this was before i got my glasses so my vision was basically shit

I Told You So

Pairing: Bones x Reader

Word Count: 2383

Warnings: injury, swearing, minor angst 

A/N: Based on anon request: What if reader gets injured or sick in some way and Bones has to treat them but he’s mad that they’re hurt (because he hates to see them hurt) and he’s kind of rude about it? And reader is anxious and doesn’t like doctors/being yelled at and he goes to apologize after but reader isn’t ready to accept and says they need some time to think about it?? Surprisingly not as angsty as I originally intended, but I hope you still enjoy it!!

“Told you so,” Bones gloated, running a dermal regenerator over the burns of your hand.

“I wouldn't’ve gotten hurt if Keenser could’ve held his sneeze two more goddamn minutes,” you grumbled. “‘It’s the last time you’ll see me for a week. Promise.”

Bones snorted. “You’ll be back in two days tops.”

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Not As Good As Her

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Hello! This is a cheating fic about Josh Dun x Reader. I am an angst whore, so this is really angsty. This is only my second top fic, so go easy on me! There will be a second part!

If you don’t like angst, you can check out my other fic Unknown Number.

You had fallen in love with Josh Dun, the drummer of twenty one pilots. How you ended up with him was a mystery to you, because he was way out of your league, but for some reason, he had feelings for you too, and you had been in a relationship for a year now. He had been on tour recently and had just came home. He had been acting weird ever since he got back. You were a little worried that you had done something wrong, and you decided to try and make him feel better, or make up for whatever you had done.

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Right in Front of Your Eyes - Part 2

Originally posted by thealextheshipper

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, all the feelings
Summary: After your parents were murdered mysteriously, you move in with your godfather Tony Stark, along the way your normal life will be turned upside down, due to a Mr Parker and being hit by a bus. It will all make sense eventually.
A/N: Basically, you are Jessica Drew but with your name and a slight twist. BTW you’re British, you’re welcome 😉
Word Count: 1800+

Intro | Part 1 |

I hate hospitals. Well, not the idea of saving people’s lives, but mainly the smells and people. The smell of antiseptic, death and misery is not something you can get used to, not being able to move from the waist down sucks, even more, I cried two days straight after I found out. Thanks to that bus I’m now paralysed from the waist down, but according to the doctors, Tony made it just in time with the news that he may have a solution. By that I mean, secretly he’s been trying to replicate Peter’s Spider-Man abilities to form some type of serum, yes, I know Spider Man’s identity, I sort of put two and two together, makes me feel slightly giddy that Peter’s girlfriend only thinks he’s working with Tony for a grant, and that I know more about Peter than she ever has done; what a shock that will be. Peter has been at the hospital with me from the start, I don’t know why, he says that we should ‘bond’ and now that I can’t walk, he knows I won’t run away. It’s funny really, he apologised straight after saying that, but I was in hysterics. Anyway, back to the serum; Tony asked me if it was okay to inject me with it, I said yes straight away before he could even tell me side effects, or even what would happen. I mean what else can I lose? (I really shouldn’t jinx myself, I mean I’m a disabled orphan for Christ’s sake). So, plans were made, which brings us to now. Looking at the clock I have 10 minutes until my life is going to change – again – For better or for worst.

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Before the Line (Prequel) Part 4

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: When Clint enlists the help of a former SHIELD agent to help during Civil War, will a new friendship blossom or will it become something more?

Warnings: Fluff, Language

Words: 1499 (yeah not really a drabble)

A/N: Trying to get back into the grind of writing. Also, I didn’t edit so pardon the errors. Hopefully y’all enjoy this!

Part 3

Originally posted by weslehgibbins

As everyone leaves to suit up, I stay behind already in my fighting gear and waiting for everyone to return. I hear heavy footsteps behind me and I turn around to see the reason why I am here. Bucky Barnes. He’s dressed in an all black attire and a ski jacket which just so happened to be missing a left sleeve, exposing the terrible gift HYDRA bestowed upon him. He makes his way over to me but keeps his distance, almost as if he’s afraid to  get close to anyone, physically or emotionally, in fear of inflicting harm.

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I’m working on a Canada Day fic, but in the mean time here’s a new recruit!AU probably no one is interested in! :’)


The problem is that nobody on base really knows Pharah yet. Fareeha keeps to herself: sticks to the hangers, her dorm, the town, and hasn’t really talked to anyone– well talk, talked, she sometimes says greetings in passing and commands during missions over comms (both short and often terse, but probably not intentionally).

Hana blows a bubble in her gum until it’s about half the size of her head and then sucks it back in; there is music in the hanger that comes from speakers placed high up in the four corners of the garage space. It is turned down relatively low, but the bass cords of the rock song still rattle Hana’s eardrums and make the sticky candy quiver when she blows it out. She’s watching Fareeha bob her head to the rhythm as she tightens a bolt on the Raptora – hanging on metal chains draped over a steel bar – and then she turns back to her handheld and the game displayed on screen. (Hana’s already beaten it, now she’s just picking up collectables and upgrades she didn’t care about during the campaign.)

This is how they sometimes spend Saturday evenings; in here, in the gym where Fareeha teaches Hana knew techniques through sparring, in Hana’s room playing videogames (poorly, in Fareeha’s case) or out on the null behind the compound sipping tea or pop from thermoses, eating crap, and chattering about things. Hana misses Korea sometimes, Fareeha misses Egypt and the reputation she made for herself there, though she’s only brought it up once and maybe, maybe, Hana had a minor breakdown her first month here, and maybe, maybe Fareeha was the only person that seemed to notice or care. So they’re friends. Or at least, Hana’s pretty sure they’re friends.

So if Hana gets a bit annoyed when others on the team talk during lunch about how Fareeha seems a bit standoffish because she hasn’t joined them in the mess it’s only because none of them know her at all and nobody is even making the effort to try.

“-Hana,” Fareeha says, cutting into her game and thoughts, Hana hums absently, “will you hand me that screwdriver by your foot?” Hana looks over the handheld to see a screwdriver resting on the top of the tool cabinet her feet are propped up on and grabs it.

“Catch,” she says, and tosses it to Fareeha, who catches it easily. After a moment, Fareeha’s back to her again, Hana sits forward a bit in her swiveling mechanic’s chair.

“Hey,” she says, “you should come to dinner in the mess tonight.” This stops Fareeha, she doesn’t turn instantly, but she does rub the back of her neck with her free hand, smearing grease across the base of her neck.

“I don’t … think that is a good idea,” Fareeha says evenly, and turns.

Fareeha should be a pretty intimidating presence. She stands like a soldier, she’s tall, she has eyes which dare you to lie and she never looks down – Hana’s noticed. When Fareeha thinks, she looks to the side or up, and when she talks to Hana, it is only with eyes which flicker to meet hers; Fareeha Amari’s chin is always held high – despite this, there’s a softness to her confrontations and Hana never feels like she is any lesser.

Sometimes, the older members of Overwatch try to make Hana feel younger than she is; unready for the burdens of war. Hana doesn’t mind reminding them that she had been her country’s first line of defense against total annihilation and she can handle herself, but it’s still tiring. Fareeha never make her feel like anything less than what she is: a soldier … probably because Fareeha spent a lot of time trying to prove herself, too.

“Why not? It’ll be fun,” Hana pouts. Fareeha chuckles at her frown and sets her screwdriver down on the tool box beside Hana.

“What fun things are constantly happening at dinner?” Fareeha asks, humoring her. Hana rolls her eyes.

“Well, for starters, I’m there and things are always fun when I’m involved.” Fareeha looks skeptical. Hana groans, “… Have you even talked with anyone since you’ve been here? It’s been like three months. Do you even know anyone’s name?” Hana doesn’t mean for the bite in her tone, but she can hear it as she speaks. If Fareeha is hurt by it, it doesn’t show. Fareeha sighs softly, and sits down beside Hana in another swivel chair. Hana spins to face her and doesn’t miss the way Fareeha’s eyes flicker to the far corner of the room, her hands folded around each other rest between her legs as she leans forward, her elbows on her thighs.

“I grew up around most of the people here, Hana,” Fareeha tells her after a time, and looks briefly at her, “and I have read all the files. So yes, I know everyone’s name.”

“You’re going to have to explain to me why you don’t want to make friends,” Hana grumbles, “I don’t get it.”

“I’m not opposed to making friends,” Fareeha tells her with a light chuckle, “and I know most of the recruits to be good people, but you must understand: I will always be my mother’s daughter to the returning members of Overwatch,” at Hana’s confusion Fareeha rubs her shoulder and continues, “I did not come here to measure up to my mother and I did not come to rehash the same conversation with the heroes of my youth. I joined to make the world a better place.”

“So you’re just going to ignore everyone?” Hana gapes. “You could be such a badass.”

“I am not ignoring anyone,” says Fareeha, “and I do not need to prove myself. I am a good soldier; I know my value.” Hana rolls her eyes, but raises her hands in a mock show of surrender, just the same.

“Fine, fine,” she says, a pause, and then: “for the record, I think you’re pretty cool, too.” When Fareeha laughs it is a remarkable genuine sound. She closes her eyes, covers them with her hands.
“Thanks,” she says.

“I am astonished that you even managed this,” says Dr. Ziegler, an undertone of wonder beneath her exasperation. Hana shrugs through the pain of both her dislocated shoulders and debates telling the good doctor that it happened when Pharah pinned her into the mat during sparring, but decides against it. Hana Song isn’t a snitch.

Dr. Ziegler sighs heavily and places her palm just above Hana’s right collarbone.

“I’m afraid this is going to hurt,” she says. Before Hana can ask what the doctor means, Angela’s other hand is bracing her neck and with surprising force she rolls the younger girl’s shoulder back into place. Hana screams and responds colorfully in Korean. There are few pains Hana has experienced more excruciating than what the doctor has just done and Hana’s head spins a bit with the rolling aftershock. Here, she thought mercy was a description, not some creative anti-name … like some harry, raging, devil dog being named Cupcake.

“Perhaps next time you should be more careful,” Dr. Ziegler says without remorse, “now the other.” Hana scrambles back a bit on the examination table, to avoid the doctor’s hands, the protective paper bunches under her thighs as she moves and makes a rustling noise which breaks the tense sterile air around them.

“That’s okay, doc, I think I’ll leave this one,” Hana grins, pain shoots through her arm even as she says it, but for the sake of not reliving that particular experience, she hides it well enough.

“Nonsense,” says Angela and deftly pulls Hana forward. With fluid motions much too quick to be entirely human the other shoulder pops back into place as well and Hana curses again, much louder this time (the pain is substantially worse) as the doctor lets her go. Everything is sore and unpleasant; the room is spinning; fuck doctor visits. When the stars leave Hana’s vision, she’s able to blink up at Dr. Ziegler with what she hopes is an accurate expression of the betrayal she feels. Whether or not Angela sees it is hard to tell, as she makes no move to comfort or acknowledge Hana’s decided discomfort.

“I advise you refrain from physical activity for a couple of weeks and apply ice when you inevitably become sore,” Angela tells her, her voice professional and distant, “wait here,” Hana watches as Angela moves about the confines of the med bay. From a cooled cabinet at the far end of the room she pulls a vial of something iridescently yellow, and from a box beside it, a sterile syringe. “This should mend the fracture in your left shoulder and reduce the swelling and pain,” Hana nods in resignation as Angela fills the syringe. She sterilizes the skin of Hana’s left shoulder and applies the shot with steady hands, made sure by a lifetime of practice. Hana feels the relief almost immediately and wonders for a moment at the miracle of nanobiology technology as Angela disposes of the syringe, removes her gloves and stores the vial once more.

“Now,” says Angela, turning on her. Her entire body language seems to change; gone is the cold indifference of a doctor to her patient. She’s got the look of a mother, Hana thinks. That quiet disapproval and earnest expression – let me help you. Hana bites the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she doesn’t want to. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Hana lies. Angela slips her glasses off her nose and sets them down on a table beside Hana’s bed.

“Really?” Angela responds, unconvinced.

“Just a little accident,” Hana tells her. Angela sighs, crosses her arms and looks vaguely at the door; Fareeha’s out there, her silhouette leaning up against the frosted glass of the med bay wall. Hana’s not talking, she’s already decided, and Angela must see it too because she steps back a bit and shakes her head.

“Hmm,” Angela finally hums, seeming more tired than she has since Hana first entered the room. Hana knows why, of course she does, Hana knows basically everything. Hana knows that while Winston might be the instigator of the recall, it is Dr. Ziegler who is attending conferences and world leader affairs and client meetings – and healing the recruits (though now Lucio’s around to help, and that guy’s basically a godsend so soon Dr. Zielger should shoulder a bit less of the burden). “Overwatch’s budget does not allow for such potentially detrimental … accidents. I’ll inform Winston that you’re to be taken off the mission rotation until you have fully recovered, but please be more responsible.”

“Thanks doc,” says Hana, and then belated, as she stands: “It won’t happen again.” She flashes the D.Va smile; the one that has gotten her out of all sorts of messes in the past. Dr. Ziegler smiles faintly back at her.

“I am sure that it won’t.” Angela watches Hana open the door, but just before the younger girl can slip out she calls: “And Hana? Please have Captain Amari come in.”

Hana is caught off guard. She looks from the doctor, now vaguely flipping through some papers on her desk within the room, to Fareeha, leaning casually, arms crossed under her chest, against the wall just to the right of the med bay entrance. Fareeha raises a brow in confusion and Hana shrugs back at her, mouthing ‘I don’t know’. Fareeha pushes off the wall and glances into the room before looking back at Hana. Lightly, she pats Hana on the bicep.

“I’m glad you are okay,” Fareeha tells her, and: “I will see you later.” Fareeha glides past Hana into the room and Hana watches her until the glass door slides shut behind the Egyptian woman, before she decides its best to not stick around.


This is Fareeha’s first time in the Overwatch med bay. She is scheduled for an entrance physical in a couple of weeks – Dr. Ziegler has slowly been making her way through the recruits – but without the binding element of mandatory examinations, Fareeha makes it a general practice to avoid medical facilities when possible.

It is the smell, she has decided: the smell of bleach, stale air and stagnation. Like purgatory.

The automatic glass door hisses shut behind her, and Fareeha looks for a moment around the room. She takes in the white walls, the cleanliness of the examination bed and the stand beside it. The area where Angela sees patience is remarkably bleak - professional, efficient - an incredible contrast to the desk in the corner, three computer monitors mounted to the wall and small mountains of paper on and surrounding the space. Fareeha cannot begin to imagine what they are all for, and is not sure she would understand even if she asked. There’s a photo there, too, among the papers, of the younger Overwatch members, right before the fall – Jesse and Angela, Genji, Winston and Lena. Fareeha had wanted to be a part of that, but having been barred by Ana, had opted for the Egyptian armed forces instead. She doesn’t regret it, not at all, but if there is lingering bitterness she cannot shake, well, so be it.

“Captain Amari,” Dr. Ziegler says, looking up from her papers. It’s been ten years since she has seen Angela Ziegler, and it is almost as though nothing has changed.

“You fractured her shoulder.”

“It was an accident,” Fareeha responds lightly, roaming the room, reading the info-posters hung sporadically about the walls as a buffer.

“So I’ve been told.”
You Don’t Work Here Anymore

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Romance, Drama

Summary: You’re a barista in New York City, and a cute new customer has started coming to your coffee shop to work on his drawings. You begin to develop a connection with the man, who you discover his named Gerard…….but, then, tragedy strikes. 

You’d just started working at a cute, mom-and-pop coffeeshop in the big city. You loved the smell of beans roasting and bagels baking in the morning when you walked in. It was kind of hard to learn how to make all the different kinds of drinks, especially when you always had a long line. But, so far, you still thought it was a pretty cool job. You even got free coffee once in a while.

You watched the man at the furthest table from the counter out of the corner of your eye as you prepared a cappuccino. He was handsome, with long, dark hair and hazel eyes that you wished would glance your way. He’d started coming here almost every day recently, ordering a single latte and then sitting in the corner for hours, bent over his sketchbook. You were curious as to what he was working on, but you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed really shy, and the last thing you wanted to do was make him anxious.

“Hey, Y/N, can you go wipe the tables while we’re not busy?” your boss asked. “I’ll finish that cappuccino for Mrs. Benson, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” you nodded, and grabbed a rag. The rush was going to start soon, and so this was the only time today you’d have time to do this. You started at the first table, wiping away donut crumbs and spilled espresso. Most of the tables weren’t that dirty, so it didn’t take you long. Soon, you were at the table beside the one where the raven-haired man sat.

You craned your neck as you scrubbed, trying to sneak a peek at his drawing. He didn’t seem to notice you were there. He was completely absorbed in his work, tongue sticking out of his mouth slightly as he inked over a pencil line with laser-like focus. You saw that the sketch depicted a cartoon monkey eating pancakes.

“It’s so cute,” you said softly, unable to resist a smile.

The man jumped at the sound of your voice, clearly startled. His knee knocked the table when he bolted, sending his latte tumbling to the floor with a splash.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” you gasped. “Let me get a mop and clean that up for you!”

“It’s ok, it’s my fault,” the man said quietly, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser and bending down to wipe up the spill. “I, uh, didn’t see you over there.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you apologized. “I just thought your drawing was really good.”

“Oh, well, um, thank you,” the man blushed. “I actually work at Cartoon Network, and the sketch is part of some concept art for a show idea I’m about to pitch to them, called The Breakfast Monkey.”

“That’s so cool!” you beamed, impressed. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“I’m Gerard,” the man introduced. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smiled. “Listen, I feel really bad for making you spill your drink. I can get you a new latte on the house, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Gerard waved his hand.

“I don’t have to,” you agreed. “I want to.”

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble with your manager?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah, it should be fine,” you assured him. “I’ll go get one for you right now. And good luck with your pitch!”

“Thanks,” Gerard smiled, playing with a lock of hair nervously. You found him even cuter now that you’d have the nerve to talk to him.

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Reach and Flexibility Pt. 1

ME2: A conversation taking place post Normandy Crash Site mission. You know the one.

Shepard rocked on her heels in front of the main battery, savoring the delayed, dizzy sway that echoed in her inebriated head. The lights in the hall had been dimmed to help facilitate regular sleep cycles. Behind her, the mess was dark and deserted. She glanced back at the black windows of the medbay and wondered how Chakwas was sleeping.

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Oath | Ch.17 | Jungkook

Genre: Angst | Mafia!AU

Members: Jungkook | You/Reader | Yoongi | Taehyung | Namjoon | Hoseok | Jin | Jimin |

Summary: What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow?

Originally posted by berry852

| Previous Chapter | Chapter List | Next Chapter |

Word count: 2464

Your heart was beating fast. Where did he come from? Why was he so angry? You did not do anything to bother him, why all the fuss? You were afraid he found out about your plan and was about to ruin everything. Taehyung was not around, there was nobody to save you now. You saw his clenched jaw and almost cried in pain as your wrist was basically being smashed in his hand. Your eyes met his, and for a second time stopped. His dark pupils gave you chills. But they did not seem like a stranger’s. What was that? He examined your face, his eyes widening in shock as your features reminded him of his lost love. Y/N? He could not believe it. This could not be real. He was hallucinating. He wanted to bring you closer, to take your mask off but it was too late. The whole room became pitch dark. That was your cue. As soon as you felt his grip loosen, you broke free, running towards the door.

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Black & Blue (One-Shot)

Originally posted by as-valentine

Anonymous request: Could you do a one-shot where Bucky finds out reader is in a abusive relationship and he saves her from it?

Warnings: angst, violence, psychological abuse, swearing

Word count: 2127

Italics are reader’s thoughts

You had just arrived back home from work, and you weren’t surprised to see your ‘lover’ passed out on the sofa with a vodka bottle in hand. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, did you expect anything less? Brock was always an asshole when he was drunk, and he was drunk all the time. Alcoholic. 

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Falling Stars

It had been many years since Eridrain had been issued a challenge, even more since the time he accepted one. The memories of his last match were seared into his memory and body. His ruby tipped cane was a constant reminder of that fact. Entering the grand stadium under the magic city was a bittersweet memory, rows of stands and a single light that allowed all who gathered to witness the matches, and many had shown up to see this one.

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The One Where You Keep Him Safe

Pairing: Isaac Lahey x Reader

Summary: You and Isaac had always ignored each other despite being neighbors your entire lives. When you get paired up with him in class, ignoring him is no longer an option, especially when you can hear his crazy father hurting him next door.

A/N: finally another isaac imagine for those of you who have been asking!

MASTERLIST, MOBILE MASTERLIST (you can like it and save it for later!)

“Mum, where’s the coffee?” you call from the kitchen, pulling open the cupboards above the sink before finally noticing the empty jar sitting in the trash, “Great,” you mumble to yourself.

Your mum bounds down the stairs, slamming ten dollars on the counter, “Get yourself something on the way to school.”

She was fleeing out the front door before you could even complain about nearly everything in the house having run out. Your eyes travel to the empty box of cereal on the counter. Everything.

You slip the note into your pocket, slinging your bag over your shoulder. One last look in the mirror at your black jeans and oversized sweater; not much of a fashion statement but everything else was in the laundry. If you left now, you could stop by the café near the school and get a muffin. Only problem was, your mum had taken your car which left you stuck with your dad’s old motorbike. You pull one leg over and turn the key in the ignition, holding the handles firmly and trying to remember the last time you had rode it – it had to be like riding a bicycle, you tell yourself.

The engine roars to life and with half closed eyes, you find yourself going down the street. You finally open your eyes fully, suddenly wondering how awful your hair would look on the first day of school once you took this helmet off. You pull up next to the kerb beside the cafe, and stay still for a moment, looking up at the sky and it lets out a low rumble. Great.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts you, tapping you on the shoulder, “We’re going to be late,” he says, climbing onto your bike. You sit still, unsure of how to react and as you open your mouth to speak, he groans, “Please hurry up, I don’t want to be late for the first day.”

You move your arms from the handles to take your helmet off and as you do, he turns the key, twisting the handles and kicking off from the ground.

You let out a high pitch scream before grabbing the handles yourself, steadying the bike.

“You scream like a girl,” he laughs. You look at his face in the mirror and try to place it. And then it clicks; Isaac Lahey. The boy who lives next door to you.

When you pull into the school parking lot, he stretches his arms over his head, looking at you expectantly as you sit, half shocked, on the bike.

“You coming or what?” he laughs.

You slowly pull your helmet off, watching his eyes widen in surprise.


“You know my name?” you ask in surprise.

He furrows his brows together, “You live next door to me,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I thought you were Scott – you have the same bike,” he apologizes. You feel embarrassed that he could’ve mistaken you for a male. He seems to pick up on it.

“Really, I just wasn’t paying attention, I’m sorry – really!” he laughs nervously.

You stand up, kicking the stand out before turning to him, “Its fine, Isaac. Really.”

“Hey Isaac, where were you?! I waited for you at the café-“ Scott yells as he walks over before pausing at the sight of the two of you, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, turning back to Isaac, “I’ll see you around.” With that, you walk towards the front doors.

“Who was that?” Scott asks, both him and Isaac watching you disappear into the crowd.

“My neighbour,” Isaac mumbles.

“Well, what did you say to her? She was embrassed… I could smell it from across the parking lot.”

“I – I thought she was you and got onto her bike,” he sighs, his own cheeks flushing pink.

Scott’s eyes widen, “You thought she was me? And then you got onto her bike?”

Isaac buries his head in his hands, “Let’s just go inside,” he groans, clearly wanting to talk about anything else.

“Hey you,” Tracy sits down beside you, “You look lovely in your homeless hoodie,” she nudges you lightly.

“Shut up,” you grumble, “We ran out of laundry powder so all my clothes are just sitting in the hamper.”

“Still. Coming in your knickers would’ve been a better option than that,” she laughs.

“Best friend or not, I’ll kill you if you make me feel any worse,” you nudge her back and she giggles, making a zipping motion against her lips.

The teacher walks in, “Pair up,” she calls out, “With the person behind you.”

The class let’s out a collective groan. You, however, feel your breath hitch in your throat at the sight of Isaac sitting behind you. He takes Tracy’s vacated seat.

“About this morning,” he begins. You turn to him with a forced smile, “Really, it’s no big deal.”

“Good,” he smiles, “Won’t be awkward if I run into you when I take out the trash,” he laughs awkwardly.

“Yeah,” you shrug.

“I saw your mum this morning – she always seems to be in a rush.”

“Being a surgeon keeps you busy,” you reply with a line your mum told you for as long as you could remember.

“Still, it must be nice to have the house all to yourself.”

“And you,” you blurt out before feeling profoundly embarrassed.

He just nods silently. It was an unspoken fact that you knew about how abusive his father was. Neither of you acknowledged it despite having been in most of the same classes since freshman year. Isaac seemed to like it better that way, secretly hoping you didn’t know about it at all.

Isaac just smiles, nudging the container toward you, “I have no idea about science stuff so you’re going to have to take the lead on this one,” he whispers.
When you got home, your mum was still at the hospital and had left a voicemail that she had left her credit card on your bed for you to go get dinner and had come home at lunch to leave you the car. Your big house seemed even bigger when it was empty and every sound echoed.

It was 8:30 when you finally finished your homework and sat down in front of the television. It wasn’t long before the sound of yelling from next door made the TV inaudible.

You walk towards the window that let you see into the Lahey’s kitchen, pushing the curtain aside slightly so you could look without being seen. You had been at home for two of their more serious fights but your mother had basically locked you in your room and insisted you do nothing. She wanted nothing less than to live quietly, in peace, since your father had gotten locked up for the same reason Mr. Lahey should have been – you didn’t blame her – but at times you felt guilty for not barging in there and stopping Mr. Lahey.

You watched him yell at the top on his lungs, while Isaac seemed to cower away though he was not at fault. You flinched each time his father moved, afraid he would throw something or hit him.

“DOWNSTAIRS!” you heard him yell, after throwing a plate that hit the wall beside Isaac’s face and shattered. Isaac seemed to look more afraid at this than he had when his father had picked up a glass salad bowl to throw at him.

You watched as he cowered, walking towards the staircase before disappearing from your field of vision.

You pull your jacket over your shoulders, walking outside through your back door. You fumble hesitantly at the fence, your mother’s words echoing in your ears. But you couldn’t just leave him, not again. The other times your mum had been there to make sure you kept put, but there was nothing stopping you this time.

You hoist yourself over the fence into their backyard, landing on the wet grass with a thud. There was a long window that you were sure led to the basement and a back door. You slowly walked to it, turning the handle but it jammed halfway, locked. The window was your only option.

You slowly pulled the lever, “Thank god,” you sigh in relief, finding it open. You weren’t sure which would be more effective: going in arms or legs first. What would you even do if you went in there? You wouldn’t put it past Isaac’s dad to knock you out and throw you outside if he had to.

You lie down on your stomach, putting both legs though and sliding until you were hanging by your arms. You look over your shoulder, making sure there’s nothing underneath you before dropping down. You find yourself behind a pile of stacked storage boxes and slowly walk around it, turning the backlight on your phone on. There was no one here. Where had they disappeared to? You had seen them go down the stairs.

There was a low thud that echoed around the room followed by Isaac’s voice, “Please,” you hear him cry.

“Isaac?” you whisper, shining the light as you turn in a circle. He wasn’t anywhere. Another thud.

You turn in the direction of the sound, your eyes landing on a white freezer.

“Shit,” you whisper. You could hear the sound of his nails raking against it, his cries growing louder. You scour the shelves until you find plyers and walk over to the freezer, trying as quietly as possible to break the lock.

You could hear Isaac’s hands slamming against the top and your hands work faster, your breathing heavy. You feel tears in your eyes, worried for him and disgusted by his father.

“Fuck,” you croak, struggling with the lock. A few seconds later it falls to the floor and you slowly unravel the chain, making sure it doesn’t drop to the floor.

The lid flies open and Isaac jumps out pinning you to the floor, his hands around your throat and his eyes glowering.

“Isaac,” you choke. He was growling. He was definitely growling. You reach for your phone, shining the light between the two of you, “Isaac, it’s me!” you hiss.

There was a creak above you and his head snaps upwards. When he looks back at you, his face is familiar and he scrambles away from you. You hold back from coughing, clapping a hand to his mouth when he opens it to speak.

You press a finger to your lips as you move your hand away, “Follow me,” you whisper. You both walk towards the window and you wait for him to go up first. He offers a hand to you and pulls you up and you both proceed to jump the fence. He lands, stumbling backwards onto his back and remains there. You finally let out a cough, collapsing beside him.

“Your dad is out of his fucking mind,” you sigh.

“You’re telling me.”

You turn to him, studying his face which was still wet with tears and try to make sense of what you had seen down there. His eyes, his…fangs?

He turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath before blinking hard and looking back at you with glowing golden eyes.

You stare at him, unable to move.

“You’re not crazy,” his eyes flicker back to normal, “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“W-what are you?”

He gives you a look as if to say he couldn’t say any further before his lips curl into a small smile, “Thank you. I don’t know anyone that would’ve been brave enough to do what you did – and Jackson lives across the road.”

“Yeah well Jackson is an asshole,” you huff.

“Oh yeah, the two of you dated.”

This time you turn to him and give him a look that undoubtedly said ‘shut up and don’t remind me’.

Isaac chuckles, though there’s a certain sadness behind it, “Thank you,” he repeats.

“Don’t thank me,” you sigh, “I should’ve done it earlier.”

“Better late than never,” he says standing up. When you stand up, he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder, “Thank you, y/n.”

You rub his back lightly, “You’re safe now.”

He pulls away, shaking his head, “I have to go back. When he notices I’m gone he’ll go looking for me and next time it’ll be worse.”

“Wha – No! Isaac, you can’t go back there!”

You study his face that was cut up in a few places by a plate his father had thrown, “You can’t go back,” you say softly, your hand reaching out to his cheek.

“I have nowhere else to go, right now.” He thinks about staying with Derek, but Derek had problems of his own right now. As for Scott, he couldn’t ask him again knowing how much his mother was struggling for money.

“Here. You can stay here,” you nod toward your house, “I’m not letting you go back.”

“Your mum-“

“Is never home. And she’s been through the same thing, Isaac. She’ll understand.”

He finally nods, his shoulders slumped, “Thank you,” he sighs, again.

You smile, leading him towards the back door by his hand, though it did feel more like you were dragging him, “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head and you look down at your own stomach as it rumbles loudly, “I take it you are,” he laughs.

“Mum left her card to get takeout,” you mumble, “I guess we could order in,” you look at him, not wanting to leave him alone. As if reading your mind, he stands up, “Don’t be silly. I see far too many pizza boxes hanging out of your bins.”

You retrieve your mum’s credit card before taking the keys off the counter and walking outside only to be halted by the sound of Isaac’s dad running from his lawn to yours and coming to a stop on the driveway.

“ISAAC!” he bellows, looking between the two of you, “Come home at once,” he lowers his voice though his face seemed to be shaking with anger.

Isaac steps protectively in front of you but you pull him back, slipping your hand into his, “Isaac and I were just going to get dinner, Mr Lahey,” you say calmly.

“Was it you?” he snarls, “You broke into my basement and took him out? I could call the cops!” he yells.

You step forward, leaning in, “But you won’t,” you step back again, returning to Isaac’s side, “And if I’m being honest, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Sounds to me like you’re implying that you had locked Isaac away somewhere and I had broken him out,” you narrow your eyes, “Which would be ridiculous because that’s abusive, Mr Lahey, and were I to call the cops, they’d lock you away.”

His face had grown red.

“It’s a good thing it’s just a misunderstanding, right?” you raise a brow.

You walk around him, your hand still in Isaac’s and unlock the car, waiting for Isaac to climb in before you sit behind the wheel.

Isaac was staring at you.

“It’s not over yet,” you mumble, turning the engine on and watching in the rear-view mirror as his dad began to storm towards your car. When he was a few meters behind the car, you shifted into reverse and slammed your foot on the accelerator, watching him scramble away, tripping over and landing on his ass before you shifted back into drive and sped off. Isaac was laughing, tears forming in his eyes, “You’re crazy, you know that right?!”

You were too filled with adrenaline to even reply, your knuckles gripping the wheel from holding on so tight. You finally catch your breath, “What do you feel like eating?” you ask him.


You nod, driving in the direction of a diner you knew. When you pull up in the parking lot, your breathing is still heavy and you begin to laugh, leaning your head against the headrest, “This is so far from my plan to eat Chinese takeaway, alone, in my pyjamas tonight,” you giggle.

“I like this plan better,” he grins at you. You realized your hand was still in his, resting on his lap. His eyes land on it too. When you begin to pull away, his grip tightens, “You make me feel safe,” he mumbles.

You turn to face him, “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I won’t let him anywhere near you.”

“If you had said that to me an hour ago, I probably would have laughed but y/n… you are a total badass.”

“Badass,” you repeat under your breath, holding your other hand out, “I’m shaking.”

“Still,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “You’re brave.”

The air finally settled between the two of you, your breathing returning to normal and then slowly he leaned in as he listened to your heart race.

You slowly lean in too, pressing your lips to his, letting the heat of the moment consume you. You could feel his fingers tangled in your hair as you held his shirt, bunched up in your first. Isaac slowly pulls away, “As much as I’d love to keep doing this, the sound of your stomach rumbling is very distracting,” he chuckles.

You were sure it hadn’t been that loud but perhaps you had been so distracted that you didn’t notice. You nod in embarrassment, “Yeah, I should eat.”

You slowly release your belt and as you pull the door handle Isaac’s arm stretches out and pulls the door shut again, “Maybe it can wait another minute,” he whispers, leaning in again.

Jealousy Is a Pretty Color on You pt 1 (Steve Rogers)

Pairing: Steve x Reader 

Warnings: Fluff, language

Steve: Seriously? Sharon is actually a very nice- 


Steve: What? I don’t understand why everyone- 


Bucky: She’s a dime and all- 

We’re done with this conversation. 


It wasn’t like you wanted to be at the stupid meeting or anything… it wasn’t like you had a choice or anything… it wasn’t like you wanted to beat the living shit out of Sharon Carter or anything.

Okay, maybe that last part was a lie. 

“Ms. Y/N? Are you with us?” General Ross’s voice is stern and annoying, nothing new. 

Keep reading

Crowley X Reader

Request: Hello, I just want to say that your blog is awesome! I was also wondering if you could do a request for me: The reader finds out her boyfriend is cheating on her and Crowley comforts her and a couple of months later the ex comes back, begging for forgiveness and Crowley tells the ex to back off because the reader’s taken? Thanks very much and keep up the awesome writing!

Request: Hi, do you think you can do a one shot where the readers boyfriend kind of breaks her down and stuff so the reader wants to sell her soul to Crowley in exchange for her being everything her bf wanted, but Crowley tells her that he can’t give her what she already has? (Sorry if it is bad, this is my first request. I love your one shots btw :) )

Keep reading

flyinglapiz  asked:

Can I ask for a scenario where Iwaizumi, Akaashi and Sugawara are teaching their s/o the basics of volleyball and accidentaly hitting her in the face with the ball when they're training how to spike? Just happened to me today haha xD

you poor bab are you alright? tell me more about how you got spiked to the face ohmy!! i have a mini story too about volleyball: in which someone served a little too hard, the ball ricocheted off the court and smacked me in the side and broke my glasses sobs T.T although i superglued mine after that so it’s all good lmao, here’s your scenario before i get too carried away ~

The gym was hot and sticky, considering you were using it together with your boyfriend after his own team training. Most of the guys had already left, for it was an early training today, leaving the two of you alone with a couple of balls and one net set up. You had decided to learn how to play volleyball, considering it was your boyfriend’s passion thus asking him to teach you the basics.

For the past few weeks, the two of you had trained in the school gym in various volleyball techniques. Receives were painful at first, especially when you were unable to position your hands right and the ball flew everywhere but to your boyfriend. However, you were able to grasp receiving, thus moving on to setting and spiking.


Being the ace of Seijoh, he was amazing at spiking. His strong, buff arms practically stood out even in school uniform making you blush every time you saw them. You have seen his killer spikes in action before, and boy did they intimidate the heck out of you. You had also first hand witnessed one of his spikes to someone’s face by pure accident and the poor person had a bruise on their face for a whole week.

Iwaizumi found it rather hard to explain to you the theory behind spiking because all it took was faith in your setter and jumping. As the boy’s net was set up much higher for a female like you, he had lowered the net which meant you had to jump lower.

“All you have to do is throw the ball up,” Iwaizumi began, explaining from the other side of the net. “Run, jump and smack.”

“It looks so easy when you do it Hajime,” you sighed, watching him bounce the ball. “Show me, please?”

Iwaizumi shrugged and nodded in agreement, taking a view steps back. He threw the ball up as if he was about to jump serve, ran and smacked the ball. However, you didn’t managed to see the ball hit the ground. Your face decided to take the impact.

Thankfully it was not a hard spike, for that would’ve broken your nose. However, your vision now was blurry and you could see specks of blood on the floor and a lot of incoherent swearing. “Holy shit ______ I didn’t mean to spike to your face! Are you okay?”

“I’m bleeding, but I can still breathe,” you clung onto his arms for support. The bleeding still persisted, staining your shirt and Iwaizumi rushed to grab an ice pack from the first aid kit and tissues. Pressing an ice pack to your face and you shoving tissues up your nose, you turned to Iwaizumi, his face slowly morphing back to normal. “Do I look attractive yet?”

“How do you still manage your humour while bleeding?” Iwaizumi questioned, holding your back steady. “I’m so so sorry _______,” he apologised profusely.

You shook your head. “It’s been my dream to be spiked to the face by Iwaizumi Hajime,” you muttered woozily.

“What?” Iwaizumi asked.

You shook your head, mentally slapping yourself for allowing such words to slip. “Nothing!”

Iwaizumi began mopping up your blood from the court and after the bleeding had stopped, you realised your entire collar was stained red and there was definitely going to be some stares on the train home. Iwaizumi rummaged through his bag and fished out one of his training t-shirts, tossing it in your direction before turning around. “What is this?”

“I think you should change, people would think you murdered someone, or something,” he mumbled. You chuckled and unbuttoned your t-shirt before pulling over Iwaizumi’s over your head. It was extremely oversized on you, but thankfully, you were wearing shorts so you tucked it in.

It was lowkey an honour to be spiked to the face,” you thought to yourself. “You should also stop fantasizing weird things. Agreed.”


To be fair, Akaashi was a great setter but his spiking techniques weren’t the best. He had suggested for Bokuto to train you in spiking, but one can only endure that much of Bokuto’s training for it was intense. You ran back to Akaashi after watching the way Bokuto trained his spike, especially his arm movements that made you cringe at the thought of the pain.

“Keiji, you don’t understand. Bokuto-san is insane.” you clutched his arm with puppy dog eyes. “I think my thighs were dead after that one training.”

Akaashi gave you a small smile and nodded. “Alright then,” he agreed.

He ran through a much lighter warm up compared to Bokuto and eventually, he began spiking freely to you. However, you weren’t able to sync with his spikes, and you know, as he was the team’s official setter, his tosses were as accurate as they could be and it was you who were unable to sync with his tosses. They were slow at the beginning, but then too fast and you began to get frustrated at yourself because you were unable to hit one toss right.

“Ugh Keiji, this is so hard,” you complained, crossing your arms and pouting.

“Hey, you’ll get better at this alright?” He slung his arm around you, squeezing your arm gently. “You just need a little more practice. Here, let’s have a short break then return,”


Whilst on break, Akaashi showed you various methods of spiking and videos training you how to spike. You took down information from these videos rapidly in your mind, making sure to apply those techniques later in your practice. Once you deemed your break to be over, the two of you returned to your final spiking practice.

“Remember _______, run, jump and spike.” Akaashi reminded.

You nodded and poised, ready to run and jump. You gave a signal to Akaashi when you were ready to spike and broke into a run. However, Akaashi this time was a little slow in processing your signal and ended up spiking to you when you were almost returning back to the ground. You had turned to him for the ball and instead of the ball flying past you, it ended up hitting your face.

Akaashi Keiji had tossed to your face.

Dropping to the ground, you rubbed your nose which was feeling the most pain. Akaashi was by your side immediately, holding an ice pack and tissues in case your nose was bleeding. Thankfully, there was no blood but a small bruise and a cut where it would be evident tomorrow. “_______ I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” he asked, rubbing your back.

“Been better,” you rubbed your nose, pressing the ice pack to numb the pain. “Though, it’s pretty funny how you tossed to my face.” you giggled. Akaashi didn’t see the humour in the situation, cocking his head to the side. “You know, cause you always hear stories of people getting spiked to the face, you rarely hear the ones who had a toss directly to their face,” you explained. Akaashi found a little humour in the situation, and broke into a small giggle.

“For real, are you okay?” Akaashi asked once you stopped laughing. You nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “If it’s anything, it should be me kissing you,” he pressed a kiss to your nose and your cheek where the ball had collided.


He was a setter, not a spiker but he was pretty flexible when it came to roles. After all, a good volleyball player meant that they could play more than one position. He had been teaching you the basics of setting and using water bottles as targets when you grew bored with setting training.

“Koushi, this is boring. How can you keep your cool even after missing like ten bottles in a row,” you sat on the ground, kicking the water bottles.

Suga chuckled and pulled you up. “How about we do a little spiking?”

Your eyes lit up at the thought of spiking. “Sounds perfect!”

Suga began to explain the basics when it came to spiking. He believed in a brief theoretical knowledge before beginning anything, thus with him explaining the basics. “There’s only three things you should know when you spike: Run, Jump and Hit.”

As the net setup for boys was much higher, he lowered it, which meant that you didn’t have to strain yourself as much. Before you could learn how to spike however, Suga ran through a few jumping drills with you, all which made you thighs and knees ache. You also had to do a lot more squats compared to receiving and you were starting to wonder if Suga was taking this opportunity to stare at your butt. “Is my ass that interesting or is this really part of training?” you asked, catching him off guard.

Suga flushed and shook his head. “It’s really part of training!”

Once you finished the jumping drills, you were ready to spike. It took a couple of tries before you were able to almost sync with him. Key word: almost. It would normally fly past you or stop short. This time however, you and Suga were determined to get the spike in.

“Ready ______?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you broke into a run and jumped just as Suga tossed the ball. However, this time, the ball was neither too far or too short. Instead it hit you in the head. You were taken aback by the sudden impact to the side of your head and you dropped to the ground, groaning in pain. Suga immediately rushed to your side with an ice pack.

“_______! Are you alright?” he asked with great concern, pressing the ice pack to your head and massaging your head.

You groaned a little at the iciness of the ice pack. “I’m fine Suga, don’t worry too much about me,” you answered. “At least it isn’t to my face.”

Suga sighed in relief. “Thank God,” he pressed a soft kiss to where the ball had collided with your head. After a while of massaging the spot, the pain began to subside and you were more pumped up than ever to get a spike in.

“C’mon Koushi, let’s continue spiking!” you tugged him up.

“Are you sure _______?”

“It’s just a little bruise. Thank God it wasn’t my face or I would have a broken nose and you would not love me anymore,”

“I still would,” Suga smiled, a megawatt smile that always made you weak in the knees.

“Love you Koushi~”

Game // jeon jungkook

1336 words. Jeon Jungkook.

Part | 1 | 2 | 3 |

❝ Don’t hate the player, hate the game. ❞

Originally posted by jinkooks


You hear him before you even see him. Someone slips into the seat across from you and from the peripheral vision, you know that he’s a boy with dark hair, black maybe but you couldn’t tell for sure. Glancing up through your thick rimmed glasses, you give him a not so discreet once over before sitting up and leaning against the backrest of the chair you’re sitting on.

His lips are turned upwards into a rosy smile.

If you were the naive type, you’d actually think that this gorgeous, breathtaking boy is here to talk to you; no ulterior motives present. However you’re anything but.

“I’m not doing your assignment, but I will, however, tutor you in Social Science, Psychology and Calculus. In return, you’d leave me alone after that.” You firmly utter, in final tone.

Bashful, he averts his eyes away with a small, awkward but most prominently I’m-screwed kind of smile as he rubs the back of his head. You know that you sure as hell hit the nail on the head and he sure as hell didn’t expect that.

“Uh, what if I just want to be friends with you?” He raises an eyebrow, still wearing the same awkward smile on.

You scoff at that, finding the question to be as absurd as the situation you’re in. He’s Jeon freaking Jungkook; the heartthrob of the campus, hell even the whole country if he wants to be and you’re just you; the low profile everyday study a lot student.

People like you don’t mix with people like him, not that you want to anyway. So each time someone from the popular crowd pops up in front of you when you’re alone, you know they’re up to something. It’s either they want you to do their assignment, dared to talk to you or basically anything that’s got nothing remotely close to do to being friends.

“Who dared you?” You prod further, yanking your glasses off and setting them onto the book you’ve been reading, feeling the headache knocking on the door of your head.

“I just want to be friends.” He repeats, somewhat sounding like a question which means he’s not sure what he’s trying to say himself.

You stare at him in the eye for the longest time, debating whether to take him for his words and along the way managing to make him uncomfortable until he slightly fidgets in his seat.

You expect your heated gaze would make him crack and spill the beans about how he’s dared to talk to you or maybe strike a date with you but instead he blurts out something entirely unrelated to the matter at hand.

“You’re beautiful, I see you here all the time when you don’t have class- I mean, not that I’m stalking you or anything. I just assumed you didn’t have class. Not that I’m saying you don’t have the guts to ditch class just cause you look like a goody two shoes. Not that being a goody two shoes is bad… I’ll shut up.”

He lowers his gaze in shame, realizing that he’s yapping and not making sense at the moment. But just when he thinks he lost his shot, his head perks up at the sound of your laughter filling his ears.

“Well, Jungkook, how bout some coffee as ice breaker?”

The boyish smile he had on returns full force, his rosy lips twitching up and enhancing his features.

He comes to the library almost everyday, sometimes getting hushed by the librarian whenever he gets too carried away into the conversation that his voice rises an octave and disrupts the established peace in the area.

Jungkook would apologize sheepishly and prop his head on the table, pursing his ruddy lower lips in an adorable pout. But he can’t stay quiet for five minutes because basically everything catches his attention like how he points out your horrible writing that he firstly assumes would be beautiful.

“Actually, most smart people have terrible handwriting because they need to take notes as fast as they can.” You explain your logic to which he gapes at for a whole solid minute as if he’s seeing the sun for the first time.

“Wait, did you just call yourself smart?” He asks, catching onto what you’re saying and you just deviously grin, shrugging.

Sometimes you two would go out for lunch at the nearby diner that’s packed with the students from campus but Jungkook’s always managed to get an empty table for the both of you because the girls would giggle and offer their table and leave but not before sending you a nasty look.

Jungkook, sensing the tense atmosphere, thanks them with his usual killer smile to direct the spotlight to him instead.

“You’re such a player.” You laugh off the glares you’ve been getting, finding it stupid how these girls would even get jealous of you because you and Jungkook are never going to happen.

Like ever.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” Jungkook winks, a playful smirk adorning his face.

It’s been a month since you’ve been friends with Jungkook and today is the day the librarian’s had it with his shit and kicked him out but the downfall of being friends with Jeon Jungkook is that you too got kicked out. As of present, you have no place -well, nowhere familiarly pleasant- to finish your thesis.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“Look, in my defense, she’s got enhanced hearing.”

“She’s probably some alien sent here by Taehyung!”

“Oh, you probably don’t know Taehyung and the guys. I should introduce you to them sometime.”

“But that’s besides the point.”

“Will you just talk to me?!” Jungkook moans, opening his arms for dramatic effect and ending his sentence with a deep, troubled sigh.

Deeming that it’s enough silent treatment for -the first time ever- the day, that and he’s really embarrassing you with all his antics, so you turn around, looking like a volcano that’s on the brink of exploding.

“I’ve never, ever, been kicked out of the library in my whole entire life. Do you know how bad it makes me look? Like I’m some kind of troublemaker? That’s how bad!”

Jungkook gawks at you in bewilderment, eyes blinking rapidly as he drinks in your outburst and raging state until he’s smiling that cute, boyish smile. Taken off guard, you ice up as his arms go around you and envelop you into a hug, letting his cologne engulf you and dull your worries. His body vibrates against you as he chuckles, securing you in his arms.

“It’s cute that you think getting kicked out of the library is the end of the world for you.” He murmur, traces of mirth still lingering in his voice.

“Isn’t it?” You pout playfully.

At that, he hugs you tighter, releasing the butterflies that you’ve been trying to suppress all this time.


Your own footsteps echo off the walls, drumming in your ears like the soft thudding of your heart. This time, instead of meeting Jungkook at the library, or actually you waiting for him to pop up, you take the initiative to track him down. It’s not that hard though since Jungkook isn’t exactly invisible, everyone knows he and his friends hang out in the old auditorium because a bigger one is built closer to the main building. Treading down the hallway, listening to your own footstep echoing off the walls and resonating in your ears as a loyal company, you finally spot the double doors at the end. 

Voices drifts out of the gap of the hovering doors, most of them, you don’t recognize but one stands out and your heart flutters at the sound of it.

“Don’t you think you should tell her?” Someone inquires and you almost feel bad for listening in because it suddenly, it sounds personal.

“Yeah, what’s her name again?” Another one chirps up.

“_____.” That’s definitely Jungkook and all he does is mumble out your name with something that sounds like guilt.

“She at least deserves to know about the bet.”

Author’s note: might or might not be multi-parted lol. i’m v lazy.

College Roommates: Part 6

Character: Dean x Reader 
Word Count: 1100-ish 
Meanings: Y/N=First Name L/N=Last Name H/C=Hair Colour B/S = Body Shape
A/N: You people keep amazing me, you’re awesome! Also the “Rules” I used in this imagine, are not ‘real’ rules! It’s just rules I made up but to my personal opinion, these rules, are definitely ‘basics’ in a S&M session but again that’s my vision and not actual ‘fact’, ‘law’ or anything. Again, let me know what you think!

Masterlist (including all parts of College Roommates)

And that’s how it got started. You’ve been to 4 Sub sessions and are now promoted too a ‘rookie’ Miss. The sessions had gone pretty well if you said so yourself. Miss Martinez was there only for your first session, the others were done by other employees, being your Dom for that session and explaining you the rules and showing you the routine.

Miss Martinez has 5 house rules.
Rule 5; Aftercare, if wanted give the sub physical aftercare by for example cleaning them up or by mental after care for example cuddling but the advice is to do both if wished for.
Rule 4; Obey the Sub’s wishes. Miss Martinez had a form that the Sub’s had to fill out with wished kinks and tools.
Rule 3; Always ask first for permission. Be polite, treat your Dom’s and your Sub’s with respect.
Rule 2; Condoms. Doesn’t matter if the Dom’s or Sub’s are using any kind of anti-conception, all intercourse is done safely with a condom! For STD reasons and unwanted pregnancies.
Rule 1, the most important one; Stay safe. When necessary never be afraid to use the safeword and never ignore the clients’ safeword. If a safeword is ignored then the staff will step in, which is why every session is monitored with camera’s.

In your sessions you only safe worded once, after being teased and spanked for to long which made you cry but at least now you know that that much teasing isn’t for you. Which made you realize why rules 1, 3 and 4 were important to you. Other then that you had been introduced to bondage/being cuffed which you had never done before and some toys. All in all it went okay and it was first odd to admit but you’ve had some crazy good orgasms in those 4 sessions.

Tonight you were going to do your first session as a Dom, the first couple of sessions you would have an extra Dom with you to make sure that everything went okay and you didn’t mind that at all. You actually appreciated it because even though everything went okay up until now, you were still nervous with every session. One of the girls you’ve met there, Carla, who is really nice and goes to another school in the district, reassured you that that was perfectly normal. The other employees, to your surprise, were actually really nice.

But back to you college/room mate situation. You haven’t spoken to Dean since last week, since your fight. The few times you had seen him you had been too exhausted from the S&M session and had gone straight to bed. Now that you think about it, it was you now who wasn’t home a lot rather then Dean for once.

Other then that, you’ve kept this a secret from everybody.  School doesn’t know, your friends don’t know, your family definitely don’t know. Nobody knows! And you’d like to keep it that way.

You just had your first Dom session. It went pretty well, the guy had pretty easy kinks and was easily satisfied. So the client was happy and you were 300 dollars richer. Good money for a 3 hour session.

You walked back into the apartment. It was late, 1 in the morning and tomorrow you had classes. “You are out late a lot lately, new job?” You made a light jump, not having noticed Dean sitting at the table, studying. “Yeah” You answered.

“You look…different?” He said out of nowhere. What? “Ow, you know, finally money for some decent food.” You said with a nervous chuckle. Dean nodded. “Well that’s good, were do you work?” Shit, uhm.. “Cleaning.” You answered. “Well, as long as it brings in the cash.” He whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” He pointed at his closed door and you raised a new eyebrow. “Number 14?” he sighed. “No, number 87.” You chuckled and you could see him smirk a bit. At least he had loosened up a bit about it. You grabbed a glass of water and sat down next to him.

He was studying English. “You doing okay?” You said pointing at the homework. He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I could use some tutoring though.” You chuckled and grabbed your glass of water. “Fat chance.” and took a sip. You couldn’t believe what you saw but you thought he was actually silently sulking and you sighed. “What are you having trouble with?” He told you and you helped him out.

He was about to grab his wallet when you stopped him. “Wow, stop. I’m not taking that.” You said offended. Dean wanted to say something but apparently decided not to and put the wallet back.

It was silent for a little while. “Dean?” “Hmm?” You fumbled around with your glass a bit, not wanting to look Dean in the eyes. “I’m sorry, what I said before… uhm you know.” He didn’t say anything at first and then you saw him put down his pencil, leaning backwards in his chair. “Yeah, me too and sorry about the vase.” You had nearly forgotten about that. “Yeah, what did happen?” He didn’t answer, so you let it go, not wanting to start a new fight with him.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. Thank you for not throwing away the flowers.” Dean chuckled, not looking at you. “Rule number two, right?” You laughed softly, looking at the glass. “Yeah, that one.” You then looked up at him into his eyes, taking in the green as he looked back into yours and you both smiled.

“Uhm, next Thursday there is going to be a American football match. Would you like to, uhm I don’t know, come watch?” He asked pretty shyly. You weren’t used to that side of Dean but you had to admit that it was refreshing to see for once. You smiled again. “If I don’t have to work then maybe I’ll come. You play in the team, right?” “Yeah I do.” “Well if I do come, I’ll be sure to cheer you on.” You said softly as you stood up. You softly started to laugh. “Along with 87 others.” He first looked confused but then caught on. “Very funny.” He said unamused but you could hear the soft chuckle afterwards.

You chuckled, walking into the kitchen, putting your glass in the sink and walked towards your bedroom, turning to Dean before walking in. “Don’t stay up to long, Dean.” He shook his head. “I won’t.” You smiled and turned around. “Night, Dean.” You heard a faint. “Night, Y/N.” and you closed your door.

Part 7?x

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Pairing: James Potter x Pansy Parkinson

Setting: Modern, non-magical, airport bar AU

Word Count: 724

Written For: @reghoulus [w h y ??????????????] + @takeupserpents [pls feel better ily a lot <3]

James spends his thirty-fifth birthday in an airport.

Because he’d missed his connecting mid-afternoon flight to Brussels and of course he couldn’t get another one for at least twelve hours due to the whole media circus clusterfuck surrounding the coronation—his ex-wife’s coronation, Jesus, Ben Affleck was going to make a movie about this one day and James was probably going to be played by, like, the bat-shit Franco brother and have a drinking problem

He sighs into his tumbler of Glenfiddich and looks glumly at the mahogany paneled walls of the British Airways Executive Club lounge. He’s mostly alone; it’s just him and the graciously silent bartender and a dark-haired girl in an expensive leather jacket who appears to be much too young to be sitting by herself with a single wine glass and a half-full bottle of Tanqueray—she’s wearing neon-pink lipstick and onyx-black eyeliner that’s winged off into rather terrifyingly sharp points and she’s pretty in an intimidating sort of way.

James squints.

Shuts one eye.

Pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

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AR: Evil AI or misguided anti-hero?

Yep. Guess what this is. Another Strider post. I’m so sorry. In my defense, he is not technically genetically part of the family. Also, I spent a week ranting about Jade and I have a Roxy post in the works (someone was being unkind about her in my presence; I must respond) so hopefully everything will even out.

This is going to be one of my big ‘pile all my thoughts in one place so I can refer people to it’ posts. As per usual, it will be a mix of repetition, consolidation, and expansion. So let’s start with the top.

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“Mmm” Cyn moaned as my fingers danced around her back “We shouldn't… I-I don’t think we should be doing this” she said stopping my hands from going any further up her shirt “No Alex” she said finally finding the strength to get out of my grip “Is this what you do? Have sex when you’re trying not to think of something?” she asked

“Basically” i said

She looked at me with an annoyed look “Well I’m not the type of girl that’s going to let you do that because i’m not one to be used” she

“You done?” I asked

“No I am not, having sex with me isn’t going to do anything because once everything is all said and done reality is going to set back in and you would notice that nothing has changed” she said

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Medium: Part II [Final]

Prompt: civilian!Reader X earlyTwenties!Dean where the reader finds out she has the ability to see people’s pasts when she touches them.

Word count: 3,867

Warnings: Dean likes his little bit of angst almost as much as he likes making out (both of which are here).

Author’s Note: And the second and final part is here. I enjoyed writing this. A lot. Let me know what you think?

Part 1

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