i thought he was sticking up his middle finger at first

anonymous asked:

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

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Insomnia (M)

Prompt: 💕+ Tae +“You have to be very very quiet, the others are around.”

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: moaning denial, dirty talk, fingering, Dom!Taehyung, almost getting caught

Notes: For my 3k present <3  2k Words

Originally posted by yourpinkpill

There was complete silence in the dorm room of the two 95 liners, nothing to be seen since darkness enveloped the area as soon as the clock struck eleven. It had taken only a little time to get adjusted to the black, silhouettes easily spotted due to the light coming from the green digital clock on the bedside table which separated two queen-sized beds.

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Bruise [ IV ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst [M]

Length: 9.8k

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

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

Bruise Masterlist

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

The frigid air blowing against your back did little to alleviate the heat brewing just under your skin, lips parted as you gulped down oxygen. A daze was overtaking your brain as your eyes fell shut and your lungs heaved, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin. His lips pressed into your barely covered chest, followed by your collarbones, making a trail of wet open mouthed kisses up your neck. It made a lazy smile flutter up on your lips, fingers reaching out to push through his hair as his palms slid along your hips, grinding you down against his lap. He leaned forward and combined his lips with your parted ones, exhaling heavily against them as his body fidgeted with a faint moan. It vibrated through you as your palms massaged his broad chest, the car filled with enough heat to begin fogging the tinted windows while you straddled his lap.

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The Dragon and His Knight

“C’mon, Teddy, it’s time to sleep,” Harry said for about the millionth time that night.

“No! I don’t want to sleep. I want to see Draco,” Teddy responded stubbornly. The four year old crossed his arms and scowled at his godfather.

Harry sighed a long suffering sigh. “Teddy, I’m sure Draco is busy grading papers. We don’t want to interrupt him.”

“Yes we do!” Teddy said.

For the past two hours, Harry had been trying to get the little menace to go to bed, but Teddy kept insisting that he wouldn’t comply until he got to visit his cousin, Draco. Harry was reluctant to bring Teddy to Professor Malfoy’s rooming quarters for more than one reason. The first reason being that, like he said, he was sure Draco would be grading papers and would get ornery if someone interrupted his work. The second reason was that Harry had no idea where he stood with Draco after what happened yesterday. Harry hoped that he hadn’t completely ruined his and Draco’s friendship by kissing him, especially since that friendship meant so much to him.

“Please, Harry,” Teddy begged.

Harry weighed his options. On the one hand, he could refuse to bring Teddy to visit Draco, which would mean Harry would get about four hours of sleep, and probably fall asleep in the middle of a Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture tomorrow. On the other hand, if he did bring Teddy to visit Draco, he would have to see Draco, and talk to Draco, and try to hide the fact that he was incredibly, stupidly in love with Draco.

But then Teddy made the choice for Harry by screaming at the top of his lungs, “I won’t go to sleep until we see Draco!”

“Shh, Teddy,” Harry said. He hurriedly covered Teddy’s mouth with his hand. Harry was really not in the mood to get reprimanded by McGonagall for waking up the entire school. “We’ll go see Draco, okay? But we’re going to be very quiet, and we’re only going to stay for a little bit.”

“Yay!” Teddy said when Harry removed his hand. His hair changed from an angry red into a bright turquoise.

Harry led Teddy through the empty, dark halls of Hogwarts, holding him by the hand to prevent the child from sprinting ahead. When they reached the door to Draco’s room in the dungeons, Teddy said excitedly, “I’ll hide behind you, so I can surprise him!” Harry smiled at Teddy’s enthusiasm, even though he was still quite irritated with the boy.

Harry took a deep breath and then knocked on Draco’s door. He heard a muffled “fuck” on the other side of the door.

“What do you want?” Draco’s sharp voice sounded from inside.

Harry didn’t say anything, as he was afraid Draco wouldn’t open the door if he knew who it was, so he knocked again.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco said irritably, and the door to his quarters swung open reveal a flustered, pajama-cladden Draco. “Harry,” Draco said. He looked- and sounded -just as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see him. Well, Harry wasn’t exactly surprised to see Draco, but he was surprised to see the state that Draco was in. His normally groomed-to-perfection blond hair was all ruffled and messed up, sticking out at awkward angles. Draco’s pajamas consisted of a white cotton t-shirt that was just tight enough to show off his lean, muscled frame, and pants with a small pattern on them that suspiciously resembled Harry’s glasses and scar. Frankly, Draco was adorable and sexy at the same time, and the sight was nearly enough to make Harry swoon.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked, pulling Harry out of a fantasy in which he was running his fingers through Draco’s tousled hair.

“Language,” Harry replied, remembering that Teddy was also there.

“Language? Are you serious, Potter? I’ve heard you say much worse. And by the way, you didn’t answer my ques-”
Draco was cut off by Teddy abruptly jumping out from behind Harry and shouting, “Surprise!” The little boy ran towards Draco and hugged his legs. His hair was now the same platinum color of Draco’s.

“Teddy,” Draco said, shocked. He looked from Teddy to Harry, confusion in his eyes.

“Andromeda made last minute plans to go on a date and asked me to take Teddy for the night,” Harry explained, looking down at his feet to avoid eye contact. “Anyways, Teddy refused to go to bed unless he got to visit you.”

“Andromeda is dating?”

Harry laughed. That was not the question he was expecting. “I suppose so.”

“Who?” Draco asked.

“Er, I don’t know. She’s your aunt, after all. Shouldn’t you know who she’s dating?”

Draco shrugged. He smiled down at Teddy and bent down to pick him up. And, no, Harry definitely did not look at Draco’s arse when he bent down. He did not. And he certainly did not wish he could touch Draco’s arse. And when Draco lifted Teddy to rest at his hip, Harry was not admiring Draco’s arm muscles. And if he was, it was completely innocent. There was no way Harry was imagining Draco’s arms pinning Harry to a bed.

“I’m glad you came to visit me,” Draco said to Teddy with a smile.

“Me too,” Teddy said. “I wish I could live at Hogwarts and be with you and Harry all the time.”

Draco chuckled. “That would be an adventure.”

Harry was beginning to feel awkward so he said to Teddy, “Well, now that you’ve seen Draco, are you ready to go to bed?”

“No!” Teddy replied instantly, clinging to Draco. “Draco has to tell me a story first. He tells the best stories.”

Harry looked to Draco, who just grinned with a shrug. “It’s true,” Draco said. “Uh, you can come inside if you want.”

Harry’s heart immediately started being faster at the thought of being in Draco’s room. “Sure,” Harry said, careful not to sound too eager.

Draco moved to the side to let Harry in and then shut the door. Harry surveyed the room in awe. The far wall was completely made of glass, and on the other side of the glass was the green-tinted water of the Black Lake. There wasn’t much to look at, just some seaweed and and fish, but it was beautiful anyway. Teddy ran over to look out at the lake as Harry turned his attention to the furniture in the room. Draco’s bed was near the glass wall, and so were his wardrobe and trunk. More in the middle of the room was a fireplace, a sofa, and two armchairs. Harry jealously wondered who Draco invited over to sit in those armchairs. The part of the room that Harry was standing in seemed to be Draco’s personal potions lab. There was a desk covered in papers, and a long table with a cauldron and many potions ingredients on it.

“What do you think?” Draco suddenly asked. Somehow he had ended up standing right next to Harry.

Harry shivered at the close proximity and answered honestly, “It’s nice.”

Draco seemed pleased. He smiled and even blushed a little. “Thanks. Guess I should give Teddy that story now.”

Harry nodded. He watched Draco walk over to Teddy and silently admired the elegance in Draco’s movements.


Five minutes later, Harry and Draco were settled in the armchairs and Teddy was nestled between a thick layer of blankets and the soft cushions of Draco’s sofa. Draco was deep in a story about a beautiful silver dragon that was being hunted down by the people in a nearby kingdom, because the dragon was thought to be dangerous.

“The people had no way of knowing that the dragon was really a handsome prince that had been cursed to be a dragon until he met his true love,” Draco was saying. Teddy looked at his cousin with reverence, hanging onto his every word. Draco didn’t notice that Harry was doing the same. “So the king chose one of his knights, the most brave and noble one, to go find the dragon and slay it.”

Teddy gasped. “No,” he whispered.

“The knight did as he was told and left for the mountains, where the Dragon was hiding.”

“Did he kill the dragon?” Teddy asked impatiently.

“Well, when he found the dragon, it was asleep. The knight was ready to kill it, he had his sword posed to strike, but then the dragon opened its eyes. And guess what happened when the knight looked into the dragon’s eyes?”

“The dragon turned back into a prince,” Harry answered automatically.

Draco looked at Harry amusedly. “I was asking Teddy.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Anyway,” Draco continued. “The dragon was suddenly enveloped in a magical, blinding light. When the light was gone, the knight was astonished to find that there was no more dragon. Instead, there was a man. It was the prince, but he didn’t have a crown, or any fancy robes, so the knight thought he was just a commoner. Since the knight was noble, he helped the prince nonetheless and promised to take him to the kingdom. As the two traveled to the kingdom, they became very close and began to fall in love. It wasn’t until they arrived at the kingdom that the prince revealed the truth about himself and the curse that could only be broken by true love. The knight and the prince got married the next day and lived happily ever after.” Draco was whispering by the end of the story, because Teddy had begun to fall asleep.

Harry smiled at Draco. He liked the story, and he especially liked the dragon. Draco saw Harry’s smile and he returned it before getting up and gesturing for Harry to follow him. Draco led Harry to his office, which was connected to his room by a short passageway.

“Thanks for telling Teddy that story,” Harry said once the two of them had made themselves comfortable in the office- Draco in his leather chair, and Harry sitting on Draco’s desk with his legs hanging off the edge.

“No problem. I can keep him for the rest of the night if you want,” Draco offered.

“You don’t have-”

“No, it’s fine. I want to.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

There was a beat of silence.

“I feel li-”

“I like your pajama pants,” Harry said, cutting off Draco, because he wasn’t ready for rejection yet.

Draco’s face went pink. “They were a gift,” he disclosed.

“Right,” Harry said. He smirked and Draco’s blush increased.

“Pansy thinks she’s bloody hilarious,” Draco muttered irritably.

“Kudos to Pansy for selecting such a great gift.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

More silence.

“We need to talk,” Draco said.

Harry exhaled deeply. No more pretending then. “I know.”

“You kissed me. Why?”

Tell him it was a mistake, tell him you didn’t mean it, tell him you want to forget it ever happened, screamed a voice in Harry’s head. But Harry was tired of lying to Draco, and to himself. He summoned all of his Gryffindor courage and confessed, “Because I like you. I really, really like you, and I’ve wanted to kiss you everyday for almost a year now. And yesterday I just couldn’t stop myself. You were standing there, rambling about your new potion, and you were so excited and passionate and I felt like my heart was exploding.”

Draco stared at Harry like his whole world had been turned upside down.


The next morning…

When Andromeda came by Hogwarts to pick up her grandson and found Harry’s room empty, she knew the next logical place to look was Draco’s room. But when she arrived at Draco’s room, what happened next was not at all logical. Because little Teddy was the one to greet her at the door.

“Where are Draco and Harry, sweetheart?” she asked the small boy.

“In bed,” Teddy answered like it was obvious.

Andromeda’s heart nearly stopped. If Draco and Harry had finally gotten together, she was thrilled, but she was appalled to think that the two of them would be doing things while Teddy was in the room.

She stalked over to Draco’s bed and was relieved to find that Draco and Harry were fully clothed. Draco was leaning against the headboard as he slept, and Harry’s head rested peacefully in his lap. A book entitled The Dragon and His Knight lie on the bedside table.

“Are Draco and Harry true loves?” Teddy asked his grandmother.

Andromeda smiled. “I think so.”
“Are they gonna live happily forever after?”

“Of course they are. That’s what true loves do, isn’t it?”

Possible-Future-Girlfriend

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky claims you can’t flirt for shit, you prove him wrong

Word Count: 2164

Warnings: pure fluff

Author’s Note: this is one of the first fluff i’ve written, i hope you enjoy (re)reading it :)

Masterlist Here

Sometimes you never really understood James Buchanan Barnes.

What is going on inside that pretty little head of his? What keeps him up all night sometimes. He’s assured you that it’s not the nightmares anymore. Those are the things he left in the past, along with all the terrible memories. But let’s not get drifted off to the apprehensive shit here. You have much important things to concentrate on.

Bucky Barnes is much happier now. He jokes around, flirts with girls at clubs or parties or any other place. He loves the cinema, especially the TV shows - so much that he binge watches them whenever Bucky and you are hanging out at your apartment.

He’s catching up on the new technology, too. You and Steve bought him a new phone for his birthday this year and boy, he cannot stop clicking pictures on it. And you know snooping is wrong, but most of the pictures on his camera roll are of Steve, the New York City skyline and you. You were surprised at first, but this man practically spends every free second of his time with you, so that was enough of an answer. Plus, you’d be lying to yourself and the rest the world if you’d say that your phone gallery isn’t stacked with pictures of Bucky.

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Soulmates

Pairing: Harry and Y/N

Word Count: 1600

Prompt (AU) : Harry took his anger out in sex-and you weren’t supposed to do that. He would go to the bar and find others just as terrible and lonely as him, drink, and then sink his sorrows into anything with breast and a hole were to put it. Niall always rolled his eyes the next morning and say to Harry “you’re a proper dick, yeh know that right?”, to which Harry would lift his middle finger up and respond with, “if soulmates are real she would love me anyhow.”

“Harry when you meet her your life will change,” Anne says, handing him a cup of tea.

Harry rolls his eyes, “I don’t care to meet her. It’s all bullshit,” Harry grumbles.


Y/N was never much of a talker; she had maybe said eight sentences in her whole life time. She wasn’t sure where the fear really came from, the fear of saying the wrong thing, of being too loud, of not being heard, so she kept to herself. People didn’t seem to understand though, they couldn’t comprehend why she chose to not talk, so she was labeled as weird, freak, stupid etc. Then they labeled her as mute (and she was) but she hated that term, she really did, Y/N just hated being labeled. At first it hurt, it really did, but Y/N soon learned to ignore them, she could only really care about what her Soulmate would have to say, and deep down a part of her wished that they were like her, quiet.

Soulmates, Y/N had been waiting for hers for a long time. She could remember sitting in class in fifth grade, when the teacher explained the process. She explained how everyone was born with a mark, a mark that only their other half had and she made them find that mark. Y/N’s was on her wrist, it was small, and lighter than her regular skin color, she wasn’t sure what it was at first, it just looked like a stick. But the teacher explained how the mark gets more detailed as they get older and closer to finding their person, and Y/N had noticed how that mark slowly grew into a small flower, a petal or two still missing.

Her teacher explained how every person was made for the other, and that they would feel their soulmates emotions, pain, negative thoughts, happy thoughts. They were connected and no matter what the other would always feel what their person was feeling. Y/N had learned that her person always seemed to be grumpy.

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Ouija - (H/M)

A/N; SOOOOOOO
This turned out A LOT longer than @dont-run-up and I first intended, but hopefully, everyone enjoys! Leave some comments letting us know what you thought of Incubus!Yoongi~~

Genre; Horror with that good S M UT 

Length; long af- 9,800+ words

Kink(s); A sprinkle of Master/Pet, impact play, oral (giving and receiving), creampie, light bondage, etc.

Originally posted by taes-nose-mole

12:00 a.m.
The time blared on your friend, Hee Young’s, phone screen. “Come on Y/n,” She jeered, keeping that eager grin and puppy-dog look in her eyes as she gently grasped your biceps, swaying you from side to side. “I wanna play! It’s just a game-” She added, pointing towards the newly purchased Ouija board that sat on your coffee table. Just the sight of it rushed a wave of uneasiness over you.

Shaking your head, your brows furrowed slightly, “I don’t know-” You replied, as anxiety laced your words. “My grandma always told me to steer clear of them, they could allow things into your home and life.”

“Oh my gosh, you don’t really believe all that nonsense, do you?” She asked, giggling through her words while she began to open the board’s box. Unlike you, she was a full-blown skeptic; she wasn’t a believer in anything paranormal, so Ouija was just a game to her and nothing more than that.

God did you wish you could dismiss it the way she could.
Though you had never personally experienced anything ghost-wise, you knew plenty of people that had. “Ahh I do, but..” You began, sighing as you decided to give in despite your better judgment, “But I guess we can play, just for a little, at least.”

Heeyoung excitedly clapped while smiling like a dork as she lifted the onyx and pearl colored board and planchette out. “Don’t worry,” She sweetly said, recognizing the nervous expression that painted your face as she placed it onto the glass. “It’s just a game.”

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Fall For You (M) | 01

→ gif ©

Summary: You hate a lot of things about Jeon Jungkook; you hate his arrogance, his reputation, and his pet name for you to name a few. But most of all, you hate how right it feels for you to fall into his arms, and how easy it is to fall for him.
Word Count: 10,764
Genre: fuckboy!Jungkook, college au, hate to lust to…
A/N: Completely inspired by this vine that I saw months ago that hasn’t left me alone since. Bonus points to those who notice the line of the song in the fic. Extra bonus points to those who recognize the Hamilton reference

Part 02. Part 03 + Drabbles

If you were being completely honest, your issue with Jeon Jungkook began years before university.

You’d grown up close to each other, his house was right across from yours but you’d hated him from the moment you met in primary school. He’d joined you and your friends in a game of truth or dare during recess, and his dare for you had been to race him from one end of the playground to the other. You had tripped, cutting your knees open but he’d continued running, winning before realizing you weren’t behind him anymore. Only by that time, the teacher had gotten to you and you’d spent the rest of primary school glaring at Jungkook whenever he was in your sights, childishly blaming him for your scars.

Of course, you didn’t hold that grudge still. Your first year of university had just started, and it would be petty and pathetic of you to still hate him for that reason. But Jungkook had given you several more reasons to hate him throughout your years of schooling.

You’d watched throughout middle and high school as Jungkook grew from a cheeky, cocky kid, into an even cockier young man. He’d never cared much for his grades, choosing instead to throw parties with his friends, to ditch class occasionally, and rile up any girls he chose. You stayed away from him, attending different parties and sticking with your small group of friends, and by the second year of high school Jungkook became one of the most well known players of the town.

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Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 4/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Angst & Fluff

A/N: Shout out to @eddiekaspbraks for making THIS moodboard of this fanfiction series, it’s amazing and gO SEND THIS LOVELY BABE SOME LOVE !!  BONUS POINTS IF ANYONE CAN GUESS WHAT SONG I WAS LISTENING TO WHILST WRITING RICHIE’S DESCRIPTION THROUGH EDDIE’S PERSPECTIVE

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (Soon) | 

It was now Monday morning and Eddie felt his numb fingertips jitter at the seams of his jumper, feeling the weaves under his senseless skin without his pulse guiding him. 

The pills were messing him up. Bad.

His doctor had prescribed the soft pink and white capsules in order to stop being gay, as if what he had was some sick mental illness. Eddie’s mother thought he was twisted, that the rumours weren’t true and that people were lying about her pride and joy. Several days later she realised that Eddie was in fact a homosexual boy. However, she refused to believe it and dragged him to every therapist and doctor in order to ‘save’ him.

He didn’t need saving, he was gay and that was that. He had only told Bill, Ben, Mike and Stan but somehow the word got around school, eventually a teacher had confronted his mother about the matter. He didn’t mean for everyone to know, but now that everyone did- the reaction he got towards his sexuality choice was repulsive.

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Neighbors


Inspired by Shawn’s recent Instagram story and this line:

“Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?”


She sighed, looking around the mess that is her new apartment. Her back hurt, her arms were burning and she was so exhausted, she felt like passing out.

“Where do these boxes go, hun?” her dad asked, holding up a box with “books” written on it.

“Just put those in my bedroom, thanks,” she replied, taking a sip from the beer her best friend had handed her.

Moving into your new fancy place in Toronto could be really awesome but also very tiring and she groaned, seeing all the boxes in her living room she had to unpack.

Her best friend put an arm around her shoulders and as if she could read her friend’s mind she said: “Hey, the view makes this bearable, don’t you think?”

She grinned at her friend, squinting her eyes a little because the sun is shining bright on the balcony. “Yeah, true. The view made me buy this!”

“So… when’s the housewarming party?” her friend asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

The girl shrugged. “I have to put actual furniture here first. And clean up. And decorate.”

“Yes, yes, Miss to-do-list, I get it. It has to be perfect, I know. As always,” her friend stated, rolling her eyes.

They laughed as they go back inside and she knew she’s nowhere near done yet but she already feels at home. It’s a warm feeling. And she knew this is where she belongs.


Three weeks later

She’s on her way to the elevator, carrying a bag with groceries and another shopping bag from H&M because she just couldn’t resist buying that cute dress and the sweater she really needed as the concierge calls her name.

“Excuse me, Miss!”

She turns around. “Yes?”

“Could I ask you for a favor, please?”

She smiles a little, nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“I have a parcel for… um,” he looks at the box, “Mister Shawn Mendes. Your neighbor. I know he hasn’t been home for quite a while but could you just take this for me? I have no space to store this and I would have asked Mrs. Johnson from 310 c but she would just forget about it, you know how she is…”

He smiles at her apologetically and she nods again. “Yeah, I can take it. I mean… I haven’t seen my neighbor yet and I don’t know him but I guess it’s a nice way to say hello”

“He’s very nice. You’ll get along perfectly,” the concierge says with a smirk. “You are both young and so hardworking! And both charming young things.”

She smiles back. “Yeah, we’ll see about that and um… thanks!”

She takes the parcel, briefly looking at it in the elevator. It says “Armani headquarters” on it and it got sent all the way from Milan. She raises her eyebrows a little.

Must be nice being a superstar. Getting free designer stuff all the time.

She felt a bit insecure when she found out who her neighbor was. 

Living door to door with a teenage pop sensation slash superstar could be a bit frightening, knowing how famous he really was.

She dreaded the thought of having lunatic fangirls standing in front of her door, screaming and shouting Shawn’s name but so far it has been very quiet and she hasn’t seen him yet as he was probably busy being the good looking popstar he was, traveling the world, making girls scream wherever he went.

She didn’t really get the hype. 

Her best friend freaked out when she found out who the mysterious neighbor was, making her want to move in with her. 

Or camping on Shawn Mendes’ doormat.

But the girl living in the condo next to him, didn’t get too excited. Sure, he was good looking and talented and cute and all of that.

But she didn’t understand how people could scream and shout, seeing him, shoving phones into his face for a selfie when he was just a regular person who happened to sing and play the guitar.

She didn’t understand until she saw him. In person.

It was a Saturday and she knew he was home.

There were footsteps in the hall, male voices, sounds of a guitar and doors shutting and she took a deep breath, brushed her hair and ringed the bell.

She wasn’t wearing anything fancy, heck, she was in her gym shorts and a loose band shirt she got at a concert some time ago. And she was wearing fuzzy socks.

Not sexy at all.

And she regretted her outfit choice as soon as she saw him, standing in the doorframe, looking like a Greek God or something. A light stubble, messy brown curls sticking up slightly, wearing black pants and a white t shirt that fitted him well and as he looked at her, eyes a bit sleepy and a wry smile spreading across his plump lips, she had to swallow thickly.

He blinked twice.

She looked down at the parcel and up at him.

“Um… hi!”

“Hi,” he said in a deep, raspy voice, smiling down at her.

“I’m your new neighbor and I wanted to say hi and I have this parcel for you and um… yeah, hi…” she rambled, blushing a bit because he was looking at her in a way that made her nervous.

He was checking her out. Briefly looking her up and down and she squared her shoulders a little.
His gaze rested on her bare legs for a little bit too long and he bit his bottom lip in a way that made her heart flutter and race and she felt hot suddenly.

“Oh, thank you so much!” he smiled brightly, taking the parcel from her. It looked tiny in his hands. “And nice to meet you,” he added, stretching his hand out. “I’m Shawn”

She shook his hand, saying her name.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

He leaned against the doorframe, obviously not in a hurry to close the door.

“I just hope I don’t bother you with my music. I’m working on something right now and it can get a bit… loud,” he said with a smug grin, dipping his head a little, after nodding into the direction of his condo.

He was towering over her, playing with the parcel in his huge hands and she looked at his long fingers, noticing a silver ring on his middle finger. He was wearing a black watch that looked cool and expensive and she pressed her lips together. She understood it now. The hype. The fangirls.

He looked like a teenage dream. Almost as if he wasn’t real.

Too handsome for his own good.

She looked up at him. “No, um, all good. I don’t mind.”

He gives her a crooked smile, licking his sinfully plump lips. “Okay, good. Just tell me if it’s too loud… and if you need anything I’m right here,” he said in that soft voice of his she already found so endearing.

She awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to another. “Yeah, thanks! Goes both ways… the if you need anything thing… not the music thing, obviously…”

She blushed and he smiled at her, running his fingers through his curls. “Yeah,” he replied, never breaking eye contact and she felt like dying on that door mat of his.

“Okay, so I should try this on, I guess,” he frowned, looking at the parcel and she nodded.

“Must be something nice… coming from Italy,” she smiled and suddenly regretted her words. “I only saw that it’s from Milan, I didn’t…”

He laughed and it sounded like the most beautiful thing she has ever heard.

“It’s okay! All good. Yeah, they send me awesome stuff now… it’s just really cool because I actually hate going shopping,” he chuckled, blushing himself.

She smiled at him. “Oh, I can’t relate. Shopping is my favorite hobby.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, well, that’s because you’re a girl… must be natural, eh?”

She laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. So cliché.”

He smirked and she looked down, avoiding his burning gaze. “Okay, um… I’ll leave you alone now… so you can try your new stuff on and yeah…”

He smiled. “Okay, yeah, see you.”

“See you,” she breathed and tried to walk gracefully back into her condo.

Don’t trip, don’t trip. Don’t mess up.

She exhaled loudly, closing the door after her and let out a little groan.
She reached for her phone because she really needed to talk to her best friend now and she quickly typed OMG CALL ME into her phone, pressing send.


Shawn sighed in frustration, looking into his empty fridge.

Living alone was not as cool as he thought it would be. His clothes were dirty and scattered on the floor in front of his washing machine, there was nothing to eat and he missed his mom.

Coming back from tour to his new posh place felt good at first but now all he wanted was to go back to Pickering to eat his mom’s roast and he started to feel jealous of his little sister who got to sleep in a freshly made bed and eat home cooked food all the time.

He groaned, looking at the stove. There was no salt. He had used everything his mom had given to him and he looked down at the chicken he was trying to make taste somewhat eatable.

He bit down on his bottom lip, turning down the John Mayer song he was listening to.
He could go to the supermarket and actually buy food – and get mobbed in the process.

Or he could ask her.

He was pretty positive that she had salt in her perfectly tidy condo with a full fridge and nice flowers everywhere. She looked like a girl who had flowers in her apartment.

And nice pillows.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Those long, lean legs. Her nice ass, he got a good look at when she walked back to her condo.

The outlines of her obviously nicely shaped breasts through that grey band shirt and he licked his lips again.

He was feeling frustrated, coming back from tour. He was needy, antsy somehow and he had felt hot and bothered, closing the door after receiving his parcel.

Leaning against the door he had to cup himself through his pants adjusting his cock that had started to stir against his boxers that were getting all tight around his dick as she had turned around and he had watched her hips sway slightly.

There were thoughts in his head. Thoughts he shouldn’t have about a girl he didn’t know.
Inappropriate thoughts crossing his mind. About her. Naked. Moaning his name. Panting. Legs spread and back arched.

He tugged at his hair in desperation. He shouldn’t feel like this about a girl he just met but the way she blushed and rambled made him want to be dominant with her. Be rather rough. Take her from behind maybe because he loved that position and she would feel him deep inside of her.

He felt guilty, thinking that. She probably had a boyfriend anyway. And Shawn would leave for Brazil soon. So that was that.

He hesitated a bit before knocking on her door. But he took a deep breath, fixed his hair and knocked.

His heart started to race, hearing footsteps.

She opened the door and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Hi!” he said, his voice cracking a little. “So this thing about needing something came sooner than expected,” he said with an amused huff and she smiled up at him.

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Well, I just came home from tour and the only thing that is in my fridge is some mustard and disgusting smelling milk and I wanted to cook something but I ran out of salt,” he frowned a little, his cheeks turning pink. “That’s why I was wondering if - um – if I could borrow some?”

She nodded, giving him a beautiful genuine smile and his heart did a stupid little jumpy thing he didn’t know it could make until then.

“Sure! I got you.”

She turned around and he was about to drool. He shamelessly stared at her ass and he didn’t want to be like this. Lusting over her like some horny teenager. But he couldn’t help himself.
He totally had the hottest neighbor in all of Canada.

She came back from the kitchen. “There you go,” she smiled and his fingertips brushed over hers as he took the small package from her.

“Thank you so much! You saved me from starving! I mean I could always order pizza but I’m trying to impress my mom.”

She let out a soft giggle. “Good luck with the cooking, it smells like you burned something though.”

He looked over his shoulder in an alarmed way. “Oh, fuck, yeah, I should go look after that! Thanks again!”

And with that he ran back into his apartment, trying to save his dinner.


She looks at her freshly baked cupcakes and knows that there is no way she would eat all of that. She had baked too many cupcakes and couldn’t stop thinking about knocking on his door.

She found it way too cute how he had nothing in his fridge and here she was, practically surrounded by food.

That’s why she takes two cupcakes, arranging them on a plate. This time she is prepared. With gloss on her lips, wearing her favorite bra and a nice t shirt, denim jeans and flip flops. All wavy hair and bare tanned legs. She knocks. And waits.

Maybe he isn’t home.

She is about to turn around as she hears footsteps. And there he is.

Shirtless.

Fucking shirtless, only wearing some sweatpants he must have thrown over in a hurry.

“Hey,” he pants, looking at her, slightly confused.

“Hi! Oh. I’m sorry. Didn’t want to disturb!” she says, no, gasps.

He looks almost photoshopped. Ripped abs, defined v line, pecks and arms, defined and muscular. 

She swallows thickly, looking down.

He looks over his shoulder, an alarmed look on his face. “You aren’t! All good. Can I - er - help you?”

“No, no. I just baked those and have some left over and I thought you might like some?” she says tentatively, holding up the little plate.

He smiles in a genuine way, looking very grateful. But still tense.

“That’s so sweet. Thank you very much!”

He presses his lips together, hearing the high-pitched, female voice coming from his bedroom.

“Shawn? Who is that?”

A blonde girl comes up behind him, looking like she’s on the cover of Sport’s Illustrated or something, wearing nothing but a large men’s shirt.

And now she knows where his shirt is.

On some blonde bombshell with a D cup.

Silicone probably.

“Oh,” she squeals. “Cupcakes? Awesome!” the blonde girl grabs one, grinning at Shawn.

“Who’s that, Shawn? Your neighbor?”

Shawn looks flustered and his cheeks are red. As well as his ears.

“Yeah… that’s my neighbor.” He awkwardly introduces them and he shakes his head slightly - desperate -  at his pretty neighbor who looks shell shocked with her plate in hand.

As if he wanted to say no no she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just an one night stand. Meaningless. I swear. I was thinking about you all the time. Imagining you under me. Because you drive me crazy.

“Um-well,” she blurts out. “I should… leave, I’m sorry. Bye,” she hands Shawn the plate as if it had burned her and almost runs into her condo, leaving an embarassed Shawn behind.

He closes the door, groaning in frustration. That was not what he had planned. This shouldn’t have happened.

His one night stand should have left hours ago but she was clingy and annoying and Shawn was too polite to kick her out. But it was time now.

The blonde girl is nibbling on the icing of the cupcake and Shawn picks her clothes up, holding them up.

“Hun, I really should work now, sorry but… you know…” he says, sounding annoyed.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, I see,” she says, sounding ice cold. “I’ll leave. I get it.”

He sighs, turning around so that she could get dressed.

“Bye, Shawn! And don’t ever call me again! Asshole!” she spits out, leaving his place and he slams the door shut. 

“Yeah, bye” he snorts angrily. Just to huff a frustrated “fuck!” afterwards, letting himself fall onto his couch, hitting a pillow in frustration.


He slams his hand against her door. But she won’t open. Of course not.

“Hey! I know you’re home! Come on! Please! Open the door!” he yells.

He rings the bell again. Over and over until it starts to get annoying.

She opens the door with an annoyed huff.

“What?” she hisses. “I’m working on a paper and I need to concentrate. If you would stop ringing my doorbell- that would be nice. Thanks,” and she proceeds to slam the door into his face.

He’s quick, sliding a huge foot into the doorframe.

“No! Wait!”

She rolls her eyes at him, opening the door again.

“Your plate! Here!” he awkwardly holds it up, handing it over to her. “Tasted so good, really! Thank you!”

“Mhm,” she breathes out in an annoyed way. She isn’t exactly mad at him. She’s mad at herself. For believing that she would actually have the tiniest bit of a chance with this guy who looked like a young god and lived the superstar lifestyle. Fucking blonde bombshells included.

“She isn’t - that wasn’t - that girl is not my girlfriend,” he blurts out.

“I don’t care, Shawn”

“Okay. Just wanted to make that clear. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he frowns, brows furrowed, curls messy and bopping a little.

“What do you want to hear? I don’t care about your love life or whatever… we don’t even know each other.”

She looks him in the eye, looking dead serious.

He licks his lip nervously and steps closer so that he towers over her, hands on either side of the doorframe. He looks down at her and gulps, tilting his head a little. 

“Wanna, like– I mean, if you’re not busy… We could get lunch? Or even just coffee if you don’t have a lot of time?” he asks, feeling his cheeks get bright red as well as the top of his ears and he shifts his weight from one foot to another.

She tilts her chin up a bit.

“I have to see about that - I actually am busy right now.”

She sounds distant and he sighs.

“Come on… please… I’d love to get to know you.”

She nibbles on her bottom lip. And he wants to kiss her so bad. Part those pretty lips with his and slip his tongue into her mouth. 

He wants, wants, wants her.

“Really?” she says, barely audible.

She knew there were girls out there who would sell their souls for this. A date with Shawn Mendes.

He nods. Eyes dark.

“I’m not who you think I am. I don’t have a different girl every night,” he says quickly.

“I know what you’re thinking. That I’m some stupid teenage star who has a lot of hook ups and gets drunk in fancy bars but I’m not!” he adds. “I’m a regular dude. Really.”

She shrugs. “I don’t really think ‘bout you so you’re good.”

His face falls. “O-okay, right, yeah. I shouldn’t have assumed that.”

His shoulders hang a bit as well as his head and he wants to turn around but she holds him back. “No wait! Sorry, that was kinda rude. I’m just- I mean… coffee would be nice,” she breathes out and his face lights up again.

It frustrates her how freaking adorable he looks like that, smiling, looking like a lovesick puppy.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean- it’s just coffee, right?”

“Just coffee,” he grins.

And he’s already so involved in this. He loves the chase. The thrill. And he can’t wait for what’s to come. 

Little Things

MASTERLIST

A/N: This is my very bad attempt at something cute, but you know… Fluff isn’t my best. Also a bit different from what I’ve done in the past, so feedback would be great. I messed up the months, I’m aware. 

Word count: 3,365

Pickering, Canada
April 2024

Keep reading

GoTG Meet Avengers


Peter stares, watching them all a little blankly. By his side, Tony has his head in his hands. He’s been groaning for the past twenty seconds.


“So… you went on a ten-year murder spree where you joined a terror organisation of your own free will in order to kill Tony, who wasn’t even responsible for the death of your parents in the first place- and then decide that just Tony isn’t murderous enough for you, and go for the rest of his team for some reason, too?”

Across the room, Wanda bristles. “It wasn’t like-”

“And then your team leader let you on the team you were trying to murder? Almost immediately after the one single fight you helped them with?” Gamora interrupts. Her eyes are cold and dangerous. 

Steve opens his mouth to defend himself, but Drax cuts in. “And you,” he gestures harshly at clint, “you were willing to abandon your family and get yourself arrested, just so you could involve yourself in a matter that did not concern you anyway?”

“You think I wanted to be arrested? That was all Tony-” Clint begins, but Drax roars, and Clint rears back, eyes wide and hand reaching for the bow at his hip.

“TONY STARK DID NOT FORCE YOU TO BREAK YOUR LAWS! I WAS PUT IN JAIL BECAUSE I FOUGHT FOR MY FAMILY, NOT-”

“Drax, stay calm. These people are breakable,” Gamora warns, although she is staring at them all as if she wants nothing better than to let Drax get himself worked up over them. 

“You know, Tony has only been giving you his view on everything that happened,” Steve counters. He’s looking at Tony like… like he’s disappointed in him, and that’s enough to get Rocket yelling angrily.

“Oh, so you sayin’ you didn’t tear the team he invested his time, his love, his effort into, apart- all so you could save a guy that Tony had offered to rehabilitate in the first place anyway? Or what about the fact you didn’t tell him that your best bud murdered his parents? That a lie too?” He snarls, and on his shoulder, Groot’s arms are slowly growing, pricklier and heavier- he can feel the weight on his shoulders.

“I think everyone needs to calm down, here-” Sam begins, but Gamora silences him, knuckles cracking as she steps forward.

Sam, wisely, takes a step back.

 “You do not get to talk- not when you chose to put your trust in a man you met for three seconds, whilst he was breaking into Tony’s compound, over the actual Avenger and team-mate himself,” she hisses, hands thrown up into the air as she turns to face all of them now.

“You sicken me. I may fight and argue and be frustrated with my team- but at the end of the day, they are still my family. They are still the people I would trust without a second thought,” she shoots a glare at Sam, “who I would always tell the truth to, even if it hurts,” Steve looked at the floor, jaw set in a grim line, “and who I would never, ever ask to be on the same team as a woman who subdued them to their worst fears and tried to kill them. I would rather die.”

She spat on the floor, and then turned away. “I am going back to the ship. You may continue your discussions if you must, but I am finished. I will only kill one of them if this continues.”

“That would be a shame,” Drax says quietly, his voice low and threatening.

Tony, who spent the majority of the conversation absolutely silent, speaks up at that point. “Hey! Drax used sarcasm!”

No one laughs. He goes back to holding his head in his hand.

Peter just looks slightly sick. His hand is wrapped very, very tightly around Tony’s.


“You know that post of text that Tony showed us a few weeks ago? He called it a… a me-me? With the breadsticks and the asshole date?” Rocket pipes up after a few seconds of silence, gun still spinning ominously in his fingers. “I think it’s time for us to shove Tony in our spaceship and say we have to go, right now, immediately.”


Despite everything, Tony lets a huff of laughter escape at that. Peter- seeming to suddenly snap out of his horrified trance- nods his head approvingly, beginning to tug on Tony’s hand. “Yes. I agree. Wonderful though this diplomatic meeting of teams was, I’m afraid we have urgent business to attend to. We have to… show Tony… something awesome.”

“Yes. LOVE, AFFECTION AND VALIDATION!” Drax roars again, curling an arm around Tony’s shoulders and placing the most violent and angry kiss possible on top of his hair.

“Later, losers!” Rocket calls out, sticking his middle finger up behind him and then turning to punch Tony’s thigh gently before scarpering back to the ship.

Groot hops down from Rocket and then latches on to Tony’s forearm, clambering up his arm until he was resting on Tony’s shoulder instead. Tony glances over at him and grins happily. He’s always had a bit of a soft spot for Groot.

“hey,” he whispers, as the tiny tree alien quickly began to grow a few flowers, and then plucked them off his hand and tucked them into Tony’s hair. “I am Groot,” he whispers right back in reply.

Tony smiles, rolling his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I know. Don’t worry about them- I left them behind a long time ago.”


Steve hears that. He looks at tony for a long time, his eyes a little sad and regretful.


Tony just stares right back, and then raises his eyebrows and shrugs, adjusting the beginning of the flower-crown Groot was making for him.

“Call me the next time it gets too much for you guys to handle,” he calls out after them, as Peter and Drax both steer him hurriedly back toward the ship and away from his old team.

Groot giggles on his shoulder, and then places another flower behind his ear. “I am Groot!”


“I agree,” Tony says, just as Peter nods his own approval, gently bumping their shoulders together. “Let’s go and play Space-Tag.”

Our Little Secret - Part Ten

Summary: Dean wakes you up with some bad news about Vegas

Series Masterlist

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Square Filled: hand-holding  for @spnkinkbingo

Kink(s): Mutual Masturbation

Word Count: 5100

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, ANGST, torture, canon typical violence. THE PLOT GOT AWAY FROM ME AND THERE ARE SO MANY FEELS

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I’m really loving these character and this series. Thank you for your wonderful responses. A special thank you to the people who looked this over for me.

***THE TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED**

“Sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is there, your brain groggy with sleep. You moan and hug the pillow tighter, burying your face into it.

He chuckles, “C’mon, you gotta get up.”

“Nuh-uh,” you protest, curling up more.

His hand runs up and down your side, “Sam heard of a hunt and we are the closest right now.”

You grumble incoherently, opening one eye. Deans sitting on the edge of the bed in front of you, fully dressed, looking amused, “C’mon.”

You shake your head, flipping over and pulling the covers around you like a child. You had been sleeping so damn go so you are a little put out.

Keep reading

Everything Has Changed (Part Four)

Summary: In which everything changes when you discover Bucky’s true feelings for you in a very unconventional manner.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,707

Part Three

Originally posted by bucky-plums-barnes

Deciding to join the Avengers was no easy task. Before informing Fury of your final choice, you had to carefully weigh the pros and cons. When you did, it was obvious that there were more bad outcomes than good if you chose to work alongside Earth’s mightiest heroes. There were missions whose varying lengths were as unpredictable as when you’d be told about their existence. There was the never-ending list of injuries that would leave lasting negative effects on your body. Then there was the fact that you’d become a public figure, which would give the media the incorrect assumption that they could magnify and dissect all of your actions.

It all seemed like too much, but it wasn’t enough to scare you away. You wanted the job. You wanted to be an Avenger.

At least that’s what you thought.

Keep reading

insemination wars, part i (m.)

;pairing — yoongi/reader

;warnings — language | car sex | oral sex | porn with plot | unprotected sex | mentions of pregnancy, obviously | alcohol use | yoongi being sappy | typical marital bickering

;summary — getting pregnant isn’t an easy feat, especially when balancing work and a stubborn husband. a chronological compilation that highlights the trial and error of good old-fashioned baby making

;word count — 5k

;a/n — very loosely inspired by that one Friends episode

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Sunday Morning

Summary: A young man and a young woman run into one another on a Sunday morning at a coffee shop, both of them heartbroken, and rediscover what it means to love and be loved. Bucky x Reader 

 Author’s Note: I’ve been working on this one for a bit. It’s basically the feel-good romance no one ever expected me to write (me included) 

 Words: ~2900

Originally posted by writingandcoffeehouse

Bucky used to love Sunday mornings. They were meant for sleeping in, for curling against the soft, tender body that slept next to him.

They’d had five years of Sunday mornings, of her soft sighs in his ear as she stirred from her sleep, bright green eyes blinking sleepily up at him as he kissed her plush, pink lips. Five years of Sunday mornings, of making coffee in a pair of boxers; of her arms wrapping around him from behind, a soft cheek against his bare back. Five years of Sunday mornings, of sitting at the breakfast bar in their pajamas, her thumb wiping jelly off the corners of his mouth.

Five years of Sunday mornings, wasted.

Keep reading

Professor

In which Andrew didn’t choose Exy but still chose Neil, which meant Neil had to learn how to talk about something other than stick-ball. 

warning, mention of implied sexual assault/non-con


Lucy had not anticipated what she was dealt. 

Her first day of second year brought a tone of finality to it all: it wasn’t just a year-long dream of terrible decisions and alcohol and chaos. It continued on, and so would she. 

Her first day also happened to bring Professor Andrew Minyard, five feet and blond and utterly terrifying. 

Introducing the course had started off mundane enough, until Eddie Court – an asshole she’d regretted sleeping with dearly – decided to lean over her shoulder. He never got the chance to say anything because a pencil dotted him squarely in his forehead, so hard that a tiny droplet of blood threatened to bead. 

Everyone stared. Shocked, confused, but remaining in complete silence as they  – Lucy included – tried to remember if anyone had mentioned anything about the man, whether or not this was normal or out-of-the-ordinary behaviour. 

“Name.” He sounded bored. 

Eddie rose his fingers to brush his forehead, smearing the tiniest of droplets. He stared at his fingertips, then at Minyard, then at the pencil that had clattered on his desk. Then at Minyard again. “Eddie Court.”

“Court. Christ.” The professor said, with a palpable distaste to his tone. “I will say this once, despite having to repeat it every year, because students seem to get thicker with every new class.” His face was blank. Stone. Lucy had never heard someone utter insults with such apathy. She didn’t know whether or not to be scared or curious: Such a mask was difficult to maintain. “Shut the fuck up, or get the fuck out. Understood?”

Swearing in class. At the students. Completely against protocol. 

Lucy couldn’t help but smile. Just a little. 


Within weeks, the class had learned how to abide by Professor Minyard’s rules. His previous students were sought out, but they merely grinned at the mention of his name. One student dared to ask another law professor, questioning the teaching methods of the criminology expert. They shook their head, leaning to the professor next to them and sharing a laugh, an inside joke that none of the second years were a part of. 

Yet. 

Curiosity won out over fear eventually, and what that said about Lucy, she wasn’t sure. Eventually, he won her respect: The piece of white chalk he’d flung had imbedded itself in her tightly curled hair when she’d fallen asleep at the eight AM lecture on a Tuesday morning. 

“You think I want to be here, Rone?” 

That piece of chalk rested on her bedside table. Lucy didn’t want to be weird, especially considering her professor hadn’t played Exy since college, but he’d played with Neil Josten and Kevin Day. The Neil Josten, and the Kevin Day. And if she had spent nights watching old Palmetto State Fox games, sitting in awe as she watched him flick balls away from the goal like it was absolutely nothing, no one was going to know. 

He was just as apathetic as he had been back then. Lucy had decided he was just emotionless: That didn’t make him any worse at teaching, so it wasn’t really her problem. 

And then she became his problem. 


Her grades had dropped dramatically low. Andrew stared at the results that he’d just drawn up, picked the paper up off the desk, and leaned back in his chair. 

It was a midterm. He’d eyed Lucy Rone’s bad results in the past two mini-quizzes, her surprisingly worsening attendance, and this was enough to force his hand. 

Half an hour later, he was convinced this was abnormal behaviour, if her patterns rang true. 

Caring, caring. Perhaps the internal monologue would never leave him alone, but he knew better than to listen to it’s mocking tone. Watch yourself turn into Wymack, why don’t you. Call Dan and say you’re taking over as coach of the Foxes. 

He almost told himself to shut up, but the chime of his phone snapped him out of his head. It kept chiming and he sighed, picking it up and wedging it between his shoulder and ear, returning to stare at the mark scrawled in the corner of the exam paper. 

“Are you going to be here for dinner?”

“Not if you’re attempting to make something.” Neil had improved past the broke-college-student level of cooking skills, but he wasn’t apt enough to cook dinner without some form of disaster. 

It hadn’t taken long for Andrew to learn the sound of Neil grinning through the phone. A particular tone of voice, a particular exhale. “It’s already done. Just has to be heated up again.”

“Edible?”

“Can’t really be the judge of my own creation, can I?”

“I’ll be home soon.” Andrew liked the way his mouth curled around the word home.”Lucy Rone. Sound like someone problematic to you?”

“Not particularly. Lucy’s always been the name of that old woman sitting on the front porch, knitting. Five cats, crocheting and all.”

“So, you?”

“If old ladies swung heavy sticks at other people, sure.”

Andrew let himself smile. He allowed himself this. The small curl up on his lips. He’d earned that, after all this time. “Sure.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Unusually bad performance. Moved from sitting front and centre to back corner. Shit attendance.”

“You’re probably a much better judge of character than I would be, now.”

Because I’ve studied criminal, suspicious and victimised behaviour for a long time, Andrew wanted to remind him. But this was no longer a sore spot for Neil: He no longer needed to read people’s intentions in need to survive, because he was safe. He could let that overly-analytical part of himself behind. It had been almost 12 years since their first win against Edgar Allen. He was still alive, well. 

Happy, even. 

Hard to believe that was partly Andrew’s fault. 

Focus. 

Andrew emailed Lucy to visit him before their next class at nine o’clock the next morning. 


She was five minutes early, he was five minutes late. He couldn’t say anything about her appearance, considering he was wearing Neil’s jersey under his coat and that he had walked out of the door with a coffee, slippers and nothing to comb his hair with but his fingers. 

His students knew not to say anything. 

Lucy sported a pair of sweats that had her high school’s initials printed on the front, with a pair of exy sticks embroidered just underneath. Her name was printed on the back pocket, and they only just came down to her ankles. 

Exy fan, then. Andrew wouldn’t have guessed. 

She didn’t say anything, sparing him a hollow looking before following him into his office. He’d used to share it, until he’d bribed the finicky financial law to move somewhere else. It was entirely his own space, clean and devoid of decoration. 

He motioned towards the desk and she leaned against it, clutching the binder to her chest. 

Brown skin didn’t usually lose this much of it’s valour, even during winter. 

And winters in South Carolina were hardly anything worth mentioning. 

“Your grades.”

She was staring at the floor. Her eyes didn’t move when she nodded. 

“All I need is a reason.” 

She said nothing. 

“It’d probably be easier on you if you told me. I’m your criminology professor: I’ll find out eventually.”

“I’m not on drugs.” She said, quickly, but not so quickly that it was an immediate red flag. An orange flag. Andrew settled back into his seat and propped his ankle on his knee. 

“Never said you were.”

“I’m fine.” 

Andrew gave her a flat look. “You know who also says that?”

She shook her head. 

“Surely someone who still wears her high school’s exy uniform would have an inkling. Yay-high, hair like a fire-engine siren, mouth like one too.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to ask if he knows that you wear his old Palmetto jersey. I thought he hated you?”

“I hated him.” Andrew corrected her. “I hate him.” He corrected himself. “And he knows.”

She looked wistful. “Cool.” 

“Lucy.”

She looked back at him. 

“If there’s a problem, you come to me. Alright?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because you can trust me. I can be a lawyer, a therapist, an advice column, what have you.”

“Can I trust you?”

“When you’re ready to.” 

She seemed satisfied enough to nod, murmur a timid thank you, and slipped out the door. 


Lucy banged on the door, feeling sick. She couldn’t go back to her dorm, because it made her want to crawl into a corner and be enveloped in a shadow. To be the smallest, most insignificant thing. 

She wasn’t sure how on earth her criminology professor was supposed to empathise with her, when he was the human embodiment of a brick wall, but here she was, trembling, feverish, panicked, and knocking on his office door at ten o’clock at night. 

He opened the door with a mildly annoyed expression, which flattened out immediately at the sight of her. 

She’d only seen him this morning, but that felt like a whole world away now. 

“Hello.”

She wanted to ask why he was still here, on campus, this late at night. What on earth he could possibly be working on, at ten o’clock on a Tuesday evening. Instead, she blurted: “What does it mean if I didn’t say no?”

He stilled. 

Too much, too much, too much: She had asked too much of him, a middle aged professor who apparently had two cats and a boyfriend, if the senior’s rumours were true. Criminology professor aside, this was the last thing someone like him would want to be dragged into –

He stood aside and motioned for her to come in. She shuffled by him, arms around her stomach. He shut the door. 

Lucy wanted to be sick. 

He pulled a pen out of his pocket – professors always had pens on them, didn’t they? – and tore a corner off a piece of paper, scribbling down a phone number. 

“This woman helped me.” Betsy. “She can help you, too.”

“You said you could be a therapist.” Lucy hedged. 

He sighed, and she’d never seen him so reflective. “I have my limits.”

She nodded. She took the piece of paper. She left. 


“Where the fuck is Court?” Andrew leaned on the edge of his desk at the front of the lecture hall, eyeing the empty seat. Second lesson in a row. 

Lucy Rone sat in front of it, back straight, gaze steady. 

“Suspended.” 

Andrew looked at her. “For how long?”

There was a hesitant smile. “Undetermined. Charges have been pressed against him.” 

Andrew drew a long line through Eddie Court’s name on the attendance.


Lucy waited by the door and saw her professor approaching, with the stack of papers in his hands. She was anxious about this mark, more-so than the others. Her dip in performance would be hard to get back up from, but if she could do it in criminology, she could do it in the rest. There was a cluster of students waiting to get their essay’s grade back, but Lucy was first in line. 

“Yay or nay?” She asked. 

Professor Minyard gave Lucy a flat look, and opened the door. 

Lucy promptly had a heart attack at the man beyond the door. 

“Feet. Off.” Her professor said, looking flatly at Neil Josten, with his feet propped up on the desk, arms folded. He, too, was wearing a faded jersey of the Palmetto Foxes’ colours, but it was too bunched up for Lucy to read the name. 

“Surprise.” Neil Josten said, and Lucy wanted to scream. 

“Get your fucking feet off my fucking desk.” Her professor dropped the large stack of papers next to where Neil Josten had propped up his heavy boots. Neil did not get his fucking feet off the fucking desk. 

Lucy almost had the nerve to scream: do you know who that is? Do you have any clue how famous he was? But she remembered that the two of them were friends. Sort of. She held her tongue, and let her heart thrum in her chest, happy to be completely ignored. 

“Leave.” Professor Minyard flicked Neil in the temple. 

Neil smiled. Neil Josten smiled. 

Lucy was having heart palpitations. 

He slowly drew his feet away from the desk to stand, still smiling. “Have a nice day.”

“You weren’t meant to be here till tomorrow evening, Josten. Explain.”

“You’re busy. Later.”

Lucy watched her professor’s arm reach out to brush along Neil Josten’s forearm as he slid past, and there was a startlingly foreign crinkle of warmth in his eyes. 

The back of Neil’s Palmetto jersey read Minyard. A thin platinum ring, identical to the one her professor wore around his neck, clacked against the doorknob as he pushed it open. She remember her professor occasionally wearing Josten. 

There was a startling curve of her professor’s lips, an almost smile that made him look almost human. 

Neil grinned before slipping out the door. 

Oh, Lucy thought, and then she said it aloud. 

Her professor turned on her, pointing. “If you dare to ask me for a single autograph, I will fail you.” 

Lucy was still smiling. 

“If any word about this gets out, I will fail you.” He warned. 

“Are you married?” Lucy laughed. 

His face was stone. 

“Holy shit. Professor Josten-Minyard. Two cats and a husband.”

“It’s Minyard-Josten.” He said coldly. “Get out.” 

Lucy got out.


By the next class, everyone knew, despite Lucy not breathing a word. Which meant the entirety of Neil Josten’s personal but still public Instagram account displayed his home life. But that was none of his student’s – or anyone’s– business. 

And if Neil started coming in with breakfast on those Tuesday morning lectures during his off season, that was none of their business either.