for what is man but a thumbed retriever

anonymous asked:

Hello I was wondering if you find similar fix like More than Biology with like bamf omega stiles going against the rules the angst could stay but without it is good too?

Made a list of Bamf!Omega!Stiles fics for you bb, hope you enjoy!  :D  -Emmy

Originally posted by find-a-reaction-gif

Swords & Curly Fries by wolfs_are_cool2 

(2,920 I Not Rated I WIP)  *sterek, stiles/theo, kitsune!stiles

Theo didn’t really like his job. He liked being out in the field where he could face the  grimm head on and y'know, kill things. When he got assigned to Beacon, He didn’t think he would be stuck being a class aid. But maybe a certain kitsune could make his job a lot better.
the one where Stiles is the BAMF omega all the alphas want, and Theo likes watching Stiles through his dorm window.
It’s not weird.

When the Moon Rises by lizc 

(4,116 I Mature I WIP)  *teacher!derek, werewolf!stiles

Stiles is a lonely highschool Stiboy and Derek is an attractive English teacher with an appreciation of moles and hazel eyes. When Stiles leaves abruptly during freshman year, Derek can’t help but wonder where the beautiful boy went. Three years later, a familiar face arrives back in Beacon Hills.


AU where Stiles is a lonely high schooler and leaves, comes back, and shocks everyone, including his then and now English teacher Derek Hale.

Suns of Beacon, Moon of Triskele by LLN3dseestheLight 

(10,852 I Explicit I WIP)  *sterek, historical AU, sci fi au

On the eve of the engagement feast of the newly crowned King of Beacon, Scott McCall of the House of True and the Lady Allison Argent. Allison was granted a boon as is custom on Beacon. She asked for the banishment of Omega Prince Nyctimus Stilinski, (other wise know as Stiles)Son of the House of Sheriff and Lord Nogitsune, from the planet of Beacon.

This was shocking to the court for all new that the prince was suppose to bond with the king to create an heir for the throne. Stiles though had been more than willing to step aside for Scott to marry Allison, but knew that the king’s and his child would be the heir…as Stiles father had planed years ago. Stiles knew there was only one place he could go…Planet Triskele. The prince knew he would be welcomed by Queen Talia Hale because of past deeds of valor he had done for her world. What the Prince didn’t know was how the Queen’s son, Derek Hale, would react to seeing him again.
Or…the Sci-Fi/Historical Omega-verse story you didn’t know you needed!

They’ll Never Own Me by opallynch 

(14,385 I Explicit I WIP)  *sterek, werewolves are known

“Come. With. Me.” Well, apparently he isn’t familiar with the concept of asking. There goes Stiles’ fantasy about guy with a perfect body and the ability to form questions. Damn it.

Not-so-perfect guy is clearly tired of not asking him so nicely and takes Stiles’ arm and starts pulling him in the direction of an exit.

“What the fuck, man?” His grip is strong enough to prevent Stiles from getting away, but not strong enough to hurt him. In spite of a lack of any chance of retrieving his freedom, he still tries to wrench himself free and shouts at the guy. Stiles catches some man’s attention and gestures at the hand on his arm. The man only mouths “good job” and gives him thumbs up.

For fucks sake.

Pride and Werewolves by Benaya 

(18,313 I Not Rated I Complete)   *sterek, steo, steter, stackson

Pride & prejudice teen wolf style

Destruction in Their Wake by SterekHalelinski 

(50,753 I Explicit I WIP)  *sterek, Supernatural crossover, magic!Stiles, major character death

Stiles has magic, the inheritance of his mother’s cursed bloodline.  Being an empath is one of his many abilities—he can “read” soulmarks and can, if given the opportunity, tell more than just who someone is going to end up with.  He can glimpse into parts of their future; how they meet, and even as far as how they die.  It all just depends on how long he’s afforded contact with one of the matching marks.  Stiles read his once, against his mother’s warnings, and he now carries a heavy burden with him always.  


The Teen Wolf and Supernatural crossover that nobody asked for.


One serious mess of a fic.

You Don’t Always Get What You Want by deadly_nightshade, Nerdy_fangirl_57 

(56,479 I Mature I WIP)   *sterek, high school au

Stiles doesn’t understand what he could have done to deserve this. Not only has the entire student body been out to get him since he first stepped foot into Beacon Hills High, but now he has to endure the constant bullying without his best friend Scott by his side. All in all school is survivable, even with all the harassment. That is until he finds out that Derek Hale, basketball superstar and Stiles’ most persistent bully, is apparently his soulmate. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Derek can’t believe this. It has to be a joke, it has to, because there is no way in hell that a freak like Stilinski could ever be his soulmate. He despises him more than anyone in the universe. So what if Derek thinks he has a cute nose, no one needs to know. Besides it doesn’t matter anyway, he still hates Stilinski with every fiber of his being, his cute nose doesn’t change a thing.

(Inspired by Blue Monday written by ExpectNothingGainEverything)

Bruises and Bitemarks by oblivions172 

(89,897 I Explicit I WIP)   *sterek

Biologically, Stiles is weak. When he presented as an omega, he knew that to be the truth but that never stopped him from running his mouth as a defense mechanism. However, it could only save him so many times before he ended up pissing off the wrong person. After he’s attacked in the parking lot outside of school, Stiles realizes he can no longer protect himself with just pure wit and sarcasm. When the attack lands him in the hospital, his dad forces him to pick between two options, report the alphas who attacked him or join a kickboxing gym run by omega rights activist and alpha, Derek Hale, a man Stiles has been in love with for many years.

Day 2: Prompt: Masterbation

Day two of the @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Lord…have mercy….

“Maybe we can do something else?” Tarble suggested reluctantly, running a hand over his short spiky locks.

Goku raised a brow, leaning against the brick pillar just outside the Ouji family home, “Like what exactly? I don’t really want to do anything that involves money; have to make this twenty bucks last me the rest of the week.” He shrugged, glancing over at the two girls sitting on the front lawn who were currently checking their phones.

Chi-chi glanced up aghast, pulling one earbud from her ear, “You promised you were going to take me out, Son-kun,” a dramatic pout formed on her lips.

Goku swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably and nervously began to rub the back of his neck. Tarble lifted dark eyes slowly, grinning broadly as if he knew what Goku’s response would be, “Yeah, Chi-chi.”

The brunette grinning triumphantly, and turned her attention back to her phone. Bulma, Chi-chi’s friend, was not as interested in what Mr. Yin would be assigning in class for both she and Goku this coming week, nope, instead she focused on the conversation the two boys were currently having.

“What’s going on?” the blue haired teen asked, squinting her eyes and tilting her head to the side.

Goku chuckled softly, “Well, we were all going to head down to the park before it got dark to toss the football, but it seems Tarble’s brother took it back. We can always go down to the lake?” Goku suggest, honestly amused by it all.

Bulma whispered in Chi-chi’s ear and stood up, brushing dirt and grass from her bare knees. Walking straight up to Tarble she looked him in the eye, “What, you can’t go get the ball? Is your brother even home?” she asked, shrugging her shoulders and shifting her curious gaze toward the double door of the main entry way.

“He is at practice,” Tarble stammered, narrowing his eyes and growing rather frustrated that she was even suggesting such a thing.

“Oh my gosh, Tarble, it is a silly football. I’m just going to go get it.” Bulma then drifted up the steps and paused near the door.

Tarble shook his head, “Nope. Absolutely not,” His lips pursed, as he crossing his arms over his chest, “He will know.”

Narrowing her eyes and tracing her tongue across her teeth, Bulma offered Son-kun a questioning side glance, “What about you, Son-kun? You feel the same away about this situation or am I the only one who thinks it is ridiculous?”

Goku chuckled, “Nope, I just got back on Vegeta’s good side. It is really tiresome fighting with him so often. Besides, I start baseball in two weeks, I am not getting into a fight with him and risk throwing out my arm” His eyes creased happily, quite amused with it all.

Bulma pursed her lips, “Look, you both are babies. What is the worst your brother can possibly do?”

Tarble’s eyes widened, “You don’t know my brother do you?”

Bulma watched Tarble carefully and shook her head, “Oh my goodness, you both are too much!”

Tarble released an exasperated sigh, throwing up his hands in defeat, “I am not kidding around. You think you are so tough, be my guest. You go get the damn football. The last time I pissed him off I got a bloody nose and a black eye. I don’t want to piss Vegeta off.” He muttered, dropping down upon the front step and burying his face in his hands.

“You both want to play catch,” Bulma nodded, causing her high bun to bounce, “Fine, I’ll go get it, but Tarble you owe me a strawberry shake…this week. So, keep that in mind when I return with the golden goose.”

Nervously, the younger boy roughly rubbed a hand over his black locks, glancing up through his dark lashes and contemplated before nodding, “You get that football, sure, I’ll get you that shake.”

“Ok, then,” Bulma wiped her hands on her shorts

Both of the boys were coming off awfully pathetic, to be honest. Sure, Vegeta may not be the happiest or the easiest to deal with, she had heard plenty of stories, but it was a damned football, for kami sakes. So, if it had to be her who took the football from his room, then so be it. She was sure glad her sister wasn’t like Tarble’s, or there would have been mass war in the Brief home. Was Vegeta really that petty? He sounded like a five year old who didn’t understand the concept of sharing. She rolled her eyes, gripping the front door knob and entering without giving much thought to her actions. A few steps in, she paused and placed both hands on her hips.

Her pink lips puckered, and so she waited for the obvious, “So, are you going to tell me what room, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Up the stairs, second door on the left.” Tarble spoke into his palms.

“See you pussies in a few,” She winked.

“Vegeta is going to tear her apart,” Goku puffed his cheeks, slipping his hands deep into his pockets.

Tarble glanced up, sucked in a slow breath and nodded in agreement, “Yep.”

Chi-chi raised a brow and sat up from the ground in which she lay upon, “I’m not worried about Bulma.” she chuckled, putting her earbuds back in and resumed her music.

Goku hopped down the steps, setting himself beside Tarble, “Well, cool,” The older high school student replied, “at least we don’t have to plan around that anymore.”

His eyes widened and a soft curse fell from his lips, “Um, yeah, I think we do.”

“Bulma will get the ball, man.” Goku glanced over his shoulder, pointing a thumb toward the door.

“Yeah, but we have bigger problems.”

Goku’s brows knitted as he attempted to process what Tarble had just said. His dark eyes shifted in the direction Tarble was so focused on, noticing that the black camaro parked just a few paces from the driveway.  It was Vegeta’s car that had just pulled up. He was retrieving his baseball bag, flipping it up and over his shoulder and heading straight for the group.

“Oh shit,” Goku whispered.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” Tarble muttered without moving his lips.

Vegeta nodded at Goku, grinning softly, “What’s up Kakarot?” Vegeta paused, shuffling his bat and mitt under his arm. His muscled arm shot out, as he shifted in his stance to grip his younger brother’s head, snapping it back to look him in the eye, “What are you both doing loitering outside the house? You know dad doesn’t like that.”

Tarble grunted, roughly shoving his brother off, “Nothing, we were just about to leave.”

Vegeta scoffed and swiped a finger under his nose, “Alright, gotta take a shower before I head out. Don’t get into trouble.”

“Ass,” Tarble whispered under his breath, attempting to fix his tousled locks.

Vegeta opened the door, and shut it without giving the younger group a second thought.

“Fuck,” Tarble nearly shouted, “What do we do now?”

Goku shook his head and shrugged, “I don’t know. Every for themselves?”

Chi-chi’s lips dropped open, “Goku!”

Bulma slowly opened the door to Vegeta’s room. She stepped inside and allowed her eyes to scan the environment she stepped into. It smelled like a boy, that was for sure. Though, she didn’t need a nose to decide what sex occupied this space. The floor was a mess, covered in boxer shorts, jeans, socks, mud caked cleats, and…

What in the hell is that?

Her brows knitted in confusion. The blue haired girl’s lips dropped open slightly and nose crinkled as she leaned forward to get a better look at what she almost stepped on. Bulma then realized that she hadn’t seen it before because it was slightly covered by a sock. It was at that moment she decided that a hand was completely out of the question when investigating. Why was she investigating? Stepping over a heap of clothing, the blue haired teen extended her palm and gripped a pen laying casually on a cluttered dresser.  

Swallowing hard, Bulma leaned forward resuming her inspection. The tip of the pen prodded, capturing the white sleeve like object. Once eye level, she squealed out in disgust.

A fucking condom? That is absolutely disgusting!

It was most definitely used. Rushing to the nearest overflowing trashcan, Bulma disposed of all, including the pen.

“Oh my god, that is gross.” She whispered, flipping and swiping her hands dramatically over her bare thighs in attempts to reassure herself that nothing jumped from the flimsy piece of latex onto her skin. Based on all the clutter surrounding her, she was willing to bet nothing was safe to touch.

“Ok, if I were a football, where would I be?” She chuckled to herself, feel slightly insane, “Who knows in this room?” she said tossing her arms in the air.

Tip toeing to the edge of Vegeta’s bed, Bulma gripped the wooden post, looking into a bin that was home to a plethora of athletic balls, mainly baseballs. She reached in, pulling free a soccer ball, finding the football buried near the bottom of the wooden box. Grunting, Bulma’s midsection became pinched as she cupped the brown, oval shaped ball. Tripping over her shoe strings, the young woman slipped and fell back hard on her rear, cradling the football to her chest tightly.

“For god sakes,” Bulma whispered, followed by a string of colorful cursing. She sat for a moment, clenching her eyes tightly together as a wave of pain radiated up her tailbone.

Releasing a soft breath as the pain receded, she pressed her palm to the wooden floor, picking herself up and began to walk toward the door, but paused. Heavy footfall was coming up the stairs and directly toward her. Who was talking? Was that Goku? No, maybe that voice was Tar…?

Her blue eyes widened, “Oh shit,” it was that split second decision that lead her to the closet. Bulma quietly opened and shut it behind her, keeping a tight hold on the ball she cradled to her chest.

Eyes wide, and breathing somewhat heavy, she couldn’t help but clutch at her tank top as she felt her heart begin a harsh rhythm against her chest cavity. Swallowing hard and brushing her flyaway bangs from her eyes, she closed her blue orbs for a mere moment in order to slow her heavy breathing.

Oh god, Bulma, why did you have to pick the damn closet? I guess that was the only logical place,  but what if he discovers you? Crap!

She began to bounce in place, but paused like a deer in headlights as the senior pressed through his door, tossing his baseball gear to the floor, and dropping in a heap upon his bed to continue his phone call.   He wasn’t amused to be on the phone at all, and as he harshly spoke, Vegeta began to tear each shoe from his foot.

“Yeah, no, I will be heading out soon. Don’t wait for me,” Vegeta grunted, pulling off his sock and dropping his back against his sleep tousled single bed, “Yep, see you later.” With that Vegeta ended the call and dropped his phone into a jumble of clothing near the end of bed.

His hand cupped his face, rubbing his jaw. Bulma watched through a crack, attempting to keep her breathing slow and shallow.  He sat up abruptly and roughly removed his uniform top, followed by his white undershirt. This left his chest bare to her nervous, yet curious eyes. Tarble’s brother stood and began to maneuver his hands over the front of his white baseball pants, gripping the button and unzipping them without so much as removing them. As he slowly turned, Vegeta gave the blue haired woman an eye full of his rippling abs and the dark treasure trail that dipped just below his pants.

Bulma placed a hand over her mouth to keep her breath through her nose. Oh, but she was failing. It was as if her heart’s knob had been tampered with and it was raised a few speeds.

Please don’t take off your pants…

He swiftly stripped of his pants and briefs, turning just in time as the garments landed in a pile at his feet. He stepped out of the small mound of clothing, and moved to the edge of the bed. Bulma couldn’t help but peek through the small crack in his closet door to take in the shapely swells of his muscled backside. She swallowed, biting her cheek hard. Luckily for her, it looked like he was going to take a shower. It felt like ten tons had been lifted from her shoulders, as she finally had an out. Bulma felt like it had been in the damn closet for an eternity. Once he left,  she could make her escape before he got back.

Vegeta opened a drawer, pulling free a bottle and set it upon the bed. He dropped back down, but this time he was full frontal, offering her a full-frontal view of his body. Her lips dropped open as her eyes scanned the length of his well-built frame. His muscles rippled as he situated himself on the bed. Until now, which was hard to fathom, Bulma didn’t realize how handsome Vegeta was– not to mention, pretty well endowed as well. Though, she wouldn’t have been able to tell before. It wasn’t like she stared at the from of his baseball uniform on game days daydreaming about how package…hard?

Oh dear god… He was hard…

Bulma’s lips dropped open and her mouth went dry. Slow sliding to the cluttered floor of Vegeta’s closet, Bulma placed both hands on the tops of her thighs, clutching her palm into tight fists. It wasn’t the fact that he was completely nude that shocked her. Nope, what was keeping her from looking away was the fact that she was witnessing Tarble’s brother palming his growing cock.

Vegeta leaned back on the bed to prop himself against the wall, and then spread his thighs. He gripped the neck of the bottle and pumped clear liquid over the head of his cock and down the hardening shaft. He cupped the shaft, and stroking upward until his thumb caresses over his reddened tip. To her surprise, Vegeta sucked in his own soft breath as he concentrated on the rim, biting his lip as he stroked himself to attention.

Bulma placed a palm to the floor, shifting her weight slightly, getting a better view from one of the larger cracks near the side of the closet. His hand dipped low only a few times to toy with his sack, but remained loyal to the head and shaft. His head dropped back, jaw clenched and his pace quickened. Before long he was adding just a bit more of the liquid lubricant.

She felt so naughty, and wrong even for watching him in such an intimate setting. If she was halfway decent she wouldn’t even be watching as he fondled himself to completion. Never had she ever witnessed a boy, no, man do such a thing. There was something about the way his thighs and abdominals tensed as he caressed himself a certain way, or the how quickly he jerked himself. Oh god, even the short breaths he took in when it felt so good. Was it terrible that she wanted to taste the liquid seeping from the tip?

“Fuck,” Vegeta barked, sucking in a hiss through his teeth as he slowed his pace, gripping tighter.

Her womb instantly clenched, pooling with an unwanted wave of heat. As a response, she clenched her thighs together, biting her lip as she attempted to get her heavy breathing under control.


You need to look away, Bulma.

This is perverse…

Oh god… I like watching him touch himself…

Breathing through parted lips, Bulma watched intently as Vegeta began to strain and arch. His thick cock twitched and his muscled hips jerked up to meet each meaningful stroke given by his palm.

Another wave of desire flooded her womb, causing her nipples to harden and her panties to become soaked. Biting her lower lip, suppressing her own wanton groan, the blue haired teen slipped a curious palm between her own thighs, down the front of her newly unbuttoned shorts and into her lacy panties, finding her swollen clit and quickly began to stroke herself to the pace Tarble’s brother was sliding his palm over the head and shaft of his cock.

Short, quiet gasps began to escape her lips. Her womb tightened and her brow began to perspire as she rocked her hips in a slow rotation in order to find completion just as Vegeta was about to.

Grunts of passion were now coming from the older teen. His pace slowed, releasing soft gasps of pent up need, Vegeta barked out in pleasure, hot white streams of seed splashed free upon his chest and hand. His hips jerked forward with each white hot spurt coming from the head of his cock. Vegeta rolled his head against the wall, breathing heavy.

Bulma felt her own release beginning its descent. At the  moment of her delicious euphoria, she cupped her hand over her mouth, bit her palm and relentlessly rolled her hips against her fingertips, riding out her orgasm. As the stars faded from behind her eyes, Bulma dropped her palm from her mouth to the cool, hard floor and slowly regained control of her breathing. Her eyes wide; shocked by her own actions. She just couldn’t believe she came to Tarble’s brother…touching himself….

I cannot believe…I just did that…

Slowly raising her gaze, Vegeta was wiping the sweat from his brow. He took a few steps forward, collecting his boxer briefs and pulling them up and over his hips. He ran a hand through his hair and  made his way to his closed bedroom door, leaving her alone in his room.

Licking her lips, buttoning her shorts and attempting to gain control of her shaky legs, Bulma finally stood. Given the amount of time that Tarble’s brother had been absent, she was willing to bet he had made his way to the shower, which was exactly what she needed.

Pushing open the door, gripping the football and rushing to the steps, not once looking back, Bulma made it to the front door. Her friends were grouped near the garage, talking in hushed voices.

Goku was the first to notice her, “There she is,” he pointed.

Tarble was chewing his thumb, and once their eyes met he grinned upon seeing the football, “You got it! Took you long enough.”

Bulma growled, throwing the ball as hard as she could, hitting him directly in the face. He stumbled back, narrowing his eyes and began to shout at her, “What the hell, Bulma?”

“Don’t you ‘what the hell’ me. There is your stupid football. Have fun playing your game, oh and you owe me a strawberry shake once a week, for the rest of the damn year for what I had to go through in order to get that damn thing.” She hissed directly in his face, before upturning her nose and walking in the direction of the sidewalk.

“Where are you going?”Chi-chi called.



Bulma raised a palm, flipping the group the bird as she disappeared down the sidewalk.

“I wonder what she saw?” Chi-chi tilted her head to the side.

Tarble shrugged, “Who knows.”

“Sheesh, she sure is an angry one.” Goku whistled.

“Mhm,” Tarble shrugged.

Remember (Edited)

By no means is this a part two. Tweaked and added a bit to this previous post. Might delete the original later. Anywho, ‘ere we go!


Based off of Harry’s own “I Love You.”
Performed by Alex and Sierra.


Harry remembers what it was like to hold her. He remembers how her heart would pick up pace when he ran his fingers down her back. Remembers the cold days spent in the confines of their bed, both sprawled on the then shared comfortable mattress, legs intertwined and bodies covered under mountains of covers(at least she was, Harry never quite minded the cold.) Sometimes he would purposely throw all but one of the covers in the washer, and with the warmth Harry radiated, she would gladly use him as a blanket. He remembers the way she would get excited when there was a new episode of whatever telly show she might’ve been really into at the time, and she would wake him up if he was asleep because ‘Harry there’s a new one! Come watch it with me.’ And he knew it was because she loved sharing that bit of her with him, (also she would use him as her personal pillow), which he can honestly say he didn’t mind at all. Harry remembers the good times, and the bad because they always got through them…he remembers being the happiest with her. But now all he’s left with is those memories, memories that all he can do now is remember.

Y/N thinks just about the same. Except sometimes her thoughts have intruders. She sees him everywhere, not that she would expect any less. But she would at least expect her friends not to mention him every chance they get.

It had been a few weeks since she had seen his face, trying her best to occupy herself with art projects or anything that would take up most of her time. She’s sat down at the local café, a cup of coffee in front of her, untouched and probably luke warm now compared to how scolding it might have been when it was first brought to her. She’s so engrossed in the paper in her hand as she taps the pencil between her fingers on the top of the table, praying to get some idea of what sketch she should work on next.

And she doesn’t know why she looks up, regrets it the second she notices the magazine. The girls couldn’t be more than eighteen years of age. They’re gushing and awe'ing at whatever content the magazine holds inside, but all she’s able to see is a familiar face in an unfamiliar setting.

She remembers. She remembers talks with Harry about what he wanted to do when the hiatus began. She remembers the day he barged into their then shared home in hysterics because “babe I landed it! Christopher Nolan casted me! Isn’t this great!” She remembers his face full of pure excitement, and she also remembers the moments of doubting where he didn’t know if he was going to do a good enough of a job. He’d study his lines every waking moment he could, sometimes going to sleep late because he was practicing different approaches to the scenario. She remembers him saying something about a cover shoot, and that he didn’t wanna spoil too much. Would rather surprise her.

The girls sit in the table in front of hers, their backs to her, and she can clearly see the pictures inside. And she can’t help it. Sits her paper and pencil down, pretends to have some sort of interest in the powder blue cup holding the once warm liquid, her index finger mindlessly running over the rim. Her eyes however divert to the magazine.

And again she remembers. As they flip through the pages to look at the photos, she remembers when Harry took her to his old high school. He would tell her stories about his teachers and his classmates. There’s also the cave. And she doesn’t think she would’ve recognized it if it weren’t for the writing on the cave walls, she was there when he carved his name on them. They keep flipping though the pages, and if her heart hadn’t had enough then, it sure did now. The smile, the sweater…the field. She remembers taking trips to that field with Harry often. Remembers laying with him in the very same ground, soft and warm, talking and just staring out into the openness. They were both wise beyond their years. Knew how everything surrounding them was bigger than them in a way, and it always left them in awe, but wherever they were and however big the world seemed, they had each other. Y/N remembers how happy he made her.

And then she remembers the day she had to walk out.

Harry still thinks about her…a lot. It’s been months, but his mind always comes back to her, remembering their talks as the hours slipped away. He loved their talks the most because they both seemed to be in sync. Her thoughts were always more in depth than anyone else he knew, when they were talking serious matters. They both seemed to value and care for the simple things. Her jokes were just as shit as his, but he laughed them because she laughed at his. She didn’t have to, but she did. He smiles at the mention of her name, it comes to him naturally, like it belongs there when she comes into conversation.

But then his heart aches remembering how everything ended. How she left despite his pleads, but deep down he knew she couldn’t take it anymore, and it would have been selfish of him to ask her to stay. And he realizes he always did have shit timing. Wishes it would’ve been different because he still can’t come to terms that’s he’s lost the one real thing he had going for him. She was real, she was good, and she was his.

Now more than ever Y/N feels the nostalgia. Wishes she had stayed home where there was just about a zero possibility of seeing Harry’s face on that magazine. A new look that suits him because it’s more him than his old record label let him be. But she knows she would have eventually seen it, it’s the Harry Styles effect. Can’t avoid it. And to see him in places that were so special to the both of them after she pushed the memories to the back of her mind is what’s more unsettling.

When Harry came about the idea of the shoot, he knew he wanted to make it personal. Wanted to show the world who he really is, setting aside how much of a surprise it could be, he wanted to be himself. Thinks his fans deserve that and more. So the places and settings for the shoot came to him instantly, all of them holding memories he’ll forever hold close to his heart. And yes, some he subconsciously chose, didn’t remember just how much the field meant until he sees the spread.

He’s thinking about her more than usual now. The hurt washing over him. Looking back, everything happened so fast. There were so many emotions the day she left. He felt absolutely shattered, disconnected…alone. And suddenly he’s missing her even more. Wonders if she’s seen them, what she thinks about them, if she remembers.

She does. Tries so hard not to cry sitting right there in the cafe, her phone in her hands now and a picture of Harry towards the upper left corner of the screen, his contact number screaming out at her. And she knows she should have probably deleted his number from her phone, but she just couldn’t bring herself to it. Knows if she ever needed him he’d be just a phone call away, and vice-versa. Besides it’s not like she could forget them anyway, the numbers long embedded into her memory. Her thumb lingers over the digits none the less, breathing ragged, hoping no one has notified her sudden uneasiness. Should she call him to congratulate him? She doesn’t wanna be a bother, but she wants to tell him she’s proud of him…if he even cares still.

But she knows she can’t speak to him, not when she’s this vulnerable and might just break down in tears at the sound of his voice.

Harry wants to ask her if she’s seen them, wants to tell her she was part of the inspiration. But he doesn’t want to intrude, if she still needs her space. Because that’s what she had said just before he watched her walk out. She needed space. And Harry thought she’d come back to him, but she hasn’t so far. Not a call or a text. The most he regrets, and the hardest to acknowledge, is that she left..and he never got to tell her how strongly he felt about her. And he’d be lying if he didn’t think about it often. Would it have convinced her to stay? If Harry had said those three words, would she have retrieved her hand from the handle and not opened the door? Or would she have dismissed the thought and continued on her way. Regardless of what if’s, one thing is clear to him. Harry loves her. More than she thinks he does. Present tense, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop.

Her thumbs swipe over the keyboard swiftly.

“Congratulations on the cover shoot, Harry. Hope you’re doing well.”


Interference (pt 9)

Originally posted by sweaterpawsjimin

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | pt 8 | pt 9 | pt 10 | pt 11 | pt 12 | pt 13 | pt 14 | pt 15 | pt 16 | pt 17 |

Officer!Jimin x Reader AU

(A/n) First of all, Jimin doesn’t show up at all in this part. Also this shouldn’t be that graphic as pt 7 was, but still:

warning: this may be a little bit graphic! shield your eyes children

“I-I promise I’ll do anything you tell me to do!” a desperate voice cries, “I-I won’t r-run away this time so let her go, yeah?”

Another muffled scream sounds from the girl strapped to a wooden chair, a towel shoved into her mouth. Beside the chair is a bucket of water settled at the feet of the chair and discarded pieces of bloodied nails that were torn off.

“Oh but I can’t,” says a man dressed in all black, from head to toe his head covered with his hoodie and his face covered by a black face mask. Only his dark eyes are visible to the man and the weeping woman, just cold abysses of darkness that could swallow someone whole.

Leaning down closer to the woman, he yanks her hair back to expose her neck. His other hand lets the pliers drop from his gloved fingers and he takes out a switchblade.

“She’s already a witness,” he whispers sternly, chuckling when she whimpers at the feeling his blade cutting into the skin of her neck, “Her eyes have already seen too much.” He slowly moved the tip of the blade so that it points directly over her widened eyeballs.

He clicks his tongue as she squeezes her eyes shut in fear, before he takes the knife and shoves it into her thigh.

Another muffled scream tears through her throat, her face twisting in pain as tears spring to her eyes.

“St-stop it! She won’t spill, you want me right?!”

The man grunts, twisting the blade before pulling it out and pointing the tip at the lanky man strapped down into another wooden chair. Bruises adorn his flesh, his left eye swollen and a cut splitting his right eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t I want you?” he scoffs, turning back to the woman and wiping her own blood on her torn clothes, “Why not mess with the members of a group that rivals my father’s?”

A laugh tears through the room, the restrained male smirking up at the taller despite his position, “So that’s what this is? I heard about what happened to the other guys and their girls. It’s all because of daddy’s boy here, pfft what a fucking lap dog–”

A gloved fist shoots out and crashes into his jaw, the dark eyes of the masked man glaring at him heatedly, “You can shut the fuck up you piece of shit.”

“So how should I do this?” he sighs, turning away while shoving a hand into his back pocket to retrieve a spoon, “Shall we listen to her scream? Or should I put her out of her misery first?”

At the sight of the spoon, the woman begins sobbing protests into the towel stuffed in her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Her whole body is shaky with trembles, writhing to get free.

“Pl-please don’t let her suffer,” the man weakly says, looking at his lover with apology and sadness.

“Suffer?” the masked man hums, curling his fingers around her throat, applying pressure until she’s desperately trying to suck in air through her nose. He positions the edge of the spoon at her eye, but she squeezes her eyes shut and retreats from the spoon.

Clicking his tongue, he shoves the spoon back into his pocket in favor of his switchblade, positioning at her jugular.

“You’re moving quite a lot Miss,” he whispers, ignoring the cries of protests from the male behind him, “I think we should fix that for me to do this properly, yeah?”

She starts shaking her head vigorously, however he narrows his eyes and grabs her jaw with his free hand, swiftly slitting her throat. Her struggling halts abruptly, her form slumping over.

“You fucking bastard!” the man behind him growls, struggling against his restraints.

“Quiet now, or I’m going to have to resort to waterboarding you too,” he chides calmly, shoving his switchblade into the pocket of his hoodie and fishing back out the spoon.

“Just enjoy the show for now,” he hums, using his thumb and index finger to spread her eyelids.


Namjoon grimaced, glancing around at the curious expressions of the detectives in his unit, even Yoongi who was sauntering in from the break room.

“Namjoon..” Seokjin whispers wearily, standing beside him with the broom and dustpan still held in his hands.

“Yoongi-hyung, Hoseok-hyung,” Namjoon cleared his throat, giving his partner a look before addressing the two males he called, “It was general duty, there was a report of suspicious screams–”

“Well why the hell are they handing their job to us?” Yoongi grits, leaning against one of the desks with his arms crossed, “Are they cowards?”

“Doesn’t matter, they’re saying it calls for an investigation,” he says. When Yoongi looks like he’s going to protest, Namjoon glares at him, “Shut the fuck up and get ready.”


The masked man rolls the detached eyeballs in his gloved hand, pondering whether he should nail them to the wall or do something new this time. He left the spoon impaled into the bloody pits of her empty eye sockets, the scarlet liquid pouring down over her cheeks like tears. He made a mental note to retrieve before he leaves and the police would arrive.

Turning to glance at the crying man behind him, he stops playing with the eyes. A sinister grin curls at the corners of his lips behind the face mask.

“Open your mouth.”

“Wh-what?” the man balked, eyes wide as the taller approaches with one of the eyeballs held in between his index and thumb, “Fuck man y-you’re crazy! Insane!”

Shoving the other eye into his hoodie pocket, he uses his free hand grip the man’s jaw, applying pressure until his mouth opens unwillingly. Once wide enough, he shoves the eye inside his mouth and lets go before covering the man’s mouth to keep him from spitting it out.

Disgust twists the man’s face, until it morphs into pain when he uses his other hand, gripping his throat harshly. Letting go, he presses his thumb harshly down on the jugular notch in between his collarbones.

The man is struggling, his hands flying to push him off, but futile as his lungs burn for oxygen. His windpipe is crushed under the mere pressure of the masked man’s thumb on the suprasternal notch.

When he stops struggling and slumps over just like the woman, he lets go of the man, retracting both hands. He takes out the other eyeball and stares at it contemplatively.

“Where am I gonna put this one?” he sighs, before shoving it into the mouth of the woman after he had taken out the towel and dropped it into the bucket of water. Yanking out the spoon, he wiped the blood that layered its silvery surface on her clothes before shoving it back into his back pocket.

Whistling a soft tune, he begins the process of hiding the bodies.

Just as he begins to untie the restraints, he could pick up the sounds of sirens roaring outside the apartment.

“Shit..” he curses, “They’re here rather quick this time.”

He gives up on moving the bodies and grabs the packages of powdery substances he’d found, stuffing them into his backpack of tools.

“What a bunch of noobs, their hiding places couldn’t get anymore obvious.”


“Why did you come along again?”

You twirl your fingers meekly when Yoongi finally parks the car outside the apartment complex and turns to regard you with a judging narrow of his eyes.

“I didn’t want to be left alone at the precinct?”

Yoongi snorts, sneering at your reply, “Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Calm down hyung,” Hoseok tuts with a pleasant smile, “But Seokjin hyung and Namjoon were there, Jiminie and Tae were there too albeit busy though.”

“Don’t worry,” you smile, “I’m just staying in the car this time.”

“Are you sure you want to be left alone?”

“I-I’m fine!” you try and convince them, standing your ground as Yoongi squints at you before sighing in frustration.

“You’re unbelievable, no wonder it took Jimin a while to tolerate your ass,” he mutters darkly, before nodding in defeat. Reaching over, he places a gentle hand atop your head, looking you straight in the eye as he whispers, “We’ll be right back, okay, I’ll leave my phone here to keep you busy, and if anything comes up just call Hoseok’s number or Namjoon if we’re unreachable.”

“Yes sir!”


Peering into the door’s peephole, he nods to himself, fixing the snapback on his head and adjusting the now white face mask. His black hoodie is replaced with a gray one and his gloves are shoved into his pocket, used only when he opens the door to keep from leaving any traces.

Outside, he passes as a normal adult walking along the hallway and traveling down the emergency exit stairs.

He’s home bound when he successfully passes two officers along the way, a blonde and a brunette, though the blonde one gives him a suspicious glance before they continue on their way.

Those two aren’t regular general duty officers, he concludes as he trudges through the parking lot to get to his car.

Passing a police car, he glances at it briefly, locking eyes with the person inside.

Color drains from his face when he scrutinizes the person.

But before he could think of anything, his phone is vibrating in the back pocket of his dark slacks.

Continuing hurriedly to his car, tossing his bag into the back seat as he hops into the driver’s seat, he picks up his cell phone.

“Yes.. father?”

Stolen Night

Prompt: Domestic

Rating: M (NSFW)

Continuation of Stolen Hearts

Oh but when her lips pulled away from his, he was a weak man. Weak for hurting her and not being strong enough to keep her.

The door slamming open should have been the wake up call. The brass knob, heavy in the craft, crashing against the walls should have been like a gunshot. The stairs should have been too tedious to climb. Anything should have made them stop.

But they didn’t…they weren’t strong enough.

His hands tore at her jacket, hot and chapped lips devouring her own with all the greed that came with the occupation. She, in turn, yanked his red handkerchief from his neck, dragging her nails lightly across the base of the neck and collarbone.

He shivered with a light moan into her lips, his boots blindly kicking at the door to slam it shut behind them, the cacophonous sound not stirring them from each other.

They weren’t supposed to be together like this, not after what he did. But, small and temporary alliances were common among bandits of the Wild West, and Natsu didn’t look gifted horses in the mouth, so to speak.

No, when Lucy walked into the saloon, hips sashaying with sass and sex appeal, Natsu was certain he inhaled some of the whiskey he had been shooting. His lungs were still burning even as Zeref mildly introduced the crazy idea to rob a local gang and happened to invite a few Fairy Tail riders to join.

Betrayal and backstabbing were guaranteed, but not for tonight. No, the heist was a success, so this night was for food and drink…and forgotten feelings.

Lucy had looked so lovely, sipping her gin as she kept her guard up around such strange men. He hardly blamed her. She was in the belly of a beast right now, Tartaros goons not a real comfortable crowd to be around. Even the Black Wizard, himself, had the image to set his own brother on edge.

Zeref never found out who robbed his little brother that fateful day and Natsu had no intention of telling him the culprit was drinking his liquor. The black haired bandit knew of Natsu’s affections towards the blonde woman, even teasing him about it with the same callous behavior. She had been his past, when he ran with Fairy Tail and never worried about a murderous psychopath killing his adoptive father.

Now, as the leader of the Tartaros gang, Natsu had all the power to finally kill Acnologia. With Zeref and his own gang at his side, the Bringer of the Apocalypse was sure to rot in a shallow ditch somewhere in the desert.

But before he rode off to his probable death, the man figured he had a few loose ends to tie up: like the beautiful blonde turning away lustful suitors left and right, her lips begging for his touch.

How she moved from drinking gin to stripping him out of his cloak was a haze. Natsu could vaguely recall finishing his whiskey before meeting her eyes from across the saloon. The little indiscretions that brought them together faded away at the first kiss, their legs getting them carried away: to one of the many beds on the top floor.

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Never Judge A Book By Its Cover (H.S Badboy AU)

Part 6

Part 7

“I was just leaving.” Harry mumbled, looking me in the eyes before shuffling past my mum and out the front door.

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, Y/n. You are not to see that boy or have anything to do with him. I do not want you getting involved with that crook.”

“But, Mum, I-”

“No, Y/n. I don’t want to hear any of it, that boy is bad news.”

“Actually, Mum, he’s not so bad, he-” Y/b/n cut in, sticking up for me and sending me a small, sympathetic smile before Mum cut him off.

“Oh, not you too. I’m done with this conversation.” She snapped, walking away.

“Screw this. I’m leaving.” I’d finally had enough with this. Why can’t my family ever just let me be happy? 

I grabbed my jacket of the hooks near the door and I walked outside into the freezing air before my brother could even say anything to stop me. I didn’t even know where I’d go but as long as it was away from here, I’m sure it’d be much better.

I had been walking for a good half hour before my thoughts started being drowned out by the sound of people talking. A gust of wind blew through my hair as I attempted to listen carefully, interested in what those people were saying for no real reason, the loud wind making it difficult to do so.

“Hurt her and I will not hesitate to kill you.” That voice sounded all too familiar.

“Then you have to kill him.”

“Fine.” Harry.

A gasp escaped past my parted lips and I didn’t realise how close I had gotten to alleyway where Harry and some other man were talking. My back pressed against the cold, wet brick wall as I attempted making myself as small as possible, which, much to my dismay, didn’t work.

I saw a figure walk out of the alleyway, a black hoodie covering their top half, the hood pulled over their head as they turned to walk in the opposite direction. I knew instantly that it was Harry. Who was he talking to? Who has he got to kill? 

“Hey!” I looked up and saw another man emerge from the alley, and turn towards me. My first instinct was to run and that’s exactly what I did. I ran as fast as I could but not knowing where I was was not helping me. The man was gaining on me and I knew I couldn’t run any faster nor much further. As much I wanted to keep going, it was like when you’re trying to run away from something in a nightmare, no matter how fast you try to go, it always feels like you’re barley moving at all. No matter how hard you try, the bad guy always catches up.

“Gotcha.” I tried to let out a scream as one of the mans hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me to the ground and the other pressed firmly against my mouth, preventing any noises from escaping. 

“Ohh. I know who you are. I’ve been watching you. Making sure your little friend knows that if he doesn’t do what he’s told that he’s gonna lose you.” He seethed into my ear, pulling me away as a tear slipped from my eye, the stinging heat causing more to follow.

We got to a car and he opened the door and pushed me inside, while I was kicking and trying to make as much noise as possible through his disgusting sweaty fingers. He reached beside me and grabbed a cloth while I cried continuously. 

What is he going do to me? Am I gonna die? Who knows what he could do?  

So many thoughts were running through my head as he tied the cloth over my mouth, removing his hand that had been clasped so tightly around there that a mark was sure to be visible. My phone began vibrating in my back pocket and just as the man was about to close the door he looked at me and raised an eyebrow at me as my phone continued vibrating, the movement making noise that echoed throughout the car as it was pressed against the leather seat in my back pocket.

“Give me the damn phone.” The man said as I struggled in his grip while he reached into the back of my jeans to retrieve my phone. He smirked as he read the screen, sliding his thumb over it to answer the person calling.

“Your girl made things a whole lot easier, Styles.” Why was Harry calling me? The man laughed into the speaker, pulling the phone away from his ear and pressing his fingers against the screen, making me think he hung up on him. But he hadn’t. 

“Where is she? What have you done with her? I swear if you lay a finger on her, I will kill you.” Harry’s anxious voice filled the space of the car. It was on speaker so I could hear, the sound of his voice making a sob rip its way through my throat.

“She’ll be fine. If, you do exactly what I tell you to do.”

This all seems so cliche. You get with a “badboy”, you find out that he does some bad shit. You get kidnapped. It’s all happened before, in books, in movies. Why is it happening to me? In real life?

“I’ll do anything. Just let me speak to her.” His voice broke at the end of his sentence and my heart broke. Like I said, cliche.

“She’s a little… tied up right now.” With that sly pun, the man hung up and threw my phone into the front seat. I looked up into his eyes, evil lacing through the different shades of brown that filled his wicked eyes, that disgustingly smug smirk still present on his face.

“This is going to be fun.” With that simple sentence I felt my stomach drop and my heart stop. 

This chapter isn’t the best but I hope you still liked it. Xxx

DP - Football and Father Son Talks

[I have always been of the opinion that Jack is smarter than he appears in show. He’s easily excitable, distracted and forgetful—but he’s not stupid. Jack has feelings that can be hurt, and he cares very much for his family and friends. His relationship with Vlad has always been of interest to me, just because he’s so gung-ho about Vlad being his best friend. When Vlad ran for mayor sticks out the most. Jack was just so over supportive I loved it.

Particularly because Vlad makes absolutely zero effort to hide that he dislikes Jack. At any point. He’s very obvious about it—there’s no way Jack hasn’t noticed. Anyway, just wanted to write a little fic with Danny confronting his Father about that. :3]

Characters: Jack Fenton, Danny Fenton and Vlad Masters.

Rating: PG for Alcohol references.

Summary: “Please tell me you noticed he did that on purpose.” Danny confronts his father when Vlad’s teasing goes a little too far in Jack’s own home. His father’s answer isn’t quite what Danny was expecting. (No/Before “Phantom Planet”)

Football and Father Son Talks

“Sorry Jack!” Vlad exclaimed, the fake sincerity dripping with so much vitriol that Danny had to roll his eyes. The man closed the freezer door, covering his grin with his mouth as he got a good look at his handy work: Jack Fenton rubbed his bruised nose, wincing from the impact of the door. Vlad cooed, “Didn’t see you there!”

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“Got another one from Hogwarts!” The woman called from the kitchen, her eyes having memorized the rhythm of the Great Horned Owl’s wings years ago as they beat against the overcast October sky. She looked down at the tap which blinked back at her before remembering to turn itself on and she rinsed her hands with some of the good lemon soap that she’d brought back from a trip to Lyon.

The soft thud of polished wood meeting cane announced the man’s entry into the kitchen, his house shoes padding softly as he made his way around the island to stand next to the woman. “That’s twice this month,” he murmured as he admired the owl that had settled onto the perch outside the window after it had deposited a letter on the sill. The woman opened the window and retrieved the letter, thumbing the owl’s neck affectionately before closing the pane against the roll of the cool breeze. She paused, admiring what was left of the autumn foliage; she’d always thought West Country to look particularly fine on days like these.

The woman linked arms with her husband and the two retreated from the kitchen into the study, as was their practice on evenings such as these, and settled into matching burgundy armchairs in front of the hearth where Canby, their house elf, had assembled a small fire that filled the room with the smell of pine sap and woodsmoke. The woman tugged the sweater more tightly to her shoulders before reaching for the letter opener poised on the small table between the chairs as the man packed his pipe with tobacco and flicked his wand to direct some of the fire from the hearth to light the leaves. He closed his eyes as he drew the smoke into his lungs, settling more comfortably in his chair as the wood in the hearth popped and crackled, the firelight reflecting off of the rich cherry of the mantle and bookshelves that covered each wall from floor to ceiling. The woman unfolded the stiff parchment, tucking the envelope behind the loose leaves as she tipped the page toward the light and began to read.

“Dear mum and dad,” she began, her tone full of fondness and sentiment already. “I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing from the Great Hall where I’ve been spending a few nights this week doing some extra transfiguration work with Professor McGonagall.”

The man huffed loose a laugh, shaking his head.

“What’s got you laughing, Monty?” The woman said, looking from the paper at her husband, the softness that had colored her tone when she had been reading giving way ever-so-slightly to annoyance.

“‘Boy’s got detention again. Extra transfiguration work, clever way to spin it, I’ll give him that.”

The woman shot him a pointed look, pausing for a beat before sitting up again and resuming her place in the letter. “In his last letter, dad had asked after the squad and I don’t have much to say besides we’re poised for yet another record-breaking year—I’ve included a match schedule as well. We’ve taken on a new fourth year girl who has promise to replace one of our 7th year beaters once he’s graduated and I’ve started to keep an eye out in the younger years for a backup seeker since Perevelle graduated and we’ve only got Meadows.”

The woman paused, shaking her head. “We wasted time with that grammar tutor, Monty—he’s still managed to muck up his commas. This is the sort of business he’s going to wish he’d paid more attention to when it comes time to graduate, no sort of future Minister of Magic should be inept in the ways of punct—“

The woman was cut off by another chorus of laughter from her husband who coughed as he managed to regain control of himself. “Hearth kicked up a bit of smoke,” he said, concealing his grin behind his hand as he stroked his mustache. “What else has the boy written?”

The woman snorted out a sigh of exasperation and looked back at the letter as she squared her shoulders and cleared her voice. “Mum will be pleased to know that I had a date to the masquerade ball last week and wore the new dress robes.” The woman smiled at that, hand going to her chest. “Oh, bless him, a date, Monty, finally.” She reread the line to herself again before quickly scanning the next line. “And that’s it. He went on a date and wore new dress robes. Do you think it would kill him to say more than that, Monty, do you?” She flipped the letter over and looked at the back, hoping for more. “That’s it. All that effort to write to us and he’s moved on from there to talk about plans for the holidays and that friend of his, grandson of that awful Pollux Black. Do you remember him from school, I think he was a year or two behind you? He got that woman he ended up marrying—what was her name?—anyway, he got her pregnant when we were seventh years. I think they were in third! Merlin, that Black family—that friend though, Sirius, he seems well enough…”

The woman looked at her husband who’d stopped listening and had instead began to snore softly. “Monty!” she snapped, wrapping the letter against her skirt. The man sat up abruptly, thumbing his mustache again.

“Yes, right, well enough, dating,” he sputtered, rearranging his grip on his cane.

The woman just shook her head. “No word on extra security at Hogwarts, do you think the Daily Prophet has even been reading our letters? I told Dumbledore I would write once a week and I made good on that—the ladies in my knitting circle have been writing as well—but this good for nothing government, Fleamont. Promise me we’ll never vote for any relative of your former colleagues again, they’re nothing but self-important windbags,” the woman said with exasperation, refolding the letter and tucking it back into the envelope. “I’ve seen some of those pureblood families, always the same ones who were in Slytherin, in the Life and Style pages rubbing elbows with all those Ministry officials. I don’t like it, Monty, all smug and gaudy in those ridiculously-priced robes. I mean, French robes to a Ministry event!”

The man nodded along with his wife’s diatribe, feigning interest. “‘Emia, don’t give yourself palpitations over it,” he said as she finished, shaking his head. “It’s all a bit of the same rubbish from we were in school—just plain ole rubbish and nothing more. I reckon he’s gone a bit paranoid, Dumbledore, ever since that tragedy with those muggleborns and that half-giant bloke. I don’t blame him, wanting extra eyes, but there’s no need to be hysterical. James is a smart boy, he can fend for himself—maybe a bit too readily, truth be told, but should there be a real sort of a emergency, perhaps…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “And he’s got those mates of his—I’ve always imagined the four of them are a bit rowdy, suppose they must be if they’re anything like me and mine were back in the day.” He gave his wife a small smile. “You get like this every year ‘round this time, love. Have since his first year. If it makes you feel better, check in with Minerva, you know she’ll write you. Hard to believe little McGonagall is a professor, even after all this years,” he shook his head and chuckled.

The woman sighed, removing her eye glasses and setting them down on the table next to the letter opener. “I should write him back, tell him I’ve put some galleons in account at Hogsmeade in case he decides to go on another date or needs new robes,” she said, standing and tucking the letter into a basket on the bookshelf that was full of identical envelopes in the same scrawling, slanted hand. “Tell him we’ll come to the next match, see if he’ll be home for the whole Christmas holiday.” She glanced over at her husband who nodded and stood, sliding an arm to his wife’s waist and pressing his lips to her temple.

“He’s a Potter, Euphemia. Don’t worry on him, he’ll be back charming the mistletoe and leaving his quidditch things strewn about in no time and you’ll be wondering why you’d ever been concerned in the first place,” the man said with a snort, squeezing his wife closer. “Make sure you tell him off for that detention, too. We’ve been too soft on him,” he said with a little smirk.

The woman smiled back, shaking her head as she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, suddenly feeling very silly. “You’re right, Monty, ‘course you’re right,” she said, brushing off her concern.

castlefanfics  asked:

hospital christmas eve

He’s making his way through the final course of Christmas Eve dinner with his mother and daughter, humming over the cheesecake Alexis had baked all on her own, when his phone buzzes from where he had left it on the kitchen counter. His mother narrows her gaze on him, but he excuses himself to answer the call, attempting to narrow down in his mind who could be calling him at nine o’clock on the night before Christmas. 

He knows who he hopes is calling, but Beckett had informed him that she would be working the Christmas shift this year, much to his chagrin, and that she would have little time to chat. Though, he had been granted a ‘Hope you’re enjoying your Christmas Eve dinner, Castle’ text that had put a ridiculous grin on his face for the rest of the evening a few hours ago.

And huh, New York area code, but he doesn’t recognize the number.

“Richard Castle,” he answers anyway, huffing as his mother offers Alexis a sip from her wine glass, one that his daughter thankfully denies.

“Oh good,” the voice on the other line sighs. “Richard Castle, this is Doctor Stein at New York Presbyterian. I’m calling on behalf of Detective Kate Beckett, you were listed as her emergency contact and-”

“Kate’s in the hospital?” he repeats, skipping over the rest of the information, hardly able to recognize the surprised skip of his heart at the knowledge of being listed as Kate’s emergency contact. All that matters is that she’s in the hospital and all he can think of is the last time, when she’s been hospitalized after being shot in the chest at Montgomery’s funeral. “What happened? Is she okay? Is she-”

“Detective Beckett was brought in nearly an hour ago,” the doctor begins to explain. “She’s currently unconscious, but she suffered some superficial wounds, potential internal bleeding, but that’s merely an assumption at this point. She’s still undergoing examination, but I could explain more if you were-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises the man, already stumbling out of the kitchen, towards the coat closet near the door. He pauses at the dinner table, though, his mouth open to explain, but Martha is already waving him onwards. 

“Go Richard. Call us from the cab and explain on the way,” his mother urges and he’s grateful for the lack of hesitation, the wealth of support and worry for the woman he loves.

Alexis doesn’t look quite as encouraging, but concern shimmers in her eyes despite whatever qualms she may have in regards to Kate and she nods in agreement.

“Go Dad,” she offers, as if sensing his need for the permission. “Detective Beckett shouldn’t be alone in a hospital room on Christmas.”

“I’ll call you both as soon as I’m in the cab,” he assures them, snagging his coat and sprinting out the front door, racing down the stairs because he knows he’ll be unable to bear an elevator ride.

Unconscious? Wounds that were both superficial and internal? What the hell had happened to her in the five hours since he’d spoken to her last?


Castle bounds through the fourth floor hallway after he’s checked in at the front desk, received directions to her room and Doctor Stein has been paged to meet him there. Cold sweat trails in rivulets down his spine, layers the back of his neck, and he resists the urge to clutch at his chest, force the thunderous stampede of his heart to slow. 

“Mr. Castle,” Stein, he assumes, greets him as he finally enters her room, but Rick’s eyes are searching for her. 

He finds Kate in the hospital bed, a sickening wave of deja vu washing through his stomach at the sight, but it’s not the same. No, the skin of her forehead is mottled with a violent bruise this time, her left arm decorated in thick white bandaging, and it may be a different injury, but it still robs his lungs of air.

“She’s going to recover,” the doctor assures him in that calm, placating yet professional tone that Rick has never been able to find comforting. “It’s been a bit busy here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, but once we had the chance to assess Detective Beckett’s injuries, it’s been determined that aside from a few bumps and bruises, she’s suffering only from a mild concussion.” Only? The doctor says the diagnosis as if it’s no big deal, as if the picture of her lying unconscious in a hospital bed is nothing to worry about, and Rick has to purse his lips, take a deep breath to hold himself together. Lashing out at her doctor wouldn’t do any good. “She should wake at any minute, but we’re going to keep her overnight, ensure the head injury doesn’t escalate in any way.”

“Concussion?” he echoes, stepping deeper into her hospital room, past the grey haired pole of a man beside the foot of her bed to approach her, see her up close. “How did this happen? How did she-”


Rick’s eyes fly away immediately from the doctor, back down to Kate and her blinking eyes, and he can’t help lowering to the very edge of her hospital bed, grazing his fingers along the inside of her wrist, one of the few untouched pieces of her.

“Oh good, Detective, you’re awake,” Stein appraises, retrieving the clipboard from the foot of her bed and marking something down. “That’s a great sign.”

Kate frowns at the man and shifts her bleary gaze back to Castle, the muddled brown of her eyes slowly beginning to clear. 

“Castle, what’re you doing here? It’s Christmas Eve,” she rasps and he feels the choked noise of gratitude breach his lips before he can stop it, the relief bathing his insides. 

“What are you doing here?” he deflects, brushing his thumb back and forth along her metacarpal bone. “How did you end up with a concussion and a multitude of war wounds, Beckett?”

She winces at the gentle dusting of his fingertips along the mosaic painting a portion of her forehead. 

“I was checking out a lead, saw our suspect robbing a Christmas charity box. Takedown mustn’t have gone too smooth,” she mumbles, assessing the white gauze encasing her arm, the IV attached to her hand. 

“According to the fellow officers who brought you in, during the scuffle, the suspect slammed you into a nearby brick wall, nearly broke your arm and earned you a pretty big bump on the head,” Stein explains, returning her chart to its place at the edge of the bed railing. “We attempted to contact your father, but there was no answer. Mr. Castle was the only other person on your emergency contact list.”

Kate diverts her eyes to her lap, a kiss of pink spreading along her cheeks, but Castle merely traces the line of her pulse, reassured by the steady beat against his thumb. 

“I’ll have a nurse in to check on you soon, Detective. But I’m sure by tomorrow morning you’ll be cleared to go,” the doctor assures her. “In the meantime, Merry Christmas to you both.”

Castle nods to the man as he makes his exit and before he can even return his attention to her, Kate is already speaking.

“Castle, your Christmas Eve dinner,” she murmurs, her tired eyes rising to seek his. “You were telling me all about your traditions this past week-”

“Christmas traditions were the last thing on my mind when I got that call,” he states, feeling his heart threaten to rip, splitting along the edges as the shame blooms through her features. “Mother and Alexis understood. Christmas is important to us, but so are you, Kate.”

Her lips purse but refrain from falling into a frown and oh, how he wishes that her wall was in shambles now, that the waiting could be put on hold just for tonight, just so he could press a kiss to the uncertainty staining her lips. 

“I should have warned you that I’d made you an emergency contact,” she mumbles, turning her hand palm up to catch the fingers dancing at her wrist. 

“I consider it a great honor,” he muses, mapping the lines of her hand with the tips of his fingers. tentative in his touch. She has rarely allowed him this much touching. 

“You should go back home,” Kate insists, but the curtain of her lashes hide her eyes from him. “I’ll be fine here.”

“You really think I’m going to let you spend Christmas Eve alone in a hospital?” he scoffs, the corners of his lips quirking once her eyes cut back to him. “No way, Beckett.”

“Rick, your family-”

“We were already finishing up with dinner. We save presents for Christmas morning. I’m not missing anything and they’re not missing me for the night,” he promises her, despite how doubtful she looks, but it’s true. Mostly. “You’re not getting rid of me, Kate.”

“Story of my life,” she grumbles, lowering her head back to the pillow, but her mouth is lifting into a smile.

And he may have been pulled away from one tradition, but he’s here now, making a new one of sorts with her, hoping that one day they can spend Christmas together outside the walls of a hospital room.


He hadn’t had much to work with in terms of decorations, especially since her stay was going to be less than eight hours, but when Kate’s eyes peel open at six-thirty the next morning, he’s managed to dress her IV pole with a Santa hat one of the nurses let him borrow and has the tiny Christmas tree that he stole from the waiting room on display near the window.

“Had to make it a little more festive in here,” he explains from the chair beside her bed, and she musters a smile for him, shifts sideways and tugs back the crisp white bed sheets. 

“You look exhausted, Castle,” she whispers, patting the empty space beside her with her uninjured hand. “Crawl in for a few minutes.”

After talking to his mother and daughter again the night before, explaining the situation and managing only a couple of choppy hours of sleep beside her hospital bed, she was right - he’s absolutely exhausted. But waking on Christmas morning to see strips of sunlight slipping through the blinds to douse her in winter light has revived him, infused him with joy and a foreign spread of peace he hadn’t known he’d been searching for. 

“Just before you go,” she adds softly and he doesn’t want to think about telling her goodbye, so he unfolds from the uncomfortable chair at her bedside, carefully climbs onto the hospital bed with her.

He doesn’t expect Beckett to lower her head to his shoulder once he’s arranged himself beside her, doesn’t expect the heavy sigh that leaves her lips to deflate her entire body, let her sink into him without a second of hesitation.

“How are you feeling?” Castle inquires, finding her hand between them, tangling their fingers and feeling his heart bloom with childlike wonder when she squeezes in response.

“Better, just tired,” she admits. “May drift off again.”

“That’s okay, you need your rest,” he murmurs, turning his head to brush his lips to the top of her head, listening to her hum in response, feeling the vibration of the noise travel through his bones. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Gotta go home,” Kate protests, but her words hold no conviction, quiet and threatening to slur together. “Home for Christmas.”

“I could make a really cheesy joke right now about how home is where the heart is,” he replies without thinking, counting on her drowsy, concussed state to save him from his blunder. 

Beckett huffs against his shoulder. “Giving me your heart for Christmas?”

“That’d be re-gifting.”

She chokes on a laugh, buries it in the fabric of his sweater and he feels his own smile grow. They’re both low on sleep, rather loopy, but it doesn’t change the truth - she has his heart, has claimed ownership of it for a while now, and he’s certain she’s been well aware of this. But if by some chance she wasn’t, she definitely is now.

“It probably doesn’t mean much now,” Kate murmurs, her thumb trailing along the length of his index finger. “But you’ve got mine too.”

Castle glances down, but all he can see is the top of her head, the twine of hands between their thighs, the anxious path of her thumb along his bone.

“Your - your heart?” he questions, watching her hand squeeze in affirmation. 

“Still not in the best shape,” she sighs, her IV riddled hand rising to curl protectively at her chest, over the still healing bullet scar. “Still healing, but it’s yours, Castle. If you want it.”

“As if I could ask for a better Christmas present,” he huffs, the tension unraveling from her limbs, her cheeks rising with her smile, and Castle smears a tentative kiss to her forehead. 

They’re still waiting, he knows, but he has her heart, has the promise of more, and it’s the only gift he had ever truly wanted this Christmas.

Day 1: Ugly Christmas Sweaters

Hi guys!  So, it’s been almost a month since I’ve written anything (I’m sorry for that.  I had….personal issues to attend to)  But @lilbakonbit and I are here with a holiday version of Haunted Septiween we have called The (#25 Days of Septiplier).  HERE is the post about it, including the rules, prompts, etc.  If you have any questions, send one of us an ask!  We’re really nice, I swear.  We hope you enjoy it! 

Also, thank you to @rainelily for reading over this for me.  My skills have gotten rusty.  

Jack chuckled as he smoothed his sweater down, running his fingers over the little balls of puff that were sewn expertly onto the fabric to make a hideous reindeer.  

He has won the neighborhood Ugly Christmas Sweater contest every year for the past three years and it was not his intention to give his title away to anyone who came in expecting to win with some store-bought monstrosity.  He put so much hard work and blood into his sweater that his fingertips felt like pincushions when he was finished, but it was worth it. This year, as every year, it was horrid enough to hurt his eyes.  

He was enjoying walking around the party and watching as people either broke into laughter or grimaced at the sight of the mesh of puff, yarn, and ribbon.  

The party, which was being held in the Jones’ household, was in full swing and the only person who had yet to show was his hot new neighbor, Mark.

Mark and Jack had met a few times, the first being when Jack had slipped on the sidewalk outside his home. As he was picking himself up, a hand came into his field of vision.  Attached to that had was a very attractive stranger with eyes like twilight and a smile like drifting snow.  

“Are you alright?” he asked in a deep voice that reminded Jack of the crackling of flames over an open fire.

“I’m good.” His voice sounded breathless and strained in his own ears.  He hoped Mark thought it was because of his recent fall and not because he had just fallen in love with a smile and eyes and tumbling hair and a scruffy jaw and-

Mark had kindly introduced himself and told Jack that he had just moved in, taking up residence in the house directly across the street from him and he had not been informed that such a handsome man lived nearby.

Jack only blushed, squeaking out his name and an “It’s nice to meet you.” before rushing home, ignoring the chuckles he heard rumbling out from Mark’s chest as he passed.  

The second meeting came when he had seen Mark sitting on his roof and putting Christmas lights around his house.  

Jack paused on his way home and, deciding to be brave for once in his life, yelled in Mark’s direction. “Do you need any help?”

Mark’s head snapped up and the smile he sent Jack’s way was like warm rays of sun after a rainy day.

“Yeah, you can hand me those two strands of lights I dropped!  They’re right there.”  Mark bent over, stretching his body to point a few feet away from him, on the ground where a bundle of lights were nestled in the snow.

Jack’s brain short-circuited a little bit at the sound of Mark’s voice, but he shook it off, hurrying over to pick the lights up and climb the ladder to the roof.

Mark met him at the top, smiling and bending down to retrieve the lights, Jack was expecting that.  What he wasn’t expecting was Mark to run his thumb over the back of his hand as he took said lights.  

Flustered, Jack didn’t think as he jerked backwards.  He immediately regretted this decision as the ladder he stood on began to drift away from its place against Mark’s house.  Jack squeezed his eyes shut in preparation of his certain death.

Luckily, Mark’s reflexes were sharp enough to reach out and grip the front of Jack’s shirt and snatch him back, pulling the ladder and the man standing on it back into place.  

The jerk on his clothes and the shift in momentum caused Jack’s eyes to pop open in time to see Mark’s face inches from his own. His breath stuttered out a bit and he could smell the mint and coffee on Mark’s breath.  He could have melted into a puddle of embarrassment right then, but Mark’s fists in his jacket wouldn’t let him slip away.

“Careful.” Mark breathed, tightening his grip on Jack before he let go of him completely, “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Jack gave the other man a very shy and mortified smile before climbing back down the ladder, waving a small goodbye and continuing on his way home.

Mark had no wife or children that Jack knew of and the way he flirted with him made Jack think that he was more than a little interested, but he was far too shy to initiate such a moment on his own.

Regardless, Jack hadn’t seen him at the party as of yet and that was slightly worrying as he seemed to be the type of person who would love things like this.  He himself probably hung the mistletoe on the streetlamps.

He shrugged these thoughts away and focused back in on his conversation with Mrs. Robertson who lived next door to him and had seen the two instances with Mark.  She hated his ugly sweater, but adored Jack enough to put up with it long enough to have a decent conversation with him.

Too bad she knew of his tiny (huge) crush on his new neighbor.

“Just go speak to him, Jack. He really is a nice guy.”

Jack shook his head, “He seems to be a bit too much for me to handle.  I don’t know.  Maybe I’ll talk to him tonight if he shows.”

She let went quiet for a moment before changing the subject, but Jack knew the battle wasn’t over.

Twenty minutes pass before there was a light knock on the door and Jack watched as old Mr. Jones pushed up from his spot on the sofa and went to answer it.  A few seconds later, there was a burst of laughter from the doorway and Jack could only assume the worst.

Mark must have finally arrived.  

Jack could feel the look Mrs. Robertson was burning into his skull, so he wound up the nerve to excuse himself and make his way into the commotion.  Before he could take three steps, Mark strolled through the door and Jack’s eyes were going to start bleeding.

Were those lights?

Was that glitter?

Mark grinned at Jack’s pained expression and outstretched his arms, spinning around to give Jack a full view.

“I think I won the contest this year!” Jack always forgot what Mark’s voice did to him.  It was like sugar and honey and that shit just wasn’t fair.  How the fuck was his heart supposed to beat normally when he did things like that? 

He didn’t mean to say it, it just came slipping through his lips like butter and Jack couldn’t swallow it back.  “Jesus, Mark.  That thing is hideous and I’m kind of impressed, but also really embarrassed for you.”

“Thank you.  Made it myself.”

Jack, spurred on by Mrs. Robertson’s piercing, yet somehow encouraging, stare, crossed the room to stand in front of Mark and take in the full view of the monster that he went to so much trouble to create. He pulled nervously at his own sweater, “Teach me your ways, senpai.”

Mark grinned at him. “Never.”

Later that night, after the ringing of laughter had died down and people were starting to go their separate ways, Mark asked Jack if he was willing to walk home with him.  Jack agreed, having spent a little more time with Mark over the course of the party and finding his company enjoyable.    

The problem was, on the trek home, Mark was bumping continuously into Jack’s shoulder and little sparks danced across his skin where they touched.

Mark was driving him crazy with his kind smiles and endearing personality, damn him.

When they were finally standing in front of his home, Jack snapped.  He simply could not take it anymore.  

Mark walked him to his door and said his goodbyes as Jack was pushing his key into the lock.  Jack never acknowledged the goodbye or the hopeful smile that drifted off of Mark’s face at the cold shoulder.

Giving Jack a weird look, Mark turned to return to his own house, but stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name.  

He turned “Hm?”

Suddenly, Jack was pressed against him, pushing him through the door and kicking that door closed.  

Taking a leap of faith that he really did want this, Jack pressed his lips against Mark’s, earning a shocked but happy sound from the rumbling voice against him.

Mark was obviously beyond surprised at the warm body tangling them together, but wound his fingers through Jack’s hair and returned the kiss anyway.

After pulling away and breathing for a moment, Jack tugged at the carrot nose sticking out from the snowman on Mark’s chest to distract himself.  “Even in the darkness, this thing is hideous.”

Mark’s voice dropped into a deep, quiet rumble that made him tremble slightly, “You’re just jealous that you didn’t win this year.”

“Am not.  I’m just horribly offended by your sweater.”

“Oh?  Are Irishmen offended by snowmen?”

Jack looked up, and pulled at Mark’s collar, “Yup.  Don’t you think that snowman would look much better on the floor?”

bluejaywaybae  asked:

Would you fight Roger Daltrey for a waffle?

It’s been 72 days since the last explosion and 72 days since I had been outside and seen another human being. I’m just a kid. I don’t know anything about nuclear radiation. How long do I wait until the dust settles and I can find the last survivors of my own human race?

I had been keeping safe in an old bomb shelter– well, it was my neighbour’s bomb shelter, but they’re twats, so when those sirens went off, I scrambled down there and locked them out. I wonder what ever happened to them. The undergound bunker had been made in the 1970′s and never used. Everything was perfectly preserved and sealed air tight prior to my arrival, and there wasn’t even a speck of dust to be found. So, for 72 glorious days, I relaxed like a bachelor in a velvet robe and slippers while the rest of humanity got atomic bombs dropped on them. I learned how to make a load of mixed drinks in the mean time with the fully stocked bar. There were history books, records, and Playboy magazines stocked up along with my canned raviolis and powdered milk, all dated from 1970, when the houses in my neighbourhood were built. So don’t blame me for not being eager to rush out and assess the damage. 

But after 72 days, the good food had started to run out. I was really in the mood for waffles, but they hadn’t invented frozen waffles when the bunker was built so I was out of luck. I fixed myself my daily glass of scotch, changed out of my robe and slippers, and braved myself for the outside world. I dressed in a nice jacket in case I saw anyone I knew, and wrapped a bandana around my face like I was a hot teen in a post apocalyptic movie. I opened the bunker doors for the first time in 72 days, and without any grasp of how nuclear radiation poisoning worked, I went outside.

When your world gets attacked by nuclear bombs, it really wipes things out. I was kind of pissed that all the nice outdoor patio furniture I bought got exploded. It took me forever to find a set that matched the siding of my house. And it was really dry so my lips got chapped, and I didn’t have any chapstick. So yeah, my day was going pretty shitty so far.

I wandered down to the neighbourhood grocery store just like the old days, pre-nuclear war. I didn’t see a single soul along the way, which sucked because I read a very interesting article in Playboy’s June 1969 issue and I wanted to talk to someone about it. Anyways, I got to the grocery store, which had been boarded up, and I had to rip the boards down with my bare hands which was really inconvenient. I wandered around the grocery store, deciding what else I wanted to eat in my bunker. 

“Hello? Can I get some damn service over here?” I yelled at the deli counter, but there was only a skeleton to listen to my cries for help. You just don’t get quality customer care like the old days anymore.

I wandered over to the freezer section, which was still up and running perfectly. Some other foods had rotten but the frozen shit lasts forever. I was humming Tainted Love by Soft Cell from their album Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, but the 8 minute long extended version because it is so damn good. I was startled by a rustling out of the corner of my eye. I turned around, positive I had seen someone.

“Who’s there? Come on out, I want to share a story I read in Playboy’s June 1969 issue,” I called out. Slowly, from behind a display of fancy cheeses, an old gremlin man with a mane of curly blond hair emerged. He looked like he had been in a shipwreck cause his clothes were all torn up and shit.

“I….I haven’t seen another human being in 72 days….” the old guy croaked out in a hoarse English accent. 

“Okay, but like, about the article…” I started.

“I thought I was going to go insane. I’m so glad to learn there’s someone else who survived this tragedy…” he came closer to me and I got freaked out cause he smelled kinda weird. I guess when you’re tumblr famous like me you have to get used to fans approaching you at the grocery store (shout out to my 14 followers love you all mwah :*)

“Do I know you? Can I just sign something so you’ll leave me alone?” I said. 

“My name is Roger,” he tried to make peace with me. “Roger Daltrey. I used to be in a band when I was young like you…”

“Roger Daltrey? That name rings a bell,” I pondered aloud. “Say, if you’re British and you used to be in a band, why the hell are you in the suburbs of the Greater Toronto Area (or the GTA for short)?”

“I’ve searched all the grocery stores from sea to shining sea,” the bastard ignored my question and started rambling on like a crazy person. God, old people, am I right? “I know I’m a dying man. But I’m holding on only so my final meal on this earth will be a generic store brand blueberry frozen waffle. It has been the only thing keeping me alive these horrible past few years….”

I stepped in front of the freezer door where the generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles were kept, blocking them from his sight. Those happened to be my favourite too. “Oh gosh, sorry mister, but I haven’t seen any of those in years. Try the Walmart on the other side of town.”

“But I literally just saw you block the generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles from me,” the old man croaked. 

“No, you must be mistaken, there aren’t any generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles here. Have a nice day.” I turned around, and just in case he wasn’t looking, I took the very last box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles and stuffed it under my shirt. 

“What the hell? I saw those first, they’re mine,” he cried out. “Come on, let’s at least share them.”

“No thank you,” I said politely, because my mother didn’t raise me in a fucking barn. I tried to walk away but he blocked me, suddenly seeming rabid.

“Give me the generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles,” he growled at me.

“No, I won’t. Get your own generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles,” I yelled at him. 

“I’m trying to get my own generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles but you’re hoarding the last box,” he started to cry.

“I want the damn box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles to myself, get out of my face,” I tried to bypass him one last time but he blocked me.

“Fine, thumb wrestle me, and the winner gets the box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles,” he convinced me, so I put the box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles to the side and grabbed his hand. He called out the numbers and we fought. He played dirty, going right for the knuckle and holding down. But I have a mean older sister, so I know all the tricks in the book. I twisted his wrist and went right for the thumbnail, pushing down so hard I heard a crack in his old man thumb.

“What the hell, man?” the old man started crying.

“Sucks to suck, bitch,” I went to pick up my box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles but he snatched them from me! As he started running away, I sassily walked over to the other section of freezers and got a frozen turkey out and threw it at his head. His brain exploded everywhere. I walked over to retrieve my prize and then I realized I had gotten the last box of generic store brand cinnamon frozen waffles instead of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles! Gosh, I’m so clueless sometimes. :P I went back to the freezer to get a box of generic store brand blueberry frozen waffles when my body seized up, and I promptly died of radiation poisoning. In my last waking moments as I gasped for air on the cold linoleum grocery store floor, I suddenly recognized the man I had fought. Roger Daltrey was the guy from Led Zeppelin, right?

Denmark & Norway - Within And Without

Set around the 18th-19th Century. To someone he doesn’t know the motives, dreams or even name of, Denmark can only do what he feels is morally noble rather than what he’s instructed.


War is unforgiving. He’s seen the bodies scattered around the fields, hastily buried in shallow graves before they begin to fester and rot. He’s seen them shot down before him, bodies hitting the ground and sinking into the mud- whether friend or foe, it matters not. They’ll all die here in the end. All he can do is wait it out, pray to survive until at least this war is over, and return home to a life of suppressing the memories and forgetting the images of men wiped out and dying, forgotten, in these turgid pits of death.

Keep reading

Maybe Just One More Chance. (Dean Imagine)

Part One Link

Recap: Dean cheated on you and now the two of you are only hunting partners.

It had been exactly four months since the day you walked in on Dean and another girl. Four months since you called him yours and held him close. Four months since you said, “I love you.” and kissed those familiar lips. Four months. And you missed every part of what you had before, every damn second.

But you couldn’t let that show.

“Okay so it looks like we’re after a ghost. Easy salt and burn. I’m not even sure all three of us even need to go.” Sam looked up from behind his computer and to you with a smirk, “Nice bed head.”

“Shut up.” You entered the room and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, “That couch isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world.”

Dean cleared his throat and fiddled with his coffee cup, “I told you I don’t mind taking the couch and you can take our- my bed.”

“That bed doesnt have the best last memory for me, so I’ll pass.” You said harshly, then felt a pang of guilt when he ducked his head. But why should you feel guilty? He cheated on you. You had nothing to feel guilty about.

Sam closed his laptop, “Anyway, like I said, only two of us need to go on this hunt-“

“Then you and Dean go.” You replied, “I can always stay behind and clean up around here.”

“Actually, I was thinking the two of you could go together.” Sam ignored the daggers both you and Dean sent him with your eyes and continued, “I need to get things done with Bobby that I promised a while ago, and I finally have the time now.  Besides, I get it that things are rough between the two of you, but if we’re gonna be hunting together for a while, you both need closure. Its not fair to me that every time I walk in to room I feel like I’m trapped in a tension zone. So this will be a good time for you to work things out, Okay?”

"Okay.” Dean said quickly.

“Fine. I’m going to get ready then.” You turned around and headed to the bathroom for a shower, thinking about what Sam had said. He was right, it wasn’t fair to put him in the middle of all this. It wasn’t his fault that Dean cheated and it wasnt his fault that you thought you’d be able to live with him after, only to find resentment and hurt spill from your heart every time you looked into Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but yours and Dean’s. So, yes. Closure would be good.

The morning went quickly, with you and Dean preparing the guns and packing over-night bags. When you said goodbye to Sam, there was something in his eyes that showed he was up to something, but you let it go and followed Dean out to the car. The ride was going to be three hours, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to it.

“Uhm, you can choose the music first, anythings fine with me.” Dean buckled his seat-belt, something he never did until you started to make him a few years ago, and glanced at you before taking off, “I just want to say straight out that I want you to be open and honest with me. You know, with this whole closure thing. I can..I’ll take every hit you throw at me because I know I deserve it.”

You just nodded and picked up the stash of music he had on the passenger side floor. Despite still being angry with him, you loved seeing his smile. So you quickly put an AC/DC track in and tried to hold back your own smile as his formed when the music began to play. And that’s how it was for the first hour and a half. Music and silence.

Until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I have nightmare’s.” You began, waiting until he turned down the music to continue, “Almost every night, I see her face and I see you looking at her with..the same look you used to give me.”

He gripped the steering wheel.

“And every night the dreams the same. You look at her, she looks at you, you kiss her, and she kisses back. You say ‘I love you"…and I’m there. Screaming for you to stop but, you don’t hear me. You never do.” Your voice was soft as you stared out the window, “I hate that damn dream.”

It was silent again, but only for a few seconds as you swallowed hard, “But then, after I wake up from the nightmare and go back to sleep, I have a different dream. In this one, its me you’re looking at. It’s me you’re kissing and It’s me you’re telling ‘I love you.’ And I never want to wake up from that dream. But I do. And I can never decide which one is real.”

Dean let out a shaky sigh and let a moment pass before pulling over, “I can’t do this while driving.” He pulled to a deserted road and the sun was going down, you kept your eyes trained on that until he cleared his throat again, “I can never take back what I did. I can never begin to try and explain to you how much I would give to take it back, to have you in my arms again. And I can never force you to look at me the same again. But what I can and will not stop doing, is love you. It’s impossible, for me to not love you. And that is real.”

You felt tears falling from your eyes, but you ignored them and focused on Dean’s, splashing his cheeks one by one. God, you loved him. It hurt, and you tried to stop, but you couldn’t, “I’m so scared.” You said aloud, “It hurts so much Dean, To explain how much it hurts would be impossible. But now I can’t even decide what hurts more; what you did to me, or how much I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.” His voice cracked as he reached for your hand. and you let him take it, “I haven’t slept more than an hour each night because it feels so empty without you. I don’t feel the same and I never will unless-” Dean sniffed and gathered himself, “Y/N, please let me love you again the way I was born to love you. I made a horrible mis- I made a horrible choice. And I will do anything to make up for it, to prove to you that you’re everything I need. Please.

This was it. Your final choice. You knew Dean, and whatever you said next was going to be it in his mind. So you chose what you knew would be best for you, what you knew would stop the aching in your heart.

You chose him. And what better to let him know, then with a kiss?

It was hungry, for both of you at first. He felt relieved and then greedy as he pulled you into what he had been waiting for for what seemed like forever. You licked his lips, feeling the familiar taste warm your tongue. You couldn’t decide who deepened it first, but you didn’t care. All of the hurt you once felt was patched up and forgotten in that kiss, and you couldn’t remember why you didn’t forgive him sooner.

"I love you so much.” He breathed against your lips and cupped your face, “I will never hurt you again.”

“I love you too, Dean. So much.” And you believed him.


It turns out, Sam was up to something. The location he sent you to wasn’t a ghost hunt at all, but instead a Bed&Breakfast that held the name Winchester under the reservation tag.

“How did he even know we would make up by the time we arrived here?” You giggled and laced your hand with Dean’s as he retrieved a room key from the front desk man.

“He’s a smart kid.” Dean smiled, “And I think he saw clearer than we did, exactly how much we still love each other.”

“It wont ever stop.” You stood on your toes and kissed Dean’s lips softly, but pulled away when he hesitated, “What?”

“Im just. I’m so sorry for what I did.” His eyes still held sincerity, “I love you and only you.”

You ran your thumb softly across his cheek after cupping his face, “I know.” Then grabbed the room key from his hands, “Can we have make-up sex now?”

“Thats my girl.” He laughed, kissing you once more before following you to the room.