This is a story that my grandfather liked to tell. It’s kind of long, and I can’t say if it’s true, but it seems to fit the very old and cantankerous guy I knew, who never, ever let a grudge go. I mean, in the 1980s and 90s, he would sometimes go and yell at Democratic candidates for office, because Woodrow Wilson had made him fight in WW1.
The story actually starts with that, kind of. You see, Grampa immigrated to the US early enough that the first election he could vote in, he voted for Teddy Roosevelt. Wilson won, though, and then he ran for reelection under the slogan “He Kept Us Out of the War.” Which seemed like a good platform, so my grandfather voted for Wilson. Few months after that, he got us into the war, and a few months after that, my grandfather was in the trenches somewhere in France.
“I could do that,” he states a minute later, and he nods his heads a few times as if it’s some sort of confirmation as he mulls it over, and you look at him like you’re confused.
“Do what?” You question, and he blinks at you.
“Be your boyfriend,” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and it makes your heart beat a bit faster.
“You mean fake boyfriend.”
Harry and Y/N work at a coffee shop and he’s never been a good actor
12k+, fluff, smut, ripping of panties mid-fuck, and just a dash of angst
OKAAAY SO, i’ve been dead around here because i’ve been working on this for a few days now! special shoutout to @mermaidsonships for letting me yell about apple (that’s what we named the girlie in this amongst our texts) and harry as well as bounce ideas off of u! i love u sister! i’ve got a fixation of fake bf harry + harry being rly teasing so if u combine those 2 things u get this big mess of a thing! i hope u enjoy!
“If that pen explodes in your mouth,” Dex says from the bathroom doorway, “I am not gonna feel bad for you.”
Derek startles–and does drop the pen out of his mouth–and looks up. “What?”
Dex cocks a brow at him, flicking off the bathroom light and flopping down on the hotel bed next to Derek’s. “You’ve had two pens explode in your mouth from chewing on them like that,” he says. His red hair is wet, tousled from where he must’ve run his hands through it after his shower, and he rolls onto his stomach, propping himself on his elbows to look at Derek. “What’re you glaring at, anyway?”
description: Street racing was your dirty little secret, you could never get enough of the thrill, of the adrenaline that pumped through your veins like a drug. You were used to being the best. The competition would all fall miles behind as you thundered down the empty streets.
But then Jung Hoseok showed up in town, bringing with him an arrogant manner and cocky attitude and you’re soon forced to acknowledge that you aren’t as undefeatable as you’d once believed.
warnings: mentions of alcoholism
For you, street racing had always been an addiction.
You had told yourself it would be a one off thing. After all, it was reckless, irresponsible, dangerous and so very unlike you. You who had been so studious and dedicated your entire life, you who rarely drank and had never even tasted the bitter smoke of a cigarette.
It was hard to remember the first time you did it, you’d been so high on adrenaline that the details of the night all seemed to melt together into a confusing smudge of events. All you knew was that when you had sat behind that wheel after finally being persuaded, when your foot pressed down hard on that accelerator and when you heard the tumultuous sound of the engines roaring, you felt more alive than you ever. Nothing else had mattered, handing in work before the deadlines, wondering how you were going to pay for dinner, fixing the leak in your roof, all those things became so laughably unimportant. Your only objective was to cross that finish line.
It felt better than getting good grades, better than alcohol, better than sex.
Of course, the next morning, like any student with a good reputation, you were desperate to sweep your temporary recklessness under the rug. More than reckless, street racing was completely illegal. You were aware of the risks, you could get fired and kicked out of university, you had already stepped far too close to treacherous territory.
But like all drugs, once you get hooked, despite your better judgement, you always keep coming back and back for more. You constantly chase that elusive feeling, the feeling you got the very first time. So you donned a biker helmet, the kind where even the eye screen was made of blacked out plastic, just to ensure no one would ever figure out who you were, and you gave into the addiction, you let it consume your very being.
And it couldn’t be denied, you were a fucking good racer.
So good in fact, that after about a year of racing, no one could beat you. No one, that is, until Jung Hoseok showed up in town.
A/N: Inspired by the episode in FRIENDS when Joey and Ross take a nap together. Also, I called that ‘fancy’ chair that actors get (the wooden foldable chair with the black ‘padding’ a director’s chair. Idk, I googled what it was but it was just that.
“Gotta head to set.” Tom stretches as he stands up from your couch.
“Aw.” You frown, pausing the scary movie Tom thought it would be smart to watch. “You guys are going to leave me in such a vulnerable state?” You pout out your bottom lip as they make their way towards the door.
“Harrison can stay.” Tom offers, you smile while Haz’s eyes widen.
“Really?” You gape, holding a pillow to your chest.
“Yeah, yeah.” The brunette nods, sending a smirk to his friend. “I’ll shoot you a text if I need a coffee or something.” He hits his arm and walks out of the trailer, closing the door behind him.
Pairing : Yoongi x Reader Genre : Fluff, slight angst, Hybrid!au Word count :
3271 Warnings : mentions of sex
Summary : Yoongi is the cat hybrid you once adopted at an adoption center. You took care of him as best as you could months following his adoption but he still has not erased the distance he voluntarily puts between you.
Groaned the sleepy hybrid in his deep raspy voice. His soft black fluffy ears twitched at the sound of the video you were running on your laptop. Lazily laying on the couch, Yoongi was rubbing his nape with a yawn, eyes glued to the screen of the laptop on the coffee table with a slight frown. A smile etched the corners of your lips, a content sigh soon crossed them.
“ASMR. You know, like doctor Jung recommended. I think it’s a really good idea.”
Yoongi gave you a skeptical look, his eyes flickering back to the screen. Of course, at the memory of the last medical checkup, your thoughts wandered to the image of your naked hybrid. You shook your head, trying to think of something else to avoid any pervy thoughts pry further into your mind. Horny, you had been lately but you knew now it was not the right moment to be. Especially with your hybrid around.
“Doc Jung? “
You nodded at his words, eyes still glued to the laptop screen. You distractedly tapped your laptop with your fingertips as you crossed the hybrid’s usual stoic glance, feeling a bit flustered of the pervy thoughts still within your mind while Yoongi had no idea of why your glance seemed so avoiding nor why your lips suddenly parted. You nibbled on your bottom lip, your eyes into his deep dark ones. Yoongi eventually sighed, gazing into the distance.
“That guy is really weird. Always smiling and stuff. I don’t trust him. He also looks like a hippie.”
prompt: May I request an imagine for Eggsy Unwin from Kingsman? Preferably before he was recruited into kingsman and he was living with his mum. Could it be where him and the reader are friends and are deeply in love with each other but don’t want to say. Eggsy takes the reader to a club for a night out and he gets extremely jealous because other men try it on with Y/N, leading him to tell her how he feels? Sorry it’s a bit vague. I absolutely adore your writing and I love you ❤️ (anon)
Can u do some Dad harry where you have 3 kids & it's all cute & cuddly?
Mumma Is Sick
Your head ached and your chest felt tight – breathing was a chore and the tea Harry had brought you earlier hadn’t done much to soothe the burning in your throat. A coughing fit quickly ran through your chest, echoing about your bedroom.
Harry had you tucked away up in bed, pillows propping you up and blankets keeping the chills at bay. He’d come up to check on your every hour or so, doing his best to keep your three kiddos downstairs to make sure you’d get some rest.
“Mumma isn’t feeling well today, bubs,” you heard him say from downstairs, “We have to keep quiet so she can sleep, yeah?”