in the library. on my knees

We are sitting on your bed, there is distance between us and the silence is suffocating me. I am holding my knees to my chest. My body is shaking; you are quiet. I ask you if you still love me, and you tell me that you are not sure that you ever did.
—  Mariah Gordon-Dyke, The Best, and the Worst Day
Dirty, Pretty Things

Hey guys! I hope that everyone is having a supremely good day today! I’m sorta shy to post this because I’ve never written a sexy-time before, but I gave it a go lol. Basically, Tom and the reader go to the library and Tom gets a little frustrated by the book the reader picks out for him, and then, sexy-time ensues. I hope you like it!

Dirty, Pretty Things

He had lost her within the sea of words that had engulfed them both.

When Tom had first entered the grand library, the sight of so many shelves completely drenched in knowledge blew his eyes wide open. She, on the other hand, had immersed herself, diving in and out of shelves quickly, and coming out with towering stacks of novels. Tom watched, hands in his pockets, as she piled the literature as high as it could go without falling.

Grabbing her readings, he moved them to a secluded corner, where he sat down on the floor to wait for her to come back to him.

As she fluttered about, rushing in between sections and up and down staircases, her skin gave off a soft sheen of champagne that he knew came from her ridiculously expensive highlighter. The heels of her boots tapped anxiously across the floor. Sounding as though they were afraid they’d only be granted a set amount of time to wander through the library. The straps of the dress his girlfriend wore began to slip off her shoulders and she failed to fix them to their proper place again. When she bent down, Tom noticed that her position revealed a more than generous amount of her legs. He bit his lip and tried to ignore how alluringly endearing she looked.

Tom loved to watch her like this. She looked incredibly at home nestled inside the library’s massive selection of books. She wasn’t worried about other people, or how they could be perceiving her. Instead, her only focus was on choosing the best and most interesting novel to read.

After about forty minutes, she finally came back to him, carrying four more books in her hands.

“I picked some out for you to read as well,” she said, nestling decisively underneath his arm.

Due to the spot Tom had secured, she was sat directly next to the left corner of the wall with Tom cuddled into her right side. Tom beamed at her and pressed an open mouthed kiss to her lips. “What did you get for me darling?”

“Well, firstly, I grabbed you the first Harry Potter book because I think that it’s absolute insanity that you haven’t read it yet. Then, I grabbed Horns and The Shining, in case your in the mood for horror, but, if all else fails, maybe you could try Hidden Bodies or Dirty, Pretty Things?” She began to ramble on about why she had selected each novel and then stopped short. “Oh, shit, I should go back and bring you Fight Club, I really think that-.” Tom quickly wrapped an arm around her middle, securing her back down on the floor.

“No, no, I’m excited to read Dirty, Pretty Things. That’s the poetry book you’ve been off about with Kaylee, right? I want to read that one.” Tom watched her pull the thin, pink book out of the stack to hand to him.

She looked shy handing it over to him. As soon as his hands slid over the front cover, she quickly interjected, “you may not like it, but the words are just lovely and they make me,” she stopped short and shuddered.

Tom quirked a brow, “oh yeah? Better get started then.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and rustled her hair.

Tom watched as she leaned forward and bit her lip, trying to decide what she wanted to read first. Eventually, she settled on A Tale For the Time Being and curled up against his chest.

Tom’s eyes skimmed over poem after poem, and he began to understand why she spoke so much about it, just not directly to him. The book was written about love, and carnal attraction and she was forever timorous.

The poetry in Dirty, Pretty Things was beginning to get to him, especially when he thought about her reading it. Michael Faudet’s words were dulcet and enticing, and Tom imagined whispering them softly into her ear, as he slipped his hands up her skirt.

Tom’s mind briefly wandered to her getting off on the words within the book and had to stop for a few seconds to recompose himself. He glanced down at her. The words on the page of her book seemed to leap and dance off the page, mocking him for being of more interest to her than he was. Shaking his head, he tried not to look at the uncovered, sweet smelling, perfumed, skin of her chest. Going back to his own book, he attempted to allow the book’s poetry to command his full attention once again.

The first poem Tom encountered as he flipped the page nearly killed him. He stopped breathing and read over the words three more times before letting out a shaker gasp.

The only words on the page were, “Put your hands on my knees, she said, and think of me as a book you’ve been dying to read.”

Tom looked from the poem to her, then again and again before he felt his jeans getting even tighter than they were before. This had to be a sign. Shit, they were in a library, surrounded by books, all alone in a dimly lit corner of the library. Not to mention, books and literature were her favorite things in the word. She had told him a while ago that the best compliment she’d ever received had been from slew of teachers who had all insisted that she had the best taste in books they’d seen in a long time. Michael Faudet’s words were taunting him.

“Baby,” he started, gently tilting her chin up to look at him. “I’m bored.”

She frowned, “do you not like the book because I can go and grab you another, or maybe-,” Tom cut her short by sliding a soft hand across her throats to sweep her hair off her shoulder.

“Let’s trade. You can read Dirty, Pretty Things out loud to me. I’m sleepy and I wanna listen to you read the poems.” Tom gently guided his book into her palms.

She flushed red and stuttered for a minute. “Tom, I can’t.

“Why not?” He countered.

“You’ve read it,” She muttered, looking away from him. “The words are libidinous.”

Tom brought her eyes back to his and licked his lips before he spoke. “I wanna hear you read them darling.” He moved to kiss the spot just below her lips. Tom dared lower and lower, tangling his hands in her hair as he went. When he reached her collarbones, she finally snapped.

Letting out an airy sigh, she gasped out, “fine Tom.”

He smirked and placed a final kill on the base of her throat and corrected his posture so that he was sitting with his arms protectively circling her frame.

She moved to flip to the next page when Tom interrupted her. “Do you mind reading from the beginning? I wanna hear it all in your voice.”

Narrowing her eyes, she flipped back to the first page and began to read. As she read through the first few poems, Tom’s hands began to totter.

First, he slipped them up and down her arms, feigning an effort to keep her warm. Then, he began to give her small kisses on the forehead, cheek, neck and hand. She looked at him, slightly confused as to why he’d ask her to read out loud if he wasn’t going to pay attention.

Nevertheless, she kept reading.

As she flipped the page, her breathing was cut short. Tom knew exactly which poem she’d stumbled across. “Sweetheart, do you want to play a game?” Tom asked her, his voice rough and low in her ear.

She blinked up at him, her cheeks flushed cherry red as she managed to stutter out a few syllables.

“How about I tell you the rules first?” He paused briefly, and then began to talk. “The book you’ve chosen for me has actually proven itself to be quite the naughty thing and I think that you gave it to me on purpose. Since you like to play so many little games instead of just telling me directly what you want, I think that maybe I’ll give games a go too.” Tom stopped to look at her again. Her pupils had consumed the typical color of her eyes and her hands were slightly shaking. Taking them within his own, he kissed the backs of both of her hands.

“If you’ll allow me, I’d very much like to reenact that poem. You are the book that I’ve been dying to read.”

Her eyes shut and she bit her lip to contain the moan threatening to slip past.

“Here’s the catch though, I still want you to read to me. If you stop reading out loud, I’ll stop what I’m doing and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” Tom peppered her neck with open mouthed kisses.

She nodded her head, eyes still shut tight.

“No, darling, I need verbal consent, just to be sure.” Tom continued his assault on her neck.

Her eyes finally snapped open and she rolled her head around to look directly into Tom’s eyes. “Please.” She whispered.

With that, Tom smirked and lifted the hem of her dress and slipped his hand further up her thighs.

Her voice shook, “the kind of love letter I write are the ones you read in bed, stretched out beneath the sheets with one hand between your legs.”

Tom pressed his mouth to her and she convulsed against his lips, gasping out the words to the next line.


Kisses Of An Apple | PETER PARKER X READER

Description: While hanging out at the coffee shop the reader’s parents own, Michelle brings up an article that she read in a magazine. One that says you can tell if a person is a good kisser by the way they eat an apple. The reader gets dared by Michelle to put the theory to test, resulting in an interesting Saturday afternoon.

Author’s Note: This was so much fun to write and I hope ya’ll enjoy it as much as I did. My inspiration for this fic came from one a read a while back and really liked. Anyways, if you want to be tagged in any upcoming fics or want to request something feel free to message me.

Word Count: 1521


It was almost too simple. Sitting side by side in the back of the school’s library, shoulders pressed together, and knees touching. Right in that place of not-quite-more-than-friends and nearly at the place of very-obviously-more-than-friends.

It would only take one move for them to become something greater than just best friends. One of Ned’s crazy plans, one of Peter’s embarrassing blunders, one of Michelle’s dry comments that had an obvious hidden meaning. Just something to push the pair together.

Peter and (Y/N), thrown together by some crazy twist of fate, anything could make them Peter and (Y/N).

They’re just waiting on a catalyst.

Keep reading

Don't make my girlfriend cry.

(warning: long story)

Okay, so this was a good few years ago, back when I was in high school.

In case my username didn’t give it away, I am happily and openly gay af, and I came out at about 14, around year 9 in highschool (I’m British). And from that second on, I was even more of a target.

I was already the preferred bullying target. The school was aware of it, they were also aware that my family didn’t take kindly to this (in my previous school, my Mum had brought the police into school on the day where the younger kids were coming to see if they wanted to go there, because they weren’t doing anything about me being bullied) so pulled a big huff and puff smoke screen to try and make it seem like they were fixing the issue, though they never did anything.

I had plenty of small ‘regular’ or 'petty’ revenges throughout my years. Getting people kicked out of classes, forced into counselling, etc etc. But this is the big one.

Keep reading

Naturally (Jeff Atkins, 13 reasons)

“I’m fucking illiterate. There’s no point in doing any of this work, Y/N” Jeff sunk lower in his chair. He looked around the library, tapping his pencil at a fast rate.

He hadn’t gotten above a C in English since his freshman year, and he’d never wanted to. That was, until he’d met Y/N.

She made him want to be better, above anything else. And when she offered to tutor him in English, he dropped Clay as his tutor. At least for that subject.

“Jeff, come on. Plenty of people still get homophones mixed up. Hell, when I review my papers I have to go through two different spell check systems because I make mistakes. Okay?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he had made, it was something he did when he was frustrated.

“Okay, they’re staring.” He looked at the table next to them, a few freshman and sophomores stared at them.

“Who cares, focus on your paper.” Y/N looked back down at her notes, she’d been doing her own homework at the same time as tutoring him. Jeff put a hand on her knee.

“I get that the wifi’s out at my house. But why can’t we go to your place again?” He laid his head down on the table so he could make eye contact with his girlfriend.

“For this exact reason. My dad’s not your biggest fan after last week. They don’t even want us alone upstairs with the door open. So the library will do.” She removed his hand from her knee.

Jeff smirked, remembering the prior week’s events.

“Maybe Clay should go back to being your only tutor. Oh, don’t give me that look, Atkins. You know I wanna help.” Y/N ran her hands through her boyfriend’s hair. He formed his lips into a pouting expression.

“Face it. I’m a lost cause. My girlfriend can’t get anything through my head. The smartest kid in school can’t get me to retain any information. I’m stupid.” He threw his pencil down and slammed his textbook shut, breathing heavily.

He believed it. He said it all the time. A C average GPA didn’t make anyone feel great. But with all of his friends being athletes, he was surrounded by those who thrived and could juggle both school work and sports.

“I’m never gonna get into college.” He said quickly, shaking his head.

“Jeff that’s not-” he continued before letting her finish, not even acknowledging that she’d begun to speak.

“No matter if I hit a home run every single time I’m up to bat this season, I won’t get into any college. Grades matter, Y/N. Being smart matters.”

He grabbed his backpack and stuffed all of his notes and his textbook into his backpack. After he jammed everything into the bag, he tried to zip it. He roughly yanked the bag around, trying as hard as he could before giving up by shoving the full bag off of the table. His hands covered his face, he was crying.

“Let’s go to the car.” Y/N grabbed his backpack, gently working the zippers until they finally shut. She swung the bag over her shoulder, keeping her messenger bag on her other shoulder.

“Come on.” She said firmly.

He scooted his chair out, getting up and walking out of the library faster than she’d anticipated. Y/N caught up with him, soon walking beside him, neither said a word.

“Sorry- I’m sorry if I made a scene.” He mumbled as the two approached his car.

“We need to talk. Even if you don’t want to.” She sighed, opening the passenger door and sliding in.

“You wanna know why I think I’m stupid?You, My own girlfriend gave up on me. Is it possible to sink lower than that?” Y/N handed Jeff his backpack, knowing that would force him to look at her.

“Why the hell would you say that?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m an idiot. What’s gonna happen when I don’t get into college? And I’m here for the rest of my life, still managing the batting cages. And you’re off at some big city actually living your life.” He was being honest about how he felt, that she knew for sure now.

“Stop it. But how the hell do you think this means I want to give up on you? I’d never. You’re giving up on yourself.” Y/N slid over the middle seat of his pick up truck and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You don’t wanna tutor me. You can’t tutor me. I’m a lost cause, aren’t I? Even Clay gets frustrated ‘cause I can’t learn.” Jeff snaked his arm around her shoulders.

She looked at him. He knew she’d get frustrated. He knew she’d say it was untrue. But it wasn’t untrue. It just wasn’t.

“Jeff, that’s not how I meant it. I just think it’s hard to mix business with pleasure. Do you know what I mean?” She smirked at him before soothing him by drawing small circles on his hand with her thumb.

“My stupidity is too distracting to get through any actual teaching.” He stared at the peddles of his vehicle.

“You know what I think your problem is?” She sat up, staring at him with her arms folded across her chest.

“What’s that?” He looked up, smiling weakly.

“Baseball comes really easily to you. You’re a natural. Maybe I’m not a natural at sports, but I’m a natural with school. Don’t you see? We all have strengths and weaknesses and sometimes we have to work harder to accomplish certain things.” She was proud of her explanation. He just stared at her for a little while.

“Jenson’s best to help me. You’re right.” He grabbed the tips of her hair and twirled them around his fingers.

“You know what else I’m right about?” She grinned at him. He arched an eyebrow, not totally sure as to what was going to be said next.

“What’s that?” He verbally acknowledged her.

“My parents won’t know if we study at the abandoned parking lot on Lincoln instead of at the library.” She grabbed his knee the way he had grabbed hers in the library.

His eyes widened, before a shit eating grin took over his face.

“Well alrighty.” He looked behind, backing out of the school lot quickly. This was something he thought they were both naturally just fine at.

This Is War (Part 2 of Runaway Ballerina)

Pairing: Dean x sister!reader, Sam x sister!reader, Castiel x sister!reader 

Warnings: Fluff, fluff and fluff

Summary: Chaos and war within the bunker between siblings.

Part 1

For those of who wanted a part 2 here you go!!! Hope you guys don’t mind that I tagged you in Part 2.  @sandlee44 @supdarling @queenpammy13 @evyiione @radstudenttravelerblr @straightasdeanwinchester @violinmyhead @xfanqirlinq @cozyjaws @meeshw777 @sassyspn67 @winchesters-favorite-girl @i-is-small-winchester @dauntless-dean @moose-and-sqruille-lover @galifreyanotaku @skeletoresinthebasement @babygoatsaf

Originally posted by green-circles

It’s late at night around 3:15 am and Cas is sitting in the bunker library reading some lure on witches to try and help Y/N get back to normal. He suddenly hears a chair next to him scrape the wood floors. He slowly looks to his right to see a tiny Y/N sitting on her calves with her dark brown hair all over the place with one of Dean t-shirts as pajamas, her eyes red and puffy.

“What’s wrong? Why are you not sleeping?” He ask.

“I has a bad dream. I don’t wanna sleep no more.”

“Why don’t you go to Sam or Dean’s room?”

“I don’t wanna wake them up, I usually went to my daddy’s bed bu-but he’s not here.” She says looking down. Cas face softens hearing this from her. “Castill” she says. Cas chuckles hearing her butcher his name. “Castiel.” He corrects. “Case.. cast…Castie.” She says frowning and Cas sits there smiling. “Can you take me for a drive?” She ask. “A drive?”

“When I can’t sleep my daddy takes me on a ride.”

“Well I don’t have a car.”

“We can take baby.”

“I don’t think Dean would like it if I took his car that he considers as an infant.”

“Well, Dean told me you’re baby in a trench coat and that you have wings like a fairy. So can you fly me someplace?” Cas frowns at this remembering the day at the diner. “I’m don’t think that’s a good idea Y/N.”

“Please Castie!” She begs. “I don’t wanna see anymore monsters in my dreams.” She whimpers. He looks down at her pouty face and sighs. “Only for a few minutes.” He gives in. She gasp reaching up for him. He picks her up and zaps them to a field. Cas sets her on his lap and they both look up at the stars. “How many stars do you think there are?” Cas ask pointing up.

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Cheesy Pick Up Line Starters
  • “Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”
  • “If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put ‘I’ and ‘U’ together.”
  • “Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”
  • “Do you believe in love at first sight—or should I walk by again?”
  • “Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Boy/Girlfriend material.”
  • “If you were a chicken, you’d be impeccable.”
  • “If you were words on a page, you’d be fine print.”
  • “Know what’s on the menu? Me ‘n’ u.”
  • “It’s a good thing I have my library card, because I am totally checking you out.”
  • “Something’s wrong with my eyes, because I can’t take them off you.”
  • “Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Cause you have a pretty sweet ass.”
  • “Do you have a Band-Aid? Because I just scraped my knee falling for you.”
  • “Do you work at Starbucks? Because I like you a latte.”
  • “Are you religious? Because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”
  • “Do you have a map? I’m getting lost in your eyes.”
  • “Do you have a sunburn, or are you always this hot?”
  • “I was feeling a little off today, but you definitely turned me on.”
  • “Have you been to the doctor lately? Cause I think you’re lacking some Vitamin Me.”
  • “I thought happiness started with an H. Why does mine start with U?”
  • “Are you a campfire? Cause you are hot and I want s'more.”
  • “Are you Netflix? Because I could watch you for hours.”
  • “I’m in the mood for pizza… a pizza you, that is!”
  • “Do you work at Dick’s? Cause you’re sporting the goods.”
  • “You must be a hell of a thief because you stole my heart from across the room.”
  • “You remind me of a magnet, because you sure are attracting me over here!”

alluroa  asked:

i would literally give up my firstborn child for another genderswap au bcos jane potter is so hot im deadt

Jane, flirting, tells him his hair looks like a carrot fucked a fire hydrant.

“Charming.” Liam says.

“This is the part where you say something back and we verbally spar.” She responds, leaning with one muddy soccer boot up against the side of the library. McGonagall would have a fit. He puts his hands in his pockets and pretends to look at the street.

“Not today it isn’t.”

“C’mon,” she grins, ducking her head so her hair falls forward. “You’re making me feel bad. You’ve got to say something back otherwise it’s like bullying.”

“What do you mean ‘like’ bullying.”

“Please. If it was real bullying I would have your lunch money.”

“I don’t bring lunch money.”

“Good thing I’m not bullying you then.” She says, cheerfully, and he laughs. It appears halfway through this conversation he got bored with pretending to look at the road and has started actively staring at her again. He turns back.

“Your hair looks like you shoved a fork into a toaster.” He says, and she laughs now.

“’Knew you’d give in. Now we’re both bullying each other.”

He looks back at her. “I thought you said it wasn’t bullying.”

She smirks, soccer uniform covered in mud from making unnecessary slides across the pitch every time she makes a goal, which is often enough that he can see grass burn bleeding on her knees. He’s going to ask if she needs a bandage, and then she quirks her eyebrow at him, and he cannot for the life of him remember his name.

“Evans, you are aware I can see you ogling my legs.” Liam’s head snaps back to the street.

“I wasn’t ogling.”

“You bloody were.”

“I don’t ogle.”

“Fine. Staring. Gazing. Gawking, if you will.”

“I won’t.”

“Liam Evans, staring at my legs in front of everybody”

“There is no one else here.“

“You were ogling.” She pushes off the wall, arms folded and still smirking, advancing on him. “Perfectly understandable really, they are, dare I say it, the best legs this side of London.”

He scoffs, looking at the sky and not at her. “You’re so full of it.”

“I can’t help having great legs any more than you can help having hair that looks like a red traffic light threw up on Amy Adams.”

“Whose Amy Adams?” he feigns ignorance.

“I know you know who fucking Amy Adams is.”

He swings back on his heels. “Hmm, can’t say I do, but you had better watch your potty mouth or I’m going to report you to McGonagall.” He’s looking at her again. God goddammit.

“Minnie loves me.” She’s almost right next to him now, a good head shorter, bag over her shoulder, knees still bleeding. Her glasses are cracked in the left corner.

“She won’t once I tell her how you’ve been bullying me.” He says, and she smiles. The wind blows slightly, and God, she’s fucking pretty. His fingers itch to touch her jawline, the base of her throat, her cheekbone. There is always too much space between them.

“You know the library closes at six.” She breathes, looking at him, “and my practice ends at six-thirty.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He lies, ridiculously.

“I mean,” her breath hitches, “You wait the extra half hour to see me.”

He wants to do something dumb, like kiss her or kiss her again, but she’s far too clever and pretty and he would have no idea where to put his hands.  The world is impossibly still. His heart is thudding loud enough she must be able to hear it.

A car screeches into the street and reels up next to them, almost clipping the curb. “Potter!” Sarah Black sticks her head out the window and yells to be heard over the radio, “if you get mud on my seats again I’ll punch you in the tit!” Spotting Liam, she nods and takes a drag on her cigarette, “Evans. You’re here again.”

“Well spotted.” He croaks, trying to act normal and doing a bad job. Potter’s arm brushes against his on the way to the car and he shudders.

“Wanna lift?” Sarah asks, and he shakes his head. Jane stares at him through the passenger window, and he stares back. The only reason he comes to the library is to kill time before her practice ends. He would wait in the rain if he had to.

“Amy Adams was in Enchanted.” He blurts out, and Potter grins. He’s so far gone it’s embarrassing. He would do anything to make her look like that.  

Black gives him a weird look. “Don’t take too many drugs on school grounds, Evans, Minnie doesn’t like you nearly as much as she likes me.” She peels away, almost taking out a letterbox in the process, and he starts walking home, thinking about how she has practice tomorrow, and the grass burns on her knees, and the way her breath hitches when she stands to close to him.

The streetlamps go on, and in the harsh light she roars into his head, laughing, covered in mud, a dream girl unbelievably rooted in reality.

In case any of you are having a bad day or just need a laugh

Please try to picture this as Lance with Keith, Hunk, and Pidge. I will be playing the role of Lance, and Allura and Shiro can be my parents. Enjoy.
~~~~~
Okay so I was never a rebellious kid growing up. Never got secret tattoos or piercings, never had a significant other who microwaved hamsters or some shit like that. I was the golden child. Respectful, kind, always did my chores and took care of my younger siblings. Blah blah. But that didn’t mean I had a rebellious streak that would come to life at some moments. One moment occurred when I was 16, almost 17. I had asked my parent if I could stay out with a group of my friends and they said no. I was cool about it at first but as the day progressed, I got angry. Why wouldn’t they let me hang out with my friends at night? We weren’t going to do anything illegal (not a first that is but I’ll get to that later), so why had they refused. I was the poster child of good kids. So I made up my mind. I was going to sneak out.

Night came around and I’m not gonna lie, I was hella nervous. Complete with sweaty palms and written will if I got caught. So when my mom and dad went to bed, I sprung into action. Mission Impossible was playing in my head as I stuffed my bed with extra pillows and blankets, completing the look with a volleyball with a very stringy cheap wig that wasn’t even the same color as my hair. I though I was a genius. So then I faced my next challenge: actually sneak out of the house. The problem is, my room was on the second floor. So you know what I did? I tried to climb out of my window, onto the tree, and gently climb down the the soft grass below. Why didn’t I just sneak downstairs and through the front door? ‘Cause that was just obviously too easy (also, they didn’t do that in the movies). So I send a short prayer and start to climb out the window.

I immediately bang my head on the glass and let out a very loud “FUCK!!” Shortly after, my mom says “Charlotte! What did you just say?!” Being the golden (HA!!) child that I am, I never curse. So, heart pounding, I responded “I-I said DUCK! Yeah, um I could’ve sworn I seen one fly by my window and it scared me!” “…well alright, but keep it quiet dear! Your dad and I are trying to sleep!” I said a quick okay and waited for about ten minutes with my leg still hanging out of the window, too scared to try to move. When the coast was clear, I started my descent. Growing up climbing trees my whole life, this was supposed to be a breeze. But remember my sweaty palms? Yeah well, next thing I knew, my hand slipped from the branch and I can tumbling down. Luckily, I wasn’t far off the ground and landed with a thud. The grass wasn’t as soft as it looked. I cut up my hands and knees, and they were bleeding pretty badly, but I didn’t give up. I was finally out. So, I made my way to find my friends.

After walking for about a mile and a half, I met up with my friends at our local library (were really hardcore okay). It was past midnight, so almost all the shops were closed, the only ones being open were bars and we were all underaged. My friends noticed my bleeding palms and bloody torn jeans and then proceed to laugh at me when I told them what happened. And then we faced our next challenge: what the hell were we gonna do? You see, we hadn’t planned to do anything. We honestly never thought we would get this far. So we just started walking around town, joking around, talking about the future..aesthetic teenage stuff. Until one of them suggested we brake into own town’s swimming pool (this is where the illegal part comes in). I didn’t agree at first, but ultimately agreed with them. So our journey continued.

We got to the pool, and of course it was locked. But luckily, I just happened to have a bobby pin in my hair and watching a lot of spy and action movies, so I offered to pick the lock. Twenty minutes later, the bobby pin had been launched and I had resulted to kicking the lock and spewing every curse word I knew, even making up my own. I was about o suggest we forget it and go somewhere else when a police cruiser rolls up. I immediately pale and was really glad I wrote that will. The policeman was in his early 20s and was completely shredded, muscles pulsating with a five o'clock shadow on his face. Note that when I get nervous, I babble. I have zero filter and I speak what I think. So, I noticed that he was wearing sunglasses. And it was night. Why the fuck was he wearing sunglasses past midnight? So I asked him. In response, he took off his sunglasses and arched an eyebrow at me and my friends. I lock eyes with the man and this is where I fuck up. I cross my arms and you know what I say to the man, the cop? “Oh now I see. You wear those sunglasses to protect us civilians. Cause right now, I’m getting lost in your eyes.” Completing that sentence with, I shit you not, finger guns and a smirk. This earns a smack on the head from one of my friends while the others groan and shake their heads. Thankfully, the cop was amused and shook his head.

The cop then asked us what we were doing out this late and at the pool, and we quickly made up the story that one of my friends though she left her phone at the pool and wanted to get it back but the pool was locked. We could tell the policeman didn’t completely buy it, but he let us go with a warning. We scurried our way back into town, thinking we were in the clear. We were talking about how close of a call that was, when a set of headlights appeared behind us and stopped. My heart dropped to my stomach when I realized whose car the was. It was my dad’s. And sure enough, my dad comes storming out of the car and my friends scatter, while I’m frozen in fear. My mom followed my dad shortly after, just as furious. We’ll skip the scolding and the grounding and the tears for the sake of time and my dignity. The carried wasn’t pleasant and my parents marched me back to my room and scolded me some more. After they were satisfied (for now) they went back downstairs to their room. About thirty minutes pass and I hear my door creak open. It was one of my younger sisters. Not saying anything, she comes up to me, pats me on the head, and kisses my cheek. Then she slowly draws back and looks me dead in the eyes and whispers “That’s for eating the last Oreo.” and skips out of my room. It takes a few seconds and then it clicks.
“YOU RATTED ME OUT FOR A FUCKING OREO?!?!”
“CHARLOTTE JANE WATSON, WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!”

Moral of the story kids: Never eat the last damn Oreo.

Just Roommates

Originally posted by hallowedbecastiel

Request: Hi! Can u do one where the reader is in love with Dean and one day he brings a girl to the bunker and introduces her as his girlfriend and the reader is kinda mean to her, but later on tries to move on from Dean with Crowley and Dean finds out and you decide how it ends?

Pairing: Dean x reader/Crowley x reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: Oh you really shouldn’t have let me decide how to end this one…


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anonymous asked:

r requests allowed?? for the uni au fic prompts you reblogged with @papalogia??? the #14 one??? :)

Meet Cute Reality

Word Count; 1096

A/N; Hey guys! Finally catching up on all the prompts in my inbox! This is from @papalogia ‘s prompt list !

14)  “I come to the library every day to ‘study’ but really I’m just watching Netflix over your shoulder and I’m really invested in this series and the day we’re supposed to be watching the season finale you’re not there and I??? Feel personally betrayed??”

Lucy sat down at her desk, flipped open her 17th-century literature notes, sat her triple shot extra vanilla caramel macchiato on the table, her textbook beside her, and finally looked up. 

He wasn’t there. 

Where the hell was he?

It was 5:30, Lucy was settled into her spot at the last table between Row Ba and Bu, and yet the table in front of her was glaring empty. 

How the fuck was she going to find out how this season of White Collar ended? 

Honestly, it wasn’t even Lucy’s fault she was addicted to that show. She had been sitting innocently in the library two weeks ago when she noticed the guy in front of her, not studying. Even if Lucy hadn’t done a double take on his neon pink hair and double bars in his left ear she would have noticed his screen playing the show just in front of him. It’s not like Lucy had been staring at him, it’s just that she had to look past him to watch his stupid laptop. 

Look, Lucy couldn’t afford Netflix and she wasn’t about to risk her own laptop going on one of those shady sites just so she could find out if Niel managed to pull the scam or if he’d stay on the good side with the agent. 

But God did she want to find out. Lucy looked down, worrying her lip. She probably could study like she had meant to every time she came here, but after the let down of mystery-boy not showing up Lucy just didn’t have the energy to do it. Dejected, she packed up her notes and textbook, putting in her headphones as she headed to the doors. 

Lucy was halfway back to her dorm when something hard slammed into her shoulder, sending her sprawling on her ass in the grass beside the sidewalk. She rubbed her back, scowling at the boy who had caused her fall. He sat across from her, also having fallen from the collision. Her drink coated the pavement beside, thankfully missing her clothes. 

The boy however, was not so lucky with his own drink. 

“Aw, fuck,” he complained, arms cast to the side as he tried to keep himself from touching the red stain the was dripping down his front. And making his tank top cling to his defined muscles. Damn. It was like one of those meet cutes she read online.

Lucy’s bad mood was starting to ebb away until she looked at his face. It was a very good face, but Lucy’s attention was stolen from looking at it more closely by the bright pink colour of his hair. And the piercings in his ear, two bars on the left and smaller plugs in his lobes. And another two in his lip and eyebrow.

“You!”

Lucy pointed her finger at him, clambering onto her knees. The boy blinked at her in confusion, bright eyes green and wide as his gaze flicked between her finger and her face. 

“Uh, do I know you?” he asked, lips thinning when Lucy huffed.

“You weren’t in the library! Where were you? I waited for like ten minutes to watch the stupid season finale and you never showed up!” She said hotly. Lucy pouted when the boy started to laugh.

“You’re the weirdo who always watches my laptop with me!” 

“Uh,” Lucy mumbled, flushing harder. 

“Was wondering if you’d just stop eventually,” he grinned at her, no malice and a light teasing dancing in his forest green colouring.

“Well then why did you have the subtitles on?” Lucy asked hotly. Honestly, if he had noticed and thought she was weird then why wouldn’t he have just turned them off?

The boy gave her a knowing grin before moving his hands. Realization dawned on Lucy and she felt heat creep up her neck in shame. 

“Oh my God he’s deaf,” she whispered to himself. 

“And his name is Natsu,” the boy grinned at her, laughing at Lucy jolting and her high squeak. “I can read lips, Weirdo.” Lucy covered her mouth, stopping herself from saying anything else that might offend Natsu. They sat in silence, Lucy worrying her lip. She stood up finally, gathering her bag and offering her hand to Natsu. He gave her an odd look, taking it anyway and smiling at her easily when she helped him up. 

“I have a laundry machine in my dorm,” she said slowly, looking at his lip ring pointedly. 

“Ya don’t have to,” Natsu started, shocked at her offer. Lucy shrugged, blushing as she realized they were still holding hands. 

“Its my fault you spilled your drink all over yourself,” Lucy mumbled, blushing when she realized that Natsu probably couldn’t understand her. She shrugged anyway, pulling Natsu with her. Why’d he have to be so cute though? Ugh, Lucy just wanted to bury herself in her blankets and sleep for a week. 

“You know I didn’t hate sharing my laptop with ya. Thought it was a little weird, but I mean look at me. Deaf punk college chem student. I ain’t exactly gonna judge ya for it.” Natsu shrugged, giving her another easy smile. Lucy smiled back, watching the concrete in front of them for a couple seconds. Steeling herself, she tapped on his arm, turning to face him but still only looking at his lip ring. It was silver with a red jewel in the middle, and Lucy thought it stood out nicely against his skin.

“I don’t think you’re weird.” She said, picking up the pace as she pulled Natsu along behind her. 

“You don’t even know me yet! What’s your name anyway, Weirdo?” 

Lucy pouted at the reoccurring nickname. “It’s Lucy,” She grumbled. 

“Lushi?” Natsu sounded out. 

“No,” Lucy said, meeting Natsu’s eyes. “Lu-see.” She over-pronounced it, trying her best to make it easier for Natsu to understand. 

“Lu-shi,” Natsu sang, slinging his arm over her shoulder. Lucy scoffed as she realized he was making fun of her, elbowing him in the side. She was vindicated when he grunted, his sniggers cut off as she caught his kidney. “So violent,” he mumbled, and Lucy looked at him as she worked out if he had meant for her to hear or not. Deciding he hadn’t meant to speak out loud she let it go, fishing for her key in her bag. 

“Uh,” Natsu said, Lucy looking up at him as he scratched the side of his face awkwardly. “We can finish watching White Collar while my shirt’s in the wash?” Natsu offered. Lucy smiled, nodding slightly as she bit her lip to stop it from getting too large. “Cool,” Natsu said, a little loudly. Lucy giggled, ducking her head. Looks like Lucy might be getting her meet-cute anyway.

Library Calls

Here’s some bughead fanfiction that nobody asked me to do but I got bored and horny so…Also don’t read this if you don’t like smut or if you know me irl. I will die of embarrassment. This for all my fellow bughead sinners, so here goes my first fic.

Library Calls Pt. II: The Prop Room

Library Calls Pt. 3

Words: 1648

Warnings: Don’t read this if you don’t like Bughead smut, hoe don’t do it *does it*

Betty had just finished up her biology homework in the library when her phone started ring. The ring tone Candy Girl by the pussycats started blasting from her phone and before she knew it the librarian was giving her the stink eye. Great. As if she didn’t hate me more.

“Shush!” The librarian hissed as she fumbled for her phone’s silent switch.

“Uh-uh I’m sorry! I’ll just turn my phone off.”

She quickly silenced the phone before she could see the raven-haired boy’s smirk pop up on her phone. Jughead was calling her. Looking at his quite pleased with himself expression in the picture on her phone made her feel guilty for not being able to answer it. She knew she still had to finish AP English and Algebra homework before she could even indulge in seeing that boy. Having that boy even within walking distance was not going to help with her focus. Resist Betty, resist she thought to herself when imagining him strolling through the library in his leather jacket and oh…

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No Matter What

Author: @dylan-trash-tbh

 Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Words:5295

 A/N: I’m actually kind of proud of this 🙈 Let me know what you think! 

A huge thank you, to my favorite co-pilot Em @fillthevoid-stilinski, for editing again 💖 

MASTERLIST

Originally posted by procrastinationoutlet

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BTS as things i’ve done

namjoon: sat on the couch as a pot of food burned to a crisp and the stove almost caught on fire because i forgot to check the food and i didn’t notice the entire apartment filling up with black smoke

seokjin: got immensely angry and went on a rant because my teacher wrote “cliche” under a stanza of my poem, even though all the other comments were positive and i got a good mark

jimin: walked into a room full of teachers having a serious meeting, who all turned to look at me and realized oh shit this isn’t the music room, and said a timid “oops” as i turned and bolted into the room directly beside it

yoongi: aggressively jabbed my friend in the knee with a pen causing it to bleed because he was making stupid jokes about me having a crush on someone (…several years later and he still brings it up)

hoseok: laughed my ass off to the point of tears because my friend slightly mispronounced the words “recycling bin” while literally everyone in the silent library stared at me

taehyung: put on a pair of high heels and ran down a hill, realized halfway that i couldn’t stop, only to collide with my friend who was also running in high heels down the opposite side of the hill

jungkook: drank three cans of pop and threw myself down in the middle pf the road, rolled around for a few minutes and said “haha oh my goddd, i’m sooo drunk!!”

It’s been twelve weeks since Cas’s death.

Dean leaves the room as soon as he hears Claire yelled “Oh my god” through Sam’s phone. He leaves without a word. 

He knows Sam would look for him as soon as the phonecall ends, when Claire stops crying, stops asking why, how, when and who.

So, Dean heads to the library. The last place Sam would look for him. 

He falls behind a a bookshell. Knees to his chest. He breaths in and out. 

He curses himself for not being strong enough to call Claire himself, after all, he had more of a connection with her… and him. 

but Dean doesn’t think of… him. 

Dean doesnt think about his smile.

Dean doesn’t think about his voice.

Dean doesn’t think about his eyes.

He can’t.

So he just closes his eyes and thinks of bees, of pb&j, of swimming pools, of pines, of rains, of sunsets… 

 He still doesnt know why all of that still makes him cry.

anonymous asked:

as far as fic prompts go would you be interested in like platonic or family shit because I goddamn love your writing and really want to see something along the lines of 'Percy watches vex die again, and she comes back and it's all fine, but it brings up his goddamn deep issues with his sister because he realizes just how much he still blames himself for her getting taken by the briarwoods and he and cassandra have a nICE LONG CONVERSATION.' because that would be great. if you're interested.

CASSANDRA AND PERCY ACTUALLY TALKING? BOY I AM THE MOST INTERESTED IN THAT


Cassandra is sitting in the library, trying and failing to focus on reports she should have read days ago. She hates to admit it, but it’s always harder for her concentrate when her brother is off somewhere with Vox Machina. They’re not even supposed to be doing anything dangerous this time but it’s impossible not to remember Percy coming back to Whitestone covered in his own blood - or worse.

She’s still grateful that Vox Machina had already resurrected Percy by the time she’d made it to the temple because she genuinely doesn’t know what she would have done if she’d been faced with his corpse.

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Flood my Mornings: Service

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

  • This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.
  • Previous installment:  Thanks (Thanksgiving and Bree’s Birthday)

Late November, 1950

[CEBF]

“Bath time, little smudge!”

Bree squealed and, like a shot, went barreling toward the bathroom. Turning two years old seemed to have turned on a tap of perpetual energy from on high: energy to throw tantrums, energy to hate going to bed, energy to form VERY strong opinions about what she did and did not plan to eat, and so on, and so forth for all time. 

However, she had also decided she loved baths, and by the time I arrived at the tub myself, she was already standing on the bathmat, triumphantly nude and brimming with expectation with her toys in hand. I laughed and kissed the top of her head. “One minute, you goofy girl.” 

I poked my head briefly into the living room. “Do you want bath duty or bedtime duty tonight?”

“I’ll take bed, if it’s all the same to you, Sassenach,” Jamie said, looking up from the rolltop. “I’d like to get the rest of the bills paid and ready for tomorrow’s Post.”

“Fine by me,“ I said, taking the chance to stretch my back, already thinking of plopping into bed as soon as humanly possible. “Thank you for handling those, sweetheart.”

“’Course,” he said with feeling, rising and kissing my forehead. “How are ye feeling?” 

“Pretty well, at the moment,” I said, pleasantly surprised, now that I thought about it. “Like death, this morning, but I haven’t vomited once since lunch!” 

“Victory, indeed,” he grinned, kissing me, long and sweetly. 

MaMAAAA?” bellowed Bree, her voice bouncing ghoulishly around the bathroom walls. “Come’on do insee’pyder, please!”

“I’m being summoned,” I murmured against his lips. 

“Go,” he whispered. “Heaven forbid ‘insee’pyder’ have to wait.” 

“Oh,” I called when I was halfway back down the corridor, “I think the electric bill came today. It’s on the counter by the phone with the rest of today’s mail.”

“Thank you, mo ghraidh,” he called back. 

Tub filled, baby inserted, bubbles abundant, I knelt beside the tub and swirled my hands in the warm water. Bree beamed up at me, ready: “GO! Insee’pyder, Mama!”

Alright,” I said dramatically, reaching for the green plastic sandbox bucket and scooping up water as I sang: “Theeeeeeee ITS-Y-bit-sy spiiiiiider went UP the water spout ….”

I raised the bucket theatrically. “Down came the raaaaaain AND—”

The payload released on, “WASHED the spider out,” dousing Bree with warm, soapy water. 

Fizzy giggles emerged through the waterfall pouring down her scrunched-up face as I sang on. “Out came the suuuun and dried up all the rain, and the ITS-Y-bit-sy spiiiiider went UP the spout—?”

“—AGAIN!!!” Bree finished, knowing the drill and LOVING it.

We had just finished washing the shampoo-spider from her hair and ANOTHER rendition was demanded, when Jamie’s voice came from the doorway. “Sassenach?” 

“Yes, darling?” I said absently, reaching for the bar of soap Bree had just knocked into the water. 

“What is the ‘selective service?’”

My blood froze absolutely cold. I whirled on my knees to gape at him, praying that it was a newspaper clipping in his hand, or one of his library books, or—

But it was a letter bearing the words ‘Department of Defense’ across the top. The truth was written on his face, the tightness of his voice, the rigid set of his jaw. “Tis the forced conscription for the war in the east, aye?”

“Jamie—” I staggered to my feet, praying in blind panic. Please, God, no. “Jamie—Please tell me—you haven’t been—?”

To Mr. James Fraser,” he read, 

“According to our records, you have not yet registered with the Selective Service, as is required of all permanent residents of the United States. 

Please report no later than December 15th, 1950 to the enlistment station named below for registration, or risk revocation of your residency status with the Department of Immigration. 

Sincerely…”

Jamie trailed off, his face a mask of control I hadn’t seen in many years. The sight terrified me to my core—his face of duty, of danger, of great burdens to be borne.  

My hands were shaking as I reached for the letter, as I scanned it wildly for some salvation. “But you’re—you’re not even a citizen! They can’t just force you to go off and fight in their wars!”

“Apparently they can,” he said stiffly. “’All permanent residents,’ it says.”

“Jesus…” There was no way out. “Jesus—fucking—”

“FUN-KING!” Bree squeaked from the tub, sounding immensely pleased. Normally, that would have incited riotous laughter, then stern admonishment and promises between Jamie and I to guard our words more carefully. But we barely noticed. 

My blood pounded so loudly in my ears I could barely hear myself blurting, “We could go to Canada." 

He cocked his head in question. “They dinna fight wars there?”

I gave a jerking shrug. “They don’t usually start them, at least.”

“That’s the coward’s way,” he whispered, his face still stone. “I canna just run.”

“And why not?” I demanded, my voice treacherously close to both tears and shouting.

Why can I no’ take the coward’s way?” The mask wavered, showing his scorn. “Christ, Claire, do ye no’ ken me at all?” 

“And do YOU not know me?” I shouted. “Do you not have the faintest idea what it DID to me to—” It took only the cracking of my voice for the panic to overtake me completely in wracking sobs as my hands went feral. “ —to let you go to your death? For a cause you—shouldn’t even have been dragged into in the first place?? I w—” I choked. I was mere inches from his face, but I could barely see him through the tears. I wrenched a breath from my throat. “—WON’T, do it—again—do you—hear m—?”

Jamie suddenly snatched me hard against him, his voice a cracked moan of despair through his own sobs. “I know, mo chridhe…I know….”

I buried my face in his chest, and could only croak, “Jamie—”

He tried to say something, but couldn’t get a word out. 

We clung to one another with every ounce of strength, swaying and weeping for a long time, until —

“I’m scairt of this, Sassenach.” 

His breath was hot and gasping in my hair. “God, I—dinna want any part of it…. The thought of leaving ye….the—” He let out a sob, and I could feel his tears against my temple, the resonance of his words in my chest. “—Christ, the bairns—” 

He buried his face in my shoulder. “I’m so scairt, Claire.”

“What’s you scairt, Daddy?”

We turned to see Bree standing in the tub, still naked as you please, looking up, stricken.

With a small sound that broke my heart, Jamie released me and crossed to the tub. He lifted his daughter up into his arms and pressed her against his chest, not seeming to notice that his shirt was instantly soaked.

“Daddy? What’s you scairt?” she repeated. 

I had to clamp my hand over my mouth. He clutched her tighter, rocking her, focusing his entire being on love of her. 

“Use-r words, Daddy.” 

Despite everything, he choked out a laugh at that. 

“I’m scairt,” he answered hoarsely after a moment, “of having to leave you and Mama, a chuisle.”  

“Oh…” 

I came and wrapped my arms around them both, trying so very hard not to slip into panic. This—this was my home, these three people I held—That it might be ripped from—

“Dinna leave though’kay?” Bree demanded, glaring sternly at him. “Okayyyy, Daddy?”

Okay?” I seconded in a feeble whisper.

He let out another weak, broken laugh and leaned down to kiss us both. I could feel his chest shuddering with the sobs he was suppressing. 

The words were in Gaelic, breathtakingly quiet, and he repeated them over and over.

 "I won’t…I won’t.”

When he drew back a long, long time later, his eyes were dry. “Now,” he said, kissing Bree and wrapping a towel around her shivering back, “let’s get ye ready for bed, wee cub. Which storybook shall we have, tonight?”


[JF]

Jamie resolved never to let Claire or Brianna see his fear of this ever again. 

“I’ll go tomorrow to register my name,” he said firmly to Claire as he held her in their bed that night, “but it willna come to anything, Sassenach.” There are millions of folk they’ll call up before me.” 

“You don’t — ” 

“Dinna fash, mo nighean donn,” he crooned, kissing and soothing away her fears. “I’m staying right here—We’ll no’ be parted—I’m right here—”

But he lay awake far into the night and most nights to follow, praying with all his soul.

Please, God….

Please….

Dinna take me from them.

Please….

Please…..


[more to come]


From the prompts: 

@dlouise2016 said: This may not be appropriate for FMM but in response to your request for Jamie “firsts” & since he is only about 27-28, there was a military draft going on at the time for the Cold War & the Korean War. Since Jamie was certainly a warrior, he must have some strong feelings about war & Claire definitely would with her WWII experience  

@chechzooo suggested: Staying out of the draft