Plastic-cup

anonymous asked:

juggie spots some guy sexually harassing Betty and his anger gets the best of him and he saves her while slightly scaring her at the same time

Thank-you so much for this prompt, it was actually a lot of fun to write. I have a few more in my ask box that I will be doing my best to get done as well. If there are any more requests, please feel free to send them in. Also I apologize in advance for any mistakes. I’m very sleepy and only read over to edit this once. 

****

Betty huffed, lifting the ladle and pouring the red liquid into the cheap plastic disposable cup. She didn’t think she’d ever danced so much in her life.

She wasn’t planning to go to the prom. She’d just gone through a really tough breakup, and she wasn’t really feeling up to partying. But, Veronica had begged her to come. Ronnie wanted to attend the dance, because it was a “rite of passage” but Archie couldn’t take her because he had gone to visit his mom in Chicago for her birthday. So, she’d devised a plan that she, Betty and The Pussy Cats would all go stag together: and Betty didn’t have a say.

In the end, though, Betty was glad she had gone. It was a nice distraction from all the stress that was going on in her life.

“Nice dress, Cooper,” Betty could feel his breath in her ear, and she instinctively flinched away, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

“T-thanks,” she mumbled, carefully placing the ladle down on the ledge of the punch bowl. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

She attempted to maneuver around the former football player, but he blocked her way, nearly spilling her punch in the process.

“Not so fast,” Chuck eyed her up and down, eyes lingering in places that made heat rush to Betty’s cheeks. He licked his lips. “Wanna dance?”

She knew if she said no, he’d press the issue, and she really didn’t feel like causing a big scene. She gritted her teeth.  “Sure. Only one song, though. I gotta get back to my friends.”

“Of course,” he took her by the wrist, pulling her out onto the dance floor.

Much to the blonde’s dismay, a slow song began to play just as they reached the center of the dance floor. She tentatively placed her hands on his intimidatingly broad shoulders, arms outstretched in an attempt to create space between them. It turned out to be a moot effort as he pulled her into him, hands at the small of her back, creeping way too low for Betty’s liking.

Jughead, like he did at most dances, sat alone on the bleachers. It wasn’t out of pathetic-ness, though. He liked to people watch. He liked to observe from the sidelines. He preferred it this way.

Tonight, though, he was admittedly watching really only one person: Betty. She looked beautiful as ever, dancing with Veronica and Josie in her deep purple dress that was breathtakingly beautiful, hugging her in all the right places before flowing out at her knees.

Why had he come here? Dances weren’t really his thing. He technically wasn’t even supposed to be here. But he’d bought the tickets back before he’d transferred schools. Before he became a Serpent. Before he’d broken Betty’s heart. But the answer was obvious: he’d wanted to see her.

While she was the reason he came, it was now the reason he wished he hadn’t; seeing her so happy without him was torture. He didn’t know which was worse: seeing her cry and knowing he was the reason, or seeing her dance and laugh and smile, as if she didn’t have a care in the world when he was still reeling from their break up.

He was going to leave. He’d had enough. He was going to drive his dad’s beat up truck home and never come back to Riverdale High again. There was nothing left for him. There’d been nothing left for him for a long time.

He stood, grabbing his keys, and was already halfway down the bleachers when she saw them. At first he felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight of Betty in Chuck’s arms, his hands wandering along her backside. Why the hell would she be dancing with him, of all people? Especially in a way that suggested that later they’d be doing more than dancing. After everything he’d done.

The jealousy, however, quickly turned to anger when he really realized what was happening. When he saw her pushing back against him, hands slapping and swatting away his as he kept groping and tugging at her ass and her dress.

His rage was blinding, causing everything he saw to be white hot, with a red tinge. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he’d pulled Betty away from him, nearly knocking her over if it weren’t for the fact that Moose was nearby to catch her, his knuckles colliding with the asshole’s nose.

Jughead braced himself for a retaliation, but to his surprise, Chuck began to laugh. “Here you go again, Jones. Defending your little Serpent Slut.” The comment earned him a second punch, which he wasn’t expecting and this time it was harder, making contact with the would-be quarter back’s jaw, hard enough to bust his lip. He clutched his chin, and Jughead delivered a third blow to his stomach, and Chuck keeled over in pain. Jughead leaned into him, speaking low at his ear.

“Do you know how easy it’d be to end you?” Chuck looked up, and the raven-haired boy reveled in the fear in his eyes. “Almost too easy. Don’t forget who I run with. Leave her alone or I swear to God, I’ll—”

“Jug?”

Jughead turned, his eyes meeting Betty’s green ones for the first time in what felt like lifetimes. They were beautiful as ever, the blue tint to them really coming out in the soft lighting. They were wide, afraid.

Betty had never seen Jughead so mad before. Sure, he’d punched Chuck on his birthday that one time, and she’d seen him get angry in their bickers, but never like this, and to be honest, it terrified her. She didn’t think he was capable of that kind of rage, that kind of intimidation.

“He’s not worth it,” she whispered.

Jughead drew in a deep breath, releasing Chuck, who quickly made his way elsewhere. He turned toward her.

“You okay?” he asked, gently rubbing up and down her arms.

“Yeah, I’m—”

“Oh my God, Betty!” Veronica gasped, and Betty turned as she pulled her into a consoling hug. “I tried to get over here when I first saw the fight start but the huddle was so dense…”

“I’m fine Ronnie, thanks to—” she pulled away, turning to reference her dark-haired protector, but was met with confusion when she found he was gone.

“C’mon, let’s get back to Josie,” the raven-haired girl pulled Betty across the room, all the while the blonde kept looking back, looking for her raven-haired knight in shining armor.

anonymous asked:

Sonny and Pete sneaking in and covering everything in Usnavi's room with tin foil.

Oh my GOD THAT SOUNDS AMAZING!!!

And since Sonny and Usnavi share a room it’s even MORE hilarious. Pete and Sonny plan this for MONTHS and wait for the opportune moment when Usnavi’s gonna be at Vanessa’s for the night. They don’t have a reason, they’re just little shits XD

So they wrap EVERYTHING on Usnavi’s side of the room in foil and then leave. The next morning, Usnavi comes home, goes to his room, and ten seconds later… ‘SONNY!!!!!!!!!!’ It echoes all across the barrio, and Sonny and Pete are rolling with laughter on a nearby fire escape. Sonny camps out with Pete for the day and night and when he comes back, Usnavi gives him triple shifts for a month. Sonny still says it was totally worth it.

9

Time Canary Week: FARGO AU (Period AU + Criminal AU)

This is a true story. The events depicted in this story took place in Bemidji, Minnesota in 1976. At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.

Rip Hunter used to have dreams of making a difference in the world. But life saw fit to deal him a bad hand and after too many years on the job, he’s become inured to the vile nature of man. He spends his days sitting across the scum of the town, collecting piss in plastic cups, pretending he gives a shit about his charges, and drinking too much whisky in the nights until he passes out. And then he wakes up the next day to do it all over again.

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I’m forming a squad, who else is down to wear trenchcoats and cargo shorts  with sandwich bags sewed all over the inside and then liberate the Walmart bettas by pouring them into our many pockets and escaping the store undetected as human aquariums

liberated bettas will be sewn their own cargo shorts and given appropriate training so the cycle can continue

I got revenge on my neighbor, and he still has no idea I even did anything to him.

My neighbor from a couple of doors down and I had a long running feud. It all started when his dog came in to my backyard, and my dog attacked it. I was nearby, and able to call my dog off before it got serious, but the other dog had a couple of bite wounds.

The neighbor wanted me to pay the vet bill. When he threatened me with a lawsuit, I offered to pay half, even though I owed him nothing; it was his dog that was off the leash and in my yard, after all. He declined the offer, took me to small claims court, and lost. The trial lasted all of 3 minutes when the judge found in my favor.

That set in to motion him starting to fuck with me on a regular basis. My garbage cans would get knocked over every trash day. He would honk his horn and flip me off if he drove by my house. He tried to get my 10 year old son arrested for riding another neighbors mini bike (never called the cops on their kids, just mine.) It was all stupid petty crap. But it was a lot of stupid petty crap, and we were growing frustrated and mildly concerned what he might do.

We eventually grew tired of it, and filed a restraining order against him. We dropped the legal case against him when we recieved a letter from his lawyer stating that he would refrain from any sort of contact with any of my family for a period of 2 years. Things settled down at that point.

But I was not yet satisfied. I had been staying on the high road through all of this, not responding to any of his bullshittery in any way. I had a desire to get revenge, but never acted on it. Then one day, I hatched my plan of evil genius.

I was in the hardware store and I noticed some Japanese Beetle traps. These traps are just a plastic bag with a scent pack; the beetles are drawn to the scent, fall in the bag, and can’t get out. They also sold refill packages of the scent packs only, 4 per package.

My neighbor has a very large rose garden in his front lawn. It is his pride and joy.

Japanese beetles love roses.

So I bought 4 packages of the refill packs. The scent pack is a waxy substance in a shallow plastic cup. I put the packs in the freezer overnight, to allow me to pull the wax out easily.

The next morning, I woke up at 3am. I popped the wax squares out of their cups, and put them in a baggie. Then I crept over to my neighbors house and spread the wax squares in the mulch under his rose garden, covering them from view with a bit of the hardwood mulch.

That day was a hot one. By 11am it was north of 90 degrees F. I figured the wax had probably melted in to the dark mulch. Also by 11AM, the Japanese beetles were starting to arrive at my neighbors roses. I went on a bike ride later in the evening, and could see a small swarm of them attacking the roses. My neighbor had not yet noticed what was happening.

By noon the next day, there was a freaking cloud of them. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands. My neighbor noticed. That afternoon, I could see him spraying them and spreading Sevin powder and waving his arms in the air in frustration.

By the third day, there were thousands of the beetles, if not tens of thousands. They were everywhere in his front lawn and wreaking havoc on his roses.

By the end 4th day, there was nothing left of his rose garden, other than a few tattered leaves and the thorny stalks.

Those damned scent packs must have drawn every Japanese beetle in for miles around. I had never seen so many in a single place.

And that was it. The deed was done, and I was satisfied and laughing…quietly to myself, but laughing and laughing. And I never told a soul what I did, not even my wife.

This was a few years ago, and his rose garden is fully recovered now. And it will stay beautiful so long as he keeps being a quiet neighbor.

FUTURE HEARTS | PT.6 [M]

pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5 | pt6 | (6/?)

pairing: jimin x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: smut, angst / punk!jikook

word count: 17,335

note: inspired by the anime/manga “Nana” / music playlist

description: It was everything, from his tattoos, to his touches, to the way sweat rolled down his neck as he strummed into his guitar on stage; everything about him completely enthralled you. So why are you now, two and a half years later, on a train to Seoul, telling a complete stranger the recollection of how you became fated to forever have scars on all of your future hearts due to the happiness, but most of all the pain, that came along with falling in love with Jeon Jungkook.

cr.


The slight tremble in Jimin’s fingertips developed into a full-blown tremor as he closed the door to his studio, effectively leaving you behind — but it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that simple because he wasn’t just leaving you behind. He was leaving you behind with a guy that you were completely in love with… Which kind of blowed considering he was starting to fall for you himself.

The music from the party was reverberating inside of his chest and he knew that his ears should be ringing with anger, but instead he just felt numb. It was like he couldn’t hear anything; no music, no crowd, nothing. It was all one giant blur that didn’t seem to make sense to him, and all because his mind was screaming that nothing else mattered right now — nothing except for you.

Jimin knew very well what leaving you in that room with Jungkook meant. It meant every single feeling that the two of you had ever had for each other would inevitably rekindle, and compared to what Jimin had with you, even if he did consider it one of most amazing stints of time of his entire life, it didn’t hold a candle to what you and Jungkook had, and probably always would have.

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episode two :: Yuri realizes, suddenly and terribly, he might be a little bit in love.  


Victor doesn’t even try to go to sleep.  He just lays in bed with his laptop, watching the thirty-seven takes of Yuuri trying to get “hi, I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and I’m the Bachelor” out of his mouth.

Don’t they know who I am?” Yuuri slurs on screen.  

Yuuri, you have to put the champagne bottle down, you have to pretend to be sober,” Phichit says off camera, all authority gone from his voice.  He’s trying not to laugh.

Phichit,” Yuuri says, and he takes a big swig from the bottle, bubbles pouring down both sides of his lips. “You can’t tell me what to do.  I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and I’m the motherfucking Bachelor.

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melodrama through the eyes of a (fellow) synaesthete

hello everyone! just like lorde herself, i have a strong case of synaesthesia (I get colour visions, but also tastes and scents as well), so this is my attempt to review the masterpiece that is melodrama through my synaesthetical experiences

let’s go

green light: car air freshener, heated highway and the visions you get when you drive in heat (a la mirages), blackberry-scented cheap shower gel, a pistachio green silk scarf, old school adidas kicks, lemon juice drops on fresh summer salad, beige satin, old black cars (a la classic cadillacs and jaguars), maple syrup, the heat of cairo at around 11 am

sober: ripe honeydew, the smell of guitar wood varnish, red satin ribbons, smudged glass coffee tables, spilled lemonade on said tables, peach vodka, the feel of white plaster in old museums where security guards are very strict, cough syrup (both the colour and the flavour), artificial smell of mint, mint gum, velvet red carpeting in old and badly aired town halls, the humidity of rainforest

homemade dynamite: 4 am sunrise straight after a storm with torn dark grey, nearly black clouds being ripped, smell of gasoline, deep puddles in cracked pavement, dimmed street lights about to go out, magenta, white musk perfume from the body shop, deep indigo of the nearly sunrise of mid may, that walk home from a rowdy night out when everyone is more or less sobered up, but not sober enough to feel shy yet, still drunk enough to be honest with affection and cursing and slightly slurred speech

the louvre: bamboo blinds, bamboo shoots, bonsai trees, flowing honey, varnished birchwood, sunlit old halls in ugly grey soviet buildings, silver hellium-filled balloons, white shiny doors between a party-filled room and a closet where hook-ups and one-night stands take place, old oil paint, the sunny, lemon yellow butterflies, muddly skies of july, edelflower syrup in a glass of white wine, edelflower flower crowns, an expensive pool in a mansion-like house in hollywood hills, the eerie comfort and anxiety of the opening credits of twin peaks

liability: massive bouquets of lily of the valley, white lace curtains knitted by a grandmother, greyness of a sunday in a village on a last warm october day, a single light in an office on a late night in a massive skyscraper, dried flowers, drops of nosebleed on a crystal clean white sink, grey that turns into pastel lilac, the feeling of ripped paper

hard feelings/loveless: faint sunrise shining through the windows of a manhattan apartment in a skyscraper, all shades of orange spilling onto a hi-tec kitchen, cointreau liqueur, sunny warm nights on ocean beach, lukewarm bathtubs when the bath foam has fizzled, bonfires and burned marshmallows, just the beginning of feeling buzzed (like a glass of wine in), tender shades of yellow, rustiness of old heavy doors into a basement, scaffolding sounds, first sunniest days of spring after a heavy winter, sunset in the ocean, heavy fluffy sweaters / neon diner signs, anime eyes, porcelain dolls, peach-flavoured bubblegum, glass bowls

sober ii (melodrama): colour of crimson, heavy red velvet couches, smudged matte red lipstick, glass shards, ripped pearl necklaces and scattered pearls on sticky floor, red limelight, stilettos, tight black bodysuits, smoky-eyed tall models in revealing tight and latex dresses, marble furniture with golden decor, fistfights during a party, ripped suits and thrown ties and unbuttoned white shirts on boys with wealthy fathers

writer in the dark: light parakeet green, whitewashed starched tablecloths that crunch, old wooden tables, rusty cages for canaries, Advocat liqueur, big pearl necklaces on black dresses, big sunglasses (a la Audrey’s in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), sunny Sunday mornings on a patio with a cup of fancy tea, sunday clothes, white churches in greece, silver tears and crying in the backseat after a breakup, wilted flowers in a vase with dirty water

supercut: light green and orange, Love Is bubblegum, peaches, apricots, mint, Mojitos, fairy lights above people at a rooftop party, roadtrip one takes after a breakup with all thier belongings, flavoured water that doesn’t quench thirst, sparkling water with lemon and ice cubes, worn down picnic blankets, fancy dresses girls wear to the entrance into a nightclub, folding chairs, chilled champagne

liability (reprise): cold winter wind of february, the feeling on the tip of the tongue from scolding hot tea, big white rooms in museums, light green, light smoke of e-cigarette that smells like peppermint, the smell of sunscreen, the stillness of a swimming pool at noon in heat

perfect places: red wine, swinging chandeliers, red plastic cups, glass grand pianos, the last summer party in august, that warm feeling at the end of the party where everyone’s buzzed and affectionate and there’s a lot of kissing and hugging and swinging, big fake golden earrings, summer fruits, fancy hotels and luxurious lifts/elevators, skinny dipping, black velvet dresses that touch the floor, uncontrollable laughing in comfy sweaters

2

Inspired by and directly referenced from Mina Myoung of 1MILLION Dance Studio and her choreography for “Good Kisser” by Usher.

Dedicated to @thesearchingastronaut, whose many Voltron and Klance drawings brighten my LIFE, to my friends who cheered me on, and to @klancebabes for their very encouraging tag on the WIP.

ok but if you’re having a bad day, try imagining actually-having-a-great-time Drunk!Greg Lestrade. Drunky-drunk ‘Get in there laaaaaaddddss’ Greg Lestrade. Mr ‘gonna gently embrace this lamp-post, lovely lampy, who is holding me upright, oh sweet lamp tell me your standing secrets’ Greg Lestrade. His stoopid grin. Leaning sloppily over his pint like ‘Hi—-’. Sitting in the bus stop having a little giggle Greg Lestrade. Having a chat with random people. 

And then Sally Donovan like ‘ffs, stop singing at me and get in the taxi, you massive plonk.’ 

Lucidity | M

“Do I really deserve to be alone even though I want to be by your side?”

Précis; In which you’re best friends and one night accidentally brings you closer together.

Note: I was beyond anxious when this disappeared multiple times, but now that it’s here, I can breathe. | ft. slight Park Jimin (’:

Genre & Warnings: Angst & a splash of fluff. Light smut and mentions of alcohol. | Words ➳ 10.8k


The music reverberated throughout the large home, blasting and threatening to pierce his skin and seep into his veins. People were dancing, yelling along with the music and having the time of their lives; wanting nothing more than to get wasted and to just forget. Others who had the mind to think, just stood back while drinking small sips from their cups—examining the humans who were begging to drown deeper into their drunkenness, to swim to the shore to survive the night or to just fall deep into the waters; giving up and letting their subconscious mind take over. The house was surely trembling from the commotion within, wanting nothing more than to relieve it from the atrocious tension, to feel blissful like it once had and not all clogged up from the poison that was slowly building up.

Amidst the many partygoers under the twinkling lights scattered on the ceiling and the loud obnoxious immature chatter amongst many groups, Jungkook stood in front of the home bar, pointing to a bottle while the man on the other side happily grabbed it and handed it to him. Jungkook took a plastic cup from a stack and bit the lid off the bottle, fizz quickly slipping out while he poured it’s contents into his cup. He had no idea what was slowly taking over his body. He had no idea how he got to the party, or even why he came; but what he did know was this.

He wanted to see you.

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What if..

…when you join Marks ‘fandom’ you are asked to partake in the sorting ceremony. And yes, Mark has his very own sorting hat. Its one of those plastic helmets with cup holders either side and a long straw…you know Smitty Werbenjagermanjensen esque. 

ANYWAY…so you are sorted into either;

  • Markipliers Heroes
  • Darkiplier Zeroes
  • Warfstache Waffles
  • Googlepiler Gigabytes
heaven

Draco Malfoy x Harry Potter
Warnings: swearing, alcohol
I can’t deny this was totally inspired by @sappypotter :)


Draco could hear the muffled voices through the thick, wooden door of his dorm. He was planning on staying in bed all night, but the voices from the common room kept getting louder and louder, and it was doubtable that Draco would get any sleep.

When he was sure of hearing Pansy’s cackling laugh from the next room, he finally decided to just go and join them. 

A small silence fell over everyone when the blonde boy entered. Draco quickly scanned the room, which consisted of: Blaise Zabini, who wore the usual smirk on his lips, but seemed truly surprised to see Draco; Pansy, short hair tickling her neck, her chin tilted up with her usual demeanor; Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, whose legs were tangled together affectionately, his arm hung loosely over her shoulders.

And last of the bunch, who probably looked the most out of place next to Draco himself, was none other than Harry Potter, who pushed his wire-framed glasses half an inch up his nose as he stared at Draco, along with everyone else.

They all sat in a circle on the floor of the Slytherin common room, which wasn’t rare, ever since McGonagall implemented the new house unity rules for their eighth year. Draco sucked in a breath and regretted coming out of his room.

He just wished Potter would stop staring at him. It made him want to fidget.

“Well, look who decided to join us!” Pansy said, and Draco could tell alone from the tone of her voice that she was a little drunk. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the bottle of firewhiskey in the center of the circle, and all of the plastic cups scattered around the five of them.

When Draco didn’t respond, Blaise said, “Are you gonna sit, Malfoy? Or stand there and continue to stare at us all night?”

Clearing his throat, Draco nodded and muttered,”Yeah, I’ll sit.” He then proceeded to plop down where the biggest gap was, which just happened to be in between Pansy and Harry.

“Well, pour him a drink, Blaise,” prompted Pansy, as Blaise was refilling his own cup. But before Blaise took out a new cup for Draco, Harry blurted, “He can have mine. I’m done for the night.”

Draco turned to look at the curly-haired boy, who was holding out his half-filled cup of firewhiskey, almost like a peace offering. Harry’s glasses had fallen back down his nose, and it took a lot of willpower for Draco not to lean over and adjust them himself.

He tried to think of some witty insult about Potter drugging him, but Draco couldn’t even think straight when his pale fingers brushed against Harry’s warm ones, through the exchanging of the cup.

“Oh,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks.”

Draco turned back to face everyone, and he could practically feel Pansy’s stare digging into his skin. When he finally looked in her direction, she raised an eyebrow at him, her dark purple lips upturned into a suspicious smile.

She knew his secret. There was no getting past his best friend.

Draco took a big sip of the firewhiskey.

HIs eyes roamed around the room, which happened to be vacant saved for the six of them on the floor. Not many Hogwarts students returned the year after the war, and the majority of the ones that did weren’t very social.

Blaise began rambling about something Draco had no interest in, so he zoned out, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cup of alcohol that had previously belonged to Harry Potter.

What a weird turn of events his life had spiraled into. Less than a year ago, Draco was sure he was going to die in the Room of Requirement, when it was completely engulfed in hot flames during the battle.

He truly thought his life was over, but Harry Potter, dirt-streaked and sweat-stained, swooped in on a broomstick and carried Draco to safety.

And ever since that horrid day, Draco hadn’t been able to completely wipe Potter’s face from his mind.

The only sounds present were the fire crackling in the fireplace and Blaise’s smooth voice, rambling on about Merlin knows what. Draco practically jumped a foot into the air when he felt a hand on his left arm.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, flicking something onto the carpet with the hand that had just grazed Draco. “You had a thread on your sweater.”

Trying to remain calm and ignore the heart palpitations inside his chest, Draco cleared his throat and mumbled, “It’s okay. Thanks.”

Was it a sin that, after that, all he wanted that night was for Harry to touch him again?

~~~~~

Within a matter of hours, the night had unraveled into an unnerving game of Truth or Dare. 

After about five minutes, Ron had ended up without a shirt and Pansy had already shared a very detailed account of her last date with a girl she’d been seeing. Draco’s blood felt as if it were boiling with anxiety under his skin, and he wished he could just rewind the past couple of hours and retreat back to his warm bed. 

But he couldn’t escape. “Truth or dare, Draco?” Pansy’s voice rang, dripping in sugar and venom.

The alcohol was blurring Draco’s thoughts slightly, but he was still very aware of the close proximity in which Harry was sitting, cross-legged, next to him.

He thought he had dodged a bullet when he answered, “Dare.” He didn’t want to deal with facing his secrets head on in front of everyone.

Pansy’s lips curled upward into a grin, and Draco’s stomach did flips. “I dare you to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

Fuck.

Everyone else hummed a collective, “Ooooh,” as Draco was forced to face this challenge (which he had never signed up for in the first place).

In attempts to play it safe, Draco moved toward his right - toward Pansy, whom he had always thought of to be nice to look at. But mostly because he hoped she would just help him out with the situation at hand.

It didn’t work, because Pansy leaned backward and Blaise blurted out, “Oh please, Draco, we all know you’re about as straight as the sky is red.”

Ron snickered, and Draco saw Hermione try to hide her smile as well, as she buried her face into Ron’s sweater. He shot them a look with daggers in his eyes before waiting for a reaction from Harry, which never came.

It was at this precise moment that Draco decided to down the rest of the firewhiskey in his cup, as the rest of the eighth-years stared him down. Draco needed as much courage he could possible get if he was going to do what he was about to do.

In one swift movement, Draco threw his empty plastic cup to the floor, scooped Harry Potter’s face into his hands, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Harry was taken aback, naturally, and Draco felt the brunette’s whole body go rigid. Draco just kissed him harder, because he knew this may be his only chance - he’s never have the right confidence to do this again.

Draco was finally about to pull away, when Harry seemed to regain control of his body and began to kiss him back.

Draco felt like melting right then and there, and he probably would have if it weren’t for the fact that Harry’s face was sitting in his hands. The golden boy’s own hands made their way to Draco’s blonde hair, and it felt like…

Heaven. That was the only word Draco could think of as the two boys moved their lips against one another’s. He wasn’t even religious, but that’s exactly what it felt like to Draco - heaven.

It was sloppy, and wet, and utterly wonderful.

When it was finally over, they pulled away and just stared at each other, for what felt like a lifetime.

The common room was dead silent, as Pansy, Blaise, Hermione, and Ron stared in complete surprise and fascination. Draco had nearly forgotten he had an audience - no, they, had an audience.

Draco wasn’t sure any of them would ever speak again until Blaise finally whispered, “Damn,” his voice sounding low and raspy.

That’s when Draco finally ripped his eyes from Harry’s and looked around at the spectators, who stared back looking quite dumbfounded.

No one had probably ever expected none other than Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to bump lips, let alone be in the same room and not at each other’s throats.

When Draco looked back at Harry and his forest-green eyes, he was met with Potter’s crooked yet beautiful grin staring him in the face.

Things had changed - Draco could feel it in the air, and certainly in the tingle of his lips. He smiled back at the curly-haired boy. Draco was ready for a change.

Shakespeare (Part III)

(Banner made by the incredibly talented @tiostyles)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Sorry I’m late again!! As always, all feedback is sincerely appreciated. Enjoy!


English class is your favorite class.

Since your paper, the past few weeks have been stuffed full of theory readings and poetry analyses. You’ve read Wordsworth, Woolf, and many in between. It’s hard not to get caught up in a world of rhyme schemes and symbolism.

Harry has been overly-avoidant. He didn’t look at you when you handed him your essay, and he hasn’t since. You’re just confused. It’s not clear why his eyes skirt around you when his gaze pans across the classroom, or why they glue themselves to the sidewalk when you pass him outside. But every time you see him or the thought of him merely crosses your mind, all you can think about is that second or two when he was in such close proximity. You can almost smell his cologne and see the thin hair spotting his chin.

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Tom Holland Imagine (prompt)

prompt: 49. “We’re just friends.”

56. "What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven?”

a/n: this is kinda cute 

word count: 1468

Waking up in an unfamiliar bed, you rubbed your eyes, blurring your vision for a second. You heard Tom’s light snores from the makeshift bed he had made on the floor to your left. You were in Tom’s bedroom, you had been in here a couple of times before since he bought the flat, but you had never stayed the night. He’d had a welcome home and a housewarming party for himself all in one at his new flat the night before after months and months of travelling. All of your school friends were there.

Tom met you on the first day of year seven, both of you were wearing shiny new school shoes and your uniform hung off both of you a few sizes too big so you had room to grow into them. His was the first voice you heard when you walked into your first class of the day - he was loud and confident, the polar opposite to your shy and quiet manner. Somehow along the course of the first few weeks of school, you and Tom had struck up an unlikely friendship, and soon you were welcomed into his friendship group. During the later years of your schooling life, when Tom started landing roles in big films, your friendship was tested when he was away from home for weeks and weeks at a time. You didn’t always talk, he found it hard to keep in touch all the time when he was working, and sometimes he pissed you off when he forgot about your scheduled Skype sessions. But always, when he returned home, he’d come to your house with a new DVD and some popcorn, and you’d spend the rest of the day snuggled under a blanket on your sofa, enjoying each other’s company.

Trying carefully not to wake Tom from his slumber, you crept out of his bedroom, shutting the door gently behind you. Making your way into the kitchen, you heard Harrison talking to Tessa as the television buzzed quietly in the background.

“Morning,” you said into the next room, your voice a little hoarse.
“Sleep okay?” Harrison asked as you made yourself a coffee from the machine.
“Mmhmm,” you replied. Once your coffee was done you sat with Harrison in the living room where Tessa sat across you both. “How long have you been up for?”
“Not too long. Did you have a good night last night?” Harrison wiggled his eyebrows at you.
“Yeah it was a cool party, nice to see everyone together again.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean then?”


“You know, in the bedroom,” you scoffed as he said it. Harrison had been trying to set you up with Tom for as long as you could remember. He had always been able to tell that you had feelings for Tom, even if you never admitted it out loud. 

“He slept on the floor, okay?” You petted between Tessa’s ears. “Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.” Harrison shot you a look as if to say Really? “How many times do I have to tell you?” You poked his arm. “We,” poke, “are,” poke, “just,” poke, “friends,” poke. “We’re just friends,” you repeated.
“If you say so,” Harrison rubbed the spot you poked him in, the tone of his voice telling you he didn’t truly believe what you were saying.

Your attention was brought to the doorway as Tom stood leaning against the frame, the floorboards creaked underneath his feet. His hair was messy, he had sleep in the corners of his eyes and there was some dried drool beginning to crust around the corners of his mouth. He smiled sleepily as he caught your gaze. Pushing himself away from the doorframe he joined you and Harrison, sitting on the arm of the sofa closest to Harrison, his legs stretched out over him so he could tickle Tessa with his toes.

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