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
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.

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.


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.

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andrewsneil  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.

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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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

love like an ache in the jaw

this is really old and its been sitting in my wips since forever but this is for @jiilys because nothing i ever do will ever stop being for you and even though i wrote this when i was trying to be like you its ok because i dont think i’ll ever stop trying to be like you


Nothing makes sense to me anymore. You walk with me to Potions even though it’s on the other side of the school and I know for a fact that you have Divination right now. I can’t stop looking at you. Every time I do it’s like being jolted awake, and all of a sudden I am 14 and staring at your collarbones, like, holy shit, James, when did you get tall? Your grin is crooked one side when Mulciber socked you in the jaw after you cursed him for calling Sirius a traitor. There’s a chip on one of your canines and when you wink at me it turns my insides to water, but I’d never tell you that. I think I am close to dissolving when I am around you.

My stomach tightens into a fist when I catch you staring at me in Transfiguration. Every time I quench down on hope it sparks an ache somewhere in my body, behind my right knee, the hollow at the base of my throat, the tips of my fingers. Somewhere along the way we take a trip to the beach and I can’t process the thought of you, glorious and tan and seawater glistening all over you. I try to hate you, because that would make everything so much easier. I hate your stupid face and your stupid hair and the way you call my name. You dunk me in the ocean and saltwater fills my nostrils and it is so much less painful that the feel of your bare hands on my waist.

I am trying to paint my nails in the dorm when you knock on the door and muscle your way in, throwing yourself down on the bed and complaining about homework. You make it seem so easy, staring at the ceiling as though bounding into my dorm room at 3:00pm on a Monday afternoon is completely normal. I can see the underside of your jaw from where I am sprawled on the carpet. I wonder what it would feel like underneath my lips. I manage to kick over the bottle of nail polish and it spills over the carpet, the colour of blood, like a stain that will never come out, like you, like this immovable weight on my chest when you stoop to help me clean up the mess. Nothing is messier than the tangle of veins and arteries looping around my heart, beating a tattoo against my chest. Your breath tickles my nose. I am blinded by what I cannot have, and it is the hazel in your eyes and the soft sweep of your cupid’s bow and the way you bark out blatant laughter on the uptake, like I am glorious, but I am wretched, because I want to feel your lower lip between my teeth.

Sometimes I think it would be easier if we had stayed friends, because now there is a barren landscape between friends and where I want to be, which is nestled in the region of your neck and shoulder. You kick me under the table in Charms and I lean over to pinch you. You have your shirtsleeves rolled up and I can see veins cording your wrist. I can handle an E on my Charms exam but I cannot handle this. I cannot handle the way you are looking at me. We end up having a pinching war and Flitwick gives us both detention, but it is worth it. It is worth it because you laughed and the sound of it is like shockwaves, keeping me awake.

You are like an itch that I cannot scratch. I blast Blondie in the dormitory at 8:00pm on a Saturday night to flood out all the thoughts of you. If you were a ghost you’d be a filmy apparition in gossamer thread and cheeky smiles. My thoughts always seem to stray to you like a default, as though it is normal to be thinking about what you look like without a shirt on. We go to Hogsmeade and I gaze in every storefront window so I can catch your reflection without having to look at you.

I start to have dreams. Dreams that wake me up in the dorm in the early hours of the morning in a sweaty, gasping mess. I should be thinking about famine and war and my Transfiguration test next week but last night I dreamt that you planted a terrarium in the space between my ribs. I fight my way into sleep and it’s fucking delightful and I enjoy it, because you are everywhere in my head and I don’t have to think about it. The thought of you seeps all the way to the ends of my fingers and I itch to hold you for real, completely. It’s so much easier to call you a git and kick your shin on the way to Herbology but I rarely see any colours anymore apart from the hazel of your eyes.

The other day you paid me out for liking Simon and Garfunkel and I almost thanked you for it. Instead I punched you almost hard enough to expel all source of feeling from my knuckles. I am wasteless for you, inexhaustible for you. You leave me breathless, listless, like I have been knocked out, like I am punch drunk. Pretending becomes easy. I do it all the time. For example, today I pretended that I wasn’t perturbed by your knee touching mine under the table in the Great Hall. I can pretend that I don’t quake with the thought of you, neglect to quiver like something waifish and insubstantial when I’m around you, that the touch of your hand on my upper arm doesn’t send my nerves into overdrive.

Avery called out to me on the way back from the library the other day and it shouldn’t affect me but it does. I can’t even remember what he said because I was drowning in anger and spite but somehow he’s planted a vision in my mind of what it would be like without you and it is scaring the shit out of me. I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if that were true, if at some point under the thumb of this war I lost you and I cannot stand it. I want to run to you, hold you beneath my hands but I don’t because you should not miss something that you never had. Instead I sit in the dormitory at 1:00am because if I go to sleep I know this will haunt me worse than you did, and I am shaking and pale and sweating and the gentle padding of your footsteps down the staircase doesn’t help. ‘Lily,’ you say, and then you are crossing the room to me because I bet you can see my hands vibrating where they’re clutching a blanket around me and you are saying, ‘Lily, Lily, oh my God, are you ill? What’s wrong?’ A crease furrows between your brows and I am shaking my head you are clutching me tightly, so tightly, like you’re afraid I will shatter without you there.

A few days later you corner me after Charms, and I am bright and wieldy and I have been sleeping better since you stroked my hair until I fell asleep, but you look burdened, and you are asking me what happened to me to make me frightened and pale at 1:00am in the dormitory. Somehow I clamour out with an answer something like, ‘I lost you in my head,’ and it doesn’t make sense but you have my head between your hands and you are murmuring to me, saying that I will never loose you, not so long as I live. Then you ask me what made me so ill, because you think I may have given it to you, and I am giggling and laughing and you are holding me to your chest and breathing comes easy with the reminder of your heartbeat under my hands.

Not the One

Summary: The reader has a massive crush on the Winter Soldier but he has eyes for a red headed 

Warnings: Cussing. Angst. Fluff? I honestly don’t know. 

Author’s Note: I have been feeling really down lately so I wanted to do something to get it out. 

Originally posted by stupidteletubbie

Y/N was a very unique addition to the team of superheros. She was an excellent  sniper, she had the power of fire, mind control, and a few other powers. Y/N mostly kept to herself and was mainly found in the library but during any events with the team, she was there. 

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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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12x19 coda: phantoms in the early dark

[1.5k | gen | read on ao3]

Sam wakes up on his side in the dirt, shivering. It’s dark, and the damp sand under him is leaching through his clothes, chilling him to his bones. There’s a sharp pain in his neck, bent awkwardly against the ground. His back aches fiercely.

Dean is on his knees crouching over him. His hand is on Sam’s shoulder and he’s speaking in that increasingly urgent tone that means he’s been trying to get Sam to wake up for a while now. “Come on, Sammy. Open your eyes. Sam!”

“What happened?” Sam says, and it comes out more whispery than he intends.

Dean exhales in visible relief. “Cas took off with Kelly. We gotta go after them, come on.”

He extends a hand to Sam. Sam grasps it, hoists himself, but the upward movement wrenches something in his abdomen and he winds up on his knees instead, vomiting onto the ground.

“Whoa!” Dean steps back quickly but keeps a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

The retching hurts Sam’s back and stomach so badly it feels like he’s being torn apart from the inside. He’s vaguely surprised he doesn’t vomit blood. When it finally stops, he stays on the ground while he catches his breath, wipes hurriedly at his eyes, then struggles to his feet.

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His - Part 2 (C.H.)

Originally posted by dimplelashton

A/N: I’m so glad that a lot of you liked the first part and I was really happy to see so many of you requesting for a second part. So, here it is :)

Masterlist || Ask

Part 1 | Part 3

*****

“Maybe I’m just hard to love.”


“Well, would you look at that?” Phoebe told me as I switched my textbooks at my locker.

“What?” I ask without looking at her.

“You have anatomy next.”

I shut my locker and turned to face her. “Yeah, and…?”

She gave me an exasperated sigh. “You see Calum next period.”

“I also saw him this morning, yesterday, and on Friday.” I raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, ‘Your point?

She groaned. “Nevermind. I’ll see you later.”

I gave her a weird look. “Yeah, okay.”

We headed our separate ways for our next class. I walked into my anatomy class and sat at my usual seat towards the back. I surveyed the room and noticed that Calum wasn’t here yet. I shook my head slightly and got my things ready for the class to start.

Get a grip on yourself, Y/N. I scolded myself.

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On The Door Step - part 3

Parings: Dean x Sister!Reader x Sam

Summary: In 2000, John Winchester opened the door to his current motel room and found a little girl at his feet, sleeping peacefully with a fuzzy white blanket tucking her in a wicker basket. Now, nearly 16 years later, (Y/N) has still yet to find herself in the world of the Winchesters.

prologue    part 1    part 2

Warnings: Season 10/11 spoilers, cursing (I think that’s it)

Words: 2243

A/N: Y’all are the best! By the way, requests are open (I don’t write Wincest and I haven’t tried smut, but I’m willing)! Now here’s part 3.

(Y/B/M) = your birth month

(Y/B/D) = your birth day


I sit still in the plastic blue chair resting against the irritatingly white walls. I stare at the students being attended by the on duty nurse and a few of the teachers. The staff is trying to keep the kids calm, hoping that no one will pass out or scream, but one of the middle school children doesn’t do what they were hoping.

The little boy screams and I wince, clenching my eyes shut and tucking myself inwards. The child has a rather large shard of glass sticking out of his back and a few teachers surround his body where he lays on the floor.

This is all my fault.

The paramedics arrive sooner than anyone thought, and the take away the severely injured students before attending to those with minor wounds, like me. A kind woman dressed in the hospital’s uniform cuts off my long sleeve and plucks out the pieces of the mirror that fell from the ceiling. I don’t wince, I hardly even flinch as she takes them out or even when she sterilizes the cuts. Once she’s done, she begins to ask a few questions.

“Did you hit your head?” I shake my head, clenching my hands together and closing my eyes. A quivering breath escapes my lips, but other than that, I keep my responses silent.

She examines the rest of my arm, and checks my head for any signs of blood, but when she comes up empty, she moves on to the next student.

My fingers interlock with one another and my eyes watch them closely like they’re the most interesting creatures in the world.

“I wanna leave.” I breathe out to myself, but the nurse standing next to my chair hears me. She turns to me, watching me closely before answering.

“You can go home soon.” She smiles at me, patting me on my knee and then sighing.

That’s not what I meant.


My legs feel light and my head feels heavy as I approach the door leading to the inside of the bunker from the garage. Sam and Dean aren’t home yet, which isn’t surprising, it’s almost a six hour trip from Lebanon to Denver and they left nine hours ago.

“How was school?” Castiel grunts from the same spot in the library he was this morning when I left. I make my way down the steps, making sure to keep my shoulder out of Castiel’s view. If he sees the bandages, he’s going to throw so many questions at me that I’ll get whiplash.

“It was school, nothing interesting,” I answer bluntly, passing him and heading towards my room. “Just glad it’s Friday.” With nothing more to say, I quickly make my way down the hallway and shut the door to my room. I have to stay away from Cas, he could figure something is off with me. He’s done it on several accounts and he’s told my brothers.

For the next 29 hours that my brothers don’t return, I keep myself locked in my room, answering Castiel’s worried phone calls with simple answers.

“I’m having really bad cramps right now.”

“(Y/N), your period isn’t for another week,” He speaks with concern and a hit of confusion.

“Okay, first of all, how do you know my cycle? And it’s possible to have cramps while ovulation.” I slightly laugh as I imagine the face he’s most likely making.

“Dean made a calendar for me,” he explains, “so I would understand most of your grumpiness.”

Of course he did.

“Look, Cas, I’m fine, so you don’t have to call every two hours.” I sigh, laying across my bed and running my fingers through my hair.

“It’s unlike you to hide in your room unless something was wrong.” I sigh, closing my eyes and feeling the throbbing in my shoulder. I’m too hot right now to wear anything but shorts and a tank top and if I go out there now with my bandage exposed, I’ll rat myself out.

“I’ll come out later, I’m working on homework.” I lie. I’ve been reading up on what they have been saying about the incident. They’ve kept most of the details from the public, they mostly just say the windows were broken. None of the articles mention the falling mirrors.

Castiel sighs and decides not to say anything more, so he hangs up. Tossing my phone on my bed, I hide my eyes in the crook of my elbow, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder. Irritation bubbles up inside the back of my head and I leap to my feet.

Another hour passes, and I find myself pacing the floor in front of my bed. My fingers twitch as I run my hands up and down my arms, trying to ease my nerves.

Nothing’s working.

My breathing quickens, I force myself to sit on the edge of my bed, trucking my head between my legs in order to stop the attack.

It’s not working.

I leap to my feet, scraping my toes against my desk chair leg. I hiss, wrapping my palm around my big toe before sitting down in the chair to examine it. I ripped the nail and the nail tore some of the skin away from underneath it. Squeezing the toe, I close my eyes and try to focus on something in order to ignore the pain. However, when I open my eyes, I watch as my a little green light seeps out between my fingers.

I pull back my hand, which causes me to fall out of my chair and smacking my head against the edge of my bed.

“Fuck,” I grumble, rubbing the back of my head. I feel my nerves slowly calming and the attack subsiding and my eyes land on my big toe, finding the nail fully intact and the blood gone. “What the fuck?”

I climb to my feet, slipping on my jacket, and stumble out of the door. I need air.

“Hey-” Cas greets me, but I quickly walk passed him, heading towards the stairs. I make it to the garage, picking my helmet off the ground and starting towards my bike when I crash into a giant.

“Whoa, where are you going?” Sam asks, holding me at arms length. I’m out of breath and staring up at him with wide eyes. Shit.

“I-I’m,” I caught, shaking my head in order to clear it. “I was going for a ride.”

“With no shoes?” Sam glances down at my green painted toes. I mentally slap myself.

“So this is the third,” a strong Scottish accent says from where the impala is parked. Dean pulls out a short redheaded woman from the back seat, her wrists chained together. “(Y/N) Winchester.”

I stand straight, staring down the witch. So this is Rowena. Charlie was right, her voice is kind of annoying. I don’t move away from the door as Dean approaches with her as I continue to examine her. This is the first “villain” I’m meeting and knowing my brother they’re going to make it quick.

Rowena raises an eyebrow as she continues to watch me, and for a slight moment, her eyes widen in surprise while she ever so quietly whispers, “I’ve never seen so much.”

What?

“Alright, c’mon.” Sam pulls me away from the door, allowing Dean to open it and lead Rowena inside.

“We told you we’d be back,” Sam smiles, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and walking inside with me. I fight against the urge to push Sam away and run after Rowena. Sam continues to talk, but I can’t focus on his words.

At the bottom of the steps, I wiggle free of Sam’s heavy arm and turn to glare at him. “Don’t you have a prisoner to interrogate?” My attention turns towards the hallway Dean disappeared down.

Sam nods after spending a few seconds watching me. He gives me a tight hug, promising we’ll hang out soon, before disappearing down that same hallway.

“(Y/N),” Castiel huffs, drawing my attention away and to his shaking body, “what happened to your shoulder?” My eyes follow his to find my jacket had slipped off, exposing the white bandages.

“Nothing.” I answer coldly before turning my attention back to the hall.

I need to get in there.

I’ve been lingering by the hallway entrance for a couple of minutes now, my thumb nail between my teeth as I think of how in the hell am I supposed to get Sam and Dean out of there long enough to interrogate her with my own questions.

My attention turns to Castiel in the library as he grunts and shakes. He’s having another episode. And then it clicks. I know how to get them out.


“Guys,” I wince, wobbling passed the secret shelf door.

Sam acts fast, approaching me with concern and caution, worried if he touches me he might cause more pain.

“What the hell happened?” Dean jumps off the chair, leaning in close to examine the bruise forming on my cheek.

“Castiel is gone. He got out and… he left.” Dean looks to Sam and without a word, they both head outside of the file room to talk. A moment ticks by before I turn to Rowena, straightening my back and glaring at her.

“So much what?” I hiss, approaching the edge of the devil’s trap.

“I’m sorry?” Rowena bats her eyes, sizing me up.

“When you saw me, you said you haven’t seen so much. What the hell did you mean?” I narrow my eyes, watching as she shifts slightly in her seat, readying herself to tell me that I must’ve misheard. “They’re going to be back in here, I don’t have time for any innocent shit.”

“You have so much… energy inside ya, dear…”

“What are you talking about? What energy?”

“Magic! You have so much of it… So much more than I,” she rolls her eyes as she explains. “Of course you do, you’re a Winchester after all.” She says mostly to herself, but I glare at her for it.

“I’m not a witch,” I hiss, taking a step closer. “There’s no way I can be a witch.”

“Aye dear, you’re not. But you’re something,” she pauses, sizing me up once again. “But that much power you’re sitting on, it’s surprising you’re in one piece. That it hasn’t hurt you yet-”

I take a step away, my hand gently laying against my shoulder. Magic would be the explanation for what happened in the cafeteria. 

“You’re on edge, aren’t ya dear?” Rowena shifts in her chair, rattling the chains keeping her in place. “If you take these off, I could show ya.”

I glare at her, watching as a grin grows across her lips. I take in a deep breath before answering, “you’re lying. It’s just hormones.”

“(Y/N)!” Dean hollers, strutting to stand next to me. “Don’t talk to her, she’s-”

“Dangerous, I know.” I nod to Rowena before slipping out of the room. I tug on my jacket tight around my waist and duck my head down as I walk towards my room.

“(Y/N), we’re going to find Cas,” Sam speaks, typing away on his laptop. “We’re taking Rowena with us-”

“Stay here, I know.” I smile weakly at Sam. “I’m going to go to bed, Will you call me when you find him? And will you tell him I’m sorry?”

“Why are you the one who’s sorry? Cas-”

“Just, tell him?” Sam nods and I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “Thank you.” I slowly drag myself to my room, my head swimming with too many thoughts.

When I reach my room, I lock the door behind me and rest my back against it and examine the space. Rowena is probably right, I have magic. How else could I heal my own toe or summon mirrors and  break glass without physically touching it?

As I pace around the room, my mind decides to send me back to the day I asked Dean where our mom was. It was three years after I was left on their doorstep and a year before John disappeared on Dean.

“(Y/N), we don’t have the same mom,” Dean says, pulling me into his lap while we waited for John to check us into a motel room. “Your mom left you with us.”

“Do we have the same dad?” I question, playing with the necklace Sam hand given him.

“Yes.”

Now that I’m older, when I look back on this memory I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. If he had told me no, who knows what kind of devastation that would bring to a five year old.

I take in a staggering breath and push myself off the door. I reach for my book bag next to my desk and dump the contents onto my bed. I rush around the room, pulling out clothes and hygiene products. I change out of my sleeping shorts and slip on a pair of skinny jeans.

Once my bag is packed, I place my school materials on my desk and stop short at the sight of the tiny fluffy white blanket folded neatly near the desk, the sticky note with the simple message written in my mothers handwriting.

Her name is (Y/N).
She was born (Y/B/M) (Y/B/D), 1999
Please take care of her.


Tags: @straightasdeanwinchester , @superblyunnatural

A/N: tags are open

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Let the Seasons Past || Soulmate!Junhui || Oneshot

Originally posted by gyuwoo


GENRE: fluff, soulmate!au, childhood friends?, growing up and all its glory

WORDS: 1798

BLURB: We met in summer, loved in spring. Hurt in winter, so may autumn bring…

A/N: Wrote this in one seating and mildly inspired by my own experiences lol can you feel the /awkward/


You knew it was him from the moment you met.

It was the summer when you were both fifteen; shy and awkward, still growing out of your preteen years and into your teenage ones. He said hello and smiled, so bright and beautiful that your heart skipped and your stomach flipped. He wasn’t the first boy you had met but he was the first one to have such an effect on you and the only one who stuck around even when you turned him away.

“My name’s Junhui,” he introduced himself, voice deep and clear, sending something plunging, plunging into your stomach. It sat there, that unknown feeling, until it swirled into a mini whirlpool and turned you into a blushing mess. You didn’t seem to know what to do with your hands so you stuck them to your side.

“I’m Y/N,” you answered a little nervously but smiling so widely your cheeks ached. He was so beautiful with his dark hair and almond eyes and you were failing hard at being nonchalant. But it wasn’t just his looks. It was… The way he looked at you, really looked at you, asking questions and making you feel important and interesting in a way no other had cared to do before.

You two spoke less than ten sentences to each other that first time but it was a conversation that would last a lifetime. How easily it would all have slipped away if neither of you had taken the chance to say hello, and every day you were glad you did.

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Meeting the Parents ~ Remus Lupin

Requested by @little-hufflepuff-badger , who has been so sweet to me so I hope you love this! 


You and Remus had been dating for two months when Christmas came along. 

  “Babe?” He asked on the train home for break.

“Yes, love." 

"Will you come meet my parents? They want to make sure, you’re not, you know…" 

"Oh.” You understood. 

You were from a pureblood family. All magic people, no muggles or halfbloods littered the blood of your family. When you started dating Remus, your parents hated it. They thought ha blood status was all that mattered and so on. But you weren’t going to let that stop you from love. You argued for hours on end with them. They met Remus one day and your mother started warming up to him. But they were still a little wary. You knew your father hoped that you two would break up and you would keep the line pure. 

Remus’ parents were wary of you too.

They thought you would end up exposing him. Or your parents would find out about his problem and expose him and so on. They had never met you and Remus was sure that when they did, they would fall in love just like he did. 

But you and Remus loved each other. It was time both of your parents learned that. You two were not planning on separating and in fact, it was the exact opposite you planed. You wanted to stay together forever. 

“Let me ask my mom, I’ll owl you to plan a date and time.” You were already nervous. 

“They’re going to adore you. Trust me. They just have to meet you. They have to see you like I do. Beautiful on the inside and out.” He kissed you quickly to avoid teasing from your friends in the same compartments as you.

Two weeks later, you were dressing for your dinner with Remus’ family. You wore a long sleeved sweater and a black skirt with leggings to keep your legs warm. You took the floo network to their home. 

It smelled like gingerbread and flowers. The house was full of books. They were everywhere. The house was entirely neat, save the books stacked on every flat surface.

“Mum! (Y/N)’s here.” Remus was sitting on the couch in the living room where you came out. He got up and kissed you quickly and took your clammy hand in his.

His mother came out of the kitchen.

“Hello Mrs. (Y/L/N). Welcome to our home, Remus has told us so much about you.”

“Oh he has?” You smiled, raising your eyebrows.

“All good things of course.” He laughed nervously. You both were terrified.

You shook Remus’ father’s hand and sat down next to your boyfriend at the dinner table.

“So, (Y/N),” His father asked as you took a bite of the salad, “Remus says you like to read.”

You looked at Remus for help. He nodded and squeezed your knee under the table.

“I love to read. I was young hen I learned,” You said politely, not gushing like you usually did for fear of being labeled insane.

“I have to practically tear her way from her books when she reads. She never puts them down.” Laughed Remus, “MY father taught me the importance of reading. He helped me start my personal library.

“Really?” You asked, hoping that talking about the parents would keep eyes off of you and make you seem less scared.

“He did.” Remus smiled wide.

“Who taught you the importance of books?” You asked Mr. Lupin.

You continued talking over dinner and it gradually got easier for you, but they still were a bit stand offish. You learned that Remus was taught to be empathic and sensitive by his mother and calculating and intelligent from his father.

“Should Rem and I do the dishes?” You asked after the meal was done and you had thanked your hosts.

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Remus agreed before his mother could decline. You both needed a break from the tension and you thought showing them you were helpful might make them like you.

You and Remus brought the dishes to the kitchen. His parents watched you two bustle around. You had filled the sink with soapy water and were staring to wash the dishes when Remus came up behind you and hugged you tightly around the waist.

It felt comforting to have him there.

“You gotta let me do some work, babe. It’s my house.” He said.

“I know, but your mother made the wonderful meal and I want to help clean up. Your parents have been so kind to have me over.” You said, knowing that while they weren’t engaged, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin were listening and watching.

“You can dry, let me wash.” Remus compromised.

Soon enough, you and Remus were giggling as you put soap bubbles on his nose and he pushed you slightly with his body and you pushed back. You were humming songs and being very careful with the dishes you were drying.

There was music on in the living room. Frank Sinatra, Remus’ Mother’s favorite. Remus ended up taking your hand and dancing around the kitchen with you, both of your laughs ringing through the kitchen. You had both completely forgotten about his parents, who were watching with smiles.

They had finally warmed up to the way you wanted to help and how you made their son laugh. You were genuine and they were no longer afraid you would hurt him or manipulate him using his secret.

They saw it plain as day, you loved him and he loved you. Aft all, you were kind to them and interested in them when they were cold to you. You were kind to those who were uninterested and a tad mean.

They finally approved of you as you and Remus danced around the clean kitchen laughing.

What Do You Think You’re Doing?

Originally posted by lucifersagents

Summary: Requested by Anon: Jealous lucifer or gabriel x reader please! Maybe where reader helps another Angel groom their wings and doesn’t understand how intimate it is or why Lucifer/Gabriel is so jealous. Thanks 😊

Characters: Gabriel x Reader, Lucifer, Sam and Dean (briefly), Michael (mentioned) 

Warnings: Jealousy, tiny bit of angst, fluff, implied past sexy-time towards the end

Word Count: 1008

A/N: This is my first request! I had so much fun writing it. This is the first time I’ve written Gabriel and I was a little nervous but I love a challenge. Thank you so much, Anon, for this request. It was so much fun to write! Also, I’d like to thank Mac for being my beta. Again. You’re the bee’s knees, Mac. I’d love to do more requests. Keep ‘em comin’.  


You were sitting with the boys in the library, trying to relax. Sam was on his laptop at one of the tables, clicking away. He was probably looking for a hunt, it’d been awhile since the three of you had been out of the bunker and it was taking its toll on all of you. You were sitting at another one of the long tables by yourself, flipping through a newspaper on the off chance you could find a hunt that way. Dean was in a chair in one corner, sulking because you’d snapped at him for not cleaning up after himself in the kitchen.

Around a half an hour later, you got up and folded the newspaper back up, tossing it on the table. Raising an eyebrow at Dean, where he was still sulking, you shook your head and went to the kitchen to fix sandwiches for you and the boys. You didn’t normally make them food, but you were tired of Dean’s pouting and you knew this would cheer him up. After you took the boys each a plate, satisfied that Dean had forgiven you, you went back to the kitchen to clean up. As you were putting the supplies away, you heard a flutter of wings which caused you to roll your eyes.

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The Library

Author’s note: I have spent all day writing and typing this so I hope you all like it. I will start on the Little Flower part two and another Draco one-shot later this week. My weekend has been kind of terrible. My grandma feel yesterday and broke her femur above the knee so my mom went to see her and then the power went out for a while and then my dad and I had to go get my sister from gymnastics and on top of that I had a terrible head ache so I’m surprised this is even done. Love you all.

Requested by @a-court-of-stydia

Parrish x reader

warnings: None

Words: 1253

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“What are we going to do now,” Parrish asked the group of teenagers. All he got were shrugs for a response.

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