She walks into English fifteen minutes late, wearing both a deeply unflattering smock and a scowl. Neither are an especially new look on her.
“Vector,” she says under her breath, as an answer to Mary McDonald’s unspoken question. It’s the answer to every question in the room. Ms Vector is notorious among them all for her very strict adherence to the school’s dress code.
“Yes, Miss Evans’ entrance was very exciting, but I’ll have your attention back to the lesson now, please,” says Ms McGonagall. James snaps back to attention. It’s for the best.
“Here,” James says, shrugging off his jacket and thrusting it toward Lily. She gives him this look like, fuck off, and James has to bite his tongue to stop from aggravating her. “They’re doing uniform checks up the hall. Just put it on.”
Evans gives him a very strange look, and it takes him a second to realise that it’s neutral.
She looks good in his jacket.
Every third dress code violation results in a lunch time detention. It’s only October, and Lily’s already had six. She doesn’t look at James as she takes the seat three ahead and one to the left of him.
There’s a thump from somewhere in the back of the classroom, and McGonagall isn’t planning on looking up - it sounds like it came from the general vicinity of Potter and Black, and that’s certainly not a situation she wants to engage with - but the entire class is already turned around to see what the fuss is.
She strides down the aisle between the desks, and is about three years past surprised to find James Potter lying on the floor, gazing at the ceiling, glasses knocked aside.
“Am I boring you so much that you decided to take a nap?” she asks, and James gives this wicked smile, and here we go–
“Sorry, Miss, I can’t get up. It’s Evans’ shoulders - they’re overwhelming me. I simply can’t do anything until she covers them up. Sirius, tell me when it’s safe.”
He’s a funny boy, she’ll give him that. “Potter, get up. This is hardly the time for foolishness.”
It’s amazing, really. Castiel has blown him off, lied to him, stolen from him, and broken his god damn heart too many times to count today. But when Dagon raises her hand at him for what Dean thinks must be the last time, it’s still the worst he’s felt all week.
“No!” he screams, before all the breath is punched out of him at once. A golden glow takes over Castiel’s eyes, one that he hasn’t seen before.
He forgets to flinch when Castiel offers to fix his arm. He exposes the most vulnerable parts of himself, again, he never learns, and allows Castiel’s hand on him. His fingers hesitate over the folds of his sleeve, pressing more insistently when Dean doesn’t move away. He hates that he’s being cautious. No, he’s grateful for it. No, he -
The familiar cold pulse of grace taking root steals his breath away.
“Are you ok?” he asks. Fragile and weak, like it always is with them.
The golden glow has left, but Castiel is still different somehow. He doesn’t slouch; he holds himself with all the confidence of someone that thinks themselves blameless. He’s seen that look at least once before, back when Castiel still liked to lie and go behind their backs for ultimately selfless reasons.
And he still asks Dean to trust him.
He would. He’s spent his day tracking phones and fixing trucks. It might hurt like a bitch, but this is all he has.
“Don’t,” he begs. A plea, a prayer.
Castiel drops his fingers to Dean’s head, and he doesn’t hesitate at all.
Cas reads the label and turns the tape over in his hands. “I don’t have a cassette player,” he concludes as he holds the cassette back out to Dean.
Dean gets up from the kitchen table and pushes it back toward Cas until it’s right up against his chest. “I’ve been in that truck. There’s a cassette player.”
“Well, I don’t know how to–”
“Cas,” Dean says, leveling him with a glare. “Take the damn tape.”
Cas flips it over in his hands once again, looking down at it studiously. When he looks back up to thank Dean, he finds himself alone. He looks around the kitchen, but Dean is gone.
He tucks the cassette into the inner pocket of his coat and pats it once to feel the solid weight against his chest.
“What’s that?” Sam asks jovially as he joins Cas in the library.
Cas tucks the cassette away quickly and clears his throat. “Dean gave it to me. It’s a cassette.”
Sam looks up quickly from his computer, a shocked and amused expression on his face. “A cassette? He gave you a cassette?”
Castiel squints at him. “Yes?”
Sam looks down at his keyboard, huffs a short laugh, straightens up a bit in his seat. “What’s on it?”
“It says his top 13 Led Zeppelin traxx, ‘tracks’ with two x’s,” Cas recites from memory.
“You haven’t listened to it yet?”
“I…no, I haven’t.”
Sam nods as he says, “Well, uh, you should. Dean doesn’t just–he doesn’t even let anybody touch his tapes, man. That’s…a really big deal that he gave you one.”
Cas presses his hand to his chest. “I’m not sure he meant for it to be a big deal.”
“Yeah, well.” Sam shrugs. “Listen to it, at least.”
Cas is sitting in his truck, holding the tape in his hand, staring at the radio and wondering where to put the damn thing.
The passenger door creaks open and shuts. Castiel doesn’t look over.
“Oh fuck, I was wrong,” Dean says with a small laugh. “There’s no cassette player in here. C’mon.” He doesn’t wait before getting right back out and heading over to where the Impala is parked on the other end of the garage.
After a moment, Cas follows him. He hesitantly gets in on the passenger side and hands the tape over to Dean.
A couple of seconds of silence pass before the music quietly pours through the Impala’s speakers. Dean leans his head back against the seat and puts his arm up on the backrest of the bench. His fingertips brush lightly against Cas’ shoulder.
Cas can’t quite hear all the lyrics, but he knows it’s something about being lonely and missing someone and he wants to ask Dean when he made this tape, who he had in mind when he made this tape, who this was really meant for, but the words get stuck in his throat.
As the music washes over him, he closes his eyes and leans his head back as well. After a minute, a hand brushes through his hair and Dean begins to hum.
Cas opens his eyes and looks over, and Dean’s head lolls to the side as he gives him a lazy grin.
“You like it?” Dean asks, his hand still carding through Cas’ hair.
Cas prefers his own music, but maybe he could get used to this as well. “I like it,” he concedes.
“Good,” Dean replies, his head falling back against the seat once more. “I could sit here all day.”
Cas scoots a little bit closer to the driver’s side. “I could, too.”
Bitty loves Seattle as much as a southerner can love a city that barely sees the sunshine, and he loves his boys, but god bless it if he doesn’t cross his fingers and toes every year hoping to get picked up by a Metropolitan team so he can at least live on the same coast as Jack.
For a few blissful months every year, Bitty gets his husband back; and promptly does none of what he’s planned to do with said husband.
(Also, point-of-order, Jack’s three-year, 1.2 million a year, Falconers contract, is on the lower end of the spectrum. The average (2016) NHL salary is around 2.9 mil a year, meaning Jack went pretty cheap for someone being scouted by so many teams. Did our beloved Canadian hockey robot turn down mad-money elsewhere to sign with the Falconers? Probably.)
They’re both snuggled up together in a rare moment of post-season calm. Neither are keen to move any more than the absolutely have to; tucked into lopsided couch cushions while the television plays split-screened between another film missed in theaters and the NHL Network.
It’s been a long, hard-fought season for them both: the Falconers knocked out of the playoffs in the second round, the Schooners barely making a dent in the first. Combine that with their newfound ‘chronic’ injuries and Bitty is happy to just lie here, mindlessly groping any part of Jack he can reach: he’s currently got a handful of pec, while Jack alternates between Bitty’s ass and lower back. It’s not arousing at all, just comfortable; until Jack’s wandering fingers hit a sore spot.
I’d like to talk about Isak going home with Sana for a Biology (chem?) project. And like, Sana assures him that nah her brother won’t be home he said he’d be at the skate park or something. But when they walk in, Sana discovers her brother is a damn liar because there he sits in the living room, Yousef and co in tow and Sana just, curses because she knows this will not end well. Isak will peek around her shoulder and kind of freeze as well, eyes zeroing in on Mikael. (And damnit abort abort Even will kill her for this) So, Sana back peddles out of that one real fast, tugging Isak around and being like actually i think my room is more conducive to science. Of course, Yousef is the first to notice Sana and Isak standing in the doorway and his eyes narrow suspiciously at the easy way Isak kind of hangs off Sana’s shoulder. Yousef will just nod a cool hey and Isak will raise an eyebrow, looking back and forth between him and Sana ‘heyyyy’. And then Sana will throw her coat down and be like, okay now that we are hey-ed out, Isak and I are going to my room bye guys!
Now of course, this doesn’t fly with Elias who’s like you’re going to bring a boy into your room alone? (hahahaha @ Sana who goes a little red in the cheeks at the audacity) Isak kind of chuckles awkwardly because fuck he just wanted to get his mitosis shit done. He didn’t sign on to be in a room with Even’s secret ex boo-thing or best friend or whatever and he certainly did not sign on for another love triangle. Those days are beyond him, man. So he’s like ha ha don’t need to worry about that one. And Elias raises a challenging eyebrow, oh really? And Isak is like a high-pitched Yep! My boyfriend wouldn’t like me putting the moves on Sana either. Which relaxes the boys somewhat, but then Isak’s gaze goes straight back over to Mikael who kind of shifts awkwardly (because we all now Isak’s creeper stare)- especially when Isak’s mouth parts a bit in question- which of course means Sana has to physically slap her hand over Isak’s mouth and smile serenely at the boys. We are going to go now, bye! And she literally drags Isak to her room and away from the potential danger.
(Don’t even get her started on the hell that follows when Even comes to pick Isak up two hours later.)
“So, no family in attendance this time.” Alberto opened the limousine’s back door.
There wasn’t. Louis frowned, sliding onto the backseat. It was his first film premiere without any family member there. The thought was scary, because this premiere was his most important so far.
Louis turned his head when the door was closed and saw Harry on the other side, smiling gently. His hair was tied back by a silky scarf, and he wore a maroon suit with a grey, floral print. It perfectly fit Louis’ grey suit. Lottie had even managed to pick a tie in the exact maroon colour of Harry’s suit.
“You look nice,” Harry said.
Louis swallowed thickly, clutching his hands together to keep himself from reaching out to touch Harry. His shirt was gaping open, the tattoos on his chest peeking out. Louis hadn’t had the time to properly inspect them when they had—
“Thanks,” he said, shaking the thought, the memory off. “You, too.”
The car started moving, and Harry reached out to touch Louis’ hand. His nails were painted black. “Are you nervous?”
“A little,” Louis admitted. “This one’s quite important to me.”
Harry hummed. Yeah. I get that. Hey,” he added then. Louis looked up at that, and God – he couldn’t look at Harry. He was so, so fit. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Harry looked straight into Louis’ eyes, and for a moment, every single moment of them in that hotel room came back. Every second they had shared, every touch, every kiss. Louis couldn’t stand it.
“That’s lovely, L.A., but I’m not your damsel in distress.” Louis patted Harry’s hand before he withdrew his own.
Harry snorted and leaned back in his seat. “You’re definitely not.”
“I don’t need to be pampered.” Louis cleared his throat, trying to ignore the lingering warmth of Harry’s fingers on his skin. It’d be forgotten in a moment.
“Sure not,” Harry replied, looking out of the window.
“What’s that tone?” Louis raised a brow.
Harry turned back to him, an amused expression on his face. “You love being pampered.”
“Excuse you.” Louis crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What gives you that impression?”
“Spending a whole month with you.” Harry shrugged.
Louis shook his head. “You have no idea, Styles.”
“I guess, yeah.” Harry bit his bottom lip, obviously holding back a grin. “Whoever’s gonna be your boyfriend will have to be really good at pampering you.”
“You’re a cuddler,” Harry interrupted him, and suddenly, he looked much more serious. “You like to cuddle.”
Louis frowned. “How do you–” He fell silent, and bit his lip. Harry knew because they had slept with each other. They had probably only exchanged handjobs and messy kisses, but it had been sex. Two rounds. And Louis had fallen asleep on Harry.
He wasn’t the kind of person that lit a cigarette after sex and left the bed. Louis was the kind of person that held onto the warmth as long as possible. He couldn’t remember, but he had probably fallen asleep and cuddled up to Harry. How would he know? Harry had been gone in the morning.
Louis cleared his throat again. “You can’t blame me for the things I do while asleep.”
“Who said I blamed you?” Harry asked.
Louis opened his mouth, but closed it again when he realised he had no idea what to say. Harry smiled at him, knowingly, and in that typical smug way of his.
“You like being pampered yourself,” Louis said, pointing at Harry. “You like it when people take care of you, and you like your hair being played with.”
“I contemplated paying someone to do that,” Harry said, no shame in his tone. “You know? Like a personal assistant, but all they do is play with my hair.”
“Oh my God.” Louis groaned.
“Yeah, that’d be a bit diva-like, so I dismissed the idea.” Harry shrugged, looking genuinely sad about it. “It would’ve fit your image of me, though, right?”
Louis laughed. “Absolutely.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry said.
The car stopped and Louis sat up, waiting for the door to be opened, so he could step out. Loud noises, an ocean of voices suddenly hit him and before he moved onto the red carpet, Louis turned around again.
“I’m not disappointed, at all,” he said, holding Harry’s gaze for a moment. “Not a single bit.”
The noise increased when Louis go out of the car. Flashlights hit him, and people yelled his name. Louis smiled and turned around, holding out his hand for Harry. Gracefully, Harry slid out of the backseat of the limousine and placed his hand in Louis’. The noise intensified even more.
Title: I’ll Do It All Again Pairing: Steve x Bucky Word count: 832 Rating: PG Warnings: none
I don’t even know what to say. It’s another drabble series. And I have screamed my way through writing it, because writing Stucky intimidates the fuck out of me. General inspiration and chapter titles from Fall Out Boy’s “The Kids Aren’t Alright”. This series will have six parts all in all, they’re all written out and I’ll post one part per day. A huge thanks to @ursulaismymiddlename and @mrshopkirk who have kindly listened to me scream and whine and offered support and encouragement.
Tag list can be found under the cut, and if you want to be tagged in future parts, send me an ask.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI
I. Fall To Your Knees, Bring The Rapture
Sarah Rogers may be Irish, but she hasn’t been the best catholic of late. Too often, her Sundays have been spent by her son’s side, dabbing a wet cloth against his forehead, his mouth moving as if speaking but no words come out. The women in the congregations would probably say her boy is near death, that he’s talking to the angels and saints coming to claim his soul. They’d arrange their features into expressions of pity and well-meaning concern, and maybe that’s another reason Sarah has not felt too guilty about missing mass.
Steve is not dying. He’s not. It’s a mantra she keeps repeating to herself with every bout of flu, every hitch in the boy’s breath when he overexerts himself until it becomes a learned response whenever Steve looks even the slightest bit tired. They have very little by means of worldly possessions and wealth, but to Sarah Rogers, her son is more precious than any riches that could be thrown their way.
It’s winter, and the cold air and tempestuous weather has Steve bedridden again, coughing and fighting against a fever that night after night refuses to break. Sarah is on her last ounce of energy when a timid knock on their door pulls her from the despair. She’s got an apology ready on her tongue, expecting one of the neighbours to complain about Stevie’s cough being to loud, and she’s not sure why she’s even surprised when it’s her son’s constant companion standing outside, hands clasped in front of him and looking up at her expectantly.
“Hi, mrs. Rogers,” he greets, always so polite and charming, and it tugs at something in Sarah’s heart.
“Bucky, I’m sorry, Steve can’t come out today…” she starts, smoothing back her hair and straightening out her clothes.
“No, mrs. Rogers, I know, I have his homework, and I thought maybe I could keep him company for a while?”
Sarah sighs. The two boys have been inseparable ever since finding each other in the school yard when Steve started first grade. Sometimes it hurts to see just how much of her late husband she can see in her son. He’s got most of her looks, but the temperament and the penchant for getting into trouble… That’s all Joseph.
“Just a little while, Bucky. Your ma won’t be happy if you get sick.”
“Promise! Thank you, mrs. Rogers!”
And with that, Bucky bounds through the tiny apartment, his backpack bouncing against his back. The door to Stevie’s room opens and closes soon after, and for the first time in hours, Sarah feels like she can breathe. Maybe it’s wrong to rely on a child to keep an eye on her son, but she’ll take what she can get. Backing up, she leans against the kitchen counter, quietly counting her breaths, taking stock of her own well-being. She could do with more sleep, more food, more… everything. But they are doing okay, under the circumstances. And Steve will get better. She repeats it quietly to herself just to be sure before setting about making dinner.
By the time she’s done, the boys are still holed up in Steve’s room, and Sarah’s about ready to send Bucky back home, fearing that the boy might fall ill. Her steps are soft and near-silent when she approaches the door. Even though it’s closed, she can hear Bucky’s animated voice.
“Daddy said they gonna start building next year. Tallest building in the world, can you believe it, Stevie!”
If Steve replies, it’s too weak to carry through the door.
“Maybe when you get better, we can go look at it! Daddy said he’d be working, I’m gonna ask him if we can go up on the beams and look out over the city. Betcha we could see all the way home.”
In that moment, Sarah Rogers has never envied someone as much as she envies Bucky Barnes. Much as she doesn’t want to, she lives in a constant state of “if” when it comes to Steve. “If” does not exist for Bucky, everything is “when”. Sniffing, Sarah knocks on the door, and within five minutes, the Barnes boy has said his goodbye, promising to come back tomorrow with more homework and more stories.
Maybe Sarah Rogers has not been the best catholic as of late, but that night, she falls to her knees by her bed, praying with all of her heart for her son to get better, to live, to survive. She promises her life to the saints in exchange for her son’s health, swears that he’ll grow up good and strong if only God will be merciful and spare him this one time.
Bucky keeps visiting. Three days after her desperate prayer, she hears Steve laugh at something Bucky said, and that night, the fever finally breaks. Sarah Rogers is on her knees again that night, thanking God and his angels and the saints for their mercy.
Please write those 24356643 meta posts on post Azzano Bucky!!!! I wanna get sad!!!
Let’s start with one!!! But when??? There’s so much to think about and see with post-azzano Bucky and it’s only because Sebastian is truly great. I’m gonna pick my favorite and start with The Bar Scene
just another lil something as I need to move my butt and start posting more! This is a tad drunk / sleepy Harry.
“I’m s’not drunk.” Harry amusingly giggled like a child, showing you his teeth as he thought of what to say next. His eyes were on you, and they made you feel good inside. His glances were like no one else’s.
“Snot?” You asked, his smile slightly vanished, he looked at you not understanding your words.
“S’what?” Harry asked you again. He sat up straight on the padded chair and rubbed his eyes like a child wanting sleep. He focused on you again. His soft pink lips went to open, but quickly shut again as he lost his train of thought.
“Why are you speaking like that?” You asked with a smile, putting the straw in your mouth and drinking from your pitcher. God you loved him, the pair of you loved nothing more than taking the piss out of each other.
“Don’t laff, it’s ‘m accent. I’m not from ‘round ‘ere ya’now.” He said looking down, he acted embarrassed but the smile on his face said completely different. He really didn’t know what he was saying by this time, he had the same amount of drinks as you did, but when he eventually hurried off to the toilet, not wanting to break the seal. You switched his G&T for Tequila, Harry’s demon of all alcoholic drinks.
“Where you from then baby?” You asked him. Of course you knew where he was from. You were girlfriend, but it was fun to mess with him when he was drunk. His hand held yours, fiddling with a ring on your tiny index finger. Harry loved your hands, they were tiny, which he loved, and they were dainty, which always made him laugh, he found it funny how every time he held your had it reminded him of when he hold hands with Lola, his 3 year old niece.
He’d been gone a month and a half, and you were missing him horribly. Face-times and text’s were not enough make either of you feel better. You were craving him, you’d wake up aching for him, your entire body needed his touch, you deserved it. Two days, he promised, two days left and he’d be home and he’d make it up by going to the bar where you first met, sit at the same table, order the exact same drinks, and have the exact same conversation you had that night.
It was a shit conversation. You both knew it. You wanted each other, and that was before you started ordering numerous concoctions. The heat, the passion, the eagerness was there, but neither of you admitted it, you both remained calm, no eagerness shown. You laughed hard at his really shit dad jokes, and he acted really interested in the degree you were studying although he didn’t know what astrobiology was.
And you didn’t know that he was secretly throbbing under his black ripped skinny jeans, and he didn’t know that you were soaking from the thought of that tongue being inside you tonight.
The night carried on, and more drinks were poured. You both over thanked the waitress each time she brought the drinks over, embarrassing fits of giggles escaped your mouths as you tried to reenact voices of television characters you used to watch when you were both little. The night was ending soon and there was nothing you could both do to stop time, neither of you wanted to go home and you both definitely didn’t want to go home alone…
“I’m from, ‘uh.. I’m from Scot - ta - fornia.” He said to you. He said it again to himself and nodded. “I’m from Scottafornia.” He smiled, and took another sip of his ‘G&T’. He struggled to find the straw, his eyes were located on the straw, yet his mouth was having trouble and couldn’t find it.
You cleared your throat. Scotland and California maybe?
“Are you now?” You asked, very amused at his answer. “What’s it like there? Sounds like it’s hot but also cold?” He watched you speak, he couldn’t quite understand why you had such a smile on your face.
“S’nice. Real nice.” He said proudly, so unaware of his mistake.
“Baby, take ‘meh shoes off’t.” Harry whined.
You looked at him and put your hands on your hips. “Harry I’m your girlfriend not your bloody mother.” You barked at him. He looked at you and gave you the pout he knew would win you over, it did, you leant across and took his shoes off.
“Not my socks Y/N!”
His voice shrieked. You looked up at him ands eyes were wide. You couldn’t help but laugh, but he frowned at you and mumbled to himself.
“No socks to be worn in the bed, you know the rules.”
He did know the rules, time and time again you’d get into bed and find numerous amount of socks just rolled up under the covers. You thought you were going mad, but you weren’t. You’d sit up and throw the socks out of the bed, lay back down and still find some. Harry loved to wear his socks to bed. You though, you hated it.
He got under the covers of your bed and scowled at you, while mumbling something that sounded similar to what you’d just said, but you decided to ignore it. You got undressed and put some pyjamas on. You went downstairs to get a glass of water for Harry, who was a lot more drunker than you.
You placed his glass of water on his bedside table and crawled into bed next to him. He immediately turned over to face you. “Got you something, for your feet.” You said with a little smile playing at your lips.
“Hope it’s ‘ma socks.” He said bluntly. You could see him rubbing his legs together under the duvet. You let out a little laugh again. Not like Harry to be dramatic.
You move the hot water bottle from your stomach to his hands so he could feel what you were on about. “Here.” You watched him. His face relaxing to the warmth. He smiled at you and ever so quickly got under the covers to place it under his feet.
You smiled and got comfortable, pulling the duvet that smelt of Harry up to your neck and letting out a little sigh of relief that neither of you have been sick yet.
“Y/N, baby.” Harry started.
“’Fanks for the hot water bottle,” He said slowly. He moved closer to you wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your neck. He left little kisses, and let out a little sigh.
guys met, fell in love, etc. and being a longtime fan of him, on your wedding
day, (y/n) posts a picture of him and her kissing on twitter/Instagram with the
caption “guess I don’t have to Photoshop him & I together
anymore” and he reads it and just laughs and cuddles her. Much fluff.