would change.

___

Draco’s sixteen.

He’s late night kisses and early morning platitudes, worried questions and, “Draco, I know something’s wrong.” The mark on his arm and the worry that’s coiled tight in his gut as he attempts to keep it covered up.

He’s sixteen and he’s breaking, the world too heavy on Atlas’ shoulders. Because he has a noose around his neck and he can’t do it, can’t, can’t, can’t.

They lose their virginity to each other the night before he’s meant to kill Dumbledore. And it’s like falling through a pensieve to a memory he didn’t know he had; soft lips and rolling hips and gasps, teeth, fingers fit neatly in the groove of her waist.

Here’s how it goes:

A girl, a boy, a tragedy. He’s Icarus and she’s the sun and it’s not her that kills him, oh no, it’s the ocean and melted wax dripping down his back.

He tells her ‘I love you’ before he tells him ‘I have to kill you’.

And there’s a green light and he’s Gatsby and he’s never managed to reach what he wanted, no, has only ever been a cautionary tale.

He’s sixteen and he’s a mistake, a heartbreak, the boy who made all the wrong choices.

___

Draco’s seventeen.

He’s the shards of a broken chandelier stuck in his mouth, his hands, vocal chords torn to ribbons as lights flash green and screams echo through the hallowed corridors of the manor. The letters he’d sent her that don’t have a reply, the ragged stitches of a heart never meant to mend.

He’s seventeen and the room of requirement is burning around him, life flashing before his eyes, flames licking at his heels. It’s her, her, her. And Crabbe’s gone, the room is charred but it’s not over yet, is never over.

There’s blood on his hands and in his throat when he sees her again. When he grabs her, yells, watches as a Death Eater’s body crumbles to the floor.

Her palm is sweaty against his, breaths ragged and tears sooty.

There’s a war raging around them and he finds that he doesn’t quite care.

___

Draco’s eighteen.

He’s the faded mark on his arm and the ring in his pocket and the happiness – cautious, unsure, new – that permeates the walls of his new home with her. Because the war is over and the world is still turning.

He’s eighteen and he’s a happy ending, maybe, a fairytale that didn’t quite end with them riding off into the sunset but ended like this instead: him and her and he thinks that that’s all he ever really needed.

he held me, thinks sherlock, looking at john across the pillows in some kind of wonderment. john’s fringe is growing long again. his eyelashes lay blue-violet shadows on his cheeks. he’s been asleep now for the better part of half an hour. is that the word for it? that’s how it felt, i think. like being. protected, even though there’s no danger here. like he was gathering me up with all my pieces, keeping me together. 

does he know that’s what he did? held me, i mean. that way. 

john snuffles in his sleep, rubbing his cheek along the pillowcase almost in response. he had been fiercely respectful of sherlock’s privacy since moving back in, as though castigating himself at every near-cross of a boundary, and it had made his movements around the flat stilted and unsure, like every time he went to put a foot down, he had to first draw it back and double-check that he was allowed. you’re allowed, sherlock had told him, just that morning. whatever you’re worried about doing or not doing - you’re allowed. 

maybe, john had responded, quite easily, as if he’d been expecting sherlock to do it, but that still doesn’t mean i should. 

but then, the realisation, passing between them like an electrical current, the closed circuit of knowing flowing between them as visibly as lightning, had stopped them both where they stood. and sherlock had said, you know i want you to, then. 

yes, john had said, very, very quietly, i think so. you know why i’m hesitating, too.

sherlock had looked at him for a long minute, not deducing, not deciding. just seeing. yes. you’re afraid.

john had laughed. laughed, actually. aren’t you? 

petrified, which was true, but i think you should do it anyway, which was less true, in fact, but still worth saying. sherlock hoped he’d always say the things worth saying. he doubted he would, or that he even could, but it was a good thing to hope for, he thought. 

and so john had stepped forward. breathed. slipped one hand around the back of sherlock’s elbow, steadying him. had, so so slowly, so so softly, leaned in and brushed his mouth across sherlock’s. not a kiss - not really. that had come after. it was john, going to put a foot down and drawing back, double-checking that he was allowed. you’re allowed, sherlock had repeated, breathing against his cheek. i - i want you to. 

i - i want you to, too, john had said, more like a gasp than anything, like the strength of that admission had to be wrenched forward from somewhere he’d been keeping secret, i want you to be allowed, too. 

which had lead them here, to john’s sleepy heartbeat wearing into sherlock’s sheets and john’s hand on the coverlet, fingers curled in easy relaxation, those same fingers that had clutched and smoothed and held, and held, and held, and even though the fingers were there, now, on the coverlet instead of on sherlock’s hips and shoulders and neck and jaw and ribs and thighs and hands, there was the distinct sense of not having been let go. 

sherlock, john whispers, not opening his eyes. his fingers turn, reach, find, clasp. sherlock thinks his heart is going to burst right out of his wrist where it beats against john’s palm. you all right? 

yes, sherlock whispers back. did you know you held me?

john’s smile, lazy in the dark. sherlock wants to trace it with a fingertip. he thinks, probably, he’d be allowed to do that, if he tried, but it can wait until morning. was that okay? 

he shrugs. the covers shift. john’s thumb swipes back and forth across the smooth skin of his arm. i think so. i just. didn’t know if you knew. that that’s what that was, i think. 

it was, john confirms. the smile doesn’t fade. he tugs on sherlock’s wrist, gently, encouragingly. come here, and i’ll do it again, if you like.

sherlock inches forward, and john raises an arm to welcome him in until his head settles on john’s chest, with one arm draped over his back. he can hear the steady-slow thump of john’s heart. he can feel the smooth-shallow rise of john’s belly under his hand. i like holding you, sherlock, he says, rumbling and gruff through sleep and the saying of something that is difficult and daring to say, i’d like to keep doing it, if that’s okay. 

okay, sherlock says, and it is.

bite me | m

◇ “Chanyeol — bite me!

◇ Chanyeol x reader

◇ vampire!au

◇ requested by anon; Good I please request a vampire chanyeol where you’re shy about your first time and he’s really sweet

◇ agshfjsj sorry ive been so mia!! Catching up on all the avengers fanfics ive missed while i was focusing on kpop lmao / also i tried to add a read more but i have no idea if it worked or not so——

•••

“You don’t feel… pressured, do you?” He watches you carefully.

“No! Not at all, really…”

Contrary to your assuring words, your skin trembles with every second and you can’t meet his eyes; Chanyeol has only had the pleasure of meeting you and calling you his mate for 4 months, but when your index finger hooks around the thumb of your opposite hand and you rock back and forth on your feet, he feels pity blossom in his chest like an unwelcomed garden weed — he finds it easy to read you.

“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to,” Chanyeol reminds you quietly, stepping closer until you stand chest to chest, and despite the matter at hand, his close proximity only serves to calm your nerves.

You sigh deeply, before a smile, small and nervous, flickers onto your features. You look up at him reassuringly, modding your head. “I know. But I — I want to.”

Sex wasn’t a new concept to you, despite not having taken part in any form of sexual intercourse — it wasn’t why you were nervous. It isn’t why you were painfully aware of your pulse thundering in your ears.

The source of your wavering and quickly depleting confidence were the two glimmering, shiny white canines that were hidden in Chanyeol’s gums — his fangs, which, if everything you were told about vampire tradition was true, would most likely be buried deep in your jugular during your love making.

You had considered whipping up a quick painless potion just so that you wouldn’t have to feel anything, but that wouldn’t only take away your pain, it would take away your pleasure too — and you didn’t want to feel nothing while Chanyeol was making love to you.

“It’s gonna happen sooner or later,” you add with a shrug and a weak, uncertain smile, folding your arms and hugging yourself close.

“I don’t want you to do this because ‘it’s gonna happen sooner or later’,” Chanyeol shakes his head, reaching down and intertwining your fingers. He lifts your knuckles to his lips, murmuring, “I want this to be memorable. I want you to enjoy yourself, my love.”

Keep reading

All hands on deck

request: Hey love, can I request StevexReaderxBucky? All early 20s. Reader works with law/business. She was close with Bucky or Steve(you choose) growing up/in high school. But they just lost touch. Reader meets Steve/Bucky for the first time & they live in the same building. Reader finds out either one/both Steve & Bucky are strippers. Maybe readers inexperienced but flirty (sleeps w/people she likes). Nat & Reader are sisters- they’re both gorgeous & close.

pairing: steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes

word count: 6017

warnings: smut, threesome, oral (male receiving), fingering, breath play, praise kink, stripping, small amounts of dry humping

a/n: 9 pages and five hours later! also changed a few aspects of the request so the fic worked well.

Originally posted by dailyteamcap

The moment you walked through the entrance of your apartment complex, you knew something was different despite not knowing what it was. You tried to push the feeling away as you made your way to the elevator smiling at your neighbours as you did, you may have been tired after a day of hard work but nothing stopped you from being polite to those around you.

As soon as the elevator doors opened with a ding you quickly scurried your back against the cool metal wall and your head leaning back as you let out a long sigh. You were beyond tired as well as beyond annoyed, your boss made you stay at work two hours later than usual and you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was go to your apartment and crawl into your bed and sleep until you woke up the next morning for work.

Keep reading

here’s a lil hc of the boys + valentines day gifts

  • okay so matt is in love with neil that has been confirmed yes? yes. so every v day he buys neil cliche items like a ridiculously large teddy bear and a bunch of roses and those terrible chocolates. 
  • and neil doesnt like chocolate but he eats them anyway because its the thought that counts. and also now he has a room full of stuffed bears??
  • anyway every time matt buys neil a present he gets all wide-eyed, rapid blinking, confusion morphing into soft smiles, nose scrunches, embarrassment and its?? beautiful. 
  • so andrew and neil dont usually do much on v day. they just chill out and eat ice cream and go on a late-night drive with the windows down and their mixtape playing quietly in the background. 
  • but then andrew sees neil being all smiley and pink-stained cheeked and hes like. that does it. its my turn. (also he just wants neils attention) (he always does)

Keep reading

10

FAVORITE HL FICS - YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL (227k) by @mizzwilde (velvetoscar)

“The moon knows,” is what he says, breath colored in liquor and a smile.

Louis stares at him.

“What are you talking about?”

Another manic grin from Harry, and then he pulls him in again, his hand travelling to the side of Louis’ face, cradling his cheek.

“The moon knows that we’re in love.”

And Louis pauses at that, his entire body and physical processes pause, because Harry has never said he loves Louis. He’s implied it, his eyes have whispered it, but he’s never said it and…did he just, sort of, maybe say it?

“Wha—“ he begins, dizzy, his veins filling, but Harry steps even closer, continues to whisper even lower.

“I’m in love with you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, curls the words in Louis’ ear, and when Louis pulls back to look at him, his gaze is dazed and soft, grinning with freedom and the recklessness of inebriation. Fond. “And this belongs to you,” he continues in his low, rumbling volume as he places Louis’ hand over his heart and presses it there, holds it there with his cool fingers clasped around Louis’ wrist. “It’s yours, and yours to keep, and nobody deserves to know because nobody else matters.” Louis thinks he might die, standing here with the perspiration layering his skin like a delicate film, the gaze of the heavens alighting his limbs as he feels the beat of Harry’s thumping heart beneath his fingers.

Shakespeare (Part II)

(Banner made by the incredibly talented @tiostyles)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Sorry this was a bit late!! Any and all feedback is really, really appreciated. Please let me know if you love it or hate it or have constructive criticism. Enjoy! Xo


Classes have only been in session for two weeks when you have your first paper due.

Your fingers are rubbing at a pair of tired eyes while you yawn in protest. Leave it to you to put off your assignment until the last moment. Now, it’s midnight and all you have left to do is read through and edit, but your mind keeps wandering to thoughts of fluffy pillows and cozy blankets and the squeaky mattress awaiting you in your dorm room.

The library is silent, lights blindingly bright in an effort to keep occupants awake. You’re seated next to a window that looks over the entire campus, all the glowing lampposts and vacant sidewalks and ivy-coated brick buildings. The view is spectacular, and it hasn’t helped you stay focused for the past eight hours.

You lean back in your seat with a heavy sigh, clasping your fingers over your eyes. When you open them again, a girl at the next table is glaring at you over the screen of her laptop. You’re on the second floor—the silent floor—and apparently loud breathing is not allowed.

You press against the edge of your table, sliding your chair out enough for you to stand. The library closes at one. You know for a fact that once you get back to your dorm, there will be no way to keep yourself out of bed. If you’re going to make this paper acceptable, it needs to be soon, and you’re going to need some caffeine.

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DEAR MICHAEL,

Starting today, I’ll stop thinking about you. I will remove all thoughts of you from my mind. Put up a sign saying: STILL MOVING ON, COME BACK LATER. The subject of you is declared off-limits, locked up with heavy metal chains. Never to be opened again.

I will stop looking at you. At your soft dark hair that I used to love to touch, your baby face that I used to admire from afar, your deep black eyes that once met mine from across the room, and your thin lips curving up in a smile whenever you saw me. I will erase all this from my memories.

I will stop dreaming of you. Dreams of us together, happy and in love. Walking side by side, hands clasped together, fingers intertwined. I will hide them deep within myself, where they will rot and fade away.

I will stop caring about you. Stop noticing all the little things that you do. Those do not matter to me anymore. As well as all the feelings I’ve once felt so deeply for you. I will crumple them up and throw it away, casted away in the wind.

I will stop forgiving you. Stop forgiving the thousand wrongs you did to me. Stop forgiving your flaws. I will throw away these blue-colored spectacles, that once colored our world, and once prevented me from seeing who you really are.

I will stop loving you. You have burdened my heart too much. It grew heavy and weary from all the negative feelings you’ve incurred in me. It bore scars and bruises from all the times you’ve let it down. It has become degraded and battered, all because I’ve always put you first before it. It had enough. It’s time I prioritize my heart again.

Lastly, I will stop preventing myself from moving on. Pull down all the barricades you and I put in place. I am tired of being alone in this love, for it has become a tragedy. A tragedy called Us. I will start anew, and forget all about you. I will move on with my life, as what I should have done years ago.

Addio, amore mio.

anonymous asked:

Can you rec any soul mark AUs where Steve and Tony actually end up together? I love pining and UST but I'm sick as fuck of these fics where some tragic circumstance (CW, misunderstanding, etc) keeps them apart or one realizes it and the other doesn't and just GIVES UP. My emotional state is so done w/ this. TIA!

Soulmates!  Okay, well, I’ll be honest and say that I don’t read a lot of these, mainly b/c I’m just more of a “love is a choice you have to make about how you treat someone” than a “boom! we love each other!” kind of person.  This could have impacted the whole not falling in love thing, but, here we are.  I think all of these are happy endings.  At any rate, I do have some wonderful suggestions and please, everyone feel free to add their favorites!  

Remember to leave a comment and kudos for your authors!

The Winged Soul by @inukagome15:  It wasn’t until he was three that he realized he was different and no one else could see the wings.

To Strike a Match by @51st:   The marks that appeared on nearly every human one day weren’t very obvious – a pattern resembling the whorl of a fingerprint and almost as unique, on the inner wrist, tinted the color of coal-black ink. Almost as unique, because everyone was supposed to have a match somewhere on earth, and when the match was found, with a solid press of bared wrist to wrist, mark to mark, the pattern disappeared.

Nothing Else But Miracles (An Ancient Secrets and Newborn Dreams Remix) by muccamukk:   In the rough and tumble of the Lower East Side, the only constants in Steve’s life are the solid black letters of the name on his wrist. Because even with the law and society against them, his world falling apart piece by piece, and his search for his soulmate taking him to stranger and wilder places, Steve has faith that finding Tony Stark is only a matter of time.

Stars Fading, But I Linger On, Dear by @chibisquirt:   A Soulmate AU where people meet their soulmate in their dreams. Of course, not even that solves all the world’s problems, especially if one or more of the soulmates has a secret identity…

Thumb, Index and Pinky Extended by Eudoxia:   Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn’t matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Stand Back, I’m Going to Do Science by Good_News_Everyone:  Soulmates are a rare and cherished thing, a simple touch of hands bringing love that lasts forever. By all the rules of romance, they’re meant to wait for each other and to trust in the vagaries of fate to bring them together.
Tony’s never been good at waiting, and when he has science on his side, who needs fate?

The Song Without Words by @lelantusposts (WiP): Everyone knew what happened when soulmates touched each other. Whether it was hands clasping together, fingers brushing across a jaw, or lips meeting in a kiss - it didn’t matter. Any skin-to-skin contact and chests started glowing with soft, white-blue light. Soul-light, it was called.Tony woke up in a cave in Afghanistan with a hole in his chest and wires coming out of it and felt his blood run cold. He knew instinctively what it meant. He’d lost his ability to produce a soul-light. And so no matter how much he yearned for it in the secret, hidden corners of his heart, Tony would never find his soulmate.

The Long Road Home by @ladyshadowdrake:  Maria Stark told her son that the Mark on his wrist meant there was a special someone out there just for him. Sarah Rogers told her son that his soulmate was waiting for him, and he needed to be strong for them.Neither of them ever mentioned what to do if that soulmate just doesn’t want them.

Our Weight in Gold by @stark-spangled-lovers:  It was every cliché he’d ever heard about. Every sappy thing they wrote down in the magazines, every single thing he had always hated about the myth. It was as though he had experienced life without sight, and was suddenly bombarded by a storm of color. It was all-consuming, and rushing through his veins like molten lava, like his whole existence was suddenly filled with sunlight. A door opened, and a myriad of emotions stormed through his body: confusion, disbelief, loneliness, and so much fierce determination that it almost knocked Tony off his feet. And he understood then, understood that these emotions weren’t his. They were Rogers’.This is a story about fate, self-doubt, choice and eventually—love.

Multitude of One by @nostalgicatsea:   “So was I,” his soulmate would tell him one day, and what it would mean was that they loved him.  (Note:  This isn’t exactly happy, as it is CACW, but I’m an optimist and I loved it, so…yeah)

The Heavens Tumble Darling, and I’m– by @chibisquirt:  For most of Steve’s life, he’d been certain he was going to meet his soulmate by pissing him off. (Almost certainly a him, although the occasion of the WACs did cause Steve’s heart to stutter for more reasons than just the look of a girl in uniform.) He was sure that the conversation would go something like—“Something something (probably something sassy), Mr. Soulmate.”“Captain,” Capt. Soulmate would correct him.Because that was all it said: Just “CAPTAIN”, all caps, no punctuation, in dark block letters that looked simultaneously angry and precise. So he could probably be forgiven for assuming that it was a correction for a misapplied form of address; after all, it couldn’t be someone addressing him as Captain, could it?  Aha.   Ahahahaha.  Life was very funny.

The Truth of It by nightwalker:  You can’t lie to your soulmate, everyone knows that. Tony’s always thought it was just hype until he tries to sass Steve and the words freeze in his throat.

There You Are (I’ve Been Looking for You) by @izazov (WIP):  When Tony Stark meets Steve Rogers it’s hardly love at first sight. The fact the guy turns out to be his soulmate doesn’t change it in the least.

Captain & Mr. Stark by wisia:   In a world where your soulmates’ first words are etched onto your skin, Tony despairs. Because his words are “Mr. Stark” and everyone calls him that.

Like Sunlight by sara_holmes:  Steve is used to the way it feels by now; a strange but gentle tugging connection under his sternum, warm tingles in his skin whenever they touch. That is, until Tony gets himself kidnapped. Then it kinda feels more like someone is trying to wrench his heart out through his ribcage.

Time Bomb by @winterstar95;  Soulmates might be the way for the universe to balance itself out, but Steve and Tony aren’t sure about the end result.

Do It Over by @sineala:   The last words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin, and you won’t know who they are until they die. The thing is, Steve and Tony die a lot.

Follow in Your Footsteps by @sineala:  When Tony is twelve, his soulmate’s name appears on his wrist. Unfortunately, it’s hard to find out anything at all about Steve Rogers.It turns out there’s a reason for that.

Slipping Off the Page Into Your Hands by @sineala:   Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve’s problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony’s problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth.

Visible At Last by @awesomeavocadolove:   Based in a world where everyone has a soulmate’s name written on their arm – but not visible to the world until they touch.

And, finally, my own attempt at soulmates:

Hiraeth:  “Do you believe the universe fights for souls to be together?” Tony asked, trying to keep his voice steady and tell himself the answer wasn’t everything.

Frustrations

A Sam & Dean x Reader / smut

HAPPY SMUT APPRECIATION DAY!

A/N: Here is my contribution for Smut Appreciation Day: Vol. 2. I can’t believe it’s been a year since the first epic day. I want all of you to tag me in your filth while I’m at work today, and I promise I will read ALL of them when I get home tonight. Please let me know what you think. Happy reading (and masturbating)!

Word Count: 3,615

Warnings:
- smut. this is very graphic.
- if you don’t like reading about sexual situations, abort now.
- this is a threesome and can also be viewed as a polyamorous relationship between Sam, Dean, and reader.
- there is no wincest in this fic.
- language.
- always wear a condom, kids!

Tags: (at the end)

*gifs are not mine.

The three of you were covered in mud from head to toe. This particular hunt had gone a bit south, due to the unexpected rainstorm that had decided to fuck with your mission. Dean protested the entire way home about the state his interior was currently in, constantly pestering both you and Sam to keep your boots off the floor. Although you’d accomplished what you’d sought out to do, all of you were bickering back at forth at one another like children the entire ride home.

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