you there in the back row

Marathon Training: Week 10/18

I skipped my run this morning. It wasn’t deliberate exactly but I suspected it could happen. 

I ran 28 combined miles over the weekend and set my alarm earlier than I do during the work week to pull them off. Twelves miles during the relay on Saturday. Sixteen miles for my long run yesterday. The last seven miles yesterday where my shorts were so soaked with sweat that they dripped down the back of my legs (those shorts are no longer long run shorts). When I came back yesterday I stepped into the shower fully clothed to rinse everything out. 

This morning I had a dentist appointment before work so I knew I would have to get up about an hour earlier than usual to make it through my run. Not just a run: 3x1600s on the track. The alarm went off. I didn’t. It was too many days in a row of too much running.

Should I feel guilty? Maybe. But you know what? I don’t. My body needs a day and I’m okay with giving it that. I’ll be back at it tomorrow. 

Over Protective Fur Ball

Originally posted by won-der-land89

Requested by Anon. 

Request: Derek Hale imagine with him in his wolf form and really protective over the reader? 

B/N = Bully’s Name


I was leaving the lacrosse game, trying to find Derek’s car. He was supposed to be picking me up from the game tonight, but his car blended in with the darkness of the night. Wrapping my arms around myself, I scanned the rows and rows of cars, trying to spot that one Camaro when somebody bumped into me. 

“Oh, sorry.” A girl’s voice sarcastically said. Looking up, I saw that it was B/N. 

I rolled my eyes, turning my head back to the parking lot. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?“ B/N said. 

“Yeah.” I replied, not caring to look at her. 

All of a sudden hands pushed my from the spot I was standing, and when I looked over, B/N was smiling at me. “You wanna roll your eyes at me again.” 

“Yeah, if you keep acting like a child.” 

Then, a fist collided with my face. Rubbing my jaw, I said, “Oh. Okay. You wanna play, let’s play.” 

I lunged forward punching her in the face and getting in a good kick to the gut. She came back at me trying to punch me again, but I dodged it, and punched her in the stomach. B/N tackled me to the ground and tried to claw at my face with her nails, my hands were right up on her face, trying to keep her away from me. I kneed her in the back, but that didn’t work to get her off of me. The next thing I knew, there was a loud growling noise. 

Both B/N and I stopped and looked over, where we found a pitch black wolf with bright blue eyes, staring at us. Of course, I knew who it was, but B/N instantly jumped off of me and ran off screaming about a wolf. 

Derek, in wolf form, jogged my to me, and looked me in the eyes. “I’m fine, Derek. I could of handled it.” 

He tilted his head as if to say, ‘no you couldn’t.’ 

I hopped up and asked, “Where are you parked?” 

He turned around and walked off. Following him, we reached his Camaro, which was in the very corner of the parking lot. No wonder I couldn’t find it. That’s  where I turned around to let him change back into human form and to get dressed. 

“Thanks, Derek.”

“Don’t mention it.“ He said, as I felt arms wrap around me. “Just try not to get into anymore fights, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“Okay. I’ll try. But no promises.”  I reply.

“Are you okay? A bruise is already starting to form.” 

I touched my jaw and felt how tender the area was. “Yeah. I’m fine.” 

“I love you, Y/N,”

“Love you too.” 

anonymous asked:

"You honestly thought I'd let you get away with that?" - Whamilton or Jamilton, whichever you think would do best!

Alex knew that Thomas wouldn’t be happy about it - was more than aware of how irritated Dr. Jefferson would be with him. It’d be worth it though, to see the man flustered in front of everyone.

Alex took his usual seat in the front row, computer open in front of him. Thomas always started his lectures the same way - he’d walk to the front of the room, clasp his hands behind his back, and clear his throat in an attempt to get the students’ attention.

There was a faint click, and Alex sat back in his seat as Thomas’ voice washed over him  - Sartre was a favorite of Jefferson’s.

Alex reached in his bag and pulled out a sucker. Thomas’ eyes met his when he took off the wrapper - narrowing when he popped it into his mouth. It was a simple thin, really, but the professor had made no secret over how much he loved Alex’s mouth - or rather, what he could do wit hit.

Thomas started to pace, hands gesturing to accent his points the further he go into the lecture - answering questions with the same enthusiasm. He always started quiet and shy, but as discussed blossomed, so did the professor.

Every so often, Thomas’ eyes would drift to him then pull away. Whenever Thomas walked in front of him, Alex would make a show of pressing the red candy to his lips, bring it into his mouth with lowered lids.

Lafayette elbowed him hard in the side and whispered in his ear, “if you give Jefferson a boner while I can see I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

“I can’t control him - it wouldn’t be my fault,” Alex said.

Lafayette snorted. “It’d very much be your fault and you know why.”

The minutes ticked by, and the next time Thomas looked at him, Alex slid down in his seat, spreading his legs wide beneath the desk.

Lafayette leaned over and said, “cut the poor man some slack and go visit him during office hours.”

The class ended, and the students started to file out. Alex put his laptop away and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and approached Dr. Jefferson with a smirk.

Thomas turned around when he approached, going to erase his scribblings on the white board. Alex leaned against the wall and looked at Thomas and said, “Professor, I was wondering if I could make an appointment for this afternoon.”

There were still a couple of people lingering in the back, so Thomas only looked at him with a raised brow and said, “of course, Mr. Hamilton. In fact, I’m available right now.” There was a glint in Thomas’ eye that had Alex tensing in anticipation.

“Of course, sir,” Alex said.

“I’m just finished up here.” Thomas set the eraser down. “We’ll talk on the way to my office.”

Alex pulled another sucker from his bag and popped it in his mouth, the hard candy clacking against his teeth.

Thomas shook his head and placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder - guiding him around the corner to all outward appearances - fingers curling in a way that assured Alex he’d be getting more than a slight reprimand.

The philosophy department was small, and it wasn’t long before Thomas was closing to door to his office shut behind them.

“Alex,” Thomas said, voice low.

“Yes sir?”

A hand went to the back of his neck and squeezed. Alex swallowed. Thomas chuckled and asked, “did you honestly think I’d let you get away with that?”

Alex bit down on the sucker , taking the time it took to chew and swallow to candy to think how he wanted this to go. He took the stick out of his mouth and threw it into the trashcan. He smiled and said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t, actually.”

“Is that so?” Thomas asked, putting more force on his neck until Alex went to his knees. “You know why you shouldn’t do that sort of thing.”

The thrill made it better - knowing everything he had worked so hard for for so long would be gone. “I do,” Alex said. “But it’s been so long, I’m starting to get antsy, sir.”

“Couldn’t wait? Had to act out to get my attention?” Thomas’ voice had the edge that Alex loved.

Alex leaned back into Thomas’ hand. “It was either that or see if my suspicions about Dr. Washington were right.”

Thomas walked around to his front, and Alex settled his hands against Thomas’ clothed thighs. Thomas looked down at him and asked, “suspicions?”

“Oh yes.” Alex licked his lips. “I believe that if I dropped to my knees and said ‘daddy please’ I’d have a hand in my hair and a hard cock down my throat in less than a minute.”

A thumb traced his lips, and Alex’s tongue darted out to lick it. 

Thomas’ eyes darkened. “Is that what you want?”

Alex nodded and said, “very much, sir.”

“Well, it’s about time I put your mouth to good use,” Thomas said, hands going to his zipper.

// ko-fi // @the-girlnightwing

Teacher! Chanyeol

*I accidentally changed tenses through the scenario and couldn’t be bothered to change it.*

It was the first day back into school and the halls were crowded and alive with the chatter of busy people talking about their holidays. But the main thing going around was that the new Maths teacher, Mr. Park was super hot. “OMG (y/n) have you seen the new teacher?! He’s apparently super hot, unfortunately I don’t have him buuttt, I know that you do.” Your friend babbled on as you were sorting out your books for your first period which coincidentally was Maths.

As you walked into the classroom, you saw the back of a tall, slender yet quite built man writing on the board. “Right students, take a seat and take out your books.” His deep voice rang through the room, taking a seat in the middle of the middle row you began taking out your things when all of sudden a ‘holy crap’ was heard coming from the teacher and you could feel the eyes of your class staring at you.

Looking up sheepishly, you take a glance at the teacher and understood why he had a shocked look on his face, he was the guy you had been raving on about to your friends that you had met in a club during your holiday. He cleared his throat and continued teaching, always careful not to get caught stealing glances at you throughout the class although you caught them. As the end of the lesson was signalled by the loud ring of the bell, everyone started packing away their things and leaving when he spoke up. “Miss (y/l/n) can I see you for a minute please?” Quickly waving a goodbye to your friends you walked to the front of the classroom. “What are you doing here?” you both spoke at the same time. Hearing the warning bell go off, you panicked not wanting to be late to your next lesson. “Look, we’ll speak later.” You rushed, quickly pecking his lips

and running out the room. ‘D-did I jus-’ You thought as you banged your head against a locker before rushing to English.

*skip to end of the day*

Walking out of my class, I ran to my locker keeping my head down trying not to make contact with Chanyeol but luck was not on my side and he was the first person I saw when I looked up. Without speaking, we walked in the direction of his office. “(y/n), h-how? Wh-wha-“ He stuttered and spluttered.“Look Chanyeol… Mr. Park, let’s pretend that summer didn’t happen? Well, th-the part about us.” I stuttered, my voice slowly diminishing as he began to stand from his chair and walked around his desk, standing in front of you. “Nah.” I was shocked and he started smirking, getting closer until I could feel his breath tickling my lips.And soon after, his lips captured mine, pulling me closer with his muscular arms clad in black shirt and blazer.

Deepening the kiss, Chanyeol pulled me closer then sat me on his desk putting his hands up my flowy cropped vest top, getting ready to pull it over my head when we heard a knock on the door, forcing us back to reality. Clearing his throat, Chanyeol fixed his outfit and slightly dishevelled hair before speaking, “Enter.” And in walked (y/bff/n). “Thank you Miss (y/l/m), that’ll be all. Can I help you?” He directed the question to her, leaving you feeling flustered, causing her to slightly shake her head. “Just looking for (y/n).” As you were leaving, Chanyeol slipped his hand past your backside and you felt your jean pocket and in it was a piece of folded paper. Unfolding it curiously, it read ‘8 o'clock, my place. Can’t wait to continue this. Xx’ with his address underneath.

called in sick not feeling well the normal but my manager told me to go to hospital. I’m not riding 6 miles all together just to be told oh you have a belly ache we cant do any thing heres a note for work which I don’t even need in less its 3workdays in a row which its not then pay an arm and leg for nothing 

I really want to quit but if I do I get sent back to the states and I don’t want that. I really hope I got the job I interviewed for last week.

anonymous asked:

Where is the next chapter I need an update right now.

That’s cool. You know what I need? Money to pay rent, groceries and possibly the plane tickets back home for my summer vacation. Good thing I have a full time job, one that usually allows me to write a bit in slow days, but things are currently busy and so that means some eight hours a day off the table. Nine if we count the time I spend going from home to office and back. 

I also need some time to relax after being done with said work. Read a book, play a game, pet a dog, watch a movie, that sort of thing. I go to the gym, though admittedly that doesn’t count as relaxing, and I have this nasty habit of spending time with friends upon occasion. Sometimes I’ll even take a nap or - I know that sounds weird - sleep at night, even up to eight hours in a row.

You get the gist, right?

I love writing in my spare time, but said spare time is limited. I try to stick to a schedule, even if that means the occasional sleepless night, and I’m taking steps so that I have a chapter ready to post when I’ll be on vacation. So I would reeeeally appreciate it if you didn’t stomp in demanding updates. Writing a chapter takes time. I am not paid for it. I have no obligation to be anybody’s monkey with a typewriter.

This has been a PSA.

Night Drive

Summary: In which you help Bucky combat a sleepless night by going on a night drive.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,366

A/N: Oh hey, it’s me. I guess I’m back.

Originally posted by krisletang

The screaming starts late that night. Or maybe it starts early that morning; it’s too dark outside your window to be sure of the time.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes is easier said than done. Your slumber had been a deep one, as the fatigue from two sleepless nights in a row had caught up to you. Once your head hit the pillow, you were convinced nothing could possibly wake you up.

Nothing except the sound of Bucky’s screams in the room down the hall from yours.

Keep reading

2

I lost my best friend today. I haven’t stopped crying. I collapsed to the floor at work when I heard the news. There’s so much I want to say but I’m currently very, very broken and distraught. Breathing is hard. Tears are streaming down my face that I can’t control. I got sent home from work early and passed out when I got home. I hoped that when I would wake up that it would all have been a nightmare, but here we are. I was supposed to be fulfilling my #1 item on my bucket list in ten days: meet linkin park. The first time I saw them was August 27th 2007 and it changed my life, actually. I was finally going to be able to tell them how I would not be here today if it weren’t for them. And that’s no exaggeration. They were/they are my everything. My favorite band since I was 8 years old. Chester has been my hero since I was 8 goddamn years old. My first tattoo was dedicated to them, lyrics that are from a song Chester wrote to his kids. I took guitar lessons as a kid for only a week or two, just so I could learn the chords to “Faint” and feel cool for a minute of my shy, dorky life. LP was one of the only music I was even allowed to listen to during a very critical and traumatizing time of my life. I spent roughly a thousand dollars to go see them twice and meet them within the coming weeks, and tbh, no amount of money coming back to me now will ever makeup for it. It’s not just a band, it’s not just music, they’ve been my lifeline. And Chester was the brother I never had, my mentor, he was my best friend. I can’t explain how deeply this is affecting me and I can’t imagine how it’s affecting his family and loved ones. The one thing I am happy about in this moment is that the very last time I saw Chester in person, it was August 16th, 2014. During the last song he came down and shook fans hands, took photos with everyone in the front row, etc. when he got to me I was sobbing and he gave me the biggest hug, and I didn’t know what to do, so I right in his ear I said “thank you for everything.” He put his hand on the back of my head into his shoulder and said “no, thank you.” He smiled at me, and walked off. (Picture above is moments before that happened) I may not have officially met him, and can’t believe that I never will in this life, but deep in my heart I’ll have comfort telling myself that he knows. How important he was/is to me and everyone who listened to LP, his family, friends, everyone. I don’t know how to handle this tbh and thank you to everyone who has reached out and thought of me, that means a lot. I don’t even know if any of this makes sense. All I know is, I miss you Chester. And I’ll be thinking of you every single day until I see you on the other side.

“When life leaves us blind, love keeps us kind.”

6

David Suchet’s Poirot joke on the Doctor Who Fan Show, May 6, 2017 [x]

  • <b> Random Civilian:</b> This is unbelievable- who do you think you are?! You can't just come in here and disre-
  • <b> Jason:</b> Fuck you! Come on, Dick. We're leaving! [Dramatic exit 1]
  • <b> Dick:</b> Yeah, fuck you! [Dramatic exit 2]
  • <b> Random Civilian:</b>
  • <b> Dick:</b> [Pops head back through door]
  • <b> Dick:</b> Just a quick- uh, sorry. He usually isn't like that- well, he is, but I'm not, I just... Sorry we shouted- actually I don't think Jason's sorry, but I am. Sorry. That I yelled. At you. Sir.
  • <b> Random Civilian:</b>
  • <b> Dick:</b>
  • <b> Dick:</b> Have a nice day.
  • <b> Dick:</b> [Pops back behind door]
  • <
Professor

In which Andrew didn’t choose Exy but still chose Neil, which meant Neil had to learn how to talk about something other than stick-ball. 

warning, mention of implied sexual assault/non-con


Lucy had not anticipated what she was dealt. 

Her first day of second year brought a tone of finality to it all: it wasn’t just a year-long dream of terrible decisions and alcohol and chaos. It continued on, and so would she. 

Her first day also happened to bring Professor Andrew Minyard, five feet and blond and utterly terrifying. 

Introducing the course had started off mundane enough, until Eddie Court – an asshole she’d regretted sleeping with dearly – decided to lean over her shoulder. He never got the chance to say anything because a pencil dotted him squarely in his forehead, so hard that a tiny droplet of blood threatened to bead. 

Everyone stared. Shocked, confused, but remaining in complete silence as they  – Lucy included – tried to remember if anyone had mentioned anything about the man, whether or not this was normal or out-of-the-ordinary behaviour. 

“Name.” He sounded bored. 

Eddie rose his fingers to brush his forehead, smearing the tiniest of droplets. He stared at his fingertips, then at Minyard, then at the pencil that had clattered on his desk. Then at Minyard again. “Eddie Court.”

“Court. Christ.” The professor said, with a palpable distaste to his tone. “I will say this once, despite having to repeat it every year, because students seem to get thicker with every new class.” His face was blank. Stone. Lucy had never heard someone utter insults with such apathy. She didn’t know whether or not to be scared or curious: Such a mask was difficult to maintain. “Shut the fuck up, or get the fuck out. Understood?”

Swearing in class. At the students. Completely against protocol. 

Lucy couldn’t help but smile. Just a little. 


Within weeks, the class had learned how to abide by Professor Minyard’s rules. His previous students were sought out, but they merely grinned at the mention of his name. One student dared to ask another law professor, questioning the teaching methods of the criminology expert. They shook their head, leaning to the professor next to them and sharing a laugh, an inside joke that none of the second years were a part of. 

Yet. 

Curiosity won out over fear eventually, and what that said about Lucy, she wasn’t sure. Eventually, he won her respect: The piece of white chalk he’d flung had imbedded itself in her tightly curled hair when she’d fallen asleep at the eight AM lecture on a Tuesday morning. 

“You think I want to be here, Rone?” 

That piece of chalk rested on her bedside table. Lucy didn’t want to be weird, especially considering her professor hadn’t played Exy since college, but he’d played with Neil Josten and Kevin Day. The Neil Josten, and the Kevin Day. And if she had spent nights watching old Palmetto State Fox games, sitting in awe as she watched him flick balls away from the goal like it was absolutely nothing, no one was going to know. 

He was just as apathetic as he had been back then. Lucy had decided he was just emotionless: That didn’t make him any worse at teaching, so it wasn’t really her problem. 

And then she became his problem. 


Her grades had dropped dramatically low. Andrew stared at the results that he’d just drawn up, picked the paper up off the desk, and leaned back in his chair. 

It was a midterm. He’d eyed Lucy Rone’s bad results in the past two mini-quizzes, her surprisingly worsening attendance, and this was enough to force his hand. 

Half an hour later, he was convinced this was abnormal behaviour, if her patterns rang true. 

Caring, caring. Perhaps the internal monologue would never leave him alone, but he knew better than to listen to it’s mocking tone. Watch yourself turn into Wymack, why don’t you. Call Dan and say you’re taking over as coach of the Foxes. 

He almost told himself to shut up, but the chime of his phone snapped him out of his head. It kept chiming and he sighed, picking it up and wedging it between his shoulder and ear, returning to stare at the mark scrawled in the corner of the exam paper. 

“Are you going to be here for dinner?”

“Not if you’re attempting to make something.” Neil had improved past the broke-college-student level of cooking skills, but he wasn’t apt enough to cook dinner without some form of disaster. 

It hadn’t taken long for Andrew to learn the sound of Neil grinning through the phone. A particular tone of voice, a particular exhale. “It’s already done. Just has to be heated up again.”

“Edible?”

“Can’t really be the judge of my own creation, can I?”

“I’ll be home soon.” Andrew liked the way his mouth curled around the word home.”Lucy Rone. Sound like someone problematic to you?”

“Not particularly. Lucy’s always been the name of that old woman sitting on the front porch, knitting. Five cats, crocheting and all.”

“So, you?”

“If old ladies swung heavy sticks at other people, sure.”

Andrew let himself smile. He allowed himself this. The small curl up on his lips. He’d earned that, after all this time. “Sure.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Unusually bad performance. Moved from sitting front and centre to back corner. Shit attendance.”

“You’re probably a much better judge of character than I would be, now.”

Because I’ve studied criminal, suspicious and victimised behaviour for a long time, Andrew wanted to remind him. But this was no longer a sore spot for Neil: He no longer needed to read people’s intentions in need to survive, because he was safe. He could let that overly-analytical part of himself behind. It had been almost 12 years since their first win against Edgar Allen. He was still alive, well. 

Happy, even. 

Hard to believe that was partly Andrew’s fault. 

Focus. 

Andrew emailed Lucy to visit him before their next class at nine o’clock the next morning. 


She was five minutes early, he was five minutes late. He couldn’t say anything about her appearance, considering he was wearing Neil’s jersey under his coat and that he had walked out of the door with a coffee, slippers and nothing to comb his hair with but his fingers. 

His students knew not to say anything. 

Lucy sported a pair of sweats that had her high school’s initials printed on the front, with a pair of exy sticks embroidered just underneath. Her name was printed on the back pocket, and they only just came down to her ankles. 

Exy fan, then. Andrew wouldn’t have guessed. 

She didn’t say anything, sparing him a hollow looking before following him into his office. He’d used to share it, until he’d bribed the finicky financial law to move somewhere else. It was entirely his own space, clean and devoid of decoration. 

He motioned towards the desk and she leaned against it, clutching the binder to her chest. 

Brown skin didn’t usually lose this much of it’s valour, even during winter. 

And winters in South Carolina were hardly anything worth mentioning. 

“Your grades.”

She was staring at the floor. Her eyes didn’t move when she nodded. 

“All I need is a reason.” 

She said nothing. 

“It’d probably be easier on you if you told me. I’m your criminology professor: I’ll find out eventually.”

“I’m not on drugs.” She said, quickly, but not so quickly that it was an immediate red flag. An orange flag. Andrew settled back into his seat and propped his ankle on his knee. 

“Never said you were.”

“I’m fine.” 

Andrew gave her a flat look. “You know who also says that?”

She shook her head. 

“Surely someone who still wears her high school’s exy uniform would have an inkling. Yay-high, hair like a fire-engine siren, mouth like one too.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to ask if he knows that you wear his old Palmetto jersey. I thought he hated you?”

“I hated him.” Andrew corrected her. “I hate him.” He corrected himself. “And he knows.”

She looked wistful. “Cool.” 

“Lucy.”

She looked back at him. 

“If there’s a problem, you come to me. Alright?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because you can trust me. I can be a lawyer, a therapist, an advice column, what have you.”

“Can I trust you?”

“When you’re ready to.” 

She seemed satisfied enough to nod, murmur a timid thank you, and slipped out the door. 


Lucy banged on the door, feeling sick. She couldn’t go back to her dorm, because it made her want to crawl into a corner and be enveloped in a shadow. To be the smallest, most insignificant thing. 

She wasn’t sure how on earth her criminology professor was supposed to empathise with her, when he was the human embodiment of a brick wall, but here she was, trembling, feverish, panicked, and knocking on his office door at ten o’clock at night. 

He opened the door with a mildly annoyed expression, which flattened out immediately at the sight of her. 

She’d only seen him this morning, but that felt like a whole world away now. 

“Hello.”

She wanted to ask why he was still here, on campus, this late at night. What on earth he could possibly be working on, at ten o’clock on a Tuesday evening. Instead, she blurted: “What does it mean if I didn’t say no?”

He stilled. 

Too much, too much, too much: She had asked too much of him, a middle aged professor who apparently had two cats and a boyfriend, if the senior’s rumours were true. Criminology professor aside, this was the last thing someone like him would want to be dragged into –

He stood aside and motioned for her to come in. She shuffled by him, arms around her stomach. He shut the door. 

Lucy wanted to be sick. 

He pulled a pen out of his pocket – professors always had pens on them, didn’t they? – and tore a corner off a piece of paper, scribbling down a phone number. 

“This woman helped me.” Betsy. “She can help you, too.”

“You said you could be a therapist.” Lucy hedged. 

He sighed, and she’d never seen him so reflective. “I have my limits.”

She nodded. She took the piece of paper. She left. 


“Where the fuck is Court?” Andrew leaned on the edge of his desk at the front of the lecture hall, eyeing the empty seat. Second lesson in a row. 

Lucy Rone sat in front of it, back straight, gaze steady. 

“Suspended.” 

Andrew looked at her. “For how long?”

There was a hesitant smile. “Undetermined. Charges have been pressed against him.” 

Andrew drew a long line through Eddie Court’s name on the attendance.


Lucy waited by the door and saw her professor approaching, with the stack of papers in his hands. She was anxious about this mark, more-so than the others. Her dip in performance would be hard to get back up from, but if she could do it in criminology, she could do it in the rest. There was a cluster of students waiting to get their essay’s grade back, but Lucy was first in line. 

“Yay or nay?” She asked. 

Professor Minyard gave Lucy a flat look, and opened the door. 

Lucy promptly had a heart attack at the man beyond the door. 

“Feet. Off.” Her professor said, looking flatly at Neil Josten, with his feet propped up on the desk, arms folded. He, too, was wearing a faded jersey of the Palmetto Foxes’ colours, but it was too bunched up for Lucy to read the name. 

“Surprise.” Neil Josten said, and Lucy wanted to scream. 

“Get your fucking feet off my fucking desk.” Her professor dropped the large stack of papers next to where Neil Josten had propped up his heavy boots. Neil did not get his fucking feet off the fucking desk. 

Lucy almost had the nerve to scream: do you know who that is? Do you have any clue how famous he was? But she remembered that the two of them were friends. Sort of. She held her tongue, and let her heart thrum in her chest, happy to be completely ignored. 

“Leave.” Professor Minyard flicked Neil in the temple. 

Neil smiled. Neil Josten smiled. 

Lucy was having heart palpitations. 

He slowly drew his feet away from the desk to stand, still smiling. “Have a nice day.”

“You weren’t meant to be here till tomorrow evening, Josten. Explain.”

“You’re busy. Later.”

Lucy watched her professor’s arm reach out to brush along Neil Josten’s forearm as he slid past, and there was a startlingly foreign crinkle of warmth in his eyes. 

The back of Neil’s Palmetto jersey read Minyard. A thin platinum ring, identical to the one her professor wore around his neck, clacked against the doorknob as he pushed it open. She remember her professor occasionally wearing Josten. 

There was a startling curve of her professor’s lips, an almost smile that made him look almost human. 

Neil grinned before slipping out the door. 

Oh, Lucy thought, and then she said it aloud. 

Her professor turned on her, pointing. “If you dare to ask me for a single autograph, I will fail you.” 

Lucy was still smiling. 

“If any word about this gets out, I will fail you.” He warned. 

“Are you married?” Lucy laughed. 

His face was stone. 

“Holy shit. Professor Josten-Minyard. Two cats and a husband.”

“It’s Minyard-Josten.” He said coldly. “Get out.” 

Lucy got out.


By the next class, everyone knew, despite Lucy not breathing a word. Which meant the entirety of Neil Josten’s personal but still public Instagram account displayed his home life. But that was none of his student’s – or anyone’s– business. 

And if Neil started coming in with breakfast on those Tuesday morning lectures during his off season, that was none of their business either. 

me: i dont have disorganized speech

also me: oh yeah so once i was in the car, have you seen my car? yeah probably. so i was in the car and we were driving to florida and [completely stops for 3 minutes] did you know lorde has synesthesia? the type with colors. mine doesnt involve colors, really. where was i? oh, florida. car. we were driving to florida, and- hey have you ever been to 7-11 because it’s my favorite store since july 11th is my birthday. once we went and i showed my ID and i got a free hot dog because that’s my birthday. and have you been to six flags? we have season passes. oh! sorry! florida. so we were in the van, it was a white van, we rent one when we vacation because we have a lot of people in our car. it’s pretty big, the last one had five rows of seats i think but we removed one so we had room for our bags. i sat in the last row with my grandma, nobody could hear us talk because we were so far back. actually we didnt know music was playing until the drive home, it was funny actually, and-

dirty water // fratboy luke

hey guys! it has been ages since I wrote something, literally like a year so apologies if it is rusty lol (also title may change i just can’t think of anything rn rip)
description: you have just started at the same university as your brother Calum and he has made it clear to his fraternity brothers that you are off limits. that doesn’t necessarily mean you, or any of the boys, will abide by his wishes. 

word count: 3,155 :-)

“And now I have to walk all the way to his frat, just to get them,” you huffed, tugging the laces of your Nikes tighter as you sat on the edge of your bed. The white comforter crinkled as you shifted your weight to put on the other shoe.

“You want me to come with you?” Your roommate Jasmine asked as she lay in her bunk, laptop opened to her most recent biology lecture notes.

“No it’s fine, it won’t take me that long. I just don’t want to do it,” you laughed, standing up.

“Fair enough,” Jasmine laughed, turning her attention back to her notes.

“Dinner when I get back?” You asked, a hopeful look on your face. Jasmine nodded, pressing the home button on her iPhone,

“Mae should be back from class by then.” You pumped your fist in the air,

“Yesssss, I’m famished.” Jasmine just laughed and shook her head as you pulled the door shut behind you.

Dressed in leggings and an oversized t-shirt you started your trek across campus to Greek Row. Your older brother Calum had borrowed your car the past weekend to go on a little hiking excursion with his frat brothers. His justification was that your car handled better in the mountains and back roads, but you knew he was just jealous of your Jeep Wrangler. Nevertheless you let him borrow it and now he was making you walk to his frat, Phi Kappa Psi, to get the keys, rather than bringing them to you. Classic.

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anonymous asked:

Imagine you meeting H during the heart rate game and you pop in just to tell Nick something and he sees you and his heart rate goes up really fast and he goes all shy and cute? xx!!

“Pretty sure Harry’s heart is about to explode,” he laughs as you disappear out of the room with a blush on your cheeks and a scuffle in your step, still within earshot as their voices came muffled through the glass, “for the listeners, our delightful intern, (YN), just popped in to give me a cuppa and Harry’s heart rate shot through to the hundreds. That’s more than shirtless Ryan Gosling!”

“She’s pretty!” Harry blushes, “I’ve never met (YN) before.”

“Yeh’ve never met Camille Rowe before your heart rate dropped when yeh saw her picture,” he smirks over to him, “yeh want her number? I can set the both o’yeh up. She’s lovely.”

“I can’t talk about this on the radio,” he squeaks out, hands covering his face as he hides the grin taking up his face, “she’s pretty, of course. I was taken back.”

“A rom-com in the making, eh, mate? Don’t need to star in one now, do you? You’re your own Ryan Gosling.” xx

“Oh, Spencer took that one...”

so i read @reidbyers’s ask post about librarians and spencer and while reading it, this sentence caught my attention: “sometimes he takes so many books out that a lot of the time people come in looking for a certain book and they have to be like sorry…spencer took that one and 21 more.” and it gave me an idea/insp for a small little one shot, so thanks @wheresthewater and @reidbyers for unknowingly giving me this idea! also i’m so sorry if this feels rushed! 


While studying to get your doctorate in Psychology, you were fortunate enough to have every book you need for all of your classes at your fingertips, whether having your parents supply them for you or finding links to it online. While writing a paper, you noticed the assignment had some references from your very early Intro to Psych book. You realized quickly that you were going to need to go to the library; you had since given that book to a nice underclassman. 

You didn’t mind, but occasionally, a book you wanted to check out would be gone and they always said the same thing.

“Sorry honey, it looks like Spencer has that book out at the moment.”

“Well it looks like Dr. Reid has that book.”

“Yup. Spencer again.”

It seemed like every time you needed a book from the library, Dr. Spencer Reid would check it out before you. The three main, kind elderly librarians found it amusing every time you mentioned a book he had checked out. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were conspiring against you.

Sighing, you grabbed your shoulder bag and keys and made your way out of your brick brownstone apartment building. “If this Spencer has my book this time, I might just scream…” You muttered to yourself as you walked down the street. Luckily the library was only a few blocks from your place. You could smell the air and could tell it was going to rain. You picked up your pace.

Walking in the large building, you smelled the books and smiled. 

“Well hi, baby, what’re you looking for?” Came from Franny, your favorite librarian, knowing your routine by now.

“Hi Franny,” you grinned at her. “Do you have this book?” You handed her a crumbled piece of paper with the title of the book on it.

“Hmm,” Franny entered the title in her desktop and smiled knowingly. “I’m sorry hone–”

“Let me guess,” you rolled your eyes.

“Spencer has it,” you both said in unison. One cheerfully, and one tired. You guess who’s who.

“God, I’d love to give this Spencer a piece of my mind,” you shook your head. “He consistently checks out every book I want and I actually need this one!” You exclaimed. 

“What for?” Franny asked. 

“It’s my final. Our professor decided against a test final and just gave us a paper final. It counts for over half our grade and I know if I use the material in this book, I know I’ll ace that final…you see, I’m gonna make a callback reference to our intro to psycho book that’s gonna tie up my entire paper in a cute little bow.” You rambled, a bad habit you’ve gained whenever you become desperate for something. “I’m sorry,” you said. “You probably didn’t need to hear this, Franny.” You shook your head. “I’ll just check back tomorrow,” you turned and left quickly.

If you looked back, you’d seen Franny pursing her lips, pick up the phone, and dial a number. “Hi Spencer. It’s Franny. I’m sorry to bother you but I have a need for a book you checked out.”


You chewed on your lip as you walked into the library for the third day in a row. You weren’t expecting the book to be there today or any other day, but you had to at least check. Especially since your paper was due in three days. You inhaled as the familiar smell reached you again, a smile on your face, placating you for the time being. Today at the desk, was Esther, a particularly nosy woman.

“Hi Esther, any luck today?” You asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Actually, maybe!” She answered you. “Spencer is coming by today to drop off some books and pick some up, so maybe your book will be in the bunch!” She offered. 

You raised your eyebrow. “With my luck, probably not. But I finally get to meet this allusive Spencer.” You took a seat at the bench next to the main desk where the librarians worked and pulled out your laptop. It was a normal seat for you whenever you wanted to spend time at the library.

“Do you want some lemon bars, sweetie?” Esther, the known cook of the three main librarians, placed two lemon bars next to you. 

“Thank you, Esther,” you grinned thankfully at her. 

Deep into your studies, you didn’t noticed that an hour had gone past or that the other two librarians, Franny and Dorothy snuck in.

“Is he comin’?” Dorothy, with her deep southern accent, asked. 

“Yes, Dorothy. He told me he’d be here at 4:15 and that boy never lies to me,” Esther replied, rolling her eyes.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Franny asked, pushing her gray curls aside. “What if they don’t like each other?”

“Fran, those two couldn’t be a better match. My Henry (God rest his soul) told me I had a knack for seeing lovers,” Esther nodded. 

“That’s cuz you were always putting your nose in places it shouldn’t be –” Franny began to rebut but was interrupted by Dorothy. 

“Shhh, he’s coming!”

Sure enough, walking to the desk was Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU. Trademark cardigan, scarf, and shoulder bag on. “Hi ladies, is something special going on? It’s rare to see you all here at the same time. Although I get the library’s newsletter sent to me every month and I didn’t see any events happening today to warrant you all here at the same time today.” He began to ramble. 

“Oh Spencer, don’t you worry about us,” Franny waved him off.

At the mention of the familiar name, your head popped up.

“I see you’re returning some books. May I check them in for you? Y/N here has been needing one you might have for quite some time now,” Dorothy grabbed the books from Spencer’s hand and slid them over to Esther. “Now leave us old ladies be to check these back in.” She shooed him away.

“So you’re the famous Spencer Reid,” you said as you saw him approach the bench next to you. “I’m not sure if its a pleasure to meet you or not,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Excuse me?” Spencer was taken aback. He saw you and blinked. You were beautiful. His mouth went dry, his heart stuttered, he felt a wave of adrenaline rush through him. 

You couldn’t help yourself. No matter how good looking he turned out to be, you thought to yourself. The rage built. “Every time I want to check out a book from here, you always have it, every single time! And sometimes you keep the books for months on end!” You huffed.

“Statistically, that’s impossible. There’s no possible way that every single time you need a book, I somehow have it,” Spencer challenged. Your voice sounded beautiful to his ears. He wanted to hear more of it. At least when it wasn’t filled with anger.

“Ladies?” You asked the librarians, without turning your back from Spencer.

“Yup.”

“Mhm.”

“Every single time.” Came their replies.

“…” Spencer had no reply to the three snarky librarians.

“Hmm,” you smirked at Spencer.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said sincerely. “I didn’t know. If I did, I would’ve eagerly give you the books you needed.” I’d give you anything you want or need, his thoughts said, catching him off guard.

“Oh.” Your heart stuttered. He’s so sweet. And handsome. And obviously he reads since he consistently checks books out from here. And you weren’t expecting this response from him. You were fully expecting him to be this alpha male with a bunch of bravado. “W-well, thank you.”

“What book did you need so urgently that Franny called me?” Spencer couldn’t help but ask, the profiler in him begging to do so. The man in him, curious to hear more from her.

You told him the title. “I need it for my final paper. I-I’m getting my doctorate in psychology and I need it for one of my classes.” 

“Spencer has three PhDs,” Esther added, boasting. 

“Esther, hush,” Franny smacked her shoulder. “Let the kids do it by themselves,” she whispered to her.

“Three?” You were impressed. “Wow. You’d have to be kind of a genius to have three PhDs.” You said non nonchalantly. 

“Well, certifiably, I am a genius. I have an IQ of 185 and can read 20,000 words per minute and have an eidetic memory, but I don’t necessarily like to call myself a genius,” Spencer bashfully said. 

“Whoa…” You breathed. “But you’re totally one. A wonderful, brilliant genius,” the statement accidentally slipped out of your mouth and you blushed.

Spencer laughed, blushing as well. “Thank you.” 

You and Spencer engaged in small talk during the time the librarians were checking in more books. In the back of your mind, you were wondering why they were taking so long. They never take this long. But in your Spencer filled haze, you didn’t care. You smiled at each other, both of you taking in the beauty of each other’s smiles. You quickly moved your stuff aside for him to take a seat next to you on the bench. He quickly glanced at your laptop and instantly read part of your paper. The topic quickly jumped to psychology which jumped into talking about people’s minds, which, thanks to Spencer, jumped to odd facts. You were amazing by this man and all he had to offer. He had given you some extra facts to put into your paper.

Meanwhile, the librarians were smiling at the two of you, silently cheering you both on. The women had never seen Spencer smile as large as he did with you and you had never opened up so quickly to another person. It took even Esther a few months before you even gave her a smile. 

From then on, you and Spencer had a standing date at the library. In your bench. Occasionally Spencer would check out a book you’d randomly mentioned before just to rile you up. He was never able to live down the encounter that caused you to meet. While studying one night, Spencer rushed into the library and planted a kiss on your lips, changing your relationship with that. While he made the first move in your relationship, you made the first move in the bedroom. He was scared of his inexperience and you talked him through it. He proved to be a quick learner and with him reading smut novels for experiences and ideas in the bed, you were never ever unsatisfied.  

You both adopted a dog, which you named Esther because of the dog’s keen sense of smell. Esther found it hilarious and promptly kissed you both on the cheek. “About time you named something after me! I’d better get a baby named after me!” She cackled. 

The team noticed he was always happier and sometimes would walk in with his hair and ties ruffled. Luke could’ve sworn he saw a hickie on Spencer’s neck during a case. When he asked the boy genius about it, he immediately blushed at the memory.

“I want to try something,” you said shyly one night. 

“What?” Spencer smiled, holding you in his lap. He furrowed his brow at your shyness. You’d gotten over that long before. 

“I know you have sensory issues, but…I just want you to feel. Don’t think, but feel,” you told him as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“I don–” He was cut off by you kissing his neck. He laughed, “Y/N, I have no problem with you kissing my — oh.” He felt a wet vacuum on his neck. He could feel your tongue working on his neck, the feeling new to him. It caused a stirring in his body. The same stirring he got when he was aroused. He couldn’t help himself as he grabbed your face and kissed you.

“Spence, I wasn’t done!” You exclaimed. 

Spencer quickly removed your shirt. “And I’m just getting started,” he smiled.

Time passed quickly, yet slowly in your relationship. You were both so happy together. You didn’t know if you could be happier. He had come to your graduation, where you first met the team. They were suspicious and thought he relapsed so they followed him to you. The team loved you instantly. You quickly became a part of the family. JJ and Derek often called you and Spencer to baby sit. You kept your standing date at the library, even though you had no need of studying anymore. The three librarians always happy to see you both.

One day you went to the library to see all of them there. That never happened. Unless, like Spencer said the day you met, there was an event. And you knew there wasn’t. “What’re you ladies doing here?” You asked cheerfully.

“Oh no reason, darlin’,” Dorothy told you, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Actually, they all looked like that. 

To your surprise, Spencer proposed to you. In that library. On that bench. The squeals from the ladies were deafening. You swore they cheered even louder than Spencer’s team at your wedding. They each made long toasts, the guests confused at first. Esther’s was full of details you both hadn’t known she knew. “Nosy old bat,” Franny had said. Esther had the entire room cackle with laughter. Dorothy’s speech was filled with many, many southern phrasings and accounts of key moments of your relationship which she was witness to. She was always the one you came to during struggles in your relationship. And Franny’s was filled with wisdom, love, and hope. She was the one who orchestrated your first meeting.

No one was surprised, however, when you became pregnant immediately after your wedding; the both of you eager to start a family. Everyone was surprised when your water broke in that fateful library. On your bench. While Spencer panicked and called, in order, the team, then the ambulance. Luckily the three ladies had all enrolled in midwifery quickly after your first meeting and helped you deliver your first child, Diana Dorothy, in that library. On your bench. 

You were happy to inform Esther, a year after giving birth to your first son, that his first word was ‘Esther’. “This is better than having a baby named after me!” She hooted.

Unfortunately, with the times, the three ladies eventually passed. Esther first, Dorothy quickly after, then Franny held on long enough to see the birth of your third child, a girl you’d decided to call Francis Esther. In each of the ladies’ will, there was one statement that remained the same. “Give the library bench to Drs. Spencer and Y/N Reid. It has always been theirs.” 

That bench sat in the library of your home with Spencer, underneath a beautiful window where you’d told your children stories of the three ladies who were responsible for everything they knew. 


Would bet all my money - Chris Evans

HELLO INTERNET! Did you miss me?? Well, I’m back with this one shot (that will probably become a series) which follows a prompt coming from a list of AUs that I can post if you’re interested. Btw, I hope you’re happy @supernatural-girl97   the moment you have been waiting has finally come! Enjoy :) xx

                                             CHRIS EVANS X READER

Prompt: We’re the last people in the cinema after a marvel movie because everyone else was weak and we payed to see the damned end credit scene, so who do you think is the hottest avenger ‘cause all my money is on Captain America.

Warnings: none

                                                                 —

You were a huge Marvel fan, like “I’ve read the comic books, seen all the movies, have multiple gadgets and really want to meet the actors but have no money to go to conventions” type of fan. You were obsessed with the characters, the storyline and God, the movies were phenomenal from your point of view; they’ve always made goosebumps run all over your skin, they made you want to enter in that parallel universe and be a hero, feel powerful and loved. Perhaps it wasn’t the best to achieve considering the downs of the “hero career”, especially in these stories, but, you know, going to the cinema and enjoy two hours of hot men running around wasn’t that bad.


As soon as you heard that “Captain America: Civil War” had been released in theatres, you immediately freed your agenda and tried to go as many times as possible to see it. In this case, it was the last day the cinema you usually went to showed the film. You felt a little melancholy while buying the ticket for the last time but you shook that thought away by thinking that, one way or another, you would’ve bought the dvd as soon as it was released and would soon have the chance to watch it as many times as you wanted. It was late, you chose on purpose the ultimate show to feel less embarrassed for crying or criticizing loudly the characters’ bad choices for one more time; there were a couple of people spread around in the room, most of them in the front rows or the middle. You happily chose your usual seat in the back and sat down with your big bag of popcorn.


The movie started in about 5 minutes after you had arrived and you were immediately entranced by what was happening and quietly kept noticing details that had gotten out of your sight the first time. 20 minutes in the film, while dark surrounded everyone, someone came in and sat down a couple of seats away from you. You actually didn’t pay much attention, you were too astonished by the movie that you wouldn’t have the time to turn around and notice.

That was probably lucky for Chris because, little did you know, he had decided to go the cinema to see personally the reaction of his fans. He had chosen on purpose, just like you, the last show on the last day. If you had seen him, you would’ve probably started to squeal but still be “cool” because, come on, it’s Chris Evans! The movie ended faster than you thought and soon you were watching the credits roll down, a couple of people got up and left the cinema, not bothering to stay until the end. But you, oh you. You had paid to see that damned end credit scene and you were going to get it.


“Weak people..” you muttered as you saw the last person leave the theatre. A deep voice startled you, making you realize that you weren’t alone.

“Yeah, not everyone is strong enough to wait till the end of the line.” the person said out loud and you turned your head to see where the voice came from, though it was too dark to see the talker perfectly. You understood the reference and smiled to yourself. “Mind if I seat there?”

You looked at his pointing finger and noticed he meant to ask you if he could sit beside you. “Yeah, of course” the credits still scrolled down. He was very tall, wearing a baseball cap on the inside; you smelt his strong cologne as soon as he sat down, it was nice. “Want some?” You asked, offering the last pieces of popcorn that remained.

“Yes, please.” he said, grabbing some of them and starting to eat. It became quiet again and finally the scene you had been waiting arrived. “So, who do you think is the hottest avenger?”

You laughed out loud, choking a little on the popcorn “Um, I think Captain America” you answered, a slightly sarcastic tone in your voice “Yeah, I’d bet all my money on him.”

“Well, Thor isn’t kidding either”

“I’m more of a Loki type, let’s say that.” you giggled, smirking. This person was really enjoyable to be around. The lights flickered on, lighting up all the room, and you turned to the mysterious man beside you. Your breath immediately got knocked out of your lungs “Wait, you’re Chris Evans.”

                                                              —

SHOULD I WRITE A PART TWO??

The Body Through Time

Author: @eradikeats-writes as part of Bangtan University - a series of ongoing one shots with @kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributors: @daegusoftboys (providing us with exquisite moodboards)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (oc; female)

Summary: When you’re offered a job as the graduate assistant for the Art History department at Bangtan University, it is a requirement for the department to sign their approval on the paperwork. You have one signature left and, unfortunately, he doesn’t want to see you. At all. 

Rating: NC-17

Warning: explicit sex; explicit language; angst

Word Count: 10,947 (end me)

Two hours. That’s how long you’ve been standing outside the building, staring at the glass doors as your warped reflection slides in and out of view.

Two hours spent in the warm sunshine, a slight sunburn starting to form on the tip of your nose.

Two hours reminding yourself that this is for your career. Reminding yourself that this choice is not about him, it was never about him. That even if he didn’t work here, you’d still pick this university because it’s the best and it’s the only place your career will thrive.

Two hours telling yourself you’re strong enough to see his face. That one look at his full lips and warm eyes won’t send your knees to the floor, collapsing beneath the weight of your desire, not like it used to.

Not anymore.

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