#ahem. one of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger.

[eye-of-yelough]

6, 34

6. Why did you do that?

- For shits, giggles and devotion to The Bit. Observe:

34. Is there a song you know off by heart?

Regular human answer: yes of course, multiple.

Bragging answer: this one.

#ahem. one of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger. #an outlet for emotions stockpiled. an arsenal. an armour. these are the days when I hate the world. #hate the rich. hate the happy. hate the complement. the TV watchers the beer drinkers the satisfied ones. #because I know I can be all of those little hateful things and then I hate myself for realising that. #there’s no preventative directive or safe approach for living. we each know our own fate. we know from our youth we will be treated #how we will be received and how we shall end. these things don’t change. you can change your clothes change your hairstyle #your friends cities continents. but each time your old self will always catch up. always it waits in the winds. #(ideas swirl but don’t stick. they appear and then run off like the rain on a windshield.) #I’m gonna stop now but you get the idea. AMAZING criminally underrated song btw. please check it out #thanks for the ask!! #I know a place we can go where you’ll fall in love so hard that you’ll wish you were dead <3

[fruitcoops]

hiii i've just spent the last 36-48 hours reading your works and oh dear do i lOVE your writing and this universe :') . i dont know if you are taking requests but i think it would be kinda interesting (and low key hilarious) if you would write the lions reacting/reading thirst tweets? idk if this is a dumb idea or not but just like some of them reacting to them and going "well i'm actually gay/married so.. no!.. but thank you!"

Part two of the six-month celebration, everyone! Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who submitted comments--I had over 60 come in, and while I couldn’t include them all, reading them was a true joy. The Lion Pride channel was something I started writing on a whim; I never expected it to grow like this <3 Much love to all of you!

TW for alcohol mentions and thirst tweets (nothing explicit)

“Why do I always fear for my life around you?” Sirius asked as Marlene settled into a cushy chair to the side of their table.

She smiled, catlike, and crossed her legs primly. “Because only Finn appreciates me.”

“That’s just the Aries connection, Cap,” Finn said with a smug grin.

“We’re both Leos, Harzy.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at her. “You should probably start asking questions before this devolves further, Marley. He’s gonna keep digging himself a hole and we won’t get anything done.”

Marlene’s smile returned with a vengeance. “That’s where you’re wrong, Loops! We’re not doing any questions at all today.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Read it and weep.” She tossed a small posterboard at him like a frisbee; he caught it, barely, though both Talker and Sirius had to duck out of the way. Marlene faced the camera and winked. “Welcome back to Lion Pride, everyone! Today I’m here with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Thomas Walker, and our wonderful cubs to react to your comments on our videos!”

“Bet you thought we’d never see ‘em, huh?” James asked.

“The comments fall into four categories: thirsty, funny, mean, and sweet. I will be reading two of those groups, and my lovely fiancée will be reading the others because she is the human embodiment of sunshine.”

“If you make Dorcas read the mean ones, I’ll be sad,” Leo laughed.

Marlene gave him a look of disbelief. “You think I’m passing up a chance to roast you guys? Puh-lease. We’re starting off strong with some thirsty, thirsty comments! Loops, you’re up first.”

“This is going to be fun,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.

She cleared her throat, then turned a smoldering look on their table. “I didn’t know I had a freckle kink, but then Remus Lupin appeared and now here we are.”

“Oh, shit,” Remus muttered, covering his face with his hands as the others howled with laughter.

“Lupin has been looking sexy as hell on the bench for years now. I'm so glad people are simping over him like he deserves,” Marlene read. “And there’s a little heart emoji, just for you.”

“This is every one of my nightmares come to life,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms.

James lifted his glasses to swipe away the tears of mirth that had gathered in his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is everything I have ever wanted.”

“Y’know, it is so good to see people drooling over this hot piece of ass at last,” Finn sighed, reaching over to ruffle Remus’ hair as his face turned bright red.

“One more, and it’s a good one,” Marlene warned. She licked her lips, then had to take a moment to laugh before speaking. “I feel like Remus Lupin is the type of guy to bake you muffins—”

“Accurate,” Leo said.

“—but is also a kinky motherfucker.”

Remus’ mouth dropped open as the table erupted into cheering. Logan pumped both fists in the air and Sirius was laughing so hard no sound came out; Talker sank so low in his chair that only his head and shoulders were visible as he applauded.

“Why do people comment these things?” Remus asked, barely above a whisper. “Holy fuck, I’m engaged!”

“Speaking of…” Marlene raised her eyebrows and Sirius smile drooped.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Buckle up, Cap!” She rolled her shoulders out. “Get someone who looks at you the way Sirius Black looks at a hockey puck.”

Remus snorted; James’ laugh was so short and sharp that it set everyone else off as well. “That sounds like I have a hockey puck fetish!” Sirius complained. “Which is so, so not true!”

Finn made an ‘ehh’ noise, and he leaned around Remus to smack the back of his head. “Hey!”

“Next one!” Marlene announced. “Sirius Black was my bi awakening.”

A beat of silence passed. “Is that it?” Sirius ventured, looking nervous.

“Yep.”

“Aw, man, that one’s lame,” Talker said, shaking his head. “Everyone thinks Cap is a little hot.”

Remus shot him a look. “A little?”

“Fair. Marley, I dare you to find one person who wouldn’t tap that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Me, though that dovetails nicely into the last one for our lovely captain. Ahem. I understand why Remus is with Sirius: he's hot as hell and rich, I'd hit that too.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Leo gasped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Finn and Logan turned to him in unison with a mix of disbelief and offense written all over their faces. “Dude.”

“First of all, Leo, you found yourself two hot rich boys,” Remus interrupted. “Second, that comment is forgetting that he’s funny, and smart, and nice, and—”

Seconds after the initial cover, Sirius took his hand off Remus’ mouth as if he’d been burned. “Did you just lick me?”

“Moving on! This is in all caps, so be prepared.” Marlene shuffled through her posterboards and turned to Leo with an ominous smile. He glanced toward the camera in mild fear. “What does a person have to do to get some hockey player ass?! Like why is Leo Knut so fine?!”

“Amen!” Logan called as Leo blushed.

“According to six of the seven people at this table, the answer to that first question is to be a hockey player,” Talker laughed. “The world may never know the answer to the second, sadly.”

“Lily could play hockey,” James said, resting his chin on his hand. Every single one of the others rolled their eyes. “She could! She’d be so good at it, too.”

“We know,” Finn groaned. “You only mention it every other day.”

“Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Potter,” Marlene began with a sly look as she held up a new card. “Do James and Lily Potter need a third? Asking for me specifically.”

James paused, dumbstruck, while the others drummed their hands on the table. “…no?”

A general sigh of disappointment went up. “I was really hoping he’d say yes,” Leo said.

“Ask Lily next time,” Remus recommended.

James turned to him and blinked slowly. “What are you insinuating, Loops?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry, James, you’ll like this one,” Marlene assured him. “James Potter is the ultimate dilf.”

“You’re damn right I am!” James whooped. “Vindication, bitches!”

“Marley, what have you done?” Talker whispered. “He’ll never shut up about that, now.”

“Oh, never,” James all but cackled. “I’m officially a dilf, you guys!”

“I hate you,” Sirius groaned.

“Tremzy, are you ready? We’ve got a couple very special ones for you,” Marlene said.

“Anything to get us out of this hell,” Logan begged.

“In that case: Logan Tremblay’s ass is better than Sidney Crosby’s. I said what I said.”

A pleased flush rose to his cheeks as Finn and Leo high-fived over his head. “Really? Thank you!”

“And they would be correct!” Finn announced. “Best ass in the league.”

“Come on,” Remus scoffed, though he was smiling.

Marlene cleared her throat to get their attention. “I don’t think I can legally read this on air without being censored or getting the video taken down, but…”

She turned the board around; all seven of them leaned forward to read it, then slowly looked at Logan, who turned vivid red. “Mon dieu. Is that—someone commented that on a video? Like, for people to see?”

“I feel like I need to bleach my eyes,” Sirius said just as Finn began shaking with silent laughter.

Leo’s face fell. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Finn wheezed, scooting forward to fist-bump Marlene. “We wanted to see what you guys would say. Fuckin’ hell, your faces.”

“Alright, Talkie, are you ready?” Marlene asked around her laughter. “Seeing Thomas Walker with a baby makes me want to have his babies…please hit me up.”

He held up his index finger and took a second to laugh before responding. “If that’s Noelle, yes. If that’s anyone else, I’m flattered, but absolutely not.”

Logan made a face. “Ew.”

“We have two more,” Marlene warned. “For some very special people that aren’t here today, but I think you’ll like them anyway.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust the look on your face.”

“Daddy Dumo makes me swoon.”

A muddle of horrified noises echoed through the studio as all seven of them cringed. “Oh, my god, that’s my dad!” Logan yelped, covering his ears. Sirius looked vaguely ill and Remus’ shoulders crept toward his ears; James shuddered.

“The worst part is, we all know he can get it,” Finn said with a grimace. “God, I feel like I just heard someone talking about my parents having sex.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that,” Marlene laughed. “Last one, from one of our truth or drinks.”

Remus went pale half a second too late. “N—”

“Hope Lupin is a milf.”

A broken noise escaped his mouth and he clamped his hand over it while Talker rubbed his back in sympathy. Sirius shook his head. “Somehow, that’s worse than Dumo’s.”

“Whoever sent that in, show some respect!” Leo said indignantly as Remus bonked his forehead against the table. “Hope Lupin is a lovely woman!”

“I think they noticed that particular fact,” Marlene pointed out, earning herself several scandalized shouts of her name and a whine from Remus. “That’s all we have for thirst comments! Are you ready for some funny ones?”

“Anything,” Remus pleaded. “I am begging you, anything else.”

Marlene shook her head as she stood, still smiling, and kissed Dorcas on the cheek when she entered the frame. “Go for it, love.”

“Dorcas!” they all cheered, lighting up immediately.

“Hey, guys, it’s been a while!” She curled up in Marlene’s vacant spot and took her own posterboards out from underneath the seat. “Alright, let’s rock and roll. Pascal Dumais is the team dad and nothing will change my mind, and Tremzy is the annoying youngest child.”

“That is so accurate,” Sirius laughed, leaning just out of range of Logan’s playful punch. “Whoever commented that has no idea how right they are.”

“We’ve got a whole sibling dynamic thing going on,” Talker agreed. “Tremzy’s the baby of the family, Cap is the quietly chaotic middle child, and Pots is the older brother that starts shit and inevitably gets blamed for however out-of-control it gets.”

Dorcas nodded. “You are one hundred percent correct. In a similar vein: Pots was the dad jokes friend before he was even a dad.”

“Painfully so,” Leo confirmed, shaking his head as they all groaned in agreement. James looked rather smug about the whole thing. “So many puns.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Dorcas mused as she drew a new card. “If Tremzy looked directly into my eyes for even two seconds, all of my problems would be solved. I am sure of it.”

“Yes,” Finn and Leo said in unison.

“It’s something about the eyes, I think,” James added. “They just stand out so much that it’s a little startling straight-on.”

Logan looked to the camera and stared at it, unblinking; it zoomed in slightly on his face. “Everything will be fine,” he said with mock solemnity. “Your problems are solved.”

“Well, that was terrifying,” Sirius said drily. “Got any more for us, Ms. Meadowes?”

“Of course I do! We’ve got quite a few for Loops and Leo.” She took a sip of her water before getting comfortable again. “My favorite thing about these videos is that we can all see Loops get steadily buffer as the season goes on. Good for you, king!”

“Flex! Flex! Flex!” the six of them chanted; Remus rolled his eyes, but slid his sweater sleeve to his elbow and flexed his forearm, resulting in enough hoots and hollers that they could probably be heard a block away. Talker fake-swooned into Leo’s arms and Remus lightly whacked him on the shoulder.

“Remus Lupin looks like he has squishable cheeks,” Dorcas read aloud.

“He does!” James cooed, scooting over and reaching out.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “I swear to god I’ll bite you.”

Sirius cupped his face between his palms and kissed his nose, then pinched both his cheeks gently. “Ta-da!”

“How many of these do we have?” Remus asked, though his voice was a bit muffled by Sirius’ hands.

“Just one more for you, and it’s my personal favorite.” Dorcas assured him. “I love how the team probably had no impulse control until Loops joined.”

Sirius let go of his face and dissolved into laughter as Finn nearly fell on the floor. “Oh my—you think he has impulse control?” Talker slapped the edge of the table as he shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hell no, Loops is the first person to do stupid shit with us.”

“Yeah, I just don’t get caught,” Remus added around his own laughter. “Everyone thinks I’m such a hardass goody-two-shoes and it lets me get away with so much more than you delinquents.”

“Speaking of delinquents,” Dorcas continued. “This one is from our ‘Taste Testing Sexy Alcohol’ video: ah, yes, now I know how to do a body shot. 10/10, very educational video.”

“Do not take educational advice from us,” Finn blurted instantly. “I know this is a joke, but please exercise caution. That video was a ton of fun but a nightmare to recover from.”

Sirius winced at the memory. “I took two naps and then wished for death for a full day.”

“On a lighter note, who’s ready for some Knutty appreciation?” Dorcas smiled at her cards. “I've only had Leo Knut for a season and half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

“Big mood,” four of them said simultaneously.

Leo turned to the camera with a concerned look on his face. “That’s a meme reference, but are y’all okay?”

“No,” Dorcas answered. “Especially not this next person: Sometimes I do something productive and then I remember @LeoKnut is a 19 year old professional athlete who radiates happiness and with two of the hottest boyfriends the good lord has made, and then my bowl of packaged ramen seems less impressive.”

“I’m proud of your ramen,” Leo said, even as the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. “And I appreciate the note about my boyfriends, because they are definitely the hottest people the good lord has made.”

Talker stuck his lip out in a pout. “Rude.”

“Sorry, Talkie, I’m biased.”

“Last one before Marlene comes back, so you’d better enjoy it!” Dorcas announced. “Did the Lions effectively utilize girl power when they wrecked toxic masculinity, yes or yes?”

“Can we utilize girl power?” Remus wondered, resting his shin on his hand. “Isn’t that exclusively for, y’know, women?”

“We can utilize himbo power,” Finn suggested.

James gave him an offended look. “Not all of us are himbos!”

“Okay, but you definitely are.”

“I am not!” James held up his fingers to count. “There are only, like, three qualifications, right? I might be strong, hot, and respectful, but I’m not dumb so it doesn’t count!”

“Pots,” Remus said quietly, hiding his smile for half a second. “Buddy, that was four things.”

James paused, then sighed in resignation. “Ah, fuck, I’m a himbo.”

“You really are.”

“At least we don’t promote toxic masculinity.”

They raised their waterbottles in a ‘cheers’ motion as Marlene and Dorcas switched spots; Marlene stretched her arms over her head and grabbed the new boards. “I’m back, beloved himbos. Talker, Leo, you are beloved by the people and have no mean comments. Cap, we’re starting with you.”

“Are they actually mean mean?” he asked.

“Sirius Black seems like a little bitch. Not in a bad way, necessarily. He just. Seems like he'd be a little bitch."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. That answers one question.”

“He’s not a little bitch,” Leo said. “Pouty on occasion, but not a little bitch.”

Remus gave him a long look, then shook his head. “Yeah, I mean, you teared up a little when Hattie got a splinter in her paw but didn’t even yell when you almost sliced your finger off while making dinner.”

“Duality of man,” Finn said sagely.

Marlene cocked an eyebrow. “Finn O’Hara’s hair kind of reminds me of Garfield the Cat.”

“Alright, that’s just rude.”

“It does not!” Logan gasped at the same time Leo made a noise of agreement.

Finn turned to him in utter betrayal. “Nutter Butter, I thought you liked my hair!”

“I do!” Leo defended. “But they’re not entirely wrong. It’s very orange in the sun.”

“I’m never going to forget that,” Finn muttered, staring at the floor.

“Ugh, it bothers me so much that Lupin just objectifies Black all the time!” Marlene read in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “No respect in that relationship!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Marlene stared at it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I have no idea what videos they were watching. Do you feel objectified in your relationship, Cap? I know the opinion of total strangers really bothers you a lot.”

“I’m really glad you picked up on that,” he said with false gravity. “Yeah, it’s such a bummer when my hot fiancé says I look nice. Such a blow to my self-esteem.”

“That was supposed to be a roast against me,” Remus said, looking amused. “Talk about backfiring.”

“Are you ready, Pots? This one’s pretty brutal,” Marlene warned. James nodded and Finn linked their hands for moral support. “James Potter is a swiftie and you cannot tell me otherwise.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “…yeah? That’s true? T Swift is a regular occurrence on the locker room playlist.”

“Also, James Potter looks like someone who would think black pepper was spicy.”

“Now that one is mean,” he complained as the others burst out laughing.  “It’s not my fault I have sensitive taste buds!”

“Oh, honey,” she said under her breath as she took a new card. “Get ready, Tremzy. This first one is short and sweet: Logan Tremblay looks like a lesbian.”

“That is not an insult,” Logan laughed. “Every lesbian I know is rad as fuck. I wish I looked that good in a leather jacket.”

“I just realized Logan doesn’t look short cause he’s next to bunch of hockey players, he’s short cause he’s 5’9.”

The smile slipped off his face in a millisecond as the others roared with laughter. “Quoi?”

“Oh, she got you good,” Sirius gasped, patting his shoulder clumsily. “Holy fuck, can I frame that?”

“That’s not what it says.” An edge of distress appeared in Logan’s voice. “Marley, that’s not what it says.”

James sat on the floor with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “You’re fucking—whoever sent that in, you are my new favorite person. Jesus.”

“Do you need a second to recover before we move on?” Dorcas asked as she draped her arms over the back of Marlene’s chair. “The next one is our biggest section by far.”

“It’s the sweet ones, yeah?” Leo asked.

“Right.”

“It might be a good idea to do those before Lo spontaneously combusts.”

“Agreed!” She swapped with Marlene and hauled a short stack of posterboards out from their hiding place with a smile. “A hug from Dumo can probably solve any issue.”

“Facts,” Logan said. “I could really use one right about now, too.”

“Has anyone noticed how blue Leo Knut’s eyes are?”

“Yes,” the six of them chorused.

Finn gave him a dreamy look. “Every single day.”

“When I first read this one, I thought I wrote it,” Dorcas said with a snort. “Someone give Marlene a raise. No reason why, I just love her.”

“Can we do that?” Sirius asked, looking toward the camera crew. “Can we lobby to give you guys raises? Because you definitely deserve it after all the bullshit you deal with to make these videos watchable, and Marlene, you’ve drawn the short end of the stick ninety percent of the time.”

“How?” she called off-screen.

“You have to actually talk to us and try to get answers.”

“Fair.”

Dorcas finished scribbling something down on her notepad. “Just making a note of this conversation for future reference. Moving on! Sirius Black and James Potter are a prime example of hockey husbands, and I adore them.”

“The ironic part of that is that we’re both in committed relationships, but we’re basically married,” James mused.

Remus shook his head. “You guys are so married. Lily wanted to get you matching rings for your birthday, Pots.”

“That would be so cool!” they said in perfect unison. Remus turned to the camera and spread his hands in a case in point motion.

Dorcas stifled her laughter before moving on. “This one is cute. Give Remus Lupin all the hugs! I feel like I could tell him he’s an inspiration and he’d be so nice about it—” She paused to glance up at them. “—this next bit is in parentheses: all the LGBT Lions give me that vibe, but Cap and Knutty are super intimidating so I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Leo’s face fell and Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “I’m not intimidating!” Leo protested. “I thought we already went over that! Loops gives fantastic hugs, but I want some, too.”

“He definitely deserves all the hugs in the world, but I promise I’m nice,” Sirius said, a bit softer than usual. “Is it because we’re tall?”

Dorcas half-shrugged. “Probably. It’s a little startling at first. Oh, I could’ve written this one, too: The Venn diagram of men I trust and the Gryffindor Lions is a full circle.”

Talker beamed at the camera. “Thank you!”

“So many hockey guys are such douchebags,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “I’m really glad we don’t do that shit.”

“Me, too.” Dorcas slid her old card under her chair. “Sirius Black’s hair looks so soft and I just want to touch it so bad.”

“It is so soft,” Remus agreed immediately. “You have no idea.”

“Everyone wants to touch Cap’s hair,” Finn said, sighing. “It’s so majestic.”

“I need a haircut.”

“No, you don’t,” Remus said as he tugged a stray curl. Sirius hummed.

“This one is from the interview some you did with Jules and Katie: these hockey boys being so soft with kids is my aesthetic! Like, it’s just so adorable to see these big, intimidating dudes be so, so sweet! Love them all!” She turned the card for them to see. “And then they added a heart at the end.”

“It’s impossible to be around those kids and not be happy,” James said. “They’re just too cute and wonderful.”

“Yeah, I love kids.” Finn nodded. “Especially the Dumais and Jules. They’re a hoot.”

“Jules would die if he heard you say that,” Remus laughed. “The hero worship is still going strong with most of you.”

“This one made me laugh when I first read it, but it’s really sweet,” Dorcas informed them. “Anyone else feel like we were deceived these past five years into thinking Cap was this hard-ass man, when in reality he's a cuddle bug who definitely captures and releases spiders instead of squishing them?”

“You weren’t deceived, I was just closeted,” Sirius said. “Also, I absolutely squish spiders.”

Remus gave him a look. “No, you do not. That’s my job. I’m the catch and release person if I can get away with it.”

James shook his head. “The third week of practices you saw a spider and threw me at it.”

“You did what?” Finn asked.

“There was a spider in my stall,” Sirius sighed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. “And Pots and I were talking so I didn’t see it until I almost sat on it, and my brain decided the only logical thing to do would be to grab him and shove him toward the spider.”

“That was after you shrieked,” Talker added. “Like, literally shrieked. I’ve never heard anyone make a noise like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled. “We get it, I don’t like spiders.”

Remus shrugged. “But you are a cuddle bug. They got that part right.”

“We’re in the final two!” Dorcas announced. “This one has some pictures to go with it, so it’s on my phone. Fuck Romeo and Juliet, I want what these bitches have.”

“It’s us!” Leo cooed as the phone made its way down the line. In the upper corner of the screen, the photo appeared—it had been taken in New York, and Logan’s whole face was alight with happiness as Leo and Finn each pressed a kiss to his cheek. The camera caught him mid-laugh, so his eyes were closed and his chin was tucked slightly into Finn’s Strand hoodie.

“That’s my screensaver,” Finn said with a grin, pulling his phone out and turning it toward the camera without moving away from Leo. “One of my favorites.”

“I forgot you took that one,” Logan murmured. He hooked his chin over Leo’s shoulder and kissed his cheek; the four others at the table gave soft are you seeing this? looks to the camera and Dorcas smiled.

“Pots, I think yours is next. I hate to break it to you, Talkie, but they didn’t get any of you and Noelle.”

“We don’t take a ton of pictures together,” Talker said as James took the phone. “I mean, we take a bunch of selfies, but we don’t live close enough to each other to actually post that often. What picture is it, J?”

James was staring down at the picture with an unbearably sweet expression. “It’s our wedding. That’s my favorite one, actually.”

Like Logan, they had been captured while laughing—Lily was bent slightly at the waist as James clapped, his glasses just as askew as the flower crown on her head. It was impossible to tell who had told the joke originally, but they were both radiant in the sunset.

“That’s a really good one,” Sirius said with an unreadable look on his face.

“Well, well, well, fancypants, you two got a video.” James wiggled his eyebrows and Remus leaned in to see.

“What kind of video? One of our tikt—oh. Oh, this is so cute.” He shifted his chair over as the short edit began to play. “D, who made this?”

“A fan.”

“It’s really impressive,” Sirius said without taking his eyes off the screen. The edit was a series of photos, both on and off the ice; Sirius knocking their helmets together, then Remus looking back over his shoulder, then both of them in the water playing chicken in the sun. It was a slideshow of their life and their love.

“Can you send that to me?” Remus asked when it was over. “Cause that’s super cool.”

“Sure thing. Are you guys ready for the last one?” When they all nodded, she drummed her fingers on the posterboard and cleared her throat. “Arthur appreciation hours. He deserves it after managing to control the team.”

A cheer went up—all seven stood and applauded, half-laughing and half-whooping. “Miracle worker!” Sirius called.

“Best coach in the league!” Finn added.

“Most tolerant man to ever walk the earth!” Remus raised his water in a toast and they tapped the plastic edges together, nearly spilling all over the table.

Dorcas’ eyes crinkled in a smile as she turned to the camera. “That’s it for today, Lions! Tune in next time for more content of our boys, and thank you for such wonderful comments!”

[cherry3point14]

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

#spndeanbingo #dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean #spn crack #supernatural crack #it's crack mate #say crack one more time #crack #i am sorry to everyobody who reads this

[werezmastarbucks]

Dusk till dawn

A request! I’m sorry I got carried away, and it eneded up being long and uneven. But I did what I could sigh! I really hope you enjoy at least a part of it, nonnie!

Pairing/Genre: Bucky x Reader, slow burn resulting in nothing YET, curiosity and warmth. basically absent-minded fluff.

Word count: 2564

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of self-harm, Bucky’s nightmares, language?

You knew you had a neighbour when he’s woken you up at half past four. You jumped up, like you’d never done before, literally like in the movie. The sound, creeping up the walls and crawling down your flat through the invisible cracks in the ceiling, was also just like in the movie. At that moment in the dark night, you realized something has actually happened, somewhere, to end up here. There was a loud thump on the wall so close to you, you could feel the vibration of the matter. Your bed moved. Wow, the walls were shit. Practically nothing but a thin paper covered with more paper divided you from that freak out there. Whatever on Earth he was doing at this hour.

But what if it was being done to him? Ah well, guess you’d never know.

You didn’t know why it freaked you out so much, this sudden disturbance, but you got dressed quickly, your sheer instinct being get the hell away. Not that you could leave your apartment for good. Just for an hour. Going to bed last night, you vaguely remembered you needed some cereal, but was too tired to move. Now, you felt quite refreshed, with all this. Who knew mad neighbours gave so much energy, waking up the body, making brains work.

You put on your pants and your hoodie, not forgetting to actually put a hood on your head, and took the keys, phone and money. The neighbourhood was quiet and relatively safe. The summer was the time for long walks in the night hours, walking slowly down the streets inhaling the jasmine scent, and eating cereal. You couldn’t explain it, but every summer you felt the urge to finally, decisively, stop eating anything but cereal and fruit. For good, and for the sake of the planet. The summer always got you mad happy, like you were going drunk on the smell of flowers and warm wind.

You left the building and stood below your windows for a minute, trying to figure out the one belonging to your neighbour. All of them were dark anyway. The shriek sounded male, but the tone of the voice… something about it made your veins go cold, just for a second. It was a dying cry.

You walked to the nearest shop and bought some stuff for breakfast. Stared at yourself in the dark glass, and then went back home.

Everything was quiet for the rest of the night.

 Next time it was in the dusk, but it was not that awful. He was just pacing inside his place, frantically, like an animal. Bam, bam, bam, circling in one room. Really, what the fuck was he doing there?

You fought the urge to lean to the wall and press your ear to hear his breathing. That was impolite.

What else was impolite?

Waking the whole damn house with yelling at two am.

No one’s seen this guy. You never spoke to other people living in the building, but after a couple of nights like this, should you meet each other, you were all silently observing, looking into faces, all guessing, which one of you is a monster with nightmares.

Couple of times you saw something. You could’ve sworn you saw a shadow slipping by on the stairs, when you were checking your mail box. Terrifying.

 “Have you called the police?”

You were brooding, staring at the orange anemone. She was the only survivor of a merciless lawn mower that’s crashed on here yesterday like a tsunami. But then again, how did they manage to miss this one little good flower? Maybe they felt for her and decided to spare her.

The young lady from one floor below was talking to you. Yes, you’ve seen her. Overall a nice one. She was holding her brand new baby, that looked really fresh, like very new. She always carried it around, and it always stared around with huge frightened eyes.

You asked yourself the question. You never liked the idea of the police, generally. You shrugged and smiled to warm up the mood. You hadn’t slept last night.

The lady didn’t buy your smile.

“He’s scaring the shit out of Gabbie. We can’t sleep”.

“Neither can I”.

“So why don’t you call the police?”

You shrugged again.

The monster was eating on somebody behind the wall that night. Your bed was just initially pressed to the wall that was crossing the line between the two flats. You didn’t have enough time to move everything in the room to move the bed away. It was a good positioning to the window, too.

You were so close you could hear his heavy breathing after he woke up. He was panting, his voice scrapped, like it was a torn fabric.

Until the very dawn you’ve been laying in your bed, the picture of your own brand new nightmare before your eyes. You got those as well, but who didn’t? This time it was a weird face, a long, thin man with dark arms and strange, black and white cat eyes, with wide black mouth, and he stared at you. He didn’t do anything, just stared and stood in the corner of your room. Until the very sunrise you couldn’t escape neither your bed nor your neighbour’s anguish because he wouldn’t leave.

You decided to call him the Monster, because it was dramatic enough. You passed the door every day and never once dared to pause or stop by. Or even look for too long at it, because you had this strange feeling that he was watching.

This morning, leaving for work, you were going down the stairs to this song in your earphones.

Can you feel why you're in this Can you feel it through All of the windows Inside this room

You imagined his dwelling to be very dark, because from the street, the curtains were always closed. The wall didn’t actually count, not really. It was so ridiculously thin that if he’d hit it three times in the same spot, it would fucking crumble. You were in this together, supposedly. You grinned tiredly at the refrain of the song. Yes, pretty much from dusk till dawn.

 “Just half an hour”, Lisa said, “please”.

Your job was rewarding yet very exhausting. Or the other way round. Border line: you finished at ten pm and was usually sucked out of the energy up to the point where your brain would send an emergency wave of endorphins  to cheer you up. Ain’t nothing of a rest like staying up late. You often went to a pub after work, just for ‘half an hour’. At nights like this, you’d come back home at three or four am, when the whole building was asleep, and the jasmine was glowing in the darkness like enchanted pearls.

“Half an hour it is”, you agreed. You made a face just in case they got used to your going out. You mainly preferred your own company, but you liked Lisa, and her calm charm, and how she was always generous for smiles.

After the clock stroke two am, you called the taxi and went home, plugging your ears with music and watching the city swipe by. By the time you arrived home you could swear you walked straight and saw the things as they were.

You went up the stairs and dived into blackness of staircase, swinging your head and feeling for the keys. It was all silent, the only sound being your hot breathing and the sonorous dinging of your trinkets.

You stepped to your door, bumping your head in it heavily. It was alright. You never got sad after getting drunk anymore. You weren’t seventeen anymore, and cutting your palms with scissors, something you’d never forget, was in the past. Honestly, honestly. It wasn’t that teen sadness, that gaping sadness. It was just frustration. The hard wood hurt your forehead, and you shifted a little, sniffing and rolling your keys over in your fingers. Then something happened, that you couldn’t analyze at first. The matter swayed, and you cocked aside, realizing too late that it was the door. You bent back, putting one feet behind you not to fall over. The door opened slowly, and from the darkness from the inside of the dreaded flat, thicker and blacker than the night itself – Jesus, it’s so hilarious – ahem, from the darkness emerged he, the Monster. You confused the flats.

The Monster looked at you, the lines of his face straight, lean and elegant. He wasn’t very ugly, that boogeyman. The scarce moonlight helped you see him a tiny bit. He stood in the doorframe and looked at you in silence.

“I’m sorry. I crashed into the wrong door”, you uttered.

He looked like a human man, but he couldn’t be, could he? The yelps, and the growling, so wild, so savage, so full of agony – a human being isn’t capable of producing such sounds.

“It’s okay I guess”, he said in a human voice. You plodded to the side, seeing your door clearly now, and listening. He didn’t move and didn’t follow you. You opened your door and crawled inside, closing it quickly and quietly, and then bumped into a pile of your own shoes. You fell on your face and moaned. Then you laughed. Your heard his door close.

 The Human Monster was silent for several nights after the accident, and you didn’t know whether to feel guilty, or to walk from door to door all round the building, gathering your rewards in local currency. You laid next to the wall, and listened, and couldn’t even hear him walk. He went full stealth mode, and now you were sure this guy could move like a cat, and did it when the least amount of people was around, in the dead of the night. But you’ve seen him, you saw his face, and could even remember his features. They turned out to be pretty nice, actually, although you’ve only seen half of his face, but it was highly unlikely that the other half was burnt, or eaten, or belonged to the screaming beast. He must have been a regular young man with a relatively handsome face, too large of eyes, and collected posture, broad shoulders and long dark hair.

One evening after another you listened and heard nothing, and suddenly it scared you more than when he screamed. You didn’t know if he was still there.

Well, okay, you might have got used to the Human Monster. Although his agony would get on your nerves. It’s basic human instinct, to reach out in case of danger. We were granted with voices to be able to send the signal should something go wrong. I’m here, help me!  You thought of that song again and felt guilty.

“Have you called the police?”

She was carrying her new baby around again. They both looked quite happy, and you didn’t. You still didn’t know this lady’s name. You looked at her child and suddenly felt spite. This is my monster! And we won’t feed him to your blood-thirsty baby.

You shrugged, as usual.

“He just stopped”.

“Oh god, have you seen him leave?”

“No”.

“God, what if he hanged himself?”

You raised your eyebrows. Someone watches too many shows.

But she did plant the horrible idea in your head, didn’t she?

 You still had nightmares, because summer wasn’t solely a cereal season, it was also that nightmares season. You got twice as many bad dreams from May to September, and pretty often you chose to just stay awake and go to sleep when the sun was out, because you couldn’t stand the dark.

This night again, you tried to sleep, but the creeps went circling on your belly and your shoulders, and the black and white eyes were staring at you from the corner. Something was breathing right above your ear, and you were afraid to even lift your eyes to see. The dusk was giving long blinding lines when you tried to keep your eyes open. Something banged loudly outside, like a lid falling on the ground, and you shook, sitting up in your bed in the state of horror and fury. It’s all his fault. It’s very easy to have a mental breakdown when there’s an actual howling ghost living next door.

You fell out of your bed and sprinted to the switch, slapping it and looking around. Empty room. You evened your heart, and then encouraged it, going to the kitchen. So, it would be Lisa’s birthday in the morning, and you made her a cake, but you can buy one later. You took it out and went back to your room, dressed up and entertained the possibility of being punched in the head deadly. But any experience is experience, plus, you felt for him. For some reason, the hell knows why, you felt for him on a human level. No one should be in such pain and alone. Absolutely no one deserves that.

You left the cake to warm up and breathe on the kitchen table and left your flat, ran down the stairs and stepped out, approaching the jasmine bush. The flowers were fresh and smelt so good you inhaled deeply several times before you could move on. You stepped to the bush and pressed yourself close, reaching to some of the flowers.

“Is everything okay?”

The voice startled you so much you jumped and strang yourself on a thin, sharp branch. You shrieked and tried to step back, moving the whole bush. Finally, you got out and looked in front of you. The night has almost fallen on the street, and the street lamp was working tonight, but it stood quite far away. The Human Monster stood at the entry.

“Oh, Jesus, it’s you”.

“No. it’s James”.

“What?” you snapped.

“Your face is bleeding. Has something happened?”

He motioned lazily behind his back and up.

“I heard you rush out of your apartment, and you left the door open”.

You stared at his arm. He had a metal arm, this dude. He was looking at you in a friendly yet annoyed way, like you actually bothered him. And yes, both halves of his face were normal. You touched yours and looked at the blood on your fingers.

“Never mind. I thought you hanged yourself in your flat. I was about to bring you some cake to see if you’re alive”.

James stepped away to let you in.

“No rope would handle me. I’m too heavy”, he said. He followed you back inside. You went up the stairs and stopped. “Is your cooking that good that it brings people back to life?”

“You wanna try it?”

Wow we’re so bold now.

His eyes were dark blue, and his hair was a bit lighter than you thought, a soft chocolate colour. He contemplated on something, staring through the floor at your feet, and then you’ve seen someone inside of him. A living human being, a young face hidden beneath a grimace. He had this queer look about him, like he was spacing out, and looking for something familiar to hold on to. Finally, his eyes landed on your face.

“Sure. I’ll patch you up. Do you still get nightmares?”

“Excuse me?” you wondered, slightly discouraged. Was it a burn?

“I can hear you whimper every night”, James said, stretching sleepily and turning to open his door, “the walls in this building are shit”.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #request #imagine #winter soldier

[works-of-evection-blog]

I was a product tester for an app similar to Uber. Part 4.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Dean and I walked to Pinzo’s Bakery. He knew where it was and it wasn’t far from the police station. I was a quivering nervous wreck, protected by a thin shell that was bound to break from the slightest bit of pressure. Dean said nothing. We had no idea when we were meant to be meeting this ‘cop’, only that it was to be at this bakery for some reason. I didn’t care. We would wait, and we would get to the bottom of this.

By this time, the bakery was closing. We sat at the bus stop that was directly out front. I felt more vulnerable and unsafe than I had ever felt in my life. Then, Dean, a guy I had known less than 48 hours, gave me a brief, tight squeeze on my arm. It was a reminder. He was here, and he was just as vulnerable. There were people everywhere. Heading home from work, going shopping, heading out for drinks or dinner…it gave me little consolation. Who, out of the masses, were lurking…waiting for us…waiting for instructions…

We spotted him. The ‘cop’ was walking towards us, but he was looking elsewhere. He entered the bakery and seemed to be talking to the people who were cleaning up. The looked unthreatened. So, cop guy was looking like another pawn. Maybe. After 5 minutes one of the ladies came out and handed us some leftover cinnamon scrolls. “Here, on the house courtesy of Mr. Lawler. He’s out back now, c’mon, I’ll show you.” Dean and I looked at each other, a resolute feeling passing between us. We got up and followed.

Mr. Lawler sat in a back alley on a milk crate, still wearing his police uniform. He made a phone with his hand and pointed back inside. We dumped our phones and came back out. “Can’t be too careful. They could still hear us. Look, I know you guys must have a lot of questions, but first I want to apologise. I thought it was you two who killed my son.” “What?” “My son, Norman. You see, I have been a product tester for this app for a month now, and I was the one that got Norman to do it too.” “Fucking monster…” “When I started, the app was fine. You’d get picked up by someone, drive together, see a cool place and go home. End of story. I’d done two mystery drives and both were fine. So, I got Norman on board too.” He paused for a really long time. I sat there, staring at him, trying to take it all in. This guy just lost his son over this shit. Possibly. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Lawler. That’s awful. This is going to sound insincere, but-“ “I have proof. Well, as much proof as I can give right now..” he showed us a photo of himself, his wife and Norman in his wallet. This was either super thought out or he was legit. “Okay, what can you tell us, Mr. Lawler?” “Ahem, well, like I said, the app seemed fine to begin with. Then, the same night you met Norman, I was using the app too. I started getting really specific, strange requests, so I shut off the app and went home. I had a bad feeling and I couldn’t shake it. So I called the developers to double check that everything was working fine. All numbers I tried were disconnected. At around 5am that morning, I woke up to a notification. The app…had sent me a video. A video…of someone, mutilating my son. I heard his screams as they cut out his eyeballs and held them up to the camera. I heard his screams become gurgles as his stomach was cut open. I’ve been on the force for 25 years, and not once….not once has something drained the blood from my body like that.” “They sent me that weird black suit, and made me steal your car. They convinced me it was you two who had plotted the murder. I’m sorry for how I acted. Something else took over me and I…reacted without thinking.” “Was that why you stopped in the middle of the road?” “No. I stopped because I felt my phone vibrate. I froze out of…pure fear.”

I knew that feeling. “What…did you check the message?” “Yes.” Dean gulped, we were hanging on to this guy’s every word. True or not, we were captivated. “What…what did it say?” “It simply said ‘Life as usual’. I just about caused a scene in that street. But, I didn’t want to feed into their sick, twisted game, getting off on my pain. It was at that point, where I turned off my phone and returned to work. I wasn’t really expecting you two to turn up, but I hoped. And I’m glad you did.” “Mr. Lawler,” “Please, Greg.” “Hmm, Greg, why this bakery? Those people might say something.” “They won’t. We use this spot sometimes as a meeting point for…delicate negotiations. There’s random places all over town. They’re notified beforehand and paid for their cooperation.” “Ah. Greg, do you know anything else?” “Yes. I did some research after signing up for this - I ran background checks on all the people I spoke to in this start up before commencing the test. They all checked out. I believe the people you all met were imposters. I believe the start up was legit, but unprepared, technologically. I don’t know what’s happened to the legit people but it seems that they have nothing to do with their app anymore. It seems that a wave of really good hackers took over, resulting in this…sinister mess. I’ve got everyone I can working on this back at the station.”

Greg Lawler’s words made a miniscule part of my tension go away. The police were on it, and one of them had been dragged in first-hand. “Does this mean we won’t go to jail?” I asked. “Not if I can help it. But first, we need to figure everything out.” “We’ll help, we’ll do anything we can. This won’t be over until we finish it.” Dean’s voice rose slightly as he spoke. Greg looked at him seriously. Dean continued, “We’ll get the bastards who killed your son, Sir.” I saw Greg’s serious look falter; he didn’t smile, he simply…softened. “I appreciate that, but please, leave cop stuff to the cops. I’ll keep you informed of anything we find. For now, I think it’s best if you come back to the station and stay there.”

I had no argument. The thick walls of the police station, surrounded by people who were doing everything they could to help – there was no place I’d rather be. Within 15 minutes, we were sitting in chairs back at the station. It was only then that I realised I hadn’t eaten for more than a day. I stared at the bag of cinnamon rolls I was still clutching in my hand, and opened it hungrily. I handed one to Dean and we tucked in; they were gone within seconds. Greg made us both a cup of tea, telling us it was probably a good idea to try and rest. I thought I wouldn’t be able to, but after a feeling of safety flowed over us, and the cinnamon rolls settled, we both dozed off, free from the paranoia of phone vibrations or sounds.

I was shaken awake by Greg. “Hey, Cherie, Dean, we’ve got something.” Blearily everything came back to me. Where we were, how we’d gotten there, this guy who’d lost his son… “Wh..what? What have you found?” “The original developers. They’re being questioned right now. It seems that they were kidnapped from the office 2 and a half weeks ago, and held hostage somewhere.” “And they’re here now?” Dean asked. “Yeah, from what I’ve heard, these guys blindfolded them and dropped them on the edge of town about 24 hours ago. They’ve been locked up somewhere for the past 2 weeks.” “Shit.” “They’re doing everything they can to get information, but it could take a while. They’re pretty shaken up by it all. When they learned exactly what’s been happening with their test app, they just about shat their pants.”

It occurred to me that we hadn’t discussed the different Bella’s and Johan’s with Greg yet. “Greg, can we see what they look like?” “Sure, through here.” He guided us to the front door of the room they were occupying and allowed us to briefly glance in through the window. In the room, two police officers calmly talked to the five shaken people, who looked dishevelled and exhausted. None of them looked like the people I had met. “Greg - Norman, Dean and I all met completely different people. We can give you descriptions.”

Suddenly, Greg whipped out a notepad and pen. “Of course, shoot.” We continued to describe the couple we had met separately, including Norman’s description. “This is something. Thanks guys. Those two in the corner, they were the people I met with when I signed up. Their names are indeed Bella Fiverson and Johan Weekes. Where’d you meet up with these people? I’ll see if the coffee shops have surveillance footage.

After that, things started falling slowly into place. The police managed to get the surveillance footage from the days we met with the “developers” and began ID’ing straight away. Dean and I bought cheap phones and never left each other’s side. Greg had told both our workplaces that we were needed for an investigation and cold not work. He kept us updated on anything new and we had constant police supervision near our homes. The days of radio silence were unnerving. To go from being tasked to do horrible, weird things to absolutely nothing seemed to create more tension, rather than destroy it. They were out there, waiting.

When I opened my laptop, 3 days after leaving the police station, I realised it had been hacked. A black box stared at me from  the middle of the screen, urging me to click it. “Dean…get Greg.” “What is it?” “My laptop.” Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing resounded through my apartment. We froze. It was coming from my spare bedroom. Dean walked in and returned, pale faced, holding a cracked iPhone that still had some blood on it – Norman’s phone. They had planted it in my house. The phone continued to ring in Dean’s hand. “Answer it Dean,” I reached for my own phone, “keep them on the line.” Dean suddenly knew what I was doing. I texted Greg to track his son’s phone, now. Within 10 seconds, he replied with “on it”.

Dean answered the call and put it on loudspeaker. Neither of us spoke. I could hear this rasping, rattled breathing coming from the other end. It was Dean who spoke first. “Enough of the games. Tell us what this is.” “This,” the voice was so loud and abrupt, that we both recoiled, “is more than you think. You’ve been running and hiding. They want you to fight!” The wheezes became strained as the person spoke. “You say ‘they want us to fight’? Who the hell are you, then?” “I…don’t have much time. They’ll find me…I tried to stop them, I wanted out, I swear! They’re going to send you commands through Norman’s phone soon. That’s why they planted it. They got me to do that.” His voice was cracking and shaking. “Wait, where are you now?” “Hiding. I…can’t fight. I know, what we were doing is wrong. Please…stop them.” Just like that, the phone call ended. Dean and I merely exchanged horrified glances. I immediately called Greg. “Greg? Hey, did you get that? Somebody planted Norman’s phone in my house and just called us from it!” “We picked up on the end of it – we also got a location. I’m sending backup to your place now. Stay put, I’m going to the location. It’s just out of town. Stay. Put.” I hung up and told Dean what was happening. He was still staring at Norman’s phone. “Cherie, I can’t stop seeing Norman in that trunk.” “I know,” I trembled with anxiety, “we need to bring that guy justice. We need justice for Greg and his wife.” Suddenly Dean looked up, “Cherie, do we know if Greg’s wife is okay? Like, Greg’s on this case and what’s she doing? Grieving alone?” “She probably has family around. Why? What are you implying?” “Maybe…it’s just weird that all we know of her is that photo Greg showed us.” I really couldn’t deal with another plot twist like this. “Dean. Please don’t go jumping to conclusions. A cop is coming over now, we can ask them about Greg’s wife.”

To my relief, we learned that Greg’s wife was, indeed, away with family. Apparently, their marriage had been quite rocky beforehand. Norman’s death had pretty much blown it apart. I suddenly had a burning hatred for the people doing this. Destroying innocent families and ruining innocent lives. Why him, why us? I wanted to see these fuckers burnt alive. I wanted to do exactly what Greg had told us not to do. I wanted to end this, and I couldn’t do that from the comfort of my apartment.

Read the Final Part

#short horror stories #horror stories #creepy stories #unsettling stories #black mirror #dark stories #writing #short story

[mrsamazingdreamer]

Just Roommates: Part 2

YAAAAAS.

HEY GUYS! A big hug and a bigger thanks to everyone who liked my story.

Check out part 1.

Here is part 2! 

Plot- Jungkook as your roommate + College adventures lol. 

Characters- Reader, Jungkook. 

Word count- 1.5k+ 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3  Part 4  

casual texting shit- part 1, part 2  

-

JUNGKOOK’s POV

Anything in the world would have been fine, but living in the same apartment as a GIRL was just a no for me. The reason why I had moved into an apartment was so that I could avoid being around the campus girls. But look at me now, I’m crying into a pillow, seeing a girl almost naked in my house. I’m so mad at everyone. They said that they will send in a ‘nice roommate’ who is perfect for my lifestyle and comfort… but no one told me that when I meet that person first will be like this. I want to die.

“I’m sorry are you okay?” a surprisingly soft noise and a warm hand lands on my shoulder. I got startled at the touch and quickly sat up straight.

“Uh I think so- never mind- I-I-I f-freaked out.” I stammered hard. From the corner of my eye I saw her, she was still in her towel, I noticed her eyes… they were very deep and from candle light reflection made them even more deep. I could feel her empathising with my situation from the look on her face.

“So, did I… I mean I should have waited and had a talk with you- “I cut her off and gave her my jacket looking away. “You will catch a cold.” I went into my bedroom without any delay or talks. I couldn’t have her sat there like that, talking to me. It was just really weird. I open my windows to just see how dark it was outside. This ‘Girl-Phobia’ of mine was really getting me to the edge. 

After all, I am a 19-year-old with raging testosterone.

I was blanked out at the thought of living with the opposite gender. Things could be just fine or maybe just so much worse. Either way, I was going to suffer.

It was 10pm and I was hungry fuck. I exit the room to see that girl was sat by the window in our living room, looking a bit sad. Now obviously, I had to do something about the person living with me being sad. Not going to lie, she was kind of cute.

ASDFGHJKL WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?????????? PLEASE sEND Help. TT

“Um, so, hi.” I awkwardly went up to her and just spat the most awkward greeting of my life.

“Oh, hey.” She looks up at me, fixing her hair and face and gave me a cute smile.

Aiggoo. Wae?!

“Earlier was really awkward and bad, so sorry about that.” I tried to makeup and apologise.

“That is fine I guess. I’m Y/N, by the way.” She told.

“I’m Jungkook. You’re new, here right?” I asked her trying to keep it chic.

“Oh, yeah I am. I think you helped me earlier today?” she said.

“Did I? I don’t know, I think I did, but, I don’t know, well, I must have, I’m too nice you know.” WTF JEON JUNGKOOK DA FUQ YOU SAYING?

“Haha, oh god, I think it was you so thanks!” she gave me shy look.

“You’re welcome, y/n.” I went to shake hands with her.

As I was proceeding towards her, I tripped onto the cushion and fell all over her.

WOW JEON FUCKING IDIOT. YOU TRIED. *SLOW CLAPS *

I was on top of a girl, ashamed and feeling awful af. She smells amazing though. OKAY WHAT-

“I’m so sorry! Oh, my god!” I locked my eyes with her as I apologise. I could almost feel her boobs which wasn’t helping at all. But I had to compose myself up. It was 10 seconds later, before I could get up off her and leave back to Korea. I felt my stomach rumble. She covers her face up and giggles in second-hand embarrassment.

SHE WILL DEFINITLY THINK IM A CREEPY DESPERATE PERVERT. FML

Y/N’s POV

“Jungkook” he is. And he is literally on top of my soul right now. Jesus fucking Christ, I could see his muscular arms and those clavicles and that slaying jaw line and that fucking face of his-

DID HE FALL ON ME, OR IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, BUT NOT GONNA LIE, I WAS LOVING EVERY BIT OF IT. JESUS, Y/N STOP IT ALREADY. HE IS YOUR ROOMMATE AND GET USED TO HIS PRESENCE NOW. ALTHOUGH ITS JUST BEEN LIKE 2 HOURS OF YOUR MEETING.

I had my eyes locked with his but my eyes were silently scanning him through, in those 10 best seconds of my life so far. I was surly heated up a little, but god, HIS STOMACH WAS HUNGRY, SO WAS MINE!

FML.

“Ahem, Jungkook.” I awkwardly spoke.

“Aish.” Typical Korean boy; He gets up off me and fixes his grey t-shirt.

We didn’t speak for like, 5 minutes. We were just sat there, in a dark room with candles and silence.

“Excuse me.” he barely heard him as he quickly left the apartment.

I just laid down on the mattress and had a mild thought on how cute this boy was. He didn’t seem like Jimin at all assuming how they could even be friends at all. I lay on cold mattress contemplating on what had just happened. I turned on some music for distraction and soon after went to pee.

It was 12 am almost and as I got out of the washroom, I noticed a pizza box. As I went near, I saw a little letter kept underneath. I was blank for a moment. I opened the letter and read it,

 ~~~~“Hi. So, I’m sorry about everything. I never planned on getting things so awkward on meeting my roomie for the first time. I hope I didn’t freak you out too much TT TT. 

Since you are my roommate now, have my contact- 0xxx0x00x0. And remind me to give you the keys later :).

p.s. this is my little apology delivery. Please eat well and dress warm for the night, y/n. 

-𝓳𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓴𝓸𝓸𝓴”~~~   

I clutched my heart and almost stabbed myself with those words in the heart.

CAN THIS MAN BE ANYMORE SEXY?! WELL, I MEAN NICE?! I was just worried for nothing. I was pretty sure he got uncomfortable too. This gesture of his made me feel all warm inside and things were no longer feeling strange from what happened earlier. I hope everything goes well.

“I wonder if he has eaten or not?” I say to myself as I stuff my mouth with the as delicious pizza as himself. Jesus Christ.

I read that letter about 15 times before saving his number in my phone. I kept the letter safe inside my diary and recalled the whole day in words. Soon after I went to sleep peacefully.

*buzzbuzzzbuzzbuzz*

MY FUCKING ALARM WAS BUZZING THE HECK OUT OF MY BRAIN.

-6am-

I saw the balcony glass door was ajar. I rubbed my eyes before focusing on what was going outside.

*SHOOK AF*

IT WAS HIM WORKING OUT.

“Oh mah gerd.” I screamed internally on seeing him wearing a vest, bandana and shorts and flexing those arms as he did the shoulder press exercise.

I went closer to see the proper image and only saw something inevitably hot. How his sweat was dripping down his neck to his chest and god had given me the chance of seeing his dark eyes being really charismatic. asdfghfjgkhlj. If this is what I was going to wake up to every morning, then I ain’t even complaining no more. 

I’M BLESSED.

Without making a sound, I moved away, not letting him know that I was lurking on him. I quickly freshened up and took a shower. I straight up went to the kitchen and thought of returning the favor, I guess. I made us both, toast, omelettes, some pancakes and orange juice. What a typical breakfast though.

“Woah, Y/N!” Jungkook exclaimed from behind me.

“You scared me!” I was trying to stay calm there.

He just giggles at the little table all full with food.

“Care to have some?” I offered him a seat which he gladly took.

“Yah, this is great!” his face had the sexiest look besides looking like a child in that moment.

“Thanks. And, thanks also for yesterday.” I told him.

“I think we’re good now?” He asked as he offered me a bite of his pancake. I just nodded and took the bite.

Y/N, THIS IS GOING SMOOTHHHH GIRL.

“Ah~ I’m so full. Thanks again, Y/N! I will go wash up now.” He says before walking towards the washroom. 

After a few seconds of him leaving, I widen my eyes in realization.

“OH FUCK NO.” 

JUNGKOOK’S POV-

This girl is really sweet! She made me breakfast. I think I will survive living with her. It doesn’t seem too bad. But I can’t let her know that I am actually uncomfortable and really intimidated by her presence. And I have major issues with her being a girl JFC. The letter really helped me when I utterly had words to say. No need to worry JK, let’s go and have a shower. Chill man.

OH MAN, HOLY SHIT.

As I entered the bathroom and was about to turn the water on, the sight I got greeted with was Y/N’s “woman stuff” and by that, I mean, serious woman stuff.

Please kill me.

Did I just see a fancy black lacy bra and its matching underwear, owned by my roommate of 12 hours?

Living with a girl was going to get a bit untamed.

-

Thanks, y’all for reading. <3 xD PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU LIKED IT OR NAH. TX.

(Part 3: coming soon!)

#jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines