Beanies and Negotiations (Part 2)

Originally posted by dailycwriverdale

Part one here

Anon requests: Could you PLEASE do a second part for beanies and negotiations?! I loved it!!

Another part for beanies and negotiations! Puh-lease

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: Archie observes Jughead and (Y/N)’s relationship, and realizes it’s not just his beanie that Jughead lets (Y/N) wear

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,033

A/N: ah you guys I’m so happy you’re enjoying my writing! I wasn’t planning on writing a second part for this piece, but since it was requested I wrote it for you guys. I was also gonna queue this and have it published later, but I’m so excited for you guys to read this! Enjoy!

Although he and Jughead had recently hit a rough patch in their relationship, Archie Andrews considered himself one of Jughead’s closest friends.  He also liked to believe that he knew his friend pretty well.  So when he saw (Y/N) roaming the halls wearing Jughead’s beanie, he was ecstatic.  He rushed through the school to find his friend.  In the lounge, Jughead stood with his arms crossed and raven hair exposed.

“Dude!” Archie exclaimed as he sauntered over to Jughead.  “Finally!”

“What are you talking about?” Jughead questioned, eyes narrowed.

“(Y/N), of course!” Archie answered.  “You asked her out, right?”  Jughead shifted and uncrossed his arms.

“No,” he scoffed, but his voice wavered a bit.  “Why would you think that?”

“Because she’s wearing your beanie,” Archie stated like it was obvious.  “The last time you took that thing off is when you proposed to her when we were six.”

“We were six,” Jughead emphasized, slightly leaning forward.

“But you like her,” Archie said.  Jughead opened his mouth to reply, but no smart remarks came out.  Instead, he closed his mouth and looked away from Archie, sighing.  “Ask her out, man.”  Pursing his lips, Jughead shook his head and walked away.  Archie sighed and turned around, spotting Veronica and Betty waving at him.

“Archie!” Veronica called, beckoning him over.  He moved to the couch they were sitting at and stood in front of the two girls.


“You’ve seen (Y/N) wearing Jughead’s hat, too, right?” she asked.  Archie nodded.

“I don’t get it though,” he said.  “He never takes that thing off.  I asked Jughead if he asked her out, but he said no.  I figured she’d be wearing it because of that, since last time she wore Jughead’s beanie-”

“He proposed to her,” Betty finished, and Archie nodded.  All three of them simultaneously sighed.

“God he looked so smitten yesterday,” Veronica groaned.  Archie sent her a questioning look.  “Betty and I were at Pop’s yesterday, and we saw Jughead and (Y/N) there.  She had stolen his beanie and he was trying to get it back, but he was enjoying it. I swear he could barely contain his smile.”

“Yeah,” Betty smiled in agreement.  “They’re both smitten.”

Archie, Betty, and Veronica thought that the beanie incident was a one-time thing.  However, they were proven wrong when they spotted (Y/N) sitting in Pop’s wearing Jughead’s jacket a week later.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Veronica greeted, sitting down next to her.  “Where’s Jughead?”

“Working at the drive-in tonight,” (Y/N) answered, smiling.  Betty and Archie slid into the booth seat across from them.  

“Is that Jughead’s jacket?” Archie bluntly asked.  (Y/N) looked down at what she was wearing.

“Oh crap!” she exclaimed. “I forgot to give this back to him!” Veronica smirked.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you holding onto it for a bit,” she laughed, causing (Y/N) to smile and nod.

“Why’d he give it to you in the first place?” Betty inquired.  (Y/N) bit her lip.

“We were walking home from school, and I had forgotten my jacket at home.  I was shivering, and Jug insisted that I took his,” she explained. Archie affectionately rolled his eyes, smirking.

“Smitten,” he mumbled under his breath.

The next incident was two weeks later at a football game.  (Y/N) had promised her friends that she would come to the game to support them, and she managed to drag Jughead along with her.  Archie smirked when he saw them sitting together in the stands, knowing that it probably wasn’t too hard for (Y/N) to convince Jughead to come.

After the game, (Y/N) and Jughead got off the bleachers and walked over to the field where Archie, Betty, and Veronica were standing.

“You guys were all great tonight!” (Y/N) complimented, beaming at her friends.  They all smiled in gratitude, when suddenly Archie furrowed his eyebrows.

“Is that-” he paused for a moment, contemplating how to phrase his question.  “Is that a new flannel?”  Betty and Veronica shot him confused looks, whereas Jughead and (Y/N)’s fidgeted as their cheeks grew red.

“Uh, nope,” (Y/N) awkwardly laughed.  “It’s Jughead’s actually.”

“What?” Betty and Veronica exclaimed at the same time.  Archie suppressed a smirk.

“It was raining before,” (Y/N) stated, and Archie noticed Jughead refusing to make eye contact with him, “and we got drenched because neither of us had an umbrella.  Jughead had a dry flannel and let me wear it.” She shrugged at the end of her explanation, playing with the sleeves of Jughead’s flannel.  Archie was tempted to ask (Y/N) why she didn’t just change into some of her own clothes, but he decided not to for her and Jughead’s sakes. Betty and Veronica shared a knowing glance.  Finally, Archie managed to catch Jughead’s eye.  He smirked and Jughead rolled his eyes, but the small smile on his face didn’t go unnoticed by Archie.

Archie would have completely missed the last incident if it wasn’t for Veronica.  Some weeks later they were sitting at lunch with (Y/N), waiting for Betty and Jughead to arrive at their table.

“(Y/N), that sweater is really big on you,” Veronica noted, critiquing her outfit.  “Please tell me you didn’t just buy that.”  (Y/N) smiled bashfully.

“No,” she responded, “I’ve had it lying in my room for a while.  Figured I should put it to use.”  Veronica scrunched up her nose.

“You shouldn’t have. Not to be rude, girl, but green is not your color.”

“Oh well,” (Y/N) laughed. “I’ll remember that next ti-”

“That’s Jughead’s, isn’t it?” Archie interrupted.  (Y/N) bit her lip and pulled the sweater sleeves over her hands.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, looking down into her lap.  Archie and Veronica smirked.

“You know what, (Y/N)?” Veronica said.  “Never mind what I just said.  That does suit you.”  (Y/N)’s cheeks grew bright red.

“Oh god, guys,” she moaned, but they could hear the smile in her face.  Jughead and Betty soon walked over to the table and joined the group.  During their lunch, Archie would occasionally glance over at Jughead and (Y/N).  He frequently saw one staring at the other.  Smiling at his friends, Archie couldn’t fathom how neither of them realize how smitten they were with each other.  

It all started with that damn beanie.

Part 3 here   Part 4 here

NurseyWeek Prompt #3 - Challenge.

“Oh, it is fucking on, bros,” Lardo shouts over the incessant thumping of the bass. “You two are going to get obliterated.” She points an emphatic finger at Ransom and Holster, who stand shoulder to shoulder on the other side of the beer pong table. Holster cups his hand over his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully, and side-eyes Ransom.

“She shouldn’t be able to say words like ‘obliterated’ three cups of tub juice in,” he says. Ransom is just beginning to nod in agreement when he’s beaned smack in the middle of his forehead with a ping pong ball. Holster gets hit in the same spot half a second later, sending both of them reeling back, spluttering.

“You know, I figured four years was enough time for the two of you to learn not to underestimate my abilities,” Lardo says, tossing another ping pong ball up in the air. She cocks an eyebrow and catches the ball, meeting their gazes. “My mistake. Clearly, you need another lesson.”

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First Impressions // Barry x Reader

Request: Can there be a smut for you being a new intern at the police department and Barry takes a liking to you, soon you become his assistant and you guys end up having sex all around his lab?

Warnings: I got secondhand butterflies just writing this tbh. Flirty!Barry and steamy smut oooh

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anonymous asked:

#6 for Gaston?? ;)

HERE’S A LIL ONESHOT. srry if its not what you guys expected lol i was super tired while writing it! Thanks for reading, reblogs and likes are all appreciated! Have a good one.

Originally posted by good-gay-sherlock

Title: The Night Before.
Pairing: Gaston x Reader.
Words: 1,368.
Rating: T.
Summary: After sharing a kiss the night before, Gaston meets with you and tries to explain what he’s feeling.

Pretending that nothing happened isn’t going to help either of us.” Hearing that voice in the morning was the last thing you expected. Hearing it as the first sound to awaken your senses after opening your front door was also to say the least, a big surprise. Stepping down from your front door, you pushed on his chest to get him to back away so you could walk. He did, but only half a step. Sighing in defeat, you stopped trying to maneuver your way around his broad body and cocked your hip to the side. You were all to aware of what he was referring to. You had been thinking about it ever since last night. You had gone to bed thinking about it and you had woken up thinking about it. 

You didn’t quite expect Gaston to be outside your house door though, ready to pester you about the mishap in the tavern the night before. You figured he’d have been too hungover to actually be awake this early, but here he was in all his post-war glory. Reckon, he did look a bit messier than his usual self, with a few stray hairs, bags under his eyes, and disheveled tan jacket that clung perfectly to his structured torso.

Looking at him in astonishment, it appeared as if he didn’t sleep at all and spent the night waiting to see you again. Clearing his throat, Gaston fixed his jacket, buttoning a few buttons in the middle before slicking back his hair. Rolling your eyes at the thought of Gaston performing such a romantic task specifically for you, you acknowledged his words. Swallowing softly, you grasped your skirt and tugged the fabric out of his hands swiftly. It left him a bit starstruck as you flattened the front of your dress and muttered to him, “It didn’t mean anything. It was just a kiss.”

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SugarDaddy!Cal Pt.2

Okay for starters…I made Y/BF/N Jamie because I’m typing this on my phone and typing Y/BF/N is annoying lmaoo sorry. And the anon who originally requested this has asked me to focus this mainly on black girls/POC, so I’m extra hyped.

Also I honestly think I might make this a series? The beautiful and most talented Gabby (@lukeysgirlkinda inspired me to, but I didn’t have a prompt. Might also steal her idea of a new chapter every 100 notes…what do you guys think?

One/ TwoThree/ Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/
SixteenSeventeen/ EighteenNineteen/Twenty{END}

You checked over your outfit once more in the full body mirror before walking carefully down the stairs. You’ve had more than one encounter attempting to run down the stairs before someone reached your house and it always ended badly.

“You look so pretty!” Jamie grinned as she turned around on the couch to see you.

“All I did was my hair and makeup, Jamie. I have on shorts and a shirt.”

“Can’t ever take a compliment.” She rolled her eyes playfully.“ What time is Calum coming?”

You checked the time on your phone before answering,“Any minute now.”

“You’re excited, aren’t you? I mean there’s a hot, young Australian who wants to be your sugar daddy. How much better can life get?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a sexual person, Jamie, how am I just going to be there at his every beckoning call?”

“You’ll do it, trust me.” She laughed, her smile widening when she heard someone knock on the door.

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À Triomphe - BTS AU

AU: Art Thief!Bangtan

Description:  You are a curator at one of the many museums in Paris, and have finally earned the bosses trust.  But after a strange meeting with a new coworker and his friends, you begin receiving messages from an unknown party.  

Part: One / Two / Three / Four / Five

Warnings: Swearing

Teasers: One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six 

Originally posted by donewithjeon

The door slammed behind him; he dripped in sweat, finally letting go of the ten-pound vase made of meticulously crafted marble. “Were you going to fucking leave me there?”

The driver laughed, jerking the wheel as he made a swift turn. “You’re not bad for a newbie, bunny boy.” The boys surrounding the van shared a hardy laugh, patting the youngest on his back. He slouched over, begging to catch his breath as the night lights of Paris reflected through the windows.  

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A Promise (A Maeve Fic) - ACOMAF and TOG Crossover

Okay, so this was a really interesting idea that I found on @greenfire2908art‘s blog. It gave me like a million ideas, so I decided to put as many as I could in here. Enjoy everyone! 

The throne room was dark. Shadowed, black walls curved sharply away from the ebon-stained tiles of the floor, tilting up and up and up to meet in a dome a hundred feet above. This should’ve opened up the room, dispelling any claustrophobic thoughts, but instead it made it seem as if there was no space at all, as if the walls were closing in and the floor collapsing. The lack of proper furniture and ornamentation only accentuated the crushing emptiness of the great hall, and any unfortunate visitor would feel like a deer in an open field. The current subject of this strange torture was sweating and wringing his hands nervously, his words stuttering and uneven.

Queen Maeve sat stiff-backed in her throne. She did not remember any other way to sit. Her bones were made of iron, same as her heart, and her backbone did not bend. The man continued his mumbling, and Maeve stared at him unblinkingly. His lips moved, but she could not hear.

Blood-red hands, plunging deep into a human chest.

“Me wife,” the farmer said. “She’s caught the flu and I’ve not a coin-”

A shrill wine, slowly, slowly building into a scream. Then many.

“Soon the kids’ll get it, too-”

“How many?” she said, not really wanting to know the answer even as she asked.

He swallowed, dark hair shifting as his throat bobbed. “Four-thousand.”

“So, you see, m'lady-Queen, that is-”

Her hands were wrapped around his neck, nails painted crimson looking like bloody claws as they gripped tighter.

“-to ask for help-”

Tighter, tighter. The fingers went white as they squeezed the life from her King. A wraith-like face laughed, taunting, skin pale and colorless but for her hair. The hair that seemed to grow brighter with every pool of blood spilled.

“O’ course, you don’t have t’-”

As those fingers went taut, a crack chased all other sound away, buried it in cotton. The silence made the noise that much louder.


“My son, Queen. He-”

“That’s quite enough.” Maeve’s voice was calm, amenable even. It was a horrible contrast to the shrieking hum beneath her skin. She made a gesture to her guards, a single sweep of her left hand that had three full-blooded Fae males setting down spears in favor of sword or axe.

As they neared, the farmer seemed to come back to himself, glancing back at the approaching Fae. “What’s this?” he asked.

One of the males roughly pulled his hands behind his back. That was when the old farmer began thrashing.

“What is this?” he asked again, panic edging his voice. “Put me down!”

Maeve watched without speaking.

The second guard pushed the man to his knees, pressing against his shoulders to keep him from squirming away.

And the third, he snapped gloves onto his hands, to lessen the mess that came afterwards. He tested the edge of his blade on his thumb, found it satisfactory. The farmer screamed, twisting and turning, but the arms that held him were like iron bands. The third Fae hefted the sword and leaned back to give himself room.

“I’m innocent!” the farmer shouted. “I’m innocent!”

Maeve leaned forward then, a cruel light behind her eyes. “No one is,” she crooned.

“I’m inn-”

A rush of air, a geyser of blood, and the third male had eyes like granite as he wiped the farmer’s life from his blade and walked back to his place. The two Fae who’d been holding down the man did not speak as they took up their posts by the door, leaving a crumpled, headless body behind.


Mild irritation could be seen in the feathering of Maeve’s jaw. If she could have, she’d be drumming her fingers along the deep blue manchette of her armrest. One of the typical meetings again, complete with tittering court ninnies and pompous fools. Hundreds of kingdoms she’d conquered, and not one managed a decent court without its share of idiots. She’d gotten used to it, and usually the ordered murder of the courtier of her pick was enough to shut them up. But her guards were not currently present, out on a scouting mission in search of Aelin Galathynius.

A thrill ran through her blood at just the thought of the Queen’s name. She’d escaped the iron prison, somehow. One day, Maeve had pried opened the door and found it empty, naught a trace left but for a swirling series of marks, sketched out in blood. There had been no sign of the Queen since, but rumors spread quick, and Maeve heard the whispers of an army rising in the North.

A donkey’s laugh burst from one of the courtiers, bursting her bubble of calm. He was surprisingly ugly for a Fae, with a sloping brow and protruding nose, and his guffaw did nothing to help his predicament. Maeve’s eyes tightened, and she put just a bit more effort into ignoring them.

As her violet gaze drifted around the room, her thoughts burrowed deep into lost history. To a very different kind of promise.

“You will not die. Not now or ever. Not until the world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars.”

Those were the words that the gods had cursed at her, centuries ago, after the death of…everything.

“Your Majesty?”

Maeve flicked her eyes to the one who’d spoken her title.

Strangely, he did not balk. She’d have to break him in soon. “Your Majesty,” he said, green eyes bright and black hair waving, “Aelin Galathynius has been sighted.”

Maeve smiled.


No one knew Maeve’s secret, the one of the Queen Who Was Promised. Promised not just to Elena and her gods, but also to her. She did not fight for Erawan, not for pleasure, not for power or some darker purpose. No, she sought freedom. One that none could give her but Aelin Galathynius.

It was with cold anticipation squirming in her gut that Maeve watched, from the safety of a long-boat, her armada crawl forward to meet the approaching one. It was anxious suspense that gnawed at her stomach as she saw just how many men had been gathered under the same banner to kill. And it that was definitely fear that thrilled through her when she realized it was her they wanted to kill.

Another emotion bubbled to the surface, one that had been pushed down for a thousand years to keep her sane. It was excitement, joy, that turned into a burning relief. So long, and finally her dream approached. Her salvation came in the form of pikes and spears and longbows, warships slicing through the water. It came in the form of a golden-haired queen with eyes a blazing blue that would’ve been better replaced by the line of molten gold rimming the irises.

Terror coursed through her like never before. Of course, it did not show on her face, wouldn’t even if she’d wished it to. Maeve let a cruel smile split her face in half, throwing a hand in front of her. Her ship lurched forward, careening towards the opposite bank. Rows of archers stood along each and every of the ships’ railings, the ones at the head of the armada like tiny dots in the back of her vision.

“Fire,” she whispered, and it was black flames that licked at her fingers as the first volley of arrows clotted the grey sky. Shields emblazoned with a rising sun rose up to defend from the wicked-edged points, but still, faint shrieks could be heard from the lines of enemy men.

A trickle of shadow she sent, a calling, a beckoning. Immediately she was answered. A balmy wind slammed into their ranks, cutting and eddying through the sea breeze. Maeve looked up, and she met eyes of blue and gold, even from over a quarter mile away. Her raging emotions halted when she saw the prince of snow next to her. He stood taller and stronger than he ever had at her side, and through the severed bond, she could feel where his endless sorrow had been replaced by a strange king of fullness.

The hollow cave that had once housed her human heart was suddenly prominent. Once, she had been them. Happy and complete, with a wisdom that could only be gained through the acceptance of another into your life. Hatred raked its oily claws down her insides. Together, the Queen and her mate, a reminder of what had been lost, why she still wanted to kill them.

“I won’t let you.”

Maeve growled and whirled around, the shadows leaking from her in waves. Her eyes widened when she saw who the voice belonged to. A woman, with long, golden-brown hair flowing down her back and eyes like pale-blue ice. Her form was bright and shimmering, and the power that spilled from her was enough to rival that of Aelin.

“Long time no see, Mora,” Maeve snarled. “How’s the afterlife suiting you?”

Mora’s eyes tightened. “I won’t let you kill her,” she said.

“I know. That’s why you’ll have to go first.”

Quick as lightning, a needle-sharp thread of shadow shot out. Mora didn’t move as the shadow darted for her chest, merely twitched her lip. The shadow was swallowed by a cloud of ice.

Maeve bared her teeth. “Why are you here?”

Mora met her gaze evenly. “The gods have come to collect their Promise. I won’t let you kill her.”

No, and I wouldn’t even if you hadn’t threatened me.

“Of course,” Maeve said coolly. “But why are you here?”

“Because I asked her to be.”

The breath caught in her throat as she turned slowly to meet the hazel-brown eyes that she had not seen since her Mate’s death. “You,” she said, because she had no idea if she should speak in a familiar or formal manner, and the awe did not leak into her voice, even though it was there, thick and stifling.

Vaguely, she could hear the battle cries of her men, but she knew she was safe here, in the thick of her armada, for at least a few more minutes.

“Me,” Mab said, and a sad smile lined her eyes.

Salty tears spilled down her face, running through the blood that splattered her cheeks. She caressed the leathery membrane of the wing, brought it close to her chest. He was gone.

“Leave,” Maeve said bluntly, any good feeling lost as she realized a war raged around her. There was no time for distractions.

Mab flinched and took a step after Maeve’s retreating form. “I came to tell you something.”

Maeve paused.

“I came to say something He would’ve wanted you to remember.”

“Elain,” Mora ground out, and Maeve closed her eyes at that name.


Mab ignored it, continuing, “He said he’d always love you. He would still love you, you know. Even with…with how you’ve turned out. And I-”


“-I still love you. Nesta still loves you, even though she won’t admit it-”

Maeve turned just in time to see Mora strike Mab with an open palm. “Elain,” she said, and cold fire danced in her eyes. “I told you to stop. I told you-” Her eyes turned to Maeve, seething with hatred. “I do not love you, Maeve. I loved Feyre, and she’s been gone a long, long time.”

Gone, ever since her Mate’s death. When she’d felt that other line of the bond die, go taut and then snap, she’d erupted.

“He’s not breathing,” Mor whispered. “Shit. Azriel.” Her quiet sobs were muffled by the shadowsinger’s shirt, and he too let the tears fall.

They’d all been in a room together, and then he’d barged in, violet eyes wild.

“She’s here,” he breathed. “She’s here.” And when they all glanced at the doorway he’d come through, a shudder of fear passed through each of them. A woman with a plain face and blood-red hair, smirking.

“Hello, Rhysand,” she purred.

The attack came too quick to follow, and they were all frozen with shock anyway. When manicured nails had torn through his flesh, she had lunged. It was with half a thought that she killed Amerantha and rushed to her Mate’s side, the tears already stinging the back of her vision.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore, voice cracking. “Can’t someone do something?”

Slowly, they shook their heads.

Gone, gone, gone.

A scream was ripped from her throat, and the damper on her glamour fell. Wings extended, talons cut through flesh, and solid black filmed her eyes. She’d kill them. Kill them all. She’d burn the world.

And then she had.

Cassian. Mor. Azriel. Amren. All of them gone. Velaris, too. And so the gods had brought her before them, and they’d determined her fate. A curse, to live forever, until her Promise was born.

Hearing her name again brought immeasurable pain. She had learned to hide it behind a mask of porcelain skin and violet eyes, a wrath greater than that of her lover’s killer. And with each word against her, the steel of that mask thickened. “Leave,” the Queen of the Fae said, ice coating her words. “Before I lose my temper.”

In truth, she already had.

“Feyre,” Mab breathed. “You are good. You are kind. I see beneath your mask.”

The crackling of magic as the armada at last came upon the shore, and armored bodies heaved themselves into the shallow water. Maeve thought it cruel that fate decided to gift her sister with those same words as she had once told her Mate. It felt like a slap to the face. So it was with venom that she said,“We all start out good.” A cruel smirk. “But it doesn’t last long.”

The ship exploded into black mist.


Maeve let the madness show on her face as she crept up behind the Queen of Terrasen. There was none of the fear Maeve felt on her face, none mirrored in Aelin’s face.

“I’ve come to kill you,” Maeve announced, and the swirls of shadows thickened around her.

“Funny,” Aelin murmured. “I was about to say the same thing.”

And then she struck. Maeve dodged, quick as thunder, and Aelin whipped back into a battle stance. They fought long and hard, viciously trading blows. Their magic whipped out in time to the strikes of steel, up and over. Rowan did not make any move to help, she noticed, though his fists were clenched tight and his legs were tense, as if he was ready to jump in at his Queen’s first command. He glared at her with all the menace of four-hundred years of servitude.

Distracted for a moment, Maeve did not see the knife coming until the last second, and for the first time in a millennium, Maeve’s blood spilled. It flowed free and unabashed into the hard earth, hissing and popping like hot oil. The pain was nothing, a child’s hurt, but it still left her gasping. She hadn’t felt the ill of a wound in so long, that she found herself fascinated by the glossy beads dripping from the tear in her flesh, so like that deep scarlet hair.

Aelin had paused momentarily, watching curiously. She was still tense, on edge, but something had shifted in her. The hostility had lessened more to…wariness.

“Fireheart,” Rowan muttered, voice dripping with warning. “No.”

“But what if-” Aelin began, but then Maeve shook her head and was up again. The battle began anew, and she felt her strength flagging. Her well of magic was bone-dry, while Aelin continued to spew flames from her outstretched hand. She knew what was coming before it did. There was only a moment to quell that instinctual fear and replace it with the excitement, the possibility of-

The sword that plunged through her chest was burning-hot, and it rekindled something in that empty cavity where her heart should’ve been.

“I love you, Feyre.”

Aelin jerked the blade free, leaving Maeve gasping on her knees.

I’ll love you, forever and always.”

She fell to the ground as her strength failed to her, chest still heaving. Two words burst from her lips in an unintelligible gasp. Blood leaked through her fingers. Despite her lover’s protests, Aelin moved forward to crouch beside Maeve. Her eyes were cold, and no pity shown in them, but-

Aelin leaned in, the smell of crackling embers punching through the sweat and tears. “Say it again,” Aelin commanded.

Maeve breathed, “I’m sorry.

The Queen of Terrasen studied her for a long moment, gaze assessing, then gave a sharp nod. That was all, nothing more before standing up and turning away to face her own fate. There was nothing more to do, she supposed wryly, and a bit of her old spirit returned, the one that lay slumbering beneath the mask. At least she’d die with dignity, her name whispered for years after the crows had pecked her bones clean.

She missed her Mate. She could admit it with the knowledge she’d be gone in a few minutes. Cassian would’ve laughed himself hoarse if he knew she had gone celibate for so long. But the passion she’d once felt had died with a pair of violet eyes that her shapeshifting magic could never replicate.

As the blood gushed from her torso, the fear subsided, and finally, finally the overwhelming relief took over.

Maeve, Feyre Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court, lay back, closed her eyes to the darkness, and felt the completion of a promise that had been prolonged for a thousand years.

Ah, peace…

Meeting The Family

Modern AU

George Washington x Reader ft. kiddo hamilsquad

Author(s): Lil Laddie

Words: 1725

Warnings: Swearing, a bit cliche, kissing

Request: HI! Can I request a Christmas one with the dialouge number 2, and 26, with 18 and 19 for scenarios???? X’D WITH CHRIS/ GEORGE WASHINGTON PLEASE??? ILY

2: “Who keeps hanging all this damn mistletoe everywhere?” 


18: Getting stuck under the mistletoe

19: Christmas w/ Kids

A/N: I hope this is close to what you were looking for! I had a really fun time writing it. Thanks again for requesting! But I’m sorry guys that I haven’t been posting often lately. My immune system has like completely shut down, so I keep getting really sick. Sorry about that, but on a happier note…WE ARE 10 FOLLOWERS AWAY FROM 300! We’re really excited about this and want to do something special for it. I don’t know if anybody actually reads these notes, but please let us know if you’d like us to do an open ask time or really any kind of fun lil celebration thing with you guys. If we don’t hear anything then we’re probably not going to do it, but thank you lovelies! Hope your day is amazing and remember that holiday requests are open! I love ya’ll!

“Do you think they’ll like me?” You asked, nervously fidgeting your hands as you sat in your car on George’s driveway.

“Trust me, my kids will love you. They love anything that will listen to their crazy rants and stories.” George smiled reassuringly as he took your keys out of the ignition. “Come on, they can’t wait to meet you.”

You watched as George got out of the car and walked towards the porch of his house. You had been dating George for a while now and the holidays had finally rolled around. He had been begging for you to meet his many adopted children that he loved with all his heart. There wasn’t anything you had against meeting them, you were just deathly scared that they wouldn’t like you.

Unfortunately, when all the kids refused presents from Santa unless they could meet you, George put his foot down and set a date for you to come over. That date just so happened to be, Christmas Eve and Christmas day. That’s right, you could possibly be ruining one of their Christmas memories by just being there. This was a nightmare come to life.

“(Y/N)! Come on, I promise it won’t be that bad!” George called, beckoning you towards the door.

With one last deep calming breath, you marched over to him, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Okay, let’s do this.” You said, determined to make the best out of the situation.

George looked at you and smiled, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly. George took a deep breath before reaching for the doorknob. Little did you know that he was just as nervous as you were. He was completely panicked at the thought of the kids being too rambunctious for you to handle.

“Boys!” George called in the house as he opened the door.

There were a series of yells heard scattered across the house. This was followed by pounding footsteps coming from all directions. You squeezed George’s hand a little tighter as you saw them all run into the room one by one.

“Boys, this is (Y/N) (L/N). They’re the person you were so interested in meeting.” George smirked as the boys blushed at his words.

“We weren’t that interested!” One protested, his dark hair pulled in a tight ponytail.

“Mhm, sure…Anyways (Y/N), these are my boys.” He took his time introducing each of them and you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to remember all their names.

“It’s nice to meet you boys.” You smiled, all of them wearing shit eating grins.

“HAVE YOU HAD SEX WITH OUR DAD????” Alex screeched, running at you with excitement.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY KIDS???” John yelled, latching his arms around your waist.

“ARE YOU GOING TO MARRY OUR DAD???” Hercules’s voice boomed through the house loudly, especially for such a small boy.

“WILL YOU STAY FOREVER???” Laf jumped onto your back, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“OUR DAD KNOWS SANTA! DO YOU KNOW HIM TOO???” Thomas asked, his eyes flickering between you and George.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT WE’RE GETTING FOR CHRISTMAS???” Aaron jumped over the other boys, hoping to gain your attention.

“I hope we don’t scare you away.” James said in between coughs, taking your hand that wasn’t holding George’s into his.

“BOYS!” George yelled, the boys stopped their flood of questions to look at him. “Enough with the ridiculous questions.” George sighed, thinking his kids had already scared you away.

“I don’t know if I can answer all those at once.” You giggled, looking at the rowdy boys around you. “Let me think…Yes we have and no I don’t have any kids. About the marriage thing, he’d have to ask first. I would stay forever if I could, Laf. Santa and I are freaking homies! I don’t know what you’re getting for Christmas, and no James, I don’t think you can scare me away.” They took in your answers, before they all took a deep breath to ask more questions.

“No more questions! You’ll have plenty of time to do that later! For now, let’s go make some dinner.” George said, ushering the boys towards the kitchen.

Without a word, they all began working in unison. You laughed, watching them take orders from George and and carrying them out with such precision. They were chopping vegetable and fruits, some were stirring pots or putting things in the oven. They were like little soldiers.

“What would you like me to do, General Washington?” You asked with a mock salute.

“No guest of mine is helping in the kitchen. Go sit down at the table, dinner will be done in a moment.” George pushed you towards the table that John and Alex were supposed to be setting.

“So, how old are you two?” You asked, taking a seat at the dining table.

“I’m eight and John is ten.” Alex said, folding the last of the napkins

“Are you all pretty close to your dad?” You asked, watching as their faces lit up at the mention of George.

“We spend a lot of time with our dad. He’s the one that got us all out of foster care and orphanages, we owe a lot to him.” John smiled at the memory.

“Did you hang them all up?” Thomas asked, walking into the room.

“Yeah we did.” Alex said, the three boys sharing a mischievous grin.

“What did you three do?” You raised an eyebrow at the suspicious boys.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Thomas smirked, taking a seat next to you at the table. “I believe you will greatly appreciate it.”

Soon enough, everyone was seated around the table eating an amazing Christmas Eve dinner George and the boys had made. The boys watched and listened to you carefully the whole night. George had never brought someone home before, so there had to be something special about you.

“I think I’m going to catch Santa tonight.” Alex boasted, shoveling mountains of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“I doubt you can catch Santa.” Aaron rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, why not?” Alex glared at him, holding his fork a bit tighter

“Because Santa’s not real, you idiot.” Aaron said smugly, half of the kids at the table looked up in shock.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SANTA ISN’T REAL???” James screamed, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

“Oh no…” You hear Hercules mutter, turning to glare at Aaron.

“James, uh…you see Santa…” George attempted, only to have more of the kids at the table begin to cry.

“Of course Santa is real!” You interject, signaling to George that you could handle this. “Santa works really hard to visit you kids each year. He’s probably getting his sleigh ready right now! But sometimes, to prove that a child’s faith in him can stay true, he tells other children to spread the word that he’s not real. All those who still have faith in him will never leave the nice list. Whenever someone tells you he’s not real, they’re actually testing you.”

“Really?” Thomas asked, his eyes puffy from crying.

“Trust me, Santa’s as real as you and me.” George said, smiling at how quickly you had turned the situation around. “Boys, go change into your PJs. (Y/N) and I will clean up the table and then we can watch some Christmas movie with you before bedtime.”

The boys looked at each other with smirks. They walked up the stairs and began laughing and giggling when they thought they were out of earshot.

“They’re up to something…” You trailed off, standing up to grab the dishes.

“They’re always up to something.” George chuckled, leading you back into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

After washing the dishes in comfortable silence, the two of you entered the living room to be met with a surprise. Every inch of the ceiling was covered in mistletoe. George looked around the room in shock while you tried to stifle your laugh.

“Who keeps hanging all this damn mistletoe everywhere?” George yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

“Keeps? Like this has happened multiple times?” You giggled at George’s pained expression.

“The boys kept trying to hang it everywhere before you came over.” George blushed.

“That’s cute, but I don’t know how to tell you this…” You trailed off, looking at the staircase behind George that was currently occupied by his kids.

“They’re too much for you aren’t they? I promise they’re not that bad, they were just really excited to meet you. Please, just hear me out on this.” George began to rant, the only thing that stopped it was your hand over his mouth.

“First off, I love the boys and their craziness. Secondly, I was going to tell you that we can’t break a Christmas tradition, it’ll bring us years of bad luck.” You smirked, pulling George close to you as the boys gasped in anticipation.

“Hm, well I don’t want to be a Scrooge.” George smiled, pulling you in for a light kiss.

The kiss was short and sweet, but then again there were all his kids behind you. As you pulled away, you could hear the excited cheers and almost whispers from the boys. George rolled his eyes, turning to watch them all run back up the stairs.

“I’m glad you like them. I’ve really wanted to combine the most important people in my life for a while.” George smiled, pulling you close to his side.

“I’m glad you forced me into this. I think this may be my best Christmas yet.” You put your head on his shoulder.

“Well, if you’d like, maybe this could be the first of many Christmases like this.” George suggested, his voice slightly nervous and strained.

“That’s an offer I’ll have to take.” You giggled, watching the boys peek around the corner to look at the two of you. “Besides, I don’t think I’d want to spend another holiday without you and your boys.”

Nonsense (Jungkook x Reader)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Words: 2,895

Genre: Smut

A/N: Sorry for the wait~ I hope you enjoy ^^

The sickening thought pierces you as you’re curled up on your couch, Inkigayo playing on the screen. Jungkook is doing his best as always, flashing the camera looks that he always says “aren’t sexy”, but undeniably are. His hips thrust forward and his movements are perfect, ARMY screaming in the background, always the faithful studio audience.

And—watching the kind-hearted, hard-working boy on screen—you think something that scares you.

I’m not good enough for him.

Not good enough for the golden maknae—the boy who can do everything. Sing, rap, dance—he’s even got the looks and the personality to back it up. And in comparison to all of that…who are you? You’re so normal in comparison to him. Sure, you’re not a bad singer, and you try hard at your job and your school work, but…

He’s too good for me.

Your heart aches at the terrifying realization, your lips pressing into a straight line. Your entire body tenses, distraught because your boyfriend is…beyond you. Why had he chose to date you of all people? Surely there were prettier, more talented girls that he could choose from. So many ARMY’s you’d spotted at fan-meets were so beautiful…

“Shit,” you whisper, the first fallen tears tumbling down your cheeks, the water droplets plopping onto your bare hands. Hurriedly you rush to wipe the wetness away, but despite your efforts the tears don’t stop. The negative thoughts in your mind continue to weigh down on you, and no matter how hard you try to rationalize—try to convince yourself otherwise—the thoughts persist.

Burying your face in your palms, teeth tightly grit, you hardly notice when the broadcast ends. The ending ment takes place, the artists’ way goodbye, and the next program begins. By the time you finally look up—eyes stinging and vision blurry—it’s been a good half an hour.

“Fuck–!” you hiccup, making a dive for the coffee table where you phone is resting. After the show tonight he’d been planning to come over and spend time with you—but he can’t see you like this! Oh god—

To your utter horror, the minute you unlock the device a new message flashes on the screen.

Jeon Jungkookie <3

I’m right around the corner. Unlock the door for me cuz I know you’ll forget.

Panicked, you glance up at your door, actually debating running over to lock it when you notice that it’s already unlocked.


You don’t have to come! I’m sure you’re tired!

…is what your hurriedly type as an excuse, hoping that maybe for once he’ll actually listen. Maybe for once he’ll actually feel tired and will agree that the dorm will be more comfortable, and—

Jeon Jungkookie <3

Nope~ I’m in the lobby. And yeah I’m tired—I plan to spend the rest of the night sleeping with you in my arms.

His words would normally make your heart flutter with love and excitement—because it’s not often that Jungkook says such cute or romantic words—but tonight his statement causes you to almost faint. No no no no—no! He can’t—you can’t—

At that moment the handle to your apartment jiggles—apparently you hadn’t turned the lock all the way—and you hear Jungkook mumble a little curse. He continues messing with the handle—knowing by now how to get it to unlock for him—and you take that second to vault over the couch. You reach your bedroom threshold just as Jungkook opens the front door.

“Hey–,” he starts at seeing you, a smile on his face. He figures that maybe you want to mess with him a little—play a little game of tag because you love not making anything easy for him—but the minute you turn to slam the door shut and he sees the panic on your face, his smile drops.

“Hey, Y/N–,” he tries again, taking a hurried stride forward. However, before he can make it to the door you have it shut and locked, your back pressed against the smooth wood as you slide down to the floor, your chest shaking with a new round of sobs.

“Y/N, hey, c’mon, what’s wrong,” Jungkook immediately begs, his knuckles lightly knocking against the door. The deep-rooted concern in his voice immediately has you crying harder—your noises of distress now reaching his ears.

Jungkook’s heart cracks instantly, his palms pressing flat against the door. His voice catches in his throat, mind blanking. He’s not sure what to do. What the hell managed to get you so upset??

“Y/N, jagi, please,” he tries gently, moving to test the door knob. Of course it’s locked. “Please talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I…,” is all you manage, wrapping your arms around your knees. Your sobs have quieted despite the steady flow of tears. “I…”

“Please let me in. Talk to me—you can trust me, I promise.”

“Jungkook…,” you begin tentatively, mind feeling numb despite your hammering heart. You set your mouth in a frown, brushing away the wetness staining your cheeks.

“Should we break up?” you ask, a broken laugh following the proposal.

The apartment sits in silence for good few seconds, your throat constricting with each tick of the clock, and then finally—

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jungkook’s voice isn’t angry. He’s…shocked, confused, even heart-broken at the proposition. “Do you…do you seriously think that? Y/N, what the—?”

“You’re too good for me!” you shout suddenly, unable to take the wave of hurt that has washed into his tone. “I’m…I’m just…me! And you’re the golden maknae of BTS! I don’t deserve you! It’s—I mean—it’s just…”

Your head is spinning all over again, too many emotions coursing through you at once.

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s stern voice suddenly breaks through the silence, your racing thoughts screaming to a halt. “Open the door.”


“Please. Open the door,” he says, serious. Immediately you waver, eyes shifting back to look at the locked door knob. You can still hear the sadness hidden behind his calm tone, but you also know that he’s being 100% serious. He wants you to open the door.

Taking a deep breath, smearing away any left-over tears, you push to your feet and turn to face the door. Slowly you lift your hand, fingers grasping the lock and twisting it open. The click echoes throughout the silent apartment, and you step back as the handle twists.

Keep reading

They Walk Again - Teaser

Originally posted by vernonymous

Genre: Fluff | Angst | Zombie!AU

Pairing: Jimin x OC | Jin x OC

Warnings: Mentions of biting?

So, this is a short teaser of the oneshot I was rambling about a while back! This was inspired by the movie ‘Train to Busan’ (I teared up by the end of that movie, ah) and this is basically what I’ve written so far, a little teaser! This won’t be finished for a while, but please, as always do tell me what you think and please me leave feedback! 

“Jin? Can you help me with something?”

Seokjin peered out from his office, discarding the paperwork he had been scribbling away on to attend to his co-worker. The hospital was bustling with people that day, doctors and nurses alike rushing back and forth, Jin’s name constantly being called out, beckoning him to a different person each time. Children sat tugging at their mother’s sleeves in the waiting room, a couple of bored teenagers huffing and sighing in the corner, others tapping their feet impatiently. The clocks seemed to tick past eternally, every second fading into a minute, into an hour, of relentless waiting, the hospital staff slowly drowning in the workload.

“Just a second,” Jin called out in reply, pushing his hair back from his glistening forehead and looking around the room one last time before rushing out to the teeming reception area to locate his co-worker. He finally spotted her waving over to him, and he began to walk over to her. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as he neared, and noticed the worried expression painted onto her features, biting her lip anxiously.

“What’s the issue? Is something wrong?” Jin asked with a soft tone, staring at her intently as her eyes darted around in worry.

“There’s something strange up with one of the patients, one under your care…You really need to come and check it out…” She tried to keep her tone steady, and yet he could hear her voice waver, setting his senses on high alert.

“Lead me to them, now,” Jin insisted, and the two of them strode off quickly to the recovery rooms, others glancing over at them in curiosity as they went about their own tasks, eventually walking off to attend to their patients.

The doctor led Jin into one of the rooms, and he immediately spotted the problem, some of the blood draining from Seokjin’s face in shock. He rushed over to the man, who was shaking uncontrollably, the veins running along his neck beginning to bulge out and quickly darkening to a murky black, his eyes glazing over and becoming stark white. His pupils and irises quickly faded to nothingness, leaving nothing but white glaring back up at the doctor and nurses surrounding him, his skin sickly and discoloured. A painful snapping sound could be heard as his bones clicked in and out of place, his limbs hanging at unnatural angles, and he rose from the sheets, his unnerving stare directed right at Seokjin.

Across the room and throughout other rooms in the hospital, similar occurrences began to take place, to the horror and shock of everyone present, doctors and unaffected patients alike, frantic and bewildered. The sound of panicked screaming began to ring through the building, as the infected patients stared soullessly at the terrified and bewildered patients and doctors alike. A shrill, piercing scream was heard as one of the infected sank their teeth into a nurse’s arm, her body writhing around desperately in an attempt to escape. The first infected patient fixated his gaze on Seokjin, the startling whites of his eyes glistening under the artificial light, and fear spread throughout Seokjin’s figure at the lifelessness beneath them.

Imagine being in the Hamilsquad

Originally posted by tyrantrainfire

“Y/N, mon amour, join us!” Lafayette called, beckoning you over, the drinking making his accent more pronounced. 

“Yeah, Y/N you’re missing all the fun!” Hercules yelled, slinging an arm over John and taking a swig from his bottle.

“Don’t wanna end up like Burr!” Laurens said loudly, pointing an accusing finger at Aaron, who sat by himself at a table across the room. 

You grinned. “I can drink to that!” you responded, grabbing a drink for yourself and going over to join Alexander and his friends. 

“Good choice,” Alex shouted. “Y/N is my favorite person! I love her!”

“No, I love her!” Lafayette argued. “Oui, Y/N?”

“I think we all know Herc loves me the most,” you said, winking at the man. 

He raised his drink and winked back. “We’ll see!”

Laurens stood up abruptly, eyes wide. “Oh my God! I love turtles!”

something was wrong - bughead

pairing: betty/jughead

warnings and potential triggers: blood, cutting (self harm,) depression, not eating, a kiss scene.

summary: betty has been increasingly depressed lately. when jughead discovers betty’s sadness has escalated to hurting herself, he takes it upon himself to comfort and take care of her.

much angst ahead, you have been warned! my heart broke writing this, but the idea had been bouncing around my head so long I had to write it.

jughead found himself lingering on betty. of course, this was nothing new. he noticed every little thing about her. how her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the slight shadows under her eyes, a silent proof she had been awake late. usually to work on an article for the blue and gold. he noticed how her ponytail usually split into two curls, how her bottom lip jut out a bit when she was deep in thought.

it felt like he was in a dream from which he never wanted to wake up. every day, when she pulled books from her locker, when she came to greet him hello with a kiss on the cheek. he would find himself touching that cheek later in the day, unable to focus on anything but her sweet sweet feeling. everyday, he fell a little more over the deep end, drowning. but he had given up resisting.

ask the jughead of a few months ago. the one who stood at the bottom of the ladder he took from Fred’s garage, wondering if he should go through with his fantasy, for in that moment, he fought heavily against his feelings. he didn’t want to hand someone all his pieces and hope and pray for them to put him back together, the pieces of his broken life, to be smashed yet again when all good things come to an end.

the utterance of that first “I love you,” had come at such a moment, one which had burned itself into his mind, his heart. he felt something, for once, something so real, something he couldn’t fight anymore. he felt his heart, lined with her love, burn when she was gone. burn with the feeling of missing her. so he stayed. as close to her as he could. and she always reciprocated. she hugged him back, kissed him much and often. a hole which had always existed in him, the empty void, was starting to fill up with something sugary sweet and irresistible. he was so madly in love with her. and she, him. 

normally, jughead found himself falling just a little bit more in love with her every single time he caught himself staring at the smallest of things. sometimes, Betty would look up herself. she would smile at his lingering eyes, and plant a short peck on his lips, leaving him dying for more, but so satisfied with the brief moment of affection she allowed to fill his heart once again. 

but lately, something had been wrong. 

Betty was a smiley person. and happiness suited her better than he had ever seen it on anyone. but the Betty of recent days had been something not right. he knew she was sad, hell she had every reason to be. her sister was reeling from Jason’s death, pregnant with his babies, (plural!) her family seemed to be falling apart, school weighed on her so heavily. he understood why she would be upset. but lately, she looked almost different. fake, even.

if anyone were to run into her on the street,  jughead was so sure wouldn’t recognize her; the light she brought with her presence was flickering. and she had no idea he could tell. he prided himself on being observant, on noticing all the details, the clues, the moments missed.

but lately, something was wrong.

he wondered if he had been doing something incorrectly, the whole dynamic of relationships was foreign to him. so when betty’s birthday appeared to be on the arrival, he decided he would make the day special.

betty felt…empty. 

she felt nothingness. in the pool of once-were feelings where she so craved to feel anything, pain, happiness, anything at all, she was convinced would breathe life back into her.

her whole life had been about appearances up until this point, betty cooper do this, betty cooper do that. betty, smile for the camera, smile for the people judging silently. smile for the people who walk down the street and see her, and wonder “oh, is she a cooper girl?” because she oh, so convincingly looked the part. the perfect girl next door.

but to her, it felt as though betty cooper was dead, locking herself behind closed doors, a razor sitting tauntingly, rudely in the drawer of her room, beckoning, calling, screaming a chorus that rung in her head so hard, it ached constantly. she found herself reaching for it, in the worst of moments, when she so desperately wanted to rid herself of the empty feeling. because anything, even pain would be better.

if not the razor, it was jughead. she clung to him heavily, in every waking moment, for his soft lips were one of the only things that could bring her a feeling, on even the most superficial level. she ran to him, to his soft embrace, the grey knitted beanie that almost always rest on his soft hair, the smell of the dirty clothes he could almost never wash. he was practically homeless, after all. she pressed her lips on his with the silliest of excuses, because she had to feel something, even if it was just her nerves reacting to the empty touch. for a fleeting moment, she could forget the empty cesspool. but it returned every time, like a riptide dragging her down, once again, making her feel undeserving of his love, of his touch. but it kept returning to haunt her, over and over. 

so even with his unconditional love, something was wrong.

so when betty’s birthday rolled around the corner, she finally understood what jughead meant when he said he abhorred the day of his own. when she threw him a stupid party he didn’t even want. it was a day to celebrate being alive another year, yet the “being alive” part felt like it was the whole problem. 

the quiet party had finally met it’s end, even veronica had agreed to go home. betty sat on the couch with both her legs up. she wore a long sleeved sweater, but the thin layer of sweat that glistened on her skin had been teasing her to roll the up. but the angry red lines would be exposed, making that not an option. 

jughead had noticed this. he made a few new observations, among the quiet group of their friends. one, that betty fiddled often with the ends of her sleeves, that she had barely eaten a whole slice of cake, and took a sip of water after every bite. she had gotten up for water twice during the one slice. her smile had been a little off, the kind she wore around her mom rather than the one he had seen when he caught her alone.

the sheen on moisture had gotten to her back, and she shifted uncomfortably in her place. her eyes reached up from her screen, and she noticed jughead, sitting on the set of couches across from her, typing furiously on his laptop. she smiled slightly. he was wearing a loose shirt, with an “S” emblazoned on the center, and a pair of  old track pants, with a small hole in the knee on the left side. he slept in these clothes, and had changed after the party as he had been spending the night with her since her parents left on their trip. she thought he looked beautiful.

“juggie?” she called out. his eyes snapped up. oh, how she longed to stare into his beautiful eyes forever. he walked over to her, and sat next to the sofa, his breath dangerously close to her neck. she tried to ignore it. “thank you for the party,” she said.

he smiled. “you’re welcome.” it had been a small gathering, a pleasant one. her parents had been out of town, on a journalism retreat. so jughead had texted Archie, very reluctantly, and awkwardly asked Veronica to join them (her enthusiasm annoyed him slightly,) and they had eaten cake, done some simple celebrating, then relaxed and watched a movie. betty fitted herself under his arm, and they smiled at each other throughout the movie. but the smile was still not quite right. he had to say something, anything.

“betty, you know you can tell me anything, right?” he said gently. betty felt her nerves tense. “I love you, and I want you to know, if anything is ever wrong, you can tell me, alright?”

she giggled. “of course I know that. I love you too.” he loved hearing it, and she loved saying it.

he leaned forward, and bridged the gap between their lips. she put her phone down. his tongue swiped across her bottom lip, asking for entrance which she readily provided. their tongues danced in the air trapped between their lips, and she moaned slightly. the sound rang in his ears, as he felt the blood rush in his veins. he loved that he could illicit such a response from her. when the kiss grew tiring, he moved his lips off hers, and heard her whine quietly at the sudden lack of his presence.

betty was now sitting up on the couch, near the edge. there was enough of a gap between her back and the backrest of the couch, so he got up and positioned himself into the spot, the girl of his dreams now sitting between his legs, her back to his chest. he kissed down her neck, feeling every nerve in her neck relax, as he sucked softly on her pulse point. once again, she couldn’t stop the sensual noise from falling off her lips, and he smirked, before continuing to kiss. she moved her hair to the other side, giving him better access. his arms wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer to him. he noticed, she seemed a bit thinner. he tried to push the invasive worries away, and focused himself back to making her feel good.

she began to turn to face him, loving the sensation of jughead’s lips on her skin. it felt like something. the best thing she had felt in a while. one of the only things she had felt in a while. unbeknownst to either of them, her sleeve rolled up a bit when she moved her hair, seemingly coinciding with the moment jughead’s eyes opened. he felt himself freeze.

“is something wrong?” she asked, her eyebrows creasing.
jughead couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at the red wounds lashed down her forearm. betty felt a bitter taste in her mouth when she realized what he was looking at. tears welled in her eyes faster than she could contain them.

“betty…” he was reeling from what he had just seen, his voice a mixture of anger and sadness, his eyes flashed dangerously.
“leave it, jughead.” she said, a little more harshly than she intended.
“betty, kitchen, now.” jughead growled in her ear. she stood up quickly.

betty felt her stomach twist itself into heavy knots. she could feel his footsteps behind her, his hand on her back, guiding her to the kitchen. she leaned nervously against the kitchen counter, as he stood in front of her, but looked everywhere else. he tried to think where someone like alice cooper would keep a first-aid kit.

she wanted to explain, to justify what she had done, and why. but her lips felt numb, unable to lift and form the words. she was so sure he would tell her off, call her crazy, psycho, messed up. he would dump her for sure. she would be alone. he would hate her. but he didn’t do any of that.

he held her wrist, and rolled up her sleeve, looking at the litany of scars and cuts, new and old. she looked away, ashamed. he pushed the other sleeve up, to reveal the same sight. he sighed, a failed attempt to conceal how furious he was. at betty, at himself for not noticing, at anyone who ever made her want to do such a thing to herself.

he rolled her sleeve back down, covering her shame as her tears fell from her eyes. jughead held betty close to him, feeling her shake like a leaf as he ran his bony fingers through her hair. he hadn’t shouted at her, no. he was comforting her. she relaxed into his touch, and sobbed tears of shame and sadness quietly into the crease of his neck. when jughead’s arms came out from behind her, she felt sad. he reached for the cupboards, rifling through each one to no avail.

he darted out of the kitchen, and to the bathroom in the hall, and looked under the sink. he spotted the first aid kit, and opened it, yanking out the cloth bandages and antiseptic spray. he returned to the kitchen.

she winced, seeing the spray in his hands. it stung badly, she knew this already. she tried to move away, but he kept his voice as firm as he could. this proved difficult, “betty, no. you need to let me clean them, or they’ll get infected or something.”

“but juggie-” she started.

“no. betty, let me clean them or I’m going to be really upset. please,” he added weakly. she resigned herself to his care, and stopped resisting. he rolled up each sleeve, spraying her arm down (she had hissed at the initial stinging,) and wrapping the clean bandage around it, then did the same for the other arm. 

“thank you,” Betty choked out. 

“you’re welcome. betts, we’re gonna talk about this tomorrow, okay?” she nodded silently. “I love you.” he saw her smile the faintest bit.

“can we go get some sleep now?” she asked, the whole thing had been so emotionally exhausting, and she wanted to fall asleep, even though she dreaded what would happen when she woke up.

“sure, let’s go.” he said, as jughead walked up the stairs, betty trailing behind him, wiping the last bit of unshed tears from her eyes. she reached into her drawer to grab her pyjamas, and disappeared to the bathroom. she avoided the mirror as she changed.

jughead was growing impatient, Betty seemed to be taking a long time. he knew it was indecent, and wrong, but he began to rifle through her top drawer. he wasn’t being nosy, he only wanted to find whatever it was Betty was hurting herself with. and he did, a small razor insert sitting at the bottom of the miscellaneous items in her drawers. he yelled to Betty that he was going to grab some water, slipped downstairs, and put the razor in his backpack.

he heard the tap begin to run, so jughead double-stepped back up the stairs, seeing her emerge from the bathroom in pyjamas, and makeup-less. he smiled at her, she recriprocated weakly, and they crawled into her bed. she felt jughead’s warm chest pressed against her back, his breath hot on betty’s neck again. she stiffened, but relaxed when he threw an arm over her waist. again he noticed how thin and frail she seemed, but pushed the thought away. another discussion point for tomorrow.

“better?” he asked.
“hmm, yeah.” she sighed, and sleep finally overtook her in the safety of his arms.

whoa, that went into a totally different direction than I intended. 

if you want a continuation, let me know, I have a couple ideas in mind. thanks for reading!

henry + an injured s/o

ask: anonymous “Could I request Henry??? :O” and “can i get some henry headcanons for when his s/o is injured?? thank u :“)”

a/n: combined the two asks !! o and extending fe friday into today since i didn’t get to write much yesterday 

  • first of all, whoever injured his s/o is going to face his wrath. it doesn’t matter who hurt them, even if the person that hurt him was twice his size, they’re going to be begging for their life before he exacts his revenge. 
       + if it was an ally who accidentally hurt them, his s/o would have to talk henry back down from his enraged state so he doesn’t kill a friend. they’re the only one who can snap him out of it without having to knock him out.
  • he’d rush them straight to a healer, not caring about anyone else’s safety - including his, he’d simply blast anyone who was in his way, his partner is the only one that matters at the moment. henry gets tunnel vision to where the only thing he can think of is getting help for his s/o.
  • he’d be at the healer’s beckoning call, he’d go to any lengths to save them. when they give an order henry obeys instantly. if there’s nothing he can do but wait, he’ll wait outside the med tent for as long as it takes - even days if needed.
Oh, Baby (Namjoon x Reader) Pt. 3

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] | [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [Pt 7] [Pt 8] [Pt 9]

Pairing: Namjoon/Rap Monster x Reader
Rating: M
Genre: Smut/Mafia-ish AU

Words: 3,117

Summary: You were only supposed to have seen him twice. Only twice, no more, but now you’re getting dragged into situations you never wished for and Namjoon just keep showing up.

A/N: 20+ PEOPLE MESSAGED ME ASKING FOR MORE AND HERE YOU GO!! :D I really love getting messages from you guys, it’s touching to see you all enjoy it.

So! From now one this isn’t strictly smut!! I plan to incorporate some in here or there (or at least have some frisky moments), so don’t expect smut every chapter~

Alright, let’s see how this goes~

Oooh? Who’s that little beauty I see?” the copper haired male gasps happily, scooting forward in his seat when he spots one tiny, angry looking Min Yoongi tugging you down the street. He can see the peeved creases on Yoongi’s forehead, and also the confused and scared look on your face, and he becomes intrigued.

He watches the front of Namjoon’s building every day and yet nothing like this has ever happened. Yoongiis a normal occurrence, coming and leaving the hotel at least once a day, but you, on the other hand, are an unforeseen piece in this puzzle.

He’s excited.

“Who are you~,” he singsongs quietly, sipping on his cup of coffee as he fetches his phone from his pocket. With practiced ease he zooms in the camera, snapping a pic or two of you before Yoongi hauls you into the lobby.

Once the two of you are gone, he looks the photos over, humming appreciatively at your features. You’re pretty—but why is Namjoon’s right-hand toting you around like a toddler that fucked up?

Once again, he’s intrigued.

Humming, the male twirls around in his seat, his playful attitude not seeming to match his neatly styled hair and unbuttoned suit attire. However, even so, people know that he does his job right.

He’s known by few—but he’s feared by many. The feeling is nice. It helps him sleep at night.

“And now you’re gone,” he mumbles when, a few minutes later, Yoongi slinks out of the building, hands shoved into his pockets angrily.

He’s alone.

“But where is she…?”

Eyes narrowing with suspicion, the man smirks in interest at the scene laying out before him. It’s not uncommon for Namjoon to drag random girls back to his home, but none of those girls are you—dressed appropriately with so much emotion written onto your features. You contain a spark of life, whereas his cheap prostitutes don’t. You look like a girl who hasn’t seen the darkest corners of world, whereas the other girls know struggle, and the corruptness of human kind.

You are a clean slate, just waiting to be tainted—and if you’re involved with Namjoon, then it won’t take long.

Sighing, amused smile stretching at his lips, the man continues to stare out of the large window on the second floor of the café across from Namjoon’s building. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’ll be late for his 4 o’clock meeting, but he doesn’t care. He’s currently watching the best show he’s seen in a long while, and wants to see how this episode will end.

However, 20 minutes in his phone rings, and he knows his fun is going to end.


“Taehyung!” his receptionist scolds. “Jaehyuk is here for the meeting! Where are you?”

“People watching,” Taehyung hums uncaringly, eyes shifting back to the front doors of Namjoon’s building. He doesn’t want to miss you if you come out—because a part of him wonders if you’ll even make it out alive.

“Can’t you reschedule?”

No! You already put him off twice!”

Taehyung sighs irritably. “Fine. I’ll be there in 15.”

Before his receptionist can respond Taehyung drops her call, quickly scrolling through his contacts and clicking on another number.

What?” the male on the other end questions when the line connects, voice gruff with sleep, and Taehyung raises his eyebrow in amusement.

“Rough night, Jiminie?”

Shut up,” the older hisses, sheets shifting. “What do you want?”

“There’s been…a development.”

“…do share.”

“Well,” Taehyung grins, pushing to his feet and smoothing out his suit. “A girl caught my eye—because she seems to have caught Namjoon’s eye as well.”

There’s a pause, and then a quiet laugh.

I like her already.”

Taehyung’s eyes twinkle.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

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anonymous asked:

Do you think you could do more of that siren AU you did a while back? It's the first one I've read and it's very interesting.

The mentioned siren au

Five months. It had been five months since his strange encounter with the supposedly supernatural that evening at the shore. More than enough time to convince himself that the whole ordeal had been nothing but a hallucination. A very vivid hallucination.
After all this time he could still recall the shimmer of the sirens’ impressive fins with perfect clarity. Bright yellows and oranges fading into ruby reds and darker purples on the larger one. The smaller one, Eren, had been a similarly gorgeous creature of emerald green and ocean shades turning into midnight blue.

But no matter how bright and clear he remembered the colours, the dangerous glint of their sharp teeth, their wide, dark eyes … it couldn’t have been real.
He’d stumbled home that night, freezing and exhausted, determined to find them again the next day but he never had. The beach had been the same as always, no strange creatures to be found along the shore, no matter how long he searched. And when he couldn’t find anything the day, the week, the month after he’d just given up. No other sightings were reported, no one went mysteriously missing, and so his conviction and belief had started to falter until there was no other way but to admit to himself that he’d gone temporarily crazy that evening.

Then, on a quite evening five months later, he heard it again. The soft, beckoning call drifting through his open windows with the soft breeze billowing his curtains. It was just like he remembered, more feeling than sound, sending his heartbeat into his throat within seconds.
They came back. They were calling for him.

Before Jean could so much as think he’d already stumbled down the stairs, grabbed his board and was halfway to the beach. Feet carrying him towards the source of the distinct call that was vibrating more deeply through his limbs the closer he got to the ocean.
Beside all his mindlessness it wasn’t even close to like the first time he’d heard their call. Then it had been stifling, filling his head with cotton until he could do nothing but obey the pull. Now it was … different. Or at least that’s what he muttered to himself when he stumbled onto the empty beach, breaths hard and fast.

The glittering reflection of the setting sun on the ocean’s surface was blinding him at first and he squinted as he jogged towards the water. When the first shallow waves started to lap at his bare feet he came to a halt, shielding his eyes against the sunlight.
A head was floating in the water, not too far from where he was standing, and when it recognized him an excited noise drifted through the air. Almost like a squeal.
“It’s him. Eren, we found him!”
A second head breached the surface. Jean could barely make out more than the silhouette, a dark shadow against the back light.

Another voice mumbled something he couldn’t quite hear over the sound of the softly breaking waves and then both shapes moved closer until he could make out their features.
Marco’s soft, kind face that almost distracted from the ink black eyeballs and sharp fangs, the clawed fingers and jagged gills along his neck. He managed to make it look almost peaceful, lulling everyone who was unlucky enough to gaze upon him into a sense of false security. Unlike Eren who was harsh and rough down to the set of his jaw and the way he held his shoulders, squinting suspiciously at Jean like it was him who they had to be afraid of.

Jean took a few more steps into the water until it whirled around his thighs and he was close enough to talk to them. But now that he had the opportunity all the questions he’d wanted to asked over the course of the last five months just fell away as he was hit with the same revelation once again.
He was facing sirens. Creatures with gills and huge, gorgeous tail fins and beautiful voices they used to lure in humans they ruthlessly fed on. Why the hell had he come here? Had he really wanted to prove to himself he wasn’t crazy that badly?

“We’re migrating back North”, Marco explained and his smile was so wide and genuine Jean was tempted to trust him. “We’ve been searching for you for a while but, ah … all your settlements look the same to us…” Jean wasn’t sure if that was something to be offended about. He furrowed his brows just in case.
“You’ve been looking”, Eren chimed in and he did not seem quite as pleased to have found him. It had been his spell that wore off way too quickly five months ago. Maybe he was still pissed about that? “I was just dragged along.”

“Oh come on”, Marco hummed and Jean thought he might have rolled his eyes. It was hard to tell if there were neither pupils nor irises in the deep black pools. “You’ve been curious about him all winter…”
“I was curious why we didn’t eat him”, Eren protested but Marco just shrugged it off with another maybe-eyeroll and turned to Jean again.

“We’ve been asking around our cluster and found out a few interesting things! Say, human … do you, by any chance, have fae blood?”
“Fae … fae what?”, Jean asked, still frowning. He’d be laying if he said he hadn’t asked himself why he’d snapped out of the spell. But none of the possible answers he’d given himself could have prepared him for the rabbit hole he was about to fall down.

[If you enjoyed this story, please consider buying me a coffee <3]

Squeamish - Teuvo Teravainen

Originally posted by dyllarkin

Yet another player that I didn’t realize was such a cutie pie and a half!  I thought this was pretty cute and I hope you like it!  Much love pals! <3

Word count: 730

Warnings: needles (if you don’t like those haha)

Request: “Heyyy, would you write either 38 or 71 with Teuvo? That would be awesome since there isn’t too much of him” - @henna-harpoons

Prompt: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Up next: Sidney Crosby


“Nope, I’m not doing it!” you grumbled from the car.  You were currently parked outside of a travel clinic to get some basic shots.  You however, hated needles with every fiber in your being and Teuvo was having a very hard convincing you to go in.

“Maybe it’s not worth it, I won’t die if I get these diseases right?!” you pondered, turning your attention to your phone.

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inuchiyo (maeda toshiie) x mc (unnamed)

a/n: i got another request from @hajeema and i’m so unbelievably excited because requests are amazing. this prompt is from this list, number 1.

There are a few things he is almost certain run in the family: brashness, stubbornness, and the in ability to think under even the slightest influence of alcohol. He thinks that at least the last of these should have come with a warning, but it’s just the way of the Maeda Clan to keep some undesirable secrets tucked away.

(Him, for example, but that’s a thought for another day.)

Nobody ever warned him that alcohol was dangerous, and nobody ever warned him that the girl you love is as much a weapon as any poison, any blade, any bullet. He thinks she might just be all three — her voice, her smile, her eyes.

She always looks a little angry when he gets drunk, with a frown like her mother’s and her hands on her hips and a sigh that he imagines could be something lovely if she were kissed—

Not that he knows much about kissing, really, let alone kissing her. But he thinks about it a lot. A lot.

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there's this tune i found that makes me think of you somehow | Sungjin [Oneshot]

there’s this tune i found that makes me think of you somehow

fluff | ~1.6k words | tread lightly. slightly mature content ahead aka i refuse to be held accountable for stuff i write at three in the morning with alcohol in my veins and zero sleep for the past thirty-six hours. AM makes me think of Sungjin now. What.

p.s tell me what you think anyway

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