he wrote this on a wall so it would be neat


hey i wrote this!! inspired by the tweet nora said about andrew buying neil a camera for christmas one day! i’m not good at titles i’m sorry also i think this is the first fic i’m posting on tumblr?? wrow

The first Christmas together in their new apartment, Andrew got Neil a camera.

It was a Polaroid. When Neil opened it, he stared at it for a few seconds before he looked up at Andrew, who shrugged.

“You always liked that wall of pictures,” Andrew said. “At the court.”

Neil knew which one he meant. The wall of photos at the Foxhole Court where Dan kept track of their memories, the one with the first picture ever taken of Andrew and Neil together, standing in Upstate Regional Airport in their matching coats. Neil came back to that wall over and over again during his years at Palmetto. He’d only just graduated, but he already missed that wall. He missed the memories, and the Foxes.

“Thank you,” Neil said as he looked down at the camera in his lap. The weight of it suddenly seemed far more significant than it had been before, and when he looked up at Andrew, he was smiling. “Seriously. Thank you.” It meant so much to him. More than he could say.

Andrew just nodded. He didn’t grimace, or tell Neil to stop looking at him like that. Neil’s smile grew bigger. He scooted closer to Andrew where they were sitting by their tiny little tree on the floor, shoving wrapping paper out of the way. “Will you be my first subject?”

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You better Marry her One Day (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Prompt/Request: ‘’Hi!! I really liked my last imagine that you wrote for me. Do you think you could write another Draco Malfoy imagine, where the reader meets his parents and she later overhears his mother telling Draco that he better marry the reader one day? Thanks!’’ -  abbeyshadowhunter

Word Count: 1,181.
Warning(s): Fluff, I guess?
Note: Thank you for the amazing request, I liked it to write. :) Hope you like it too! xx

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The nerves were killing you as you stood in front of the Malfoy Manor, a very big manor, almost like a castle with its own, little kingdom. Even though everything looked very clean and neat, it still had a very dark look. Yes, even when you were sorted in Slytherin and a pureblood, you still disliked dark colours. But following Draco his advice, you wore some black jeans, a dark blue shirt and a black leather jacket. To finish of your outfit, you wore black shoes, hoping the family wouldn’t hate it.

God, everything mattered if you thought about it. You were so concentrated on your appearance and manners you didn’t even realize someone opened the door already you had not even knocked on.

‘Good day darling, I’m assuming you’re Y/N?’ a woman with dark hair and dark clothes greeted you. In her hair were some grey locks and immediately you liked it the way she slowly accepted growing old. Well, that’s what you thought, maybe that was not the reason behind the grey locks after all.

You nodded and shook her hand, which reached out to you already. ‘Yes, Y/N Y/L/N. And you’re Draco’s mother?’ you questioned, not trying to sound rude at all as she led you in.

Inside it was dark too, as you expected, but it was very beautiful and all the stuff looked very expensive. Even when you’d touch the walls, you felt like it would break down right down to your feet. This was a whole other universe than your own, ordinary home. You shook your head and let your thoughts drift away.

‘Yes, yes I am. Narcissa Malfoy,’ she smiled before letting your hand finally go. The door behind you was now closed and you started to follow Narcissa to another door inside. Narcissa opened the door, which seemed to be the door to the living room. On the couch was Draco, laying down, reading a book for school while on the chair on the other side of him, was another man. He looked a lot like Draco. The blonde hair, the same face expression and his whole appearance made you conclude he was his father.

‘Draco, Y/N is here,’ Narcissa announced, making Draco look up. He shot up immediately and walked towards you with open arms.

‘Hey babe,’ he whispered when he was close to you, pressing a small kiss on your lips, before letting go of you and wrapping his arm around your waist. And there you stood, like Draco was presenting you to his parents, despite your little meeting with his mother.

He took a short breathe, looking at his father, who had not a single emotion on his face nor in his eyes.

‘Hi, I’m Y/N,’ you shortly introduced yourself, waving a little before a small laugh left your mouth. Narcissa was already smiling, but Draco’s father stayed silent.

‘Father?’ Draco said kind of unsure about his words, also nervous because his father hasn’t said a single thing but sending you glares. Well, you thought it were glares.

‘Lucius Malfoy,’ was the only thing he said. The corners of his mouth went a bit upward and you questioned yourself if this was supposed to represent a smile.

But to prevent any other awkward situations, you just said: ‘Nice to meet you, sir.’ And you showed your most beautiful smile, feeling Draco chuckle. His grip around your waist stiffened a bit, so you smiled even more, but not towards Lucius anymore, but Draco.

Your eyes met, feeling the spark inside lighten up again. He nodded, gesturing it was going okay. A wave of relief washed over you, before Narcissa and Lucius started to walk to another room. Draco hold on tightly when he walked with you, entering the big room which seemed to be the dining room.

‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ Draco’s mother said as she smiled, walking to the kitchen to check the food one last time.

‘Good,’ you answered, turning towards Draco and his father, ‘mind if I use the bathroom real quick and wash my hands?’ You showed a grin and frowned a bit. Draco nodded, ignoring his father as he told you were to find it. A quick thank you rolled over your lips and before you knew it, you were already inside.

‘Come on Y/N, you can do this,’ you whispered to you reflection, trying to encourage yourself, ‘it’s all going well right now. Kill it out there.’

You took a deep breathe, fixing your hair and make-up again, washing your hands before exiting the bathroom. That’s when you realized you got lost in the house. It was a bloody maze in your eyes.

Voices were heard, so you assumed it were Draco and his parents and as you were approaching the voices behind the door, you saw it was a direct door to the kitchen and not via the dining room.

The voices belonged to Narcissa and Draco.

‘What a beautiful girl Draco, reminds me of the younger me,’ you heard Narcissa say, making you smile and your heartbeat quicken.

‘She’s the prettiest and sweetest woman alive,’ Draco told his mother, love lacing in his words.

Narcissa laughed and laid her hands on the shoulders of her son. ‘Your father will love her too, darling. She makes you so happy, I’ve never seen you so happy.’

Draco just nodded, hearing things he already knew. You were indeed one of his only lights that brought him happiness and made him turn into a good person. Well, let’s just say you made him have a good side too.

‘You better marry her one day,’ Narcissa smiled while stroking the arms of her only son. Draco laughed and grabbed his mother’s hands.

‘Don’t worry mother, I will,’ he assured her, making her nod.

On the other side of the door, you were almost fainting. A hand clasped in front of your mouth, you silently left the door, finding the other way around immediately as the smile on your face wouldn’t fade away.

When you were in the dining room again, everyone was finally there, Draco sitting on a chair next to an empty chair. The whole table was filled with so much food, you almost lost count of the different meals.

Once you sat down, Lucius lit the candles with his wand and filled all the four glasses with some wine.

‘A toast for Draco and Y/N,’ Narcissa said, raising her glass as you followed her actions. Draco did the same and then everyone looked at Lucius, who still hadn’t raise his glass.

But after a few seconds, his mouth went open, his eyes showing some sympathy as he looked at his loving son.

‘To the beautiful, kind Y/N and my only, dear son Draco,’ he said, finally showing some of his opinion on your relationship.

You smiled, mumbling a ‘cheers’ but you were at cloud nine at the moment, so happy with this meeting.

Soon enough, Draco’s hand found yours, him squeezing your hand a little as you were smiling like a dork, happier than ever before.


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Closet (M)

Description : When Jimin innocently goes on a search for his laptop in his roommate’s closet, he finds much more than he bargained for

Pairing : Yoonmin x Reader

Word count : 3k

Genre : 101% smut

Warning : voyeurism, cum play, guy on guy action, dom!yoongi

a/n : This is filth, idk what to do with myself

“Alright where’d you hide it?” Jimin scoffed at the fake startled expression that danced on his roommates’ face after he’d asked the question.

“Me? Hide what?” Yoongi smiled widely at his success in annoying Jimin and continued to eat his dinner while Jimin stood before him and scowled.

“Yoongi I need my laptop!! I’ve got important stuff on it!” Jimin whined endlessly while slamming soft fists against the small coffee table they shared in the living room.

“Aww, like what? Your porn?” They both had images of the other day flash before them simultaneously accompanied by the uneasy feeling it came with when it happened.

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angelsarenamederika  asked:

Have you ever written any works about that clean, empty train station Harry ended up in? Or rather, what that place may have looked like for other people?

Ginny woke up with a gasp that felt like sandpaper shoved down her throat. Her lungs brimmed with rock and cold water, with the thick musty smell of snake.

She inhaled again and it was softer– she blinked her eyes open as the world rearranged itself. Mildew and stone gave way to the scent of sun-warmed grass. Apple blossoms. Branches cut the sky into shards of blue. 

She had learned how to fly in this orchard. She had stolen her brothers’ brooms out of the shed and practiced when no one was watching her. She knew this view–lying on the ground, looking up–because she had laid out here in the shade on hot summer days, because she had fallen off brooms and bruised herself all over, again and again, knocked all the air out of her lungs.  Ginny sat up. 


Ginny sat up. Her mother put a mug of tea down in front of her. Ginny wobbled where she sat and clutched at the rough edge of the kitchen table. 

“Drink your tea,” said Molly. 

“Mum,” she said. “I think I’ve been hurting people.” The Burrow’s kitchen was sunlit and scrubbed clean behind Molly. 

“Of course you wouldn’t, sweetheart,” said Molly. 

Mum,” said Ginny. “There was blood on my robes." 

"We’ve all killed a few chickens in our time,” said Molly. 

“How did I get home?” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. It was cold against her palms, wet and gritty. There was dirt under her nails. She shivered. “I was at Hogwarts." 

"It’s not going to be easy,” Molly said. “He’ll tell you that, someday– the choice between what is right and what is easy. Isn’t that interesting? That doing the right thing is always so damn hard.” Molly put the tea kettle back on the stove. Her apron was thick beige canvas, well-used. “But you won’t really be listening. Because a boy will just have died, and you’ll be thinking about that. About whether or not he had a choice.”

“Who’s dying?” Ginny said. “Who’s going to die?" 

"No one you know well,” Molly said. “It’s alright. No one important to you. Someone very important to other people, but, of course, everyone is. And no, he won’t have had a choice. Right, or easy. But you do." 


Bill was trying to brush her hair. It was tangled at the back of her skull, matted, but his hands were very gentle. The chair she sat in creaked under her, old, in need of repairs like everything the Weasleys had ever owned. Sunlight dripped down through the leaves of the orchard. Bill had been the one who taught her to undo the lock on the broom shed door. 

"You haven’t done this since I was little,” she said. 

“You’re still little,” Bill said. His voice was younger, squeakier, and when she tipped her head back she saw his chin smooth and unstubbled, his hair still short and neat, his ear unpierced. 

“I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave. You’re going to go on adventures and forget to write home and forget to visit." 

"I’ll visit,” said Bill. 

“Not enough,” she said. “I’m glad you grew your hair out, though. It looks good. Mum doesn’t get it, but it looks more like you." 

Her skull was cradled in his hands, still tipped back, looking up at him. 

"You’re not really here,” she said. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re all alone. You’re on the floor of the Chamber, can’t you tell?" 

Ginny touched her robes. They were cold and damp, sticking to her spine. Moldy water dripped from her hem onto the dry dirt of the orchard. 


"You’re just embarrassing us,” said Percy. He was fussing with his robes, picking lint off them. A sunbeam came through the kitchen window and draped itself around his shoulders. 

Ginny swallowed. “You don’t mean that.” She looked around the kitchen, but it was empty. Mum and her teapot weren’t anywhere. 

“Can you imagine how Mum and Dad will feel?” Percy said. “When it comes out their baby girl has been strangling chickens and killing Mudbloods?”

“No one died,” she whispered. “And don’t say that word." 

"C'mon, Ginevra, no one died but they were meant to. A camera, a mirror, a ghost, a puddle– the Mudbloods got lucky." 

Her whisper shrank and shrank. "Don’t say that word." 

"Mudbloods? Why? You wrote it on the wall in blood.” His face twisted, sneering, twisted and twisted– she had never seen Percy’s face skew that far. She didn’t think faces could move like that. She didn’t think they should. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You’ve been trying to kill people all year, and you haven’t even managed one,” said the thing with Percy’s voice, the voice he used to tell first years to knot their ties properly. “Embarrassing. Maybe tonight you’ll finally get it right." 

"You’re not really here,” she said. “This isn’t real. This is a dream, it’s all in my head, you’re not really here." 

"Of course it’s all in your head,” Percy said, or something that had once looked like Percy said. She wasn’t opening her eyes to see. “Why would that mean it isn’t real?”


“Welsh Greens are my favorite dragon,” said Charlie. Ginny pried her eyes open. Charlie smiled at her from across the kitchen table. Her tea was still gone. Percy was gone. The sunlight had faded to pale morning light. She was shivering. 

“I try not to play favorites,” he said. “You know, but sometimes you just gotta admit things to yourself.”

“Charlie, I think I’m dying.” She gripped the edge of the rough kitchen table and it bit into her palms. 

“They’re just so elegant,” Charlie said. “The first time I saw one fly. Do you remember? No, you weren’t born yet, I think. But Dad got suspended for a month, though Mum and Dad didn’t tell us that part–something with Lucius Malfoy–but he had a month off so we went to stay with that old friend of Mum’s in Newport. Right near the preserve. And we went out into it, and the twins kept trying to run off, and Bill spent all his time reading those adventure books he liked so much then, but we saw dragons. A Green sunning, across a gorge. One flying, almost directly over us. And I knew, right then, what I wanted to do with my life." 

"I think it was Lucius who put the diary in my textbook,” she said. “Why would he do that? Why did I write in it? Why did Tom make it? Why did I write back?" 

"See this?” said Charlie, rolling up a sleeve. Two long jagged lines of scar tissue bulged down his forearm, wrapping around it. “Poor thing got stuck in a trap and nicked me when I was getting it loose. Damned poachers." 

"Charlie, I think I hurt people.”

“And here,” said Charlie. He untucked his shirt and showed her a big shiny burn that went all up and down his leftside ribs and hip. “Healing skin,” he said. “It’s the weirdest thing.”


“We prank Filch and Mrs. Norris all the time,” said George. He was sitting in a tree in the orchard, the way the twins had used to before they got too big for the fragile branches. “But Merlin’s beard, Gin, never like that." 

Ginny sat cross-legged in the grass, picking stalks and trying to weave a crown. "Do you think Mrs. Norris’ll be okay?" 

"And Justin?” said George. “He’s a little twerp, but my god. We could have helped you put cayenne in his oatmeal or something, come on." 

"It wasn’t me,” said Ginny. “I didn’t mean to." 

"Okay, was it not you, or did you not mean to?” said George. “Those are two different excuses.”


“Never trust something if you can’t see where it puts its brain,” Arthur said. Her father was under the car. She couldn’t see him from the mid-chest, up. She couldn’t see his face.


“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Ron was lying on his back on his bed and she was laying belly-down on the floor, coloring. The ghoul in the attic banged pipes– angry, desperate sounds resounding like they were in an empty, vaulted space that swallowed up echoes and spat them back. 

“I wrote back,” she said. 

“Yeah, and? Plenty of people have penpals. That’s all you did. You were lonely. Don’t you think I get it? We’re the last ones, you and me. The point where people have seen so many Weasley kids they stop bothering to learn our names. I know.”

“I should’ve known,” she said. She rolled over onto her back, her hair tangling with her colored pencils. It sounded like the ghoul had maybe broken a pipe– a violent hissing shook the room. “Never trust something if you can’t see where it keeps its brain." 

"That’s stupid,” said Ron, sitting up, leaning over so she could see the profile of his long nose, his flop of red hair. There was a spreading stain on the ceiling above him.

Dad says that." 

"Well Dad’s stupid sometimes. What does where something keeps its brain have to do with anything? Somebody put that diary in your stuff. Someone made that diary– and they kept their brain right in their skull, just like us." 

"So it’s ‘never trust anyone’?” Hissing, snarling, metal on stone, the drip of water. Her skull pressed into the hard floor, too heavy to lift. The noise rose and rose, but she could hear Ron’s voice just fine. 

He shrugged, lanky shoulders bobbing. “I dunno. Maybe it’s 'do your best.’ I dunno. You’re eleven. Why do you have to be thinking about stuff like this?”

“You’re twelve. Why are you?”

Yeah, well, I helped fight You-Know-Who in my first year." 

Ginny curled her fingers into her dark robes. She had had to throw away the ones she’d killed the roosters in. She’d never learned Mum’s cleaning spells well enough for that. 

"You could, too,” Ron said. The stain on the ceiling kept spreading, white plaster going dark. “You did. Fight You-Know-Who, your first year.” Water dripped onto her forehead. 

“How?” she said. “I helped him. Tom was in my head, my hands– He was–" 

"You tried to tell people.”

“I should’ve made them listen,” she said. 

“You can’t make people listen,” said Ron. 

“What can I do, then?” she said. 

“Wake up,” he said. “Wake up, wake up, come on, Ginny, wake up, Harry why is she so cold.”


“I’m so scared, Mum,” she said. The tea was steaming but her hands were shaking against cold ceramic. “I think I’ve been hurting people." 


"You’ve always been able to tell us apart,” said George. The leaves on the trees rustled behind him. “We appreciate that, you know? Like, there’s some pranks we can’t play with you around, but, still, it’s nice." 


"You can go,” Percy said, kindly, and Ginny shivered and shivered. “You’ve always wanted to. You’ve been dreaming about running all your life. Just taking a broom and going." 


Apple blossoms filled the air. Dry grass tickled her cheek, the curve of her calf. Branches cut through the sky– blue, broad, endless. She could feel cold, rotting water seeping into her robes, her socks, swallowing her hands. 


Bang. The ghoul in the attic was hitting pipes again. Hissing. Shouts. 


Bang. Swinging his feet, knocking his heels against the table legs, Fred sat on the rickety table in the broom shed. He trimmed the stray broken twigs from the tail of his Cleansweep, whistling, and he didn’t look up. 

The door of the shed hung open behind Ginny, the sun at her back, the smell of apple blossoms in the air. 

"If you’re going to steal our brooms,” Fred said. “You could at least help with maintenance, you know." 

"Why are you the last one?” she said. He had stopped whistling, but the sound kept going, ricocheting off the walls. “Why weren’t you with George?”

“We don’t do everything together,” said Fred. He looked up from the broom and he was smiling. “He’s going to do a lot of things without me, one day.”

“Where am I?” she said. “What is this? This isn’t home." 

"Isn’t it?” Fred said. He was smiling and she wanted him to stop. “You see, Ginny, you get a choice. Not everyone gets a choice, but you do. This is a place where people wait,” he said. “This is a place where they get to decide. To go forward or to go back." 

"What if I don’t want to go back?”

“Then you take one of these brooms, Gin, and you just go.” He stood up, holding the broom loosely in his hand. “You used to dream about it, remember? When no one was paying attention to you, or when they were paying too much, or when Ron broke your favorite porcelain doll. You thought about sneaking out here, and taking a broom, and just going. The first time you snuck out here and stole my broom, that’s what you meant to do. Run away. Find a circus, or an adventure, a new life.”

“But I came back." 

He shrugged. "You ran out of the cookies you’d packed. And it got cold." 

"It’s getting colder,” she said. “Fred, I’m so cold." 

"You won’t get cold, if you go. You won’t run out of anything.”

“What’ll I find?” The sky out the window was blue. It went forever. 

“I don’t know, kiddo. Not yet.”  


Bill was brushing her hair in the orchard. It didn’t hurt, but she knew it should. She tipped her head back. The sky was blue. She let him hold the weight of her skull in his two big hands, his rings digging into her scalp. 

Charlie was telling her about dragons. Percy was picking lint off her shoulder and telling her to get some sleep. George was picking dead leaves off the apple tree and dropping them on her head. 

Ron laid on his back in his bedroom and water dripped down from the ceiling. The ghoul was shrieking, the pipes were hissing. The stain spread and spread and she watched it go. She couldn’t lift her head. 


“You have a choice,” Arthur said. He had oil on his cheek from fixing a car he swore he never meant to drive. 

“It’s getting colder." 

"I know, baby." 


The handle of Fred’s broom was trapped between them, digging into her ribs, bruising her collarbone. She twisted her hands in the back of his shirt and buried her face in the front of it. Fred was taller than he should be. His chin was bristly with a beard he shouldn’t be able to grow this well, not yet. 

"I miss you,” she said. “You’re going to leave." 

"Are you?” he said. 

She gripped the back of his shirt tight. She could smell the orchard through the open door. She was crying. Her tears were the only warm things in the whole world. “No,” she whispered. 

“It won’t be easy,” Fred said, his chin pressed to the top of her head, because he was taller, he was so much taller than he should be. She cried and the stain spread through his shirt. “But it will be worth it." 


Apple blossoms and old stone. Snakes in the dry grass. This was where she learned to fly. She had taught herself. 

"Wake up,” said Ron. “Harry, why is she so cold? Wake up, Ginny, you’ve got to wake up." 

The blue sky was cut into a hundred shattered pieces. 

She opened her eyes. 

This was supposed to be angsty and then turned out not to be. It was supposed to be about Mob being afraid that he’s making Reigen feel obligated to stay, chaining him down and trapping him again.  I had some neat symbolism I was gonna put in. 

But then I didn’t.

And also I didn’t spend nearly enough time unpacking and exploring any of the ideas that I actually wrote about.

But I am on the edge of an art and writing block right now, so this is the best I can do.  Please enjoy.

Phantom Pains

For @phantomrose96, @sandflakedraws, and @ohwwhuv

In the early hours of the morning the world is draped in silence, broken only by the faint hum of sleeping appliances and the ticking clock. After so many nights with nothing but a corpse for company, it’s surprising that the silence doesn’t grate against him. If he were alone, perhaps it would, but–

“Do you feel them, sometimes?” 

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You Left Your USB Plugged into a Computer in the Lab AU

“No mom I can’t skype tonight I… have plans,” Davey pulled his jacket tighter around himself, regretting having forgotten his mittens at home. The winter wind was whipping around him and his mom had chosen the most inopportune time to call and check up on him on a Friday night.

“What’s that sound? Is that the wind? Are you actually outside? You really are going somewhere!” She sounded thrilled that Davey might finally have made a friend to do something with besides his roommate. Not that she didn’t love Crutchie, but he preferred to stay in, especially in the winter when it was tougher for him to get around on his fake leg that never quite fit into a good pair of winter boots. Davey didn’t have the heart to tell her that the only reason he had left the safety of their dorm was because his Wi-Fi wasn’t working and he needed to work on a research paper.

“I can call you back later when I get home-” Davey began but his mom interrupted quickly.

“No don’t! Stay out as late as you want! Get into trouble, get arrested, make memories!” She said her goodbyes and hung up, like she was trying to get off the phone before Davey changed his mind and went back to watching Food Network with Crutchie. Davey breathed a sigh of relief as he finally got to the computer lab, taking quick, short steps across the ice and bursting through the door, desperate to soak in the heat.

His fingers were still defrosting as he booted up one of the computers, blowing hot air on his red skin and trying to regain some feeling in them. He dug through his backpack until he found his USB and went to jam it into the computer, stopping short when he saw another already plugged in. His blood pressure immediately began to rise, thinking about what a disaster it would be if he would’ve been the one to leave electronic academic life behind and vowed to get a pull cord so that he could attach his USB to his belt loops.

Hoping to find some indication of who this belonged to, he opened the files saved on the drive. Davey was horrified by the organizational structure, or rather lack thereof. Most of the files were all jumbled together with names like “1.png” and “new.jpeg”. There were only two folders that served as the extent of this heathen’s organizational abilities. The first was labeled “college”, and Davey opened it to find a mess more horrifying than the last, every document labeled only by the course code and a letter or number to make them different from each other. He felt his forehead beginning to sweat and resisted the urge to start organizing the files and instead checked out the other folder. This one was labeled “Etsy Orders” and was the only place where there was some semblance of neatness. Each file was labeled with someone’s name and appeared to be a combination of a request, a payment invoice, and a piece of artwork. Davey started clicking through the art pieces and was immediately taken aback - this human disaster was this good of an artist? Good enough to sell pieces online?

He clicked into the most recent file, and opened the order request. There was a note about customization of piece addressed to Jack Kelly, who he assumed was the owner of this lost piece of hardware. The payment invoice in the same folder led him to Jack’s etsy store name, which he quickly located. It was surprisingly popular and offered hundreds of different prints available for sale, as well as a “Contact Me" section where customers could request custom pieces. Davey opened the link to send the artist an email and quickly wrote to him about finding his USB in the computer lab on campus, including his phone number so Jack could contact him about returning it.

Davey went back to his paper and tried to push the artist from his mind. Sure his pieces were beautiful, but lots of people could draw, and who knows if Jack had even drawn the pieces himself, he could’ve stolen them from the internet or…

His train of thought was interrupted by his phone ringing loudly in the silent computer lab because seriously what kind of loser would be working on homework in the lab at 9:00 PM on a Friday night. Davey tried to tell himself it could wait until he was finished with his homework, but then he thought it might be Jack responding about his USB and he should probably check.

Sure enough there was a new message from an unknown number.

“Hi Davey, this is Jack, the complete idiot who left his USB in the campus lab. You have no idea how much you saved my life finding me like this. Is there any chance you’re still in the lab? I could come grab it from you now so you don’t have to hang onto it. If not, I’m free all weekend if you wanted to let me buy you a cup of coffee to express my eternal gratitude.”

Davey felt heat rising in his cheeks. He told himself to calm down, he didn’t even know what this guy looked like, or anything about him really. It was much too soon to be thinking about a repeat coffee date or how Jack could hand-design their wedding invites…

He shook his head to clear away the thoughts of Jack’s apartment - a studio flat with walls papered with art prints, every available surface covered in paints and pencils. He started to reply that he would be in the lab for another hour or two, then changed his mind - it wouldn’t hurt to bend the truth just a little

“Hi Jack, I’m so glad I got into contact with you! Unfortunately I saw your USB just as I was leaving the lab, but I could meet you tomorrow to give it back, around 10? Let me know.’

Jack responded almost immediately: “Perfect! I’ll meet you then at Mugs!”

Davey smiled, his head buzzing with thoughts of chatting with Jack in the campus coffee shop the next morning. He tried to get back into the right mindset to do his homework, but the minutes kept slipping by while he made absolutely no progress. He decided his homework could wait until tomorrow, he was working ahead anyway and hopefully the Wi-Fi would be working by then, and if he left now hopefully he could catch the end of the Harry Potter movie Crutchie had started before he left

The next morning Davey arrived at the coffee shop half an hour early. He had been up for hours, trying on outfit after outfit until the couch was completely covered in rejects and Crutchie had thrown his pillow at him, sleepily groaning at him to “just pick something and shut the lights off already!” His hair had taken even longer, mussing it up to make it look like he’d just rolled out of bed, then carefully combing it back, then starting over again as he once again changed his mind. Finally he’d given up, deciding that he needed to leave super early because, even though it was only a five minute walk to the campus coffee shop, there could be a line for a table or a sinkhole in the sidewalk or something. It had made sense until he was sitting alone in the nearly-empty lounge area, checking every thirty seconds to make sure he hadn’t forgotten Jack’s USB. As it got closer and closer to 10:00 Davey started to panic that Jack was going to stand him up. And he didn’t even know what Jack looked like! How was he supposed to find him when the morning rush was just starting to roll in…

A hand softly touching his shoulder disrupted him from his thoughts, making him jump a little. “Sorry! Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m Jack, are you Davey?”

Davey was so lost staring at the beautiful stranger in front of him that he almost forgot to respond, his mouth going dry as his eyes trailed down from Jack’s dark eyes rimmed with long lashes, to his cheeks and strong jawline, still pink from the cold, and down his arm that looked muscled even through his thick sweater to his hand still resting on his shoulder, the fingers a little stained with paint.

“Y-yes! I’m Davey. Hi!” Davey said stupidly, regretting it immediately, but Jack smiled which made Davey’s heart feel like it was growing to a bursting point.

“Hi, it’s great to meet you. I’m not kidding when I say that I owe you my life. Can I grab you a drink?”

“Sure,” Davey said, starting to get up.

“Please let me, I want to feel like I’m doing something to make this up to you. What’s your poison?”

“Peppermint Mocha, please.” Jack grinned, giving Davey a thumbs up before turning to get in line, his cheeks going a little red like he wished he wouldn’t have done that, but Davey thought it was adorable. Then again, Jack probably could’ve spilled an entire pot of coffee on Davey’s head and he still would’ve found it endearing.

Davey gave himself an internal pep talk, telling himself to calm the fuck down before Jack came back, because they were about to add hot liquid to this equation and he always got clumsy when he was nervous.

Jack returned with two steaming cups of coffee, very carefully setting them down before taking a seat across from Davey. “You really have no idea how much I owe you for this. I could buy all your coffee for the rest of your life and still be indebted to you.”

Davey laughed, taking a sip of his drink and trying not to react when it burned his tongue. “Well I looked through it a little when I found it, trying to figure out who it belonged to. The art pieces on there were incredible, I almost kept it.”

Jack blushed, ducking his head behind his mug. “It’s just a hobby, but people seem to like them, so I try to sell prints for a little extra money, a guy has to put himself through college after all.”

“Well I’m going to have to place a few orders,” Davey said, stirring his drink and waiting for it to cool off a little.

“Oh please, you can have any prints you want for free, I would’ve lost all of them if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m sure someone would’ve returned it to you. Which reminds me, how did you know it was me when you came in?”

Jack’s face got redder as he mumbled “I might’ve looked you up on Facebook.” Davey laughed, wishing he’d had the same thought.

The two of them stayed for more than an hour, chatting about their classes and plans for Christmas break and how they couldn’t believe it was almost the end of the semester already. Eventually the coffee shop started to get crowded with students looking for a quiet place to study.

“We should probably forfeit our table,” Davey remarked, looking around at the line of people out the door eyeing up their empty mugs.

“Oh… yeah you’re probably right. Time really flies when you’re having fun!” Jack sounded a little disappointed as he grabbed their mugs and took them back to the counter, waiting for Davey to put on his jacket and following him out the door.

“Can’t forget this!” Davey handed Jack his flash drive and Jack looked horrified.

“Oh my god! I almost forgot it again!” Jack hit the heel of his hand against his forehead and took the USB. “I guess talking to a cute boy will do that to you.”
“A cute… um, a what?” Davey stammered, shifting his weight from foot to foot and trying to keep his head on straight.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I totally read this wrong? I just thought that you were… never mind!” Jack started to walk away but Davey caught his elbow.

“No wait! I am! I mean I’m gay, or interested, or whatever. Interested in you!” Davey’s mouth fell open when he realized what he’d said, and how idiotic he sounded. His mind was racing trying to come up with some way to save this when Jack leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“It was great meeting you, and thank you again for this!” Jack smiled, waving the flash drive a little before turning to walk away. “Call me sometime,” he called over his shoulder.

Davey was floating his whole walk home. He stopped at a picnic table outside his dorm, wanting to enjoy reminiscing alone before he went upstairs to be grilled by Crutchie. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, briefly wondering if it was too soon to be texting Jack already, but decided he didn’t care.

“Hey, about what you said about buying all my coffee for the rest of my life…”

Jack’s reply came a minute later: “Let’s start tomorrow :)”

anonymous asked:

Steve as Cap, passing over the shield to Sam as Cap. Temporarily or not is up to you. rsf not signed in because my tablet hates me.

Sorry about your tablet woes! D: 

It had taken nearly a year of negotiation, including a lot of punched walls and more of T’Challa’s time than they’d really had the right to ask of him. But when the final draft of the newly renegotiated accords was set on the table, it felt like it was worth it. The entire Avengers were reassembled, even Natasha, who had disappeared in disgust and refused to be found by either Tony or Steve’s side for ages. 

She’d only reappeared, perhaps intentionally, after Tony came to Steve with his peace offering: tech that could wipe out Bucky’s programming permanently, and begin work on helping him find his way through the trauma of the last seventy years. It was a slow process, but it seemed to be working. 

Tony still didn’t look like he liked the idea of being in the same room with Bucky Barnes, but he was, and Steve could accept Tony’s tolerance of Bucky if it meant Tony wasn’t actively trying to kill him. 

It was one of those things that they were going to have to dance around for a while, Steve suspected. Which just made this decision easier. 

“Before anyone signs,” Steve said, drawing the document towards himself, “I need to ask for one more change.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. Clint collapsed backward in his chair, frustrated. “I’m not calling T’Challa again!” he announced. 

“Seriously?” Rhodey asked. “Seriously?

“Steve, you approved this – “ Tony started, but Steve held up a hand.

“It’s not a legal change, just a minor nomenclature issue,” he said, flipping to the roster page. Throughout the Accords – one of the only things Clint had insisted on, weirdly – the legal language only referred to people by their callsigns. Each Avenger was only mentioned by name once, in the roster. 

Steve took out a black ink pen, drew a neat line through his name and Sam’s name, and then wrote Sam’s name next to Captain America.

“I need to not be Cap for a while,” he said quietly, initialing the change. Every head in the room turned to Sam, who grinned. 

“He asked me last night,” Sam said. “Was I gonna say no?”

Black Captain America?” Rhodey asked. Sam nodded, and Rhodey held out his fist for a dap. 

Steve looked at Tony, who was looking thoughtful.

“You could have asked for this months ago,” Tony said. “But there would have been a call for confirmation hearings. Sam would have been background checked. Media field day. So you dumped it in now at the last minute, so that it would be up to me as a representative of the Accord negotiators.” 

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked. 

Tony smiled a little. “No, just admiring how good you’re both getting at politics.” He held out his hand for the pen, then leaned across the table and initialed the change. Then he set the pen down and snapped his fingers. One of the guards at the edge of the conference room came forward with a large object in a thin canvas bag. Tony took it, undid the drawstring, and removed the shield. He looked at Steve, then passed it straight across him to Sam, who took it carefully and slid his arm into the straps, letting it hang by his side. 

“Got any first words as Captain America?” Natasha asked. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Are we done here? I got justice to dispense.” 

anonymous asked:

oooh! how about the 'Everything you draw on your skin also appears on your soulmate’s skin' prompt with the one and only jonathan byers?

Thank you for requesting! I’m taking requests about Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan in honor season two coming up! 

Warnings: None.

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This Isn’t My Home, Anymore

Newt Scamander x Reader, ft. Tina

Author: Lil Lambie

Words: 1565

Warnings: Jealousy, kissing, angst, implied smut

Request: (Anon) newt x reader where you’re jealous of tina ??? pls make it angsty !!! and maybe reader is newt’s close friend who travels with him to america and she doesnt know why newt is so into the woman who turned him in and !?!?!??!?!!?

A/N: Done with all my Newt requests for now! I loved writing all of these and I like this angsty Newt. Let me know what you guys think! Love ya!

“Newt!” you picked up your suitcase, almost an identical to Newt’s. You pushed through the crowd and threw your arms around him. He hesitated for a moment then embraced you, pulling away to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“(Y/N), how was London?”

“It was great.” you said, as Newt grabbed your bag from you, using his free hand to wrap around your shoulders. You smiled at him. “Yeah, I really missed my family. It was great catching up with them. My brother is going into the major of Muggle Studies. My sister is going into Dragons. They are all growing up so fast. I just wish they would come and live at Ilvermorny.”

Newt rubbed your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” he frowned. “But at least you are home with me.”

You smiled and kissed him.

Newt pulled away.

Before either of you could explain yourselves, a woman interrupted you.

She had short styled hair, she was slender, she fixed a black round soft hat over her hair. She ran her hands over her blue jacket, only a shade lighter than Newt’s peacock blue coat. She smiled tentatively at Newt. Her eyes and face soft when she looked at Newt. Until her eyes fell upon Newt’s arm around you.

The nameless woman looked up to your face is a tense smile. She stood up a little straighter.

“Newt,” the woman laughed, “I don’t believe I’ve met your friend here.” she smiled awkwardly.

“Oh!” Newt said, springing off you. He stood between you and the woman. The awkward adorable tilt returned. Newt began to get flustered. He licked his lip and played with a button on his coat. He looked like a frightened school child.

“Newt?” the woman laughed.

Newt smiled at her and quickly nodded. “Yes, sorry. (Y/N), this is Tina. Tina this is (Y/N).” he gestured his hands across the two of you.

Tina offered a hand. You reluctantly shook it. “Goldstein?” you asked.

Tina flinched and then nodded yes, recovering with a smile. “Why, yes? How do you know that? I don’t believe I have any relation with you or your relatives. (L/N), right?”

You winced too and repeated Tina’s motion. “Yeah, how did you know?”

“Newt talks about you all the time!”

Newt smiled between the two of you and flushed red.

“Really?” you said through gritted teeth throwing a sharp look at Newt. “Tina Goldstein? The Tina Goldstein? Why, Newt talks about you all the time! I’ve heard some very interesting things about you.”

The hostility was growing between the two of you, and Newt’s anxiety and nervous tendencies grew with it. He had fluffed his hair repeatedly and nearly pulled off a button. He fiddled with the string behind the button. He avoided your eyes.

“Oh, I hope they are all good things.” Tina smiled.

“Oh. Yeah.” you grimaced.

“Well, Newt!” Tina tapped Newt on the shoulder. He broke from his anxiety and smiled at Tina.

“Y-yes?” his voice cracked.

Tina smiled. “As much as I love standing in the train station, why don’t we go home? Your friend (Y/N), can come with us.”

“Home?” you said tensely. Your jaw growing sore. Lip throbbing as you bit down on it. You dug your nails into the palm of your hands in fists. “You two live together?”

Tina smiled at you. “Yeah, a lot happened while you were in London.”

“I can see that now.” you said sarcastically.

“Well, are you coming then?” Tina said.

You started walking with her, she didn’t take a step forward. Her eyes were fixed on Newt. He was struck between the two of you. He smiled and nodded. Tina reached for his hand.

You were officially the third wheel.


Newt dropped your suitcase on a bed in a room you did not recognize. It had been redone, the walls painted and decorated differently. Because it wasn’t your room. It never was. It was the guest room. You turned around to the master bedroom and shuddered.

You had been kicked to the street.

You clenched your teeth as you popped open your trunk and threw its contents with no care.

“Make yourself at home-I guess.” Tina laughed.

“No, why don’t you make yourself at home. Because it seems like you took mine.”

Tina stayed silent.

“(Y/N)?” Newt stepped forward, catching a cloak you threw at him. He smiled at you. You breathed out and felt the tension drip out from your fingertips. He stepped closer and whispered, “Can we talk?” he looked back at Tina and smiled. “Would you mind if we had a moment of privacy? Just to catch up?”

“No, course not. Take your time.” Tina smiled, and closed the door behind her.

You were left in the guest room with Newt.

“(Y/N), please,” Newt pleaded. “Listen to me, I can explain!”

You crossed your arms and stared at him. “I’m waiting.”

“Look, Tina and I-”

“I know! The Tina Goldstein? The one who arrested you and almost got you killed? I wanted to come home right away, but I guess I didn’t because it isn’t home anymore is it? Then you stopped writing me. No more owls came. No more packages. I thought you were lost to me.”

“I-I didn’t hear from you. I lost my path, (Y/N).”

“Lost your path?! Newt, you are sleeping with the woman who arrested you! I didn’t write you, because you didn’t seem to care anymore. Your notes were smeared with ink, they weren’t your neat notes anymore. You only write quickly when you are writing about your creatures. You always take the time to write it out perfectly. It got messier and messier Newt. I should’ve stayed in London.”

“(Y/N), no please! I’m sorry. It was all miscommunication. I couldn’t live without you so I guess I was open to a different path. I wouldn’t’ve met Tina if the beasts hadn’t escaped in New York. I wouldn’t’ve fought Grindelwald! I saved lives, (Y/N). I did it because Tina helped me. She is stubborn and she needs time to warm up to you,  but please, give her a chance.”

“You want me to be friends with your replacement girlfriend?” the first tear fell from your cheek.

“No, (Y/N), no.” his voice fell weak. He took a step to you and reached his soft warm hand to your cheek. You didn’t pull away. You clenched your jaw and bit your lip trying to keep the tears inside.

“Why, Newt? Why couldn’t you have just wrote me one more time and told me. Told me it was over.”

Newt wiped away a tear with his thumb. He smiled. His eyes glossed over now. A few tears slipping out from him too.

“(Y/N), Tina and I haven’t slept together. The most we have done is hold hands and kiss once. It was a mistake. I’ve been meaning to break it off. This room is Tina’s. We don’t sleep together. We just live together sometimes.

“We work on the hunt for Grindelwald together. Tina gave you her room, because it is yours. She knew you probably wouldn’t want to jump back into things again, once you found out about us. Tina isn’t as scary as she looks. She really is a great person. A great friend.

“(Y/N), I made a mistake, a big mistake. But, please, give me another chance. I’m yours. I’ve always been. Won’t you be mine?” he smiled. “Again?”

You shook your head and let him kiss you. You pulled away and tried to hide your smile. “I’m still mad at you.”

Newt laughed. “I know. How can I make it up to you?”

“You can shut up and make up for lost time.”

Newt smirked, his head tilted, pondering the missed pleasures. He kissed you again, soft and gentle at first. A force was pulling him away. But you were pulling him in. You grabbed his scarf and yanked him forward. Forcing him closer to you. You threw the scarf off. You laid your hands over Newt’s and lead them from your cheek to your waist. You held them there and the secret lustful Newt returned.

You fell back on the bed. Newt on top of you. He pulled away for a moment to smile at you. He kissed you again. Softening. Savoring. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, your chin, and your hands. You roughed up his hair.

You pulled back.

The tilt returned and he smiled nervously. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just enjoying this moment.” you sat up and kissed him on the nose and then the lips and laid back down. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him to sit on his side. Your back was to his chest, his heart steady against your back. He reached for your hand and kissed your head.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

“It’s good to be home.” you smiled, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the cheek once. You didn’t need to say the L word, because he already knew it. You had just said it. But Newt was old fashioned and a gentleman.

The least you could do was say, “I love you too.”

The egos forget

okay so this is my very first time writing something and I’m super nervous but here’s my take on how The author turned into the host

“do you think author’s alright?”

Wilford leaned on the kitchen table to look at whatever project google was working on. Some upgrade it seemed like.

“what do you mean?” google said without looking up from his work. he wasnt going to get out of the zone just for wilford, this coding needed to get done soon.

‘Well’ Wilford sat down at the table and rested his face in his hands

‘we barely see him anymore except for when he needs to eat. I know he likes his privacy but the dude looks like his grandma is dying or something. Its pretty depressing’

“He eats enough and he is getting enough sunlight, he’ll be fine”

“You know he isn’t a plant right?”

“You asked if he’s fine and he seems to be doing alright.”

“Mentally, you idiot i know he isnt dying.”

google sighed and closed his laptop.
Wilford wasnt one to worry about his “friends?” he didnt get why he’d start worrying now. He observed Wilford for a second.

He was twirling his mustache and staring into the distance while using his other hand to hold his face. Wilford always did that when he was worried about things.

Maybe he should check on author

“i’ll go check on him okay”

Wilford stopped twirling his mustache and frowned. Looking down at the table like he was trying to remember something.

“Check on…. Check on him….” He put his hands on the table and stood up looking around confused then back at google.

“check on.. Google.. check on who?”

Keep reading

{ at ease // lafayette x reader }

period: 1700s, revolutionary era

no trigger warnings–some angst + then fluff

prompt: How about an imagine where reader is captured by the british forces because they know laf’s in love w/ her and threathen to kill her if laf doesnt back out of the war but he and his men ambush them and get her back

a/n: thank you to the anon for this prompt! xx

French used:

mon coeur - my heart

mon ami - my friend

monsieur - mister

“Je ne le mérite pas. S'il vous plaît” - “I’m not worth it. Please -”

chérie - sweetheart

“Pas de temps à perdre, chérie.” - “We have to hurry, sweetheart.”

merci - thank you

Je t’aime - i love you

You had just received another letter from Lafayette, your love who was away fighting in a war for the colonies. You admired his bravery, courage, and determination. Who else would think to join the fight for a country that they didn’t even belong to? It came down to being a fight against an unruly oppressor. He felt it was important to help prevent that.

He had first told you about the fight in the colonies back when you were still citizens of France. It was the talk of France at all of the gatherings. Your husband’s interest peaked each time he heard of the fight. Eventually, his curiosity grew and his want to join the fight grew more and more. 

He had finally prepared to leave, after having written back and forth with General Washington for weeks. You feared for his safety, insisted there was another way to help (”Why not just send more funds and weapons, mon coeur?”), but he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he was on the front lines. After some pleading, you made a compromise–he could go to the colonies and fight so long as you would be able to go with him.

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Serendipity | Jungkook

For the to the edge of winter collab with @jeonsneha

Originally posted by rrapmonstur

Genre: fluff | idol au 

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Prompt: we’re both stuck at the airport on Christmas Eve + idol!Jungkook

Summary: You’re going to miss Jungkook’s return on the night of Christmas Eve from his world tour and you’re stranded in Germany, but things take a miraculous turn and suddenly you don’t hate your boss as much.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Okay this was supposed to be a small drabble but I obviously got carried away blame jungkook anyway this was requested by @aryakiel (have fun) 

Who the fuck schedules the most important meeting of the year three days before Christmas? You’re fuming, gritting your teeth in annoyance as you make your way through the crowded airport and cursing your boss for making you fly all the way to Germany for a meeting that could possibly decide the rest of your career smack dab in the centre of all the Christmas festivities swirling around the world.

Vital as it was however, the meeting was a complete waste of time, you realised there had been no point in attending anyway and now, you’re stuck in the airport while the winds of winter wage war outside the long glass planes that serve as windows, cut-throat blizzards fogging up what would have been a lovely view of the tarmac. Huddled together in small groups, people groan about all the delayed and cancelled flights as their loved ones earnestly wait for them all around the globe. Trust spiteful nature to ruin holiday cheer with its raging spirits of snow and ice!

You stumble over an extension cord and make your way to a relatively secluded corner as announcements echo through the airport in rapid succession. Frustration, disappointment and anxiety muddled your brain as you flumped down on the hard floor, keeping your small suitcase close and hugging the bundle of jackets and a scarf into your chest. According to your watch, Jungkook should return from his world tour any minute… to an empty home.

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Power Play

A/N: Mild swearing. Also, two things: this is the first time I’ve written a smut like this so I’m sorry if this is off and, anon, I hope you agree that Heechul is a kinky dude because that’s how I wrote him.
Word Count: 3.3K

    The corset that molds to your torso like a sleek second skin makes you more aware of your quickened breathing. Pins that hold your hair in a neat bun on the top of your head remind you to keep your posture straight and lady-like. Tulle prickles the back of your thighs where it pokes through the short silk slip as you shift from one heel-clad foot to another outside the door. His bedroom door.

           You want to make him proud, to please him, but your normal confidence is hiding back under your bed. This is your first time doing something like this and you don’t want to mess it up. He would be very disappointed.

           Before you can chicken out, you knock. Your quick taps mimic the rabbit’s nervous heartbeat in your chest.

           It triples when his voice comes through the door. “Come in.”

           The room is almost unchanged since you last entered it. White bookshelves of various heights, lacking cluttering knickknacks, line all the walls except for the one with a wide window, its blinds drawn. A large bed with a navy comforter and fluffed ice blue pillows dominates the single empty corner, mirroring the lighter blue walls. The only new addition is in the center of the room: a high-backed chair made of butter smooth black leather that faces away from you.

           Without letting you see his face, he says, “You may begin.”

           Remembering the appropriate response, you murmur, “Yes, sir.” You do not meet his eyes even though you feel them instantly glued to you when you move into view.

           The work isn’t hard or attention-demanding, but you draw each movement out, giving him time to appreciate every inch of you.

Barely a speck of dust blights the many DVD cases and framed photographs of him and other famous colleagues. He outshines each of them. Deliberately placed on the shelves are many trophies, some broadcasting their importance with ornate gold curves while others rely on simplicity for their dignity. Pride warms your chest as your feather duster glides over them. He has accomplished so much before you even met him and you can only foresee more greatness coming his way.

           You unconsciously pout when you get to one of the taller bookcases. Even in your heels, you have to stretch to reach the top shelves and your contents. Your skirt rides up past the bottom of your barely-there silk panties. You shiver. Not from the chill of the air conditioner, but from the increased heat of his stare on your exposed skin.

           “My footstool needs dusting as well,” he says suddenly.

           “Yes, sir.”

           Keeping your eyes on the cream-colored carpet, you turn around, kneel, and lean over more than necessary to give him an unencumbered view of your lace-framed cleavage, pushed up by the corset to look even more generous. The muffled drag of his feet sliding back and his shadow that falls over you tells you he enjoys the view.

           You risk a quick glance forward and freeze. The lumpiest, ugliest pair of decrepit gray socks you’ve ever seen in your life are on his feet. Half curious, half dismayed, you look up fully and burst out laughing, falling on your butt in the process.

           “Come on, babe,” Heechul whines, throwing himself back into the chair. “You’re ruining the mood.”

           “Sorry,” you say, but you know he can tell you don’t really mean it from your giggling. There’s really no way you can stop. Heechul pulled out all the stops for this role. The garishly colored smoking jacket covered in Persian paisleys is too much. “I love you, but those socks must be from World War I and it looks like you’re wearing my grandmother’s fake antique carpet. And where the hell did you find a tobacco pipe?”

           Your boyfriend shrugs, refusing to look at you while you’re mocking his fashion choices. “S.M’s prop-room. They’re like a giant pack-rat. They’ll never notice it’s gone. I wanted to do this right, you know? I think I look good.”

           Heechul strikes an impressive, brooding pose, his hair falling over his dark eyes. His hot, intent gaze alone sends that scalding, rollercoaster drop buzz down to the depths of your stomach. The jacket’s ties slip to his sides. Midnight black and starch white look almost puritan beside the gaudy colors, but the suit is every much sexy as the jacket is ridiculous. Now this, this is a clothing choice you can go for. The exceptional present that is Heechul in a suit has your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

           You notice his eyes turn a shade darker at the movement and smile to yourself. It won’t take long to soothe his pride. “You do look the part of the master of the house.”

           “I know.” Heechul’s eyes sweep over you and he shifts in his chair, a hand coming to cover the front of his pants. “You look even sexier in that maid costume. Your music video didn’t do you justice.”

           “I know,” you sigh. “I thought the nurse outfit was cuter, but the director insisted I use this one.”

           His eyes light up. “Do you think you could find-”

           You raise a hand. “Heechul, one fantasy at a time, please.”

He’d had to talk, bribe, and beg you for months into trying this kink of his out. You aren’t even sure if it’ll work for you, but you do love Heechul, and, with your busy life as an idol, letting someone else take complete control isn’t exactly new. Besides, after a couple years of dating, you trust him completely to never leave you unsatisfied in bed.

“Fine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and looking away again.

You chuckle to yourself, but let a demure, meek expression settle onto your face. Scooting closer, you set aside your feather duster and lightly place your hands on Heechul’s thigh. You stroke your fingers back and forth against his inner thigh naughtily, even though your words and tone are the very picture of submission. “I promise I will try to please you as much as I can during this encounter, Master.”

A wicked smile flashes on Heechul’s mouth before he too falls back into the role. A glimmer of a lusty amusement lingers in his eyes. “As you should. Now, come here.” He pulls his legs together and pats his lap.

Think of it as an acting part, you tell yourself as you gently sink onto his legs and gracefully fold your hands. It’s not without some pride that you feel him already half hard against your thigh. You must look better than you thought. You interlock your fingers to resist helping him the rest of the way because although you love making Heechul moan and whimper with your hands alone, that was one of the rules he’d established beforehand.

No touching unless he initiates it or gives you permission.

It’s going to be a long night.

Heechul puts one hand over yours as if to remind you of the rule, though when the other slips beneath them to slowly rub your inner thighs, you suspect it’s to tease you as well. He clears his throat and smiles. “You’ve done such a good job cleaning, Master’s going to give you a little reward. Would you like that?”

You bite back a sarcastic reply and nod.

“First, we need to fix this. I like your hair better when it’s down.” He plucks with pins from your bun with practiced ease and finger-combs your loose hair to exactly where he wants it. Heechul taps under your chin, turning your head this way and that to admire his work. “Yes. Beautiful.”

You keep your pleasure at the compliment to yourself. When they come from Heechul, you know they’re genuine and not the normal fawning you hear.

“And you should be sitting like this.” Heechul’s fingers slide beneath your thigh and get it a quick pinch before yanking your leg over his so your knees straddle his hips, your hips hovering just above.

The sudden change of position steals your balance so you fall forward. Your hands naturally come up to catch yourself. Instead of glossy leather, your hands close around solid shoulders, warm through the suit’s fabric.

Heechul raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to move, but you don’t dare. You’d agreed there would be consequences for disobeying his rules, but not what they would be. And Heechul can be very creative.

“I’m sorry, sir.” You hesitantly lean backward and peel your fingers away from his shoulders.

“No.” But he catches your wrists and pushes your hands back to where they were. Offering a playful smile, he explains, “I like this better.”

Something less benign lurks beneath that smile. You do trust Heechul, but maybe you will have to use your safe word tonight. Deciding to ere on the side of caution, you docilely nod.

Heechul trails the back of his knuckles against your cheek, down your neck, until his fingers tickle the bottom of your dress’ neckline. Like a cat flicking its tail before it pounces, they go back and forth, occasionally dipping into the small valley between your breasts but never further. The teasing caresses are a siren whispering for you to lean forward, to let his fingers touch more sensitive areas.

As you’re about to demand he do just that, he softly says, “Now, pet, do you remember my rule about touching?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I forgave you the first time, but next time I may have to remind you a bit more directly. Do you remember my rule about talking?” Without warning, his fingers slide beneath lace and silk to tweak your nipple.

You gasp at the jolt of delightful second pain. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me.”

“I am not-” your voice breaks off into a whimper as he does the same thing to your other nipple, “I am not to speak unless you ask a question, but I am not to muffle any sounds of pleasure.”

“Yes. You are perfect for me, aren’t you?” Heechul purrs, holding your eyes with his until he plunges his face into your neck and his hands fall to grip your waist.

Each press of his moist lips triggers shivers through your body that run straight down to between your legs. You close your eyes, low, appreciative moans rolling off your tongue as your hands tighten and release with each kiss. Still, you’re careful to keep your body separate from his.

When Heechul nips harshly at your shoulder, your response is automatic, “Heechul, what the fuck? I have a photoshoot tomorrow morning! I can’t have hickies.”

The kisses still. Instantly, you realize your mistake. But it’s too late to take it back.

An unexpected thrill bolts through your nerves when Heechul lifts his head, his expression dark and stony. “What was that?” he growls.

You scramble for some kind of excuse. “Um, I said- I said please don’t mark me, sir. I have work tomorrow-”

He cuts you off. “That wasn’t what I heard.”


“No, you talked out of turn. That’s your second transgression.” One of Heechul’s hands slips from your waist down to your bottom, pushing aside superfluous fabric. It strokes the soft skin there before drawing away to deliver an unforgiving smack. You whimper again, surprised at the excited jump of arousal you feel. “Are you going to have a third?”

“No, sir,” you splutter, shaking your head violently.

“Good, pet. Remember that.”

You feel the snap of the buttons at your back pop in rapid succession. The next second, the top of your dress droops around the top of the corset like flower petals. Another quick tug pulls the corset down so your breasts plump free over them.

“Shit,” Heechul breathes. His hands cup your breasts, rubbing the delicate flower-patterned lace between his fingers. The subtle pull across the tender skin on the underside of your breasts and nipples has you breathing deeper to control yourself. “Did these come with the outfit?”

“No. I chose them myself for you, sir,” you sigh.

His breath fans across your chest as he lowers his face. “So good to me, beautiful.” He darts out his tongue to lick a strip across the top of your breasts and blows on it. The chill raises goosebumps on your skin, a contrast to the rising warmth of your skin.

When Heechul’s mouth dips lower, he gives your soft skin another quick bite. You know he’s trying to get another rise out of you, but the only thing you let fall from your lips is a breathy moan. Needing no other encouragement, Heechul nudges aside your bra and feasts. His hands knead your bottom relentlessly, but never allow you to touch him. The endless sounds that rub your throat raw only make him tease you more and more, take more and more.

Your knees start to tremble from holding yourself up and the flood of need overwhelming your senses. Heechul must feel it because he abruptly hauls you all the way down onto his lap. You shriek, both in surprise and in ecstasy as you land at just the right angle on his clothed length that’s stiff with want.

“You want more of that?” he murmurs darkly in your ear. He nips at your earlobe as he pushes you further down on top of him and rocks you back and forth. “Fuck, you’re absolutely soaked. I can feel it. Do you want me inside you that badly, pretty girl?”

You swivel your hips, the friction nearly unbearable after having no relief. “Yes, please. Please, sir,” you plead, biting your lip in your best pout. At this point, you’re not above begging.

“Then get on your knees.” He pushes you off his lap and the chair. “There’s a condom in my jacket pocket. Get it.”

The change has you frozen, stunned for a moment. Then you take a closer look at his face. Although his actions carry all the haughtiness of a noble, his pupils dominate his eyes. He is just as affected as you. With shaking hands that get in each other’s way, you dig through the deep pockets. The condom slips through your fingers to the floor when you find it.

Heechul waits until you’ve ripped it open to command, “Put it on me.”

You can’t resist the opportunity to return his teasing. With wide, innocent eyes, you tap your lower lip and ask, “I can touch you then, sir?”

He rolls his eyes because he knows exactly what you’re doing. “Yes,” he groans, tilting his head back against the chair and closing his eyes.

Fitting yourself between his knees, you decide to take the game into your hands. Figuratively. The way Heechul’s body jerks when he feels your warm mouth instead of your fingers on his pants has you smirking. It takes some finesse, but you manage to undo the button and pull the zipper down.

As you nuzzle your way back up to grip the waistband of his boxers in your teeth, Heechul sighs and slides a hand in your hair, pulling gently. “I forgot how skilled that gorgeous little mouth of yours is. If I didn’t want you so much, I might have you finish me off with it.”

You smugly tuck the compliment away and purr in satisfaction when he springs free. You almost wish you could indulge him, but you want to be selfish now. Your swollen clit is throbbing with the loss of stimulation, insistently demanding release.

It only takes a few seconds to roll the condom on. On impulse, you lick the entire underside of his length, flattening your tongue so he jumps against your lips.

When you get to his head, Heechul’s hand flies up to grip your chin harshly. Not enough to cause any of kind of bruising, but so that you can’t move your head. Eyes completely black, he rasps, “None of those tricks or I’m going to come right now.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You put just enough sincerity in your voice to cover your devilish glee. “I just wanted you to feel good.”

“I’m about to, trust me. Get back up here.”

Unconcealed eagerness has you scrambling into his lap again. Heechul hisses and grits his teeth when your heat brushes him. You scarcely have time to settle your knees on the cushion before Heechul pushes aside your panties and pushes himself in. With absolutely no resistance, he slides in like silk

The pleasure is instant and devastating, all the waiting culminating absolute delight just from the feeling of being full. “Yes!” you cry, throwing back your head and digging your nails into Heechul’s shoulders.

He grunts, keeping still as he adjusts to your tight heat completely enveloping him. His thighs quiver beneath yours and sweat beads on his forehead. Even when you whine in impatience and try to rock your hips, he doesn’t move.

Huffing, you drag your hands into Heechul’s hair and yank his head back. His eyes open wide with shock before you crash your lips to his, lift yourself up, and slam your hips down.

Heechul’s vulgar groan rolls through your mouth and down your throat like the finest, most potent whiskey. It makes your head spin like you’re drunk, your only concern snatching that delicious high that’s just out of reach. Your hips roll and piston as you devour Heechul’s lush lips, your chest rubbing against his with sinful sensuality.

Nearing your end, that glorious inferno of senses, your movements grow sloppier, your mouths grow looser as your noises of pleasure grow louder.

“Fuck, Heechul,” you moan, “please.”

He knows exactly what you want and finally takes control, clutching your hips and thrusting up into with mindless speed. The tension in your core at last bursts into a million stars behind your eyes that enflame your every nerve, leaving you screaming in rapture. Heechul holds you steady even as you convulse, his breathing becoming faster as your walls squeeze around him. He’s so close.

“Baby boy,” you whisper, voice low with bliss, and brush his bangs from his face.

Without pausing, Heechul looks up at you, eyes hot and frantic.

Cradling his face, you kiss him softly and command, “Come for me.”

You can feel his entire body shudder beneath you as he finds his completion. He slumps backwards, taking you with him. A lazy, fucked-out smile forms on his panting mouth. You smile beatifically while slowly rocking your hips to guide him through his climax.

“I think you forgot,” Heechul sighs when he has breath and cracks open one eye, “who was in charge.”

“I don’t think you minded.” You smirk and slide off him to dispose of the condom in the trashcan, making a little show of it by bending over too much. If he can be a tease, so can you. You adjust your straps and look over your shoulder at him. Wickedness drips from your voice as you suggest with a wink, “But if you want, you can punish me for it.”

He laughs, gladly wrapping his arms around you when you return to his lap. “That would require moving.”


“If you want to see your boyfriend a collapsed mess on the ground, keep talking.”

Giggling, you bury your face in his chest. Hot and sweaty as you both are, you like the intimacy too much to care. “You know, I think I wouldn’t say no to doing this again.”

Heechul’s cheek presses into the top of your head with his grin. “Really?”

“Yes.” Sitting up, you tap his nose. “But next time, it’ll be my fantasy.”

He wrinkles his nose, but curiosity and readiness light up his face. “Yes, Mistress,” he says impishly.

The word sends a little shiver down your spine despite sleepiness setting in. “I think I could get used to that title, but I’m thinking of something else.”


“You’ll just have to wait and see, love. But I promise, it’ll be good.”


( my own personal composer )

Group: BTS


Excerpt:  “I like your lyrics and i can give them a tune.”

Genre: fluff, wizard au

Length: 1.5k

A/N: give the wizard au a chance.

Originally posted by apgujeon

Potions class never seemed to agree with you, you never listened to busy writing lyrics on your textbook to make notes on what they were saying. This almost always led to a cloud of purple smoke or that one time you accidentally made an amnesia potion instead of a simple heat potion to prevent a cold.

Currently, you were ruffling your hair trying to remove the green dust that was clinging to your face, hair and apron. That was when you spotted him, Min Yoongi the musical genius that sat next to you in music; he was standing next to your desk, paused with cauldrons in his arms as he looked down. You followed his eye line to see what he was looking at and realised it was your textbook, sitting perched on your old leather notebook. You flushed before reaching forward and snapping the book shut, your eyes locked before he walked away shaking his head.

The rest of the lesson passed and you were fidgety, knowing you would have to face him tomorrow in music. Then as you jotted down a few notes from your friend’s notebook, her pastel notes seemed so pretty as small animations danced on the page. It seemed you weren’t the only one who had been distracted.

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The Best Of Me Is You

Title: Fingers crossed- Billie Ellish 

 Trying this AU that i thought about at 1 am and didn’t let me sleep until 3 i swear i’ve wanted to try out angst for a while so tell me what you think

au based on the last couple-ish episodes of Season 1 of decendants of the sun And i hope you guys like it Ari xxx

When you’re dating a Captain of a United States Special Forces Unit, you have to get used to a lot of things. 

Will Solace was used to his boyfriend, Nico, being gone for weeks without a word. He was used to their dates being interupted by a call for a mission. He was used to worrying to his wits and promises of a quick return. 

Because Will knew somewhere out there Nico was saving the lives of millions. He was a hero that was keeping the peace in some distant country. 

When you’re dating a Captain of a United States Special Forces Unit, you have to know that they might not come home one day. 

That was something Will could not get used to. 

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*Pynch Week 2017, Day 3 Prompt: “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

Adam is barefoot, wrapped up in an expensive-looking silk robe patterned with koi fish and lotus blossoms. Ronan knows he should stop staring, especially taking into account the situation they’re in, but he can’t. Adam tightens the belt, pulling the robe close around his lean body.

“Are you mad?” Ronan asks. He can’t meet Adam’s eyes. Instead he focuses on Adam’s hands, which are clutching the top of the robe to keep it closed. He’s flushed from the neck down and trembling. “Adam? Please say something.”

“I’m not—I’m not mad.” Adam’s voice shakes and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I thought you were coming up this afternoon, when I’m done with classes.”

Ronan fidgets, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I was, but I wanted to surprise you. And I drove all night. I thought I could take you for breakfast or coffee…”

Adam groans and sinks down, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. He pulls his legs underneath him, taking care not to flash Ronan. Adam buries his face in his hands and continues making distressed noises.

“Adam…” Ronan crouches in front of him and places a careful hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” Adam shakes his head. “C’mon Parrish, if I was mad you would fucking know it. I’m not mad. I’m surprised, very, very surprised. But not upset. Okay? I mean, it’s your body and you can—”

“Oh my God, Ronan, just stop!” Adam pushes one hand over Ronan’s mouth. His face is red and his eyes are red and he looks suspiciously like he might cry. “Can we not do this here?”

Ronan sighs, the noise muffled by Adam’s hand. He reaches up and covers Adam’s hand with his and kisses Adam’s palm. He’s always been better about communicating his thoughts with actions instead of words and he hopes that his feelings will get through to Adam.

Of course Adam starts bawling.

“Oh shit,” Ronan mumbles. He doesn’t have any tissues so he pulls Adam to him, pressing Adam’s face to his chest so that his T-shirt can absorb Adam’s tears. He rubs Adam’s back and looks around, feeling weirdly exposed in the empty office.

It takes Adam several minutes to calm down. He says something about needing to get ready for class and Ronan turns away so that Adam can disrobe and get dressed. When he turns back around Ronan is relieved to find Adam wearing his familiar, albeit extremely worn, Coca-Cola T-shirt. Ronan plucks at the hem and Adam shrugs as if to say “what, this old thing?”

They walk across campus together. It’s late on a Friday morning and the big lawn is already busy with students studying, playing Frisbee, and setting up hammocks and beach towels. Adam is distracted but he still takes Ronan by the hand, guiding him through the masses of students to one of the on-campus coffee shops.

“What about class?” Ronan asks.

“I think…” Adam studies the chalkboard menu, choosing his words with care, “that this is more important.” Ronan stares. “What? I can afford to miss a class. Anyways, I would never be able to focus.”

“Sorry,” Ronan mutters. He can’t believe how epically he’s screwed things up by arriving ahead of schedule.

The line shuffles forward slowly. When it’s finally their turn Ronan has no idea what he wants so Adam orders them both chai lattes. They wait in silence for their drinks. Ronan can’t stop looking at Adam. It’s been over a month since they’ve seen each other in person, since their totally ridiculous spring break trip to the beach. Adam’s still as tan as ever, still fit and slender and gorgeous and… Ronan can’t stop seeing him, the way he looked in the silk robe, the way he looked before that…

“Ronan.” Adam elbows him. Ronan blinks and shakes his head. “You were staring,” Adam points out. He’s smiling, just a little, and it makes Ronan’s heart skip a beat. It’s going to be okay.

“C’mon, let’s go to the library. We can talk in one of the study rooms.” Ronan nods and follows Adam to the library. It’s a massive building, four floors, one of which is devoted to study rooms and research cubicles. Adam, being one of the student workers, arranges for him and Ronan to have a study room and the girl who signs the room out to them gives Ronan a not so subtle thumbs up. He pretends not to notice.

The room is furnished with a table, rolling chairs, and a whiteboard. Generic artwork decorates the beige walls. Everything about the room is so neat and devoid of personality that it depresses Ronan on a fundamental level. He grabs the blue dry erase marker and starts scrawling dirty jokes in Latin on the whiteboard. The marker squeaks horribly, emphasizing the silence, their silence.

“You got the verb conjugation wrong,” Adam says, stepping up behind Ronan and using his fingers to erase one of the words. He takes the marker and writes in the proper word. Ronan snorts something that sounds like college guy.

“So… are you going to ask or are you going to make me spell it out?” Adam asks. He sits down on the edge of the table, shoulders hunched forwards, fingers laced together between his knees.

“Well,” Ronan huffs as he collapses into one of the rolling chairs and spins it around a few times, “I could ask why you were naked in front of any entire classroom but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.”

Adam blushes and looks away.

“I just don’t understand why you’re acting like it’s a big deal,” Ronan says. He’s trying so hard to be careful because clearly Adam is upset.

“It’s not a big deal, I mean, being a model for an art class isn’t something I’m ashamed of I just wish…” Adam pauses, takes a deep breath. His hands are gripping each other so hard that his knuckles are white. “I wish that I had told you before. But I couldn’t think of a good way to bring it up and I didn’t want you to get weird about it.”

Ronan twirls in his chair, thinking it over. “Look, it’s not like you were cheating. And I totally trust you so if this is something you want to do I’m not going to say no. Jesus. I’m not that guy, Adam. I don’t want to ever be that guy.”

“I know! But then my roommates found out and they were like ‘oh your boyfriend won’t like it.’ So I got all insecure…”

Ronan scoots his chair over to Adam, moving until he’s right in front of him, hands braced on Adam’s knees. “Parrish. For the love of fuck those assholes don’t know shit about me. You do. Now, tell me, how did you end up modeling in the first place? Not trying to pick a fight but you’ve never struck me as the type—”

“To get naked in front of strangers?” Adam supplies. His mouth quirks up in a brief smile that’s equal parts self-deprecating and amused. “Actually, the art teacher approached me about it. I was helping her last semester with some research for one of the pieces she’s working on and she told me that I have a really interesting face and that I should think about modeling for her class.” Ronan snorts. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think much of it at first. But we talked about it some more and I found out how much it paid and what would be expected of me, and I talked to a few students who model.”

Ronan laughs. “God, you love researching don’t you?”

Adam nods. “It’s what I’m good at. The bottom line is that it’s a good opportunity. It doesn’t interfere with my classes and all the students are professional and respectful.” Adam splays his hands out in front of him, like he’s offering Ronan the answer, spread out on his palms. Ronan presses his hands, palm to palm, with Adam’s. They sit like that for several moments, studying each other, like they can communicate just with their eyes and the touch of their skin. Adam takes a deep, relieved breath, letting it out slowly.

“C’mere,” Ronan says, gently pulling at Adam’s wrists. Adam moves from the table to Ronan’s lap, straddling him, arms looped around his shoulders, their foreheads pressed together. “I kinda feel like I should say something really heart-felt right now,” Ronan murmurs, his breath ghosting along Adam’s cheek.

Adam laughs, “Please don’t.”

“Oh, good.” Ronan’s nose brushes against Adam’s, making both of them grin. “I will say though, I want to see those drawings when they’re done. Might have to pilfer one. For reasons.”

“Oh, reasons? What reasons could those be?”

“Adam Parrish, are you trying to get me to talk dirty to you in a library? For shame!”

Adam’s laugh is too loud for a library. “Libraries are great for dirty talk. Let me just guide you to the HQ section…”

“Are you going to give me more required reading? Is that what this is all about, a ploy to bring me to your domain and bury me in erotica?”

“Oh my God! The Song of Achilles is not erotica!”

Ronan hugs Adam to him and kisses his collarbone. “I’m just kidding. You know I loved the hell out of that book.”

“Uh-huh, come on, you heathen. Let’s get out of here.” Adam grabs Ronan’s hands and drags him to his feet. And just like that their equilibrium is restored. Adam hugs Ronan one more time and whispers in his ear, “Thanks.”

Ronan whispers back, “You owe me a drawing.”

[Closing notes: Adam is a great model! He’s very professional and he can hold a pose for hours, no problem. He just zones out and thinks about Cabeswater or the tarot just like he did when he used to scry. Random personal fact: my college roommate used to model for the art department so I’m kind of borrowing from her experience!]

Deepest Secrets Pt. 2

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: A bit of angst, Whole lotta fluff

Word Count: 2000+

Summary: A journal is meant to be personal a way for someone to express their secrets without judgement. Nor is it suppose to be read by others. A misplaced journal can cause all sorts of problems for it’s owner.  

A/N: And here it is a Part Two! I had so many of you guys asking for a second part, and I know it’s super long over due. but DUN DUN DA! I’m running on about three hours of sleep, so I apologize if there’s typos. This was fun to write, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as you all loved this first!  

The gifs is not mine, credit to the owner.

Part One

It wasn’t until late in the evening that Y/n dared to step foot into the compound. She had spent all day in hiding, ignoring the incessant phone calls. Natasha and the others tried to get through to her, but they were met with voicemail each time. Y/N wanted to tell them to stop calling her. She couldn’t handle dealing them right now. It was all still too fresh. Unfortunately, she knew she knew she’d need to head back eventually. She couldn’t hide forever.

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Three quarters of dream, one of reality

Warning: hand jobs

We all know because of whom I wrote this. And we all know because of which song. The problem is I heard the story and wrote this thing before checking the lyrics, so it doesn’t really match. And I wrote it, checked lyrics, decided to rewrite this, but in the end – I just like it so I didn’t, so there you go.

“I can’t believe you dragged me out there for our date. We don’t get many of those, you know?” Jongdae was reeling. In his mind – rightfully so. Their schedules never matched. And when he said never he meant never. In his line of work he didn’t get a lot of free time, and to make matter worse she was a student, working late gastro shifts on top of that.

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Sleep - pt 2

Originally posted by jminies

“Me? Oh I guess I never told you. I teach dance classes at the local university. Jimin’s a bartender at a pub downtown and he sings there sometimes.” Hoseok explained.

“You dance? And Jimin sings?” You repeated quietly.

“Are you surprised?” He asked unnecessarily.

“Do you want to go see him now? It’s usually pretty chill right now. Jiminie makes the best Tom Collins.” Hoseok bragged about his friend.

“I haven’t drank in a while.” You reminded him.

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Twin (Kenny Omega Imagine)

Kenny x Reader
Fluff af, some sexual humor. For @omegamanx @okadas
~1400 words

  • A Thanksgiving trip to meet the parents.

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