i made this a week or two ago while crying at 4am

— off limits | 06 (m)

pairing— kim seokjin x reader
genre/warnings— angst, smut and fluff !! Seokjin finally grows some balls ;)
words— 14,153

:: summary— you’ve been lusting after your brother’s best friend for a while now, ever since you met him at a house party, flirting it up a storm as you failed to realise who the other was. That was months ago now and things are still awkward, but you can’t ignore the sexual tension that’s simmers between the two of you…and it keeps getting worse…

  » 01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 :: 05 :: 06 ::

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dad!yoongi + when you get your feelings hurt

“Baby, will you please come out of there?” Yoongi, sighed, pressing his forehead against the wooden door in exasperation.

“No!” You said on a choked sob, searching around for another roll of tissue considering you had gone through about two since you had clambered into the bathroom to cry.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it, ____.” Yoongi said calmly.

“Well, then why did she say it if she didn’t mean it?” You sniffled before turning to right the row of toothbrushes, your hand hesitating on the one that had pictures of frozen going up the base, you set it back down before you considered dunking it in the toilet.

“Because she’s six and six year olds are generally assholes, especially the ones that hail from your loins.” Yoongi pointed out mildly. “Look I already took away her iPad and told her she can’t go to that birthday party for that weird looking kid in her class who’s parents always invite us over to their swinger parties.”

You paused in your crying long enough to frown, “… but she was really looking forward to that.”

“Well she should’ve thought of that before she commented on your parenting skills but also you have delusions of grandeur if you think I’m sending my six year old into that sex house.”

“Just because they’re swingers doesn’t mean they hold weekly orgy’s in their living room, Yoongi-ah.” You wiped at your running mascara a fresh wave of tears coming on at the mention of your daughters earlier comments, “Y-Yoongi what if I am a bad mom?”

Yoongi sighed when he heard your wails pierce through the door once more and he knew you were sitting in the tub, your knees tucked to your chest with those stupid bunny slippers on because that was your go to crying position. And he wouldn’t lie, he had made you cry his fair share of times in your marriage so he was familiar with it at this point. That didn’t mean he didn’t hate witnessing it.

“I’m tired of talking through a door, will you please come out?” He drawled, making idle circles with his fingers against the wall.

“S-she was j-just so mean!” You hiccuped hysterically, “They all inherited your personality!”

“Yes,” Yoongi sighed, frustration edging his words, “I’m sure our daughter inherited her love for Celine Dion’s entire discography from me.”

Yoongi dug in his pocket for a coin as you continued to sob, a sligh ‘ah-hah!’ leaving his lips when he came out victorious. He pressed the side of the penny against the screw in the knob before turning, satisfied with the click that followed when the door popped open.

You glared at him even as he took a seat next to you in the bathtub, his long legs hanging over the side. He scrunched his face at your tear streaked cheeks and puffy eyes before interlacing his fingers with yours.

“For the record,” he said quietly, “you’re a kick ass mom.”

“I’m not.” You sniffled quietly, “I’m always late picking them up from school and I burn breakfast so we’re late getting to school because you always have to stop to get them McDonald’s and I’m not good at fitting in with the other moms at that stupid fucking booster club and that bitch Pam always gives me judgey looks for wearing jeans from Forever21—like realistically speaking the most expensive thing I own is from Nordstrom rack and I don’t know how those uppity bitches can afford all those clothes and cars when the tuition at that stupid fucking school is through the goddamn roof. And I always say fuck in front of the kids by accident and you call them assholes and I… I suck, parenting is hard and I suck.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand reassuringly.

“Wow, you do kind of suc—ow! I’m kidding!” He cries out when you dig your nails into the hand he has interlaced with yours, “You’re a kick ass mom, ____. Yes, you fuck up sometimes but I don’t think I’m winning any goddamn parenting awards either, any chance of that was loss when I tripped that fat kid at chuck e. cheese. I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” he murmurs quietly before pressing a kiss to your hand.

“I wish you saw yourself how I saw you—the person who’s up at 4am for each kids birthday to set up a ninja obstacle course or whatever the fuck bullshit you saw online. Or the woman who makes going to the goddamn grocery story an event, or the one who spontaneously decides that we need a family trip to Disneyland. You make all that shit happen and I love you for it and the kids love you for it.”

You were crying again but for different reason and you swiped at stray tears before biting down on your trembling lip, “You really mean that?”

“Of fucking course I mean that. I’m the last person that would blow smoke up your ass and you know it.” Yoong muttered, letting you curl into him, back pressed against the cold linoleum of the tub, “But what I don’t get is you know she didn’t mean it – she was spouting off at the mouth like kids do when they don’t get their way. She was pissed because you wouldn’t let her wear a goddamn tutu to school tomorrow. Why are you so bothered by this?”

“It’s probably just the hormones.” You grumbled, pressing your face further into his neck.

“Ah,” Yoongi murmured in understanding, “that time of the month?”

“No,” you sighed, “I’m two weeks pregnant.”

Yoongi chuckled before pressing a kiss to your temple and you pulled back with a frown.

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment as he scanned your face for any hints of a fib, but your tell-tale signs weren’t there—no bitten back smile or scrunched expression hinting that anything you were saying was untrue.

“Don’t fuck with me, ____.”

“I’m not!” You glared, “I missed my period this month and—”

“We’re having another baby?” Yoongi asked quietly.

And it never really got old, in the three pregnancies you shared together, hands down telling Yoongi was always the best part—second best part, aside from you know the actual child part. The first time had been the scariest but instead of his usual general gruffness and annoyance it was quickly replaced by a softened expression and an innocence you couldn’t replicate but it was always the same wonder that danced in his eyes when he would press a hand to your stomach hesitantly as though he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded your head with a grin that was returned to you to tenfold and Yoongi was scared to move, scared to speak, scared that he would wake up one day and all of this would just be a dream that he hadn’t managed to scoop you up all those years ago a time when even while he was hesitant, scared by the overwhelming emotion you evoked in him he was still drawn to you like a drug. He was scared that the three little brats tucked into bed upstairs would have all been his imagination running wild, his own secret little heaven carved into the crevices of his heart.

“Are you excited?” You whisper, taking his hand and pressing it against tummy.

Excited was an understatement. He was goddamn breathless.

“Are you ready to do this again?” He hummed, his fingers dancing hearts into the new love of his life, hoping whoever they were, they felt it.

“As long as you’re by my side, I can do anything Min Yoongi.” You sigh quietly, letting him press his lips to yours in a slow dance of tongues, his hands coming up to cup your face lovingly.

“So kid number four, huh?” Yoongi drawls. “Pretty soon we’ll have our own basketball team.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” you scoff before running a hand over your stomach idly, “let’s work on getting this one out first, yeah?”

“Sure.” He murmured. “Maybe we’ll have another set of twins and we won’t have to try again—not that I’m opposed to.”

“Yoongi.” You glare.

“It’s just a suggestion.” He shrugs guiltily before helping you to your feet. “C'mon, lets get you to bed.”

“It’s only 9:30.” You frown.

“You have to start taking your rest seriously, you know how fatigued you were last time.” He scolded and you narrowed your eyes at him, even as he led you into your bedroom.

“We’re not starting this yet Yoongi. I only just found out. Save the overprotective shit for the second trimester, yeah?” You scoffed.

“Not on your life.” He shrugs impishly before tucking you into bed and kissing the wrinkle from your brow, “I love you. Thank you.”

“Hey, it was a team effort, buddy.” You grin even as he rolls his eyes at you. “I love you too Min Yoongi.”

2P!Russia Boyfriend Headcanons

((okay ive gotten  shit ton of passive aggressive asks for him and china and romano they’re cOmIng PatienNce ples. ))

  • hi hello is this thing on yes thaNK YOU WELCOME FOLKS
  • app*
  • okay it jus one boy
  • ur boi
  • ;)))))))))
  • wowie what a man
  • such a tol boi i mean are you short????
  • are you tall??
  • it doesn’t matter
  • he;ll do it all
  • like i can see him in sweater vests and button ups and his lil scarf for some reason just with you on his shoulders mounting a paper plate on the wall because he’s fucking weird as hecke
  • SO
  • he wont cry if you call him that dont worry he isn’t a shark he’ll just snark
  • he m e mes im so sorry,,,,,
  • like he’s such a fucking dad it’s never funny they’re all from 2009 and you’re probably cringing but he thinks its funny and he doesn’t have a visible sense of humour so you chuckle and tell him that that cat in the ceiling is hilarious
    - “how did he get up there heh sillyy cat”  
     " :,<)) gee bab e i dunno aha h ahA" *scrapes teeth along cheese grater*
  • i havent even explained oh me oh m y
  • dearest apologies friends
  • viktor is seen by most as tall, dark, and mysterious (spoiler: he is),,,
  • i see him, also, as this , like, almost snobby quiet guy?? that was brought up sheltered from the outside world?? ya dig??
  • like
  • he doesn’t suck a whole bunch, he’s just inexperienced
  • he loves to read and write and is a pacifist ((so you could sayy,,,, he wanted to write, not fight,,,, ive already made three im so sorry))
  • so,,, he does not want to fight with you, eve r
  • but he will not hesitate to tell you if he doesn’t like something you’re doing
    - my dude doesn’t have time for fuckery
    - unless it’s meant to be fun
    - like,,,
    - he doesn’t want to be mean, but he doesn’t like that you are being mean, ya dig??????
  • anyway
  • so the dude is like Ivan, just harder??? like physically and emotionally
  • he’s been very distanced from people his whole life, so he comes off as rather blunt, crude, and cold,,
  • im sorry it’s not 2011 anymore someone drag me from this pit
  • he is like francois and kuro;;;;; he likes romanticism
  • he also likes quiet
  • so gentle, quiet dates at home are his favourite
  • he isn’t one for social interaction,,,
  • but if you really wanna, then he will go !
  • he really likes ballet and opera and classy things
  • my dude will d r a g you to recitals and performances all the time
  • he’s a theater nerd
  • you can hear him humming to les mis while he reads and francois hating the room a little bit less because of it
  • i feel like he’s actually so ripped but if his skin touched sunlight he would be banished to sibera
    - welcome home comrade
  • he likes,, soft
    - if you have a soft body he has a new pillow and a lead head
    - rip @ur thighs they are asleep
  • he and francois go to poetry slams often and he wants you to come too so he knows someone
  • he will lift you
  • unexpectedly
  • anywhere
  • if you are in the way you’re on the ceiling now bye
    like,,, you are i n the spot he needs to vaccuum at that exact second right then all the time what the hecke he just mopped and you’re s t an di n g
    i n
    th e f ll oor with your s OCKs
  • yOU were just in the Ga Ra ge you H e ck  Er
  • you’re on the chandelier now
  • no you’re not he needs to dust up there get down what the fuck e
    Swifter no Sweeping™ !!
  • he is ur mom and ur dad
  • did u do ur laundry?????????????? no?????????????? good he already did like seven weeks ago catch the fuck up
    “honey where are the ??? bills???”
    “i did them approximately eighteen billion years ago? get on my level?”
  • he speaks to you *and only you* in a friendly joking way
  • he speaks fluent sarcasm to everyone
    - if you aren’t familiar with the language you will be the first day into the relationship
  • t o u c h this boy he needs your touch like he needs a  i  r
  • he will most likely complain but he is a dirty liar
  • the dude’s hair is messy 24/7 but it looks  so,,, good,,,,

  • he’s an early riser but hates waking up which is The Worst™
    - he’s got breakfast ready at 3AM tho

  • read to him! he will Die

  • if you know russian he will never speak english to you again it’s settled
    -if you don’t you will never speak english again it’s settled, he’s teaching
    boy howdy would he be a sexy teacher holy fuck

  • i feel like his ass is so firm it could crush coconuts between its cheeks
    - its its own entity

  • he unfortunately is good friends with Zao and is unfortunately dragged on unfortunate events all the time, unfortunately,,,
    - save him
    - he is a cry for help

  • he goes on trips a lot and no on knows why? like sometimes he’s gone and then he’s back and everyone is like????? where go??
    - “i was in wales. doing things.”
    “hey sorry im late i didnt want to come”

  • he sometimes calls you in the middle of the night when he wakes up from a nightmare, but most of the time if you dont answer he’ll just listen to your voicemail so he knows you’re still there


  • he gives a good ol’ massage
    - not the most empathetic but he isn’t apathetic either, he just isn’t the best comforter

  • i feel like he is vladimir putin and leisurely rides bears with matt

  • i dont understand him at all like he will be crying in his bathtub, bottle of whiskey and pure vodka mixed, watching Barbie in the Pink Shoes one second and on top of the empire state building with three pitbull bodyguards and a Gucci cigar
    - i don’t eventhink those exist but he has one??? he doesn’t even smoke that often??

  • looks super cute baking muffins in a pink apron at 4pm on a Tuesday

  • looks super cute gutting a fish on a rock in the siberian tundra at 4am on a Thursday

  • he always wears longsleeves but looks SO GOOD in short sleeves or tanks like FUCK

  • his sweaters hide his secrets but you can wear them so you know he used to want to be a cowboy when he was seven and b o u g h t a wax replica of indiana jones for his collection

  • he looks so damn good in a suit holy shit

  • i feel like he’s a tailor but only for dolls, its cute
    - he will make you origami things all the time idk why he is so good at them tho

  • he’ll wrap the two of you in a blanket burrito on a hot day and refuse to let go
    “get off my lawn”

  • youre dating a grandpa

  • he is kinda a sugar daddy tho, but he’s reserved and doesn’t wave it because he is an Adult McGrownUp

  • actually is probably a traffic conductor in his spare time, but only in andorra? on the weekends? that’s probably where he actually is

  • viktor lOves tobe called vitya and its probably as good as a daddy kink

  • clevverr, clevverrr boi

  • hs is a Good Boi i promise

  • will be ur angle or ur dev i l tho ;))

  • just ask and he’s urs

Companions AU Chapter 2

(Ha it rhymes!)
Have more of this, because I can’t seem to stop for the life of me-
Chapter 1- https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/161222635468/how-about-cat-boy-shiro-shance
“Lance, give me one good reason why I’m not slaughtering you right now.” Pidge grumbled, arms folded over her chest as she leaned against the pristine white wall of the Hybrids Hospital, in the room where the Cat Hybrid Lance had found a while ago was getting examined.

Lance smiled sheepishly. “Umm, because I had no idea you’d pulled an all nighter again and called you down here anyways?” He asked nervously, sweating slightly under the Halfling’s intense predatory glare. Hunk raised his head from where he was examining the Maine Coon Hybrid’s ears.

“No arguing you two. Especially not at this time of day.” The big human scolded lightly, before turning his attention to the infected stump. “Hmm… sheesh Lance, you really brought me a tough case here. This needs surgery to remove the damaged flesh and bone, and fast. You said you found him in the alleyway next to your house?” Hunk questioned, Lance nodding confirmation.

“Yeah, around 4am or so.” Lance clarified, glancing at the clock on the wall and wincing. It was 11 on a Saturday morning, and he’d been awake the entire time, cleaning up the mess in the bathroom, calling Allura to give him a week off while explaining he’d taken in a stray Hybrid, calling Hunk for a Vet appointment for said Hybrid, calling Pidge in case the Hybrid was microchipped, and researching what Hybrids were able to eat. He was nearly dead on his feet at this point.

“He doesn’t really look feral to me. Though whoever owned him previously definitely abused him, poor thing.” Hunk sighed, rubbing the Hybrid’s ears. The Cat let out a quiet, broken purr and leaned into the touch, pleased.

“Hey, I’ll pay for the vet bill, Hunk. Just make him feel better. You should have seen how scared he was of me, at first. Then once I got him a bath and some food it was like I was suddenly God to him or something, he looked so happy. I thought he was going to cry when I showed him the guest bed.” Lance muttered, remembering the look on the Hybrids face as he allowed the Cat to sleep on the mattress. He’d grown attached to the black and white Hybrid overnight, and he was considering adopting the poor thing by this point.

The Hybrid in question mewed softly, tail tip twitching while he tilted his head slightly at Lance. Hunk smiled tightly, recognizing the symptoms of Hybrid abuse quite clearly from his best friend’s words. Pidge made a gentle, distressed chirp and extended a wing to brush against her human pal’s arm reassuringly.

“Well, once Hunk fixes him up, I’ll scan for a microchip and see what bastard owned him.” Pidge murmured, before eyeing Lance suspiciously. “Dude, you look tired as fuck. Did you get any sleep last night?” The Halfling Owl asked, poking the lanky human in the stomach.

Lance blinked blearily, lightly batting Pidge’s hand away sluggishly. “I dunno, I got home around like, one in the morning? And one to four is… uh…” he narrowed his eyes in concentration, muttering quietly in Spanish under his breath before perking up again. “About three hours or less?”

Pidge squawked in alarm and Hunk’s head whipped up. “Dude! You need to go home and get some more sleep, pronto! That’s not good for your health, buddy.” Hunk cried, startling the Hybrid into a low hiss. Hunk turned to the Hybrid and rubbed his ear soothingly, relaxing the Cat back into compliance.

“Listen, Lance, I’ll get this Cat some surgery for his arm and any internal problems he might have while you go home and get some sleep. I’m guessing you already called Allura to explain why you won’t be at work today?” Hunk asked, hands on his hips and raising an eyebrow.

Lance nodded. “Yeah, I have the week off. She said I have to bring my new companion by once he’s all better though, you know how much she loves Hybrids.” He cracked a weak smile at his best friend, Pidge snickering to the side.

“Alright. Well, let’s get the big guy here prepped for surgery. Lance, would you mind helping out? I need to put him under so he doesn’t freak out when you leave.” Hunk motioned Lance over, and Pidge popped up next to the Hybrid as he was gently laid down on the bed.

“Why Lance?” Pidge questioned curiously, eyes following the twitching tail as Hunk prepared a tranquilizer.

“Cats tend to trust those who’ve fed and cleaned them more than strangers, and I want to keep him calm while I put him under. I need to do it now, otherwise we risk the Hybrid panicking and possibly worsening his injuries. So I need all his focus on Lance while I tranquilize him.” Hunk explained, moving over to the Cat in question.

The Hybrid made a questioning chirp as Lance ran his fingers through the now fluffy white forelock.

“Hey, Kitty. Hunk’s gonna make you sleep for a little, but once you wake up I’ll be here and you’ll feel a whole lot better, okay?” Lance assured the Cat Hybrid, scratching lightly behind the soft triangle ears.

The Hybrid smiled slightly and purred, silver eyes trusting but flickering with panic and pain when Hunk inserted the needle.

The Cat made a startled yowl, jolting away from the Vet, curling towards Lance, but the syringe had already deplunged all the way and Lance watched quietly as the Cat fell into a motionless sleep, still stroking his head. Lance sighed and pulled away regretfully, allowing Hunk to rearrange the Cat on the bed.

“Good afternoon my lads! Dr. Garrett, I believe you paged me?” A cheerful, familiar redhead nurse popped into the room, twiddling his mustache and grinning at the room inhabitants.

Hunk looked up with a smile. “Ah, Coran, perfect timing. This Hybrid is to go in for surgery, if you don’t mind calling Dr. Ryner down?” The kindly Vet asked, the nurse nodding and dashing off to find the female surgeon.

“Hey Lance, we can’t just keep calling this guy ‘The Cat’ or ‘The Hybrid’ all the time. Should we name him something to call him for now?” Pidge piped up, Lance startling out of his sleepy daze to look over at the kitty in question.

Lance hummed thoughtfully and ran his fingers through the white forelock one more time, thinking. Just then, a gentle Japanese pop song floated over the radio, and Lance was hit with an epiphany.

“How about Shiro?” He said, looking at his two friends. Pidge choked and Hunk sweated lightly in secondhand embarrassment, though for Lance or the Hybrid he didn’t really know.

“Shiro? Really, Lance? You’re calling him White in Japanese? I can’t believe how much of a weeb you are.” Pidge groaned, smacking her palm against her forehead. Hunk chuckled.

“Shiro will be fine for now, we’ll just say it’s a nickname for something.” Hunk explained as he moved around the room, putting away the medical equipment he’d used to examine Shiro, as he was now called.

“I’ll think on it more when I get home, thinking is hard when I’m half asleep.” Lance muttered, swaying.

Pidge grabbed his arm to stop him from toppling over. “I’ll drive you home. It’s a wonder you got here in the first place, half asleep with an injured Hybrid. Keys, now.” The Halfling demanded, and Lance gratefully dropped his car keys into her hands.

He took one last glance at the peaceful look on Shiro’s face though.

Lance prayed for a successful surgery, for both their sakes.
Four chapters. Four chapters is when I deem it an official AU in for the long run. Don’t be afraid to send me asks about this AU! I love reading comments on my work, Anon or otherwise :3 so….. Chapter 3, anyone?

Baby. (Mikey Way x Reader)

“’Sup, bitch?” Pete exclaimed loudly as he entered your home through the front door.

The sudden appearance of your friend caused you to jump slightly in your seat on the sofa, the novel you were previously stuck in falling to the floor as you frowned.

“A little warning would’ve been nice,” you mumbled, swinging your legs off of the sofa before bending down to retrieve your book.

Pete scoffed. “Since when do I need to warn you before I come over?” his voice came out slightly muffled seeing as his head was stuck in your fridge, searching for some kind of alcohol.

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No new messages.

Pairing : Dean x Plussize!Reader, Sam
Word count : 1,265
Author : Mel
Warnings : Kidnapping.

Part 3 of Dinner with Dean.

“It was great finally getting to meet you.” Sam pulled you into a hug. “I hope my brother is done hiding you and I get to see you more.” He let go and shot Dean a look.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean rolled his eyes.

You smiled. “I hope so too.” You teased. “Thanks Sam.”

“I like you.” Sam chuckled. “Alright Dean, see you at the motel.. whenever?” Dean nodded as Sam headed off towards the motel.

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Label : Something you put on clothes. Not on people.

Hi Guys,

As you know I’ve been wanting to create a tumblr for a while now. The reason being is that I have so many moments that are just too big to share in a short 140 character tweet. I also have so many feelings that I want to be able to express. I want us to be able to have an environment where we can discuss topics that need to be addressed, a place for us to give each other advice and to support one another. I want this to be a place that we can come and let our feelings out, our opinions out and pour our hearts out. So I hope that you will be a part of this journey with me!

The first thing I want to write about is something that I am currently experiencing and something that I’ve truly always been going through without me being old enough to realize it. I think to be quite honest ALL of us at some point in our lives go through this and IT. NEEDS. TO. BE. TALKED. ABOUT.

I’m talking about LABELS. No, not the kind we put on our lunch boxes when we are a kid, or on our sweater so if we lose it on the playground it can be returned to us, or even the ones that we put on the side of a mason jar with the fresh jam we just made (hello Pinterest thank you for the idea).
I’m talking LABELS. The kind of LABELS that are put on PEOPLE. I was sparked to write about this after finding a post on a twitter account saying:

“If a girl likes ugg boots and starbucks she’s stupid and stereotypical, but if she likes combat boots and obscure coffee houses she’s a hipster wannabe and is trying too hard. If a girl listen to boy bands and other popular artists she’s a dumb follower, if she reads comes or plays video games she’s a poser/fake geek girl, if she likes sex she’s a slut but if she doesn’t like sex she’s a prude…”

Now, I’m going to interrupt the quote for a quick minute to get personal about that last description. I was just labeled as a “prude” by someone a few weeks ago. Now at the time I didn’t know what it meant so I just laughed it off and nodded my head awkwardly (as I do). I then got home and looked up the definition of it and was so taken back… For those who aren’t sure of the definition either, it’s this:

n./adj. One who will not engage in any kind of sexual activity with a member of the opposite sex. 1. Usually used as a discriminatory word. 2.Can be used in a fashion as to bait someone into sexual activity.

So this word isn’t a kind word. There’s no way to make it a kind word.

Here’s what upsets me and makes me feel a little confused:
Where does having morals and waiting to take big steps until you’re absolutely ready to take them a negative thing? I didn’t know that making a personal decision based on what you believe in your heart was such a terrible thing…. that’s because IT ISN’T.

I didn’t speak about this for a while until a few days ago at breakfast. I was with my mom, a castmate of mine and his family. We were sitting around talking about life and it just kind of slipped out. It was only then that I let myself actually feel hurt about it after weeks of holding it in. I don’t want you to ever hold things in. Talk about it to anyone who you feel comfortable with. I don’t care if it’s the barista at your coffee shop. Never. Hold. Stuff. In.

I am not a prude. I respect myself and my body and I will always always do what I believe in that doesn’t make me any word or anything besides:


Okay- now back to the quote:

“…. if she doesn’t wear makeup she’s a slob, if she has low self esteem she needs to learn to love herself but if she has high self esteem she’s overconfident and vain, if she’s interested in politics she’s a crazy social justice warrior but if she prefers to stay out of social matters she’s a dumb airhead….”

I don’t know about you BUT this Twitter post really effected me and hit me straight in the heart. I also want to make a point to say that this doesn’t just go for girls it goes for boys as well…. and that’s where we move on to stereotypes.
stereotype :
A stereotype is used to catergorize a group of people. People don’t understand that type of person, so they put them into classifications, thinking that everyone who is that needs to be like that, or anyone who acts like their classifications is one.

How many of you have been stereotyped? I know I have. I’ve been called: fat, skinny, fat again, anorexic, fake, smart, innocent, precocious etc. All words that have flown over my head and that I’ve made myself laugh at rather than cry over but I know that that isn’t the case for ALL of us.  How do you think the boy in the glasses who happens to like reading books feels when the whole school looks at him as some foreign object who can only date a science book? Or how about the boy on the football team who happens to be good at football but is immediately labeled the jock who is gonna be with all the girls in the school? There is so much more to a person than what they do and what we can see. Not all of us can be there with them to see what they do at 4am when they can’t sleep, or when they come home after winning a game to a house with their parents screaming at each other. None of us can completely know what that person is going through unless we are that person. So let’s stop talking about that person unless we really know them and even then don’t talk unless it’s something positive. Yes, I know it’s fun to talk to your besties about the latest drama and the he said/she said of it all (trust me I’m guilty of it too) but remember that much like the internet, once you put something out there it’s out there. Once you say something you cant take it back and you have to live with what it, so make sure you can before you say it.

We live in a generation where we are judged and looked upon every two seconds. I know that in my case I am being watched because I am in the public eye. I also know that one small mess up or mistake could honestly overpower any good that I have managed to do because sadly people are more interested in the bad mess ups than all the good things we do. Labels and stereotypes don’t help this situation. So here’s what I want to encourage us all to do:

Take out a piece of paper.

Grab a pen.

Take out a phone or a laptop or any device that can record. (and if possible I would love for you to tweet/ instagram me your pictures and/or video, I’ll be putting together a project about it)

Hit record.

I want you to know write down any word that you have ever been called on that paper.

Once you’re done lift up that paper and face it towards the camera so we can see those words.

On the count of three I want you to stay facing the camera and tear that paper into as many pieces as you can.





Did you rip it?

Now I want you to explain what you see.

What’s left on that paper? Is it just scraps of letters here and there?

At the end of the day if we put those words on a piece of paper, they just become words and if we rip the paper they become scraps. In theory they become NOTHING.

However as people we are EVERYTHING. Not one person is the same as another. Not one word can define exactly who we are. You can’t put us on a piece of paper, you can’t rip us up and you can’t make us nothing.

So, next time you are labeled or placed into a group that isn’t you…
grab your phone, blast your music and have an epic dance party because YOU are worth so much more than a word.

With Love, 


lost letters: vol i - iv

January 15th
i write to you as the sun splits the clouds for the first time this week. i’ve finally changed those nets on the window in the study that were covered in mold. 

i began this month as everyone else does, drunk, with two-faced optimism. i gave up cigarettes for scratch cards; stopped drinking, started jogging. yeah. jogging. i can hear you laugh from here. i can barely do 10 minutes.

lately, though, the shadow that stalks my bedroom has reared its head from beneath the floorboards again and reminded me i miss you as ever. 

this is actually really tough. i don’t know if you’ll receive this but…i hope you’re well. it’s been so long. did you finally cut your hair short?



January 20th
Darling, my hair runs past my waist now. It’s been months since I last held anything sharp. In fact, everything’s softer these days. Even the words that come out of my mouth have grown kinder. They’ve grown wings and I watch as they circle about the single bulb above my head. It’s only a matter of time before they grow tired and start hitting the windowpane with their soft, frail bodies because there is no light bulb.

It’s been a while. I hope you’d write me more often. It gets lonely here.



February 6th
jesus. it’s really you. i’ve read your letter more times than i feel comfortable admitting to…wow. my little soldier. i’m so glad you’re okay. i’m so sorry i didn’t write sooner. i really didn’t expect you to respond. in fact i don’t know what i expected.

i feel like i’ve been going a little crazy the past few days, and i’m paranoid it’s getting obvious. to emma. she moved in just before christmas. we recently found out we’re expecting but she works nights so it’s been so damn tough. really tough. it’s so much fucking darker when you’re on your own, you know? 

the phone rang at 3AM the other night and i sprang down the stairs and expected to hear your voice on the other end. now i’m not even sure if it really happened. i guess it’s kind of funny, really. it’s just i’ve barely stopped thinking about you since…i’ve even started reading your horoscopes after mine in the paper again.

jesus. it was so good to hear from you. so damn good. 
i’m glad you kept your hair long.



February 10th
Emma. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? Unlike my name. Anyway, I bet she’s lovely as ever. I bet she still has that pretty face of hers. You never really introduced us properly, you know. I’ve always thought that maybe we would have gotten along just fine. Maybe. Well, I bet Christmas was great for you. I bet you’d do just fine with a little time. I mean, I’d bet on a lot of things but I don’t have that much now, do I? But you know what? I bet you know nothing about being on your own. I mean, really being on your own. You’ve always had it easy for you. Right from the beginning. Spoilt kid. Mommy and daddy always giving you whatever you wanted. Excellent marks. All the girls loved you. But what did you do? You fucked it up. You always do. If you had just been, I don’t know, grateful to you folks and maybe went to uni and I don’t know, maybe if you never set your sights on me? I mean, I thought we were happy. For a while, I guess. But oh, I almost forgot, you always find a way to fuck things up. Congratulations and good luck with the baby. Here’s to hoping all the poor, little thing gets from you is your pretty face.



February 14th
i wrote this the other night over 18 cigarettes and a bottle of cornershop whiskey. its fucking nasty stuff. what you said hit home. you’re right. happy fucking valentines.

i once longed
for the sun,

for the moon
no longer 
pleased me

now i long 
for the moon

burnt and in 
the dark.



February 20th
You really haven’t changed that much, have you? You still think that a bit of time and - and poetry could fix everything. Well, you’re half right, I’ll admit. 
I’ve been thinking and I guess I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have written all those nasty things to you. I was just angry and upset and it felt like a bubble just burst and everything’s louder again. Remember those winged creatures I told you about a month ago? Well, they’re all dead now. 

But anyway, thanks for the poem. I miss this. I really do. You’re a great writer, you know. Do you still write? I hope you do. I hope you get published or something. I’d love to see your name on my shelf. That would be a nice thing to wake up to every morning, I think. I really do.

I hope you write me more soon.



March 28th
everytime i pick up a pen my hand shakes. you have no idea how many versions of the same letter i’ve wrote to you have ended up in the paper shredder. 

baby boy. it’s due july 15th. is it fucked up that i remember that day? it was one of the best days of my life. i hope you remember it as well as i do.

you were right you know. i don’t know if you meant all of it but it’s all true. i fucked up. you don’t owe me anything. never mind an apology. can i ask you something? have you…moved on? i hope you have; hope you have someone who treats you right. 

i burnt my breakfast twice this morning. i dont have a fucking clue what i’m doing. how can i be a father or a husband when i can’t even work a gas oven.

it’s funny right? 

i miss you little soldier. 

by the way, me and emma aren’t together anymore. she found a bunch of pictures i’d kept of us…of you. they were lying out. it’s kind of fucked. it was ugly. i told her the truth. i was always a shit liar.



March 30th
“I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”



April 7th
There’s a cup of piping hot tea by my elbow and the curtains are drawn for the first time in weeks. I’m watching this year’s first April shower. It feels as though the world would stop moving if I take my eyes off it, even for just a fraction of a second. 

I’m sorry I haven’t written you back. That last letter you sent me – it sounds familiar. I think you’ve read it to me two, maybe three years ago? By the beach. And the waves were crashing against the massive pointed rocks like shark’s teeth that never really took a bite. It was late in the evening, wasn’t it? The seagulls shrieked overhead but your voice was the only sound in the world.

There’s someone at the door. I forgot to mention, I’m going to the mountains for a few weeks, maybe a month. I thought it would be good for me. I’m sorry to hear about Emma, by the way. I hope you work things out with her. For the kid, at least.



April 12th
i remember the soft murmurs at 4am as you slept, the smell of african violet infused with coconut, the drapes lifted by the open window. i remember sleep. not as if it were yesterday, but as though, in another lifetime, i could breathe, i could actually…

i’ve been painting my bedroom a mixture of ivory and teal. feels nice. emma came round two nights ago. we’re trying to be amicable. we had some wine and sat on the couch together. i started crying halfway through watching ghostbusters. 

the last letter i sent you was sylvia plath. i can’t believe you remembered that night. i think i said. it was one of my favourite days with you. i never told you this, but it was the first time in my life everything felt…right.

i’ve decided me and emma aren’t gonna work. together i mean. not right now. not when all i can think about is us, how much i fucked us up. what i did to you. she doesn’t need that. i make it sound as if it’s not mutual. i’m sure it is. 

i’m sorry. i’m really not sure what to say except stay safe little soldier. lose yourself up there.



April 24th
Everything feels right tonight. I watched the sun set earlier today and for once it didn’t feel like the end of a sad movie when the credits roll in and the stranger by the piano starts to play a wistful tune. It seems to me that the mountain fog is what’s keeping me anchored to reality. Without it, I’m afraid I just might float up and up. I could almost touch the clouds here. I could almost taste tomorrow. But tonight, there’s a man on the other side of the bed. What was it you once told me about love? “Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us.” In a blinding rage, I almost had those words tattooed on my ribs after you walked out the door and never came back. This is what I can remember: I sat back in a reclining chair. For a moment, I was nine and the dentist is pulling out my rotten tooth. A cold solution dampened my skin and I flinched. “It’s just rubbing alcohol.” “Okay.” I opened my eyes. Did I mention I had my eyes closed the entire time? And the lady was asking me if the outline was positioned correctly. That’s when everything began to feel wrong. So I put on my coat and I walked out. If only I still knew how to do that these days. Wouldn’t it be wonderful? To just put your coat back on and walk out when everything’s falling apart? Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Tonight, everything feels right. But I just had to ruin it all because I had a blinding urge to write to you. 



May 17th
forgive me.

i realised last night that i have so much to say sorry for. to you. to emma. to my parents. and christ, this unborn child. how many apologies do i owe him before he’s even born?

which is easier? telling myself that i had true happiness with emma before i wrote you? or telling myself that i only ever had it with you. and now we’re reduced to paper. photographs. ink. memories.

how much weight can five letters carry? is there a point where it just sticks in the flesh like a tumour? the word itself is a filthy addiction, one i cannot curb for a few weeks like the cigarettes i tossed away on new years day.

forgive me.



May 24th
it’s just hit me. i’m going to be a father. 

he’s going to have my eyes.
he’s not going to have his mother’s crooked nose.
he’s going to be whatever he wants to be.
he’s going to travel to fucking mars and back if he wants.
he’s going to be my son.

i hope you’re home soon.
i’m going to keep sending letters to this address anyway.
you must have so many stories. i want to know them all.
i want to know what the air tasted like. i want to know if you could see your breath at night, or if you had to wake up to kick the covers on the floor. i want to know that when you thought of me, it didn’t hurt. that you smiled, cause you were a thousand miles away from the fucking idiot.

P.S. the man on the other side of the bed in your last letter, i hope if he grabs his coat and leaves, it’s because you told him to. 



May 29th

happy birthday.
(i still read your horoscopes)



June 5th
“It’s June. I’m tired of being brave.”

It’s that poet who committed suicide, wasn’t it? Isn’t it sad that decades after her death, that’s what people remember of her – that poet who committed suicide.

I’ve been thinking and that’s precisely it. This is a perpetual suicide. Picture this:

After you left, I put your old coat on and poured myself a glass of vodka. The world is a garage. We’re all locked in here. I suppose my bell jar is an idle car and my lungs are slowly getting used to what’s killing me. At night I die.

Here’s the catch: Every morning I wake up. I get up and I get ready for the day. I unlock the door. I smile at people. I shut the door behind me. Night falls. I fill my glass once more and the cycle begins again.

I’ve been thinking about that but it’s June. I’m tired of being brave.

I think I’ll stay here for a while longer. In the mountains, I mean. Because I could at least blame the fog for my clouded consciousness. I hope you don’t mind me sending you these letters. I hope don’t tire of being brave anymore.


June 12th
this so much reminds me of that old adage, ‘if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ in that i’m screaming your name – in fact, i could scream louder if my lungs could permit me to – and you don’t hear a thing. i could write to you telling you how many flakes of bran were in my cereal today, or i could pompously reel off quotes from dead poets cause my own words escape me, or i could send nothing. 

you know i keep getting this mental image of you coming home and pushing the door through a pile of letters. like a scene in a film.

who would you want to play you if they made a film about us do you think? i think orson welles would’ve played me well. he’s just a bit bigger about the jaw. maybe humphrey bogart. or someone alive. i dunno. i might watch casablanca tonight actually. or citizen kane. or both.

you used to drink the cheapest vodka. i can’t put my arms around you and tell you it’s gonna be okay this time but please promise me you’re at least not drinking shit vodka.

stay safe.



June 13th
I wrote a poem for you today. I know, I know. I’m not good at it. I could almost hear that hearty laugh of yours if I close my eyes tight enough - maybe. I was thinking about sending it to you. But wouldn’t that be stupid of me, a non-poet, sending poetry to a poet? Sounds pathetic if I put it that way, doesn’t it? I’m not even sure it qualifies as a poem, you know? I don’t think anyone would want to call it a “poem”. No, I don’t think so. But anyway, what I’m trying to say is this: I am unhappy. And it’s been raining all morning. And I miss you. And I hope you’re well.



June 13th
'what i’ve got to do you can’t be any part of. i'm no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. someday you’ll understand that.’

it’s from casablanca. i can’t believe you’d never seen that film. 

you opened the door, kicked your shoes across the carpet, collapsed into me, we ordered pizza. all we wanted to do was kiss each other. after the credits had finished you said you didn’t like it cause it didn’t have a happy ending. i promised ours would.

stay brave for me if you can’t for yourself.



July 1st

i’ve been trying to stop myself from writing to you. or should i say i’ve been trying to stop myself from writing to your address. it feels like i’ve got a picture of you on my bedside table but i keep it permanently face down. i’ve been trying to stop myself from writing to you, yeah, but this is a guy who also tried to stop drinking and smoking yet sits over his desk, stooped over an ashtray and a full glass. you know the one thing i managed to do was stop writing poetry. and i didn’t even want to do that. what the fuck is that about? this is the first day of a big month. is it a sign? do i even believe in that shit? they say with a death comes new life. haha. is that just people’s way of dealing with loss? isn’t everything in life just that? in a few months does my bedside table hold a picture of a family. this child. is it the first thing i see every morning. am i able to suppress this constant discourse between us. letters and more and more fucking letters. more and more apologies. 

sometimes i don’t even know what to say to you, scarlet. holy shit. where are you? why aren’t you here? i might’ve ran away, you know, might’ve considered it. ran off to find you like they do in films. 

hah. find you. 
i can’t even find my lighter.



July 15th

Today’s the big day, isn’t it? I could lie and say so many nice things. “I almost didn’t remember but it just crossed my mind so I thought I’d write to you // Congratulations // Isn’t that what normal people say? // You’ll be a great father, don’t worry // I’m so happy for you // I’m so happy for you // I’m so happy for you” The truth is:

I’ve been reading those letters you wrote me from back in January. I admit, I packed them among the shampoo and toothpaste. As if they, too, fit in the category of things that clean a human being. 

There is fog. For the past few days, we have been sealing the doors and windows with wet towels. You’d be surprised by the amount of holes a room so small can have. Even light has a way of sneaking in uninvited. We’ve been trying to sleep for two weeks now, but I always wake on the third night. 

A moth flew in the other day while I was brushing my teeth. I wondered how little it had to make itself to get inside and how much getting in had meant to it and if it was worth it all. I could feel its body at the heel of my shoe with every step I took to get back to bed. It’s 4 in the afternoon, goodbye.



July 24th
joshua.  8lb 4oz. born july 18th. 6:52pm. 
has his father’s eyes.

the whole room stopped still as i held him for the first time. he’s so tiny. the world didn’t matter for a few moments. it felt like i was looking into a reflection in the water. waiting for someone to throw in a stone.

emma’s mother still isn’t speaking to me. the rest of her family seem to be treating me sympathetically, i remember they were looking at me as if i was homeless and they had no change. it doesn’t matter. emma looked at me from the bed and she smiled. it was resigned, as if to say. 'i really want to fucking hate you but i can’t.’ everyone was shaking hands, and our families talked but i didn’t hear a thing. my son was laying in his mother’s arms, and everything was quiet.

now i am home again, it is no longer quiet and you are here with me, you’re in my bed at night, you’re next to me when i’m making coffee, you’re knocking on my door. 
i feel hope in my blood. it is not joshua. it is Scarlet.



August 18th

It’s dark and my bags are packed. Remember when I used to tell you that I was afraid of the dark just so you would hold my hand? Remember the time we danced in the rain but you ran for cover when the lightning struck? Remember the bathroom spiders, the Lilliputian elevators, edges of cliffs that look like the monster’s mouth but monsters only sleep under a child’s bed, you said? We were afraid of so many things back then and right now it frightens me that nothing scares me anymore.



August 20th

i was late. you were wearing an ivory dress with a teal cardigan. your hair was always in your eyes. you spent the whole evening playing around with it. you didn’t say much, you kind of hid under a shy smile, and you covered your mouth when you laughed. i did most of the talking. i was nervous. hell, i was nervous for the 3 dates that followed, i was nervous on the third date when we were waiting for the bus and you put your head on my chest. i don’t think we’d touched each other apart from a couple of friendly hugs. you put your head against my chest and i pressed my lips to the top of your head. you leant up to me, the streetlamps danced amber in your eyes, you smiled with just the left corner of your mouth, and we kissed. i was nervous in the morning you stayed the night. i was nervous moving into our first house. i was nervous when i knew i was leaving. i was nervous when i left. i’m nervous now.

i remember everything. i think, now, i just wanted to protect you. i was always afraid. nothing had made sense in my life before you, so i had to protect it every way i could. i had to protect you. but i left you. you were my little soldier and i left you to fend for yourself. to stand in the dark in the lightening in the middle of the street and my door was locked. i walked away and closed my eyes. what kind of a man does that? and what kind of a man does the same thing twice? i can’t walk away this time. i keep trying to shoehorn you into my future. but why? am i doing it for you or for myself? it’s been almost a month since joshua was born. believe me, please believe me scarlet if i had the chance to leave all this behind…believe me i’ve considered it. leaving emma and the baby…i knew if you were here to put your hands on mine and tell me to, i would. but you wouldn’t. you’re an angel. and you’re more of a poet than i ever could be.

i could write for hours, but you’re coming home and i know that this might be the last letter i send to your address. i have to make this work. i have a family. i have a good woman who is willing to wake up next to me every morning. i have a baby boy that shares my name, and i have so much to give. and you have so much more. and there’s a billion other people that deserve it more than i do.

i’m so sorry.



I’ve been home for a week now. It’s some night in September – perhaps it’s October. I’m uncertain exactly but I look out the window and leaves are jumping from the treetops again.

There’s something special about stepping on dried leaves: the sound, the faint feeling at the bottom of your mud-caked shoes. It lasts but a moment.

My fish died. I found him nuzzled between two fake seaweed tentacles. He looked peaceful - as if he slept away death and in a few hours he’ll wake up as a shark in some far away ocean.

I read each letter you sent. It was like reading the script of a tragic play that never ended tragically – except for a couple of extras perhaps and some unknown character whose part was cut off at the last minute. By your final letter, I swear you’ve become a completely different person; someone I’ve never met. I guess that’s a good thing. I guess it’s my turn to become a completely different person. 

Maybe in some far away ocean,



October 11th
scarlet, please don’t talk like that. you know, since i made a promise to emma to stop writing to you, i’ve wrote thirteen letters. this is just the second one that i’m sending. i’m not really sure why anymore. i closed the book, i ended the chapter, i gave you up didn’t i? 

maybe i can’t give up things that fuck up my insides. maybe i’m not supposed to.  i’ve sat here writing to an idea of you, a notion, a ghost in my mirror that never really knew what i was saying. or why i was saying it. you vanished for months and i was still writing to the girl i watched sleep on lazy sundays, the girl that laughed at my shit jokes, the girl that hung on my every word, that relied on me for protection, for safety, for fucking everything, you were everything, i was your everything, but i was writing to you as if you hadn’t changed. as if nothing had changed. 

do you even feel anything anymore? when was the last time you felt something? only god knows how many times i read the letters you sent me, but i never really read them at all did i?

my world has fallen apart, and rebuilt itself around me. and all i’ve done is watch from my window picturing it the way i remember it three years ago. 

tell me to stop writing to you. just. tell me. tell me i’m pathetic, i’m stupid, i’m dumb. tell me that i can’t put it right. tell me what you actually feel. there’s no closure in this. there never will be. it’s in your hands. it has to be.



October 20th
Did you know there are rivers that split into two, that meet again for one final time before they get lost in separate ways into the huge, damning sea? 

I read it in a magazine once. Maybe in another life we are these rivers and our paths were always meant to diverge – as did the ones before us and the ones before them and so on, you know? 

Maybe in any life, this is always the hand we’re dealt with and we really have no say in anything the universe tells us. 

So how about it? We meet again for the last time before we get lost in our separate ways in this huge, damning world. Tuesday morning at the café with the geraniums out front. After that, we could close this book for good. I’ve decided I’d like to settle down in New York. Get my own place, be closer to my family. I might even visit them on Sundays, like I used to. Maybe a restless city would help me forget. 

I’ll wait for you then.



October 30th
the world was ending. we were hiding out in an abandoned camper van. everything was dangerous, and it was our job to protect each other. you had disappeared one morning, with no word, no letter, no note. i panicked. i didn’t understand. i traveled the city in search of you. i’d never been so scared. i called your name because my life depended on it. i thought yours did too. i thought you were in danger. but you weren’t. when i found you. you were huddled tight in the arms of another man. in your left hand, you held a child’s hand.

i woke up, and i finally understood. how cruel it was of me to send you letters. i imagined going back to the camper van in my dream, alone. with the world crumbling around me. after weeks, and months of wondering why, wondering what i had done, i imagined finding a way to move on, but suddenly one morning seeing the silhouette of your body in the distance. you are alone. i start to run towards you, before the silhouettes of the man, the child appear next to your side. that’s what i imagine it was like for you to receive that letter i sent to you in february.  i was lost, and you were still a beacon after all that time. i thought i knew clarity, but i had my eyes closed in muddied water. thank you for helping me see. 


i don’t know what i expected when we met up on that tuesday… a week ago today. i didn’t know what i was going to say, what you were going to look like, or if you would show up. you looked beautiful. your hair suits you, short. i could’ve kissed your face a thousand times, i could’ve reached across the table to touch your hand. i’m glad i didn’t. we chatted like old friends, even our parting hug was not an embrace, not a teary final farewell, it was pleasant, quick, just…nice i guess. i wished you well, as a friend. we go our separate ways again. emma asked me how my day was. i said i bumped into an old friend. guess i wasn’t lying.

i still don’t know why you wanted us to meet for the last time, but i’m glad we did. it is for the best, that we never see each other again. i hope we’re right.

i don’t know if you will even write me again, but when you move this christmas, please don’t give me your new address. 



January 3rd
The shadows have returned. And they’re taking down the fairy lights. Tell them they’d be nothing without the light. Tell them you’re afraid of the dark.

This year, the fireworks were silent. Nothing feels new. My life feels like a hook without the bait - dangling above water. And I see no reflection. The fishes are dead.



Aaron Lennox - @reykogast
Scarlet Vane - @mimickingmaelstroms

Extra Training

Title: Extra Training

Word Count: 1459

Characters: Prophet!Reader x Dean, Sam

Request: I love Dream, can you please do a part 2!!???

A/N: This is Part 2 of Dream. I was asked multiple times to make a series out of hit so here it is :-)

Your name: submit What is this?


Alone. That was your first thought after you saw the massive pool of blood you were kneeling in. It wasn’t your blood though. It belonged to the person who was lying in front of you. The eyes wide open, the mouth formed into a silent scream. No breathing, no heartbeat.

You woke up due to the strong hands that were pressing against your shoulders. Shaking you, calling your name over and over again.
You recognized the voice. It belonged to Sam Winchester who now sounded extremely worried. 

»Y/N«, he said and you finally opened your eyes. It was still dark in your room, the room that the Winchesters had given to you after you appeared in front of their door a few weeks ago. You couldn’t see Sam, only his profile in the dark. 

»Sam?«, you asked sleepily and started rubbing your eyes. They were wet and burned after you rubbed your mascara into them. Your hands wandered to your legs where you felt the fabric of your favorite jeans. You were still wearing your clothes from the day before. And you were crying.

»You screamed in your sleep Y/N«, Sam explained.
»Again«, Dean’s voice came from the other side of the room. He was leaning against the doorframe and watched you with heavy eyes. The dark shadows under his pretty green eyes started to ruin his pretty face. He looked tired, Sam looked tired and you felt tired. 

»It was the same dream as always«, you said after a while. Dean was still standing by the door and Sam sat down on the edge of your bed as you started telling them for the hundredth time what your dream was about.

»You two are on a hunt. I’m with you. I suppose that I am with you because I always see myself in the dream. One of you dies but I don’t know who it is and then the dream changes and I’m kneeling in a pool of blood. That’s normally the part where I wake up.«

Keep reading

Preference #25 Night Time Phone Calls

Harry:  You sat straight up in bed for the fifth night in a row, shaking and tears running down you cheeks. You quickly reached over and grabbed your cell phone off the nightstand. You unlocked it and pressed the call button on your favorite number. It rang twice before a confused Harry answered saying, ‘Baby? Are you okay?’

You sniffled slightly before you said, 'I had another bad dream and I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you so much Harry.’

              'I’m sorry baby.’ He sighed. 'I wish I was there to hold you while you fall back asleep. I miss you so damn much it hurts.' 

For the next couple minutes the two of you just listened to the sound of each other breathing. It was something you did a lot when he was home. It calmed you both down. It wasn’t until five minutes later when he spoke up and said, 'I’m buying you a plane ticket as we speak. And you can’t tell me no because I already cleared it with your boss. You fly out tomorrow and you’ll be with me until I go back home next month. No more lonely nights, no more bad dreams, just you and me vs the rest of the boys and the world.’

You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered as he spoke. You love this boy more than life.

             'Us vs the boys and the world.’ You repeated smiling. 'They won’t know what hit them.’

             'I love you so much baby girl.’ He purred. 'No more tears. Go back to sleep and I’ll see you very soon.’

             'I love you too so much.’ You sighed contently. 'I’ll see you soon.’


Liam:  You were lazing around your flat after finally finishing your shift. It was around 5pm when your phone started to ring. You cocked your eyebrow when you realized it was Liam calling. He was in Australia meaning it was 4am. You quickly got off the couch and ran over to you phone. When you answered, what you heard nearly broke your heart.

             'Hey Y/n.’ He sighed and you could instantly tell he was crying.

             'Liam?’ You asked concerned. 'What’s the matter baby? Why aren’t you sleeping? You have a long day tomorrow.’

             'I can’t sleep.’ He whimpered. 'This bed is way too big and way too cold without you in it. I miss you.’

             'I miss you too Liam.’ You sighed trying to be strong for him. 'I know it’s hard but we’re almost there. Only four more days. Three more shows and one day of traveling then your home and I’ll give you the biggest, best hug ever.’

              'And never let me go?’ He asked making you chuckle.

             'And never let you go.’ You nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

             'Thank you babe.’ He sighed. 'I didn’t mean to call you crying.’

             'It’s okay.’ You began. 'Lords knows I’ve done it to you many times.' 

              'Are you busy?’ He asked. 'Or can we talk until I fall asleep?’

              'I’ve got nothing but time for you.’ You smiled. 

About twenty minutes later you couldn’t help but giggle when you asked him a question and go no answer. You sighed happily knowing he’d be home soon and whispered, 'Sleep well my love.’


Louis:   You had just gotten out of the shower when you heard your phone let you know that you had a new text message. You walked over to your phone and smiled when you saw that the new message was from Louis. Your smile got even bigger when it read, 'Call in 10?!’

             'Perfect.’ You quickly texted back before quickly getting ready for bed. 

You ran down stairs and made yourself a cup of tea. You smiled making it back just in time to hear your phone ring. You climbed into bed, getting all nice and cozy before answering, 'Hey sexy man’

           'Hey baby.’ He said trying his best to sound happy.

But you knew Louis and you were too smart for that. 

           'Talk to me Boobear.’ You whispered your voice laced with concern. 'What’s wrong?’

            'I just…’ He began before he stopped to let out a small whimper.

            'Boobear?’ You sighed hated knowing he was crying.

            'I know tour just started two weeks ago.’ He began biting his lower lip. 'But fuck, I just miss you so much. I miss everything about you. The way your hair smells after a shower. Or the way you leave your half empty tea on the nightstand, just everything.' 

You couldn’t help the years thy filled your eyes.

            'I miss you too Lou.’ You sniffed. 'But just think the O2 shows are in a week and I’ll be at every single one or them.’

            'Yeah?’ He asked his voice full of hope.

             'Yeah.’ You nodded. 'I was going to surprise you but I hate seeing you so upset.’

             'I’m counting down the minutes, hours and seconds until I can hold you.’ He whispered.

            'Me too.’ You nodded. 'Me too.' 

            'But I should probably get to bed.’ He began. 'Thank you for listening to me.’

            'Always.’ You smiled. 'I love you Tommo. So much and I can’t wait to see you.’

           'I love you too Y/n.’ He smiled. 'You’ll be in my dreams tonight.’

            'Ditto.’ You blushed before hanging up.


Niall:  You kicked open your front door and threw your school bag on the floor before slamming the door you just kicked open shut. As soon as the door was closed the tears began to fall like waterfalls. You walked over to the couch and laid down on it. You had the worst day in history. You failed your paper you worked so hard on and to top it off your boss threatened to fire you over something stupid. All you wanted was a huge Horan hug but that wasn’t possible. Your boyfriend was in America being a part of the biggest boy band in the world. Just as a fresh batch of tears begin to fall, your heard your cell phone ring. You sighed when you saw Niall was calling. You picked up the phone and said, 'Hey stud.’

              'Hey princess.’ He whispered.

Just by the sound of his voice, you knew he was having an off day just like you. Like clockwork at the same time you both stuttered out 'I-I wish you were here.’

You couldn’t help but laugh even though all you wanted to do was cry.

              'I’m having the worst day.’ You began. 'And all I want is a huge Horan hug. I wish you were here.’

             'Trust me.’ He sighed. 'I wish I could have a Y/n hug right now. Today is the worst and it’s not even half over, over here.' 

             'This sucks.’ You sighed. 'I just need to get away with you and not be bothered by anybody.’

              'No cameras.’ He started. 'No media, just you, me, a bed and food.’

You laughed before saying, 'Can’t forget the food.’

             'Not me.’ He laughed. 'I get a week break in a month, we’re going away somewhere, anywhere. By then you’ll be done with school and it will be perfect.’

               'I love that idea.’ You nodded. 'I love you Niall.’

               'I love you too Princess.’ He smiled. 'So much.’

For the next half hour you guys planned your week getaway, your horrible day, long forgotten.


Zayn:  You sat down on the couch with your phone in your hand. You bit your lower lip debating whether or not to call Zayn. He told you, you could call him at any time but you were still nervous. It was really late where he was and he was probably sleeping. But you shook your head and pressed send, hearing the phone ring in your ear. You roughly wiped your tears away and sighed when a raspy voice answered, 'Sweetpea?’

'I’m sorry I woke you up.’ You began. 'I just needed to hear your voice.’

'Don’t apologize.’ He began clearing his throat. 'What’s wrong?’

'This house is so quiet without you here.’ You began as you cried. ‘The room is too clean and it almost doesn’t smell like you anymore. I hate this. I miss you so much and I’m going crazy without you.’

By the time you were done talking the tears were falling uncontrollably. He bit his lower lip listening to you cry, feeling guilty.

            ‘I’m sorry sweetpea.’ He sighed rubbing his face. ‘I hate leaving you too. But just think only two weeks until you come for a visit.’

            ‘I know.’ You nodded. ‘I just wish it would get here faster. I really want to see your face and I miss your kisses.’

            ‘How does this sound?’ He asked. ‘As soon as I see you, I’ll give you the biggest kiss you’ve ever received?’

            ‘That sounds amazing.’ You giggled making him smile. ‘Thank you for listening to me cry Zayn.’

            ‘I’d do anything for you Y/n.’ He began. ‘And I do mean anything.’

            ‘Just like I’d do anything for you.’ You sighed contently. ‘But I know it’s really late there and I woke you up, so I’ll let you go back to sleep.’

            ‘Okay.” He began. ‘Are you sure you’re okay now?’

            ‘Yes.’ You nodded. ‘I love you so much Zayn. And I’ll see you soon.’

            ‘I love you too sweetpea.’ He whispered before blowing kisses into the phone.

When you hung up with him you laid down on the couch watching one of the many home videos you and Zayn made before he left counting down the minutes until you were together again.